&stf 
 
Tffi GREAT CRYPTOGRAM: 
 
 B FRANCtf BACONS CIPHER inTh? 
 SO-CALLED JHAKESPEARE PL/MM 
 
 
 B ByiGNATIU5 DONNELLY, Author 
 of 4 AtIdJitiy:TheAntediIuvi2)Ji Worlds 
 "Ra^iajTokOTi? A£e of Fire ^ Grayer: 
 
 4 X n - d now Iwill vncl&spe&Jeeret booke 
 A^toyourquicke conceyuing Difcontents" 
 He re&deyou Mzviter, deeped daaigerouj, 
 Ar full of perill zsrJ zvduenturou/ Jpirit, 
 As to o'erwadke ^Current , roaring loud t 
 Onth*vnftedf<xft footing of ^jpe^e." 
 
 MHenrrlV, ActI,Jc3. 
 
 
 -Chicago,- 
 -Dew Ifork an£ Jfon<k>tl- 
 
 !R5iPeaIe& Company 
 18S0, 
 
\)pj 
 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1887, 
 
 By IGNATIUS DONNELLY 
 [all rights reserved.] 
 
l 'N/VER 8 fT 
 

To [*IY Dear^ 
 
 OQKs 
 ^jjectionately 
 Ded'icated. 
 

INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE question may be asked by some, Why divide your 
 book into two parts, an argument and a demonstration ? 
 If the Cipher is conclusive, why is any discussion of probabili- 
 ties necessary ? 
 
 In answer to this I would state that, for a long time before 
 I conceived the idea of the possibility of there being a Cipher 
 in the Shakespeare Plays, I had been at work collecting proofs, 
 from many sources, to establish the fact that Francis Bacon 
 was the real author of those great works. Much of the material 
 so amassed is new and curious, and well worthy of preserva- 
 tion. While the Cipher will be able to stand alone, these 
 facts will throw many valuable side-lights upon the story told 
 therein. 
 
 Moreover, that part of the book called " Parallelisms " will, 
 I hope, be interesting to scholars, even after Bacon's authorship 
 of the Plays is universally acknowledged, as showing how the 
 same great mind unconsciously cast itself forth in parallel lines, 
 in prose and poetry, in the two greatest sets of writings in the 
 world. 
 
 And I trust the essays on the geography, the politics, the 
 religion and the purposes of the Plays will possess an interest 
 apart from the question of authorship. 
 
 I have tried to establish every statement I have made by 
 abundant testimony, and to give due credit to each author 
 from whom I have borrowed. 
 
 For the shortcomings of the work I shall have to ask the 
 indulgence of the reader. It was written in the midst of many 
 interruptions and distractions ; and it lacks that perfection 
 which ampler leisure might possibly have given it. 
 
 As to the actuality of the Cipher there can be but one con- 
 clusion. A long, continuous narrative, running through many 
 pages, detailing historical events in a perfectly symmetrical. 
 
v i INTRODUCTION. 
 
 rhetorical, grammatical manner, and always growing out of the 
 same numbers, employed in the same way, and counting from the 
 same, or similar, starting-points, cannot be otherwise than a pre- 
 arranged aritfwietical cipher. 
 
 Let those who would deny this proposition produce a single 
 page of a connected story, eliminated, by an arithmetical rule, 
 from any other work ; in fact, let them find five words that 
 will cohere, by accident, in due order, in any publication, where 
 they were not first placed with intent and aforethought. I 
 have never yet been able to find even three such. Regularity 
 does not grow out of chaos. There can be no intellectual 
 order without preexisting intellectual purpose. The fruits of 
 mind can only be found where mind is or has been. 
 
 It may be thought, by some, that I speak with too much 
 severity of Shakspere and his family ; but it must be remem- 
 bered that I am battling against the great high walls of public 
 prejudice and intrenched error. ''Fate," it is said, "obeys the 
 downright striker." I trust my earnestness will not be mistaken 
 for maliciousness. 
 
 In the concluding chapters I have tried to do justice to the 
 memory of Francis Bacon, and to the great minds that first an- 
 nounced to the world his claim to the authorship of the Plays. 
 I feel that it is a noble privilege to thus assist in lifting the 
 burden of injustice from the shoulders of long-suffering merit. 
 
 The key here turned, for the first time, in the secret wards 
 of the Cipher, will yet unlock a vast history, nearly as great in 
 bulk as the Plays themselves, and tell a mighty story of one of 
 the greatest and most momentous eras of human history, illu- 
 minated by the most gifted human being that ever dwelt upon 
 the earth. 
 
 I conclude by invoking, in behalf of my book, the kindly 
 judgment and good-will of all men. I. D. 
 
THE TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK I.— THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 Chapter I. — The Learning of the Plays, ----- 13 
 
 II. — Shakspere's .Education, ----- 27 
 
 III. — Shakspere's Real Character, - - - .44 
 
 IV. — The Lost Manuscripts and Library, ... 73 
 
 V. — The Author of the Plays a Lawyer, - - - IC2 
 
 PART II. 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE REAL AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Chapter I. — Francis Bacon a Poet, ..... I2 r 
 
 II. — The Author of the Plays a Philosopher, - - 149 
 
 III. — The Geography of the Plays, - - - - :6i 
 
 IV. — The Politics of the Plays, - - - - 173 
 
 V. — The Religion of the Plays, ----- 196 
 
 VI. — The Purposes of the Plays, -.--•• 212 
 
 VII. — The Reasons for Concealment, - 246 
 
 VIII. — Corroborating Circumstances, - 259 
 
 PART III. 
 
 PA RA LLELISMS. 
 
 Chapter I. — Identical Expressions, - - - - 295 
 
 II. — Identical Metaphors, - 335 
 
 III. — Identical Opinions, .---.. 370 
 
 IV. — Identical Quotations, - - 397 
 
 V. — Identical Studies, - - - - - - 41^ 
 
 VI. — Identical Errors, ------ 437 
 
 VII. — Identical Use of Unusual Words, - 444 
 
 VIII. — Identities of Character, - 462 
 
 IX. — Identities of Style, -.-... 481 
 
 vii 
 
viii TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK II.— THE DEMONSTRATION. 
 PART I. 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 Chapter I. — How I Came to Look for a Cipher, - - - 505 
 
 II. — How I Became Certain There Was a Cipher, - - 516 
 
 III. — A Vain Search in the Common Editions, - - 545 
 
 IV. — The Great Folio of 1623, - 548 
 
 V. — Lost in the Wilderness, 565 
 
 VI. — The Cipher Found, - .... 575 
 
 PART II. 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Chapter I. — The Treasonable Play of Richard II., - - 619 
 II. — The Treasonable History of Henry IV., Written by Dr. 
 
 Hayward, ... ... 630 
 
 III. — The Cipher Explained, - - 639 
 
 IV. — Bacon Hears the Bad News, .... 670 
 
 V. — Cecil Tells the Story of Marlowe, .... 688 
 
 VI. — The Story of Shakspere's Youth, - - - 694 
 
 VII. — The Purposes of the Plays, - 702 
 
 VIII — The Queen Beats Hayward, ... - 709 
 
 IX. — Cecil Says Shakspere Did Not Write the Plays, - - 718 
 
 X. — Shakspere Incapable of Writing the Plays, - - 729 
 
 XL — Shakspere Wounded, ------ 732 
 
 XII. — Shakspere Carried to Prison, - 740 
 
 XIII. — The Youthful Shakspere Described, • - - 756 
 
 XIV. — The Bishop of Worcester and His Advice, - 762 
 
 XV. — Shakspere's Aristocratic Pretensions, - - - 770 
 
 XVI. — Shakspere's Sickness, ..... 784 
 
 XVII. — Shakspere the Model from which Bacon Drew the 
 
 Characters of Falstaff and Sir Tobie, - - 809 
 
 XVIII. — Sweet Ann Hathaway, ..... 826 
 
 XIX. — Bacon Overwhelmed, % - 844 
 
 XX. — The Queen's Orders to Find Shakspere, - - 854 
 
 XXI. — Fragments, .-.-.-- 870 
 
 XXI I.— A Word Personal, ...... 889 
 
 BOOK III.— CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 Chapter I.— Delia Bacon, - - .... 899 
 
 II. — William Henry Smith, - ... 9 i6 
 
 III. — The Baconians, ..-...-- 923 
 
 IV. — Other Masks of Bacon, ----- 939 
 
 V. — Francis Bacon, - - - .... 975 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 Francis Bacon — The True Shakespeare. After the portrait by Van Somer. 
 
 Frontispiece. 
 William Shakspere. Facsimile of the celebrated Droeshout portrait in the 
 
 1623 Folio, --------- 64 
 
 Ben Jonson. After the portrait by Oliver, - 96 
 
 Gorhambury. Bacon's residence, ----._ T 6 
 
 Sir Robert Cecil. -------- 193 
 
 f ac-simile of a page from the author's copy of the great folio, - 566 
 Letter of Lord Chancellor Verulam (Francis Bacon) to the University 
 
 of Cambridge. Facsimile, ------- 6S0 
 
 Queen Elizabeth. After the portrait in the collection of the Marquis of 
 
 Salisbury, -------- 712 
 
 Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex. After the portrait in the collection of 
 
 the Earl of Verulam, - - 632 
 
 William Henry Smith, - . 920 
 
 William D. O'Connor, -------- 928 
 
 Nathaniel Holmes, ...... 936 
 
 Mrs. Constance M. Pott, - - - - - 944 
 
 Dr. William Thomson. ._.... 950 
 
 Prof. Thomas Davidson, - - - 958 
 
 IX 
 
BOOK I. 
 THE ARGUMENT 
 
 "Nay; pray you come ; 
 Or if thou wilt hold further document, 
 Do it in note/." 
 
 Much Ado about Abthing, 11,3. 
 
•;T57T? 
 
 OF THE 
 
 i VNIYER81TY 
 
 PART I. 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT 
 WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE SHAKESPEARE 
 WRITINGS. 
 
 " From his cradle 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one." 
 
 Henry VIII., iz\ 2. 
 
 IT was formerly the universal belief, entertained even among the 
 critical, that the writings which go by the name of William 
 Shakespeare were the work of an untaught, unlearned man. 
 
 Addison compared Shakspere 1 to the agate in the ring of 
 Pyrrhus, which had the figure of Apollo and the nine Muses 
 pictured in the veins of the stone by the hand of Nature, without 
 any assistance from Art. 
 
 Voltaire regarded him as a " drunken savage." 
 Pope speaks of him as " a man of no education." 
 Richard Grant White says Shakspere was regarded, even 
 down to the time of Pope, as "this bewitching but untutored and 
 half-savage child of nature." 
 
 He was looked upon as a rustic-bred bard who sang as the 
 birds sing — a greater Burns, who, as Milton says, "warbled his 
 native wood-notes wild." 
 
 This view was in accordance with the declaration of Ben Jon- 
 son that he possessed " small Latin and less Greek," and the state- 
 
 1 Wherever reference is had in these pages to the man of Stratford the name will be spelled, 
 as he spelled it in his will, Shakspere. Wherever the reference is to the Plays, or to the real author 
 of the Plays, the name will be spelled Shakespeare, for that was the name on the title-pages of 
 quartos and folios. 
 
 13 
 
i 4 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 ment of old Fuller, in his Worthies, in 1622, that "his learning was 
 
 very little." 
 
 Fuller says: 
 
 Plautus was never any scholar, as doubtless our Shakespeare, if alive, would 
 confess himself. 
 
 Leonard Digges says: 
 
 The patterne of all wit, 
 Art without Art unparaleld as yet. 
 Next Nature onely helpt him, for looke thorow 
 This whole booke, thou shalt find he doth not borrow 
 One phrase from Greekes, nor Latines imitate, 
 Nor once from vulgar languages translate. 
 
 Rev. John Ward, Vicar of Stratford, writing forty-seven years 
 after Shakspere's death, and speaking the traditions of Stratford, 
 says: 
 
 I have heard that Mr. Shakespeare was a natural wit, tvithout any art at all. 
 
 Seventy odd years after Shakspere's death, Bentham, in his 
 
 State of the English Schools and Churches, says: 
 
 William Shakespeare was born at Stratford, in Warwickshire; his learning 
 was very little, and therefore it is more a matter for wonder that he should be a 
 very excellent poet. 1 
 
 But in the last fifty years this view is completely changed. 
 The critical world is now substantially agreed that the man who 
 wrote the plays was one of the most learned men of the world, not 
 only in that learning which comes from observation and reflection, 
 but in book-lore, ancient and modern, and in the knowledge of 
 many languages. 
 
 I. His Classical Learning. 
 
 Grant White admits: 
 
 He had as much learning as he had occasion to use, and even more. 2 
 
 It was at one time believed that the writer of the plays was 
 unable to read any of the Latin or Greek authors in the original 
 tongues, and that he depended altogether upon translations; but 
 such, it is now proved, was not the case. 
 
 The Comedy of Errors, which is little more than a repro- 
 duction of the Menoechmi of Plautus, first appeared at certain 
 
 1 Chap. 19. 2 White, Life and Genius of Shakespeare, p. 256. 
 
THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 *5 
 
 Christmas revels given by Bacon and his fellow lawyers, at 
 Gray's Inn, in 1594; while, says Halliwell, " the Menoechmi of 
 Plautus was not translated into English, or rather no English 
 translation of it was printed, before 1595." 
 
 " The greater part of the story of Timon was taken from the 
 untranslated Greek of Lucian." 1 
 
 " Shakespeare's plays," says White, 2 " show forty per cent of 
 Romance or Latin words, which is probably a larger proportion 
 than is now used by our best writers; certainly larger than is 
 heard from those who speak their mother tongue with spon- 
 taneous, idiomatic correctness." 
 
 We find in Twelfth Night these lines: 
 
 Like the Egyptian thief, at point of death, 
 Kill what I love. 3 
 
 This is an allusion to a story from Heliodorus' u'Ethiopics. I do 
 
 not know of any English translation of it in the time of Shakspere. 
 
 Holmes says: 
 
 The writer was a classical scholar. Rowe found traces in him of the Electra 
 of Sophocles; Colman, of Ovid; Pope, of Dares Phrygius, and other Greek 
 authors; Farmer, of Horace and Virgil; Malone, of Lucretius, Statius, Catullus, 
 Seneca, Sophocles, and Euripides; Stevens, of Plautus; Knight, of the Antig- 
 one of Sophocles; and White, of the Alcestis of Euripides. 4 
 
 White says: 
 
 His very frequent use of Latin derivatives in their radical sense shows a 
 somewhat thoughtful and observant study of that language. 5 
 
 White further says: 
 
 Where, even in Plutarch's pages, are the aristocratic republican tone and the 
 tough muscularity of mind, which characterized the Romans, so embodied as in 
 Shakespeare's Roman plays? Where, even in Homer's song, the subtle wisdom of 
 the crafty Ulysses, the sullen selfishness and conscious martial might of broad 
 Achilles; the blundering courage of thick-headed Ajax ; or the mingled gallantry 
 and foppery of Paris, so vividly portrayed as in Troilus and CreSsida ? 6 
 
 Knight says: 
 
 The marvelous accuracy, the real, substantial learning, of the three Roman 
 plays of Shakespeare present the most complete evidence to our minds that they 
 were the result of a profound study of the whole range of Roman history, in- 
 cluding the nicer details of Roman manners, not in those days to be acquired in « 
 compendious form, but to be brought out by diligent reading alone. 7 
 
 1 Holmes, A uthorship of Shakespeare, p. 57. 5 Life and Genius cf Shakespeare, p. 31. 
 
 2 Life and Genius cf Shakespeare , p. 216. 6 Ibid., p. 257. 
 
 3 Act v, scene 1. 7 Knight's Shak. Biography, p. 528. 
 
 4 Authorship of Shakespeare, p. 57. 
 
1 6 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 In his Roman plays he appears co-existent with his wonderful characters, and 
 to have read all the obscure pages of Roman history with a clearer eye than philosopher 
 or historian. When he employs Latinisms in the construction of his sentences, 
 and even in the creation of new words, he does so with singular facility and unerring 
 correctness. 1 
 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 In Antony and Cleopatra, Charmian suggests a game of billiards. But this 
 is not, as is supposed, an anachronism, for the human encyclopedia who wrote that 
 sentence appears to have known — what very few people know nowadays — that 
 the game of billiards is older than Cleopatra. 2 
 
 Whately 3 describes Shakespeare as possessed of " an amazing 
 genius which could pervade all nature at a glance, and to whom 
 nothing within the limits of the universe appears to be unknown." 
 
 A recent writer says, speaking of the resemblance between the 
 
 Eumenides of ^Eschylus and the Hamlet of Shakespeare: 
 
 The plot is so similar that we should certainly have credited the English poet 
 with copying it, if he could have read Greek. . . . The common elements are 
 indeed remarkable. Orestes and Hamlet have both to avenge a beloved father 
 who has fallen a victim to the guilty passion of an unfaithful wife; in each case the 
 adulterer has ascended the throne; and a claim of higher than mere mortal 
 authority demands his punishment; for the permitted return of Hamlet's father 
 from the world beyond the grave may be set beside the command of Apollo to 
 Orestes to become the executive of the wrath of Heaven. 4 
 
 Knight 5 sees evidence that Shakespeare was a close student of 
 the works of Plato. 
 
 Alexander Schmidt, in his lexicon, under the word Adonis, quotes 
 
 the following lines from Shakespeare: 
 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 
 
 That one day bloomed and fruitful were the next. 6 
 
 Upon which Schmidt comments: 
 
 Perhaps confounded with the garden of King Alcinous in the Odyssey? 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 No mention of any such garden in the classic writings of Greece and Rome is 
 known to scholars. 
 
 But the writer of the plays, who, we are told, was no scholar, 
 
 had penetrated more deeply into the lassie writings than his learned 
 
 critics; and a recent commentator, James D. Butler, has found out 
 
 the source of this allusion. He says: 
 
 1 Knight's Shak. Biography, p. 528. 6 Knight's Shak., note 6, act v, Merchant of Venice. 
 
 2 Some Shak. Commentators, p. 35. 6 1st Henry 17., i, 6. 
 8 Shah. Myth., p. 82. » v jj ( 1I7 _ I2 6. 
 
 4 Julia Wedgewood. 
 
THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE PLAYS. 17 
 
 This couplet must have been suggested by Plato. (Phaedrus, p. 276.) The 
 translation is Jowett's — that I may not be suspected of warping the original to fit 
 my theory: 
 
 Would a husbandman, said Socrates, who is a man of sense, take the seeds, 
 which he values and which he wishes to be fruitful, and in sober earnest plant 
 them during the heat of summer, in some garden of Adonis, that he may rejoice 
 when he sees them in eight days appearing in beauty? Would he not do that, if 
 at all, to please the spectators at a festival? But the seeds about which he is in 
 earnest he sows in fitting soil, and practices husbandry, and is satisfied if in eight 
 months they arrive at perfection. 1 
 
 Here we clearly have the original of the disputed passage: 
 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' gardens, 
 
 That one day bloomed and fruitful were the next. 
 
 Judge Holmes 2 finds the original of the expression, "the mind's 
 
 eye," in Plato, who uses precisely the same phrase. He also thinks 
 
 the passage of Plato, — 
 
 While begetting and rearing children, and handing in succession from some to 
 others life like a torch, and even paying, according to law, worship to the gods, — 
 
 gave the hint for the following lines in Measure for Measure: 
 
 Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, 
 Not light them for ourselves. 
 
 He also finds in Plato the original of Lear's phrase, " this same 
 
 Earned Theban." 
 
 Knight thinks the expression, — 
 
 Were she as rough 
 As the swelling Adriatic seas, 3 — 
 
 was without doubt taken from Horace, 4 "of whose odes there was no 
 
 translation in the sixteenth century." 
 
 The grand lines in Macbeth, — 
 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 
 The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! — 
 
 are traced to Catullus. I give the translation of another: 
 
 Soles occidere et redire pos stint. 
 Nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux, 
 Nox est perpetuo una dor?nienda. 
 
 (The lights of heaven go out and return. 
 When once our brief candle goes out, 
 One night is to be perpetually slept.) 
 
 That beautiful thought in Hamlet, — 
 
 And from her unpolluted flesh 
 May violets spring, 5 — 
 
 1 Shakespeariana, May, 1886, p. 230. 3 Taming of the Shrew, i, 2. 5 Act v, scene 1. 
 
 2 A uthorship of Shakespeare, p. 396. 4 Ode xix, book iii. 
 
1 8 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 seems to have had its original in the lines of Persius: 
 
 Nunc levior cippus non imprimit ossa, 
 Laudat posteritas, nunc non e manibus ittis, 
 Nunc non e tumulo fortunataque favilla 
 Nascuntur violce ? l — 
 
 which has been translated: 
 
 Will a less tomb, composed of smaller stones, 
 Press with less weight upon the under bones? 
 Posterity may praise them, why, what though? 
 Can yet their manes such a gift bestow 
 As to make violets from their ashes grow? 
 
 W. O. Follett (Sandusky, Ohio), in his pamphlet, Addendum 
 to Who Wrote Shakespeare, quotes 2 a remark of the brothers 
 Langhorne in the preface to their translation of the Lives of Plu- 
 tarch, to this effect: 
 
 It is said by those who are not willing to allow Shakspere much learning, that 
 he availed himself of the last mentioned translation [of Plutarch, by Thomas 
 North]. But they seem to forget that, in order to support their arguments of this 
 kind, it is necessary for them to prove that Plato, too, was translated into English 
 at the same time; for the celebrated soliloquy, " To be or not to be," is taken 
 almost verbatim from that philosopher; yet we have never found that Plato was 
 translated in those times. 
 
 Mrs. Pott has shown in her great work 3 that very many of the 
 Latin quotations found in Francis Bacon's sheets of notes and 
 memoranda, preserved in the British Museum, and called his Pro- 
 mus of Formularies and Elegancies, are either transferred bodily to 
 the plays or worked over in new forms. It follows, therefore, that 
 the writer of the Plays must have read the authors from whom 
 Bacon culled these sentences, or have had access to Bacon's manu- 
 script notes, or that he was Bacon himself. 
 
 In the Promus notes we find the proverb 9 "Diluculo surgere sa/it- 
 berrimum." 
 
 Sir Toby Belch says to Sir Andrew Aguecheek: 
 
 Approach, Sir Andrew; not to be a-bed after midnight is to be up betimes, 
 and diluculo stirgere, thou knowest. 4 
 
 Again: 
 
 Qui dissimulat liber non est. (He who dissembles is not free.) 5 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 The dissembler is a slave, 6 
 
 1 Sat. i. 3 Promus, pp. 31-38. 5 Promus notes, folio 83 C. 
 
 4 Page 7. 4 Twelfth Night, ii, 3. 6 Pericles, i, 1. 
 
THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE PLAYS. 19 
 
 Again, in the Promus notes, we have: 
 
 Divitice impedimenta virtu tis. (The baggage of virtue.) 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I cannot call riches better than the baggage of virtue. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 If thou art rich, thou'rt poor; 
 For, like an ass whose back with ingots bows, 
 Thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, 
 Till death unloads thee. 1 
 
 Again: 
 
 Mors et fugacem persequitur virum. (Death pursues even the man that flies 
 from him.) 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Away! for death doth hold us in pursuit. 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 Mors omnia solvit. (Death dissolves all things.) 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Let heaven dissolve my life. 3 
 And again: 
 Hoc solum scio, quod nihil scio. (This only I know, that I know nothing.) 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 The wise man knows himself to be a fool. 4 
 Again: 
 Tela honoris tenerior. (The stuff of which honor is made is rather tender.) 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 The tender honor of a maid. 5 
 
 Again: 
 
 Tranquillo qui libet gubernator. — Eras. Ad. 4496. (Any one can be a pilot in 
 fine weather.) 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Nay, mother, 
 Where is your ancient courage? You were used 
 To say, extremity was the trier of spirits; 
 That common chances common men could bear; 
 That when the sea was calm all boats alike 
 Showed mastership in floating. 6 
 
 1 Measure /or Measure, iii, i. 4 As You Like It, v, i. 
 
 13d Henry VI., ii, 5. 5 All's Well that Ends Well, iii, 5. 
 
 8 Antony and Cleopatra, iii, 2. 6 Coriolanus, iv, 1. 
 
2o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 Again: 
 
 In aliquibus manetur quia Hon datur rvgressus. (In some [places] one has 
 to remain because there is no getting back.) ' 
 
 And in Shakespeare we find: 
 
 I am in blood 
 Stepped in so far, that, should I wade no more, 
 Returning were as easy as go o'er.' 2 
 
 Again: 
 
 Frigus adurit. (Cold parches.) 
 
 And Shakespeare says: 
 
 Frost itself as actively doth burn. 3 
 Again: 
 Anosce teipsiu. (Know thyself.) 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Mistress, know yourself. 4 
 He knows nothing who knows not himself. 5 
 That fool knows not himself. 6 
 
 I could cite many other similar instances, but these will doubt- 
 less be sufficient to satisfy the reader. 
 
 II. His Knowledge of the Modern Languages. 
 
 It furthermore now appears that the writer of the plays was 
 versed in the languages and literature of France, Italy, and even 
 Spain; while he had some familiarity with the annals and tongues 
 of Northern Europe. 
 
 As to the French, whole pages of the plays are written in that 
 language. 7 
 
 His knowledge of Italian is clearly proved. 
 
 The story of Othello was taken from the Italian of Cinthio's II Capitano More, 
 of which no translation is known to have existed; the tale of Cymbeline was drawn 
 from an Italian novel of Boccaccio, not known to have been translated into English, 
 and the like is true of other plays. 8 
 
 Richard Grant White 9 conclusively proves that the writer of 
 Othello had read the Orlando Furioso in the original Italian; that the 
 very words are borrowed as well as the thought; and that the 
 
 1 Promns notes, No. 1361. 6 Troilus and Cressida, ii, 1. 
 
 • Macbeth, iii, 4. Henry J'. 
 
 8 Hamlet, iii, 4. 8 Holmes, Authorship of Shakespeare, p. 58. 
 
 * As You Like It, iv, 1. 9 Life and Genius of Shakespeare, p. 35. 
 6 A IPs Well that Ends Well, ii, 4. 
 
R8ITY 
 
 s 
 
 THE LEARNING RE VEALED IX THE PLA VS. 2 1 
 
 author adhered to the expressions in the Italian where the only 
 translation then in existence had departed from them. The 
 same high authority also shows that in the famous passage, 
 " Who steals my purse steals trash," etc., the writer of Othello 
 borrowed from the Orlando Innatnorato of Berni, "of which poem to 
 this day there is no English version.'' 
 
 The plot of the comedy of Twelfth Night; oh\ What You Will, is 
 drawn from two Italian comedies, both having the same title, 
 GVInganni (The Cheats), both published before the date of Shake- 
 speare's play, and which Shakespeare must have read in the original 
 Italian, as there were, I believe, no English translations of them. 
 
 The Two Gentlemen of Verona is supposed to have been written 
 several years before 1598, the year when Bartholomew Yonge's 
 translation of the Diana of Jorge de Montemayor was published in 
 England; and Halliwell believes that there are similarities between 
 Shakespeare's play and Montemayor's romance "too minute to be 
 accidental." If this is the case we must conclude that Shakespeare 
 either read some translation of the romance in manuscript before 
 1598, or else that he read it in the original. Says Halliwell: 
 
 The absolute origin of the entire plot has possibly to be discovered in some 
 Italian novel. The error in the first folio of Padua for Milan, in act ii, scene 5, has 
 perhaps to be referred to some scene in the original novel. Tieck mentions an old 
 German play founded on a tale similar to The Two Gentlemen of Verona; but it has 
 not yet been made accessible to English students, and we have no means of 
 ascertaining how far the resemblance extends. 
 
 It further appears that Shakespeare found the original of The 
 Merchant of Venice in an untranslated Italian novel. Mr. Collier says: 
 
 In the novel II Pecorone of Giovanni Fiorentino, the lender of the money 
 (under very similar circumstances, and the wants of the Christian borrower arising 
 out of nearly the same events) is a Jew; and there also we have the 
 
 equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 The words in the Italian are li chel Giudeo gli potesse levare una libra di came 
 d'addosso di qualumque luogo e' voiesse," which are so nearly like those of 
 Shakespeare as to lead us to believe that he followed here some literal translation 
 of the novel in // Pecorone. None such has, however, reached our time, and the 
 version we have printed at the foot of the Italian was made and published 
 in 1765. ! 
 
 Mrs. Pott, in her great work, calls attention to the following 
 
 1 Introduction to the Adventures of Gianetta, Shakespeare's Library, part i, vol. i, p. 315. 
 
22 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA VS. 
 
 Italian proverb, and the parallel passage in Lear. No one can doubt 
 
 that the former suggested the latter: 
 
 Non far cib che tu puoi; 
 Non spender cib che tu hai; 
 Non creder cib che tu odi; 
 Non dir cib che tu sat. ' 
 
 (Do less than thou canst; 
 Spend less than thou hast; 
 Believe less than thou hearest; 
 Say less than thou knowest.) 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Have more than thou showest, 
 Speak more than thou knowest, 
 Lend less than thou owest, 
 Ride more than thou goest, 
 Learn more than thou trowest.' 2 
 
 And, again, the same author calls attention to the following 
 Italian proverb and parallel passage: 
 
 II savio fa della necessita virtu. (The wise man makes a virtue of necessity.) s 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Are you content to make a virtue of necessity ? 4 
 
 The same author calls attention to numerous instances where 
 
 the author of the plays borrowed from Spanish proverbs. I select 
 
 one of the most striking: 
 
 Desque naci I lore ye cada dia nace porque. (When I was born I cried, and every 
 day shows why.) 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 When we are born we cry, that we are come 
 To this great stage of fools. 5 
 
 In Love's Labor Lost 6 we find the author quoting part of an 
 Italian proverb: 
 
 Vinegia, Vinegia, 
 
 Chi non ti vede ei non ti pregia. 
 
 The proverb is: 
 
 Veaetia, Venetia, chi non tivede, non ti pregia , 
 Ala chi t'ha troppo veduto ti dispregia. 
 
 The plot of Hamlet was taken from Saxo Grammaticus, the 
 Danish historian, of whom, says Whately, writing in 1748, "no 
 
 1 Protuus, p. 524. 3 Promus, p. 525. 5 Lear, iv, 6. 
 
 * Lear, i, 6. 4 T11J0 Grntlejuen of Verona x iv, 1. 6 Act iv, scene 2. 
 
THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE PLAYS. 23 
 
 translation hath yet been made." 1 So that it would appear the 
 author of Hamlet must have read the Danish chronicle in the orig- 
 inal tongue. 
 
 Dr. Herman Brunnhofer, Dr. Benno Tschischwitz (in his Shake- 
 speare Forschungen) and Rev. Bovvechier Wrey Savile 2 all unite in 
 believing that the writer of Hamlet was familiar with the works of 
 Giordano Bruno, who visited England, 1583 to 1586; and that the 
 words of Hamlet, 3 " If the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being 
 a god kissing carrion," etc., are taken from Bruno's Spaccio delta 
 Bestia Trionfante. Furthermore, that the author of Hamlet was 
 familiar with " the atomic theory" of the ancients. And the Rev. 
 Bowechier Wrey Savile says: 
 
 Inasmuch as neither Bruno's Spaccio, nor the fragments of Parmenides' poem, 
 On Nature, which have come down to us, were known in an English dress at the 
 beginning of the seventeenth century (Toland's translation of Bruno's Spaccio did 
 not appear until 1713), it would seem to show that the author of Hamlet must have 
 been acquainted with both Greek and Italian, as was the case with the learned 
 Francis Bacon. 
 
 III. A Scholar Even in His Youth. 
 
 The evidences of scholarship mark the earliest as well as the 
 latest works of the great poet; in fact, they are more observable in 
 the works of his youth than in those of middle life. Even the 
 writers who have least doubt as to the Shaksperean authorship of 
 the plays admit this fact. 
 
 White says the early plays show "A mind fresh from academic 
 studies." 4 
 
 Speaking of the early plays, Prof. Dowden finds among their 
 characteristics: 
 
 Frequency of classical allusions, frequency of puns and conceits, wit and image- 
 ry drawn out in detail to the point of exhaustion. ... In Love' s Labor Lost the 
 arrangement is too geometrical; the groupings are artificial, not organic or vital. 
 
 Coleridge was of opinion that 
 
 A young author's first work almost always bespeaks his recent pursuits. 
 
 And, hence, he concludes that 
 
 The habits of William Shakespeare had been scholastic and those of a student. 
 
 The scholarship of the writer of the plays and his familiarity 
 
 with the Latin language are also shown in the use of odd and 
 
 1 A u Inquiry into the Learning of Shakespeare. 3 Act ii, scene i. 
 
 2 Shakespcariana, Oct., 1884, p. 312. 4 White, Shakespeare" s Genius, p. 257. 
 
24 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NO T WRITE THE PLA VS. 
 
 extraordinary words, many of them coined by himself, and such 
 as would not naturally occur to an untaught genius, familiar with 
 no language but his own. I give a few specimens: 
 
 Rubrous, Twelfth Night, i, 4. Evitate, Merry Wives of Windsor, v, 5. 
 
 Pendulous, King Lear, iii, 4. Imbost, Antony and Cleopatra, iv, 3. 
 
 Abortive, Richard III, i, 2. Disnatured, King Tear, i, 4. [ii, 1. 
 
 Cautelous, Julius Cccsar, ii, I. Inaidable, All's Well That Ends Well, 
 
 Cautel, Hamlet, i, 3. Unsuppressive, Julitis Ccesar, ii, 1. 
 Deracinate, Troilus and Cressida, i, 3; Oppugnancy, Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 
 
 Henry V., v, 2. Enskied, Measure for Measure, i, 5. 
 
 Surcease, Macbeth, i, 7. Legerity, Hemy V., iv, 1. 
 
 Recordation, id Henry IV., ii, 3. Propinquity, King Lear, i, 1. 
 
 En wheel, Othello, ii, 1. Credent, Hamlet, i, 3. 
 
 Armipotent, All's Well That Ends Well, Sluggardised, The Two Gentlemen of 
 
 iv, 3. Ve?'ona, i, I. 
 
 Knight says, speaking of the word expedient: 1 
 
 Expedient. The word properly means, "that disengages itself from all entan- 
 glements." To set at liberty the foot which was held fast is exped-ire. Shakspere 
 always uses this word in strict accordance with its derivation, as, in truth, he does 
 most words that may be called learned} 
 
 Knight 3 also notes the fact that he uses the word reduce in 
 the Latin sense, "to bring back." 
 
 IV. His Universal Learning. 
 
 The range of his studies was not confined to antique tongues 
 and foreign languages. He must have read all the books of travel 
 which grew out of that age of sea-voyages and explorations. 
 
 Dr. Brinton 4 points out that the idea of Ariel having been 
 pegged in the knotty entrails of an oak until freed by Prospero 
 was borrowed from the mythology of the Yurucares, a South 
 American tribe of Indians, in which the first men were confined in 
 the heart of an enormous bole, until the god Tiri let them out by 
 cleaving it in twain. He further claims that Caliban is undoubt- 
 edly the word Carib, often spelt Caribani and Calibani in olden 
 writers; and his "dam's god, Setebvs," was the supreme deity of the 
 Patagonians, when first visited by Magellan. 
 
 In The Merchant of Venice we read: 
 
 Bring them, I pray thee, with imagined speed, 
 Unto the tranect, to the common ferry. 5 
 
 1 King John, ii, 1. 2 Knight's Shak., i History, p. 24. 3 Richard III., v, 4. 
 
 4 Myths of the New World, p. 240, note. 5 Act iii, scene 5. 
 
THE LEARNING REVEALED IN THE PLAYS. 25 
 
 Of this word Knight says: 
 
 No other example is found of the use of this word in English, and yet there is 
 little doubt that the word is correct. T7-anare and trainare are interpreted by 
 Florio not only as to draw \ which is the common acceptation, but as to pass or swim 
 over. Thus the tranect was most probably the tow-boat of the ferry. x 
 
 In King John we have: 
 
 Now, by my life, this day grows wondrous hot; 
 Some airy devil hovers in the sky, 
 And pours down mischief. 2 
 
 Collier changed airy to fiery, "which, we may be sure," he says, 
 "was the word of the poet." But Knight turns to Burton and 
 shows that he described "aerial spirits or devils, who keep most 
 quarter in the air, and cause many tempests, thunder and light- 
 ning," etc. And he also referred to the fact that " Paul to the 
 Ephesians called them forms of the air.** Knight adds: 
 
 Shakspere knew this curious learning from the schoolmen, but the correctors 
 knew nothing about it. 
 
 We have another instance, in the following, where the great 
 
 poet knew a good deal more than his commentators. 
 
 In Romeo and Juliet he says: 
 
 Are you at leisure, holy Father, now; 
 
 Or shall I come to you at evening mass ? 3 
 
 Upon this Richard Grant White says: 
 
 If he became a member of the Church of Rome it must have been after he 
 wrote Romeo and Juliet, in which he speaks of " evening mass; " for the humblest 
 member of that church knows that there is no mass at vespers. 4 
 
 But we have the authority of the learned Cardinal Bona that 
 the name mass was given to the morning and evening prayers 
 of the Christian soldiers. Salvazzio states that the name was 
 given to the lectures or lessons in matins. In the " Rule of 
 St. Aurelian " it is stated that at Christmas and on the Epiphany 
 six masses are to be read at matins, from the prophet Isaiah, and six 
 from the gospel; whilst on the festivals of martyrs the first mass is 
 to be read from the acts of the martyrs. In his rule for nuns the 
 same holy Bishop tells them that, as the nights are long, they may 1 
 recite three masses at the lectern. As the female sex could not 
 act as priests, it is plain that the word mass was formerly the 
 
 1 Knight's Shak. Com., p. 240. 3 Act iv, scene r. 
 
 2 Act iii, scene 2. 4 Life and Genius of Shak., p. 187. 
 
26 WILLIAM SLLAKSPERE DLD NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 synonym for prayers, and did not mean, as nowadays, exclusively 
 the great sacrifice of the church; and therefore " evening mass " 
 simply means the evening service. In fact, as Bishop Clifford 
 shows, the word mass or, as it was written in Anglo-Saxon, 
 masse, came to be regarded as the synonym for feast ; hence, 
 Candlemas, lammas, Michaelmas, etc., are the feast of candles, the 
 feast of loaves, the feast of St. Michael, etc. " Moreover, mass 
 being the chief religious service of the Catholic Church, the word 
 came to be used in the sense of church service in general. Evening- 
 mass means evening service or vespers." 
 
 What a curious reaching-out for facts, in a day barren of 
 encyclopaedias, is shown in these lines: 
 
 Adrian. Widow Dido, said you? You make me study of that: she was of 
 Carthage, not of Tunis. 
 
 Gonzalo. This Tunis, sir, was Carthage. 
 
 Adrian. Carthage? 
 
 Gonzalo, I assure you, Carthage. 1 
 
 V. Our Conclusion. 
 
 We commence our argument, therefore, with this proposition: 
 The author of the plays, whoever he may have been, was unques- 
 tionably a profound scholar and most laborious student. He had 
 read in their own tongues all the great, and some of the obscure 
 writers of antiquity; he was familiar with the languages of the 
 principal nations of Europe; his mind had compassed all the learn- 
 ing of his time and of preceding ages; he had pored over the 
 pages of French and Italian novelists; he had read the philosoph- 
 ical utterances of the great thinkers of Greece and Rome; and he 
 had closely considered the narrations of the explorers who were 
 just laying bare the secrets of new islands and continents. It has 
 been justly said that the plays could not have been written with- 
 out a library, and cannot, to-day, be studied without one. To 
 their proper elucidation the learning of the whole world is neces- 
 sary. Goethe says of the writer of the plays: "He drew a sponge 
 over the table of human knowledge." 
 
 We pass, then, to the question, Did William Shakspere possess 
 such a vast mass of information? — could he have possessed it? 
 
 1 Tempest, ii, i. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Touchstone. Art thou learned ? 
 
 William. No, sir. 
 
 Touchstone. Then learn this of me : to have is to have. 
 
 As You Like It, v, i. 
 
 TT must not be forgotten that the world of three hundred years 
 ago was a very different world from that of to-day. 
 A young man, at the present time, can receive in the backwoods 
 of the United States, or Canada, or in the towns of Australia, an 
 education which Cambridge and Oxford could not have afforded 
 to the noblemen of England in the sixteenth century. That tre- 
 mendous educator, the daily press, had then no existence. Now 
 it comes to almost every door, bringing not only the news of the 
 whole world, but an abstract of the entire literary and scientific 
 knowledge of the age. 
 
 I. England in the Sixteenth Century. 
 
 Three hundred years ago the English-speaking population of the 
 world was confined almost altogether to the island of Great Britain, 
 and the refinement and culture of the island scarcely extended 
 beyond a few towns and the universities. London was the great 
 center, not only of politics, but of literature and courtly manners. 
 The agricultural population and the yeomanry of the smaller 
 towns were steeped to the lips in ignorance, rude and barbarous 
 in their manners, and brutal in their modes of life. 
 
 They did not even speak the same language. Goadby tells us 
 that, when the militia met from the different counties to organize 
 resistance to the invasion of the Spaniards, 
 
 It was hard to catch the words of command, so pronounced were the different 
 dialects. 1 
 
 Simpson says : 
 
 If cattle-driving was to be interpreted as levying war, all England at harvest 
 tide was in a state of warfare. The disputes about tithes and boundaries were 
 
 1 Goadby, England of Shak., p. 83. 
 
28 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 then usually settled by bands of armed men, and the records of the Star-Chamber 
 swarm with such cases. 1 
 
 The cots or dwellings of the humble classes in Shakspere's time 
 were, as the haughty Spaniard wrote, in the retgn of Elizabeth's 
 sister, built "of sticks and dirt." 
 
 "People," says Richard Grant White, "corresponding in posi- 
 tion to those whose means and tastes would now insure them as 
 much comfort in their homes as a king has in his palace, and even 
 simple elegance beside, then lived in houses which in their best 
 estate would seem at the present day rude, cheerless and confined, 
 to any man not bred in poverty." 2 
 
 II. Stratford in the Time of Shakspere. 
 
 The lives of the people were coarse, barren and filthy. 
 
 Thorold Rogers says: 
 
 In the absence of all winter roots and herbs, beyond a few onions, a diet of 
 salted provisions, extending over so long a period, would be sure to engender 
 disease; . . . and, as a matter of fact, scurvy and leprosy, the invariable results of 
 an unwholesome diet, were endemic, the latter malignant and infectious in 
 medieval England. The virulence of these diseases, due in the first instance to 
 unwholesome food, was aggravated by the inconceivably filthy habits of the people* 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 Stratford then contained about fifteen hundred inhabitants, who dwelt chiefly 
 in thatched cottages, which straggled over the ground, too near together for rural 
 beauty, too far apart to seem snug and neighborly; and scattered through the 
 gardens and orchards around the best of these were neglected stables, cow-yards 
 and sheep-cotes. Many of the meaner houses were without chimneys or glazed 
 windows. The streets were cumbered with logs and blocks, and foul with offal, 
 mud, muck-heaps and reeking stable refuse, the accumulation of which the town 
 ordinances and the infliction of fines could not prevent even before the doors of the 
 better sort of people. The very first we hear of John Shakespeare himself, in 1552, 
 is that he and a certain Humphrey Reynolds and Adrian Quiney " fecerunt 
 sterquinarium," in the quarter called Henley Street, against the order of the court; 
 for which dirty piece of business they were "in misericordiaf as they well 
 deserved. But the next year John Shakespeare and Adrian Quiney repeated the 
 unsavory offense, and this time in company with the bailiff himself. 4 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 The sanitary condition of the thoroughfares of Stratford-on-Avon was, to our 
 present notions, simply terrible. Under-surface drainage of every kind was then 
 an unknown art in the district. There was a far greater amount of moisture in 
 the land than would now be thought possible, and streamlets of water-power suffi- 
 
 1 School of Shak., vol. i, p. 60. 3 Work and Wages, Thorold Rogers, p. 96. 
 
 2 Life and Genius ofShak., p. 17. 4 Life and Genius of S/iak., p. 21. 
 
THE EDUCATION OE WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 2 g 
 
 cient for the operation of corn-mills meandered through the town. This general 
 humidity intensified the evils arising from the want of scavengers, or other effect- 
 ive appliances for the preservation of cleanliness. House-slops were recklessly 
 thrown into ill-kept channels that lined the sides of unmetaled roads; pigs and 
 geese too often reveled in the puddles and ruts, while here and there were small 
 middens, ever in the course of accumulation, the receptacles of offal and of every 
 species of nastiness. A regulation for the removal of these collections to certain 
 specified localities, interspersed through the borough and known as common 
 dung-hills, appears to have been the extent of the interference that the authorities 
 ventured or cared to exercise in such matters. Sometimes when the nuisance was 
 thought to be sufficiently flagrant, they made a raid on those inhabitants who had 
 suffered their refuse to accumulate largely in the highways. On one of these 
 occasions ; in April, 1552, John Shakespeare was fined the sum of twelve pence for 
 having amassed what was no doubt a conspicuous sterquinarium before his house 
 in Henley Street, and under these unsavory circumstances does the history of the 
 poet's father commence in the records of England. It is sad to be compelled to 
 admit that there was little excuse for his negligence, one of the public stores of filth 
 being within a stone's throto of his residence. ' 
 
 The people of Stratford were densely ignorant. At the time of 
 Shakspere's birth, only six aldermen of the town, out of nineteen, 
 could write their names; and of the thirteen who could not read or 
 write, Shakspere's father, John Shakspere, was one. 
 
 Knight says: 
 
 We were reluctant to yield our assent to Malone's assertion that Shakspere's 
 father had a mark to himself. The marks are not distinctly affixed to each name 
 in this document. But subsequent discoveries establish the fact that he used two 
 marks — one something like an open pair of compasses, the other the common cross.' 2 
 
 III. Shakspere's Family Totally Uneducated. 
 
 Shakspere's whole family were illiterate. He was the first of 
 his race we know of who was able to read and write. His father and 
 mother, grandfathers and grandmothers, aunts and cousins — all 
 signed their names, on the few occasions when they were obliged 
 to sign them, with crosses. His daughter Judith could not read 
 or write. The whole population around him were in the same 
 condition. 
 
 The highest authority upon these questions says: 
 
 Exclusive of Bibles, church services, psalters and educational manuals, there 
 were certainly not more than two or three dozen oooks, if so many, in the whole 
 town. 
 
 The copy of the black-letter English History, so often depicted as well thumbed 
 by Shakespeare, in his father's parlor, never existed out of the imagination. 3 
 
 1 Outlines Life ofShak., p. 18. 2 Knight's Skak. Biography, p. 17. 
 
 3 Halliwell-Phillipps, Life ofShak., p. 42. 
 
3° 
 
 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 Goadby says: 
 
 The common people were densely ignorant. They had to pick up their 
 mother tongue as best they could. The first English grammar was not published 
 until 1586. [This was after Shakspere had finished his education.] It is evident 
 that much schooling was impossible, for the necessary books did not exist. The 
 horn-book for teaching the alphabet would almost exhaust the resources of any common 
 day schools that might exist in the towns and villages. Little if any English was 
 
 TAUGHT EVEN IN THE LOWER CLASSES OF THE GRAMMAR SCHOOLS. 1 
 
 Prof. Thorold Rogers says: 
 
 Sometimes perhaps, in the days after the Reformation, a more than ordinarily 
 opulent ecclesiastic, having no family ties, would train up some clever rustic child, 
 teach him and help him on to the university. But, as a rule, since that event, 
 there was no educated person in the parish beyond the parson, and he had the anxieties 
 of a narrow fortune and a numerous family. 2 
 
 The Rev John Shaw, who was temporary chaplain in a village 
 
 in Lancashire in 1644, tells of an old man of sixty years of age, 
 
 whose whole knowledge of Jesus Christ had been derived from a 
 
 miracle play "'Oh, sir,' said he, 'I think I heard of that man 
 
 you speak of once in a play at Kendall called Corpus ChrisH 
 
 Play where there was a man on a tree and blood ran down. 9 " 
 
 IV. The Universities of That Day. 
 
 Even the universities were not such schools as the name would 
 
 to-day imply. 
 
 The state of education was almost as unsettled as that of religion. The Uni- 
 versities of Cambridge and Oxford were thronged with poor scholars, and eminent 
 professors taught in the schools and colleges. But the Reformation had made sad 
 havoc with their buildings and libraries, and the spirit of amusement had affected 
 their studies. 3 
 
 The students turned much more readily to dissipation than to 
 literature. In the year 1570, the scholars of Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge, consumed 2,250 barrels of beer! 4 
 
 The knowledge of Greek had sensibly declined, but Latin was still cultivated 
 with considerable success. 5 
 
 The number of scholars of the university fit for schoolmasters was small. 
 "Whereas they make one scholar they n.arre ten," averred Peacham, who describes 
 one specimen as whipping his boys on a cold morning "for no other purpose than 
 to get himself a heate." 6 
 
 The country swarmed to such an extent with scholars of the 
 universities, who made a living as beggars, that Parliament had to 
 interfere against the nuisance. By the act of 14th Elizabeth, "all 
 
 1 Goadby, England of Slink. , p. 101. 3 Goadby, England, p. 97. 5 Ibid., p. 97. 
 
 2 Rogers, Work and linages, p. 85. * Ibid., p. 73. 6 Ibid., p. 99. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SUA K SP ERE. 31 
 
 scholars of the Universities of Oxford or Cambridge that go about 
 begging, not being authorized under the seal of said universities," 
 are declared "vagabonds," and punishable as such. 
 
 V. "A Bookless Neighborhood." 
 
 If this was the condition of the two great "twins of learning," 
 sole centers of light in the darkness of a barbarous age, we can 
 readily conceive what must have been the means of public educa- 
 tion in the dirty little hamlet of Stratford, with its fifteen hundred 
 untaught souls, its two hundred and fifty householders, and its 
 illiterate officials. 
 
 It was, as Halliwell-Phillipps has called it, "a bookless neigh- 
 borhood." 
 
 We have the inventory of the personal property of Robert 
 Arden, Shakspere's mother's father, and the inventory of the per- 
 sonal property of Agnes Arden, his widow, and the will of the 
 same Agnes Arden, and any number of other wills, but in them all, 
 in the midst of a plentiful array of "oxenne," "kyne," "sheepe," 
 "pigges," "basons," "chafyng dyches," "toweles and dyepers," 
 "shettes," "frying panes," "gredyerenes," "barrelles," "hansaws," 
 "knedyng troghs," "poringers," "sawcers," "pott-hookes," and 
 "linkes," we do not find reference to a single book, not even to a 
 family Bible or a prayer-book. Everything speaks of a rude, coarse 
 and unintellectual people. Here is an extract from the will of 
 Agnes Arden, Shakspere's grandmother: 
 
 I geve to the said Jhon Hill my best platter of the best sort, and my best 
 platter of the second sorte, and j poringer, one sawcer and one best candlesticke. 
 And I also give to the said Jhon one paire of sheetes. I give to the said Jhon 
 my second pot, my best pan, . . . and one cow with the white rump. 
 
 "One John Shakspeare, of Budbrook, near Warwick, considered 
 
 it a sufficient mark of respect to his father-in-law to leave him 'his 
 
 best boots.' " 1 
 
 VI. A Gross Improbability. 
 
 It would indeed be a miracle if out of this vulgar, dirty, illiter- 
 ate family came the greatest genius, the profoundest thinker, the 
 broadest scholar that has adorned the annals of the human race. 
 It is possible. It is scarcely probable. 
 
 1 Outlines Life of Shak., p. 183. 
 
32 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 Professor Grant Allen, writing in the Science Monthly of March 
 1882 (p. 591), and speaking of the life of Sir Charles Lyell, says: 
 
 Whence did he come? What conditions went to beget him? From what 
 stocks were his qualities derived, and why ? These are the questions that must 
 henceforth always be first asked when we have to deal with the life of any great 
 man. For we have now learned that a great man is no unaccountable accident, no 
 chance result of a toss-up on the part of nature, but simply the highest outcome 
 and final efflorescence of many long ancestral lines, converging at last toward a 
 single happy combination. 
 
 Herbert Spencer says: 
 
 If you assume that two European parents may produce a negro child, or that 
 from woolly-haired prognathous Papuans may come a fair, straight-haired infant 
 of Caucasian type, you may assume that the advent of the great man can occur 
 anywhere and under any circumstances. If, disregarding these accumulated 
 results of experience which current proverbs and the generalizations of psycholo- 
 gists alike express, you suppose that a Newton might be born in a Hottentot 
 family; that a Milton might spring up among the Andamanese; that a Howard or a 
 Clarkson might have Fiji parents: then you may proceed with facility to explain 
 social progress as caused by the actions of the great man. But if all biological 
 science, enforcing all popular belief, convinces you that by no possibility will an 
 Aristotle come from a father and mother with facial angles of fifty degrees; and 
 that out of a tribe of cannibals, whose chorus in preparation for a feast of human 
 flesh is a kind of rhythmical roaring, there is not the remotest chance of a 
 Beethoven arising: then you must admit that the genesis of the great man depends 
 on the long series of complex influences which has produced the race in which he 
 appears, and the social state into which that race has slowly grown. 
 
 And it is to this social state, to this squalid village, that the 
 great thinker of the human race, after association, as we are told, 
 with courts and wits and scholars and princes, returned in middle 
 life. He left intellectual London, which was then the center of 
 mental activity, and the seat of whatever learning and refinement 
 were to be found in England, not to seek the peace of rural land- 
 scapes and breathe the sweet perfumes of gardens and hedge-rows, 
 but to sit down contentedly in the midst of pig-sties, and to inhale 
 the malarial odors from reeking streets and stinking ditches. To 
 show that this is no exaggeration, let me state a few facts. 
 
 Henry Smith, of Stratford, in 1605, is notified to "plucke downe 
 his pigges cote, which is built ner^ the chappie wall, and the house 
 of office there." And John Sadler, miller, is fined for bringing feed 
 and feeding his hogs in "chappie lane." In 1613 John Rogers, the 
 vicar, erected a pig-sty immediately opposite the back court of 
 Shakspere's residence. For one hundred and fifty years after 
 Shakspere's death, Chapel Ditch, which lay next to the New Place 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE. 
 
 33 
 
 Garden, " was a receptacle for all manner of filth that any person 
 chose to put there." 1 It was four or five feet wide and filled for 
 a foot deep with flowing filth. More than one hundred years 
 after Shakspere's death, to-wit, in 1734, the Court Leet of Strat- 
 ford presented Joseph Sawbridge, in Henley Street, " for not car- 
 ring in his muck before his door." 2 
 
 The houses were thatched with reeds. 3 
 
 The streets were narrow, irregular and without sidewalks; full 
 of refuse, and lively with pigs, poultry and ravenous birds. 4 
 
 The highways were "foule, long and cumbersome." 5 Good 
 bridges were so rare that in some cases they were ascribed to the 
 devil. There was no mail service except between London and a 
 few principal points. The postage upon a letter from Lynn to 
 London was 26s. 8d., equal in value to about §30 of our money 
 to-day. The stage wagons moved at the rate o.f two miles an hour. 
 Places twelve miles apart were then practically farther removed 
 than towns would now be one hundred miles apart. There was 
 little or no intercourse among the common people. Men lived and 
 died where they were born. 
 
 There were no carriages. The Queen imported a Dutch coach 
 in 1564, the sight of which "put both man and horse in amaze- 
 ment," remarks Taylor, the water poet. "Some said it was a great 
 crab-shell, brought out of China, and some imagined it to be one 
 of the pagan temples, in which the cannibals adored the devil." 
 There were few chimneys; dining-room and kitchen were all one; 
 "each one made his fire against the reredrosse in the hall where he 
 dined and dressed his meat," says Harrison. The beds were of 
 straw, with wooden bolsters (like the Chinese); the people ate out 
 of wooden platters with wooden spoons. The churches were with- 
 out pews and full of fleas. 6 
 
 VII. The EnCxLish People in the Sixteenth Century. 
 
 The people were fierce, jovial, rude, hearty, brutal and pugna- 
 cious. They were great eaters of beef and drinkers of beer. We 
 find them accurately described in the plays: 
 
 1 Outlines Life of Shak., p. 429. 3 Goadby's England of Shak., p. 16. 5 Ibid. 
 
 2 Ibid., p. 205. 4 Ibid. 6 Ibid., p. 75. 
 
 
 W/Y£R8fTY 
 
34 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 The men do sympathise with the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming-on, 
 leaving their wits with their wives; and then give them great meals of beef, and 
 iron and steel, they will eat like wolves and fight like devils. 1 
 
 They lived out of doors; they had few books, and, of course, no 
 newspapers. Their favorite amusements were bear-baitings, bull- 
 baitings, cock-fights, dog-fights, foot-ball and " rough-and-tumble 
 fighting." 2 The cock, having crowed when Peter denied his Mas- 
 ter, was regarded as the devil's bird, and many clergymen enjoined 
 cock-throwing, or throwing of sticks at cocks, as a pious exercise 
 and agreeable to God. 
 
 There were few vegetables upon the tables, and these were largely 
 imported from Holland. The leaves of the turnip were used as a 
 salad. Vegetables were regarded as medicines. No forks were used 
 until 161 1, when the custom was imported from Italy. Tea came into 
 England in 1610, and coffee in 1652. Beer or wine was used with 
 all meals. Men and women went to the taverns and drank together. 
 
 The speech of the country people was a barbarous jargon: we 
 have some specimens of it in the plays. 
 
 Take, for instance, the following from Lear: 
 
 Stewart. Let go his own. 
 
 Edgar. Chill not go, zir, 
 
 Without vurther 'casion. . . . 
 
 Let poor volke passe: and chud ha' bin zwaggerd out of my life, 'twould not 
 ha' bin zo long as 'tis, by a vortnight. . . . Keepe out of che vor'ye or ice try 
 whither your Costard or my Ballow be the harder; chill be plaine with you. 3 
 
 VIII. A Country School in Shakspere's Time. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says, speaking of Shakspere's education in 
 "the horn-book and the A, B, C ": 
 
 There were few persons at that time at Stratford-on-Avon capable of initiating 
 him even into these preparatory accomplishments. 4 
 
 What manner of school was it in which he received all the edu- 
 cation ever imparted to him ? 
 
 The following is Roger Ascham's description of schools and 
 
 schoolmasters in his day, as quoted by Appleton Morgan, in a 
 
 newspaper article: 
 
 It is pitie that commonly more care is had, yea, and that among verie wise 
 men, to find out rather a cunnynge man for their horse, than a cunnynge man for 
 
 1 Henry V., iii, 7. 3 Act iv, scene 6. 
 
 2 Goadby's England, p. 69. 4 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 24. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 35 
 
 their children. 1 . . . The master mostly being as ignorant as the child, what to 
 say properly and fitly to the matter. 2 They for the most part so behave themselves 
 that their very name is hateful to the scholar, who trembleth at their coming-in, 
 rejoiceth at their absence, and looketh him returned in the face as his deadly 
 enemy. 
 
 Mr. Morgan continues: 
 
 To the charges of undue severity, says Drake, "we must add the accusation 
 of immorality and buffoonery. They were put on the stage along with the zany 
 and pantaloon, to be laughed at." 3 
 
 As to school books, or other implements of instruction, except the following, 
 viz. (to cite them in the order in which they were prized and employed): First, the 
 birch rod; second, the church catechism; third, the horn-book or criss-cross row. 
 Drake says, 4 the thirty-ninth injunction of Elizabeth enacted that every grammar 
 school "shall teach the grammar set forth by King Henry the VIII., of noble 
 memory, and continued in the reign of Edward the VI., and none other." This 
 was the Lily's Latin Grammar, and its study appears to have constituted the 
 difference between a "school" and a "grammar school." Drake adds, "There 
 was, however, another book which we may almost confidently affirm young 
 Shakspere to have studied under the tuition of the master of the free grammar 
 school at Stratford, the production of one Ockland, a panegyric on the characters 
 and government of the reign of Elizabeth and her ministers, which was enjoined 
 by authority to be read in every grammar school." Another text-book which may 
 have been extant was the one referred to by Ascham as follows: " I have formerly 
 seen Mr. Horman's book, who was a master of Eton school. The book itself could 
 be of no great use, for, as I remember, it was only a collection of single sentences 
 without order or method, put into Latin." But the rod was for long years the 
 principal instructor. Peter Mason, a pupil of Nicholas Udal, master of Eton, 
 says he used to receive fifty-three lashes in the course of one Latin exercise. At 
 that temple of learning, and from Dr. Busby's time downward, the authorities 
 agree in giving it the foremost place in English curriculums. 
 
 In The Compleat Gentleman, edition of 1634, the author says a country 
 school teacher "by no entreaty would teach any scholar further than his 
 (the scholar's) father had learned before him; as, if he had but only learned 
 to read English, the son, though he went with him seven years, should go 
 no further. His reason was that they would otherwise prove saucy rogues and 
 control their fathers. Yet these are they that have our hopeful gentry under 
 their charge." 
 
 Nay, in 1771, when Shakspere had been dead a century and a half, things 
 were about as he left them. John Britton, who attended the provincial 
 grammar school of Kingston, St. Nicholas parish, in Wilts, about 1771-80, says 
 that he was taught the "criss-cross row," imparted by the learned pedagogue 
 as follows: 
 
 Teacher — " Commether Billy Chubb, an' breng the horren book. Ge ma the 
 vester in the wendow, you Pat Came. What! be a sleepid? I'll wake ye! Now, 
 Billy, there's a good bway; ston still there, an' mind what I da za ta ye, an' whan 
 I da point na! Criss-cross girta little A, B, C. That's right, Billy; you'll zoon 
 lam criss-cross row; you'll zoon averg it, Bobby Jiffry! You'll zoon be a scoll- 
 ard ! A's a purty chubby bwoy, Lord love en! " 
 
 1 IVorA-s, Bennett's edition, p. 212. 3 Shak. and His Times, vol. i, p. 97. 
 
 2 Ibid., p. 12. * Ibid., p. 26. 
 
36 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 IX. English not Taught in the Schools of That Day. 
 
 And it is very doubtful, as we have seen, whether English was 
 taught at all in that Stratford school. It certainly was not in 
 most of the grammar schools of England at that time. . Even White 
 is forced to admit this. He says: 
 
 For book instruction there was the free grammar school of Stratford, well 
 endowed by Thomas Jolyffe, in the reign of Edward IV., where, unless it differed 
 from all others of its kind, he could have learned Latin and some Greek. Some 
 English, too; but not much, for English was held in scorn by the scholars of those 
 days, and long after. 1 
 
 It will readily be conceded that in such a town, among such a 
 people, and with such a school, Shakspere could have learned but 
 little, and that little of the rudest kind. And to this conclusion 
 even so stout a Shaksperean as Richard Grant White is driven. 
 He says, in a recent number of the Atlantic magazine: 
 
 Shakespeare was the son of a Warwickshire peasant, or very inferior yeoman, 
 by the daughter of a well-to-do farmer. Both his father and mother were so igno- 
 rant that they signed with a mark instead of writing their names. Few of their 
 friends could write theirs. Shakespeare probably had a little instruction in Latin 
 in the Stratford grammar school. When, at twenty-two years of age, he fled from 
 Stratford to London, we may be sure that he had never seen half a dozen books other 
 than his horn-book, his Latin accidence and a Bible. Probably there were not half a 
 dozen others in all Stratford. The notion that he was once an attorney's clerk is 
 blown to pieces. 
 
 Where, then, did he acquire the vast learning demonstrated by 
 the plays? 
 
 X. Shakspere's Youthful Habits. 
 
 There can be no doubt that the child is father to the man. 
 While little Francis Bacon's youthful associates were enjoying their 
 game of ball, the future philosopher w r as at the end of a tunnel 
 experimenting in echoes. Pope "lisped in numbers, for the num- 
 bers came." At nine years of age Charles Dickens (a sort of lesser 
 Shakespeare) knew all about Falstaff, and the robbery at Gad's 
 Hill, and had established the hope in his heart that he might some 
 day own the handsome house in that place in which he afterward 
 resided. It was his habit to creep away to a garret in his father's 
 house, and there, enraptured, pore oyer the pages of Roderick Random, 
 Peregrine Pickle, Humphrey Clinker, Tom Jones, The Arabian Nights, 
 
 1 Life and Genius of Shak., p. 30. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 37 
 
 The Vicar of Wakefield, and Robinso?i Crusoe. Dr. Glennie tells us of 
 Byron, that in his boyhood " his reading in history and poetry was 
 far beyond the usual standard of his age. . . . He was a great 
 reader and admirer of the Old Testament, and had read it through 
 and through before he was eight years old." At fifteen years of 
 age Robert Burns had read The Spectator, Pope's works, some of 
 Shakespeare's plays, Locke's Essay on the Human Understanding, Allan 
 Ramsay's works, and a number of religious books, and "had 
 studied the English grammar and gained some knowledge of the 
 French." 
 
 Genius is a powerful predisposition, so strong that it overrules 
 a man's whole life, from boyhood to the grave. The greatness of 
 a mind is in proportion to its receptivity, its capacity to assimilate 
 a vast mass of food; it is an intellectual stomach that eliminates 
 not muscle but thought. Its power holds a due relation to its 
 greed — it is an eternal and insatiable hunger. In itself it is but 
 an instrument. It can work only upon external material. 
 
 The writer of the plays recognizes this truth. He says, speaking 
 of Cardinal Wolsey: 
 
 From his cradle 
 He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one, 
 Exceeding wise, fair-spoken and persuading. 1 
 
 The commentators have tried to alter the punctuation of 
 this sentence. They have asked, "How could he be 'a scholar 
 from his cradle ' ? " What the poet meant was that the extraor- 
 dinary capacity to receive impressions and acquire knowledge, 
 which constitutes the basis of the education of the infant, con- 
 tinued with unabated force all through the life of the great church- 
 man. The retention of this youthful impressibility of the mind is 
 one of the essentials of greatness. 
 
 And again the poet says: 
 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes} 
 
 How did William Shakspere, the Stratford-on-Avon boy, " begin 
 betimes " ? 
 
 In his fourteenth year it is supposed he left school; but 
 there is really no proof that he ever attended school for an hour. 
 
 1 Henry VIII., iv, 2. 2 Antony and Cleopatra, iv, 2. 
 
38 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA VS. 
 
 White expresses the opinion that "William Shakespeare was 
 obliged to leave school early and earn his living." 
 
 At sixteen, tradition says, he was apprenticed to a butcher. 
 
 Aubrey says: 
 
 I have been told heretofore by some of the neighbors that when he was a 
 boy he exercised his father's trade; but when he killed a calf he would doe it in a 
 high style and make a speech. 
 
 Rowe, speaking for Betterton, says, " Upon his leaving school 
 he seems to have given entirely into that way of living which his 
 father proposed to him," that of a dealer in wool. 
 
 Neither the pursuit of butcher or wool-dealer could have been 
 very favorable to the acquisition of knowledge in a rude age and a 
 " bookless neighborhood." 
 
 But perhaps the boy was of a very studious nature and his 
 industry eked out the poor materials available ? Let us see: 
 
 There is a tradition of his youth setting forth that in the neigh- 
 boring village of Bidford there was a society — not a literary society, 
 not a debating club like that of which Robert Burns was a member 
 — but a brutal crew calling themselves " The Bidford Topers," 
 whose boast was that they could drink more beer than the " topers " 
 of any of the adjoining intellectual villages. They challenged 
 Stratford, and among the gallant young men who accepted the chal- 
 lenge was William Shakspere. The " Bidford topers" were too 
 many for the Stratford " topers," and the latter attempted to 
 walk home again, but were so besotted that their legs gave out, 
 and they spent the night by the roadside under a large crab-tree, 
 which stands to this day and is known as " Shakspere's crab." As the 
 imagination sees him, stretched sodden and senseless, beneath the 
 crab-tree, we may apply to him the words of the real Shakespeare: 
 
 O monstrous beast ! — how like a swine he lies. 1 
 
 The first appearance of the father is connected with a filth- 
 heap. The first recorded act of the son is this spirituelle contest. 
 
 The next incident in the life of Shakspere occurred when he 
 was nineteen years old. This was his marriage to a girl of twenty- 
 seven, that is to say, eight years older than himself. Six months 
 after the marriage their first child was born. 
 
 1 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 39 
 
 But perhaps, after this inauspicious match, he settled down and 
 devoted himself to study ? Not at all. 
 
 The Reverend William Fulman, an antiquary, who died in 
 1688, bequeathed his manuscript biographical memoranda to 
 the Reverend Richard Davies, rector of Sapperton, in Gloucester- 
 shire, and archdeacon of Lichfield, who died in 1708. To a note 
 of Fulman's, which barely records Shakspere's birth, death 
 and occupation, Davies made brief additions, the principal of 
 which is that William Shakspere was " much given to all 
 unluckinesse in stealing venison and rabbits, particularly from 
 Sir Lucy, who had him oft whipt and sometimes imprisoned, 
 and at last made him fly his native county, to his great ad- 
 vancement." 
 
 The man who wrote this was probably born within little more 
 than twenty-five years after Shakspere's death. The tradition 
 comes to us also from other sources. 
 
 The same story is told by Rowe, on the authority of Betterton, 
 who went down to Stratford to collect materials for a life of 
 Shakspere. Rowe says: 
 
 He had, by a misfortune common enough to young fellows, fallen into ill com- 
 pany, and amongst them some, that made a frequent practice of deer-stealing, 
 engaged him more than once in robbing a park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy, of 
 Charlecote, near Stratford. For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, 
 as he thought, somewhat too severely, and in order to revenge that ill- 
 usage he made a ballad upon him. And although this, probably the first 
 essay of his poetry, be lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter that 
 it redoubled the prosecution against him to that degree that he was obliged 
 to leave his business and family in Warwickshire for some time and shelter 
 himself in London. 
 
 A pretended specimen of the ballad has come down to us, a 
 rude and vulgar thing: 
 
 A parliament member, a justice of peace, 
 At home a poor scare-crow, at London an asse. 
 If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it, 
 Then Lucy is lowsie whatever befall it. 
 
 He thinks himself great, 
 
 Yet an ass is his state; 
 We allow by his ears but with asses to mate. 
 If Lucy is lowsie as some volke miscalle it, 
 Sing lowsie Lucy whatever befall it. 
 
 And touching this Sir Thomas Lucy, Richard Grant White, 
 after visiting Stratford and Charlecote, speaks as follows: 
 
4 o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 This was a truly kindly nature, we may almost say a noble soul. I am with 
 Sir Thomas in this matter, and if Shakespeare suffered any discipline at his hands, 
 I believe that he deserved it. 1 
 
 XI. Shakspere Goes to London. 
 
 He proceeded to London " somewhere about 1586 or 1587," say 
 his biographers. His twin children, Hamnet and Judith, had been 
 born in February, 1585. 
 
 We can readily conceive his condition. His father was bank- 
 rupt; his own family rapidly increasing — his wife had just been 
 delivered of twins; his home was dirty, bookless and miserable; 
 his companions degraded; his pursuits low; he had been whipped 
 and imprisoned, and he fled, probably penniless, to the great city. 
 As his admirer, Richard Grant White, says, " we may be sure he had 
 never seen half a dozen books other than his horn-book, his Latin 
 accidence, and a Bible." There is indeed no certainty that he had 
 ever seen even the last work, for neither father nor mother could 
 read or write, and had no use for, and do not seem to have pos- 
 sessed, a Bible. 
 
 Says Halliwell-Phillipps : 
 
 Removed prematurely from school; residing with illiterate relatives in a book- 
 less neighborhood; thrown into the midst of occupations adverse to scholastic prog- 
 ress, it is difficult to believe that when he left Stratford he was not all but destitute 
 of polished accomplishments. 2 
 
 To London fled all the adventurers, vagabonds and paupers of 
 the realm. They gathered around the play-houses. These were 
 rude structures, open to the heavens — sometimes the roofless yard 
 of a tavern served as the theater, and a rough scaffold as the stage. 
 Here the ruffians, the thieves, the vagabonds, the apprentices, the 
 pimps and the prostitutes assembled — a stormy, dirty, quarrelsome 
 multitude. Here William Shakspere came. He was, we will con- 
 cede, bright, keen and active, intent on getting ahead in the world, 
 fond of money, but poor as poverty and ignorant as barbarism. 
 What could he do? 
 
 XII. He Becomes a Horse-holder. 
 He took to the first thing that presented itself, holding horses 
 at the door of the play-house for the young gentlemen who came to 
 witness the performance. And this, tradition assures us, he did. 
 
 1 England Without and Within, p. 514. 2 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life o/Shak., p. 63. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 4I 
 
 He proved trustworthy, and the youthful aristocrats would call, we 
 are told, for Will Shakspere to hold their horses. Then his busi- 
 ness faculty came into play, and he organized a band of assistants, 
 who were known then, and long afterward, as " Shakspere's boys." 
 Gradually he worked his way among the actors. 
 
 XIII. He Becomes a Call-boy, and then an Actor. 
 
 Betterton heard that " he was received into the company at first 
 in a very mean rank;" and the octogenarian parish clerk of Strat- 
 ford told Dowdall, in 1693, that he "was received into the play- 
 house as a serviture " — that is, as a servant, a supernumerary, or 
 "supe." Tradition says he was the prompter's call-boy, his duty 
 being to call the actors when it was time for them to go upon the 
 stage. In time he rose a step higher: he became an actor. He 
 never was a great actor, but performed, we are told, insignificant 
 parts. "He seems," says White, "never to have risen high in this 
 profession. The Ghost in Hamlet, and old Adam in As You Like It, 
 were the utmost of his achievements in this direction." 
 
 It must have taken him some time, say a year or two at the very 
 least, to work up from being a vagabond horse-holder to the career 
 of a regular actor. We will see, when we come to discuss the chro- 
 nology of the plays, that they began to appear almost as soon as he 
 reached London, if not before, although Shakspere's name was not 
 connected with them for some years thereafter. And the earliest 
 plays, as we shall see, were the most scholarly, breathing the very 
 atmosphere of the academy. 
 
 XIV. No Tradition Refers to Him as a Student or Scholar. 
 
 There was certainly nothing in his new surroundings in London 
 akin to Greek, Latin, French, Italian, Spanish and Danish studies; 
 there was nothing akin to medical, musical and philosophical 
 researches. 
 
 And assuredly his life in Stratford, reckless, improvident, dissi- 
 pated, degraded, does not represent the studious youth who, in 
 some garret, would pore over the great masters, and fill his mind 
 with information, and his soul with high aspirations. There is not 
 a single tradition which points to any such element in his character. 
 
 Aubrey asserts that, from the time of leaving school until his 
 departure for Warwickshire, Shakspere was a schoolmaster. We 
 
42 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 have seen that it did not require a very extensive stock of learning 
 
 to constitute a schoolmaster in that age; but even this, the only 
 
 tradition of his life which points to anything even akin to scholarly 
 
 accomplishments, must be abandoned. 
 
 Lord Campbell says: 
 
 Unfortunately, however, the pedagogical theory is not only quite unsupported 
 "by evidence, but it is not consistent with established facts. From the registration 
 of the baptism of Shakespeare's children, and other well authenticated circum- 
 stances, we know that he continued to dwell in Stratford, or the immediate neigh- 
 borhood, till he became a citizen of London: there was no other school in Stratford 
 except the endowed grammar school, where he had been a pupil; of this he cer- 
 tainly never was master, for the unbroken succession of masters from the reign 
 of Edward VI. till the reign of James I. is of record; . . . and there is no trace of 
 there having been any usher employed in this school. 1 
 
 Only a miracle of studiousness could have acquired, in a few 
 years, upon a basis of total ignorance and bad habits, the culture 
 and refinement manifested in the earliest plays; and but a few 
 years elapsed between the time when he fled scourged from Strat- 
 ford and the time when the plays began to appear, in his name, in 
 London. Eut plays, now believed to have been written by the 
 same hand that wrote the Shakespeare plays, were on the boards 
 before he left Stratford. The twins, Judith and Hamnet, were born 
 in February, 1585, Shakspere being then not yet twenty-one years 
 of age, and we will see hereafter that Hainlet appeared for the first 
 time in 1585 or 1587. If he had shown, anywhere in his career, such 
 a trait of immense industry and scholarly research, some tradition 
 would have reached us concerning it. We have traditions that he 
 w r as the father of another man's supposed son (Sir William Dave- 
 nant); and we are told of a licentious amour in which he outwitted 
 Burbage; and we hear of w<?/-combats in a tavern; but not one 
 word comes down to us of books, or study, or industry, or art. 
 
 XV. The "Venus and Adonis." 
 
 "The first heir of his invention," he tells us, was "the Venus and 
 Ado7iis" published in 1593; and many think that this means that he 
 wrote it before any of the plays, and even before he left Stratford. 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 In any case, we may be sure that the poem [ Venus and Adonis] was written 
 some years before it was printed; and it may have been brought by the young poet 
 
 1 Shakespeare' s Legal Acquirements, p. 19. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 43 
 
 from Stratford in manuscript, and read by a select circle, according to the custom 
 of the time, before it was published. 
 
 But here is a difficulty that presents itself: the people of War- 
 wickshire did not speak the English of the London court, but a 
 patois almost as different from it as the Lowland Scotch of Burns is 
 to-day different from the English of Westminster. 
 
 To give the reader some idea of the kind of language used by 
 Shakspere during his youth, and by all the uneducated people of 
 his county, I select, at random, a few words from the Warwick- 
 shire dialect: 
 
 Tageous, troublesome; Fameled, starving; 
 
 Kiver, a butter tub; Brevet, to snuff, to sniff; 
 
 Grinsard, the turf; Unked, solitary; 
 
 Slammocks, untidy; Roomthy, spacious; 
 
 He's teddin, he's shaking up hay; Mulled, sleepy; 
 
 He do fash hisself, he troubles himself; Glir, to slide; 
 
 Cob, thick; Work, a row, a quarrel; 
 
 Gidding, thoughtless; Whittaw, a saddler; 
 
 jackbonnial, a tadpole; Still, respectable; 
 
 Cade, tame; Her's childing, she is with child; 
 
 A' done worritin me, stop teasing me; A' form, properly; 
 
 Let's gaig no', let's take a swing; Yawrups, stupid; 
 Franzy, passionate; etc. 
 
 Let any one read the Venus and Adonis, and he will find it 
 written in the purest and most cultured English of the age, without 
 a word in it of this Warwickshire patois. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 It is extremely improbable that an epic so highly finished, and so completely 
 devoid of patois, could have been produced under the circumstances of his then 
 domestic surroundings. 1 
 
 In fact, if we except the doggerel libel on Sir Thomas Lucy, with 
 its " volke " (and the authenticity of even this is denied by the com- 
 mentators), Shakspere never wrote a line impregnated with the 
 •dialect of the people among whom he lived from childhood to man- 
 hood. All attempts to show the peculiar phraseology of Warwick- 
 shire in his writings have failed. A few words have been found that 
 were used in Warwickshire, but investigation has shown that they 
 were also used in the dialects of other portions of England. 
 
 White says: 
 
 As long as two hundred years after that time the county of each member of 
 Parliament was betrayed by his tongue; but then the speech of the cultivated 
 
 1 Outlines Life of Shak., p. 71. 
 
44 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 people of Middlesex and vicinity had become for all England the undisputed stand- 
 ard. Northumberland, or Cornwall, or Lancashire, might have produced Shake- 
 speare's mind; but had he lived in any one of these counties, or in another, like 
 them remote in speech as in locality from London, and written for his rural neigh- 
 bors instead of the audiences of the Blackfriars and the Globe, the music of his 
 poetry would have been lost in sounds uncouth and barbarous to the general ear, 
 and the edge of his fine utterance would have been turned upon the stony rough- 
 ness of his rustic phraseology. 1 
 
 White seems to forget that the jargon of Warwickshire was 
 well nigh as uncouth and barbarous as that of Northumberland 
 or Cornwall. 
 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 Now, even if, in Stratford, the lad had mastered all the Latin and Greek 
 extant, this poem, dedicated to Southampton, coming from his pen, is a mystery, if 
 not a miracle. The genius of Robert Burns found its expression in the idiom of 
 his father and his mother, in the dialect he heard around him, and into which he 
 was born. When he came to London and tried to warble in urban English, his 
 genius dwindled into formal commonplace. But William Shakespeare, a peasant, 
 born in the heart of Warwickshire, without schooling or practice, pours forth the 
 purest and most sumptuous of English, unmixed with the faintest trace of that 
 Warwickshire patois that his neighbors and coetaneans spoke — the language of his 
 own fireside. 2 
 
 And Shakespeare prefaced the Venus and Adonis with a Latin 
 
 quotation from the Amoves of Ovid. Halliwell-Phillipps, an earnest 
 
 Shaksperean, says: 
 
 It is hardly possible that the Amores of Ovid, whence he derived his earliest 
 motto, could have been one of his school books. 3 
 
 No man can doubt that the Venus and Adonis was the work of a 
 
 scholar in whom the intellectual faculties vastly preponderated 
 
 over the animal. Coleridge notices — 
 
 The utter aloofness of the poet's own feelings from those of which he is at once 
 the painter and the analyst. 
 
 Says Dowden: 
 
 The subjects of these poems did not possess him and compel him to render 
 them into art. The poet sat himself down before each to accomplish an exhaustive 
 study of it. 
 
 Hazlitt says: 
 
 These poems appear to us like a couple of ice houses. They are about as hard, 
 as glittering and as cold. 
 
 It is not possible for the human mind to bring these beautiful 
 
 poems, written in such perfect English, so cold, so passionless, so 
 
 1 Life and Genius of Shah., p. 202. 2 The Shakespeare Myth, p. 41. 
 
 3 Outlines Life of Shah., p. 63. 
 
THE EDUCATION OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 45 
 
 cultured, so philosophical, so scholastic, into connection with the 
 first inventions of the boy we have seen lying out drunk in the 
 fields, poaching, rioting, whipped, imprisoned, and writing vulgar 
 doggerel, below the standard of the most ordinary intellect. Com- 
 pare for one instant: 
 
 A Parliament member, a justice of peace, 
 At home a poor scare-crow, at London an asse. 
 He thinks himself great, yet an ass is his state, 
 Condemned for his ears with asses to mate, 
 with — 
 
 Oh, what a sight it was wistly to view 
 
 How she came stealing to the wayward boy ! 
 To note the fighting conflict of her hue ! 
 How white and red each other did destroy ! 
 But now her cheek was pale, and by and by 
 It flashed forth fire, as lightning from the sky. 1 
 
 Can any one believe that these two passages were born in the 
 same soul and fashioned in the same mind ? 
 
 A rough but strong genius, coming even out of barbarian train- 
 ing, but thrown into daily contact with dramatic entertainments, 
 might have begun to imitate the works he was familiar with; 
 might gradually have drifted into play-making. But here we learn 
 that the first heir of his invention was an ambitious attempt at a 
 literary performance based on a classical fable, and redolent of the 
 air of the court and the schools. It is incomprehensible. 
 
 Even Hallam, years ago, was struck by the incongruity between 
 
 Shakspere's life and works. He says: 
 
 If we are not yet come to question his [Shakespeare's] unity, as we do that of 
 "the blind old man of Scio's rocky isle" — (an improvement in critical acuteness 
 doubtless reserved for a distant posterity), we as little feel the power of identifying 
 the young man who came up from Stratford, was afterwards an indifferent player 
 in a London theater, and retired to his native place in middle life, with the author 
 of Macbeth and Lear} 
 
 Emerson says: 
 
 Read the antique documents extricated, analyzed and compared, by the assidu- 
 ous Dyce and Collier; and now read one of those skiey sentences — aerolites — 
 which seem to have fallen out of heaven, . . . and tell me if they match. 3 
 
 . . . The Egyptian verdict of the Shakesperean societies comes to mind, that 
 he was a jovial actor and manager. I cannot marry this fact to his verse. Other 
 admirable men have led lives in some sort of keeping with their thought; but this 
 man in wide contrast. . . . This man of men, he who gave the science of mind a 
 new and larger subject than had ever existed, and planted the standard of humanity 
 
 1 Venus and Adonis. 2 Introduction to Literature of Europe. 3 Rep. Men, p. 205. 
 
46 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE'DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 ity some furlongs forward in chaos — it must ever go into the world's history, that, 
 the best poet led an obscure and profane life, using his genius for the public amuse- 
 ment. 1 
 
 Such a proposition cannot be accepted by any sane man. 
 Francis Bacon seems to have had these plays in his mind's eye 
 when he said: 
 
 If the sow with her snout should happen to imprint the letter A upon the 
 ground, wouldst thou therefore imagine that she could write out a whole tragedy as. 
 one letter ? 2 
 
 1 Representative A/en, p. 215. a Interpretation of Nature. 
 
\BRA 
 or THE 
 
 university 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 What a thrice-double ass 
 Was I, to take this drunkard for a god, 
 And worship this dull fool. 
 
 Tehtfest, v, i. 
 
 WE have seen that the Plays must have been written by a 
 scholar, a man of wide and various learning. 
 
 We have seen that William Shakspere, of Stratford-on-Avon, 
 could not have acquired such learning in his native village, and 
 that his pursuits and associates in London were not favorable to 
 its acquisition there ; and that there is no evidence from tradition 
 or history, or by the existence of any books or papers, or letters, 
 that he was of a studious turn of mind, or in anywise scholarly. 
 We have further seen that the families of his father and mother were, 
 and had been for generations, without exception, rude and bookless. 
 
 Now let us put together all the facts in our possession, and try 
 to get at some estimate of the true character of the man himself. 
 
 He was doubtless, as tradition says, "the best of that family." 
 His career shows that he was adventurous, and what we call in 
 America " smart." His financial success demonstrates this fact. 
 He had probably a good deal of mother wit and practical good 
 sense. It is not impossible that he may have been able to string 
 together barbaric rhymes, some of which have come down to us. 
 But conceding all this, and a vast gulf still separates him from the 
 colossal intellect made manifest in the Plays. 
 
 I. Shakspere was a Usurer. 
 
 The probabilities are that he was a usurer. 
 
 Richard Grant White (and it is a pleasure to quote against 
 Shakspere so earnest a Shaksperean — one who declares that 
 every man who believes Bacon wrote the Plays attributed to 
 Shakspere should be committed at once to a mad-house) — Rich- 
 ard Grant White says: 
 
 47 
 
4 8 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 The following passage, in a tract called RatseVs Ghost, ot the Second Part of 
 his Mad Prankes and Robberies, of which only one copy is known to exist, plainly 
 refers, first to Burbadge and next to Shakespeare. This book is without date, but is 
 believed to have been printed before 1606. Gamaliel Ratsei, who speaks, is a 
 highwayman, who has paid some strollers forty shillings for playing for him, and 
 afterwards robbed them of their fee. 1 
 
 The passage is as follows: 
 
 And for you, sirrah (says he to the chiefest of them), thou hast a good presence 
 upon a stage, methinks thou darkenest thy merit by playing in the country; get thee 
 to London, for if one man were dead they will have much need of such as thou art. 
 There would be none, in my opinion, fitter than thyself to play his parts; my 
 conceit is such of thee that I durst venture all the money in my purse on thy head 
 to play Hamlet with him for a wager. There thou shalt learn to be frugal (for play- 
 ers were never so thrifty as they are now about London), and to feed upon all men; 
 to let none feed upon thee; to make thy hand a stranger to thy pocket; thy heart slow 
 to perform thy tongue's promise; and when thou feelest thy purse well lined, buy 
 thee some place of lordship in the country; that growing weary of playing thy money 
 may there bring thee to dignity and reputation; then thou needest care for no man ; 
 no, not for them that before made thee proud with speaking THEIR words on the stage. 
 
 Sir, I thank you (quoth the player) for this good council. I promise you I will 
 make use of it, for I have heard, indeed, of some that have gone to London very 
 meanly, and have come in time to be exceeding wealthy. 
 
 This curious tract proves several things: 
 
 The Shakspereans agree that Ratsei, in the latter part of the 
 extract quoted, referred unquestionably to Shakspere. Ratsei, or 
 the writer of the tract, doubtless expressed the popular opinion 
 when he described Shakspere as a thrifty, money-making, unchari- 
 table, cold-hearted man, " feeding upon all men," to-wit, by lend- 
 ing money at usurious rates of interest, for there is nothing else 
 to which the words can apply. There can be no question that 
 he refers to Shakspere. He was an actor; he came to London 
 "very meanly; " /^ was not born there; he " lined his purse;" he 
 had " grown exceeding wealthy; " he " bought a place of lordship in 
 the country," where he lived "in dignity and reputation." And 
 doubtless Ratsei spoke but the popular report when he said that 
 some others " made him proud with speaking their words on the 
 stage." 
 
 Let us see if there is anything that confirms Ratsei's estimate 
 
 of Shakspere's character. Richard Grant White says: 
 
 The fact is somewhat striking in the life of a great poet that the only letter 
 directly addressed to Shakespeare, which is known to exist, is one which asks for 
 a loan of ^30. 2 
 
 1 Life and Genius of Shakespeare, p. 164. 2 Ibid., p. 123. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 49 
 
 There is another letter extant from Master Abraham Sturley, 
 1595, to a friend in London, in reference to Shakspere lending 
 " some monei on some od yarde land or other att Shottri or neare 
 about us." And there is still another letter, dated November 4, 
 1598, from Abraham Sturley to Richard Ouiney, in which we are 
 told that our "countriman Mr. Wm. Shak. would procure us monei, 
 wc. I will like of." And these, be it remembered, are all the letters 
 extant addressed to, or referring to, Shakspere. 
 
 In 1598 he loaned Richard Quiney, of Stratford, ^30 upon 
 proper security. 1 
 
 In 1600 he brought action against John Clayton, in London, for 
 j£j t and got judgment in his favor. 
 
 He also sued Philip Rogers, at Stratford, for two shillings 
 loaned. 
 
 In August, 1608, he prosecuted John Addenbroke to recover a 
 debt of £6, and then sued his surety, Horneby. 
 
 His lawyer, Thomas Greene, lived in his house. 2 
 
 Halliwell-Phillips says: 
 
 The precepts, as appears from memoranda in the originals, were issued by 
 the poet's solicitor, Thomas Greene, who was then residing, under some unknown 
 conditions, at New Place. 3 
 
 We, of course, only hear of those transactions in which the 
 debtor did not pay, and the loans became matters of court record. 
 We hear nothing of the more numerous instances where the money 
 was repaid without suit. But even these scraps of fact show that, 
 he carried on the business of money-lending both in London and at 
 Stratford. He kept an attorney in his house, probably for the better 
 facility of collecting the money due him. 
 
 No wonder Richard Grant White said, when such facts as these 
 came to light, voicing the disappointment of his heart: 
 
 These stories grate upon our feelings. . . . The pursuit of an impoverished! 
 man, for the sake of imprisoning him and depriving him, both of the power of pay- 
 ing his debt and supporting himself and his family, is an incident in Shakespeare's 
 life which it requires the utmost allowance and consideration for the practice of the 
 time and country to enable us to contemplate with equanimity — satisfaction is- 
 impossible. The biographer of Shakespeare must record these facts, because the 
 literary antiquaries have unearthed and brought them forward as new particulars 
 of the life of Shakespeare. We hunger, and we receive these husks; we open our 
 mouths for food, and we break our teeth against these stones." 4 
 
 1 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 105. 3 Ibid., p. 147. 
 
 2 Ihid., p. 149. 4 Life and Genius of Shak., p. 146. 
 
 °' r M£ ' 
 
5 o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE TLA VS. 
 
 Is it possible that the man who described usurers as "bawds 
 between gold and want;" who drew, for all time, the typical and 
 dreadful character of Shylock; who wrote: — 
 
 I can compare our rich misers to nothing so fitly as to a whale, that plays and 
 tumbles, driving the poor fry before him, and at last devours them at a mouthful. 
 Such whales I have heard of on land, who never leave gaping till they have swal- 
 lowed up a whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all. 1 — 
 
 could, as described by White, have pursued the wretched to jail, 
 and by his purchase of the tithes of Stratford have threatened " the 
 whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all " ? 
 
 II. He Carried on Brewing in New Place. 
 
 Let us pass to another fact. 
 
 It is very probable that the alleged author of Hamlet carried on 
 the business of brewing beer in his residence at New Place. 
 
 He sued Philip Rogers in 1604, so the court records tell us, for 
 
 several bushels of " malt " sold him at various times, between March 
 
 27th and the end of May of that year, amounting in all to the 
 
 value of £1 i$s. lod. 
 
 Malt is barley or other grain steeped in water until it germinates, and then 
 dried in a kiln to evolve the saccharine principle. It is used in brewing. 2 
 
 The business of beer-making was not unusual among his towns- 
 men. 
 
 George Perrye, besides his glover's trade, useth buying and selling of woll 
 [wool] and yorn [yarn] and making of malt. z 
 
 Robert Butler, besides his glover's occupation, usethe makinge of 'malt.* 
 
 Rychard Castell, Rother Market, useth his glover's occupation, his wiffe utter- 
 
 eth zueeklye by bruynge [brewing] ij strikes of malte. 5 
 
 And we read of a Mr. Persons who for a "longe tyme used 
 makinge of mallte and bruyinge [brewing] to sell in his howse." 6 
 
 There is, of course, nothing dishonorable in this humble occu- 
 pation; but it is a little surprising that a man whoin the Plays never 
 refers to tradesmen without a sneer, or to the common people 
 except as " mechanic slaves" " that made the air unwholesome" 
 throwing up "their stinking greasy caps," a "common cry of curs," 
 or "the clusters," "the mutable, the rank-scented many," or " the 
 beastly plebeians;" and whose sympathies seem to have been always 
 
 1 Pericles, ii, i. 3 MS. dated 1595. 5 Ibid. 
 
 2 Webster's Dictionary. * Ibid. 8 Ibid. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OE WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 5' 
 
 with the aristocracy, should convert the finest house in Stratford, . 
 built by Sir Hugh Clopton, into a brewery, and employ himself 
 peddling out malt to his neighbors, and suing them when they did 
 not pay promptly. 
 
 Think of the author of Hanilet and Lear brewing beer ! Verily, 
 "the dust of Alexander may come to stop the bung-hole of a beer- 
 barrel." 
 
 III. Shakspere's Hospitality. 
 
 And taken in connection with this sale of malt there is another 
 curious fact that throws some light upon the character of the man 
 and the household. 
 
 In the Chamberlain's accounts of Stratford 1 we find a charge, 
 in 1614, for "on quart of sack and on quart of clarett wine geven to 
 a preacher at the New Place," Shakspere's house. What manner 
 of man must he have been who would require the town to pay for the 
 wine he furnished his guests ? And we may be sure the town would 
 not have paid for it unless first asked to do so. And the money 
 was accepted by Shakspere, or it would not stand charged in the 
 accounts of the town. And this was but two years before Shak- 
 spere's death, when he was in possession of an immense income. 
 Did ever any rich man, with the smallest instincts of a gentleman, 
 do a deed like this ? Would even the poorest of the poor do it ? 
 It was, in fact, a species of " going on the county " for help, — a 
 partial pauperism. 
 
 IV. He Attempts to Enter the Ranks of the Gentry by 
 False Representations. 
 
 Some one has said: "To be accounted a gentleman was the 
 chief desire of Shakspere's life." 
 
 Did he pursue this ambition, honorable enough in itself, in an 
 honorable manner? 
 
 In October, 1596, Shakspere, the actor, applied to the College 
 of Arms for a grant of coat-armor to his father, John Shakspere. 
 At this time Shakspere was beginning to make money. He 
 bought New Place, Stratford, in 1597. His profession as a "vassal 
 actor" prevented any hope of having a grant of arms made 
 
 1 White, Life and Genius of Shak. y p. 176. 
 
5 2 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 directly to himself, and so he applied in the name of his father, 
 
 who not long before had been in prison, or hiding from the Sheriff. 
 
 White would have us believe that the coat-of-arms was granted; 
 
 but the latest and most complete authority on the subject, Halliwell- 
 
 Phillipps, says it was not: 
 
 Toward the close of the year 1599, a renewed attempt was made by the poet 
 to obtain a grant of coat-armor to his father. It was now proposed to impale the 
 arms of Shakespeare with those of Arden, and on each occasion ridiculous state- 
 ments were made respecting the claims of the two families. Both were really descended 
 from obscure country yeomen, but the heralds made out that the predecessors of 
 John Shakespeare were rewarded by the Crown for distinguished services, and 
 that his wife's ancestors were entitled to armorial bearings. Although the poet's 
 relatives, at a later date, assumed his right to the coat suggested for his father in 
 1596, it does not appear that either of the proposed grants was ratified by the college, 
 and certainly nothing more is heard of the Arden impalement. 1 
 
 The application was made on the ground that John Shak- 
 spere's " parent and late antecessor, for his faithful and approved 
 service to the late most prudent prince, King Henry VII., of 
 famous memory, was advanced and rewarded with lands and tene- 
 ments given to him in those parts of Warwickshire, . . . and 
 that the said John had married the daughter and one of the heirs 
 of Robert Arden, of Wilmecote." 
 
 Now, these statements, as Halliwell-Phillipps says, were plainly 
 false. 
 
 John Shakspere's ancestors had not been advanced by King 
 Henry VII.; and they had not received lands in Warwickshire; and 
 his mother was not the daughter of one of the heirs of Robert 
 Arden, of Wilmecote, gentleman. They had been landless peasants 
 for generations; and John Shakspere was an illiterate farm-hand, 
 hired by Robert Arden, a plain farmer, as illiterate as himself, to 
 work by the month or year. 
 
 And William Shakspere, who made this application, knew per- 
 fectly well that all these representations were falsehoods. He was 
 trying to crawl up the battlements of respectability on a ladder of 
 lies — plain, palpable, notorious, ridiculous lies — lies that involved 
 the title to real property and the records of his county. 
 
 Would that grand and noble soul who really wrote the Plays 
 seek to be made a gentle?tian by such means ? 
 
 But the falsifications did not end here. 
 
 1 Outlines, p. 87. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OE WILUAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 53 
 
 "The delay of three years," says Richard Grant White, "in 
 granting these arms, must have been caused by some opposition to 
 the grant; the motto given with them, Non sans droict (not with- 
 out right), itself seems to assert a claim against a denial." 
 
 Doubtless the Lucys, and other respectable families of the neigh- 
 borhood, protested against the play-actor forcing himself into their 
 ranks by false pretenses. 
 
 If the reader who is curious in such matters will turn to the two 
 drafts of the application for the coat-of-arms, that of 1596, on page 
 573 of Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines, and that of 1599, on page 589 
 of the same work, and examine the interlineations that were made 
 from time to time, and which are indicated by italics, he will see 
 how the applicant was driven from falsehood to falsehood, to meet 
 the objections made against his claim of gentility. In the first 
 application it was stated that it was John Shakspere's " parents 
 and late antecessors" who rendered valiant service to King Henry 
 VII. and were rewarded by him. This was not deemed sufficiently 
 explicit, and so it was interlined that the said John had " married 
 Mary, daughter and one of the heirs of Robert Arden, of Wilme- 
 cote, in the said county, gent." But in the proposed grant of 1599 
 it is stated that it was John Shakspere's ^^/-grandfather who ren- 
 dered these invaluable services to King Henry VII., and, being 
 driven to particulars, we are now told that this grandfather was 
 " advanced and rewarded with la /ides and tenement es given to him in 
 those partes of Warwickshire, where they have continued by some descents 
 in good reputacion and credit.'" 
 
 This is wholesale lying. There were no such lands, and they 
 had not descended by some descents in the family. 
 
 But this is not all. Finding his application opposed, the fertile 
 Shakspere falls back on a new falsehood, and declares that a coat- 
 of-arms had already been given his father twenty years before. 
 
 And he also produced this, his auncient cote-of-arms, heretofore assigned to him 
 whilst he was her Majestie's officer and baylefe of that town. 
 
 And White tells us that upon the margin of the draft of 1596, 1 
 
 John Shakspere 
 
 Sheweth a patent thereof under Clarence Cook's hands in oaper, twenty years 
 past. 1 
 
 3 Life and Genius of Shakespeare^ p. 118. 
 
54 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DLL) NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 But this patent can no more be found than the land which Henry VII. 
 granted to John Shakspere* s great-grandfather for his approved and 
 faithful services. 
 
 The whole thing was a series of lies and forgeries, a tissue of 
 fraud from beginning to end ; — and William Shakspere had no 
 more title to his coat-of-arms than he has to the great dramas 
 which bear his name. 
 
 And living in New Place, brewing beer, selling malt and suing 
 his neighbors, the Shakspere family assumed to use this coat-of- 
 arms, never granted to them, and to set up for "gentry," in the midst 
 of the people who knew the hollowness of their pretensions. 
 
 And the same man, we are told, who was so anxious for this 
 kind of a promotion to the ranks of gentlemen, wrote as follows: 
 
 Fool. Prithee, nuncle, tell me whether a madman be a gentleman or a yeoman. 
 Lear. A king, a king ! 
 
 Fool. No, he's a yeoman, that has a gentleman to his son; for he's a mad yeo- 
 man that sees his son a gentleman before him. 1 
 
 And that the same man mocked at new-made gentility, in the 
 scene where the clown and the old shepherd were suddenly ele- 
 vated to rank by the king of Bohemia: 
 
 Shepherd. Come, boy; I am past more children, but thy sons and daughters 
 will all be gentlemen born. 
 
 Clown {to Autolycus). You are well met, sir; you denied to tight with me this 
 other day because I was no gentleman born. See you these clothes ? . . . 
 
 Autolycus. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman bojn. 
 
 Clown. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. 
 
 Shepherd. And so have I, boy. 
 
 Clown. So you have. But I was a gentleman born before my father; for the 
 king's son took me by the hand and called me brother: . . . and so we wept: and 
 these were the first gentleman-like tears that ever we shed.' 2 
 
 And that the same man wrote: 
 
 By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken note of it: the age is 
 grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier 
 that he galls his kibe. 3 
 
 And this is the man, we are told, who also wrote: 
 
 Let none presume 
 To wear an undeserved dignity. 
 Oh, that estates, degrees and offices 
 Were not derived corruptly ! and that clear honor 
 Were purchased by the merit of the wearer ! 
 How many then should cover that stand bare; 
 
 1 Lear, iii, 6. 2 Winter's Tale, v, 3. 3 Hamlet, v, 1. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OE WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 55 
 
 How many be commanded that command; 
 
 How much low peasantry would then be gleaned 
 
 From the true seed of honor; and how much honor 
 
 Picked from the chaff and ruin of the times 
 
 To be new-varnish'd. 1 
 
 Is there any man who loves the memory of the real Shake- 
 speare — gentle, thoughtful, learned, humane, benevolent, with a 
 mind loftier and wider than was ever before conferred on a child 
 of earth — who can believe that he would be guilty of such prac- 
 tices, even to obtain a shabby gentility in the dirty little village of 
 Stratford ? 
 
 All this may not perhaps strike an American with its full force. 
 
 In this country every well-dressed, well-behaved man is a gentle- 
 man. But in England in the sixteenth century it meant a great 
 deal more. It signified a man of gentle blood. A great and impass- 
 able gulf lay between "the quality," "the gentry," the hereditary 
 upper ciass, and the common herd who toiled for a living. It 
 required all the power of Christianity to faintly enforce the idea 
 that they were made by the same God and were of one flesh. 
 The distinction, in the England of 1596, between the yeoman and 
 the gentleman, was almost as wide as the difference to-day in 
 America between the white man and the black man; and the 
 mulatto who would try to pass himself off as a white man, and 
 would support his claim by lies and forgeries, will give us some 
 conception of the nature of this attempt made by William Shak- 
 spere in 1596. 
 
 V. The House ix Which he Was Borx. 
 
 As to this I will simply quote what Richard Grant White says 
 of it: 
 
 My heart sank within me as I looked around upon the rude, mean dwelling- 
 place of him who had filled the world with the splendor of his imaginings. It is 
 called a house, and any building intended for a dwelling-place is a house; but the 
 interior of this one is hardly that of a rustic cottage; it is almost that of a hovel — 
 poverty-stricken, squalid, kennel-like. A house so cheerless and comfortless I had 
 not seen in rural England. The poorest, meanest farm-house that I had ever 1 
 entered in New England or on Long Island was a more cheerful habitation. And 
 amid these sordid surroundings William Shakespeare grew to early manhood ! I 
 thought of stately Charlecote, the home of the Lucys, who were but simple country 
 gentlemen; and then for the first time I knew and felt from how low a condition of 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, ii, 9. 
 
5 6 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 life Shakespeare had arisen. For his family were not reduced to this; they had 
 risen to it. This was John Shakespeare's home in the days of his brief prosperity, 
 and, when I compared it with my memory of Charlecote, I knew that Shakespeare 
 himself must have felt what a sham was the pretension of gentry set up for his 
 father, when the coat-of-arms was asked and obtained by the actor's money from 
 the Heralds' College — that coat-of-arms which Shakespeare prized because it 
 made him "a gentleman" by birth! This it was, even more than the squalid 
 appearance of the place, that saddened me. For I felt that Shakespeare himself 
 must have known how well founded was the protest of the gentlemen who com- 
 plained that Clarencieux had made the man who lived in that house a gentleman 
 of coat-armor. 1 
 
 VI. His Name. 
 
 The very name, Shakspere, was in that day considered the quin- 
 tessence of vulgarity. My friend William D. O'Connor, the author 
 of Hamlefs Note Book, calls my attention to a recent number of 
 The London Academy, in which a Mr. Lupton proves that in Eliza- 
 beth's time the name Shakspere was considered vile, just as Rams- 
 bottom, or Snooks, or Hogs flesh would be with us; and men who had 
 it got it changed by legislation. Mr. Lupton gives one case where 
 a man called Shakspere had his name altered by law to Saunders. 
 
 VII. He Combines with Others to Oppress and Impoverish 
 
 the People. 
 
 But there is one other feature of Shakspere's biography which 
 
 throws light upon his character. 
 
 • From remote antiquity in England the lower classes possessed 
 
 certain rights of common in tracts of land. Prof. Thorold Rogers 
 
 says: 
 
 The arable land of the manor was generally communal, i.e., each of the ten- 
 ants possessed a certain number of furrows in a common field, the several divis- 
 ions being separated by balks of unplowed ground, on which the grass was suf- 
 fered to grow. The system, which was almost universal in the thirteenth century, 
 has survived in certain districts up to living memory. 2 
 
 This able writer shows that the condition of labor steadily 
 improved in England up to the reign of Henry VIII., and from that 
 period it steadily declined to recent times. He makes this remark- 
 able statement in the preface to his work: 
 
 I have attempted to show that the pauperism and the degradation of the 
 English laborer were the result of a series of acts of Parliament and acts of gov- 
 ernment, which were designed or adopted with the express purpose of compelling the 
 
 1 England Without and Within, p. 526. - Work and Wages, p. 88. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 57 
 
 laborer to ivork at the lowest rate of wages possible, and which succeeded al last in 
 effecting their purpose. 1 
 
 Among these acts were those giving the Courts of Quarter 
 Sessions the right to fix the wages of laborers; and, hence, as Prof. 
 Rogers shows, while the inflowing gold and silver of Mexico and 
 Peru were swelling the value of all forms of property in England, 
 the value of labor did not rise in proportion; and the common 
 people fell into that awful era of poverty, wretchedness, degrada- 
 tion, crime, and Newgate-hanging by wholesale, which mark the 
 reigns of Henry VIII. and his children. 
 
 As part of the same scheme of oppression of the humble citi- 
 zens by those who wielded the power of government, a system of 
 inclosures of common lands by the landlords, without any com- 
 pensation to the tenants, was inaugurated, and aided greatly to 
 swell the general misery. 
 
 The benevolent soul of Francis Bacon took part against this 
 oppression. In his History of Henry VII. he said: 
 
 Another statute was made of singular policy for the population apparently, 
 and (if it be thoroughly considered) for the soldiery and military forces of the 
 realm. Inclosures at that time began to be more frequent, whereby arable land 
 (which could not be manured without people and families) was turned into pas- 
 ture, which was easily rid by a few herdsmen; and tenancies for years, lives and 
 at will (whereupon much of the yeomanry lived) were turned into demesnes. . . . 
 The ordinance was that, That all houses of husbandry that were used with twenty 
 acres of ground and upward should be maintained and kept up forever, together 
 with a competent proportion of land to be used and occupied with them, and in no 
 wise to be severed from them. . . . This did wonderfully concern the might and 
 mannerhood of the kingdom, to have farms as it were of a standard sufficient to 
 maintain an able body out of penury. 
 
 In 1597 Francis Bacon, then a member of Parliament, made a 
 speech, of which we have a very meager report: 
 
 Mr. Bacon made a motion against depopulation of towns and houses of hus- 
 bandry, and for the maintenance of husbandry and tillage. And to this purpose 
 he brought in two bills, as he termed it, not drawn with a polished pen, but with a 
 polished heart. . . . And though it may be thought ill and very prejudicial to 
 lords that have enclosed great grounds, and pulled down even whole towns, and 
 converted them to sheep pastures, yet, considering the increase of the people, and 
 the benefit of the commonwealth, I doubt not but every man will deem the revivali 
 of former moth-eaten laws in this point a praiseworthy thing. For in matters of 
 policy ill is not to be thought ill, which bringeth forth good. For enclosure of 
 grounds brings depopulation, which brings forth first, idleness; secondly, decay of 
 tillage; thirdly, subversion of homes, and decrease of charity and charge to th? 
 
 1 Work and Wages, Preface, p. 6. 
 
58 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 poor's maintenance; fourthly, the impoverishing the state of the realm. . . . And 
 I should be sorry to see within this kingdom that piece of Ovid's verse prove true, 
 Jam seges est ubi Troja fait; so in England, instead of a whole town full of people, 
 none but green fields, but a shepherd and a dog. The eye of experience is the 
 sure eye, but the eye of wisdom is the quick-sighted eye; and by experience we 
 daily see, Nemo putat Mud videri tvrpe quod sibi sit qucestuosum. And therefore 
 almost there is no conscience made in destroying the savour of our life, bread I 
 mean, for Pauls sapor vita;. And therefore a sharp and vigorous law had need be 
 made against these viperous natures who fulfill the proverb, Si non posse quod vult, 
 velle tarn en quod potest. 1 
 
 Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
 The decay of tillage, the increase of sheep and deer are for the yeoman class, 
 and for the country of which they are the thew and sinew, dark events. ... He 
 [Bacon] makes a wide and sweeping study of this question of Pasturage versus Till- 
 age, of Deer versus Men, which convinces him of the cruelty and peril of depopu- 
 lating hamlets for the benefit of a few great lords. This study will produce, when 
 Parliament meets again, a memorable debate and an extraordinary change of law. -i 
 
 Bacon's bills became laws, after a fierce and bitter contest with 
 the peers; they are in the statute book of England, 39 Elizabeth, 1 
 and 2. They saved the English yeomanry from being reduced to 
 the present condition of the Irish peasantry. 
 
 They provide that no more land shall be cleared without special license; and 
 that all land turned into pasture since the Queen's accession, no less a period than 
 forty years, shall be taken from the deer and sheep within eighteen months, and 
 restored to the yeoman and the plow. 3 
 
 These great, radical and sweeping measures should endear 
 Bacon's memory to every Englishman, and to every lover of his 
 kind, the world over. They saved England from depopulation. 
 They laid the foundation for the greatness of the nation. They 
 furnished the great middle class who fought and won at Waterloo. 
 And what a broad, noble, far-sighted philanthropy do they evi- 
 dence ! Here, indeed, "distribution did undo excess" that " each 
 man" might "have enough." Here, indeed, was the greed of the 
 few arrested for the benefit of the many. 
 
 While broad-minded and humane men took this view of the 
 policy of enclosures, let us see how William Shakspere regarded 
 it. I quote from Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines: 
 
 In the autumn of the year 1614 there was great excitement at Stratford-on-Avon 
 respecting an attempted enclosure of a large portion of the neighboring common- 
 field — -not commons, as so many biographers have inadvertently stated. The 
 
 1 Life and Works of Francis Bacon, Spedding, Ellis and Heath, vol. iii, p. 81. 
 a Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 87. 3 Ibid., p. 105. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OF ll'ILL/AM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 59 
 
 design was resisted by the corporation under the natural impression that, if it were 
 realized, both the number of agricultural employes and the value of the tithes would 
 be seriously diminished. There is no doubt that this would have been the case, 
 and, as might be expected, William Combe, the squire of Welcombe, who origi- 
 nated the movement, encountered a determined, and, in the end, a successful 
 opposition. He spared, however, no exertions to accomplish the object, and, in 
 many instances, if we may believe contemporary allegations, tormented the poor 
 and coaxed the rich into an acquiescence with his views. 1 
 
 Here was an opportunity for the pretended author of the Plays 
 to show the stuff that was in him. Did he stand forward as — 
 
 The village Hampden who, with dauntless breast, 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood ? 
 
 Did he pour forth an impassioned defense of popular rights, 
 whose eloquence would have forever ended all question as to the 
 authorship of the Plays ? It is claimed that he had written: 
 
 Take physic, pomp; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel; 
 That thou mayst shake the superfiux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just.-' 
 
 And again: 
 
 I love not to see wretchedness o'ercharged, 
 And duty in his service perishing. 3 
 
 This is in the very spirit of Bacon's defense of the common 
 people against those "viperous natures" that had "pulled down 
 whole towns," or, as he expresses it in Pericles, had "swallowed up 
 a whole parish, church, steeple, bells and all." 
 
 See how touchingly the writer of the Plays makes the insubstan- 
 tial spirit, Ariel, non-human in its nature, sympathetic with the 
 sufferings of man; and Prospero (the image of the author) says r 
 even in the midst of the remembrance of his wrongs: 
 
 Hast thou, which art but air, a touch, a feeling 
 
 Of their afflictions, and shall not I, myself, 
 
 One of their kind, that relish all as sharply, 
 
 Fashioned as they, be kindlier moved than thou art? 
 
 Though with their high wrongs I am struck to the quick, 
 
 Yet with my nobler reason 'gainst my fury 
 
 Do I take part. 4 
 
 Was William Shakspere of Stratford-on-Avon, — himself one of 
 the common people, "fashioned as they," — kindly "moved by their 
 
 1 Outlines Life of Shale., p. 197. 3 A Midsummer Nighfs Dream, v, 1. 
 
 2 Lear, Hi, 4. * Tempest, v, 1. 
 
6o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 afflictions;" and did he throw his wealth and influence into the 
 
 scale in their defense ? Not at all. 
 
 Knight says : 
 
 The enclosure would probably have improved his property, and especially 
 have increased the value of the tithes, of the moiety of which he held a lease. 
 The corporation of Stratford were opposed to the inclosure. They held that it 
 would be injurious to the poorer inhabitants, zvho were then deeply suffering from 
 the desolation of the fire. ' 
 
 Let us resume Halliwell-Phillipps narrative of the transaction: 
 
 It appears most probable that Shakespeare was one of the latter who were 
 so influenced, and that, amongst perhaps other inducements , he was allured to the 
 unpopular side by Combe's agent, one Replingham, guaranteeing him from pros- 
 pective loss. However that may be, it is certain that the poet was in favor of the 
 enclosures, for, on December 23d, the corporation addressed a letter of remon- 
 strance to him on the subject, and another on the same day to a Mr. Mainwaring. 
 The latter, who had been practically bribed by some land arrangements at Welcombe, 
 undertook to protect the interests of Shakespeare, so there can be no doubt that 
 the three parties were acting in unison. 2 
 
 Observe how tenderly the Shakspereans touch the wretched 
 record of their hero. Mr. Mainwaring " was practically bribed by 
 some land arrangements," but Mr. Shakspere, acting in concert 
 with Mainwaring and Combe, under agreements of indemnifica- 
 tion, was not bribed at all. 
 
 And that this agreement contemplated driving the people off 
 the land and pauperizing them, is plain from the terms of the 
 instrument, for Replingham contracts to indemnify Shackespeare 
 for any loss he may sustain in his tithes " by reason of any inclos- 
 ure or decay of tillage there mcnt and intended by the said William Rep- 
 lingham." 
 
 Three greedy cormorants combine to rob the people of their 
 
 ancient rights, and cause a decay of tillage, and one of the three is 
 
 the man who is supposed to have possessed the greatest mind and 
 
 most benevolent heart of his age; a heart so benevolent toward the 
 
 poor and suffering that he anticipated the broadest claims put 
 
 forth by the communists of to-day: 
 
 Here, take this purse, you whom the heaven's plagues 
 Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched 
 Makes thee the happier: — Heavens, deal so still! 
 Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, 
 That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
 Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; 
 
 3 Knight's Shak. Biography, p. 528. 2 Outlines y p. 168. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 61 
 
 So distribution should undo excess, 
 And each man have enough* 
 
 Do we not see in this attempt of Shakspere to rob the poor of 
 their rights, at the very time they had been impoverished by a 
 great fire, the same man described by Ratsei — the thrifty play- 
 actor, that fed on all men and permitted none to feed on him; who 
 made his hand a stranger to his pocket, and his heart slow to per- 
 form his tongue's promise ? 
 
 And all for what? To add a few acres more to his estate; a few 
 pounds more to his fortune, on which, as he fondly hoped, 
 through the heirs of his eldest daughter, he was to found a family 
 which should wear that fictitious coat-of-arms, based on those lands 
 which the King never conferred, for services which were never 
 rendered, and glorified by the immortal plays which he never wrote. 
 
 Was this the spirit of the real author of the plays? No, no; 
 
 listen to him: 
 
 Tell her my love, more noble than the world, 
 Prizes not quantity of dirty lands. 2 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Dost know this water-fly ? . . . 'tis a vice to know him. He hath much land 
 and fertile; let a beast be lord of beasts, and his crib shall stand at the king's 
 mess. Tis a chough; but, as I say, spacious in the possession of dirt. 3 
 
 This fellow might be in 's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his 
 recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries; is this the fine of his 
 fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Hamlet. Is not parchment made of sheep-skins ? 
 
 Horatio. Ay, my lord, and of calf-skins, too. 
 
 Hamlet. They are sheep and calves which seek out assurances in that. 
 
 The real Shakespeare — Francis Bacon — said, "My mind turns 
 on other wheels than profit." He regarded money as valuable only 
 for the uses to which he put it, " the betterment of the state of 
 man;" he had no faculty to grasp money, especially from the 
 poor and oppressed; and as a consequence he died, leaving behind 
 him a bankrupt estate and the greatest memory in human history. 
 
 Is it possible that the true Shakespeare could have taken such 
 pains, as the Stratford man did, to entail his real-estate upon one 
 
 1 Lear, iv, i. 2 Twelfth Night, ii, 4. s Hamlet, v, 2. * Hamlet, v, 1. 
 
6 2 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 of his children and her heirs, and forget totally to mention in his 
 will that grander, that immortal estate of the mind which his 
 genius had created, inconceivably more valuable than his "spa- 
 cious possessions of dirt"? 
 
 VIII. His Treatment of his Father's Memory. 
 
 Let us pass to one other incident in the career of the Shakspere 
 of Stratford. 
 
 We have seen that he strove to have his father made a gentle- 
 man. It will therefore scarcely be believed that, with an income 
 equal to $25,000 per year of our money, he left that same father, 
 and his mother, and his son Hamnet — his only son — without even 
 the humblest monument to mark their last resting-place. 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 Shakespeare seems to have set up no stone to tell us where his mother or 
 father lay, and the same is true as to his son Hamnet.' 
 
 It appears that he inherited some property from his father, cer- 
 tainly enough to pay for a headstone to mark the everlasting 
 resting-place of the father of the richest man in Stratford — the 
 father of the man who was "in judgment a Nestor, in genius a 
 Socrates, in art a Maro! " 
 
 And they would have us believe that he was the same man who 
 
 wrote: 
 
 I'll sweeten thy sad grave. Thou shalt not lack 
 The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor 
 The azured hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor 
 The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, 
 Out-sweetened not thy breath: the robin would 
 With charitable bill (O bill, sore-shaming 
 Those rich-left heirs that let their fathers lie 
 Without a monument !) bring thee all this. 2 
 
 IX. His Daughter Judith. 
 
 But let us go a step farther, and ask ourselves, what kind of a 
 family was it that inhabited New Place during the latter years of 
 Shakspere's life ? 
 
 We have seen that the poet's father, mother and relatives 
 generally were grossly ignorant; that they could not even write 
 their own names, or read the Lord's Prayer in their native 
 
 1 Life and Genius of ' Shak., p. 144. 2 Cywbeline, iv, 2. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 63 
 
 tongue; and that they did not possess even a Bible in their 
 households. 
 
 But we now come face to face with a most astounding fact. 
 
 Shakspere had but two children who lived to maturity, his 
 daughters Susanna and Judith, and Judith could not read or write ! 
 
 Here is a copy of the mark with which the daugh- 
 ter of Shakspere signed her name. It appears as that 
 of an attesting witness to a conveyance in 161 1, she 
 being then twenty-seven years of age. 
 
 Think of it ! The daughter of William Shakspere, the daughter 
 of the greatest intellect of his age, or of all ages, the profound 
 scholar, the master of Latin, Greek, Italian, French, Spanish, 
 Danish, the philosopher, the scientist, the politician, the statesman, 
 the physician, the musician, signs her name with a curley-queue 
 like a Pottawatomie Indian. And this girl was twenty-seven years 
 old, and no idiot; she was subsequently married to one of the lead- 
 ing citizens of the town, Thomas Quiney, vintner. She was raised 
 in the same town wherein was the same free-school in which, we 
 are assured, Shakspere received that magnificent education which 
 is manifested in the Plays. 
 
 Imagine William E. Gladstone, or Herbert Spencer, dwelling in 
 the same house with a daughter, in the full possession of all her 
 faculties, who signed her name with a pot-hook. Imagine the 
 father and daughter meeting every day and looking at each other ! 
 And yet neither of these really great men is to be mentioned in 
 the same breath with the immortal genius who produced the Plays. 
 
 With what divine anathemas did the real Shakespeare scourge 
 ignorance ! 
 
 He says: 
 
 Ignorance is the curse of God} 
 And again: 
 
 The common curse of mankind, folly and ignorance, be thine in great revenue! 
 Heaven bless thee from a tutor and discipline come not near thee. 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 There is no darkness but ignorance. 3 
 
 He pelts it with adjectives: 
 
 Barbarous ignorance. 4 
 
 1 2d Henry VI., iv, 7. 3 Twelfth Night, iv, 2. 
 
 2 Troihts and Cressida, ii, 3. 4 King John, iv, 2. 
 
64 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE J' J. AYS. 
 
 Dull, unfeeling ignorance. 1 
 
 Gross andSrriiserable ignorance.' 2 
 
 Thou monster, ignorance. :! 
 
 Short-armed ignorance. 1 
 
 Again, we read: 
 
 I held it ever, 
 Virtue and cunning [knowledge] were endowments greater 
 Than nobleness and riches; careless heirs 
 May the two latter darken and expend; 
 Kut immortality attends the former, 
 Making a man a god. 5 
 
 And he found — 
 
 More content in course of true delight 
 Than to be thirsty after tottering honor, 
 Or tie my treasure up in silken bags, 
 To please the fool and death. 6 
 
 Can it be conceived that the man who wrote these things would 
 try, by false representations, to secure a coat-of-arms for his family, 
 and seek by every means in his power to grasp the shillings and 
 pence of his poorer neighbors, and at the same time leave one of 
 his children in "barbarous, barren, gross and miserable ignorance " ? 
 
 With an income, as we have shown, equal to $25,000 yearly of 
 our money; with the country swarming with graduates of Oxford 
 and Cambridge, begging for bread and ready to act as tutors; living 
 in a quiet, rural neighborhood, where there were few things to 
 distract attention, William Shakspere permitted his daughter to 
 attain the ripe age of twenty-seven years, unable to read the 
 immortal quartos which had made her father famous and wealthy. 
 We will not — we cannot — believe it. / 
 
 X. Some of the Educated Women of that Age. 
 
 But it may be said that it was the fault of the age. 
 
 It must be remembered, however, that the writer of the Plays 
 was an exceptional man. He possessed a mind of vast and endless 
 activity, which ranged into every department of human thought; 
 he eagerly absorbed all learning. 
 
 Such another natural scholar we find in Sir Anthony Cook, tutor 
 to King Edward IV., grandfather of Francis Bacon and Robert CeciL 
 
 1 Richard II., i, 3. 3 Love's Labor Lost, iv, 2. 5 Pericles, iii, 2. 
 
 2 2d Henry 17., iv, 2. * Troilus and Cressida, ii, 3. 6 Ibid. 
 
 I 
 
• . WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 FRANCIS BACON'S MASK. 
 
 Facsimile of the Frontispiece in the Folio of 1623. 
 
 Facing this portrait In the Folio are presented Ben Jonson's famous lines: 
 
 This Figure, that thou here seest put O, could he but have drawn his wit 
 
 It was for gentle Shakespeare cut; As well in brasse, as he hath hit 
 
 Wherein the Graver had a strife His face, the Print would then surpasse 
 
 With nature, to out-doo the life: All that was ever writ in brasse. 
 
 But since he cannot, Reader, looke 
 
 Not on his Picture, but his Booke. 
 
or the r 
 VWIVERS/TY 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OE WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 65 
 
 Like Shakspere of Stratford, his family consisted of girls, and 
 he was not by any means as wealthy as Shakspere. Did he leave 
 his daughters to sign their names with hieroglyphics ? No. 
 
 Macaulay says: 
 
 Katherine, who became Lady Killigrew, wrote Latin hexameters and pentam- 
 eters which would appear with credit in the Musa Etonenses. Mildred, the wife 
 of Lord Burleigh, was described by Roger Ascham as the best Greek scholar 
 among the young women of England, Lady Jane Grey always excepted. Anne, 
 the mother of Francis Bacon, was distinguished both as a linguist and a theologian. 
 She corresponded in Greek with Bishop Jewell, and translated his Apologia from 
 the Latin so correctly that neither he nor Archbishop Parker could suggest a single 
 alteration. She also translated a series of sermons on fate and free will from the 
 Tuscan of Bernardo Ochino. 1 
 
 They were not alone. There were learned and scholarly women 
 in England in those days, and many of them, as there have been in 
 all ages since. 
 
 Macaulay says: 
 
 The fair pupils of Ascham and Aylmer who compared, over their embroidery, 
 the styles of Isocrates and Lysias, and who, while the horns were sounding and 
 the dogs in full cry, sat in the lonely oriel with eyes riveted to that immortal page 
 which tells how meekly and bravely the first great martyr of intellectual liberty 
 took the cup from his weeping jailer. 2 
 
 It is not surprising that William Shakspere, poacher, fugitive, 
 vagabond, actor, manager, brewer, money-lender, land-grabber, 
 should permit one of his two children to grow up in gross ignor- 
 ance, but it is beyond the compass of the human mind to believe 
 that the author of Haynlet and Lear could have done so. He indi- 
 cates in one of his plays how a child should be trained. Speaking 
 of King Leonatus, in Cymbeline, he says: 
 
 Put him to all the learnings that his time 
 Could make him receiver of ; which he took 
 As we do air, fast as 'twas ministered, and 
 In his spring became a harvest. 3 
 
 If Judith had been the child of the author of the Plays, and had 
 " something of Shakespeare in her," she would have resented and 
 struggled out of her shameful condition ; her mind would have 
 sought the light as the young oak forces its way upward through 
 the brush-wood of the forest. She would have replied to her neg- 
 lectful father as Portia did: 
 
 1 Macaulay's Essays, Bacon, p. 246. 2 Ibid., p. 247. 3 Cymbeline, i, 1. 
 
 \J 
 
66 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE FLAYS. 
 
 But the full sum of me 
 Is sum of nothing, which to term in gross 
 Is an unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpracticed ; 
 Happy in this, she is not yet so old 
 But she may learn ; happier than this, 
 She is not bred so dull but she can learn ; 
 Happiest of all, is, that her gentle spirit 
 Commits itself to yours to be directed, 
 As from her lord, her governor, her king. 1 
 
 But if she was the natural outcome of ages of ignorance, 
 developed in a coarse and rude state of society, and the daughter 
 of a cold-blooded man, who had no instinct but to make money, 
 we can readily understand how, in the midst of wealth, and under 
 the shadow of the school-house, she grew up so grossly ignorant. 
 
 XI. Shakspere's Family. 
 
 There seems to have been something wrong about the whole 
 breed. 
 
 In 1613, Shakspere being yet alive, Dr. Hall, his son-in-law, 
 husband of his daughter Susanna, brought suit in the ecclesiastical 
 court against one John Lane, for reporting that his wife " had the 
 runninge of the raynes, and had bin naught with Rafe Smith and 
 John Palmer." Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 The case was heard at Worcester on July the 15th, 1613, and appears to have 
 been conducted somewhat mysteriously, the deposition of Robert Whatcot, the poet's 
 intimate friend, being the only evidence recorded, and throwing no substantial light 
 on the merits of the dispute} 
 
 Nevertheless, the defendant was excommunicated. 
 
 This being the case of the oldest daughter, the other, the pot- 
 hook heiress, does not seem to have been above suspicion. Judith's 
 marriage with Thomas Quiney was a mysterious and hurried one. 
 Phillipps says: 
 
 There appears to have been some reason for accelerating this event, for they 
 were married without a license, and were summoned a few weeks afterward to the 
 ecclesiastical court at Worcester to atone for the offense. 3 
 
 Ignorance, viciousness, vulgarity and false pretenses seem to 
 have taken possession of New Place. 
 
 Not a glimpse of anything that might tell a different story 
 escapes the ravages of time. 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, Hi, 2. 2 Outlines Life of Shak., p. 166. 
 
 3 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life ofShak., p. 182. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OR WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE. 67 
 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 It is simply impossible to turn one's researches into any channel that leads 
 into the vicinity of Stratford without noticing the fact that the Shakspere family 
 left in the neighborhood where it flourished one unmistakable trace, familiar in all 
 cases of vulgar and illiterate families, namely, the fact that they never knew or 
 cared, or made an effort to know, of what vowels or consonants their own name 
 was composed, or even to prepare the skeleton of its pronunciation. They 
 answered — and made their marks — indifferently to Saxpir, or Chaksper, or 
 to any other of the thirty forms given by Mr. Grant White, or the fifty-five forms 
 which another gentleman has been able to collect. 1 
 
 Even the very tombs of the different members of the family pre- 
 sent different renderings of the name. Under the bust it is Shak- 
 speare, while he signed the will as Shakspere; over the grave of 
 Susanna it is Shakspere; over the other members of the family 
 it is Shakespeare. 
 
 In short, the name was nothing. They 
 
 Answered to "Hi!" 
 Or any loud cry. 
 
 XII. The Origin of the Name. 
 
 We have been taught to believe that the name was Shakespeare, 
 and it has been suggested that this was a reminiscence of that 
 " late antecessor " who rendered such valuable services to the late 
 King Henry VII.; that he shook a speare in defense of the King so 
 potently that he was ever after known as Shakespeare. It is in this 
 way the name is printed in all the publications put forth in Shak- 
 spere's lifetime. But it is no less certain that this name is another 
 imposture. There never was a " shake " to it; and possibly never 
 a " speare." The name was Shakspeare, or speer, or spur, or p/erre, 
 the first syllable rhyming to back and not to bake. Shakespeare was 
 doubtless an invention of the man who assumed the name at a 
 later date as a mask, and he wanted something that would 
 " heroically sound." The fictitious speare passed to the fraud- 
 ulent coat-of-arms. 
 
 In the bond given to enable William to marry, he is called 
 ''William Shagspere." In the bill of complaint of 1589 of John 
 Shakspere in connection with the Wilmecote property, his son is 
 alluded to as " William Shackespere." The father signs his cross 
 to a deed to Robert Webb, in which he is described as " John Shax- 
 
 1 The Shakespeare Myth, p. 160. 
 
68 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE TILE PLAYS. 
 
 pere;" and his mother makes her mark as " Marye Shaksper." 
 His father is mentioned in the will of John Webbe, in 1573, 
 as "John Schackspere." In 1567 he is alluded to in the town 
 records as "Mr. Shakspyr," and when elected high bailiff, in 1568^ 
 he is referred to as "Mr. John Shakysper." The only letter 
 extant addressed to Shakspere was written October 25, 1598, by 
 Richard Quiney, his townsman, and it is addressed to "Mr. Wm.. 
 Shackespere." In 1594-5 he is referred to in the court record 
 as "Shaxberd." In 1598 he is referred to in the corporation 
 records of Stratford as selling them a load of stone: "Paid to 
 Mr. Shaxpere for on lod of ston x d." In his will the attorney 
 writes it "Schackspeare," and the man himself signed his name 
 Shakspere. 
 
 Hallam says: 
 
 The poet and his family- spelt their name Shakspere, and to this spelling there 
 are no exceptions in his own autographs. 
 
 The name is spelled by his townsman, Master Abraham Sturley, 
 in 1599, S/iakspere, and in 1598 he alludes to him as "Mr. William 
 Shak." And when he himself petitioned the court in chancery in 
 161 2, in reference to his tithes, he described himself as "William 
 Schackspeare." 
 
 White says: 
 
 In the irregular, phonographic spelling of antiquity, the name appears some- 
 times as Chacksper and Shaxpur. It is possible that Shakespeare is a corruption 
 of some name of a more peaceful meaning, and therefore perhaps of humbler 
 derivation. 1 
 
 It has been suggested, and with a good deal of probability, 
 that the original name was Jacques-Pierre, pronounced Chacks- 
 pere, or Shaks-pere. 
 
 The French Jacques (James) seems, by some mutation, to have 
 been transformed in England into " a nickname or diminutive for 
 John." 2 
 
 Thus it may be that the original progenitor of this grandilo- 
 quent, martial cognomen, which " doth like himself heroically 
 sound," may have been, in the first instance, a peasant without a 
 family name, and known as plain Jack-Peter. 
 
 1 White, Life and Genius of Shak., p. 5. 
 
 2 See Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, p. 722, the word J-ack. 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSTERE. 69 
 
 XIII. His Humiliation. 
 
 Despite his wealth, his position in his native town could not have 
 been a very pleasant one. In 1602, and again in 16 12, the very year 
 in which we are told Shakspere returned to Stratford to spend the 
 rest of his life, the most stringent measures were taken by the corpo- 
 ration to prevent the performance of plays. The pursuit in which he 
 had made his money was thus stamped by his fellow townsmen as 
 something shameful and degrading. Even this dirty little village 
 repudiated it. The neighboring aristocracy must have turned up 
 their noses and laughed long and loudat the plebeian's son setting up 
 a coat-of-arms. By profession he was, by the statutes of his country, 
 a ''vagabond," and had, in the past, only escaped arrest as such by 
 entering himself as a servitor, or servant, to some nobleman. 
 
 The vagabond, according to the statutes, was to "be stripped 
 naked, from the middle upwards, and to be whipped until his 
 body was bloody, and to be sent from parish to parish, the next 
 straight way, to the place of his birth." ' 
 
 He was buried in the chancel of the church, not as recogni- 
 tion of his greatness, but because that locality was " the legal and 
 customary burial-place for the owners of the tithes." 2 
 
 XIV. His Handwriting. 
 
 The very signature of Shakspere has provoked discussion. 
 The fact that the will as originally drawn read, "witness my seal," y 
 and that the "seal" was erased and "hand" written in, has been 
 cited to prove that the lawyer who drew the will believed that the 
 testator could not read or write. In an article in The Quarterly 
 Review in 187 1, we read: 
 
 If Shakspere's handwriting was at all like his signature, it was by no means easy 
 to decipher. If we may speak dogmatically upon such slender proofs as we now pos- 
 sess, he learnt to write after the old German text-hand then in use at the grammar 
 school of Stratford. It was in this respect fifty years behindhand, as any one may see 
 by comparing Shakspere's signature with that of Sir Thomas Lucy, Lord Bacon, 
 or John Lilly. The wonder is how with such a hand he could have written so much. 
 
 1 
 
 Mr. William Henry Burr, of Washington, D. C, has written an 
 
 interesting pamphlet, to prove that Shakspere could not read or 
 write, but simply traced his name from a copy set him; and that, 
 
 1 Knight's Illust. Shaks., Trag., i, p. 442. 2 Outlines Life of Stiak., p. 171. 
 
7 o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 as the copy furnished him at different times was written by differ- 
 ent hands, there is a great difference in the shape of the letters 
 composing his name. 
 
 Certain it is his autographs do not look like the work of a schol- 
 arly man. The following cut is a representation of all the signatures 
 known, beyond question, to have been written by Shakspere: 
 
 
 &fy*S'r f 
 
 The first is from Malone's facsimile of a mortgage deed which 
 has been lost; the second is from a conveyance in the possession of 
 the corporation of London; the other thsee are from the three 
 sheets of paper constituting his will. 
 
 Compare the foregoing scrawls with the clear and scholarly 
 writing of Ben Jonson, affixed in 1604-5 to a copy of his Mask of 
 Blackness, and now preserved in the British Museum: 
 
 Or compare them with the handwriting of the famous and 
 popular John Lyly, the author of Euphues, written about 1580: 
 
THE REAL CHARACTER OF WILLIAM SHAKSPERE. 
 
 7* 
 
 Or compare them with the following signature of Francis 
 Bacon: 
 
 J- L^2 il^vv^ -f^s^j^ 
 
 y 
 
 Or compare them with the signature of the famous Inigo Jones, 
 who assisted in getting up the scenery and contrivances for masks 
 at court: 
 
 XV. His Death. 
 
 Let us pass to another point. 
 
 We saw that the first recorded fact in reference to the Stratford 
 boy was a drunken bout in which he lost consciousness, and layout 
 in the fields all night. The history of his life terminates with a sim- 
 ilar event. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps thus gives the tradition: 
 
 It is recorded that the party was a jovial one, and, according to a somewhat 
 late but apparently reliable tradition, when the great dramatist was returning to 
 New Place in the evening, he had taken more wine than was. conducive to pedestrian 
 accuracy. Shortly or immediately afterwards, he was seized by the lamentable 
 fever which terminated fatally on Friday, April 23. The cause of the malady, then 
 attributed to undue festivity, would now be readily discernible in the wretched san- 
 itary conditions surrounding his residence. If truth, and not romance, is to be 
 invoked, were there the woodbine and the sweet honeysuckle within reach of the 
 poet's death-bed, their fragrance would have been neutralized by their vicinity to 
 middens, fetid water-courses, mud-walls and piggeries. 1 
 
 'Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 170. 
 
J 
 
 72 WILLIAM SUA A" SEE RE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 And from such a cause, and in the midst of such surroundings, 
 we are told, died the greatest man of his race; leaving behind him 
 not a single tradition or memorial that points to learning, culture, 
 refinement, generosity, elevation of soul or love of humanity. 
 
 If he be in truth the author of the Plays, then indeed is it one 
 of the most inexplicable marvels in the history of mankind. As 
 Emerson says, " I cannot marry the facts to his verse." 
 
T 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 
 
 Come, and take choice of all my library, 
 And so beguile thy sorrow. 
 
 Titus A ndronicus, iv, r. 
 
 HE whole life of Shakspere is shrouded in mystery. 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 We do not know positively the date of Shakespeare's birth, or the house in 
 -which he first saw the light, or a single act of his life from the day of his baptism to 
 the month of his obscure and suspicious marriage. We are equally ignorant of the 
 date of that event, and of all else that befell him from its occurrence until we find 
 him in London; and when he went there we are not sure, or when he finally 
 returned to Stratford. . . . Hardly a word that he spoke has reached us, and not 
 a familiar line from his hand, or the record of one interview at which he was 
 present. 1 
 
 And, again, the same writer says: 
 
 From early manhood to maturity he lived and labored and throve in the chief 
 ■city of a prosperous and peaceful country, at a period of high intellectual and 
 moral development. His life was passed before the public in days when the pen 
 recorded scandal in the diary, and when the press, though the daily newspaper did 
 not yet exist, teemed with personality. Yet of Dante, driven in haughty wretched- 
 ness from city to city, and singing his immortal hate of his pursuers as he fled, we 
 know more than we do of Shakespeare, the paucity of whose personal memorials 
 is so extreme that he has shared with the almost mythical Homer the fortune of 
 having the works which made his name immortal pronounced medleys, in the com- 
 position of which he was but indirectly and partially concerned.' 2 
 
 Hallam says: 
 
 Of William Shakespeare it may be truly said we know scarcely anything. . . . 
 While I laud the labors of Mr. Collier, Mr. Hunter and other collectors of such 
 crumbs, I am not sure that we should not venerate Shakespeare as much if they 
 had left him undisturbed in his obscurity. To be told that he played a trick on a 
 brother player in a licentious amour, or that he died of a drunken frolic, does not 
 exactly inform us of the man who wrote Lear. If there was a Shakespeare of 
 earth there was also one of heaven, and it is of him that we desire to know some- 
 thing. 3 
 
 This is certainly extraordinary. 
 It was an age of great men. 
 
 1 White, Life and Genius of Shak., p. 4. 2 Ibid., p. 1. 3 Introduction to Literature of Europe. 
 
 73 
 
74 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 Unlike Dante, unlike Milton, unlike Goethe, unlike the great poets and trage- 
 dians of Greece and Rome, Shakespeare left no trace upon the political, or even 
 the social life of his era. Of his eminent countrymen, Raleigh, Sidney, Spenser, 
 Bacon, Cecil, Walsingham, Coke, Camden, Hooker, Drake, Hobbes, Inigo Jones, 
 Herbert of Cherbury, Laud, Pym, Hampden, Selden, Walton, Wotton and Donne 
 may be properly reckoned as his contemporaries; and yet there is no proof what- 
 ever that he was personally known to either of these men, or to any others of less 
 note among the statesmen, scholars, soldiers and artists of his day, except the few 
 of his fellow craftsmen whose acquaintance with him has been heretofore men- 
 tioned. 1 
 
 It was an age of pamphlets. Priests, politicians and players all 
 vented their grievances, or set forth their views, in pamphlets, but 
 in none of these is there one word from or about Shakspere. 
 
 I, Where are his Letters ? 
 
 It was an age of correspondence. The letters which have come 
 down to us from that period would fill a large library, but in no 
 one of them is there any reference to Shakspere. 
 
 The man of Stratford passed through the world without leaving 
 the slightest mark upon the politics or the society of his teeming 
 and active age. 
 
 Emerson says: 
 
 If it need wit to know wit, according to the proverb, Shakespeare's time should 
 be capable of recognizing it. Sir Henry Wotton was born four years after Shake- 
 speare, and died twenty-three years after him, and I find among his correspondents 
 and acquaintances the following persons: Theodore Beza, Isaac Casaubon, Sir 
 Philip Sidney, the Earl of Essex, Lord Bacon, Sir Walter Raleigh, John Milton, Sir 
 Henry Vane, Isaac Walton, Dr. Donne, Abraham Cowley, Bellarmine, Charles 
 Cotton, John Pym, John Hales, Kepler, Vieta, Albericus Gentilis, Paul Sarpi, 
 Arminius — with all of whom exists some token of his having communicated, with- 
 out enumerating many others whom doubtless he (Wotton) saw — Shakspeare, 
 Spenser, Jonson, Beaumont, Massinger, two Herberts, Marlowe, Chapman and 
 the rest. Since the constellation of great men who appeared in Greece in the time 
 of Pericles, there was never any such society; yet their genius failed them to find 
 out the best head in the universe. Our poet's mask was impenetrable. 2 
 
 We read in a sonnet attributed to his pen that he highly valued 
 Spenser; and we find Spenser, it is claimed, alluding to the author 
 of the Plays; the dedications of the Venus and Adonis and the Rafe 
 of Lucrece are supposed to imply close social relationship with the 
 Earl of Southampton; we are told Elizabeth conversed with him 
 and King James wrote him a letter; we have pictures of him sur- 
 
 1 Lift and Genius o/Skak., p. 185. - Representative Men, p. 200. 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AXD MANUSCRIPTS, 75 
 
 rounded by a circle of friends, consisting of the wisest and wittiest 
 of the age; and yet there has been found no scrap of writing from 
 him or to him; no record of any dinner or festival at which he met 
 any of his associates. In the greatest age of English literature the 
 greatest man of his species lives in London for nearly thirty years, 
 and no man takes any note of his presence. 
 
 Contrast the little we know of Shakspere with the great deal we 
 know of his contemporary Ben Jonson. We are acquainted some- 
 what with the career even of Ben's father; we know that Ben 
 attended school in London, and was afterward at Cambridge; — 
 there is no evidence that Shakspere ever was a day at school in his 
 life. We know that Jonson enlisted and served as a young man in 
 the wars in the Low Countries. Shakspere's biography, from the 
 time he left Stratford, in 1585-7, until he appears in London as a 
 writer of plays, is an utter blank, except the legend that he held 
 horses at the door of the theater. We know all about Jonson's 
 return home; his marriage; his duel with Gabriel Spencer. We 
 are certain of the date of the first representation of each of his plays; 
 there is a whole volume of matter touching the quarrels between 
 himself and other writers. He published his own works in 16 16. 
 and received a pension from James I. We have letters extant 
 describing the suppers he gave, his manners, weaknesses, appear- 
 ance, etc. 
 
 But with Shakspere all this is different. Where are the letters 
 he must have received during the thirty years he was in London, 
 if he was the man of active mind given out by the Plays ? If he had 
 received but ten a year, they would make a considerable volume, 
 and what! a world of light they would throw upon his pursuits and 
 character. 
 
 But two letters are extant — those to which I have already 
 referred : one addressed to him soliciting a loan of money; an- 
 other addressed to a third party, in which he is referred to in the 
 same connection; but there is not one word as to studies, or art, 
 or literature, or politics, or science, or religion; and yet the mind 
 that wrote the Plays embraced all these subjects, and had thought 
 profoundly on all of them. He loved the art of poetry passionately: 
 he speaks of " the elegance, facility and golden cadence of poetry; " * 
 
 1 Lace's Labor Lost, iv, 2. ___—■____ 
 
 CTTrT 
 
 or TMC ' 
 
7 6 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 he aspired to a " muse of fire that would ascend the highest heaven 
 •of invention; " he struggled for perfection. Had he no intercourse 
 with the poets of his time ? Was there no mutual coming-together 
 of men of kindred tastes and pursuits? 
 
 Is it not most extraordinary that he should leave behind him 
 this vast body of plays, the glory and the wonder of which fills the 
 world, and not a scrap of paper except five signatures, three of 
 which were affixed to his will, and the others to some legal docu- 
 ments ? 
 
 On the one side we have the Plays — vast, voluminous, immortal, 
 covering and ranging through every department of human thought. 
 These are the works of Shakespeare. 
 
 On the other hand, these five signatures are the sum total of the 
 life-labors of Shakspere which have come down to us. 
 
 In these rude, illiterate scrawls we stand face to face with the 
 man of Stratford. What an abyss separates them from the majestic, 
 the god-like Plays ? 
 
 It is a curious fact that all the writings were put forth in the 
 name of Shakespeare, very often printed with a hyphen, as I have 
 given it above, Shakespeare ; while in every one of the five cases 
 where the man's signature has come down to us, he spells his name 
 Shakspere. 
 
 In this work, wherever I allude to the mythical writer, I designate 
 him as Shakespeare; whenever I refer to the man of Stratford, I give 
 him the name he gave himself — Shakspere. 
 
 The history of mankind will be searched in vain for another 
 instance where a great man uniformly spelled his name one way on 
 the title-pages of his works, and another way in the important 
 legal documents which he was called upon to sign. Can such a 
 fact be explained ? 
 
 But passing from this theme we come to another question: 
 
 II. Where are his Books? 
 
 We have seen that the author of the Plays was a man of large 
 learning; that he had read and studied Homer, Plato, Heliodorus, 
 Sophocles, Euripides, Dares Phrygius, Horace, Virgil, Lucretius, 
 Statius, Catullus, Seneca, Ovid, Plautus, Plutarch, Boccaccio, Berni 
 and an innumerable array of French novelists and Spanish and 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 77 
 
 Danish writers. The books which have left their traces in the Plays 
 w T ould of themselves have constituted a large library. 
 
 What became of them ? 
 
 There were no public libraries in that day to which the student 
 could resort. The man who wrote the Plays must have gathered 
 around him a vast literary store, commensurate with his own intel- 
 lectual activity. 
 
 Did William Shakspere, of Stratford-on-Avon, possess such a 
 library ? 
 J If he did, there is not the slightest reference to it in his will. 
 
 The man who wrote the Plays would have loved his library; he 
 would have remembered it in his last hours. He could not have 
 forgotten Montaigne, Holinshed, Plutarch, Ovid, Plato, Horace, the 
 French and Italian romances, to remember his "brod silver and 
 gilt bole," his "sword," his "wearing apparel," and his "second 
 best bed with the furniture." 
 
 The man of Stratford forgot Homer and Plato, but his mind 
 dwelt lovingly, at the edge of the grave, on his old breeches and 
 the second-hand bed-clothes. 
 
 Compare his will with that of one who was his contemporary, 
 Robert Burton, the author of The Anatomy of Melancholy. I quote a 
 few items from it. 
 
 After leaving certain sums of money to Christ Church, Oxford, 
 to buy books w/th, and to Brasennose Library, he says: 
 
 If I have any books the University Library hath not, let them take them. If I 
 have any books our own library hath not, let them take them. I give to Mrs. Fell 
 all my English Books of Husbandry one excepted. ... To Mrs. lies my Gerard's 
 Herbal. To Mrs. Morris my Country Farm, translated out of French, 4, and all 
 my English Physick Books to Mr. Whistler, the Recorder of Oxford. ... To 
 all my fellow students, Mrs. of Arts, a book in Folio or two apiece. . . . To 
 Master Morris my Atlas Geografer and Ortelius Theatrum Mond. . . . To Doctor 
 lies, his son, Student Salauntch on Paurrhelia and Lucian's Works in 4 tomes. 
 If any books be left let my executors dispose of them with all such Books 
 as are written with my own hands, and half my Melancholy copy, for Crips hath 
 the other half. 
 
 This will was made in 1639, twenty-three years after Shakspere's 
 death, and shows how a scholar tenderly remembers his library 
 when he comes to bid farewell to the earth. , 
 
 The inventory of Shakspere's personal property has never been^ 
 found. Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
7 8 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 If the inventory ever comes to light, it can hardly fail to be of surpassing 
 interest, especially if it contains a list of the books preserved at New Place. These 
 must have been very limited in number, for there is no allusion to such luxuries in the 
 -mill. Anything like a private library, even of the smallest dimensions, was then 
 of the rarest occurrence, and that Shakespeare ever owned one, at any time of his 
 life, is exceedingly improbable} 
 
 But surely the man who could write as follows could not have 
 
 lived without his books: 
 
 Sir, he hath never fed of the dainties that are bred in a book; . . . his intellect 
 is not replenished; he is only an animal; only sensible in the duller parts. 2 
 
 There is no evidence that Shakspere possessed a single book. 
 It was supposed for some time that the world had a copy of a work 
 from his library, the Essays of Montaigne, but it is now conceded 
 that the signature on the title-leaf is a forgery. The very forgery 
 showed the instinctive feeling which possessed intelligent men that 
 the author of Hamlet must have owned a library, and would have lov- 
 ingly inscribed his name in his favorite books. 
 
 III. Where is the Debris of his Work-shop. 
 
 It was an age of commonplace-books. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps calls the era of Shakspere "those days of 
 commonplace-books." 
 
 Shakespeare himself presented a commonplace-book to some 
 friend, and wrote this sonnet, probably on the fly-leaf: 
 
 Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, 
 
 Thy dial how thy precious moments waste; 
 The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, 
 
 And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. 
 The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show 
 
 Of mouthed graves will give thee memory; 
 Thou by the dial's shady stealth mayst know 
 
 Time's thievish progress to eternity. 
 Look, what thy memory cannot contain, 
 
 Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
 These children nursed, delivered from thy brain 
 
 To take a nezo acquaintance of thy mind. 
 These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, 
 Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book. 3 
 
 That distinguished scholar, Prof. Thomas Davidson, expresses 
 the opinion that this word offices may be identical with the Promus 
 of Bacon, some leaves of which are now in the British Museum. 
 
 1 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 186. * Love 1 s L^abor Lost, iv, 2. 
 
 3 Sonnet lxxvii. 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 
 
 79 
 
 The sonnet describes just such a commonplace-book as Bacon's 
 Promus is; and Prof. Davidson adds: 
 
 Promus is the Latin for offices, that is, larder. Offices here has always seemed 
 a strange word. Its significance appears to have been overlooked. The German 
 translations omit it. 
 
 The real author of the Plays was a laborious student; we will 
 see hereafter how he wrote and re-wrote his works. This sonnet 
 shows that he must have kept commonplace-books, in which he 
 noted down the thoughts and facts which he feared his memory 
 could not contain, to subsequently " enrich his book" with them. 
 With such habits he must have accumulated during his life-time a 
 vast mass of material, the debris, the chips of the work-shop, hewn 
 off in shaping the stately statues of his thought. 
 
 What became of them ? 
 
 IV. Where are the Original Copies of the Plays? 
 
 Let the reader write off one page of any one of the Shakespeare 
 
 Plays, and he can then form some conception of the huge mass of 
 
 manuscripts which must have been in the hands of the author. 
 
 But as there is evidence that some of the Plays were re-written more 
 
 than once, and "enlarged to as much again," there must have been, 
 
 in the hands of the author, not only these original or imperfect 
 
 manuscript copies, but the final ones as well. Moreover, there had 
 
 been seventy-two quarto editions of the Plays. These, even if 
 
 imperfect and pirated, as it is claimed, were 
 
 His children, nursed, delivered of his brain; 
 
 and if the Stratford man was really the father of the Plays, and 
 
 believed that 
 
 Not marble, 
 Nor the gilded monuments of princes, 
 Should outlive this powerful rhyme, 
 
 what would be more natural than that he should take with him to 
 Stratford copies of these quarto editions? Can we conceive of a 
 great writer withdrawing to his country residence, to live out the 
 remainder of his life, without a single copy of the works which had 
 given him wealth, fame and standing as a gentleman ? 
 
 And if he possessed such books, commonplace-books and man- 
 uscripts, why did he not, 
 
 Dying, mention them within his will, 
 
8o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 as the real author says the Roman citizen would a hair from the 
 head of the dead Caesar? For all the dust of all the Caesars would 
 not compare in interest for mankind with these original manu- 
 scripts and note-books; and the man who wrote the Plays knew it, 
 and announced it with sublime audacity: 
 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade, 
 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 
 When in eternal lines to time thou goest. 
 So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 More than a century and a half of vigorous and exhaustive research, bounded 
 only by the limits of Great Britain, have failed to unearth a single scrap of memo- 
 randa or manuscript notes in William Shakespeare's handwriting, as preparation 
 for any one or any portion of these plays or poems. 
 
 But it will be said that this utter disappearance of the original 
 copies, note-books, memoranda, letters, quarto editions and library 
 is due to the destruction and waste of years. 
 
 Time hath, my lord, a wallet at his back, 
 Wherein he puts alms for oblivion. 
 
 But certain things are to be remembered. 
 
 It must be remembered that Shakspere was the one great man 
 
 of his race and blood. He had lifted his family from obscurity 
 
 to fame, from poverty to wealth, from the condition of yeomanry 
 
 to that of pretended gentry; all their claims to consideration rested 
 
 upon him; and this greatness he had achieved for them not by 
 
 the sword, or in trade, but by his intellectual genius. Hence, 
 
 they represented him, in his monument, with pen in hand, in 
 
 the act of writing; hence, they placed below the monument a 
 
 declaration in Latin that he was, 'In judgment, a Nestor — in 
 
 genius, a Socrates — in art, a Maro," and an English inscription 
 
 which says that 
 
 All that he hath writ 
 Leaves living art but page to serve his wit. 
 
 His daughter Susanna was buried with these lines upon her 
 
 tomb: 
 
 Witty above her sex, but that's not all, 
 Wise to salvation was good Mistress Hall; 
 Something of Shakespeare was in that, but this 
 Wholly of him with whom she's now in bliss. 
 
■■ -HI . ^ 
 
 'VER8fTy J 
 
 THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 81 
 
 His genius was more or less the subject of comment even while 
 he lived and soon after his death. 
 
 We are told, in the preface to the quarto edition of Troilus 
 and Cressida, published in 1609, that Shakespeare's Plays are equal 
 to the best comedy in Terence or Plautus. 
 
 And, believe this, that when he is gone and his Comedies out of sale, you will 
 scramble for them, and set up a new English Inquisition. 
 
 In 1662, forty-six years after his death, and eight years before 
 the death of his grand-daughter Elizabeth, wife of Sir John Bar- 
 nard, the vicar of Stratford proceeded to note down the traditions 
 about him. 
 
 How comes it, then, that this family — thus made great by the 
 genius of one man, by his literary genius; conscious of his great- 
 ness; aware that the world was interested in the details of his 
 character and history — should have preserved no scrap of his 
 writing; no manuscript copy of any of his works; no quarto edition 
 of the Plays; no copy of the great Folio of 1623; no book that had 
 formed part of his library; no communication addressed to him by 
 any one on any subject; no incident or anecdote that would have 
 illustrated his character and genius ? They had become people of 
 some note; they lived in the great house of the town. One son-in- 
 law was a physician, who had preserved a written record of the 
 diseases that came under his observation; his grand-daughter 
 Elizabeth, in 1643, entertained Queen Henrietta Maria, wife of 
 King Charles, the reigning monarch, and daughter of the great 
 King Henry IV. of France. The Queen remained in Shakspere's 
 house, New Place, for three weeks, on her progress to join King 
 Charles at Oxford. The Plays of Shakespeare were the delight of 
 King Charles' court. We are assured by Dryden that Shakespeare 
 was greatly popular with "the last King's court" — that of King 
 James — and that Sir John Suckling, and the greater part of the 
 courtiers, rated him "our Shakespeare," far above Ben Jonson, 
 " even when his (Jonson's) reputation was at the highest." 
 
 Could it be possible that the Queen and courtiers would find 
 themselves in the house of the author of Hamlet and The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor, and yet ask no questions about him ? And if 
 they did, what more natural than for his grand-daughter to produce 
 the relics she possessed of the great man — the letter of compliment 
 
82 WILLIAM SFIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 which King James,. the King's father, had written him, as tradition 
 
 affirms. Kings' letters were not found on every bush in Stratford. 
 
 And such memorials, once presented to the inspection of the curious, 
 
 would never again be forgotten. 
 
 Would not a sweet and gentle and cultured nature have left 
 
 behind him, in the bosom of his family, a multitude of pleasant 
 
 anecdotes, redolent of the wit and humor that sparkle in the Plays? 
 
 And, once uttered, the world would never permit them to die. 
 
 No accent of the Holy Ghost 
 The heedless world has ever lost. 
 
 We are told, by Oldys, that when his brother, in his latter years, 
 visited London, he was beset with questions by the actors touching 
 his illustrious relative, held by them in the highest veneration; but 
 he could tell them nothing. Would not similar questions be pro- 
 pounded to his family? His nephew, the son of his sister, was an 
 actor in London for years, but he, too, seems to have had nothing 
 to tell. We know that Leonard Digges, seven years after his death, 
 refers to the "Stratford monument." Interest in him was active. 
 
 Dr. Hall's diary of the patients he visited, and the diary of law- 
 yer Green, Shakspere's cousin, concerning his petty law business, 
 are both extant, and are pored over by rapturous students; but 
 where are Shakspere's diary and note-books? 
 
 Neither is there any reason why his personal effects should dis- 
 appear through carelessness. Dr. Hall was a man of education. 
 He must have known the value of Shakspere's papers. His own 
 and his father-in-law's personal property continued in the hands of 
 Shakspere's heirs down to the beginning of the present century, having 
 passed by will from Lady Barnard in 1670 to the heirs of Joan 
 Hart, Shakspere's sister. This was long after the great Garrick 
 Jubilee had been held at Stratford, and long after the world had 
 grown intensely curious about everything that concerned its most 
 famous man. Surely the memorials of one who was believed by his 
 heirs to be the rival of Socrates in genius and of Maro in art would 
 not be permitted to be destroyed by a family of even ordinary intel- 
 ligence. See how the papers of Bacon — of Bacon who left no chil- 
 dren, and probably an unfaithful wife — have come down to us: 
 the MSS. of his books; great piles of letters, written, most of them, 
 not when he was Lord Chancellor, but when he was plain Master 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 83 
 
 Francis Bacon. Even his commonplace-books have found their 
 way into the British Museum, and the very scraps of paper upon 
 which his amanuensis tried his pen. Remember how Spedding 
 found the origina* packages of the private letters of Lord Bur- 
 leigh, just as they were tied up by the great Lord Treasurer's own 
 hand, never opened or disturbed for nigh three hundred years ! 
 
 In the British Museum they have the original manuscript copies 
 of religious plays written in the reign of Henry VI., two hundred 
 years before the time of Shakspere; but that marvelous collection 
 has not a line of any of the plays written by the author of Lear and 
 Ha??ilet. 
 
 V. The Money Value of the Plays. 
 
 Nothing is clearer than that Shakspere was a money-getting 
 man. He achieved a very large fortune in a pursuit in which most 
 men died paupers. He had a keen eye to profit. He was ready to 
 sue his neighbor for a few shillings loaned. I have shown that he 
 must have carried on the business of brewing in New Place. He 
 entered into a conspiracy to wrest the right of common from the 
 poor people of the town, for his own profit. 
 
 Now, the Plays represented certain values; not alone their 
 value on the stage, but the profits which came from their publica- 
 tion. They were popular. 
 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 Although constantly pirated during his lifetime, it is impossible to discover 
 that anybody, or any legal representative of anybody, named Shakespeare, ever set 
 up any claim to proprietorship in any of these works — works which beyond any 
 literary production of that age were (as their repeatedly being subjects of piracy 
 and of registration on the Stationers' books proves them to have been) of the largest 
 market value. 
 
 Why should the man who sued his neighbors for petty sums 
 like two shillings pass by, in his will, these sources of emolument? 
 
 Butrit may be said he had already sold the plays and poems to 
 others. This answer might suffice as to those already printed, but 
 there were seventeen plays that never saw the light until they 
 appeared in the Folio edition of 1623, published seven years after 
 his death. He must have owned these. Why did he make no pro- 
 vision in his will for their publication — if not for glory, for gain? It 
 may be said that John Heminge and Henry Cundell, who appear to 
 have put forth the Folio of 1623, are mentioned in his will, and that 
 
84 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 they acted therein as his literary executors. But they are not 
 named as executors. His sole executors are Dr. John Hall, his son- 
 in-law, and Susanna, his daughter, with Thomas Russell, Esq., and 
 Francis Collins, gent, as overseers. None of these parties appear 
 to have had any connection with the great Folio. It was a large 
 and costly work, and, even though eventually profitable, must have 
 required the advance of a large sum to print it. Where did this 
 money come from ? Is it probable that a couple of poor actors, 
 like Heminge and Condell, would have undertaken such an outlay 
 and risk while the children of Shakspere were alive and exceed- 
 ingly wealthy ? I do not suppose that a work of the magnitude of 
 the Folio of 1623 could have been printed for a less sum than the 
 equivalent of $5,000 of our money. But at the back of the Folio 
 we find this entry: 
 
 Printed at the charges of W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke and W. 
 Aspley, 1623. 
 
 On the title-page we read: 
 
 Printed by Isaac Jaggard and Ed. Blount, 1623. 
 
 So that it appears that three men, W. Jaggard, I. Smithweeke 
 and W. Aspley, paid the expenses of the publication, while only one 
 man, Ed. Blount, was concerned in printing and expense both. 
 
 So that it appears that neither Heminge and Condell, nor 
 Dr. John Hall, nor Shakspere's daughter Susanna, nor Thomas 
 Russell, nor Francis Collins, nor anybody else who represented 
 Shakspere's blood or estate, had anything to do with the expense 
 of publishing the complete edition of Shakespeare's Plays, including 
 seventeen that had never before been printed, 
 
 VI. A Mysterious Matter. 
 
 But there is still another curious feature of this mysterious 
 
 business. 
 
 I quote again from Appleton Morgan: 
 
 It is not remarkable, perhaps, that we find no copyright entries on the Station- 
 ers' books in the name of Jonson, Marlowe, or other of the contemporary poets 
 and dramatists, for these were continually in straitened circumstances. But, 
 William Shakespeare being an exceedingly wealthy and independent gentleman 
 (if, besides, one of the largest owners of literary property of his time), it is remark- 
 able that the only legal method of securing literary matter, and putting it in shape 
 to alienate, was never taken by him, or in his name. The silence of his will as to 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 85 
 
 any literary property whatever is explained by the commentators by supposing 
 that Shakespeare sold all his plays to the Globe or other theaters on retiring, and 
 that the Globe Theater was destroyed by fire. If so, let it be shown from the only 
 place where the legal transfer could have been made — the books of the Stationers' 
 Company, which were not destroyed by fire, but are still extant. 
 
 Other commentators — equally oblivious of such trifling obstacles as the laws 
 of England — urge that, being unmentioned in the will, the Plays went by course of 
 probate to Dr. Hall, the executor. 
 
 But even more, in that case, certain entries and transfers at Stationers' Hall would 
 have been necessary. Moreover, the copyright, being not by statute, was perpetual, 
 .and could not have lapsed. In the preface to their first folio Heminge and Con- 
 dell announced that all other copies of Shakespeare's plays are " stolen and surrep- 
 titious." But on consulting the Stationers' books it appears that the quarto edi- 
 tions were mostly regularly copyrighted according to law, whereas the first folio 
 was not. Nor were the plays already copyrighted ever transferred to Heminge and 
 Condell or to their publishers. 
 
 What legal rights in England ever centered in this great first folio, except as to 
 the plays which appeared therein for the first time (which Blount and Jaggard did 
 copyright), must always remain a mystery. If "stolen and surreptitious copies" ex- 
 isted, therefore, they were the folio, not the quarto copies. 
 
 And again, in another publication, Mr. Morgan says: 
 
 Heminge and Condell asserted, in 1623, that all the editions of the plays called 
 Shakespeare, except their own, were "stolen and surreptitious copies." If the laws 
 of England in those days are of the slightest consequence in this investigation, it 
 must appear that it was actually these very men, Heminge and Condell, and not 
 the other publishers, who were utterers of "stolen and surreptitious copies." For, 
 whereas all other printers of Shakespeare's plays observed the laws and entered 
 them for copyright, Heminge and Condell appear never to have heard of any legal 
 obligations of the sort. Unless they stole them, it certainly passes man's under- 
 standing to conceive how they got hold of them. For, whatever property could be 
 legally alienated in those days without a record, literary property certainly could 
 not be so alienated. The record of alienation could have been made in but one place, 
 and it tvas never made there. 
 
 It may be said that Heminge and Condell, being merely play- 
 actors, were unfamiliar with the copyright system and law, and, 
 hence, failed to properly enter the work. But Heminge and Con- 
 dell, it appears by the first Folio itself, were not the men who put 
 their money into the venture, but Messrs. "W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, 
 I. Smithweeke and W. Aspley." Why did they not secure a title to 
 the work in which they were venturing $5,000 ? They were busi- 
 ness men, not actors. 
 
 As the Folio of 1623 declares that the previous quarto editions 
 were "stolen and surreptitious copies " of the Plays, "maimed and 
 deformed by the frauds and stealths of injurious impostors that 
 exposed them," and that they now present them "cured and perfect 
 of their limbs, and all the rest, absolute in their numbers as he con- 
 
86 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 ceived them," etc., it follows that in 1623 Heminge and Condell 
 
 must have had the original manuscripts in the handwriting of "the 
 
 poet." And they assert this: 
 
 And what he thought he uttered with that easiness that we have scarce 
 received a blot in his papers. 
 
 Now, as Heminge and Condell possessed Shakspere's original 
 copies in 1623, they could not have been burned in the Globe 
 Theater in 1613. 
 
 A very large box would be required to contain them. What 
 became of these fairly written, unblotted manuscripts ? Did his 
 " pious fellowes," who so loved the memory of their associate that 
 they compiled and published in huge and costly folio his com- 
 pleted works, care nothing for these memorials, in the very hand- 
 writing of him whom Ben Jonson pronounced, in the same volume 
 
 and edition, the 
 
 Soul of the age, 
 The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage; 
 
 who "was not for an age, but for all time," and in comparison with 
 whom " all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome " had produced 
 was as nothing ? 
 
 Those manuscripts have never been found, never been heard of; 
 no tradition refers to them; no scrap, rag, remnant or fragment of 
 them survives. 
 
 Why did not the men who so eagerly questioned his brother, 
 and who, we are told, so carefully preserved the Chandos portrait, 
 secure some part of these invaluable documents, which would to-day 
 be worth many times their weight in gold ? 
 
 VII. Another Mystery. 
 
 But another mystery attaches to these manuscripts. 
 
 The first appearance of Troilus and Cressida was in quarto form 
 in 1609, and the book contains a very curious preface, in which we 
 are told that the play had never been played, " never clapper-clawed 
 with the palms of the vulgar/' " never sullied with the smoky breath 
 of the multitude," and we find also this remarkable statement: 
 
 And believe this, that when he is gone and his comedies out of sale, you will 
 scramble for them and set up a new English Inquisition. Take this for a warning 
 and at the peril of your pleasures' loss and judgments refuse not, nor like this the 
 less for not being sullied with the smoky breath of the multitude; but thank for- 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 87 
 
 tune for the 'scape it hath made among you, since by the grand possessors' wills I 
 believe vote should have prayed for them rather than been prayed. 
 
 Here two remarkable facts present themselves: 
 
 1. That Shakspere, who was supposed to have written his 
 plays for the stage, for the profit to be drawn from their represent- 
 ation to the swarming multitudes, writes a play which never is 
 acted, but printed, so that any other company of players may pre- 
 sent it. And this play is one of the profoundest productions of his 
 great genius, full of utterances upon statecraft that are a million 
 miles above the heads of the rag-tag-and-bobtail who " thunder at 
 the play-house and fight for bitten apples." ' 
 
 2. That the original copies of this play and his other come- 
 dies — some or all of them — have passed out of his hands, and are 
 now possessed by some grand persons not named. For, note the 
 language: The writer of the preface speaks of Shakespeare's " com- 
 edies" in the plural; then of the particular comedy of Troilus and 
 Cressida; then of the " 'scape it hath made amongst you," that is, 
 its escape out of the "grand possessors'" hands, who were unwill- 
 ing to have it "'scape." In other words, we are told that these 
 "grand possessors' wills " were opposed to letting them — the com- 
 edies — be published. 
 
 Charles Knight says: 
 
 It is difficult to understand this clearly, but we learn that the copy had an 
 escape from some powerful possessors. It appears to us that these possessors were 
 powerful enough to prevent a single copy of any one of the plays which Shakspere 
 produced in his "noon of fame," with the exception of the Troilus and Cressida 
 and Lear, being printed till after his death; and that between his death, in 1616, 
 and the publication of the Folio, in 1623, they continued the exercise of their power, 
 so as to allow only one edition of one play which had not been printed in his life- 
 time (Othello) to appear. The clear deduction from this statement of facts is, that 
 the original publication of the fourteen plays published in Shakspere's lifetime 
 was, with the exceptions we have pointed out, authorized by some power having the 
 right to prevent the publication ; that, after 1603, till the publication of the Folio, 
 that right was not infringed or contested, except in three instances. 2 
 
 Knight thinks that these "grand possessors " were Shakspere's 
 fellow actors, to whom he had assigned the Plays; but this diffi- 
 culty presents itself: Would the man who wrote the preface to the 
 Troilus and Cressida of 1609, and who evidently looked with con- 
 tempt upon the players and the play-house, and who boasts that 
 
 » Henry VIII., v, 3. 2 Shak., History, vol. i, p. 314. 
 
88 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 the play in question had never been "clapper-clawed with the 
 palms of the vulgar," or "sullied with the smoky breath of the 
 multitude " — would he speak of the actors who made their humble 
 living before this vulgar multitude, the "vassal actors," the "legal 
 vagabonds," as "grand possessors"? Do not the words imply 
 some persons of higher social standing? 
 
 And then comes this further difficulty: If the actors owned 
 Troilus and Cressida, why would they not have played it, and gotten 
 all the pennies and shillings out of it possible ? Or why, if written 
 by an actor for actors, should it have been written so transcend- 
 ently above the heads of the multitude that it could not be acted ? 
 And why, if it was worth anything as a play, would the actors 
 have allowed it to " 'scape " into the hands of a publisher who sends 
 it forth with a sneer at the audiences who frequent their places of 
 amusement. And why, if they owned all the Plays, does not their 
 ownership appear somewhere on the books of copyright? And 
 why, if they owned them, would they destroy their own monopoly 
 by publishing them in folio in 1623, thus throwing open the doors 
 to all the players of the world to act them ? And why would they 
 not even copyright the book when they did so publish it? And 
 why, if they did so publish it, does it appear, by the book itself, 
 that they were not at the charge of publishing it, but that it was 
 sent forth at the cost of four men, not actors, therein named ? 
 
 Thus, in whatever direction we penetrate into this subject, inex- 
 plicable mysteries meet us face to face. 
 
 VIII. Pregnant Questions. 
 
 Why should the wealthy Shakspere permit the Plays, written 
 while he was wealthy, to pass into the hands of certain "grand 
 possessors " ? And if these men were not actors, but bought the 
 Plays of Shakspere, why should they make no attempt, during 
 twenty years, to get their money back by publishing them ? And 
 could they have procured them of the money-making Shakspere, if 
 he wrote them, without paying for them ? And what business 
 would "grand" men, not actors, not publishers, not speculators for 
 profit, have with the Plays anyway? And why should they stand 
 guard over them and keep them from the public for twenty years, 
 and then put them all out at once, and not copyright them, thus 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 89 
 
 making them a present to the public? And when they did publish 
 them, why should they place the papers in the hands of two play- 
 actors, Heminge and Condell, who pretend that they are putting 
 them forth out of love for the memory of that good fellow, Will 
 Shakspere? Were not Heminge and Condell a mere mask and 
 cover for the "grand possessors" of the unblotted manuscripts? 
 
 And if the man who sued Philip Rogers for jQi 19s. lod. for 
 malt sold, and for two shillings money loaned, had any ownership 
 in any of these plays, can we believe he would not have enforced it 
 to the uttermost farthing ? Would not he and his (for they were 
 all litigious) have chased the stray shillings that came from their 
 publication, through court after court, and thus placed the question 
 of authorship forever beyond question ? 
 
 We are forced to conclude: 
 
 1. Shakspere did not own the Plays and never had owned 
 them. 
 
 2. They were in the hands of and owned by some " grand" 
 person or persons. 
 
 3. This " grand " person or persons cared nothing for the 
 interests of the players and made them public property; therefore, 
 Heminge and Condell did not represent the players. 
 
 4. This " grand " person or persons cared nothing for the 
 money to be derived from their sale, and took out no copyright, 
 but presented them freely to the world; and this was not in the 
 interest of Shakspere's heirs, if he had any claim to them. 
 
 5. And this "grand" person or persons cared nothing for 
 the money to be made out of them, or he or they would, in 
 the period of twenty years, between 1603 and 1623, have printed 
 and reprinted them in quarto form, and made a profit out of 
 them. 
 
 But there is another striking fact in connection with the ques- 
 tion of the manuscripts. 
 
 IX. Another Mystery. 
 
 The whole publication of the Folio of 1623 is based on a fraudulent 
 statement. 
 
 Heminge and Condell, in their preface, addressed " to the great 
 variety of readers," say: 
 
9 o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthy to have been wished that the 
 author himself had lived to have set forth, and overseen his own writings. 
 But since it hath bin ordained otherwise, and he by death departed from that 
 right, we pray you do not envy his friends the office of their care and paine. 
 to have collected and publish'd them; and so to have publish'd them as where 
 (before) you were abus'd with diverse stolne and surreptitious copies, maimed 
 and deformed by the frauds and steal thes of injurious impostors, that exposed 
 them, even those are now offered to your view cur'd and perfect of their 
 limbs, and all the rest, absolute in their numbers, as he conceived them. Who, 
 as he was a happie imitator of nature, was a most gentle expresser of it. 
 His mind and his hand went together. And what he thought he uttered 
 with that easiness that we have scarce received from him a blot in his 
 papers. 
 
 And on the title-page of the Folio we read: "Mr. William Shake- 
 speare's Comedies, Histories and Tragedies. Published according 
 to the true originall copies." We have also a list of "the principal 
 actors in all these plays," prefaced by these words: 
 
 The works of William Shakespeare, containing all his Comedies, Histories and 
 Tragedies: Truely set forth according to their first originall. 
 
 Here we find four things asserted: 
 
 i. That the Folio was printed from the original copies. 
 
 2. That Heminge and Condell had "collected" these copies 
 and published them in the Folio. 
 
 3. That the quarto editions were " stolne and surreptitious 
 copies, maimed and deformed." 
 
 4. That what Shakespeare wrote was poured from him, as if 
 by inspiration, so that he made no corrections, and " never blotted 
 a line," as Ben Jonson said. 
 
 These statements are met by the following facts: 
 I. Some of the finest thoughts and expressions, distinctively 
 Shakespearean, and preeminently so, are found in the quarto edi- 
 tions, and not in the Folio. 
 
 For instance, in the play of Hamlet, nearly all of scene iv, act 4, 
 is found in the quarto and not in the Folio. In the quarto copy 
 we find the following passages: 
 
 What is a man, 
 If his chief good and market of his time 
 Be but to sleep and feed ? A beast, no more. 
 Sure he that made us with such large discourse, 
 Looking before and after, gave us not 
 That capability and god-like reason 
 To fust in us unused. 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 91 
 
 And again: 
 
 Rightly to be great 
 Is, not to stir without great argument, 
 But greatly to find quarrel in a straw, 
 When honor's at the stake. 
 
 No one can doubt that these passages came from the mind 
 we are accustomed to call Shakespeare. Hundreds of other 
 admirable sentences can be quoted which appear in the quartos, 
 but not in the Folio. It follows, then, that Heminge and Condell 
 did not have "the true original copies," or they would have con- 
 tained these passages. It follows, also, that there must have been 
 some reason why portions of the quarto text were omitted from the 
 Folio. It follows, also, that, in some respects, the "stolne and 
 surreptitious " copies of the quarto are more correct than the Folio, 
 and that but for the quartos we would have lost some of the finest 
 gems of thought and expression which go by the name of 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 II. The statement that Shakespeare worked without art, that 
 he improvised his great productions, that there was scarce "a blot 
 in his papers," in the sense that he made no corrections, is not 
 only incompatible with what we know of all great works of 
 art, but is contradicted on the next page but one of the Folio, 
 by Ben Jonson, in his introductory verses. « 
 
 He says: 
 
 Yet must I not give Nature all. Thy Art, 
 
 My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. 
 
 For though the Poet's matter Nature be, 
 
 His Art doth give the fashion. And that he 
 
 Who casts to write a living line must sweat 
 
 (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat 
 
 Upon the Muse's an vile, turn the same 
 
 (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame, 
 
 Or for the laurel he may gain a scorne; 
 
 For a good Poet's made, as well as borne. 
 
 And such ivcrt thou. Look how the father's face 
 
 Lives in his issue; even so the race 
 
 Of Shakespeare's^mind and manners brightly shines 
 
 In his well-torned and true-filed lines. 
 
 Here, then, we have the two play-actors, and friends of Shake- 
 speare, Heminge and Condell, squarely contradicted by another 
 friend and play-actor, Ben Jonson. One asserts that Shakespeare 
 wrote without art; the other, that he sweat over his "true- 
 
 1 1 a r7>s 
 
 Of rOJ* ) 
 
 y ~/VERs 
 
 try 
 
WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DLD NOT WRITE TILE FLA VS. 
 
 filed lines" and turned them time and again on the "Muse's 
 anvile." 
 
 Several of the plays exist in two forms: — first, a brief form, 
 suitable for acting; secondly, an enlarged form, double the size of 
 the former. This is true of Romeo and Juliet, Henry V. y The Merry- 
 Wives of Windsor and Hamlet. 
 
 For instance, the first edition of Henry V. contains 1,800 lines; 
 the enlarged edition has 3,500 lines. Knight says: 
 
 In this elaboration the old materials are very carefully used up; but they 
 are so thoroughly refitted and dovetailed with what is new, that the operation 
 can only be compared to the work of a skillful architect, who, having an 
 ancient mansion to enlarge and beautify, with a strict regard to its original 
 character, preserves every feature of the structure, under other combinations, 
 with such marvelous skill, that no unity of principle is violated, and the whole 
 has the effect of a restoration in which the new and the old are undistinguish- 
 able. 1 
 
 Knight gives a specimen of this work, taken from the quarto 
 Henry V. of 1608 and the Folio of 1623. We print in the second 
 column, in italics, those parts of the text derived from the quarto, 
 and which reappear in the Folio: 
 
 Quarto 1608. 
 King. Sure we thank you; and, good 
 
 my lord, proceed 
 Why the law Salique, which they have 
 
 in France, 
 Or should or should not stop us in our 
 
 claim: 
 And God forbid, my wise and learned 
 
 lord, 
 That you should fashion, frame or wrest 
 
 the same. 
 For God doth know how many now in 
 
 health 
 Shall drop their blood, in approbation 
 Of what your reverence shall incite us to. 
 Therefore, take heed how you impawn 
 
 our person; 
 How you awake the sleeping sword of 
 
 war: 
 We charge you in the name of God take 
 
 heed. 
 After this conjuration speak, my lord; 
 A*.nd we will judge, note and believe in 
 
 heart 
 
 Folio 1623. 
 King. Sure, we thank you. 
 
 My learned lord, I pray you to proceed 
 And justly and religiously unfold 
 Why the lazv Salique, that they have in 
 
 France, 
 Or should or should not bar us in our 
 
 claim. 
 And God forbid, my dear and faithful 
 
 lord, 
 That you should fashion, wrest or bow 
 
 your reading, 
 Or nicely charge your understanding 
 
 soul 
 With opening titles miscreate, whose 
 
 right 
 Suits not in native colors with the truth 
 For God doth know hozv many now in 
 
 health 
 Shall drop their blood, in approbation 
 Of what your i-everence shall incite us to : 
 Therefore, take heed how you impawn our 
 
 person ; 
 L low you' awake the sleeping sword of war; 
 
 Charles Knight, Ptct. Shak., Histories, vol. i, p. ^10. 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 93 
 
 That what you speak is washed as pure We charge you in the name of God take 
 As sin in baptism. heed. 
 
 For never two such kingdoms did con- 
 tend 
 
 Without much fall of blood, whose guilt- 
 less drops 
 
 Are every one a woe, a sore complaint, 
 
 'Gainst him whose wrongs give edge 
 unto the swords 
 
 That make such waste in brief mortality. 
 
 Under this conjuration speak, my lord ; 
 
 And 7ve will hear, note and believe in 
 heart, ■ 
 
 That what you speak is, in your con- 
 science, washed 
 
 As pure as sin with baptism. 
 
 Now Heminge and Condell claim, in the Folio, that the play of 
 Henry V. was printed from the "true original " copy, and that it 
 came from the mind of Shakspere without a blot; while here is 
 proof conclusive that it was not printed from the first original 
 copy; and that it did not come, heaven-born, from the soul of the 
 creator; but that the writer, whoever he might be, was certainly 
 a man of vast industry and immense adroitness, nimbleness and 
 subtlety of mind. 
 
 False in one thing, false in all. Heminge and Condell did not 
 have the author's original manuscripts, with all the interlineations; 
 and corrections, before them to print from, but a fair copy from 
 some other pen. They do not seem to have known that there was 
 that 1608 edition of the play. In fact, they do not even seem to know 
 how to spell their own names. At the end of the introduction,, 
 from which I have quoted, they sign themselves, " John Heminge "' 
 and " Henrie Condell," while in the list of actors, published by 
 themselves, they appear as "John Hemmings " and " Henry Con- 
 dell;" and Shakspere calls them, in his will, "John Hemynge" and 
 " Henry Cundell." 
 
 If the play-actor editors thus falsified the truth, or were them- 
 selves the victims of an imposition, what confidence is to be placed 
 in any other statement they make ? What assurance have we that 
 they had collected the original manuscript copies; that they ever 
 saw them; in short, that they were the work of Shakspere or in his 
 handwriting ? What assurance have we that the whole introduction 
 and dedication to which their names are appended were not written 
 
94 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 by some one else, and that they were but a mask for those "grand 
 possessors" who, seven years before Shakspere's death, owned the 
 play of Troihis and Cressida ? 
 
 In fact, a skeptical mind can see, even in the verses which face 
 the portrait of Shakspere in the Folio of 1623, the undercurrent of 
 a double meaning. They commence: 
 
 The figure that thou here seest put, 
 It was for gentle Shakespeare cut. 
 
 Is the -\Yord gentle here, a covert allusion to Shakspere's 
 ridiculous and fraudulent pretensions to "gentle" blood, and to 
 that bogus coat-of-arms which we are told he had engraved in 
 stone over the door of New Place in Stratford ? 
 
 Wherein the graver had a strife ' 
 With Nature to out-doo the life. 
 
 No one can look at that picture and suppose that B. I. (Ben 
 Jonson) was serious in this compliment to the artist. 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 In this picture the head of the subject is represented as rising out of an 
 horizontal plane of collar appalling to behold. The hair is straight, combed down 
 the sides of the face and bunched over the ears; the forehead is disproportionately 
 high; the top of the head bald; the face has the wooden expression familiar in the 
 Scotchmen and Indians used as signs for tobacconists' shops, accompanied by an 
 idiotic stare that would be but a sorry advertisement for the humblest establish- 
 ment in that trade. 
 
 If this picture "out-does the life," what sort of a creature must 
 the original have been ? 
 
 O, could he but have drawn his wit 
 As well in brass as he hath hit 
 His face, the print would then surpass 
 All that was ever writ in brass. 
 
 This thought of "drawing his wit" is singularly enough taken 
 from an inscription around another portrait — not that of Shak- 
 spere, but of Francis Bacon. On the margin of a miniature 
 of Bacon, painted by Hilliard in 1578, when he was in his 
 eighteenth year, are found these words, "the natural ejaculation, 
 probably," says Spedding, "of the artist's own emotion": Si 
 tabula daretur digna, animum mallem — if one could but paint his 
 mind! 2 
 
 • The Shak. Myth, p. 95. 2 Life and Works 0/ Bacon, Spedding, Ellis, etc., vol. i, p. 7. 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 
 
 95 
 
 Let us read again those lines: 
 
 O, could he but have drawn his wit 
 As well in brass as he hath hit 
 His face, the print would then surpass 
 All that was ever writ — in brass ! 
 
 That is to say, his wit drawn in brass would surpass, in brass, all 
 that was ever written. Is not this another way of intimating that 
 only a brazen-faced man, like Shakspere, would have had the impu- 
 dence to claim the authorship of plays which were not written by 
 him ? 
 
 And that this is not a forced construction we can see by turning 
 to the Plays, where we will find the words brass and brazen used in 
 the same sense as equivalents for impudence. 
 
 Can any face of brass hold longer out? 1 
 Well said, brazen-ia.ce.' 
 A brazen-faced valet. 3 
 
 It seems to me there is even a double meaning to some of the 
 introductory verses of the Folio of 1623, signed Ben Jonson. The 
 verses are inscribed — 
 
 To the memory of my beloved — the Author — Mr. William Shakespeare — 
 and — what he hath left us. 
 
 What does this mean: "what he hath left us"? Does it mean 
 his works ? How could Ben Jonson inscribe verses to the memory 
 of works — plays? We speak of the memory of persons, not of 
 productions; of that which has passed away and perished, not of 
 that which is but beginning to live; not of the 
 
 Soul of the age ! 
 The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our stage ! 
 
 In the same volume, on the next page, we are told, 
 
 For though his line of life went soon about, 
 The life yet of his lines will never out. 
 
 Could Ben Jonson inscribe his verses to the memory of works 
 which, he assures us in the same breath, were not "for an age, but 
 for all time " ? Can you erect a memorial monument over immortal 
 life? 
 
 What did William Shakspere leave behind him that held any 
 :onnection with the Plays ? Was it the real author — Francis Bacon ? 
 
 1 Love's Labor Lost, v, 2. 2 Merry Wives 0/ Windsor, iv, 2. 3 Lear, ii, 2. 
 
9 6 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 And this thought seems to pervade the verses. Jonson says: 
 Thou art alive still — while thy book doth live. 
 And again: 
 
 Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were 
 
 To see thee in our waters yet appear, 
 
 And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, 
 
 That so did take Eliza and our James. 
 
 That is to say, Ben Jonson expresses to the dead Shakspere 
 
 the hope that he would reappear and make some more dramatic 
 
 " flights" — that is, write some more plays. Such a wish would be 
 
 absurd, if applied to the dead man, but would be very significant, if 
 
 the writer knew that the real author was still alive and capable of 
 
 new flights. And the closing words of the verses sound like an 
 
 adjuration to Bacon to resume his pen: 
 
 Shine forth, thou Starre of Poets, and with rage 
 
 Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage, 
 
 Which, since thy flight from thence, hath mourned like night, 
 
 And despaires day, but for thy volumes' light. 
 
 The play-houses had the manuscript copies of the Plays, and 
 had been regularly acting them; it needed not, therefore, the pub- 
 lication of the Folio in 1623 to enable the poet to shine forth. 
 
 If the "drooping stage" "mourned like night," it was not for 
 
 the Plays which appear in the Folio, for it possessed them; it had 
 
 been acting them for twenty years; but it was because the supply 
 
 of new plays had given out. Hugh Holland says on the next page: 
 
 Dry'd is that vein, dry'd is the Thespian spring. 
 
 How comes it, then, that Ben Jonson expresses the hope that 
 the author would reappear, and write new plays, and cheer the 
 drooping stage, and shine forth again, if he referred to the man 
 whose mouldering relics had been lying in the Stratford church for 
 seven years? 
 
 X. Ben Jonson's Testimony. 
 
 It must not be forgotten that Ben Jonson was in the employ- 
 ment of Francis Bacon; he was one of his "good pens ;" he helped 
 him to translate his philosophical works into Latin. If there was a 
 secret in connection with the authorship of the Plays, Ben Jonson, 
 as Bacon's friend, as play-actor and play-writer, doubtless knew it. 
 And it is very significant that at different periods, far apart, he 
 employed precisely the same words in describing the genius of 
 
fa 
 
 
 :0, 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AXD MANUSCRIPTS. 97 
 
 William Shakspere and the genius of Francis Bacon. In these 
 verses, from which I have been quoting, he says, speaking ostensi- 
 bly of Shakspere: 
 
 Or when thy socks were on, 
 Leave thee alone, for the comparison 
 Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome 
 Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 
 
 Jonson died in 1637. His memoranda, entitled Ben Jonsoris 
 Discoveries, were printed in 1640. One of these refers to the emi- 
 nent men of his own and the preceding era. After speaking of Sir 
 Thomas More, the Earl of Surrey, Challoner, the elder Wyatt, Sir 
 Nicholas Bacon, Sir Philip Sydney, the Earl of Essex and Sir Wal- 
 ter Raleigh, he says: 
 
 Lord Egerton, a grave and great orator, and best when he was provoked; but 
 his learned and able but unfortunate successor (Sir Francis Bacon) is he that hath 
 filled up all numbers, and performed that in our tongue which may be compared or, 
 preferred either to insolent Greece or haughty Rome. 
 
 What a significant statement is this ! 
 
 Francis Bacon had " filled up all numbers." That is to say, he 
 
 had compassed all forms of poetical composition. Webster defines 
 
 " numbers " thus: 
 
 That which is regulated by count; poetic measure, as divisions of time or 
 number of syllables; hence, poetry, verse — chiefly used in the plural. 
 I lisped in numbers, for the numbers came. — Pope. 
 Yet should the muses bid my numbers roll. — Pope. 
 
 In Love's Labor Lost, Longaville says, speaking of some love 
 
 verses he had written: 
 
 I fear these stubborn lines lack power to move; 
 
 O sweet Maria, empress of my love, 
 
 These numbers will I tear, and write in prose. x 
 
 But when Ben Jonson, who had helped translate some of 
 
 Bacon's prose works, comes to sum up the elements of his patron's 
 
 greatness, he passes by his claims as a philosopher, a scholar, a 
 
 lawyer, an orator and a statesman; and the one thing that stands 
 
 out vividly before his mind's eye, that looms up above all other 
 
 considerations, is that Francis Bacon is 3. poet — a great poet — a 
 
 poet who has written in all measures, " has filled up all numbers " 
 
 — the sonnet, the madrigal, rhyming verse, blank verse. And what 
 
 had he written ? Was it the translation of a few psalms in his old 
 
 1 Act iv, scene 3. 
 
98 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 age, the only specimens of his poetry that have come down to us, 
 in his acknowledged works ? No; it was something great, some- 
 thing overwhelming; something that is to be "compared or pre- 
 ferred either to insolent Greece or haughty Rome." 
 
 And what was it that "insolent Greece and haughty Rome" 
 had accomplished to which these "numbers" of Bacon could 
 be preferred ? We turn to Jonson's verses in the Shakespeare 
 Folio and we read: 
 
 And though thou hadst small Latine and less Greek, 
 
 From thence to honor thee I would not seeke 
 
 For names, but call forth thundering ^Eschilus, 
 
 Euripides and Sophocles to us, 
 
 Paccuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, 
 
 To life again, to hear thy buskin tread, 
 
 And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on, 
 
 Leave thee alone, for the comparison 
 
 Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome 
 
 Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 
 
 The "numbers" of Bacon are to be compared or preferred either 
 to insolent Greece or haughty Rome — that is to say, to the best 
 poetical compositions of those nations. And when Ben Jonson 
 uses this expression we learn, from the verses in the Folio, what 
 kind of Greek and Roman literary work he had in his mind; it was 
 not the writings of Homer or Virgil, but of iEschylus, Euripides, 
 Sophocles, etc. — that is to say, the dramatic writers. Is it not extraor- 
 dinary that Jonson should 'not only assert that Bacon had pro- 
 duced poetical compositions that would challenge comparison with 
 the best works of Greece and Rome, but that he should use the 
 same adjectives, and in the same order, that he had used in the Folio 
 verses, viz.: insolent Greece and haughty Rome? It was not haughty 
 Greece and insolent Rome, or powerful Rome and able Greece, 
 or any other concatenation of words; but he employs precisely 
 the same phrases in precisely the same order. How comes it 
 that when his mind was dwelling on the great poetical and 
 secret works of Bacon — for they must have been secret — he 
 reverted to the very expressions he had used years before in 
 reference to the Shakespeare Plays ? 
 
 And it is upon Ben Jonson's testimony that the claims of Will- 
 iam Shakspere, of Stratford, to the authorship of the Plays, princi- 
 pally rest. 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 99 
 
 If the Plays are not Shakspere's then the whole make-up of the 
 Folio of 1623 is a fraud, and the dedication and the introduction 
 are probably both from the pen of Bacon. 
 
 Mr. J. T. Cobb calls attention to a striking parallelism between 
 a passage in the dedication of the Folio and an expression of Bacon: 
 Country hands reach forthe milk, cream and fruits, or what they have. 1 
 
 Bacon writes to Villiers: 
 
 And now, because I am in the country, I will send you some of my country 
 fruits, which with me are goocl meditations, which when I am in the city are choked 
 with business.* 2 
 
 And in the " discourse touching the plantation in Ireland," he 
 asks his majesty to accept "the like poor field-fruits." 
 
 We can even imagine that in the line, 
 
 And though thou hadst small Latine and less Greek, 
 Ben Jonson has his jest at the man who had employed him to 
 write these verses. For Jonson, it will be remembered, was an 
 accurate classical scholar, while Bacon was not. The latter was 
 like Montaigne, who declared he could never thoroughly acquire any 
 language but his own. Dr. Abbott, head master of the City of 
 London school, in his introduction to Mrs. Pott's great work, 3 refers 
 to "several errors which will make Latin and Greek scholars feel 
 uneasy. For these in part Bacon himself, or Bacon's amanuensis, is 
 responsible ; and many of the apparent Latin solecisms or mis- 
 spellings arise . . . from the manuscripts of the Promus" He adds 
 in a foot-note: 
 
 I understand that it is the opinion of Mr. Maude Thompson, of the British 
 Museum manuscript department, that all entries, except some of the French prov- 
 erbs, are in Bacon's handwriting ; so that no amanuensis can bear the blame of 
 the numerous errors in the Latin quotations. 
 
 How "rare old Ben" must have enjoyed whacking Bacon over 
 
 Shakespeare's shoulders, in verses written at the request of Bacon ! 
 
 XI. A Greater Question. 
 
 When the crushing blow of shame and humiliation fell upon 
 Francis Bacon in 162 1, and he expected to die under it, he hurriedly 
 drew a short will. It does not much exceed in length one page of 
 Spedding's book, and yet in this brief document he found time to say: 
 
 x Dedication, Folio 1623. 2 Montagu, iii, p. 20. 3 Promus, p. 13. 
 
ioo WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 My compositions unpublished, or the fragments of them, I require my servant 
 Harris to deliver to my brother Constable, to the end that if any of these be fit, in 
 his judgment, to be published, he may accordingly dispose of them. And in partic- 
 ular I wish the Elogium I wrote, In felicem memoriam Regince Elizabethce, may be 
 published. And to my brother Constable I give all my books; and to my servant 
 Harris for this his service and care fifty pieces in gold, pursed up. 
 
 He disposed of all his real property in five lines, for the pay- 
 ment of his debts. 
 
 And when Bacon came to draw his last will and testament, 1 he 
 
 devoted a large part of it to the preservation of his writings. He 
 
 says: 
 
 For my name and memory, I leave it to men's charitable speeches, and to for- 
 eign nations, and the next ages. But as to the durable part of my memory, which 
 consisteth ef my works and writings, I desire my executors, and especially Sir John 
 Constable, and my very good friend Mr. Bosvile, to take care that of all my writings, 
 both of English and of Latin, there may be books fair bound and placed in the 
 King's library, and in the library of the University of Cambridge, and in the 
 library of Trinity College, where myself was bred, and in the library of the 
 University of Oxonford, and in the library of my lord of Canterbury, and in 
 the library of Eaton. 
 
 Then he bequeaths his register books of orations and letters to 
 the Bishop of Lincoln; and he further directs his executors to 
 " take into their hands all my papers whatsoever, which are either 
 in cabinets, boxes or presses, and them to seal up until they may at 
 their leisure peruse them." 
 
 We are asked to believe that William Shakspere was, neces- 
 sarily, as the author of the Plays, a man of vast learning, the owner 
 of many books, and that he left behind him, unpublished at the 
 time of his death, such marvelous and mighty works as The 
 Tempest, Macbeth, Julius Ccesar, Timon of Athens, Coriolanus, Henry 
 VII T. and many more; and that, while he carefully bequeathed 
 his old clothes and disposed of his second-best bed, he made 
 no provision for the publication of his works, " the durable part 
 of his memory." 
 
 Is it reasonable? Is it probable ? Is it not grossly improbable ? 
 What man capable of writing Macbeth and Julius Ccesar, and know- 
 ing their value to mankind — knowing that they lay in his house, in 
 some "cabinet, box or press," probably in but one manuscript copy 
 each, and that they might perish in the hands of his illiterate family 
 and "bookless" neighbors — would, while carefully remembering 
 
 1 Life and Works, vol. vii, p. 539. 
 
THE LOST LIBRARY AND MANUSCRIPTS. 101 
 
 so much of the litter and refuse of the world, have died and made 
 no provision for their publication ? 
 
 But it may be said he did not own them; he may have sold 
 them. It seems not, for Heminge and Condell, in their intro- 
 duction to the first Folio, say that they received the original copies 
 which they published from Shakespeare himself: 
 
 And what he thought he uttered with that easiness that we have scarce received 
 from him a blot in his papers. 
 
 And again: 
 
 It has been a thing, we confess, worthy to have been wished, that the author 
 himself had lived to have set forth and overseen his own writings. 
 
 What right would he have had to set them forth if they 
 belonged to some one else ? 
 
 But since it hath been ordained otherwise, and he by death departed from that 
 right, we pray you do not envy his friends the office of their care. 
 
 If this introduction means anything, it means that Shakspere 
 owned these Plays; that he would have had the right to publish 
 them if death had not interfered; that his friends and fellow-actors, 
 Heminge and Condell, had, " to keep the memory of so worthy a 
 friend and fellow alive as was our Shakespeare," assumed the task 
 of publishing them; that they had received the original manu- 
 scripts from him — that is, from his family — free from blot, and that 
 they published from them, as all the quarto copies were "stolne 
 and surreptitious, maimed and deformed by the frauds and 
 stealthes of injurious impostors." 
 
 And yet these Plays, which belonged to Shakspere's wealthy 
 family, as the heirs of the author, which were printed by his " fel- 
 lows" to sell to make money — for they say in their introduction: 
 
 The fate of all books depends upon your capacities: and not of your heads 
 alone but of your purses. . . . Read and censure. Do so, but buy first. 
 
 — these Plays were not published or paid for by Shakspere's 
 
 family, but, as the Folio itself tells us, were 
 
 Printed at the charges of W. Jaggard, Ed. Blount, I. Smithweeke, and W. 
 Aspley, 1623. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 
 
 Why may that not be the skull of a lawyer ? 
 
 Hamlet, v, /. 
 
 NOTHING is more conclusively established than that the 
 author of the Plays was a lawyer. 
 Several works have been written in England and America to 
 demonstrate this. I quote a few extracts: 
 Franklin Fiske Heard says: 
 
 The Comedy of Errors shows that Shakespeare was very familiar with some of 
 the most refined of the principles of the science of special pleading, a science 
 which contains the quintessence of the law. . . . In the second part of Henry IV., 
 act v, scene 5, Pistol uses the term absque hoc, which is technical in the last degree. 
 This was a species of traverse, used by special pleaders when the record was in 
 Latin, known by the denomination of a special traverse. The subtlety of its texture, 
 and the total dearth of explanation in all the reports and treatises extant in the 
 time of Shakespeare with respect to its principle, seem to justify the conclusion 
 that he must have attained a knozvledge of it from actual practice} 
 
 Senator Davis says: 
 
 We seem to have here something more than a sciolist's temerity of indulgence 
 in the terms of an unfamiliar art. No legal solecisms will he found. The abstrusest 
 elements of the common law are impressed into a disciplined service with every 
 evidence of the right and knowledge of commanding. Over and over again, 
 where such knowledge is unexampled in writers unlearned in the law, Shakespeare 
 appears in perfect possession of it. In the law of real property, its rules of tenure 
 and descents, its entails, its fines and recoveries, and their vouchers and double 
 vouchers; in the procedure of the courts, the method of bringing suits and of arrests; 
 the nature of actions, the rules of pleading, the law of escapes and of contempt of 
 court; in the principles of evidence, both technical and philosophical; in the dis- 
 tinction between the temporal and spiritual tribunals; in the law of attainder and 
 forfeiture; in the requisites of a valid marriage; in the presumption of legitimacy; 
 in the learning of the law of prerogative; in the inalienable character of the crown, 
 this mastership appears with surprising authority.' 2 
 
 And again the same writer says: 
 
 I know of no writer who has so impressed into his service the terms of any 
 science or art. They come from the mouth of every personage: from the Queen; 
 from the child; from the merry wives of Windsor; from the Egyptian fervor of 
 Cleopatra; from the lovesick Paphian goddess; from violated Lucrece; from Lear; 
 
 1 Shakespeare as a Lawyer, pp. 43, 48. 2 The Law in Shakespeare, p. 4. 
 
 102 
 
THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 
 
 °3 
 
 Hamlet and Othello; from Shakespeare himself, soliloquizing in his sonnets; from 
 Dogberry and Prospero; from riotous 'Falstaff and melancholy Jacques. Shake- 
 speare utters them at all times as standard coin, no matter when or in what mint 
 stamped. These emblems of his industry are woven into his style like the bees 
 into the imperial purple of Napoleon's coronation robes. 1 
 
 Lord Chief Justice Campbell sees the clearest evidences in the 
 Plays that the writer was learned in the law. I quote a few of his 
 expressions: 
 
 These jests cannot be supposed to arise from anything in the laws or customs 
 of Syracuse; but they show the author to be very familiar with some of the most 
 abstruse proceedings in English jurisprudence.' 1 
 
 Quoting the description of the arrest of Dromio in The Comedy 
 of Errors, he says: 
 
 Here we have a most circumstantial and graphic account of an English arrest 
 on mesne process [" before judgment "] in an action on the case. 3 
 
 In act iii, scene 1 (of As You Like It) a deep technical knowledge of the law is 
 displayed.* 
 
 It is likewise remarkable that Cleomenes and Dion ( The Winter's Tale, Act iii, 
 scene 2), the messenger who brought back the response from the oracle of Delphi, 
 to be given in evidence, are sworn to the genuineness of the document they pro- 
 duce almost m the very words now used by the Lord Chancellor when an officer 
 presents at the bar of the House of Lords the copy of a record of a court of justice: 
 
 You here shall swear. . . . 
 
 That you, Cleomenes and Dion, have 
 
 Been both at Delphos; and from thence have brought 
 
 The sealed-up oracle, by the hand delivered 
 
 Of great Apollo's priest; and that since then 
 
 You have not dared to break the holy seal 
 
 Nor read the secrets in't. 5 
 
 And again, Lord Chief Justice Campbell says: 
 
 We find in several of the Histories Shakespeare's fondness for law terms; 
 and it is still more remarkable that whenever lie indulges this propensity he uniformly 
 lays down good la70. 6 
 
 While novelists and dramatists are constantly making mistakes as to the law 
 of marriage, of wills and of inheritance, to Shakespeare's law, lavishly as he pro- 
 pounds it, there can neither be demurrer, nor bill of exception, nor writ of error. 7 
 
 If Lord Eldon could be supposed to have written the play, I do not see how he 
 would be chargeable with having forgotten any of his law while writing it. 8 
 
 The indictment in which Lord Say was arraigned, in act iv, scene 7 (2d Henry 
 VI.), seems drawn by no inexperienced hand. . . . How acquired I know not, but 
 it is quite certain that the drawer of this indictment must have had some acquaint- 
 ance with The Crown Circuit Companion, and must have had a full and accurate 
 
 1 The Law in Shak., p. 51. 3 Ibid., p. 39. 5 Ibid., p. 60. " Ibid., p. 108. 
 
 t Shak. Legal Acquirements, p. 38. 4 Ibid., p. 42. 6 Ibid., p. 61. 8 Ibid., p. 73. 
 
104 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 knowledge of that rather obscure and intricate subject — " Felony and Benefit of 
 Clergy." ■ 
 
 Speaking of Gloster's language in Lear? Lord Campbell says: 
 
 In forensic discussions respecting legitimacy the question is put, whether the 
 individual whose status is to be determined is "capable," i.e., capable of inheriting; 
 but it is only a lawyer who could express the idea of legitimizing a natural son by 
 simply saying: 
 
 I'll work the means 
 To make him capable. 
 
 Speaking of Ifa?nlet, his Lordship says: 
 
 Earlier in the play 3 Marcellus inquires what was the cause of the warlike 
 preparations in Denmark: 
 
 And why such daily cast of brazen cannon, 
 And foreign mart for implements of war? 
 Why such impress of shipwrights, whose sore task 
 Doth not divide the Sunday from the week ? 
 
 Such confidence has there been in Shakespeare's accuracy that this passage 
 has been quoted, both by text-writers and by judges on the bench, as an authority 
 upon the legality of the press-gang, and upon the debated question whether 
 shipwrights as well as common seamen are liable to be pressed into the service 
 of the royal navy. 4 
 
 Lord Campbell quotes sonnet xlvi, of which he says: 
 
 I need not go farther than this sonnet, which is so intensely legal in its language 
 and imagery that without a considerable knowledge of English forensic procedure it 
 cannot be fully understood. 
 
 Sonnet XLVI. 
 
 Mine Eye and Heart are at a mortal war 
 
 How to divide the conquest of thy sight; 
 Mine Eye my Heart thy picture's sight would bar, 
 
 My Heart mine Eye the freedom of that right. 
 My Heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie 
 
 (A closet never pierced with crystal eyes), 
 But the Defendant doth that plea deny, 
 
 And says in him thy fair appearance lies. 
 To 'cide this title is impaneled 
 
 A quest of Thoughts, all tenants of the Heart; 
 And by their verdict is determined 
 
 The clear Eye's moiety, and the dear Heart's part; 
 As thus: mine Eyes' due is thine outward part, 
 And my Heart's right, thine inward love of heart. 
 
 One is reminded, in reading this, of Brownell's humorous lines: 
 
 The Lawyer's Invocation to Spring. 
 
 Whereas on certain boughs and sprays 
 
 Now divers birds are heard to sing; 
 And sundry flowers their heads upraise, 
 
 Hail to the coming on of spring! 
 
 1 Shak. Legal Acquirements, p. 75. 3 Hamlet, i, 1. 
 
 2 Act ii, scene 1. 4 Shak. Legal Acquirements, p. 83. 
 
THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 105 
 
 The songs of those said birds arouse 
 
 The memory of our youthful hours, 
 As green as those said sprays and boughs, 
 
 As fresh and sweet as those said flowers. 
 
 The birds aforesaid — happy pairs ! — 
 
 Love, 'mid the aforesaid boughs, inshrines 
 
 In freehold nests; themselves their heirs, 
 Administrators and assigns. 
 
 Oh, busiest term of Cupid's court, 
 
 Where tender plaintiffs actions bring; 
 Season of frolic and of sport, 
 
 Hail — as aforesaid — coming spring ! 
 
 Lord Campbell says: 
 
 In Antony and Cleopatra, 1 Lepidus, in trying to palliate the bad qualities and 
 misdeeds of Antony, uses the language of a conveyancer's chambers in Lincoln's 
 Inn: 
 
 His faults, in him, seem as the spots of heaven, 
 
 More fiery by night's blackness; hereditary 
 
 Rather than purchased. 
 
 That is to say, they are taken by descent, not by purchase. Lay gents (viz., all 
 except lawyers) understand by purchase buying for a sum of money, called the 
 price, but lawyers consider that purchase is opposed to descent; that all things 
 come to the owner either by descent or by purchase, and that whatever does not 
 come through operation of law by descent is purchased, although it may be the free 
 gift of a donor. Thus, if land be devised by will to A in fee, he takes by pur- 
 chase; or to B for life, remainder to A and his heirs (B being a stranger to A), A 
 takes by purchase; but upon the death of A, his eldest son would take by descent} 
 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 But most wonderful of all is the dialogue in the graveyard scene. 
 
 In the quarto the two grave-diggers are wondering whether Ophelia, having 
 committed suicide, is to be buried in consecrated ground, instead of at a cross- 
 road with a stake driven through her body, and clumsily allude to the probability 
 that, having been of noble birth, a pretext will be found to avoid the law. 
 
 It happens that in the first volume of Plowden's Reports there is a case (Hales 
 vs. Petit, I. PI. 253) of which the facts bore a wonderful resemblance to the story 
 of Ophelia. 
 
 Sir James Hales was a judge of the Common Pleas, who had prominently con- 
 cerned himself in opposing the succession of Mary the Bloody. When Mary 
 ascended the throne, he expected decapitation, and was actually imprisoned, but 
 by some influence released. His brain, however, became affected by his vicissi- 
 tudes, and he finally committed suicide by throwing himself into a water-course. 
 Suicide was felony, and his estates became escheated to the crown. The crown in 
 turn granted them to one Petit. But Lady Hales, instructed that the escheat 
 might be attacked, brought ejectment against Petit, the crown tenant. The point 
 was as to whether the forfeiture could be considered as having taken place in the 
 lifetime of Sir James; for, if not, the plaintiff took the estate by survivorship. 
 In other words, could Sir James be visited with the penalty for plunging into a 
 
 *Act 1, scene 4. 2 Shak. Legal Acquirements, p. 94. 
 
106 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA VS. 
 
 stream of water? For that was all he did actually do. The suicide was only the 
 result of his act, and can a man die during his life? Precisely the point in 
 Ophelia's case as to her burial in consecrated ground. If Ophelia only threw her 
 self into the water, she was only a suicide by consequence, non constat that she- 
 proposed to die in the aforesaid water. So the case was argued, and the debate of 
 the momentous questions — whether a man who commits suicide dies during his 
 own life or only begins to die; whether he drowns himself, or only goes into the 
 water; whether going into water is a felony, or only part of a felony, and whether 
 a subject can be attainted and his lands escheated for only part of a felony — is so 
 rich in serious absurdity, and the grave-diggers' dialogue over Ophelia's proposed 
 interment in holy ground so literal a travesty, that the humor of the dialogue — 
 entirely the unconscious humor of the learned counsel in Hales vs. Petit — can 
 hardly be anything but proof that, admitting William Shakespeare to have written 
 that graveyard scene, William Shakespeare was a practicing lawyer. 
 
 Especially since it is to be remembered that Plowderi 's report was then, as it is 
 to-day, accessible in Norman Latin law jargon and black-letter type, utterly unintelli- 
 gible to anybody but an expert antiquarian, and utterly uninviting to anybody. Law 
 Norman or law Latin was just as unattractive to laymen in Elizabeth's day as it is 
 to lawyers in ours; if possible, more so. 
 
 The decision in Hales vs. Petit — on account of the standing of parties-plain- 
 tiff — might have been town-talk for a day or two; but that the wearying, and, to 
 us, ridiculous dialectics of the argument and decision were town-talk, seems the 
 suggestion of a very simple or of a very bold ignorance as to town life and 
 manners. 
 
 Besides, nobody sets the composition of Hamlet earlier than Nash's mention 
 of "whole Hamlets" in 1587 or 1589 — and every commentator of standing puts it 
 about ten years later. That the hair-splitting of a handful of counsel would 
 remain town-talk for twenty-five or thirty-six years is preposterous to suppose. 
 Reference to the arguments in that. case could only have been had from Plowden's 
 report. 
 
 My friend Senator Davis 1 points out another curious fact, viz.: 
 that a comparison of the Hamlet of the quarto of 1603, with the 
 Folio of 1623, shows that part of the text was re-written, to make it 
 more correct in a legal point of view. In the quarto we read: 
 
 Who by a sealed compact, well ratified by law 
 And heraldrie, did forfeit with his life all those 
 His lands, which he stood seized of, to the conqueror, 
 Against the which a moiety competent 
 Was gaged by our king. 
 
 But to state this in legal form there is appended, when Hamlet 
 comes to be printed in the Folio: 
 
 — which had returned 
 To the inheritance of Fortinbras 
 Had he bin Vanquisher, as by the same cov'nant 
 The carriage of the article designed, 
 His fell to Hamlet* 
 
 1 The Law in Shakespeare. a I famlct, i, 1. 
 
THE WRITER OE THE FLAYS A LAWYER. 
 
 107 
 
 What poet, not a lawyer, would have stated the agreement in 
 such legal phraseology; and what poet, not a lawyer, would have 
 subsequently added the lines given, to show the consideration mov- 
 ing to Fortinbras for the contract ? And this for the benefit of such 
 an audience as commonly frequented the Globe ! 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 No dramatist of the time, not even Beaumont, who was a younger son of a 
 judge of the Common Pleas, and who, after studying in the inns of court, aban- 
 doned law for the drama, used legal phrases with Shakespeare's readiness and 
 exactness. And the significance of this fact is heightened by another, that it is 
 only to the language of the law that he exhibits this inclination. The phrases 
 peculiar to other occupations serve him on rare occasions by way of description, 
 comparison or illustration, generally when something in the scene suggests them; 
 but legal phrases flow from his pen as part of his vocabulary and parcel of his 
 thought. The word purchase, for instance, which in ordinary use meant, as 
 now it means, to acquire by giving value, applies in law to all legal modes of 
 obtaining property, except inheritance or descent. And in this peculiar sense the 
 word occurs five times in Shakespeare's thirty-four plays, but only in a single 
 passage in the fifty-four plays of Beaumont and Fletcher. And in the first scene 
 of the Midsummer Nighfs Dream the father of Hermia begs the ancient privilege 
 of Athens, that he may dispose of his daughter either to Demetrius or to death, 
 
 According to our law 
 Immediately provided in that case. 
 
 He pleads the statute; and the words run off his tongue in heroic verse, as if he 
 was reading them from a paper. 
 
 As the courts of law in Shakespeare's time occupied public attention much 
 more than they do now, it has been suggested that it was in attendance upon them 
 that he picked up his legal vocabulary. But this supposition not only fails to 
 account for Shakespeare's peculiar freedom and exactness in the use of that phras- 
 eology — it does not even place him in the way of learning those terms, his use of 
 which is most remarkable, which are not such as he would have heard at ordinary 
 proceedings at nisi prius, but such as refer to the tenure or transfer of real property 
 — " fine and recovery," "statutes merchant," " purchase," " indenture," " tenure," 
 "double voucher," " fee simple," "fee farm," "remainder," "reversion," " fdr- 
 feiture," etc. This conveyancer's jargon could not have been picked up by hang- 
 ing around the courts of law in London 250 years ago, when suits as to the title to 
 real property were comparatively so rare. And besides, Shakespeare uses his law 
 just as freely in his early plays, written in his first London years, as in those pro- 
 duced at a later period. Just as exactly, too; for the correctness and propriety 
 with which these terms are introduced have compelled the admiration of a chief 
 justice and a lord chancellor. 1 
 
 And again Mr. White says: 
 
 Genius, although it reveals general truth and facilitates all acquirement, does 
 not impart facts or acquaintance with general terms; how then can we account for 
 the fact that, in an age when it was the common practice for young lawyers to write 
 plays, one playwright left upon his plays a stronger, a sharper legal stamp than 
 
 1 R. G. White, Life and Genius of Shak., p. 74. 
 
io 8 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 appears upon those of any of his contemporaries, and that the characters of this 
 stamp are those of the complicated law of real property. 1 
 
 And the same man who wrote this, and who still believed the 
 deer-stealer wrote the Plays, said, shortly before his death, in the 
 Atlantic Magazine: 
 
 The notion that he was once an attorney's clerk is blown to pieces. 
 
 The first to suggest that Shakspere might, at some time, have 
 
 been a lawyer's clerk, was Malone, who, in 1790, said: 
 
 His knowledge of legal terms is not merely such as might be acquired by the 
 casual observation of even his all-comprehending mind; it has the appearance of 
 technical skill, and he is so fond of displaying it on all occasions, that I suspect he 
 was early initiated in at least the forms of law, and was employed, while he yet 
 remained at Stratford, in the office of some country attorney, who was at the same 
 time a petty conveyancer, and perhaps also the seneschal of some manor court. 
 
 But even Lord Chief Justice Campbell, who, as we have seen, 
 
 asserts that the writer of the Plays was familiar with the abstrusest 
 
 parts of the law, is forced to abandon this theory. He says, writing 
 
 to J. Payne Collier, who favored the law-clerk theory: 
 
 Resuming the judge, however, I must lay down that your opponents are not 
 called upon to prove a negative, and that the onus probandi rests upon you. You 
 must likewise remember that you require us implicitly to believe a fact, which, were 
 it true, positive and irrefragable evidence, in Shakespeare's own handwriting, might 
 have been forthcoming to establish it. Not having been actually enrolled as an 
 attorney, neither the records of the local court at Stratford, nor of the superior 
 courts at Westminster, would present his name, as being concerned in any suits as 
 an attorney; but it might have been reasonably expected that there would have been 
 deeds or wills witnessed by him still extant; and, after a very diligent search, none 
 such can be discovered. Nor can this consideration be disregarded, that between 
 Nash's Epistle, in the end of the sixteenth century, and Chalmers' suggestion, more 
 than two hundred years afterwards, there is no hint, by his foes or his friends, of 
 Shakespeare having consumed pens, paper, ink and pounce in an attorney's office 
 at Stratford. 2 
 
 The Nash Epistle here referred to was an " Epistle to the Gen- 
 tlemen Students of the Two Universities, by Thomas Nash," pre- 
 fixed to the first edition of Robert Green's Menaphon, published, 
 according to the title-page, in 1589. In it Nash says: 
 
 It is a common practice now-a-days, amongst a sort of shifting companions 
 that run through every art and thrive by none, to leave the trade of noverint, 
 whereto they were born, and busy themselves with the endeavors of art, that 
 could scarcely Latinize their neck verse if they should have need; yet English 
 Seneca, read by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as Blood is a beggar, and 
 so forth ; and if you entreat him fair, in a frosty morning, he will afford you whole 
 Hamlets ; I should say handfuls of tragical speeches. 
 
 1 Life and Genius o/Shak., p. 76. 2 S/iak. Legal Acquit "tents, p. no. 
 
THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. lQ g 
 
 This epistle has been cited to prove that Shakspere was a law- 
 yer. In Elizabeth's reign deeds were in the Latin tongue; and all 
 deeds poll, and many other papers, began with the words: "Nover- 
 int unirersi per presentes" — "Be it known to all men by these 
 presents;" — and hence the business of an attorney was known as 
 " the trade of noverint" 
 
 But here are the difficulties that attend this matter: In the first 
 place Nash charges that the party he has in view, " the shifting 
 companion " who could afford whole Hamlets, was not only a lawyer, 
 but bom a lawyer; — "the trade of noverint whereto they were born." 
 In other words, that the party who wrote Hamlet had inherited the 
 trade of lawyer. We say of one "he was born a gentleman," and 
 we mean, thereby, that his father before him was a gentleman. 
 Now, it is within the possibilities that Shakespeare might have 
 studied for a few months, or a year or two, in some lawyer's 
 office, but assuredly his father was not a lawyer; he could not 
 even write his own name; he was a glover, wool-dealer or butcher. 
 But the description applies precisely to Bacon, whose father had 
 been an eminent lawyer, and who was therefore born a noverint. 
 
 But there is another mystery about this Nash Epistle. 
 
 It is universally conceded, by all the biographers and commen- 
 tators, that Shakespeare did not begin to write for the stage until 
 1592. Our highest and most recent authority, J. O. Halliwell-Phil- 
 lipps, 1 fixes the date of the appearance of Shakespeare's first play as 
 the third of March, 1592, when Henry VI. was put on the boards 
 for the first time; and this same Nash tells us that between March 
 3d, 1592, and the beginning of July, it had been witnessed by 
 "ten thousand spectators at least." And yet we are asked to 
 believe that when Nash, in 1589, or, as some will have it, in 1587, 
 wrote his epistle, and mocked at some lawyer who had written 
 Hamlet, he referred to the butcher's apprentice, who did not com- 
 mence to write until three or five years subsequently ! 
 
 And there are not wanting proofs, as we will see hereafter, that 
 Hamlet appeared in 1585, the very year Shakspere's wife was 
 delivered of the twins, Hamnet and Judith; the very year probably, 
 when Shakspere, aged twenty-one, whipped, scourged and im- 
 prisoned for poaching, fled from Stratford to London. 
 
 ^Outlines of the Life of Shak., p. 64. 
 
no WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 We can conceive the possibility of a rude and ignorant peasant- 
 boy coming to London, and, conscious of his defects and possess- 
 ing great powers, applying himself with superhuman industry to 
 study and self-cultivation; but we will find that Hamlet, that most 
 thoughtful and scholarly production, was on the boards in 1587, if 
 not in 1585; and Venus and Adonis, the "first heir of his invention," 
 must have antedated even this. 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 It has most unaccountably been assumed that this passage [in Nash's Epistle] 
 refers to Shakespeare. . . . That Shakespeare had written this tragedy in 1586, 
 when he was but twenty-two years old, is improbable to the verge of im- 
 possibility. 1 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 The preceding notices may fairly authorize us to infer that the ancient play of 
 Hamlet was written either by an attorney or an attorney's clerk. 2 
 
 The Shakspereans, to avoid the logical conclusions that flow 
 from this Epistle of Nash, are forced to suggest that there must 
 have been an older play of Hamlet, written by some one else — "the 
 ancient Hamlet," to which Halliwell-Phillipps alludes. But there 
 is no evidence that any other playwright wrote a play of Hamlet. 
 It is not probable. 
 
 The essence of a new play is its novelty. We find Augustine 
 Phillips, one of the members of Shakspere's company, objecting to 
 playing Richard II, in 1600, for the entertainment of the followers 
 of Essex, because it was an old play, and would not draw an audi- 
 ence, and thereupon Sir Gilly Merrick pays him forty shillings 
 extra to induce him to present it. 
 
 The name of a new play has sometimes as much to do with its 
 success as the name of a new novel. Is it probable that a play- 
 wright, having written a new play and desirous to draw a crowd and 
 make money, would affix to it the name of some old play, written by 
 some one else, which had been on the boards for ten years or more, 
 and had been worn threadbare ? Fancy Dickens publishing a new 
 novel and calling it Roderick Random. Or Boucicault bringing out 
 a new drama under the name of Othello. The theory is absurd. 
 
 We have now two forms of the play of Hamlet, published within 
 a year of each other, both with Shakespeare's name on the title- 
 
 1 Life and Genius of Shak., p. 71. 2 Outlines Life of Shak., p. 270. 
 
THE WRITER OE THE PLAYS A LAWYER. m 
 
 page; and one is the crude, first form of the play, and the other is 
 its perfected form, "enlarged to almost twice as much again." Is 
 this first form "the ancient Hamlet" to which Nash alluded in 
 1589? or is it the successor of some still earlier edition? Bacon 
 said of himself: " I never alter but I add." He re-wrote his Essays, 
 we are told, thirty times. Says his chaplain, Rawley: 
 
 I have myself at least twelve copies of his Lnstauration, revised year after year, 
 one after another, and every year altered and amended in the frame thereof, till at 
 last it came to that model in which it was committed to the press, as many living 
 creatures do lick their young ones till they bring them to the strength of their limbs. 
 
 Why is it not probable that the young noverint, " born a law- 
 yer," Francis Bacon, of age in 1582, may, in 1585, when twenty-three 
 years of age, having been "put to all the learning that his time 
 could make him master of," have written a play for the stage, 
 called Hamlet, at a time when William Shakspere, three years his 
 junior in age, and fifty years his junior in opportunities, was lying 
 drunk under the crab-tree, or howling under the whips of the 
 beadles ? 
 
 Hamlet, then, was written by a lawyer; and Shakspere never 
 was a lawyer. 
 
 This fact must also not be forgotten, that the knowledge of the 
 law shown in the Plays is not such as could be acquired during a 
 few months spent in a lawyer's office in the youth of the poet, and 
 which would constitute such a species of learning as might be 
 recalled upon questioning. It is evident that the man who wrote 
 the Plays was a thorough lawyer, a learned lawyer, a lawyer 
 steeped in and impregnated with the associations of his profession, 
 and who bubbled over with its language whenever he opened his 
 mouth. For he did not use law terms only when speaking upon 
 legal subjects: the phraseology of the courts rose to his lips even 
 in describing love scenes. He makes the fair Maria, in Love's Labor 
 Lost, pun upon a subtle distinction of the law: 
 
 Boyct. So you grant pasture for me. 
 
 Offering to kiss her. 
 Maria. Not so, gentle beast: 
 My lips are no common though several they be. 
 Boyet. Belonging to whom ? * 
 
 Maria. To my fortunes and me. 1 
 
 1 Act ii, scene t. 
 
,12 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 Grant White gives this explanation: 
 
 Maria's meaning and her first pun are plain enough; the second has been hith- 
 erto explained by the statement that the several or severall in England was a part 
 of the common, set apart for some particular person or purpose, and that the town 
 bull had equal rights of pasture in common and several. It seems to me, however, 
 that we have here another exhibition of Shakespeare's familiarity with the law, 
 and that the allusion is to tenancy in common by several (i.e., divided, distinct) 
 title. Thus: " Tenants in Common are they which have Lands or Tenements in 
 Fee-simple, fee-taile, or for terme of life, &c, and they have such Lands or Tene- 
 ments by severall Titles and not by a joynt Title, and none of them know by this 
 his severall, but they ought by the Law to occupie' these Lands or Tenements in 
 common and pro indiviso, to take the profits in common." ' . . . Maria's lips were 
 several, as being two, and (as she says in the next line) as belonging in common 
 to her fortunes and to herself, but they were no common pasturage. - 
 
 There was no propriety in placing puns on law phrases in the 
 mouth of a young lady, and still less in representing a French lady 
 as familiar with English laws and customs as to the pasturage of 
 the town-bull. These phrases found their way to the fair lips of 
 Maria because the author was brimming full of legal phraseology. 
 
 Take another instance. We read of — 
 
 A contract of eternal bond of love, 
 Confirmed by mutual joinder of your /rands, 
 Attested 'by the holy close of lips, 
 Strengthened by interchangement of your rings; 
 And all the ceremony of this compact 
 Sealed in my function by my testimony. , a 
 
 To be so saturated with the law the writer must have been in 
 daily practice of the law, and in hourly converse with men of the 
 same profession. He did not seek these legal phrases; they burst 
 from him involuntarily and on all occasions. 
 
 Gerald Massey well says: 
 
 The worst of it, for the theory of his having been an attorney's clerk, is that it 
 will not account for his insight into law. His knowledge is not office-sweepings, 
 but ripe fruits, mature, as though he had spent his life in their growth.* 
 
 But it is said that a really learned lawyer could not have writ- 
 ten the Plays, because the law put forth in the great trial scene of 
 The Merchant of Venice is not good law. 
 
 Lord Chief Justice Campbell, however, reviews the proceedings 
 in the case, and declares that " the trial is duly conducted accord- 
 ing to the strict forms of legal procedure. . . . Antonio is made to 
 
 1 Co. Litt., lib. iii, cap. 4, sec. 292. 3 Twelfth Night, v, 1. 
 
 9 Shakespeare, vol. iii, p. 453. * Shakespeare 's Sonnets, p. 504. 
 
THE WRITER OF- THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 
 
 H3 
 
 confess that Shylock is entitled to the pound of flesh . . . accord- 
 ing to the rigid strictness of the common law of England." 
 
 It is claimed that Shylock could not enforce the penalty of his 
 bond, but was entitled only to the sum loaned and legal interest ; 
 and that Antonio should have applied for an injunction to restrain 
 Shylock from cutting off the pound of flesh. 
 
 Imagine the play so reformed. The audience are looking for- 
 ward with feelings of delight to the great trial scene, with its mar- 
 velous alternations of hope and despair ; with Portia's immortal 
 appeal for mercy while the Jew whets his knife; and anticipating 
 the final triumph of virtue and the overthrow of cruelty. The cur- 
 tain rolls up, and a dapper lawyer's-clerk steps forward to the foot- 
 lights to inform the expectant audience that Antonio has procured 
 an injunction, with proper sureties, from the Court of Equity, and 
 that they will find the whole thing duly set forth in the next num- 
 ber of the Law Reporter! 
 
 In the first place, it is absurd to try a Venetian lawsuit by the 
 antique and barbarous code of England. 
 
 In the next place, it is not clear that, even by the rules of the 
 Court of Equity of England, Antonio could have been relieved of 
 the penalty without good cause shown. 
 
 There seems to be a distinction taken in equity between penalties and forfeit- 
 ures. ... In the latter, although compensation can be made, relief is not always 
 given. 1 
 
 In the case of Antonio, the pound of flesh was to be forfeited. 
 
 If you repay me not on such a day, 
 
 In such a place, such sum or sums as are 
 
 Expressed in the condition, let the forfeit 
 
 Be nominated for an equal pound 
 
 Of your fair flesh. 2 
 
 And in the court scene Shylock says : 
 
 My < 
 The 
 
 And Portia says 
 
 My deeds upon my head ! I crave the law, 
 The penalty and forfeit of my bond. 3 
 
 Why, this bond is forfeit. 
 Certain it is, Bacon, a thorough lawyer, did not understand that 
 he could escape the penalty of a bond, even under the laws of Eng- 
 
 1 3 Daniel's Chan. Plead, and Prac, p. 1946; 2 Story's Equity Jur.^ § 1321, etc. 
 2 Act i, scene 3. 3 Act iv, scene 1. 
 
ii 4 
 
 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 land, by simply paying the debt and interest. In July, 1603, he 
 
 was arrested at the suit of a Jew (the original probably of Shylock), 
 
 and thrown into a sponging-house, and we have his letter to his 
 
 cousin Robert, Lord Cecil, Secretary of State, begging him to use 
 
 his power to prevent his creditors from " taking any part of the 
 
 penalty [of his bond] but principal, interest and costs." 
 
 The Judge says: 
 
 There is no power in Venice 
 Can alter a decree established. 
 ' Twill be recorded for a precedent, 
 And many an error by the same example 
 Will rush into the state. 
 
 Before a writ of error can be taken from Portia's ruling, it must 
 be shown by some precedent, or "decree established," of the Venetian 
 chancery, that Antonio had the right to avoid the forfeiture by ten- 
 dering the amount received and simple interest; and as no such man 
 as Shylock ever lived, and no such case as that in question was ever 
 tried, it will puzzle the critics to know just how far back to go to 
 establish the priority of such a decision. 
 
 Again, the point is made that, if Shylock was entitled to his 
 pound of flesh, he was entitled to the blood that would necessarily 
 flow in. cutting it; upon the principle, it is said, that if I own a 
 piece of land I have the right to a necessary roadway over another 
 man's land to reach it. True. But in case I can only reach my 
 land by committing murder (for that was what Shylock was under- 
 taking), my lesser property right must be subordinated to the 
 greater natural right of the other man to his life. 
 
 But all this reasoning, if it be intended to show that the writer 
 of the play was but partially learned in the law, must give way to 
 the fact that Shylock vs. Anto?iio is a dramatic representation, for 
 popular entertainment, and not a veritable law-suit. The plot of 
 The Merchant of Venice was taken from the Italian romance II 
 Pccorone, of Giovanni Fiorentino, written in 1378; and there we 
 have the decision of the judge, that the Jew must cut a precise 
 pound of flesh, neither more nor less, and that, if he draw a drop of 
 Christian blood in so doing, he must die for it. 
 
 It would be absurd to suppose that a dramatic writer, even 
 though a lawyer, would be obliged to leave out these striking 
 incidents, and substitute a tamer something, in accordance with 
 
THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. n j 
 
 that barbarous jumble of justice and injustice called law in 
 England. 
 
 But the question after all is to be decided by Venetian, not 
 English precedents. The scene is laid in Venice. 
 
 John T. Doyle, Esq., of California, writes a letter to Lawrence 
 
 Barrett, Esq., the celebrated actor, which has been published in the 
 
 Overland Monthly, in which he discusses "The Case of Shylock." 
 
 He says: 
 
 The trial scene in The Merchant of Venice has, however, always seemed 
 inconsistent with his [Bacon's] supposed legal learning, for the proceedings in it 
 are such as never could have occurred in any court administering English law. 
 Lord Campbell, in his letter to Payne Collyer, has attempted to gloss over the 
 difficulty, but to all common lawyers the attempt is a failure. Save in the fact 
 that the scene presents a plaintiff, a defendant and a judge — characters essential 
 to litigation under any system of procedure — there is no resemblance in the pro- 
 ceedings on the stage to anything that could possibly occur in an English court, or 
 any court administering English law. No jury is impaneled to determine the 
 facts, no witnesses called by either side; on the contrary, when the court opens, 
 the duke who presides is already fully informed of the facts, and has even com- 
 municated them, in writing, to Bellario, a learned doctor of Padua, and invited 
 him to come and render judgment in the case. 
 
 Mr. Doyle then proceeds to give his experience of a lawsuit he 
 
 had in the Spanish-American republic of Nicaragua in 185 1-2. 
 
 After describing the verbal summons he received from the alguazil 
 
 to the alcalde in his court, Mr. Doyle says: 
 
 Proceedings of some sort were going on at the moment, but the alcalde sus- 
 pended them, received me very courteously, and directed some one present to go 
 and call Don Dolores Bermudez, the plaintiff, into court. The substance of Mr. 
 Bermudez' complaint against the company was then stated to me, and I was 
 asked for my answer to it. I sent for my counsel, and the company's defense was 
 stated orally. The contract out of which the controversy arose was produced, and 
 perhaps a witness or two examined, and some oral discussion followed; those 
 details I forget, for there was nothing in them that struck me as strange. There 
 was, in fact, little, if any, dispute about the facts of the case, the real controversy 
 being as to the company's liability and its extent. We were finally informed that 
 on a given day we should be expected to attend again, when the judge would be 
 prepared with his decision. 
 
 At the appointed time we attended accordingly, and the judge read a paper in 
 which all the facts were stated, at the conclusion of which he announced to us that 
 he proposed to submit the question of law involved to Don Buenaventura Silva, a 
 practicing lawyer of Granada, as a "jurisconsult." unless some competent objec- 
 tions were made to him. I learned then that I could challenge the proposed ju- 
 risconsult for consanguinity, affinity or favor, just as we challenge a juror. I knew 
 of no cause of challenge against him; my counsel said he was an unexceptionable 
 person; and so he was chosen, and the case was referred to him. Some days 
 after, he returned the papers to the alcalde with his opinion, which was in my 
 favor, and the plaintiff's case was dismissed. 
 
n6 WILLIAM SIIAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE TLA VS. 
 
 In the course of the same afternoon, or next day, I received an intimation; 
 that Don Buenaventura expected from me a gratification — the name in that coun- 
 try for what we call a gratuity — and I think the sum of $200 was named. This 
 did not harmonize with my crude notions of the administration of justice, and I 
 asked for explanations. They were given in the stereotyped form used to explain 
 every other anomaly in that queer country, "Costumbre del pais." I thought it a 
 custom more honored in the breach than the observance. 
 
 Here we find that the writer of the Plays followed, in all proba- 
 bility, the exact course of procedure usual in Venice, and in all 
 countries subject to the civil law. We even have, as in Portia's 
 case, the expectation that the judge should be rewarded with a 
 gratuity. 
 
 The only difference between the writer of the Plays and his 
 critics is, that he knew what he was talking about, and they did not. 
 
 My friend Senator Davis, of Minnesota, as a crowning proof 
 that Francis Bacon did not write the Plays, says: 
 
 . . . Again, Bacon was actively engaged in the court of chancery many years 
 before he became Lord Chancellor. It was then that the memorable war of juris- 
 diction was waged between Ellesmere and Coke — and yet there is not in Shake- 
 speare a single phrase, word or application of any principle peculiar to the 
 chancery. 1 
 
 To this my friend John A. Wilstach, Esq., the learned translator 
 of Virgil, 2 and an eminent lawyer, says in a letter addressed to me: 
 
 In the English courts, ancient and modern — as even laymen know — the 
 practice at common law and in chancery were and are severed, although the bar- 
 riers between the two are now, by the gradual adoption of chancery rules in com- 
 mon law practice, largely broken down. In the time of Bacon and Shakespeare 
 the division was distinct : the common-law lawyer was not a chancery practitioner; 
 the chancery practitioner was not a practitioner in the courts of common law. 
 But the general language of both branches of the profession was necessarily (for 
 in history and method they intertwined), if even superficially, known to the fol- 
 lowers of both, and the probability is that a practitioner of the one would easily 
 use the current verbiage of the other; indeed it would be strange if either should 
 hold away from the other. A Lord Coke, in the wide scope of literature, would 
 relax his common-law exclusiveness and enlarge the narrow circuit of his pro- 
 fessional prepossessions. A Lord Bacon, a student or a judge in chancery, 
 would delight to turn aside from the roses and lilies of equity — some of them 
 exotic plants — and become, for the time, a gratified wanderer in an historic com- 
 mon of pasture, among the butterflies and bees of an indigenous jurisprudence. 
 Hence my suggestion, opposed to that of the learned jurist, is, that this very scope 
 and freedom of law in literature is what the writer of the Shakespeare Plays has 
 given himself. And I find in the rambling pasture of the common law, according 
 to his own outgivings, he has met, besides its attractive features, other and repel- 
 ling ones — thorns, quagmires and serpents. I find that, on a close examination of 
 
 1 Law in Shakespeare. 'Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 1884. 
 
THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A LAWYER. II7 
 
 the Shakespeare Plays, the averment of the learned jurist as to the want of chan- 
 cery features therein is not proven. I find that there are passages wherein, in the 
 most evident manner, chancery principles and the equity practice are recognized 
 and extolled; and, further yet, that among passages tolerant or praiseful of the 
 common law are also found passages wherein its principles and practice are held 
 up to derision and even to scorn. And while it is true that phrases are not proofs, 
 but only grounds whence inferences may be drawn, yet the citations I shall 
 offer will be of as high a grade as those which are offered to support the 
 propositions which I contest. Nor is the argument weakened in its application 
 to the Baconian question by the establishment of the fact that the participation 
 in the production of the Shakespeare Plays on the part of Bacon was the work 
 of his early manhood. Coleridge well formulates the general experience when 
 he says that "a young author's first work almost always bespeaks his recent 
 pursuit." 
 
 He is, at this early age, too, more conversant with the literature of his art; is 
 more recently from the books and sometimes is observed to carry a head inflated 
 with pride in that branch of the profession which his bent of mind has led him to 
 favor. First let me recall some of those passages wherein derision and censure 
 are visited upon the common law — the "biting" severity of its principles, the 
 "hideous " deformity of its practice. 
 
 The most superficial reader of these dramas will need no reminder of the 
 satires conveyed in the conversation of Justices Dogberry and Shallow, Constable 
 Elbow and the clowns in Twelfth Night, and the more dignified broadsides of 
 Wolsey and Queen Katharine, and Hamlet and Portia, and their interlocutors. 
 As my reading goes, puerility, pedantry, corruption and chicanery, in legal 
 practice, have found in all literature no denunciations so severe, no ridicule so 
 effective. 
 
 In rst Llenry IV., i, 2, the derision takes, in the mouth of Falstaff, the form of 
 " the rusty curb of old Father Antic, the Law," the metaphor being that of a super- 
 annuated clown who, with rusty methods, methods old and lacking polish, cheats 
 .the people out of the attainment of their cherished desires. 
 
 When law can do no right, 
 
 Let it be lawful that law bar no wrong. 1 
 
 Since law itself is perfect wrong, 
 
 How can the law forbid my tongue to curse ?* 
 
 The state of law is bond-slave to the law. 3 
 
 But in these nice, sharp quillets of the law, etc. 4 
 
 The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power, 
 
 Have checked theft. 5 
 
 The bloody book of law, etc." 
 
 Crack the lawyer's voice, 
 
 That he may nevermore false title plead. : 
 
 My head to my good man's hat, 
 
 These oaths and laws will prove an idle scorn. 8 
 Parolles, the lawyer in All's Well that Ends Well, uses contemptuously 
 the legal machinery applicable to English estates in describing how Dumain 
 would convey away a title in fee-simple to his salvation; and, with the same 
 contemptuous reference to the same machinery, Mrs. Page describes the devil's 
 titles to Falstaff. 
 
 Now let us take up the praises of chancery. 
 \ 
 
 1 King John, iii, i. 2 Ibid., iii, i. s Richard II., ii, I. 
 
 4 jst Henry VI., ii, 4. 5 Timon of Athens, iv, 3. 6 Othello, iii, 1. 
 
 7 Timon of Athens, v, 3. 8 Lome's Labor Lost, i, 1. 
 
n8 WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 And, first, I cite a passage which the learned jurist himself quotes. My 
 italics will indicate my impression that, in his bent for common law, he has. 
 failed to give emphasis to the most important feature of the passage. 
 
 In the corrupted currents of this world 
 Offense's gilded hand may shove by justice, 
 And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself 
 Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above; 
 There is no shuffling, there the action lies 
 In his true nature, and we ourselves compel! d 
 Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
 To give in evidence. 1 
 
 And, to pass to others : 
 
 Ah, gracious lord, these days are dangerous; 
 Virtue is choked with foul ambition, 
 And charity chased hence by rancor's hand, 
 Fell subornation is predominant, 
 And equity exiled your highness' land. 2 
 
 What a trinity is here: Virtue, Charity, Equity! Opposed, too, to the hellish 
 trio of ambition, rancor and subornation. 
 
 A larger definition of equity jurisprudence could not well be had than that it is 
 "strong authority looking into the blots and stains of right." 
 
 King John. From whom hast thou this great commission, 
 To draw mine answer from thine articles ? 
 
 King Philip. From that supernal judge that stirs good thoughts 
 
 In any breast of strong authority, 
 
 To look into the blots and stains of right. 
 
 That judge hath made me guardian to this boy: 
 
 Under whose warrant I impeach thy wrong, 
 
 And by whose help I mean to chastise it. 
 
 ' This passage is also cited by the learned jurist, but it is only to remark upon 
 the words warrant and impeach. It contains, as I have observed, the very definition 
 of chancery jurisprudence, and besides employs terms technical in chancery prac- 
 tice, commission articles and answer. 
 
 Themes which, in an especial manner, engage the intellect and the heart of the 
 student and practitioner of chancery principles are "Charity," "Mercy," "Con- 
 science." 
 
 In contrast with the evasions and chicanery which are, in the Shakespeare Plays 
 and elsewhere, the reproach of the practice at common law, chancery decides from 
 considerations of what is right and just between man and man, ex cequo et bono. 
 Chancery jurisdiction enters the breast of the party himself, and there sets up its 
 forum in his conscience. The interrogatories authorized by the chancery practice 
 arraign and search that conscience, and, upon an oath binding upon it, " compel"" 
 the reluctant litigant, "even to the teeth and forehead of his faults, to give in evi- 
 dence." 
 
 Every man's conscience is a thousand swords. 3 
 My conscience hath a thousand several tongues. 4 
 The worm of conscience still begnaw thy soul ! 5 
 
 Well, believe this, 
 No ceremony that to great ones 'longs 
 Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, 
 The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge" s robe, 
 Becomes them with one-half so good a grace 
 As mercy does. 6 
 
 1 Hamlet, iii, 3. 3 Richard 111., v, 2. 5 Ibid., i, 3. 
 
 * 2nd Henry VI., iii, 1. * Ibid., v, 3. • Measure /or Measure, ii, 2„ 
 
THE WRITER OP THE PLAYS A LAWYER. 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained; 
 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 
 
 When mercy seasons justice. 1 
 
 In addition to these citations, touching Shakespeare's use of the 
 
 terms of the equity courts, I would quote the following from Judge 
 
 Holmes: 
 
 Indeed, it is clear that Portia's knowledge extended even to chancery practice, 
 and continued to the end of the piece: 
 
 Portia. Let us go in 
 
 And charge us there upon int'rogatories, 
 And we will answer all things faithfully.' 2 
 
 The terms of chancery practice, charges, interrogatories and answer, 
 are dragged in by the heels despite the protests of the refractory 
 meter. 
 
 But passing from this point, I will add a few more extracts 
 which bespeak the lawyer: 
 
 Sir, for a quart d'ecu he will sell the fee-simple of his salvation, the inherit- 
 ance of it; and cut the entail for all remainder. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 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. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Time stays still with lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and 
 term. 5 
 
 Judge Holmes says: 6 
 
 Mr. Rushton cites the statute 16 Richard II., which was leveled against the 
 Pope's usurpations of sovereignty in England, and enacted that " if any do bring 
 any translation, process, sentence of excommunication, bulls, instruments, etc., 
 within the realm, or receive them, they shall be put out of the King's protection, and 
 their lands, tenements, goods and chattels forfeited to the King," and compares it with 
 the speech of Suffolk in the play of Henry J'LLL., thus: 
 
 Suff. Lord Cardinal, the King's further pleasure is, 
 
 Because all those things you have done of late 
 
 By your power legatine within this kingdom, 
 
 Fall into the compass of a praemunire, 
 
 That therefore such a writ be sued against you: 
 
 To forfeit all your goods, lands, tenements, 
 
 Chattels and whatsoever, and to be 
 
 Out of the King ' s protection. This is my charge. 7 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, iv, i. 4 Merry Wives of Windsor, iv, 2. 
 
 2 A uthorship of Shak., 3d ed., p. 637. b As \ 'on Like It, iii, 2. 
 
 3 A it's Well that Ends Well, iv, 3. 6 A uthorship of Shak., 3d ed., p. 630. 
 
 7 Henry VIII., iii, 2. 
 
I2 o WILLIAM SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLAYS. 
 
 It is manifest here, as Mr. Rushton thinks, that the author of 
 the Plays was exactly acquainted with the very language of this old 
 statute. 
 
 This, then, is the syllogism which faces the Shakspereans: 
 
 i. The man who wrote the Plays was a lawyer. 
 
 2. William Shakspere was not a lawyer. 
 
 3. Therefore, William Shakspere did not write the Plays. 
 
 But if they shift their ground, and fall back upon the supposition 
 that Shakspere might have been a lawyer's clerk during his pre- 
 London residence in Stratford, they encounter these difficulties: 
 
 1. There is not the slightest proof of this fact; and if it was 
 true, proof could not fail to be forthcoming. 
 
 2. There is not a scrap of tradition that points to it. 
 
 3. Granting it to be possible, it would not explain away the 
 difficulty. It would not have been sufficient for Shakspere to have 
 passed a few months in a lawyer's office in Stratford in his youth. 
 The man who wrote the Plays must have lived and breathed in 
 an atmosphere of the law, which so completely filled his whole 
 being that he could not speak of war or of peace, of business or of 
 love, of sorrow or of pleasure, without scintillating forth legal 
 expressions; and these he placed indifferently in the mouths of 
 young and old, learned and unlearned, Greeks, Romans, Italians, 
 Frenchmen, Scotchmen and Englishmen. 
 
 Having, as I hope, demonstrated to the satisfaction of my read- 
 ers that William Shakspere could not have written the Plays which 
 go abroad in his name, we come to the second branch of my argu- 
 ment, to-wit: that Francis Bacon, of St. Albans, son of Queen 
 Elizabeth's Lord Keeper, Nicholas Bacon, was their real author. 
 
PART II, 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF 
 THE PLAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FRAXCIS BACON WAS A POET. 
 
 Mount, eagle, to thy palace crystalline. 
 
 Cymbeline, t, 4. 
 
 WE come now to an important branch of this inquiry. 
 It will be said: Granted that Francis Bacon possessed a 
 great and mighty genius; granted that he was master of the vast 
 learning revealed in the Plays; granted that he had the laborious 
 industry necessary for their preparation; granted that they reveal 
 a character and disposition, political, social and religious views, 
 studies and investigations, identical with his own; granted that we 
 are able to marshal a vast array of parallel thoughts, beliefs, 
 expressions and even errors: the great question still remains, Was 
 Francis Bacon a poet ? Did he possess the imagination, the fancy, 
 the sense of the beautiful — in other words, the divine faculty, the 
 fine phrensy, the capacity to "give to airy nothing a local habita- 
 tion and a name " ? Was he not merely a philosopher, a dry and 
 patient investigator of nature, a student of things, not words; of 
 the useful, not the beautiful ? 
 
 I. The Universal Mtnd. 
 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson grasped the whole answer to this ques- 
 tion when he said: "The true poet and the true philosopher are 
 one." The complete mind (and we are reminded of Ulysses' appli- 
 cation of the word to Achilles, "thou great and co?nplete man") 
 enfolds in its orb all the realms of thought; it perceives not alone 
 
j 22 FRANC 7 S BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. 
 
 the nature of things, but the subtle light of beauty which irradiates 
 them; it is able not only to trace the roots of facts into the dead, 
 dull, material earth, but to follow the plant as it rises into the air 
 and find in the flower thoughts too deep for tears. The purpose 
 of things, the wherefore of things and the glory of things are all 
 one to the God who made them, and to the great broad brain to 
 which He has given power enough to comprehend them. But 
 such minds are rare. Science tells us that the capacity of memory 
 underlies those portions of the brain that perceive, but only a 
 small share of them, and that if you excise a part of the brain, but 
 not all of any particular department, the surrounding territory, 
 which theretofore lay dormant, will now develop the faculty which 
 was formerly exercised by the part removed. So it would seem that 
 in all brains there is the capacity for universal intelligence, but there 
 is lacking some power which forces it into action. The intellect lies 
 like a mass of coals, heated, alive, but dormant; it needs the blow- 
 pipe of genius to oxygenate and bring it to a white heat; and it 
 rarely happens, in the history of mankind, that the whole brain is 
 equally active, and the whole broad temple of the soul lighted up 
 in every part. The world is full of men whose minds glow in 
 spots. The hereditary blood-force, or power of nutrition, or pur- 
 pose of God, or whatever it may be, is directed to a section of the 
 intelligence, and it blazes forth in music, or poetry, or painting, or 
 philosophy, or action, or oratory. And the world, as it cannot 
 always behold the full orb of the sun, is delighted to look upon 
 these stars, points of intense brilliancy, glorious with a fraction of 
 the universal fire. 
 
 II. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. 
 
 But occasionally there is born into the world a sun-like soul, the 
 orb of whose brain, as Bacon says, "is concentric with the uni- 
 verse." 
 
 One of these was Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the great spirit 
 of German literature. Like Bacon, he sprang from the common 
 people; but, like him, not directly from them. His father was an 
 imperial councilor, his mother was the daughter of the chief 
 magistrate of the city. Like Bacon, he was thoroughly educated. 
 Like him, his intellectual activity manifested itself in his early 
 
FRANCIS HA COX WAS A POET. 
 
 2 3 
 
 years. " Before he was ten years of age he wrote several languages, 
 meditated poems, invented stories and had considerable familiarity 
 with works of art." He began to write verse while yet at college.' 
 He associated with actors, free-thinkers and jovial companions. 
 When twenty-three years of age he published his first play, Gotz von 
 Berlichingen y two years later he wrote The Sorrows of Wcrther, 
 and ClavigO) a drama. He also projected a drama on Mohammed 
 and another on Prometheus, and began to revolve in his mind his 
 greatest work, Faust. At the same time, while he was astonishing 
 the world with his poetical and dramatic genius, he was engaged 
 in a profound study of natural science. When forty-three years of 
 age, he published his Beitr&ge zur Optik, and his FarbcnleJue, in the 
 latter of which he questioned the correctness of the Newtonian 
 theory of colors. " He wrote also on the metamorphosis of plants,, 
 and on topics of comparative anatomy. In all these he displayed 
 remarkable penetration and sagacity, and his remarks on the mor- 
 phology of plants are now reckoned among the earlier enunciations 
 of the theory of evolution." Faust was not finished until he was 
 fifty-six years old. 
 
 We see here, as in the case of Bacon, a vivacious, active youth, 
 full of emotion and poetry; the dramatic faculty forcing itself out 
 in great dramas; wide learning; some capacity for affairs of state 
 (he was privy councilor of legation at the court of the .Duke of 
 Saxe-Weimar); and, running through all, profound studies in phil- 
 osophy and natural science. Goethe was always in easy circum- 
 stances. We have only to imagine him living in poverty, forced to 
 maintain appearances, and yet to earn his living by his pen, with no 
 avenue open to him but the play-house, and we have all the condi- 
 tions, with added genius and philanthropic purposes, to make a 
 Bacon. 
 
 If the poetical works of Goethe had been published anony- 
 mously, or in the name of some friend, it would have been difficult to 
 persuade the world, in after years, that the philosopher and the poet 
 were one. 
 
 III. Had Bacon the Poetic Temperament ? 
 
 First, let us inquire whether Bacon possessed the poetic tem- 
 perament. 
 
124 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For myself, I found that I was fitted for nothing so well as for the study of 
 truth; as having a mind nimble and versatile enough to catch the resemblances of 
 things. 1 
 
 But, it may be asked, had he that fine sensibility which accom- 
 panies genius; did he possess those delicate chords from which 
 time and chance and nature draw their most exquisite melodies — 
 those chords which, as Burns says, 
 
 Vibrate sweetest pleasure, 
 -and 
 
 Thrill the deepest notes of woe ? 
 
 The answer is plain. 
 
 Macaulay speaks of Bacon's mind as 
 
 The most exquisitely constructed intellect that has ever been bestowed on any 
 of the children of men. 2 
 
 Montagu says: 
 
 His invagination was fruitful and vivid. He was of a temperament of the most 
 delicate sensibility: so excitable as to be affected by the slightest alterations in the 
 atmosphere. 3 
 
 And remember that neither Macaulay nor Montagu dreamed 
 of the possibility of Bacon being the author of the Shakespeare 
 Plays. 
 
 Emerson calls the writer of the Plays, as revealed therein, "the 
 most susceptible of human beings." 
 
 Bacon's chaplain and biographer, Dr. Rawley, says: 
 
 It may seem the moon had some principal place in the figure of his nativity, for 
 the moon was never in her passion or eclipsed but he was surprised with a sudden 
 fit of fainting; and that though he observed not nor took any previous knowledge 
 of the eclipse thereof; and as soon as the eclipse ceased he was restored to his 
 former strength agair. 
 
 IV. Was he a Lover of Poetry ? 
 
 Many things might be quoted from his writings to show his 
 love of poetry and his profound study of it. He says it " elevates 
 the mind from the dungeon of the body to the enjoying of its own 
 divine essence." 
 
 He even contemplated the improvement of poetry by the inven- 
 tion of new measures or meters. He says: 
 
 1 Preface to The Interpretation of Nature. 2 Essays, Bacon, p. 263. 
 
 3 Montagu's Life of Bacon. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 125 
 
 For though men with learned tongues do tie themselves to the ancient meas- 
 ures, yet in modern languages it seemeth to me as free to make new measures of 
 verses as of dances; for a dance is a measured pace, as a verse is a measured 
 speech. 1 
 
 The basis of Bacon's mind was the imagination. This is the 
 eye of the soul. By it the spirit sees into the relations of objects. 
 This it is gives penetration, for it surveys things as the eagle 
 does — from above. And this is Bacon's metaphor. He says: 
 
 Some writings have more of the eagle in them than others. 2 
 
 It was this descending sight, commanding the whole landscape, 
 that enabled him to make all knowledge his province, and out of 
 this vast scope of view grew his philosophy. It was but a higher 
 poetry. Montaigne says: 
 
 Philosophy is no other than a falsified poesie. . . . Plato is but a poet unript. 
 All superhuman sciences make use of the poetic style. 
 
 V. The Character of Bacon's Mind. 
 
 Alfred H. Welsh says of Bacon: 
 
 He belongs to the realm of the imagination, of eloquence, of history, of jurispru- 
 dence, of ethics, of metaphysics; the investigation of the powers and operations of 
 the human mind. His writings have the gravity of prose, with the fervor and 
 vividness of poetry. . . . Shakespeare, with greater variety, contains no more vig- 
 orous or expressive condensations. 
 
 Edmund Burke says: 
 
 Who is there that, hearing the name of Bacon, does not instantly recognize 
 everything of genius the most profound, of literature the most extensive, of dis- 
 covery the most penetrating, of observation of human life the most distinguishing 
 and refined ? 
 
 Macaulay says: 
 
 The poetical faculty was powerful in Bacon's mind, but not, like his wit, so 
 powerful as occasionally to usurp the place of his reason, and to tyrannize over the 
 whole man. No imagination was ever at once so strong and so thoroughly subju- 
 gated. It never stirred but at a signal from good sense; it stopped at the first 
 check of good sense. Yet, though disciplined to such obedience, it gave noble 
 proofs of its vigor. In truth, much of Bacon's life was passed in a visionary world, 
 amidst things as strange as any that are described in the Arabian tales. 3 
 
 Montagu says: 
 
 His mind, like the sun, had both light and agility; it knew no rest but in 
 motion, no quiet but in activity; it did not so properly apprehend as irradiate the 
 object. ... His understanding could almost pierce into future contingents, his 
 
 1 Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 2 Ibid. 3 Essays, Bacen, p. 285. 
 
 l/ 
 
I2 6 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 conjectures improving even to prophecy; he saw consequences yet dormant in 
 their principles, and effects yet unborn in the womb of their causes. 1 
 
 Macaulay speaks of his 
 
 • Compactness of expression and richness of fancy.' 2 
 
 Addison said of his prayer, composed in the midst of his afflic- 
 tions, in 1621: 
 
 For elevation of thought and greatness of expression, it seems rather the 
 devotion of an angel than a man. 3 
 
 Fowler says: 
 
 His utterances are not infrequently marked with a grandeur and solemnity of 
 tone, a majesty of diction, which renders it impossible to forget, and difficult even 
 to criticise them. . . . There is no author, unless it be Shakespeare, who is so 
 easily remembered or so frequently quoted. . . . The terse and burning words 
 issuing from the lips of an irresistible commander. 4 
 
 R. W. Church speaks of 
 
 The bright torch of his incorrigible imaginativeness/' . . . He was a genius 
 second only to Shakespeare. . . . He liked to enter into the humors of a court; 
 to devote brilliant imagination and affluence of invention to devising a pageant 
 which should throw all others into the shade. 6 . 
 
 That he was master of the dramatic faculty will be made plain 
 to any one who reads that interesting dialogue entitled An Adver- 
 tisement Touching an Holy War, and observes the skill with which 
 the conversation is carried on, and the separate characters of the 
 parties maintained. 
 
 VI. Did Bacon Claim to be a Poet ? 
 
 Let us next ask ourselves this question: Did Bacon claim to 
 be a poet ? 
 
 Certainly. We have among his acknowledged works a series of 
 translations, the Psalms of David, made in his old age, and com- 
 posed upon a sick-bed. 
 
 Mr. Spedding says of these translations: 
 
 It has been usual to speak of them as a ridiculous failure; a censure in which I 
 cannot concur. ... I should myself infer from this sample that Bacon had all the 
 natural faculties which a poet wants: a fine ear for meter, a fine feeling for imagi- 
 native effect in words, and a vein of poetic passion. . . . The thought could not 
 well be fitted with imagery, words and rhythm more apt and imaginative; and 
 there is a tenderness of expression which comes manifestly out of a heart in sensi- 
 tive sympathy with nature. The heroic couplet could hardly do its work better in 
 
 1 Montagu's Life of Bacon. '■' Fowler's Bacon, p. 57. r> Francis Bacon, p. 208. 
 
 - Essays ) Bacon, p. 249. ' Ibid., p. 202. 6 Ibid., p. 214. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 127 
 
 the hands of Dryden. The truth is that Bacon was not without the fine phrensy of 
 the poet. 1 
 
 I quote a few passages from these Psalms, selected at random: 
 
 There do the stately ships plough up the floods; 
 The greater navies look like walking woods. 
 
 This reminds us of the walking wood in Macbeth : 
 
 As I did stand my watch upon the hill, 
 
 I looked toward Birnam, and, anon, methought, 
 
 The wood began to move.'- 
 
 He speaks of 
 
 The sappy cedars, tall like stately towers. 
 Again: 
 
 The vales their hollow bosoms opened plain, 
 The streams ran trembling down the vales again. 
 
 He speaks of the birds — 
 
 Stroking the gentle air with pleasant notes. 
 He describes life as 
 
 This bubble light, this vapor of our breath. 
 
 He says 
 Again: 
 
 So that, with present griefs and future fears, 
 Our eyes burst forth into a stream of tears. 
 
 Why should there be such turmoil and such strife, 
 To spin in length this feeble line of life? 
 
 It must be remembered, in extenuation of any defects in these 
 translations, that they were the work of sickness and old age, when 
 his powers were shrunken. They were written in his sixty-fifth 
 year — one year before his death. We will see that they are not 
 equal in scope and vigor even to his prose writings. He himself 
 noted this difference between youth and age. 
 
 He says: 
 
 There is a youth in thoughts as well as in age; and yet the invention of young 
 men is more lively than that of old, and imaginations stream into their minds better, 
 and as it were more divinely.* 
 
 VII. The Exaltations of Genius. 
 
 Neither can we judge what great things genius can do in 
 the blessed moments of its highest exaltation by the beggarly 
 dregs of daily life. Lord Byron said, in a letter to Tom 
 Moore: 
 
 1 Works, vii, 269. ■ Macbeth, v, 4. 3 Essay Of Vout/i and Age. 
 
i 2 8 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 A man's poetry has no more to do with the every-day individual than the inspi- 
 ration with the Pythoness, when removed from the tripod. 
 
 Richard Grant White ridicules "the great inherent absurdity — 
 
 the unlikeness of Bacon's mind and style to those of the writer of 
 
 the Plays," to which William D. O'Connor well replies: 
 
 Of all fudge ever written this is the sheerest. Methinks I see a critic with his 
 sagacious right eye fixed upon the long loping alexandrines of Richelieu, and his 
 sagacious left eye fixed upon Richelieu's Maxims of State, oracularly deciding from 
 the unlikeness of mind and style that the great Cardinal could not have written the 
 tragi-comedy of Mirame ! Could he inform us (I will offer the most favorable 
 instance possible) what likeness of "mind and style" he could detect between Sir 
 William Blackstone's charming verses, A Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse, and the 
 same Sir William Blackstone's Commentaries? What likeness of "mind and style" 
 could he establish between the famous treatise by Grotius, on The Rights of Peace 
 and War, and the stately tragedy by Grotius entitled Adam in Exile? Where is the 
 identity of "mind and style" between Sir Walter Raleigh's dry-as-dust Cabinet 
 Council and Sir Walter Raleigh's magnificent and ringing poem, The Soul's Errand? 
 What likeness of "mind and style" could he find between Coleridge's Aids to Re- 
 flection and the unearthly melody and magian imagery of Coleridge's Kubla Khan? 
 What likeness of "mind and style" exists between the exquisite riant grace, light- 
 ness and Watteau-color of Milton's Allegro, the gracious andante movement and 
 sweet cloistral imagery of Milton's Penserosa, and the Tetrachordon, or the Areo- 
 pagitica of the same John Milton? Are the solemn, rolling harmonies of Paradise 
 Lost one in "mind and style" with the trip-hammer crash of the reply to Salmasius 
 by Cromwell's Latin secretary? Could the most astute reviewer discover likeness 
 of " mind and style" between Peregrine Pickle or Roderick Random and the noble 
 and majestic passion of the Ode to Independence ? — 
 
 Thy spirit, Independence, let me share, 
 
 Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye ! 
 Thy steps I'll follow with my bosom bare, 
 
 Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. 1 
 
 VIII. Bacon's Court Mask. 
 
 Let us go a step farther and prove that Bacon wrote verse, and 
 mastered the difficulties of rhythm and rhyme, in other productions 
 besides the translation of a few psalms. 
 
 Messrs. Spedding and Dixon brought to light, in their re- 
 searches, two fragments of a court mask which is believed to be 
 unquestionably Bacon's, and in it, as an oracle, occur these 
 verses, spoken of a blind Indian boy. The queen, of course, 
 is Elizabeth: 
 
 Seated between the Old World and the New, 
 
 A land there is no other land may touch, 
 Where reigns a queen in peace and honor true; 
 Stories or fables do describe no such. 
 
 1 Hamlet's Note Book, p. 56, Houghton, Mifflin & Co., Boston and New York. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. I2 g 
 
 Never did Atlas such a burden bear, 
 
 As she in holding up the world opprest; 
 Supplying with her virtue everywhere 
 
 Weakness of friends, errors of servants best. 
 No nation breeds a warmer blood for war, 
 
 And yet she calms them by her majesty; 
 No age hath ever wits refined so far, 
 
 And yet she calms them by her policy: 
 To her thy son must make his sacrifice 
 If he will have the morning of his eyes. 
 
 Certainly this exhibits full possession of the powers requisite in 
 metrical composition, while the closing expression for restoration 
 from blindness, " the morning of his eyes," is eminently poetical. 
 
 IX. Other Verses by Bacon. 
 
 There are also some other verses which go under the name of 
 Bacon. They are worthy of the pen that wrote Shakespeare: 
 
 Mr. Spedding publishes in his great edition of Bacon's Works, 1 
 a poem, which he calls "a remarkable performance." It is a para- 
 phrase of a Greek epigram, attributed by some to Poseidippus, by 
 others to Plato, the comic poet, and by others to Crates, the cynic. 
 In 1629, only three years after Bacon's death, Thomas Farnaby, a 
 contemporary and scholar, published a collection of Greek epigrams. 
 After giving the epigram in question, with its Latin translation on 
 the opposite page, he adds: " Hue elegantem V. C. L. Do7nini Verulamii 
 xapwdiav adjicere adlubuit" and then prints the English lines below 
 (the only English in the book), with a translation of his own oppo- 
 site in rhyming Greek. A copy of the English lines was also found 
 among Sir Henry Wotton's papers, with the name Francis Lord 
 Bacon at the bottom. Spedding says, " Farnaby's evidence is direct 
 and strong," and he expresses the opinion that the internal evi- 
 dence is in favor of the poem being the work of Bacon. Spedding 
 says: 
 
 The English lines which follow are not meant for a translation, and can hardly 
 be called a paraphrase. They are rather another poem on the same subject and 
 with the same sentiment; and though the topics are mostly the same, the treatment 
 of them is very different. The merit of the original consists almost entirely in its 
 compactness; there being no special felicity in the expression, or music in the 
 meter. In the English, compactness is not aimed at, and a tone of plaintive 
 melody is imparted, which is due chiefly to the metrical arrangement, and has 
 something very pathetic in it to the ear. 
 
 1 Vol. xiv, p. 115, Boston ed. 
 
I3 o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 The world's a bubble, and the life of man 
 
 Less than a span; 
 In his conception wretched, from the womb 
 
 So to the tomb; 
 Cursed from his cradle and brought up to years 
 
 With cares and fears: 
 Who, then, to frail mortality shall trust, 
 But limns the water, or but writes in dust. 
 Yet, whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, 
 
 What life is best? 
 Courts are but only superficial schools, 
 
 To dandle fools; 
 The rural parts are turned into a den 
 
 Of savage men; 
 And where's the city from foul vice so free 
 But may be termed the worst of all the three ? 
 Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, 
 
 Or pains his head. 
 Those that live single take it for a curse, 
 
 Or do things worse. 
 Some would have children; those that have them moan, 
 
 Or wish them gone. 
 What is it, then, to have or have no wife, 
 But single thraldom or a double strife? 
 Our own affections still at home to please 
 
 Is a disease: 
 To cross the seas to any foreign soil, 
 
 Perils and toil. 
 Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease, 
 
 We're worse in peace. 
 What then remains, but that we still should cry 
 Not to be born, or, being born, to die? 
 
 I differ with Mr. Spedding. These verses are exceedingly terse 
 and compact. They exhibit a complete mastery over rhythm and 
 rhyme. Those two lines, — 
 
 Who then to frail mortality shall trust, 
 
 But limns the water, or but writes in dust, — 
 
 are worthy of any writer in the language. We are reminded of the 
 
 pathetic utterance of poor Keats, who requested that his friends 
 
 should place upon his tomb the words: 
 
 Here lies one whose name was writ in water. 
 
 Mr. Spedding also gives us ' the following lines, inferior to the 
 
 above, found in a volume of manuscript collections now in the 
 
 British Museum: 
 
 1 Vol. xiv,p. 114. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 131 
 
 Verses Made by Mr. Francis Bacon. 
 
 The man of life upright, whose guiltless heart is free 
 From all dishonest deeds and thoughts of vanity; 
 The man whose silent days in harmless joys are spent, 
 Whom hopes cannot delude, nor fortune discontent: 
 That man needs neither towers, nor armor for defense, 
 Nor secret vaults to fly from thunder's violence; 
 He only can behold with unaffrighted eyes 
 The horrors of the deep and terrors of the skies; 
 Thus scorning all the care that Fate or Fortune brings, 
 He makes the Heaven his book, his wisdom heavenly things; 
 Good thoughts his only friends, his life a well-spent age, 
 The earth his sober inn, — a quiet pilgrimage. 
 
 Mrs. Pott 1 quotes a poem entitled The Retired Courtier, from 
 
 Dowland's First Book of Songs, published 1600; and she gives many 
 
 very good reasons for believing that it was from the pen of Bacon. 
 
 Certain it is that the verses are of extraordinary excellence, and 
 
 were claimed by no one else, and they afford numerous parallels 
 
 with the Plays: 
 
 The Retired Courtier. 
 
 1. 
 
 His golden locks hath Time to silver turned; 
 
 O time too swift ! O swiftness never ceasing ! 
 His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, 
 
 But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing. 
 Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen, 
 Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. 
 
 II. 
 
 His helmet now shall make a hive for bees, 
 
 And lovers' sonnets turn to holy psalms. 
 A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, 
 
 And feed on prayers which are age's alms; 
 But though from court to cottage he depart, 
 His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. 
 
 in. 
 And when he saddest sits in homely cell, 
 
 He'll teach his swains this carol for a song: 
 Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well ! 
 
 Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong ! 
 Goddess, allow this aged man his right, 
 To be your beadsman now that was your knight. 
 
 What a beautiful and poetical conception is that: 
 
 His helmet now shall make a hive for bees J 
 
 1 Promus, appendix D, p. 528. 
 
I3 2 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 If Bacon did not write this, who was the unknown poet te» 
 
 whom it can be ascribed ? 
 
 His saint is sure of his unspotted heart, 
 says the poem. 
 
 A pure, unspotted heart, 
 says Shakespeare. 1 
 
 Allow this aged man his right 
 To be your beadsman now. 
 
 Says Bacon to Lord Burleigh (1597): 
 
 I will still be your beadsman. 
 
 X. Bacon's Concealed Writings. 
 
 Let us next inquire: Were these extracts all of Bacon's poeticar 
 works ? Is there any evidence that he was the author of any con- 
 cealed writings ? 
 
 Yes. Mrs. Pott says: 
 
 There are times noted by Mr. Spedding when Bacon wrote with closed doors 
 and when the subject of his studies is doubtful; and there is one long vacation of 
 which the same careful biographer remarks that he cannot tell what work the inde- 
 fatigable student produced during those months, for that he knows of none 
 whose date corresponds with the period. Perhaps it was at such a time Bacon 
 took recreation in the form in which he recommended it to others, not by 
 idleness, but by bending the bow in an opposite direction; for he says: " I have 
 found now twice, upon amendment of my fortunes, disposition to melancholy and 
 distaste, especially the same happening against the long vacation, when company 
 failed and business both." The same distaste to what he in a letter calls the 
 "dead vacation" is seen in As You Like It, act iii, scene 2; 
 
 Who stays it [time] still withal? 
 With lawyers in the vacation. 
 
 Bacon says in a letter to Tobie Matthew: 
 
 I have sent you some copies of my book of the Advancement, which you 
 desired ; and a little work of my recreation, which you desired not. My Instauration 
 I reserve for conference; it sleeps not. Those works of the alphabet are in my 
 opinion of less use to you where you now are than at Paris. [1607-9.] 
 
 Mr. Spedding cannot guess what those works of the alphabet 
 may have been, unless they referred to Bacon's experiments at 
 cipher-writing. 
 
 When he has become Sir Francis, Bacon writes to Tobie Matthew: 
 
 I send my desire to you in this letter that you will take care not to leave the writing 
 which I left with you last with any man so long that he may be able to take a copy of it. 
 
 And that this was evidently some composition of his own ap- 
 pears by the fact that he asks his friend's criticism upon it, and to* 
 
 l ist Henry VI.. v, 4. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 
 
 133 
 
 " point out where I do perhaps indormiscere, or where I do in- 
 dulgere genio; or where, in fine, I give any manner of disadvantage 
 to myself." 
 
 Does this mean that he fears he will reveal himself by his 
 style ? 
 
 Again, he writes to the same friend: 
 
 You conceive aright, that in this and the other, you have commission to impart 
 and communicate them to others, according to your discretion; other matters I 
 write not of} 
 
 What was the meaning of all this mystery ? 
 
 Bacon refers to some unnamed work which he sends to his 
 
 friend as " a work of his recreation." And in The Advancement of 
 
 Learning" 1 he says : 
 
 As for poesy, it is rather a pleasure or play of the imagination than a work or 
 duty thereof. 
 
 And in Macbeth we have: 
 
 The labor we delight in physics pain. 1 
 
 And in Antony and Cleopatra we have: 
 
 The business that we love, we rise betimes 
 And go to it with delight. 4 
 
 Bacon in his Apology says: 
 
 It happened, a little before that time, that her Majesty had a purpose to dine 
 at Twickenham Park, at which time I had (although I profess not to be a poet) 
 prepared a sonnet directly tending and alluding to draw on her Majesty's recon- 
 cilement to my Lord, which I remember I also showed to a great person. 
 
 Mr. William Thompson 5 calls attention to the fact that this 
 sonnet has never been found among Bacon's papers, or elsewhere, 
 and suggests that this is one of the sonnets that go under the name 
 of Shakespeare. 
 
 When James I., after the death of Elizabeth, was about to come 
 to England, to assume the crown, Master John Davis, afterward 
 Sir John Davis, the poet and courtier, went to meet him, where- 
 upon Bacon sent after him this significant letter: 
 
 Master Davis: 
 
 Though you went on the sudden, yet you could not go before you had spoken 
 with yourself to the purpose which I will now write. And, therefore, I know it 
 shall be altogether needless, save that I meant to show you that I was not asleep. 
 
 1 Letter to Tobie Matthew, 1609. , 2 Book ii. 3 Act ii, scene 3. 4 Act iv, scene 4. 
 
 * The Renascene Drama; or, History Made Visible. By William Thompson, F.R.C.S., F.L.S. 
 Melbourne, 1880. 
 
i34 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Briefly, I commend myself to your love and the well-using of my name, as well in 
 repressing and answering for me, if there be any biting or nibbling at it, in that 
 place; as by imprinting a good conceit and opinion of me, chiefly in the King (of 
 whose favor I make myself comfortable assurance), and otherwise in that court. 
 And, not only so, but generally to perform to me all the good offices which the 
 vivacity of your wit can suggest to your mind, to be performed to one with whose 
 affection you have so great sympathy, and in whose fortune you have so great 
 interest. So desiring you to be good to all concealed poets % I continue, etc. 
 
 This letter is very significant. It is addressed to a poet; it 
 anticipates that there will be "biting and nibbling" at his good 
 name; it begs the friendly services of Davis; and it concludes by 
 asking him to be good "to all concealed poets.'" This plainly refers to 
 himself. The whole context shows it. We know that Bacon was a 
 poet. Here he admits that he is a concealed poet. That is to say, 
 that he was the author of poetical writings which he does not 
 acknowledge — " which go about in others' names.'' 
 
 This pregnant admission half proves my case; for if the "con- 
 cealed" poetical writings were not the Shakespeare Plays, what 
 were they ? Are there any other poetical writings in that age 
 whose authorship is questioned ? If so, what are they ? 
 
 And we have another proof of this in a letter of Sir Tobie 
 Matthew to Bacon, which, being addressed to him as the Viscount 
 St. Albans, must necessarily have been written subsequent to the 
 27th January, 162 1, when his Lordship was invested with that title. 
 Judge Holmes says: 
 
 It appears to be in answer to a letter from Lord Bacon, dated "the 9th of 
 April " (year not given), accompanying some great and noble token of his " Lord- 
 ship's favor," which was in all probability a newly printed book; for Bacon, as we 
 know from the letters, was in the habit of sending to Mr. Matthew a copy of his 
 books as they were published. . . . Neither is there anything in the way of the 
 supposition that this date may actually have been the 9th of April, 1623; and there 
 was no publication of any work of Bacon, during that spring, which he would be 
 sending to Mr. Matthew unless it were precisely this Folio of 1623. ! 
 
 The postscript is as follows: 
 
 P. S. The most prodigious wit that ever I knew of my nation, and of this side 
 of the sea, is of your Lordship's name, THOUGH HE BE known hy another. 
 
 If we suppose that "the great and noble token " was the Shake- 
 speare Folio of 1623, we can understand this. If Tobie Matthew, 
 Bacon's intimate friend and correspondent, his "other self" as he 
 calls him, to whom he wrote about the mysterious works of the 
 
 1 Authorship of Shah., p. 172. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 
 
 *35 
 
 alphabet, and to whom he sent "the works of his recreation" (not to 
 be left where any one could take a copy of them) — if Tobie Mat- 
 thew knew that "the great and noble token " was written by "the 
 concealed poet," Bacon, and if he desired, as part of his thanks, to 
 compliment him upon the mighty genius manifested in it, what is 
 more natural than that he should allude to the hidden secret in the 
 way he does? He says, in effect, waiting from abroad: "Thanks 
 for the Folio. Your Lordship is the greatest wit of our nation, 
 and of this side of the sea (that is, in all Europe), though your 
 noblest work is published under another name." 
 
 In another letter Tobie Matthew writes him: 
 
 I shall give you " Measure for Measure '." 
 
 He was familiar with the Plays of Shakespeare. After Shake- 
 speare's death, he wrote a letter, in which he refers to Falstaff as 
 the author of a speech which he quotes. And in 1598 he writes to 
 Dudley Carleton, again quoting from Falstaff: "Well, honour 
 pricks them on, and the world thinckes that honour will quickly 
 prick them off againe." 
 
 That there were concealed poets in London among the gentlemen 
 scholars, and the lawyers in the inns of court, we know in another 
 way: In Webb's Discourse of Poetry, published in 1586, after enumer- 
 ating the writers of the day, Whetstone, Munday, etc., he adds: 
 
 I am humbly to desire pardon of the learned company of gentlemen scJiolars and 
 students of the universities and inns of 'court, if I omit their several commenda- 
 tions in this place, which I know a great number of them have worthily deserved, 
 in many rare devices and singular inventions of poetry; for neither hath it been my 
 good hap to have seen all which I have heard of, neither is my abiding in such 
 place where I can with facility get knowledge of their works. 1 
 
 In Spenser's Tcares of the Muses, printed in 1591, there is a pass- 
 age beginning: 
 
 And he the man whom Nature's self had made 
 
 To mock her selfe and Truth to imitate, 
 With kindly counter under mimic shade, 
 
 Our pleasant Willy, ah, is dead of late ! 
 
 This has been held to refer to Shakspere, chiefly, it would 
 seem, because of the name Willy. "But," says Richard Grant 
 White, 2 "' Willy,' like 'shepherd,' was not uncommonly used 
 merely to mean a poet, and was distinctly applied to Sir Philip 
 
 1 Knight, Shak. Biography, p. 328. 2 Life and Genius of Shale., p. 95. 
 
136 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Sidney, in an eclogue preserved in Davidson's Poetical Rhapsody, 
 published in 1602. And The Teares of the Muses had certainly been 
 written before 1590, when Shakspere could not have arisen to 
 the position assigned, by the first poet of the age, to the subject of 
 this passage, and probably before 1580, when Shakspere was a boy 
 of sixteen at Stratford." 
 
 And if these lines referred to Shakspere, what is meant by the 
 words, "with kindly counter under mimic shade"? Certainly 
 Shakspere never appeared under any mimic shade or disguise; 
 while, if the lines referred to Bacon, old enough even in 1580 to be 
 a poet and a friend of Spenser, there might be an allusion here to 
 his use of some play-actor's name as a disguise for his productions, 
 just as we find him in the sonnets referring to himself as 
 
 Keeping invention in a noted weed 
 
 Till every word does almost speak my name. 
 
 But I shall discuss this matter more at length hereafter. 
 And Bacon, in a prayer made while Lord Chancellor, refers to 
 the same weed or disguise: 
 
 The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine 
 eyes; I have hated all cruelty and hardness of heart. I have, though in a despised 
 weed, procured the good of all men. 
 
 We will see hereafter that the purpose of the Plays was the 
 good of all men. 
 
 And we find in the following sentence proof that Bacon used 
 the word weed to signify a disguise: 
 
 This fellow, when Perkin took sanctuary, chose rather to take a holy habit 
 than a holy place, and clad himself like a hermit, and in that weed wandered about 
 the country until he was discovered and taken. 1 
 
 We find many evidences that Bacon's pursuits were poetical. 
 He writes to the Earl of Essex on one occasion: 
 
 Desiring your good Lordship, nevertheless, not to conceive out of this my dili- 
 gence in soliciting this matter, that I am either much in appetite or much in hope. 
 For, as for appetite, the -waters of Parnassus are not like the waters of the Spa, 
 that give a stomach, but rather they quench appetite and desires. 
 
 And when, after Essex was released from confinement in 1600, 
 Bacon wrote him a congratulatory letter, Essex replied, evidently 
 somewhat angry at him, as follows: 
 
 1 History of Henry VII. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 137 
 
 I can neither expound nor censure your late actions, being ignorant of them all 
 save one, and having directed my sight inward only to examine myself. ... I am 
 a stranger to all poetical conceits, or else / should say somewhat of your poetical 
 example} 
 
 And we have many proofs that Bacon was engaged in some 
 
 studies which absorbed him to the exclusion of law and politics. 
 
 He says: 
 
 I do confess, since I was of any understanding, my mind hath, in effect, been 
 absent from that I have done, and in absence errors are committed, which I do 
 willingly acknowledge; and amongst the rest this great one which led the rest: that 
 knowing myself by inward calling to be fitter to hold a book than to play a part, I 
 have led my life in civil causes, for which I was not very fit by nature, and more 
 unfit by the preoccupation of my mind. 2 
 
 And he makes this apology for the failure of his life: 
 
 This I speak to posterity, not out of ostentation, but because I judge it may 
 somewhat import the dignity of learning, to have a man born for letters rather than 
 anything else, who should by a certain fatality, and against the bent of his own 
 genius, be compelled into active life. 3 
 
 • 
 
 XI. The Imagination Revealed in Bacon's Acknowledged 
 
 Writings. 
 
 But, after all, the best evidence of the fact that Bacon possessed 
 the imagination, the fancy and the wit necessary for the pro- 
 duction of the Plays, must be found in his acknowledged writings. 
 
 I assert, first, that he had all the fancy, vivacity and sprightli- 
 ness of mind necessary for the task. 
 
 Let me give a few proofs of this. He says: 
 
 Extreme self-lovers will set a man's house on fire, though it were but to roast 
 their eggs. 4 
 
 Money is like muck, not good unless it be spread. 5 
 
 You have built an ark to save learning from deluge. 6 
 
 He calls the great conquerors of history " the troublers of the 
 
 world; " he speaks of " the tempest of human life." 
 
 He says: 
 
 A full heart is like a full pen; it can hardly make any distinguished work. 1 
 
 He says: 
 
 For as statues and pictures are dumb histories, so histories are speaking pict- 
 
 1 Letter from Essex to Bacon, 1600. 5 Essay Of Seditions. 
 
 2 Letter to Sir Thomas Bodley. fi Letter to Sir Thomas Bodlev. 
 
 3 Advancement of Learning, viii, 3. 7 Letter to the King. 
 
 4 Coll. Sene. 8 Letter to the Chancellor. 
 
I3 8 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 In so grave and abstract a matter as the dedication of The 
 
 Arguments of Law, he says: 
 
 For the reasons of municipal laws, severed from the grounds of nature, man- 
 ners and policy, are like wall-flowers, which, though they grow high upon the 
 crests of states, yet have no deep roots. 
 
 How figurative, how poetical is this! Not only the municipal 
 laws are compared to wall-flowers, but they grow upon the crests 
 of states ! 
 
 He says also: 
 
 Fame hath swift swings, especially that which hath black feathers. 1 
 
 Meaning, by black feathers, slanders. 
 
 He also says: 
 
 For, though your Lordship's fortunes be above the thunder and storms of 
 inferior regions, yet, nevertheless, to hear the wind and not to feel it, will make 
 one sleep the better. 2 
 
 He says: 
 
 Myself have ridden at anchor all your Grace's absence, and my cables are now 
 quite worn. 3 
 
 We also find this: 
 
 The great labor was to get entrance into the business; but now the portcullis 
 is drawn up. 4 
 
 He says: 
 
 Hereupon presently came forth swarms and volleys of libels, which are the 
 gusts of liberty of speech restrained, and the females of sedition, containing bitter 
 invectives and slanders. 5 
 
 Again: 
 
 I shall perhaps, before my death, have rendered the age a light unto posterity,, 
 by kindling this new torch amid the darkness of philosophy. 6 
 
 Again: 
 
 Time, like a river, hath brought down all that was light and inflated, and hath 
 sunk what was weighty and solid. 7 
 
 Again: 
 
 I ask for a full pardon, that I may die out of a cloud* 
 
 Again: 
 
 As for gestures, they are as transitory hieroglyphics. 9 
 
 1 Letter to Sir George Villiers, 1615. 5 History 0/ Henry VII. 
 
 2 Letter to Buckingham, April, 1623. « Letter to King James. 
 
 3 Letter to Buckingham, October 12, 1623. 7 Preface to Great Instauration. 
 
 4 Letter to Buckingham, i6iq. « Letter to Buckingham, November 25, 1623. 
 
 • Advancement of Learnings book ii. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. T 39 
 
 He says: 
 
 Words are the footsteps and prints of reason. 1 
 Again: 
 
 Hope is a leaf-joy, which may be beaten out to a great extension, like gold. 2 
 
 Again: 
 
 The reason of this omission I suppose to be that hidden rock whereupon both 
 this and many other barks of knowledge have been cast away. 3 
 
 Again he speaks of 
 
 The Georgics of the mind, concerning the husbandry and tillage thereof. 4 
 
 Again: 
 
 Such men are, as it were, the very suitors and lovers of fables. 5 
 
 This reminds us of Shakespeare: 
 
 The very beadle to a humorous sigh. 6 
 
 Speaking of the then recent voyages in which the earth was 
 
 circumnavigated, he uses this poetical expression: 
 
 Memorable voyages, after the manner of heaven, about the globe of the earth. 7 
 
 Did ever grave geographer use such a simile as this ? 
 
 He says: 
 
 Industrious persons ... do save and recover somewhat from the deluge of 
 time. 8 
 
 Also: 
 
 Remnants of history which have casually escaped the shipwreck of time. 9 
 
 Again: 
 
 Times answerable, like waters after a tempest, full of working and swelling. 1 " 
 
 He says: 
 
 The corrupter sort of politicians . . . thrust themselves into the center of the 
 world, as if all lines should meet in them and their fortunes; never caring, in all 
 tempests, what becomes of the ship of state, so they may save themselves in the 
 cock-boat of their own fortune. n 
 
 Again: 
 
 Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set. H 
 He says: 
 
 If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the 
 world, and that his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that 
 joins to them. 13 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 7 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 3 History of Life and Death. 8 Ibid. 
 
 3 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 8 Ibid. 
 
 * Ibid. 10 Ibid., book ii. 
 6 Novum Organum, book ii. u Ibid., book i. 
 
 * Love's Labor Lost, iii, i. 12 Essay Of Beauty. 
 
 13 Essay Of Goodness. 
 
14 o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 He says: 
 
 It is sport to see a bold fellow out of countenance, for that puts his face into a 
 most shrunken and wooden posture. 1 
 
 Again: 
 
 Suspicions among thoughts are like bats among birds — they ever fly by twi- 
 light. 2 
 
 Again: 
 
 Some men's behavior is like a verse, wherein every syllable is measured. 3 
 
 He says: 
 
 Certainly there be whose fortunes are like Homer's verses, that have a slide 
 and an easiness more than the verses of other poets. 4 
 
 Speaking of those studies that come home to the hearts of 
 
 men, or, to use his phrase, " their business and bosoms," he says: 
 
 So men generally take well knowledges that are drenched in flesh and blood. 5 
 
 He says: 
 
 Duty, though my state lie buried in the sands, and my favors be cast upon the 
 waters, and my honors be committed to the wind, yet standeth surely built upon 
 the rock, and hath been, and ever shall be, unforced and unattempted. 6 
 
 Speaking of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, Bacon says: 
 
 After such time . . . she began to cast with herself from what coast this blazing 
 star should first appear, and at what time it must be upon the horizon of Ireland, for 
 there had been the like meteor strong influence before. The time of the apparition to 
 be when the King should be engaged into a war with France. 7 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 Honor that is gained and broken upon another hath the quickest reflection, 
 like diamonds cut tvith facets . 8 
 
 Again: 
 
 In fame of learning the flight will be slow without some feathers of ostenta- 
 tion. 9 
 
 Again: 
 
 Pope Alexander . . . was desirous to trouble the waters in Italy, that he might 
 fish the better; casting the net not out of St. Peter's, but out of Borgia's bark. 10 
 
 He uses this expression: 
 
 Their preposterous, fantastic and hypothetical philosophies which have led 
 
 1 Essay Of Goodness. « Letter written in Essex' name to the Queen, 1600. 
 
 2 Essay Of Suspicion. 1 History of Henry VII. 
 
 3 Essay Of Praise. * Essay Of Honor and Reputation. 
 * Essay Of Fortune. » Essay Of Vain Glory. 
 
 5 A d?'ancetncnt of Learning-, book ii. 10 History of Henry VII. 
 
 '* Novum Organum. 
 
IRA NCI S BACON WAS A POET. I4I 
 
 Speaking again of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, he expresses 
 it in this most figurative manner: 
 
 At this time the King began to be haunted with spirits, by the magic and curi- 
 ous arts of the Lady Margaret, who raised up the ghost of Richard, Duke of York, 
 second son to King Edward the Fourth, to walk and vex the King. 1 
 
 Again: 
 
 Every giddy-headed humor keeps, in a manner, revel-rout in false religions. ? 
 
 Again: 
 
 It is the extremity of evil when mercy is not suffered to have commerce with 
 misery. 3 
 
 When he would say that the circumstances were favorable for 
 the inauguration of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, he puts it thus: 
 
 Now did the sign reign, and the constellation was come, under which Perkin 
 should appear. 4 
 
 [We find the Duke telling Viola: 
 
 I know thy constellation is right apt 
 For this affair. 5 ] 
 And again: 
 
 But all this upon the French King's part was but a trick, the better to bow 
 King Henry to peace. And therefore upon the first grain of incense that was sac- 
 rificed upon the altar of peace, at Boloign, Perkin was smoked away. 6 
 
 When Bacon would say that King Henry VII. used his wars as 
 a means and excuse to fill his treasury, he expresses it in this pict- 
 uresque fashion: 
 
 His wars were always to him as a mine of treasure of a strange kind of ore; 
 iron at the top and gold and silver at the bottom. 7 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 And Perkin, for a perfume before him as ne went, caused to be published a 
 proclamation. 8 
 
 Again: 
 
 So certainly, if a man meditate much upon the universal frame of nature, the 
 earth with men upon it (the divineness of souls except) will not seem much other 
 than an ant-hill, where, as some ants carry corn, and some carry their young, and 
 some go empty, and all — to and fro — a little heap of dust. 9 
 
 He uses this expression after his downfall: 
 
 Here I live upon the sword-point of a sharp air. 10 
 
 1 History of Henry J 'II. • History of Henry VII. 
 
 - J J 'isdom of the A ncients — Dionysius. ' Ibid. 
 
 3 Ibid.— Diomedes. 8 Ibid. 
 
 4 History of Henry J 'II. 9 A dvancement of Learning, book i. 
 
 5 Twelfth Night, i, 4. I0 Petition to the House of Lords. 
 
i 4 2 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. 
 
 Alluding to Perkin Warbeck, he says: 
 
 But it was ordained that this winding-ivy of a Plantagenet should kill the true 
 tree itself. 1 
 
 Again: 
 
 It was a race often dipped in their own blood. 2 
 
 Speaking of the crowds of rabble who followed Perkin Warbeck 
 
 after his capture, to mock and deride him, Bacon uses this poetical 
 
 figure: 
 
 They flocked about him as he went along: that one might know afar off where 
 the owl was by the flight of birds. 3 
 
 After his downfall he writes: 
 
 I desire to do, for the little time God shall send me life, like the merchants of 
 London, which, when they give over trade, lay out their money upon land. So 
 being freed from civil business, I lay forth my poor talent upon those things which 
 may be perpetual. 4 
 
 Again: 
 
 And as in the tides of people once up, there want not commonly stirring winds 
 to make them more rough. 5 
 
 Speaking of Henry VII., after he had overcome the rebellions 
 
 of Simnell and Warbeck, Bacon says: 
 
 This year also, though the King was no more haunted with sprites, for that by 
 the sprinkling, partly of blood, and partly of water, he had chased them away. 6 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 As if one were to employ himself poring over the dissection of the dead car- 
 cass of nature, rather than to set himself to ascertain the powers and properties of 
 living nature. 1 
 
 He says: 
 
 Nothing appears omitted for preparing the senses to inform the understand- 
 ing, and we shall no longer dance, as it were, within the narrow circles of the 
 enchanter, but extend our march around the confines of the world itself. 8 
 
 Again: 
 
 A fellow that thinks with his magistrality and goosequill to give laws and 
 menages to crowns and scepters. 9 
 
 This is rather a long list of examples to prove that Bacon pos- 
 sessed in a preeminent degree fancy, vivacity and imagination, but 
 I feel that no man can say his time is wasted in reading such a 
 catalogue of gems. 
 
 1 History of Henry VII. * Letter to the King, Oct. 8, 1621. 7 Nature of Things. 
 
 2 Ibid. ° History of Henry VII. » Exper. History. 
 
 3 Ibid. "Ibid. 9 Charge against Talbot. 
 
FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. 143 
 
 XII. Had he the Higher Genius? 
 
 We come now to another question. Granted that he had these 
 humbler qualities of a vivacious mind, did he possess the loftier 
 features of the imagination, those touches where heart and soul 
 and sense of melody are fused together as in the great Plays ? 
 
 Undoubtedly an affirmative answer must be given to this ques- 
 tion. But as in the doings of daily life he was, as Byron says, "off the 
 tripod," it is only when he is, as Prospero has it, "touched to the 
 quick," by some great emotion, that he forgets the philosophical and 
 political restraints he has imposed upon himself, and pours forth his 
 heart in words. One of these occasions was his downfall, in utter 
 disgrace, fined, imprisoned, exiled from the court. In his petition 
 to the House of Lords he cries out from the depths of his soul: 
 
 I am old, weak, ruined, in want, a very subject of pity. 
 
 We seem to hear the voice of Lear: 
 
 A poor, infirm, weak and despised old man. 1 
 
 And, still speaking of himself, he continues with this noble 
 thought: 
 
 It may be you will do posterity good, if out of the carcass of dead and rotten 
 greatness, as out of Samson's lion, there may be honey gathered for the use of 
 future times. 2 
 
 What a noble, what a splendid image is this ! How the meta- 
 phor is interwoven, Shakespeare-wise, not as a distinct comparison, 
 but into the entire body of the thought. He is appealing for 
 mercy, for time to finish his great works; he is himself already 
 "dead and rotten greatness," but withal majestic greatness; he is 
 Samson's lion, but in the carcass the bees have made their hive 
 and hoarded honey for posterity. And what a soul ! That in the 
 hour of ruin and humiliation, sacrificed, as I believe, to save a dis- 
 honest King and a degraded favorite, he could still love humanity 
 and look forward to its welfare. 
 
 Could that expression have come from any other source than 
 the mind that wrote Shakespeare ? The image was not unfamiliar 
 to the writer of the Plays: 
 
 Tis seldom when the bee doth leave her comb 
 
 In the dead carrion. 3 
 
 » 
 
 1 Lear, iii, 2. 2 Petition to the House of Lords. 3 2d Henry II'., iv, 4. 
 
I44 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE TLA YS. 
 
 Take another instance. Bacon speaks of 
 The ocean, the solitary handmaid of eternity. 1 
 
 If that thought was found in the Plays, would it not be on the 
 tongues of all men as a magnificent image? 
 And what poetry is there in this ? 
 
 But men must learn that in this theater of man's life it is reserved only for 
 God and the angels to be lookers-on. 2 
 
 If Shakespeare had written a prose essay, should we not expect 
 him to speak something after this fashion ? 
 
 But the images of men's wits and knowledges remain in books, exempted from 
 the wrong of time and capable of perpetual renovation. Neither are they fitly to 
 be called images, because they generate still and cast their seeds in the minds of 
 others, provoking and causing infinite actions and opinions in succeeding ages; so 
 that if the invention of the ship was thought so noble, which carrieth riches and 
 commodities from place to place and consociateth the most remote regions in par- 
 ticipation of their fruits, how much more are letters to be magnified, which, as 
 ships, pass through the vast seas of time and make ages so distant to participate of 
 the wisdom, illuminations and inventions, the one of the other. 3 
 
 How poetical is the following: 
 
 Her royal clemency which as a sovereign and precious balm continually distil- 
 leth from her fair hands, and falleth into the wounds of many that have incurred 
 the offense of the law. 4 
 
 Again we have : 
 
 Sure I am that the treasure that cometh from you to her Majesty is but as a 
 vapor which riseth from the earth and gathereth into a cloud and stayeth not there 
 long, but upon the same earth it falleth again. It is like a sweet odor of honor and 
 reputation to our nation throughout the world. 5 
 
 We are reminded of Portia's : 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained, 
 
 It droppeth like the gentle rain from heaven 
 
 Upon the place beneath. 6 
 
 And also of the following: 
 
 The heavens rain odors on you. 7 
 
 How beautiful is this expression of Bacon: 
 
 A crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of pictures, and talk but a 
 tinkling cymbal where there is no love. 8 
 
 1 The Nature of Things. 6 Bacon's Speech in Parliament, 1597-8, vol. 
 
 2 Advancement of Learning, book ii. ii, p. 86. 
 
 8 Ibid., book i. " Merchant of J'enice, iv, 1. 
 
 ♦Discourse in Praise ofthe Queen; Life 7 Twelfth Night, iii, 1. • 
 
 and Works, vol. i, p. 129. 8 Essay Of Friendship. 
 
r FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. I45 
 
 How figurative is this: 
 
 The King slept out the sobs of his subjects until he was awakened with the 
 thunderbolt of a Parliament. 1 
 
 What poet has written in prose anything more poetical than this ? 
 
 The unfortunate destinies of hopeful young men, who, like the sons of Aurora, 
 puffed up with the glittering show of vanity and ostentation, attempt actions above 
 their strength. . . . For among all the disasters that can happen to mortals, there 
 is none so lamentable, and so powerful to move compassion, as the flower of virtue 
 cropped with too sudden a mischance. . . . Lamentation and mourning flutter around 
 their obsequies like those funereal birds.* 
 
 How fine is this expression : 
 
 He took, as it were, the picture of words from the life of reason. 3 
 
 There is a rhythm in this: 
 
 Bred in the cells of gross and solitary monks. 4 
 
 How poetical is his conception when he speaks 5 of the prepara- 
 tion for the grand Armada and the Spanish invasion of England, 
 as being "like the travail of an elephant." And again, when he 
 speaks of one of the Popes, who, by his labors, prevented the 
 Mohammedanizing of the white race, as one who had "put a ring 
 in the snout of the Ottoman boar" whereby he was prevented from 
 rooting up and ravaging the fair field of Europe. The words 
 draw a picture for us which the memory cannot forget. 
 
 What a command of language does he exhibit ! Take these 
 
 sentences: 
 
 Words that come from wasted spirits and an oppressed mind are more safe in 
 being deposited in a noble construction. 6 
 
 Neither doth the wind, as far as it carrieth a voice, with a motion thereof, con- 
 found any of the delicate and figurative articulations of the air, in variety of words. 7 
 
 Who taught the bee to sail through such a vast sea of air? 8 
 
 The first of these expeditions invasive was achieved with great felicity, ravished 
 a strong and famous port in the lap and bosom of their high countries. 9 
 
 Whilst I live, my affection to do you service shall remain quick under the ashes 
 of my fortune. 10 
 
 He speaks of Catiline as 
 
 A very fury of lust and blood. 11 
 
 1 Report of Spanish Grievances. 7 Natural History, cent, ii, §125. 
 
 8 Wisdom o/the A ncients — Memnon. 8 Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 
 
 * Advancement 0/ Learning, book i. 'Bacon's Speech in Parliament, 39 Eliz. (1597), 
 
 * Ibid., book ii. Life and Works, ii, 88. 
 6 In Praise of the Queen. 10 Letter to Earl of Bristol. 
 
 * His Submission to Parliament. u Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 
 
i 4 6 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE TLA VS. • 
 
 Take these sentences: 
 
 Religion sweetly touched with eloquence. 1 
 
 The admirable and exquisite subtility of nature. 2 
 
 Have you never seen a fly in amber more beautifully entombed than an Egyptian 
 monarch? 
 
 When it has at last been clearly seen what results are to be expected from the 
 nature of things and the nature of the mind, we consider that we shall have pre- 
 pared and adorned a nuptial couch for the mind and the universe, the Divine 
 Goodness being our bridesmaid. 
 
 The blustering affection of a wild and naked people. 3 
 
 Sweet, ravishing music. . . . 
 The melody and delicate touch of an instrument. 4 
 
 But these blossoms of unripe marriages were but friendly wishes and the airs 
 of loving entertainments. 5 
 
 To dig up the sepulchers of buried and forgotten impositions. 6 
 
 But the King did much to overcast his fortunes, which proved for many years 
 together full of broken seas, tides and tempests. 7 
 
 Neither was the song of the sirens plain and single, but consisting of such a 
 variety of melodious tunes, so fitting and delighting the ears that heard them, as 
 that it ravished and betrayed all passengers. 8 
 
 We might make a book of such citations. 
 
 Mr. John H. Stotsenburg, of New Albany, Indiana, has put 
 together, in a newspaper article, a number of extracts from Bacon, 
 and arranged them as if they were blank verse, I give a few of 
 these. It is surprising to observe how much, in this shape, they 
 resemble the poetry of the Shakespeare Plays, and how readily 
 they would deceive an ordinary reader: 
 
 Truth may come, perhaps, 
 To a pearl's value that shows best by day, 
 But rise it will not to a diamond's price 
 That showeth always best in varied lights. 
 Yet it is not death man fears, 
 But only the stroke of death. 
 Virtue walks not in the highway 
 Though she go heavenward. 
 
 Why should we love our fetters, though of gold ? 
 
 When resting in security, man is dead; 
 
 His soul is buried within him 
 
 And his good angel either forsakes his guard or sleeps. 
 
 1 . 1 dvancement of Learnings book i. 5 History of Henry VII. 
 
 2 Novum Organum, book ii. « Speech in Parliament, 39 Elizabeth, 1597. 
 
 3 History 0/ Henry VII. 1 History of Henry VII. 
 
 4 Wisdom 0/ the A ncients. » Wisdom 0/ the A ncients —Sirens. 
 
• FRANCIS BACON WAS A POET. I47 
 
 There is nothing under heaven 
 
 To which the heart can lean, save a true friend. 
 
 Why mourn, then, for the end which must be 
 
 Or spend one wish to have a minute added 
 
 To the uncertain date which marks our years ? 
 
 Death exempts not man from being, 
 
 But marks an alteration only. 
 
 He is a guest unwelcome and importunate 
 
 And he will not, must not be said nay. 
 
 Death arrives gracious only 
 
 To such as sit in darkness 
 
 Or lie heavy-burdened with grief and irons. 
 
 To the poor. Christian that sits slave-bound 
 
 In the galleys; 
 
 To despairful widows, pensive pensioners and deposed kings; 
 
 To them whose fortune runneth backward 
 
 And whose spirits mutiny: 
 
 Unto such death is a redeemer, 
 
 And the grave a place of retiredness and rest. 
 
 These wait upon the shore, and waft to him 
 
 To draw near, wishing to see his star 
 
 That they may be led to him, 
 
 And wooing the remorseless sisters 
 
 To wind down the watch of life 
 
 And break them off before the hour. 
 
 It is as natural to die 
 As to be born. 
 
 In many of these there are scarcely any changes, except in 
 arranging them as blank verse instead of in the form of prose; and 
 they have been taken as prose simply because Bacon so first 
 wrote them. 
 
 No man, I think, can have followed me thus far in this 
 argument without conceding that Bacon was a poet. If a poet, 
 * ; the greatest of mankind" would be the greatest poet of man- 
 kind. Whatever such a mind strove to accomplish would be of 
 the highest. Nothing commonplace could dwell in such a 
 temple. 
 
 We must admit that he possessed everything needed for the 
 preparation of the Shakespeare Plays. Learning, industry, am- 
 bition for immortality; command of language in all its heights and 
 depths; the power of compressing thought into condensed sen- 
 tences; wit, fancy, imagination, feeling and the temperament of 
 genius. 
 
I 4 8 FA' A * C/S BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE 9 PLAYS. 
 
 XIII. His Wit. 
 
 But it will be said, Was he not lacking in the sense of humor ? 
 
 By no means. It was the defect of his public speeches that his; 
 wit led him aside from the path of dignity. Ben Jonson says his 
 oratory was " nobly censorious when he could spare or pass by a 
 jest." Sir Robert Naunton says, " He was abundantly facetious, 
 which took much with the Queen." The Queen said, "He hath a 
 great wit." "I wish your Lordship a good Easter," says the 
 Spanish Jew, Gondomar, about to cross the Channel. " I wish you 
 a good Pass-over," replied Bacon. Queen Elizabeth asked Bacon 
 whether he had found anything that smacked of treason in a certain 
 book. " No," said Bacon, "but I have found much felony." " How 
 is that?" asked the Queen. "The author." said Bacon, "has stolen 
 many of his conceits from Cornelius Tacitus." 
 
 In the midst even of his miseries, after his downfall, he writes 
 
 (1625) to the Duke of Buckingham: 
 
 I marvel that your Grace should think to pull down the monarchy of Spain 
 without my good help. Your Grace will give me leave to be merry, however the tvorld' 
 goeth with me. 
 
 I have just quoted Macaulay's declaration that Bacon's sense 
 of wit and humor was so powerful that it oftentimes usurped the 
 place of reason and tyrannized over the whole man. 
 
 We find in the author of the Shakespeare Plays the same ina- 
 bility to restrain his wit. 
 
 Says Carlyle: 
 
 In no point does Shakespeare exaggerate but only in laughter. Fiery objurga- 
 tions, words that pierce and burn, are to be found in Shakespeare; yet he is always 
 in measure here, never what Johnson would remark as a specially "good hater." 
 But his laughter seems to pour from him in floods, . . . Not at mere weakness, at 
 misery or poverty, never. 
 
or r ME Y 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WRITER OE THE PLA YS A PHILOSOPHER. 
 
 First, let me talk with this philosopher. 
 
 Lear, lit, 4. 
 
 IN the attempt to establish identity I have shown that Bacon 
 was a poet as well as a philosopher. I shall now try to estab- 
 lish that the writer of the Plays was a philosopher as well as a 
 poet. In this way we will come very near getting the two heads 
 under one hat. 
 
 The poet is not necessarily a philosopher; the philosopher is not 
 necessarily a poet. One may be possessed of marvelous imagina- 
 tive powers, with but a small share of the reasoning faculty. 
 Another may penetrate into the secrets of nature with a brain as 
 dry as grave-dust. 
 
 The crude belief about Shakespeare is that he was an inspired 
 plow-boy, a native genius, a Cornish diamond, without polishing; a 
 poet, and nothing but a poet. I propose to show that his mind 
 was as broad as it was lofty; that he was a philosopher, and more 
 than that, a natural philosopher; and more than that, that he held 
 precisely the same views which Bacon held. 
 
 Let us see what some of the great thinkers have had to say 
 upon this subject: 
 
 Carlyle makes this most significant speech: 
 
 There is an understanding manifested in the construction of Shakespeare's 
 Plays equal to that in Bacon's Novum Organum. 
 
 Hazlitt has struck upon the same pregnant comparison: 
 
 The wisdom displayed in Shakespeare was equal in profoundness to the great 
 .Lord Bacon's A r ovum Organum. 
 
 Coleridge said: 
 
 He was not only a great poet, but a great philosopher. 
 
 . Richard Grant White calls him 
 
 The greatest philosopher and the worldly-wisest man of modern times. 
 
 149 
 
I5 o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Says Emerson: 
 
 He was inconceivably wise. The others conceivably. 1 
 
 Barry Cornwall says: 
 
 He was not a mere poet in the vulgar sense of the term. ... On the con- 
 trary, he was a man eminently acute, logical and philosophical. His reasoning 
 faculty was on a par with his imagination and pervaded all his works completely.* 
 
 Landor calls Shakespeare 
 
 The wisest of men, as well as the greatest of poets. 
 
 Pope calls Bacon 
 
 The wisest of mankind. 
 
 Jeffrey says of Shakespeare: 
 
 He was more full of wisdom and sagacity than all the moralists and satirists 
 that ever lived. 
 
 Coleridge says: 
 
 Shakespeare's judgment equaled, if it did not surpass, his creative faculty. 
 
 Dr. Johnson says: 
 
 From his works may be collected a system of civil and economical prudence 
 
 Swinburne calls Shakespeare: 
 
 The wisest and mightiest mind that ever was informed with the spirit or genius 
 of creative poetry. 
 
 Richard Grant White says of Shakespeare: 
 
 He was the most observant of men. 
 
 On the other hand, Edmund Burke said of Bacon: 
 
 He possessed the most distinguished and refined observation of human life. 
 
 Alfred H. Welsh says of Bacon: 
 
 Never was observation at once more recondite, better-natured and more care- 
 fully sifted. 
 
 Surely these two men, if we can call them such, ran in closely 
 parallel lines. 
 
 And it must be remembered that these witnesses are not advo- 
 cates of the Baconian authorship of the Plays. Many of them never 
 heard of it. 
 
 I. Bacon's Philosophy. 
 
 But there are two kinds of philosophy — the transcendental and 
 the practical. Naturally, the first has most relation to the imagin- 
 ation; the latter tends to drag down the mind to the base details 
 
 1 Representative Men, p. 209. 2 Preface to Works of Ben fonson. 
 
THE WRITER OR THE PLAYS A PHILOSOPHER. i 5I 
 
 of life. The mind must be peculiarly constructed that can at the 
 same time grapple with the earth and soar in the clouds. It was 
 the striking peculiarity of Bacon's system of philosophy that it 
 tended to make great things little and little things great. 
 
 It was the reverse of that old-time philosophy to which Shake- 
 speare sneeringly alluded when he said: 
 
 We have our philosophical persons, to make modern and familiar things super- 
 natural and causeless. 1 
 
 Says Macaulay: 
 
 Some people may think the object of the Baconian philosophy a low object. 2 
 
 And again he observes: 
 
 This persuasion that nothing can be too insignificant for the attention of the 
 wisest which is not too insignificant to give pleasure or pain to the meanest, is the 
 essential spirit of the Baconian philosophy. 3 
 
 Bacon cared nothing for the grand abstrusenesses: he labored 
 
 for the "betterment of men's bread and wine" — the improvement 
 
 of the condition of mankind in their worldly estate. This was the 
 
 gospel he preached. Like Socrates, he "dragged down philosophy 
 
 from the clouds." He said: 
 
 The evil, however, has been wonderfully increased by an opinion, or inveterate 
 conceit, which is both vainglorious and prejudicial, namely, that the dignity of the 
 human mind is lowered by long and frequent intercourse with experiments and 
 particulars, which are the objects of sense and confined to matter, especially since 
 such matters are mean subjects for meditation. 4 
 
 And again, in his Experimental Natural History, he says: 
 
 We briefly urge as a precept, that there be admitted into this (natural) history: 
 i. The most common matters, such as one might think it superfluous to insert, 
 from their being well known; 2. Base, illiberal and filthy matters, and also those 
 which are trifling and puerile, . . . nor ought their worth to be measured by their 
 intrinsic value, but by their application to other points and their influence on phil- 
 osophy. 
 
 And again: 
 
 This was a false estimation that it should be a diminution to the mind of man 
 to be much conversant in experiences and particulars, subject to sense and bound 
 in matter, and which are laborious to search, ignoble to meditate, harsh to deliver, 
 illiberal to practice, infinite as is supposed in number, and noways accommodate 
 to the glory of arts. 5 
 
 And, strange to say, when we turn to Shakespeare we find 
 embalmed in poetry, where one would think there would be the 
 
 > All's Well that Ends Well, ii, 3. 3 Ibid., p. 272. ■ Filum Labyrintki. 
 
 a Essay Bacon, p. 278. 4 Novum Organum, book i. 
 
l5 2 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 least chance to find it, and with which it would seem to have no 
 
 natural kindred or coherence, this novel philosophy. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters 
 
 Point to rich ends} 
 
 And again: 
 
 Nature, what things there are, 
 Most abject in regard and dear in use ! 
 What things again most dear in the esteem 
 And poor in worth! 2 
 
 This is the very doctrine taught by Bacon, which I have just 
 
 quoted: 
 
 Base, illiberal and filthy matters, and also those which are trifling and puerile, 
 . . . nor ought their worth to be measured by their intrinsic value, but by their 
 application to other points and their influence on philosophy. 
 
 Why did not Bacon quote that sentence from the Tempest? 
 
 Some kinds of baseness 
 Are nobly undergone, and most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. 
 
 No wonder Birch is reminded of Bacon when he reads Shake- 
 speare. He says: 
 
 Glendower is very angry at the incredulity of Hotspur, and reiterates again 
 and again the signs that he thought marked him extraordinary. Hotspur not only 
 replies with badinage, but ascribes, with Baconian induction, all that Glendower 
 thought miraculous and providential to nature and the earth. 3 
 
 Dowden describes the philosophy of Shakespeare in words that 
 
 fully fit the philosophy of Bacon. He says: 
 
 The noble positivism of Shakespeare. . . . Energy , devotion to the fact, self-gov- 
 ernment, tolerance, ... an indifference to externals in comparison with that 
 which is of the invisible life, and a resolution to judge of all things from a purely 
 
 human standpoint} 
 
 The same writer says: 
 
 The Elizabethan drama is essentially mundane. To it all that is upon this 
 earth is real, and it does not concern itself greatly about the reality of other 
 things. Of heaven or hell it has no power to sing. It finds such and such facts 
 here and now, and does not invent or discover supernatural causes to explain these 
 frets/' 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 For although of all poets he is most profoundly psychological, as well as most 
 fanciful and most imaginative, yet with him philosophy, fancy and imagination 
 
 1 Tempest, mil, i. 3 Birch, Plains, and Relig. of Shak., p. 238. 5 Ibid., p. 23. 
 
 2 Troilus and Cress/da, Hi, 3. 4 Dowden, Shak. Mind and Art, p. 34. 
 
THE WRITER OE THE PLAYS A PHILOSOPHER. ^3 
 
 are penetrated with the spirit of that unwritten law of reason which we speak of as 
 if it were a faculty — common sense. His philosophy is practical and his poetical 
 views are fused with philosophy and poetry. He is withal the sage and the oracle of 
 this world. . . . There is in him the constant presence and rule of reason in his 
 most exalted flights. 1 
 
 Jeffrey says: 
 
 When the object requires it he is always keen and worldly and practical, and 
 yet, without changing his hand or stopping his course, he scatters around him as 
 he goes all sounds and shapes of sweetness. 
 
 It needs no further argument to demonstrate: 
 
 1. That the writer of the Plays was a philosopher. 
 
 2. That he was a practical philosopher. 
 
 I shall now go farther, and seek to show that, like Bacon, he 
 was a natural philosopher, a student of nature, a materialist. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Divine omnipotence was required to create anything out of nothing, so also is 
 that omnipotence to make anything lapse into nothing. 2 
 
 The writer of the Plays had grasped the same thought: 
 
 O anything of nothing first created. 3 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Nothing proceeds from nothing. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Nothing will come of nothing. 5 
 
 Nothing can be made out of nothing. 6 
 
 A r e see the natural philosopher also in those reflections as to 
 
 the indestructibility of matter and its transmutations in these 
 
 verses: 
 
 Full fadom five thy father lies; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made; 
 These are pearls that were his eyes: 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange.' 1 
 
 Hamlet's meditations run in the same practical direction. He 
 
 perceives that the matter of which Alexander was composed was 
 
 indestructible: 
 
 Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returned to dust; the dust 
 is earth, of earth we make loam, and why of that loam (whereto he was converted) 
 might they not stop a beer barrel? 
 
 1 Life and Genius of S/iak., p. 293. s Romeo andjtiliet, i, 1. 5 Lear, i, 1. 
 
 1 Thoughts on the Nature 0/ Things. * Novum Organum, book ii. 8 Ibid., i, &.. 
 
 7 Tempest, i, 2. 
 
j$ 4 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FT A VS. ' 
 
 Illustrious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, 
 Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. 
 
 And when we turn again to Bacon we find him considering how 
 
 All things pass through an appointed circuit and succession of transformations. 
 . . . All things change; nothing really perishes. 1 
 
 And again Bacon says: 
 
 For there is nothing in nature more true . . . than that nothing is reduced to 
 nothing. 2 
 
 Henry IV. delivers what Birch calls "an episode proper to a 
 
 geological inquirer, and savoring of the theory of the materialist 
 
 with regard to the natural and not providential alteration of the 
 
 globe," when he says: 
 
 O Heaven! that one might read the book of fate 
 
 And see the revolution of the times; 
 
 Make mountains level, and the continent 
 
 (Weary of solid firmness) melt itself 
 
 Into the sea ! and other times to see 
 
 The beachy girdle of the ocean, 
 
 Too wide for Neptune's hips; how chances, mocks 
 
 And changes fill the cup of alteration 
 
 With divers liquors. 3 
 
 Birch adds: 
 
 When he returns to politics, and makes them a consequence, as it were, of the 
 preceding philosophical reflections, we do not see the connection, except in that 
 materialistic view of things, and necessitarian way of thinking, in which Shake- 
 speare frequently indulges, and which involved all alike, physical and human 
 effects, in the causes and operations of nature. We either see the unavoidable ten- 
 dency of Shakespeare's mind to drag in some of his own thoughts at the expense 
 of situation or probability, or we must admit them so mixed up in his philosophy 
 as not to be divided. 4 
 
 We find the man of Stratford (if we are to believe he wrote the 
 
 Plays), while failing to teach his daughter to read and write, urging 
 
 that the sciences should be taught in England! 
 
 Even so our houses, and ourselves, and children, 
 Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time, 
 The sciences that should become our country. 5 
 
 We see the natural philosopher also in Shakespeare's reflections. 
 
 in Measure for Measure : 
 
 Thou art not thyself; 
 For thou exist'st on many a thousand grains 
 That issue out of dust. 6 
 
 1 Thoughts on the Nature of Things. * Birch, Philosophy a!l 't Religion of Shah., p. 249. 
 
 2 Novum Organum, book ii. * Henry V., v, 2. 
 * Henry IV., iii, 1. "Act iii, scene 1. 
 
THE WRITER OE THE PLAYS A PHILOSOPHER. I55 
 
 Here we find the same mind, that traced the transmutations of 
 the dust of Alexander and Caesar, following, in reverse order, the 
 path of matter from the inorganic dust into the organic plant, 
 thence into fruit or grain, thence into the body, blood and brain of 
 man. Man is not himself; he is simply a congeries of atoms, 
 brought together by a power beyond himself. 
 
 And Shakespeare says: 
 
 It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover. 1 
 
 The natural philosopher is shown also in that wise and merciful 
 
 reflection: 
 
 For the poor beetle that we tread upon 
 
 In corporal sufferance finds as great a pang 
 
 As when a giant dies. -i 
 
 And we turn to Bacon, and we find him indulging in a similar 
 thought: 
 
 But all violence to the organization of animals is accompanied with a sense of 
 pain, according to their different kinds and peculiar natures, owing to that sentient 
 essence which pervades their frames. 3 
 
 Observe the careful student of nature also in this: 
 
 Many for many virtues excellent, 
 
 None but for some, and yet all different. 
 
 O, mickle is the powerful grace that lies 
 
 In herbs, plants, stones and their true qualities: 
 
 For naught so vile that on the earth doth live, 
 
 But to the earth some special good doth give; 
 
 Nor aught so good, but, strained from that fair use, 
 
 Revolts from true birth, stumbling on abuse. 4 
 
 Here, again, we see the Baconian idea that the humble things 
 of earth, even the vilest, have their noble purposes and uses. 
 And the same study of plants is found in the following: 
 
 Checks and disasters 
 Grow in the veins of actions highest reared; 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain 
 Tortive and errant from his course and growth. 5 
 
 And in the very direction of Bacon's curious investigations into 
 life is this reference to the common belief of the time, that a horse- 
 hair, left in the water, turns into a living thing: 
 
 1 As You Like It, iii, 2. • The Nature 0/ Tilings. 8 Troilus and Cressida. 1. . - , 
 
 - Measure for Measure, iii, 1. ' Ronteo and Juliet, ii, 3. 
 
I5 6 FRANCIS BACOX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Much is breeding 
 Which, like the courser's hair, hath yet but life, 
 And not a serpent's poison. 1 
 
 It has even been noted by others that in that famous descrip- 
 tion of the hair, "standing on end like quills upon the fretful por- 
 cupine," the writer hints at the fact that the quills of that animal 
 are really modified hairs. 2 
 
 And when Lady Macbeth says: 
 
 I know 
 How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: 
 I would, while it was smiling in my face, 
 Have plucked my nipple from his boneless gums 
 And dashed the brains out, had I so sworn, 
 As you have done to this 3 — 
 
 we perceive that the writer had thought it out that the teeth are 
 but modified bones. 
 
 The student of natural phenomena is also shown in these sen- 
 tences: 
 
 Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth. 4 
 
 Can I go forward when my heart is here ? 
 Turn back, dull earth, and find thy center out ! 5 
 
 I will find 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid, indeed, 
 Within the center. 6 
 
 While Bacon, seeming to anticipate the Newtonian specula- 
 tions, says: 
 
 Heavy and ponderous bodies tend toward the center of the earth by their 
 peculiar formation. . . . Solid bodies are borne toward the center of the earth. 7 
 
 And here we perceive that the poet and the play-writer had 
 
 even considered the force of the sun's heat in producing agitations 
 
 of the atmosphere. 
 
 He says: 
 
 Which shipmen do the hurricano call, 
 Constringed in mass by the almighty sun. 8 
 
 Bacon observed that 
 
 All kind of heat dilates and extends the air, . . . which produces this breeze 
 as the sun goes forward . . . and thence thunders and lightnings and storms. 9 
 
 1 A ntony and Cleopatra, i Romeo and Juliet, ii, i. 
 
 ' 2 American Cyclopedia, vol. viii, p. 384. * Hamlet, ii, 2. 
 
 3 Macbeth, i, 7. 7 Novum Organutn, book ii. 
 
 4 Sonnet cxlvi. 8 Troilus and Cressida, v, 2. 
 
 '•' . Xuthor. 0/ Shak., p. 310. 
 
THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A PHILOSOPHER. , 
 
 57 
 
 And Judge Holmes calls attention to the following parallel 
 thought in Shakespeare: 
 
 As whence the sun 'gins his reflection, 
 Ship-wrecking storms and direful thunders break. 1 
 
 And that all-powerful preponderance of the sun in the affairs of 
 the planet, which modern science has established, was realized by 
 the author of the Plays, when he speaks, in the foregoing, of " the 
 almighty sun," " constringing " the air and producing the hurri- 
 cane. It is no wonder that Richard Grant White exclaims: 
 
 The entire range of human knowledge must be laid under contribution to 
 illustrate his writings. 2 
 
 And the natural philosopher is shown in the question of Lear 
 (for Shakespeare's lunatics ask many questions that wise men can- 
 not answer) : 
 
 Canst tell how an oyster makes his shell? 3 
 
 In his Natural History, we find Bacon occupying himself with 
 kindred thoughts. He discusses the casting-off of the shell of the 
 lobster, crab, era-fish, the snail, the tortoise, etc., and the making 
 of a new shell: 
 
 The cause of the casting of the skin and shell should seem to be the great 
 quantity of matter that is in those creatures that is fit to make skin or shell* 
 
 And again says Lear: 
 
 First let me talk with this philosopher: 
 What is the cause of thunder? 5 
 
 And Bacon had considered this question also. He says: 
 
 We see that among the Greeks those who first disclosed the natural causes of 
 thunder and storms, to the yet untrained ears of man, were condemned as guilty 
 of impiety towards the gods. 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And do but see his vice; 
 'Tis to his virtue a just equinox, 
 The one as long as the other. 7 
 
 In this we have another observation of a natural phenomenon.. 
 
 And here is another: 
 
 Know you not 
 The fire, that mounts the liquor till it run o'er, 
 In seeming to augment it, wastes it. 8 
 
 1 Macbeth, i, i. * Century viii, § 732. 7 Othello, ii, 3. 
 
 x Shak. Genius, p. 252. 5 Lear, Hi, 4. 8 Henry VIII., i, 1. 
 
 3 L<\ir, i, 5. % Novum Organuw, book i. 
 
, 5 X FRANCIS HA COX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 The poet had also studied the causes of malaria. 
 He says: 
 
 All the infections that the sun sucks up 
 
 From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him 
 
 By inch-meal a disease. 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 Infect her beauty, 
 Yon fen-sucked fogs, drawn by the powerful sun, 
 To fall and blast her pride. - 
 
 And in the following the natural philosopher is clearly ap- 
 parent: 
 
 The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction 
 Robs the vast sea; the moon's an arrant thief, 
 And her pale fire she snatches from the sun. 
 The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves 
 The moon into salt tears; the earth's a thief 
 That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen 
 From general excrement/ 5 
 
 I shall hereafter show, in the chapter on " Identical Compari- 
 sons," that both Bacon and Shakespeare compared man to a species 
 of deputy God, a lesser Providence, with a power over nature that 
 approximated in kind, but not in degree, to the creative power of 
 the Almighty. He says in one place: 
 
 For in things artificial nature takes orders from man and works under his 
 authority; without man such things would never have been made. But by the 
 help and ministry of man a new force of bodies, another universe, or theater of 
 things, comes into view. 
 
 And in Shakespeare we have the following kindred reflections: 
 
 Perdita. For I have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Pol. Say there be; 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
 
 But nature makes that mean; so o'er that art 
 
 Which you say adds to nature, is an art 
 
 That nature makes. You see, sweet maid, we ma^ry 
 
 A gentler scion to the wildest stock, 
 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 
 By bud of nobler race: this is an art 
 
 Which does mend nature, change it rather, but 
 
 The art itself is nature. 4 
 
 1 Tempest, ii, 2. 2 Lear, ii, 4. '■' Titus Andronicus, iv, 3. * Winter's Tale, iv, 3. 
 
THE WRITER OF THE PLAYS A PHILOSOPHER. l c< ) 
 
 And again: 
 
 'Tis often seen 
 Adoption strives with nature; and choice breeds 
 A native slip to us from foreign seeds. 1 
 
 And we have a glimpse in the following of the doctrine that 
 nature abhors a vacuum. 
 
 The air, which, but for vacancy, 
 Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra, too, 
 And made a gap in nature. 2 
 
 And here we find them, again, thinking the same thought, based 
 on the same observation. Bacon says: 
 
 As for the inequality of the pressure of the parts, it appeareth manifestly in 
 this, that if you take a body of stone or iron, and another of wood, of the same 
 magnitude and shape, and throw them with equal force, you cannot possibly throw 
 the wood so far as the stone or the iron. 3 
 
 And we find the same thought in Shakespeare: 
 
 The thing that's heavy in itself, 
 
 Upon enforcement flies with greatest speed. 4 
 
 And here is a remarkable parallelism. Shakespeare says: 
 
 There lives within the very flame of love 
 A kind of wick, or snuff, that will abate it. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Take an arrow and hold it in flame for the space of ten pulses, and when it 
 cometh forth you shall find those parts of the arrow which were on the outside of 
 the flame more burned, blackened, and turned almost to a coal, whereas that in the 
 midst of the flame will be as if the fire had scarce touched it. This . . . showeth 
 manifestly that flame burneth more violently towards the sides than in the midst. 6 
 
 And here is another equally striking. Bacon says: 
 
 Besides snow hath in it a secret warmth; as the monk proved out of the text: 
 " Qui dat nivem sicut lanam, gelu sicut cineres spargit." Whereby he did infer that 
 snow did warm like wool, and frost did fret like ashes. 7 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Since frost itself as actively doth burn. 8 
 Bacon anticipated the discovery of the power of one mind over 
 another which we call mesmerism; and we find in Shakespeare 
 Ariel saying to the shipwrecked men: 
 
 If you could hurt, 
 Your swords are now too massy for your strengths, 
 And will not be tiplifted.'* 
 
 * All's Well that Ends Well, i, 3. x 2d Henry IV., i, 1. 7 Natural History, §788. 
 
 2 A ntony and Cleopatra, ii, 2. • Hamlet, iv, 7. 8 Hamlet, iii, 4. 
 
 3 Natural History, §791. fi Natural History, §32. 9 Tempest, iii, 3. 
 
f 6o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 I conclude this chapter with the following citations, each of 
 
 which shows the profound natural philosopher: 
 
 That man, how dearly ever parted, 
 How much in having, or without or in, 
 Cannot make boast to have that which he hath, 
 Nor feels not what he owes, but by reflection; 
 As when his virtues shining upon others 
 Heat them, and they retort that heat again 
 To the first giver. ' 
 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face, 
 The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
 To others' eyes; nor doth the eye itself, 
 That most pure spirit of sense, behold itself, 
 Not going from itself. 2 
 
 No man is the lord of any thing, 
 
 Though in and of him there be much consisting, 
 
 Till he communicate his parts to others. 3 
 
 Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, 
 
 Not light them for ourselves; for if our virtues 
 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 
 As if we had them not. Spirits are not finely touched 
 
 But to fine issues, nor Nature never lends 
 
 The smallest scruple of her excellence, 
 
 But, like a thrifty goddess, she determines 
 
 Herself the glory of a creditor, 
 
 Both thanks and use. 4 
 
 1 Troilus and Cressida, hi, 3. 2 Ibid. s Ibid. * Measure for Measure, i, t. 
 
GORHAMBURY 
 I. A. D. 1821. 2. A. D. 1795- 3- A. D. 1568. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE PLA VS. 
 
 Dear earth ! I do salute thee with my hand. 
 
 Richard II., Hi, 2. 
 
 GENIUS, though its branches reach to the heavens and cover 
 the continents, yet has its roots in the earth; and its leaves, 
 its fruit, its flowers, its texture and its fibers, bespeak the soil in 
 which it was nurtured. Hence in the writings of every great mas- 
 ter we find more or less association with the scenes in which his 
 youth and manhood were passed — reflections, as it were, on the 
 camera of the imagination of those landscapes with which destiny 
 had surrounded him. 
 
 In the work of the peasant-poet, Robert Burns, we cannot sepa- 
 rate his writings from the localities in which he lived. Take away 
 
 " Bonnie Doon; " 
 
 " Auld Alloway's witch-haunted kirk ; " 
 
 " Ye banks and braes and streams around, 
 The castle of Montgomery;" 
 
 11 Auld Ayr, which ne'er a town surpasses 
 For honest men and bonny lasses; " 
 
 11 Sweet Afton, 
 Amid its green braes," 
 
 and the thousand and one other references to localities with which 
 
 his life was associated, and there is very little left which bears the 
 
 impress of his genius. 
 
 If we turn to Byron, we find the same thing to be true. We 
 
 have his "Elegy on Newstead Abbey;" his poem "On Leaving 
 
 Newstead Abbey;" his lines on " Lachin y Gair " in the Highlands, 
 
 where "my footsteps in infancy wandered;" his verses upon 
 
 "Movren of Snow;" his "Lines written beneath an Elm in the 
 
 Churchyard of Harrow on the Hill;" his verses "On Revisiting 
 
 Harrow," and his poem addressed "To an Oak at Newstead;" 
 
 while " Childe Harold " is full of allusions to scenes with which 
 
 his life-history was associated. 
 
 161 
 
t62 FRANCIS B A COX THE AUTHOR OF THE TLA VS. 
 
 The same is true, to a greater or less extent, of all great writers 
 who deal with the emotions of the human heart. 
 
 I. Stratford-on-Avon is not Named in the Plays. 
 
 In view of these things it will scarcely be believed that in all the 
 voluminous writings of Shakespeare there is not a single allusion to 
 Stratford, or to the river Avon. His failure to remember the dirty 
 little town of his birth might be excused, but it would seem most 
 natural that in some place, in some way, in drama or sonnet or 
 fugitive poem, he should remember the beautiful and romantic river, 
 along whose banks he had wandered so often in his youth, and whose 
 natural beauties must have entered deeply into his soul, if he was 
 indeed the poet who wrote the Plays. He does, it is true, refer to 
 Stony-Stratford, 1 a village in the County of Bucks, and this makes the 
 omission of his own Stratford of Warwickshire the more surprising. 
 
 II. St. Albans Referred to Many Times. 
 
 On the other hand, we find repeated references to St. Albans, 
 Bacon's home, a village of not much more consequence, so far as 
 numbers were concerned, than Stratford. 
 
 Falstaff says: 
 
 There's but a shirt and a half in all my company; . . . and the shirt, to say 
 the truth, stolen from my host of Saint Albans.' 2 
 
 In the 2d Henry IV. we have this reference: 
 
 Prince Henry. This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road. 
 
 Poins. I warrant you, as common as the road between Saint Albans and 
 London. 3 
 
 In The Contention between the Two Famous Houses of York and Lan- 
 caster, which is conceded to be the original form of some of the 
 Shakespeare Plays, we have: 
 
 For now the King is riding to Saint Albans.* 
 
 My lord, I pray you let me go post unto the King, 
 Unto Saint Albans, to tell this news. 5 
 
 Come, uncle Gloster, now let's have our horse, 
 For we will to Saint Albans presently. 6 
 
 In the same scene (in The Contention), of the miracle at Saint 
 Albans : 
 
 1 Richard III., ii, 4. s 2d Henry IV., ii, 2. 5 Ibid., ii, 3. 
 
 2 1st Henry IV., iv, 3. 4 1st Part of Contention, i, 2. 6 Ibid. 
 
THE GEOGRAPHY OP THE PLAYS. 
 
 163 
 
 Come, my lords, this night we'll lodge in Saint Albans} 
 
 In the play of Richard 1 1 J . we have this allusion to Bacon's 
 
 country seat: 
 
 Was not your husband 
 In Margaret's battle at Saint Albans slain ?'-' 
 
 We have numerous references to St. Albans in the 2d Henry VI. : 
 
 Messenger. My Lord Protector, 'tis his Highness' pleasure 
 You do prepare to ride unto Saint Albans,* 
 
 And again: 
 
 Duchess. It is enough; I'll think upon the questions: 
 When from Saint Albans we do make return. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 York. The King is now in progress toward Saint Albans.-' 
 
 III. Three Scenes in the Plays Laid at St. Albans. 
 
 Scene 1, act ii, 2d Henry VI., is laid at Saint Albans ; scene 2, act 
 v, of the same is also laid at Saint Albans ; scene 3, act v, is laid in 
 Fields, near Saint Albans. 
 
 Note the following: 
 
 Forsooth, a blind man at Saint Albania shrine, 
 Within this half-hour hath received his sight. 6 
 
 Enter the Mayor of Saint Albans. 
 
 Being called 
 A hundred times and oftener, in my sleep 
 By good Saint A /ban. 1 
 
 Again: 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 
 Glos. Yet thou seest not well. 
 
 Simpcox. Yes, master, clear as day; I thank God and Saint Albany 
 
 Again: 
 
 Gloster. My lord, Saint A/ban here hath done a miracle.'' 
 
 Gloster. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in your town? 111 
 
 And again: 
 
 For underneath an alehouse' paltry sign. 
 
 The castle in Saint Albans, Somerset 
 
 Hath made the wizard famous in his death." 
 
 1 1st Contention, ii, i. 
 
 4 2d Henry VI., i, ->. 
 
 - Ibid. 
 
 , ii, 1. 
 
 10 Ibid., ii, 1. 
 
 » Richard III., i, 3. 
 
 5 Ibid., i, 3. 
 
 s Ibid. 
 
 , ii, 1. 
 
 1 1 2d Henry VI. , v, 2, 
 
 3 2d Henry VI., i, 2. 
 
 "Ibid., ii, 1. 
 
 9 Ibid. 
 
 . ii, 1. 
 
 
164 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Now by my hand, lords, 'twas a glorious day, 
 Saint Albans battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eternized in all age to come. 1 
 
 In the 3d Henry VI. we find St. Albans referred to as follows z 
 
 Marched toward Saint Albans to intercept the Queen. 2 
 
 Again: 
 Again 
 
 Again 
 
 Short tale to make — we at Saint Albans met. 3 
 
 When you and I met at Saint Albans last. 4 
 
 Brother of Gloster, at Saint Albans field 
 
 This lady's husband, Sir John Grey, was slain. 5 
 
 Here is St. Albans referred to in the Shakespeare Plays twenty -three 
 times, and Stratford not once ! 
 
 Is not this extraordinary? What tie connected the Stratford 
 man with the little village of Hertfordshire, that he should drag it 
 into his writings so often ? 
 
 We are told that he loved the village of Stratford, and returned, 
 when rich and famous, to end his days there. We have glowing 
 pictures, in the books of the enthusiastic commentators, of his wan- 
 derings along the banks of the lovely Avon. Why did he utterly 
 blot them both out of his writings ? 
 
 IV. Warwickshire Ignored in the Plays. 
 
 But he ignored the county of Warwickshire — his own beautiful 
 county of Warwickshire — in like fashion. 
 
 Michael Drayton, poet and dramatist, a contemporary of Shak- 
 spere, was, like him, born in Warwickshire, but he did not forget 
 his native shire. He thus invocates the place of his birth: 
 
 My native country, then, which so brave spirits hath bred, 
 If there be virtues yet remaining in thy earth, 
 Or any good of thine thou bred'st into my birth, 
 Accept it as thine own, whilst now I sing of thee, 
 Of all thy later brood th' unworthiest though I be. 
 
 The county of Warwickshire is only referred to once in the 
 Plays (1st Henry IV., iv, 2), and " the lord of Warwickshire" is 
 mentioned twice. The only reference that I know of to localities 
 in Warwickshire is in the introduction to The Taming of the Shrew, 
 where Wincot is named. It is assumed that this is Wilmecote, three 
 
 1 2d Henry /"/., v, 2. ^jd Henry /'/.. ii, 1. :i Tbid. * Ibid., ii, 2. '"Ibid., iii, 3. 
 
THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE PI. A VS. 
 
 65 
 
 miles distant from Stratford-on-Avon. But of this there is no cer- 
 tainty. 
 
 There is a Woncot mentioned in 2d Henry IV, — 
 William Visor of VVoncott; ' — 
 and so eager have the Shakspereans been to sustain the War- 
 wickshire origin of the Plays that they have converted this into 
 Wincot. As, however, Master Robert Shallow, Esquire, dwelt in 
 Gloucestershire — 
 
 [He through Gloucestershire, and there will I visit Master Robert Shallow Es- 
 quire,] — 
 
 and William Visor was one of his tenants or underlings, this Won- 
 cot could not have been Wincot, near Stratford, in Warwickshire. 
 
 V. St. Albans the Central Point of the Historical Plays. 
 
 Mrs. Pott has pointed out how much of the action of the Shake- 
 speare Plays finds its turning-point and center in St. Albans: 
 
 To any one who sees in it one of the inciting causes for the composition of the 
 historical plays called Shakespeare's, and especially the second part of Henry VI. 
 and Richard III., St. Albans and its neighborhood are in the highest degree sug- 
 gestive and instructive. Gorhambury was one of the boyish homes of Francis 
 Bacon. When, at the age of nineteen, he was recalled from his gay life at the 
 •court of the French embassador on account of the sudden death of his father, it was 
 to Gorhambury that he retired with his widowed mother. Thus he found himself 
 on the very scene of the main events which form the plot of the second part of 
 Henry VI. . . . The play culminates in the great.battle of St. Albans, which took 
 place in a field about one and a half miles from Gorhambury. As a boy, Francis 
 must have heard the battle described by old men whose fathers may even have 
 witnessed it. He must frequently have passed " the alehouse' paltry sign " beneath 
 which Somerset was killed by Richard Plantagenet (2d Henry VI, v, 2). He must 
 have trodden the Key Field where the battle was fought, and in which the last 
 scene of the play is laid. It was a scene not likely to be forgotten. The Lancas- 
 trians lost five thousand men, including the detested Duke of Somerset and other 
 nobles, and the poor, weak King, Henry VI., was taken prisoner by the Yorkists. 
 Considering the mildness and moderation which was invariably exercised by the 
 Duke of York, and the violent and bloodthirsty course pursued by Queen Marga- 
 ret, it is no wonder that this, the first Yorkist victory of the Wars of the Roses, 
 should be kept green on the spot where it took place. 
 
 'Twas a glorious day. 
 Saint Albans' battle, won by famous York, 
 Shall be eterniz'd in all age to come. 
 
 Before entering the abbey, let the visitor glance around. To the north of the 
 town stands the old church of St. Peter, and in its graveyard lie the bodies of many 
 of those who were slain in the great battles between the rival houses of York and 
 Lancaster. To the left is Bernard's heath, the scene of the second battle of St. 
 
 1 Act v, scene 1. 
 
^6 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Albans, where the Yorkist army was defeated, as related in jd Henry VI., ii, I. 
 In the distance may be seen Hatfield house, the noble residence of the Marquis of 
 Salisbury, but formerly the property of William of Hatfield, second son of Edward 
 III. {2d Henry VI., ii, 2). Within a short distance is King's Langley, the birth- 
 place and burial place of the "famous Edmund Langley, Duke of York" {1st 
 Henry /.'/., ii, 5), and, as we are further told, " fifth son " of Edward III. {2d Henry 
 VI, ii, 2). On the east of the town lay Key Field, the arena of the first battle of 
 St. Albans. Across it may be seen the ancient manor-house, formerly inhabited 
 by Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester. To the right is Sopwell nunnery, where Henry 
 VIII. married Anne Boleyn. The history of the monastery to which the abbey 
 was attached is intimately associated with English history. To go back no farther 
 than the fourteenth century, there Edward I. held his court; there Edward II. was 
 a frequent visitor; thither, after the battle of Poictiers, Edward III. and the Black 
 Prince brought the French King captive. After the insurrection of Wat Tyler and 
 Jack Straw, Richard II. and his Chief Justice came in person and tried the rioters. 
 A conspiracy to dethrone Richard began at the dinner table of the Abbot, when 
 Gloucester and the Prior of Westminster were his guests. This Gloucester was 
 "Thomas of Woodstock," described in 2d Henry VI, ii, 2, as "the sixth son of 
 Edward the Third." At a subsequent meeting of members of the conspiracy, the 
 Duke of Gloucester, "Henry of Hereford, Lancaster and Derby" {Richard II, i, 
 3), the Earl Marshal (ibid.), Scroop, Archbishop of Canterbury {Richard II, iii, 2), 
 the Abbot of St. Albans and the Prior of Westminster {Richard II, iv, 1) were 
 present, and the perpetual imprisonment of the King was agreed upon. In the 
 play of Richard II every name mentioned in the old manuscript which records 
 this meeting is included, except one — namely, the Abbot of St. Albans; and yet in 
 the old records priority over Westminster is always given to him. It is conject- 
 ured that the omission was intentional, and that the author did not wish by fre- 
 quent repetition to give prominence to a name which would draw attention to the 
 neighborhood of his own home. At the monastery of St. Albans rested the body 
 of John, Duke of Lancaster {1st Henry IV., vol. 4), on the way to London for 
 interment. His son Henry, afterward Cardinal Beaufort {1st Henry VI, i, 3, etc.), 
 performed the exequies. Richard II. lodged at St. Albans on his way to the 
 Tower, whence, having been forced to resign his throne to Bolingbroke, he 
 was taken to Pomfret, imprisoned and murdered. Meanwhile, the resignation of 
 the King being read in the House, the Bishop of Carlisle arose from his seat 
 and stoutly defended the cause of the King. Upon this the Duke of Lancaster 
 commanded that they should seize the Bishop and carry him off to prison at 
 St. Albans. He was afterward brought before Parliament as a prisoner, but 
 the King, to gratify the pontiff, bestowed on him the living of Tottenham. 
 These events are faithfully rendered or alluded to in the Plays, the only notable 
 omission being, as before, any single allusion to the Abbot of St. Albans (See 
 Richard II, vol. vi, 22-29). 
 
 Passing over many similar points of interest, let us enter the Abbey church by 
 its door on the south side. There the visitor finds himself close to the shrine 
 erected over the bones of the martyred saint. To this shrine, after the defeat of 
 the Lancastrians, at the first battle of St. Albans, the miserable King, having been 
 discovered at the house of a tanner, was conducted, previous to his removal as a 
 prisoner to London. In the shrine is seen the niche in which handkerchiefs and 
 other garments used to be put, in order that the miraculous powers attributed to 
 the saint should be imparted to the sick and diseased who prayed at his shrine, 
 and thereby hangs a tale. Close by the shrine is the tomb of good Duke Hum- 
 phrey of Gloucester, who plays such a prominent part in Henry VI The inscrip- 
 
THE GEOGRAPHY OE THE PLAYS. 
 
 167 
 
 tion on his tomb is not such as most persons might expect to find as an epitaph on 
 the proud and pugnacious, but popular warrior. No hint is conveyed of his strug- 
 gles with the Duke of Burgundy, or of his warlike contests for the possession of 
 Holland and Brabant. Three points are noted concerning him: That he was pro- 
 tector to Henry VI.; that he "exposed the impostor who pretended to have been 
 born blind," and that he founded a school of divinity at Oxford. The story of the 
 pretended blind man is the subject of 2d Henry VI, ii, 8, where it is introduced 
 with much detail. Sir Thomas More quoted the incident as an instance of Duke 
 Humphrey's acuteness of judgment, but the circumstance which seems to connect 
 the epitaph not only with the play, but with Francis Bacon himself, is that it was 
 not written immediately after the death of the Duke, but tardily, as the inscription 
 hints, and it is believed to be the composition of John Westerham, head-master of 
 the St. Albans grammar school in 1625 — namely, during the lifetime of Bacon, 
 and at a date when Gorhambury was his residence. A phrase in the inscription 
 applies to Margaret of Anjou, Henry's "proud, insulting queen," whose tomb, 
 with her device of "Marguerites," or daisies, is not far from the shrine of 
 St. Alban. It was by the intrigues of Margaret and her partisans that Duke 
 Humphrey was arrested at Bury. The following night he was found dead in 
 his bed — slain, as some old writers record, by the hand of Pole, Duke of 
 Suffolk. {2d Henry VI, iii, 1; 223-281, ii, 1, 1-202.) Not far from these tombs 
 are two more of peculiar interest to students of Shakespeare. One is the 
 resting-place of Sir Anthony de Grey, grandson of Henry Percy, Earl of 
 Northumberland. The inscription says that he married "the fourth sister to our 
 sovraine lady, the queen;" that is, Elizabeth Woodville, queen of Edward IV. 
 She had been formerly married. 
 
 At St. Albans' field 
 This lady's husband, Sir John Grey, was slain, 
 His lands then seized on by the conqueror. 1 
 
 Her suit to Edward to restore her confiscated property, and her subsequent 
 marriage with him, form a prominent portion of the plot of the third part of 
 Henry VI. 
 
 Last, but not least, let us not overlook the mausoleum of "the Nevils' noble 
 race," the family of the great Earl of Warwick, the "king-maker." In 2d Henry 
 IV., v, 2, Warwick swears by his 
 
 Father's badge, old Nevil's crest, 
 
 The rampant bear chained to the ragged staff. 
 
 The passage is vividly brought to the mind by the sight of a row of rampant 
 bears, each chained to his ragged staff, and surmounting the monument erected 
 over the grave of that great family of warriors. 
 
 In fact, St. Albans seems to be the very center from which the 
 eye surveys, circling around it, the grand panorama of the histor- 
 ical Plays; while far away to the north lies the dirty little village 
 of Stratford-on-Avon, holding not the slightest relation with any- 
 thing in those Plays, save the one fact that the man who is said to 
 have written them dwelt there. 
 
 l 3 d Henry VI., Hi, 2. 
 
T 68 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 VI. York Place. 
 
 There was one other spot in England tenderly associated in 
 Bacon's heart with loving memories; that was the royal palace of 
 ''York Place," in London, in which he was born. In the day of 
 his success he purchased it, and it was at last, after his downfall, 
 torn from his reluctant grasp by the base Buckingham. Bacon 
 says of it: 
 
 York House is the house wherein my father died, and where I first breathed, 
 and there will I yield my last breath, if so please God. 1 
 
 We turn to the play of Henry VIII., and we find York Place 
 depicted as the scene where Cardinal Wolsey entertains the King and his 
 companions, masked as shepherds, with "good company, good wine, 
 good welcome." 
 
 And farther on in the play we find it again referred to, and 
 something of its history given: 
 
 jd Gentleman. So she parted, 
 
 And with the same full state paced back again 
 
 To Yorke-Place, where the feast is held. 
 
 ist Gentleman. You must no more call it Yorke-Place, that's past; 
 
 For since the Cardinal fell that title's lost; 
 
 'Tis now the King's, and called White-hall. 
 
 jd Gentleman. I know it; 
 
 But 'tis so lately altered, that the old name 
 
 Is fresh about me. 2 
 
 How lovingly the author of the Plays dwells on the history of 
 the place! 
 
 VII. Kent. 
 
 Bacon's father was born in Chislehurst; and we find many 
 touches in the Plays which show that the writer, while he 
 had not one good word to say for Warwickshire, turned lov- 
 ingly to Kent and her people. He makes the double-dealing 
 Say remark: 
 
 Say. You men of Kent. 
 
 Dick. What say you, Kent ? 
 
 Say. Nothing but this: 'tis bona terra, mala gens. . . . 
 
 Kent, in the Commentaries Caesar writ, 
 
 Is termed the civil'st place of all this isle: 
 
 Sweet is the country, because full of riches; 
 
 The people liberal, valiant, active, wealthy. 3 
 
 1 Letter to the Duke of Lenox, i6ai. - Henry VIII., iv, i. 3 2d Henry TV., iv, 7. 
 
Of r 
 
 THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE PLAYS. 169 
 
 What made the Warwickshire man forget his own county and 
 remember Caesar's praise of Kent? What tie bound William 
 Shakspere to Kent ? 
 
 And again, in another play, he comes back to this theme 
 
 The Kentishmen will willingly rise. 
 In them I trust: for they are soldiers, 
 Witty, courteous, liberal, full of spirit.' 
 
 The first scene of act iv of 2d Henry VI. is laid upon the sea- 
 shore of Kent. 
 
 It is in Kent that much of the scene of the play of King Lea?' is 
 laid. Here we have that famous cliff of Dover, to the brow of 
 which Edgar leads Gloucester: 
 
 Come on, sir: 
 Here's the place; stand still: how fearful 
 And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low. 
 The crows and choughs that wing the midway air 
 Shew scarce so gross as beetles. Half way down 
 Hangs one that gathers samphire: dreadful trade: 
 Methinks he seems no bigger than his head. 
 The fishermen that walked upon the beach 
 Appear like mice: and yon tall anchoring bark 
 Diminished to her cocke; her cocke a buoy 
 Almost too small for sight. 
 
 "Jack Cade, the clothier," who proposed to dress the common- 
 wealth and put new nap upon it, was a Kentishman. The insur- 
 rection was a Kentish outbreak. The play of 2d Henry VI. largelv 
 turns upon this famous rebellion. 
 
 Many of the towns of Kent are referred to in the Plays, and 
 Goodwin Sands appears even in the Italian play of The Merchant 
 4>f Venice, as the scene of the loss of one of Antonio's ships. 
 
 VIII. The Writer of the Plays had Visited Scotland. 
 
 There is some reason to believe that the author of Macbeth 
 visited Scotland. The chronicler Holinshead narrates that Mac- 
 beth and Banquo, before they met the witches, " went sporting by 
 the way together without other company, passing through the 
 woods and fields, when suddenly, in the midst of a laund, there 
 met them three women in strange and wild apparel." " This de- 
 scription," says Knight, " presents to us the idea of a pleasant and 
 
 * 3d Henry VI.. i, 3. 
 
I7 o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 fertile place." But the poet makes the meeting with the witches 
 " on the blasted heath." Knight tells us that " the country around 
 Forres is wild moorland. . . . We thus see that, whether Macbeth 
 met the weird sisters to the east or west of Forres, there was 
 in each place that desolation which was best fitted for such 
 an event, and not the woods and fields and launds of the 
 chronicler." 
 
 This departure from Holinshead's narrative would strongly 
 indicate that the poet had actually visited the scene of the play. 
 
 Again, it is claimed that the disposal of the portal " at the south 
 entry " of the castle of Inverness is strictly in accordance with the 
 facts, and could not have been derived from the chronicle. Even 
 the pronunciation of Dunsinane, with the accent on the last sylla- 
 ble, is shown to have been in accordance with the custom of the 
 peasantry. 
 
 Macbeth was evidently written after the accession of James I., 
 
 and we find that Bacon paid a visit to King James before he came 
 
 to London and probably while he was still in Scotland. In Sped- 
 
 ding's Life and Letters 1 we find a letter from Bacon to the Earl of 
 
 Northumberland, without date, referring to this visit. Spedding 
 
 says: 
 
 Meanwhile the news which Bacon received from his friends in the Scotch cour/ 
 appears to have been favorable: sufficiently so, at least, to encourage him to seek 
 a personal interview with the King. I cannot find the exact date, but it will be 
 seen from the next letter that, before the King arrived in London, he had gone to 
 meet him, carrying a dispatch from the Earl of Northumberland; and that he had 
 been admitted to his presence. 
 
 The letter speaks as follows: 
 
 // may please your good Lordship: 
 
 I would not have lost this journey, and yet I have not that for which I 
 went. For I have had no private conference to any purpose with the King; 
 and no more hath almost any other English. For the speech his Majesty 
 admitteth with some noblemen is rather matter of grace than of business. With 
 the attorney he spake, being urged by the Treasurer of Scotland, but yet no more 
 than needs must. . . . 
 
 I would infer that this interview was held in Scotland. The 
 fact that the Treasurer of Scotland was present and that the En- 
 glish could not obtain private audience with the King would indi- 
 cate this. 
 
 J Volume iii, p. 76. 
 
THE GEOGRAPHY OF THE PLAYS. ,-, 
 
 IX. The Writer of the Plays had been in Italy. 
 
 There are many reasons to believe that the writer of the Plavs 
 
 had visited Italy. In a note upon the passage, 
 
 Unto the tranect to the common ferry 
 Which trades to Venice, 1 
 
 Knight remarks: 
 
 If Shakspere had been at Venice (which, from the extraordinary keeping of the 
 play, appears the most natural supposition), he must surely have had some situa- 
 tion in his eye for Belmont. There is a common ferry at two places — Fusina and 
 Mestre. 
 
 In the same play the poet says: 
 
 This night methinks is but the daylight sick. 
 
 It looks a little paler; 'tis a day 
 
 Such as the day is when the sun is hid.- 
 
 Whereupon Knight says: 
 
 The light of the moon and stars (in Italy) is almost as yellow as the sunlight 
 in England. . . . Two hours after sunset, on the night of a new moon, we have 
 seen so far over the lagunes that the night seemed only a paler day — " a little paler." 
 
 Mr. Brown, the author of Shakespeare s Autobiographical Plays. 
 
 strenuously maintained the opinion that Shakespeare must have 
 
 visited Italy: 
 
 His descriptions of Italian scenes and manners are more minute and accurate 
 than if he had derived his information wholly from books. 
 
 Mr. Knight, speaking of The Taming of the Shrew, says: 
 
 It is difficult for those who have explored the city [of Padua] to resist the per- 
 suasion that the poet himself had been one of the travelers who had come from 
 afar to look upon its seats of learning, if not to partake of its " ingenious studies." 
 There is a pure Paduan atmosphere hanging about this play. 
 
 Bacon, it is known, visited France, and it is believed he traveled 
 
 in Italy. 
 
 X. The Writer of the Plays had been at Sea. 
 
 One other point, and I pass from this branch of the subject. 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 Of all negative facts in regard to his life, none, perhaps, is surer than that he 
 never was at sea; yet in Henry VIII., describing the outburst of admiration and 
 loyalty of the multitude at sight of Anne Bullen, he says, as if he had spent his life 
 on shipboard: 
 
 Such a noise arose 
 As the shrouds make at sea in a stiff tempest; 
 As loud, and to as many tunes. ' ? 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, Hi, 4. ■ Act v. scene 1. 3 Life and Genius 0/ Shakespeare, p. 259. 
 
• I7 2 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 More than this, we are told that this man, who had never been 
 at sea, wrote the play of The Tempest, which contains a very accu- 
 rate description of the management of a vessel in a storm. 
 
 The second Lord Mulgrave gives, in Boswell's edition, a com- 
 munication showing that 
 
 Shakespeare's technical knowledge of seamanship must have been the result of 
 the most accurate personal observation, or, what is perhaps more difficult, of the 
 power of combining and applying the information derived from others. 
 
 But no books had then been published on the subject. Dr. 
 
 Johnson says: 
 
 His naval dialogue is, perhaps, the first example of sailor's language exhibited 
 on the stage. 
 
 Lord Mulgrave continues: 
 
 The succession of events is strictly observed in the natural progress of the distress 
 described; the expedients adopted are the most proper that could be devised for a 
 chance of safety. . . . The words of command are strictly proper. . . . He has shown 
 a knowledge of the new improvements, as well as the doubtful points of seamanship. 
 
 Capt. Glascock, R. N., says: 
 
 The Boatswain, in The Tempest, delivers himself in the true vernacular of the 
 forecastle. 
 
 All this would, indeed, be most extraordinary in a man who had 
 
 never been at sea. Bacon, on the other hand, we know to have 
 
 made two voyages to France; we know how close and accurate 
 
 were his powers of observation; and in The Natural History of the 
 
 Winds ' he gives, at. great length, a description of the masts and 
 
 sails of a vessel, with the dimensions of each sail, the mode of 
 
 handling them, and the necessary measures to be taken in a storm. 
 
 XI. Conclusions. 
 
 It seems, then, to my mind, most clear, that there is not a single 
 passage in the Plays which unquestionably points to any locality 
 associated with the life of the man of Stratford, while, on the 
 other hand, there are numerous allusions to scenes identified with 
 the biography of Bacon; and, more than this, that the place of Bacon's 
 birth and the place of his residence are both made the subjects of 
 scenes in the Plays, and nearly all the historical Plays turn about 
 St. Albans as a common center. 
 
 The geography of the Plays would all indicate that Francis 
 Bacon wrote them. 
 
 1 Section 29. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE POLITICS OF THE PIA VS. 
 
 I love the people, 
 But do not like to stage me to their eyes; 
 Though it do well, I do not relish well 
 Their loud applause, and aves vehement, 
 Nor do I think the man of safe discretion 
 That does affect it. 
 
 Measure for Measure, i\ i. 
 
 WE know what ought to have been the politics of William 
 Shakspere, of Stratford. 
 He came of generations of peasants; he belonged to the class 
 which was at the bottom of the social scale. If he were a true man, 
 with a burning love of justice, he would have sympathized with his 
 kind. Like Burns, he would have poured forth bis soul in protests 
 against the inequalities and injustice of society; he would have 
 asserted the great doctrine of the brotherhood of man; he would 
 have anticipated that noble utterance: 
 
 The rank is but the guinea's stamp, 
 The man's the gold for a' that. 
 
 If he painted, as the writer of the Plays did, an insurrection of 
 the peasants, of his own class, he would have set forth their cause in 
 the most attractive light, instead of burlesquing them. Such a 
 genius as is revealed in the Plays, if he really came from the com- 
 mon people and was rilled with their spirit, would have prefigured 
 that great social revolution which broke out twenty years after his 
 death, and which brought a king's head to the block. We should 
 have had, on every page, passages breathing love of equality, of 
 liberty; and other passages of the mockery of the aristocracy that 
 would have burned like fire. He would have anticipated Pym. 
 Hampden and Milton. 
 
 A man of an ignorant, a low, a base mind may refuse to sym- 
 pathize with his own caste, because it is oppressed and down- 
 trodden, and put himself in posture of cringe and conciliation to 
 those whose whips descend upon his shoulders; but a really great 
 
 173 
 
I74 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 and noble soul, a really broad and comprehensive mind, never would 
 dissociate himself from his brethren in the hour of their affliction. 
 No nobler soul, no broader mind ever existed than that revealed in 
 the Plays. Do the utterances of the writer of those Plays indicate 
 that he came of the common people ? Not at all. 
 
 I. The Writer of the Plays was an Aristocrat. 
 
 Appleton Morgan says: 
 
 He was a constitutional aristocrat who believed in the established order of 
 things, and wasted not a word of all his splendid eulogy upon any human right 
 not in his day already guaranteed by charters or by thrones. 
 
 Swinburne says- 
 
 With him the people once risen in revolt, for any just or unjust cause, is 
 always the mob, the unwashed rabble, the swinish multitude. 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 For the drovers, who guide and misguide at will the turbulent flocks of their 
 mutinous cattle, his store of bitter words is inexhaustible; it is a treasure-house of 
 obloquy which can never be drained dry. 2 
 
 Walt Whitman says: 
 
 Shakespeare is incarnated, uncompromising feudalism in literature. 3 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 He always represents the laborer and the artisan in a degraded position, and 
 often makes his ignorance and his uncouthness the butt of ridicule. 4 
 
 Dowden says: 
 
 Shakspere is not democratic. When the people are seen in masses in his Plays 
 they are nearly always shown as factious, fickle and irrational. 5 
 
 Walter Bagehot says: 
 
 Shakespeare had two predominant feelings in his mind. First, the feeling of 
 loyalty to the ancient polity of this country, not because it was good, but because 
 it existed. The second peculiar tenet is a disbelief in the middle classes. We fear 
 he had no opinion of traders. You will generally find that when "a citizen" is 
 mentioned he does or says something absurd. . . . The author of Coriolanus never 
 believed in a mob, and did something towards preventing anybody else from doing so. 
 
 We turn to Bacon and we find that he entertained precisely the 
 
 same feelings. 
 
 Dean Church says: 
 
 Bacon had no sympathy with popular wants and claims; of popularity, of all 
 that was called popular, he had the deepest suspicion and dislike; the opinions and 
 
 1 Swinburne, Study of S/iak., p. 54. 3 Democratic Vistas, p. 81. 
 
 a Ibid., p. 54 4 White's Genius of Shak., p. 298. 
 
 *Shak. Mind and Art, p. 284. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. ,— 
 
 the judgment of average men he despised, as a thinker, a politician and a courtier; 
 the "malignity of the people" he thought great. " I do not love," he said, "the 
 word people." But he had a high idea of what was worthy of a king. 
 
 II. He Despised the Class to which Shakspere Belonged. 
 
 Shakespeare calls the laboring people: 
 
 Mechanic slaves. 1 
 
 The fool multitude that choose by show r , 
 
 Not learning, more than the fond eye doth teach. 2 
 
 The inundation of mistempered humor.' 
 
 The rude multitude.* 
 
 The multitude of hinds and peasants. 5 
 
 The base vulgar. • 
 
 O base and obscure vulgar. 7 
 
 Base peasants. 8 
 
 A habitation giddy and unsure 
 
 Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 1 
 
 A sort of vagabonds, rascals and run-aways, 
 
 A scum of Bretagnes, and base lackey peasants." 1 
 
 The blunt monster with uncounted heads. 
 The still discordant, wavering multitude. 11 
 
 We shall see hereafter that nearly every one of the Shakespeare 
 
 Plays was written to inculcate some special moral argument; to 
 
 preach a lesson to the people that might advantage them. Coriolanus 
 
 seems to have been written to create a wall and barrier of public 
 
 opinion against that movement towards popular government which 
 
 not long after his death plunged England into a long and bloody civil 
 
 w r ar. The whole argument of the play is the unfitness of a mob to 
 
 govern a state. Hence all through the play we find such expressions 
 
 as these: 
 
 The plebeian multitude. ,a 
 
 You common cry of curs. 18 
 
 The mutable, rank-scented many. 14 
 
 You are they 
 
 That made the air unwholesome, when you cast 
 Your stinking, greasy caps, in hooting at 
 Coriolanus' exile. 15 
 
 ^■Antony and Cleopatra, v, 2. 6 Loves Labor Lost, i, 2. n 2d Henry IV., Ind. 
 
 2 Merchant of Venice, ii, 9. ' Ibid., iv, 1. 12 Coriolanus, ii, 1. 
 
 3 King John, v, 1. B 2d Henry VI., iv, 8. 13 Ibid., iii, 3. 
 
 4 2d Henry VI. iii, 2. 9 2d Henry IV., i, 3. u Ibid., iv, 8. 
 
 5 Ibid., iv, 4. 10 Richard III., v, 3. 1S Coriolanus. iv, 6. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 *iVER8nry 
 
 \ or 
 
I7 6 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Again he alludes to the plebeians as "those measles" whose 
 contact would " tetter" him. 
 
 III. He Despises Tradesmen of All Kinds. 
 
 Hut this contempt of the writer of the Plays was not confined 
 to the mob. It extended to all trades-people. He says: 
 
 Let me have no lying; it becomes none but tradesmen. 1 
 
 We turn to Bacon, and we find him referring to the common 
 
 people as a scum. The same word is used in Shakespeare. Bacon 
 
 speaks of 
 
 The vulgar, to whom nothing moderate is grateful. 3 
 
 This is the same thought we find in Shakespeare : 
 
 What would you have, you curs, 
 That like nor peace nor war? 3 
 
 Who deserves greatness, 
 Deserves your hate; and your affections are 
 A sick man's appetite, who desires most that 
 Which would increase his evil. 4 
 
 Again Bacon says: 
 
 The ignorant and rude multitude. 5 
 
 If fame be from the common people, it is commonly false and naught. 6 
 
 This is very much the thought expressed in Shakespeare: 
 
 The fool multitude that choose by show, 
 
 Not learning, more than the fond eye doth teach. 7 
 
 And also in 
 
 He's loved of the distracted multitude, 
 
 Who like not in their judgments, but their eyes. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For in all times, in the opinion of the multitude, witches and old women and 
 impostors have had a competition with physicians. 9 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 The envious and malignant disposition of the vulgar, for when fortune's favor- 
 ites and great potentates come to ruin, then do the common people rejoice, setting, 
 as it were, a crown upon the head of revenge. 10 
 
 1 Winter s Tale, iv, 3. 6 Essay Of Praise. 
 
 3 Wisdom 0/ the Ancients — Diomedes. ' Merchant of Venice, ii, 9. 
 
 3 Coriolanus, i, 1. * Hamlet, iv, 3. 
 
 4 Ibid., i, 1. 9 Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 
 6 Wisdom 0/ the A ncients. 10 Wisdom 0/ the A ncients — Nemesis. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. , 77 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 The nature of the vulgar, always swollen and malignant, still broaching new 
 scandals against superiors; . . . the same natural disposition of the people still 
 leaning to the viler sort, being impatient of peace and tranquillity. 1 
 
 Says Shakespeare: 
 
 That like not peace nor war.' 2 
 
 And Bacon says again: 
 
 He would, never endure that the base multitude should frustrate the authority 
 of Parliament. 3 
 
 See how the same words are employed by both. Bacon says- 
 
 The base multitude. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The rude multitude — the base vulgar. 4 
 
 And the word malignant is a favorite with both. Shakespeare 
 says: 
 
 Thou liest, malignant thing ! 
 
 Malignant death. 5 
 
 A malignant and turbaned Turk. 6 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The envious and malignant disposition. 
 The vulgar always swollen and malignant. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The swollen surge. 7 
 
 Such swollen and hot discourse. 8 
 
 But it must be remembered that Bacon was brought up as an 
 aristocrat — connected by blood with the greatest men of the king- 
 dom; born in a royal palace, York Place; son of Elizabeth's Lord 
 Chancellor. And it must not be forgotten that the populace of 
 London of that day had but lately emerged from barbarism; 
 they were untaught in habits of self-government; worshiping the 
 court, sycophantic to everything above them; unlettered, rude, 
 and barbarous; and were, indeed, very different from the popu- 
 lace of the civilized world to-day. They doubtless deserved 
 much of the unlimited contempt which Bacon showered upon 
 them. 
 
 1 Wisdom of the Ancients. 4 Tempest, i, 2. 7 Tempest, ii, 1- 
 
 2 Coriolanus, i, 1. 5 Richard III., ii, a 8 Troilus and Cressiu^. .. 3. 
 
 3 History of Henry VII. « Othello, v, 2. 
 
j 7 8 FRANCIS HA COX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 IV. Hk was \i the Same Time a Philanthropist. 
 
 But while the writer of the Plays feared the mob and despised 
 the trades-people, with the inborn contempt of an aristocrat, he had a 
 broad philanthropy which took in the whole human family, and his 
 heart went out with infinite pity to the wretched and the suffering. 
 
 Swinburne says: 
 
 In Lear we have evidence of a sympathy with the mass of social misery more 
 wide and deep and direct and bitter and tender than Shakespeare has shown else- 
 where. ... A poet of revolution he is not, as none of his country in that genera- 
 ation could have been ; but as surely as the author of Julius Ccesar has approved 
 himself in the best and highest sense of the word at least potentially a republican, 
 so surely has the author of King Lear avowed himself, in the only good and 
 rational sense of the word, a spiritual if not a political democrat and socialist. 1 
 
 While Bacon's intellect would have revolted from such a hell- 
 dance of the furies as the French Reign of Terror, whose excesses 
 were not due to anything inherent in self-government, but to the 
 degeneration of mankind, caused by ages of royal despotism; and 
 while he abominated the acrid bigotry of the men of his own age, 
 with whom liberty meant the right to burn those who differed from 
 them: his sympathies were nevertheless upon the side of an orderly, 
 well-regulated, intelligent freedom, and strongly upon the side of 
 everything that would lift man out of his miseries. 
 
 Says Swinburne: 
 
 Brutus is the very noblest figure of a typical and ideal republican in all the 
 literature of the world. - 
 
 Bacon was ready to stand up against the whole power of Queen 
 
 Elizabeth, and, as a member of Parliament, defended the rights of 
 
 that great body, even to the detriment of his own fortunes; but he 
 
 did not believe, as he says in his History of Henry VII., that " the 
 
 base multitude should control Parliament " any more than the 
 
 Queen. And he gives us the same sentiment in Coriolanus. Men- 
 
 enius Agrippa, after telling the incensed Roman populace the fable 
 
 of The Belly and the Members, draws this moral: 
 
 The senators of Rome are this good belly, 
 And you the mutinous members. . . . 
 You shall find 
 No public benefit which you receive 
 But it proceeds, or comes, from them to you, 
 I nd no way from yourselves. 3 
 
 1 Swinburne, A Stwx of Shak., p. 175. > Ibid., p. 1 59. 3 Coriotanus, i, 1. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. 179 
 
 And he teaches us an immortal lesson in Troilus and Cressida; 
 
 Then everything includes itself in power, 
 Power into will, will into appetite: 
 And appetite, an universal wolf. 
 So doubly seconded with will and power, 
 Must make perforce an universal prey, 
 And last, eat up itself. 
 
 And in Hamlet he says: 
 
 By the Lord, Horatio, these three years I have taken notice of it; the age is 
 grown so picked, that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier 
 that he galls his kibe. 1 
 
 Here we have one of Bacon's premonitions of the coming tem- 
 pest which so soon broke over England; or, as he expresses it in 
 Richard III.: 
 
 Before the days of change, still it is so; 
 By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust 
 Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see 
 The water swell before a boisterous storm. ■ 
 
 And again: 
 
 And in such indexes, although small pricks 
 To their subsequent volumes, there is seen 
 The baby figure of the giant mass 
 Of things to come at large. 3 
 
 Here, then, was indeed a strange compound: — an aristocrat 
 that despised the mob and the work-people, but who, nevertheless, 
 loved liberty; who admired the free oligarchy of Rome, and hated 
 the plebeians who asked for the same liberty their masters en- 
 joyed; and who, while despising the populace, grieved over their 
 miseries and would have relieved them. We read in Lear: 
 
 Take physic, pomp; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel: 
 So may st thou shake the super jlux to them, 
 And show the heavens more just. 
 
 And again: 
 
 Heavens, deal so still ! 
 Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, 
 That slaves your ordinance, that will not see 
 Because he does not feel, feel your power quickly; • 
 So distribution should undo excess. 
 And each man have enough. 
 
 And we turn to Bacon, and we find that through his whole life 
 the one great controlling thought which directed all his labors was 
 
 1 Hamlet, v, i. 2 Richard III., ii, 3. 3 Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 
 
180 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 a belief that God had created him to help his fellow-men U> 
 
 greater comfort and happiness. 
 
 He says: 
 
 Believing that 1 was born for the service of mankind, and regarding the care of 
 the commonwealth as a kind of common property, which, like the air and water, 
 belongs to everybody, I set myself to consider in what way mankind might be best 
 served.* 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 This work, which is for the bettering of men's bread and wine, which are the 
 characters of temporal blessings and sacraments of eternal, I hope, by God's holy 
 providence, may be ripened by Caesar's star. 2 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine 
 eyes: I have hated all cruelty and hardness of heart. 3 
 
 And in one of his prayers he says: 
 
 To God the Father, God the Word, God the Holy Ghost, I address my most 
 humble and ardent prayers, that, mindful of the miseries of man, and of this pil- 
 grimage of life, of which the days are few and evil, they would open up yet new 
 sources of refreshment from the fountains of good for the alleviation of our 
 sorrows.* 
 
 He also says that any man who " kindleth a light in nature," 
 by new thoughts or studies, " seems to me to be a propagator of 
 the empire of man over the universe, a defender of liberty, a con- 
 queror of necessities." 5 
 
 It would be indeed strange if two men in the same age should 
 hold precisely the same political views, with all these peculiar 
 shadings and modifications. It would be indeed strange if the 
 butcher's apprentice of Stratford should be filled with the most 
 aristocratic prejudices against the common people; if the "vassal 
 actor," who was legally a vagabond, and liable to the stocks and 
 to branding and imprisonment, unless he practiced his degraded 
 calling under the shadow of some nobleman's name, should bubble 
 over with contempt for the tradesmen who were socially his 
 superiors. And it would be still stranger if this butcher's appren- 
 tice, while cringing to a class he did not belong to, and insulting 
 the class he did belong to, would be so filled with pity for the 
 wretchedness of the many, that he was ready to advocate a redis- 
 
 1 Preface to The Interpretation of Nature. 4 The Masculine Birth of Time. 
 
 2 Letter to the King. 5 The Interpretation of Nature. 
 
 3 Prayer while Lord Chancellor. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. !8 T 
 
 tribution of the goods of the world, so that each man might have 
 enough! 
 
 V. The Writer of the Plays Belonged, like Bacon, to the 
 
 Essex Faction. 
 
 But we go a step farther. While we find this complete identity 
 between the views of Bacon and the writer of the Plays as to the 
 generalities of political thought, we will see that they both belonged 
 to the same political faction in the state. 
 
 It is well known that Bacon was an adherent of the Essex party 
 and opposed to the party of his uncle Burleigh, who had suppressed 
 him all through the reign of Elizabeth. These two factions 
 divided the politics of the latter portion of Elizabeth's reign. 
 The first gathered to itself all the discontented elements of 
 the kingdom, the young men, the able, the adventurous, who flocked 
 to Essex as to the cave of Adullam. They were in favor of brilliant 
 courses, of wars, of adventures; as opposed to " the canker of a calm 
 world and a long peace," advocated by the great Lord Treasurer. 
 Bacon was undoubtedly for years the brains of this party. 
 
 The writer of the Plays belonged to this party also. He was a 
 member of the Lord Chamberlain's company of actors. The Lord 
 Chamberlain's theater represented the aristocratic side of public 
 questions; the Lord Admiral's company (Henslowe's) the plebeian 
 side: the one was patronized by the young bloods, the gallants; the 
 other by the tradesmen and 'prentices. It was a time when, in the 
 words of Simpson, 
 
 The civil and military elements were pleading for precedence at the national 
 bar: the one advocating age and wisdom in council and industry and obedience in 
 the nation; the other crying out for youthful counsel, a dashing policy, a military 
 organization and an offensive war. The one was the party of the Cecils, the other 
 that of the Earl of Essex. ' 
 
 Riimelin argues that 
 
 Shakespeare wrote f or the jeunesse dore'e of the Elizabethan theater, and that he 
 already saw the Royalist and Roundhead parties in process of formation, and was 
 opposed to the Puritan bourgeoisie. Shakespeare was a pure Royalist, and an 
 adherent of the purest water to the court party and the nobles. 
 
 The relations of Shakespeare to Essex, as manifested in the 
 Plays, were as close as those of Bacon. Simpson says of the play 
 
 1 School of Sh a k.. vol. i, p. 155. 
 
!82 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 of Sir Thomas Stuckley, which he believes to have been an early 
 
 work of Shakspere: 
 
 The play is a glorification of Stuckley as an idol of the military or Essex party, 
 to which Shakspere is known to have leant. . . . The character of Lord Sycophant, 
 contained therein, is a stinging satire on Essex ' (Shakspere's hero and patron) great 
 enemy, Lord Cobham. 1 
 
 Speaking of the Plays which appeared at Shakspere's theater, 
 
 Simpson says: 
 
 When we regard them as a whole, those of the Lord Chamberlain's company 
 are characterized by common sense, moderation, naturalness, and the absence of 
 bombast, and by a great artistic liberty of form, of matter and of criticism; at the 
 same time they favor liberty in politics and toleration in religion, and are consist- 
 ently opposed to the Cecilian ideal in policy, while they as consistently favor that 
 school to which Essex is attached. 2 
 
 And it must not be forgotten that these striking admissions are 
 made by one who had not a doubt that Shakspere was Shake- 
 speare. 
 
 When we turn to the Plays we find a distinct attempt to glorify 
 Essex. Camden says: 
 
 About the end of March (1599) the Earl of Essex set forward for Ireland, and 
 was accompanied out of London with a fine appearance of nobility and gentry, 
 and the most cheerful huzzas of the common people. 
 
 Essex returned to London on the 28th of September of the 
 
 same year; and in the meantime appeared the play of Henry V. r 
 
 and in the chorus of the fifth act we have these words: 
 
 But now behold, 
 In the quick forge and working-house of thought, 
 How London doth pour out her citizens ! 
 The mayor and all his brethren, in best sort — 
 Like to the senators of antique Rome, 
 With the plebeians swarming at their heels — 
 Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in: 
 As, by a lower but by loving likelihood, 
 Were now the general of our gracious empress, 
 (As in good time he may), from Ireland coming, 
 Bringing rebellion broached on his sword, 
 How many would the peaceful city quit 
 To welcome him ? 
 
 The play of 2d Henry IV. and that of Henry V. constitute a deifi- 
 cation of military greatness; and the representation of that splen- 
 did English victory, Agincourt — the Waterloo of the olden age — 
 was meant to fire the blood of the London audiences with admira- 
 
 1 School 0/ S/iak., vol. i, p. 10. 3 Ibid., vol. i, p. 19. 
 
THE TO LI TICS Of THE TLA VS. 
 
 83 
 
 tion for that spirit of military adventure of which Essex was the 
 type and representative. 
 
 Neither must it be forgotten that it was Southampton, the 
 bosom friend of Essex, who shared with him in his conspiracy to 
 seize the person of the Queen, and who nearly shared the block 
 with him, remaining in the Tower until after the death of Eliza- 
 beth. And it was to Southampton that Shakespeare dedicated 
 Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece. Bacon was the inti- 
 mate friend and correspondent of Southampton ; they were both 
 members of the law-school of Gray's Inn, and Shakespeare dedi- 
 cated his poems to him. 
 
 VI. The Writer of the Plays, like Bacon, Hated Coke. 
 
 If there was any one man whom, above all others, Bacon despised 
 and disliked it was that great but brutal lawyer, Coke. And in the 
 Plays we find a distinct reference to Coke: 
 
 Sir Toby. Go write it in a martial hand, be curst and brief; . . . taunt him 
 with the license of ink: if thou thou st him some thrice it shall not be amiss. . . . 
 Let there be gall enough in thy ink though thou write with a goose pen, no matter. 1 
 
 Theobald and Knight, and all the other commentators, agree 
 that this is an allusion to Coke's virulent speech against Sir Walter 
 Raleigh, on the trial for treason. The Attorney-General exclaimed 
 to Sir Walter: 
 
 All he did was by thy instigation, thou viper; for I thou thee, thou traitor. 
 
 Here is the thou thrice used. Theobald says it shows Shake- 
 speare's "detestation of Coke." 
 
 Let us pass to another consideration. 
 
 VII. The Writer of the Plays, like Bacon, Disliked Lord 
 
 Cobham. 
 
 Lord Cobham was one of the chief enemies of Essex. Spedding 
 says: 
 
 About the same time another quarrel arose upon the appointment of the ward- 
 enship of the Cinque Ports, vacant by the death of Lord Cobham, whose eldest 
 son, an enemy of the Earl, was one of the competitors. Essex wished Sir Robert 
 Sydney to have the place, but, finding the Queen resolute in favor of the new Lord 
 Cobham, and " seeing he is likely to carry it away, I mean (said the Earl) resolutely 
 to stand for it myself against him. . . . My Lord Treasurer is come to court, and 
 
 » 
 
 1 Twelfth Xight, iii, 1. 
 
!8 4 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 we sat in council this afternoon in his chamber. I made it known unto them 
 that I had just cause to hate the Lord Cobham, for his villainous dealing and abus- 
 ing of me; that he hath been my chief persecutor most unjustly; that in him there 
 is no worth." ' 
 
 This was in the year 1597. 
 
 And when we turn to the Plays we find that the writer sought 
 to cover the family of Lord Cobham with disgrace and ridicule. 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 The first part of Henry IV., the appearance of which on the stage may be con- 
 fidently assigned to the spring of the year 1397, was followed immediately, or a few 
 months afterward, by the composition of the second part. It is recorded that both 
 these plays were very favorably received by Elizabeth; the Queen especially relish- 
 ing the character of Falstaff, and they were most probably amongst the dramas 
 represented before that sovereign in the Christmas holidays of 1597-8. At this 
 time, or then very recently, the renowned hero of the Boar's Head Tavern had 
 been introduced as Sir John Oldcastle, but the Queen ordered Shakespeare to alter 
 the name of the character. This step was taken in consequence of the representa- 
 tions of some member or members of the Cobham family, who had taken offense at 
 their illustrious ancestor, Sir John Oldcastle, Lord Cobham, the Protestant martyr, 
 being disparagingly introduced on the stage; and, accordingly, in or before the Feb- 
 ruary of the following year, Falstaff took the place of Oldcastle, the former being 
 probably one of the few names invented by Shakespeare. . . . The subject, how- 
 ever, was viewed by the Cobhams in a very serious light. This is clearly shown, 
 not merely by the action taken by the Queen, but by the anxiety exhibited by 
 Shakespeare, in the Epilogue to the second part, to place the matter beyond all 
 doubt, by the explicit declaration that there was in Falstaff no kind of association, 
 satirical or otherwise, with the martyr Oldcastle. 2 
 
 The language of the Epilogue is: 
 
 One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloyed with fat meat, 
 our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in it, and make you 
 merry with fair Katharine of France, where, for anything I know, Falstaff shall 
 die of a sweat, unless already he be killed with your hard opinions; for Oldcastle 
 died a martyr, and this is not the man. 
 
 And yet, there seems to have been a purpose, despite this 
 retraction, to affix the stigma of Falstaff's disreputable career to 
 the ancestor of the Cobham family; for in the first part of Henry 
 IV. we find this expression: 
 
 Falstaff. Thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most 
 sweet wench? 
 
 Prince Henry. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the Castle. 3 
 
 Says Knight, as a foot-note upon this sentence: 
 
 The passage in the text has given rise to the notion that Sir John Oldcastle 
 was pointed at in the character of Falstaff. 
 
 1 Letters and Life, vol. ii, p. 48. 2 Outlines Life 0/ Shak., p. 98. 3 Act ii, scene 2. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 18 5 
 
 Oldvs remarks: 
 
 Upon whom does the horsing of a dead corpse on Falstaff's back reflect? 
 Whose honor suffers, in his being forced, by the unexpected surprise of his armed 
 plunderers, to surrender his treasure? Whose policy is impeached by his creeping 
 into a bucking basket to avoid the storms of a jealous husband? 
 
 Fuller says, in his Church History: 
 
 Stage-poets have themselves been very bold with, and others very merry at, 
 the memory of Sir John Oldcastle, whom they have fancied a boon companion, 
 a jovial royster, and a coward to boot. The best is, Sir John Falstaff hath 
 relieved the memory of Sir John Oldcastle, and of late is substituted buffoon 
 in his place. 
 
 It seems to me, there can be no doubt that the author of the 
 Plays disliked the Cobham family, and sought to degrade them, by- 
 bringing their ancestor on the stage, in the guise of a disreputable, 
 thieving, cowardly old rascal, who is thumped, beaten and cast 
 into the Thames "like a litter of blind puppies." And even when 
 compelled by the Queen to change the name of the character, the 
 writer of the Plays puts into the mouth of Prince Hal the expres- 
 sion, "My old lad of the castle," to intimate to the multitude that 
 Falstaff was still, despite his change of name, Sir John Oldcastle, 
 the ancestor of the enemy of Bacon's great friend and patron, the 
 Earl of Essex. 
 
 VIII. The Writer of the Plays was Hostile to Queen 
 
 Elizabeth. 
 
 Let us turn to another point. 
 
 We have seen that the writer of the Plays was, by his family 
 traditions and alliances, and his political surroundings, a Protest- 
 ant. Being such, it would follow that he would be an admirer 
 of Elizabeth, the representative and bulwark of Protestantism in 
 England and on the continent. But we find that, for some 
 reason, this Protestant did not love Elizabeth; and although he 
 sugars her over with compliments in Henry VIII., just as Bacon 
 did in his letters, and probably in his sonnets, yet there was 
 beneath this fair show of flattery a purpose to deal her most 
 deadly blows. 
 
 If the divorce of Henry VIII. was based on vicious and adulter- 
 ous motives, the marriage of the King with Anne Boleyn was dis- 
 creditable, to say the least. And remembering this we find that 
 
,86 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 the play represents Anne as a frivolous person to whom the King 
 
 was drawn by his passions. 
 
 We read: 
 
 Suffolk. How is the King employed ? 
 
 Chamberlain. I left him private, 
 
 Full of sad thoughts and troubles. 
 
 Norfolk. What's the cause ? 
 
 Chamberlain. It seems, the marriage with his brother's wife 
 
 Has crept too near his conscience. 
 
 Suffolk. No, his conscience 
 
 Has crept too near another lady. 
 
 Norfolk. Tis so; 
 
 This is the Cardinal's doing. 1 
 
 Birch says: 
 
 The scene between the Old Lady and Anne Boleyn seems introduced to make 
 people laugh at the hypocrisy and Protestant conscience of Anne, mixed up with 
 the indecency abjured in the prologue. 2 
 
 The Old Lady says: 
 
 And so would you 
 For all this spice of your hypocrisy: 
 You that have so fair parts of woman on you, 
 Have too a woman's heart; which ever yet 
 Affected eminence, wealth, sovereignty; 
 Which, to say sooth, are blessings; and which gifts, 
 (Saving your mincing), the capacity 
 Of your soft cheveril conscience would receive 
 If you might please to stretch it. 3 
 
 Knight argues that the play could not have been produced dur- 
 ing the reign of Elizabeth. He says: 
 
 The memory of Henry VIII., perhaps, was not cherished by her with any deep 
 affection; but would she, who in her dying hour is reported to have said, "My 
 seat has been the seat of kings," allow the frailties, and even the peculiarities of her 
 father, to be made a public spectacle? Would she have borne that his passion for 
 her mother should have been put forward in the strongest way by the poet — that 
 is, in the sequence of the dramatic action — as the impelling motive for the divorce 
 from Katharine? Would she have endured that her father . . . should be repre- 
 sented in the depth of his hypocrisy gloating over his projected divorce with — 
 
 But conscience, conscience, — 
 Oh! 'tis a tender place, and I must leave her? 
 
 Would she have been pleased with the jests of the Old Lady to Anne, upon her 
 approaching elevation — her title — her "thousand pound a year" — and all to be 
 instantly succeeded by the trial-scene — that magnificent exhibition of the purity, 
 the constancy, the fortitude, the grandeur of soul, the self-possession of the "most 
 poor woman and a stranger" that her mother had supplanted ? 
 
 ' Act ii, scene 2. 3 Philosophy and Religion 0/ Shah., p. 346. * Henry I 7/7., ii, 3. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLA VS. 
 
 187 
 
 Nothing could be grander than the light in which Katharine is 
 set. Henry himself says: 
 
 Thou art, alone, 
 (If thy rare qualities, sweet gentleness, 
 Thy meekness saint-like, wife-like government — 
 Obeying in commanding — and thy parts 
 Sovereign and pious else, could speak thee out), 
 The queen of earthly queens. 1 
 
 Anne is made to say of her: 
 
 Here's the pang that pinches. 
 His highness having lived so long with her; and she 
 So good a lady, that no tongue could ever 
 Pronounce dishonor of her — by my life 
 She never knew harm-doing . . . after this process 
 To give her the avaunt ! it is a pity 
 Would move a monster? 
 
 And then we have that scene, declared by Dr. Johnson to 
 be the grandest Shakespeare ever wrote, in which angels come 
 upon the stage, and, in the midst of heavenly music, crown 
 Katharine with a garland of saintship, the angelic visitors bow- 
 ing to her: 
 
 Katharine. Saw you not, even now, a blessed troupe 
 
 Invite me to a banquet, whose bright faces 
 
 Cast thousand beams upon me like the sun ? 
 
 They promised me eternal happiness, 
 
 And brought me garlands, Griffith, which I feel 
 
 I am not worthy yet to wear; I shall 
 
 Assuredly. 3 
 
 In the epilogue Shakespeare says: 
 
 I fear 
 All the expected good we're like to hear 
 For this play at this time, is only in 
 The merciful construction of good women, 
 For such a one we showed them. 
 
 Upon this Birch says: 
 
 This was honest in Shakespeare. He did not put the success of the play upon 
 the flattery of the great or of Protestant prejudices, but upon the exhibition of one 
 good woman, of the opposite party, a Roman Catholic, a Spaniard, and the 
 mother of bloody Mary. 
 
 In fact, Shakespeare, strange to say, introduces into the play 
 
 high praise of this same " bloody Mary," long after she was dead 
 
 and her sect powerless. He puts it in the mouth of Queen Kath- 
 
 1 Henry VIII.. ii, 4. 2 Ibid., ii, 3. :I Act iv, scene 2. 
 
i88 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PE4YS. 
 
 arine, who, telling Capucius the contents of her last letter to the 
 
 King, says: 
 
 In which I have commended to his goodness 
 
 The model of our chaste loves, his young daughter: 
 
 The dews of heaven fall thick in blessings on her ! 
 
 Beseeching him to give her virtuous breeding; 
 
 (She is young and of a noble, modest nature; 
 
 I hope she will deserve well); and a little 
 
 To love her for her mother's sake, that loved him 
 
 Heaven knows how dearly. 
 
 The words of praise of Mary are not found in the letter which 
 Katharine actually sent to the King: they are an interpolation of the 
 poet ! 
 
 If Henry put away his true wife, not for any real scruples of 
 conscience, but simply from an unbridled, lustful desire to possess 
 the young and beautiful but frivolous Anne; and if to reach this end 
 he overrode the limitations of the church to which he belonged, 
 then, indeed, Elizabeth was little more than the bastard which her 
 enemies gave her out. A play written to make a saint of Katharine, 
 and a sensual brute of Henry, could certainly bring only shame 
 and disgrace to Anne and her daughter. 
 
 What motive could the man of Stratford have to thus contrive 
 debasement for Elizabeth's memory? Why should he follow her 
 beyond the grave for revenge ? What wrongs had she inflicted on 
 him? He came to London a poor outcast; during her reign he 
 had risen to wealth and respectability. If tradition is to be 
 believed, she had noticed and honored him. What grievance 
 could he carry away with him to Stratford ? Why should it be 
 noticed by contemporaries that when Elizabeth died the muse of 
 Shakespeare breathed not one mournful note of divine praise over 
 her tomb ? Chettle, in his England's Mourning Garment, thus re- 
 proaches Shakespeare that his verse had not bewailed his own and 
 England's loss: 
 
 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 lines opened her royal eare. 
 
 Shepherd, remember our Elizabeth, 
 
 And sing her rape, done by the Tarquin, Death. 
 
 But as soon as the Tarquin Death had taken Elizabeth, Shake- 
 speare proceeded to show that she was conceived in lust and born 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLA VS. 
 
 89 
 
 in injustice; that her father was a powerful and hypocritical brute; 
 her mother an ambitious worldling; and that the woman she had 
 supplanted was a saint, who passed, upon the wings of cherishing 
 angels, directly to the portals of eternal bliss. 
 
 And it will be noted that, although Bacon wrote an essay called 
 The Felicities of Queen Elizabeth, it was rather, as its name implies, 
 a description of the happy circumstances that conjoined to make 
 her reign great and prosperous, than a eulogy of her character as 
 admirable or beautiful. He mentions the fact that she 
 
 Was very willing to be courted, wooed and to have sonnets made in her com- 
 mendation, and that she continued this longer than was decent for her years. 
 
 And he says, in anticipation of such a criticism as I make: 
 
 Now, if any man shall allege that against me, which was once said to Caesar,, 
 "we see what we may admire, but we would fain see what we could commend;" 
 certainly, for my part, I hold true admiration to be the highest degree of com- 
 mendation. 
 
 But he did not commend her. 
 
 And if we turn to the career of Bacon, we shall find that he had 
 ample cause to hate Elizabeth. 
 Macaulay says: 
 
 To her it was owing that, while younger men, not superior to him in extrac- 
 tion, and far inferior to him in every kind of personal merit, were filling the high- 
 est offices of the state, adding manor to manor, rearing palace after palace, he was 
 lying at a sponging-house for a debt of three hundred pounds ' 
 
 So long as Elizabeth lived, Bacon was systematically repressed 
 and kept in the most pitiful poverty. The base old woman, know- 
 ing his condition, would see him embarrass himself still further 
 with costly gifts, given her on her birthdays, and rewarded him 
 with empty honors that could not keep bread in his mouth, or the 
 constable from his door. Beneath the poor man's placid exterior 
 of philosophical self-control, there was a very volcano of wrath and 
 hate ready to burst forth. 
 
 Dean Church says: 
 
 But she still refused him promotion. He was without an official position in 
 the Queen's service, and he never was allowed to have it. 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 Burleigh had been strangely niggardly in what he did to help his brilliant 
 nephew But it is plain that he [his son] early made up his mind to keep 
 
 1 Macaulay 1 s Essays, Bacon, p. 254. 2 Bacon, p. 52. 
 
, 9 o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Bacon in the background. . . . Nothing can account for Bacon's strange 
 failure for so long a time to reach his due place in the public service, but the secret 
 hostility, whatever may be the cause, of Cecil. 1 
 
 This adverse influence kept Bacon in poverty and out of place 
 as long as Cecil lived, which was for some years after the death of 
 Elizabeth. Bacon writes to the King upon Cecil's death a letter, 
 of which Dean Church says: 
 
 Bacon was in a bitter mood, and the letter reveals, for the first time, what was 
 really in Bacon's heart about "the great subject and great servant," of whom he 
 had just written so respectfully, and with whom he had been so closely connected 
 for most of his life. The fierceness which had been gathering for years of neglect 
 and hindrance, under that placid and patient exterior, broke out. 2 
 
 How savagely does Bacon's pent-up wrath burst from him when 
 writing to King James about his cousin's death: 
 
 I protest to God, though I be not superstitious, when I saw your Majesty's 
 book against Vorstius and Arminius, and noted your zeal to deliver the majesty of 
 God from the vain and indign comprehensions of heresy and degenerate philos- 
 ophy, as you had by your pen formerly endeavored to deliver kings from the 
 usurpations of Rome, perculsit illico anitnum that God would set shortly upon you 
 some visible favor, and let me not live if I thought not of the taking away of that 
 man. z 
 
 The Cecils ruled Elizabeth, and we may judge from this 
 
 passionate outburst how deeply and bitterly, for many years, 
 
 Bacon hated the Virgin Queen and her advisers; how much more 
 
 bitterly and deeply because his wretched poverty had constrained 
 
 him to cringe and fawn upon the objects of his contempt 
 
 and wrath. He expressed his own inmost feelings when he put 
 
 into the mouth of Hamlet as the strongest of provocations to 
 
 suicide: 
 
 The law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 
 How bitterly does he break forth in Lear : 
 
 Behold the great image of authority ! A dogs obeyed in office ! 
 
 And again, in Measure for Measure .« 
 
 Man, proud man, 
 Drest in a little brief authority, 
 
 . . . Like an angry ape, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
 As make the angels weep. 
 
 1 Ibid., p. 59. 2 Ibid., p. 90. » Letter to the King, 1612. 
 
Of THE 
 
 VN/YERSJTy 
 
 ] FQ**\h*S THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 191 
 
 And we seem to hear the cry of his own long disappointed heart 
 
 in the words of Wolsey: 
 
 O, how wretched 
 Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors! 
 There is, between that smile he would aspire to, 
 That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 
 More pangs and fears than wars or women have. 
 
 And Hamlet, his alter ego, expresses the self-loathing with which 
 he contemplated the abasements of genius to power: 
 
 No; let the candied tongue lick absurd pomp, 
 And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee, 
 Where thrift may follow fawning. 
 
 These words never came from the smooth surface of a prosper- 
 ous life: they were the bitter outgrowth of a turbulent and suffering 
 heart. When you would find words that sting like adders — exple- 
 tives of immortal wrath and hate — you must seek them in the 
 depths of an outraged soul. 
 
 What was there in the life of the Stratford man to justify such 
 expressions ? He had his bogus coat-of-arms to make him respect- 
 able; he owned the great house of Stratford, and could brew beer 
 in it, and sue his neighbors, to his heart's content. He fled away 
 from the ambitions of the court to the odorous muck-heaps and 
 the pyramidal dung-hills of Stratford; and if any grief settled upon 
 his soul he could (as tradition tells us) get drunk for three days at 
 a time to assuage it. 
 
 IX. Richard III. Represented Robert Cecil. 
 
 There is another very significant fact. 
 
 The arch-enemy of Bacon and of Essex was Sir Robert Cecil, 
 Bacon's first cousin, the child of his mother's sister. He was the 
 chief means of eventually bringing Essex' head to the block. We 
 have just seen how intensely Bacon hated him, and with what good 
 reason. 
 
 He was a man of extraordinary mental power, derived, in part, 
 from the same stock (the stock of Sir Anthony Cook, tutor to King 
 Edward IV.) from which Bacon had inherited much of his ability. 
 But, in his case, the blood of Sir Anthony had been crossed by the 
 shrewd, cunning, foxy, cold-blooded, selfish, persistent stock of his 
 father, Sir William Burleigh, Elizabeth's Lord Treasurer; and 
 
, 9 2 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 hence, instead of a great poet and philosopher, as in Bacon's case, 
 the outcome was a statesman and courtier of extraordinary keen- 
 ness and ability, and a very sleuth-hound of dissembling persist- 
 ency and cunning. 
 
 He had the upper hand of Bacon, and he kept it. He sat on his 
 neck as long as he lived. Even after the death of Elizabeth and 
 the coming-in of the new King, he held that mighty genius in the 
 mire. He seemed to have possessed some secret concerning Bacon, 
 discreditable to him, which he imparted to King James, and this 
 hindered his advancement after the death of the Queen, notwith- 
 standing the fact that Bacon had belonged to the faction which, 
 prior to Elizabeth's death, was in favor of James as her successor. 
 This is intimated by Dean Church; he says: 
 
 Cecil had, indeed, but little claim on Bacon's gratitude; he had spoken him fair 
 in public, and no doubt in secret distrusted and thwarted him. But to the last Bacon 
 did not choose to acknowledge this. Had James disclosed something of his dead servant 
 [Cecil], who left some strange secrets behind him, which showed his hostility to Bacon ? l 
 
 Was it for this that Bacon rejoiced over his death? Was the 
 secret an intimation to King James that Bacon was the real author 
 of the Plays that went about in the name of Shakespeare ? What- 
 ever it was, there was something potent enough to suppress Bacon 
 and hold him down, even for some time after Cecil's death. 
 
 Dean Church says: 
 
 He was still kept out of the inner circle of the council, but from the moment 
 of Salisbury's [Cecil's] death, he became a much more important person. He still 
 sued for advancement, and still met with disappointment; the "mean men" still 
 rose above him. . . . But Bacon's hand and counsel appear more and more in 
 important matters. 2 
 
 Now it is known that Cecil was a man of infirm health, and 
 that he was a hump-back. 
 
 We turn to the Shakespeare Plays, and we ask: What is the 
 most awful character, the most absolutely repulsive and detestable 
 character, the character without a single redeeming, or beautify- 
 ing, or humanizing trait, in all the range of the Plays ? And the 
 answer is: The crook-backed monster, Richard III. 
 
 Richard III. was a satire on Bacon s cousin^ Robert Cecil. 
 
 To make the character more dreadful, the poet has drawn it in 
 colors even darker than historical truth would justify. 
 
 1 Bacon, p. 02. 2 Ibid., p. 93. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE TLA VS. , 93 
 
 Like Cecil, Richard is able, shrewd, masterful, unscrupulous, 
 ambitious; determined, rightly or wrongly, to rule the kingdom. 
 Like Cecil, he can crawl and cringe and dissemble, when it is neces- 
 sary, and rule with a rod of iron when he possesses the power. 
 
 Here we have a portrait of Cecil. 
 
 Sir Robert Cecil. 
 
 Was the expression of that face in Bacon's mind when he wrote 
 those lines, which I have just quoted ? 
 
 Man, proud man, 
 I) rest in a little brief authority, 
 
 . . . like an angry ape. 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven 
 As makes the angels weep. 
 
 The expression of Cecil's countenance is, to my mind, actually 
 ape-like. 
 
 The man who has about him any personal deformity never ceases 
 to be conscious of it. Byron could not forget his club-foot. What a 
 terrible revenge it was when Bacon, under the disguise of the irre- 
 sponsible play-actor, Shakspere, set on the boards of the Curtain The- 
 ater the all-powerful courtier and minister, Sir Robert Cecil, in the 
 character of that other hump-back, the bloody and loathsome Duke 
 of Gloster? How the adherents of Essex must have whispered it 
 among the multitude, as the crippled Duke, with his hump upon his 
 
1 94 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 shoulder, came upon the stage — "That's Cecil!" And how they 
 must have applied Richard's words of self-description to another? 
 
 I that am curtailed of this fair proportion. 
 
 Cheated of feature by dissembling nature. 
 
 Deformed, unfinished, sent before my time 
 
 Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, 
 
 And that so lamely and unfashionable 
 
 That dogs bark at me as I halt by them — 
 
 Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, 
 
 Have no delight to pass away the time, 
 
 Unless to spy my shadow in the sun, 
 
 And descant on mine own deformity. 
 
 And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover 
 
 To entertain these fair, well-spoken days, 
 
 I am determined to prove a villain, 
 
 And hate the idle pleasures of these days. 
 
 And these last lines express the very thought with which Bacon 
 opens his essay On Deformity. 
 
 Deformed persons are commonly even with nature; for as nature hath done ill 
 by them, so do they by nature, being for the most part (as the Scripture saith) " void 
 of natural affection; " and so they*have their revenge of nature. 
 
 And we seem to see the finger of Bacon pointing toward his 
 cousin, in these words: 
 
 Whoever hath any thing fixed in his person that doth induce contempt, hath 
 also a perpetual spur in himself to rescue and deliver himself from scorn; therefore 
 all deformed persons are extreme bold, first, as in their own defense, as being 
 exposed to scorn, but in process of time by a general habit. Also it stirreth in 
 them industry, and especially of this kind, to watch and observe the weaknesses of 
 others, that they may have somewhat to repay. Again, in their superiors it 
 quencheth jealousy towards them, as persons that they think they may at pleasure 
 despise; and it layeth their competitors and emulators asleep, as never believing 
 they should be in possibility of advancement till they see them in possession, so 
 that upon the matter, in a great wit, deformity is an advantage to rising, 
 
 Speaking of the death of Cecil, Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
 And when Cecil passes to his rest, a new edition of the Essays, under cover of 
 a treatise on Deformity, paints in true and bold lines, but without one harsh touch, 
 the genius of the man. . . . Every one knows the portrait; yet no one can pro- 
 nounce this picture of a small, shrewd man of the world, a clerk in soul, without 
 a spark of fire, a dart of generosity in his nature, unfair or even unkind, 1 
 
 One can conceive how bitterly the dissembling, self-controlled 
 Cecil must have writhed under the knowledge that the Essex party, 
 in the Essex theater, occupied by the Essex company of actors, and 
 filled daily with the adherents of Essex, had placed him on the 
 
 1 Personal History of Lord Baron, pp. 193, 204. 
 
THE POLITICS OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 *95 
 
 boards, with all his deformity upon his back, and made him the object 
 of the ribald laughter of the swarming multitude, "the scum" of 
 London. As we will find hereafter Queen Elizabeth saying, " Know 
 ye not I am Richard the Second?" so we may conceive Cecil say- 
 ing to the Queen: "Know ye not that I am Richard the Third?" 
 
 And if he knew, or shrewdly suspected, that his cousin, Francis 
 Bacon, was the real author of the Plays, and the man who had so 
 terribly mocked his physical defects, we can understand why he 
 used all his powers, as long as he lived, to hold him down; and, as 
 Church suspects, even blackened him in the King's esteem, so that his 
 revenge might transcend the limits of his own frail life. And we can 
 understand the exultation of Bacon when, at last, death loosened 
 from his throat the fangs of his powerful and unforgiving adversary. 
 
 In conclusion and recapitulation I would say that I find the 
 political identities between Bacon and the writer of the Plays to be 
 as follows: 
 
 Both were aristocrats. 
 
 Both despised the mob. 
 
 Both contemned tradesmen. 
 
 Both loved liberty. 
 
 Both loved feudalism. 
 
 Both pitied the miseries of the people. 
 
 Both desired the welfare of the people. 
 
 Both foresaw and dreaded an uprising of the lower classes. 
 
 Both belonged to the military party. 
 
 Both hated Lord Cobham. 
 
 Both were adherents of Essex. 
 
 Both tried to popularize Essex. 
 
 Both were friends of Southampton. 
 
 Both hated Coke. 
 
 Both, although Protestant, had some strong antipathy against 
 Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 Both refused to eulogize her character after death. 
 
 Both, though aristocratic, were out of power and bitter against 
 those in authority. 
 
 Both hated Robert Cecil. 
 
 Surely, surely, we are getting the two heads under one hat — 
 and that the hat of the great philosopher of Verulam. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE RELIGION OE THE PLA VS. 
 
 I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not. 
 
 A s You Like It, v, 4, 
 
 THE religious world of Elizabeth was divided into two great 
 and antagonistic sects: Catholics and Protestants; and the 
 latter were, in turn, separated into the followers of the state relig- 
 ion and various forms of dissent. 
 
 Religion in that day was an earnest, palpable reality: society 
 was set against itself in hostile classes; politics, place, government, 
 legislation — all hinged upon religion. In this age of doubt and 
 indifference, we can hardly realize the feelings of a people to whom: 
 the next world was as real as this world, and who were ready to die 
 agonizing deaths, in the flames of Smithfield, for their convictions 
 upon questions of theology. 
 
 We are told that William Shakspere of Stratford died a Catholic. 
 We have this upon the authority of Rev. Mr. Davies, who says, writ- 
 ing after 1688, " he died a Papist." Upon the question of the politics 
 of a great man, the leader of either one of the political parties of his 
 neighborhood is likely to be well informed; it is in the line of his 
 interests and thoughts. Upon the question of the religion of the one 
 great man of Stratford, we may trust the testimony of the clergyman 
 of the parish. He could hardly be mistaken. There Can be little 
 doubt that William Shakspere of Stratford-on-Avon died a Catholic. 
 
 But of what religion was the man who wrote the Plays ? 
 
 This question has provoked very considerable discussion. He 
 has been claimed alike by Protestants and Catholics. 
 
 To my mind it is very clear that the writer of the Plays was a 
 
 Protestant. And this is the view of Dowden. He says: 
 
 Shakespeare has been proved to belong to each communion to the satisfaction of 
 contending theological zealots. . . . But, tolerant as his spirit is, it is certain that 
 the spirit of Protestantism animates and breathes through his writings. 1 
 
 What are the proofs ? 
 
 1 Dowden, Shah. Mind and Art, p. 33. 
 
 196 
 
THE RELIGION OE I'HE PLA VS. I97 
 
 I. He is Opposed to the Papal Supremacy. 
 
 The play of King John turns largely upon the question of patri- 
 otic resistance to the temporal power of the Pope; and this is not 
 a necessary incident of the events of the time, for the poet, to point 
 his moral, antedates the great quarrel between John and the Pope 
 by six years. 
 
 He represents King John, upon Ascension Day, yielding up his 
 
 crown to Pandulph, the Pope's legate, and receiving it back, with 
 
 these words: 
 
 Take again 
 From this, my hand, as holding of the Pope, 
 Your sovereign greatness and authority. 1 
 
 In scene 3 of act iii, he makes Pandulph demand of the King 
 why he keeps Stephen Langton, Archbishop of Canterbury, out of 
 his see; and King John replies: 
 
 What earthly name to interrogatories 
 
 Can task the free breath of a sacred king? 
 
 Thou canst not, Cardinal, devise a name 
 
 So slight, unworthy and ridiculous, 
 
 To charge me to an answer, as the Pope. 
 
 Tell him this tale; and from the mouth of England 
 
 Add this much more: That no Italian priest 
 
 Shall tithe or toll in our dominions; 
 
 But as we under heaven are supreme head, 
 
 So under him, that great supremacy, 
 
 Where we do reign, we will alone uphold, 
 
 Without the assistance of a mortal hand: 
 
 So tell the Pope; all reverence set apart, 
 
 To him and his usurped authority. 
 
 King Philip. Brother of England, you blaspheme in this. 
 
 King John. Though you, and all the kings of Christendom, 
 
 Are led so grossly by this meddling priest, 
 
 Dreading the curse that money may buy out; 
 
 And, by the merit of vile gold, dross, dust, 
 
 Purchase corrupted pardon of a man, 
 
 Who, in that sale,' sells pardon from himself; 
 
 Though you, and all the rest, so grossly led, 
 
 This juggling witchcraft with revenue cherish; 
 
 Yet I, alone, alone do me oppose, 
 
 Against the Pope, and count his friends my foes. 
 
 It is scarcely to be believed that a Catholic could have written 
 
 -these lines. 
 
 1 
 
 1 King John, v, i. 
 
, 9 8 FRANCIS, BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 And it must be remembered that King John is depicted in the 
 play as a most despicable creature; and his eventual submission of 
 the liberties of the crown and the country, to the domination of a 
 foreign power, is represented as one of the chief ingredients in 
 making up his shameful character. 
 
 It is needless to say that Bacon had very strong views upon this 
 
 question of the Pope's sovereignty over England. He says in the 
 
 Charge against Talbot : 
 
 Nay all princes of both religions, for it is a common cause, do stand, at this 
 day [in peril], by the spreading and enforcing of this furious and pernicious opinion 
 of the Pope's temporal power. 
 
 II. He Honored and Respected Cranmer. 
 
 But it is in the play of Henry VIII. that the religious leanings 
 of the writer are most clearly manifested. 
 
 It is to be remembered that it was in this reign that Protestant- 
 ism was established in England, and the man who above all others 
 was instrumental in bringing about the great change was Thomas 
 Cranmer, the first Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury. He, 
 above all other men, was hated by the Catholics. He it was who 
 had sanctioned the divorce of Henry from Katharine; he it was who 
 had delivered the crown to Anne upon the coronation; he had sup- 
 ported the suppression of the monasteries; he had persecuted the 
 Catholic prelates and people, sending numbers to the stake; and 
 when the Catholics returned to power, under Mary, one of the first 
 acts of the government was to burn him alive opposite Baliol Col- 
 lege. It is impossible that a Catholic writer of the next reign could 
 have gone out of his way to defend and praise Cranmer, to repre- 
 sent him as a good and holy man, and even as an inspired prophet. 
 And yet all this we find in the play of Henry VIII. ; the play is, in 
 fact, in large part, an apotheosis of Cranmer. 
 
 In act fifth we find the King sending for him. He assures hin. 
 
 that he is his friend, but that grave charges have been made against 
 
 him, and that he must go before the council for trial, and he gives 
 
 him his ring, to be used in an appeal, in case the council find him 
 
 guilty. The King says: 
 
 Look, the good man weeps ! 
 He's honest on mine honor. God's blest mother! 
 I swear he is true-hearted; and a soul 
 None better in my kingdom. 
 
THE RELIGION OF THE PLA VS. , q() 
 
 The council proceed to place Cranmer under arrest, with intent 
 to send him to the Tower, when he exhibits the King's ring and 
 makes his appeal. The King enters frowning, rebukes the perse- 
 cutors of Cranmer, and says to him: 
 
 Good man, sit down. Now let me see the proudest, 
 
 He that dares most, but wag his finger at thee. . . . 
 
 Was it discretion, lords, to let this man, 
 
 This good man (few of you deserve that title), 
 
 This honest man, wait like a lousy foot-boy 
 
 At chamber-door? . . . 
 
 Well, well, my lords, respect him. 
 
 Take him and use him well, he's worthy of it. 
 
 I will say thus much for him, if a prince 
 
 May be beholden to a subject, I 
 
 Am, for his love and service, so to him. 
 
 All this has no necessary coherence with the plot of the play, 
 but is dragged in to the filling up of two scenes. 
 
 And, in the last scene of the play, Cranmer baptizes the Princess 
 
 Elizabeth, and is inspired by Heaven to prophesy: 
 
 Let me speak, sir, 
 For Heaven now bids me. 
 
 And he proceeds to foretell her future long life and greatness. 
 
 He says: 
 
 In her days, every man shall eat in safety, 
 Under his own vine, what he plants; and sing 
 The merry songs of peace to all his neighbors; 
 God shall be truly known. 
 
 It is not conceivable that one who was a Catholic, who regarded 
 with disapproval the establishment of the new religion, and who 
 looked upon Cranmer as an arch-heretic, worthy of the stake and 
 of hell, could have written such scenes, when there was nothing in 
 the plot of the play itself which required it. 
 
 The passages in the play which relate to Cranmer are drawn 
 
 from Fox's Book of Martyrs, and the prose version is followed 
 
 almost literally in the drama; but, strange to say, there is in the 
 
 historical work no place wherein the King speaks of Cranmer as a 
 
 "good " man. All this is interpolated by the dramatist. We have in 
 
 the play: 
 
 Good man, sit down. 
 
 This good man. 
 
 This honest man. 
 
 Good man, those joyful tears show thy true heart. Etc. 
 
200 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 There is not in Fox's narrative one word of indorsement, by 
 the King, of Cranmer's goodness or honesty. 
 
 A Catholic writing a play based on Protestant histories might 
 have followed the text, even against his own prejudices, but it is 
 not to be believed that he would alter the text, and inject words of 
 compliment of a man who held the relations to the Catholics of 
 England that Cranmer did. 
 
 We cannot help but believe that the man who did this was a 
 Protestant, educated to believe that the Reformation was right 
 and necessary, and that Cranmer was a good and holy man, the 
 inspired instrument of Heaven in a great work. 
 
 The family of Bacon was Protestant. They rose out of the 
 ranks, on the wave of the Reformation. His father was an officer 
 of Henry VIII.; his grandfather was tutor to the Protestant King 
 Edward. During the reign of Mary, the Bacons lived in retire- 
 ment; they conformed to the Catholic Church and heard mass 
 daily; but, upon the coming in of Elizabeth, they emerged from 
 their hiding-place, and Bacon's father and uncle, Burleigh, were at 
 the head of the Protestant party of England during the rest of 
 their lives. All the traditions of the family clustered around the 
 Reformation. They faithfully believed that "God was truly 
 known " in the religion of Elizabeth, and they were as violently 
 opposed to the Papal supremacy as King John or the Bastard. 
 
 It is a curious fact that Bacon alludes, in his prose works, to 
 the reign of Elizabeth, in words very similar to those placed in the 
 mouth of Cranmer. He says: 
 
 This part of the island never had forty-five years of better times. . . . For if 
 there be considered of the one side the truth of religion established, the constant 
 peace and security, the good administration of justice, etc. 1 
 
 III. The Writer of the Plays was Tolerant of Catholicity. 
 
 But how does it come to pass that in the face of such evidence 
 it has been claimed that the writer of the Plays was a Catholic ? 
 
 Because, in an age of violent religious hatreds, when the Cath- 
 olics were helpless, suspected and persecuted, the author of the 
 Plays never uttered a word, however pleasing it might be to the 
 court and the time-serving multitude, to fan the flame of animosity 
 
 1 Advancement of ' J, earning, book i. 
 
THE RELIGION OE THE PLA VS. 201 
 
 against the Catholics. On the other hand, whenever a Catholic 
 priest is introduced on the scene, he is represented as honest, 
 benevolent and venerable. 
 
 "His friars," says one of his commentators, "are all wise, holy 
 and in every respect estimable men. Instance Friar Lawrence, in 
 Romeo and Juliet, and the friar in Much Ado About Nothing." 
 
 When we turn to the writings of Bacon, we find the same 
 broad spirit of religious liberality, as contradistinguished from the 
 bigotry of the age. 
 
 Bacon's mind was too great to be illiberal. Bigotry is a burst 
 of strong light, through the crevice of a narrow mind, lighting only 
 <me face of its object and throwing all the rest into hideous and 
 grotesque shadows. Bacon's mind, like the sun in the tropics, 
 illuminated all sides of the object upon which it shone, with a 
 comprehensive and vivifying light. 
 
 Macaulay says of him: 
 
 In what he wrote on church government, he showed, as far as he dared, a tol- 
 erant and charitable spirit. . . . He was in power at the time of the Synod of 
 Dort, and must for months have been deafened with talk about election, reproba- 
 tion and final perseverance. Yet we do not remember a line in his works from 
 which it can be inferred that he was either a Calvinist or an Armenian. 1 
 
 Speaking of Shakespeare, White says: 
 
 Nowhere does he show leaning toward any form of church government, or 
 toward any theological tenet or dogma. No church can claim him. 2 
 
 Bacon looked with pity upon the differences that distracted the 
 
 religious world of his time. He says, speaking of a conspiracy 
 
 against the crown, organized by Catholics: 
 
 Thirdly, the great calamity it bringeth upon Papists themselves, of which the 
 more moderate sort, as men misled, are to be pitied. 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 A man that is of judgment and understanding shall sometimes hear ignorant 
 men differ, and know well within himself that those which so differ mean one 
 thing, and yet they themselves would never agree. And if it came to pass in that 
 distance of judgment which is between man and man, shall we not think that 
 God above, that knows the heart, doth not discern that frail men, in some of their 
 contradictions, intend the same thing, and accepteth of both. 3 
 
 He turned with abhorrence from the burnings of men for con- 
 science' sake. He said: 
 
 1 Essays, Bacon, p. 280. 2 Life and Genius 0/ S/tak., p. 188. 3 Essay Of Unity in Religion. 
 
202 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 We may not take up the third sword, which is Mahomet's sword, or like unto 
 it, that is, to propagate religion by wars, or by sanguinary persecutions to force con- 
 sciences: . . . much less to authorize conspiracies and rebellions; to put the sword 
 into the people's hands, and the like, tending to the subversion of all government. 1 
 
 And we find the same sentiment in Shakespeare: 
 
 It is an heretic that makes the fire, 
 Not she which burns in it. 2 
 
 IV. The Writer of the Plays Disliked the Puritans. 
 
 In both writers we find a profound dislike of the Puritans. 
 
 "Shakespeare," says one of his commentators, " never omits an 
 opportunity of ridiculing the Puritan sect." 
 
 He says: 
 
 There is but one Puritan among them, and he sings songs to hornpipe :; 
 
 Sir Andrew Aguecheek says: 
 
 I would as lief be a Brownist as a politician. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Though honesty be no Puritan, yet it will do no hurt.'' 
 
 The mocking Falstaff tells the Chief Justice that he lost his 
 voice " singing of anthems." 
 
 Says one commentator: 
 
 In the introduction of Sir Oliver Mar-text our poet indulges in a sly hit against 
 the Puritan and itinerant ministers, whom he appears to have regarded with 
 aversion. 
 
 The play of Measure for Measure is an attempt to burlesque the 
 virtue-loving principles of the Puritans; and in the cross-gartered 
 Malvolio of Twelfth Night we have the 
 
 Sharp, cross-gartered man, 
 Whom their loud laugh may nickname Puritan. 
 
 And the immortal question, 
 
 Dost thou think because thou art virtuous there shall be no more cakes 
 and ale? 
 
 is universally accepted as a sneer at the asceticism of that grave 
 sect. 
 
 Wherever Shakespeare introduces a Dissenting preacher he 
 makes him an ignoramus or a mountebank. 
 
 i Essay Of Unity in Religion. ■ Ibid., iv, i. 6 All's Well thai Ends Well, i, 3- 
 
 3 Winter's Tale, ii, 3. 4 Twelfth Night, iii, 2. 
 
THE RELIGION OE THE PLAYS. 203 
 
 Similar views we find in Bacon. He says: 
 
 For as the temporal sword is to be drawn with great circumspection in cases of 
 religion, so it is a thing monstrous to put it into the hands of the common people; 
 let that be left unto the Anabaptists and other furies} 
 
 In another place he says: 
 
 Besides the Roman Catholics, there is a generation of sectaries, the Anabap- 
 tists, Brownists and others of their kinds; they have been several times very busy 
 in this kingdom under the color of zeal for reformation of religion; the King your 
 master knows their disposition very well; a small touch will put him in mind of 
 them; he had experience of them in Scotland. I hope he will beware of them in 
 England; a little countenance or connivancy sets them on fire.' 2 
 
 And, like Shakespeare, he ridicules the manners of the Puritans. 
 He says: 
 
 There is a master of scoffing that in his catalogue of books of a feigned library sets 
 down this title of a book, The Morris-Dance of the Heretics; for, indeed, every sect 
 of them hath a diverse posture, or cringe, by themselves, which cannot but move 
 derision in worldlings and depraved politics, who are apt to contemn holy things. :i 
 
 Bacon looked with the profoundest apprehension upon the 
 growing numbers and power of that grave, sour, serious sect, 
 with its strong anti-royal tendencies and its anti-social feelings. 
 " They love no plays, as you do, Anthony." They threatened, in 
 his view, by their malignant intolerance, the very existence of 
 civilization. He says: 
 
 Nor am I discouraged from it because I see signs in the times of the decline 
 and overthrow of that knowledge and erudition which is now in use. . . . But the 
 civil wars which may be expected, I think (judging from certain fashions which 
 have come in of late), to spread through many countries, together with the malig- 
 nity of sects, . . . seem to portend for literature and the sciences a tempest not less 
 fatal, and one against which the printing-office will be no effectual security. 4 
 
 He clearly foresaw the coming revolution which broke out, not 
 long after his death, under the lead of Cromwell. He wrote the 
 King, when he had been overthrown by the agitations in Parlia- 
 ment, that — 
 
 Those who strike at your Chancellor will yet strike at your crown. ... I wish 
 that, as I am the first, so I may be the last of sacrifices in your times. 
 
 Wise as he was, he could not see beyond the tempest which he 
 felt was coming, but he feared that the literature of England would 
 perish in the storm; and he was of course unable to do justice to 
 
 1 Essay Of Unity in Religion. 3 Essay Of I T nity in Religion. 
 
 2 Advice to George Villiers. 4 Preface to Interpretation of X at are. 
 
■204 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 the real merits of the sect to whom England owes so much of Par- 
 liamentary liberty and moral greatness. 
 
 His premonitions of the immediate effects of the religious revo- 
 lution were well founded. Birch says: 
 
 The Bacons and the Shakespeares, the philosophers and scoffers, as well as the 
 Papists, were extinguished by the Puritans. The theater gave way to the pulpit, 
 the actor and dramatist to the preacher. The philosophical and political school of 
 infidelity had no chance against the fanaticism of Cromwell, at the head of the 
 religious spirit of the age. 1 
 
 V. The Writer of the Plays a Free-Thinker. 
 
 But there was a deeper reason for the indifference of the real 
 author of the Plays to the passions and quarrels of Catholics and 
 Protestants. It was this: he did not believe in the doctrines of the 
 Christian religion. This fact has not escaped the notice of com 
 mentators. 
 
 Swinburne says: 
 
 That Shakespeare was in the genuine sense — that is, in the best and highest 
 and widest meaning of the term — a free-thinker, this otherwise practically and 
 avowedly superfluous effusion of all inmost thought appears to me to supply full 
 and sufficient evidence for the conviction of every candid and rational man. 2 
 
 Dow T den says: 
 
 Thus all through the play he wanders between materialism and spiritualism, 
 between belief in immortality and disbelief, between reliance upon Providence and 
 a bowing under fate. In presence of the ghost, a sense of his own spiritual exist- 
 ence and the immortal life of the soul grows strong within him. In presence of a 
 spirit he is himself a spirit: 
 
 I do not set my life at a pin's fee; 
 
 And for my soul, what can it do to that, 
 
 Being a thing immortal as itself? 
 
 When left to his private thoughts, he wavers uncertainly to and fro; death is a 
 sleep — a sleep, it may be, troubled with dreams. In the graveyard, in the presence 
 of human dust, the base affinities of our bodily nature prove irresistibly attractive 
 to the curiosity of Hamlet's imagination; and he cannot choose but pursue the his- 
 tory of human dust through all its series of hideous metamorphoses. 3 
 
 West says: 
 
 Though there is no reason to think that there was any paganism in Shake- 
 speare's creed, yet we cannot help feeling that the spirit of his art is in many 
 respects pagan. In his great tragedies he traces the workings of noble or lovely 
 human characters on to the point — and no farther — where they disappear into the 
 darkness of death, and ends with a look back, never on toward anything beyond. 4 
 
 1 Philosophy and Religion oj Shah., p. 9. * E, B. West, Browning as a Preacher, Dark 
 
 8 A Study of Shah., p. 165. Blue Magazine, Oct. and Nov., 1871. 
 
 3 Shah. Mind and Art, p. 118. 
 
THE RELIGIOX OF THE FLA VS. 
 
 205 
 
 He seems to have been a fatalist. Take these passages as 
 
 proof: 
 
 But, O vain boast ' 
 Who can control his fate? 1 
 
 Our wills and fates do so contrary run. 
 
 That our devices still are overthrown; 
 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. 2 
 
 Whom destiny 
 That hath to instrument this lower world 
 And what is in it. 3 
 
 All unavoided is the doom of destiny. 4 
 
 'Tis destiny unshunnable, like death. 5 
 
 But apart from this predestinarian bent there does not seem to 
 be in the Plays any theological preference or purpose. All the 
 plays which preceded the Shakespearean era were of a religious 
 character — they were miracle plays, or moralities, in which Judas 
 an4 the devil and the several vices shone conspicuously. Some of 
 these plays continued, side by side with the Shakespeare Plays, 
 down- to the end of the sixteenth century, and into the beginning of 
 the seventeenth. In Lupton's " moral and pitiful comedy," All for 
 Money\ the catastrophe represents Judas "like a damned soul in 
 black, painted with flames of fire and a fearful visard, followed by 
 Dives, 'with such like apparel as Judas hath,' while Damnation 
 (another of the dramatis persona) , pursuing them, drives them before 
 him, and they pass away, 'making a pitiful noise,' into perdition." 
 
 The mouth of hell, painted to represent flames of fire, was a very 
 common scene at the back of the stage. 
 
 Birch says: 
 
 What a transition to the Plays of Shakespeare, while these miracle and moral 
 plays were fresh in the recollection of the people, and might still be seen. These 
 supernatural, historical and allegorical personages superseded by a material and 
 philosophical explanation of things / 6 
 
 VI. The Causes of Infidelity in that Age. 
 
 The "malignity of sects" drove many men to infidelity. They 
 saw in religion only monstrous and cruel forces, which lighted hor- 
 rible fires in the midst of great cities, and filled the air with the 
 stench of burning flesh and the shrieks of the dying victims. They 
 
 1 Othello, v, 2. 3 Tempest, iv, 3. 3 Othello, iii, 3. 
 
 • Hamlet, iii, 2. 4 Richard III., iv, 4 * Birch, Philosophy and Religion of Shah., p. 11. 
 
20 6 FRANCIS B A CO IV THE A U Til OK OF THE EI A VS. 
 
 held religion to account for those excesses of fanaticism in a semi- 
 barbarous age, and they doubted the existence of a God who could 
 permit such horrors. They were ready to exclaim with Macduff, 
 when told that "the hell-kite," Macbeth, had killed all his family, 
 "all his pretty ones," at one fell swoop: 
 
 Did heaven look on, 
 And would not take their part? 
 
 They came to conceive of God as a cruel monster who relished 
 
 the sufferings of his creatures. Shakespeare puts this thought into 
 
 the mouth of Lear: 
 
 As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: 
 They kill us for their sport. 1 
 
 Mankind could only endure this divine injustice: 
 
 Arming myself with patience, 
 To stay the providence of some high powers 
 That govern us below. 2 
 
 But, whatever conclusions men might reach on these questions, 
 it was perilous to express them. The stake and the scaffold 
 awaited the skeptical. If their thoughts were to reach the light 
 it must be through the mouths of madmen, like Lear or Hamlet; 
 and to fall, as Bacon said, like seeds, that, by their growth in the 
 minds of generations to come, would mitigate the wrath of sects 
 and prepare the way for an age of toleration. 
 
 Birch says: 
 
 The spectacle of Brownists, among the Protestants, and of Papists, suffering 
 capital punishment for opinion's sake, alternately presented to the eyes of the pub- 
 lic, would create a party hostile to all religion; whilst an occasional atheist burnt 
 would teach the irreligious to keep their opinions to themselves, or caution them in 
 administering infidelity as " medicinable." 3 
 
 However strongly we may be convinced of the great and funda- 
 mental truths of religion, it must be conceded that freedom of con- 
 science and governmental toleration are largely the outgrowth of 
 unbelief and indifference. 
 
 In an age that realized, without doubt or question, that life was 
 but a tortured hour between two eternities; a thread of time across 
 a boundless abyss; that hell and heaven lay so close up to this 
 breathing world that a step would, in an instant, carry us over the 
 shadowy line into an ocean of flame or a paradise of endless de- 
 
 1 Lear iv, i 2 Julius Cwsar, V, t. > Birch, Philosophy and Religion of Shak., p. 8. 
 
THE RELIGION OF THE PLA VS. 20 y 
 
 lights, it followed, as a logical sequence, that it was an act of the 
 greatest kindness and humanity to force the skeptical, by any tor- 
 ture inflicted upon them during this temporary and wretched exist- 
 ence, to avoid an eternal hell and obtain an eternal heaven. But 
 so soon as doubt began to enter the minds of men; so soon as they 
 said to one another, "Perchance these things may not be exactly 
 as we have been taught; perchance the other world may be but a 
 dream of hope; perchance this existence is all there is of it," the 
 fervor of fanaticism commenced to abate. Not absolutely positive 
 in their own minds as to spiritual things, they were ready to make 
 some allowance for the doubts of others. Thus unbelief tamed the 
 fervor even of those who still believed, and modified, in time, public 
 opinion and public law. 
 
 But in Bacon's era every thoughtful soul that loved his fellow- 
 man, and sought to advance his material welfare, would instinct- 
 ively turn away from a system of belief which produced such holo- 
 causts of martyrs, and covered the face of the earth with such cruel 
 and bloody wars. 
 
 I have no doubt that Bacon in his youth was a total disbeliever 
 in Christianity. He himself said: 
 
 A little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy 
 bringeth men's minds about to religion. 
 
 There was found among his writings a curious essay, called 
 The Characters of a Believing Christian, in Paradoxes and Seeming Con- 
 tradictions. It is a wholesale burlesque of Christianity, so cunningly 
 put together that it may be read as a commendation of Christians. 
 
 I give a few extracts: 
 
 1. A Christian is one that believes things his reason cannot comprehend; he 
 hopes for things which neither he nor any man alive ever saw; he labors for that 
 which he knoweth he shall never obtain; yet, in the issue, his belief appears not to 
 be false; his hopes make him not ashamed; his labor is not in vain. 
 
 2. He believes three to be one and one to be three; a father not to be elder 
 than his son; a son to be equal with his father, and one proceeding from both to 
 be equal with both; he believing three persons in one nature and two natures in 
 one person. . . . 
 
 ii. ... He knoweth if he please men he cannot be the servant of Christ, yet 
 for Christ's sake he pleaseth all men in all things. He is a peace-maker, yet is a 
 continual fighter, and an irreconcilable enemy. 
 
 18. . . . He professeth he can do nothing, yet as truly professeth he can do 
 all things; he knoweth that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, yet 
 belie veth he shall go to heaven, both body and soul. 
 
208 FRANCIS PA CON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 1Q>. ... He knovveth he shall not be saved by or for his good works, yet he 
 doth all the good works he can. 
 
 21. ... He believes beforehand that God hath purposed what he shall be 
 and that nothing can make him alter his purpose; yet prays and endeavors as if 
 he would force God to save him forever. 
 
 24. ... He is often tossed and shaken, yet is as Mount Zion; he is a serpent 
 and a dove, a lamb and a lion, a reed and a cedar. He is sometimes so troubled 
 that he thinks nothing to be true in religion, yet if he did think so he could not at 
 all be troubled. 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare and we find in Richard II. a similar 
 unbelieving playing upon seeming contradictions in Christianity. 
 It reads like a continuation of the foregoing put into blank verse- 
 Richard is in prison. He says: 
 
 I have been studying how to compare 
 
 This prison, where I live, unto the world: 
 
 And, for because the world is populous, 
 
 And here is not a creature but myself 
 
 I cannot do it: yet I'll hammer 't out. 
 
 My braine, I'll prove the female to my soul, 
 
 My soul, the Father: and these two beget 
 
 A generation of still breeding thoughts; 
 
 And these same thoughts people this little world, 
 
 In humors, like the people of this world, 
 
 For no thought is contented. The better sort, 
 
 As thoughts of things divine, are intermixt 
 
 With scruples, and do set the Faith itself 
 
 Against the Faith: 
 
 As thus — "Come, little ones;" and then again, 
 
 " It is as hard to come as for a camel 
 
 To thread the postern of a needle's eye." 
 
 No one can doubt that these thoughts, showing the same irre- 
 ligious belief, and the same subtle way of propounding it, came 
 from the same mind. And observe the covert sarcasm of this, 
 among many similar utterances of Bacon: 
 
 For those bloody quarrels for religion were unknown to the ancients, the 
 heathen gods not having so much as a touch of that jealousy which is an attribute 
 of the true God. 2 
 
 Through all the Shakespeare Plays we find the poet, by the 
 
 mouths of all sorts of people, representing death as the end of alL 
 
 things. Macbeth says: 
 
 Duncan is in his grave; 
 After life's fitful fever, he sleeps well; 
 Treason has done his worst; nor steel, nor poison, 
 Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing 
 Can touch him further. 
 
 1 Richard //., v, 5. - // 'isdom of the A ncients — Diomedes. 
 
THE RELIGION OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 209 
 
 Titus Andronicus thus speaks of the grave: 
 
 Here lurks no treason, here no envy swells; 
 Here grow no damned grudges, here no storms; 
 No noise, but silence and eternal sleep. 
 
 In the sonnets, Shakespeare speaks of 
 Death's dateless night. 
 
 We are also told in the sonnets that we leave "this vile world" 
 "with vilest worms to dwell." In The Tempest we are reminded 
 that "our little life is rounded by a sleep"; that is to say, we are 
 surrounded on all sides by total oblivion and nothingness. Iachimo 
 sees in sleep only "the ape of death." 
 
 The Duke says, in Measure for Measure: 
 
 Thy best of rest is sleep, 
 And that thou oft provok'st, yet grossly fear'st 
 Thy death, which is no more. 
 
 Dr. Johnson says: 
 
 I cannot, without indignation, find Shakespeare saying that death is only 
 sleep, lengthening out his exhortation by a sentence which in the friar is impious, in 
 the reasoner is foolish, and in the poet trite and vulgar. 
 
 In the same play the writer mocks at the idea of an immortal 
 
 soul: 
 
 But man, proud man ! 
 Drest in a little brief authority, 
 Most ignorant of what he s most assured. 
 His glassy essence, like an angry ape, 
 Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, 
 As make the angels weep. 1 
 
 In this same play of Measure for Measure, while he gives us the 
 pagan conception of the future of the soul, he directly slaps in the 
 face the Christian belief in hell. Speaking of death, he says: 
 
 The delighted spirit 
 To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside 
 In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice; 
 To be imprisoned in the viewless winds, 
 And blown with restless violence round above 
 The pendant world; or to be worse than worst 
 Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imagine howling/' 2 
 
 This is not the language of one who believed that God had said: 
 "Depart from me, ye accursed, into everlasting fire ! " 
 
 1 Measure for Measure, ii, 2. 2 Ibid., iii, 1. 
 
2 ro FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. 
 
 And, we find the mocking Falstaff talking, in a jesting fashion, 
 about the "primrose way to the everlasting bonfire !" 
 
 No wonder Birch says, speaking of Measure for Measure : 
 
 There are passages of infidelity in this play that staggered Warburton, made 
 Johnson indignant, and confounded Coleridge and Knight. 1 
 
 VII. Conclusions. 
 
 Thus, then, I decipher the religion of the Plays: 
 
 i. They were written by a man of Protestant training, who 
 
 believed in the political changes brought about by Cranmer and 
 
 the Reformation. Such a man was Bacon. 
 
 2. They were written by one who was opposed to the temporal 
 power of the Pope in England. As I have shown, this was Bacon's 
 feeling. 
 
 3. They were written by one who, while a Protestant in poli- 
 tics, did not feel bitterly toward the Catholics, and had no desire 
 to mock or persecute them. We have seen that Bacon advocated 
 the most liberal treatment of the followers of the old faith; he was 
 opposed to the marriage of the clergy; he labored for the unity of 
 all Christians. 
 
 4. They were written by one whom the world in that age would 
 have called "an infidel." Such a man, we have reason to believe, 
 was Bacon. 
 
 I shall not say that as he advanced in life his views did not 
 
 change, and that depth of philosophy did not, to use his own 
 
 phrase, "bring his mind about to religion," even to the belief 
 
 in the great tenets of Christianity. Certain it is that no man ever 
 
 possessed a profounder realization of the existence of God in the 
 
 universe. How sublime, how unanswerable is his expression: 
 
 I would rather believe all the fables in the Ta Imud and the Koran than that 
 this universal frame is without a mind ! 
 
 Being himself a mighty spirit, he saw through " the muddy 
 vesture of decay " which darkly hems in ruder minds, and beheld 
 the shadowy outlines of that tremendous Spirit of which he was 
 himself, with all created things, but an expression. 
 
 He believed that God not only was, but was all-powerful, and 
 all -merciful; and that he had it in his everlasting purposes to 
 
 Philosophy and Religion 0/ Shah., p. 353. 
 
THE RELIGION OF THE PLAYS. 211 
 
 lift up man to a state of perfection and happiness on earth; and (as 
 I have shown) he believed that he had created him — even him, 
 Francis Bacon — as an instrument to that end; and to accomplish 
 that end he toiled and labored almost from the cradle to the grave. 
 
 He was — in the great sense of the words — a priest and 
 prophet of God, filled with the divine impulses of good. If he 
 erred in his conceptions of truth, who shall stand between the 
 Maker and his great child, and take either to account ? 
 
 We breathe an air rendered sweeter by his genius; we live in a 
 world made brighter by his philosophy; his contributions to the 
 mental as well as to the material happiness of mankind have been 
 simply incalculable. Let us, then, thank God that he sent him to 
 us on this earth; let. us draw tenderly the mantle of charity over his 
 weaknesses, if any such are disclosed by the unpitying hand of his- 
 tory; let us exult that one has been born among the children of 
 men who has removed, on every side for a thousand miles, the 
 posts that experience had set up as the limitations of human 
 capacity. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 i have, though in a despised weed, procured the good of all men. 
 
 Bacon. 
 
 THE first question asked by every thoughtful mind, touching 
 the things of sense, is: Who made this marvelous world? 
 The second is: Why did He make it ? 
 
 The purpose of the thing must always be greater than the thing 
 itself : it encloses, permeates and maintains it. The result is but 
 a small part of the preexistent intention. All things must stand or 
 fall by their purposes, and every great work must necessarily be 
 the outgrowth of a great purpose. 
 
 Were these wonderful, these oceanic Shakespeare Plays the 
 unconscious outpourings of an untutored genius, uttered with no- 
 more method than the song of a bird; or were they the production 
 of a wise, thoughtful and profound man, who wrote them with 
 certain well-defined objects in view? 
 
 I. Bacon's Aims and Objects. 
 
 We are first to ask ourselves, If Francis Bacon wrote the Plays,, 
 what were the purposes of his life ? For, as the Plays constitute a 
 great part of his life-work, the purposes of his life must envelop 
 and pervade them. 
 
 No man ever lived upon earth who possessed nobler aims than 
 Francis Bacon. He stands at the portal of the opening civilization 
 of modern times, a sublime figure — his heart full of love for man, 
 his busy brain teeming with devices for the benefit of man; with 
 uplifted hands praying God to bless his work, the most far-extend- 
 ing human work ever set afoot on the planet. 
 
 He says: 
 
 I am a servant of posterity; for these things require some ages for the ripen- 
 ing of them. 1 
 
 1 Letter to Father Fulgentio, the Venetian. 
 
 21-2 
 
THE PURPOSES OE THE PLAYS. 2I3 
 
 Again he says, speaking of himself: 
 
 Always desiring, with extreme fervency (such as we are confident God puts into 
 the minds of men), to have that which was never yet attempted, now to be not 
 attempted in vain, to-wit: to release men out of their necessities and miseries. 1 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 This work [the Novum Organuni] is for the bettering of men's bread and wine, 
 which are the characters of temporal blessings and sacraments of eternal. 2 
 
 Macaulay says: 
 
 The end which Bacon purposed to himself was the multiplying of human 
 enjoyments and the mitigating of human sufferings. . . . This was the object of 
 his speculations in every department of science — in natural philosophy, in legisla- 
 tion, in politics, in morals. 3 
 
 And, knowing the greatness of God and the littleness of man, 
 
 he prays the source of all goodness for aid: 
 
 God, the maker, preserver and renewer of the universe, guide and protect this 
 work, both in its ascent to his own glory, and in its descent to the good of man, 
 through his good will toward man, by his only begotten son, God with us. 4 
 
 And, speaking of his own philosophy, he says: 
 
 I am thus persuaded because of its infinite usefulness ; for which reason it may 
 be ascribed to divine encouragement. 5 
 
 He speaks of himself as "a servant of God." He seems to have 
 had some thought of founding, not a new religion, but a new sys- 
 tem of philosophy, which should do for the improvement of man's 
 condition in this world what religion strove to do for the improve- 
 ment of his condition in the next world. 
 
 And Birch says of Shakespeare: 
 
 He had a system, which may be drawn from his works, which he contrasts 
 with the notions of mankind taken from Revelation, and which he represents as 
 doing what revelation and a future state purpose to do for the benefit of mankind, 
 and which he thinks sufficient to supply its place. 6 
 
 In his prayer, written at the time of his downfall, Bacon says: 
 
 Remember, O Lord, how thy servant hath walked before thee, remember what 
 I have first sought, and what hath been principal in mine intentions. . . . The 
 state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine eyes: I have 
 hated all cruelty and hardness of heart; I have, though in a despistd weed, procured 
 the good of all men. 7 
 
 How did he "at first" (that is to say in his youth) seek and pro- 
 cure the good of all men? And what was the "despised weed" ? 
 
 1 Exper. History. * Exper. History. 
 
 2 Letter to King James, October 19, 1620. 5 Letter to Father Fulgentio. 
 
 * Essays, Bacon, p. 370. • Philosophy and Religion of Shak., p. 10. 
 
 7 Life and Works, Spedding, etc., vol. vii, p. 229. 
 
2i 4 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 II. Did he Regard the Drama as a Possible Instrumental- 
 ity eor Good? 
 
 Do we find any indications that Bacon, with this intent in 
 his heart to benefit mankind, regarded the stage as a possible 
 instrumentality to that end ? That it was capable of being so 
 used — in fact was so used — there can be no doubt. Simpson 
 says: 
 
 During its palmy days the English stage was the most important instrument 
 for making opinions heard, its literature the most popular literature of the age, and 
 on that account it was used by the greatest writers for making their comments on 
 public doings and public persons. As an American critic says, "it was news- 
 paper, magazine, novel — all in one." 1 
 
 A recent English writer, W. F. C. Wigston, says: 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney, in his Defense of Poesy, maintains that the old philosophers 
 disguised or embodied their entire cosmogonies in their poetry, as, for example, 
 Thales, Empedocles, Parmenides, Pythagoras, and Phocyclides, who were poets and 
 Philosophers at once." 1 
 
 But did Bacon entertain any such views ? Unquestionably. He 
 says: 
 
 Dramatic Poesy is as History made visible ; for it represents actions as if they 
 were present, whereas History represents them as past. Parabolical Poesy is 
 typical History, by which ideas that are objects of the intellect are represented in 
 forms that are objects of the sense. . . . 
 
 Dramatic Poesy, which has the theater for its world, would be of excellent use 
 if well directed. For the stage is capable of no small influence, both of discipline 
 and of corruption. Now, of corruptions in this kind we have enough; but the dis- 
 cipline has, in our times, been plainly neglected. And though in modern states 
 play-acting is esteemed but as a toy, except when it is too satirical and biting; yet 
 among the ancients it was used as a means of educating mens minds to virtue. 
 Nay, it has been regarded by learned men and great philosophers as a kind of 
 musician's bow by which mens minds may be played upon. And certainly it is 
 true, and one of the great secrets of nature, that the minds of men are more 
 open to impressions and affections when many are gathered together than when 
 they are alone. 3 
 
 The reader will note some suggestive phrases in the above: 
 
 "dramatic poesy, which has the theater for its world." We are 
 
 reminded of Shakespeare's " All the world's a stage." "A kind of 
 
 musician's bow, by which men's minds may be played upon." 
 
 This recalls to us Hamlet's : 
 
 Why, do you think that I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what 
 instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon »ie. A 
 
 1 School of Shak., vol. i, p. xviii. 8 De Augment is, book ii, chap. 13. 
 
 a A New Study of Shak., p. 42. * Hamtet, iii, 2. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 215 
 
 III. Was he Associated with Plays and Players? 
 
 But it may be said: These are the utterances of a philosopher 
 who contemplates these things with an aloofness, and Bacon may 
 have taken no interest in play-houses or plays. 
 
 Let us see. 
 
 His loving and religious mother, writing of her sons, Anthony 
 and Francis, in 1594, says: 
 
 I trust they will not mum, nor mask, nor sinfully revel. 1 
 
 In 1594 his brother Anthony had removed from Gray's Inn to a 
 house in Bishopsgate Street, "much to his mother's distress," says 
 Spedding, "who feared the neighborhood of the Bull Inn, where 
 plays and interludes were acted."' 
 
 Bacon took part in the preparation of many plays and masks, 
 for the -entertainment of the court, some of which were acted by 
 Shakspere s company of players. 
 
 The Queen seemed to have some suspicion of Bacon being a 
 poet or writer of plays. The Earl of Essex writes him, May 18, 
 1594 — the Earl then urging Bacon for some law office in the gift of 
 the crown: 
 
 And she did acknowledge you had a great wit, and an excellent gift of speech, 
 and much other good learning. But in law she rather thought you could make 
 show to the uttermost of your knowledge, than that you were deep. 3 
 
 And Bacon himself acknowledges that his mind is diverted 
 from his legal studies to some contemplations of a different sort, 
 and more agreeable to his nature. He says, in a letter to Essex: 
 
 Your Lordship shall in this beg my life of the Queen; for I see well the bar will 
 be my bier. 
 
 And he writes to his uncle, Lord Burleigh, in 1594: 
 
 To speak plainly, though perhaps vainly, I do not think that the ordinary 
 practice of the law will be admitted for a good account of the poor talent that God 
 hath given me. 4 
 
 Montagu says: 
 
 Forced by the narrowness of his fortune into business, conscious of his own 
 powers, aware of the peculiar quality of his mind, and disliking his pursuits, his 
 heart was often in his study, while he lent his person to the robes of office. 5 
 
 1 Spedding's Life and Letters, vol. i, p. 326. * Letter to Burleigh, 1594. 
 
 % Life and Works, vol. i, p. 314. 6 Montagu, Life and Works, vol. i, p. 117. 
 
 3 Life and Works, Spedding, vol. i, p. 297. 
 
216 FN AX CIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 If, then, it is conceded that Bacon had great purposes for the 
 benefit of mankind, purposes to be achieved by him, not by the 
 sword or by the powers which flow from high positions, but by 
 the pen, by working on "the minds of men;" and if it is con- 
 ceded, as it must be, that he recognized the stage as an instru- 
 mentality that could be made of great force for that end, by 
 which the minds of men could "be played upon;" and if it is con- 
 ceded that he was the author of masks and the getter-up of 
 other dramatic representations; and that his mind was not de- 
 voted to the dry details of his profession; and if it is conceded, 
 as I think it must be, that he had the genius, the imagination, 
 the wit and the industry to have prepared the Shakespeare Plays, 
 what is there to negative the conclusion that he did so prepare 
 them ? 
 
 And does he not seem to be pointing at the stage, in these 
 words, when, speaking of the obstructions to the reception of truth 
 caused by the ignorance and bigotry of the age, he says, in The 
 Masculine Birth of Time: 
 
 "And what," you will say, "is this legitimate method? Have done with 
 artifice and circumlocution; show me the naked truth of your design, that I may 
 be able to form a judgment for myself." I would, my dearest son, that matters 
 were in such a state with you as to render this possible. Do you suppose that, 
 when all the entrances and passages to the mind of all men are infested and 
 obstructed with the darkest idols, and these seated and burned in, as it were, into 
 their substance, that clear and smooth places can be found for receiving the true 
 and natural rays of objects? A new process must be instituted by which to insinu- 
 ate ourselves into minds so entirely obstructed. For, as the delusions of the insane 
 are removed by art and ingenuity, but aggravated by opposition, so must we adapt 
 ourselves to the universal insanity. 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 So men generally taste well knowledges that are drenched in flesh and blood, 
 civil history, morality, policy about which men's affections, praises, fortunes do 
 turn and are conversant. 1 
 
 He not only discusses in his philosophical works dramatic litera- 
 ture and the influence of the stage, but he urges in the translation of 
 the second book of the Advancement of Learning (but not in the 
 English copy), "that the art of acting (actio theatralis) should be 
 made a part of the education of youth." 2 "The Jesuits," he says, 
 "do not despise it; " and he thinks they are right, for, "though it 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book li. 9 Works of Bacon, vol. vi, p. 307. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 2I y 
 
 be of ill repute as a profession, yet as a part of discipline it is of 
 excellent use." 
 Spedding adds: 
 
 In Bacon's time, when masks acted by young gentlemen of the universities 
 or inns of court were the favorite entertainment of princes, these things were 
 probably better attended to than they are now. 
 
 And Bacon seemed to feel that there ought to be some great 
 writings to show the affections and passions of mankind. He says: 
 
 And here again I find it strange that Aristotle should have written divers 
 volumes of ethics and never handled the affections, which is the principal subject 
 thereof. . . . But the poets and writers of histories are the best doctors of this 
 knowledge: where we may find painted forth, with great life, how affections are 
 kindled and incited, and how pacified and refrained; and how again contained 
 from act and further degree; how they disclose themselves; how they work; how 
 they vary; how they gather and fortify; how they are inwrapped, one within 
 another, and how they do fight and encounter one with another, and other like 
 particulars. 1 
 
 And Barry Cornwall says, as if in echo of these sentiments: 
 
 If Bacon educated the reason, Shakespeare educated the heart. 
 
 The one work was the complement of the other, and both came 
 out of the same great mind. They were flowers growing from the 
 stalk of the same tremendous purpose. 
 
 IV. His Poverty. 
 
 But the reader may be fencing the truth out of his mind with 
 the thought that BacOn was a rich man's son, and had not the in- 
 centive to literary labor. Richard Grant White puts this argument 
 in the following form. Speaking of the humble, not to say vile, 
 circumstances which surrounded Shakspere in his youth, he says: 
 
 If Shakespeare had been born at Charlecote, he would probably have had a 
 seat in Parliament, not improbably a peerage; but we should have had no plays, 
 only a few formal poems and sonnets, most likely, and possibly some essays, with 
 all of Bacon's wisdom, set forth in a style more splendid than Bacon's, but hardly 
 -so incisive. 
 
 It is curious how the critical mind can hardly think of Shake- 
 speare without being reminded of Bacon. 
 
 But was Bacon above the reach of poverty? Was he above the 
 necessity of striving to eke out his income with his pen ? No. 
 Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
2l8 FRANCIS HA COX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Lady Anne and her sons are poor. Anthony, the loving and beloved, with 
 whom Francis had been bred at Cambridge and in France, has now come home. 
 . . . The two young fellows have little money and expensive ways. . . . Lady 
 Anne starves herself at Gorhambury that she may send to Gray's Inn ale from the 
 cellar, pigeons from her dove-cote, fowls from her farm-yard — gifts which she sea- 
 sons with a good deal of motherly love, and not a little of her best motherly 
 advice. 1 
 
 In 1612 Bacon writes King James: 
 
 My good old mistress [Queen Elizabeth] was wont to call me her watch-candle, 
 because it pleased her to say I did continually burn (and yet she suffered me to 
 ivciste almost to nothing), so I much more owe like duty to your Majesty. 2 
 
 In a letter to Villiers, Bacon says: 
 
 Countenance, encourage and advance able men. For in the time of the Cecils, 
 the father and son, able men were by design and of purpose suppressed. 
 
 The same story runs through all the years during which the 
 Shakespeare Plays were written. Spedding says: 
 
 Michaelmas term [1593] passed, and still no solicitor appointed. Meanwhile, 
 the burden of debt and the difficulty of obtaining necessary supplies was daily 
 increasing. Anthony's correspondence during this autumn is full of urgent appli- 
 cations to various friends for loans of money, and the following memorandum 
 shows that much of his own necessity arose from his anxiety to supply the necessi- 
 ties of his brother. 3 
 
 Here Mr. Spedding inserts the memorandum, showing ^5 
 loaned Francis September 12, 1593; £1 loaned him October 23, 
 1593; £$ loaned him November 19, 1593, with other loans of ;£io, 
 ^20 and ;£ioo. 
 
 Falstaff expressed Bacon's own experience when he said: 
 
 I can get no remedy against this consumption of the purse: borrowing only 
 lingers and lingers it out, but the disease is incurable. 4 
 
 In the year 1594 Bacon describes himself, in a letter, as "poor 
 and sick , working for bread." 
 
 In 1597 it is the same story. Spedding says: 
 
 Bacon's fortunes are still as they were, only with this difference: that as the 
 calls on his income are increasing, in the shape of interest for borrowed money, the 
 income itself is diminishing through the sale of lands and leases. 5 
 
 His grief and perplexity are so great that he cries out in a letter 
 
 to his uncle, the Lord Treasurer, written in that year: 
 
 I stand indifferent whether God call me or her Majesty. 
 
 1 Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 32. 4 2d Henry IV. , i, 2. 
 
 2 Letter to King James, May 31, 1612. » Spedding, Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 53. 
 
 3 Spedding, Life and Works, vol. i, p. 321. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 219 
 
 In 1598 he is arrested for debt by Sympson, the goldsmith; in 
 1603 he is again in trouble and petitions the Secretary, Cecil, to- 
 intercede and prevent his creditors taking more than the principal 
 of his bond, for, he adds, "a Jew can take no more." 
 
 He was constantly annoyed and pestered by his creditors. He 
 writes Mr. Michael Hicks, January 21, 1600, that he proposes to 
 clear himself from "the discontent, speech or danger of others" of 
 his creditors. "Some of my debts, of most clamor and importunity, 
 I have paid." 
 
 Again he says: "I do use to pay my debts in time" — not in 
 money. 
 
 July 3, 1603, he writes his cousin Robert, Lord Cecil: 
 
 I shall not be able to pay the money within the time by your Lordship under- 
 taken, which was a fortnight. Nay, money I find so hard to come by at this time, 
 as I thought to have become an humble suitor to your Honor to have sustained me, 
 . . . with taking up three hundred pounds till I can put away some land. 
 
 He hopes, by selling off "the skirts of my living in Hertford- 
 shire," to have enough left to yield him three hundred pounds per 
 annum income. 
 
 V. The Profit of Play-writing. 
 
 The price paid for a new play was from ^5 to ,£20. This, 
 reduced to dollars, is $25 to $100. But money, it is agreed, pos- 
 sessed a purchasing power then equal to twelve times what it 
 has now; so that Bacon, for writing a new play, would receive 
 what would be the equivalent of from $300 to $1,200 to-day. But 
 in addition to this the author was entitled to all the receipts taken 
 in, above expenses, on the second or third day of the play, 1 and 
 this, in -the case of a successful play, might be a considerable sum. 
 And probably in the case of plays as popular as were the Shake- 
 speare Plays, special arrangements were made as to the division of 
 the profits. It was doubtless from dividing with Bacon these sums 
 that Shakspere acquired his large fortune. 
 
 Such sums as these to a man who was borrowing one pound at 
 a time from his necessitous brother, Anthony, and who was more 
 than once arrested and put in sponging-houses for debt, were a 
 matter of no small moment. 
 
 ' See Collier's Annah of the Stage, vol. iii, pp. 224, 229, 230, etc. 
 
220 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. 
 
 He seems, from a letter to Essex, to have had some secret means 
 
 of making money. He says: 
 
 For means I value that most: and the rather because I am purposed not to fol- 
 low the practice of the law; . . . and my reason is only because it drinketh too 
 much time, which I have dedicated to better purposes. But, even for that point of 
 estate and means, I partly lean to Thales' opinion, " that a philosopher may be rich 
 if he will" 
 
 This is very significant. Even Spedding perceives the traces of 
 
 a mystery. He says: 
 
 So enormous were the results which Bacon anticipated from such a renovation 
 of philosophy as he had conceived the possibility of, that the reluctance which he 
 felt to devote his life to the ordinary practice of a lawyer cannot be wondered at. 
 It is easier to understand why he was resolved not to do that, than what other plan 
 he had to clear himself of the difficulties which were accumulating upon him, and to 
 obtain means of living and -working. . . . What course he betook himself to at the 
 crisis at which he had now arrived, I cannot positively say. I do not find any 
 letter of his which can be probably assigned to the winter of 1596; nor have I met 
 among his brother's papers anything which indicates what he zvas about. . . . 
 I presume, however, that he betook himself to his studies. 1 
 
 In the last years of the sixteenth century and the first of the 
 seventeenth Bacon seems to have given up all hope of rising to 
 office in the state. He was under some cloud. He says: 
 
 My ambition is quenched. . . . My ambition now I shall only put upon my pen, 
 whereby I shall be able to maintain memory and merit of the times succeeding.' 2 
 
 He was hopeless; he was powerless; he was poor. He had felt 
 
 The whips and scorns of time, 
 The oppressor's wrong, the poor man's contumely, 
 
 . . . the law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 That patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 
 He wrote to the Queen that he had suffered 
 The contempt of the contemptible, that measure a man by his estate. 3 
 What could he make money at ? There was no great novel- 
 reading public, as at present. There were no newspapers to 
 employ ready and able pens. There was little sale for the weight- 
 ier works of literature. There was but one avenue open to him — 
 the play-house. 
 
 Did he combine the more sordid and pressing necessity for 
 money with those great, kindly, benevolent purposes toward man- 
 
 1 Spedding, Works of Bacon — Letters and Life, vol. ii, p. 1. 
 
 2 Letter to R. Cecil, July 3, 1603. 
 
 3 Letter to the Queen, 1 599-1 600 — Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 166. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 221 
 
 kind which filled his heart ? Did he try to use the play-house as a 
 school of virtue and ethics ? Let us see. 
 
 VI. Great Moral Lessons. 
 
 In the first place, the Plays are great sermons against great 
 evils. They are moral epics. 
 
 What lesson does Macbeth leave upon the mind ? It teaches 
 every man who reads it, or sees it acted, the horrors of an unscru- 
 pulous ambition. It depicts, in the first place, a brave soldier and 
 patriot, defending his country at the risk of his life. Then it shows 
 the agents of evil approaching and suggesting dark thoughts to 
 his brain. Then if shows us, as Bacon says, speaking of the passions 
 as delineated by the poets and writers of histories: 
 
 Painted forth, with great life, how affections (passions) are kindled and incited; 
 and how pacified and refrained; and how again contained from act and further 
 degree; how they disclose themselves; how they work; how they vary; how they 
 gather and fortify; how they are inwrapped one within another; and how they do 
 fight and encounter one with another. 
 
 All this is revealed in Macbeth. We see the seed of ambition 
 
 taking root; we see it "disclosed;" we see self-love and the sense 
 
 of right warring with each other. We see his fiendish wife driving 
 
 him forward to crime against the promptings of his better nature. 
 
 It depicts, with unexampled dramatic power, a cruel and treacherous 
 
 murder. Then it shows how crime begets the necessity for crime: 
 
 To be thus is nothing, 
 But to be safely thus. 
 
 It shows one horror treading fast upon another's heels: the 
 usurper troubled with the horrible dreams that " shake him 
 nightly;" the mind of the ambitious woman giving way under the 
 strain her terrible will had put upon it, until we see her seeking peace 
 in suicide; while Macbeth falls at last, overthrown and slaughtered. 
 
 Have all the pulpits of all the preachers given out a more ter- 
 rible exposition and arraignment of ambition ? Think of the 
 uncountable millions who, in the past three hundred years, have 
 witnessed this play ! Think of the illimitable numbers who will 
 behold it during the next thousand years ! 
 
 What an awful picture of the workings of a guilty conscience is 
 that exhibited when Macbeth sees, even at the festal board, the 
 blood-boltered Banquo rising up and regarding him with glaring 
 
2 22 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 and soulless eyes. And how like the pitiful cry of a lost soul is this 
 
 utterance ? 
 
 I have lived long enough: my way of life 
 
 Is fallen into the sear, the yellow leaf: 
 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 
 As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 
 I must not look to have; but, in their stead, 
 
 Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honor, breath 
 
 Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not. 
 
 Call the roll of all your pulpit orators ! Where is there one 
 that has ever preached such a sermon as that ? Where is there one 
 that has ever had such an audience — such an unending succession 
 of. million-large audiences — as this man, who, in a " despised 
 weed, sought the good of all men"? 
 
 And, remember, that it was not the virtuous alone, the church- 
 goers, the elect, who came to hear this marvelous sermon, but the 
 high, the low; the educated, the ignorant; the young, the old; the 
 good, the vicious; the titled lord, the poor 'prentice; the high-born 
 dame, the wretched waste and wreck of womankind. 
 
 A sermon preached almost nightly for nigh three hundred 
 years ! Not preached with robe or gown, or any pretense of vir- 
 tue, but in those living pictures, "that history made visible," of the 
 mighty philanthropist. Not coming with the ostentation and 
 parade of holiness, with swinging censer and rolling organ, but 
 conveyed into the minds of the audience insensibly, insinuated 
 into them, through the instrumentality of a lot of poor players. 
 Precisely as we have seen Bacon suggesting that, by " a new process," 
 truth should be insinuated into minds obstructed and infested — a 
 process " drenched in flesh and blood" as surely Macbeth is; a process 
 that the ancients used to "educate men's minds to virtue;" by which 
 the minds of men might be "played upon," as if with a "musician's 
 bow," with the greater force because (as he had observed a thou- 
 sand times in the Curtain Theater) the minds of men are more acted 
 upon when they are gathered in numbers than when alone. 
 
 VII. Ingratitude. 
 
 Turn to Lear. What is its text? Ingratitude. Another mighty 
 sermon. 
 
 The grand old man who gave all, with his heart in it. The 
 viciousness of two women; the nobleness of a third — for the gentle 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 22 , 
 
 heart of the poet would not allow him to paint mankind altogether 
 bad; he saw always 'the soul of goodness in things evil." And 
 mark the moral of the story. The overthrow of the wicked, who 
 yet drag down the good and noble in their downfall. 
 
 VIII. Jealousy and Intemperance. 
 
 Turn to Othello. What is the text here? The evils of jealousy 
 and the power for wrong of one altogether iniquitous. The 
 overthrow of a noble nature by falsehood; the destruction of 
 a pure and gentle woman to satisfy the motiveless hate of a 
 villain. And there is within this another moral. The play is 
 a grand plea for temperance, expressed with jewels of thought 
 set in arabesques of speech. Can all the reformers match that 
 expression : 
 
 thou invisible spirit of wine ! If thou hast no name to be known by, let us 
 call thee devil ! 
 
 The plot of the play turns largely on Cassio's drunkenness; for 
 it is Desdemona's intercession for poor Cassio that arouses Othel- 
 lo's suspicions. And how pitiful are Cassio's exclamations: 
 
 Oh, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal away their brains ! 
 that we should, with joy, pleasance, revel and applause, transform ourselves into 
 beasts. . . . To be now a sensible man, by and by a fool, and presently a beast ! 
 O strange '. Every inordinate cup is unblessed, and the ingredient is a devil. 
 
 It is impossible to sum up a stronger appeal in behalf of a tem- 
 perate use of the good things of this world than these words con- 
 tain. And, remember, they were written, not in the nineteenth 
 century, but in an age of universal drunkenness, practiced by both 
 men and women; and uttered at first to audiences nine-tenths of 
 whom probably had more ale and sack in them than was good for 
 them, even while they witnessed the play. 
 
 And we find the great teacher always preaching the same lesson 
 of temperance to the people, and in much the same phrases. He 
 says : 
 
 When he is best, he is little worse than a man; and when he is worst he is 
 little better than a beast. 1 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 A howling monster; a drunken monster. 2 
 
 1 Merry Wives of Windsor, i, 2. ' Tempest, iii, 2. 
 
224 FkANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. . 
 
 And in the introduction to The Taming of the Shrew, his Lord- 
 ship, looking at the drunken Christopher Sly, says: 
 Oh, monstrous beast! how like a swine he lies. 
 
 IX. Timon of Athens. 
 
 In this play, the moral is the baseness of sycophants and mam- 
 mon-worshipers. Its bitterness and wrath came from Bacon's 
 own oppressed heart, in the day of his calamities; when he had felt 
 all "the contempt of the contemptible, who measure a man by his 
 estate." 
 
 Mr. Hallam says: 
 
 There seems to have been a period of Shakespeare's life when his heart was ill 
 at ease, and ill content with the world or his own conscience; the memory of hours 
 mis-spent, the pang of affection misplaced or unrequited, the experience of man's 
 worser nature, which intercourse with ill-chosen associates by choice or circum- 
 stance peculiarly teaches; — these, as they sank down into the depths of his great 
 mind, seem not only to have inspired into it the conception of Lear and Timon, 
 but that of one primary character, the censurer of mankind. 1 
 
 X. Shylock the Usurer. 
 
 In 1594 Bacon was the victim of a Jew money-lender. In 1595 
 
 appeared The Merchant of Venice, in which, says Mrs. Pott: 
 
 Shylock immortalizes the hard Jew who persecuted Bacon; and Antonius the 
 generous brother Anthony who sacrificed himself and taxed his credit in order to 
 relieve Francis. Antonio in Twelfth Night is of the same generous character. 
 
 And it will be observed that both Bacon and the writer of the 
 Plays were opposed to usury. 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 It is against nature for money to breed money. 2 
 
 And again he speaks of 
 
 The devouring trade of usury. 3 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have the conversation between 
 Shylock and Antonio, the former justifying the taking of interest 
 on money by the case of Jacob, who "grazed his uncle Laban's 
 sheep" and took "all the yearlings which were streaked and pied." 
 Says Antonio: 
 
 Was this inserted to make interest good ? 
 Or is your gold and silver ewes and rams? 
 Shylock. I cannot tell. I make it breed as fast. 
 
 1 Literature of Europe, vol. iii, p. 508. 2 Essay Of Usury. 3 Essay Of Seditions. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. ' 225 
 
 And again we have the same idea of money breeding money, 
 
 used by Bacon, repeated in this conversation. Antonio says: 
 
 I am as like to call thee so again. 
 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee, too. 
 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 
 As to thy friends; for when did friendship take 
 
 A breed of barren metal from his friend? 
 
 And it will be remembered that the whole play turns on the sub- 
 ject of usury. The provocation which Antonio first gave Shylock 
 
 was that 
 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 
 And again: 
 
 Signior Antonio, many a time and oft 
 In the Rialto you have rated me 
 About my monies and my usances. 
 
 The purpose of the play was to stigmatize the selfishness mani- 
 fested in the taking of excessive interest; which is, indeed, to the 
 poor debtor, many a time the cutting-out of the very heart. And 
 hence the mighty genius has, in the name of Shylock, created a 
 synonym for usurer, and has made in the Jew money-lender the 
 most terrible picture of greed, inhumanity and wickedness in all 
 literature. 
 
 Bacon saw the necessity for borrowing and lending, and hence of 
 moderate compensation for the use of money. But he pointed out, 
 in his essay Of Usury, the great evils which resulted from the prac- 
 tice. He contended that if the owners of money could not lend it 
 out, they would have to employ it themselves in business; and hence, 
 instead of the "lazy trade of usury," there would be enterprises of 
 all kinds, and employment for labor, and increased revenues to the 
 kingdom. And his profound wisdom was shown in this utterance: 
 
 It [usury] bringeth the treasures of a realm or state into a few hands; for the 
 usurer being at certainties, and others at uncertainties, at the end of the game 
 most of the money will be in his box; and ever a state flourisheth most when 
 wealth is more equally spread. 
 
 XI. MOBOCRACY. 
 The moral of Coriolanus is that the untutored multitude, as it 
 existed in Bacon's day, the mere mob, was not capable of self-gov- 
 ernment. The play was written, probably, because of the many 
 indications which Bacon saw that "the foot of the peasant was 
 
226 FRANCIS BACOX THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 treading close on the kibe of the courtier," as Hamlet says; and 
 that a religious war, accompanied by an uprising of the lower 
 classes, was at hand, which would, as he feared, sweep away all 
 learning and civility in a deluge of blood. The deluge came 
 shortly after his death, but the greatness and self-control of the 
 English race saved it from ultimate anarchy. At the same time 
 Bacon, in his delineation of the patriot Brutus, showed that he was 
 not adverse to a republican government of intelligent citizens. 
 
 XII. The Deficiencies of the Man of Thought. 
 
 Hamlet is autobiographical. It is Bacon himself. It is the man 
 of thought, the philosopher, the poet, placed in the midst of the 
 necessities of a rude age. 
 
 Bacon said: 
 
 I am better fitted to hold a book than to play a part. 
 
 He is overweighted with the thought-producing faculty: in his 
 case the cerebrum overbalances the cerebellum. He laments in his 
 old age that, being adapted to contemplation and study, his for- 
 tune forced him into parts for which he was not fitted. He makes 
 this his apology to posterity: 
 
 This I speak to posterity, not out of ostentation, but because I judge it may 
 somewhat import the dignity of learning, to have a man born for letters rather than 
 anything else, who should, by a certain fatality, and against the bent of his own 
 genius, be compelled into active life} 
 
 This is Hamlet. He comes in with book in hand, speculating 
 where he should act. He is " holding a book " where he should 
 " play a part." 
 
 Schlegel says of Hamlet ; 
 
 The whole is intended to show that a calculating consideration, which exhausts 
 all the relations and possible consequences of a deed, must cripple the power of 
 acting. 
 
 Coleridge says of Hamlet : 
 
 We see a great, an enormous intellectual activity, and a proportionate aver- 
 sion to real action consequent upon it. 
 
 Dowden says: 
 
 When the play opens he has reached the age of thirty years — the age, it has 
 been said, when the ideality of youth ought to become one with and inform the 
 practical tendencies of manhood — and he has received culture of every kind 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book viii, p. 3. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 U "'^*8/T, 
 
 227 
 
 except the culture of active life. He has slipped on into years of full manhood still a 
 haunter of the university, a student of philosophies, an amateur in art, a ponderer on 
 the things of life and death, who has never formed a resolution or executed a deed. 
 
 These descriptions fit Bacon's case precisely. His ambition 
 drags him into the midst of the activities of the court; his natural 
 predisposition carries him away to St. Albans or Twickenham 
 Park, to indulge in his secret " contemplations; " and to compose 
 the "works of his recreation" and "the works of the alphabet." 
 He was, as it were, two men bound in one. He aspired to rule 
 England and to give' a new philosophy to mankind. He would 
 rival Cecil and Aristotle at the same time. 
 
 And this play seems to be autobiographical in another sense. 
 
 Hamlet was robbed of his rights by a relative — his uncle. He 
 
 " lacked advancement." Bacon, who might naturally hope to rise to 
 
 a place in Elizabeth's court similar to that held by his father, "lacks 
 
 advancement;" and it is his uncle Burleigh and his uncle's son who 
 
 hold him down. Hamlet is a philosopher. So is Bacon. Hamlet 
 
 writes verses to Ophelia. Bacon is a poet. Hamlet writes a play, 
 
 or part of one, for the stage. So, we assert, did Bacon. Hamlet 
 
 puts forth the play as the work of another. So, we think, did 
 
 Bacon. Hamlet cries out: 
 
 The play's the thing 
 Wherewith I'll catch the conscience of the King. 
 
 And it is our theory that Bacon sought with his plays to 
 catch the conscience of mankind. Hamlet has one true, trusted 
 friend, Horatio, to whom he opens the secrets of his heart, and to 
 whom he utters a magnificent essay on friendship. Bacon has an- 
 other such trusted friend, Sir Tobie Matthew, to whom he opened 
 his heart, and for whom, we are told, he wrote his prose essay Of 
 Friendship. Hamlet is supposed to be crazy. Bacon is charged 
 by his enemies with being a little daft — with having "a bee in his 
 head " — and each herein, perhaps, illustrates the old truth, that 
 
 Great minds to madness are quite close allied, 
 And thin partitions do the bounds divide. 
 
 XIII. The Tempest. 
 
 The great drama of The Tempest contains another personal story. 
 
 This has, in part, been perceived by others. Mr. Campbell says: 
 
 The Tempest has a sort of sacredness as the last work of a mighty workman. 
 Shakespeare, as if conscious that it would be his last, and as if inspired to typify 
 
22 8 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 himself, has made his hero a natural, a dignified and benevolent magician, who' 
 could conjure up spirits from the vasty deep, and command supernatural agency 
 by the most seemingly natural and simple means. . . . Here Shakespeare himself 
 is Prospero, or rather the superior genius who commands both Prospero and Ariel, 
 But the time was approaching when the potent sorcerer was to break his staff, and 
 bury it fathoms in the ocean, 
 
 Deeper than did ever plummet sound. 1 
 
 What is the plot of the play ? 
 
 Prospero was born to greatness, was a "prince of power." 
 
 Bacon was born in the royal palace of York Place, and expected 
 to inherit the greatness of his father, Elizabeth's Lord Chancellor. 
 "Bacon," says Hepworth Dixon, 2 "seemed born to power." 
 
 Prospero was cast down from his high place. So was Bacon. 
 
 Who did it? His uncle Burleigh. And in The Tempest, as in 
 
 Hamlet, an uncle is the evil genius of the play. Prospero says to 
 
 his daughter Miranda: 
 
 Thy false uncle ■ — ... 
 Being once perfected how to grant suits, 
 How to deny them; whom to advance, and whom 
 To trash for over-topping — new created 
 The creatures that were mine, I say, or changed them, 
 Or else new formed them; having both the key 
 Of officer and office, set all hearts i' th' state 
 To what tune pleased his ear. 
 
 This might be taken to describe, very aptly, the kind of arts by 
 which Bacon's uncle, Burleigh, reached and held power. Bacon 
 wrote to King James: 
 
 In the time of Elizabeth the Cecils purposely oppressed all men of ability. 
 
 And why did Prospero lose power ? Because he was a student. 
 He neglected the arts of statecraft and politics, and devoted him- 
 self to nobler pursuits. He says: 
 
 I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated 
 To closeness and the bettering of my mind. 
 .... me, poor man ! my library 
 Was dukedom large enough ! 
 
 "The bettering of my mind" is very Baconian. But where 
 have we the slightest evidence that the man of Stratford ever 
 strove to improve his mind ? 
 
 And the labors of Prospero were devoted to the liberal arts and 
 to secret studies. So were Bacon's. Prospero says: 
 
 1 Knight's Shakespeare, introductory notice to Tempest. 
 8 Personal History of Lor J Bacon, p. 7. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 229 
 
 And Prospero, the prime duke, being so reputed 
 
 In dignity; and for the liberal arts 
 
 Without a parallel; those being all my study, 
 
 The government I cast upon my brother, 
 
 And to my state grew stranger, being transported 
 
 And rapt in secret studies. 
 
 What happened ? Prospero was dethroned, and with his little 
 daughter, Miranda, was seized upon: 
 
 In few, they hurried us aboard a bark; 
 
 Bore us some leagues to sea, where they prepared 
 
 A rotten carcase of a butt, not rigged, 
 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast; the very rats 
 
 Instinctively had quit it. 
 
 This was the rotten butt of Bacon's fortunes, when they were 
 
 at their lowest; when his friends deserted him, like the rats, and 
 
 when he wrote Timon of Athens. 
 
 Miranda asks: 
 
 How came we ashore? 
 Prospero replies: 
 
 By Providence divine 
 
 Some food we had, and some fresh water, that 
 
 A noble Neapolitan, Gonzalo, 
 
 Out of his charity, (who being then appointed 
 
 Master of this design), did give us, with 
 
 Rich garments, linens, stuffs and necessaries 
 
 Which since have steaded much; so of his gentleness, 
 
 Knowing I loved my books, he furnished me, 
 
 From mine own library, with volumes that 
 
 I prize above my dukedom. 
 
 How fully is all this in accord with the character of Francis 
 Bacon: — the man who had " taken all knowledge for his province; " 
 the "concealed poet;" the philanthropist; the student; the lover 
 of books ! How little is it in accordance with what we know of 
 Shakspere, who does not seem to have possessed a library, or a 
 single book — not even a quarto copy of one of the Plays. 
 
 But who was Miranda? 
 
 The name signifies wonderful tilings. Does it mean these won- 
 derful Plays? She was Bacon's child — the offspring of his brain. 
 And we find, as I have shown, in sonnet lxxvii these lines, evidently 
 written in the front of a commonplace-book: 
 
 Look what thy memory cannot contain, 
 Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
 Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain. 
 To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
 
230 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Was Miranda the wonderful product of Bacon's brain — the 
 
 child of the concealed poet ? 
 
 When Ferdinand sees Miranda, he plays upon the name: 
 
 My prime request, 
 Which I do last pronounce, is, O! you wonder ! 
 If you be maid or no ? 
 
 And it will be noted that Miranda was in existence before Pros- 
 pero's downfall; and the Plays had begun to appear in Bacon's 
 youth and before his reverses. 
 
 And we are further told that when Prospero and his daughter 
 were carried to the island, the love he bore Miranda was the one 
 thing that preserved him from destruction: 
 
 Miranda. Alack! what trouble 
 
 Was I then to you ? 
 
 Prospero. O! a cherubin 
 
 Thou wast that did preserve me ! Thou didst smile, 
 
 Infused with a fortitude from heaven, 
 
 When I have decked the sea with drops full salt, 
 
 Under my burthen groaned; which raised in me 
 
 An undergoing stomach, to bear up 
 
 Against what should ensue. 
 
 That is to say, in the days of Bacon's miseries, his love for divine 
 poetry saved him from utter dejection and wretchedness. And in 
 some large sense, therefore, his troubles were well for him; and for 
 ourselves, for without them we should not have the Plays. And hence 
 
 we read: 
 
 Miranda. O, the Heavens ! 
 
 What foul play had we, that we came from thence ? 
 
 Or blessed was't we did ? 
 
 Prospero. Both, both, my girl; 
 
 By foul play, as thou sayst, were we heaved thence; 
 
 But blessedly holp hither. 
 
 And the leisure of the retirement to which Bacon was driven 
 enabled him to perfect the Plays, whereas success would have ab- 
 sorbed him in the trivialities of court life. And so Prospero says to 
 
 Miranda: 
 
 Sit still, and hear the last of our sea-sorrow. 
 Here in this island we arrived; and here 
 Have I, thy schoolmaster, made thee more profit 
 Than other princes can, that have more time 
 For vainer hours, and tutors not so careful. 
 
 And on the island is Ariel. Who is Ariel ? It is a tricksy 
 spirit, a singer of sweet songs, "which give delight and hurt not; " 
 
THE PURPOSES OE THE PLAYS. 2 , ] 
 
 a maker of delicious music; a secretive spirit, given much to hiding 
 in invisibility while it achieves wondrous external results. It is 
 Prospero's instrumentality in his magic; his servant. And withal it 
 is humane, gentle and loving, like the soul of the benevolent philos- 
 opher himself. If Pro-sper-o is Shake-^r, or, as Campbell says, 
 " the superior genius who commands both Prospero and Ariel," then 
 Ariel is the genius of poetry, the constructive intellectual power of 
 the drama-maker, which he found pegged in the knotty entrails of 
 an oak, uttering the harsh, discordant sounds of the old moralities, 
 until he released it and gave it wings and power. And, like the 
 maker of the Plays, it sings sweet songs, of which Ferdinand says: 
 
 This is no mortal business, nor no sound 
 That the earth owns. 
 
 And, like the poet, it creates masks to work upon the senses of 
 its audience — it is a play-maker. 
 
 And there is one other inhabitant of the island — Caliban — 
 A freckled whelp, hag-born. 
 
 Who is Caliban ? Is he the real Shakspere ? He claims the 
 ownership of the island. Was the island the stage, — the play- 
 house, — to which Bacon had recourse for the means of life, when 
 his fortune failed him; to which he came in the rotten butt of his 
 fortunes, with his child Miranda, — the early plays? 
 
 Shakspere, be it remembered, was at the play-house before 
 
 Bacon came to it. Prospero found Caliban on the island. Caliban 
 
 claimed the ownership of it. He says, "This island's mine." 
 
 When thou earnest first, 
 Thou strok'dst me, and made much of me; 
 Would give me water with berries in't; and teach me how 
 To name the bigger light, and how the less, 
 That burn by day and night; and then I loved thee, 
 And showed thee all the qualities of the isle, 
 The fresh springs, brine springs, barren place and fertile. 
 
 That is to say, Shakspere gave Bacon the use of his knowledge 
 of the stage and play-acting, and showed him the fertile places 
 from which money could be extracted. 
 
 And do these lines represent Bacon's opinion of Shakspere? 
 
 Abhorred slave, 
 Which any print of goodness will not take, 
 Being capable of all ill ! I pitied thee, 
 Took pains to make thee speak, taught thee each hour 
 
232 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 One thing or other: when thou didst not, savage, 
 Know thine own meaning, but would gabble like 
 A thing most brutish, I endowed thy purposes 
 With words that made them known. 
 
 And again he says — and it will be remembered Shakspere was 
 
 alive when The Tempest was written : 
 
 A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
 Nurture can never stick; on whom my pains, 
 Humanly taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 
 And as, with age, his body uglier grows, 
 So his mind cankers. 
 
 Prospero has lost his kingdom. He has had the leisure in the 
 solitude of his "full poor cell" to bring Mira?ida to the perfection 
 of mature beauty. The Plays are finished. 
 
 [Bacon, after his downfall, in 1623, applied for the place of Pro- 
 vost of Eaton; he says, " it was a pretty cell for my fortune."] 
 
 When Miranda was grown to womanhood an accident threw 
 Prospero's enemies in his power. A most propitious star shone 
 upon his fortunes. His enemies were upon the sea near him. 
 With the help of Ariel he raised a mighty tempest and shipwrecked 
 those who had deprived him of his kingdom, and brought them 
 wretched and half-drowned to his feet. He had always wished to 
 leave the island and recover his kingdom; and, his enemies being 
 in his power, he forced them to restore him to his rights. 
 
 Is there anything in Bacon's life which parallels this story? 
 There is. 
 
 Bacon, like Prospero, had been cast- down. He desired to rise 
 again in the state. And there came a time when he brought his 
 enemies to his feet, in the midst of a tempest of the state, which he 
 probably helped to create. And this very word tempest, so applied, 
 is a favorite one with Bacon. He said, at the time of his downfall: 
 
 When I enter into myself, I find not the materials for such a tempest as is now 
 come upon me. 
 
 In June, 1606, Francis Bacon was out of place and without in- 
 fluence with the court, but he wielded great power in Parliament, 
 of which he was a member, as a noble orator and born ruler of men. 
 He had hoped that this influence would have secured him prefer- 
 ment in the state. He was disappointed. Hepworth Dixon shows 
 that, upon the death of Sir Francis Gawdy and Coke's promotion 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 233 
 
 to the bench, Bacon expected to be made Attorney-General. But 
 his malign cousin, Cecil, again defeated his just and reasonable 
 hopes; and the great man, after all his years of patient waiting, 
 had to step aside once more to make place for some small creature. 
 
 But there is trouble in the land. King James of Scotland came 
 down to rule England, and hordes of his countrymen came with, or 
 followed after him, to improve their fortunes in the fat land of 
 which their countryman was monarch. King James desired Parlia- 
 ment to pass the bill of Union, to unite the Scots and English on 
 terms of equality. His heart was set on this measure. But the 
 English disliked the Scots. 
 
 Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
 Under such crosses the bill on Union fares but ill. Fuller, the bilious repre- 
 sentative of London, flies at the Scots. The Scots in London are in the highest 
 degree unpopular. Lax in morals and in taste, they will take the highest place at 
 table, they will drink out of anybody's can, they will kiss the hostess, or her 
 buxom maid, without saying "by your leave." ' 
 
 We have reason to think that Ariel is at work, invisibly, behind 
 the scenes raising the Tempest. Dixon continues: 
 
 Brawls fret the taverns which they haunt; pasqnins hiss against them from the 
 stage. . . . Three great poets, Jonson, Chapman and Jfarston, go to jail for a harmless 
 jest against these Scots. Such acts of rigor make the name of Union hateful to the 
 public ear. 
 
 Let Hepworth Dixon tell the rest of the story: 
 
 When Parliament meets in November to discuss the bill on Union, Bacon 
 stands back. The King has chosen his attorney; let the new attorney fight the 
 King's battle. The adversaries to be met are bold and many. . . . Beyond the 
 Tweed, too, people are mutinous to the point of ivar % for the countrymen of 
 Andrew Melville begin to suspect the King of a design against the Kirk. . . . 
 Melville is clapped into the Tower. . . . Hobart (the new Attorney-General) goes 
 to the wall. James now sees that the battle is not to the weak, nor the race to the 
 slow. Bacon has only to hold his tongue and make his terms. 2 
 
 Prospero has only to wait for the Tempest to wash his enemies 
 to his feet. 
 
 Alarmed lest the bill of Union may be rejected by an overwhelming vote, 
 Cecil suddenly adjourns the House. He must get strength. . . . Pressed on all 
 sides, here by the Lord Chancellor, there by a mutinous House of Commons, 
 Cecil at length yields to his cousin's claim; Sir John Doderidge bows his neck, and 
 when Parliament meets, after the Christmas holidays, Bacon holds in his pocket 
 a written engagement for the Solicitor's place. 
 
 1 Personal History 9/ Lord Bacon, p. 184. 2 Ibid., p. 1S3. 
 
234 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 The Tempest is past; the Duke of Milan has recovered hts 
 kingdom; the poor scholar leaves his cell, at forty-six years of age, 
 and steps into a place worth ^6,000 a year, or $30,000 of our 
 money, equal to probably $300,000 per annum to-day. There is no 
 longer any necessity for the magician to remain upon his poor 
 desert island, with Caliban, and write plays for a living. He dis- 
 misses Ariel. The Plays cease to appear. 
 
 But Prospero, when he leaves the island, takes Miranda with 
 him. She will be well cared for. We will see hereafter that " the 
 works of the alphabet " will be "set in a frame," at heavy cost,, 
 and wedded to immortality. 
 
 The triumphant statesman leaves Caliban in possession of the 
 island! He has crawled out from his temporary shelter: 
 
 I hid me under the dead moon-calf's gaberdine, for fear of the storm. 
 
 He will devote the remainder of his life to statecraft and phil- 
 osophy. He will write no more poetry, 
 
 For at his age 
 The hey-day in the blood is tame, it's humble 
 And waits upon the judgment. 
 
 But Prospero will not be idle. Like Bacon, he has great 
 
 projects in his head. He says: 
 
 Welcome, sir; 
 This cell's my court; here have I few attendants 
 And subjects none abroad: pray you, look in. 
 My dukedom since you have given me again, 
 I will requite you with as good a thing; 
 At least bring forth a wonder to content ye, 
 As much as me my dukedom. 
 
 That is to say, relieved of the necessities of life, possessed of 
 power and fortune he will give the world the Novum Organum, the 
 new philosophy, which is to revolutionize the earth and lift up 
 mankind. 
 
 And yet, turning, as he does, to these mighty works of his 
 
 mature years, he cannot part, without a sigh, from the labors of 
 
 his youth; from the sweet and gentle spirit of the imagination — his 
 
 "chick," his genius, his "delicate Ariel ": 
 
 Why, that's my dainty Ariel: I shall miss thee ; 
 But yet thou shalt have freedom. 
 
 And then, casting his eyes backward, he exults over his mighty 
 work: 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE FLA VS. 235 
 
 Graves, at my command, 
 Have waked their sleepers; op'd, and let them forth 
 By my so potent art. 
 
 Indeed, a long and mighty procession ! Lear, Titus Andronicus, 
 Coriolanus, Julius Caesar, Brutus, Cassius, Marc Antony, Cleo- 
 patra, Augustus Csesar, Timon of Athens, Cymbeline, Alcibiades. 
 Pericles, Macbeth, Duncan, Hamlet, King John, Arthur, Richard II., 
 John of Gaunt, Henry IV., Hotspur, Henry V., Henry VI., Richard 
 III., Clarence, Henry VIII., Wolsey, Cranmer, Queen Katharine, 
 
 and Anne Boleyn. 
 
 But this rough magic 
 I here abjure: and, when I have required 
 Some heavenly music (which even now I do) — 
 
 [that is to say, he retains his magic power a little longer to write 
 one more play, this farewell drama, The Tempest] — 
 
 To work mine end upon their senses that 
 This airy charm is for, I'll break my staff, 
 Bury it certain fathoms in the earth, 
 And, deeper than did ever plummet sound 
 I'll drown my book. 
 
 What does this mean ? Certainly that the magician had ended 
 his work; that his rough magic was no longer necessary; that he 
 would no longer call up the mighty dead from their graves. And 
 he dismisses even the poor players through whom he has wrought 
 his charm; they also are but spirits, to do his bidding: 
 
 Our revels new 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-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces. 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve; 
 And like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made on, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep. 
 
 And this play of The Tempest is placed at the very beginning 
 of the great Folio of 1623, as an introduction to the other mighty 
 Plays. 
 
 And if this be not the true explanation of this play, where are 
 we to find it? If Prosper is Shake-sper (as seems to be conceded), 
 or the one for (pro) whom Shake-sper stood, what is the meaning 
 
236 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 of his "abjuring his magic," giving up his work and "drowning 
 his book?" And what is that "wonder" he — the man of Strat- 
 ford — is to bring forth after he has drowned his book: — some- 
 thing more wonderful than Miranda — (the wonderful things) — and 
 with which the dismissed Ariel is to have nothing to do ? And 
 why should Shakspere drown his book and retire to Stratford, and 
 write no more plays, thus abjuring his magic? Do you imagine 
 that the man who would sue a neighbor for two shillings loaned; 
 or who would sell a load of stone to the town for ten pence; or 
 who would charge his guest's wine-bill to the parish, would, if he 
 had the capacity to produce an unlimited succession of Hamlets, 
 Lears and Macbeths, worth thousands of pounds, have drowned his 
 book, and gone home and brewed beer and sucked his thumbs for 
 several years, until drunkenness and death came to his relief? 
 
 And is there any likeness between the princely, benevolent and 
 magnanimous character of Prospero and that of the man of Strat- 
 ford ? 
 
 XIV. Kingcraft. 
 
 Bacon believed in a monarchy, but in a constitutional mon- 
 archy, restrained by a liberty-loving aristocracy, with justice and 
 fair play for the humbler classes. 
 
 He, however, was utterly opposed to all royal despotism. He 
 showed, as the leader of the people in the House of Commons, 
 that he was ready to use the power of Parliament to restrain the 
 unlimited arrogance of the crown. He saw that one great obsta- 
 cle to liberty was the popular idea of the divine right of kings. 
 We can hardly appreciate to-day the full force of that sentiment 
 as it then existed. Hence, in the Plays, he labors to reduce the 
 king to the level of other men, or below it. He represents John as a 
 cowardly knave, a truckler to a foreign power, a would-be murderer, 
 and an altogether worthless creature. Richard II. is little better — 
 a frivolous, weak-witted, corrupt, sordid, dishonest fool. 
 
 He puts into his mouth the old-time opinion of the heaven-dele- 
 gated powers of a king: 
 
 Not all the water of the rough, rude sea 
 Can wash the balm from an anointed king: 
 The breath of worldly men cannot depose 
 The deputy elected by the Lord: 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLAYS. 237 
 
 For every man that Bolingbroke hath press'd, 
 
 To lift shrewd steel against our golden crown, 
 
 Heaven for his Richard hath in heavenly pay 
 
 A glorious angel ! then, if angels fight. 
 
 Weak men must fall, for Heaven still guards the right ! 
 
 And then the poet proceeds to show that this is all nonsense: 
 that the " breath of worldly men " can, and that it in fact does 
 depose him; and that not an angel stirs in all the vasty courts of 
 heaven to defend his cause. 
 
 And then he perforates the whole theory still further by making 
 the King himself exclaim: 
 
 Let's choose executors and talk of wills; 
 
 And yet not so; for what can we bequeath 
 
 Save our deposed bodies to the ground? 
 
 Our lands, our lives and all are Bolingbroke's, 
 
 And nothing can we call our own but death; 
 
 And that small model of the barren earth, 
 
 Which serves as paste and cover to our bones. 
 
 For Heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, 
 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings: 
 
 How some have been depos'd, some slain in war, 
 
 Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd; 
 
 Some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping killed, 
 
 All murder'd. For within the hollow crown 
 
 That rounds the mortal temples of a king, 
 
 Death keeps his court; and there the antic sits, 
 
 Scoffing his state, and grinning at his pomp; 
 
 Allowing him a breath, a little scene, 
 
 To monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with looks; 
 
 Infusing him with self and vain conceit; 
 
 As if this flesh, which walls about our life, 
 
 Were brass impregnable: and humored thus, 
 
 Comes at the last, and, with a little pin, 
 
 Bores through his castle walls, and, — farewell, king! 
 
 Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood 
 
 With solemn reverence; throw away respect, 
 
 Tradition, form and ceremonious duty, 
 
 For you have but mistook me all this while: 
 
 I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief, 
 
 Need friends. Subjected thus, 
 
 How can you say to me — I am a king ! 
 
 Surely this must have sounded strangely in the ears of a Lon- 
 don audience of the sixteenth century, who had been taught to 
 regard the king as anointed of Heaven and the actual viceregent of 
 God on earth, whose very touch was capable of working miracles 
 in the cure of disease, possessing therein a power exercised on 
 
238 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 earth aforetime only by the Savior and his saints. And the play 
 concludes with the murder of Richard. 
 
 And then comes Henry IV., usurper, murderer; and the poet 
 makes him frankly confess his villainy: 
 
 Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed; 
 
 And hear, I think, the very latest counsel 
 
 That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son, 
 
 By what by-paths and indirect, crooked ways 
 
 I met this crown. 
 
 And yet he lives to a ripe old age, and establishes a dynasty on 
 the corner-stone of the murder of Richard II. 
 
 And we have the same lesson of contempt for kings taught in 
 Lear: 
 
 They told me I was everything. But when the rain came to wet me once, and 
 the wind to make me chatter; when the thunder would not peace at my bidding, 
 there I found them, there I smelt them out. 1 
 
 And in The Tempest we have this expression: 
 
 What care these roarers for the name of king?' 
 
 Is not the moral plain: — that kings are nothing more than men; 
 that Heaven did not ordain them, and does not protect them; and 
 that a king has no right to hold his place any longer than he 
 behaves himself? 
 
 His son, Henry V., is the best of the lot — he is the hero-king; 
 but even he rises out of a shameful youth; he is the associate of 
 the most degraded; the companion of profligate men and women, 
 of highwaymen and pick-pockets. And even in his mouth the 
 poet puts the same declaration of the hollowness of royal preten- 
 sions. King Henry V. says, while in disguise: 
 
 I think the King is but a man as I am; the violet smells to him as it 
 doth to me; the element shews to him as it doth to me; all his senses have 
 but human conditions; his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears 
 but a man/' 
 
 We turn to Henry VI., and we find him a shallow, empty imbe- 
 cile, below the measure even of contempt. 
 
 In Richard III. we have a horrible monster; a wild beast; a liar, 
 perjurer, murderer; a remorseless, bloody, man-eating tiger of the 
 jungles. 
 
 1 Lear, iv, 6. s Tempest, i, i. 3 Henry V., iv. i. 
 
THE PURPOSES OE THE FLA VS. 239 
 
 In Henry VIII. we have a king divorcing a sainted angel, 
 as we are told, under the plea of conscience, to marry a 
 frivolous woman, in obedience to the incitements of sensual 
 passion. 
 
 And this is the whole catalogue of royal representatives 
 brought on the stage by Shakespeare ! 
 
 And these Plays educated the English people, and prepared the 
 way for the day when Charles I. was brought to trial and the 
 scaffold. 
 
 If Bacon intended to strike deadly blows at the idea of divine 
 right, and irresponsible royal authority, in England, certainly he 
 accomplished his object in these "Histories" of English kings. It 
 may be that the Reform he had intended graduated into the Revo- 
 lution which he had not intended. He could not foresee Cromwell 
 and the Independents; and yet, that storm being past, England is 
 enjoying the results of his purposes, in its wise constitutional mon- 
 archy: — the spirit of liberty wedded to the conservative forms of 
 antiquity. 
 
 XV. Teaching History. 
 
 But there is another motive in these Plays. They are teachers 
 of history. It is probable that the series of historical dramas 
 began with William the Conqueror, for we find Shakspere, in an 
 obscene anecdote, which tradition records, referring to himself as 
 William the Conqueror, and to Burbadge as Richard III. Then we 
 have Shakespeare's King John. In Marlowe we have the play of 
 Edward II Among the doubtful plays ascribed to the pen of 
 Shakespeare is the play of 'Edward III. Then follows Richard II.; 
 then, in due and consecutive order, Henry IV., first and second 
 parts; then Henry V; then Henry VI, first, second and third parts; 
 then Richard III; there is no play of Henry VII. {but Bacon writes 
 a history of He?iry VII, taking up the story just where the play 
 of Richard III leaves it); then the series of plays ends with 
 Henry VIII,; and the cipher narrative probably gives us the whole 
 history of the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 All these plays tended to make history familiar to the common 
 people, and we find testimony to that effect in the writings of the 
 day. 
 
 X. *>- Or 
 
2 4 o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 XVI. Patriotism. 
 
 But there is another purpose transparently revealed in the Plays. 
 
 It was to infuse the people with a sense of devotion to their native 
 
 land. Speaking of national patriotism, Swinburne says: 
 
 Assuredly, no poet ever had more than he (Shakespeare); not even the king of 
 men and poets who fought at Marathon and sang at Salamis; much less had any 
 or has any one of our own, from Milton on to Campbell and from Campbell to 
 Tennyson. In the mightiest chorus of King Henry V. we hear the pealing ring of 
 the same great English trumpet that was yet to sound over the battle of the Baltic. 1 
 
 And the same writer speaks of 
 
 The national side of Shakespeare's genius, the heroic vein of patriotism that runs, 
 like a thread of living fire, through the world-wide range of his omnipresent spirit. J 
 
 We turn to Bacon, and we find the same great patriotic inspira- 
 tions. His mind took in all mankind, but the love of his heart 
 centered on England. His thoughts were bent to increase her 
 glory and add to her security from foreign foes. To do this he 
 saw that it was necessary to keep up the military spirit of the 
 people. He says: 
 
 But above all, for empire and greatness, it importeth most that a nation do 
 profess arms as their principal honor, study and occupation. ... No nation which 
 doth not directly profess arms may look to have greatness fall into their mouths; 
 and, on the other side, it is a most certain oracle of time that those nations that 
 continue long in that profession (as the Romans and Turks principally have done) 
 do wonders; and those that have professed arms but for an age have, notwith- 
 standing, commonly attained that greatness in that age which maintaineth them 
 long after, when the profession and exercise of arms hath grown to decay. 3 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Walled towns, stored arsenals and armories, goodly races of horse, chariots of 
 war, elephants, ordnance, artillery and the like; all this but a sheep in a lion's 
 skin, except the dreed and disposition of the people be stout and war-like. 4 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare, and we find him referring to English- 
 men as 
 
 Feared for their breed and famous by their birth. 
 
 Here is the whole sentence. How exultantly does he depict his 
 
 own country — " that little body with a mighty heart," as he calls 
 
 it elsewhere: 
 
 This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, 
 This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, 
 This other Eden, demi-paradise, 
 This fortress built by Nature for herself 
 
 1 Swinburne, Study of Shak., p. 113. 3 Essay xxix, The True Greatness of Kingdoms. 
 
 'Ibid., p. 73- "Ibid. 
 
THE PURPOSES OE THE PLA VS. 
 
 Against infection and the hand of war; 
 
 This happy breed of men, this little world, 
 
 This precious stone set in the silver sea, 
 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall, 
 
 Or as a moat defensive to a house, 
 
 Against the envy of less happier lands; 
 
 This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, 
 
 This teeming womb of royal kings, 
 
 Fear'd for their breed and famous by their birth, 
 
 Renowned for their deeds as far from home 
 
 (For Christian service and true chivalry), 
 
 As is the sepulcher in stubborn Jewry 
 
 Of the world's ransom, blessed Mary's son; 
 
 This land of such dear souls, this dear, dear land, 
 
 Dear for her reputation through the world. 1 
 
 And again he speaks of England as 
 
 Hedged in with the main, 
 That water-walled bulwark, still secure 
 And confident from foreign purposes.' 2 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Let us be back'd with God, and with the seas, 
 Which he has given for fence impregnable. 3 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Which stands 
 As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in 
 With rocks unscalable and roaring waters, 4 
 
 241 
 
 And again: 
 And again: 
 
 Britain is 
 A world by itself. 5 
 
 I' the w r orld's volume, 
 Our Britain is as of it, but not in it; 
 In a great pool, a swan's nest. 6 
 
 And, while Shakespeare alludes to the sea as England's " water- 
 walled bulwark," Bacon speaks of ships as the "walls" of Eng- 
 land. And he says: 
 
 To be master of the sea is an abridgment of a monarchy. 7 
 
 And he further says: 
 
 No man can by care-taking (as the Scripture saith) " add a cubit to his stature " 
 in this little model of a man's body, but in the great fame of kingdoms and com- 
 monwealths it is in the power of princes, or estates, to add amplitude and great- 
 ness to their kingdoms; for by introducing such ordinances, constitutions and 
 customs as we have now touched, they may sow greatness to their posterity and suc- 
 cession; but these things are commonly not observed, but left to take their chance. s 
 
 1 Richard II., ii, 1. 
 
 4 Cymbeline, iii, 1. 
 
 7 Essay, True Greatness 0/ Kingdoms. 
 
 - King John, ii, 1. 
 
 6 Ibid., iii, 1. 
 
 8 Ibid. 
 
 s jd Henry VI. , iv, 1. 
 
 8 Ibid., iii, 4. 
 
 
242 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 And was he not, in these appeals to national heroism, "sowing 
 greatness to posterity" and helping to create, or maintain, that warlike 
 "breed" which has since carried the banners of conquest over a 
 great part of the earth's surface? One can imagine how the eyes 
 of those swarming audiences at the Fortune and the Curtain must 
 have snapped with delight at the pictures of English valor on the 
 field of Agincourt, as depicted in Henry V.; or at the representation 
 of that tremendous soldier Talbot, in Henry VI. , dying like a lion 
 at bay, with his noble boy by his side. How the 'prentices must 
 have roared ! How the mob must have raved ! How even the 
 gentlemen must have drawn deep breaths of patriotic inspiration 
 from such scenes ! Imagine the London of to-day going wild over 
 the work of some great genius, depicting, in the midst of splendid 
 poetry, Wellington and Nelson ! 
 
 But there are many other purposes revealed in these Plays. 
 
 XVII. Dueling. 
 
 The writer of the Plays was opposed to the practice of dueling. 
 
 One commentator (H. T.), in a note to the play of Twelfth 
 
 Night, says: 
 
 It was the plainly evident intention of Shakespeare, in this play, to place the 
 practice of dueling in a ridiculous light. Dueling was in high fashion at this 
 period — a perfect rage for it existed, and a man was distinguished or valued in 
 the select circles of society in proportion to his skill and courage in this savage 
 and murderous practice. Our poet well knew the power of ridicule often exceeded 
 that of the law, and in the combat between the valiant Sir Andrew Aguecheek and 
 the disguised Viola, he has placed the custom in an eminently absurd situation. 
 Mr. Chalmers supposes that his attention was drawn to it by an edict of James I., 
 issued in the year 1613. From his remarks we quote the following: 
 
 In Twelfth Night Shakespeare tried to effect by ridicule what the state was 
 unable to perform by legislation. The duels which were so incorrigibly frequent 
 in that age were thrown into a ridiculous light by the affair between Viola and 
 Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Sir Francis Bacon had lamented, in the House of Com- 
 mons, on the 3d of March, 1609-10, the great difficulty of redressing the evil of 
 duels, owing to the corruption of man's nature. King James tried to effect what 
 the Parliament had despaired of effecting, and in 1613 he issued "An edict and 
 censure against private combats," which was conceived with great vigor, and 
 expressed with decisive force; but whether with the help of Bacon or not I am 
 unable to ascertain. 
 
 There can be no question that the Proposition for the Repressing 
 of Singular Co?nbats or Duels, in 1613, came from the hand of Bacon. 
 We find it given as his in Spedding's Life and Works. 1 He pro- 
 posed to exclude all duelists from the King's presence, because 
 
 1 Vol. iv., p. 397. 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLA VS. 243 
 
 "there is no good spirit but will think himself in darkness, if he be 
 debarred ... of access and approach to the sovereign." He also 
 proposed a prosecution in the Star Chamber, and a heavy, irremiss- 
 ible fine. A proclamation to this effect was issued by the King. 
 We also have the "charge of Sir Francis Bacon, Knight, His Maj- 
 esty's Attorney-General, touching duels, upon an information in 
 the Star Chamber against Priest and Wright." After commenting 
 on his regret that the offenders were not greater personages, Bacon 
 says: 
 
 Nay, I should think, my lords, that men of birth and quality will leave the 
 practice, when it begins to be vilified, and come so low as to barbers, surgeons 
 and butchers, and such base mechanical persons. 
 
 In the course of the charge he says: 
 
 It is a miserable effect when young men, full of towardness and hope, such as 
 the poefs call aurora filii, sons of the morning, in whom the comfort and expecta- 
 tions of their friends consisteth, shall be cast away and destroyed in such a vain 
 manner. ... So as your lordships see what a desperate evil this is; it troubleth 
 peace, it disfurnisheth war, it bringeth calamity upon private men, peril upon the 
 state, and contempt upon the law. 
 
 And in this charge we find Bacon using the same sort of argu- 
 ment used by Shakespeare in Othello. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 There was a combat of this kind performed by two persons of quality of the 
 Turks, wherein one of them was slain; the other party was convented before the 
 council of Bassaes. The manner of the reprehension was in these words: 
 
 How durst you undertake to fight one with the other? Are there not Chris- 
 tians enough to kill? Did you not know that whether of you should be slain, the 
 Joss would be the great Seigneour's? 
 
 The writer of Shakespeare evidently had this incident in his 
 
 mind, and had also knowledge of the fact that the Turks did not 
 
 permit duels, when he put into the mouth of Othello these words: 
 
 Why, how now, ho ! from whence ariseth this ? 
 Are we turned Turks, and to ourselves do that 
 Which Heaven hath forbid the Ottomites? 
 For Christian shame ! put by this barbarous brawl ! ' 
 
 Bacon secured the conviction of Priest and Wright, and pre- 
 pared a decree of the Star Chamber, which was ordered read in 
 every shire in the kingdom. 
 
 And we find the same idea and beliefs in Shakespeare which 
 are contained in this decree. He says: 
 
 1 Othello, ii, 3- 
 
o 44 MAX CIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 If wrongs be evil, and enforce us kill, 
 What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill ! ' 
 And again: 
 
 Your words have took such pains, as if they labored 
 To bring manslaughter into form, set quarreling 
 Upon the head of valor; which, indeed, 
 Is valor misbegot, and came into the world 
 When sects and factions were but newly born. 2 
 
 XVIII. Other Purposes. 
 
 I might go on and give many other instances to show that the 
 purposes revealed in the Plays are the same which governed Fran- 
 cis Bacon. I might point to Bacon's disapprobation of supersti- 
 tion, his essay on the subject, and the very effective way in which 
 one kind of superstition is ridiculed in the case of the pretended 
 blind man at St. Albans, in the play of Henry VI., exposed by the 
 shrewdness of the Duke Humphrey. 
 
 I might further note that Bacon wrote an essay against popular 
 
 prophecies; and Knight notes 3 that the Fool in Lear ridicules these 
 
 things, as in: 
 
 Then comes the time, who lives to see 't, 
 When going shall be used with feet. 4 
 
 Says Knight: 
 
 Nor was the introduction of such a mock prophecy mere idle buffoonery. 
 There can be no question, from the statutes that were directed against these stimu- 
 lants to popular credulity, that they were considered of importance in Shake- 
 speare's day. Bacon's essay Of Prophecies shows that the philosopher gravely 
 denounced what our poet pleasantly ridiculed. 
 
 I might show how, in Love's Labor Lost, the absurd fashions of 
 language then prevalent among the fastidious at court were mocked 
 at and ridiculed in the very spirit of Bacon. I might note the fact 
 that Bacon expressed his disapprobation of tobacco, and that no 
 reference is had to it in all the Plays, although it is abundantly 
 referred to in the writings of Ben Jonson and other dramatists 
 of the period. I might refer to Bacon's disapprobation of the 
 superstition connected with wedding-rings, and to the fact that 
 no wedding-ring is ever referred to in the Plays. These are 
 little things in themselves, but they are cumulative as matters of 
 evidence. 
 
 1 Titus Andronicus, iii, 5. 2 Ibid. 3 Notes of act iii of Lear, p. 440. 4 Act iii, scene 2. 
 
THE PURPOSES OP THE PLA VS. 245 
 
 In conclusion, I would call attention to the fact that nowhere 
 in the Plays is vice or wickedness made admirable. Even in the 
 case of old Sir John Falstaff, whose wit was as keen, sententious 
 and profound as Bacon's own Essays; even in his case we see him, 
 in the close of 2d Henry IV., humiliated, disgraced and sent to 
 prison; while the Chief Justice, representing the majesty of law and 
 civilization, is lifted up from fear and danger to the greatest heights 
 of dignity and honor. The old knight " dies of a sweat," and 
 every one of his associates comes to a dishonored and shameful 
 death. 
 
 Lamartine says: 
 
 It is as a moralist that Shakespeare excels. . . . His works cannot fail to ele- 
 vate the mind by the purity of the morals they inculcate. They breathe so strong 
 a belief in virtue, so steady an adherence to good principles, united to such a vig- 
 orous tone of honor as testifies to the author's excellence as a moralist; nay, as a 
 Christian. 
 
 And everywhere in the Plays we see the cultured citizen of the 
 schools and colleges striving to elevate and civilize a rude and 
 barbarous age. The heart of the philosopher and philanthropist 
 penetrates through wit and poetry and dramatic incident, in every 
 .act and scene from The Tempest to Cymbeline. 
 
1 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 
 
 Some dear cause 
 Will in concealment wrap me up awhile. 
 When I am known aright, you shall not grieve 
 Lending me this acquaintance. 
 
 Lear, /V,j>. 
 
 F Bacon wrote the Plays, why did he not acknowledge them ? 
 This is the question that will be asked by many. 
 
 I. Bacon's Social Position. 
 
 What was Francis Bacon in social position ? He was an aristo- 
 crat of the aristocrats. His grandfather had been the tutor of the 
 King. His father had been for twenty years Lord Keeper of the 
 Seal under Elizabeth. His uncle Burleigh was Lord Treasurer of 
 the kingdom. His cousin Robert was Lord Secretary, and after- 
 ward became the Earl of Salisbury. He also " claims close cousinry 
 with Elizabeth and Anne Russell (daughters of Lord John Russell) 
 and with the witty and licentious race of Killigrews, and with the 
 future statesman and diplomatist Sir Edward Hoby." 1 
 
 Francis aspired to be, like his father, Lord Chancellor of the 
 kingdom. Says Hepworth Dixon: 
 
 Bacon seemed born to power. His kinsmen filled the highest posts. The 
 sovereign liked him, for he had the bloom of cheek, the flame of wit, the weight or 
 sense, which the great Queen sought in men who stood about her throne. His 
 powers were ever ready, ever equal. Masters of eloquence and epigram praised 
 him as one of them, or one above them, in their peculiar arts. Jonson tells us he 
 commanded when he spoke, and had his judges pleased or angry at his will. 
 Raleigh tells us he combined the most rare of gifts, for while Cecil could talk 
 and not write, Howard write and not talk, he alone could both talk and write. 
 Nor were these gifts all flash and foam. If no one at the court could match his 
 tongue of fire, so no one in the House of Commons could breast him in the race of 
 work. He put the dunce to flight, the drudge to shame. If he soared high above 
 rivals in his most passionate play of speech, he never met a rival in the dull, dry 
 task of ordinary toil. Raleigh, Hyde and Cecil had small chance against him in 
 debate; in committee Yelverton and Coke had none. . . . 
 
 1 Hepworth Dixon, Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 16. 
 
 246 
 
THE RE A SOX S FOR CONCEALMENT. 247 
 
 He sought place, never man with more persistent haste; for his big brain beat 
 with a victorious consciousness of parts; he hungered, as for food, to rule and 
 bless mankind. . . . While men of far lower birth and claims got posts and 
 honors, solicitorships, judgeships, embassies, portfolios, how came this strong 
 man to pass the age of forty-six without gaining power or place? 1 
 
 And remember, good reader, that it is precisely during this 
 period, before Bacon was forty-six, and while, as I have shown, he 
 was " poor and working for bread," that the Shakespeare Plays were 
 produced; and that after he obtained place and wealth they ceased 
 to appear; although Shakspere was still living in Stratford and con- 
 tinued to live there for ten years to come. Why was it that the fount- 
 ain of Shakespeare's song closed as soon as Bacon's necessities ended? 
 II. The Lawyers then the Play-Writers. 
 
 Bacon took to the law. He was born to it. It was the only 
 
 avenue open to him. Richard Grant White says — and, remember, 
 
 he is no " Baconian " : 
 
 There was no regular army in Elizabeth's time; and the younger sons of gen- 
 tlemen not rich, and of well-to-do yeomen, flocked to the church and to the bar; 
 and as the former had ceased to be a stepping-stone to power and wealth, while the 
 latter was gaining in that regard, most of these young men became attorneys or 
 barristers. But then, as now, the early years of professional life were seasons of 
 sharp trial and bitter disappointment. Necessity pressed sorely or pleasure wooed 
 resistlessly; and the slender purse wasted rapidly away while the young lawyer 
 awaited the employment that did not come. He knew then, as now he knows, the 
 heart-sickness that waits on hope deferred; nay, he felt, as now he sometimes feels, 
 the tooth of hunger gnawing through the principles and firm resolves that partition 
 a life of honor and self-respect from one darkened by conscious loss of rectitude, 
 if not by open shame. Happy (yet, it may be, O unhappy) he who now in such 
 a strait can wield the pen of a ready writer ! For the press, perchance, may afford 
 him a support which, though temporary and precarious, will hold him up until he 
 can stand upon more stable ground. But in the reigns of Good Queen Bess and 
 Gentle Jamie there was no press. There was, however, an incessant demand for 
 new plays. Play-going was the chief intellectual recreation of that day for all 
 classes, high and low. It is not extravagant to say that there were then more new 
 plays produced in London in one month than there are now in both Great Britain 
 and Ireland in a whole year. To play-writing, therefore, the needy and gifted 
 young lawyer turned his hand at that day as he does now to journalism. 
 
 III. The Law-Courts and the Plays. "The Misfortunes of 
 
 Arthur." 
 And the connection between the lawyers and the players was, 
 in some sense, a close one. It was the custom for the great law- 
 schools to furnish dramatic representations for the entertainment 
 
 1 Hepworth Dixon, Personal History of Lord Bacon: 
 
248 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 of the court and the nobility. Shakespeare's Comedy of Errors, as I 
 have shown, made its first appearance, not on the stage of the 
 Curtain or the Fortune theater, but in an entertainment given 
 by the students of Gray's Inn (Bacon's law-school); and Shake- 
 speare's comedy of Twelfth Night was first acted before the 
 "benchers" of the Middle Temple, who employed professional 
 players to act before them every year. We know these facts, as 
 to the two plays named, almost by accident. How many more of 
 the so-called Shakespeare Plays first saw the light on the boards 
 of those law students, at their great entertainments, we do not 
 know. 1 
 
 We find in Dodslefs Old Plays a play called The Misfortunes of 
 Arthur. The title-leaf says: 
 
 Certaine Devises and Shews presented to her Majestie by the Gentlemen of 
 Grave's-Inne, at her Highnesse Court in Greenewich, the twenty-eighth day of 
 February, in the thirtieth year of her Majestie's most happy Raigne. At London. 
 Printed by Robert Robinson. 1587.' 2 
 
 Mr. Collier wrote a preface to it, in which he says: 
 
 It appears that eight persons, members of the Society of Gray's Inn, were 
 engaged in the production of The Misfortunes of Arthur, for the entertainment of 
 Queen Elizabeth, at Greenwich, on the 28th day of February, 1587-8, viz.: 
 Thomas Hughes, the author of the whole body of the tragedy; William Fullbecke, 
 who wrote two speeches substituted on the representation and appended to the old 
 printed copy; Nicholas Trotte, who furnished the introduction; Francis Flower, 
 who penned choruses for the first and second acts; Christopher Yelverton, Francis 
 Bacon, and John Lancaster, who devised the dumb-show, then usually accompany- 
 ing such performances; and a person of the name of Penruddock, who, assisted 
 by Flower and Lancaster, directed the proceedings at court. Regarding Hughes 
 and Trotte no information has survived. . . . The " Maister Francis Bacon" 
 spoken of at the conclusion of the piece was, of course, no other than (the great) 
 Bacon; and it is a new feature in his biography, though not, perhaps, very promi- 
 nent nor important, that he was so nearly concerned in the preparation of a play at 
 court. In February, 1587-8, he had just commenced his twenty-eighth year. . . . 
 
 The Misfortunes of Arthur is a dramatic composition only known to exist in 
 the Garrick Collection. Judging from internal evidence, it seems to have been 
 printed with unusual care, tinder the superintendence of the principal author. . . . 
 The mere rarity of this unique drama would not have recommended it to our 
 notice; but it is not likely that such a man as Bacon would have lent 'his aid 
 to the production of a piece which was not intrinsically good; and, unless we 
 much mistake, there is a richer and nobler vein of poetry running through it 
 than is to be found in any previous work of the kind. ... It forms a sort of 
 connecting link between such pieces of unimpassioned formality as Ferrex and 
 Porrex, and rule-rejecting historical plays, as Shakespeare found them and left 
 them. 
 
 » Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Li/e 0/ Shak.. p. 128. 9 Hazlitt, vol. iv, p. 249. 
 
THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 249 
 
 I will discuss this play and its merits at more length hereafter, 
 and will make but one or two observations upon it at this time. 
 
 1. It does not seem to me probable, if eight young lawyers 
 were preparing a play for the court, and one of them was Francis 
 Bacon, with his ready pen and unlimited command of language, 
 that he would confine himself to "the dumb-show." It will be 
 remembered that he wrote the words of certain masks that were 
 acted before the court. 
 
 And if it be true that this youthful performance reveals poetry 
 of a higher order than anything that had preceded, is it more 
 natural to suppose it the product of the mightiest genius of his 
 age, who was, by his own confession, "a concealed poet," or the 
 work of one Thomas Hughes, who never, in the remainder of his life, 
 produced anything worth remembering? And we will see, here- 
 after, that the poetry of this play is most strikingly Shakespearean. 
 
 2. Collier says he knows nothing of Thomas Hughes and Nich- 
 olas Trotte. Can Thomas Hughes, the companion of Bacon in 
 Gray's Inn, and his co-laborer in preparing this play, be the same 
 Hughes referred to in that line in one of the Shakespeare sonnets 
 which has so perplexed the commentators — 
 
 A man in hue, all hues in his controlling; — 
 
 and which has been supposed by many to refer to some man of 
 the name of Hughes? 
 
 3. As to the identity of Nicholas Trotte there can be no ques- 
 tion. He is the same Nicholas Trotte with whom Bacon carried 
 on a long correspondence on the subject of money loaned by him 
 to Bacon at divers and sundry times. 
 
 But this is not the place to discuss the play of The Misfortunes 
 of Arthur. I refer to it now only to show how naturally Bacon 
 might drift into writing for the stage. As: 
 
 1. Bacon is poor and in need of money. 
 
 2. Bacon assists in getting up a play for his law-school, Gray's 
 Inn, if he does not write the greater part of it. 
 
 3. The Comedy of Errors appears at Gray's Inn for the first time, 
 acted by Shakspere's company. 
 
 4. It was customary for impecunious lawyers in that age to turn 
 an honest penny by writing for the stage. 
 
250 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Here, then, we have the man, the ability, the necessity, the cus- 
 tom, the opportunity. Bacon and Shakspere both on the boards 
 of Gray's Inn at the same time — one directing, the other acting. 
 
 If The Misfortunes of Art Jutr was really Bacon's work, and if it 
 was a success on the stage, how natural that he should go farther 
 in the same direction. Poetry is, as Bacon tells us, a "lust of the 
 earth" — a something that springs up from the mind like the rank 
 growths of vegetation from the ground; it is, as Shakespeare says: 
 
 A gum which oozes 
 From whence 'tis nourished. 
 
 We see a picture of the poet at this age in the description of 
 Hepworth Dixon; it is not a description of a philosopher: 
 
 Like the ways of all deep dreamers, his habits are odd, and vex Lady Anne's 
 affectionate and methodical heart. The boy sits up late at night, drinks his ale- 
 posset to make him sleep, starts out of bed ere it is light, or, may be, as the 
 whimsy takes him, lolls and dreams till noon, musing, says the good lady, with 
 loving pity, on — she knows not what! 1 
 
 IV. Why he Seeks a Disguise. 
 
 But if the poetical, the dramatical, the creative instinct is upon 
 him, shall he venture to put forth the plays he produces in his own 
 name ? No: there are many reasons say him nay. In the first place, 
 he knows they are youthful and immature performances. In the 
 second place, it will grieve his good, pious mother to know that he 
 doth "mum and mask and sinfully revel." In the third place, the 
 reputation of a poet will not materially assist him up those long, 
 steep stairs that lead to the seat his great father occupied. And, 
 therefore, so he says, "I profess not to be a poet." Therefore will he 
 put forth his attempts in the name of Thomas Hughes, or any 
 other friend; or of Marlowe, or of Shakspere, or of any other con- 
 venient mask. Hath he it not in his mind to be a great reformer; 
 to reconstruct the laws of the kingdom, and to recast the philoso- 
 phy of mankind, hurling down Aristotle and the schoolmen from 
 their disputatious pedestals, and erecting a system that shall make 
 men better because happier, and happier because wiser in the 
 knowledge of the nature which surrounds them ? Poetry is but a 
 "work of his recreation" — a something he cannot help but yield to, 
 
 1 Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon, p. 35. 
 
THE REASONS EOR CONCEALMENT. 25 1 
 
 but of which he is half-ashamed. He will write it because he is 
 forced to sing, as the bird sings; because his soul is full; because 
 he is obeying the purpose for which he was created. But publish his 
 productions? No. And therefore he "professes" not to be a poet. 
 And, moreover, he is naturally given to secretiveness. There- 
 was a strong tendency in the man to subterranean methods. We 
 find him writing letters in the name of Essex and in the name of 
 his brother Anthony. He went so far, in a letter written by him. 
 in the name of his brother, to Essex, to refer back to himself as 
 follow r s (the letter and Essex's reply, also written by hi?n, being 
 intended for the Queen's eye): 
 
 And to this purpose I do assure your Lordship that my brother, Francis Bacon, 
 who is too wise (I think) to be abused, and too honest to abuse, though he be more 
 reserved in all particulars than is needful, yet, etc.- 
 
 And we positively know, from his letter to Sir John Davies, in 
 which he speaks of himself as "a concealed poet," that he was the 
 author of poetical compositions, of some kind, which he did not 
 acknowledge, and which must certainly have gone about in the 
 names of other men. And he says himself that, with a purpose to 
 help Essex regain the good graces of the Queen, he wrote a sonnet 
 which he passed off upon the Queen as the work of Essex. 
 
 We remember that Walter Scott resorted to a similar system of 
 secretiveness. After he had established for himself a reputation as 
 a successful poet, he made up his mind to venture upon the com- 
 position of prose romances; and fearing that a failure in the new 
 field of effort might compromise his character as a man of genius, 
 already established by his poems, he put forth his first novel, 
 Waverly, without any name on the title-page; and then issued a 
 series of novels as by "the author of Waverly." And in his day 
 there were books written to show by parallel thoughts and expres- 
 sions that Scott was really the author of those romances, just as 
 books are now written on the Bacon-Shakespeare question. 
 
 And who does not remember that the author of The Letters of 
 Junius died and made no sign of confession ? 
 
 Bacon doubtless found a great advantage in writing thus under 
 a mask. The man who sets forth his thoughts in his own name 
 knows that the public will constantly strive to connect his utter- 
 ances with his personal character; to trace home his opinions to 
 
2$2 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 his personal history and circumstances; and he is therefore neces- 
 sarily always on his guard not to say anything, even in a work of 
 fiction, that he would not be willing to father as part of his own 
 natural reflections. 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 Shakespeare's freedom in the use of words was but a part of that conscious 
 irresponsibility to critical rule which had such an important influence upon the 
 development of his whole dramatic style. To the workings of his genius under 
 this entire unconsciousness of restraint we owe the grandest and the most delicate 
 beauties of his poetry, his poignant expressions of emotion, and his richest and 
 subtlest passages of humor. For the superiority of his work is just in proportion 
 to his carelessness of literary criticism. . . . His plays were mere entertainments 
 for the general public, written not to be read, but to be spoken; written as busi- 
 ness, just as Rogers wrote money circulars, or as Bryant writes leading articles. 
 This freedom was suited to the unparalleled richness and spontaneousness of his 
 thought, of which it was, in fact, partly the result, and itself partly the condition. 1 
 
 The Anatomy of Melancholy was first published, not in the name 
 of the alleged author, Robert Burton, but under the nom de plume of 
 "Democritus, Junior," and in the address to the reader the author 
 says: 
 
 Gentle reader, I presume thou wilt be very inquisitive to know wh? 4 ar***c ,r 
 personate actor this is that so insolently intrudes upon this common theater, to the 
 world's view, arrogating another man's name. ... I would not willingly be 
 known. . . . 'Tis for no such respect I shroud myself under his name; but in an 
 unknown habit to assume a little more liberty and freedom of speech. 
 
 We will see hereafter that there are strong reasons for believing 
 that Francis Bacon wrote The Anatomy of Melancholy, and that in 
 these words we have his own explanation of one of the many rea- 
 sons for his many disguises. 
 
 V. Low State of the Dramatic Art. 
 
 But there was another reason why an ambitious young aristo- 
 crat, and lawyer, and would-be Lord-Chancellor, should hesitate to 
 avow that he was a writer of plays. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 It must be borne in mind that actors occupied an inferior position in society, 
 and that even the vocation of a dramatic writer was considered scarcely respectable} 
 
 The first theater ever erected in England, or, so far as I am 
 aware, in any country, in modern times, was built in London in 
 
 1 Life and Genius of Shak., p. 220. » Halliwell-Phillipps. Outlines Life of Shak., p. 6. 
 
THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 2 53 
 
 1575 — five years before Bacon returned from the court of France, 
 and six years before he reached the age of twenty-one years. The 
 man and the instrumentality came together. A writer upon the 
 subject says: 
 
 The public authorities, more especially those who were inclined to Puritanism., 
 exerted themselves in every possible way to repress the performance of plays and 
 interludes. They fined and imprisoned the players, even stocked them, and har- 
 assed and restrained them to the utmost of their ability. ... In 1575 the players 
 were interdicted from the practice of their art (or rather their calling, for it was not 
 yet an art), within the limits of the city. 
 
 The legal status of actors was the lowest in the country. 
 
 The act of 14th Elizabeth, "for the punishment of vagabonds," 
 included under that name "all fencers, bearwards, common players in 
 interludes, and minstrels, not belonging to any baron of this realm." 
 
 They traveled the country on foot, with packs on their backs, 
 and were fed in the "buttery " of the great houses they visited. 
 
 I quote: 
 
 Thus in Greene's Never Too Late, in the interview between the player and 
 Robert {i.e., Greene), on the latter asking how the player proposed to mend Rob- 
 ert's fortune: 
 
 " Why, easily," quoth he, "and greatly to your benefit; for men of my profes- 
 sion get by scholars their whole living." 
 
 " What is your profession?" said Roberto. 
 
 " Truly, sir," said he, " I am a player." 
 
 "A player!" quoth Roberto; "I took you rather for a gentleman of great 
 living; for if by outward habit men should be answered [judged], I tell you, you 
 would be taken for a substantial man." 
 
 "So am I, where I dwell," quoth the player, "reported able at my proper 
 cost to build a wind-mill. " 
 
 He then proceeds to say that at his outset in life he was fain to carry his 
 " playing fardel," that is, his bundle of stage properties, " a foot back; " but now 
 his show of "playing apparel" would sell for more than ^200. In the end he 
 offers to engage Greene to write plays for him, "for which you will be well paid r 
 if you will take the pains." 
 
 If the actors did not engage themselves as the servants of some 
 
 great man, as "the Lord Chamberlain's servants," or "the Lord 
 
 Admiral's servants," or " the Earl of Worcester's servants," they 
 
 were liable under the law, as Edgar says in Lear, 1 to be "whipped 
 
 from tything to tything, and stocked, punished and imprisoned; " 
 
 for by the statute of 39 Elizabeth (1597) and 1st of James I. (1604), 
 
 as I have shown, the vagabond's punishment was to be "stripped 
 
 naked from the middle upward, and to be whipped until his body 
 
 1 Act lii, scene 4. 
 
254 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 was bloody, and to be sent from parish to parish the next straight 
 way to the place of his birth." 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 Actors were regarded at court in the light of menials, and classed by the pub- 
 lic with jugglers and buffoons.' 
 
 The play-houses were inconceivably low and rude. The Lord 
 Mayor of London, in 1597, describes the theaters as : 
 
 Ordinary places for vagrant persons, maisterless men, thieves, horse-stealers, 
 whoremongers, cozeners, cony-catchers, contrivers of treason, and other idele and 
 dangerous persons. - 
 
 Taine says of Shakspere: 
 
 He was a comedian, one of "His Majesty's poor players" — a sad trade, 
 degraded in all ages by the contrasts and the falsehoods which it allows: still more 
 degraded then by the brutalities of the crowd, who not seldom would stone the 
 actors; and by the severities of the magistrates, who would sometimes condemn 
 them to lose their ears. 3 
 
 Edmund Gayton says, describing the play-houses: 
 
 If it be on a holiday, when sailors, watermen, shoemakers, butchers and 
 apprentices are at leisure, then it is good policy to amaze those violent spirits with 
 some tearing tragedy, full of fights and skirmishes, as The Guelphs and Ghibelines, 
 Greeks and Trojans, or The Three London Apprentices, which commonly ends in six 
 acts, the spectators frequently mounting the stage and making a more bloody 
 catastrophe among themselves than the players did. I have known, upon one of 
 these festivals, . . . where the players have been appointed, notwithstanding their 
 bills to the contrary, to act what the major part of the company had a mind to; 
 sometimes Tamburlanc, sometimes Jugurth, sometimes The Jeiu of Malta, and 
 sometimes parts of all these; and at last, none of the three taking, they were 
 forced to undress, and put off their tragic habits, and conclude the day with 
 The Merry Milkmaid. And unless this were done, and the popular humor 
 satisfied, as sometimes it so fortuned that the players were refractory, the benches, 
 the tiles, the laths, the stones, oranges, apples, nuts flew about most liberally; 
 and as there were mechanics of all professions, who fell every one to his own 
 trade, and dissolved an house in an instant and made a ruin of a stately 
 fabric. 4 
 
 Taine thus describes the play-houses of Shakspere's time: 
 
 Great and rude contrivances, awkward in their construction, barbarous in their 
 appointments; but a fervid imagination supplied all that they lacked, and hardy 
 bodies endured all inconveniences without difficulty. On a "dirty site, on the banks 
 of the Thames, rose the principal theater, the Globe, a sort of hexagonal tower, 
 surrounded by a muddy ditch, on which was hoisted a red flag. The common 
 people could enter as well as the rich; there were six-penny, two-penny, even 
 
 1 Outlines Life of Shaft., p. 256. a City 0/ London MS. Outlines, p. 214. 
 
 3 History of English Literature, book ii, chap, iv, p. 205. 
 * Festivous Notes on Don Quixote, 1654, p. 271. 
 
THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 255 
 
 penny seats; but they could not see it without money. If it rained, and it often 
 rains in London, the people in the pit — butchers, mercers, bakers, sailors, appren- 
 tices — received the streaming rain upon their heads. I suppose they did not trouble 
 themselves about it; it was not so long since they began to pave the streets of 
 London, and when men, like these, have had experience of sewers and puddles, 
 they are not afraid of catching cold. 
 
 While waiting for the piece, they amuse themselves after their fashion, drink 
 beer, crack nuts, eat fruits, howl, and now and then resort to their fists; they have 
 been known to fall upon the actors, and turn the theater upside down. At other 
 times, when they were dissatisfied, they went to the tavern, to give the poet a hid- 
 ing, or toss him in a blanket. . . . When the beer took effect, there was a great 
 upturned barrel in the pit, a peculiar receptacle for general use. The smell rises, 
 and then comes the cry, " Burn the juniper !" They burn some in a plate on the 
 stage, and the heavy smoke fills the air. Certainly the folk there assembled could 
 scarcely get disgusted at anything, and cannot have had sensitive noses. In the 
 time of Rabelais there was not much cleanliness to speak of. Remember that 
 they were hardly out of the Middle Ages, and that in the Middle Ages man lived 
 on a dung-hill. 
 
 Above them, on the stage, were the spectators able to pay a shilling, the ele- 
 gant people, the gentlefolk. These were sheltered from the rain, and, if they 
 chose to pay an extra shilling, could have a stool. To this were reduced the pre- 
 rogatives of rank and the devices of comfort; it often happened that there were 
 not stools enough; then they lie down on the ground; this was not a time to be 
 dainty. They play cards, smoke, insult the pit, who give it them back without 
 stinting, and throw apples at them into the bargain. 
 
 The reader can readily conceive that the man must indeed have 
 been exceedingly ambitious of fame who would have insisted on 
 asserting his title to the authorship of plays acted in such theaters 
 before such audiences. Imagine that aristocratic young gentle- 
 man, Francis Bacon, born in the royal palace of York Place; an ex- 
 attache of the English legation at the French court ; the son of a 
 Lord Chancellor; the nephew of a Lord Treasurer; the offspring of 
 the virtuous, pious and learned Lady Anne Bacon; with his head 
 full of great plans for the reformation of philosophy, law and 
 government; and with his eye fixed on the chair his father had 
 occupied for twenty years: — imagine him, I say, insisting that 
 his name should appear on the play-bills as the poet who wrote 
 Mucedorus, Tamburlaiie, The Jew of Malta, Titus Andronicus. Fair 
 Em, Sir John Oldcastle, or The Merry Devil of Edmonton! Imagine 
 the drunken, howling mob of Calibans hunting through Gray's 
 Inn to find the son of the Lord Chancellor, in the midst 
 of his noble friends, to whip him, or toss him in a blanket, 
 because, forsooth, his last play had not pleased their royal 
 fancies! 
 
256 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 VI. Sharing in the Profits of the Play-House. 
 
 But suppose behind all this there was another and a more ter- 
 rible consideration. 
 
 Suppose this young nobleman had eked out his miserable 
 income by writing plays to sell to the theaters. Suppose it was known 
 that he had his " second " and ii third nights; " that he put into his 
 pocket the sweaty pennies of that stinking mob of hoodlums, 
 sailors, 'prentices, thieves, rowdies and prostitutes; and that 
 he had used the funds so obtained to enable him to keep up his 
 standing with my Lord of Southampton, and my Earl of Essex, and 
 their associates, as a gentleman among gentlemen. Think of it ! 
 
 And this in England, three hundred years ago, when the line of 
 caste was almost as deep and black between the gentlemen and 
 " the mutable, rank-scented many," as it is to-day in India between 
 the Brahmin and the Pariah. Why, to this hour, I am told, there is 
 an almost impassable gulf between the nobleman and the trades- 
 man of great Britain. Then, as Burton says in The Anatomy of 
 Melancholy, " idleness was the mark of nobility." To earn money 
 in any kind of trade was despicable. To have earned it by sharing 
 in the pennies and shillings taken in at the door, or on the stage of 
 the play-house, would have been utterly damnable in any gentle- 
 man. It would have involved a loss of social position worse than 
 death. One will have to read Thackeray's story of Miss Shunt's 
 Husband to find a parallel for it. 
 
 VII. Political Considerations. 
 
 But we have seen that the hiring of actors of Shakspere's com- 
 pany to perform the play of Richard II. , by the followers of the 
 Earl of Essex, the day before the attempt to " rase the city " and 
 seize the person of the Queen (even as Monmouth seized the person 
 of Richard II.), and compel a deposition by like means, was one of 
 the counts in the indictment against Essex, which cost him his 
 head. In other words, the intent of the play was treasonable, and 
 was so understood at the time. " Know you not," said Queen 
 Elizabeth, "that/ am Richard II.?" And I have shown good 
 reason to believe that all the historical Plays, to say nothing of 
 Julius Ccesar, were written with intent to popularize rebellion 
 against tyrants. 
 

 THE REASONS FOR CONCEALMENT. 257 
 
 "The poor player," Will Shakspere, might have written such 
 plays solely for the pence and shillings there were in them, for he had 
 nothing to do with politics: — he was a legal vagabond, a "vassal 
 actor," a social outcast; but if Francis Bacon, the able and ambitious 
 Francis Bacon, the rival of Cecil, the friend of Southampton and 
 Essex; the lawyer, politician, member of Parliament, courtier, be- 
 longing to the party that desired to bring in the Scotch King and 
 drive the aged Queen from the throne — if he had acknowledged the 
 authorship of the Plays, the inference would have been irresistible in 
 the mind of the court, that these horrible burlesques and travesties 
 of royalty were written with malice and settled intent to bring mon- 
 archy into contempt and justify the aristocracy in revolution. 
 
 VIII. Another Reason. 
 
 But it must be further remembered that while Bacon lived the 
 Shakespeare Plays were not esteemed as they are now. Then they 
 were simply successful dramas; they drew great audiences; they 
 filled the pockets of manager and actors. Leonard Digges, in the 
 verses prefixed to the edition of 1640, says that when Jonson's 
 "Fox and Subtle Alchymist" 
 
 Have scarce defrayed the sea-coal fire 
 And door-keepers: when, let but Falstaff come, 
 Hal, Poins, the rest — you scarce shall have room, 
 All is so pestered: let but Beatrice 
 And Benedick be seen, lo ! in a trice 
 The cock-pit, galleries, boxes, all are full, 
 To hear Malvolio, that cross-gartered gull. 
 
 There was no man in that age, except the author of them, who 
 
 rated the Shakespeare Plays at their true value. They were admired 
 
 for "the facetious grace of the writing," but the world had not yet 
 
 advanced far enough in culture and civilization to recognize them 
 
 as the great store-houses of the world's thought. Hence there was 
 
 not then the same incentive to acknowledge them that there would 
 
 be to-day. 
 
 IX. Still Another Reason. 
 
 If Francis Bacon had died full of years and honors, I can con- 
 ceive how, from the height of preeminent success, he might have 
 fronted the prejudices of the age, and acknowledged these children 
 of his brain. 
 
258 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 But the last years of his life were years of dishonor. He had 
 been cast down from the place of Lord Chancellor for bribery, for 
 selling justice for money. He had been sentenced to prison; he 
 held his liberty by the King's grace. He was denied access to the 
 •court. He was a ruined man, " a very subject of pity," as he says 
 himself. 
 
 For a man thus living under a cloud to have said, " In my 
 youth I wrote plays for the stage; I wrote them for money; I used 
 Shakspere as a mask; I divided with him the money taken in at 
 the gate of the play-houses from the scum and refuse of London," 
 would only have invited upon his head greater ignominy and dis- 
 grace. He had a wife; he had relatives, a proud and aristocratic 
 breed. He sought to be the Aristotle of a new philosophy. Such 
 an avowal would have smirched the Novum Organum and the Ad- 
 vancement of Learning; it would have blotted and blurred the bright 
 and dancing light of that torch which he had kindled for posterity. 
 He would have had to explain his, no doubt countless, denials 
 made years before, that he had had anything to do with the Plays. 
 
 And why should he acknowledge them? He left his fame and 
 good name to his "own countrymen after some time be past ;" he 
 believed the cipher, which he had so laboriously inserted in the 
 Plays, would be found out. He would obtain all the glory for his 
 name in that distant future when he would not hear the re- 
 proaches of caste; when, as pure spirit, he might look down from 
 space, and see the winged-goodness which he had created, passing, 
 on pinions of persistent purpose, through all the world, from gener- 
 ation to generation. In that age, when his body was dust; when 
 cousins and kin were ashes; when Shakspere had moldered into 
 nothingness, beneath the protection of his own barbarous curse; 
 when not a trace could be found of the bones of Elizabeth or 
 James, or even of the stones of the Curtain or the Blackfriars: 
 then, in a new world, a brighter world, a greater world, a better 
 world, — to which his own age would be but as a faint and per- 
 turbed remembrance, — he would be married anew to his immortal 
 works. He would live again, triumphant, over Burleigh and Cecil, 
 over Coke and Buckingham; over parasites and courtiers, over 
 tricksters and panderers: — the magnificent victory of genius over 
 power; of mind over time. And so living, he would live forever. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 CORROBORA TING CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 Lapped in proof, 
 Confronted him with self-comparisons. 
 
 Macbeth, f, 2. 
 
 WE sometimes call, in law, an instrument between two parties 
 an indenture. Why ? Because it was once the custom to 
 write a deed or contract in duplicate, on a long sheet of paper or 
 parchment, and then cut them apart upon an irregular or indented 
 line. If, thereafter, any dispute arose as to whether one was the 
 equivalent of the other, the edges, where they were divided, were 
 put together to see if they precisely matched. If they did not, it 
 followed that some fraud had somewhere been practiced. 
 
 Truth, in like manner, is serrated, and its indentations fit into 
 all other truth. If two alleged truths do not thus dovetail into 
 each other, along the line where they approximate, then one of 
 them is not the truth, but an error or a fraud. 
 
 Let us see, therefore, if, upon a multitude of minor points, the 
 allegation that Francis Bacon wrote the Shakespeare Plays fits its 
 indentations — its teeth — precisely into what we know of Bacon 
 and Shakspere. 
 
 In treating these questions, I shall necessarily have to be as 
 brief as possible. 
 
 I. The Question of Time. 
 
 Does the biography of Bacon accord with the chronology of 
 the Plays? 
 
 Bacon was born in York House, or Palace, on the Strand, Janu- 
 ary 22, 1 56 1. William Shakspere was born at Stratford-on-Avon, 
 April 23, 1564. Bacon died in the spring of 1626. Shakspere in the 
 spring of 16 16. The lives of the two men were therefore parallel; but 
 Bacon was three years the elder, and survived Shakspere ten years. 
 
 Bacon's mental activity began at an early age. He was study- 
 ing the nature of echoes at a time when other children are playing. 
 
 259 
 
2 6o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 At twelve he outstripped his home tutors and was sent to join his 
 brother Anthony, two years his senior, at Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge. At eighteen Hilliard paints his portrait and inscribes 
 upon it, "if one could but paint his mind." We will hereafter see 
 reasons to believe that there is extant a whole body of compositions 
 written before he was twenty-one years of age. At about twenty 
 he summarizes the political condition of Europe with the hand of 
 a statesman. 
 
 II. Plays before Shakspere Comes to London. 
 
 The Plays antedate the time of the coming of Shakspere to 
 London, which it is generally agreed was in 1587. 
 
 That high authority, Richard Simpson, in his School of Shake- 
 speare? in his article, " The Early Authorship of Shakespeare 2 " and 
 in Notes and Queries? shows that the Shakespeare Plays commenced 
 to appear in iffy ! That is to say, while Shakspere was still living in 
 Stratford — in the year the twins were born ! We are therefore to 
 believe that in that "bookless neighborhood" the butcher's ap- 
 prentice was, between his whippings, writing plays for the stage ! 
 Here are miracles indeed. 
 
 In 1585 Robert Greene both registered and published his Plane- 
 tomachia, and in this work he denounces M some avaricious player, 
 . . . who, not content with his own province [of acting], should 
 dare to intrude into the field of authorship, which ought to belong 
 solely to the professed scholars" — like Greene himself. And from 
 that time forward Greene continued to gibe at this same some- 
 body, who was writing plays for the stage. He speaks of "gentle- 
 men poets" in 1588, who set "the end of scholarism in an English 
 blank verse; ... it is the humor of a novice that tickles them with 
 self-love." 
 
 Thomas Nash says, in an epistle prefixed to Greene's Arcadia, 
 
 published, according to Mr. Dyce, in 1587: 
 
 It is a common practice, now-a-days, amongst a sort of shifting companions, 
 that run through every art and thrive at none, to leave the trade of noverint [lawyer], 
 whereto they were born, and busy themselves with the endeavors of art, that could 
 scarcely Latinize their neck-verse, if they should have need. Yet English Seneca, 
 read by candle-light, yields many good sentences, as "blood is a beggar," and 
 so forth; and if you entreat him fair, in a frosty morning, he will afford you whole 
 Hamlets, I should say handfuls, of tragical speeches. 
 
 1 Vol. ii, p. 342. " North British Review, vol. lii. '•' 4th scries, vol. viii. 
 
CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 2 6i 
 
 Here it appears that in 1587, the very year when Shakspere 
 came to London, and while he was probably holding horses at the 
 front door of the theater, the play of Hamlet, Shakespeare's own 
 play of Hamlet^ was being acted; and was believed by other play- 
 wrights to have been composed by some lawyer, who was born a 
 lawyer. 
 
 And did not Nash's words, "if you entreat him fair of a frosty 
 morning," allude to that early morning scene "of a frosty morning," 
 where Hamlet meets the Ghost, for the first time, on the platform 
 of the castle: 
 
 Hamlet. The air bites shrewdly; it is very cold. 
 Horatio. It is a nipping and an eager air. 
 
 But this lawyer, who was born a lawyer, to whom allusion is 
 made by Nash, so far from being a mere-horse-holder, was some- 
 thing of a scholar, for Nash continues: 
 
 But . . . what's that will last always ? Seneca let blood line by line and 
 page by page, at length must die to our stage, which makes his [Seneca's] fam- 
 ished followers . . . leap into a new occupation and translate two-penny pamphlets 
 from the Italian without any knowledge even of its articles. 1 
 
 We have seen that several of the so-called Shakespeare comedies 
 were founded on untranslated Italian novels. Will the men who 
 argue that Shakspere stood at the door of the play-house and held 
 horses, and at the same time wrote the magnificent and scholarly 
 periods of Hamlet, go farther and ask us to believe that the 
 butcher's apprentice, the deer-stealer, the beer-guzzler, " oft- 
 whipped and imprisoned," had, in the filthy, bookless village of 
 Stratford, acquired even an imperfect knowledge of the Italian ? 
 
 But Nash goes farther. He says: 
 
 Sundry other sweet gentlemen I do know, that we [sic] have vaunted their pens 
 in private-devices and tricked tip a company of taffaty fools with their feathers, whose 
 beauty, if our poets had not pecked, with the supply of their perriwigs, they might 
 have anticked it until this time, up and down the country with The King of 
 Fairies and dined every day at the pease-poridge ordinary with Delfrigius. 
 
 What does all this mean ? Why, that there were poets who 
 were not actors, "sweet gentlemen*'' (and that word meant a good 
 deal in 1587), who had written "private devices," as we know- 
 Bacon to have written "masks" for private entertainments; and 
 these gentlemen were rich enough to have furnished out a company' 
 
 1 School of SJiak., vol. ii. p. 35S. 
 
262 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 of actors with feathers and periwigs, to take part in these private 
 theatricals; and if the " gentlemen " had not pecked (objected?) 
 the players would have anticked it, that is, played in this finery, all 
 over the country. 
 
 Hamlet says to Horatio, after he has written the play and had 
 it acted and thereby "touched the conscience of the King: " 
 
 Would not this, sir, and a f orest of feathers (if the rest of my fortunes turn 
 Turk with me), with two provincial roses on my ragged shoes, get me a fellowship 
 in a cry of players ? 
 
 And three years after Nash wrote the above, Robert Greene 
 
 refers to Shakspere as the only " Shake-scene in the country," and as 
 
 "an upstart crow beautified with our feathers." 
 
 III. A Pretended Play-Writer who Cannot Write 
 
 English. 
 
 Simpson believes that Fair Em was written by Shakspere in 
 
 1587. 
 
 In 1587 Greene wrote his Farewell to Folly, published in 1591, in 
 which he criticises the play of Fair Em and positively states that it 
 was written by some gentleman of position, who put it forth in the 
 name of a play-actor who was almost wholly uneducated. He 
 says: 
 
 Others will flout and over-read every line with a frump, and say 'tis scurvy, 
 when they themselves are such scabbed lads that they are like to die of the fazion;* 
 but if they come to write or publish anything in print, it is either distilled out of 
 ballads, or borrowed of theological poets, which, for their calling and gravity 
 being loth to have any profane pamphlets pass tinder their hand, get some other Batil- 
 lus to set his name to their verses. Thus is the ass made proud by this underhand 
 brokery. And he that cannot ivrile true English without the help of clerks of parish 
 churches, will needs make himself the father of interludes. O, 'tis a jolly matter 
 when a man hath a familiar style, and can endite a whole year and not be behold- 
 ing to art ! But to bring Scripture to prove anything he says, and kill it dead with 
 the text in a trifling subject of love, I tell you is no small piece of cunning. As, 
 for example, two lovers on the stage arguing one another of unkindness, his mis- 
 tress runs over him with this canonical sentence, "A man's conscience is a thou- 
 sand witnesses;" and her knight again excuseth himself with that saying of the 
 apostle, " Love covereth a multitude of sins." 2 
 
 The two lines here quoted are from Fair Em: 
 
 Thy conscience is a thousand witnesses. 3 
 
 Yet love, that covers multitude of sins. 4 
 
 1 A disease of horses, like glanders. 3 Sc. xvii, 1. 1308. 
 
 ■ School of Shak., chap, xi, p. 377. 4 Ibid., 1. 1271. 
 
CORK OB OKA 1 'IX G CIK C UMS 1 A XCE S. 263 
 
 What does this prove ? That it was the belief of Greene, who 
 was himself a playwright, that Fair Em was not written by the 
 man in whose name it was put forth, but by some one of " calling 
 and gravity," who had made use of another as a mask. And that 
 this latter person was an ignorant man, who could not write true 
 English without the help of the clerks of parish churches. But 
 Simpson and many others are satisfied that Fair Em was written 
 by the same mind which produced the Shakespeare Plays ! But 
 as the Farewell to Folly was written in 1587, and it is generally con- 
 ceded that Shakspere did not commence to write until 1592, live 
 years afterward, and as Shakspere w T as in 1587 hanging about the 
 play-house either as a horse-holder or a " servitor," these words 
 could not apply to him. We will see reason hereafter to conclude 
 that they applied to Marlowe. But if they did apply to Shakspere, 
 then we have the significant fact, as Simpson says, 
 
 That Greene here pretends that Shakespeare could not have written the play 
 himself; it was written by some theological poet, and fathered by him. 
 
 And Simpson, be it remembered, is no Baconian. It has been 
 urged, as a strong point in favor of William Shakspere's author- 
 ship of the Plays, that his right to them was never questioned 
 during his lifetime. If he wrote plays in 1587, then Greene did 
 question the reality of his authorship, and boldly charged that he 
 was an ignorant man, and the cover for some one else. If he did 
 not write plays before 1592, — and a series of plays appeared between 
 1585 and 1592 which the highest critics contend were produced by 
 the same mind which created the Shakespeare Plays, — then the 
 whole series could not have been produced by the man of Stratford- 
 on-Avon; and if the first of the series of identical works was not 
 written by him, the last of the series could not have been. The advo- 
 cates of Shakspere can take either horn of the dilemma they please. 
 
 Simpson thus sums up Greene's conclusions about Shakspere: 
 
 That he appropriated and refurbished other men's plays; that he was a lack- 
 latin, who had no acquaintance with any foreign language, except, perhaps, 
 French, and lived from the translator's trencher, and such like. Throughout we 
 see Greene s determination not to recognize Shakspere as a man capable of doing any- 
 thing by himself. At first, Greene simply fathers some composition of his upon 
 "two gentlemen poets," because he, in Greene's opinion, was incapable of writing 
 anything. Then as to Fair Em, it is either distilled out of ballads, or it is written 
 by some theological poet, who is ashamed to set his own name to it. It could not 
 have been written by one who cannot -write English without the aid of a parish 
 
264 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 clerk. Then, at last, Greene owns that his rival might have written a speech or 
 two, might have interpreted for the puppets, have indited a moral, or might be 
 -yen capable of penning The Windmill — The Millers Daughter — without help, 
 for so I interpret the words before quoted, "reputed able at my proper cost to 
 build a windmill," but Greene will not own that the man is capable of having really 
 done that which passes for his. 
 
 And it seems to me the words, ''reputed able at my proper cost 
 to build a windmill," do not refer to the play, but to the wealth of 
 the player. 
 
 IV. He Writes for Other Companies besides Shakspere's. 
 
 We turn now to another curious fact, quite incompatible with 
 the theory that the man of Stratford wrote the Plays. 
 
 What do we know of him ? That when he fled to London he 
 acted at first, as tradition tells us, as a horse-holder, and was then 
 admitted to the play-house as a servant. And the tradition of his 
 being a horse-holder is curiously confirmed by the fact that when 
 Greene alludes to him as "the only Shake-scene in the country," he 
 advises his fellow-playwrights to prepare no more dramas for the 
 actors, because of the predominance of that "Johannes-factotum," 
 Shake-scene, and adds: 
 
 Seek you better masters; for it is a pity men of such rare wits should be sub- 
 ject to the pleasure of such rude grooms. 
 
 Certainly the man who had been recently taking charge of 
 horses might very properly be referred to as a groom. 
 
 But here we stumble upon another difficulty. Not only did 
 plays which are now attributed to Shakspere make their appearance 
 on the London stage while he was still living in Stratford, whipped 
 and persecuted by Sir Thomas Lucy, and subsequently, while 
 he was acting as groom for the visitors to the play-house, but at this 
 very time, we are told, he not only supplied his own theater with 
 plays, but, with extraordinary fecundity, he furnished plays to every 
 company of actors in London! Tradition tells us that during his early 
 years in the great city he was " received into the play-house as a 
 serviture." Is it possible that while so employed — a servant, a 
 menial, a call-boy — in one company, he could furnish plays to 
 other and rival companies? Would his profits not have lifted 
 him above the necessity of acting as groom or call-boy ? Simpson 
 says: 
 
CORROBORA TIXG CIRCUM STANCES. 
 
 265 
 
 Other prominent companies were those of the Earl of Sussex (1589), the Earl 
 of Worcester (1590), and the Earl of Pembroke (1592). For all these Shakspere can 
 be shown to have written during the first part of his career. According to the well- 
 known epistle annexed to Greene's Groatsworth of Wit, Shakspere, by 1592, had 
 become so absolute a Johannes factotum, for the actors of the day generally, that 
 the man who considered himself the chief of the scholastic school of dramatists 
 not only determined for his own part to abandon play-writing, but urged his com- 
 panions to do the same. ... It is clear that before ijq3 Shakspere must have 
 been prodigiously active, and that plays wholly or partly from his pen must have 
 been in the possession of many of the actors and companies. For the fruits of 
 this activity we are not to look in his recognized works. Those, with few exceptions, 
 are the plays he wrote for the Lord Chamberlain s men. . . . There are two kinds of 
 Shaksperean remains which may be recorded, or rather assigned, to their real 
 original author, by the critic and historian. First, the dramas prior to 1592, 
 which are not included in his works; and secondly, the dramas over the production 
 of which he presided, or with which he was connected as editor, reviser or 
 adviser. 1 
 
 And again Simpson says: 
 
 The recognized works of Shakspere contain scarcely any plays bat those 
 which he produced for the Lord Chamberlain's or King's company of actors. But 
 in 1592 Greene tells us he had almost a monopoly of dramatic production, and had 
 made himself necessary, not to one company, but to the players in general. It may 
 be proved that he wrote for the Lord Strange's men, and for those of the Earl of 
 Pembroke and the Earl of Sussex. - 
 
 But while this distinguished scholar tells us that Shakspere was 
 " prodigiously active prior to 1592," and supplied all the different 
 companies with plays, we turn to the other commentators and 
 biographers, and they unite in assuring us that Shakspere did not 
 appear as an author until 1592 ! Halliwell-Phillipps fixes the exact 
 date as March 3d, 1592, when a new drama was brought out by 
 Lord Strange's servants, to-wit, Henry Vf. t "in all probability his 
 earliest complete dramatic work." 
 
 Here, then, is our dilemma: 
 
 1. It is proved that Shakespeare did not begin to write until 
 
 *59 2 - 
 
 2. It is proved that there is a whole body of compositions 
 written by the mind which we call Shakespeare, and which were 
 acted on the stage before 1592. 
 
 3. It is proved that Shakspere was a servant in or about one 
 play-house. 
 
 4. It is proved that while so engaged he furnished plays to rival 
 play-houses. 
 
 1 School of Shak. % vol. i, p. 20— Introduction. 2 Ibid., vol. i, p. S. 
 
266 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 Is all this conceivable ? Would the proprietor of one theater per- 
 mit his servant to give to other theaters the means of drawing the 
 crowd from his own doors and the shillings from his own pocket? 
 
 V. The Plays Cease to Appear Long before Shakspere's 
 
 Death. 
 
 The poet Dryden stated, in 1680, that Othello was Shakespeare's 
 last play. 
 
 Dryden was born only fifteen years after Shakspere's death. 
 He was himself a play-writer; a frequenter of play-houses; the 
 associate of actors; he wrote the statement quoted only sixty- 
 four years after Shakspere died; he doubtless spoke the tradition 
 common among the actors of London. 
 
 Now, it is well known that Othello was in existence in 1605, 
 eleven years before Shakspere's death. Malone says, " We know it 
 was acted in 1604." 
 
 Knight says: 
 
 Mr. Peter Cunningham confirms this, by having found an entry in the Revels 
 at Court of a performance of Othello in 1604. ' 
 
 We can conceive that it may have been the last of the great 
 Shakespearean tragedies, The TemJ>estbeing the last of the comedies. 
 
 Certain it is, however, that the Plays ceased to appear about 
 the time Bacon rose to high and lucrative employment in the state, 
 and several years before the death of their putative author. 
 
 All the Plays seem to have originated in that period of time 
 during which Bacon was poor and unemployed. Take even those 
 which are conceded to belong to Shakespeare's "later period." 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 Macbeth, in some form, had been introduced on the English stage as early as 
 1600, for Kempe, the actor, in his " Nine Daies' Wonder performed in a Daunce 
 from London to Norwich," alludes to a play of Macdoel, or Macdobeth, or Afac- 
 somewhaty for I am sure a Mac it was, though I never had the maw to see it. 2 
 
 Hamlet, we have seen, first appeared, probably in some imperfect 
 form, in 1585. Lear was acted before King James at Whitehall in 
 the year 1606. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 The four years and a half that intervened between the performance of The 
 Tempest in 161 1, and the author's death, could not have been one of his periods of 
 
 ' Knight, introd. notice Othello. 2 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 291. 
 
CO Kit OB OKA TIA r G C 'lit C CMS TA A r CE S. 
 
 267 
 
 great literary activity. So many of his plays are known to have been in existence 
 at the former date, it follows that there are only six which could by any possi- 
 bility have been written after that time; and it is not likely that the whole of 
 those belong to so late an era. These facts lead irresistibly to the conclusion 
 that the post abandoned literary occupation a considerable period before his 
 decease. 1 
 
 Knight says: 
 
 But when the days of pleasure arrived, is it reasonable to believe that the 
 greatest of intellects would suddenly sink to the condition of an every -day man — 
 cherishing no high plans for the future, looking back with no desire to equal and 
 excel the work of the past? At the period of life when Chaucer began to write the 
 Canterbury Tales, Shakspere, according to his biographers, was suddenly and 
 utterly to cease to write. We cannot believe it. Is there a parallel case in the 
 career of any great artist who had won for himself competence and fame?' 2 
 
 Here, therefore, is another inexplicable fact: Not only did 
 Shakspere, as we are told, write plays for the London stage 
 before he went to London; but after he had returned to Stratford, 
 with ample leisure and the incentive to make money, the man who 
 sued his neighbor for a few shillings, for malt sold, and who was, 
 we are asked to believe, the most fecund of human intelligences, 
 remained idly in his native village, writing nothing, doing nothing. 
 Was there ever heard, before or since, of such a vast and laborious 
 and creative mind, retiring thus into itself, into nothingness, — and 
 locking the door and throwing away the key, — and vegetating, for 
 from five to ten years, amid muck-heaps and filthy ditches ? Would 
 the author of Lear and Hamlet — the profound, the scholarly phil- 
 osopher — be capable of such mental suicide; such death in life; 
 such absorption of brain in flesh; such crawling into the innermost 
 recesses of self-oblivion ? Five or ten years of nothingness ! Not a 
 play; not a letter; not a syllable; nothing but three ignorant-look- 
 ing signatures to a will, which appears to have been drawn by a 
 lawyer who thought the testator could not write his name. 
 
 VI. The Sonnets. 
 
 And in the so-called " Shakespeare Sonnets " we find a whole 
 congeries of mysteries. The critical world has racked all its brains 
 to determine who W. H. was — "the onlie begetter of these insuing 
 sonnets;" and how any other man could "beget" them if they 
 were Shakespeare's. Some one speaks of that collection of sonnets, 
 
 1 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines Life of Shak., p. 155. 2 Knight's Shak. Biography, p. 525. 
 
2 (,8 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 published in 1609, as "one of the most singular volumes ever 
 issued from the press." Let us point at a few of its singu- 
 larities: 
 
 Sonnet lxxvi says: 
 
 Why is my verse so barren of new pride ? 
 
 So far from variation or quick change ? 
 Why, with the time, do I not glance aside 
 
 To new-found methods and to compounds strange ? 
 Why write I still all one, ever the same, 
 
 And keep invention in a noted weed; 
 That every word doth almost tell my name, 
 
 Showing their birth and where they did proceed ? 
 
 What is the meaning of this ? Clearly that the writer was 
 hidden in a weed, a disguise; and we have already seen that Bacon 
 employed the word weed to signify a disguise. But it is more than 
 a disguise — it is a noted disguise. Surely the name Shakespeare was 
 noted enough. And the writer, covered by this disguise, fears that 
 every word he writes doth betray him; — doth " almost tell his 
 name," their birth and where they came from. This is all very 
 remarkable if Shakspere was Shakespeare. Then there was no 
 weed, no disguise and no danger of the secret authorship being 
 revealed. 
 
 But we find Francis Bacon, as I have shown, also referring to a 
 -weed. 
 
 The state and bread of the poor and oppressed have been precious in mine 
 eyes. I have hated all cruelty and hardness of heart. I have, though in a despised 
 weed, procured the good of all men. 
 
 Marvelous, indeed, is it to find Shakespeare's sonnets referring 
 to "a noted weed," and Bacon referring to "a despised weed" ! — 
 that is to say, Shakespeare admits that the writer has kept inven- 
 tion in a disguise; and Bacon claims that he himself, under a dis- 
 guise, has procured the good of all men; and that this disguise was 
 a despised one, as the name of a play-actor like Shakspere would 
 necessarily be. 
 
 But there is another incompatibility in these sonnets with 
 
 the belief that William Shakspere wrote them. In Sonnet ex 
 
 we read: 
 
 Alas, 'tis true, I have gone here and there, 
 
 And made myself a motley to the view, 
 Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear. 
 
' CORROBORATIXG CIRCUMSTANCES, 269- 
 
 And in the next sonnet we have: 
 
 # 
 Oh, for my sake do you with fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, 
 . That did not better for my life provide 
 
 Than public means, which public manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 
 And almost thence my nature is subdued 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
 
 These lines have been interpreted to "refer to the bitter feeling 
 of personal degradation allowed by Shakespeare to result from his 
 connection with the stage." 
 
 But Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 Is it conceivable that a man who encouraged a sentiment of this nature, one 
 which must have been accompanied with a distaste and contempt for his profession, 
 would have remained an actor years and years after any real necessity for such a 
 course had expired ? By the spring of 1602 at the latest, if not previously, he had 
 acquired a secure and definite competence, independently of his emoluments as a 
 dramatist, and yet eight years afterward, in 1610, he is discovered playing in com- 
 pany with Burbadge and Heminge at the Blackfriars Theater. 1 
 
 It is impossible that so transcendent a genius — a statesman, a 
 historian, a lawyer, a philosopher, a linguist, a courtier, a natural 
 aristocrat; holding the " many-headed mob " and " the base mechan- 
 ical fellows" in absolute contempt; with wealth enough to free 
 him from the pinch of poverty — should have remained, almost 
 to the very last, a "vassal actor," liable to be pelted with decayed 
 vegetables, or tossed in a blanket, and ranked in legal estimation 
 with vagabonds and prostitutes. It is impossible that he should 
 have continued for so many years to have acted subordinate parts 
 of ghosts and old men, in unroofed enclosures, amid the foul 
 exhalations of a mob, which could onlv be covered by the burning 
 of juniper branches. 'Surely such a man, in such an age of unrest, 
 when humble but ambitious adventurers rose to high places, would 
 have carved out for himself some nobler position in life; or would, 
 at least, have left behind him some evidence that he tried to do so. 
 
 Neither can we conceive how one who commenced life as a 
 peasant, and worked at the trade of a butcher, and who had fled 
 to London to escape public whipping and imprisonment, could 
 feel that his name " received a brand " by associating with Bur- 
 badge and Nathaniel Field and the other actors. Was it not, in 
 
 1 Outlines Life of Sfrak., p. no. 
 
27 o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE /'LAVS. 
 
 every sense, an elevation for him ? And if he felt ashamed of his 
 connection with the stage, why did he, in his last act on earth, the 
 drawing of his will, refer to his "fellows," Heminge and Condell, 
 and leave them presents of rings ? 
 
 But all this feeling of humiliation here pictured would be 
 most natural to Francis Bacon. The guilty goddess of his 
 harmful deeds had, indeed, not provided him the necessaries 
 of life, and he had been forced to have recourse to " public 
 means," to-wit, play-writing; and thereby his name had been 
 " branded," and his nature had been degraded to the level of 
 the actors. 
 
 We turn now to another point. 
 
 VII. The Early Marks of Age. 
 
 There are many evidences that the person who wrote the son- 
 nets began to show the marks of age at an early period. The 
 138th sonnet was published in 1599, in The Passionate Pilgrim, 
 when William Shakspere was thirty-five years of age; and yet in it 
 the writer speaks of himself as old: 
 
 Although she knows my days are past the best . . . 
 
 And wherefore say not I, that I am old? 
 O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, 
 
 And age in love loves not to have years told. 
 
 And again he says in the 22d sonnet: 
 
 My glass shall not persuade me I am old, 
 So long as youth and thou are of one date. 
 
 Again, in the 62d sonnet, he speaks of himself as 
 
 Bated and chopped with tanned antiquity. 
 
 And in the 73d sonnet he says: 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
 Bare, ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
 Now, all this would be unusual language for a man of thirty- 
 five to apply to himself; but it agrees well with what we know of 
 Francis Bacon in this respect. 
 
 John Campbell says: 
 
 The marks of age were prematurely impressed upon him. 
 
CORROBORA TIXG CIRCl T MS TA XCES. 2 j T 
 
 He writes to his uncle Burleigh in 1591: 
 
 I am now somewhat ancient; one and thirty years is a great deal of sand in 
 the hour-glass. 1 
 
 And again he says, about the same time: 
 
 I would be sorry she [the Queen] should estrange in my last years, for so I 
 account them reckoning by health, not by age.-' 
 
 VIII. The Writer's Life Threatened. 
 
 Then there is another passage in the sonnets which does not, so 
 far as we know, fit into the career of the wealthy burgher of Strat- 
 ford, but accords admirably with an incident in the life of Bacon. 
 In the 74th sonnet we read: 
 
 But be contented: when that fell arrest 
 
 Without all bail shall carry me away, 
 My life hath in this line some interest, 
 
 Which for memorial still with thee shall stay. . . . 
 The earth can have but earth, which is his due; 
 
 My spirit is thine, the better part of me: 
 So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life, 
 
 The prey of worms, my body being dea '»; 
 The coward conquest of a wretch's knife, 
 
 Too base of thee to be remembered. 
 
 And again in the 90th sonnet we read: 
 
 Then hate me if thou wilt, if ever now; 
 
 ■ while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss: 
 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hath scaped this sorrow. 
 Come in the rearward of a conquered woe. 
 
 It seems to me the explanation of these lines is to be found in 
 the fact that, after the downfall of Essex, Bacon was bitterly hated 
 and denounced by the adherents of the Earl, and his life was even 
 in danger from their rage. He writes to Queen Elizabeth in 1599: 
 
 My life has been threatened and my name libeled, which I count an honor. 3 
 
 Again he says to Cecil: 
 
 As for any violence to be offered to me, wherewith my friends tell me I am 
 threatened, I thank God I have the privy coat of a good conscience. 
 
 He also wrote to Lord Howard: 
 
 For my part I have deserved better than to have my name objected to envy or 
 my life to a ruffian's violence. 
 
 1 Letter to Burleigh. * Letter to Sir Robert Cecil. 
 
 3 Letter to Queen Elizabeth, 1599 — Lift and Works, vol. ii, p. 160. 
 
2-; FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 IX. A Period of Gloom. 
 
 We find, too, in the sonnets, reference to a period of gloom in 
 the life of the writer that is not to be explained by anything we 
 know of in the history of William Shakspere. He had all the world 
 could give him; he had wealth, the finest house in Stratford, lands, 
 tithes, and malt to sell; to say nothing of that bogus coat-of-arms 
 which assured him gentility. But the writer of the sonnets (see 
 sonnet xxxvii) speaks of himself as unfortunate, as " made lame by 
 fortune's dearest spite," as "lame, poor and despised. " He is 
 overwhelmed with some great shame: 
 
 When in disgrace urith fortune and wen's eyes, 
 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 And trouble deaf Heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself and curse my fate. } 
 
 And the writer had experienced some great disappointment. 
 
 He says: 
 
 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 
 
 Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; 
 Anon permit the basest cloud to ride, 
 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
 And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace; 
 Even so my sun one early morn did shine, 
 
 With all triumphant splendor on my brow; 
 But out ! alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
 
 The region cloud hath masked him from me now* 
 
 And the writer is utterly cast down with his disappointment 
 He cries out in sonnet lxvi: 
 
 Tired of all these, for restful death I cry, 
 
 As to behold desert a beggar born, 
 And needy nothing trimmed in jollity, 
 
 And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 
 And gilded honor shamefully misplaced, 
 
 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 And right perfection wrongfully- disgraced, 
 
 And strength by limping sway disabled, 
 And art made tongue-tied by authority, 
 
 And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill, 
 And simple truth miscalled simplicity, 
 
 And capli?'e Good attending captain III — 
 
 Tired with all these, from these I would be gone, 
 Save that to die I leave my love alone. 
 
 1 Sonnet xxix. 2 Sonnet xxxiii. 
 
CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 273 
 
 All these words seem to me to fit into Bacon's case. He was in 
 
 disgrace with fortune and men's eyes. He writes to Essex in 
 
 1594: 
 
 And I must confess this very delay has gone so near me as it hath almost 
 overthrown my health. ... I cannot but conclude that no man ever read a more 
 exquisite disgrace. 1 
 
 He proposed to travel abroad; he hopes her Majesty will not 
 
 force him 
 
 To pine here with melancholy, for though mine heart be good, yet mine eyes 
 will be sore. ... I am not an impudent man that would face out a disgrace. 2 
 
 The bright morning sun of hope had ceased to shine upon his 
 brow. He "lacked advancement," like Hamlet; he had been over- 
 ridden by the Queen. He despaired. He writes: "I care not 
 whether God or her Majesty call me." In the sonnet he says: 
 
 Tired of all these, for restful death I cry. 
 And the grounds of his lamentation are those a courtier might 
 entertain, but scarcely a play-actor. He beholds " desert " a beggar. 
 Surely this was not Shakspere's case. He sees nothingness elevated 
 to power; strength swayed by limping weakness; himself with all 
 his greatness overruled by the cripple Cecil. He sees the state 
 and religion tying the tongue of art and shutting the mouth of free 
 thought. He sees evil triumphant in the world; " captive Good 
 attending captain 111." And may not the " maiden virtue rudely 
 strumpeted " be a reflection on her of whom so many scandals 
 were whispered; who, it was said, had kept Leicester's bed- 
 chamber next to her own; who had for so many years suppressed 
 Bacon, and for whom, on her death, "the honey-tongued Melicert '* 
 dropped not one pitying tear? 
 
 X. An Incomprehensible Fact. 
 
 Francis Bacon was greedy for knowledge. He ranged the 
 whole amphitheater of human learning. From Greece, from Rome, 
 from Italy, from France, from Spain, from the early English 
 writers, he gathered facts and thoughts. He had his Promus, his 
 commonplace-book, so to speak, of "formularies and elegancies" of 
 speech. His acknowledged writings teem with quotations from the 
 poets. And yet not once does he refer to William Shakspere or 
 
 1 Letter to Essex, March 30, 1594. ' 2 Letter to Essex. 
 
^74 
 
 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 the Shakespeare writings ! The man of Stratford acted in one of 
 the Plays which go by his name, and on the same night, in the 
 same place, was presented a " mask " written by Bacon. We 
 thus have the two men under the same roof, at the same time, 
 engaged in the same kind of work. Shakespeare, the play-writer, 
 and Bacon, the mask-Writer, thus rub elbows; but neither seems 
 to have known the other. 
 Landor says: 
 
 Bacon little knew or suspected that there was then existing (the only one that 
 ever did exist) his superior in intellectual power. 
 
 Bacon was ravaging all time and searching the face of the 
 whole earth for gems of thought and expression, and here in these 
 Plays was a veritable Golconda of jewels, under his very nose, and 
 he seems not to have known it. 
 
 XI. Bacon's Love of Plays. 
 
 But it may be said that Shakspere moved in a lower sphere 
 of thought, beneath the notice of the great philosopher. This 
 cannot be true; for we have seen that Bacon certainly wrote 
 " masks," which were a kind of smaller plays, and that he united 
 with seven other young lawyers of Gray's Inn to prepare a veritable 
 stage-play, The Misfortwies of Arthur; but, more than that, he was 
 very fond of theatricals. 
 
 Mrs. Pott says, speaking of the year 1594: 
 
 The Calvinistic strictness of Lady Anne Bacon's principles receive a severe 
 shock from the repeated and open proofs which Francis gives of his taste for stage 
 performances. Anthony, about this time, leaves his brother and goes to live in 
 Bishopsgate Street, near "Bull" Inn, where ten or twelve of the "Shakespeare" 
 Plays were acted. Lady Anne "trusts that they will not mum, nor mask, nor 
 sinfully revel at Gray's Inn." 
 
 *Bacon's acknowledged writings overflow with expressions show- 
 ing how much his thoughts ran on play-houses and stage-plays. I 
 quote a few expressions, at random, to prove this: 
 
 Therefore we see that there be certain " pantomimi " that will represent the 
 voices of players of interludes so to life, as if you see them not you would think 
 they were those players themselves. 1 
 
 Alluding to "the prompter," or "book-holder," as he was then 
 called, Bacon says of himself: 
 
 1 Natural History ', §240. 
 
CORKOBORA TING CIRCUMSTANCES. 275 
 
 Knowing myself to be fitter to hold a book than to play a part.' 
 
 Speaking of Essex' successes, he says: 
 
 Neither do I judge the whole play by the first act. 9 
 
 He writes Lord Burleigh that 
 
 There are a dozen young gentlemen of Gray's Inn, that . . . will be ready to 
 furnish a mask, wishing it were in their power to perform it according to their minds. 
 
 In the De Aug mentis he speaks of " the play-books of philosophical 
 systems" and "the play-books of this philosophical theater."'* 
 He calls the world of art "a universe or theater of things." 4 
 Speaking of the priest Simonds instructing Simnell to per- 
 sonate Lord Edward Plantagenet, Bacon says: 
 
 This priest, being utterly unacquainted with the true person, should think it pos- 
 sible to instruct his player either in gesture or fashions. . . . None could hold the 
 book so well to prompt and instruct this stage play as he could. . . . He thought 
 good, after the manner of scenes in stage plays and masks, to show it afar off. 5 
 
 Referring to the degradation of the royal pretender, Lambert 
 
 Simnell, to a position in the kitchen of the King, Bacon says: 
 
 So that in a kind of " matticina" of human force, he turned a broach who had 
 worn a crown; whereas fortune does not commonly bring in a comedy or farce 
 after a tragedy. 6 
 
 Speaking of Warbeck's conspiracy, Bacon says: 
 
 It was one of the longest plays of that kind that hath been in memory. 7 
 
 And here I group together several similar expressions: 
 
 Therefore, now, like the end of a play, a great many came upon the stage at once.'* 
 
 He [Perkin Warbeck] had contrived with himself a vast and tragical plot. 9 
 
 I have given the rule where a man cannot fitly play his own part, if he have 
 not a friend he may quit the stage.™ 
 
 But men must know that in this theater of man s life, it is reserved only for 
 God and the angels to be lookers-on. 11 
 
 As if they would make you like a king in a play, who, when one would think 
 he standeth in great majesty and felicity, is troubled to say his part. ) % 
 
 With which speech he put the army into an infinite fury and uproar, whereas 
 trutli was he had no brother; neither was there any such matter, but he played it 
 merely as if he had been upon the staged 3 
 
 Those friends whom I accounted no stage friends, but private friends. 14 
 
 1 Letter to Sir Thomas Bodley. 8 Ibid. 
 
 2 Letter to Essex, Oct. 4, 1596. » Ibid. 
 
 3 lxi, lxii. 1° Essay Of Friendship. 
 
 4 History of Henry VII. M Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 5 Ibid. ,a Gesta Grayorum — Life and Works, vol. i, p. 339. 
 * Ibid. 18 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 7 Ibid. l * Letter to Tobie Matthew. 
 
276 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. 
 
 All that would be but a play upon the stage, if justice went not on in the right 
 course. 1 
 
 Zeno and Socrates . . . placed felicity in virtue; . . . the Cyrenaics and Epi- 
 curians placed it in pleasure, and made virtue (as it is used in some comedies of 
 errors, wherein the mistress and maid change habits) to be but as a servant.' 2 
 
 We regard all the systems of philosophy hitherto received or imagined as so- 
 many plays brought out and performed, creating fictitious and theatrical worlds? 
 
 The plot of this our theater resembles those of the poetical, where the plots 
 which are invented for the stage are more consistent, elegant and pleasurable than 
 those taken from real history. 4 
 
 I might continue these examples indefinitely, for Bacon's whole 
 writings bubble and sparkle with comparisons drawn from plays, 
 play-houses and actors; and yet, marvelous to relate, he never 
 notices the existence of the greatest dramatic writings the world 
 had ever known, which he must have witnessed on the stage a 
 thousand times. He takes Ben Jonson into his house as an amanu- 
 ensis, but the mightiest mind of all time, if Shakspere was Shake- 
 speare, he never notices, even when he is uttering thoughts and 
 preaching a philosophy identical with his own ! How can all this- 
 be explained ? 
 
 Mrs. Pott calls attention to the following: 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher dedicated to Bacon the mask which was designed to* 
 celebrate the marriage of the Count Palatine with the Princess Elizabeth, February 
 14, 1612-13. The dedication of this mask begins with an acknowledgment that 
 Bacon, with the gentlemen of Gray's Inn, and the Inner Temple, had "spared no 
 pains nor travail in the setting forth, ordering and furnishing of this mask . . . 
 and you, Sir Francis Bacon, especially, as you did then by your countenance and 
 loving affection advance it, so let your good word grace it, which is able to add 
 value to the greatest and least matters." "On Tuesday," says Chamberlain, writ- 
 ing on the i8thof February, 1612-13," it came to Gray's Inn and the Inner Temple's 
 turn to come with their mask, %v hereof Sir Francis Bacon was the chief contriver." 
 {Court and Times of James I., vol. i, p. 227; see Spedding, vol. iv, p. 344.) 5 
 
 And we find Bacon writing an essay on Masques, in which he 
 gave directions as to scenery, music, colors and trappings, and even 
 speaks of the necessity of sweet odors " to drown the steam and 
 heat " of the audience ! 
 
 And he philosophizes, as I have shown, upon the drama, its 
 usefulness, its purposes for good, its characteristics; and describes 
 how, in a play, the different passions may be represented, and how 
 
 1 Letter to Buckingham, 1619. 3 Novum Organum. 
 
 a Advancement of Learning, book ii. 4 Ibid. 
 
 5 Did J •')■ a nc is Bacon Write" Shakespeare" 7 part i, p. 8. 
 
COKROBORATIXG CIRCUMSTANCES. 277 
 
 the growth and development of any special feeling or passion may 
 be shown; and Macaulay writes (as if it were a foot-note to the 
 passage) this in reference to the Shakespeare Plays: 
 
 In a piece which may be read in three hours, we see a character gradually 
 unfold all its recesses to us; we see it change with the change of circum- 
 stances. The petulant youth rises into the politic and war-like sovereign. 
 The profuse and courteous philanthropist soars into a hater and scorner of his 
 kind. The tyrant is altered by the chastisement of affliction into a pensive 
 moralist. 
 
 And this student of the drama, this frequenter of the play- 
 houses, this writer of plays and masks, this sovereign and pene- 
 trating intellect could not perceive that there stood at his elbow 
 (the associate, " the fellow of his clerk, Jonson) the vastest genius 
 the human race had ever produced ! This philosopher of prose 
 could not recognize the philosopher of poetry; this writer of prose 
 histories did not know the writer of dramatical histories; this 
 writer of sonnets, this "concealed poet," this "greatest wit" of 
 the world (although known by another name), took no notice of 
 that other mighty intellect, splendid wit and sweet poet, who acted 
 on the boards of his own law school of Gray's Inn ! It is incom- 
 prehensible. It is incredible. 
 
 And, be it further remembered, Shakespeare dedicated both the 
 / r enus and Adonis and The Rape of Luercce to the Earl of South- 
 ampton, and the Earl was Bacon's particular friend and associate, 
 and a member of his law school of Grays Inn ; and yet, while Shake- 
 speare dedicates his poems to the Earl, he seems not to have 
 known his friend and fellow, Francis Bacon. On the other hand, 
 in the fact that Southampton was a student in Gray's Inn, we see 
 the reason why the Shakespeare poems were inscribed to him, 
 under the cover of the play-actor's name. 
 
 I have faith enough in the magnanimity of mind of Francis 
 Bacon to believe that if he had really found, in humble life, a man 
 •of the extraordinary genius revealed in the Shakespeare Plays (sup- 
 posing for an instant that they were not Bacon's work), he would have 
 stooped down and taken him by the hand; he would have intro- 
 duced him to his friends; he would have quoted from him in his 
 writings, and we should have found among his papers numbers of 
 letters to and from him. Their lives would have impinged on each 
 other; they would have discussed poetry and philosophy in speech 
 
278 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 and in correspondence. Bacon would have visited Stratford, and 
 Shakspere St. Albans. " Poets," said Ben Jonson, "are rarer births 
 than kings;" and the man who wrote the Plays was the king of 
 poets. Was Francis Bacon — "the wisest of mankind" — so blind 
 or so shallow as to be unaware tff the greatness of the Shakespeare 
 Plays? Who will believe it? 
 
 XII. Certain Incompatibilities with Shakspere. 
 
 Let me touch passingly on some passages in the Plays which 
 it would seem that the man of Stratford could not have written. 
 
 Who can believe that William Shakspere, whose father followed 
 
 the trade of a butcher, and who was himself, as tradition assures us, 
 
 apprenticed to the same humble calling, could have written these 
 
 lines in speaking of Wolsey? 
 
 This butcher' s cur is venom-mouthed, and I 
 Have not the power to muzzle him; therefore best 
 Not wake him in his slumber. A beggar's book 
 Outworths a noble's blood. 1 
 
 Richard Grant White says: 
 
 Shakespeare's works are full of passages, to write which, if he had loved his 
 wife and honored her, would have been gall and wormwood to his soul; nay, 
 which, if he had loved and honored her, he could not have written. The nature of 
 the subject forbids the marshaling of this terrible array; but did the "flax-wench" 
 whom he uses for the most degrading of comparisons ( Winter s Tale, i, 2) do 
 more, "before her troth-plight," than the woman who bore his name and whom 
 his children called mother? 2 
 
 But Grant White fails to see that it is not a question as to- 
 whether Shakspere loved and honored his wife or not. Even if he 
 had not loved and honored her, he would, if a sensitive and high- 
 spirited man, for his own sake and the sake of his family, have 
 avoided the subject as if it carried the contagion of a pestilence. 
 
 Again we are told, in all the biographies, that Shakspere was 
 cruelly persecuted and punished by Sir Thomas Lucy, and "forced 
 to fly the country," and that for revenge he wrote a bitter ballad 
 against the Knight; and that subsequently, in The Merry Wives of 
 Windsor, he made Sir Thomas the object of his ridicule in the 
 character of Justice Shallow. But if this be true, why did the 
 writer of the Plays in the 1st Henry VI. bring upon the stage the 
 ancestor of this same Sir Thomas Lucy, Sir William Lucy, and 
 
 1 Henry 1 '///., i. 1. * Life ami Genius of Shak., p. 51. 
 
CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 279 
 
 paint him in honorable colors as a brave soldier and true patriot 
 for the admiration of the public and posterity? But the son of 
 Shakspere's Lucy, Sir Thomas Lucy, was the intimate friend and 
 correspondent of Francis Bacon. 
 
 k 
 
 XIII. Shakspere was Falstaff. 
 
 But there follows another question. It is evident that Justice 
 Shallow was intended to personate Sir Thomas Lucy, and the play 
 of The Merry Wives of Windsor opens with an allusion to the steal- 
 ing of his deer. I quote the beginning of the act: 
 
 Shallow. Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star Chamber matter of 
 it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, 
 Esquire. . . . 
 
 Slender. . . . They may give the dozen white luces in their coat. 
 
 The coat-of-arms of the Lucy family was three luces, and from this 
 the name was derived. So that herein it is placed beyond question 
 that Justice Shallow is intended to represent Sir Thomas Lucy. 
 This is conceded by all the commentators. It is also conceded 
 that the deer which in this scene Sir John Falstaff is alleged to have 
 killed were the same deer which Shakspere had slain in his youth. 
 
 Shallow. It is a riot. . . . 
 
 Page. I am glad to see your worships well; I thank you for my venison, 
 Master Shallow. 
 
 Shallow. Master Page, I am glad to see you; much good do it your good 
 heart. I wished your venison better; it was ill killed. . . . 
 
 Enter Falstaff. 
 Falstaff. Now, Master Shallow; you'll complain of me to the King? 
 Shallow. Knight, you have beaten my men, killed my deer and broken open 
 my lodge. 
 
 Falstaff. Rut not kissed your keeper's daughter. 
 
 Therefore it follows that if Shallow was Sir Thomas Lucy, and 
 if the deer that were killed were the deer Shakspere killed, then 
 Shakspere was Falstaff ! 
 
 And if Shakspere wrote the Plays, he deliberately represented 
 himself in the character of Falstaff. And what was the character 
 of Falstaff as delineated in that very play ? It was that of a gross, 
 sensual, sordid old liar and thief. The whole play turns on his 
 sensuality united to sordidness. He makes love to Page's wife 
 because "the report goes she has all the rule of her husband's 
 purse; he hath a legion of angels." And Falstaff is also represented 
 
 S*\\ BRA 47 
 or THE 
 
 ^ 
 
2 8o FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 as sharing in the thefts of his followers, as witness the following 
 dialogue: 
 
 Falstaff. I will not lend thee a penny. 
 
 Pistol. Why, then, the world's mine oyster, 
 Which I with sword will open. 
 
 Falstaff. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you should lay my counte- 
 nance to pawn: I have grated upon my good friends for three reprieves for you 
 and your coach-fellow, Nym; or else you had looked through the grate like a 
 geminy of baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen, my friends, 
 you were good soldiers and tall fellows: and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle 
 of her fan, I took 't upon mine honor thou hadst it not. 
 
 Pistol. Didst not thou share? Hadst thou not fifteen pence? 
 
 Falstaff. Reason, you rogue, reason: think'st thou I'll endanger my soul gratis ? 
 
 Is it conceivable that the great man, the scholar, the philosopher, 
 the tender-souled, ambitious, sensitive man who wrote the sonnets 
 would deliberately represent himself as Falstaff? 
 
 But if some one else wrote the Plays, then this whole scene con- 
 cerning the deer-stealing contains, probably, a cipher narrative of 
 the early life of Shakspere; for it is in the same play, as we shall 
 see hereafter, that we find the cipher words William, Shakes, 
 peere, and Francisco Bacon. And when we read the obscene anec- 
 dotes which tradition has delivered down to us, touching Shak- 
 spere's sensuality and mother-wit, and then look at the gross face 
 represented in the monument in the Stratford church, we can 
 realize that William Shakspere may have been the original of Fal- 
 staff, and that it was not by accident he was represented as having 
 killed the deer of that Justice Shallow who had the twelve white 
 luces on his coat-of-arms. 
 
 Richard Grant White, earnest anti-Baconian as he is, says of 
 that bust: 
 
 The monument is ugly; the staring, painted, figure-head-like bust hideous. 1 
 
 It is the face of Falstaff. 
 
 XIV. A Curious Fact. 
 
 I proceed now to call the attention of the reader to a curious 
 fact, revealed by a study of the copies of legal documents found in 
 Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare. 
 
 Shakspere purchased a house and lot in London, on the ioth 
 day of March, 1612, "within the precinct of the late Black Fryers." 
 
 1 England Without and Within, p. 521. 
 
CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 281 
 
 It has puzzled his biographers to tell what he wanted this property 
 for. All his other purchases were in Stratford or vicinity. He did 
 not need it for a home, for before this time he had retired to Strat- 
 ford to live in his great house, New Place; and in the deed of pur- 
 chase of the Blackfriars property he is described as " of Stratford-on- 
 Avon, gentleman." The house and lot were close to the Blackfriars 
 Theater, and property was falling in the neighborhood because of 
 that proximity. Shakspere rented it to one John Robinson. 
 
 But there are three curious features in connection with this 
 purchase: 
 
 1. Shakspere, although very rich at the time, did not pay down 
 all the purchase-money, but left ^60 standing upon mortgage, 
 which was not extinguished until after his death. 
 
 2. Shakspere bought the property from Henry Walker, minstrel, 
 for ^140, while Walker in 1604 had bought it for ^£"100. This repre- 
 sented an increase equal to §2,400 to-day. And yet we find the peo- 
 ple of that vicinity petitioning in 1618-19 to have the theater closed, 
 because of the great injury it did to property-holders around it. 
 
 3. Walker's grantor was Matthew Bacon, of Grays Inn, in the 
 
 county of Middlesex, gentleman, and included in the purchase was 
 
 the following: 
 
 And also all that plott of ground on the west side of the same tenement, which 
 was lately inclosed with boordes, on two sides thereof, by Anne Bacon, widow, so 
 farre and in such sorte as the same was inclosed by the said Anne Bacon and not 
 otherwise. 
 
 Was this "Anne Bacon, widow," the mother of Francis Bacon? 
 Her name w r as Anne. And who was Matthew Bacon, of Gray's 
 Inn? Was he one of Francis Bacon's family? And is it not 
 strange to find the names of Bacon and Shakspere coming together 
 thus in a business transaction ? And does it not look as if Shak- 
 spere had paid a debt to some one by buying a piece of property 
 for $2,400 more than it was worth, and giving a mortgage for £60, 
 equal to $3,600 of our money at the present time? 
 
 XV. The Northumberland House Manuscript. 
 
 There is one other instance where the name of Shakspere is 
 found associated with that of Francis Bacon. 
 
 In 1867 there was discovered in the library of Northumberland 
 House, in London, a remarkable MS., containing copies of several 
 
282 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 papers written by Francis Bacon. It was found in a box of old 
 papers which had long remained undisturbed. There is a title- 
 page, which embraces a table of contents of the volume, and this 
 contains not only the names of writings unquestionably Bacon's, 
 but also the names of plays which are supposed to have been 
 written by Shakespeare. But only part of the manuscript volume 
 remains, and the portions lost embrace the following pieces enu- 
 merated on the title-leaf: 
 
 Orations at Graie's Inns revells 
 .... Queen's Mats .... 
 
 By Mr. Frauncis Bacon 
 Essaies by the same author. 
 Richard the Second. 
 Richard the Third. 
 Asmund and Cornelia. 
 Isle of Dogs frmnt. 
 
 By Thomas Nashe, inferior places. x 
 
 How comes it that the Shakespeare plays, RicJuird J I. and 
 Richard III., should be mixed up in a volume of Bacon's manu- 
 scripts with his own letters and essays and a mask written by him 
 in 1592 ? Judge Holmes says : 
 
 And then, the blank space at the side and between the titles is scribbled all 
 over with various words, letters, phrases and scraps of verse in English and Latin, 
 as if the copyist were merely trying his pen, and writing down whatever first came 
 into his head. Among these scribblings, beside the name of Francis Bacon 
 several times, the name of William Shakespeare is written eight or nine times over. 
 A line from The Rape of Lucrece is written thus: "Revealing day through every 
 crannie peeps and," the writer taking peeps from the next couplet instead of 
 spies. Three others are Anthony comfrt. and consort and honorificabilitudino 
 and plaies [plays]. . . . The word konorificabilitudino is not found in any dic- 
 tionary that I know of, but in Love's Labor s Lost} 
 
 Costard, the clown, bandying Latin with the tall schoolmaster 
 and curate (who "had been at a great feast of languages and 
 stolen the scraps"), exclaims: 
 
 Oh ! they have lived long on the alms-basket of words. I marvel thy master 
 hath not eaten thee for a word, for thou art not so long by the head as honorifca- 
 bilitudinatibus? 
 
 Let those who are disposed to study this discovery turn to 
 Judge Holmes' work. It is sufficient for me to note here, that 
 in a collection of Bacon's papers, made undoubtedly by his aman- 
 
 1 Holmes' Authorship of Shakcsfieare, vol. ii, p. 658, ed. 1886. s Ibid., 658-682. 
 
 2 Act v, scene 1. 
 
CORR OB OR A TIXG CIR C UMS TA NCE S. 2 8 3 
 
 uensis, plays that are recognized to be Shakespeare's are em- 
 braced; and the name of Francis Bacon and the name of William 
 Shakespeare (spelled as it was spelled in the published quartos, 
 but not as the man himself spelled it) are scribbled all over 
 this manuscript collection, and at the same time sentences and 
 words are quoted from the Shakespeare Plays and Poems. 
 
 And, while we find this association of the two names in Bacon's 
 library and private papers, there is not one word in his published 
 writings or his correspondence to show that he knew that such a 
 being as William Shakspere ever existed. 
 
 " Tis strange ; 'tis passing strange." 
 
 XVI. Another Singular Fact. 
 
 Edmund Spenser visited London in 1590, and in 1591 he pub- 
 lished his poem, The Tears of the Muses, in which Thalia, the 
 muse of poetry, laments that a change has come over the play- 
 houses ; that 
 
 The sweet delights of learning* s treasure ^ 
 
 That wont with comic sock to beautify 
 The painted theaters, and fill with pleasure 
 
 The listeners' eyes and ears with melody, 
 
 are " all gone." 
 
 And all that goodly glee 
 Which wont to be the glory of gay wits, 
 Is laid a-bed; 
 
 and in lieu thereof " ugly barbarism and brutish ignorance " fill 
 
 the stage, 
 
 And with vain joys the vulgar entertain. 
 
 Instead thereof scoffing Scurrility 
 
 And scornful Folly with Contempt is crept, 
 
 Rolling in rhymes of shameless ribaldry 
 Without regard or due decorum kept. 
 
 And Spenser laments that the author, who formerly delighted with 
 " goodly glee" and "learning's treasure," has withdrawn — is tempo- 
 rarily dead. 
 
 And he, the man whom Nature's self had made 
 
 To mock herself and Truth to imitate, 
 With kindly counter under mimic shade, 
 Our pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late; 
 With whom all joy and jolly merriment 
 Is also deaded and in dolor drent. 
 
284 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. 
 
 But that this was not an actual death, but simply a retirement 
 from the degenerate stage, is shown in the next verse but one: 
 
 But that same gentle spirit from whose pen 
 
 Large streams of honey and sweet nectar flow, 
 Scorning the boldness of such base-born men 
 Which dare their follies forth so rashly throw, 
 Doth rather choose to sit in idle cell 
 Than so himself to mockery to sell. 
 
 It is conceded by all the commentators that these lines refer 
 to the writer of the Shakespeare Plays: there was no one else to 
 whom they could refer. But there are many points in which 
 they are incompatible with the young man William Shakspere, of 
 Stratford. 
 
 In the first place, they throw back the date of his labors, as I 
 
 have shown in a former instance, long anterior to the year 1592, at 
 
 which time it is conceded Shakespeare first began to write for the 
 
 stage. In 1590, the writer referred to by Spenser had not only 
 
 written one, but many plays; and had had possession of the stage 
 
 long enough to give it a cast and character, until driven out by 
 
 the rage for vulgar satires and personal abuse. White says: 
 
 The Tears of the Muses had certainly been written before 1590, when Shake- 
 speare could not have risen to the position assigned by the first poet of the age to 
 the subject of this passage; and probably in 1580, when Shakespeare was a boy of 
 sixteen, in Stratford. 
 
 In the next place, the man referred to by Spenser was a gentle- 
 man. The word gentle in these lines is clearly contradistin- 
 guished from base-born. 
 
 That same gentle spirit . . . 
 Scorning the folly of such base-born men. 
 
 No one will pretend that the Stratford fugitive was in 1590 "a 
 gentleman." 
 
 Shakspere, we are told, produced his dramas to make money; 
 
 "for gain, not glory, he winged his roving flight. 1 ' Young, poor, 
 
 just risen from the rank of horse-holder or call-boy, if not actually 
 
 occupying it, it is not likely he could have resisted the clamors of 
 
 his fellows for productions suitable to the degraded taste of the 
 
 hour. But the man referred to by Spenser was a gentleman, a man 
 
 of " learning," a man of refinement, and he 
 
 Rather chose to sit in idle cell 
 Than so himself to mockery to sell. 
 
COKROBORA TING CIRCUMS TA X( A'.S. 2 g r 
 
 The comparison of the poet to the refined student in his "cell " 
 is a very inapplicable one to apply to an actor, be he Marlowe or 
 Shakspere, daily appearing on the boards in humble characters, 
 and helping to present to vulgar audiences the very obscenities and 
 scurrilities of which Spenser complained. 
 
 Again, if we examine that often-quoted verse: 
 
 And he, the man whom Nature's self had made 
 
 To mock herself and Truth to imitate, 
 With kindly counter, under mimic shade, 
 
 Our pleasant Willy, ah ! is dead of late. 
 
 The word counter is not known to our dictionaries in any sense 
 that is consonant with the meaning of these lines. I take it to be a 
 poetical abbreviation of " counterfeit," and this view is confirmed 
 by the further statement that this gentle-born playwright, who 
 despised the base-born play-makers, imitated truth under a shade 
 or disguise; and this disguise was a mimic one, to-wit, that of a 
 mime — an actor. 
 
 The name Willy in that day, as I have shown heretofore, was 
 generally applied to all poets. 
 
 XVII. Another Extraordinary Fact. 
 
 It is sometimes said: How can you undertake to deny Shak- 
 spere the honor of his own writings, when the Plays were printed 
 during his life-time with his name on the title-page of each and 
 every one of them ? 
 
 This is a mistake. According to the list of editions printed in 
 Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare, p. 533 (and 
 there is no better authority), it seems that the name of Shakespeare 
 did not appear upon the title-page of any of the Plays until 1598. 
 The Venus and Adonis and Rape of Lucrece contained, it is true, 
 dedicatory letters signed by Shakespeare; but the first play, Titus 
 Andronicus, published in 1594, was without his name; the First Part 
 of the Contention of the two Houses of Yorke and Lancaster, published 
 in 1594; the Tragedy of Richard, Duke of Yorke, published in 1595; 
 Romeo and Juliet, published in 1597; Richard LL., published in 1597, 
 and Richard LLL., printed in 1597, were all without the name of 
 Shakspere or any one else upon the title-page. It was not until the 
 publication of Love's Labor Lost, in 1598, that we find him set forth. 
 
286 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 as having any connection with the play; and he does not then 
 claim to be the author of it. The title-page reads: 
 
 As it was presented before her Highness this last Christmas. Newly corrected 
 and augmented by IV. Shakespere. 
 
 In the same year the tragedy of Richard II. is published, and 
 the name of "William Shake-speare " appears as the author. 
 
 It thus appears that during the six years from 1592 to 1598 eight 
 editions of plays which now go by the name of Shakespeare were 
 published without his name or any other name upon the title-page. 
 
 In other words, not only did the Shakespeare Plays commence 
 to appear while Shakspere was still in Stratford, and were captiva- 
 ting the town while the author was holding horses or acting as call- 
 boy; but for six years after the Plays which are distinctively 
 known as his, and which are embraced in the Folio of 1623, had 
 won great fame and profit on the stage, they were published in 
 numerous quarto editions without his name or any other name 
 on the title-page. This is mystery on mystery's head accumulate. 
 
 XVIII. When were the Plays Written ? 
 
 But it will be argued by some that Francis Bacon had not the 
 time to write the Shakespeare Plays; that he was too busy with 
 politics, philosophy, law and statesmanship; that there was no time 
 in his life when these productions could have been produced; and 
 that it is absurd to think that he could act as Lord Chancellor and 
 write plays for the stage at the same time. 
 
 In the first place, it must be remembered that Francis Bacon 
 was a man of extraordinary and phenomenal industry. One has 
 but to look at the twenty volumes of his acknowledged writings to 
 concede this. In illustration of his industry, we are told that he 
 re-wrote his Essays thirty times ! His chaplain and biographer, Dr. 
 Rawley, says: 
 
 I myself have seen at the least twelve copies of the Instauration [meaning, says 
 Spedding, 1 the Novum Qrganuni\, revised year by year, one after another, and 
 every year altered and amended in the frame thereof, till at last it came to that 
 model in which it was committed to the press; as many living creatures do lick 
 their young ones, till they bring them to the strength of their limbs. . . . He 
 would suffer no moment of time to slip from him without some present improve- 
 ment. 
 
 1 JVorks, vol. i, p. 47, Boston ed. 
 
CORROBORA TING CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 287 
 
 As the Novum Organum embraces about three hundred and fifty 
 octavo pages of the Boston edition, the reader can conceive the 
 labor required to re-write this twelve times. Let these things be 
 remembered when we come to consider the vastly laborious cipher- 
 story written into the Plays. 
 
 But an examination of Bacon's biography will show that he 
 had ample leisure to have written the Plays. 
 
 In the spring of 1579, Bacon, then eighteen years of age, returned 
 from Paris, in consequence of the death of his father. He resided 
 for a year or more at St. Albans. In 1581, then twenty years old, 
 he ''begins to keep terms at Gray's Inn." In 1582 he is called to 
 the bar. For three years we know nothing of what he is doing. 
 In 1585 he writes a sketch of his philosophy, entitled The Greatest 
 Birth of Time, which, it is supposed, was afterwards broadened out 
 into The Advancement of Learning. In 1585 the Contention between the 
 two Houses of York and Lancaster is supposed to have appeared. In 
 1586 he is made a bencher. He is "/// umbra and not in public or 
 frequent action." "His seclusion is commented on." In this year, 
 according to Malone, The Taming of the Shrew, The Two Gentlemen 
 of Verona and Love 's Labor Lost appear, probably in imperfect forms, 
 like the first of those thirty copies of the Essays. In 1587 (the 
 year Shakspere is supposed to have come to London), Bacon helps 
 in getting up a play, for the Gray's Inn revels, called The Misfor- 
 tunes of Arthur. He also assists in some masks to be played before 
 Elizabeth. Here certainly we have the leisure, the disposition and 
 the kindred employment. In 1588 he becomes a member of Par- 
 liament for Liverpool. He writes a short paper called an Adver- 
 tisement Touching the Controversies of the Church. To this year 
 Dr. Delius attributes Venus and Adonis and Mr. Furnival Love's L^abor 
 Lost. Shakspere is, at this time, either holding horses at the door 
 of the play-house or acting as call-boy, or in some other subordinate 
 capacity about the play-house. In 1589-90 Bacon puts forth a letter 
 to Walsingham, on The Government and the Papists. No one can 
 tell what he is working at; and yet, knowing his industry and 
 energy, we may be sure he is not idle; for in the next year he 
 writes to his uncle Burleigh: 
 
 I account my ordinary course of study and meditation to be more painful than 
 most parts of action are. 
 
2 88 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 And again he says in the same letter: 
 
 If your Lordship will not carry me on, ... I will sell the inheritance I have 
 and purchase some lease of quick revenue, or some office of gain, that shall be 
 executed by deputy, and so give over all care of service and become some sorry 
 book-maker, or a true pioneer in that mine of truth which, Anaxagoras said, lay so 
 deep. 
 
 In 1591 the Queen visits him at his brother's place at Twicken- 
 ham, and he writes a sonnet in her honor. 
 Mrs. Pott says: 
 
 To 1 591 is attributed 1st Henry VI., of which the scene is laid in the same 
 provinces of France which formed Bacon's sole experience of that country. Also 
 The Two Gentlemen of Verona (probably in its present form), which reflects 
 Anthony's sojourn in Italy. Henceforth the "Shakespeare" Comedies continue 
 to exhibit the combined influence of Anthony's letters from abroad, with Francis' 
 studies in Gray's Inn. 1 
 
 This 1st Henry VI. is the play referred to by Halliwell-Phillipps, 
 as acted for the first time March 3, 1592, and as the first of the 
 Shakespeare Plays. 
 
 In 1592 Francis is in debt, borrowing one pound at a time, and cast 
 into a sponging-house by a "hard " Jew or Lombard on account of 
 a bond. His brother, Anthony, comes to his relief. Soon after 
 appears The Merchant of Venice, in which Antonio relieves Bas- 
 sanio. Does this last name contain a hint of Bacon, after the ana- 
 grammatic fashion of the times? 
 
 Dr. Delius attributes Romeo and Juliet to this date. 
 
 In 1593 Bacon composes for some festive occasion a device, or 
 mask, called A Conference of Pleasure. 
 
 During all these years Bacon lives very much retired. He says, 
 in 1594, he is "poor and sick and working for bread." What at ? 
 He says, at another time, " The bar will be my bier." He writes his 
 uncle Burleigh in 1595: 
 
 It is true, my life hath been so private as I have no means to do your Lordship 
 service. 
 
 The Venus and Adonis appears in 1593, with a dedication from 
 William Shakespeare to the Earl of Southampton, Bacon's fellow 
 in Gray's Inn. When the fortunes of Bacon and Southampton 
 afterward separate, because of Southampton's connection with the 
 Essex treason, the poem is re-published without the dedication. 
 
 1 Did Francis Bacon Write Shakespeare ? p. 14. 
 
CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 289 
 
 In 1594 Lady Anne, Bacon's mother, is distressed about his de- 
 votion to plays and play-houses. In 1590 she had written to Anthony, 
 complaining of his brother's irregular hours and poet-like habits: 
 
 I verily think your brother's weak stomach to digest hath been much caused 
 and confirmed by untimely going to bed. and then musing nescio quid when he 
 should sleep, and then, in consequence, by late rising and long lying in bed, 
 whereby his men are made slothful and himself sickly. 1 
 
 In 1594 Bacon begins his P ramus of Formularies and Elegancies, 
 which has been so ably edited by Mrs. Pott, of London, 2 which 
 fairly bristles with thoughts, expressions and quotations found in 
 the Shakespeare Plays. It is clearly the work of a poet who is 
 studying the elegancies of speech, with a view to increase his capac- 
 ity for the expression of beautiful thoughts. It is not the kind of 
 work in which a mere philosopher would engage. 
 
 In this year 1594 "Shakespeare's" Comedy of Errors appears 
 (for the first time), at Bacon's law school, Gray's Inn. In the same 
 year Lucrece is published. In the same year Bacon writes a Device, 
 or mask, which Essex presents to her Majesty on the "Queen's 
 Day/' called The Device of an Indian Prince. In this year, also, 
 Bacon is defeated by Cecil for the place of Attorney or Solicitor- 
 General, and, as Dr. Delius thinks, the play of Richard III., in 
 which the hump-backed tyrant is held up to the detestation of 
 mankind, appears the same year ! 
 
 In 1604 Bacon writes to Sir Tobie Matthew, speaking of some 
 important matter, that he cannot recall what passed, "my head 
 being then wholly employed upon invention" a word which he uses 
 for works of the imagination. 
 
 Here, then, we have the proof that the Plays appeared during 
 Bacon's unemployed youth. No one pretends that he wrote plays 
 while he was holding great and lucrative offices in the state. 
 
 XIX. Some Secret Means of Income. 
 
 And we have evidences in Bacon's letters — although they seem 
 to have been gone over carefully and excised and garbled — that 
 he had some secret means of support. 
 
 In 1595 he writes Essex: 
 
 I am purposed not to follow the practice of the law, and my reason is only 
 because it drinketh too much time, which I have dedicated to better purposes. 
 
 1 Lady Bacon to Anthony Bacon, May 24, 1590 — Li'fe and Works, vol. 1, p. 114. 
 ■ Bacon's Promns, by Mrs. Henry Pott. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
 
290 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE FLAYS. 
 
 Mr. Spedding says: 
 
 It is easier to understand why Bacon was resolved not to devote his life to the 
 ordinary practice of a lawyer, than what plan he had to clear himself of the diffi- 
 culties which were now accumulating upon him, and to obtain means of living and 
 working. What course he betook himself to at the crisis which had now arrived, 
 I cannot possibly say. I do not find any letter of his which can possibly be assigned 
 to the winter of 1596, nor have I met among his brother's papers with any tiling 
 which indicates tvhat he was about. 
 
 And two years before, in April, 1593, we find Bacon writing to 
 the Earl of Essex thus: 
 
 I did almost conjecture, by your silence and countenance, a distaste in the 
 course I imparted to your Lordship touching mine own fortune. . . . And for the 
 free and loving advice your Lordship hath given me, I cannot correspond to the 
 same with greater duty than by assuring your Lordship that I will not dispose of 
 myself without your allowance. . . . But notwithstanding I know it will be pleas- 
 ing to your good Lordship that I use my liberty of replying, and I do almost 
 assure myself that your Lordship will rest persuaded by the answer of those rea- 
 sons which your Lordship vouchsafed to open. They were two; the one that I 
 should include. . . . 
 
 Mr. Spedding says: 
 
 Here our light goes suddenly out, just as we are going to see how Bacon had 
 resolved to dispose of himself at this juncture. 1 
 
 Is it not very remarkable that this letter should be clipped off 
 just at this point ? We are forced to ask, first, what was the course 
 which he intended to take " touching mine own fortune ; " and 
 secondly, if there was no mystery behind his life, why was this 
 letter so emasculated ? 
 
 And it seems he intimated to his mother that he had some 
 secret means of obtaining money. Lady Bacon writes to Anthony 
 at the same time, and in the same month and year: 
 
 Besides, your brother told me before you twice, then, that he intended not to 
 part with Markes [an estate], and the rather because Mr. Mylls would lend him 
 ^900; and, as I remember, I asked him how he was to come out of debt. His 
 answer was that means would be made without that? 
 
 Remember that it was not until January, 1598, that Bacon pub- 
 lished the first of his acknowledged formal works, his Essays. And 
 these were not the forty long essays we now have, but ten short, 
 condensed compositions, which occupied but thirteen double pages 
 of the original quarto edition. These, with a few brief papers, are 
 the only acknowledged fruits we have to represent the nineteen years 
 
 1 Life and Works, vol. i, p. 235. 'Ibid., p. 244. 
 
CORROBORATING CIRCUMSTANCES. 291 
 
 between the date of his return from Paris, in IS7<?, a?id the publication 
 of his ten brief essays in January, Jjp<¥. 
 
 What was that most fecund, prolific, laborious writer doing 
 during these nearly twenty years? He was brimful of energy, 
 industry, genius, mirth and humor: how did he expend it? What 
 was that painful course of study and meditation which he under- 
 went daily, as he told his uncle Burleigh ? 
 
 Read what Hepworth Dixon says of him at the age of twenty-four: 
 
 How he appears in outward grace and aspect among these courtly and martial 
 contemporaries, the miniature by Hilyard helps us to conceive. Slight in build, 
 rosy and round in flesh, dight in sumptuous suit; the head well set, erect, and 
 framed in a thick, starched fence of frill; a bloom of study and of travel on the fat. 
 girlish face, which looks far younger than his years; the hat and feather tossed aside 
 from the broad, white brow, over which crisps and curls a mane of dark, soft hair; 
 an English nose — firm, open, straight; mouth delicate and small — a lady's or a 
 jester's mouth — a thousand pranks and humors, quibbles, ivhims and laughters lurking 
 in its twinkling, tremulous lines. Such is Francis Bacon at the age of twenty-four. 1 
 
 Is this the description of a dry-as-dust philosopher ? Is it not 
 rather the picture of the youthful scholar, the gentleman, the wit, 
 the poet, " fresh from academic studies." who wrote The Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona and Lore's Labor Lost I 
 
 In brief, the Shakespeare Plays are the fruits of Bacon's youth; 
 for it is in youth he tells us that the imagination streams with 
 divine felicity into the mind; while his philosophical works are the 
 product of middle life. It is not until 1603, when Bacon was forty- 
 two years of age, that he published the first of his scientific works, 
 entitled Valerius Terminus; or, the Interpretation of Nature : with the 
 Annotations of Hermes Stella. And who, we ask passingly, was 
 "Hermes Stella"? Was Bacon, with his usual secretiveness, seek- 
 ing another weed — another Shakspere ? Mrs. Pott says: 
 
 There is something so mysterious about this strange title, and in the obscurity of 
 the text itself as well as in the meaning of the astronomical and astrological sym- 
 bols written on the blank outside of the volume, that Mr. Ellis and Mr. f Spedding 
 comment upon them, but can throw no real light upon them. 
 
 XX. Another Mystery. 
 
 W. A. A. Watts, in a paper read before the Bacon Society of 
 London while this work is going through the press, 2 calls attention 
 to the striking fact that Ben Jonson, besides stating that Bacon 
 
 1 Dixon's Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 25. 
 
 3 Journal 0/ the Baconian Society, Aug., 1887, p. 130. 
 
292 FRANCIS BACON THE AUTHOR OF THE PLAYS. 
 
 had "filled all numbers' and was "the mark and acme of our lan- 
 guage," in a poem entitled "Underwoods," addressed to Bacon on 
 
 his birthday, says: 
 
 In the midst, 
 Thou stand'st as though a mystery thou didst. 
 
 This is certainly extraordinary. What was the mystery? Was 
 it in connection with those "numbers" which excelled anything in 
 Greek or Roman dramatic literature, and which were "the mark 
 and acme of our language"? If not, what did Ben mean? 
 
 XXI. Coke's Insults. 
 
 We find all through that period of Bacon's life, between 1597 
 
 and his accession to the place of Lord Chancellor, that he was the 
 
 subject of a great many slanders. But while he alludes to the 
 
 slanders, he is careful not to tell us what they were. Did they refer 
 
 to the Shakespeare Plays ? Did they charge that he paid his debts 
 
 with money taken in at the door of the play-house ? For we may 
 
 be sure that among the actors there were whisperings which it 
 
 would be difficult to keep from spreading abroad; and 
 
 Thus comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 
 And almost thus my nature is subdued 
 To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. 
 
 But there has come down to us a letter of Bacon which gives 
 
 us some account of the insults he was subjected to. In it Bacon 
 
 complains, in 1601, to his cousin, Lord Secretary Cecil, that his 
 
 arch-enemy, Mr. Attorney-General Coke, had publicly insulted him 
 
 in the Exchequer. He tells that he moved for the reseizure of the 
 
 lands of one George Moore, a relapsed recusant, fugitive and traitor 
 
 He says: 
 
 Mr. Attorney kindled at it and said: " Mr. Bacon, if you have any tooth against 
 me pluck it out, for it will do you more hurt than all the teeth in your head will do 
 you good." I answered coldly, in these very words: "Mr. Attorney, I respect 
 you; I fear you not; and the less you speak of your own greatness the more will I 
 think of it." 
 
 He replied: " I think scorn to stand upon terms of greatness toward you, who 
 are less than little; less than the least;" and other such strange light terms he gave 
 me, with such insulting which cannot be expressed. Herewith I stirred, yet I said 
 no more but this: " Mr. Attorney, do not depress me so far; for I have been your 
 better, and may be again, when it please the Queen." With this he spake, neither 
 I nor himself could tell what, as if he had been born Attorney-General; and in the 
 end bade me not meddle with the Queen's business, but mine own. . . . Then he 
 said it were good to clap a capias utlegatum upon my back ! To which I only said he 
 could not, and that he was at fault; for he hunted upon an old sent. 
 
CORROBORA TING CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 2 93 
 
 He gave me a number of disgraceful words besides, which I answered with 
 silence. 1 
 
 And Bacon writes Cecil, evidently with intent to have him 
 silence Coke. 
 
 I will ask the reader to remember this letter when we come to 
 the Cipher Narrative. It shows, it seems to me, that Cecil knew 
 of something to Bacon's discredit, and that Coke, Cecil's follower, 
 had heard of it and blurted it out in his rage in open court, and 
 threatened Bacon with arrest; and Bacon writes to his cousin for 
 protection against Coke's tongue. Spedding says the threat of the 
 capias utlegatum may possibly have referred to a debt that Bacon 
 owed in 1598; but what right would Coke have to arrest Bacon for 
 a debt due to a third party, and which must have been paid three 
 years before? And why should Bacon say "he was at fault." If 
 Coke referred to the debt he was not " at fault," for Bacon cer- 
 tainly had owed it. 
 
 XXII. Conclusion. 
 
 In conclusion I would say that I have in the foregoing pages 
 shown that, if we treat the real author of the Plays, and Francis 
 Bacon, as two men, they belonged to the same station in society, 
 to the same profession — -the law; to the same political party and 
 to the same faction in the state; that they held the same religious 
 views, the same philosophical tenets and the same purposes in life. 
 That each was a poet and a philosopher, a writer of dramatic com- 
 positions, and a play-goer. That Bacon had the genius, the oppor- 
 tunity, the time and the necessity to write the Plays, and ample 
 reasons to conceal his authorship. 
 
 I proceed now to another branch of my argument. I shall 
 attempt to show that these two men, if we may still call them such, 
 pursued the same studies, read the same books, possessed the same 
 tastes, enjoyed the same opinions, used the same expressions, em- 
 ployed the same unusual words, cited the same quotations and fell 
 into the same errors. 
 
 If all this does not bring the brain of the poet under the hat of 
 the philosopher, what will you have? 
 
 1 Spedding, Life and W'erks, vol. iii. p. 2. London : Longmans. 
 
PART III. 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 
 
 As near as the extremest ends 
 Of parallels. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, /, J. 
 
 ^I^HO does not remember that curious word used by Hamlet, 
 
 » » to describe the coldness of the air, upon the platform where 
 
 he awaits the Ghost: 
 
 It is very cold. 
 It is a nipping and an eager air. 1 
 
 We turn to Bacon, and we find this very word used in the same 
 
 sense: 
 
 Whereby the cold becomes more eager.' 1 
 
 There is another strange word used by Shakespeare: 
 
 Light thickens, 
 And the crow makes wing to the rocky wood." 5 
 
 We turn again to Bacon, and we find the origin of this singular 
 expression: 
 
 For the over-moisture of the brain doth thicken the spirits visual. 4 
 
 In the same connection we have in Bacon this expression: 
 The cause of dimness of sight is the expense of spirits. 1 ' 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare's sonnets, and we find precisely the 
 same arrangement of words: 
 
 Tti expense of spirit in a waste of shame. 
 
 1 Hamlet, i, 4. " Macbeth, iii, 2. 5 Ibid. 
 
 2 Natural History, § 688. 4 Natural History, § 693. 
 
 2Q5 
 
296 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 One of the most striking parallelisms of thought and expression 
 occurs in the following. Bacon says: 
 
 Some noises help sleep, as . . . soft singing. The cause is, for that they 
 move in the spirits a gentle attention.* 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 I am never merry when I hear sweet music, 
 The reason is, your spirits are attentive? 
 
 Here we have the same words applied in the same sense to the same 
 thing, the effect of music; and in each case the philosopher stops to 
 give the reason — "the cause is," "the reason is." 
 
 Both are very fond of the expressions, "parts inward" and 
 
 " parts outward," to describe the interior and exterior of the body. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Mineral medicines have been extolled that they are safer for the outward than 
 the inward parts. % 
 
 And again: 
 
 While the life- 
 nbers trembled 
 
 Shakespeare has it 
 
 While the life-blood of Spain went inward to the heart, the outward limbs and 
 members trembled and could not resist. 4 
 
 I see men's judgments are 
 A parcel of their fortunes; and things outward 
 Do draw the inward quality after them, 
 To suffer all alike. 5 
 
 Falstaff tells us: 
 
 But the sherris warms it and makes it course from the inwards to the parts 
 extreme* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Infinite variations. ' 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Nor custom stale 
 
 Her infinite variety* 
 
 The word infinite is a favorite with both writers. 
 
 Bacon has: 
 
 Occasions are infinite? 
 
 Infinite honor. 10 
 
 The infinite flight of birds. 11 
 
 1 Natural History, § 745. * 2d Henry IV., iv, 3. 
 
 2 Merchant 0/ Venice, v, 1. 7 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 3 Advancement of Learning, book \\. 8 Antony and Cleopatra, ii, 2. 
 
 4 Speech in Parliment, 39 Elizabeth (1597-8) ■ Wisdom of the Ancients — Achelous . 
 
 — Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 80. 10 Speech. 
 
 • A ntony and Cleopatra, iii, 2. ' ' New . I tlantis. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 297 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Conclusion infinite of easy ways to die. 1 
 
 Fellows of infinite tongue. - 
 
 A fellow of infinite jest. 8 
 
 Infinite in faculties. 4 
 
 Nature's infinite book of secrecy. 5 
 
 Bacon says: * 
 
 Man in his mansion, sleep, exercise, passions, hath infinite variations; . . . 
 the facilities of the soul. 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 How infinite in faculties? 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 That gigantic state of mind which possesseth the troublers of the -world, such as 
 was Lucius Sylla. 8 
 
 This is a very peculiar and unusual expression; we turn to 
 
 Shakespeare, and we find Queen Margaret cursing the bloody 
 
 Duke of Gloster, in the play of Richard f II., in these words: 
 
 If heaven have any grievous plague in store, 
 Exceeding those that I can wish upon thee. 
 Oh, let them keep it, till thy sins be ripe, 
 And then hurl down their indignation 
 On thee, the troubler of tJie poor world's peace. 9 
 
 In Shakespeare we find: 
 
 Which is to bring Signor Benedick and the Lady Beatrice into a mountain of 
 -affection, the one with the other. 1 " 
 
 This was regarded as such a strange and unusual comparison 
 that some of the commentators proposed to change it into " a moot- 
 ing of affection." But we turn to Bacon and we find the same 
 simile: 
 
 Perkin sought to corrupt the servants of the lieutenant of the Tower by moun- 
 tains of prom ises. ! ' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 To fall from a discord, or harsh accord, upon a concord of sweet accord. '- 
 
 1 Antony and Cleopatra, v, 2. ''Hamlet, ii, 2. 
 
 2 Henry V., v, 2. 8 Advancement 0/ Learning. 
 
 3 Hamlet, v, 1. 9 Richard III., i, 3. 
 
 4 Ibid., ii, 2. I0 Much Ado about Nothing, ii, 2. 
 
 5 A ntony a nd Cleopatra , i , 2 . ' 1 History of Hen ry I VI. 
 
 8 Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. l * Advancement 0/ Learning. 
 
298 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 That is not moved with concord of siveet sounds. 1 
 
 Here we have three words used in the same order and sense by 
 
 both writers. 
 
 We find in Shakespeare this well-known but curious expression:. 
 
 There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will. 2 
 
 This word occurs only once in the Plays. George Stevens says: 
 
 Dr. Farmer informs me that these words are merely technical. A woolman, 
 butcher and dealer in skewers lately observed to him that his nephew (an idle lad) 
 could only assist him in making them. "He could rough-hew them, but I was 
 obliged to shape their ends." Whoever recollects the profession of Shakspere's 
 father will admit that his son might be no stranger to such terms. / have fre- 
 quently seen packages of wool pinri d up xvith sketvers. 
 
 This is the sort of proof we have had that Shakspere wrote the 
 
 Plays. It is very evident that the sentence means, that while we 
 
 may hew out roughly the outlines of our careers, the ends we reach 
 
 are shaped by some all-controlling Providence. And when we turn 
 
 to Bacon we find the very word used by him, to indicate carved 
 
 out roughly: 
 
 A nmgh-hewn seaman. 3 
 
 And we find again in Shakespeare the same idea, that while we 
 may shape our careers in part, the results to be attained are beyond 
 our Control: 
 
 Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own. 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Instruct yourself in all things between heaven and earth which may tend to 
 virtue, wisdom and honor. 5 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Crawling between heaven and earth.* 
 
 There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, 
 Than are dreamt of in your philosophy. 1 
 
 Bacon refers to 
 
 The particular remedies which learning doth minister to all the diseases of the 
 mind. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ?* 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, v, 1, a Hamlet, v, 2. ■ Apophthegms. * Hamlet, iii, 2. 
 
 5 Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in the name of the Earl of Essex— Life and 
 Works, vol. ii, p. 18. '''Hamlet, iii, 1. 7 Hamlet, i, 5. * Macbeth, V, 3. 
 
ID EX TIC A I EX PRE SSIONS. 
 
 299 
 
 Here the parallelism is complete. In each case it refers to 
 remedies for mental disease, and in each case the word minister is 
 used, and the " diseases of the mind" of the one finds its counter- 
 part in u mind diseased" of the other, a change made necessary by 
 the rhythm. 
 
 Surely the doctrine of accidental coincidences will not explain 
 this. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Men have their time, and die many times, in desire of some things which they 
 principally take to heart. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Cowards die many times before their deaths.* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The even carriage between two factions proceedeth not always of moderation, 
 but of a tracness to a man s self, with end to make use of both.* 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Be so true to thyself as thou be not false to others* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 To thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The ripeness or unripeness of the occasion must ever be well weighed. * 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Ripeness is all. 7 
 
 In Shakespeare we have this singular expression: 
 
 O Heaven ! a beast, that wants discourse of reason > 
 
 Would have mourned longer. 8 
 
 This expression "discourse of reason" is a very unusual one. 
 
 Massinger has: 
 
 It adds to my calamity that I have 
 Discourse and reason. 
 
 Gifford thought that Shakespeare had written "discourse and 
 
 reason," and that the of was a typographical error; but Knight, in 
 
 discussing the question, refers to the lines in Hamlet: 
 
 'Essay O/Fr tends hi '/>. 3 Essay Of Fact ion. ■ Hamlet, i, 3. 7 Lear, v, 2. 
 
 "Julius Ctrsar, ii, 2. * Essay Of Wisdom. 'Essay Of Delays. '•Hamlet, i, 2. 
 
300 PA RA L LEU SMS. 
 
 Sure he that made us with such large discourse, 
 Looking before and after, gave us not 
 That capability and god-like reason 
 To fust in us unused. 1 
 
 But when we turn to Bacon we find this expression, which has 
 puzzled the commentators, repeatedly used. For instance: 
 Martin Luther but in discourse of reason, finding, etc/ 2 
 Also: 
 
 God hath done great things by her [Queen Elizabeth] past discourse of reason. 3 
 And again: 
 
 True fortitude is not given to man by nature, but must grow out of discourse of 
 
 .reason.* 
 
 Bacon has: 
 
 But men ... if they be not carried away with a whirlwind or tempest of 
 ambition. 5 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 For in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say, the whirlwind of your 
 passion. 6 
 
 Here we have not only the figure of a wind-storm used to repre- 
 sent great mental emotions, but the same word, nay, the same 
 words, tempest and whirlwind, used in the same metaphorical sense 
 by both. 
 
 Mr. James T. Cobb calls my attention, while this work is going 
 through the press, to the following parallelism. 
 Macbeth says: 
 
 Life's but a walking shadow? 
 
 Bacon writes to King James: 
 
 Let me live <.o serve you, else life is but the shadow of death to your Majesty's 
 most devoted servant. 
 
 And, again, Mr. Cobb notes this. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It is nothing else but words, which rather sound than signify anything. 
 
 1 Act iv, scene 4. ^Advancement of Learning, book i. 
 
 3 History of Squires' Conspiracy — Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 116. 
 
 4 Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in the name of the Earl of Essex— L ife and 
 Works, vol. ii, p. 12. • Advancement of Learning, book ii. 6 Hamlet, iii, 2. ''Macbeth, v, 5. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. Q1 , 
 
 Shakespeare makes Macbeth say of human life: 
 
 'Tis a tale 
 Told by an idiot, full of sound and fiery, 
 Signifying nothing} 
 
 A. J. Duffield, of Delaware Mine, Michigan, calls my attention 
 to the following parallelism. 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 What a piece of work is man ! . . . The paragon of animals; the beauty of 
 the world? 
 
 While Bacon has: 
 
 The souls of the living are the beauty of the world. 3 
 
 Both writers use the physical eye as a type or symbol of the^ 
 intellectual faculty of perception. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The eyes of his understanding? 
 
 For everything depends on fixing the mind's eye steadily. 6 
 
 Illuminate the eyes of our mind.''' 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Hamlet. My father,— methinks I see my father. 
 Horatio. Oh, where, my lord? 
 Hamlet. In my mind's eye, Horatio. 
 
 And again: 
 
 Mine eye is my mind. T 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Pirates and impostors . . . are. the common enemies of mankind.* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And mine eternal jewel 
 Given to the common enemy of man 
 To make them kings. 9 
 
 Shakespeare also says: 
 
 Consider, he's an enemy to mankind.™ 
 
 Thou common whore of man kind. " 
 
 Mrs. Pott 12 points out a very striking parallelism. 
 
 1 Act v, scene 5. ' Sonnet. 
 
 2 Hamlet, ii, 2. 8 History of Henry VIT. 
 
 3 Essay Pan. * Macbeth, iii, 1. 
 
 4 History of Squires' Conspiracy — Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 113. 10 Twelfth Night, iii. 4. 
 
 5 Introduction to Novum Organum. n Timon of Athens, iv, 3 
 
 6 Prayer. ia Prom its, p. 24. 
 
302 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 In Bacon's letter to King James, which accompanied the sending 
 of a portion of The History of Great Britain, he says: 
 
 This being but a leaf or two, I pray your pardon if I send it for your recrea- 
 tion, considering that love must creep wh ere it cannot go. 
 
 We have the same thought in the same words in TJie Two Gen- 
 tlemen of Verona, in this manner: 
 
 Ay, gentle Thurio; for you know that love 
 Must creep in service ivhere it cannot go. ] 
 
 We have in Bacon the word varnish used as a synonym for adorn, 
 precisely as in Shakespeare. 
 Bacon: 
 
 But my intent is, without varnish or amplification, justly to weigh the dignity 
 of knowledge. 2 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver. 3 
 
 And set a double varnish on the fame. 4 
 
 Beauty doth varnish age. 5 
 
 J. T. Cobb calls attention to the following parallelism. Bacon, 
 
 in his letter of expostulation to Coke, says: 
 
 The arising to honor is arduous, the standing slippery, the descent headlong. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Which, when they fall, as being slippery standers, 
 The love that leaned on them as slippery, too, 
 Do one pluck down another, and together 
 Die in the fall. 6 
 
 The image of passion devouring the body of the man is common 
 to both. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It causeth the spirit to feed upon the juices of the body. 1 
 
 Envy f 'cede th upon the spirits. 8 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. 9 
 
 The thing that feeds their fury.' 
 
 1 Act iv, scene 2. 6 Troitus and Cressida, iii, 3. 
 
 2 Advancement of Learning, book i. 7 History 0/ Life and Death. 
 
 3 Othetto, i, 3. 8j bid. 
 
 4 //amtet, iv, 7. " Merchant of Venice, iii, 1. 
 
 •"' Love's Labor Lost, iv, 3. ,0 Taming of the Shrew, ii, 1. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 303 
 
 Feed ivA. the ancient grudge. 1 
 
 Advantage feeds him fat.'- 
 
 To feed contention in a lingering act. 3 
 
 J. T. Cobb points out this parallelism. 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Assume a virtue if you have it not. 4 
 Bacon says: 
 
 All wise men, to decline the envy of their own virtues, use to ascribe them to 
 Providence and Fortune; for so they may the better assume them. 5 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The accidents of life. 6 
 
 The accidents of time. 7 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 As place, riches, favor, 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merits 
 
 With mortal accidents opprest. q 
 
 The shot of accident, the dart of chance. 1 " 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And I do extremely desire there may be a full cry from all sorts of people. n 
 
 Macbeth says: 
 
 And I have bought 
 Golden opinions from all sorts of peopled 
 
 Here we have the same collocation of words. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Not only that it may be done, but that it may be well done. 13 
 
 If that be done which I hope by this time is done, and that other matter shall 
 be done which we wish may be done. 14 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well 
 It were done quickly. 15 
 
 What's done cannot be undone. 1 * 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, i, 3. ,0 Othello, iv, 1. 
 
 * 1st Henry IV., iii, 2. " Letter to Villiers, June 12, 1616. 
 
 3 2d Henry IV., i, i. 12 Macbeth, i, 7. 
 
 4 flamlet, iii, 4. 13 Letter to Lord Chancellor. 
 
 5 Essay Of Fortune. 14 Letter to Sir John Stanhope — Life and 
 
 6 Letter to Sir R. Cecil. Works, vol. ii, p. 50. 
 
 7 Letter to Villiers, June 3, 1616. ,s Macbeth, i, 7. 
 
 8 Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. 16 Ibid., v, I. 
 
 9 Cymbeline, v, 4. 
 
 °r rue r\. 
 
3 o 4 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Hut I will pray for you to the last gasp. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 I will follow thee 
 To the last gasp} 
 
 Fight till the last gasp} 
 Here is another identical collocation of words. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The new company and the old company are but the sons of Adam to rae.- 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Adam's sons are my brethren. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The common lot of mankind. 6 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 The common curse of mankind. 7 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 The infirmity of the human understanding. 8 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 The infirmity of sense. 9 
 
 A friend should bear his friend's infirmities. 
 
 And Mr. J. T. Cobb has called my attention to this parallelism. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 All those who have in some measure committed themselves to the waters of 
 experience, seeing they were infirm of purpose, etc. 11 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Infirm of purpose. Give me the daggers. 12 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Every tangible body contains an invisible and intangible spirit.™ 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 O, thou invisible spirit of wine. 14 
 
 1 Letter to King James, 1621. 9 Measure for Measure, v, 1. 
 
 2 As You Like It, li, 3. 10 Julius Ceesar, iv, 3. 
 
 3 /st Henry VI., i, 1. u The Interpretation of Nature, Montagu 
 
 4 Letter to Villiers. ed., vol. ii, p. 550. 
 * Much Ado about Nothing, ii, 1. 1S Macbeth* ii,2. 
 
 6 Introduction to Great Instauration. 13 Novum Organum, book ii. 
 
 7 Troilus and Cressida, ii, 3. 14 Othello, ii, 3. 
 
 8 Novum Organum, book ii. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 305 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Flame, at the moment of its generation, is mild and gentle } 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 As mild and gentle as the cradled babe. 5 
 
 He was gentle, mild and virtuous. 3 
 
 I will be mild and gentle in my words. 4 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Custom . . . an ape of nature} 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice. 6 
 
 O sleep, thou ape of death." 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Another precept of this knowledge is to imitate nature, which doth nothing in 
 vain. 8 
 
 In artificial works we should certainly prefer those which approach the nearest 
 to an imitation of nature* 
 
 We find the same expression in Shakespeare: 
 
 I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made 
 them well, they imitated humanity so abominably. 10 
 
 And in the preface to the Folio of 1623, which was probably- 
 written by the author of the Plays, we read: 
 
 He was a happy imitator of nature. 
 
 Bacon speaks of a 
 
 Medicine . . . of secret malignity and disagreement toward man's body ; . . . 
 it worketh either by corrosion or by a secret malignity and enmity to nature. 11 
 
 Shakespeare describes the drug which Hamlet's uncle poured 
 
 into his father's ear as 
 
 Holding such enmity with blood of man. 
 
 And again we have: 
 
 A lingering dram, that should not work 
 MaliHously like poison. 12 
 
 Though parting be a fretful corrosive, 
 It is applied to a deathful wound. 13 
 
 1 Novum Organum, book ii. 8 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 2 Henry VI., iii, 2. 9 Novum Organum, book ii. 
 
 3 Richard III., i, 2. 10 Hamlet, iii, 2. 
 
 * Ibid., iv, 4. u Natural History, cent, i, §36. 
 8 Advancement of Learning, book ii. I2 Winter's Tale, i, 2. 
 
 • Love's Labor Lost, v, 2. ,s 2d Henry VI., iii, 2. 
 7 Cymbeline, ii, 2. 
 
306 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Of all substances which nature has produced, man's body is the most extremely 
 compounded, 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The brain of this foolish compounded clay, man. 2 " 
 
 And Bacon, speaking of man, says: 
 
 Certain particles were taken from divers living creatures, and mixed and tem- 
 pered with that clayic mass. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The heavens turn about and . . . make an excellent music* 
 
 Shakespeare says, in Hamlet: 
 
 And there is much music, excellent voice in this little organ; yet cannot you 
 make it speak. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The nature of sounds in general hath been superficially observed. It is one of 
 the subtilest pieces of nature. 1 ' 
 
 Shakespeare has this precise collocation of words: 
 
 A ruined piece of nature} 
 
 We also find: 
 
 When nature framed this piece} 
 
 Thy mother was a piece of virtue} 
 
 As pretty a piece of flesh} 
 
 Oh, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth} 
 
 Bacon also says: 
 
 The noblest piece of justice. 11 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 What a piece of work is man ; 
 How noble in reason. 12 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 A miracle of time. 13 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 O miracle of men. 14 
 
 1 Wisdom of the Ancients— Prometheus. 8 Tempest, i, 2. 
 
 2 2d Henry IV., i, 2. 9 Much Ado about Nothings iv, 2. 
 
 3 Natural History, cent. ii. 10 Julius Ccesar, Hi, 1. 
 
 * Ibid. n Charge against St. John, 
 
 s Ibid. 12 Hamlet, ii, 2. 
 
 6 Lear, iv, 6. 13 Of a War with Spain. 
 
 7 Pericles, iv, 3. 14 2d Henry IV., ii, 3. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 307 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 The fire maketh them soft and tender} 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 The soft and tender fork of a poor worm.' 
 
 Beneath your soft and tender breeding. 3 
 
 As soft and tender flattery. 4 
 
 Here again it is identity not alone of a word, but of a phrase. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Where a rainbow seemeth to hang over or to touch, there breatheth forth a 
 sweet smell. 5 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Breathing to his breathless excellence 
 The incense of a vow. 6 
 
 'Tis her breathing 
 That perfumes the chamber thus." 
 
 We find both Shakespeare and Bacon using the unusual word 
 
 disclose for hatch. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The ostrich layeth her eggs under the sand, where the heat of the sun discloseth 
 them. 8 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Anon, as patient as the female dove, 
 When that her golden couplets are disclosed, 
 His silence will sit brooding. 9 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The elements and their conjugations, the influences of heaven. 10 
 
 While Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 All the skiey influences} 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For those smells do . . . rather 7000 the sense than satiate it. 12 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 The air smells wooingly here. 13 
 
 * Natural History, § 630. 6 King J oh «, i v, 3. 10 Natural History, § 835. 
 
 * Measure for Measure, iii, 1. 7 Cymbeline, ii, 2. n Measure for Measure, iii, 1. 
 
 3 Twelfth Night, v, 1. 8 Natural History, §856. ia Natural History, §833. , 
 
 4 Pericles, iv, 4. 9 Hamlet, v, 1. 13 Macbeth, i, 6. 
 
 5 Natural History, § 832. 
 
3 o8 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Speaking of the smell where the rainbow rests, Bacon says: 
 But none are so delicate as the dew of the rainbow. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 I have observed the air is delicate* 
 We also have: 
 
 A delicate odor. 8 
 
 Delicate Ariel. 4 
 
 The gentle dew. h 
 The gentle rain."'' 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 Shakespeare, of 
 
 The word fantastical is a favorite with both. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Bacon says: 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Which showeth a fantastical spirit. 1 
 
 Fantastical learning/ 
 
 High fantastical. '•' 
 A mad, fantastical trick. 10 
 A fantastical knave. • ' 
 Telling her fantastical lies. 1 
 
 A malign aspect and influence. 13 
 Malevolent to you in all aspects. 1 * 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 So as your wit 
 11 have the crea 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 So as your wit shall be whetted with conversing with many great wits, and you 
 shall have the cream and quintessence of every one of theirs. 15 
 
 What is this quintessence of dust ? 16 
 The quintessence of every sprite. 17 
 
 1 Natural History , § 832. 
 
 * Macbeth, i, 6. 
 
 * Pericles, iii, 2. 
 4 Tempest, i, 2. 
 
 6 Natural History, § 832. 
 
 * Merchant of Venice, iv, 1. 
 
 7 Civil Conv. 
 
 8 Advancement of Learning, book i. 
 
 9 Twelfth Night, i, 1. 
 
 10 Measure for Measure, iii, 2. 
 
 11 As You Like It, iii, 3. 
 
 ™ Othello, ii, 1. 
 
 13 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 14 1st Henry IV., i, 2. 
 
 15 Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, 
 
 written in the name of the Earl of Essex. 
 
 Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 13. 
 18 Hamlet, ii, 2. 
 17 As You Like It, iii, 2. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. i 309 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I find envy beating so strongly upon me. 1 
 
 This public envy seemeth to beat chiefly upon principal officers or ministers. 1 * 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Nor the tide of pomp 
 That beats upon the high shore of this world. :! 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 To choose time is to save time; and an unseasonable motion is but beating the 
 tir. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Didst thou beat heaven with blessings. 5 
 
 Speaking of witchcrafts, dreams and divinations, Bacon says: 
 
 Your Majesty hath . . . with the two clear eyes of religion and natural phil- 
 >sophy looked deeply and wisely into these shadows* 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 All whatsoever you have or can say in answer hereof are but shadows.' 1 
 
 ' While Shakespeare has: 
 
 A dream itself is but a shadow. 4 
 
 To worship shadows and adore false shapes. 9 
 
 Shadows to-night have struck more terror to the soul of Richard. 10 
 
 Hence, horrible shadow.™ 
 
 Life's but a walking shadow.™ 
 
 Bacon enters in his commonplace-book: 
 
 The Mineral wytts, strong poison yf they be not corrected. 13 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 The thought doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards. 14 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Fullness and swellings of the heart. 15 
 
 Bacon to Queen Elizabeth — Life 8 Hamlet, \\, 2. 
 
 and Works, vol. ii, p. 160. 9 Two Gentlemen 0/ Verona, iv, 2, 
 
 2 Essay Of Envy. 10 Richard III. , v, 3. 
 
 3 Henry V.,'\\,\. u Macbeth, iii, 4. 
 
 4 Essay Of Despatch. 12 Ibid., v, 5. 
 
 5 2d Henry IV., i, 3. ls Promus, § 1403, p. 454. 
 * Advancement of Learning, book ii. I4 Othello, ii, 1. 
 
 7 Speech at Trial of Essex. 10 Essay Of Friendship. 
 
? j o PA RA LLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Malice of thy swelling heart. ' 
 
 Their swelling griefs. 2 
 
 The swelling act of the imperial scene. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The most base, bloody and envious persons. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Of base and bloody insurrection. 5 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Matters of no use or moment.* 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Enterprises of great pith and moment.' 1 
 
 In both we have the word sovereign applied to medicines. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Sovereign medicines for the mind. 8 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 The sovereign' st thing on earth 
 
 Was parmaceti for an inward bruise. 9 
 
 In his letter of submission to Parliament, Bacon says: 
 
 This is the beginning of -a golden world. 
 Shakespeare, in The Tempest, says: 
 
 I would with such perfection govern, sir, 
 To excel the golden age. 10 
 In former golden days." 
 Golden times. 12 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 This passion [love], which loseth not only other things, but itself 1 * 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A loan oft loseth both itself and friend. 14 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 A kindly and pleasant sleep. 15 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Frosty but kindly. xi 
 
 1 jst Henry VI. % Hi, i. 9 ist Henry IV., i, 3. 
 
 ?■ 3d Henry VI., iv, 8. 10 Act ii, scene 1. 
 
 3 Macbeth, i, 3. n 3d Henry VI., iii, 3. 
 
 4 Advancement of Learning, book i. ,2 2d Henry IV., v, 3. 
 : ' id Henry IV., iv, 1. ,3 Essay Of Love. 
 
 6 Advancement of Learning, book i. 14 Hamlet, i, 3. 
 
 ''Hamlet, iii, 1. 15 Adz'ancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 8 Advancement of Learning, book i. 16 As You Like It, ii, 3. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 3TI 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The quality of health and strength. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained. 2 
 The quality of the flesh."' 
 The quality of her passion. 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The states of Italy be like little quillets of freehold. 5 
 And he speaks of 
 
 A quiddity of the common law. 6 
 Hamlet says: 
 
 Where be his quiddcts now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures.' 
 
 Bacon speaks of having one's mind 
 
 Concentric with the orb of the universe. 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 His fame folds in this orb o' the earth. 8 
 
 Bacon refers to 
 
 The top of . . . workmanship. 9 
 
 The top of human desires. 10 
 
 The top of all worldly bliss. 11 
 Shakespeare refers to 
 
 The top of sovereignty. 12 
 
 The top of judgment. 13 
 
 The top of all design. 14 
 
 On the other hand, Bacon says: 
 
 He might have known the bottom of his danger}* 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The bottom of my place.™ 
 
 1 Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, 8 Coriolanus, v, 5. 
 
 written in the name of the Earl of 9 Prayer. 
 
 Essex — Life and Works, vol. it, p. 16. •• Advancement of Learning. 
 
 2 Merchant of Venice, iv, 1. ll History of Henry I'll. 
 
 3 Timon of Athens, iv, 3. ^Macbeth, iv, 1. 
 
 4 A ntony and Cleopatra, v. 1. 13 Measure for Measure, ii, 2. 
 
 5 Discourse in Praise of the Queen— " Antony and Cleopatra, v, 1. 
 
 Life and Works. I5 History of Henry VII. 
 
 * Arraignment. ,6 Measure for Measure y \. y 1. 
 
 ''Hamlet, v, 1. 
 
- x 2 PA RALLELISMS. 
 
 The bottom of your purpose} 
 The very bottom of my soul."- 
 Searches to the bottom of the worst. 3 
 
 Bacon has: 
 
 Actions of great peril and motion. 4 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Enterprises of great pith and moment. 5 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The abuses of the times.* 
 Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 The poor abuses of the times." 1 
 Here the identity is not in a word, but in a series of words. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I will shoot my fool's bolt since you will have it so. 8 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A fool's bolt is soon shot. 9 
 
 According to the fool's bolt, sir. 10 
 
 Bacon expresses the idea of the mind being in a state of rest or 
 peace by the words, " The mind is free" as contradistinguished 
 from "the mind is agitated." 11 
 
 Shakespeare uses the same expression: 
 
 When the mind's free 
 The body's delicate. 1 ' 2 
 
 The doctor refers to Lady Macbeth's mental agony, expressed 
 even in sleep, as "this slumbery agitation." 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 In the midst of the greatest wilderness of waters. n 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Environed with a wilderness of sea.* 4 
 
 1 Air s Well that Ends Well, iii, 7. 8 Letter to the Earl of Essex, 1598. 
 
 2 Henry V., ii, 2. 9 Henry V., iii, 7. 
 
 3 Troilus and Cress/da, ii, 2. 10 As You Like It, v, 4. 
 
 4 Speech in Parliament, 39 Elizabeth. ll Novum Organum. 
 6 Hamlet, iii, 1. 12 Lear, iii, 4. 
 
 • Letter to the King. 1 3 New A tlantis. 
 
 7 1st Henry IV., 1, 2. 14 Titus Andronicus, iii, 1. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 3^ 
 
 And again: 
 
 A ^wilderness of monkeys. 1 
 
 A wilderness of tigers* 
 
 Bacon says, in a speech in Parliament: 
 
 This cloud still hangs over the House* 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 And all the clouds that lowered upon our House. 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 Any expert minister of nature. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Angels and ministers of grace. 5 
 
 That familiar but curious expression used by Mark Antony in 
 
 his speech over the dead body of Caesar can also be traced back to 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Lend me your ears. 6 
 
 Bacon, describing Orpheus' power over the wild beasts, paints 
 
 them as 
 
 Standing all at a gaze about him, and lend their ears to his music. 7 
 
 Again Bacon says, referring to the power of music: 
 
 Orpheus drew the woods and moved the very stones to come. 8 
 
 Shakespeare, referring to the power of eloquence, says that it 
 
 Should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 9 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The nature of the vulgar is always swollen and malignant} 9 
 Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 The malice of my swelling heart. 11 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 With an undaunted and bold spirit}' 1 
 Shakespeare speaks of an 
 
 Undaunted spirit in a dying breast. " 
 
 1 Merchant of I 'enice, iii, i. 8 Ibid. 
 
 - Titus Andronicus, iii, i. 9 Julius Cczsar, iii, 2. 
 
 3 Speech about Undertakers. 10 Wisdom of the A ncients. 
 
 4 Wisdom of the Ancients— Proteus. n Titus Andronicus, v, 3. 
 
 5 Hamlet : , 1, 4. IS Wisdom of the A ncients — Sphynx, 
 B Julius Ccesar, iii, 2. 13 1st Henry IT., iii, 2. 
 
 7 Wisdom of the Ancients. 
 
3 1 4 PA A' A LLELIS. M S. 
 
 The phrase " mortal men" is a favorite with both. Bacon says: 
 
 Ravish and rap mortal men} 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Tush, man, mortal men, mortal men} 
 O momentary grace of mortal men* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The state of man. 4, 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The state of matt} 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The vapors of ambition. 6 
 
 Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 The vapor of our valor. 7 
 The vapor of my glory. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 She was most affectionate of her kindred, even unto faction* 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And drove great Mars to faction } {) 
 
 We find Bacon using the word engine for a device, a stratagem. 
 Speaking of the Lambert Simnell conspiracy to dethrone King 
 Henry VII., he says: 
 
 And. thus delivered of this so strange an engine, and new invention of fortune. 1 J 
 
 Iago says to Roderigo: 
 
 Take me from this world with treachery and devise engines for my life. 12 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Whereupon the meaner sort routed together. 13 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Choked with ambition of the meaner sort}* 
 
 Cheering a rout of rebels. 15 
 
 All is on the rout}' 1 ' 
 
 1 Wisdom of the A ncients — Sfihynx. 9 History of Henry VII. 
 
 2 ist Henry IF., iv. 2. 10 Troilus and Cressida, Hi, 3. 
 
 3 Richard III., Hi, 4. ' l History of Henry VII. 
 
 4 Wisdom of the Ancients — Prom. ,a Othello, iv, 2. 
 h fulius Casar, ii, 1. 13 History of Henry VII. 
 * History of Henry VII. 14 ist Henry VI., ii, 5. 
 ''Henry V., iv, 2. 16 2d Henry IV., iv, 2. 
 
 6 Richard III. , i i i , 7 . • 6 2d Henry VI., v , 2. 
 
ID EN TIC A L EXP RE SSIONS. 
 
 3*5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And such superficial speculations they have; like prospectives \ that show things 
 inward, when they are but paintings. x 
 
 The same figure occurs in Shakespeare: 
 
 Divides one thing entire to twenty objects, 
 Like perspectives, which rightly gazed upon 
 Show nothing but confusion ; eyed awry 
 Distinguish form. -2 
 
 And Bacon, in describing a rebellion in Scotland against King 
 
 James III., tells that the rebels captured the King's son — Prince 
 
 James — and used him 
 
 To shadow their rebellion, and to be the titular and painted head of those 
 arms. 3 
 
 This is a very peculiar expression, and reminds us of Lady Mac- 
 
 beth's words: 
 
 'Tis the eye of childhood 
 That fears a, painted devil. 4 
 
 And again Shakespeare says: 
 
 Men are but gilded loam or painted clay. s 
 
 Than is the deed to my most painted word. 6 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 He raised up the ghost of Richard . . . to walk and vex the King. 7 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Thy father's spirit, 
 Doomed for a certain term to walk the night. 8 
 
 Spirits oft walk in death. 9 
 
 Bacon says; 
 
 The news the 
 ce of York was 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The news thereof came blazing and thundering over into England, that the 
 Duke of York was sure alive. 10 
 
 What act 
 That roars so loud and thunders in the index? 11 
 
 He came in thunder; his celestial breath 
 Was sulphurous to smell. 1 ' 2 
 Hast thou not spoke like thunder on my side? 13 
 
 » Sylva Sylvarum. " Hamlet, iii, 1. 10 History of Henry VII. 
 
 2 Richard II., ii, 2. ' History 0/ Henry I 71. ' l Hamlet, iii, 4. 
 
 3 History of Henry 1 77. B Hamlet, i, 5. 12 Cymbelinc, v, 4. 
 4 Macbeth, ii, 2. 9 Ibid., i, 1. 13 Kingfohn, iii, 1. 
 5 Richard II., i, 1. 
 
3 1 6 PA RA LLELISMS, 
 
 The fierce blaze of riot. 1 
 The blaze of youth. 2 
 Every blazing star. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 A spice of madness. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 This spice of your hypocrisy. 5 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 Our sea-walls and good shipping.* 
 
 Shakespeare describes England as 
 Our sea-walled garden. 7 
 
 The word pregna?it, signifying full of consequence or meaning, 
 l is a common one with both writers. Bacon says: 
 
 Many circumstances did feed the ambition of Charles with pregnant and appar- 
 ent hopes of success. 8 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Crook the pregnant hinges of the knee. 9 
 
 Pregnant instruments of wealth. 10 
 
 Were very pregnant and potential spurs. 11 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 His people were hot upon the business. x% 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 It is a business of some heat. ]S 
 
 Bacon says, speaking of old age: 
 
 He promised himself money, honor, friends and peace in the end.' 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And that which should accompany old age, 
 As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends, 
 I must not look to have. 15 
 
 1 Richard 1 'I., ii, i. 6 Speech on Subsidy. 11 Lear, ii, i. 
 
 » All's Well that Etuis Well, v, 3. 7 Richard 17., iii, 4. 12 History of Henry VII. 
 
 3 Ibid., i. 3. 8 History of Henry VII. 13 Othello, i, 2. 
 
 * Of War with Spain. » Hamlet, iii, 2. 14 History of Henry VII. 
 
 * Henry VIII. , ii, 3. ,0 Pericles, iv, Gower. 15 Macbeth, v, 3. 
 
:>'7 
 
 IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 This bred a decay of people. 1 
 
 Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 Decayed men.' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Divers things that were predominant in the King's nature? 
 Macbeth says to the murderers: 
 
 Do you find 
 Your patience so predominant in your nature?* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 As if he had heard the news of some strange and fearful prodigy*" 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A prodigy of fear and a portent 
 Of broached mischief to the unborn times. 6 
 
 Now hath my soul brought forth her prodigy.' 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Turned law and justice into wormwood* 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Weed this tvornnvood irom your fruitful brain.* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 His ambition was so exorbitant and unbounded.™ 
 
 And again: 
 
 Being a man of stomach, and hardened by his former troubles, he refused to 
 pay a mite. 11 
 
 God seeth that we have unbridled stomachs.™ 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have the vastly ambitious Wolsey 
 
 referred to as 
 
 A man of unbounded stomach. u 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 As for her memory, it hath gotten such life, in the mouths and hearts of men. 
 as that envy, being put out by her death, etc. 14 
 
 1 History of Henry VII. 6 ist Henry IV., V, i. J1 Ibid. 
 
 2 Comedy of Errors, iv, 3. 7 Richard II., ii, 2. 12 Letter to Lord Coke. 
 
 3 History of Henry VII. % History of Henry VII. 33 Henry VIII., iv, 2. 
 
 4 Macbeth, iii, 1. 9 Love's Labor Lost, v, 2. 14 Felic. Queen Rlizabetrk. 
 6 History of Henry VII. 10 History of Henry VII. 
 
3i8 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 So shalt thou live — such power hath my pen — 
 
 Where breath most breathes, even in the months of men. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Vain pomp and outward shows of power. - 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye.* 
 
 In both the thought of retirement is expressed in the word cell 
 — referring to the monastic cells. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The cells of gross and solitary monks. 4 
 Again: 
 
 For it was time for me to go to a cell.* 
 
 It were a pretty cell for my fortune. 6 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Nor that I am much better 
 Than Prospero, master of a full poor cell, 
 And thy no greater father. 7 
 
 O proud death! 
 What feast is forward in thine eternal cell} 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The spark that first kindled such fire and combustion? 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 The King chose rather not to satisfy than to kindle coals. 10 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Your breath first kindled the dead coal of wars. 11 
 
 Constance would not cease 
 Till she had kindled France and all the world.' 2 
 
 For kindling such combustion in the state. 18 
 
 As dry combustions matter is to fire. 14 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 If the rules and maxims of law, in the first raising of tenures in capite, be 
 weakened, this nips the flower in the bud. n 
 
 1 Sonnet. » History of Henry VII. 
 
 2 Char. Julius Ca-sar. 1° Ibid. 
 
 3 Henry VIII.. iii, 2. n King John, v, 2. 
 
 4 Advancement 0/ Learning. ,2 Ibid., i, 1. 
 
 5 Letter. ™ Henry VIII., v, 3. 
 8 Ibid. 14 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 7 Tempest, i, 2. 15 Argument, Law's Case of Tenures. 
 
 8 Hamlet, v, 2. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. ^o 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Nip not the gaudy blossoms of your love. 1 
 Nips his root.'-' 
 
 Bacon, after his downfall, speaks of 
 
 This base court of adversity, where scarce any will be seen stirring. 
 
 Shakespeare puts the same expression into the mouth of Rich- 
 ard II. after his downfall: 
 
 In the base court? Base court, where kings grow base, 
 To come at traitors' calls and do them grace. 
 In the base court, come down. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 He strikes terror.* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And strike such terror to his enemies. 5 , 
 Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard. 6 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It is greatness in a man to be the care of the higher powers. } 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Arming myself with patience 
 To stay the providence of some high powers 
 That govern us below. 8 
 
 In his letter to Sir Humphrey May, 1625, speaking of his not 
 having received his pardon, Bacon says: 
 
 I deserve not to be the only outcast. 
 While Shakespeare has: 
 
 I all alone bewail my outcast state. 9 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And successions to great place will wax vile; and then his Majesty's preroga- 
 tive goeth down the -wind.™ 
 
 1 Love's Labor Lost, v, 2. 6 Richard III., v, 2. 
 
 2 Henry VIII., iii, 2. 7 Essay Of Fortune. 
 
 3 Richard II., iii, 3. 8 Julius Casar, v, 1. 
 
 4 Bacon's Letter to Sir Foulke Greville 9 Sonnet. 
 
 — Life and Works, vol. ii, p. 24. I0 Letter relating to Lord Coke. 
 
 5 1st Henry VI., ii, 3. 
 
320 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Othello says: 
 
 If I do prove her haggard, 
 Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, 
 I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, 
 To prey at fortune. 1 
 
 And here we have a singular parallelism occurring in connection 
 
 with the same sentence. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For in consent, where tongue-strings and not heart-strings make the music that 
 harmony may end in discord. 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings* 
 Also: 
 
 He grieves my very heart-strings. % 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 My love 
 Was builded far from accident* 
 
 Mr. J. T. Cobb points a similar expression in Bacon: 
 
 Another precept of this knowledge is not to engage a man's self too peremp- 
 torily in anything, though it seem not liable to accident* 
 
 The wheel was, curiously enough, a favorite image with both. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 My mind doth not move on the wheels of profit. 6 
 
 The wheels of his mind keep away with the wheels of his fortune. 7 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Then can I set the world on 7vheels. s 
 
 Let go thy hold, when a great wheel runs down a hill, lest it break thy neck 
 with following it; but the great one that goes up the hill, let him draw thee after. 9 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It is a rule, that whatsoever science is not consonant to presuppositions, must 
 pray in aid of similitudes. 10 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A conqueror that will pray in aid for kindness, 
 Where he for grace is kneeled to. 11 
 
 1 Othello, iii, 3, 7 Essay Of Fortune. 
 
 3 Ibid., iii, 2. 8 Two Gentlemen of Verona, iii, 1. 
 
 3 Two Gentlenten of Verona, iv, 2. 9 Lear, ii, 4. 
 
 4 Sonnet cxxiv. ' ° A dvancement of Learning. 
 
 5 Advancement of Learning. ' 1 A ntony and Cleopatra, v, 2. 
 
 6 Letter. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 
 
 321 
 
 Franklin Fiske Heard says: 
 
 Praying in aid is a law term, used for a petition made in a court of justice for 
 the calling in of help from another, that hath an interest in the cause in question. 1 
 
 How came the non-lawyer, Shakspere, to put this English law 
 phrase into a Roman play ? 
 
 J. T. Cobb draws attention to this parallelism. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For the poets feigned that Orpheus . . . did call and assemble the beasts and 
 birds ... to stand about him, as in a theater; and soon after called likewise the 
 stones and woods to remove. 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Therefore the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Let him commend his inventions, not ambitiously or spitefully, but first in a 
 manner most vivid and fresh, that is most fortified against the injuries of time. , 4 
 
 Shakespeare says, in one of the sonnets: 
 
 Injurious time, blunt thou the lion's paws. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 A man that hath no virtue in himself. 5 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The man that hath no music in his soul. 6 
 
 Here the resemblance is not in the words, but in the rhythm 
 
 and balance of the sentence. 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 Justice mixed with mercy? 
 Says Shakespeare: 
 
 Let mercy season justice. 9. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 These winds of rumors could not be commanded down. 9 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Thou god of this great vast, rebuke these surges, 
 Which wash both heaven and hell; and thou that hast 
 Upon the winds command, bind them in brass. 10 
 
 1 Shakespeare as a Lawyer, p. 82. 6 Merchant of Venice, V, 1. 
 
 a The Plantation of Ireland. 7 Proceedings York House. 
 
 3 Merchant 0/ Venice, v, 1. 8 Merchant 0/ Venice. 
 
 4 Interpretation of Nature. 9 Letter in name of Anthony Bacon to Essex, i6cc 
 6 Essay Of Envy. 10 Pericles, iii, 1. 
 
322 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 But it may be urged, by the unbeliever, that there is a vast body 
 of the Shakespearean writings, and a still vaster body of Bacon's 
 productions; and that it is easy for an ingenious mind, having 
 these ample fields to range over, to find a multitude of similarities. 
 In reply to this, I will cite a number of quotations from Bacon's 
 essay Of Death, the shorter essay on that subject, not published 
 until after his death, and which is found in the first volume of Basil 
 Montagu's edition of Bacon s Works, on pages 131, 132 and 133. It 
 is a small essay, comprising about two pages of large type, and does 
 not exceed in all fifteen hundred words. And yet I find hundreds 
 of instances, in this short space, where the expressions in this essay 
 are paralleled in the Plays. Let me give you a few of the most 
 striking examples. 
 
 Bacon, arguing that men should be content to die, says: 
 
 And as others have given place to us, so we must in the end give place to 
 others. 
 
 Shakespeare says, speaking of death: 
 
 Since I nor wax nor honey can bring home, 
 I quickly were dissolved from my hive, 
 To give some laborers room} 
 
 We find a kindred thought in Hamlet: 
 
 But, you must know, your father lost a father, 
 That father lost, lost his, and the survivor bound, 
 In filial obligation, for some term 
 To do obsequious sorrow. 2 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 God sends men into this wretched theater, where being arrived, their first lan- 
 guage is that of mourning. 
 
 This comparison of life and the world to a theater, and a 
 melancholy theater, runs all through Shakespeare: 
 
 This wide and universal theater 
 Presents more woeful pageants. 3 
 
 I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano; 
 A stage where every man must play his part, 
 And mine a sad one. 4 
 
 All the world's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players. 5 
 
 1 All 's Well that Ends Welt, i, a. 3 As You Like It, ii, 7. 6 A s You Like It, i:, 7. 
 
 9 Hamlet, i, 2. * Merchant of Venice, \, 1. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 323 
 
 But let us look a little farther into this expression of Bacon. 
 
 God sends men headlong into this wretched theater, where being arrived, their 
 Jirst language is that of mourning. 
 
 In Shakespeare we have precisely the same thought: 
 
 When we are born we cry that we are come 
 To this great stage of fools. 1 
 
 Thou knowest the first time that we smell the air 
 We wawl and cry. 2 
 
 We came crying hither. 3 
 
 The word wretched, here applied by Bacon to the theater, is a 
 
 favorite one with Shakespeare: 
 
 A -wretched soul bruised with adversity. 4 
 
 Art thou so bare and full of wretchedness, 
 And fear'st to die ? 5 
 
 To see wretchedness o'ercharged." 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I compare men to the Indian fig-tree, which, being ripened to his full height, is 
 said to decline his branches down to the earth. 
 
 Says Shakespeare: 
 
 They are not kind; 
 And nature, as it grows again towards earth, 
 Is fashioned for the journey, dull and heavy. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Man is made ripe for death. 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare and we have: 
 
 So from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, 
 
 And then from hour to hour we rot and rot. 8 
 
 Men must endure 
 Their going hence, even as their coming hither; 
 Ripeness is all. 9 
 
 Bacon continues: 
 
 He is sowed again in his mother the earth. 
 Shakespeare says: 
 Where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth ? xo 
 
 1 Lear, iv, 6. 5 Romeo and Juliet, v, i. * As You Like It, ii, 7. 
 
 2 Ibid. 6 Midsummer Night's Dream, v, 1. 9 Lear, v, 2. 
 
 3 Ibid. 7 Titus Andronicus, ii, 2. 10 As You Like It, 1, 2. 
 
 4 Comedy 0/ Errors, ii, 1. 
 
324 PA RA LLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 So man, having derived his being from the earth, first lives the life of a tree, 
 drawing his nourishment as a plant. 
 
 We have a kindred, but not identical, thought in Shakespeare: 
 
 Pericles. How durst thy tongue move anger to our face ? 
 Helicanus. How dare the plants look up to heaven, from whence 
 They have their nourishment? 
 
 The eighth paragraph of the essay Of Death is so beautiful,, 
 pathetic and poetical, and has withal so much of the true Shake- 
 spearean ring about it, that I quote it entire, notwithstanding the 
 fact that I have made use of part of it heretofore: 
 
 Death arrives gracious only to such as sit in darkness, or lie heavy-burdened 
 with grief and irons; to the poor Christian that sits bound in the galley; to de- 
 spairful widows, pensive prisoners and deposed kings; to them whose fortunes run 
 back and whose spirits mutiny: unto such death is a redeemer, and the grave a 
 place for retiredness and rest. 
 
 These wait upon the shore of Death and waft unto him to draw near, wishing 
 above all others to see his star, that they might be led to his place, wooing the 
 remorseless sisters to wind down the watch of their life, and to break them off 
 before the hour. 
 
 What a mass of metaphors is here ! Fortune running backward, 
 spirits mutinying; despairful widows and deposed kings waiting on 
 the shores of death, beckoning to him, watching for his star, wooing 
 the remorseless sisters to wind down the watch of their life, and 
 break them off before the hour ? And how many suggestions are in 
 all this of Shakespeare ? In the word gracious we are reminded of: 
 
 There was not such a gracious creature born. 1 
 
 So hallowed and so gracious is the time.' 2 
 The association of sitting with sorrow is common in Shake- 
 speare: 
 
 Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss, 
 
 But cheerly seek how to redress their harms. 3 
 
 Sitting on a bank, 
 Weeping against the king, my father's, loss. 4 
 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 
 And to the nightingale's complaining notes 
 
 Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 5 
 
 Let us sit upon the ground 
 And tell sad stories of the death of kings — 
 How some have been deposed, some slain in war. 6 
 
 1 King John, iii, 4. 3 jd Henry VI., v, 4. 6 Two Gentlemen 0/ Verona, V, 4. 
 
 3 Hamlet, i, 1. 4 Tempest, i, 2. « Richard //., iii, 2. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 3 2 5 
 
 AW thee down, sorrow^ 
 
 Woe doth the heavier sit 
 Where it perceives it is but faintly borne. 2 
 
 And when we find Queen Constance, in King John, 
 
 Oppressed with wrongs, and therefore full of fears; 
 A widow, husbandless, subject to fears; 
 A woman naturally born to fears, 3 
 
 crying out in her despair: 
 
 Here I and sorrows sit; 
 Here is my throne, let kings come bow to it, 
 
 we seem to read again the words of Bacon: 
 
 Death arrives gracious only to such as sit in darkness, ... to despairful 
 widows, pensive prisoners and deposed kings. 
 
 And in Shakespeare we have another deposed king saying: 
 
 Let's talk of graves, of worms and epitaphs, 
 Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes, 
 Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth. 4 
 
 And another, a deposed queen, wafts to Death to come and take 
 
 .her away, and cries out: 
 
 Where art thou, Death? 
 
 Come hither, come ! come, come, and take a queen 
 
 Worth many babes and beggars. 5 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 To them whose fortunes run back. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The fated sky 
 Gives us free scope; only doth backward pull 
 Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.' 
 
 My fortune runs against the bias. 7 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 Whose spirits mutiny. 
 
 This peculiar metaphor is common in Shakespeare: 
 
 Where w r ill doth mutiny with wit's regard. 8 
 
 There is a mutiny in his mind. 9 
 
 That should move 
 The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny. 10 
 
 My very hairs do mutiny. , n 
 
 1 Love's Labor Lost, i, i. 5 A ntony and Cleopatra, v, 2. 9 Henry I 'III.., iii, 2. 
 
 ' 2 Richard II., i, 3. ■ Julius Ca-sar, i, 2. 10 Julius Ca-sar, iii, 2. 
 
 3 King John, iii, 1. 7 Richard II., iii, 4. ' ■ A ntony and Cleopatra, iii, a. 
 
 * Richard II., iii. 2. - Ibid., II, t. 
 
326 PA PA LLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Unto such death is a redeemer. 
 
 The sick King Edward IV., nigh unto death, says: 
 
 I every day expect an embassage 
 
 From my Redeemer to redeem me hence.' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And the grave a place of re tiredness and rest. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 That their souls 
 
 May make a peaceful and a sweet retire.* 
 Again: 
 
 His new kingdom of perpetual rest. 3 
 
 Oh, here 
 Will I set up my everlasting rest. 4 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 Wooing the remorseless sisters to wind down the watch of their life, and to 
 break them off before the hour. 
 
 Wooing is a favorite word with Shakespeare, and applied, as 
 
 here, in a peculiar sense. 
 
 That wodd the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 
 And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 5 
 
 More inconstant than the wind which woos 
 Even now the frozen bosom of the north. 6 
 
 The heavens' breath 
 Smells wooingly here. 7 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 To wind down the watch of their life. 
 
 Says Shakespeare: 
 
 He is winding up the watch of his wit. 8 
 
 This is indeed an odd comparison — the watch of his life, the 
 
 watch of his wit. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 But death is a doleful messenger to a usurer, and fate untimely cuts their 
 thread. 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut} 
 
 1 Richard II 'I., ii, 1. 4 Romeo and Juliet, v, 3. ''Macbeth, i, 6. 
 
 9 Henry V., iv, 3. * Ibid., i, 4. 8 Tempest, ii, 1. 
 
 3 Richard III., ii, 2. 8 Romeo and Juliet, i, 4. ! ' Henry V., iii, 6. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 327 
 
 Had not churchmen prayed, 
 His thread of life had not so soon decayed. 1 
 
 Till the destinies do cut his thread of life. 
 In the same paragraph Bacon alludes to the remorseless sisters, 
 
 and here we have: 
 
 O fates ! come, come, 
 Cut thread and thrum . . . 
 Oh, sisters three, 
 Come, come, to me, 
 With hands as pale as milk; 
 Lay them in gore, 
 Since you have shore, 
 With shears, his thread oi silk. 3 
 
 Here we not only have the three weird sisters of destiny alluded 
 to by both writers, but in connection therewith the same expres- 
 sion, of cutting the thread of life. 
 
 Bacon says, speaking of death: 
 
 But I consent with Caesar, that the suddenest passage is easiest. 
 
 We are reminded of Cleopatra's studies: 
 
 She hath pursued conclusions infinite 
 Of easy ways to die. 4 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 Nothing more 
 nee. 
 
 We are reminded of Wolsey: 
 
 Nothing more awakens our resolve and readiness to die than the quieted con- 
 science. 
 
 And again: 
 
 I feel within me 
 A peace above all earthly dignities, 
 A still and quiet conscience . 5 
 
 O my Wolsey, 
 
 The quiet of my wounded conscience. 6 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 Our readiness to die. 
 
 Hamlet associates the same word readiness with death: 
 If it be not now, yet it will come: the readiness is all. 1 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 My ambition is not to fore flow the tide. 
 
 1 1st Henry VI., i, i. 4 A ntony and Cleopatra, v, 2. • Ibid., ii, 2. 
 
 3 Pericles, i, 2. 5 Henry VIII., iii, 2. 7 Hamlet, v, 2. 
 
 4 Midsummer Night 's Dream, v, 1. 
 
328 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 For we must take the current when it serves, 
 Or lose our ventures. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 So much of our life as we have already discovered is already dead, ... for 
 we die daily. 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 The Queen that bore thee, 
 Oftener upon her knees than on her feet, 
 Died every day she lived? 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Until we return to our grandmother \ the earth. 
 
 Shakespeare speaks of the earth in the same way: 
 
 At your birth 
 Our grandam, earth, having this distemperature, 
 In passion shook. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Art thou drotvned in security ? 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 He hath a sin that often drowns him. 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 There is nothing under heaven, saving a true friend, who cannot be counted 
 within the number of moveables. 
 
 This is a'strange phrase. We turn to Shakespeare, and we find 
 a similar thought: 
 
 Katharine. I knew you at the first. 
 
 You were a moveable. 
 
 Petruchio. Why, what's a movable? 
 
 Katharine. A joint stool. 6 
 
 And again: 
 
 Love is not love 
 Which alters where it alteration finds, 
 Or bends with the remover to remove* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 They desired to be excused from Death's banquet. 
 
 ^Julius Ccesar, iv, 3. 3 1st Henry IV., iii, 1. 5 Taming 0/ the Shrew, ii,i. 
 
 a Macbeth, iv, 3. * Timon of Athens, til, 5. « Sonnet cxvi. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 329 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 O proud death, 
 What feast is forward in thine eternal cell ? l 
 
 And again: 
 
 O malignant and ill-boding stars ! 
 
 Now thou art come unto a feast of death.' 1 
 
 This is certainly an extraordinary thought — that Death devours 
 
 and feasts upon the living. 
 
 Speaking of death, Bacon further says: 
 
 Looking at the blessings, not the hand that enlarged them. 
 
 This is a peculiar expression — that death enlarges and liber- 
 ates. We find precisely the same thought in Shakespeare: 
 
 Just death, kind umpire of men's miseries, 
 With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The soul having shaken off her flesh. 
 
 Shakespeare has it: 
 
 O you mighty gods ! 
 
 This world I do renounce; and in your sights 
 
 Shake patiently my great affliction off} 
 
 And again: 
 
 What dreams may come, 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. 5 
 
 Bacon continues: 
 
 The soul . . . shows what finger hath enforced her. 
 
 Here is a strange and unusual expression as applied to God. 
 We turn to Shakespeare and we find it repeated: 
 
 The fingers of the powers above do tune 
 The harmony of this peace. 6 
 
 And we find the word finger repeatedly used by Shakespeare in 
 
 a figurative sense: 
 
 How the devil luxury, with his potato finger, tickles these two together. 7 
 
 No man's pie is freed 
 From his ambitious finger.* 
 
 1 Hamlet, V, 2. 4 Lear, iv, 6. 7 Trotlus and Cressida. v, -, , 
 
 12 1st Henry VI., iv, 5. 5 Hamlet, iii, 1. 8 Henry I'll!., i, 1. « 
 
 3 Ibid., ii, 5. 6 Cymbeline, v, 5. 
 
330 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 They are not as a pipe for fortune's finger, 
 To sound what stop she please. 1 
 
 He shall not knit a knot in his fortunes with the finger of my substance. 2 
 
 And the word utter^ as applied to the putting out of music, is 
 
 also found in the same scene: 
 
 These cannot I command to any utterance of harmony: 
 I have not the skill. 3 
 
 Bacon says that the soul 
 
 Sometimes takes soil in an imperfect body, and so is slackened from showing 
 her wonders; like an excellent musician which cannot titter himself upon a defective 
 instrument. 
 
 This thought is very poetical. Shakespeare has a similar con- 
 ception: 
 
 How sour sweet music is 
 When time is broke, and no proportion kept ! 
 So is it in the music of our lives.* 
 
 The comparison of a man to a musical instrument lies at the 
 
 base of the great scene in Hamlet : 
 
 Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me. You would play 
 upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of 
 my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass; 
 and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make 
 it speak. 'Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played upon than a pipe ? 5 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 Nor desire any greater place than the front of good opinion. 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 The very head and front of my offending 
 Hath this extent, no more. 6 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 I should not be earnest to see the evening of my age; that extremity of itself 
 being a disease, and a mere return unto infancy. 
 
 Speaking in sonnet lxxiii of his own age, Shakespeare says: 
 
 In me thou seest the twilight of such day, 
 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 Which by and by black night doth take away. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The extremity of age. 
 
 1 Hamlet, iii, 2. * Hamlet, iii, 2. * Hamlet, iii, 2. 
 
 9 Merry Wives 0/ Windsor, ii, 1. * Richard II., v, 5. fi Othello, i, 3. 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 33 , 
 
 Shakespeare has it, speaking of old age: 
 
 Oh! time's extremity, 
 Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue. 1 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 The middle of youth thou never knowest, but the extremity of both ends. -2 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 A mere return unto infancy. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Last scene of all, 
 That ends this strange, eventful history, 
 Is second childishness and mere oblivion. 3 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 Mine eyes begin to discharge their watch. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Care keeps his watch in every old man's eye. 4 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 For a time of perpetual rest. 
 
 Says Shakespeare: 
 
 Like obedient subjects, follow him 
 To his new kingdom of perpetual rest} 
 
 I. Conclusions. 
 
 This is certainly a most remarkable series of coincidences of 
 thought and expressions; and, as I said before, they occur not in 
 the ordinary words of our language, the common bases of speech, 
 without which we cannot construct sentences or communicate with 
 each other, but in unusual, metaphorical, poetical thoughts; or in 
 ordinary words employed in extraordinary and figurative senses. 
 
 Thus it is nothing to find Bacon and Shakespeare using such 
 words as day and dead, but it is very significant when we find both 
 writers using them in connection with the same curious and 
 abstruse thought, to-wit: that individuals metaphorically die daily. 
 So the use of the word blood by both proves nothing, for they could 
 scarcely have written for any length of time without employing it; 
 but when we find it used by both authors in the sense of the 
 
 1 Comedy of Errors, v, i. 4 Romeo and Juliet, ii, 3. 
 
 8 Timoti 0/ Athens, iv, 3. s Richard III. % ii, 2. 
 
 8 A s You Like It, ii, 7. 
 
.33* 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 essential principle of a thing, as the blood of virtue, the blood of 
 malice, it is more than a verbal coincidence: it proves an identity 
 in the mode of thinking. So the occurrence in both of the words 
 death and banquet means nothing; but the expression, a banquet of 
 death, a feast of death, is a poetical conception of an unusual char- 
 acter. The words soul and shake, and even shuffle, might be found 
 in the writings of all Bacon's contemporaries, but we will look in 
 vain in any of them, except Shakespeare, for a description of death 
 as the shaking off of the flesh, or the shuffling off of the mortal coil, 
 to-wit, the flesh. 
 
 To my mind there is even more in these resemblances of modes 
 of thought, which indicate the same construction and constitution 
 of the mind, and the same way of receiving and digesting and put- 
 ting forth a fact, not as a mere bare, dead fact, but enrobed and 
 enfleshed in a vital metaphor, than in the similarity of thoughts, 
 such as our crying when we come into the world, and the return of 
 man in old age to mere infancy and second childishness; for these 
 are things which, if once heard from the stage, might have been 
 perpetuated in such a mind as that of Bacon. 
 
 This essay Of Death is entirely Shakespearean. There is the 
 same interfusing of original and profound thought with fancy; the 
 same welding together of the thing itself and the metaphor for it; 
 the same affluence and crowding of ideas; the same compactness and 
 condensation of expression; the same forcing of common words into 
 new meanings; and above all, the same sense of beauty and poetry. 
 
 Observe, for instance, that comparison of the soul shut up in an 
 imperfect body, trying, like an excellent musician, to utter itself 
 upon a defective instrument. What could be more beautiful ? See 
 the picture of the despairful widows, deposed kings and pensive 
 prisoners, who sit in darkness, burdened with grief and irons, on 
 the shore of Death, waving their hands to the grim tyrant to draw 
 near, watching for the coming of his star, as the wise men looked for 
 the coming of the star of Bethlehem, and wooing the remorseless 
 sisters three to break them off before the hour. Or note the pathos 
 of that comparison (bearing most melancholy application to Bacon's 
 own fate) where he says: 
 
 Who can see worse days than he that, while yet living, doth follow at the 
 funeral of his own reputation? 
 
IDENTICAL EXPRESSIONS. 333 
 
 And in the craving for a period of ik perpetual rest," which 
 shows itself all through this essay, we catch a glimpse of the 
 melancholy which overwhelmed the soul of him who cried out r , 
 through the mouth of Hamlet: 
 
 Oh, that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 
 Thaw and resolve itself into a dew ! 
 Or that the Everlasting had not fixed 
 His canon 'gainst self-slaughter. 
 
 All through the essay it seems to be more than prose. From 
 beginning to end it is a mass of imagery: it is poetry without 
 rhythm. Like a great bird which as it starts to fly runs for a space 
 along the ground, beating the air with its wings and the earth with 
 its feet, so in this essay we seem to see the pinions of the poet 
 constantly striving to lift him above the barren limitations of 
 prose into the blue ether of untrammeled expression. It comes to 
 us like the rude block out of which he had carved an exquisite 
 statue full of life and grace, to be inserted perchance in some 
 drama, even as we find another marvelous essay on death inter- 
 jected into Measure for Measure. 1 
 
 II. The Style of a Barren Mind. 
 
 As a means of comparison and as an illustration of the wide 
 difference between human brains, I insert the following letter from 
 Lord Coke, who lived in the same age as Bacon, and was, like him, 
 a lawyer, a statesman, a courtier and a politician. 
 
 Bacon's language overruns with flowers and verdure: it is liter- 
 ally buried, obscured and darkened by the very efflorescence of 
 his fancy and his imagination. Coke speaks the same English 
 tongue in the same period of development, but his thoughts are as 
 bare, as hard, as soulless and as homely as an English work-house, 
 in the midst of a squalid village-common, a mile distant from a 
 flower or a blade of grass. When we read the utterances of the 
 two men we are' reminded of that amusing scene, depicted by the 
 humorous pen of Mark Twain, where Scotty Briggs and the village 
 parson carry on a conversation in which neither can understand 
 a word the other says, though both speak the same tongue; illus- 
 trating that in the same language there may be many dialects 
 
 1 Act iii, scene 1. 
 
j 34 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 separated as widely from each other as French from German, and 
 depending for their character on the mental constitution of the 
 men who use them. The speech of an English "navvy" does not 
 differ more from the language of Tennyson's Morte d 1 Arthur than 
 do the writings of Coke from those of Bacon. It will puzzle our 
 readers to find a single Shakespeareanism of thought or expression 
 in a whole volume of Coke's productions. 
 
 The Humble and Direct Answer to the Last Question Arising upon Bagg's 
 
 Case. 
 
 It was resolved, that to this court of the King's bench belongeth authority not 
 only to correct errors in judicial proceedings, but other errors and misdemeanors 
 tending to the breach of the peace, or oppression of the subjects, or to the raising 
 of faction or other misgovernment: so that no wrong or injury, either public or 
 private, can be done, but it shall be reformed and punished by law. 
 
 Being commanded to explain myself concerning these words, and principally 
 concerning this word, "misgovernment," — 
 
 I answer that the subject-matter of that case concerned the misgovernment of 
 the mayors and other the magistrates of Plymouth. 
 
 And I intended for the persons the misgovernment of such inferior magistrates 
 for the matters in committing wrong or injury, either public or private, punishable 
 bylaw, and therefore the last clause was added, "and so no wrong or injury, 
 either public or private, can be dene, but it shall be reformed and punished by 
 law;" and the rule is: " verba inteliigenda sunt secundum subjectam materiam." 
 
 And that they and other corporations might know, that factions and other mis- 
 governments amongst them, either by oppression, bribery, unjust disfranchise- 
 ments, or other wrong or injury, public or private, are to be redressed and punished 
 by law, it was so reported. 
 
 But if any scruple remains to clear it, these words may be added, " by inferior 
 magistrates," and so the sense shall be by faction or misgovernment of inferior 
 magistrates, so as no wrong or injury, etc. 
 
 All which I most humbly submit to your Majesty's princely judgment. 
 
 Edw. Coke. 
 
 Now it may be objected that this paper is upon a dry and grave 
 subject, and that Bacon would have written it in much the same 
 style. But if the reader will look back at the quotations I have 
 made from Bacon, in the foregoing pages, he will find that many 
 of them are taken from his law papers and court charges, and his 
 weighty philosophical writings, and yet they are fairly alive with 
 fancy, metaphor and poetry. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 1 1) EX TIC A L ME TA PHORS. 
 
 Touchstone. For ail your writers do consent, that ipse is he; 
 
 Now you are not ipse, for I am he. 
 
 William. Which he, sir? A* You Like ft, v, I. 
 
 BOTH Bacon and Shakespeare reasoned by analogy. When- 
 ever their thoughts encountered an abstruse subject, they 
 compared it with one plain and familiar; whenever they sought to 
 explain mental and spiritual phenomena, they paralleled them with 
 physical phenomena; whenever they would render clear the lofty 
 and great, they called up before the mind's vision the humble and 
 the insignificant. All thoughts ran in parallel lines; no thought 
 stood alone. Hence the writings of both are a mass of similes and 
 comparisons, 
 
 I. Humble and Base Things Used as Comparisons. 
 
 We have seen that Bacon and his double were both philoso- 
 phers, and especially natural philosophers, whose observation took 
 in " the hyssop on the wall, as well as the cedar of Libanus; " and 
 when we come to consider their identity of comparisons, we shall 
 find in both a tendency to use humble and even disgusting things 
 as a basis of metaphor. 
 
 We shall see that Bacon was always " puttering in physic," and 
 we find Shakespeare constantly using medical terms and facts in 
 his poetry. 
 
 We find, for instance, that both compared the driving-out of 
 evil influences, in the state or mind, to the effect of purgative medi- 
 cines. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The King . . . thought ... to proceed with severity against some of the 
 principal conspirators here within the realm; thereby to purge the ill humors in 
 Flngland. 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 Some of the garrison observing this, and having not their minds purged of the 
 late ill blood of hostility. 2 
 
 tory of Henry VII. ' 2 Ibid. 
 
 335 
 
3^6 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 But as in bodies very corrupt the medicine rather stirreth and exasperateth 
 the humor than pitrgeth it, so some turbulent spirits laid hold of this proceeding 
 toward my lord, etc. 1 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 I 
 Do come with words as medicinal as true; 
 Honest as either; to purge him of that humor 
 That presses him from sleep. 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 And again: 
 And again: 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Blood hath been shed ere now, i' the olden time, 
 Ere human statute pureed the gentle weal. 3 
 
 Would purge the land of these drones. 4 
 
 And, for the day, confined to fast in fires, 
 
 Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature, 
 
 Are burnt and purged away. 5 
 
 Sometimes opening the obstructions* 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Purge the obstructions." 1 
 
 And the same thought occurs in different language. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And so this traitor Essex made his color the scouring of some noblemen and 
 counselors from her Majesty's favor. 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug 
 Will scour these English hence? 8 
 
 The comparison of men and things to bodily sores is common 
 in both — an unusual trait of expression in an elevated mind and a 
 poet; but it was part of Bacon's philosophy " that most poor things 
 point to rich ends." 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Augustus Csesar, out of great indignation against his two daughters and Posthu- 
 mus Agrippa, his grandchild, whereof the first two were infamous, and the last 
 
 'Report of Judicial Proceed- 3 Macbeth, iv, 3. * History of Henry I'll. 
 
 ings at York House. 4 Pericles, ii, 1. 7 zd Henry IV. , iv, 1. 
 
 2 Winter's Tale, ii, 3. 6 Hamlet, i, 5. 8 Macbeth, v, 3. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 337 
 
 otherwise unworthy, would say " that they were not his seed, but some imposthumes 
 that had broken from him." 1 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Should a man have them to be slain by his vassals, as the posthumus of Alex- 
 ander the Great was ? Or to call them his imposlhumes, as Augustus Caesar called 
 his?' 2 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 This is the impost hume of much wealth and peace, 
 That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 
 Why the man dies. 5 
 
 And we find precisely the same thought in Bacon: 
 
 He that turneth the humors back and maketh the wound bleed inwards, ingen- 
 dereth malign ulcers and pernicious i mposthumations . x 
 
 We have a whole body of comparisons of things governmental 
 
 to these ulcers, in their different stages of healing. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 We are here to search the wounds of the realm, not to skin them over. 5 
 
 Spain having lately, with much difficulty, rather smoothed and skinned over 
 than healed and extinguished the commotion of Aragon. 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A kind of medicine in itself 
 That skins the vice o' the top. 1 
 
 Mother, for love of grace, 
 Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, 
 That not your trespass, but my madness speaks: 
 It will but skin and film the ulcerous place ; 
 While rank corruption, mining all within, 
 Infects unseen. 8 
 
 And even this curious word mining we find in Bacon used in the 
 
 same figurative sense: 
 
 To search and mint into that which is not revealed. 9 
 
 And we find this same inward infection referred to in Bacon: 
 
 A profound kind of fallacies, ... the force whereof is such as it . . . doth 
 more generally and inwardly infect and corrupt. 10 
 
 And then we have in both the use of the word canker or cancer 
 as a source of comparison: 
 
 1 Apophthegms. « Observations on a Libel — Life and 
 
 2 Discourse in Praise of the Queen — Life Works, vol. i, p. 162. 
 
 and Works, vol. i, p. 140. 7 Measure for Measure, ii, 2. 
 
 3 Hamlet, iv, 4. e Hamlet, iii, 4. 
 
 4 Essay Of Sedition. 9 Advancement of Learning, book i. 
 6 Speech in Parliament. 10 Ibid., book ii. 
 
338 PA RA LLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 The canker of epitomes. 1 
 
 The cankers of a calm world and a long peace. 2 
 Banish the canker of ambitious thoughts. :! 
 This canker of our nature. 4 
 This canker, Bolingbroke. 5 
 
 Out of this tendency to dwell upon physical ills, and the cure of 
 them, we find both coining a new verb, medicining, or to medicine. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 The medicining of the mind. 6 
 Again : 
 
 Let the balm distill everywhere, from your sovereign hands to the medicining 
 of any part that complaineth. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Great griefs, I see, medicine the less. 8 
 
 Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy sirups of the world, 
 Shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep, 
 Which thou owedst yesterday. 9 
 
 We find the same tendency in both to compare physical ills 
 with mental ills, the thing tangible with the thing intangible. 
 Bacon: 
 
 We know diseases of stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in the 
 body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind: you may take sarsa to open the 
 liver, steel to open the spleen, flour of sulphur for the lungs, castareum for the 
 brain; but no receipt openeth the heart but a true friend, to whom you may impart 
 griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels and whatsoever lieth upon the heart 
 to oppress it. 10 
 
 You shall know what disease your mind is aptest to fall into. 11 
 Good Lord, Madam, how wisely and aptly you can speak and discern of physic 
 ministered to the body, and consider not that there is the like occasion of physic 
 ministered to the mind. n 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare, and we find him indulging in the same 
 kind of comparisons. In Macbeth we have: 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 8 Cymbeline, iv, 2. 
 
 2 ist Henry IV., iv, 2. 9 Othelto, Hi, 3. 
 
 3 2d Henry VI., i, 2. • 10 Essay Of Friendship. 
 
 * Hamlet, v, 2. IJ Bacon's Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written 
 
 3 ist Henry IV., i, 3. in the name of the Earl of Essex — Life and 
 
 6 Advancement of Learning, book ii. Works, vol. ii, p. 9. 
 
 7 Gesta Grayorum — Life and 12 Apology. 
 
 Works, vol. i, p. 339. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 339 
 
 Macbeth. How does your patient, doctor? 
 Doctor. Not so sick, my lord. 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Macbeth. Cure her of that: 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased. 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow. 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain; 
 And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, 
 Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff 
 Which weighs upon the heart f 
 
 Doctor. Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister to himself. 1 
 
 In both these extracts the stoppages and "suffocations" of the 
 body are compared to the stuffed condition of the mind and heart; 
 in both the heart is thus oppressed by that which lies upon it; in both 
 we are told that there is no medicine that can relieve the over- 
 charged spirit. 
 
 Malcolm says: 
 
 Be comforted. 
 Let's make us tued'eines of our great revenge, 
 To cure this deadly grief.' 2 
 
 II. The Organs of the Body Used as a Basis of Com- 
 parison. 
 
 We turn to another class of comparisons. In both writers we find 
 the organs of the body used as a basis of metaphor, just as we have 
 seen the " medicining" of the body applied to the state of the 
 mind. 
 
 Every reader of Shakespeare remembers that strange expression 
 
 in Richard III.: 
 
 Thus far into the bowels of the land 
 Have we marched without impediment/ 1 
 
 We find the same comparison often repeated: 
 
 Into the bowels of the battle. 4 
 
 The bowels of ungrateful Rome. 5 
 
 The fatal bowels of the deep. 6 
 And we find Bacon employing the same strange metaphor: 
 This fable is wise and seems to be taken out of the bowels of morality." 
 
 1 Macbeth, V, 3. 3 Richard III., v, 2. 5 Coriolanns, iv, 5. 
 
 2 Ibid., iv, 3. */st Henry VI. y i, 1. 6 Richard III., iii, 4. 
 
 7 Wisdom of the Ancients — Juno's Suitor. 
 
340 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 If any state be yet free from his factions, erected in the bowels thereof. 1 
 Speaking of the fact that earthquakes affecting a small area 
 
 reach but a short distance into the earth. Bacon observes that, 
 
 where they agitate a wider area, 
 
 We are to suppose that their bases and primitive seats enter deeper into the 
 bowels of the earth} 
 
 This is precisely the expression used by Hotspur: 
 
 Villainous saltpeter dug out of the bowels of the harmless earth} 
 
 And this comparison of the earth to the stomach, and of an 
 
 earthquake to something which disturbs it, we find in Shakespeare: 
 
 Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth 
 In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth 
 Is with a kind of colic pinched and vexed 
 By the imprisoning of unruly wind 
 Within her womb. 4 
 
 And we find the processes of the stomach, in both sets of 
 writings, applied to mental operations: 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 How shall we stretch our eye 
 When capital crimes, chewed, swallowed and digested, 
 Appear before us? 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be 
 chewed and digested} 
 
 In both we find the human body compared to a musical instru- 
 ment. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The office of medicine is to tune this curious harp of man's body and reduce it 
 to harmony. 7 
 
 In Shakespeare, Pericles tells the Princess: 
 
 You're a fair viol, and your sense the strings, 
 Who, fingered to make man his lawful music, 
 Would draw heaven down and all the gods to hearken. * 
 
 And the strings of the harp furnish another series of compari- 
 sons to both. Bacon says: 
 
 They did strike upon a string that was more dangerous. 9 
 
 1 Discourse in Praise of the Queen — Life 5 Henry V„ ii, 2. 
 
 and Works, vol. i, p. 137. « Essay Of Studies. 
 
 2 Nature of Things. 7 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 3 1st Henry IV., i, 3. ° Pericles, i, 1. 
 
 4 Ibid., iii, 1. ^History of Henry I 'II. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 34I 
 
 And again 
 
 The King was much moved, . . . because it struck upon that string which even 
 he most feared. 1 
 
 And Shakespeare says: 
 
 Harp not on that string, madam.' 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 I would 'twere something that would fret the string, 
 The master-cord on 's heart. 3 
 
 And the word harping is a favorite with both. Bacon says: 
 
 This string you cannot harp upon too much. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Harping upon that which should follow." 1 
 
 And in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Still harping on my daughter. 6 
 
 Harping on what I am, 
 Not what he knew I was. 7 
 
 Thou hast harped my fear aright." 
 
 We have the disorders of the body of man also made a source 
 of comparison for the disorders of the mind, in the following 
 instance. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 High conceits do sometimes come streaming into the minds and imaginations 
 of base persons, especially when they are drunk with news, and talk of the people. 9 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Was the hope drunk 
 Wherein you dressed yourself? 1 " 
 
 What ! drunk with choler? 11 
 
 Hath our intelligence been drunk? 1 * 
 Here we have drunkenness applied to the affections and emo- 
 tions — to the mind in the one case, to the intelligence in the other; 
 to the imagination in the first instance, to the hope and the temper 
 in the last. 
 
 We have the joints of the body used by both to express the con- 
 dition of public affairs. 
 
 1 History of Henry VII. 7 A ntony and Cleopatra, Hi, 3. 
 
 3 Richard III., iv, 4. ■ Macbeth, iv, 1. 
 
 3 Henry I'll I. , iii, 2. 9 History of Henry I 'II. 
 
 4 Letter to Essex, Oct. 4, 1596. I0 Macbeth, i, 7. 
 
 5 Civil Con?: u 1st Henry IV., i, 3. 
 ■ Hamlet, ii. 2. 12 King John, iv, 2. 
 
:>4- 
 
 PARALLEL] SMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 We do plainly see in the most countries of Christendom so unsound and 
 shaken an estate, as desireth the help of some great person, to set together and 
 join again the pieces asunder and out of joint} 
 
 In Shakespeare we have Hamlet's exclamation, also applied to 
 the condition of the country: 
 
 The time is out of joint — Oh, cursed spite, 
 That ever I was born to set it right. 2 
 
 We have the body of man made the basis of another compari- 
 son. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The very springs and sinews of industry. 3 
 
 We should intercept his [the King of Spain's] treasure, whereby we shall cut 
 his sinews* 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 The portion and sinew of her fortune. 5 
 
 Nay, patience, or we break the sinews of our plot. 6 
 
 The noble sinews of our power, 7 
 
 We have the same comparison applied to the blood-vessels of 
 
 the body. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 He could not endure to have trade sick, nor any obstruction to continue in the 
 gate-vein which disperseth that blood. 8 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body. 9 
 
 We have in both the comparison of the body of man to a taber- 
 nacle or temple in which the soul or mind dwells. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Thus much for the body, which is but the tabernacle of the mind. 10 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Nothing vile can dwell in such a temple. n 
 
 1 Of the State of Europe. 7 Henry /"., i, 2. 
 
 8 Hamlet, i, 5. 8 History 0/ Henry I 'II. 
 
 8 Novum Organum , book i. ' Hamlet, i, 5. 
 
 * Letter to Essex, June, 1596. 10 Advancement of Learning book ii. 
 6 Measure for Measure, iii, j. n Tempest, i, 2. 
 
 • Twelfth Night, il, 5. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 343 
 
 And again: 
 
 For nature, crescent, does not grow alone 
 In thews and bulk; but, as this temple waxes, 
 The inward service of the mind and soul 
 Grows wide withal. 1 
 
 Oh, that deceit should dwell 
 In such a gorgeous palace} 
 
 Even the clothing which covers the body becomes a medium of 
 comparison in both. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Behavior seemeth to me as a garment of the mind.* 
 
 This curious idea, of robing the mind in something which shall 
 
 cover or adorn it, is used by Shakespeare: 
 
 With purpose to be dressed in an opinion 
 Of wisdom. 4 
 
 And dressed myself in such humility* 
 
 Was the hope drunk wherein you dressed yourself? 6 
 
 And the same thought occurs in the following: 
 
 The garment of rebellion. 7 
 Dashing the garment of this peace. 8 
 
 Part of the raiment of the body is used by both as a comparison 
 for great things. 
 Bacon: 
 
 The motion of the air in great circles, such as are under the girdle of the 7vorld.* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Puck. I'll put a girdle round about the earth 
 In forty minutes. 10 
 
 We have said that both writers were prone to use humble and 
 familiar things as a basis of comparison for immaterial and great 
 things. We find some instances in the following extracts. 
 
 The blacksmith's shop was well known to both. Bacon says: 
 There is shaped a tale in London's forge that beateth apace at this time.' 1 
 
 1 Hamlet, i, 3. • Macbeth, i, 7. 
 
 2 Romeo and Juliet, iii, 2. 7 1st Henry IV., v, 1. 
 8 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 8 Henry VIII, i, 1. 
 
 4 Merchant of Venice, i, 1. 9 Natural History, § 398. 
 
 6 1st Henry IV., iii, 2. 10 Midsummer Night's Drcavi, ii, 2. 
 
 11 Letter to Lord Howard. 
 
344 
 
 PA KA LLEL1SM S. 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Mrs. Page. Come, to the forge with it, then; shape it. I would not have 
 things cool. 1 
 
 Here we have in the one case a tale shaped in the forge ; in the 
 
 other a plan is to be shaped in the forge. 
 
 And again we have in Shakespeare: 
 
 In the quick forge and working-house of thought* 
 
 I should make very forges of my cheeks, 
 That would to cinders burn up modesty. 3 
 
 Again we find in Bacon: 
 
 Though it be my fortune to be the anvil upon which these good effects are 
 beaten and wrought. 4 
 
 Speaking of Robert Cecil, Bacon says: 
 
 He loved to have all business under the hammer* 
 
 And this: 
 
 He stayed for a better hour till the hammer had wrought and beat the party 
 of Britain more pliant. 6 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 I cannot do it, yet I'll hammer it out 
 Of my brain. 7 
 
 Whereupon this month I have been hammering* 
 
 The refuse left at the bottom of a wine-cask is used by both 
 metaphorically. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 That the [Scotch] King, being in amity with him, and noways provoked, should 
 so burn in hatred towards him as to drink the lees and dregs of Perkin's intoxication, 
 who was everywhere else detected and discarded. 9 
 
 And again Bacon says: 
 
 The memory of King Richard lay like lees in the bottom of men's hearts; and if 
 the vessel was but stirred it would come up. 10 
 
 And Bacon speaks of 
 
 The dregs of this age. 11 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare and we find: 
 
 He, like a puling cuckold, would drink up 
 The lees and dregs of a flat, tamed piece. 12 
 
 1 Merry Wives of Windsor, iv, 2. 7 Richard II., v, 5. 
 
 2 Henry V., v, cho. 8 Two Gentlemen of Verona, i, 3. 
 
 3 Othello, iv, 2. » History of Henry VII. 
 
 4 Letter to the Lords. 10 Ibid. 
 
 5 Letter to King James, 1612. n Bacon to Queen Elizabeth — Life and 
 6 History of Henry I'll. Works, vol, ii, p. 160. 
 
 12 Troilus and Cress i da. iv, 1. 
 
Again: 
 
 Again: 
 Again: 
 
 I DEN TIC A L ME T. 1 PHORS. 
 
 All is but toys; renown and grace is dead; 
 The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees 
 Is left this vault to brag of. 1 
 
 Some certain dregs of conscience.'' 
 
 The dregs of the storm be past.' 
 
 345 
 
 And the floating refuse which rises to the top of a vessel is also 
 used in the same sense by both. 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The scum of the people. 4 
 Again : 
 
 A rabble and scum of desperate people. 5 
 While Shakespeare says : 
 
 A scum of Bretagnes and base knaves. 6 
 
 Again: 
 
 The tilth and scum ot Kent. 7 
 
 Again: 
 
 Froth and scum, thou liest. 8 
 
 Another instance of the use of humble and physical things as a 
 basis of comparison in the treatment of things intellectual is found 
 in the following curious metaphor: 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 He that seeketh victory over his nature, let him not set himself too great or too 
 small tasks, . . . and at the first let him practice with helps, as swimmers do with 
 bladders. 9 ' 
 
 While Shakespeare has: 
 
 I have ventured, 
 Like little wanton boys, that swim on bladders, 
 This many summers in a sea of glory. 10 
 
 The people are compared by both to mastiffs. 
 
 Bacon : 
 
 The blood of so many innocents slain within their own harbors and nests by 
 the scum of the people, who, like so many mastiffs, were let loose, and heartened 
 and even set upon them by the state. 11 
 
 1 Macbeth, ii, 3. 5 History 0/ Henry VII. 9 Essay Of Nature in Men. 
 
 2 Richard III, i, 4. 8 Richard III., v, 2. »° Henry VIII., iii, 2. 
 
 3 Tempest, ii, 2. 7 2d Henry VI., iv, 2. " Felic. Queen Elisabeth. 
 
 4 Felic. Queen Elizabeth. 8 Merry Wives of Windsor , i, 1. 
 
346 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 The men do sympathize with their mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming-on. F 
 
 We will see hereafter how much Bacon loved the pursuit of 
 
 gardening. 
 
 He says: 
 
 He entered into due consideration how to weed out the partakers of the former 
 rebellion. 2 
 
 Again: 
 
 A man's nature runs either to herbs or weeds; therefore let him seasonably 
 water the one and destroy the other. 3 
 
 While Shakespeare has: 
 
 So one by one we'll weed them all at last. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 The caterpillars of the commonwealth. 
 Which I have sworn to weed and pluck away. 5 
 
 The mirror is a favorite comparison in both sets of writings, as 
 usual the thing familiar and physical illustrating the thing 
 abstruse and intellectual. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 God hath framed the mind of man as a mirror or glass capable of the image of 
 the universal world. 6 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Now all the youth of England are on fire, . . 
 Following the mirror of all Christian kings. 7 
 
 Bacon 
 
 That which I have propounded to myself is ... to shoiu you your true shape 
 in a glass. 9, 
 
 Shakespeare says of play-acting: 
 
 Whose end both at the first, and now, was and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror 
 up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very 
 age and body of the time his form and pressure. 9 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 If there be a mirror in the world worthy to hold men's eyes, it is that country." 
 
 1 Henry V., iii, 7. * Advancement 0/ Learning, book i. 
 
 3 History 0/ Henry VII. » Henry V., ii. cho. 
 
 3 Essay Of Nature in Men, 6 Letter to Coke. 
 
 * 2d Henry VI., i, 3. 9 Hamlet, iii , 2. 
 
 • Richard II., ii, 3. J0 New Atlantis. 
 
WYEXStTY 
 
 try J 
 
 IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 347 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The mirror of all courtesy. 1 
 
 He was, indeed, the glass 
 Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves. 2 
 
 Here is another humble comparison. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 He thought it [the outbreak] but a rag or remnant of Bosworth-field. 3 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Away ! thou rag; thou quantity, thou remnant.* 
 Here we have both words, rag and remnant, used figuratively,, 
 and used in the same order. 
 
 Again: 
 
 Thou rag of honor. 5 
 
 Not a rag of money. 6 
 
 Both writers use the humble habitation of the hog as a medium 
 
 of comparison. 
 
 Bacon: • 
 
 Styed up in the schools and scholastic cells. 7 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 And here you sty me 
 On this hard rock. 8 
 
 Here is a comparison based on the same familiar 'facts. 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The wisdom of rats that will be sure to leave a house somewhat before it fall . * 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A rotten carcass of a butt, not rigged, 
 Nor tackle, sail, nor mast ; the very rats 
 Instinctively have quit it. 10 
 
 The habits of birds are called into requisition by both writers. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 In her withdrawing-chamber the conspiracy against King Richard the Third 
 had been hatched.™ 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Dire combustion and confused events 
 New hatched to the woeful time. 1 ' 2 
 
 1 Henry VIII., ii, 1. • Richard Iff, i, 3. 9 Essay Of Wisdom. 
 
 1 2d Henry IV., ii, 3. K Comedy 0/ Errors, iv, 4. ,0 Tempest, i, 2. 
 
 3 History of Henry VII. 7 Xatural History. u History of Henry VII- 
 
 4 Taming of the Shrew, iv, 3. " Tempest, i, 2. ,a Macbeth, ii, 3. 
 
348 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And again 
 
 Such things become the hatch and brood of time. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Will you be as a standing pool, that spendeth and choketh his spring within 
 itself? 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 There are a sort of men whose visages 
 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pond." 
 
 Even the humble wagon forms a basis of comparison. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 This is the axle-tree whereupon I have turned and shall turn. 4 
 
 And again Bacon says: 
 
 The poles or axle-tree of heaven, upon which the conversion is accomplished. 5 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 A bond of air strong as the axle-tree 
 On which heaven rides. 6 
 
 In the following another comparison is drawn from an humble 
 source; and here, as in rag and remnant, not only is the same word 
 used in both, but the same combination of words occurs. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 To reduce learning to certain empty and barren generalities; being but the 
 very husks and shells of sciences. 7 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 But the shales and husks of men. 8 
 
 Strewed with the husks 
 And formless ruin of oblivion. 9 
 
 Who can forget Hamlet's exquisite description of the heavens: 
 This majestic roof fretted with golden fire. 10 
 
 Few have stopped to ask themselves the meaning of the word 
 fretted. We turn to the dictionary and we find no explanation that 
 satisfies us. We go to Bacon, to the mind that conceived the 
 thought, and we find that it means ornamented by fret-work. 
 
 1 2ci Henry IV., iii, i. 6 Troilus and Cress/da, i, 3. 
 
 ,J Gesta Grayomm — Life and II 'or As, vol. i, p. 339. 7 . idvancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 3 Merchant of J'enice, i, 1. s Henry I'., iv, 2. 
 
 4 Letter to Earl of Essex, 1600. '•' Troilus and Cressida, iv, 5. 
 * Advancement of Learning, book ii. ,8 Hamlet, ii, :;. 
 
I DEN TIC A L ME 1 A PIJOK S. 
 
 349 
 
 For if that great Work-master had been of a human disposition, he would have 
 cast the stars into some pleasant and beautiful works and orders, like the frets in 
 the roofs of houses. 1 
 
 Here we have a double identity: first, the heavens are compared 
 to the roof of a house, or, more properly, the ceiling of a room; and 
 secondly, the stars are compared to the fret-work which adorns 
 such a ceiling. 
 
 It would be very surprising if all this came out of two separate 
 minds. 
 
 In the following we have another instance of two words used 
 
 together in the same comparison. 
 - Bacon: 
 
 We set j/aot/j and seals of our own images upon God's creatures and works. - 
 Shakespeare makes the nurse say to the black Aaron, bringing 
 
 him his child: 
 
 The empress sends it thee, thy stamp, thy seal, 
 And bids thee christen it with thy dagger's point. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 Nay, he is your brother by the surer side, 
 Although my seal he. stamped upon his face. 4 
 
 Here we have precisely the same thought: Aaron had set "the 
 stamp and seal of his own image " on his offspring. 
 
 We find in both the mind of man compared to a fountain. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 When the books of hearts shall be opened, I hope I shall not be found to have 
 the troubled fountain of a corrupt heart* 
 
 Again : 
 
 He [the King of Spain] hath by all means projected to trouble the waters here/' 
 
 And again: 
 
 One judicial and exemplar iniquity doth trouble the fountains of justice more 
 than many particular injuries passed over by connivance. 7 
 
 Pope Alexander . . . was desirous to trouble the waters in Italy. 8 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A woman moved is like a fountain troubled* 
 
 » Advancement of Learning, book ii. * Report on Dr. Lopez' Treason— Li/i 
 * Exfier. History. and Works, vol. i, p. 275. 
 
 3 Titus A ndronictis, iv, 2. 7 Advancement of Learnings book ii.. 
 
 4 Ibid. 8 History of Henry I r ff. 
 
 6 Letter to the King. • Taming of the Skrew, \\ 2. 
 
350 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 My mind is troubled like a fountain stirred.' 
 
 But if he start, 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 1 ' 1 
 
 In both we find the thoughts and emotions of a man compared 
 to the coals which continue to live, although overwhelmed by mis- 
 fortunes which cover them like ashes. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Whilst I live my affection to do you service shall remain quick under the ashes 
 of my fortune. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 So that the sparks of my affection shall ever rest quick, under the ashes of my 
 fortune, to do you service. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Pr'ythee go hence, 
 Or I shall show the cinders of my spirits, 
 Through the ashes of my chance. 5 
 
 Again : 
 Again : 
 
 The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, 
 And strew'd repentant ashes on his head. 6 
 
 This late dissension, grown betwixt the peers, 
 Burns under feigned ashes of forged love, 
 And will at last break out into aflame." 1 
 
 And the expression in the above quotation from Bacon: 
 
 The sparks of my affection, 
 
 is paralleled in Shakespeare: 
 
 Sparks of honor. 8 
 
 Sparks of life. 9 
 
 Sparks of nature. 10 
 
 We find in both the state or kingdom compared to a ship, and 
 the king or ruler to a steersman. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Statesmen and such as sit at the helms of great kingdoms." 
 
 In Shakespeare we find Suffolk promising Queen Margaret the 
 control of the kingdom in these words: 
 
 1 Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. 6 King John, iv, 1. 
 
 5 Merry Wives of Windsor, v, 5. 7 1st Henry VI., iii, 1. 
 
 1 Letter to the Earl of Bristol. e Richard II., v x 6. 
 
 4 Letter to Lord Viscount Falkland. ' Julius Cczsar, i, 3. 
 
 * Antony and Cleopatra, v, 2. 10 Cymbeline, iii, 3; Lear, iii, 7. 
 
 n /'/7/r. Queen Elizabeth, 
 
And again: 
 And again : 
 
 IDENTICAL METAPHORS, 
 
 So, one by one, we'll weed them all at last, 
 And you yourself shall steer the happy helm} 
 
 God and King Henry govern England's helm.' 1 
 
 A rarer spirit never 
 Did steer humanitv. 3 
 
 35 
 
 We have seen Bacon speaking, in a speech in Parliament, of 
 those "viperous natures " that would drive out the people from the 
 lands and leave " nothing but a shepherd and his dog." 
 
 We find the same comparison, used in the same sense, in Shake- 
 speare: 
 
 Where is this viper ' 
 That would depopulate the city, 
 And be every man himself? 4 
 
 The overwhelming influence of music on the soul is compared 
 
 by both to a rape or ravishment. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Melodious tunes, so fitting and delighting the ears that heard them, as that it 
 ravished and betrayed all passengers. . . . Winged enticements to ravish and 
 rape mortal men. 5 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 Bv this divine air, now is his soul ravished.* 
 
 And again; 
 
 And again: 
 
 When we, 
 Almost with ravished listening, could not find 
 His hour of speech a minute. 7 
 
 One whom the music of his own vain tongue 
 Doth ravish like enchanting harmony. 8 
 
 We have in both the great power of circumstances compared to 
 the rush of a flood of water. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 In this great deluge of danger. 9 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Thy deed inhuman and unnatural 
 Provokes this deluge most unnatural. 1 " 
 
 1 2d Henry VI., i, 3. " Much Ado about Nothing, ii, 5. 
 
 ^ Ibid., ii, 3. ''Henry VIII., i, 2. 
 
 3 Antony and Cleopatra, v, 1. H Love's Labor Lost, i, 1. 
 
 4 Coriolanus, iii, 1. 9 Felic. Queen Elizabeth. 
 8 Wisdom 0/ the Ancients — The Sirens. 10 Richard ///., i, 2. 
 
35 2 
 
 Again: 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Thisy5W/of fortune. 1 
 
 And such a flood of greatness fell. 2 
 
 This great flood of visitors." 
 
 In their effort to express great quantity we have both refer- 
 ring to the ocean for their metaphors. 
 
 Bacon has: 
 
 He came with such a sea of multitude upon Italy. 4 
 
 A sea of air. 5 
 Shakespeare has precisely the same curious expression: 
 
 A sea of air.* 
 
 Bacon also has: 
 
 Vast seas of time.' 
 
 A sea of quicksilver. 8 
 Again Bacon says: 
 
 Will turn a sea of baser metal into gold. 9 
 In Shakespeare the same "large composition" of the mind 
 drives him to seek in the greatest of terrestrial objects a means of 
 comparison with the huge subjects which fill his thoughts: 
 
 A sea of joys. 10 
 
 A sea of care. 11 
 
 Shed seas of tears. 12 
 
 A sea of glory. 13 
 
 That sea of blood. 14 
 
 A sea of woes. 15 
 
 We also find in Hamlet : 
 
 A sea of troubles. 16 
 
 This word, thus employed, has been regarded as so peculiar and 
 unusual that the commentators for a long time insisted that it was 
 a misprint. Even Pope, himself a poet, altered it to read " a siege 
 of troubles;" others would have it "assail of troubles." But we 
 
 1 Twelfth Night, iv, 3. 6 Timon of Athens, iv, 2. n Henry VIII., iii, 2. 
 
 2 1st Henry IV., v, 1. 7 Advancement of Learn- 12 Rape of Lucrece. 
 
 8 Timon of Athens, i, 1. ing, book i. 1S 1st Henry VI., iv, 7. 
 
 * Apophthegms. 8 Ibid., book ii. 14 3d Henry VI., ii, 5. 
 
 6 Advancement of Learn- 9 Natural History, § 326. " Timon of Athens, i, 1. 
 
 ing, book ii. 10 Pericles, v, 1. 1B Hamlet, iii, 1. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 353 
 
 see that it was a common expression with both Bacon and 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Bacon has also: 
 
 The ocean of philosophy. 1 
 
 The ocean of history. 2 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 An ocean of his tears. 3 
 
 An ocean of salt tears. 4 
 
 In the same way the tides of the ocean became the source of 
 numerous comparisons. 
 
 The most striking was pointed out some time since by Montagu 
 and Judge Holmes. Not only is the tide used as a metaphor, but 
 it enforces precisely the same idea. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 In the third place, I set down reputation, because of the peremptory tides 
 and currents it hath; which, if they be not taken in their due time, are seldom 
 recovered. 5 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 
 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 
 Is bound in shallows and in miseries. 
 
 On such a full sea are we now afloat; 
 
 And we must take the current when it serves, 
 
 Or lose our ventures. 6 
 
 Bacon and Shakespeare recur very often to this image of the 
 
 tides: 
 
 My Lord Coke floweth according to his own tides, and not according to the 
 tides of business. 7 
 
 Here "tides of business" is the same thought as "tides of 
 
 affairs " in the foregoing quotation from Shakespeare. 
 
 Bacon again says: 
 
 The tide of any opportunity, . . . the periods and tides of estates. 8 
 And again: 
 
 Besides the open aids from the Duchess of Burgundy, there wanted not some 
 secret tides from Maximilian and Charles. 9 
 
 1 Exper. History. s Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 
 
 2 Great Instauration. 6 Julius Ccesar, iv, 3. 
 
 3 Two Gentlemen 0/ Verona, ii, 7. 7 Letter to the King, February 25, 1615. 
 
 * 3d Henry VI., iii, 2. 8 Letter to Sir Robert Cecil. I 
 
 9 History 0/ Henry I 'II. 
 
354 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 The tides and currents of received errors. 1 
 ■ • 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The tide of blood in me 
 Hath proudly flowed in vanity till now; 
 Now doth it turn and ebb back to the sea; 
 Where it shall mingle with the state of floods, 
 And flow henceforth in formal majesty. 2 
 
 And it will be observed that the curious fact is not that both 
 should employ the word "tide" for that was of course a common 
 word in the daily speech of all men, but that they should both 
 employ it in a metaphorical sense; as the "tide of affairs," "the 
 tide of business," "the tide of errors," "the tide of blood," etc. 
 
 And not only the ocean itself and the tides, but the swelling of 
 the waters by distant storms is an image constantly in the minds of 
 both. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 There was an unusual swelling in the state, the forerunner of greater troubles. 8 
 
 And again: 
 
 Likewise it is everywhere taken notice of that waters do somewhat S7vell and 
 rise before tempests,* 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have the same comparison applied in 
 
 the same way: 
 
 Before the days of change, still is it so; 
 By a divine instinct, men's minds mistrust 
 Ensuing danger; as, by proof, we see 
 The waters swell before a boisterous storm. 5 
 
 And here we have this precise thought in Bacon: 
 
 As there are certain hollow blasts of wind and secret swelling of seas before a 
 tempest, so are there in stales/' 
 
 Can any man believe this exact repetition, not only of thought, 
 but of the mode of representing it by a figure of speech, was acci- 
 dental ? 
 
 And from this rising of the water both coin an adjective. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Such a swelling season, 1 
 
 meaning thereby one full of events and dangers. 
 
 1 Statutes of Uses. 3 Fclic. Queen Elizabeth. " Richard 11/., ii, 3. 
 
 8 2d Henry II'., V, 2. * Natural History of Winds. 8 Kssay Of Sedition. 
 
 '' History of Henry VII, 
 
I DEN TIC A L ME 7 'A P HOR S. , - - 
 
 While Shakespeare uses the adjective in the same peculiar 
 
 sense: 
 
 As happy prologues to the swelling act 
 Of the imperial theme. 1 
 
 Again: 
 
 The swelling difference. - 
 
 Again : 
 
 Behold the swelling scene. 3 
 Again : 
 
 Noble, swelling spirits. 4 
 
 The clouds, in both writers, furnish similes for overhanging 
 
 troubles. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Xevertheless, since 1 do perceive that this cloud hangs over the House. 1 
 
 And again Bacon says: 
 
 The King, . . . willing to leave a cloud upon him, . . . produced him 
 openly to plead his pardon / ; 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And all the clouds that lowered upon our house 
 In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. 7 
 
 And again Bacon says : 
 
 But the cloud of so great a rebellion hanging over his head, made him work 
 sure. 8 , 
 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 How is it that the clouds still hang on you ?' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The King had a careful eye where this wandering cloud would break. 10 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Can such things be, 
 And overcome us like a summer's cloud, 
 Without our special wonder? 11 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 He had the image and superscription upon him of the Pope, in his honor of Car- 
 dinal. 1 ' 
 
 This thought is developed in Shakespeare into the well known 
 
 comparison: 
 
 A fellow by the hand of nature marked, 
 Quoted and signed to do a deed of shame. 13 
 
 1 Macbeth, i, 3. 5 Speech. s Hamlet, i, 2. 
 
 2 Richard II., i, 1. • History of Henry VII. 10 History of Henry III. 
 
 3 Henry V., i, cho. » Richard III., i, 1. » Macbeth, iii, 4. 
 
 4 Othello, ii, 3. 8 History of Henry VII. l8 History of Henry VII. 
 
 13 King John, iv, 2. 
 
356 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 In the one case the superscription of the Pope marks the Cardinal 
 for honor; in the other the hand of nature has signed its signature 
 upon the man to show that he is fit for a deed of shame. 
 
 And Bacon uses the word signature in the following: 
 
 Some immortal monument bearing a character and signature both of the 
 power, etc. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Meaning thereby to harrow his people. 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Let the Volsces 
 Plow Rome and harrow Italy. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 Whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul. 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Intending the discretion of behavior is a great thief of meditation* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 You thief of love * 
 
 And again: 
 
 A very little thief of occasion.' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It was not long but Perkin, who was make of quicksilver, which is hard to hold 
 or imprison, began to stir. 8 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 The rogue fled from me like quicksilver* 
 
 And again: 
 
 That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body. 10 
 
 Here Perkin is compared to quicksilver by Bacon; and the 
 volatile Pistol is compared to quicksilver by Shakespeare. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 They were executed ... at divers places upon the sea-coast of Kent, Sussex 
 and Norfolk, for sea-marks or light-houses, to teach Perkin's people to avoid the 
 coast. 11 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book i. * Midsummer Night's Dream, iii, 2. 
 
 2 History of Henry VII. 7 Coriolanus, ii, 1. 
 
 8 Coriolanus, v, 3. * History of Henry I'll. 
 
 * Hamlet, i, 5. 9 Hamlet, i, 5. 
 
 6 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 10 2/ Henry II '., ii, 4- 
 
 11 History of Henry I'll. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 35; 
 
 Shakespeare uses the same comparison: 
 
 The very sea-mark of my utmost sail. 1 
 
 In both cases the words are used in a figurative sense. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The King being lost in a 7vood of suspicion, and not knowing whom to trust.* 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 And I — like one lost in a thorny wood, 
 
 That rents the thorns, and is rent with the thorns, 
 
 Seeking a way, and straying from the way; 
 
 Not knowing how to find the open air, 
 
 But toiling desperately to find it out. 3 
 
 Speaking of the Perkin Warbeck conspiracy, Bacon says: 
 
 This was a finer counterfeit stone than Lambert Simnel; being better done and 
 worn upon greater hands; being graced after with the wearing of a King of 
 France. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set} 
 
 In Shakespeare, Richmond describes Richard III. as 
 
 A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil 
 Of England's chair, where he is falsely set.* 
 
 Here Bacon represents Warbeck as a "counterfeit stone;" 
 Shakespeare represents Richard III. as "a foul stone." One is 
 graced by a King's wearing; the other is made precious by being 
 "set" in the royal chair of England. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Neither the excellence of wit, however great, nor the die of experience, how- 
 ever frequently east, can overcome such disadvantages. 7 
 
 And again Bacon says: 
 
 Determined to put it to the hazard. % 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 I have set my life upon a cast, 
 
 And I will stand the hazard of the die. 9 
 
 The singular thought that ships are walls to the land occurs in 
 Bacon: 
 
 1 Othello, v, 2. 6 Essay Of Beauty. 
 
 2 History of Henry I 'II. 8 Richard III., v, 3. 
 
 3 3d Henry VI., iii, 2. 7 Preface to Great Instantiation. 
 
 4 History of Henry I'll. s Wisdom of the A ncients — Sphynx. 
 
 » Richard III., v, 4. 
 
^^ PA RA L LEI ISM S. 
 
 And for the timber of this realm ... it is the matter for our walls, walls nor 
 only for our houses, but for our island} 
 
 Shakespeare speaks of the sea itself as a wall: 
 
 This precious stone set in a silver sea, 
 Which serves it in the office of a wall} 
 
 Here again we see Bacon's "Virtue is like a rich slone,best plain 
 
 set" 
 
 And again Shakespeare says: 
 
 When our sea-walled garden, the whole land, 
 Is full of weeds. 3 
 
 Bacon says; 
 
 To speak and to trumpet out your commendations. 4 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Will plead like angels, ^r#w/><?/-tongued. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 This lure she cast abroad, thinking that this fame and belief . . . would draw 
 at one time or other some birds to strike upon it. 6 
 
 Shakespeare employs the same comparison. 
 
 Petruchio says of Katharine: 
 
 My falcon now is sharp and passing empty: 
 And, till she stoop, she must not be full-gorged, 
 For then she never looks upon her lure. 1 
 
 Bacon has: 
 
 W'hose leisurely and snail-like pace* 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Snail-paced beggary. 9 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 But touching the reannexing of the duchy of Britain, . . . the embassador 
 bare aloof from it as if it 7vas a rock} 
 
 In the play of Henry VIII., Norfolk sees Wolsey coming, and 
 
 says to Buckingham : 
 
 Lo, where comes that rock 
 That I advise your shunning." 
 
 1 Case of Impeachment of Waste. 6 History of Henry I'll. 
 
 8 Richard II., ii, i. 7 Faming of the Shrew, iv, 
 
 8 Ibid., iii, 4. B History of Henry VII. 
 
 4 Letter to Villiers, June 12, 1616. ■ Richard III., iv, 3. 
 
 6 Macbeth, \, 7. 10 History of Henry VII. 
 
 "Henry VIII., i, 1. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 359 
 
 Both use the tempering of wax as a metaphor. 
 
 Bacon : 
 
 The King would not take his [Lambert's] life, taking him but as an image of 
 wax that others had tempered and molded. 1 
 
 Falstaff says : 
 
 There I will visit Master Robert Shallow, Esquire. I have him already temper- 
 ing between my finger and my thumb, and shortly I will seal with him. 2 
 
 Bacon says : 
 
 With long and continual counterfeiting, and with oft telling a lie, he was 
 turned by habit almost into the thing he seemed to be; and from a liar to a 
 believer? 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Like one 
 Who having unto truth, by telling of it, 
 Made such a sinner of his memory 
 To credit his own lie. 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Fortune is of a woman's nature, and will sooner follow by slighting than by 
 too much wooing. 5 
 
 Shakespeare : 
 
 Well, if fortune be a woman, she's a good wench for this gear. 6 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 The Queen had endured a strange eclipse by the King's flight. 7 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 I take my leave of thee, fair son, 
 Born to eclipse thy life this afternoon. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The King saw plainly that the kingdom must again be put to the stake, and that 
 he must Jight for it. 9 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 They have tied me to the stake ; I cannot fly, 
 But, bear-like, I must fight the course. 10 
 
 And again: 
 
 Have you not set mine honor at the stake? " 
 Again: 
 
 I am tied to the stake, and I must stand the course. 18 
 
 1 History of Henry VII. 5 Letter to Vilhers, 1616. 9 History of Henry VII. 
 
 2 2d Henry IV, iv, 3. * Merchant of Venice, ii, 2. 10 Twelfth Night, iii, 1. 
 
 3 History of Henry VII. 7 History of Henry VII. ' ' Macbeth, v, 7. 
 * Tempest, i, 2. 8 1st Henry VI., iv, 5. I2 Lear, iii, 7. 
 
360 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Speaking of the rebellion of Lambert Simnell, Bacon says: 
 
 But their snow-ball did not gather as it went. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 If but a dozen French 
 Were there in arms, they would be as a call 
 To train ten thousand English to their side; 
 Or, as a little snow, tumbled about, 
 Anon becomes a mountain. 1 
 
 Both conceive of truth as something buried deep and only to be 
 gotten out by digging. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 As we can dig truth out of the mine. 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 I will find 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
 Within the center. 3 
 
 Both compare human life to a pilgrimage. 
 Bacon: 
 
 In this progress and pilgrimage of human life. 4 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 How brief the life of man 
 Runs his erring pilgrimage ; 
 
 That the stretching of a span 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 5 
 
 Both use the comparison of drowning to express overwhelmed 
 or lost. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Truth drowned in the depths of obscurity. 6 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 While heart is drowned in cares. 1 
 
 I drowned these news in tears. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 But men are wanting to themselves in laying this gift of the gods upon the 
 back of a silly, slow-paced ass. 9 
 
 1 King John, iv, 4. 6 As You Like It, iii, 2. 
 
 * History 0/ Henry VII. « Wisdom of the A ncients — Prometheus. 
 
 8 Hamlet, i, 2. 7 2( i Henry VI., iii, 1. 
 
 4 Wisdom of the A ncients — Sfhynx. 8 3d Henry VI., ii, 1. 
 
 9 Wisdom of the A ncients Prometheus. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 3 6i 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 If thou art rich thou art poor, 
 For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows. 
 Thou bear' st thy heavy riches but a journey, 
 And death unloads thee. 1 
 
 In both we find the strange and unchristian thought that the 
 heavenly powers use men as a means of amusement; and both 
 express it with the same word, sport. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 As if it were a custom that no mortal man should be admitted to the table of 
 the gods, but for sport.* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods: 
 They kill us for their sport. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Your life is nothing but a continual acting on the stage* 
 
 While Shakespeare has: 
 
 All the world's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players. 5 
 
 We find Bacon making this comparison in the address of the 
 
 Sixth Counselor to the Prince: 
 
 I assure your Excellency, their lessons were so cumbersome, as if they would 
 make you a king in a play, who, when one would think he standeth in great 
 majesty and felicity, is troubled to say his part. 6 
 
 And we find Shakespeare making use of the same comparison 
 
 in sonnet xxiii: 
 
 As an imperfect actor on the stage, 
 Who with his fear is put beside his part. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The maintaining of the laws, which is the hedge and fence about the liberty of 
 the subject. 7 
 
 * Shakespeare uses the same comparison: 
 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The place I have in reversion, as it standeth now unto me. is like another 
 
 1 Measure/or Measure, iii, i. % As You Like It, ii, 7. 
 
 '- 1 Wisdom of the A ncients — Nemesis. * Gesta Grayorum — Life and M 'orks, vol. i, p. 
 
 3 Lear, iv, 1. 7 Charge against St. John. 
 
 4 Mask for Essex. ' ffam/et, iv, 5. 
 
362 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 man's ground reaching upon my house, which may mend my prospect, but doth; 
 not fill my barn. 1 
 
 While Shakespeare indulges in a parallel thought: 
 
 Falstaff. Of what quality was your love, then? 
 
 Ford. Like a fair house built on another man's ground; so that I have lost 
 my edifice by mistaking the place where I erected it. 2 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Duty, though my state lie buried in the sands, and my favors be cast upon the 
 waters, and my honors be committed to the wind, yet standeth surely built upon 
 the rock, and hath been and ever shall be unforced and unattempted. 3 
 
 And Shakespeare says: 
 
 Yet my duty, 
 As does a rock against the chiding flood, 
 Should the approach of this wild river break 
 And stand unshaken yours. 4 
 
 Bacon, speaking of popular prophecies, says: 
 
 My judgment is that 1 
 ter talk by the fireside} 
 
 Shakespeare says; 
 
 My judgment is that they ought all to be despised and ought but to serve for 
 winter talk by the fireside} 
 
 Oh, these flaws and starts 
 (Impostors to true fear) would well become 
 A woman's story by a winter- s fire, 
 Authorized by her grandam. 6 
 
 In the Advertisement Touching an Holy War, Bacon uses the com- 
 parison of a fan, separating the good from the bad by the wind 
 thereof. Speaking of the extirpation of the Moors of Valencia, one 
 of the parties to the dialogue, Zebedous, says: 
 
 Make not hasty judgment, Gamaliel, of that great action, which was as 
 Christ's fan in those countries. 
 
 And in Troilus and Cressida we have the same comparison: 
 
 Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, 
 Puffing at all, winnows the light away. 7 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Though the deaf adder will not hear, yet is he charmed that he doth not hiss. 
 
 Shakespeare says in the sonnets: 
 
 My adder sense 
 To critic and to flatterer stopped is. 
 
 1 Letter to the Lord Keeper. 4 Henry Fill., iii, 2. 
 
 2 Merry Wives of Windsor, ii, 2. 5 Essay Of Prophecies, 
 
 3 Letter written for Essex. • Macbeth, iii, 4. 
 
 7 Troilus and Cressida i. 3. 
 
IDE. Y TIC A L ME 7V / / flOR S. 
 
 363 
 
 Another very odd and unusual comparison is used by both: 
 
 Bacon, referring to the rebellion of Cornwall and the pretensions 
 
 of Perkin Warbeck to the crown, says: 
 
 But now these bubbles began to meet as they use to do upon the top of the 
 water.* * 
 
 And again: 
 
 The action in Ireland was but a bubble? 
 
 Shakespeare says, speaking of the witches in Macbeth : 
 
 The earth hath bubbles as the water has, 
 And these are of them. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 Seeking the bubble, reputation, 
 Even in the cannon's mouth. 4 
 
 And do but blow them to their trials, the bubbles are out. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 But it was ord; 
 itself. 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 But it was ordained that this winding-/^ of a Plantagenet should kill the true 
 tree itself. 6 
 
 That now he was 
 The ivy which had hid my princely trunk 
 And suck'd my virtue out on 't. 7 
 
 Here it is not a reference merely to the ivy, but to the ivy as the 
 destroyer of the tree, and in both cases applied metaphorically. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Upon the first 
 oign, Perkin w; 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Upon the first grain of incense that was sacrificed upon the altar of peace at 
 Boloign, Perkin was smoked away. 8 
 
 Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, 
 The gods themselves throw incense} 
 
 Here is a curious parallelism: 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 The last words of those that suffer death for religion, like the songs of dying 
 swans, do wonderfully work upon the minds of men, and strike and remain a long 
 time in their senses and memories. 10 
 
 1 History of Henry VII. * As You Like It, ii, 7. 7 Tempest, i, 2. 
 
 * Ibid. 5 Hamlet, v, 2. 8 History of Henry VII. 
 
 3 Macbeth* i, 3. 6 History of Henry I'll. 9 Lear, v, 3. 
 
 10 Wisdom of the Ancients — Diomedes. 
 
364 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And again: 
 And again: 
 
 The tongues of dying men 
 Enforce attention like deep harmony. 1 
 
 Then if he lose, he makes a swan-like end, 
 Fading in music. 2 
 
 'Tis strange that death should sing. 
 I am the cygnet to this pale, faint swan, 
 Who chants a doleful hymn to his own death? 
 
 Here we have in both not only the comparison of the words 
 of dying men to the song of dying swans; but the fact is noted 
 that the words of such men " enforce attention " and " strike and 
 remain a long time " in the minds and memories of men. 
 
 In both, the liming of bushes to catch birds is used as a meta- 
 phor. Bacon says: 
 
 Whatever service I do to her Majesty, it shall be thought to be but servitium 
 viscatum, lime-twigs and fetches to place myself. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 They are limed with the twigs} 
 
 Myself have limed a. bush for her. 6 
 
 O limed soul, that, struggling to be free.' 
 
 Like lime- twigs set. 8 
 
 Mere fetches, the images of revolt. 9 
 
 In both, sickness and death are compared to an arrest by an 
 
 officer. 
 
 Bacon says, alluding to his sickness at Huntingdon: 
 
 This present arrest of me by his Divine Majesty. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 This fell sergeant, Death, 
 Is strict in his arrest.™ 
 
 And in sonnet lxxiv Shakespeare says, speaking of his death: 
 
 But be contented; when that fell arrest, 
 Without all bail, shall carry me away. 
 
 » Richard II. , ii, 1. 5 AlTs Well that Ends Well, iii, 5. 
 
 5 Merchant of Venice, iii, 2. * 2d Henry VI., i, 3. 
 
 3 King John, v, 7. 7 Hamlet, iii, 3. 
 
 4 Letter to F. Greville — Life and Works, 8 2d Henry VI., iii, 3. 
 
 vol. i, p. 359. 9 Lear, ii, 4. 
 '• Hamlet, v, 2. 
 
3^5 
 
 I DEN TIC A L ME TA PHOR S. 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The hour-glass of one man's life? 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 Into an hour-glass.' 2 
 
 In Bacon we have the odor of flowers compared to music: 
 
 The breath of flowers is far sweeter in the air (where it comes and goes liks 
 the warbling of music) than in the hand. 3 
 
 Shakespeare reverses the figure, and compares the sounds of 
 
 music to the odor of flowers: 
 
 That strain again; — it had a dying fall; 
 Oh, it came o'er my soul like the sweet south, 
 That breathes upon a bank of violets, 
 Stealing and giving odor. 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 That repose of the mind which only rides at anchor upon hope.* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 See, Posthumus anchors upon Imogen/ 
 
 Whilst my invention, hearing not my tongue, 
 Anchors on Isabel. 7 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The desire of power in excess caused the angels to fall* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 I charge thee fling away ambition: 
 By that sin fell the angels? 
 
 We have in Bacon the following curious expression: 
 
 These things did he [King Henry] wisely foresee, . . . whereby all things fe/J 
 into his lap as he desired. 10 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Now the time is come 
 That France must veil her lofty plumed crest, 
 
 And let her head fall into England's lap? 1 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 6 Cymbeline, v. 5. 
 
 2 Henry V., prologue. 7 Measure for Measure, ii, 4^ 
 
 3 Essay 0/ Gardens. 6 Essay Of Goodness. 
 « Twelfth Night, i, 1. ■ Henry I III., iii, 2. 
 
 5 Med. Sacra— Of Earthly Hope. 10 History of Henry I '//. 
 
 11 Henry 7 Y., v, 2. 
 
 °r I'M r ^V 
 
3 66 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 We all remember Keats' touching epitaph: 
 
 Here lies one whose name was writ in water. 
 
 We find the original of this thought in Shakespeare: 
 
 Noble madam, 
 Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues 
 We write in water. 1 
 
 And if we follow back the pedigree of the thought we find it in 
 
 Bacon's 
 
 High treason is not "written in ice.' 1 
 
 And this reappears in Shakespeare thus: 
 
 This weak impress of love is as a figure 
 TrencJid in ice, which with an hour's heat 
 Dissolves to water, and does lose his form. 3 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Your beadsman therefore addresseth himself to your Majesty. 4 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Commend thy grievance to my holy prayers, 
 For I will be thy beadsman, Valentine. 5 
 
 In the following we have a striking parallelism. Bacon says: 
 
 In this theater of man's life it is reserved, etc. fi 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 This wide and universal theater 
 
 Presents more woeful pageants than the scene 
 
 Wherein we play. 1 
 
 And we have the same thought presented in another form. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Your life is nothing but a continual acting upon a stage. 9, 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 All the world's a stage, 
 And all the men and women merely players.'' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For this giant bestrideth the sea; and I would take and snare him by the foot on 
 this side.' 
 
 1 Henry VIII. , IT, 2. • Advancement of Learning. 
 
 * Coll. Sent. 7 As You Like It, ii, 6. 
 8 Two Gentlemen of Verona, iii, 2. 8 Mask. 
 
 4 Letter to the King. 9 As You Like It. ii, 7 . 
 
 * Two Gentlemen of Verona, i, i. l0 Duels. 
 
ID EN TIC A L ME TA PHORS. 
 
 3 6 7 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 His legs bestrid the ocean} 
 And again : 
 
 Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
 Like a Colossus. - 
 
 Bacon says 
 
 Many were glad that these fears and uncertainties were overblown, and that the 
 die was cast. 3 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The ague-tit of fear is overblown* 
 
 Again: 
 
 At 'scapes and perils overblown* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Religion, justice, counsel and treasure are the four pillars of government* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Brave peers of England, pillars of the state." 
 
 The triple pillar of the world. 5 
 
 These shoulders, these ruined///. 'ars. * 
 
 I charge you by the law, 
 Whereof you are a well-deserving pillar}" 
 
 The seeds of plants furnish a favorite subject of comparison 
 with both writers. 
 
 Bacon speaks of ideas that 
 
 Cast their seeds in the minds of others. 11 
 He also refers to 
 
 The secret seeds of diseases. 1 - 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 There has been covered in my mind a long time a seed of affection and zeal 
 loward your Lordship. 13 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 There is a history in all men's lives 
 Figuring the nature of the times deceased; 
 
 1 Antony and Cleopatra, v, ». 7 2d Henry I'/., i, i. 
 
 2 Julius Ccesar, i, 2. 8 Antony and Cleopatra, i, 1. 
 
 3 Begin. History 0/ Great Britain. 9 Henry I'll I., iii, 2. 
 
 4 Richard II., iii, 2. 10 Merchant of J'enice, iv, 1. 
 
 5 Taming- of the Shrew, v. . ' l Advancement of Learning, book i. 
 * Essay Of Seditions. » 2 Essay Of Despatch . 
 
 12 Letter to Carl of Northumberland. 
 
368 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 The which observed, a man may prophesy, 
 With a near aim, of the main chance of things 
 As yet to come to life; which in their seeds 
 And weak beginnings lie intreasured. 1 
 
 He also speaks of 
 
 The seed of honor. 2 
 
 The seeds of time. 
 
 Bacon compares himself to a torch: 
 
 I shall, perhaps, before my death have rendered the age a light unto posterity, 
 by kindling this new torch amid the darkness of philosophy. 4 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 Matters should receive success by combat and emulation, and not hang upon 
 any one mans sparkling and shaking torch. h 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Heaven doth with us as we with torches do, 
 Not light them for themselves; for if our virtues 
 Did not go forth of us, 'twere all alike 
 As if we had them not. 6 
 
 Speaking of Fortune, Shakespeare says: 
 
 The wise and fool, the artist and unread, 
 The hard and soft, seem all affin'd and kin: 
 But fn the wind and tempest of her frown, 
 Distinction, with a broad and powerful fan, 
 Puffing at all, winnows the light away; 
 And what hath mass or matter, by itself 
 Lies, rich in virtue and unmingled? 
 
 And in Bacon we have the same comparison of the winnowing 
 
 fan separating the light from the heavy. He says, speaking of 
 
 church matters: 
 
 And what are mingled but as the chaff and the corn, which need but a fan to 
 sift and sever them. 8 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Be thou as lightning in the eyes of France. 9 
 
 Bacon, describing Essex' expedition against Cadiz, said: 
 
 This journey was like lightning. For in the space of fourteen hours the King 
 of Spain's navy was destroyed and the town of Cales taken. 10 
 
 1 2d Henry 1 V. , iii , i . 5 Wisdom of the A ncieuts — Prometheus. 
 
 2 Merchant of Venice \ ii, 9. 8 Measure for Measure, i, 1. 
 
 3 Macbeth, i, 3. 7 Troilus and Cress ida, i, 3. 
 
 4 Letter to King James, prefaced to Great 8 The Pacification of the Church. 
 
 Jnstauration. ° Kingfohn, i, 1. 
 
 10 Consid. touching War with Spain. 
 
IDENTICAL METAPHORS. 360 
 
 Bacon called one of his great philosophical works 
 
 The scaling-ladder of the intelligence. 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Northumberland, thou ladder, wherewithal 
 The mounting Bolingbroke ascends my throne. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It is the wisdom of crocodiles that shed tears when they would devour.' 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Gloster's show 
 Beguiles him, as the mournful crocodile 
 With sorrow snares relenting passengers. 3 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 The axe should be put to the root of the tree. 4 
 
 Says Shakespeare: 
 
 We set the axe to thy usurping root. 5 
 
 But the field of labor in this direction is simply boundless. 
 One whose memory is stored with the expressions found in the two 
 sets of writings cannot open either one without being vividly 
 reminded of the other. Both writers, if we are to consider them, 
 for the sake of argument, as two persons, thought in the same way: 
 the cast of mind in each was figurative and metaphorical; both 
 vivified the driest details with the electricity of the imagination, 
 weaving it through them like lightning among the clouds; and 
 each, as I have shown, was very much in the habit of repeating 
 himself, and thus reiterated the same figures of speech time and 
 again. 
 
 1 Richard II., v, i. 3 2d Henry VI., Hi, 1. 
 
 a Essay Of Wisdom for a Man's Self. 4 Proceedings at York House. 
 
 6 3d Henry VI., ii, 2. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 
 
 A plague of opinion ! A man may wear it on both sides like a leather jerkin. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, Hi, 3. 
 
 WE come now to another group of parallelisms — those of 
 thoughts, opinions or beliefs, where the identity is not in 
 the expression, but in the underlying conception. 
 
 We find that both writers had great purposes or intentions of 
 working for immortality; the one figuring his works as "banks or 
 mounts," great earthworks, as it were; the other as great 
 foundations or "bases" on which the future might build. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I resolved to spend my time wholly in writing, and to put forth that poor 
 talent or half talent, or what it is, that God hath given me, not, as hereto- 
 fore, to particular exchanges, but to banks or mounts of perpetuity, which will not 
 break. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Were it aught to me I bore the canopy, 
 
 With my extern the outward honoring, 
 Or laid great bases for eternity, 
 
 Which prove more short than waste or ruining. 2 
 
 Here the same idea runs through both expressions — "banks of 
 perpetuity" and "bases for eternity." 
 
 Both believed that a wise government should be omniscient. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 So unto princes and states, especially towards wise senators and councils, the 
 natures and dispositions of the people, their conditions and necessities, their fac- 
 tions and combinations, their animosities and discontents, ought to be, in regard 
 to the variety of their intelligence, the wisdom of their observations and the height 
 of their station where they keep sentinel, in great part clear and transparent. 3 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The providence that's in a watchful state 
 Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold; 
 Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps; 
 
 1 Touching a Holy War, 2 Sonnet cxxv. 3 Advancement 0/ Learning, bookii. 
 
 370 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 37 i 
 
 Keeps place with thought, and, almost like the gods, 
 
 Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. 
 
 There is a mystery (with whom relation 
 
 Durst never meddle) in the soul of state; 
 
 Which hath an operation more divine 
 
 Than breath, or pen, can give expression to. 1 
 
 Both had noted that envy eats into the spirits and the very body 
 of a man. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Love and envy do make a man pine, which other affections do not, because 
 they are not so continual.' 
 
 Such men in other men's calamities are, as it were, in season, and are ever on 
 the loading part. 3 
 
 Envy is the worst of all passions, and feedeth upon the spirits, and they again 
 upon the body. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look: . . . 
 Such men as he be never at heart's ease 
 Whiles they behold a greater than themselves. 5 
 
 Both speak of hope as a medicine of the mind. Bacon says: 
 
 To make hope the antidote of human diseases." 5 
 And again: 
 
 And as Aristotle saith, "That young men may be happy, but not otherwise 
 
 but by hope.'" " 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The miserable have no other medicine 
 But only hope.* 
 
 Both had observed the shriveling of parchment in heat. Bacon 
 says: 
 
 The parts of wood split and contract, shins become shriveled, and not only 
 that, but if the spirit be emitted suddenly by the heat of the fire, become so hastily 
 contracted as to twist and roll themselves up. 9 
 
 Shakespeare uses the same fact as the basis of a striking com- 
 parison, as to King John, dying of poison: 
 
 There is so hot a summer in my bosom, 
 That all my bowels crumble up to dust: 
 I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen 
 Upon a parchment; and against this fire 
 Do I shrink up. 10 
 
 1 Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. 4 History o/Life and Death. 7 Advancement 0/ Learning. 
 
 8 Essay Of Envy . * Julius Caesar, i, 2. B Measure for Measure, iii, 1. , 
 
 3 Essay Of Goodness. • Med. Sacra. • Novum Organunt, book ii. 
 
 •• King John, v, 7. 
 
372 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 We find both dwelling upon the fact that a shrewd mind will 
 
 turn even disadvantages to use. Bacon says: 
 
 Excellent wits will make use of every little thing} 
 
 Falstaff says: 
 
 It is no matter if I do halt; I have the wars for my color, and my pension 
 shall seem the more reasonable. A good wit will make use of anything. I will 
 turn diseases to commodity.' 2 
 
 Both had observed that sounds are heard better at night than 
 
 by day. Bacon says: 
 
 Sounds are better heard, and farther off, in the evening or in the night, than at 
 the noon or in the day. . . . But when the air is more thick, as in the night, the 
 sound spendeth and spreadeth. As for the night, it is true also that the general 
 silence helpeth. 3 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Soft stillness and the night 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Nerissa. It is your music, madam, of the house. 
 Portia. Nothing is good, I see, without respect; 
 Methinks it sounds much sweeter than by day. 5 
 
 In the following it appears that the same observation had 
 
 occurred to both in another instance. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Anger suppressed is also a kind of vexation, and causeth the spirit to feed 
 upon the juices of the body; but let loose and breaking forth it helpeth. 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 And again: 
 
 The grief that will not speak 
 Whispers the o'erfraught heart and bids it break. ' 
 
 The heart hath treble wrong 
 When it is barred the aidance of the tongue. 8 
 
 Both allude to the same curious belief. Bacon says: 
 
 The heavens turn about in a most rapid motion, without noise to us perceived; 
 though in some dreams they have been said to make an excellent music. 9 
 
 1 Bacon's letter to Sir Foulke Greville, written in the name of the Earl of Essex — Life and' 
 Works, vol. ii, p. 23. 
 
 2 2d Henry IV., i, 2. 8 History of Life and Death. 
 
 3 Natural History, cent, ii, §143. 7 Macbeth, iv, 3. 
 
 4 Merchant of Venice, v, t. * Poems. 
 
 6 Ibid. • Natural History cent. ii. 
 
IDENTICAL OPIXIOXS. 373 
 
 Shakespeare idealizes dreams thus: 
 
 There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest 
 But in his motion like an angel sings, 
 Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims. 1 
 
 And here we find both drawing the same distinction between 
 
 the approbation of the wise and the foolish. 
 
 Hamlet says to the players: 
 
 Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskillful laugh, 
 cannot but make the judicious grieve; the censure of the which one must, in your 
 allowance, o'er-weigh a whole theater of others." 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 So it may be said of ostentation, " Boldly sound your own praises, and some of 
 it will stick." It will stick in the more ignorant and the populace, though men of 
 wisdom may smile at it; and the reputation won with many will amply countervail 
 the disdain of a few. 3 
 
 This conclusion is, of course, ironical. 
 
 Bacon compares the earth to an ant-hill, with the men. 
 
 Like ants, crawKug up and down. Some carry corn and some carry their 
 young, and some go empty, and all — to and fro — a little heap of dust* 
 
 And we find the same thought in Hamlet: 
 
 What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven. 5 
 
 Here the word crawling expresses the thought of something 
 
 vermin-like, insect-like, and the comparison of the whole ant-hill of 
 
 the crawling world to "a little heap of dust" was in Bacon's mind 
 
 when he wrote: 
 
 What a piece of work is man! . . . And yet to me what is this quintessence of 
 dust ? 
 
 Both had noticed the servility of the creatures that fawn on 
 power. Bacon says: 
 
 Such instruments as are never failing about princes, which spy into their 
 humors and conceits and second them; and not only second them, but in second- 
 ing increase them; yea, and many times without their knowledge pursue them 
 farther than themselves would. 6 
 
 Shakespeare puts these words into the mouth of King John: 
 It is the curse of kings to be attended 
 By slaves that take their humor for a warrant 
 To break within the bloody house of life; 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, v, i. 4 Advancement of Learning, book i. 
 
 * Hamlet, iii, 2. 5 Hamlet, iii. 1. 
 
 3 De Attgrneniis, book \ iii, p. 281. 6 Letter to Essex, Oct. 4, 1596. 
 
374 PARA LLELISMS. 
 
 And, on the winking of authority, 
 
 To understand a law; to know the meaning 
 
 Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 
 
 More upon humor than advised respect. 1 
 
 Here the same thought is followed out to the same after- 
 thought: that the creature exceeds the purpose of the king, in his 
 superserviceable zeal. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 He prays and labors for that which he knows he shall be no less happy with- 
 out; ... he believes his prayers are heard, even when they are denied, and gives 
 thanks for that which he prays against. - 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 We, ignorant of ourselves, 
 Beg often our own harm, which the wise powers 
 Deny us for our good; so find we profit 
 . By losing of our prayers. 3 
 
 The Rev. H. L. Singleton, of Maryland, calls my attention to 
 
 the following parallelism. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And, therefore, it is no wonder that art hath not the power to conquer nature, 
 and by pact or law of conquest to kill her; but on the contrary, it turns out that art 
 becomes subject to nature, and yields obedience as wife to husband. 4 
 
 And we find in Shakespeare the same philosophy that nature is 
 
 superior to the very art which seeks to change her. He says: 
 
 Perdita. For I have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art which, in their piedness, shares 
 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Polixenes. Say there be; 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean 
 
 But nature makes that mean; so, over that art 
 
 Which, you say, adds to nature, is an art 
 
 That nature makes. 5 
 
 Again Shakespeare says: 
 
 Nature's above art. 6 
 Compare this with Bacon's expression, above: 
 
 Art becomes subject to nature. 
 
 And Bacon says in The New Atlantis : 
 
 We make by art, in the same orchards and gardens, trees and flowers to come 
 
 1 King John, iv, 2. 4 Atalanta or Gain, 
 
 2 Character of a Believing Christian, § 22. ; ' Winter's Tale, iv, 3. 
 » A ntony and Cleopatra. * Lear, iv, 6. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. ^1$ 
 
 earlier or later than their seasons, and to come up and bear more speedily than by 
 their natural course they do. We make them also by their art greater than their 
 nature. 1 
 
 This is the same thought that we find in the verses above 
 
 quoted: 
 
 That art 
 Which, you say, adds to nature. 
 
 Mr. J. T. Cobb calls attention to the following parallelism of 
 
 thought. In book ii, Advancement of Learning, Bacon says: 
 
 These three, as in the body so in the mind, seldom meet and commonly sever; 
 . . . and sometimes two of them meet, and rarely all three. -' 
 
 While in the Shakespeare sonnets we have: 
 
 Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords, 
 Fair, kind and true, have often lived alone, 
 Which three, till now, never did meet in one. :; 
 
 Both regarded rather the fact than the expression of it. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Here, therefore, is the first distemper of learning, when men study words, and 
 not matter. 4 
 
 We seem to hear Hamlet's mocking utterance 
 
 What read you, my lord ? 
 Words, words, words. 5 
 
 Miss Delia Bacon notea that both held the same view as to the 
 
 dependence of men on events. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 So our virtues 
 Lie in the interpretation of the times. 6 
 
 While Bacon says: 
 
 The times, in many cases, give great light to true interpretations. 
 
 Mrs. Pott calls attention to the following parallelism. In 
 Bacon's Promus, No. 972, we have : 
 
 Always let losers have their words. 
 And Shakespeare echoes this as follows: 
 
 Losers will have leave 
 To ease their stomachs with their bitter words." 1 
 
 1 New Atlantis. 4 Advancement of Learning, book i. 
 
 * 1 Montagu, p. 228. ~° Hamlet, ii, 2. 
 
 8 Sonnet cv. , * Coriolanus, iv, 7. 
 
 7 Titus Andronicus. iii, 1. 
 
376 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Also: 
 
 And well such losers may have leave to speak. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For protestations, and professions, and apologies, I never found them very 
 fortunate; but they rather increase suspicion than clear it.. 8 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Hamlet. Madam, how like you this play? 
 Queen. The lady protests too much, methinks. 3 
 
 Both even used and believed in the same drug. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For opening, I commend beads or pieces of carduus benedictus. 4 
 
 In Much Ado about Nothing we have : 
 
 Get you some of this distilled carduus benedictus and lay it to your heart; it is 
 the only thing for a qualm. 5 
 
 Both believed that murders were brought to light by the opera- 
 tion of God. Bacon speaks of the belief in the wounds of the mur- 
 dered man bleeding afresh at the approach of the murderer, and 
 says: 
 
 It may be that this participateth of a miracle, by God's judgment, zvho usually 
 bringeth murders to light. 
 
 Macbeth says : 
 
 It will have blood; they say, blood will have blood;. 
 Stones have been known to move and trees to speak 
 Augurs, and understood relations have 
 By magot-spies, and choughs and rooks, brought forth 
 The secretest man of blood. 6 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The instant occasion flying away irreconcilably.' 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The. flighty purpose never is d ertook 
 Unless the act go with it. 8 
 
 Church speaks of Bacon's 
 
 Great idea of the reality and boundless worth of knowledge . . . which 
 had taken possession of his whole nature. 9 
 
 1 2d Henry VI., iii, i. 5 Much Ado about Nothings iii, 4. 
 
 2 Speech about Undertakers. 6 Macbeth, iii, 4. 
 
 3 Hamlet, iii, 2. " Speech as Lord Chancellor. 
 * Natural History, cent, x, §963. 8 Macbeth, iv, 1. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 377 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 There is no darkness but ignorance.' 
 Oh, thou monster, ignorance ! - 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 There is no prison to the prison of the thoughts." 
 
 Shakespeare has the same thought: 
 
 Hamlet. Denmark's a prison. 
 
 Rosencrantz. Then is the world one. 
 
 Hani. A goodly one; in which there are many confines, wards and dungeons; 
 Denmark being one of the worst. 
 
 Ros. We think not so, my lord. ^ 
 
 Ham. Why, then./tis none to you; for there is nothing either good or bad but 
 thinking makes it so; to me it is a prison. 4 
 
 As this book is going through the press Mr. James T. Cobb calls 
 my attention to the following parallelism. 
 
 Bacon, in the Novum Organum, referring to the effect of opiates, 
 
 says : 
 
 The same opiates, when taken in moderation, do strengthen the spirits, render 
 them more robust, and check the useless and inflammatory motion. 5 
 
 Falstaff, describing the effect of wine on the system, says, speak- 
 ing of the "demure boys," like Prince John: 
 
 They are generally fools and cowards; which some of us should be, too, but 
 f o r infla m m at ion} 
 
 This word inflammation is uncommon: this is the only occasion 
 on which it appears in the Plays. 
 
 Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 Sermons in stones and good in everything. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 There is found in every thing a. double nature oi good? 
 
 And here we have a curious parallelism. Bacon says: 
 
 It is more than a philosopher morally can digest; but, without any such high 
 conceit, I esteem it like the pulling out of an aching tooth, which I remember, 
 when I was a child and had little philosophy, I was glad of when it was done.® 
 
 1 Twelfth Night, iv, 2. 4 Hamlet, ii, 2. ' Advancement of Learning 
 
 2 Lozie's Labor Lost, iv, 2. 5 Novum Organum, book ii. book ii. 
 
 3 Mask for Earl of Essex. 6 id Henry I\\, iv. •. * Letter to Essex. 
 
378 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 While Shakespeare links the philosopher and the tooth-ache 
 together thus: 
 
 For there was never yet philosopher 
 That could endure the tooth-ache patiently; 
 However, they have writ the style of gods, 
 And made a pish at chance and sufferance. 1 
 
 The various modes in which fortunes are obtained had occurred 
 to both writers. Bacon says: 
 
 Fortunes are not obtained without all this ado; for I know they come tumbling 
 into some men's laps; and a number obtain good fortunes by diligence in a plain 
 way. 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Some men are born great; some achieve greatness; and some have greatness 
 thrust upon them. 3 
 
 That is to say, greatness " tumbles into their laps." 
 
 And to both had come the thought that while fortune gave with 
 
 one hand she stinted with the other. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It is easy to observe that many have strength of wit and courage, but have 
 neither help from perturbations, nor any beauty or decency in their doings; some 
 again have an elegancy and fineness of carriage, which have neither soundness of 
 honesty nor substance of sufficiency; and some, again, have honest and reformed 
 minds and can neither become themselves or manage business; and sometimes 
 two of them meet, and rarely all three. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Will fortune never come with both hands full ? . . . 
 She either gives a stomach and no food — 
 Such are the poor in health; or else a feast, 
 And takes away the stomach — such are the rich 
 That have abundance and enjoy it not. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It is not good to look too long upon these turning wheels of vicissitude, lest 
 we become giddy. 6 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 Fortune, good-night; smile again, 
 Turn thy wheel? 
 
 Again: 
 
 Giddy Fortune 's furious fickle wheel.* 
 
 1 Much Ado about Nothing, v. i. B 2d Henry J I '., iv. 4,. 
 
 2 Advancement of Learning, book ii. fi History 0/ Life and Death. 
 * Twelfth Night, iii, 5. • Lear, ii, 2. 
 
 4 Advancement of L earning, book ii. 8 Henry /". iii, 6. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS, 37 o 
 
 Again: 
 
 Consider it not so deeply, 
 That way madness lies. 1 
 
 We find that both writers realized the wonderfully complex 
 
 character of the human creature. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Of all things comprehended within the compass of the universe, man is a thing 
 most mixed and compounded, insomuch that he was well termed by the ancients 
 a little world. ... It is furnished with most admirable virtues and faculties. % 
 
 And again: 
 
 Of all the substances which nature hath produced, man's body is most extremely 
 compounded: ... in his mansion, sleep, exercise, passions, man hath infinite 
 variations.* 
 
 The Plays were written, in part, to illustrate the characteristics 
 
 of that wonderfully compounded creature, man. And in them we 
 
 find: 
 
 What a piece of work is man ! How noble in reason ! How infinite in faculty! 
 In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel ! In 
 apprehension how like a god ! The beauty of the world ! The paragon of animals ! 4 
 
 These are the admirable faculties referred to by Bacon; and 
 " the little world " of the ancients, the microcosm, reappears in Shake- 
 speare: 
 
 If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well 
 enough too? 5 
 
 And in the play of Richard II. we find the very expression. 
 
 "little world," applied to the human being: 
 
 My brain 1*11 prove the female to my soul; 
 
 My soul the father: and these two beget 
 
 A generation of still-breeding thoughts, 
 
 And these same thoughts people this little world; 
 
 In humors like the people of this world/' 
 
 Bacon has the following thought : 
 
 Xo doubt in him, as in all men, and most of all in kings, his fortune wrought 
 upon his nature, and his nature upon his fortune. 7 
 
 The same thought occurs in Shakespeare: 
 I grow to what I work in. 
 Like the dver's hand. 8 
 
 1 Macbeth, ii, 2. 5 Coriolanus, ii, t. 
 
 2 Wisdom of the A ncients — Prometheus. 8 Richard II., v, 4. 
 
 3 Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 7 History 0/ Henry VII. 
 * Hamlet, ii. 2. a Sonnet. 
 
 °r rut + 
 
 
380 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And both concurred in another curious belief. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And therefore whatsoever want a man hath, he must see that he pretend the 
 virtue that shadoweth it. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Assume a virtue if you have it not. 2 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Envy makes greatness the mark and accusation the game. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 That thou art blarhed shall not be thy defect, 
 
 For slander's mark was ever yet the fair; 
 The ornament of beauty is suspect, 
 
 A crow that flies in heaven's sweetest air. ;; 
 
 Something of the same thought is found in Bacon's Promus, 
 No. 41: 
 
 Dat veniam corvis vexat censura columbas. (Censure pardons crows, but bears 
 hard on doves.) 
 
 " Slander's mark was ever yet the fair." The beautiful dove falls 
 
 readily under suspicion; but censure pardons " the crow that flies 
 
 in heaven's sweetest air." 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Health consisteth in an unmovable constancy and a freedom from passions, 
 which are indeed the sicknesses of the mind* 
 
 Macbeth asks the physician: 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased? 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For reverence is that wherewith princes are girt from God. 6 
 
 And again: 
 
 For God hath imprinted such a majesty in the face of a prince that no private 
 man dare approach the person of his sovereign with a traitorous intent. 7 ■ 
 
 Shakespeare surrounds the king with a hedge — a divine hedge 
 — which girts him: 
 
 There's such divinity doth hedge a king, 
 That treason can but peep to what it would, 
 Acts little of his will. 8 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 ^ Hamlet, iii, 4. 
 
 3 Sonnet lxx. 
 
 4 Letter to Earl of Rutland, written 
 
 in the name of the Earl of Essex. 
 
 6 Macbeth, v, 3. 
 
 6 Essay Of Seditions. 
 
 " Speech on the Trial of Essex. 
 
 h Hamlet, iv, 5. 
 
38i 
 
 IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 This princess having the spirit of a man and malice of a woman. 1 
 Shakespeare has a similar antithesis: 
 
 I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. 2 
 
 The indestructibility of thought as compared with the tempo- 
 rary nature of material things had occurred to both. Bacon says: 
 
 For have not the verses of Homer continued twenty-five hundred years, with- 
 out the loss of a syllable or a letter, during which time infinite palaces, temples, 
 castles, cities have been decayed and demolished. 3 
 
 And Shakespeare, in a magnificent burst of egotism, possible 
 
 only under a mask, cries out: 
 
 Xot marble, 
 Nor the gilded monuments of princes, 
 Shall outlive this powerful rhyme. 4 
 
 Bacon has this thought: 
 
 For opportunity makes the thief. 5 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And even thence thou wilt be stolen, 1 fear, 
 For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear. 6 
 
 And again: 
 
 Rich preys make true men thieves. 7 
 
 And again: 
 
 How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
 Makes ill deeds done. 8 
 
 Bacon tells us that King Henry VII. sent his commissioners to 
 
 inspect the Queen of Naples with a view to matrimony, and desired 
 
 them 
 
 To report as to her " complexion, favor, feature, stature, health, age, customs, 
 behavior, condition and estate," as if he meant to find all things in one woman.* 
 
 And in Shakespeare we find Benedick soliloquizing: 
 
 One woman is fair; yet I am well: another is wise; yet I am well: another vir- 
 tuous; yet I am well; but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come 
 in mv grace. 10 
 
 1 History of Henry I'/t. 6 Sonnet xlviii. 
 
 ' Julius Ccesar, ii, 4. 7 Venus and Adonis. 
 
 3 Advancement of Learning, book i. 8 King John, iv, 2. 
 
 4 Sonnet. 9 History of Henry 17/. 
 
 5 Letter to Essex, 1598. 10 Much Ado about Nothing, ii, 2, 
 
^ 8 2 PA RA L LELISMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The corruption of the best things is the worst. 1 
 Shakespeare has the same thought: 
 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.* 2 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The mind of man drawn over and clouded with the sable pavilion of the body. 1 
 
 And Bacon also says: 
 
 So differing a harmony there is between the spirit of man and the spirit of 
 nature. 4 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 Such harmony is in mortal souls; 
 
 But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 A king is a mortal god on earth* 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings, 
 Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings. 1 
 
 Again: 
 
 Kipgs are earth's gods; in vice their law's their will. 8 
 
 Again: 
 
 He is their god; he leads them like a thing 
 Made by some other deity than Nature. 9 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 A beautiful face is a silent commendation.™ 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face 
 The bearer knows not, but commends itseif 
 To others' eyes. 11 
 
 We find a curious parallelism in the following. Bacon says: 
 
 For we die daily; and as others have given place to us, so we must in the end 
 give way to others. 12 
 
 1 History of Henry VII. * New Atlantis. 8 Pericles, i, i. 
 
 ' 2 Sonnet. 6 Merchant of Venice, v, i. 9 Coriolanus, iv, 6. 
 
 3 Advancement of Learn- *TL8&a.yOfaKing: 10 Orna. Rati. 
 
 ing, book ii. 7 Richard III., v, 2. n Troilits and Cressida, iii, 3. 
 
 "Essay Of Death. 
 
I DEN TIC A L OP IX IONS. 
 
 Shakespeare puts into the mouth of Orlando these words; 
 
 38: 
 
 Only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have 
 made it empty. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The expectation [of death] brings terror, and that exceeds the evil. 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Dost thou fear to die ? 
 The sense of death is most in apprehension/ 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Art thou drowned in security ? Then say thou art perfectly dead. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 You all know, security 
 Is mortal's chiefest enemy. 4 
 
 Hamlet discusses the length of time a body will last in the 
 
 earth. And Bacon had studied the same curious subject, and he 
 
 notes the fact that 
 
 In churchyards where they bury much, the earth will consume the corpse in far 
 shorter time than other earth will. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The green caterpillar breedeth in the inward parts of roses, especially not 
 blown, where the dew sticketh. 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, 
 Feed on her damask cheek. 7 
 
 H. L. Haydel, of St. Louis, calls my attention to the following 
 parallelism noted by Rev. Henry N. Hudson, in his note upon a 
 passage in Hamlet, i, 4. 
 
 Mr. Hudson gives the passage, in his edition of the Plays, as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 Their virtues else — be they as pure as grace, 
 
 As infinite as man may undergo — 
 
 Shall in the general censure take corruption 
 
 From that particular fault; the dram of leaven 
 
 Doth all the noble substance of 'em sour 
 
 To his own scandal. 
 
 Hudson says in his foot-note: 
 
 The meaning is that the dram of leaven sours all the noble substance of their 
 
 1 As ] 'on Like It, i, 2. * Macbeth, iii, 5. • Ibid, § 728. 
 
 2 Essay Of Death. 3 Natural History, § 330. 7 Twelfth Night, ii, 4. ' 
 :i Measure for Measure, iii, 1. 
 
384 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 virtues. . . . And so in Bacon's History of Henry I'll.: "And as a little leaven of 
 new distaste doth commonly sour the whole lump of former merits." 
 
 Here again we find the critics reading the obscure passages in 
 Shakespeare by the light of Bacon's utterances. 
 
 Both writers felt a profound contempt for the authority of books 
 alone. In Shakespeare this was most remarkable. A mere poet, 
 with no new philosophy to introduce, seeking in the writings of 
 preceding ages only for the beautiful, could have had no motive 
 for thus attacking existing opinions. And yet we find him 
 saying: 
 
 Study is like the heavens' glorious sun, 
 
 That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks; 
 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 Save base authority, from others' books. 1 
 
 In Bacon we find the same opinion and the reason for it. His 
 whole life was a protest against the accepted conclusions of his 
 age; his system could only rise upon the overthrow of that of Aris- 
 totle. He protested against 
 
 The first distemper of learning, when men study words and not matter. 2 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 In the universities of Europe men learn nothing but to believe; first to believe 
 that others know that which they know not; and after, themselves to believe that 
 they know that which they know not. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 Are we richer by one poor invention by reason of all the learning that hath 
 been these many hundred years. 4 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Neither let him embrace the license of contradicting or the servitude of 
 authority} 
 
 This is the very expression of Shakespeare: 
 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 Save base authority. 
 
 And again Bacon says: 
 
 To make judgment wholly by their rules [studies] is the humor of a scholar. 
 Crafty men contemn them, simple men admire them, and wise men use them. 
 
 1 Love's Labor Lost, i, 1. 4 Ibid. 
 
 2 Advancement of Learning, book i. 5 Interpretation 0/ Nature. 
 
 3 In Praise 0/ Knowledge. 6 Essay Of Studies. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 385 
 
 And Shakespeare says: 
 
 Why universal plodding prisons up 
 The nimble spirits in the arteries. 1 
 
 And in this connection we have the following opinion of Bacon: 
 
 It seems to me that Pygmalion's frenzy is a good emblem or portraiture of this 
 vanity, for words are but the images of matter; and, except they have life of 
 reason and invention, to fall in love with them is all one to fall in love with a 
 picture. 
 
 We hear the echo of this thought in Hamlet's contemptuous 
 iteration: 
 
 Words, 7cords, ivords. 
 
 And Bacon's very thought is found again in the following: 
 
 Idle words, servants to shallow fools. 
 
 Unprofitable sounds, weak arbitrators ! 
 Busy yourselves in skull-contending schools; 
 
 Debate, where leisure serves, with dull debaters. 2 
 
 Both writers regarded the lusts or passions of the mind with 
 contempt, and perceived their unsatisfying nature. Bacon says: 
 
 And they all know, who have paid dear for serving and obeying their lusts, 
 that whether it be honor, or riches, or delight, or glory, or knowledge, or anything 
 else which they seek after, yet are they but things cast off, and by divers men in 
 all ages, after experience had utterly rejected and loathed. 3 
 
 And we find the same thought in Shakespeare: 
 
 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 
 
 Is lust in action; and till action, lust 
 Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, 
 
 Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; 
 Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight; 
 
 Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, 
 Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, 
 
 On purpose laid to make the taker mad: 
 Mad in pursuit and in possession so; 
 
 Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; 
 A bliss in proof — and proved a very woe; 
 
 Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 If the balance of our lives had not one scale of reason to poise another of 
 sensuality, the blood and baseness of our natures would conduct us to most pre- 
 posterous conclusions. 5 
 
 Both believed that the influences of evil were more persistent in 
 the world than those of goodness. 
 
 1 Love 's Labor Lost '; iv, 3. -Poems. 3 Wisdojn of the Ancients — Dionysius.i 
 
 4 Sonnet exxix. h Othello, i. %. 
 
3 86 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Those that bring honor into their family are commonly more worthy than most 
 that succeed; . . . for ill to man's nature (as it stands perverted) hath a natural 
 motion strongest in continuance; but good, as a forced motion, strongest at first. 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The evil that men do lives after them, 
 The good is oft interred with their bones.' 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues 
 We write in water. 3 
 
 Neither writer assented to the belief of the age (since by scien- 
 tific tests made a verity) that the condition of the patient's health 
 was shown by the appearance of his urine. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Those advertisements which your Lordship imputed to me I hold to be no 
 more certain to make judgment upon than a patient's water to a physician. 4 
 
 In Shakespeare we find the following: 
 Falstaff. Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my water? 
 Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good, healthy water; but for the 
 party that owned it, he might have more diseases than he knew for. 
 
 Both believed that too long a continuance of peace caused the 
 
 people to degenerate. Bacon argued that, as the body of man 
 
 could not remain in health without exercise, the body of a state 
 
 needed exercise also in the shape of foreign wars. He says: 
 
 If it seem strange that I account no state flourishing but that which hath 
 neither civil wars nor too long peace, I answer that politic bodies are like our natur- 
 al bodies, and must as well have some natural exercise to spend their humors, as 
 to be kept from too violent or continual outrages which spend their best spirits. 5 
 
 And we find the same thought, of the necessity of expelling the 
 
 humors of the body by the exercise of war, in Shakespeare: 
 
 This is the impost hume of much wealth and peace, 
 That inward breaks, and shows no cause without 
 Why the man dies. 6 
 
 Again Bacon says: 
 
 This want of learning hath been in good countries ruined by civil wars, or in 
 states corrupted through wealth or too great length of peace. 1, 
 
 1 Essay. the name of the Earl of Essex — Life 
 
 2 Julius Ccesar, iii, 2. and Works, vol. ii, p. 12. 
 
 3 Henry VIII., iv, 2. B Ilam/et, iv, 4. 
 
 4 Letter to Essex concerning Earl of 7 Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in 
 
 Tyrone. the name of the Earl of Essex — Life 
 
 6 Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in and Works, vol. ii, p. 12. 
 
WEN TIL 'A L OP IX 10 XS. 
 
 !»7 
 
 And in the foregoing we have the very collocation of wealth and 
 peace used by Hamlet, and the same thought of corruption at work 
 in both cases. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors and breed ballad- 
 makers. 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 Discarded, unjust servingmen, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted 
 tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a calm world and a long peace} 
 
 Both writers regarded the period of youth as one of great 
 danger. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For. those persons which are of a turbulent nature or appetite do commonly 
 pass their youth in many errors; and about their middle, and then and not before, 
 they show forth their perfections. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 He passed that dangerous time of his youth in the highest fortune, and in a 
 vigorous state of health. 4 
 
 Shakespeare makes the same observation: 
 
 Thou hast passed by the ambush of young days. 
 Either not assailed, or victor, being charged. 5 
 
 And this word ambush, then an unusual one, is also found in 
 Bacon's writings: he speaks 6 of the Sphynx "lying in ambush for 
 travelers." 
 
 We find a group of identities in reference to the use of intoxi- 
 cating drinks. These I have already given in the chapter on "The 
 Purposes of the Plays." 
 
 But while both condemned drunkenness they agreed in believ- 
 ing that, within reasonable limits, the use of intoxicating liquors 
 strengthened and elevated the race. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 • The use of wine in dry and consumed bodies is hurtful: in moist and full bodies 
 it is good. The cause is, for that the spirits of the wine do prey upon the dew or 
 radical moisture, as they call it, of the body, and so deceive the animal spirits. 
 But where there is moisture enough or superfluous, there wine helpeth to digest, and 
 desiccate the moisture." 
 I 
 
 1 Coriolamts, iv, 5. * In Praise 0/ Henry Prince of Wales. 
 
 2 rst Henry IV. , iv. 2. 5 Sonnet lxx. 
 
 3 Civil Character of A ugustus Ccesar. 6 Wisdom of the A ncients — Sphynx. < 
 
 1 Natural History \ § 727. 
 
388 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 I see France, Italy or Spain have not taken into use beer or ale; which, per- 
 haps if they did, would better both their healths and their complexions} 
 
 And Shakespeare puts into the mouth of Falstaff, who was 
 " moist and full" enough, in a state of ''constant dissolution and 
 thaw," as he said himself, the same opinion: 
 
 A good sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the 
 brain; dries me there all the foolish and dull and crudy vapors which environ it. . . . 
 It illuminateth the face; which, as a beacon, gives warning to all the rest of this 
 little kingdom, man, to arm; and then the vital commoners, the inland petty spirits, 
 muster me all to their captain, the heart, who, great and puffed up with this reti- 
 nue, doth any deed of courage. 2 
 
 Here we have the same belief as to the virtues of wine, and the 
 same reason, the drying or desiccating of the superfluous humors; 
 and in both cases we have the belief that the spirits of the man are 
 acted upon by the wine — a belief we shall touch upon hereafter. 
 And in Bacon we will find another reference to this ascending of 
 the spirits into the head. .He says: 
 
 The vapors which were gathered by sitting fly more up into the head. 3 
 
 But the identity of belief upon this point goes still farther. 
 
 Each writer held to the opinion that the children of drunken men 
 
 were more likely to be females than males. Bacon says: 
 
 It hath been observed by the ancients, and is yet believed, that the sperm of 
 drunken men is unfruitful. The cause is, for that it is over-moistened and 
 wanteth spissitude; and we have a merry saying, that they that go drunk to bed 
 get daughters . 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof; for their drink 
 doth so overcool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a 
 kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches. . . . 
 If I had a thousand sons, the first principle I would teach them should be, to for- 
 swear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack. 5 
 
 And again: 
 
 He was gotten in drink. Is not the humor conceited ? 
 His mind is not heroic, and there's the humor of it. 6 
 
 And we find the same thought, that great vigor and vitality 
 causes the offspring to be masculine in gender, in Macbeth's 
 exclamation to Lady Macbeth: 
 
 1 Natural History, % 705. 3 Natural History, % 734. 6 2d Henry IV., iv, 3. 
 
 2 2d Henry IV. , iv, 3. 4 Ibid., § 723. fi Merry Wives of H'indsor, i, 2.. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 389 
 
 Bring forth men-children only, 
 For thy undaunted mettle should compose 
 Nothing but males. 1 
 
 Both writers recognize the vast superiority of the intellectual 
 forces over the bodily. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The mind is the man. ... A man is but what he knoweth. 2 
 Shakespeare has the same thought: 
 
 In nature there's no blemish, but the mind,* 
 'Tis the mind that makes the body rich. 4 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind, 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Pain and danger be great only by opinion. 6 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 For there is nothing either good or bad but thinking makes it so. 7 
 
 The discrimination which we find in Shakespeare between appe- 
 tite and digestion, and their relations one to another, reappears in 
 Bacon. 
 
 Macbeth says: 
 
 Now good digestion wait on appetite, 
 And health on both. 8 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 Appetite, which is the spur of digestion. 9 
 
 Both writers believed that the strict course of justice should be 
 moderated by mercy. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 He [the King] must always resemble Him whose great name he beareth . . . 
 in manifesting the sweet influence of his mercy on the severe stroke of his justice. 10 
 
 And again: 
 
 In causes of life and death, judges ought (as far as the law permitteth) in justice 
 to remember mercy, and to cast a severe eye upon the example, but a merciful eye 
 upon the person. 11 
 
 1 Macbeth, i, 7. 8 Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in 
 a Praise of Knoiuledge. the name of the Earl of Essex. 
 
 3 Twelfth Night, iii, 4. 7 Hamlet, ii, 2. 
 
 4 Taming of the Shrew, iv, 3. ■ Macbeth, iii, 4. 
 
 * Othello, i, 3. » History of Life and Death. 
 
 10 Essay Of a King. 
 11 Essay Of fudicature. 
 
39° 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 The same humane spirit is manifested in the Shakespeare 
 
 writings: 
 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 
 When mercy seasons justice. 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods ? 
 Draw near them, then, in being merciful. - 
 
 And again: 
 
 Alas, alas ! 
 Why, all the souls that are were forfeit once; 
 And He that might the vantage best have took 
 Found out the remedy: How would you be, 
 If He, which is the top of judgment, should 
 But judge you as you are? Oh, think on that; 
 And mercy then will breathe within your lips 
 Like man new made. 3 
 
 Both were keenly alive to the purity and sweetness of the 
 atmosphere. 
 
 In his History of Life and Death 4 Bacon discusses " the healthful- 
 ness of the air" and the modes of testing its purity, as by exposing 
 a lock of wool or a piece of flesh, etc. 
 
 He says in another place: 
 
 At Gorhambury there is sweet air if any is. 5 
 
 And again: 
 
 The discovery of the disposition of the air is good . . . for the choice of 
 places to dwell in; at the least for lodges and retiring-places for health. 6 
 
 And in the same chapter in which he discusses the purity of the 
 
 air in dwelling-houses and the mode of ascertaining- it, he refers to 
 
 birds: 
 
 Which use to change countries at certain seasons, if they come earlier, do show 
 the temperature of weather according to that country whence they came. 7 
 
 For prognostics of weather from living creatures, it is to be noted, that 
 creatures that live in the open air, sub dio, must needs have a quicker impression 
 from the air than men that live most within doors; and especially birds, that live 
 in the air freest and clearest. 8 
 
 And again he notes that 
 
 Kites flying aloft show fair and dry weather, . . . for that they mount most 
 into the air of that temper wherein they delight. 9 
 
 1 Merchant of I 'cuke, iv, i. 4 §29, etc. 7 Ibid., §816. 
 
 2 Titus Andronicus, i, 2. 5 Letter to Buckingham, 1619. 8 Ibid., §822. 
 * Measure for Measure, ii, 2. • Natural History, §808. 9 Ibid., §824. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 39I 
 
 And we have the same set of thoughts — the sweetness of the 
 air in special places, and the delight of birds in pure air — in the 
 famous words uttered by Duncan and Banquo: 
 
 Daman. This castle hath a pleasant seat: the air 
 
 Nimbly and gently recommends itself 
 
 Unto our senses. 
 
 Banquo. This guest of summer, 
 
 The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, 
 
 By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath 
 
 Smells wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, 
 
 Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird 
 
 Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle: 
 
 Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed 
 
 The air is delicate. 1 
 
 Both refer to the effect of terror upon the rising of the hair. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The passions of the mind work upon the body the impressions following: fear 
 causeth paleness, trembling, the standing of the hair upright, starting and shriek- 
 ing.' 1 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The time has been, my senses would have cooled 
 To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair 
 Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir 
 As life were in 't. 3 
 
 Both, while to some extent fatalists, believed that a man pos- 
 sesses to a large extent the control over his own fortune. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Chiefly the mould of a man's fortune is in his own hands. 4 
 And again: 
 
 It is not good to fetch fortune from the stars.' 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 But in ourselves, that we are underlings. 6 
 
 And curiously enough, both drew the same conclusions as to 
 
 reading character by personal appearance, while they held that, 
 
 as Shakespeare says: 
 
 There's no art 
 To read the mind's construction in the face. 7 
 
 1 Macbeth, i, 6. s Macbeth, v, 5. 5 History of Henry I II. 
 
 2 Natural History, § 713. 4 Essay Of Fortune. 6 Julius Ccesar, i, 2. 
 
 7 Macbeth, i, 1. 
 
392 
 
 PA RA LLELISMS. 
 
 And again : 
 
 No more can you distinguish of a man 
 
 Than of his outward show, which, God he knows, 
 
 Seldom, or never, jumpeth with the heart. 1 
 
 And Bacon argued : 
 
 Neither let that be feared which is said, Fronti nulla fides: which is meant of 
 a general outward behavior, and not of the private and subtle motions and labors 
 of the countenance and gesture. '- 
 
 And this distinction, between the revelations made by the mere 
 cast or shape or controlled attitudes of the face, and the expres- 
 sions of the face or motions of the body, appears in Shakespeare: 
 There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very gestures. 3 
 
 Again we find it in Ulysses' wonderful description of Cressida: 
 
 Fie, fie upon her ! 
 There's language in her eye, her cheek, her lip, 
 Nay, her foot speaks; her wanton spirits look out 
 At every joint and motive [motion ?] of her body. 4 
 
 And we find Bacon observing: 
 
 For every passion doth cause, in the eyes, face and gesture, certain indecent 
 and ill-seeming, apish and deformed motions. 5 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 So in all physiognomy the lineaments of the body will discover those natural 
 inclinations of the mind which dissimulation will conceal or discipline will 
 suppress. 6 
 
 And we find Shakespeare putting into the mouth of King John 
 
 these words, descriptive of Hubert: 
 
 Hadst thou not been by, 
 A fellow by the hand of nature marked, 
 Quoted and signed to do a deed of shame. 7 
 
 And Bacon says: 
 
 For Aristotle hath very ingeniously and diligently handled the features of the 
 body, but not the gestures of the body, which are no less comprehensible by art, 
 and of greater use and advantage. For the lineaments of the body do disclose the 
 disposition and inclination of the mind in general, but the motions of the counte- 
 nance and parts do not only so, but do further disclose the present humor and state 
 of the mind and will. 8 
 
 And in this connection we find another parallelism. Bacon 
 says: 
 
 It is necessary to use a steadfast countenance, not wavering with action, as in 
 
 1 Richard III., iii, I, 5 Wisdom of the Ancients — Dionysiiis. 
 
 2 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 6 Natural History, cent. ix. 
 
 3 Winter's Tale, v, 2. 7 Kingfohn, iv, 2. 
 
 4 Troilus and Cressida, iv, 5. 8 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. ^ 
 
 moving the head or hand too much, which showeth a fantastical, light and fickle 
 spirit. 1 • 
 
 And Hamlet, in his instructions to the players, says: 
 Nor do not saw the air too much — your hand thus; but use all gently. 2 
 
 Both had the same high admiration for the capacity to bear 
 
 misfortunes with patience and self-control. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Yet it is a greater dignity of mind to bear evils by fortitude and judgment than 
 by a kind of absenting and alienation of the mind from things present to things 
 future, for that it is to hope. ... I do judge a state of mind which in all doubtful 
 expectations is settled and fioateth not, and doth this out of good government 
 and composition of the affections, to be one of the principal supporters of man's 
 life; but that assurance and repose of the mind which only rides at anchor itpori 
 hope, I do reject as wavering and weak. 3 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 For thou hast been 
 As one, in suffering all, that suffers nothing; 
 A man that fortune's buffets and rewards 
 Has ta'en with equal thanks; and blessed are those 
 Whose blood and judgment are so well commingled 
 That they are not a pipe for fortune's finger 
 To sound what stop she please. 4 
 
 And the expression of Bacon quoted above, " the mind which 
 
 only rides at anchor upon hope," is paralleled in Shakespeare: 
 
 If eyes, corrupt by over-partial looks, 
 
 Be anchored in the bay where all men ride. 5 
 
 Both believed in the universal presence and power of goodness. 
 
 Ba-on said: 
 
 The inclination to goodness is deeply implanted in the nature of man; inso- 
 much, that if it issue not toward man it will take unto other living creatures. 6 
 
 And again: 
 
 There is formed in everything a double nature of good. 7 
 
 And again: 
 
 For the affections themselves carry ever an appetite to good, as reason doth.- 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 There is some soul of goodness in things evil 
 Would men observingly distill it out. 9 
 
 1 Civil Conversations. 5 Sonnet cxxxvii. 
 
 5 Hamlet, iii, 2. 6 Essay 0/ Goodness. 
 
 3 Med. SacrcB — Of Earthly Hope. ''Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 
 
 -* Hamlet, iii, 2. 8 Ibid. » 
 
 9 Henry J'., iv, 1. 
 
394 PARALLELISMS, 
 
 And again: 
 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything.^ 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And we willingly place the history of arts among the species of natural history, 
 because there have obtained a now inveterate mode of speaking and notion, as if 
 art were something different from nature, so that things artificial ought to be dis- 
 criminated from things natural, as if wholly and generically distinct. . . . And 
 there has insinuated into men's minds a still subtler error, namely this, that art is 
 conceived to be a sort of addition to nature, the proper effect of which is mere words 
 and rhetorical ornament. 2 
 
 Shakespeare has the following: 
 
 Perdita. For I have heard it said, 
 
 There is an art which in their piedness shares 
 
 With great creating nature. 
 
 Polixenes. Say there be; 
 
 Yet nature is made better by no mean, 
 
 But nature makes that mean; so o'er that art, 
 
 Which you say adds to nature, is an art that nature makes. 
 
 Here we have, in the same words, a reference to an opinion, 
 held by others, that art is an addition to nature, and a dissent from it 
 by the writer, in each case. 
 
 And that other thought, that man's art shares with God the 
 
 creative force and faculty, Judge Holmes shows had also occurred 
 
 to Bacon: 
 
 Art or man is added to the universe; and it must almost necessarily be con- 
 cluded that the human soul is endowed with providence, not without the example, 
 intention and authority of the greater providence. 3 
 
 That is to say, that man is a sort of a deputy of God to carry 
 forward the work of creation. 
 
 And we find Shakespeare alluding, in the same spirit, to "the 
 providence that's in a watchful state," 4 as if "the human soul," gov- 
 erning the state, "was endowed with providence." 
 
 And we find the same thought, that man is a species of lesser 
 
 God, to whom the creative force has been delegated, expressed 
 
 again in these lines: 
 
 We, Hermia, like two artificial gods, 
 
 Have with our needles created both one flower, 
 
 Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion. 5 
 
 1 As You Like It, ii, i. 3 Authorship of Shak., p. 5x2^ 
 
 2 Intell. Globe, chapter iii. 4 Troilus ami Cressida, iii, 3. 
 
 8 Midsummer Night's Dream, i, 2. 
 
IDENTICAL OPINIONS. 395 
 
 Both believed that sickness or weakness left the mind open 
 
 to the influence of external spirits. Bacon says: 
 
 So much more in impressions from mind to mind, or from spirit to spirit, the 
 impression taketh, but is encountered and overcome by the mind and spirit. 
 . . . And, therefore, they work most upon weak minds and spirits, as those of 
 women, sick persons, superstitious and fearful persons. 1 
 
 Shakespeare makes Hamlet say: 
 
 The spirit that I have seen 
 May be the devil; and the devil hath power 
 To assume a pleasing shape; yea, and, perhaps, 
 Out of my weakness and my melancholy, 
 (As he is very potent with such spirits), 
 Abuses me to damn me. 2 
 
 Here we have precisely the same idea. 
 
 The author of A New Study of Shakespeare •, Mr. W. F. C. Wigston, 
 
 calls attention to the following parallelism. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It is evident that the dullness of men is such, and so infelicitous, that when 
 things are put before their feet, they do not see them, unless admonished, but 
 pass on. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The jewel that we find we stoop and take it, 
 Because we see it; but what we do not see 
 We tread upon, and never think of it. 3 
 
 Both had observed the fear that men have of making their wills 
 until the last moment. 
 Bacon says: 
 When their will is made they think themselves nearer the grave than before. 4 
 
 In Shakespeare we find the following: 
 
 Slender. Now, good Mistress Anne. 
 
 Anne. What is your will ? 
 
 Slender. My will? Ods-hart-lings, that's a pretty jest indeed. I ne'er made 
 my will yet, I thank Heaven: I am not such a sickly creature, I give Heaven 
 praise. 5 
 
 Mrs. Pott calls attention to the following parallelism. 
 
 Bacon has in his Protnus this note: 
 
 It is in action as it is in ways; commonly the nearest is the foulest. 6 
 
 1 Xatural History, §901. * Essay Of Death. 
 
 2 Hamlet, ii, 2. . 5 Merry Wives of Windsor, iii, 4. 
 
 3 Measure for Measure, ii, 1. * Protnus, No. 532. 
 
39 6 
 
 PA HA LLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare has it: 
 
 [Your heart] is too full of the milk of human kindness 
 To catch the nearest way. 1 
 
 That is, the foul way of murder, which was the nearest way to 
 
 the crown. 
 
 I might continue this chapter to greater length; but I think I 
 have given enough to show that the same wonderful parallelism 
 which exists between the forms of expression in the two sets of 
 writings extends also to the opinions and beliefs set forth therein. 
 
 It will, of course, be easy for a dishonest mind to treat these 
 parallelisms as Richard Grant White did those in Mrs. Pott's 
 Promus — that is, ignore the strongest ones, and select the least 
 striking and put them forth as the strongest. But in the long run 
 truth is not to be arrested by such tricks, nor can a great argument 
 be conducted by men who are mean enough to resort to them. 
 
 1 Macbeth, i, 2. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IDENTICAL QUOTA TIOXS, 
 
 And these same thoughts people this little world. 
 
 Richard II., v,j. 
 
 IF the two minds were one, if they thought the same thoughts,, 
 and employed the same comparisons and expressions, it might 
 be that we would find them quoting the same things from the 
 same books. 
 
 I remember a few instances of this kind, and many more might 
 be found by a diligent examination of the two sets of writings. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 In this they fall into the error described in the ancient fable, in which the 
 other parts of the body did suppose the stomach had been idle, because it neither 
 performed the office of motion, as the limbs do, nor of sense, as the head doth; but 
 yet, notwithstanding, it is the stomach that digesteth and distributeth to all the 
 rest. 1 
 
 In Shakespeare we have the following: 
 
 There was a time when all the body's members 
 
 Rebelled against the belly; thus accused it: 
 
 That only like a gulf it did remain 
 
 I' the midst o' the body, idle and unactive, 
 
 Still cupboarding the viands, never bearing 
 
 Like labor with the rest; where the other instruments 
 
 Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel, 
 
 And mutually participate; did minister 
 
 Unto the appetite and affection common 
 
 Of the whole body. The belly answered, . . . 
 
 "' True it is, my incorporate friends," quoth he, 
 
 " That I receive the general food at first, 
 
 Which you do live upon: and fit it is; 
 
 Because I am the storehouse and the shop 
 
 Of the whole body. But, if you do remember, 
 
 I send it through the rivers of your blood 
 
 Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain,. 
 
 And through the cranks and offices of man : 
 
 The strongest nerves, and small inferior veins, 
 
 From me receive that natural competency 
 
 Whereby they live." 2 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 2 Coriolanus, i, i. 
 
 397 
 
398 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And here I would refer to the anecdote which Bacon tells in his 
 
 Apophthegms : 
 
 Sir Nicholas Bacon, being appointed a judge for the northern circuit, . . . was, 
 by one of the malefactors, mightily importuned to save his life, which, when nothing 
 that he had said did avail, at length desired his mercy on the account of kindred. 
 " Prythee," said my lord Judge, " how came that in ?" " Why, if it please you, my 
 lord, your name is Bacon »and mine is Hog, and in all ages hog and bacon have 
 been so near kindred that they are not to be separated." " Ay, but," replied Judge 
 Bacon, " you and I cannot be kindred except you be hanged, for hog is not bacon 
 until it be well hanged." 
 
 Shakespeare has this: 
 
 Evans. I pray you, have remembrance, child: Accusativo, hung, hang, hog. 
 Quickly. Hang hog is Latin for Bacon, I warrant you. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Such men in other men's calamities are, as it were, in season, and are ever on 
 the loading part; not so good as the dogs that licked Lazarus' sores, but like flies 
 that are still buzzing. 2 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth; where the glutton's dogs licked his 
 sores. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Philo Judaeus saith that the sense is like the sun; for the sun seals up the 
 globe of heaven [the stars] and opens the globe of earth; so the sense doth obscure 
 heavenly things and reveals earthly things. 4 
 
 When Lorenzo contemplates the heavens by night, thick ''inlaid 
 
 with patines of bright gold," he speaks of the music of the spheres, 
 
 and adds: 
 
 Such harmony is in immortal souls, 
 But whilst this muddy vesture of decay 
 Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For of lions it is a received belief that their fury and fierceness ceaseth toward 
 anything that yieldeth and prostrateth itself. 6 
 
 Shakespeare has the following: 
 
 Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, 
 
 And again 
 
 Which better fits a lion than a man. 7 
 
 For 'tis the nature of that noble beast 
 
 To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead. 
 
 1 Merry Wives of Windsor, iv, 1. •' Merchant of Venice, v, 1. 
 
 3 Essay Of Goodness. 6 Med. Sacra— Exaltation of Charity. 
 
 3 1st Henry IV., iv, 2. » Troilus and Cressida, v, 3. 
 
 4 Apophthegms. 'As You Like It, iv, 3. 
 
IDENTIC A I. QUOTA TIO XS. 399 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 But these three are the true stages of knowledge, which, to those that are puffed 
 up with their own knowledge and rebellious against God, are indeed no better than 
 the giant's three hills: 
 
 " Ter sunt coiiatl imponere Pelio Ossatn, 
 
 Scilicet atque Ossce frondosum involvere Olympum." 
 
 [Mountain on mountain thrice they strove to heap: 
 
 Olympus, Ossa, piled on Pclioii s steep.] l 
 
 And we find Shakespeare employing the same quotation: 
 
 Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead; 
 Till of this flat a mountain you have made, 
 To o'ertop old Pelion, or the skyish head 
 Of old Olympus, . . . 
 
 Till our ground, 
 Singeing his pate against the burning zone, 
 Make Ossa like a wart.' 2 
 
 Here we have the three mountains named in the quotation — 
 Olympus, Pelion, Ossa — and the comparison in both cases is that 
 of piling one on top of the other. 
 
 Describing the chameleon, Bacon says: 
 
 He feedeth not only upon the air, though that be his principal sustenance. 3 
 
 Again: 
 
 And so feed her [the Queen] with expectation. 4 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare, and we find the following: 
 
 King. How fares our cousin Hamlet? 
 
 Ham. Excellent, i' faith; of the chameleon s dish: I eat the air, promise- 
 crammed. You cannot feed capons so. 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And therefore 
 fess their secre 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And therefore the poet doth elegantly call passions tortures, that urge men to 
 confess their secrets. 
 
 Better be with the dead, 
 Whom we. to gain our peace, have sent to peace, 
 Than on the torture of the mind to lie 
 In restless ecstacy. 6 
 
 Bacon has the following: 
 
 It was both pleasantly and wiSely said ... by a Pope's nuncio, returning 
 from a certain nation where he served as lieger; whose opinion being asked touch- 
 
 1 De A ugmentis, book iii. * Letter to Essex, October 4, 1596. 
 
 2 Hamtet, v, 1. 5 Hamlet, iii, 2. 
 
 3 Natural History, % 360. 6 Macbeth, iii, 2. 
 
400 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 ing the appointment of one to go in his place, he wished that in any case they did 
 not send one that was too wise; because no very wise man would even imagine 
 what they in that country were like to do. 1 
 
 While Shakespeare puts the same quotation thus: 
 
 Hamlet. Ay, many, why was he sent into England ? 
 
 jst Clown. Why, because he was mad; he shall recover his wits there; or, if 
 he do not, it is no great matter there. 
 Hamlet. Why ? 
 ist Clown. 'Twill not be seen in him; there the men are as mad as he. 5 
 
 In The Wisdom of the Ancietits Bacon quotes the fable of Orpheus, 
 and says: 
 
 So great was the power and alluring force of this harmony, that he drew the 
 woods and moved the very stones to come and place themselves in an orderly and 
 decent fashion about him. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Therefore, the poet 
 Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; 
 Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage 
 But music for a time doth change his nature. 3 
 
 For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews, 
 Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. 4 
 
 Judge Holmes calls attention to the following instance. 
 
 In Plutarch's Life of Antony is told the story of Timon's tree. 
 
 North's translation reads as follows: 
 
 Ye men of Athens, in a court-yard belonging to my house grows a large 
 fig-tree, on which many an honest citizen has been pleased to hang himself: now, 
 as I have thought of building upon that spot, I could not omit giving you this pub- 
 lic notice, to the end that if any more among you have a mind to make the same 
 use of my tree, they may do it speedily before it is destroyed. 
 
 Bacon alludes to this story as follows, in his essay Of Goodness ; 
 
 Misanthropi that make it their practice to bring men to the bough, and yet 
 have never a tree for the purpose in their gardens, as Timon had. 
 
 While Shakespeare, in the play of Timon of Athens? says: 
 
 Timon. I have a tree which grows here in my close, 
 
 That mine own use invites me to cut down, 
 
 And shortly must I sell it. Tell my friends, 
 
 Tell Athens, in the sequence of degree, 
 
 From high to low throughout, that whoso please 
 
 To stop affliction, let him take his haste, 
 
 Come hither, ere my tree hath felt the axe, 
 
 And hang himself. 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 3 Merchant of Venice, v, i. 
 
 2 Hamlet, v, i. 4 Two Gentlemen of Verona, iii, -z. 
 
 6 Act iv, scene i. 
 
IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 401 
 
 Henry Lewis, in his Essays of Bacon, points out an instance 
 
 where the two writers refer to the same incident. Bacon, in his 
 
 essay Of Prophecies, says: 
 
 Henry VI. of England said of Henry VII., when he was a lad, and gave him 
 water, " This is the lad shall enjoy the crown for which we strive." 
 
 In Shakespeare we find the same event thus alluded to: 
 
 Come hither, England's hope. If secret powers 
 Suggest but truth to my divining thoughts, 
 This pretty lad will prove our country's bliss, . . . 
 Likely, in time, to bless a regal throne. 1 
 
 The same author also calls attention to this parallelism. In the 
 same essay Of Prophecies Bacon refers to 
 
 A phantasm that appeared to M. Brutus in his tent, and said to him, Philippus 
 interum vie videbis — (Thou shalt see me again at Philippi). 
 
 Shakespeare, in Julius Casar, has: 
 
 Brutus. Speak to me what thou art. 
 
 Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus. 
 
 Brutus. Why comest thou ? 
 
 Ghost. To tell thee, thou shalt see me at Philippi.' 2 
 
 Aristotle says : 
 
 Usury is merely money bom of money; so that of all means of money-making 
 this is the most contrary to nature. 
 
 Bacon quotes this; he says: 
 
 It is against nature for money to beget money. 3 
 
 Shakespeare also quotes it : 
 
 When did friendship take 
 A breed of barren metal of his friend? 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 There is an observation among country people, that years of store of haws 
 and hips do commonly portend cold winters; and they ascribe it to God's provi- 
 dence, that, as the Scripture saith, reacheth even to the falling of a sparroiv. h 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 There's a special providence in the fall of a sparrow* 
 
 And again: 
 
 He that doth the ravens feed, ' 
 Yea, providently caters for the sparrow. 7 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The wisdom of crocodiles, that shed tears when they would devour. 8 
 
 1 3d Henry VI., iv, 6. 3 Essay Of Usury. 5 Natural History, §737. 
 
 8 Julius Ccesar, iv, 3. 4 Merchant 0/ Venice, i, 3. 6 Hamlet, v, 2. , 
 
 7 As You Like It, ii, 3. 8 Essay Of Wisdom. 
 
4 o2 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 As the mournful crocodile 
 With sorrow snares relenting passengers. 1 
 
 Bacon, referring to a popular belief, says: 
 
 This was the end of this little cockatrice of a king [Perkin Warbeck], that was 
 able to destroy those that did not espy him first. 2 
 
 Shakespeare alludes to the same superstition: 
 
 They will kill one another by the look, like cockatrices? 
 
 Shall poison more 
 Than the death-darting eye of cockatrice \ 4 
 
 A cockatrice hast thou hatched to the world, 
 Whose unavoided eye is murtherous? 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The parable of Pythagoras is dark but true. Cor ue edito — (eat not tne 
 heart). 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 / sup upon myself, 
 And so shall starve with feeding? 
 
 The canker gnaw thy heart} 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Princes many times make themselves desires and set their hearts upon a toy, 
 ... as Nero for playing on the harp. 9 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Plantagenet, I will; and like thee, Nero, 
 Play on the lute, beholding the towns burn. 10 
 
 Bacon tells this story: 
 
 Periander, being consulted with how to preserve a tyranny newly usurped, bid 
 the messenger attend and report what he saw him do; and went into his garden 
 and topped all the highest flowers, signifying that it consisted in the cutting off and 
 keeping low of the nobility and grandees. 11 
 
 Shakespeare plainly alludes to the same story in the following: 
 
 Go thou, and, like an executioner, 
 Cut off the head of too-fast-growing sprays, 
 That look too lofty in our commonwealth: 
 All must be even in our government. 12 
 
 l 2d Henry VI.,'\\\,\. • Richard ///., iv, i. 9 Essay Of Empire. 
 
 2 History of Henry VII. 8 Essay Of Friendship. 10 ist Henry VI., i, 4. 
 
 8 Twelfth Night, iii. 4. 7 Coriolanus, iv, 2. u Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 4 Romeo and Juliet, iii, 2. 8 Timon of Athens, iv, 3. 12 Richard II., iii, 4. 
 
IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 4 o 3 
 
 Bacon quotes: 
 
 It is not granted to man to love and be wise. 1 
 And again: 
 
 Therefore it was well said " that it is impossible to love and be wise. 2 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 To be wise and love, exceeds man's might. :{ 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For, aspiring to be like God in power, the angels transgressed and fell. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 For from the desire of power the angels fell.* 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 By that sin fell the angels. 6 
 
 Bacon uses this quotation: 
 
 Cardinal Wolsey said that if he had pleased God as he pleased the King, he 
 had not been ruined. 7 
 
 Shakespeare puts into the mouth of the same Cardinal Wolsey 
 these words: 
 
 O Cromwell, Cromwell, 
 Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
 I served my King, he would not in mine age 
 Have left me naked to mine enemies. 8 
 
 Mr. R. M. Theobald, in the August, 1887, number of the. Journal 
 of the Bacon Society of London, page 157, gives us the following 
 extraordinary parallelism, where both writers clearly refer to the 
 same terrible story 
 
 Bacon, in the De Augmentis, says : 
 
 What a proof of patience is displayed in the story told of Anaxarchus, who, 
 when questioned under torture, bit out his own tongue (the only hope of informa- 
 tion), and spat it into the face of the tyrant. 
 
 While in Shakespeare we find the same story alluded to. In 
 Richard II., i, 1, Bolingbroke, being invited by the King to recon- 
 cile himself to Mowbray, and throw down Mowbray's gage of bat- 
 tle which he had picked up, replies : 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 5 Preface to Great Instauration. 
 
 2 Essay Of Love. • Henry VIII., iii, 2. 
 
 * Troilus and Cressida, iii, 2. 7 Letter to King James, September 5, 1621. 
 
 4 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 8 Henry Fill., iii, 4. 
 
4°4 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 O God, defend my soul from such foul sin ! 
 
 . . . Ere my tongue 
 Shall wound mine honor with such feeble wrong, 
 Or sound so base a parle, my teeth shall tear 
 The slavish motive of recanting fear, 
 And spit it bleeding, in his high disgrace, 
 Where shame doth harbor, even in Mowbray s face. 
 
 The play of Richard II was published in 1597, and Bacon's Der 
 
 Augme?itis in 1623; consequently Shakespeare did not borrow from 
 
 Bacon. Mr. Theobald says: 
 
 The story is derived from Diogenes Laertius; Bacon's version is taken from 
 Pliny or Valerius Maximus. . . . Where did Shakspere pick up the allusion? 
 Perhaps Pliny and Valerius Maximus and Diogenes Laertius were text-books at 
 the grammar school of Stratford-on-Avon ! 
 
 Bacon, in his Natural History, says: 
 
 There was an Egyptian soothsayer that made Antonius believe that his genius, 
 which otherwise was brave and confident, was, in the presence of Octavius Caesar, 
 poor and cowardly; and therefore he advised him to absent himself as much as 
 he could, and remove far from him. This soothsayer was thought to be suborned 
 by Cleopatra, to make him live in Egypt and other remote places from home. 1 
 
 And the same fact is referred to in Shakespeare. Macbeth says, 
 
 speaking of Banquo: 
 
 There is none but he 
 Whose being I do fear: and under him 
 My genius is rebuked; as, it is said, 
 Mark Antony's was by Caesar. 
 
 And in Antony and Cleopatra we have the very Egyptian sooth- 
 sayer referred to : 
 
 Antony. Say to me, 
 
 Whose fortune shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine? 
 Soothsayer. Caesar's. 
 
 Therefore, O Antony, stay not by his side: 
 Thy daemon (that's thy spirit which keeps thee) is 
 Noble, courageous, high, unmatchable, 
 Where Caesar's is not; but near him thy angel 
 Becomes a Fear, as being overpowered; therefore 
 Make space enough between you. 2 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 What new hope hath made them return to their Sinon's note, in teaching Troy 
 how to save itself. 3 
 
 Shakespeare alludes to the same fact, thus: 
 
 And, like a Sinon, take another Troy. 4 
 
 1 Natural History, cent, x, §940. s Speech in Parliament. 
 
 2 Antony and CIeoj>atra, ii, 3. 4 3d Henry /'/., iii, 2. 
 
IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 4 5 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Aristotle dogmatically assigned the cause of generation to the sun. 
 
 Shakespeare has it: 
 
 If the sun breed maggots out of a dead dog. Have you a daughter? . . . Let 
 her not walk in the sun. Conception is a blessing. Etc. 1 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The ancient opinion that man was a microcosmns, an abstract or model of the 
 world. 2 
 
 And Shakespeare alludes to the same thing: 
 
 You will see it in the map of my microcosm* 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Report has much prevailed of a stone bred in the head of an old and great 
 toad. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Like the toad, ugly and venomous, 
 Bears yet a precious jewel in its head. 5 
 
 Bacon speaks of taking the advantage of opportunity in the fol- 
 lowing words: 
 
 For occasion (as it is in the common verse) turneth a bald noddle after she has 
 presented her locks in front, and no hold taken. 6 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Let's take the instant by the forward top — for we are old. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For although Aristotle, as though he had been of the race of the Ottomans, 
 thought he could not reign unless he killed off all his brethren* 
 
 Shakespeare puts into the mouth of King Henry V. this address 
 
 to his brothers : 
 
 This is the English, not the Turkish court; 
 Not Amurah an Amurah succeeds, 
 But Harry, Harry. 9 
 
 Bacon in his Apophthegms tells this story: 
 
 The Queen of Henry IV. of France was great with child; Count Soissons, that 
 
 1 Hamlet, ii, 2. 5 As Vote Like It, ii, 1. 
 
 "■ Advancement of Learning, book ii. * Essay Of Delays. 
 
 3 Coriolanus, ii, 1. ' All's Well that Ends Well, v. 3. 
 
 4 Inquisition of the Conversion of Bodies. 8 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 9 3d Henry II., v, 2. 
 
406 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 had his expectation upon the crown, when it was twice or thrice thought that the 
 Queen was with child before, said to some of his friends "that it was but with a 
 pillow," etc. 
 
 Shakespeare must have had this story in his mind when, in 
 
 describing Doll Tearsheet being taken to be whipped, he speaks as 
 
 follows: 
 
 Hostess. Oh that Sir John were come, he would make this a bloody day to 
 somebody. But I would the fruit of her womb might miscarry. 
 
 Officer. If it do, you shall have a dozen cushions; you have but eleven now. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Question was asked of Demosthenes what was the chief part of an orator? He 
 answered, Action. What next? Action. What next, again? Action. A strange 
 thing that that part of an orator which is but superficial, and rather the virtue of a 
 player, should be placed so high above those other noble parts of invention, elocu- 
 tion, and the rest; nay, almost alone, as if it were all in all. But the reason is 
 plain. There is in human nature, generally, more of the fool than the wise; and 
 therefore those faculties by which the foolish part of men's minds is taken are 
 most potent. 2 
 
 Shakespeare refers to the same story and gives the same ex- 
 planation in the following: 
 
 For in such business 
 Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant 
 More learned than their ears. 8 
 
 In Henry V. the Bishop of Exeter makes a comparison of gov- 
 ernment to the subordination and harmony of parts in music: 
 
 For government, though high and low and lower, 
 Put into parts, doth keep in one consent, 
 Congruing in a full and natural close 
 Like music. 
 
 Some have sought to find the origin of this simile in Cicero, 
 De Republica, but that book was lost to literature and unknown, 
 except by name, until Angelo Mai discovered it upon a palimpsest 
 in the Vatican in 1822. 
 
 Its real source is in the apophthegm repeatedly quoted by 
 
 Bacon as to Nero: 
 
 Vespasian asked of Apollonius what was the cause of Nero's ruin. Who 
 answered: " Nero could tune the harp well, but in government he did always 
 wind up the strings too high or let them down too low." 4 
 
 1 2d Henry IV., v, 4. s Coriolanus, iii, 2. 
 
 a Essay Of Boldness. 4 Apophthegm 51. 
 
IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 407 
 
 Bacon has this story: 
 
 Queen Isabella of Spain used to say: "Whosoever hath a good presence and a 
 good fashion carries letters of 'recommendation." x 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The beauty that is borne here in the face 
 The bearer knows not, but commends itself 
 To others' eyes} 
 
 Bacon has two anecdotes about the Salic law of France. 3 He 
 says in one of .them: 
 
 There was a French gentleman, speaking with an English of the law Salique : 
 that women were excluded from inheriting the crown of France. The English 
 said: "Yes; but that was meant of the women themselves, not of such males as 
 claimed by women," etc. 
 
 And in the play of Henry V. we find Shakespeare discussing the 
 
 same Salic law, at great length, and giving many instances to 
 
 show that it did not exclude those who "claimed by women," one 
 
 of which instances is: 
 
 Besides their writers say 
 King Pepin, which deposed Childerike, 
 Did as their general, being descended 
 Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair, 
 Make claim and title to the crown of France. 4 
 
 The writer of the Plays had evidently studied the history of this 
 law of another country in all its details; — a thing natural enough 
 in a lawyer, extraordinary in a play-actor or stage manager. 
 
 Bacon refers to the story of Ulysses' wife thus : 
 
 Aristippus said : That those who studied particular sciences and neglected 
 philosophy, were like Penelope's wooers, that made love to the waiting- women. 5 
 
 Shakespeare also refers to Penelope : 
 
 You would be another Penelope; yet they say all the yarn she spun in Ulysses' 
 absence did but fill Ithaca with moths. 6 
 
 Bacon quotes the story of Icarus: 
 
 I was ever sorry that your Lordship should fly with waxen wings, doubting 
 Icarus' fortune. 7 
 
 Shakespeare has the following allusion to the same story: 
 Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, 
 Thou Icarus. 8 
 
 1 Apophthegm 99. 5 Apophthegm 189. 
 
 * Troilus and Cressi'da, iii, 3. 8 Corz'o/anus, i, 3. 
 
 8 Apophthegms 184 and 185. 7 Letter to Essex, 1600. 
 
 4 Henry \\ i, 1. B 1st Henry VI., iv, 6. 
 
408 
 
 PARALLELISMS, 
 
 And again: 
 
 And in that sea of blood my boy did drench 
 His over-mounting spirit; and there died 
 My Icarus, my blossom, in his pride. 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 I, Daedalus; my poor boy, Icarus; 
 
 Thy father Minos, that denied our course; 
 
 The sun that seared the wings of my sweet boy. 2 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Frascatorius invented a remedy for apoplectic fits, by placing a heated pan at 
 some distance around the head, for by this means the spirits that were suffocated 
 and congealed in the cells of the brain, and oppressed by the humors, were dilated, 
 excited and revived. 3 
 
 And Falstaff seemed to hold the same view, that the disease was 
 a torpidity that needed to be roused. He says : 
 
 This apoplexie is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, a sleeping of the blood. 4 
 
 And Bacon, in a letter to the King, at the time of his downfall, 
 after describing a violent pain in the back of his head, says : 
 
 And then the little physic [medical learning] I had told me that it must either 
 grow to a congelation, and so to a lethargy, and break, and so to a mortal fever or 
 sudden death. 
 
 Bacon and Shakespeare both refer to the same fact in connec- 
 tion with the assassination of Julius Caesar. Bacon says: 
 
 With Julius Caesar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that interest, as he set him 
 down in his testament for heir in remainder after his nephew; and this was the 
 man that had power with him to draw him forth to his death: for when Caesar 
 would have discharged the Senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially a 
 dream of Calpurnia, this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his chair, telling 
 him he hoped he would not dismiss the Senate till his wife had dreamed a better 
 dream. 
 
 In Shakespeare we have Decimus Brutus saying to Caesar: 
 
 Besides, it were a mock 
 Apt to be rendered, for some one to say: 
 Break up the Senate, till another time, 
 When Caesar's wife shall meet with better dreams. 
 
 And is it not to the soldier Decimus Junius Brutus, and not to 
 the great Marcus Junius Brutus, that the poet makes Mark Antony 
 
 1 1st Henry VI., iv, 7. 3 Historia Dens, ct Rari. 
 
 * 3d Henry I V., v, 6. * 2d Henry II ' i, 3. 
 
IDENTICAL QUOTATIONS. 409 
 
 allude (echoing Bacon's astonishment that the heir of Coesar could 
 have participated in his murder) in the following? 
 
 Through this the well-beloved Brutus stabbed, 
 
 And as he plucked his cursed steel away, 
 
 Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it; 
 
 As rushing out of doors, to be resolved 
 
 If Brutus so unkindly knocked or no: 
 
 For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel. 
 
 Judge, O ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved him. 
 
 And we find in another historical instance the minds of both 
 writers, if I may use the expression, dwelling on the same fact. 
 Bacon says, in a letter to King James, February 11, 1614: 
 
 And I put the case of the Duke of Buckingham, who said that if the King 
 caused him to be arrested of treason he would stab him. 
 
 The King here alluded to was Henry VIII., and we find the 
 incident thus described in Shakespeare's play of that name. Buck- 
 ingham's surveyor is giving testimony against his master. He 
 
 says: 
 
 //"(quoth he) I for this had been committed, 
 
 As to the Tower, I thought, I would have played 
 
 The part my father meant to act upon 
 
 The usurper Richard; who, being at Salisbury, 
 
 Made suit to come in 's presence, which if granted, 
 
 (As he made semblance of his duty), would 
 
 Have put his knife into him} 
 
 Bacon makes this quotation: 
 
 The kingdom of France ... is now fallen into those calamities, that, as the 
 prophet saith, From the crown of the head to the sole of the foot there is no whole 
 place. - 
 
 Shakespeare uses the same quotation: 
 
 Don Pedro. I will only be bold with Benedick for his company; for from the 
 crown of his head to the sole of his foot he is all mirth. 3 
 
 I feel confident that, had I the time and did space permit, I 
 could increase this list of identical quotations many-fold. 
 
 It is certain that these two writers not only held the same 
 views, employed the same comparisons, used the same expressions, 
 
 • Henry VIII., i, 2. 
 
 a Observations on a Libel — Life and Works, vol. i, p. 160. 
 
 3 Much Ado about Nothing, iii, 2. 
 
41 o PARALLELISMS. 
 
 pursued the same studies and read the same books, but that their 
 minds were constructed so exactly alike that the same things, out 
 of their reading, lodged in them, and were reproduced for the same 
 purposes. 
 
 And these mental twins — these intellectual identities — did not 
 seem to know, or even to have ever heard of each other ! 
 

 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IDENTICAL STUDIES. 
 
 Biron. What is the end of study ? 
 
 King. Why, that to know, which else we should not know. 
 Biron. Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense ? 
 King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. 
 
 Love's Labor Lost, i, /. 
 
 MANY men study nothing. They are content with the stock of 
 ideas, right or wrong, borrowed from others, with which 
 they start into manhood. But of those who seek to penetrate 
 beyond their preconceptions into knowledge, no two follow the 
 same path and pursue the same subjects. The themes of study 
 are as infinitely varied as the construction of human intellects. 
 And herein, as in everything else, is manifested the wisdom of the 
 great architect, who for every space in the edifice of life has carved 
 a stone which fits it precisely. Many, it is true, are the mere rubble 
 that fills up the interspaces; others are parts of the frieze orna- 
 mented with bass-reliefs of gnomes or angels; others, again, are the 
 massive, hidden, humble foundation-blocks on which rests the 
 weight of the whole structure. But in God's edifice nothing is 
 little, and little can be said to be great. 
 
 And so in life: one man will devote his existence to a study of 
 the motions of the heavenly bodies through their incalculable 
 spaces; another will give up his whole life to a microscopic investi- 
 gation of the wings and limbs of insects. One will soar, on golden 
 pinions through the magical realms of music; another will pursue 
 the dry details of mathematics into their ultimate possibilities: 
 a third will sail gloriously, like a painted nautilus, over the liquid 
 and shining bosom of poetry: while still another will study 
 
 The doubtful balance of rights and wrongs, 
 With weary lawyers of endless tongues. 
 
 The purpose of life seems to be put upon the creature even 
 before creation, and 
 
 Necessity sits on humanity 
 Like to the world on Atlas' neck. 
 411 
 
412 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And when we turn to consider what subjects were studied, at. 
 the same time, by the writer of the Shakespeare Plays and Francis 
 Bacon, we shall find that identity which could not exist between 
 two really distinct intellects. 
 
 In the first place, we are struck with the universality of thought, 
 observation and study discoverable in both. Bacon " took all 
 knowledge for his province," and the Shakespeare Plays embrace 
 every theme of reflection possible to man: — religion, philosophy, 
 science, history, human character, human passions and affections, 
 music, poetry, medicine, law, statecraft, politics, worldly wisdom, 
 wit, humor — everything. They are oceanic. Every year some 
 new explorer drops his dredge a thousand fathoms deep into their 
 unconsidered depths, and brings up strange and marvelous forms 
 of life where we had looked only for silence and death. 
 
 And when we descend to particulars we find precise identity in 
 almost everything. 
 
 I. Music. 
 
 Take the subject of music. This is a theme which compara- 
 tively few study, even to-day; and in that almost rude age of Eliz- 
 abeth the number must have been greatly less. Neither does it 
 necessarily follow that all great men love music and investigate it. 
 In fact, the opinion of Shakespeare, that the man who "had no 
 music in his soul" was not to be trusted, has provoked a perfect 
 storm of adverse criticism. 1 
 
 But Bacon's love of music was great. Sir John Hawkins says: 
 
 Lord Bacon, in his Natural History, has given a great variety of experiments 
 touching music, that show him to have not been barely a philosopher, an inquirer 
 into the phenomena of sound, but a master of the science of harmony, and very 
 intimately acquainted with the precepts of musical education. 2 
 
 And Sir John quotes the following from Bacon: 
 
 The sweetest and best harmony is when every part or instrument is not heard 
 by itself, but a conflation of them all, which requireth to stand some distance off, 
 even as it is in the mixtures of perfumes, or the taking of the smells of several 
 flowers in the air. 
 
 On the other hand Richard Grant White says: 
 Shakespeare seems to have been a proficient in the art of music. 3 
 
 1 Knight's Shal:., note 7, act v, Merchant of Venice. 
 
 2 History of Music. 3 Life and Genius of Shah., p. 259. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 4I3 
 
 The commentators say that Balthazar, a musician in the service 
 of Prince John, in Much Ado about Nothing? was probably thus 
 named from the celebrated Balthazarini, an Italian performer on 
 the violin, who was in great favor at the court of Henry II., of 
 France, in 1577. In 1577 William Shakspere was probably going 
 to the grammar school in Stratford, aged thirteen years. How 
 could he know anything about a distinguished musician at the 
 court of France, between which and Stratford there was then less 
 intercourse than there is now between Moscow and Australia. But 
 Francis Bacon was sent to Paris in 1576, and remained there for 
 three years; and doubtless, for he was a lover of music, knew Bal- 
 thazarini well, and sought in this way to perpetuate his memory. 
 Or it may be that the cipher narrative in Much Ado about Nothing 
 tells some story in which Balthazarini is referred to. 
 
 Bacon devoted many pages in his Natura/ History' 2 to experi- 
 ments in music. He noted that a musical note "falling from one 
 tone to another" is "delightful," reminding us of 
 That strain again ! it hath a dying fall.* 
 
 And he further notes that " the division and quavering, which 
 please so much in music, have an agreement with the glittering of 
 light, as the moonbeams playing on a wave." 4 
 
 Who can fail to believe that the same mind which originated 
 
 this poetical image wrote the following ? 
 
 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank ! 
 Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music 
 Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night 
 Become the touches of sweet harmony. 5 
 
 And the following lines — giving the reason of things as a 
 
 philosopher and scholar — are in the very vein of Bacon: 
 
 The cause why music was ordained; 
 
 Was it not to refresh the mind of man, 
 
 After his studies, or his usual pain ? 
 
 Then give me leave to read philosophy, 
 
 And, while I pause, serve in your harmony. 6 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Voices or consorts of music do make a harmony by mixture. . . . The sweetest 
 
 1 Act ii, scene 3. 3 Twelfth Night, i, 1. 3 Merchant 0/ Venice, v, 1. 
 
 3 Century ii. 4 Natural History, cent, ii, §113. * Taming 0/ the Shrew, iii, 1.- 
 
414 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 and best harmony is, when every part or instrument is not heard by itself, but a 
 conflation of them all. . . . But sounds do disturb and alter the one the other; 
 sometimes the one drowning the other and making it not heard; sometimes the 
 one jarring with the other and making a confusion ; sometimes the one mingling 
 with the other and making a harmony. . . . Where echoes come from several 
 parts at the same distance, they must needs make, as it were, a choir of echoes. . . . 
 There be many places where you shall hear a number of echoes one after another: 
 and it is where there is a variety of kills and ivoods, some nearer, some farther off. 1 
 
 Now turn to the following magnificent specimen of word-paint- 
 ing, from the Midsummer Night's Dream: 
 
 We will, fair Queen, up to the mountain's top, 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 I was with Hercules and Cadmus once, 
 When in a wood of Crete they bayed the bear, 
 With hounds of Sparta: never did I hear 
 Such gallant chiding; for, besides the groves, 
 The skies, the fountains, every region near 
 Seemed all one mutual cry. I never heard 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 2 
 
 It may, of course, be said that Bacon's statement of fact in the 
 above is bare and barren, compared with the exquisite melody of 
 the description given us in the play; but it must be remembered 
 that the one is prose and the other poetry; and that the prose of 
 the Plays is as much prose as is the prose of the Natural History. 
 But no man, however perfect his perception of beauty may have 
 been, could have given us the description in the Midsummer Night's 
 Dream unless he had the analytic power to see that the delightful 
 effects which his ear realized were caused by a " musical confu- 
 sion " of the hounds and the echoes; the groves, skies, fountains 
 and everything around flinging back echo upon echo, until the 
 whole scene "seemed all one mutual cry," until, in fact, there was 
 produced, as Bacon says, "a choir of echoes." And the very words, 
 "a choir of echoes," are poetical; they picture the harmonious ming- 
 ling of echoes, like the voices of singers, and remind us of the son- 
 net, where the poet speaks of the trees, deadened by the winter, as 
 
 Bare, ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
 It seems to me we have here the evidence not only that both 
 writers loved music and had studied it, but that they had noted the 
 same effects from the same cause; for surely Bacon's description of 
 
 1 Natural History, cent. iii. ' 2 Midsummer Nighfs Dream, iv, r. 
 
IDENTICAL STL' DIES. _p 5 
 
 the "choir of echoes" from "a variety of hills and woods" must 
 have been based on some such hunting scene as the poet gives us 
 with such melodious detail. 
 
 II. Gardening. 
 
 Francis Bacon and the writer of the Plays both were filled with 
 a great love for gardening. 
 
 Bacon calls it " the purest of all human pleasures." 
 Shakespeare, as Mrs. Pott has shown, refers to thirty-live dif- 
 ferent flowers: 
 
 Anemone, carnation, columbine, cornflower, cowslip, crown-imperial, crow- 
 rlower, daffodil, daisy, eglantine, flower-de-luce, fumitory, gilly-flower, hare-bell, 
 honeysuckle, ladies' smocks, lavender, lilies, long purples, marigold, marjorum, 
 myrtle, oxlips, pansies or love in idleness, peony, pimpernal, pink, primrose, rose 
 "may," rose "must," rose "damask," rosemary, thyme, violet, woodbine. 1 
 
 Mrs. Pott says: 
 
 These thirty-five flowers are all noted or studied by Bacon, with the exception 
 of the columbine, pansy and long-purples. The hare-bell may be considered as 
 included in the "bell-flowers," which he describes. Twenty-one of these same 
 thirty-five Shakespearean flowers are enumerated by Bacon in his essay Of Gardens. 
 
 And this coincidence is the more remarkable when it is remem- 
 bered that these flowers were but a small part of those well-known 
 in the days of Shakespeare and Bacon. In all the notes on garden- 
 ing, in Bacon's writings, there are only five flowers which are not 
 named by Shakespeare, while of Ben Jonson's list of flowers only 
 half are ever alluded to by Bacon. 
 
 Mrs. Pott points out that Bacon was the first writer that ever 
 distinguished flowers by the season of their blooming; and Shake- 
 speare follows this order precisely and never brings the flowers of 
 one season into another, as Jonson and other poets do. In the 
 midst of exquisite poetry he accurately associates the flower with 
 the month to which it belongs. He says: 
 
 Daffodils that come before the swallow dares 
 And take the winds of March with beauty. - 
 
 Says Bacon: 
 
 For March there come violets, especially the single blue, which are the earliest. 3 
 
 » Shakespeariana. May, 1885, p. 241. 2 Winter s Tale, iv. 3. 3 Essay Of Gardens. 
 
4 1 6 PARA LLELISMS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 Thy banks with peonies and lilies brims, 
 Which spongy April at thy hest betrims. 1 
 
 And again the poet says: 
 
 O rose of May, dear maid, kind sister. 
 
 In all this the poet shows the precision of the natural philos- 
 opher. 
 
 The whole article here quoted, from the pen of Mrs. Pott, can 
 be read with advantage and pleasure. 
 
 Bacon studied gardening in all its details. His love for flowers 
 was great. Even in his old age, when, broken in health and fortune, 
 and oppressed with cares and debts, we find him writing the Lord 
 Treasurer Cranfield that he proposes to visit him at Chiswick, 
 he adds: 
 
 I hope to wait on your Lordship and gather some violets in your garden. 
 
 He says in The New Atlantis : 
 
 In these we practice likewise all conclusions of grafting and inoculating, as 
 well of wild trees as fruit trees, which produceth many effects. 
 
 While Shakespeare says: 
 
 You see, sweet maid, 
 We tfiarry a gentle scion to the wildest stock, 
 And make conceive a bark of baser kind 
 By bud of nobler race. This is an art 
 Which does mend nature, change it rather; but 
 The art itself is nature. 2 
 
 And we find the same thought again: 
 
 Our scions, put in wild and savage stocks, 
 Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds. 3 
 
 Shakespeare has that curious and strange comparison: 
 
 If you can look into the seeds of time 
 
 And say which grain will grow and which will not. 4 
 
 And, in the same vein, we find Bacon devoting pages to the 
 
 study of the nature of seeds, and of the mode of testing them, to 
 
 see whether they wi41 grow or not. He says: 
 
 And therefore skillful gardeners make trial of the seeds before they buy them, 
 whether they be good or no, by putting them into water gently boiled; and if they 
 be good they will sprout within half an hour. 5 
 
 1 Tempest, iv, i. 2 Winter's Tale, iv, 3. 3 Henry V., iii, 5. 
 
 4 Macbeth, i, 3. s Natural History, § 520. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 4I y 
 
 And again: 
 
 If any one investigate the vegetation of plants he should observe from the first 
 sowing of any seed how and when the seed begins to swell and break, and be filled, 
 as it were, with spirit. 1 
 
 And here is a curious parallelism. Bacon says: 
 
 There be certain corn-flotuers, which come seldom or never in other places 
 unless they be set, but only amongst corny as the blue-bottle, a kind of yellow 
 marigold, wild poppy and fumitory. ... So it would seem that it is the corn that 
 qualifieth the earth and prepareth it for their growth.' 2 
 
 Shakespeare's attention had also been drawn to these humble 
 
 corn-flowers, and he had reached the same conclusion, that the 
 
 earth was prepared to' receive these flowers by the presence of the 
 
 corn. He describes Lear: 
 
 Crowned with rank fumitor, and furrow weeds, 
 With hardock, hemlocks, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, 
 Darnel and all the idle weeds that grow- 
 In our sustaining corn. 3 
 
 Bacon writes an essay Of Gardens, and Shakespeare is full of 
 
 comparisons and reflections based upon gardens. For instance: 
 
 Virtue? a fig ! 'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are our 
 gardens, to the which our wills are gardeners: so that if we will plant nettles or 
 sow lettuce; set hyssop, and weed up thyme; supply it with one gender of herbs or 
 distract it with many; either to have it sterile with idleness, or manured with indus- 
 try: why, the power and corrigible authority of this lies in our own wills. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Our sea-walled garden, the whole land, 
 
 Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choked up. 5 
 
 And again: 
 
 What rub, or what impediment there is, 
 Why that the naked, poor and mangled peace, 
 Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births, 
 Should not, in this best garden of the world, 
 Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage? . . , 
 The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth 
 The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover, 
 Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank, 
 Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems 
 But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs. 
 
 And the closeness with which both studied the nature of plants 
 
 1 Novum Organum, book ii. 3 Lear, iv, 4. 5 Richard II., iii, 4. 
 
 2 Natural History, § 482. 4 Othello, i, 3. 6 Henry I'., v, 2. 
 
41 8 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 and their modes of growth is shown in the following remarkable 
 
 parallel. 
 
 In that most curious and philosophical of the Plays, Troilus and 
 
 Cressida, we find this singular comparison: 
 
 Checks and disasters 
 Grow in the veins of actions highest reared; 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine, and divert his grain, 
 Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 1 
 
 And we find that Bacon had, in like manner, studied the effect 
 of sap upon the growth of the tree: 
 
 The cause whereof is, for that the sap ascendeth unequally, and doth, as it 
 were, tire and stop by the way. And it seemeth they have some closeness and 
 hardness in their stalk, which hindereth the sap from going up, until it hath gath- 
 ered into a knot, and so is more urged to put forth. 2 
 
 Here we find the poet setting forth that the knots are caused 
 
 by " the conflux of the meeting sap," while the philosopher tells us 
 
 that when the sap is arrested it " gathereth into a knot." And so 
 
 it seems that both were studying the same subject and arriving at 
 
 the same conclusions; and both thought that not only were the 
 
 knots caused by the stoppage of the ascending sap, but that the 
 
 knots produced the new branches: " so," says Bacon, "it is more 
 
 urged to put forth." The knots, says Shakespeare, divert the 
 
 grain from the straight, upright course of growth, to-wit, by 
 
 making it put forth new branches. Can any man believe that 
 
 Bacon and Shakspere were engaged at the same time in this same 
 
 curious study, and reached independently these same remarkable 
 
 conclusions ? 
 
 And we see the gardener again in Richard II.: 
 
 All superfluous branches 
 We lop away, that bearing boughs may live. 3 
 Again: 
 
 A violet in the youth of primy Nature. 4 
 
 The thoughts of both ran upon flowers. Bacon says: 
 We commend the odor of plants growing, and not plucked, taken in the open 
 air; the principal of that kind are violets, gilliflowers, pinks, bean-flowers, lime- 
 tree blossoms, vine buds, honeysuckles, yellow wall-flowers, musk roses, straw- 
 berry leaves, etc. . . . Therefore to walk or sit near the breath of these plants 
 should not be neglected. 5 
 
 ' Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 2 Natural History, % 589. 3 Richard II., iii, 4. 
 
 4 Hamlet, i, 3. 5 History 0/ Life and Death. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 419 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 The daintiest smells of flowers are out of those plants whose leaves smell not, 
 as violets, roses, wall-flowers, gilliflowers, pinks, woodbines, vine-flowers, apple- 
 blooms, bean-blossoms, etc. 1 
 
 The same admiration for flowers is shown by Shakespeare. He 
 
 speaks of 
 
 Daffodils, 
 That come before the swallow dares, and take 
 The winds of March with beauty; violets, dim, 
 But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes, 
 Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses, 
 That die unmarried, ere they can behold 
 Bright Phcebus in his strength, a malady 
 Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and 
 The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, 
 The flower-de-luce being one.' 2 
 
 I might fill pages with further evidence that both Bacon and 
 the writer of the Plays loved flowers and practiced gardening. 
 
 III. Thk Study of Medicine. 
 
 Bacon says of himself: 
 
 I have been puddering in physic all my life. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 'Tis known I ever 
 Have studied physic' 
 
 Bacon writes to Sir Robert Cecil: 
 
 I ever liked the Galenists, that deal with good compositions, and not the Para- 
 celsians, that deal with these fine separations. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Lafeau. To be relinquished of the artists. 
 Parolles. So I say, both of Galen and Paracelsus. 
 Lafeau. Of all the learned and authentic fellows. 5 
 
 Macaulay says, speaking of Bacon: 
 
 Of all the sciences, that which he regarded with the greatest interest was the 
 science which, in Plato's opinion, would not be tolerated in a well-regulated com- 
 munity. To make men perfect was no part of Bacon's plan. His humble aim 
 was to make imperfect men comfortable. ... He appealed to the example of 
 Christ, and reminded his readers that the great Physician of the soul did not dis- 
 dain to be also the physician of the body. 6 
 
 1 Natural History, §389. ''Pericles, iii, 2. 5 All's Well that Ends Well, ii, 3. 
 
 2 Winter's Tale, iv, 3. 4 Letter to Sir Robert Cecil. * Essay Bacon, p. 276. 
 
420 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 On the other hand, the celebrated surgeon Bell says: 
 
 My readers will smile, perhaps, lo see me quoting Shakespeare among physi- 
 cians and theologians, but not one of all their tribe, populous though it be, could 
 describe so exquisitely the marks of apoplexy, conspiring with the struggles for 
 life, and the agonies of suffocation, to deform the countenance of the dead; so 
 curiously does our poet present to our conception all the signs from which it might 
 be inferred that the good Duke Humphrey had died a violent death. 1 
 
 Dr. O. A. Kellogg, Assistant Professor of the State Lunatic 
 
 Asylum at Utica, N. Y., says: 
 
 The extent and accuracy of the medical, physiological and psychological 
 knowledge displayed in the dramas of William Shakespeare, like the knowledge that 
 is manifested on all matters upon which the rays of his mighty genius fell, have 
 excited the wonder and astonishment of all men, who, since his time, have investi- 
 gated those subjects upon which so much light is shed by the researches of modern 
 science. 
 
 Speaking of Bacon, Osborne, his contemporary, said: 
 
 I have heard him outcant a London chirurgeon, — 
 
 meaning thereby, excel him in the technical knowledge of his own 
 
 profession. 
 
 His marvelous delineations of the different shades of insanity in 
 Lear, Ophelia, Hamlet, etc., are to be read in the light of the fact 
 that Francis Bacon's mother died of insanity; and Bacon, with his 
 knowledge of the hereditary transmissibility of disease, must have 
 made the subject one of close and thorough study. There are 
 instances in his biography which show that he was himself the 
 victim of melancholy; and there are reasons to think, as will be 
 shown hereafter, that he is the real author of a great medical work 
 on that subject which passes now in the name of another. 
 
 He seems to have anticipated Harvey's discovery of the circula- 
 tion of the blood. Harvey, in 1628, demonstrated that "the blood 
 which passed out from the heart, by the arteries, returned to the 
 heart by the veins." 
 
 But Shakespeare, long before that time, had said: 
 
 As dear to me as are the ruddy drops 
 That visit my sad heart,- — 
 
 indicating that he knew that the blood returned to the heart. 
 
 I find the following interesting passage in Disraeli's Curiosities 
 of Literature : 
 
 l Bell'« Principles of Surgery ', 1815, vol. ii, p. 557. "Julius Casar, ii, t. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 4 2i 
 
 Dr. William Hunter has said that after the discovery of the valves in the veins, 
 which Harvey learned while in Italy from his master, Fabricius ab Aquapendente, 
 the remaining step might easily have been made by any person of common 
 abilities. " This discovery," he observes, " set Harvey to work upon the use of 
 the heart and vascular system in animals; and in the course of some years he was 
 so happy as to discover, and to prove beyond all possibility of doubt, the circulation 
 of the blood." He afterwards expresses his astonishment that this discovery 
 should have been left for Harvey, though he acknowledges it occupied "a course 
 of years ;"' adding that " Providence meant to reserve it for him, and would not let 
 men see zvhat was before them nor understand what they read. It is remarkable that 
 when great discoveries are effected, their simplicity always seems to detract from 
 their originality; on these occasions we are reminded of the egg of Columbus. 1 
 
 But it seems that the author of the Shakespeare Plays, years 
 before Harvey made his discovery, had also read of the observations 
 •of Fabricius ab Aquapendente, and understood that there were 
 valves in the veins and arteries. And this he could only have done 
 in the original Italian — certainly not in English. And he refers to 
 these valves as " gates " in the following lines: 
 
 And in the porches of mine ears did pour 
 The leperous distilment; whose effect 
 Holds such an enmity with blood of man, 
 That swift as quicksilver it courses through 
 The natural gates and alleys of the body: 
 And with a sudden vigor it doth posset 
 And curd, like aigre droppings into milk, 
 The thin and wholesome blood. 2 
 
 IV. Shakespeare's Physicians. 
 
 And it is a remarkable fact that, while the art of medicine was 
 in that age at a very low ebb, and doctors were little better than 
 quacks, Shakespeare represents, on two occasions, the physician in 
 a light that would do no discredit to the profession in this advanced 
 age. Let me give a few facts to show how reasonable and civilized 
 was the medical treatment of the physicians in Lear and Macbeth, 
 compared with that of the highest in skill in the sixteenth and 
 seventeenth centuries. 
 
 Sir Theodore Mayern, Baron Aulbone, was born in France in 
 1573. He was the great doctor of his day. Among his patients 
 were Henry IV. and Louis XIII., of France, and James I., Charles I. 
 and Charles II., of England. 
 
 He administered calomel in scruple doses; he mixed sugar of 
 
 1 Disraeli, Curiosities 0/ Literature, p. 4T2. 2 Hamlet, i. 5. 
 
422 PAHA LLELISMS. 
 
 lead in his conserves; but his principal reliance was in pulverized 
 human bones and " raspings of a human skull unburied." His 
 sweetest compound was his balsam of bats, strongly recommended 
 for hypochondriacal persons, into which entered adders, bats, 
 sucking whelps, earth-worms, hogs' grease, the marrow of a stag 
 and the thigh-bone of an ox ! He died in 1655. He ought to 
 have died earlier. 
 
 Another of these learned physicians of Elizabeth's time was 
 Doctor William Bulleyn, who was of kin to the Queen. He died in 
 1576. His prescription for a child suffering from nervousness was 
 " a smal yonge mouse, rosted." 
 
 And this state of ignorance continued for more than a century 
 after Bacon's death. In 1739 the English Parliament passed an act 
 to pay Joanna Stephens, a vulgar adventuress, ,£5,000, to induce 
 her to make public her great remedy for all diseases. The medi- 
 cines turned out to be, when revealed, a powder, a decoction and 
 pills, made up principally of egg-shells, snails, soap, honey and 
 swine-cresses ! 
 
 Now, bearing all this mountebank business in mind, let us turn 
 to the scene where the Doctor appears in Macbeth. We read: 
 
 Doctor. I have two nights watched with you, but can perceive no truth in 
 your reports. When was it she last walked? 
 
 Gentlewoman. Since his Majesty went into the field, I have seen her rise from 
 her bed, throw her night-gown upon her, unlock her closet, take forth paper, fold 
 it, write upon 't, read it, afterwards seal it, and again return to bed; yet all this 
 while in a most fast sleep. 
 
 Doctor. A great perturbation in nature ! to receive at once the benefit of sleep 
 and do the effects of watching. In this slumbery agitation, besides her walking 
 and other actual performances, what, at any time, have you heard her say ? 
 
 Gentlewoman. That which I will not report after her. 
 
 Doctor. You may, to me; and 'tis most meet you should. 
 
 Gentlewoman, Neither to you nor any one; having no witness to confirm my 
 speech. 
 
 Enter Lady Macbeth with taper. 
 
 Lady Macbeth. Wash your hands, put on your night-gown; look not so pale 
 — I tell you yet again, Banquo's buried; he cannot come out on 's grave. 
 Doctor. Even. so. . . . Will she go now to bed ? 
 Gentlewoman. Directly. 
 
 Doctor. Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds 
 
 Do breed unnatural troubles. Infected minds 
 
 To their deaf pillows will discharge their secrets. 
 
 More needs she the divine than the physician. 
 
 God, God, forgive us all ! Look after her; 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 4 2 3 
 
 Remove from her the means of all annoyance, 
 And still keep eyes upon her: So, good night; 
 My mind she has mated, and amazed my sight: 
 I think, but dare not speak. 
 
 And farther on in the tragedy we have: 
 
 Macbeth. How does your patient, doctor? 
 
 Doctor. Not so sick, my lord, 
 
 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, 
 
 That keep her from her rest. 
 
 Macbeth. Cure her of that. 
 
 Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, 
 
 Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; 
 
 Raze out the written troubles of the brain; 
 
 And, with some sweet oblivious antidote 
 
 Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff 
 
 Which weighs upon the heart? 
 
 Doctor. Therein the patient 
 
 Must minister to himself. 
 
 Macbeth. Throw physic to the dogs, I'll none of it. 
 
 How courteous and dignified and altogether modern is this 
 physician ? There is here nothing of the quack, the pretender, or 
 the impostor. We hear nothing about recipes of human bones, or 
 small roast mice, or snails, or swine-cresses. 
 
 And this declaration, of the inadequacy of drugs to relieve the 
 heart, reminds us of what Bacon says: 
 
 You may take sarsa to open the liver, steel to open the spleen, flower of sul- 
 phur for the lungs, castareum for the brain, but no receipt openeth the heart but a 
 true friend. 1 
 
 In Lear we have another doctor. He is called in to care for the 
 poor insane King, and we have the following conversation: 
 
 Cordelia. What can man's wisdom do 
 
 In the restoring of his bereaved sense? 
 
 He that helps him, take all my outward worth. 
 
 Physician. There is means, madam; 
 
 Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, 
 
 The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, 
 
 Are many simples operative, whose power 
 
 Will close the eyes of anguish. 
 
 Cord. All bless'd secrets, 
 
 All you unpublished virtues of the earth, 
 
 Spring with my tears ! be aidant and remediate 
 
 In the good man's distress.' 2 
 
 And how Baconian is this reference to the " unpublished virtues 
 
 « 
 
 1 Essay Of Friendship. * Lear iv, 4. 
 
4 2 4 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 of the earth " ? It was the very essence of Bacon's philosophy to 
 
 make those virtues known as "aidant and remediate" of the good 
 
 of man. He sought, by a knowledge of the secrets of nature, to 
 
 lift men out of their miseries and necessities. 
 
 And again, after the Doctor has, by his simples operative, produced 
 
 sleep, and Lear is about to waken, we have the following: 
 
 Cordelia. How does the King? 
 Physician. Madam, he sleeps still. 
 
 ... So please your Majesty, 
 That we may wake the King? He hath slept long. « 
 Cord. Be governed by your knowledge and proceed, 
 F the sway of your own will. 
 
 Phys. Be by, good madam, when we do awake him; 
 I doubt not of his temperance. 
 Cord. Very well. 
 
 • Phys. Please you, draw near. — Louder the music there. . . . 
 Cord. He wakes; speak to him. 
 Phys. Madam, do you; 'tis fittest. 
 
 Cord. How does my royal Lord? How fares your Majesty? 
 Lear. You do me wrong to take me out o' the grave. , . . 
 Cord. Sir, do you know me ? 
 
 Lear. You are a spirit, I know. When did you die ? 
 Cord. Still, still, far wide. 
 Phys. He's scarce awake: let him alone a while. 1 
 
 Surely there is nothing here, either in the mode of treatment or 
 the manner of speech, that the modern physician could improve 
 upon. The passage contains Bacon's forecasting of what the doc- 
 tor should be — of what he has come to be in these latter times. 
 
 V. The Medicinal Virtues of Sleep. 
 
 And how well did both Bacon and the writer of the Plays know 
 the virtue of those 
 
 Simples operative, whose power 
 Will close the eyes of anguish. 
 
 Bacon in his Natural History, §738, discussing all the drugs that 
 "inebriate and provoke sleep," speaks of "the tear of poppy" of 
 u henbane-seed" and of "mandrake." 
 
 While Shakespeare is familiar with the same medicines. He 
 says: 
 
 Not poppy, nor mandragora, 
 Nor all the drowsy syrups of the world, 
 Shall ever minister thee to that sweet sleep 
 Which thou ow'dst once. 2 
 
 1 Lear, iv, 4. * Othello, iii, 3. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 425 
 
 And again: 
 
 With juice of cursed kebenon in a vial. 1 
 
 And when the doctor in Lear says that "the foster-nurse of 
 nature is repose," he speaks a great truth, but faintly recognized in 
 that age, and not even fully understood in this. And yet in that 
 unscientific, crude era both Bacon and the writer of the Plays 
 clearly perceived the curative power of sleep. 
 
 Shakespeare calls it 
 
 Great nature's second course, 
 Chief nourisher in life's feast. - 
 
 And this curious idea of the nourishing power of sleep is often 
 
 found in Bacon. He says: 
 
 Sleep doth supply somewhat to nourishment.* 
 
 Sleep nourishethy or, at least, preserveth bodies a long time without other 
 
 nourishment.* 
 
 Sleep doth nourish much, for the spirits do less spend the nourishment in 
 sleep than when living creatures are awake.' 1 
 
 And Shakespeare says: 
 
 The innocent sleep: 
 Sleep, that knits up the ravel'd sleeve of care; 
 The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath, 
 Balm of hurt minds. 
 
 And again: 
 
 sleep, O gentle sleep, 
 Nature's soft nurse. 7 
 
 And Bacon has something of that same idea of knitting up 
 the raveled sleeve of care. He says: 
 
 I have compounded an ointment: . . . the use of it should be between sleeps, 
 for in the latter sleep the parts assimilate chiefly* 
 
 That is, they become knitted together. Bacon and the writer of 
 the Plays seem both to have perceived that the wear of life frayed 
 the nervous fiber, 
 
 Shakespeare says of sleep: 
 
 Please you, sir, 
 Do not omit the heavy offer of it: 
 It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth 
 It is a comforter. 9 
 
 1 Hamlet, i, 5. * Natural History, § 746. 7 2d Henry II'., iii, 1. 
 
 ■ Macleth, ii,2. 5 Ibid., cent, i, § 57. * Xatural History, cent, i, § 59. I 
 
 3 History of Life and Death. ''Macbeth, ii, 2. 9 Tempest, ii, 1. 
 
4 2o PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Such is the force of sleep to restrain all vital consumption.' 
 
 And again: 
 
 Sleep is nothing else but a reception and retirement of the living spirit into 
 itself." 2 
 
 It would almost seem as if spirit was so incompatible with its 
 enfoldment of matter that the union could only continue at the 
 price of periods of oblivion, or semi-death; during which the con- 
 scious spirit, half-parted from its tenement, sinks back into the 
 abyss of God, and returns rejuvenated, and freshly charged with 
 vital force for the duties of life. But for centuries after Bacon's 
 time there were thousands, even among the most enlightened of 
 their age, who regarded sleep as the enemy of man, to be curtailed 
 by all possible means. It is therefore a striking proof of identity 
 when two writers, of that period, are found united in anticipating 
 the conclusions of modern thought on this important subject. In 
 the medicinal science of to-day sleep is indeed " sore labor's bath," 
 and above all " the balm of hurt minds." 
 
 VI. Use of Medical Terms. 
 But the Shakespeare writings bubble over with evidences that 
 the writer was, like Bacon, a student of medicine. 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For opening, I commend beads or pieces of the roots of carduus benedictus? 
 And Shakespeare says: 
 
 Get you some of this distilled carduus bmtdiclus; ... it is the only thing for 
 a qualm. 4 
 
 It would be extraordinary indeed if two distinct men not only 
 used the same expressions, thought the same thoughts, cited the 
 same quotations and pursued the same studies, but even recom- 
 mended the same medicines ! 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Extreme hitter as in coloq uinti\..< . 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The food that to him now is as luscious as locusts, shall be to him shortly as- 
 bitter as coloquintida* 
 
 ' History of Life and Death. « Much Ado about Nothing; iii. 4. 
 
 2 Ibid. 5 Natural History, cent, i, § 36. 
 
 3 Natural History, % 963. " Othello, i. 3. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 427 
 
 Here we have the writer of the Plays and Francis Bacon dwell- 
 ing upon another medicine, and describing it in the same terms. 
 
 Shakespeare speaks in Lear of " the hysterica passio." He also 
 
 knew about the vascular membrane lining the brain: 
 
 These are begot in the ventricle of memory, nourished in the womb of pin 
 mater, and delivered upon the mellowing of occasion. 1 
 
 He also says: 
 
 What rhubarb, senna, or what purgative drug 
 Will scour these English hence.?' 2 
 
 Again: 
 
 Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, 
 Which at first are scarce found to distaste; 
 But with a little act upon the blood, 
 Burn like the mines of sulphur. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 And nothing is at a like goodness still; 
 
 For goodness, growing to a pleurisy, 
 
 Dies in his own too-much. 4 
 And again: 
 
 And I will through and through 
 
 Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, 
 
 If they will patiently receive my medicine.-' 
 
 No wonder some have argued that the writer of the Plays was 
 a physician. 
 
 In 1st Henry IV. " he refers to the midriff ; in 2d Henry IV. and 
 Othello and Macbeth he describes accurately the effect of intoxicat- 
 ing liquor on the system; in 2d Henry IV' he refers to aconite : 
 in The Merry Wives of Windsor he drags in the name of Esculapius. 
 In King John he says: 
 
 Before the curing of a strong disease, 
 Even in the instant of repair and health. 
 The fit is strongest; evils that take leave. 
 On their departure most of all show evil. 8 
 
 In Coriolanus he says: 
 
 Sir, these cold ways, 
 That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous 
 Where the disease is violent. 9 
 
 In Lear he says: 
 
 Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once 
 That make ungrateful man. 10 
 
 1 Loves Labor Lost, iv, 2. h As Von Like It. 8 King John, iii, 4. 
 
 2 Macbeth, v, 3. 8 Act iii, scene 3. 9 Coriolanus iii, 1. 
 
 3 Othello, iii, 3. T Act iv, scene 4. 10 Lear, iii. 2, 
 
 4 Hamlet, iv, 7. 
 
4 2cS PARALLELISMS. 
 
 In Julius Ccesar 1 he describes correctly the symptoms of epi- 
 lepsy. In Timon of Athens" he gives us the mode of treatment of a 
 still more formidable disease. 
 
 In Henry V. he furnishes us with a minute description of Fal- 
 
 staff's death: 
 
 A' parted even just between twelve and one, e'en at the turning of the tide, 
 for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon 
 his finger-ends, I knew there was but one way, for his nose was as sharp as a pen, 
 and a' babbled of green fields. ... So he bade me lay more clothes on his feet. 
 I put my hand into the bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone. 3 
 
 And it is a curious fact that Francis Bacon studied the signs of 
 
 death, as he studied everything else, with the utmost particularity 
 
 and minuteness, and he has put them on record. He says: 
 
 The immediate preceding signs of death are, great unquietness and tossing in 
 the bed, fumbling with the hands [" I saw him fumble with the sheets," says Dame 
 Quickly], catching and grasping hard, gnashing with the teeth, speaking hollow, 
 trembling of the nether lip, paleness of the face, the memory confused ["a' babbled 
 -of green fields," says Dame Quickly], speechless, cold sweats, the body shooting 
 in length, lifting up the white of the eye, changing of the whole visage, as the nose 
 sharp ["his nose was as sharp as a pen," says Dame Quickly], eyes hollow, cheeks 
 fallen, contraction and doubling of the coldness in the extreme parts of the body 
 ["his feet were as cold as any stone," says Dame Quickly]. 4 
 
 Here we have the same symptoms, and in the same order. Who 
 is there can believe that these descriptions of death came out of 
 two different minds ? 
 
 VII. The Same Historical Studies. 
 Shakespeare wrote a group of historical plays extending from 
 Richard II. to Henry VIII., with a single break — the reign of 
 Henry VII. And Bacon completed the series by writing a history of 
 Henry VII. .' 
 
 Shakespeare wrote a play turning upon Scotch history — Mac- 
 beth. Bacon had studied the history of Scotland. He says: 
 
 The kingdom of Scotland hath passed through no small troubles, and remain- 
 eth full of boiling and swelling tumors/' 
 
 Shakespeare wrote a play concerning Danish history — Hamlet. 
 Bacon had carefuMy studied Scandinavian history. He says: 
 
 1 Act i, scene z. 4 History of Life and Death, div. x, § 30. 
 
 2 Act iv, scene 3. B Observations on a Libel — Life and 
 
 3 Henry /'., ii, 3. Works, vol. i, p. 161. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 4 2 9 
 
 The kingdom of Swedeland, besides their foreign wars upon their confines, 
 the Muscovites and the Danes, hath also been subject to divers intestine tumults 
 and mutations, as their stories do record} 
 
 Shakespeare wrote a play of Julius Ccesar; Bacon wrote a biog- 
 raphy or character of Julius Casar. 
 
 Shakespeare wrote a play, Antony and Cleopatra, in which Augus- 
 tus Caesar is a principal character. Bacon wrote a biography of 
 Augustus Ccesar. And he discusses, in his essay Of Love, Mark 
 Antony, " the half-partner of the empire of Rome, a voluptuous 
 man and inordinate, whose great business did not keep out love." 
 And this is the very element of the great Roman's character on 
 which the play of Antony and Cleopatra turns. 
 
 Shakespeare wrote a play of Timon of Athens, the misanthrope- 
 Bacon speaks of " misanthropi, that make it their practice to bring 
 men to the bough, and yet have never a tree in their garden for the 
 purpose, as Timon had." 2 
 
 VIII. Julius CiESAR in the Plays. 
 
 Shakespeare manifests the highest admiration for Julius Caesar. 
 He calls him " the foremost man of all this world." 
 In Cytnbcline he says: 
 
 There is no more such Caesars; other of them may have crooked noses; but to 
 own such straight arms, none. 3 
 
 In Hamlet he refers to him as "the mighty Julius." He says: 
 
 A little ere the mighty Julius fell, 
 
 The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead 
 
 Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets. 4 
 
 In 2d Henry VI. he says: 
 
 For Brutus' bastard hand stabbed Julius Caesar. 5 
 
 On the other hand, Bacon shows a like admiration for Caesar. 
 
 He says: 
 
 Machiavel says if Caesar had been overthrown "he would have been more 
 odlbus than ever was Catiline ;" as if there had been no difference, but in fortune, 
 between a very fury of lust and blood and the most excellent spirit (his ambitiorn 
 reserved) of the world.' 1 ' 
 
 1 Observations on a Libel — Life and 4 Hamlet, i, i. 
 
 Works, vol. i, p. 162. 5 2d Henry IV. t iv, 1. 
 
 2 Essay Of Goodness. 6 Advancement of Learning, book ii.. 
 
 3 Cymbeline, iii, 1. 
 
43 o PARA LULU SMS. 
 
 This is but another way of saying: " The foremost man of all 
 this world." He also refers to Caesar's letters and apophthegms, 
 " which excel all men's else." ' 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Kent, in the commentaries Caesar writ, 
 Is termed the civil'st place of all this isle.'-' 
 
 Bacon refers to Caesar's Commentaries, and pronounces them 
 "the best history of the world." 3 
 
 In the play of Julius Ccesar we see the conspirators coming to- 
 gether at the house of Brutus. In The Advancement of Learning, 
 book ii, we find Bacon describing the supper given by M. Brutus 
 and Cassius to "certain whose opinions they meant to feci whether 
 they were fit to be made their associates " in the killing of Caesar. 
 
 Bacon says of Julius Caesar: 
 
 He referred all things to himself, and was the true and perfect center of all his 
 actions. By which means, being so fast tied to his ends, he was still prosperous 
 and prevailed in his purposes, insomuch that neither country, nor religion, nor 
 good turns done him, nor kindred, nor friendship diverted his appetite nor bridled 
 him from pursuing his own ends. 4 
 
 In the play we find the same characteristic brought into view. 
 
 Just before the assassination Cassius falls at Caesar's feet to beg 
 
 the enfranchisement of Publius Cimber. Caesar replies: 
 
 I could be well moved if I were as you; 
 If I could pray to move, prayers would move me. 
 But I am constant as the northern star 
 Of whose true-fixed and resting quality 
 There is no fellow in the firmament. 
 The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks, 
 They are all fire, and every one doth shine; 
 But there is one in all doth hold his place: 
 So, in the world: 'tis furnished well with men, 
 And men are flesh and blood and apprehensive; 
 Yet, in the number, I do know but one 
 That unassailable holds on his rank, 
 Unshaked of motion, and that I am he- 
 Let me a little show it. 5 
 
 Here we see the same man described by Bacon, whom " neither 
 
 country, nor good turns done him, nor kindred, nor friendship 
 
 diverted . . . from pursuing his own ends." 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 4 Character of Julius Ccesar. 
 
 * ad Henry VI., iv, 7. ■ Julius Ccesar, iii, 1. 
 
 • Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 
 
 43 ^ 
 
 In Julius Ccesar we find Shakespeare suggesting the different 
 temperaments and mental states that accompany particular con- 
 ditions of the body: 
 
 Let me have men about me that are fat; 
 Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o' nights. 
 Yond' Cassius hath a lean and hungry look; 
 He thinks too much : such men are dangerous. 1 
 
 And in Bacon's Catalogue of Particular Histories , to be studied, 
 
 we find this: 
 
 52. A history of different habits of body, of fat and lean, of complexions (as they 
 are called), etc. 
 
 IX. Studies of Mortality. 
 
 Shakespeare tells us that Cleopatra had pursued 
 
 Conclusions infinite 
 Of easy ways to die. 
 
 And she speaks of the asp as the " baby at my breast that sucks 
 
 the nurse to sleep." 
 
 Bacon had made the same subject a matter of study. He says: 
 
 The death that is most without pain hath been noted to be upon the taking of 
 the potion of hemlock, which in humanity was the form of execution of capital 
 offenders in Athens. The poison of the asp, that Cleopatra used, hath some affinity 
 -with it* 
 
 Marvelous! marvelous! how the heads of these two men — if 
 you will insist on calling them such — were stored with the same 
 facts and gave birth to the same thoughts ! 
 
 Both had studied the condition of the human body after death. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I find in Plutarch and others that when Augustus Caesar visited the sepulcher 
 of Alexander the Great in Alexandria, he found the body to keep its dimensions, 
 but withal, that notwithstanding all the embalming, which no doubt was the best, 
 the body was so tender, as Caesar touching but the nose defaced it. 3 
 
 And, on the other hand, we find Shakespeare's mind dwelling 
 upon the dust of this same Alexander, and tracing it, in his imagin- 
 ation, through many transmutations, until he finds it "stopping the 
 bung-hole of a beer-barrel." 4 
 
 We observe the mind of the poet pursuing some very curious 
 and ghastly, not to say unpoetical, inquiries. In Hamlet we have: 
 
 1 Julius Ccesar, i, 2. 2 Natural History, % 643. 3 Ibid., § 771. * Hamlet, v, 1. 
 
432 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Hamlet. How long will a man lie i' the earth ere he rot? 
 
 Clown. Faith, if he be not rotten before he die '(as we have many pocky corses 
 now-a-days, that will scarce hold the laying in), he will last you some eight year, 
 or nine year: a tanner will last you nine year. 
 
 Hamlet. Why he more than another? 
 
 Clown. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned with his trade that he will keep out 
 water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead 
 body. 1 
 
 And Bacon's mind had turned to similar studies. He says: 
 
 It is strange, and well to be noted, how long carcasses have continued uncor- 
 rupt, and in their former dimensions, as appeareth in the mummies of Egypt; 
 having lasted, as is conceived, some of them three thousand years. - 
 
 X. Oratory. 
 
 Both Bacon and the writer of the Shakespeare Plays were prac- 
 tical orators and students of oratory. 
 
 As to the first, we have Ben Jonson's testimony: 
 
 There happened in my time one noble speaker, who was full of gravity in his 
 speaking. His language, where he could spare or pass by a jest, was nobly cen- 
 sorious. No man ever spake more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or suf- 
 fered less emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No member of his speech 
 but consisted of his own graces. His hearers could not cough or look aside from 
 him without loss. He commanded where he spoke and had his judges angry and 
 pleased at his devotion. No man had their affections more in his power. The fear 
 of every man who heard him was lest he should make an end. 
 
 Howell, another contemporary, says of him : " He was the elo- 
 quentest man that was born in this island." 3 
 
 Let us turn now to the great oration which Shakespeare puts 
 into the mouth of Mark Antony, as delivered over the dead body of 
 Julius Caesar. 
 
 Well did Archbishop Whately say of Shakespeare: 
 
 The first of dramatists, he might easily have been the first of orators. 
 
 Only an orator, accustomed to public speech, and holding " the 
 
 affections of his hearers in his power," and capable of working upon 
 
 the passions of men, and making them " angry or pleased " as he 
 
 chose, could have conceived that great oration. It is climactic in 
 
 its construction. Mark Antony begins in all humility and deep 
 
 sorrow, asking only pity and sympathy for the poor bleeding 
 
 corpse : 
 
 I come to bury Csesar, not to praise him. 
 
 1 Hamlet, v, i. 2 Natural History, § 771. s Holmes, A uthorship o/Shak., vol. ii, p. 600. 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 433 
 
 He is most deferential to "the honorable men" who had assas- 
 sinated Caesar: 
 
 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, 
 (For Brutus is an honorable man, — 
 So are they all, all honorable men), 
 Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. 
 
 And he gives the humble reason: 
 
 He was my friend, faithful and just to me. 
 And then how cunningly he interjects appeals to the feelings of 
 
 the mob: 
 
 He hath brought many captives home to Rome, 
 Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill. 
 
 And how adroitly, and with an ad captandum vulgus argument^ 
 he answers the charge that Caesar was ambitious: 
 
 You all did see that on the Lupercal 
 
 I thrice presented him a kingly crown, 
 
 Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? 
 
 When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: 
 Ambition should be made of sterner stuff. 
 
 And then, protesting that he will not read Caesar's will, he per- 
 mits the multitude to know that they are his heirs. 
 
 And what a world of admiration, in the writer, for Caesar him- 
 self, lies behind these words: 
 
 Let but the commons hear this testament, 
 (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read), 
 And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, 
 And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; 
 Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, 
 And dying, mention it within their wills, 
 Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, 
 Unto their issue. 
 
 Then he pretends to draw back. 
 
 Citizens. Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony; you shall read us the will — 
 Caesar's will. 
 
 Antony. Will you be patient? Will you stay a while? I have o'ershot myself 
 to tell you of it. 
 
 And then, at last, encouraged by the voices and cries of the 
 
 multitude, he snarls out: 
 
 I fear I wrong the honorable men 
 
434 
 
 PA RA LLELISMS. 
 
 But before reading the will he descends to uncover the dead 
 body of the great commander; the multitude pressing, with fiery 
 Italian eyes, around him, and glaring over each others' shoulders 
 at the corpse. 
 
 But first he brings back the memory of Caesar's magnificent 
 
 victories: 
 
 You all do know this mantle: I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on; 
 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent, 
 That day he overcame the A r ervii. 
 
 Then he plucks away the garment and reveals the hacked and 
 
 mangled corpse, 
 
 Marred, as you see, by traitors. 
 
 And thereupon he gives the details of the assassination, points 
 out and identifies each wound, "poor, poor dumb mouths;" and 
 at last reads the will, and sends the mob forth, raging for 
 revenge, to let slip the dogs of war. 
 
 Beside this funeral oration all other efforts of human speech are 
 weak, feeble, poverty-stricken and commonplace. Call up your 
 Demosthenes, your Cicero, your Burke, your Chatham, your Grat- 
 tan, your Webster, — and what are their noblest and loftiest utter- 
 ances compared with this magnificent production ? It is the most 
 consummate eloquence, wedded to the highest poetry, breathing the 
 profoundest philosophy, and sweeping the whole register of the 
 human heart, as if it were the strings of some grand musical instru- 
 ment, capable of giving forth all forms of sound, from the sob of 
 pity to the howl of fury. It lifts the head of human possibility a 
 whole shoulder-height above the range of ordinary human achieve- 
 ment. 
 
 We find Bacon writing a letter, in 1608-9, *° Sir Tobie Matthew, 
 in which he refers back to the time of the death of Elizabeth (1603), 
 and, alluding to a rough draft of his essay, The Felicity of Quee?i 
 Elizabeth, which Bacon had shown to Sir Tobie, he says : 
 
 At that time methought you were more willing to hear Julius Ccesar than 
 Elizabeth commended. 
 
 Bacon, it is known, submitted his acknowledged writings to the 
 criticism of his friend, Sir Tobie ; and we can imagine him reading 
 to Sir Tobie, in secret, this grand oration, with all the heat and fer- 
 vor with which it came from his own mind. And we can imagine 
 
IDENTICAL STUDIES. 435 
 
 Sir Tobie's delight, touched upon and referred to cunningly in the 
 foregoing playful allusion. 
 
 What a picture for a great artist that would make : Bacon and 
 Sir Tobie alone in the chamber of Gray's Inn, with the door 
 locked ; and Bacon reading, with flashing eyes, to his enraptured 
 auditor, Mark Antony's oration over the dead body of Julius Caesar. 
 
 XI. Other Studies. 
 
 But, in whatever direction we turn, we find the writer of the 
 Plays and Francis Bacon devoting themselves to the same pursuits. 
 
 Bacon in The New Atlantis discusses the possibility of there 
 being discovered in the future "some perpetual motions" — a curi- 
 ous thought and a curious study for that age. 
 
 Shakespeare makes Falstaff say to the Chief Justice: 
 
 I were better to be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to nothing 
 with perpetual motion} 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Snow-water is held unwholesome; inasmuch as the people that dwell at the 
 foot of the snow mountains, or otherwise upon the ascent, especially the women, 
 by drinking snow-water have great bags hanging under their throats. '- 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 When we were boys, 
 Who would believe that there were mountaineers 
 Dew-lapped like bulls, whose throats had hanging at them 
 Wallets of flesh? 3 
 
 Shakespeare was familiar with the works of Machiavel, and 
 alludes to him in The Merry Wives of Windsor, in 1st Henry Vl. 
 and in 3d Henry VI. 
 
 Bacon had studied his writings, and refers to him in The 
 Advancement of Learning, book ii, and in many other places. 
 
 Shakespeare was a great observer of the purity of the air. He 
 
 says in Macbeth : 
 
 This castle hath a pleasant seat; the air 
 Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself 
 Unto our gentle senses. 
 
 And Bacon says: 
 
 I would wish you to observe the climate and the temperature of the air ; for so 
 you shall judge of the healthfulness of the place. 4 
 
 1 2d Henry IJ\, i, 2. 2 Natural History, § 396. 3 Tempest, iii, 3. 
 
 4 Letter to the Earl of Rutland, written in the name of the Earl of Essex — Life ami Works, 
 vol. ii, p. ig. 
 
436 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Bacon also says: 
 
 The heart receiveth benefit or harm most from the air we breathe, from vapors 
 and from the affections. 1 
 
 One has only to read the works of Francis Bacon to see that 
 they abound in quotations from and references to the Bible. He 
 had evidently made the Scriptures the subject of close and thor- 
 ough study. 
 
 On the other hand, the Rev. Charles Wordsworth says: 
 
 Take the entire range of English literature, put together our best authors who 
 have written upon subjects professedly not religious or theological, and we shall 
 not find, I believe, in all united, so much evidence of the Bible having been read 
 and used as we have found in Shakespeare alone. 
 
 We have already seen that both the author of the Plays and 
 Francis Bacon had studied law, and had read even the obscure 
 law-reports of Plowden, printed in the still more obscure black- 
 letter and Norman French. 
 
 In fact, I might swell this chapter beyond all reasonable bounds 
 by citing instance after instance, to show that the writer of the 
 Plays studied precisely the same books that Francis Bacon did; 
 and, in the chapter on Identical Quotations, I have shown that he 
 took out of those books exactly the same particular facts and 
 thoughts which had adhered to the memory of Francis Bacon. It 
 is difficult in this world to find two men who agree in devoting 
 themselves not to one, but to a multitude of the same studies; and 
 rarer still to find two men who will be impressed alike with the 
 same particulars in those studies. 
 
 But let us move forward a step farther in the argument. 
 
 1 History of Life and Death. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IDEXTICAL ERRORS. 
 
 Lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold. 
 
 Hamlet, i,j. 
 
 THE list of coincident errors must necessarily be brief. We 
 can not include the errors common to all men in that age, 
 for those would prove nothing. And the mistakes of so accurate 
 and profound a man as Francis Bacon are necessarily few in 
 number. But if we find any errors peculiar to Francis Bacon 
 repeated in Shakespeare, it will go far to settle the question of 
 identity. For different men may read the same books and think 
 the same thoughts, but it is unusual, in fact, extraordinary, if they 
 fall into the same mistakes. 
 
 I. Both Misquote Aristotle. 
 
 Mr. Spedding noticed the fact that Bacon in The Advancement of 
 Learning had erroneously quoted Aristotle as saying " that young 
 men are no fit auditors of moral philosophy," because "they are 
 not settled from the boiling heat of their affections, nor attem- 
 pered with time and experience"; while, in truth, Aristotle speaks, 
 in the passage referred to by Bacon, of "political philosophy." 
 
 Mr. Spedding further noted that this precise error of confound- 
 ing moral with political philosophy had been followed by Shakespeare. 
 In Troilus and Cressida the two "young men," Paris and Troilus, 
 had given their opinion that the Trojans should keep possession of 
 the fair Helen. To which Hector replies: 
 
 Paris and Troilus, you have both said well; 
 And on the cause and question now in hand 
 Have glozed — but superficially; not much 
 Unlike young men whom Aristotle thought 
 Unfit to hear moral philosophy.' 
 
 And what reason did Bacon give why young men were not fit 
 to hear moral philosophy ? Because " they are not settled from the 
 
 ' Troilus and Cressida, ii, 2. 
 
 437 
 
438 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 boiling heat of their affections, nor attempered with time and 
 experience." And why does Hector think young men are " unfit 
 to hear moral philosophy" ? Because : 
 
 The reasons you allege do more conduce 
 
 To the hot passions of distempered blood, 
 
 Than to make up a free determination 
 
 'Twixt right and wrong; for pleasure and revenge 
 
 Have ears more deaf than adders, to the voice 
 
 Of any true decision. 
 
 II. An Error in Natural Philosophy. 
 
 Shakespeare had a curious theory about fire: it was that each 
 fire was an entity, as much so as a stick of wood; and that one 
 flame could push aside or drive out another flame, just as one stick 
 might push aside or expel another. This of course was an error. 
 He says: 
 
 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. 1 
 
 And the same thought is repeated in Coriolanus : 
 
 One fire drives out another ; one nail, one nail.' 2 
 
 We turn to Bacon's Promus of Formularies and Elegancies, now 
 preserved in the British Museum, and, in his own handwriting, we 
 have, as one of the entries: 
 
 Clavum clavo pellere — (To drive out a nail with a nail). 
 
 This is precisely the expression given above: 
 
 One nail by strength drives out another. 
 
 One fire drives out another; one nail, one nail. 
 
 But behind this was a peculiar and erroneous theory held by 
 Bacon, concerning heat, which he records in the Sylva Sylvarum? 
 He held that heat was a substance; some of his favorite fallacies 
 were that "one flame within another quencheth not," and that 
 "flame doth not mingle with flame, but remaineth contiguous." 
 He speaks of one heat being "mixed with another," of its being 
 "pushed farther," — as if so much matter. This is precisely the 
 erroneous theory which was held by the writer of the Plays. 
 
 1 Two Gentlemen of Verona, ii, 4. 2 Coriolanus, iv, 7. 3 Vol. i, p. 32. 
 
IDENTICAL ERRORS. 
 
 439 
 
 Mrs. Pott says: 
 
 Knowing, as we now do, that these theories were as mistaken as they appear 
 to have been original, it seems almost past belief that any two men should, at pre- 
 cisely the same period, have independently conceived the same theories and made 
 the same mistakes. 1 
 
 III. Spirits of Animate and Inanimate Nature. 
 
 Bacon had another peculiar theory which the world has refused 
 to accept, at least in its broad significance. 
 
 He believed that there is a living spirit, or life principle, in 
 every thing in the created universe, which conserves its substance 
 and holds it together, and thus that, in some sense, the stones and 
 the clods of the earth possess souls; that without some such spirit- 
 ual force, differing in kinds, there could be no difference in sub- 
 stances. For why should the arrangement of the molecules of 
 foam, for instance, differ from that of the molecules of iron, if some 
 external force has not been imposed upon them to hold them in 
 their peculiar relation to each other, and thus constitute the differ- 
 ence between the light froth and the dense metal ? 
 
 This theory is akin to the expression which Shakespeare puts 
 
 into the mouth of the Duke, in As You Like It: 
 
 And this our life, exempt from public haunt, 
 
 Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. 
 
 Sermons in stones, and good in everything. 2 
 
 And Prince Arthur says: 
 
 My uncle's spirit is in these stones. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 All tangible bodies contain a spirit enveloped with the grosser body. There is 
 no known body in the upper part of the earth without its spirit. The spirit which 
 exists in all living bodies keeps all the parts in due subjection; when it escapes the 
 body decomposes, or the similar parts unite — as metals rust, fluids turn sour. 
 
 And Bacon sees a relationship between the spirit within the ani- 
 mal and the spirit of the objects, even inanimate, which act upon 
 the senses of the animal; and he strikes out the curious thought 
 that 
 
 There might be as many senses in animals as there are points of agreement 
 with inanimate bodies if the animated body were perforated, so as to allow the spirit 
 to have access to the limb properly disposed for action, as a fit organ. 4 
 
 That is to say, the spirit of the universe pervades all created 
 
 t 
 
 1 Promus, p. 33. *As You Like It, ii, 1. 3 King John, iv. 3. 4 Novum Organum, book ii. 
 
44 o PARALLELISMS. 
 
 things, animate and inanimate, but the intelligence of man and ani- 
 mal only takes cognizance of the spirits of other things around them 
 through the perforations of the senses; the eyes, ears, touch, taste 
 and smell being, as it were, holes, through which the external uni- 
 versal vitality reaches into our vitality and stirs it to recognition. 
 A solemn thought, doubtless true, and which should teach us mod- 
 esty; for it would follow that we see not all God's works, but only 
 those limited areas which come within the range of the peep-holes 
 of our few senses. In other words, the space around us may be 
 filled with forms, animate and inanimate, which hold "no points of 
 agreement " with our senses, and of which, therefore, we can have 
 no knowledge. And thus the dream of the schoolman of old may 
 be true, that the space around us is filled as thick with spirits as the 
 snow-storm is filled with snow-flakes. 
 
 This doctrine of spirits runs through all Bacon's writings. He 
 says in one place: 
 
 All bodies have spirits and pneumatical parts within them. . . . But the 
 spirits of things inanimate are shut in and cut off by the tangible parts. 1 
 
 That is to say, they have no holes of the senses, through which 
 the spirit of the inanimate object can communicate with us; any 
 more than we could communicate with a human spirit, locked up 
 in a body devoid of all the senses. 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 Spirits are nothing else but a natural body rarified to a proportion, and 
 included in the tangible parts of bodies as in an integument ; . . . and they are in 
 all tangible bodies whatsoever, more or less. 2 
 
 And again speaking of the superstition of '' the evil eye," he 
 
 says: 
 
 Besides, at such times [times of glory and triumph], the spirits of the persons 
 envied do come forth most into the outward parts, and so meet the blow. 3 
 
 Bacon does not speak, as we would, of the spirit in a man, but of 
 
 the spirits, as if there were a multitude of them in each individual, 
 
 occupying every part of the body. For instance: 
 
 Great joys attenuate the spirits; familiar cheerfulness strengthens the spirits 
 by calling them forth. 4 
 
 Again: 
 
 In bashfulness the spirits do a little go and come. 5 
 
 1 Natural History, § 601. 3 Essay Of R>i7>y. ■ Essay Of Goodness y 
 
 2 I bid ., § 92. 4 History of L ife and Death . 
 
IDENTICAL ERRORS. 44 r 
 
 And again: 
 
 The spirits of the wine oppress the spirits animal. ' 
 And in Shakespeare we find this same theory of the spirits. He 
 
 *says: 
 
 Fair daughter ! you do draw my spirits from me, 
 With new lamenting ancient oversights. 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 Forth at jour eyes your spirits wildly peep. 3 
 And again: 
 
 I am never merry when I hear sweet music. 
 The reason is, your spirits are attentive. 4 
 And again: 
 
 Your spirits shine through you. 5 
 
 Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold for your years. 6 
 
 My spirits, as in a dream, are all bound up. 7 
 
 My spirits are nimble. 8 
 
 Heaven give your spirits comfort. 9 
 
 Summon up your dearest spirits. 10 
 
 The nimble spirits in the arteries. 11 
 
 Their great guilt, 
 Like poison given to work a great time after, 
 Now 'gins to bite the spirits.*- 
 
 Spirits are not finely touched but to fine issues. 13 
 
 Thus in the Shakespeare Plays we find the reflection of one of 
 
 Bacon's most peculiar philosophical beliefs. 
 
 IV. Spontaneous Generation. 
 
 Bacon fell into another error in natural philosophy which reap- 
 pears in the Plays. This was a belief, which continued down to 
 our own times, in spontaneous generation ; that is to say, that life 
 could come out of non-life. We now realize that that marvelous 
 and inexplicable thing we call life ascends by an unbroken pedi- 
 gree, through all time, back to the central Source of Force in the 
 universe, by whatever name we may call it. But Bacon believed 
 that life could come out of conditions of inorganic matter. He 
 says : 
 
 1 Xatural History, §726. 6 As You Like It, i, 2. ,0 Love's Labor Lost, ii, 1. 
 
 *2d Henry IV., ii, 3. 7 Tempest, i, 2. " Ibid., iv, 3. 
 
 3 Hamlet, iii, 4. ■ Ibid., ii, 1. ^Tempest, iii, 3. 
 
 * Merchant of Venice, v. \. 9 Measure for Measure, iv, 2. ■• Measure for Measure, 1, 1. 
 
 -"' Macbeth, iii, 1. 
 
442 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 The first beginnings and rudiments or effects of life in animalculae spring from 
 putrefaction, as in the eggs of ants, worms, mosses, frogs after rain, etc. 1 
 
 Again he says. 
 
 The excrements of living creatures do not only heed insecta when they are 
 exerned, but also while they are in the body. 2 
 
 We find that the poet Shakespeare had thought much upon this 
 same very unpoetical subject. He says: 
 
 And, as the sleeping soldiers in the alarm, 
 Your bedded hair, like life in excrements. 
 Starts up and stands on end. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For all putrefaction, if it dissolve not in arefaction, will in the end issue into 
 plants, or living creatures bred of putrefaction. 4 
 
 And again he speaks of 
 
 Living creatures bred of putrefaction. ft 
 
 And in Shakespeare we have Hamlet saying: 
 
 For if the sun breed maggots in a dead dog, being a god kissing carrion. 6 
 
 And in all this we see, also, the natural philosopher, who 
 believed that " most base things tend to rich ends." 
 
 V. Other Errors. 
 
 Both believed that there was a precious stone in the head of a 
 toad. Bacon says: 
 
 Query. If the stone taken out of a toad's head be not of the like virtue; for 
 the toad loveth shade and coolness. 7 
 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 Sweet are the uses of adversity, 
 
 Which, like the toad, ugly und venomous, 
 
 Wears yet a piecious jewel in his head. 8 
 
 Both thought the liver was the seat of sensuality. Bacon in 
 The Advancement of Learning, book ii, refers to Plato's opinion to> 
 that effect. And in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 This is the liver vein, which makes flesh a deity; 
 A green goose, a goddess. 9 
 
 1 Novum Organum, book ii. * Natural History, § 605. 7 Natural History, cent, x, § 967. 
 
 5 Natural History, % 696. 6 Ibid., § 328. 8 A s You Like It, ii, 1. 
 
 3 Hamlet, iii, 4. 8 Hamlet, ii, 2. * Love's Labor Lost, iv, 3. 
 
IDENTICAL ERRORS. 
 
 443 
 
 Both believed, despite the discoveries of Galileo, that the earth 
 was the center of the universe, and that the heavens revolved 
 around it. Later in his life Bacon seemed to accept the new theo- 
 ries, but at the time the Plays were written he repudiated them. 
 He says: 
 
 Who would not smile at the astronomers, I mean not these new carmen which 
 drive the earth about. 1 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 It is a poor center of a man's actions, himself. It is right earth, for that only- 
 stands fast upon his own center; whereas all things that have affinity with the 
 heavens move upon the center of another, which they benefit. - 
 
 While Shakespeare also rejected the new theories. He says in 
 
 Hamlet : 
 
 Doubt thou the stars are lire. 
 Doubt that the sun doth move? 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 The heavens themselves, the planets ana this center, 
 Observe degree, priority and place. 4 
 
 And in the same play he says: 
 
 But the strong base and building of ray love 
 Is as the very center of the earth. 
 Drawing all things to it. 5 
 
 1 Essay In Praise of Knowledge, 1590 3 Hamlet, ii, 2. 
 
 — Life and Works, vol. i, p. 124. * Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 
 
 3 Essay Of Wisdom. * Ibid., iv, 2. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE IDENTICAL USE OE UNUSUAL WORDS. 
 
 Letter for letter ! Why, this is the very same : the very hand : the very words. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor \ ii, i. 
 
 I HAVE already shown, in the first chapter of Book I., the 
 tendency manifested in the Plays to use unusual words, 
 especially those derived from or constructed out of the Latin. I 
 may add to the list already given the following instances: 
 
 And all things rare 
 That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.' 
 
 Cowards and men cautelous } 
 No soil or cautel." 
 Through all the world's vastidity* 
 Such cxsufflicate and blown surmises. 5 
 His pendant bed and procreant cradle. 6 
 Thou vinew'dst leaven. 7 
 Rend and deracinate* 
 Thou cacadamon} 
 We have a very crowding of words, unusual in poetry, into the 
 following lines : 
 
 As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap, 
 Infect the sound pine and divert his grain 
 Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 1 " 
 
 All these things bespeak the scholar, overflowing with Roman 
 learning and eager to enrich his mother-tongue by the coinage of 
 new words. It is not too much to say that Bacon has doubled the 
 capacity of the English language. He was aware of this fact him- 
 self, and in his Discourse in Praise of Queen Elizabeth he says that 
 the tongue of England " has been infinitely polished since her 
 happy times." 
 
 ' Sonnet xxi. 5 Othello, iii, 3. "Ibid., i, 3. 
 
 2 Julius Caesar, ii, 1. * Macbeth, i, 6. 9 Richard III., i, 3. 
 
 3 Hamlet, i, 3. 7 Troilus and Cressida, ii, 1. 10 Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 
 
 4 Measure for Measure, iii, 1. 
 
 444 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 
 
 445 
 
 We find in Bacon's prose works the same tendency to coin or 
 transfer words bodily from the Latin. I give a few examples: 
 
 "Coarctation," " percutient," " mordication," " carnosities," " the ingurgita- 
 tion of wine," "incomprehensions," " arefaction," " flexuous courses of nature," 
 " exulcerations," " reluctation," "embarred," "digladiation," " vermiculate ques- 
 tions," " morigeration," " redargution," "maniable," " ventosity." 
 
 But we will also find, in both sets of writings, a disposition to 
 use quaint, odd and unusual words, borrowed, many of them, from 
 that part of common speech which rarely finds its way into print, — 
 the colloquialisms of the shop and the street, — and we will find 
 many of them that are used in the same sense by both Bacon and 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Macbeth says : 
 
 I pull in resolution, and begin 
 
 To doubt the equivocation of the fiend, 
 
 That lies like truth. 1 
 
 The commentators have been puzzled with this word, but we: 
 
 have it also in Bacon : 
 
 Those smells are all strong, and do /////and vellicate the sense. 2 
 
 To vellicate is to twitch convulsively. 
 
 We find in Hamlet the strange word pall ; 
 
 Our indiscretion sometimes serves us well 
 When our dear plots do pall. ■ 
 
 We turn to Bacon and we find him using the same word: 
 The beer or wine hath not been palled or deaded at all. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 The refreshing or quickening of drink palled or dead. 5 
 
 In Bacon we have : 
 
 For if they go forth right to a place, they must needs have sight. 6 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 Step aside from the direct forth right.' 
 
 Through forth rights and meanders. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I have been juddering in physic all my life. 
 
 ' Macbeth, v, 4. 4 Xatural History \ §385. 7 Troilus and Cress/Wa, iii, 3;. 
 
 2 Natural History ,§835. * Ibid., §314. • Ttm&est, iii, 3. 
 
 * Hamlet, v, 1. « Ibid. , 1 698. 
 
446 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 The gods that keep such a pudder o'er our heads. 1 
 
 This word occurs but on this occasion in the Plays. It means 
 
 bother. 
 
 There is a word in Henry F. 2 — imbar — which has excited con- 
 siderable controversy among the commentators. It occurs in the 
 discussion of the Salic law of France: 
 
 So that as clear as is the summer's sun, 
 King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim, 
 King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear 
 To hold in right and title of the female; 
 So do the kings of France unto this day: 
 Howbeit they would hold up this Salic law, 
 To bar your Highness claiming from the female; 
 And rather choose to hide them in a net, 
 Than amply to imbar their crooked titles 
 Usurped from you and your progenitors. 
 
 I quote Knight's foot-note upon this word: 
 
 Imbar. The Folio gives this word imbarre, which modern editors, upon the 
 authority of Theobald, have changed into imbare. Rowe, somewhat more boldly, 
 reads make bare. There can be no doubt, we think, that imbar is the right word. 
 It might be taken as placed in opposition to bar. To bar is to obstruct; to imbar 
 is to bar in, to secure. They would hold up the Salic law "to bar your High- 
 ness," hiding "their crooked titles" in a net rather than amply defending them. 
 But it has been suggested to us that imbar is here used for " to set at the bar " — to 
 place their crooked titles before a proper tribunal. This is ingenious and plausible. 
 
 I quote these comments to show that the word is a rare and 
 obscure one. The two words, bar and imbar, seem to me to mean 
 substantially the same thing; as we find plead and implead, personate 
 and impersonate, plant and implant. If there is any difference, it con- 
 sists in :he fact that bar means, as suggested by Knight, to shut 
 out, and imbar to shut in. In the sentence under consideration it 
 seems that both the title of the reigning French King and the 
 claim of King Henry V. came through the female line, and the 
 Archbishop of Canterbury shows that the French, while their King 
 holds in contravention of the Salic law, yet set it up as a bar to 
 the claim of the English King, also holding through the female 
 line, and thus involve themselves in a net or tangle of contradic- 
 tions, instead of amply, fully, and on other and substantial grounds, 
 
 1 Lear, iii, a. 2 Act i, scene 2. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OE UNUSUAL WORDS. 447 
 
 imbarring their titles, inclosing them and defending them from the 
 world. 
 
 And here again, where we would find the explanation of obscure 
 words in Shakespeare, we are driven to Bacon. 
 
 Tn his History of Henry VII. he says: 
 
 The King forthwith banished all Flemings . . . out of his kingdom; com- 
 manding his subjects likewise, and by name his merchants adventurers, which had 
 a reisance in Antwerp, to return; translating the mart, which commonly followed 
 the English cloth, unto Calais; and emban-ed also all further trade for the future. 
 
 Here we get at the meaning of the word. He not only drove 
 the Flemish merchants out of his country and recalled his own 
 merchants resident in Flanders, and changed the foreign mart, but 
 he also embarred all further trade — that is, denied the Flemish 
 commerce access to his people. 
 
 And it is a curious fact that in our great American dictionary 
 ( Webster s Unabridged} the two words, embarred and i/nbare, are 
 given — the first with the above quotation from Bacon, and the 
 other with the example of the word from Henry V., with a meaning 
 attached, created to suit the emergency, 4k to lay bare, to uncover, 
 to expose." So that, to attempt to read Shakespeare without 
 Bacon, the commentators are driven to coin new words "which 
 never were, and no man ever saw." 
 
 We read in Shakespeare: 
 
 How cam'st thou to be the siege of this mooncalf .' ' 
 
 J. O. Halliwell says in a foot-note upon this passage: 
 
 A mooncalf is an imperfectly-developed foetus, here metaphorically applied to a 
 misshapen monster. 
 
 But we turn to Bacon, and there we find the real explanation: 
 
 It may be that children and young cattle that are brought forth in the full of the 
 moon are stronger and laigcr than those which are brought forth in the wane; and 
 those, also, which are begotten in the full of the moon [are stronger and larger]. 2 
 
 So that the term was applied to Caliban with reference to his 
 gross proportions. 
 
 The curious word startitig-hole occurs but once in the 
 Plays, in Falstaff's interview with the Prince, 3 after the robbery on 
 Gads-hill; and it is so rare that it is made the foundation of a foot- 
 
 I Tempest, ii, 2. 2 Natural ///story § 897. 3 rst Henry //'., ii, 4. 
 
448 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 note. We turn to Bacon, and we find it used by him in the same 
 sense: 
 
 He [Lopez] thought to provide himself with as many starting-holes and eva- 
 sions as he could devise. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 So with marvelous consent and applause.' 2 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The rogues are marvelous poor. 3 
 
 Marvelous foul linen. 4 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 Incredible affection. 5 
 
 This word is found but once in the Plays: 
 
 I tell you, 'tis incredible to believe 
 How much she loves me. 6 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The people entertained this airy body ox phantasm." 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A fanatical phantasm/ 
 
 This is a rare word; it occurs but twice in the Plays; the word 
 phantasma once. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It [Ireland] was a ticklish and unsettled state. 9 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And wide unclasp the tables of their thoughts 
 To every ticklish reader. 10 
 
 This word occurs but once in the Plays, the instance given. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The embassador did so magnify the King and Queen, as was enough to glut the 
 hearers. 11 
 
 This odd word occurs only once in the Plays, in The Tempest, 
 and is considered so unusual as to be the subject of a foot-note: 
 
 1 The Lopez Conspiracy — Life and Works, • Taming of the Shrew, ii, i. 
 
 vol. i, p. 283. 7 History of Henry VII. 
 
 2 History of Henry VII. 8 Love's Labor Lost, v, t. 
 8 AWs Well that Ends Well, iv, 3. » History of Henry II. 
 
 *2d Henry IV., v, 1. 10 Troilus and Cressida, iv, 5. 
 
 6 History of Henry VII. ll History of Henry VII. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 449 
 
 Though every drop of water swear against it 
 And gape at widest to glut him. 1 
 
 We find the word inoculate but once in the Plays: 
 
 For virtue cannot so inoculate our old stock but we shall relish of it. 5 
 Bacon uses the same rare word: 
 
 Grafting and *" noculating wild trees. 3 
 
 Imogen says to the entranced Ioachimo: 
 
 What, dear sir, 
 Thus raps you ? Are you well ? 4 
 
 And Knight has a foot-note: 
 
 Raps you — transports you. We are familiar with the participle rapt, but this 
 form of the verb is uncommon. 
 
 We turn to Bacon and we find him using the same uncommon 
 
 form : 
 
 Winged enticements that ravish and rap mortal men. 5 
 
 We find in the Plays a very curious expression. Ajax calls 
 Thersites: 
 
 A vinew'dst leaven} 
 We turn to Bacon and we find him applying the same word to 
 human beings : 
 
 A leaven of men. 7 
 
 A core of people. 8 
 Thou core of envy. 9 
 
 Dregs of the northern people. 10 
 
 Dregs of the storm. 11 
 Dregs of conscience. Ia 
 
 Bacon says: 
 Shakespeare : 
 
 Bacon: 
 Shakespeare : 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I doubt not but in the university you shall find choice of many excellent wits, 
 and in things wherein they have waded, many of good understanding. 13 
 
 1 Tempest, i, i. 8 Ibid. 
 
 2 Hamlet, iii, i. 9 Troilus and Cressida, v, i. 
 
 3 New A tlantis. ' ° History of Henry VII. 
 
 * Cymbeline, i, 7. u Tempest, ii, 2. 
 
 6 Wisdom 0/ the A ncients — Sphynx, 12 Richard III., i, 4. 
 
 * Troilus and Cressida, ii, 1. 13 Letter to Sir Foulke Greville — Life and 
 1 History of Henry VII. Works, vol. ii, p. 25. 
 
45° 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 But if I should wade further into this Queen's praises. 1 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 For their joy waded in tears. 2 
 
 I am in blood 
 Stepped in so far, that should I zvade no more, 
 Returning were as tedious as go o'er. 3 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 He was wholly compounded of frauds and deceits. 4 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 This foolish compounded clay, man. 5 
 
 In the large composition of this man. 6 
 
 We might compound & boy, half French, half English. 7 
 
 And she, of all compounded, 
 Outsells them all. 8 
 
 The word slobber is referred to by the commentators as a strange 
 and unusual word. It is probably the same word as slubber? It is 
 used in The Merchant of Venice, ii, 8: 
 
 Slubber not on the business for my sake, Bassanio. 
 Bacon 10 speaks of "slubbering on the lute," to illustrate his "cau- 
 tioning exercise, as to beware lest by evil doing, as all beginners do 
 weakly, a man grow to be inveterate in a bad habit." Slubbering on 
 the lute means, therefore, practicing in a slovenly manner. 
 And this word inveterate is a favorite one with Shakespeare: 
 The inveterate canker. 11 
 Inveterate malice. 19 
 Inveterate hate. 13 
 
 In Shakespeare we find: 
 
 Tea, all which it inherit shall dissolve; 
 And, like this unsubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind. 
 
 1 Felic. Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 2 Winter's Tale, v. 2. 
 
 3 Macbeth, iii, 4. 
 
 4 Character of Julius Ccesar. 
 3 2d Henry IV., i, 2. 
 
 8 King John, i, 1. 
 
 7 Henry V., v, 2. 
 
 8 Cymbeline, iii, 5. 
 
 9 Shakespeariana, May, 1884, p. 185 — Article 
 by J. Lauglin. 
 
 10 Discourse Concerning Help for the Intellect- 
 
 ual Powers. 
 
 11 King John, v, 2. 
 > 2 Richard II., i, 1. 
 18 Corioianus, ii, 3. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 451 
 
 This word rack has led to great controversy, and as an emenda- 
 tion the word wreck was suggested, but the true explanation was 
 found in Bacon. 1 He says: 
 
 The winds in the upper regions, which move the clouds above, which we call 
 the rack, and are not perceived below, pass without noise. - 
 
 Hence the rack evidently means the light, fleecy, upper clouds, a 
 tine image for unsubstantiality. 
 
 And we have another curious instance wherein Shakespeare is 
 only to be explained by Bacon. In 2d Henry IF., ii, 2, Poins says 
 of Falstaff, speaking to Bardolph: 
 
 And how doth the Martlemas, your master. 
 
 The commentators explain this as meaning the feast of St. Mar- 
 tin, the nth of November. 
 
 Poins calls Falstaff the Martlemas because his year of life is running out. : 
 
 But we turn to Bacon's Natural History. We find 
 
 That that is dry is unapt to putrefy; and therefore smoke preserveth flesh, as 
 we see in bacon, and neat's tongues and Martlemas beef, etc. 4 
 
 This is a much more natural explanation. Poins refers to the 
 aged but gross Falstaff as a beef, dried and smoked by time. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The breath in man's microcosmos and in other animals do very well agree. 5 
 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it 1 am known well 
 enough too. 6 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 But sure it could not be that pelting matter. 1 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Every pelting, petty officer. 8 
 
 Poor pelting villages, sheep-cotes. 9 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Do cream and mantle like a standing pool. 10 
 
 1 Knight's Shak., note B, vol. ii, p. 429. * Coriolanus, ii, 1. 
 
 2 Natural History, cent, ii, § 115. ' Letter to Buckingham. 
 
 3 Knight. 8 Measure for Measure, ii, 2. 
 
 4 Natural History, cent. iv. 9 Lear, ii, 3. 
 
 5 Xatur at History of Winds. 10 Merchant of Venice, i, 1. 
 
452 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Their rising senses 
 Begin to chase the ignorant fumes that mantle 
 Their clearer reason. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 It [the beer] drinketh fresh, flowereth and mantleth exceedingly. 2 ' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 If there be any biting or nibbling at my name. 3 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.*' 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I have lived hitherto upon the scraps of my former fortunes. 5 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 He hath been at a feast of languages 
 And stolen the scraps* 
 
 Those scraps are good deeds past. 7 
 
 We find the rare word graveled in both sets of writings. I can- 
 recall only one other instance, in all our literature, where this 
 strange word has been employed; that is in John Hay's Banty Tim. 
 
 Bacon says : 
 
 Her Majesty was somewhat graveled upon the offense she took at my speech 
 in Parliament. 8 
 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 O gravel heart. 9 
 
 And when you were graveled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to 
 kiss. 10 
 
 The word perturbation was a favorite with both. 
 
 Bacon has: 
 
 The Epicureans placed felicity in serenity of mind and freedom from per- 
 turbation } x 
 
 And they be the clouds of error which descend in the storms of passions and 
 perturbations } % 
 
 Is it not knowledge that doth alone clear the mind of all perturbations? . . . 
 These be the clouds of error that turn into the storms of perturbation.™ 
 
 1 Tempest, v, i. 8 Letter to Lord Burleigh, June, 1595. 
 
 2 Natural History, cent, i, § 46. 9 Measure for Measure, iv, 3. 
 
 3 Letter to Mr. Davis. l0 As You Like It, iv, 1. 
 
 * As You Like It, iii, 2. ll Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 'Letter to Buckingham, Sept. 5, 1621. 12 Ibid., book 1. 
 
 « Love's Labor Lost, v, 1 . ' 3 In Praise ,f Knowledge. 
 
 7 Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 453 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 O polished perturbation ! golden care. 1 
 A great perturbation in nature.' 1 
 From much grief, from study and perturbation of the brain. 3 
 
 Bacon says : 
 
 She had no props, or supports of her government, but those that were of her own 
 making. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 The boy was the very staff of my age, my very prop. 5 
 
 See where his Grace stands 'tween two clergymen. 
 Two props of virtue for a Christian prince. 6 
 
 Bacon also says: 
 
 There was also made a shoaring or underpropping act for the benevolence. 7 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 What penny hath Rome borne, 
 What men provided, what munition sent, 
 To underprop this action ? 8 
 
 Here am I left to underprop his land. 9 
 
 Extirpate occurs but once in the Plays. Prosper says his 
 brother proposed " to extirpate me and mine." Bacon uses this then 
 unusual word in the same sense: 
 
 But for extirpating of the roots and cause of the like commotions. 10 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 This depressing of the house of York did rankle and fester the affections of 
 his people. 11 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 His venom tooth will rankle to the death. '- 
 
 They fester 'gainst ingratitude. 13 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 He saith that towards his latter time that closeness did impair and a little 
 perish his understanding. 14 
 
 1 2d Henry IV. , iv, 5. 8 Richard III. , iii, 7. ll Ibid . 
 
 " Macbeth, v, 1. 7 History of Henry VII. l2 Richard III., i, 3. 
 
 3 2d Henry IV., i, 2. 8 King John, v, 2. l3 Coriolanus, i, 9. I 
 
 * Felic. Queen Elizabeth. 9 Richard II, ii, 2. 14 Essay Of Friendship. 
 
 5 Merchant 0/ Venice, ii, 2. 10 History of Henry VI F. 
 
454 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Henry Lewis says: 
 
 The use of the verb thus as transitive is rare. 1 
 
 But rare as it is, we find it in Shakespeare: 
 
 Because thy flinty heart, more hard than they, 
 Might in thy palace perish Margaret. 2 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 I do esteem whatsoever I have or may have in this world but as trash in com- 
 parison. 3 
 
 And again: 
 
 It shows he weighs men's minds and not their trash. A 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Who steals my purse steals trash} 
 
 Wrung 
 From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash} 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 A shrunken and wooden posture.' 
 Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 The wooden dialogue. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Young men puffed up with the glittering show of vanity. 9 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 The sea. puffed up with winds. 10 
 
 The heart, puffed up with-this retinue, doth any deed of courage. 11 
 
 Led by a delicate and tender prince, 
 Whose spirit, by divine ambition puffed, 
 Makes mouths at the invisible event w 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 To make hope the antidote of human diseases. 13 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 And with some sweet oblivious antidote 
 Cleanse the stuffed bosom. 14 
 
 1 Essay, Bacon, p. 161. " Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 
 
 2 2d Henry VI., iii, 2. 9 Wisdom of the Ancients — Memnon.. 
 
 3 Letter to the Earl of Salisbury. l0 Taming of the Shrew, i, 2. 
 
 4 Essay Of Goodness. ' 1 2d Henry IV., iv, 3. 
 
 6 Othello, iii, 2. ia Hamlet, iv, 4. 
 "fulius Ccesar, iv, 3. 13 Med. Sacra. 
 
 7 Essay Of Boldness. u Macbeth, v, 3. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OF UX USUAL WORDS. 
 
 455 
 
 Trust not the physician: his antidotes are poisons. 1 
 
 The word was an unusual one, and occurs but twice in the Plays. 
 
 Bacon, in his essay Of Masks, speaking of the decorations of the 
 stage, refers to "oes or spangs," meaning, as I should take it, round, 
 shining spots or spangles, like eyes, which, " as they are of no great 
 cost, so are they of most glory." And in Shakespeare this figure 
 repeatedly appears: 
 
 All you fiery oes and eyes of light.' 2 
 
 And he speaks in the prologue to Henry V. of the play-house as 
 " this wooden O." 
 
 And he uses the same root in another odd word, ceiliads — 
 glances of the eye: 
 
 Judicious ceiliads. 3 
 
 She gave strange ceiliads. 4 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Pyonner in the myne of truth." 
 A picneer in the mine of truth/ 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Canst work in the earth so fast; 
 A worthy pioneer." 1 
 
 The general camp, pioneers and all. 8 
 
 This rare word occurs but three times in the Plays. 
 
 And in Shakespeare we have, as a parallel to Bacon's " mine of 
 
 truth ": 
 
 O, Antony, thou mine of bounty? 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 Such natural philosophy as shall not vanish in the fume of subtle and delecta- 
 ble speculation. 10 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have: 
 
 Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs." 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Neither did they observe so much as the half-face of justice, in proceeding by 
 indictment. 12 
 
 1 Timon of Athens, iv, 3. 7 Hamlet, i, 5. 
 
 2 Midsummer Nighfs Dream, iii, 2. 8 Othello, iii, 3. 
 
 3 Merry Wives 0/ Windsor, i, 3. 9 A ntony and Cleopatra, iv, 6. 
 
 * Lear, iv, 5. '• Advancement 0/ Learning, book ii. 
 5 Prom us, §1395, p. 451. n Borneo and Juliet, i, 1. 
 
 * Letter to Burleigh. ] 2 History 0/ Henry I 'If. 
 
45 6 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Out upon this half-faced fellowship. ' 
 
 This same half-faced fellow, Shadow. 2 
 
 Because he hath a half-face, like my father, 
 With that half -face would he have all my land. 3 
 
 They both use another very rare word. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Seditions and wars arise: in the midst of which hurly -bur lies laws are silent. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 When the hurly-burly 's done. 5 
 The news of hurly-burly innovation. 6 
 This word occurs but twice in the Plays. We will see hereafter 
 that the last syllable is the cipher synonym for Burleigh, — the 
 Lord Treasurer, — Bacon's uncle. 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 This jumping or flying to generalities. 7 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 We'd jump the life to come. 8 
 
 In some sort it jumps with my humor. 9 
 
 Jumping o'er times, 
 Turning the accomplishment of many years 
 Into an hour-glass. 10 
 
 We remember the use of a peculiar word in the mouth of 
 Othello, when he makes his confession to the Venetian senate: 
 Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice. 
 We find the same word in Bacon : 
 
 Disgracing your actions, extenuating and blasting of your merit." 
 
 Also : 
 
 How far a defense might extenuate the offense. 15 
 
 Also: 
 
 In excusing, extenuating or ingenious confession.^ 
 It is a favorite word with both; it occurs eight times in the Plays. 
 
 ' ist Henry IV., i, 3. 8 Macbeth, i, 7. 
 
 2 2d Henry IV, iii, 2. 9 ist Henry IV., i, 2. 
 
 3 King John, i, 1. ™ Henry /'., i, cho. 
 
 4 Wisdom of the A ncients— Orpheus. u Letter to Essex, Oct. 4, 1596. 
 « Macbeth, i, 1. 12 Letter to the Lords. 
 
 6 ist Henry IV., v, 1 . 13 Letter to the King. 
 
 7 Novum Organum. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OE UNUSUAL WORDS. 
 
 We recall another very peculiar word in Lear: 
 
 Oh, how this mother swells up toward my heart. 1 
 We turn to Bacon and we read: 
 The stench of feathers, or the like, they cure the rising of the mother.* 
 
 In Bacon we find : 
 
 The skirts of my living in Hertfordshire. 3 
 In Shakespeare: 
 
 Here, in the skirts of the forest. 4 
 
 The skirts of this wild wood. 5 
 
 Young Fortinbras 
 Hath in the skirts of Norway, here and there, 
 Sharked up a list of landless resolutes. 6 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Folds and knots of nature. 7 
 
 Shakespeare says : 
 
 This knot intrinsicate of life untie. 8 
 Motives, those strong knots of love. 9 
 This knot of amity. 10 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Then there budded forth some probable hopes of succession. 11 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 This is the state of man : to-day he puts forth 
 The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms. 12 
 
 457 
 
 And again: 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 Buckingham. Every man, 
 
 . . . Not consulting, broke 
 
 Into a general prophecy, that this tempest, 
 
 Dashing the garment of this peace, aboded 
 
 The sudden breach on't. 
 
 Norfolk. Which is budded out. Vi 
 
 And after he had not a little bemoaned himself. 1 
 
 1 Lear, ii, 4. 8 A ntony and Cleopatra, v, 2. 
 
 ■2 Natural History, cent, i, § 63. » Macbeth, iv, 3. 
 
 3 Letter to Robert Cecil, 1603. 10 1st Henry VI. 
 
 4 As You Like It, iii, 2. u Felic. Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 5 Ibid., v, 4. 12 Henry VIII., iii, 2. 
 •HamletiUx. 13 Ibid., i, 1. 
 
 7 Preface to Great Instauration. 14 History of Henry VII. 
 
45 8 PA KALLELISMS. 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 I all alone bemoan my outcast state. 1 
 
 He so bemoaned his son. 2 
 
 This word occurs only twice in the Plays. 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 The meeting-point and rendezvous of all my thoughts. 3 
 
 Shakespeare has: 
 
 A comfort of retirement lives in this, 
 A rendezvous, a home to fly unto. 4 
 And again: 
 
 And when I cannot live any longer I will do as I may; that is my rest, that is 
 the rendezvous of it. 5 
 
 Bacon speaks of 
 
 A compacted strength. 6 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Of imagination all compact? 
 
 My heart is now compact of flint. 8 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 Suspicions that the mind itself gathers are but buzzes? 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Each buz, each fancy, each complaint. 10 
 
 I hear a buzzing of a separation. 11 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 There is a lively, jocund, and, as I may say, a dancing age. 12 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 The jocund day 
 Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain top. 13 
 
 The quotation from Bacon gives us the complete image that 
 was in the mind of the poet: — the dawn was dancing on the moun- 
 tain top. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 For it is a dull thing to tire, and, as we say, to jade anything too far, 14 
 
 1 Sonnet, 8 Titus A ndronicus, v, 3. 
 
 2 3d Henry VI., ii, 5. 9 Essay Of Suspicion. 
 
 3 Letter to Lord Burleigh, 1580. ™ Lear, i, 4. 
 
 * 1st Henry IV., iv, 1. •' Henry VIII., ii, 1. 
 
 6 Henry V., ii, 1. 12 Wisdom of the A ncients — Pan. 
 
 * Advancement of Learning, book ii. >• Romeo and Juliet, iii, 5. 
 
 7 Midsummer Nighfs Dream, v, 1. ' 4 Essay Of Discourse. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OE UNUSUAL WORDS. 459 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 To let imagination jade me. 1 
 
 Speaking of a young man overthrown and dying, Bacon says: 
 The flower of virtue cropped with sudden chance.'- 2 
 
 Shakespeare speaks of 
 
 A fresh, xxneropped flower? 
 
 Comparing her son to the violets that "strew the green lap of 
 the spring," the Duchess says to him: 
 
 Well, bear you well in this new spring of time, 
 Lest you be cropped before you come to prime. 4 
 
 Speaking of the history of an event, Bacon says: 
 
 The King hath so muffled it." 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Muffle your false love. 6 
 
 Love whose view is muffled still. 1 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The King resolved to make this business of Naples as a wrench and means of 
 peace. 8 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 A noble nature 
 May catch a wrench. 91 
 
 Wrenching the true cause the false way. 10 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The corruption and ambition of the times d'\d prick him forward. 11 
 Our fear of Spain, which hath been the spur to this rigor. 1 ' 2 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 I have no spur 
 To prick the sides of my intent. 1 " 
 
 My duty pricks me on. 14 
 
 Honor pricks me on. Yea. but how if honor prick me off when I come on. 15 
 
 1 Twelfth Night, ii, 5. ft Timon of Athens, ii, 2. 
 
 2 Wisdotn of the Ancients — Memnon. 10 2d Henry II'., ii, 1. 
 
 3 A Ws U 'ell that Ends Well, v, 3. il Character offulins Cetsar. 
 
 4 Richard II., v, 1. 12 Felic. Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 5 History of Henry VII. ■ 3 Macbeth, i, 7. 
 
 6 Comedy of Errors, ii, 2. 14 Two Gentlemen of Verona, iii, 1. 
 
 7 Romeo andfuliet, i, 1. 15 1st Henry IV., v, 1. 
 
 8 History of Henry VII, 
 
4 6o PA RA L LEU SMS. 
 
 Falstaff complains on the battle-field that his bowels are "as 
 hot as molten lead." Bacon, speaking of the horror of Essex when 
 he found that the city would not sustain his attempted insurrec- 
 tion, graphically says: 
 
 So, as being extremely appalled, as divers that happened to see him then 
 might visibly perceive in his face and countenance, and almost molten with sweat, 
 though without any cause of bodily labor, but only by the perplexity and horror of 
 his mind. 1 
 
 What a dramatical command of language does this sentence 
 
 exhibit! 
 
 While my book is being printed, Mr. J. G. Bronson, of Chicago, 
 calls my attention to the following parallelism. 
 
 In a letter of "Sir Francis Walsingham, Secretary, to Monsieur 
 
 Critoy, Secretary of France," said by Mr. Spedding to have been 
 
 written by Bacon, we find: 
 
 But contrariwise her Majesty, not liking to make windows into men s hearts and 
 secret thoughts, except the abundance of them did overflow into overt and express 
 acts or affirmations, etc. 
 
 While in the Shakespeare sonnets we have this precisely parallel 
 
 thought: 
 
 For through the painter must you see his skill, 
 To find where your true image pictur'd lies, 
 Which in my bosom's shop is hanging still, 
 
 That hath his windows glazed with thine eyes. 
 Now, see what good turns eyes for eyes have done: 
 
 Mine eyes have drawn thy shape, and thine for me 
 Are windows to my breast, wherethrough the sun 
 Delights to peep, to gaze therein on thee: 
 
 Yet eyes this cunning want to grace their art; 
 They draw but what they see, know not the heart.'- 
 
 Here we have not only the same thought, but the same conclu- 
 sion: that the heart can only be read by its acts. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And there used to shuffle up a summary proceeding, by examination. 3 
 
 Whatsoever singularity, chance and the shuffle of things has produced. 4 
 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 I am fain to shuffle, to hedge and to lurch. 5 
 
 'Tis not so above: 
 There is no shuffling.''' 
 
 1 A Declaration of the Treasons. ' Gesta Grayorum — Life and Works, vol. i, p. 335. 
 
 2 Sonnet xxiv. * Merry Wives 0/ Windsor, ii, 2. 
 :i History of Henry VII. ,! Hamlet, iii, 3. 
 
THE IDENTICAL USE OF UNUSUAL WORDS. 461 
 
 Your life, good master, 
 Must shuffle for itself. 1 
 
 When we have shuffled off this mortal coil. 2 
 
 Shuffle her away. 3 
 
 And here, as illustrating the scholarly acquirements of the 
 writer of the Plays, and his tendency to enrich the English language 
 by the creation of new words> I would refer to two instances, 
 which, — although I have observed no parallels for them in Bacon's 
 writings, — are curious enough to be noted here: 
 
 Dost thou infamonize me among potentates. 4 
 As he had been incorpscd and demi-natured* 
 
 And here we have a very unusual word used by both — used 
 
 only once, I think, by either of them. 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 To win fame and to eternize your name. 6 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 Eternized in all ages. 7 
 
 Bacon: 
 
 The vain and indign comprehensions of heresy. 8 
 
 Shakespeare: 
 
 All indign and base adversities. 9 
 
 I could give many more instances of this use in the two bodies 
 of writings of the same quaint and unusual words, did I not fear to 
 offend the patience of the reader and extend this book beyond all 
 reasonable proportions. 
 
 I regret that I am not where I could have access to authorities 
 which would show how many of these strange words appeared for 
 the first time, in the history of our language, in the Bacon and 
 Shakespeare writings. But this will constitute a work for scholars 
 hereafter. 
 
 1 Cymbeline, v, 5. 8 Gesta Grayorunt — Life and Works, vol. i, 
 
 2 Hamlet, iii, 1. p. 336. 
 
 3 Merry Wives of Windsor, ii, 2. T 2d Henry VI., v, 3. 
 
 4 Love's Labor Lost, v, 2. 8 Letter to the King, 1612. 
 6 Hamlet, iv, 7. * Othello, i, 3. 
 
wo. Of 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IDENTITIES OE CHARACTER. 
 
 I saw Othello's visage in his mind. 
 
 Othello, /, .?. 
 
 CHARACTER, after all, constitutes the man. I do not mean 
 thereby reputation, — for that concerns the opinions of others, 
 and they may or may not be deserved; but those infinite shades of 
 disposition which separate one man from all other men. And as 
 there were never in the world two men who possessed heads of 
 precisely the same shape, so there cannot be two men having pre- 
 cisely the same character. The Creator has a thousand elements 
 which go to make man, and he never puts all of them in any one 
 man; nor does he ever mix a part of them, in his alembic, in the 
 same proportions, for any two men. " In the catalogue we all go 
 for men." Anything, with the human osseous system and flesh on 
 it, is, perforce, a man; but the difference between one man and 
 another may be as wide as that between the primordial cell and 
 the regenerated soul. 
 
 The writer of the Plays had thought this thought, as he seems 
 to have thought all other thoughts, and he exclaims: 
 Oh, the difference of man and man ! ' 
 
 When we seek, however, to institute a comparison between 
 Francis Bacon and the writer of the Plays, we are met by this 
 difficulty: We know, accurately enough, what was the character 
 of Francis Bacon — his life reveals it; — but if we turn to the author 
 of certain dramatic compositions, we are at a loss to know when 
 the man himself speaks and when the character he has created 
 speaks. We are more apt to see the inner nature of the writer in 
 the general frame, moral and purpose of the piece, and in those 
 utterances which burst from him unawares, and which have no 
 necessary connection with the plot or the characters of the play, 
 than in the acts performed in the course of the drama, or in the 
 
 1 Lear, iv, 2. 
 
 462 
 
IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 463 
 
 sentiments put into the mouths of the men who perform them, and 
 which are parts of the acts and parcel of the plots. 
 
 But, notwithstanding these difficulties, we can perceive clearly 
 enough that the writer of the Plays possessed essentially the same 
 traits of character which we know to have belonged to Francis 
 Bacon. 
 
 The reader has seen already that both personages, if we may 
 call them such, possessed the philosophical and poetical cast of 
 mind; that they were persons of unequaled genius, command of 
 language, elevation of mind and loftiness of moral purpose. Let 
 us go a step farther. 
 
 I. Industry. 
 
 I have shown on page 92, ante, that the writer of the Plays was 
 a man of vast industry, and that he elaborated his work with the 
 utmost skill and pains. Knight says: 
 
 The whole of this scene, 1 in the Folio, exhibits the greatest care in remodeling 
 the text of the quarto. 
 
 But let us turn to another play. 
 
 A comparison of that part of the text of The Merry Wives of 
 Windsor which embraces the scene at Hemes' oak, in the edition of 
 1602, with the text of the Folio of 1623, will show how elaborately 
 the writer revised and improved his text. I place the new parts of 
 the Folio in italics, and where it repeats the words of the edition 
 of 1602 they are given in quotation marks. In this way the changes 
 are made more conspicuous. 
 
 In the edition of 1602 we have: 
 
 Quickly. You fairies that do haunt these shady groves, 
 Look round about the woods if you espy 
 A mortal that doth haunt our sacred round: 
 If such a one you can espy, give him his due, 
 And leave not till you pinch him black and blue. 
 Give them their charge, Puck, ere they part away. 
 
 In the Folio of 1623 we have this thus amplified: 
 
 Quickly. " Fairies," black, gray, green and white ; 
 You moonshine revelers and shades of night, 
 You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, 
 Attend your office and your quality. 
 Crier Hobgoblin, make the fairy oyes. 
 
 1 Henry V., ii, 1. 
 
464 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Here there is only one word — fairies — repeated from the par- 
 allel passage in the edition of 1602. 
 The 1602 version continues: 
 
 Sir Hugh. Come hither, Pead, go to the country houses, 
 And when you find a slut that lies asleep, 
 And all her dishes foul and room unswept, 
 " With your long nails pinch her till she cry 
 And swear to mend her sluttish housewifery. 
 
 In the Folio this speech is put in the mouth of Pistol, but 
 
 greatly changed in language: 
 
 Pistol. Elves, list your names; silence, you airy toys. 
 
 Cricket, to Windsor chimneys shalt thou leap: 
 
 Where fires thou find' st utiraked, and hearths "unswept," 
 
 There " pinch " the maids as blue as bilberry: 
 
 Our radiant queen hates "sluts " and sluttery. 
 
 Here there are but three words that occur in the edition of 1602. 
 
 In the 1602 copy there is added after this speech: 
 
 Fairy. I warrant you I will perform your will. 
 
 This line is lacking in the Folio, and instead of it Falstaff says:. 
 
 They are fairies; he that speaks to them shall die: 
 I'll wink and couch: no man their works must eye. 
 
 The 1602 edition gives the next speech as follows: 
 
 Sir Hugh. Where is Pead ? Go you and see where brokers sleep, 
 
 And fox-eyed Serjeants, with their mace, 
 
 Go lay the proctors in the street, 
 
 And pinch the lousy Serjeant's face: 
 
 Spare none of these when they are a-bed, 
 
 But such whose nose looks plue and red. 
 
 In the Folio we have this speech rendered as follows: 
 
 Evans. " Where's Bead ? Go you, and " where you find a maid, 
 
 That, ere she sleep, has thrice her prayer's said, 
 
 Rein up the organs of her fantasy, 
 
 Sleep she as sound as careless infancy; 
 
 But those as " sleep " and think not on their sins, 
 
 " Pinch" them, arms, leks, backs, shoulders, sides and shins. 
 
 But I have given enough to prove that the play, as it appears in 
 
 the Folio of 1623, was practically re-written, and I might add that 
 
 in every case the changes were for the better. For instance, in the 
 
 1602 edition we have: 
 
 Go straight, and do as I command, 
 And take a taper in your hand, 
 And set it to his finger ends, 
 And if you see it him offends, 
 
IDENTITIES OE CHARACTER. 465 
 
 And that he starteth at the flame, 
 Then he is mortal, know his name; 
 If with an F it doth begin, 
 Why, then, be sure, he's full of sin. 
 
 This doggerel is transformed in the Folio into the following: 
 
 With trial-fire touch me his finger end: 
 If he be chaste, the flame will back descend 
 And turn him to no pain; but if he start, 
 It is the flesh of a corrupted heart. 
 
 Speaking of King Henry V. } Romeo and Juliet, The Merry Wives 
 
 of Windsor and Hamlet, Swinburne says: 
 
 Of these four plays the two tragedies at least were thoroughly re-cast and re- 
 written from end to end. the pirated editions giving us a transcript, more or less per- 
 fect or imperfect, accurate or corrupt, of the text as it first came from the poet's 
 hand, a text to be afterwards indefinitely modified and incalculably improved. . . . But 
 Xing Henry V., we may fairly say, is hardly less than transformed. Not that ithas 
 been re-cast after the fashion of Hamlet, or even re-written after the fashion of 
 Romeo and Juliet; but the corruptions and imperfections of the pirated text are 
 here more flagrant than in any other instance, while the general revision of style, 
 by which it is at once purified and fortified, extends to every nook and corner of 
 the restored and renovated building. Even had we, however, a perfect and trust- 
 worthy transcript of Shakespeare's original sketch for this play, there can be little 
 doubt that the rough draft would still prove almost as different from the final 
 masterpiece as is the soiled and ragged canvas now before us, on which we trace 
 the outline of figures so strangely disfigured, made subject to such rude extremities 
 of defacement and defeature. 1 
 
 Is it reasonable to suppose that the author who took such pains to 
 perfect his work would have made no provision for its preservation, 
 but would die and leave one-half of the great Plays in manuscript ? 
 
 He knew that the work of his youth was not equal to the work 
 
 of his manhood, and he labored conscientiously to improve his 
 
 crude designs. Dowden says: 
 
 It is the opinion of Dyce, of Grant White and of others that Shakespeare began 
 to work upon Romeo and Juliet not later than about 1591, that is, almost at the 
 moment when he began to write for the stage, and, that having occupied him for 
 a series of years, the tragedy assumed its present form about 1595-7. If this be the 
 case, and if, as there is reason to believe, Shakespeare was also during many years 
 interested in the subject of Hamlet, we discover that he accepted the knowledge 
 that his powers were undeveloped and acted upon it, and waited until he believed 
 himself competent to do justice to his conceptions. 2 
 
 De Quincey says of the Plays: 
 
 The further on we press in our discoveries, the more we shall see proofs of 
 design and self-supporting arrangement, where the careless eye has seen nothing 
 but accident. 
 
 1 A Study of Shak., p. 104. 2 Dowden, Shak. Mind and Art, p. 51. 
 
4 66 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Swinburne illustrates this question of the industry of Shake- 
 speare by the following excellent remarks: 
 
 That priceless waif of piratical salvage, which we owe to the happy rapacity of 
 a hungry publisher, is, of course, more accurately definable as the first play of 
 Hamlet than as the first edition of the play. . . . The deeper complexities of the 
 subject are merely indicated; simple and trenchant outlines of character are yet to 
 be supplanted by features of subtler suggestion and infinite interfusion. Hamlet 
 himself is almost more of a satirist than a philosopher. . . . The Queen, whose 
 finished figure is now something of a riddle, stands out simply enough in the first 
 sketch as confidant of Horatio, if not as accomplice of Hamlet. . . . This minor 
 transformation of style in the inner play, made solely with the evident view of 
 marking the distinction between its duly artificial forms of speech and the natural 
 forms of speech passing between the spectators, is but one among innumerable 
 indications, which only a purblind perversity of prepossession can overlook, of the 
 especial store set by Shakespeare himself on this favorite work; and the excep- 
 tional pains taken by him to preserve it for aftertime in such fullness of finished 
 form as might make it worthiest of profound and perpetual study by the light of far 
 other lamps than illuminate the stage. 
 
 Of all vulgar errors, the most wanton, the most willful, and the most resolutely 
 tenacious of life, is that belief bequeathed from the days of Pope, in which it was 
 pardonable, to the days of Mr. Carlyle, in which it is not excusable, to the effect 
 that Shakespeare threw off Hamlet as an eagle may moult a feather or a fool may 
 break a jest; that he dropped his work as a bird may drop an egg, or a sophist a 
 fallacy; that he wrote "for gain, not glory," or that, having written Hamlet, he 
 thought it nothing very wonderful to have written. For himself to have written, 
 he possibly, nay, probably, did not think it anything miraculous; but that he was 
 in the fullest degree conscious of its wonderful positive worth to all men for all 
 time, we have the best evidence possible — his own; and that not by mere word of 
 mouth, but by actual stroke of hand. . . . Scene by scene, line for line, stroke 
 upon stroke and touch after touch, he went over all the old labored ground again; 
 and not only to insure success in his own day, and fill his pockets with contem- 
 porary pence, but merely and wholly with a purpose to make it worthy of himself 
 and his future students. . . . 
 
 Every change in the text of Hamlet has impaired its fitness for the stage, and 
 increased its value for the closet, in exact and perfect proportion. . . . Even in 
 Shakespeare's time the actors threw out his additions; they throw out these very 
 same additions in our time. The one especial speech, if any one such 
 especial speech there be, in which the personal genius of Shakespeare soars 
 up to the very highest of its height, and strikes down to the very deepest of 
 its depth, is passed over by modern actors; it was cut away by Heminge and 
 Condell. 1 
 
 It seems to me that in the face of these facts there can be no 
 question that the writer of the Plays was a man of intense and 
 enormous industry. 
 
 We turn to Francis Bacon, and we find, as I have suggested 
 heretofore, that he was, perhaps, the most laborious man that ever 
 lived on the planet. Church says of him: 
 
 1 Swinburne-, . / Study of Shak., p. 164. 
 
IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 467 
 
 In all these things he was as industrious, as laborious, as calmly per- 
 severing and tenacious as he was in his pursuit of his philosophical specula- 
 tions. 1 
 
 He re-wrote the Essays, we are told, thirty times. His chaplain 
 tells us that he had " twelve times transcribed the Novum Organum 
 with his own hand." 
 
 Bacon himself says: 
 
 My great work goeth forward, and, after my manner, I alter even when I add, 
 so that nothing is finished until all is finished. 2 
 
 Bacon's P ramus of Formularies and Elegancies takes us into the 
 workshop of the great artist. There we see him with his blouse on, 
 among his pots and brushes. We see him studying the quality of 
 his canvas and grinding his own paints. These daubs upon the 
 wall are part of his experiments in the contrasts of colors; these 
 rude lines, traced here and there, with charcoal or chalk, are his 
 tirst crude conceptions of figures and faces and attitudes which are 
 to reappear hereafter, perfected in his immortal works. 
 
 Here we can trace the genesis of thought, the pedigree of ideas, 
 the ancestry of expressions. We look around us and realize that 
 genius is neither more nor less than great powers conjoined with 
 extraordinary industry. 
 
 It is better, for humanity's future, that the statue at Stratford- 
 upon-Avon should be taken down from its pedestal. It represents a 
 fraud and a delusion: — a fraud in authorship, and a delusion in 
 philosophy, still more destructive, to-wit: that ignorance, idleness 
 and dissipation can achieve results which mankind will worship 
 through all ages; that anything worth having can come out of 
 nothing. 
 
 For, in truth, the universe is industry. We are appalled when 
 we think of the intense, persistent, laborious, incalculable, awful 
 force, constantly exerted, to keep the vast whole in motion — 
 from the suns to the bacilli. God might be fitly described as the 
 Great Worker: — a worker without a task-master — who never 
 pauses, never wearies, and never sleeps. 
 
 No man should shrink from labor. Energy is God's glorious 
 stamp set on his creatures. He who has it not is a drone in the 
 hive, and unworthy the notice of his Great Master. And it has 
 
 3 Bacon, p. 57. 2 Letter to Tobie Matthew, 1610. 
 
4 68 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 been a shameful and poisonous thing, to the human mind, that all 
 these hundreds of years the world has been taught that the most 
 marvelous of human works were produced by accident, without 
 effort, by a slouching, shiftless, lazy, indifferent creature, who had 
 not even force enough to provide for their perpetuation. 
 
 Let it be known hereafter, and for all time to come, that the 
 greatest of men was the most industrious of men. 
 
 The notes in the Promus show that Bacon was studying the 
 elegancies, the niceties of language, especially of colloquial expres- 
 sion, noting down not only thoughts, but peculiar and strong 
 phrases and odd and forcible words. And surely there was no 
 necessity for all this in his philosophical works. He makes a study 
 not only of courteous salutations, but of the continuances of speech. 
 Take, for instance: 
 
 It is like, sir, etc., (putting a man agayne into his tale interrupted). 1 
 
 Or: 
 
 The rather bycause (contynuing another's speech).' 2 
 
 Or: 
 
 To the end, saving that, whereas, yet, (contynuances of all kynds). 3 
 
 Would one who contemplated works of philosophy alone, which 
 were to be translated into the Latin language, for the use of pos- 
 terity, devote such study to the refinements of dialogue ? And 
 where do we find any of these elegancies of speech in Bacon's 
 acknowledged writings ? 
 
 II. COMMONPLACE-BOOKS. 
 
 Both writers possessed that characteristic habit of studious and 
 industrious men, the noting down of thoughts and quotations in 
 commonplace-books. The Promus is one of these. Bacon repeat- 
 edly recommends the use of such helps to composition. He says: 
 
 I hold the entry of commonplaces to be a matter of great use and essence in 
 studying, as that which assureth " copia " of invention and contracteth judgment 
 to a strength. 4 
 
 And again — discussing how to "procure the ready use of 
 knowledge" — he says: 
 
 1 Promus, § 1385, p. 449. 8 Ibid., § 1379, p. 447. 
 
 2 Ibid., § 1378, p. 447. * Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 469 
 
 The other part of invention, which I term suggestion, doth assign and direct 
 us to certain marks or places, which may excite our mind to return and pro- 
 duce such knowledge as it hath formerly collected, to the end we may make 
 use thereof. 1 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 It is of great service in studies to bestow diligence in setting down common- 
 places. 2 
 
 On the other hand, we turn to the writer of the Plays, and we 
 find him, as I have shown on page 78, ante, recommending the use 
 of commonplace-books in very much the same language. He says, 
 in the 76th sonnet: 
 
 Look, what thy memory cannot contain 
 Commit to these waste blanks, and thou shalt find 
 These children nursed, delivered of thy brain, 
 To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. 
 
 This is in the very spirit of Bacon's 
 
 Certain marks or places, which may excite our mind to return and produce 
 such knowledge as it hath formerly collected. 
 
 And we think we can see the personal habits of the writer of 
 the Plays reflected in the words of his alter ego, Hamlet: 
 
 My tables: — meet it is I set it down, 
 
 That one may smile and smile and be a villain. 3 
 
 And again, in The Merry Wives : 
 
 I will make a brief of it in my note-book. 4 
 
 III. A Thorough Student. 
 
 Not only was the writer of the Plays, like Francis Bacon, vastly 
 industrious, but it was the industry of a scholar: he was a student. 
 He combined a life of retirement and contemplation with knowl- 
 edge of affairs, as Bacon did. He realized Goethe's axiom : 
 
 Es bildet ein 'Talent sic// in der Slille, 
 Sick ein Ckarakter in dent Strom der Welt. 
 
 The early plays all bespeak the student; they breathe the atmos- 
 phere of the university. 
 Proteus complains: 
 
 Thou, Julia, hast metamorphosed me; 
 Made me neglect my studies, lose my time. 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. * Hamlet, i, 5. 
 
 2 Ibid. ' Merry Wi^es of Windsor, i, 1. 
 
470 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Love's Labor Lost is full of allusions to studies: 
 
 Biron. What is the end of study ? 
 
 King. Why, that to know which else we should not know. 
 
 Biron. Things hid and barred, you mean, from common sense? 
 
 King. Ay, that is study's god-like recompense. 1 
 
 And, like Bacon, the writer of the Plays believed that books 
 were a means, not an end; and that original thought was a thou- 
 sand times to be preferred to the repetition of the ideas of other 
 men. He says: 
 
 Study is like the heavens' glorious sun, 
 
 That will not be deep-searched with saucy looks; 
 
 Small have continual plodders ever won, 
 Save base authority, from others' books. 2 
 
 We seem to hear in this the voice of Bacon. In his essay Of 
 Studies he says: 
 
 To spend too much time in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for orna- 
 ment, is affectation; to make judgment zvholly by their rules, is the humor of a 
 scholar. 
 
 And how Baconian are these utterances: 
 
 Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
 
 lam in all affected as yourself; 
 
 Glad that you thus continue your resolve, 
 
 To suck the S7veels of sweet philosophy. 
 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 
 This virtue, and this moral discipline, 
 
 Let's be no stoicks, nor no stocks, I pray. 
 
 Or so devote to Aristotle' s checks, 
 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjured: 
 
 Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
 
 And practice rhetoric with your common talk: 
 
 Music and poetry use to quicken you; 
 
 The mathematics, and the metaphysics, 
 
 Fall to them, as you find your stomach serves you: 
 
 No profit grows where is no pleasure ta'en; 
 
 In short, sir, study what you most affect. 3 
 
 Here we find allusions to Bacon's love of philosophy, his dis- 
 like for Aristotle, his contempt for logic, and his studies of music 
 and poetry. And we note, also, the didactic and educational tone 
 of the essay, natural to the man who was always laboring to 
 instruct and improve his fellow-men. 
 
 1 Love's Labor Lost. i. i . 2 Ibid. s Tamingof the Shrew, i, i. 
 
IDENTITIES QE CHARACTER. 
 
 47 
 
 IV. His Wisdom. 
 
 We know it is conceded that Bacon was the wisest man of his 
 
 time, or of all time. And wisdom is not knowledge merely of 
 
 things. It means an accurate acquaintance with the springs of 
 
 human nature, and a capacity to adapt actions to events. And the 
 
 same trait has been many times noted in the writer of the Plays. 
 
 Henry Hallam says: 
 
 The philosophy of Shakespeare — his intimate searching out of the human 
 heart, whether in the gnomic form of sentence or in the dramatic exhibition of 
 character — is a gift peculiarly his own. 
 
 Henry Giles says of Shakespeare's genius: 
 
 It has the power of practical intellect. Under a careless guise it implies 
 serious judgment, and in the vesture of motley it pronounces many a recondite 
 decision. . . . Out from its mockeries and waggeries there could be collected a 
 philosophy of common sense by which the gravest might be instructed. 
 
 I have already quoted (page 150, ante) the expression of Emer- 
 son, applied to Shakespeare: 
 
 He was inconceivably wise; the others conceivably. 
 And of Landor: 
 
 The wisest of men, as well as the greatest of poets. 
 
 V. The Universality of his Mind. 
 
 We know that Bacon's mind ranged through all created nature, 
 and his learning levied tribute on everything underneath the sun. 
 He had "taken all knowledge for his province." 
 
 Osborne, a contemporary, called Bacon 
 
 The most universal genius I have ever seen or was like to sec 
 
 While, on the other hand, De Quincey says : 
 
 Shakespeare thought more finely and more extensively than all the other poets 
 combined. 
 
 Professor Dowden says of Shakespeare : 
 
 This vast and varied mass of information he assimilated and made his own. 
 ... He was a center for the drifting capital of knowledge. His whole power of 
 thought increased steadily as the years went by, both in sure grasp of the known 
 and in brooding intensity of gaze upon the unknown. 1 
 
 And the same writer continues: 
 
 Now, what does extraordinary growth imply ? It implies capacity for obtain- 
 ing the materials of growth; in this case materials for the growth of intellect, of 
 imagination, of the will, of the emotions. It means, therefore, capacity for seeing 
 
 1 Shak. Mind and Art, p. 39. 
 
472 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 many facts, of meditating, of feeling deeply, and of controlling such feeling. . . . 
 It implies a power in the organism to fit its movements to meet numerous external 
 coexistences and sequences. In a word, it brings us back once again to Shake- 
 speare's resolute fidelity to the fact} 
 
 And surely "resolute fidelity to the fact" was the distinguishing 
 trait of Bacon's philosophy. 
 
 VI. Powers of Observation. 
 Macaulay says of Bacon : 
 
 y 
 
 In keenness of observation he has been equaled, though perhaps never sur- 
 passed. But the largeness of his mind was all his own.' 2 
 
 And the great Scotsman makes this fine comparison touching 
 Bacon's mind: 
 
 With great minuteness of observation he had an amplitude of comprehension, 
 such as has never yet been vouchsafed to any other person. The small, fine mind 
 of Labruyere had not a more delicate tact than the large intellect of Bacon. . . . 
 His understanding resembled the tent which the fairy Parabanon gave to Prince 
 Ahmed. Fold it, and it seemed a toy for the hand of a lady; spread it, and the 
 armies of powerful sultans might repose beneath its shade. 3 
 
 While, on the other hand, Sir William Hamilton calls Shake- 
 speare 
 
 The greatest known observer of human nature. 
 
 And Richard Grant White calls him 
 
 The most observant of men. 
 
 VII. His Secretiveness. 
 
 We have seen Bacon admitting that he was "a concealed poet." 
 
 Spedding concedes that a letter written in the name of the Earl 
 of Essex to Sir Foulke Greville, about the year 1596, was written 
 by Bacon.' 
 
 There has been attributed to Bacon a work called An Historical 
 Account of the Alienation Office, published in 1590, in the name of 
 William Lambarde. 
 
 Spedding finds 5 that the letters which purported to have been 
 written by the Earl of Essex to the Earl of Rutland, who was about 
 to travel on the continent, containing advice as to his course of 
 studies, were unquestionably the work of Bacon. 
 
 1 Shak. Mind and Art, p. 41. * See vol. 2, Life and Works, p. 21. 
 
 2 Macaulay's Essays Bacon, \ ■> Letters and Life of Bacon, vol. ii, p. 5. 
 
 3 Ibid. 
 
IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 473 
 
 Mr. Spedding says: 
 
 At another time he [Bacon] tries to disguise himself under a style of 
 assumed superiority, quite unlike his natural style; as in the Tetnporis Partus 
 Mas cuius, where again the very same argument is set forth in a spirit of scornful 
 invective, poured out upon all the popular reputations in the annals of philosophy. 1 
 
 We have seen him writing letters to Essex as from his brother 
 Anthony, in which Anthony is made to refer back to himself, and 
 then writing a reply from Essex, the whole to be shown to the 
 Queen. 
 
 We have seen Ben Jonson alluding to him in some birthday 
 
 verses: 
 
 As if a mystery thou didst. 
 
 And in all this we see the man who under a mask could put forth 
 the Plays to the world; and who, inside the Plays, could, in turn, 
 conceal a cipher. 
 
 VIII. Splendid Tastes. 
 Emerson says of Shakespeare: 
 
 What trait of his private mind has he hidden in his dramas ? One can discern 
 in his ample pictures of the gentleman and the king what forms and humanities 
 pleased him; his delight in troops of friends, in large hospitality, in cheerful 
 giving. Let Timon, let Warwick, let Antonio the merchant, answer for his great 
 heart. 
 
 When we read this the magnificence of Bacon occurs to our 
 remembrance — his splendid marriage, his princely residence at 
 St. Albans, his noble presents. 
 
 Hepworth Dixon thus describes his wedding: 
 
 Feathers and lace light up the rooms in the Strand. Cecil has been warmly 
 urged to come over from Salisbury House. Three of his gentlemen, Sir Walter 
 Cope, Sir Baptist Hicks and Sir Hugh Beeston, hard drinkers and men about 
 town, strut over in his stead, flaunting in their swords and plumes; yet the prodigal 
 bridegroom, sumptuous in his tastes as in his genius, clad in a suit of Genoese 
 velvet, purple from cap to shoe, outbraves them all. The bride, too, is richly 
 dight, her whole dowry seeming to be piled up on her in cloth of silver and orna- 
 ments of gold. 2 
 
 The author of Aulicus Coquinaria, speaking of Bacon after his 
 
 downfall, says: 
 
 And let me give this light to his better character, from an observation of the 
 late King, then Prince. Returning from hunting, he espied a coach attended with 
 a goodly troop of horsemen, who, it seems, were gathered together to wait upon 
 the Chancellor to his house at Gorhambury, at the time of his declension. At 
 
 1 Preface- t!> part i:i. vol. iii. Works, p. 171. ' 2 Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon, p. 181. 
 
474 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 which the Prince smiled: "Well, do we what we can,'' said he, "this man scorns 
 to go out like a snuff." 
 
 Nay, master King! And he will not go out like a snuff; — not 
 till the civilization of the world is snuffed out. And the time will 
 come when even thou, — O King, — wilt be remembered simply 
 because thou didst live in the same age with him. 
 
 IX. His Splendid Egotism. 
 
 There was about Bacon a magnificent self-assertion. 
 Dean Church says: 
 
 He [Bacon] never affected to conceal from himself his superiority to other 
 men, in his aims and in the grasp of his intelligence. 1 
 
 He recognized his own greatness, in an impersonal sort of way, 
 as he might have perceived the magnitude of a mountain. Hence 
 we find him beginning one of his great works in the following 
 lordly manner: 
 
 Francis of Verulam thought thus, and such is the method which he within 
 himself pursued, which he thought it concerned both the living and posterity to 
 become acquainted zvith? 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Francis Bacon thought in this manner* 
 We turn to Shakespeare, and we find him, in the sonnets, indulg- 
 ing in the same bold and extraordinary, although justifiable, ego- 
 tism. He says: 
 
 Not marble, 
 Nor the gilded monuments of princes, 
 Shall outlive this powerful rhyme. 
 And again: 
 
 Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 
 
 When in eternal lines to time thou goest: 
 
 So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 4 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 Oh, 'tis the first; 'tis flattery in my seeing, 
 And my great mind most kingly drinks it up. h 
 
 If these were the utterances of the man of Stratford, why did 
 he not assert himself, as Bacon did, in the affairs of his age ? Would 
 
 1 Bacon, p. 58. 3 Filunt Labyrinth i. 5 Sonnet cxiv. 
 
 2 Introduction to Great Instauration. 4 Sonnet xviii. 
 
IDENTITIES OF CHARACTER. 
 
 475 
 
 a man with this consciousness of supreme greatness crawl away to 
 Stratford, to brew beer and lend money? No; he would have 
 fought for recognition, as Bacon did, to the last gasp. 
 
 X. His Toleration. 
 
 I have already shown that Bacon and the writer of the Plays 
 
 were tolerant in the midst of the religious passions of the time. 
 
 William Henry Smith says: 
 
 In an age of bigotry and religious persecution we find Bacon and Shakespeare 
 expressing a toleration of all creeds and religions. 1 
 
 Hepworth Dixon says, alluding to the appropriations for w T ar 
 
 expenses: 
 
 James takes this money, not without joy and wonder; but when they ask him 
 to banish recusants from London, to put down masses in embassadors' houses, to 
 disarm all the Papists, to prevent priests and Jesuits from going abroad, he will 
 not do it. In this resistance to a new persecution, his tolerant Chancellor stands 
 at his back and bears the odium of his refusal. Bacon, who thinks the penal laws 
 too harsh already, will not consent to inflame the country, at such a time, by a 
 new proclamation; the penalties are strong, and in the hands of the magistrates; 
 he sees no need to spur their zeal by royal proclamations or the enactment of more 
 savage laws. Here is a chance for Coke. Raving for gibbets and pillories in a 
 style to quicken the pulse of Brownists, men w r ho are wild with news from Heidel- 
 berg or Prague believe in his sincerity and partake of his heat. To be mild now. 
 many good men think, is to be weak. In a state of war, philosophy and tolerance 
 go to the wall; when guns are pounding in the gates, even justice can be only done 
 at the drumhead. - 
 
 Bacon's downfall, as we shall see hereafter, was largely due to 
 
 this refusal to persecute the helpless at the bidding of the fanatical, 
 
 led on by the brutal and sordid Coke. 
 
 XI. His Benevolence. 
 
 And in the same spirit he at all times preached mercy and gen- 
 erosity, in both his acknowledged works and in the Plays. 
 
 Bacon, in his essay Of Discourse, enumerates, among the things 
 which ought to be privileged from jest, " religion, matters of state, 
 and any case that descrvetJi pity." 
 
 While Carlyle says of Shakespeare: 
 
 His laughter seems to pour forth in floods. . . . Not at mere weakness — at 
 misery or poverty never. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 The state and bread of the poor have always been dear to my heart. 
 
 J Bacon and Shak., p. 88. 2 Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 325. 
 
 
47 6 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 He labors 
 
 To lift men out of their necessities and miseries. 
 He seeks, " in a despised weed, the good of all men." 
 Bacon describes one of the fathers of " Solomon's House," in 
 The New Atlantis, and says: 
 
 He had an aspect as if he pitied men. 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare and we find the same great traits of 
 character. 
 
 Charles Knight speaks of 
 
 Shakespeare's unvarying kindness toward wretched and oppressed humanity, 
 in however low a shape. 
 
 Gerald Massey says: 
 
 He has infinite pity for the suffering and struggling and wounded by the way. 
 The most powerful and pathetic pleadings on behalf of Christian charity, out of the. 
 New Testament, have been spoken by Shakespeare. He takes to his large, warm 
 heart much that the world usually casts out to perish in the cold. There is nothing 
 too poor or mean to be embraced within the circle of his sympathies. 1 
 
 Barry Cornwall refers to " the extensive charity which Shake- 
 speare inculcates." 
 
 Birch says: 
 
 He has, more than any other author, exalted the love of humanity. However 
 he may indulge in invective against the artificial systems of religion, and be found 
 even speaking against Christianity, yet in his material and natural speculations he 
 endeavors to give philosophical consolation to mankind, to inculcate submission to 
 inevitable circumstances and encourage scientific investigation into the nature of 
 things} 
 
 The reader will probably pause to see whether I have not mis- 
 placed this quotation, so completely does it fit the character and 
 purposes of Francis Bacon. But no; it was written by an English 
 clergyman, in an essay upon the religion of Shakespeare; and the 
 author probably never heard of the theory that Bacon wrote the 
 Plays. 
 
 I append a few illustrative extracts from the Plays, in corrobo- 
 ration of these opinions: 
 
 'Tis a cruelty 
 To load a falling man." 
 
 Neither in our hearts nor outward eyes, 
 Envy the great nor do the low despise. 4 
 
 1 Sonnets of Sliak., p. 549. 3 Henry 1 '///., V, 2. 
 
 * Philosophy and Religion of Shah., p. 10. 4 Pericles, ii, 3. 
 
IDENTITIES OE CHARACTER. 477 
 
 There is a soul of goodness in things evil, 
 Would men observingly distill it out. 1 
 
 Oh, I have ta'en 
 Too little care of this ! Take physic, pomp; 
 Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel; 
 That thou mayst shake the superflux to them 
 And show the heavens more just.- 
 
 XII. His Command Over the Emotions. 
 
 Ben Jonson says of Bacon: 
 
 He commanded where he spoke, and had his judges angry or pleased at hi? 
 devotion. No man had their affections [passions] more in his power. 
 
 Pope says of Shakespeare: 
 
 The power over our passions was never possessed in a more eminent degree, 
 or displayed in so different instances. . . . We are surprised the moment we 
 weep, and yet, upon reflection, find the passion so just, that we should be sur- 
 prised if we had not wept, and wept at that very moment. 3 
 
 XIII. His Wit. 
 
 Basil Montagu says of Bacon: 
 
 His wit was brilliant, and when it flashed upon any subject it was never with 
 ill-nature, which, like the crackling of thorns, ending in sudden darkness, is only 
 fit for the fool's laughter. The sparkling of his wit was that of the precious dia- 
 mond, valuable for its worth and weight, denoting the riches of the mine. 4 
 
 And Macaulay, a severe critic, and in many things, so far as 
 
 Bacon was concerned, an unjust one, says of his wit: 
 
 The best jest-book in the world is that which he dictated from memory, with- 
 out referring to any book, on a day on which illness had rendered him incapable of 
 serious study. 5 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 But it occasionally happened that, when he was engaged in grave and pro- 
 found investigations, his wit obtained the mastery over all his other faculties, and 
 led him into absurdities into which no dull man could possibly have fallen. 6 
 
 And again Macaulay says: 
 
 In wit, if by wit be meant the power of perceiving analogies between things 
 which appear to have nothing in common, he never had an equal — not even Cowley, 
 not even the author of Hudibras, Indeed he possessed this faculty, or this faculty 
 possessed him, to a morbid degree. When he abandoned himself to it, without re- 
 serve, as he did in the Sapientia Veterum, and at the end of the second book of the 
 De Augmentis, the feats which he performed were not merely admirable, but portent- 
 ous and almost shocking. On those occasions we marvel at him as clowns on a fair 
 day marvel at a juggler, and can hardly help thinking that the devil must be in him.' 
 
 1 Henry V., iv, i. 5 Macaulay's Essays — Bacon, p. 270. 
 
 2 Lear, iii, 4. 6 Ibid., p. 285. 
 
 3 William H. Smith, Bacon and Shak., p. 6. 7 Ibid., p. 285. 
 
 4 Works 0/ Lord Bacon, vol. i, p. 116. 
 
478 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And Ben Jonson says of Bacon: 
 
 His language, where he could spare or pass by a jest, was nobly censorious. 
 
 I need not cite many authorities to prove that the writer of the 
 Shakespeare Plays was not only a great wit, but that his wit some- 
 times overmastered his judgment. 
 
 Hudson says of Falstaff: 
 
 I must add that, with Shallow and Silence for his theme, Falstaff's wit fairly 
 grows gigantic, and this, too, without any abatement of its frolicsome agility. 
 The strain of humorous exaggeration with which he pursues the theme is indeed 
 almost sublime. Yet in some of his reflections thereon, we have a clear though 
 brief view of the profound philosopher underlying the profligate humorist and make- 
 sport, for he there discovers a breadth and sharpness of observation and a depth of 
 practical sagacity such as might have placed him [Shakespeare] in the front rank of 
 statesmen and sages. ! 
 
 XIV. Great Aims. 
 
 We know the grand objects Bacon kept continually before his 
 mind's eye. 
 
 The writer of the Plays declares, in sonnet exxv, that he had 
 
 Laid great bases for eternity. 
 
 What were they ? What " great bases for eternity " had the 
 Stratford man built or attempted to build ? 
 
 Francis Bacon wrote The New Atlantis, an attempt to show to 
 what perfections of civilization developed mankind might attain 
 in a new land, an island; and we find Shakespeare also planning 
 an improved commonwealth upon another island — the island that 
 was the scene of The Tempest. And we find him borrowing therein 
 from Montaigne. 
 
 Gonzalo says in the play: 
 
 Had I plantation of this isle, my lord, . . . 
 I' 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: 
 
 All things in common nature should produce 
 Without sweat or endeavor; treason, felony, 
 
 1 Shak. Life and Art, vol. ii, p. 94. 
 
IDENTITIES OE CHARACTER. 479 
 
 Sword, pike, knife, gun or need of any engine, 
 Would I not have, but nature should bring forth, 
 Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, 
 To feed my innocent people.' 
 
 Here, as in The New Atlantis, we see the philosopher-poet devis- 
 ing schemes to lift men out of their miseries — to "feed the inno- 
 cent people." 
 
 XV. His Goodness. 
 
 Coleridge says: 
 
 Observe the fine humanity of Shakespeare, in that his sneerers are all villains. 
 
 Gerald Massey says of Shakespeare: 
 
 There is nothing rotten at the root, nothing insidious in the suggestion. Vice 
 never walks abroad in the mental twilight wearing the garb of virtue. - 
 
 Coleridge says: 
 
 There is not one really vicious passage in all Shakespeare. 
 
 We know that Bacon, in his acknowledged works, said nothing 
 
 that could impair the power of goodness in the world. 
 
 XVI. Another Curious Fact. 
 
 While the last pages of this work are going through the press, 
 my friend Professor Thomas Davidson sends me a letter addressed 
 to him by a correspondent (M. Le B. G.), in which occur these words: 
 
 Please look at the 6th chapter of Peter Bayne's new Life of Luther, if you 
 have not already read it. It is called The Century of Luther and Shakespeare. It 
 is a glorification of Shakespeare, but, curiously enough, quotes from Brewer, 
 about the correspondence in altitude between Bacon and Luther; and then goes on 
 to show that Shakespeare was perfectly familiar not only with the Bible but with 
 Luther's thought, and with special incidents of his history. 
 
 Bayne says that all the main points in the theology of the Reformation could 
 be pieced together from the dramas of Shakespeare. One would not naturally 
 look in a Life of Luther for any testimony on the " Baconian Theory," so please 
 (if it seems worth while to you) to call Mr. Donnelly's attention to this rather cur- 
 ious chapter. 
 
 I quote this with pleasure, although a little out of place in this 
 chapter, as another case where the indentations of the Baconian 
 theory fit into all other related facts and, as an additional evidence 
 that the Plays were not pumped out of ignorance by the handle of 
 genius, under the pressure of a play-actor's necessities, but were 
 the works of a broadly-learned man, who was fully abreast of all 
 
 1 Tempest, it, 2. * Sonnets 0/ Shakespeare, p. 
 
4<So 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 the affairs of his day, and who had read everything that was acces- 
 sible in that age, in every field of thought. 
 
 In short, each new addition to our information requires us to 
 widen the shelves of the library of the man who wrote the Plays. 
 
 XVII. Conclusions. 
 
 When, therefore, we institute a comparison between the per- 
 sonal character and mental disposition of Francis Bacon and that 
 of the man who wrote the Plays, we find that: 
 i. Both were poetical. 
 
 2. Both were philosophical. 
 
 3. Both were vastly industrious. 
 
 4. Both were students. 
 
 5. Both were profoundly wise. 
 
 6. Both possessed a universal grasp of knowledge. 
 
 7. Both had splendid tastes. 
 
 8. Both were tolerant of religious differences of opinion. 
 
 9. Both were benevolent. 
 
 10. Both were wits. 
 
 11. Both were possessed of great aims for the good of man. 
 
 12. Both were morally admirable. 
 
 I cannot better conclude this chapter than with a comparison 
 extracted from the work of Mr. William Henry Smith, the patri- 
 arch of the Baconian discussion in England. Mr. Smith quotes 
 Archbishop Whately as follows: 
 
 There is an ingenious and philosophical toy called " a thaumatrope," in which 
 two objects painted on opposite sides of a card — for instance, a man and a horse, 
 a bird and a cage, etc. — are, by a quick rotary motion, made so to impress the eye 
 in combination as to form one picture — of the man on the horse's back, the bird 
 in the cage, etc. As soon as the card is allowed to remain at rest, the figures, of 
 course, appear as they really are, separate and on opposite sides. 1 
 
 Mr. Smith continues: 
 
 Bacon and Shakespeare we know to be distinct individuals, occupying posi- 
 tions as opposite as the man and the horse, the bird and the cage; yet, when we 
 come to agitate the question, the poet appears so combined with the philosopher, 
 and the philosopher with the poet, we cannot but believe them to be identical. 
 
 1 Bacon and Shak., p. 89. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 / D A'- VT1 TIE S OF STYL E . 
 
 I replied. "Nay, Madam, rack him not; . . . rack his Btylc" — Bacon. 
 
 WE come now to an interesting branch of our subject, to-wit: 
 Is there any resemblance between the style of Francis 
 Bacon and that of the writer of the Plays ? 
 
 I. The Genius of Shakespeark. 
 
 And first let us ask ourselves, what are the distinguishing feat- 
 ures of the writings which go by the name of Shakespeare ? In 
 other words, what is his style? 
 
 It might be described as the excess of every great faculty of 
 the soul. Reason, the widest and most profound; imagination, the 
 most florid and tropical; vivacity, the most sprightly and untiring; 
 passion, the most burning and vehement; feeling, the most earnest 
 and intense. 
 
 In other words, it is a human intellect, multiplied many hun- 
 dred-fold beyond the natural standard. Behind the style and the 
 works we see the man: — a marvelous, many-sided, gigantic soul; a 
 monster among thinkers; — standing with one foot upon the bare 
 rocks of reason, and the other buried ankle-deep in the flowers of 
 the imagination; spanning time and accomplishing immortality. 
 
 Behind the tremendous works is a tremendous personality. 
 
 Xot from a weak or shallow thought 
 His mighty Jove young Phidias wrought. 
 
 His was a ponderous, comprehensive, extraordinary intelligence,, 
 inflamed as never man's was, before or since, by genius; and filled 
 with instincts and purposes which we cannot but regard as divine. 
 Every part of his mind was at white heat — \t flamed. He has left 
 all mankind to repeat his expressions, because never before did 
 any one so captivate and capture words, or crush them into sub- 
 jection, as he did. The operations of his mind — its greed, its 
 
 spring, its grasp, its domination — were, so to speak, ferocious. It 
 
 481 
 
482 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 is no wonder that his body showed the marks of premature age; it 
 is a surprise that this immense, vehement and bounding spirit did 
 not tear the flesh into disorganization long before his allotted time. 
 
 And yet, high aloft in the charioteer's seat, above the plunging, 
 rebellious, furious Passions, sat the magnificent Reason of the man; 
 curbing, with iron muscles, their vehemence into measured pace, 
 their motion into orderly progression. 
 
 Hear what the great Frenchman, H. A. Taine, says of Shake- 
 speare: 
 
 I am about to describe an extraordinary species of mind, perplexing to all the 
 French modes of analysis and reasoning, all-powerful, excessive, master of the 
 sublime as well as of the base; the most creative mind that ever engaged in the 
 exact copy of the details of actual existence, in the dazzling caprice of fancy, in the 
 profound complications of superhuman passions; a nature poetical, immortal, 
 inspired, superior to reason by the sudden revelations of its seer's madness; so 
 extreme in joy and grief, so abrupt of gait, so agitated and impetuous in its trans- 
 ports, that this great age alone could have cradled such a child. 1 
 
 And, speaking of the imagination of the great poet, Taine says: 
 
 Shakespeare imagines with copiousness and excess; he scatters metaphors 
 profusely over all he writes; every instant abstract ideas are changed into images; 
 it is a series of paintings which is unfolded in his mind. 2 
 
 And the same writer says: 
 
 This exuberant fecundity intensifies qualities already in excess, and multiplies 
 a hundred-fold the luxuriance of metaphor, the incoherence of style, and the 
 unbridled vehemence of expression. 3 
 
 And Richard Grant White speaks to much the same purpose: 
 
 Akin to this power in Shakespeare is that of pushing hyperbole to the verge 
 of absurdity; of mingling heterogeneous metaphors and similes which, coldly 
 examined, seem discordant; in short, of apparently setting at naught the rules of 
 rhetoric. 4 
 
 And again White says: 
 
 Never did intellectual wealth equal in degree the boundless riches of Shake- 
 speare's fancy. He compelled all nature and all art, all that God had revealed, 
 and all that man had discovered, to contribute materials to enrich his style and 
 enforce his thought; so that the entire range of human knowledge must be laid 
 under contribution to illustrate his writings. This inexhaustible mine of fancy, 
 furnishing metaphor, comparison, illustration, impersonation, in ceaseless alterna- 
 tion, often intermingled, so that the one cannot be severed from the other, . . . 
 is the great distinctive intellectual trait of Shakespeare's style. In his use of 
 simile, imagery and impersonation he exhibits a power to which that of any other 
 
 1 Taine's History of English L^iterature, 3 Ibid., p. 213. 
 
 pp. 204 and 205. 4 Life and Genius of Shak., p. 229. 
 
 2 Ibid., p. 211. 
 
IDENTITIES OF ST VIE 
 
 4*3 
 
 poet in this respect cannot be compared, even in the way of derogation, for it is not 
 
 only superior to but unlike any other. 1 
 
 When we turn to Bacon, we find the formal, decorous, world- 
 respecting side of the man's character. Under the disguise of the 
 player of Stratford he could give free vent to all the passions and 
 enormities of his soul. In the first capacity he was a philosopher, 
 courtier and statesman; in the latter he was simply a poet and 
 play-writer. In the one he was forced to maintain appearances 
 before court, bar and society; in the other, behind his mask, he 
 was utterly irresponsible and could turn out his very soul, with 
 none to question him. 
 
 Hence we must look for the characteristics of the poet in a 
 modified form in those of the philosopher. He is "off the tripod."' 
 But even then we shall find the traces of the constitution of the 
 mind which distinguished Shakespeare. 
 
 I have just cited Taine's description of Shakespeare; let us see 
 what he has to say of Bacon: 
 
 In this band of scholars, dreamers and inquirers, appears the most comprehen- 
 sive, sensitive, originative of the minds of the age, Francis Bacon; a great and 
 luminous intellect, one of the finest of this poetic progeny, who, like his predecessors, 
 was naturally disposed to clothe his ideas in the most splendid dress: in this age a 
 thought did not seem complete until it had assumed form and color. But what 
 distinguishes him from the others is, that with him an image only serves to con- 
 centrate meditation. He reflected long, stamped on his mind all the parts and 
 relations of his subject; he is master of it, and then, instead of exposing this com- 
 plete idea in a graduated chain of reasoning, he embodies it in a comparison so 
 expressive, exact, lucid, that behind the figure we perceive all the details of the 
 idea, like liquor in a fine crystal vase. 1 
 
 And a writer in the Encyclop<.edia Britannica, speaking of Bacon, 
 
 says: 
 
 A sentence from the Essays can rarely be mistaken for the production of any 
 other writer. The short, pithy sayings, 
 
 Jewels, five words long, 
 That on the stretched forefinger of all time 
 Sparkle forever, 
 
 have become popular mottoes and household words. The style is quaint, original, 
 abounding in allusions and witticisms, and rich, even to gorgeousness, with piled-up 
 analogies and metaphors. 
 
 Alexander Smith says of Bacon's Essays: 
 
 He seems to have written his Essays with the pen of Shakespeare. 
 
 1 Lift and Genius of Shak., p. 252. 2 Taine's History 0/ English Literature, p. 153. 
 
484 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 E. P. Whipple says of them: 
 
 They combine the greatest brevity with the greatest beauty of expression. 
 
 A. F. Blaisdell says: 
 
 Notice, also, the poetry of his style. So far as is known, he wrote but one 
 poem, but all his literary works are instinct with poetry \ in the wider sense of the 
 word. Sometimes it is seen in a beautiful simile or a felicitous phrase; sometimes 
 in a touch of pathos, more often in the rhythmical cadence of a sentence which 
 clings to the memory as only poetry can. 
 
 Even the passion and vehemence which we have found to be such 
 
 distinguishing traits of Shakespeare's genius are found in Bacon. 
 
 The laborious, but incredulous, Spedding remarks: 
 
 Bacon's mind, with its fullness and eagerness of thong/it, was at all times apt to 
 outrun his powers of grammatical expression, but also of the history of the English 
 language, then gradually finding its powers and settling, but not settled, into form. 1 
 
 This outrunning the powers of grammatical expression is the 
 very trait which has been observed in Shakespeare; — as when he 
 makes Mark Antony say of the wound inflicted upon Caesar by the 
 dagger of Brutus: 
 
 This was the most unkindest cut of all. 2 
 
 And here we are reminded of Bacon's theory that the English 
 grammar should be reorganized; that he thought of making a 
 grammar for himself. 
 
 And Spedding says of the Natural History, a most dry subject: 
 
 The addresses to the reader are full of weighty thought and passionate elo- 
 quence? 
 
 But there was one man who knew Francis Bacon better than 
 any and all others of his age; that was his " other self," Sir Tobie 
 Matthew. He was in the heart of all Bacon's secrets; he knew just 
 what Bacon had written, because his compositions were all sub- 
 mitted to him in the first instance, hot from the mint of the 
 author's great mind. He knew Bacon's acknowledged writings, 
 and he knew, also, those "concealed" writings which constituted 
 him, in his judgment, "the greatest wit of our country, . . . 
 though he be known by another name." And Sir Tobie was a 
 scholar and an author, and an eminently conscientious and 
 righteous man; who had suffered exile from his native land, and 
 had sacrificed all the victories of life for his religious convictions; 
 
 1 Life and Works, vol. i, p. 145. 3 Life and Works, vol. vii, p. 381. 
 
 ^fulius Ccesar, iii, 2. 
 
IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 
 
 485 
 
 and the man who does that, whatever may be his creed or his 
 dogmas, is worthy of all praise and honor. And Sir Tobie, with 
 all this knowledge of Bacon, spoke of him, long after his death, in 
 terms which are extravagant if applied to Bacon's acknowledged 
 writings, but which fit precisely into the characteristics of the 
 Shakespeare Plays. He said: 
 
 ... A man so rare in knowledge, of so many several kinds, endued with the 
 facility and felicity of expressing it all in so elegant, significant, so abundant, and 
 yet so choice and ravishing a way of words, of inelaphors, of allusions, as perhaps 
 the world hath not seen since it was a world. 1 
 
 II. A Startling Revelation. 
 
 And even as this book is being printed, a writer in the Chicago 
 Tribune calls attention to the surprising fact that the New English Dic- 
 tionary, now being published in England, on a magnificent scale, and 
 in which is given the time when and the place where each English 
 word made its first appearance, proves that in the first two hundred 
 pages of the work there are one hundred and forty-six words, now in 
 common use, which were invented, or formed out of the raw T mate- 
 rial of his own and other languages, by the man who wrote the 
 Shakespeare Plays. And the writer shows that, at this rate, our 
 total indebtedness to the man we call Shakespeare, for additions 
 to the vocabulary of the English tongue, cannot be less than five 
 thousand words. I quote: 
 
 Rome owed only one word to Julius Caesar. The nature of our debt will be 
 more apparent if we examine some of these hundred and a half of Shakespearean 
 words, all so near the beginning of the alphabet that the last one of them is air. 
 We owe the poet the first use of the word air itself in one of its senses as a noun, 
 and in three as a verb or participle. He first said air-drawn and airless. He 
 added a new signification to airy and aerial. Nobody before him had written 
 aired, and more than a tithe of the verbal gifts now in view were such perfect 
 participles. Well-nigh as many were adverbs. In no previous writer have Dr. 
 Murray's argus eyes detected accidentally, nor any of the following: Abjectly, 
 acutely, admiringly, adoptedly, adversely. How our fathers could exist so long 
 without some of these vocables must move our special wonder. To absolutely, 
 accordingly, actively and affectionately Shakespeare added a new sense. It is 
 not a little surprising that the word abreast was never printed before the 
 couplet: 
 
 My soul shall thine keep company to heaven: 
 Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast. 
 
 Of the 146 words and meanings first given us by Shakespeare at least two-thirds 
 are of classical origin. . . . The strangest thing seems to be that so few of Shake- 
 
 ' Address to tin- Reader, prefixed to Collection of English Letters, 1660. 
 
486 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 speare's innovations — not so much as one-fifth — have become obsolete. He gave 
 them not only life, but immortality. 
 
 Is anybody shallow enough to believe that the play-actor of 
 Stratford — selling malt and suing his neighbors — had the brain, 
 the capacity or the purpose to thus create a language ? 
 
 I say a language, for it is to be remembered that the ordi- 
 nary peasant or navvy of England has but about three hundred words 
 in his vocabulary. And here was one man who, we are told, added 
 to the English tongue probably seventeen times the number of words 
 used by the inhabitants of Stratford in that age. 
 
 And when we turn to Bacon's Promus, or storehouse of sug- 
 gestions for elegancies of speech, we find him in the very work of 
 manufacturing words to enrich the English tongue. We see him, in 
 Promus notes 12 14 and 12 15, playing on the words "Abedd — ro(u)se 
 you — owtbed": and then we find him developing this into uprouse, 
 a word never seen before in the world; and, as Mrs. Pott has shown, 
 this reappears in the play of Romeo and Juliet in connection with 
 golden sleep (which is also found in the Promus notes 1 ) thus: 
 
 But where unbruised youth with unstuffed brain 
 Doth couch his limbs, there golden sleep doth reign: 
 Therefore thy earliness doth me assure 
 Thou art uprotised by some distemperature. 2 
 
 And, close at hand, in these Promus notes, we find the word 
 rome, which may have been a hint jotted down for the name of 
 Romeo. And we find that Bacon, in these Promus notes, coined 
 and used for the first time barajar {ior shuffle), real, brazed, per ad- 
 venture, etc. 
 
 In other words, we learn now that the writer of the Plays added 
 five thousand new words to the English language. We look into 
 Bacon's work-shop and we find the great artist at work manu- 
 facturing words. We peep into the kitchen of New Place, Strat- 
 ford, and we see the occupant brewing beer ! Who wrote the plays ? 
 
 And Bacon notes that the English language has been greatly 
 enriched during Elizabeth's reign ! 
 
 More than this, Mrs. Pott has shown in her great work 3 that 
 Bacon, anxious to humanize his race and civilize his age, created 
 and introduced into our speech those pleasant conventionalities 
 
 1 Promus, note 1207. v Romeo and Juliet, ii, 3. s Promus, p. 61. 
 
IDENTITIES OE STY IK. 487 
 
 and sweet courtesies with which we now salute each other; as 
 "good-morrow," ''good-night," etc.; and that he is found jotting 
 them down in his Promus notes, from which they reappear in the 
 Shakespeare Plays, for the first time in English literature. And all 
 this goes to confirm my view, hereinbefore expressed, of the great 
 purposes which lie behind the Plays: for in it all, with the creation 
 of the five thousand new words, we see the soul of the philan- 
 thropist, who, "in a despised weed, had procured the good of all 
 men." Mighty soul ! We are but beginning to catch glimpses of 
 thy vast proportions ! Shame on the purblind ages that have 
 failed to recognize thy light. 
 
 And in connection with all this we must remember Bacon's 
 modest remark, that during the reign of Elizabeth the powers of 
 the English language had been vastly increased. 
 
 Why, this man overshadows the world ! He has not only revo- 
 lutionized our philosophy, delighted our eyes, enraptured our ears 
 and educated our hearts, but he has even armed our tongues with 
 new resources and fitted our English speech to become, as it will 
 in time, the universal language of the globe. 
 
 III. Other Details of Style. 
 The great Scotch essayist, Mackintosh, said of Bacon: 
 
 No man ever united a more poetical style to a less poetical philosophy. One great 
 end of his discipline is to prevent mysticism and fanaticism from obstructing the 
 pursuit of truth. With a less brilliant fancy he would have had a mind less quali- 
 fied for philosophical inquiry. His fancy gave him that power of illustrative meta- 
 phor, by which he seemed to have invented again the part of language which 
 respects philosophy; and it rendered new truths more distinctly visible even to his 
 own eye, in their bright clothing of imagery., 
 
 And, again, the same writer says: 
 
 But that in which he most excelled all other men was the range and compass 
 of his intellectual view, and the power of contemplating many and distant objects 
 together without indistinctness or confusion, which he himself has called the "dis- 
 cursive" or "comprehensive" understanding. This wide-ranging intellect was 
 illuminated by the brightest fancy that ever contented itself with the office of only min- 
 istering to Reason: and from this singular relation of the two grand faculties of man 
 it has resulted that his philosophy, though illustrated still more than adorned by 
 the utmost splendor of imagery, continues still subject to the undivided supremacy of 
 Intellect. In the midst of all the prodigality of an imagination which, had 
 it been independent, would have been poetical, his opinions remained severely 
 rational. 2 
 
 1 The Modern British Essayists— Mackintosh, p. 18. * Ibid., p. 17. 
 
j 88 / J - / RA LLELISMS. 
 
 And, on the other hand, as matching this utterance, Mr. T. B. 
 Shaw finds in both Bacon and Shakespeare the same combination 
 of reason and imagination. He says, speaking of Bacon: 
 
 In his style there is the same quality which is applauded in Shakespeare, a com- 
 bination of the intellectual and the imaginative, the closest reasoning in the boldest 
 metaphor. 
 
 And Taine says of Bacon: 
 
 Like the poets, he peoples nature with instincts and desires; attributes to bodies 
 an actual voracity; to the atmosphere a thirst for light, sounds, odors, vapors, 
 which it drinks in; to metals a sort of haste to be incorporated with acids. 1 
 
 The same trait of impersonation is found in Shakespeare car- 
 ried to the greatest excess. The echo becomes 
 
 The babbling gossip of the air. 2 
 
 The wind becomes " the wanton wind; " "the bawdy wind, that 
 
 kisses all it meets; " "the scolding wind;" "the posting wind," etc. 
 
 In short, every quality of nature becomes a living individuality. 
 
 He puts a spirit of life in everything, 
 
 Till wanton nature laughs and leaps with him. 
 
 IV. Pleonasms. 
 
 Speaking of the affluence and superabundance of Shakespeare's 
 genius, Taine says: 
 
 These vehement expressions, so natural in their upwelling, instead of follow- 
 ing one after the other slowly and with effort, are hurled out by hundreds with an 
 impetuous ease and abundance like the bubbling waves from a welling spring, 
 which are heaped together, rise one above another, and find nowhere room enough 
 to spread and exhaust themselves? You may find in Romeo and Juliet a score of 
 examples of this inexhaustible inspiration. The two lovers pile up an infinite 
 mass of metaphors, impassioned exaggerations, clenches, contorted phrases, 
 amorous extravagances. 3 
 
 This trait leads in both writers to that use of redundant words 
 known in rhetoric as pleonasm. It marks a trait of mind which can- 
 not be satisfied with a bare statement of fact, but in its prodigal 
 richness heaps adjective on adjective and phrase on phrase. 
 
 Take this instance from Bacon: 
 
 Everything has been abandoned either to the mists of tradition, the whirl and 
 confusion of argument, or the waves and /nazes of chance, and desultory, ill-com- 
 bined experiments. 4 
 
 1 Taine's History of English Literature^ 3 Taine's History of English Literature, 
 
 P- 155- P- 2I 3- 
 
 2 Twelfth Night, i, 5. * Novum Organum, book 1. 
 
IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 489 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 Those acts which axe. permanent and perpetual? 
 
 And here we see the piling-on of adjectives often observed in 
 
 Shakespeare, what Swinburne calls "an effusion or effervescence of 
 
 words ": 
 
 It is the property of good and sound knowledge to putrefy and dissolve into a 
 number of subtle, idle, unwholesome, and, I may term them, vermiculate questions. 2 
 
 And again he speaks of 
 
 The flowing and watery vein of Osorius, the Portugal bishop. 
 
 And again: 
 
 Was esteemed and accounted a more pernicious engine." 
 
 All things dissolve into anarchy and confusion. 4 
 
 The emulation and provocation of their example have much quickened and 
 strengthened the state of learning. 5 
 
 And again: 
 
 All things may be endowed and adorned with speeches, but knowledge itself is 
 more beautiful than any apparel of words that can be put upon it.* 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare, and we find Grant White noting the 
 
 same tendency. He says: 
 
 Shakespeare mingles words of native and foreign origin which are synonymous 
 so closely as to subject him to the charge of pleonasm; ... he has, for instance, 
 in King John, "infinite and boundless reach;" in Measure for Measure, "rebate 
 and blunt his natural edge ;*' and in Othello, "to such exsujticate and blown sur- 
 mises." 7 
 
 Let me give some further examples of this inherent tendency of 
 
 Shakespeare to pour words in superabundance over thoughts: 
 
 I am one 
 Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world 
 Have so incensed. 8 
 
 Hugged and embraced by the strumpet wind. 11 
 
 Into the harsh and boisterous tongue of Avar.'" 
 
 Of hinds and peasants, rude and merciless.™ 
 
 That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven. 1 * 2 
 
 Hath given them heart and courage to proceed. 13 
 
 1 Advancem ent of Learnings book i. • Macbeth, i:i, 1. 
 
 a Ibid. 9 Merchant of I 'enice, ii, 6. 
 
 3 Ibid . '* 2d Henry II '. , i v , i . 
 
 4 Ibid. ' ' 2d Henry l'I., iv, 4. 
 s Ibid. l **d Henry IV., ii, 3. 
 * ; In Praise of Knowledge. I3 2d Henry VI., iv, 4. 
 7 Life and Genius of S/iak., p. 219. 
 
49° 
 
 PARALLELISMS, 
 
 Within the book and volume of my brain. 1 "* v ^',^ '.'", 
 
 If that rebellion 
 Came like itself in base and abject routs. " 2 
 
 To fleer and scorn at our solemnity." 
 
 As broad and general as the casing air. 4 
 
 Luxurious, avaricious, false, deceitful} 
 
 What trash is Rome, 
 What rubbish and 70 hat offal} 
 
 Led by a delicate and tender prince. 7 
 
 Tortive and errant from his course of growth. 8 
 
 Things base and vile, holding no quantity. 9 
 
 Hast thou so cracked and splitted my poor tongue. 10 
 
 And I will stoop and humble my intents. 11 
 
 An unlessoned girl, unschooled, unpracticed. 12 
 
 Garnished and decked in modest compliment. 13 
 
 Divert and crack, rend and deracinate 
 The unity and married calm of states 
 Quite from their fixture. 14 
 
 1 might heap up many more examples to demonstrate the unity 
 of style in the two sets of writings in this particular, but it seems 
 to me that it is not necessary. I will close this branch of the sub- 
 ject with a quotation from Mark Antony's speech over the dead 
 body of Caesar: 
 
 Oh, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, 
 That I am meek and gentle with these butchers . 
 
 Which like dumb mouths do ope their ruby lips, 
 To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue ! 
 A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; 
 Domestic fury and fierce civil strife 
 Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; 
 Blood and destruction shall be so in use. u 
 
 1 Hamlet, i, 5. '•' Midsummer Nigh?* Dream, \ % i» 
 
 2 2d Henry IV., iv, i . lfl Comedy of Errors, v, 1. 
 
 3 Cymbeline, i, 4. n 2d Henry IV., v. 2. 
 
 4 Macbeth, iii, 4. 12 Merchant of Venice, iii, 2. 
 6 Ibid., iv, 3. * Henry V., ii, 2. 
 
 ''Julius Ccesar, 1, 3. I4 Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 
 
 ''Hamlet, iv, 4. " Julius Casar, iii, 1. 
 
 8 Troilus and Cresstda, i, 3. 
 
IDEXTl TIES OF STYLE. 
 
 491 
 
 It is no wonder that the precise and single-minded Hume 
 thought that both Bacon and Shakespeare showed 
 
 A want of simplicity and purity of diction, with defective taste and elegance. 
 
 Certainly no other men in the world ever wasted such an afflu- 
 ence of words, thoughts, images and metaphors in their writings. 
 
 V. Condensation of Style. 
 
 Another marked feature of the style of both sets of writings is 
 their marvelous compactness and condensation. Macaulay says 
 of Bacon: 
 
 He had a wonderful faculty for packing thought close and rendering it portable. 1 
 We need only turn to Bacon's Essays to find ample confirmation 
 of this statement. 
 
 Take one instance, from one of his letters, which might serve to 
 pass into a proverb: 
 
 A timorous man is everybody's, and a covetous man is his own.' 2 
 Neither is it necessary to use any argument to demonstrate that 
 Shakespeare possessed in an exceptional degree this faculty of " pack- 
 ing thought close and rendering it portable." Take an example: 
 
 Who steals my purse steals trash; 
 
 1 Twos /nine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands. 
 
 Here is an essay stated in two lines. And here we have another: 
 
 Let the end try the man. 3 
 Again: 
 
 Let proof speak. 4 
 Again : 
 
 Things won are done; joy's soul lies in the doing. 5 
 
 Take this instance: 
 
 We defy augury; there is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow. If it 
 be now, 'tis not to come; if it be not to come, it will be now; if it be not now, yet 
 it will come; the readiness is all. 6 
 
 It requires an analytical mind to follow the thought here 
 
 through the closely-packed and compressed sentences. 
 
 But the faculty is the same in both. Taine says of Bacon: 
 
 Shakespeare and the seers do not contain more vigorous or expressive con- 
 densations of thought, more resembling inspiration; and in Bacon they are to be 
 found everywhere. : 
 
 1 Essays — Bacon, p. 285. 5 Troilus and Cressida, \, 2. 
 
 2 Letter to the Lord Keeper, April 5, 1594. * Hamlet, v, 2. 
 
 3 2d Henry IV., ii, 2. "' History of English Literature, p. 154. 
 
 4 Cytr.beline, iii, 1. 
 
492 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 \\. The Tendency to Aphorisms, 
 
 One of the most marked characteristics of both sets of writings 
 is the tendency to rise from particulars to principles; to see in a 
 mass of facts simply the foundation for a generalization; to indulge 
 in aphorisms. 
 
 Taine says of Bacon: 
 
 On the whole, his process is not that of the creators: it is intuition, not reason- 
 ing. When he has laid up his store of facts, the greatest possible, on some vast 
 subject, on some entire province of the mind, on the whole anterior philosophy, 
 on the general condition of the sciences, on the power and limits of human reason, 
 he casts over all this a comprehensive view, as it were, a great net, brings up 
 a universal idea, condenses his idea into a maxim, and hands it to us with the words, 
 "Verify and profit by it." . . . Nothing more; no proof, no effort to convince: 
 he affirms, and does nothing more; he has thought in the manner of artists and 
 poets, and he speaks after the manner of prophets and seers. Cogitata et Visa, this title 
 of one of his books might be the title of all. The most admirable, the Novum 
 Organum, is a string of aphorisms — a collection, as it were, of scientific decrees, 
 as of an oracle, who foresees the future and reveals the truth. And to make the 
 resemblance complete he expresses them by poetical figures, by enigmatic abbrevi- 
 ations, almost in Sibyllene verses. Idola speeds, Idola tribus, Idola fori, Idola 
 theatri ; every one will recall these strange names by which he signifies the four 
 kinds of illusions to which man is subject. 1 
 
 The words which Taine applies to Bacon's Novum Organum, " a 
 string of aphorisms," might with equal appropriateness be used to 
 describe the Shakespeare Plays. We can hardly quote from them 
 an elevated passage which does not enunciate some general princi- 
 ple. Hence his utterances cling to the tongues of men like prov- 
 erbs. He takes a mass of facts, as the chemist takes the crude 
 bark of the Peruvian tree, and distills out of it, in the marvelous 
 alembic of his mind, a concentrated essence, which, while it holds 
 an infinitesimal relation to the quantity of the original substance, 
 yet contains all its essential virtues. 
 
 Let me give a few instances of this trait. Shakespeare says: 
 
 His rash, fierce blaze of riot cannot last, 
 
 (i) For violent fires soon burn out themselves; 
 
 (2) Small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; 
 
 (3) He tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes; 
 
 (4) With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder; 
 
 (5) Like vanity, insatiate cormorant, 
 Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.' 2 
 
 One would scarcely believe that these five aphorisms, contained 
 
 in seven lines, stood in this connected order in the play. It would 
 
 1 Taine s History of English Literature, p. 154. 2 Richard //., ii, 1. 
 
IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 493 
 
 naturally be thought that they had been selected from a wide 
 range. The tendency to form generalizations might almost be 
 called a disease of style in both writers. 
 
 Shakespeare can hardly touch a particular fact without rising 
 from it to a principle. He says: 
 
 Take up this mangled matter at the best; 
 Men do their broken weapons rather use 
 Than their bare hands. 1 
 
 Again : 
 
 Again: 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 
 (i) Our indiscretions sometimes serve us well, 
 When our deep plots do pall; and that should teach us, 
 (2) There's a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them how we will.' 
 
 Thev sav best men are molded out of faults. 3 
 
 (1) The evil that men do lives after them; 
 
 (2) The good is oft interred with their bones. 4 
 
 (1) Men's evil manners live in brass; (2) their virtues 
 We write in water. 1 
 
 This last sentence reminds one of Bacon's u but limns the watet 
 
 and but writes in dust." 
 And again: 
 
 Thieves for their robbery have authority 
 When judges steal themselves. 
 
 We turn to Bacon, and we might fill pages with similar aphor- 
 isms. Here are a few examples: 
 
 Extreme self-lovers will set a man's house afire to roast their own eggs. 
 The best part of beauty is that which a picture cannot express. 
 
 Riches are the baggage of virtue; they cannot be spared nor left behind, but 
 they hinder the march. 
 
 That envy is most malignant which is like Cain's, who envied his brother 
 because his sacrifice was better accepted — when there was nobody but God to 
 look on. 
 
 Discretion in speech is more than eloquence. 
 
 This reminds us of Shakespeare's parallel thought: 
 
 The better part of valor is discretion. 
 
 1 Othello, i, 3. 3 Measure for Measure, v, i. ''Henry I'///., iv, 2. 
 
 2 Havtlet, v, 2. * Julius Ccesar, iii. . 
 
494 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And again Bacon says: 
 
 Fortune is like a market, where, many times, if you stay a little, the price will 
 fall. 
 
 A faculty of wise interrogating is half a knowledge. 
 
 Observe, too, how Bacon, like Shakespeare, always reasons by 
 
 analogy — the great by the small, the mind by the body. He says, 
 
 speaking of natural philosophy: 
 
 Do not imagine that such inquiries question the immortality of the soul, or 
 derogate from its sovereignty over the body. The infant in its mother's womb 
 partakes of the accidents to its mother, but is separable in due season. 
 
 What a thought is this ! The body carries the soul in it as the 
 mother's womb carries the child; but the child is separable at birth 
 and becomes a distinct entity — so does the soul at death. To care 
 for the mother does not derogate from the child; justice to the 
 conditions of the body, growing out of knowledge, cannot be 
 injurious to the tenant of the body, or detract from its dignity. 
 
 What a mind, that can thus pack comprehensive theories in a 
 paragraph ! 
 
 VII. The Tendency to Triple Forms. 
 
 We find in Bacon a disposition, growing out of his sense of 
 harmony, to run his sentences into triplicate forms, and we will 
 observe the same characteristic in Shakespeare. 
 
 Compare, for instance, the two following sentences. I mark 
 the triplicate form by inserting numbers. 
 
 Shakespeare says, in Maria's letter to Malvolio: 
 
 (i) Some are born great, (2) some achieve greatness, and (3) some have great- 
 ness thrust upon them. 1 
 
 Bacon says, in his essay Of Studies: 
 
 (1) Some books are to be tasted, (2) others are to be swallowed, (3) and some 
 few to be chewed and digested. 
 
 Can any man doubt that these utterances came out of the same 
 mind? There is the same condensation; the same packing of 
 thought into close space; the same original and profound way of 
 looking into things; and the same rhythmical balance into triplicate 
 forms. 
 
 But, lest the reader may think that I have selected two phrases 
 accidentally alike, I give the sentences in which they are found. 
 
 ^Twelfth Night, ii, 5. 
 
IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 495 
 
 Maria says to Malvolio: 
 
 Be not afraid of greatness, (i) Some are born great, (2) some achieve great- 
 ness, and (3) some have greatness thrust upon them. ... (1) Be opposite with a 
 kinsman, surly with servants; (2) let thy tongue tang arguments of state; (3) put 
 thyself into the trick of singularity. ... If not, let me see thee (i) a steward still, 
 (2) the fellow of servants, and (3) not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. 
 
 And here is a larger extract from Bacon's essay Of Studies: 
 
 Studies serve (1) for delight, (2) for ornament, and (3) for ability. . . . (1) To 
 spend too much time in them is sloth; (2) to use them too much for ornament is 
 affectation; (3) to make judgment wholly by their rules is the humor of a scholar. 
 . . . (1) Crafty men contemn them, (2) simple men admire them, (3) and wise 
 men use them. . . . (1) Read not to contradict and confute, (2) nor to believe and 
 take for granted, (3) nor to find talk and discourse; but to weigh and consider. (1) 
 Some books are to be tasted, (2) others to be swallowed, (3) and some few to be 
 chewed and digested. . . . (1) Reading maketh a full man, (2) conference a ready 
 man, (3) and writing an exact man. And therefore (1) if a man write little he had 
 need to have a great memory; (2) if he confer little, he had need have a present 
 wit; (3) and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that 
 he doth not. 1 
 
 We find this triplicate form all through Bacon's writings. He 
 
 says : 
 
 He can disclose and bring forward, therefore, things which neither (1) the 
 vicissitudes of nature, (2) nor the industry of experiment, (3) nor chance itself 
 would ever have brought about, and which would forever have escaped man's 
 thoughts. 2 
 
 And again: 
 
 What is (1) constant, (2) eternal and (3) universal in nature ? s 
 
 And again: 
 
 Every interpretation of nature sets out from the senses, and leads by a (1) 
 regular, (2) fixed and (3) well-established road. 4 
 
 And again: 
 
 Letters are good (1) when a man would draw an answer by letter back again; 
 (2) or when it may serve for a man's justification afterward, or (3) where there may 
 be danger to be interrupted or heard by pieces.-' 
 
 And again: 
 
 A (1) brief, (2) bare and (3) simple enumeration.'' 
 
 And again: 
 
 Nature is (1) often hidden, (2) sometimes overcome, (3) seldom extinguished.' 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 The (1) crudities, (2) impurities and (3) leprosities of metals. 8 
 
 5 Essay Of Studies. 4 Ibid., book i. 7 Essay Of Nature in Men. 
 
 * Novum Organum, book ii. 5 Essay Of Negotiating. 8 Natural History, % 326. 
 
 3 Ibid. fi Novum Organum, book i. 
 
49 6 
 
 PARALLELISMS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 Whether it be (i) honor, or (2) riches, or (3) delight, or (1) glory, or (2) knowl- 
 edge, or (3) anything else which they seek after. 1 
 
 And again: 
 
 To (1) assail, (2) sap, and (3) work into the constancy of Sir Robert Clifford. 2 
 
 We turn to Shakespeare, and we find the same tendency. How 
 
 precisely in the style of Bacon's Essays are the disquisitions of 
 
 Falstaff: 
 
 Yea, but how if honor prick me off when I come on; how then? (1) Can honor 
 set a leg? No. (2) Or an arm? No. (3) Or take away the grief of a wound? 
 No. Honor has no skill in surgery, then? No. (1) What is honor? A word. 
 (2) What is that word? Honor. (3) What is that honor? Air. A trim reckoning. 
 Who hath it? He that died Wednesday. (1) Doth he feel it? No. (2) Doth he 
 hear it ? No. (3) Is it insensible, then ? Yea, to the dead. But will it not live 
 with the living? No. Detraction will not suffer it. 3 
 
 And, speaking of the effect of good wine, Falstaff says: 
 
 It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the (1) foolish, (2) and dull, (3) 
 and crudy vapors which environ it: makes it (1) apprehensive, (2) quick, (3) for- 
 getive; full of (1) nimble, (2) fiery and (3) delectable shapes. . . . The cold blood 
 he did naturally inherit from his father, he hath, like (1) lean, (2) sterile and (3) bare 
 land, (1) manured, (2) husbanded and (3) tilled. 4 
 
 But this trait is not confined to the utterances of Falstaff, We 
 find it all through the Plays. Take the following instances: 
 
 For I have neither (1) wit, (2) nor words, (3) nor worth, 
 
 (1) Action, (2) nor utterance, (3) nor the power of speech, 
 To stir men's blood. 5 
 
 Again: 
 
 (1) Romans, (2) countrymen and (3) lovers. . . . (1) As Caesar loved me, I 
 weep for him; (2) as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; (3) as he was valiant, I honor 
 him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. . . . (1) Who is here so base that 
 would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. (2) Who is here so 
 rude that would not be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. (3) 
 Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I 
 offended. I pause for a reply. 6 
 
 Again: 
 
 (1) Thou art most rich being poor; 
 
 (2) Most choice, forsaken; (3) and most loved, despised. 7 
 Again: 
 
 Alas, poor Romeo ! he is already dead; (1) stabbed with a white wench's black 
 eye; (2) shot through the ear with a love-song; (3) the very pin of his heart cleft 
 with the blind bow-boy's butt-shaft. 8 
 
 1 Wisdom of the Ancients 3 1st Henry II'., v, 1. 6 Ibid. 
 
 — Dionysins. 4 2d Henry \ IV, % iv, 3. ""Lear, i, 1. 
 
 2 History 0/ Henry I'll. • Julius Ctrsar, iii, /., 8 Romeo and Juliet, ii, 4. 
 
IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 497 
 
 Again 
 
 Oh, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! 
 
 (1) The courtier's, (2) soldier's, (3) scholar's (1) eye, (2) tongue, (3) sword. 
 
 Again: 
 
 I am myself indifferent honest: but yet I could accuse me of such things, that 
 it were better my mother had not borne me: I am very (1) proud, (2) revengeful, 
 (3) ambitious; with more offenses at my beck than I have (1) thoughts to put them 
 in, (2) imagination to give them shape, or (3) time to act them in. 1 
 
 Again: 
 
 'Tis slander, 
 (1) Whose edge is sharper than the sword; (2) whose tongue 
 Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; (3) whose breath 
 Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie 
 All corners of the world: (1) kings, (2) queens and (3) states, 
 (1) Maids, (2) matrons, nay, (3) the secrets of the grave, 
 This viperous slander enters. 2 
 
 Again: 
 
 This peace is nothing but (1) to rust iron, (2) increase tailors and (3) breed 
 ballad-makers. 3 
 
 Again: 
 
 Live loathed and long, 
 Most (1) smiling, (2) smooth, (3) detested parasites, 
 (1) Courteous destroyers, (2) affable wolves, (3) meek bears, 
 (1) You fools of fortune, (2) trencher fiends, (3) time's flies, 
 (1) Cap-and-knee slaves, (2) vapors, and (3) minute jacks. 4 
 
 Again : 
 
 Must I needs forego 
 (1) So good, (2) so noble and (3) so true a master. 8 
 
 And again : 
 
 (1) Her father loved me; (2) oft invited me; 
 
 (3) Still questioned me the story of my life, 
 
 From year to year; the (1) battles, (2) sieges, (3) fortunes 
 
 That I have passed. 6 
 
 Again : 
 
 It would be (1) argument for a week, (2) laughter for a month, and (3) a good 
 jest forever. 7 
 
 Again: 
 
 (1) Wooing, (2) wedding and (3) repenting are as (1) a Scotch jig, (2) a measure, 
 and (3) a cinque pace: (1) the first suit is hot and hasty, like a Scotch jig, and full 
 as fantastical; (2) the wedding mannerly, modest, as a measure full of state and 
 ancientry; and (3) then comes repentance, and, with his bad legs, falls into the 
 cinque pace faster and faster, until he sinks into his grave. 8 
 
 1 Hamlet* iii, 1. 4 Titus Adronicus, ii, 6. 7 ist Henry IK, ii, 2. 
 
 2 Cymbeline, iii, 4. 6 Henry VIII., ii, 2. 8 Much Ado about Nothing, iii, 1. 
 
 3 Coriolanus, iv, 5. 6 Othello* i, 3. 
 
49*S PARALLELISMS. 
 
 Again: 
 
 Oh, that I were a god, to shoot forth thunder 
 Upon these (i) paltry, (2) servile, (3) abject drudges. 1 
 
 Not only, Mistress Ford, in the simple office of love, but in all (1) accoutrement, 
 (2) complement (3) and ceremony of it. 2 
 
 Again; 
 
 Not onl; 
 :omplem 
 
 Again : 
 
 How could (1) communities, 
 (2) Degrees in schools and (3) brotherhood in cities, 
 
 (1) Peaceful commerce from divided shores, 
 
 (2) The primogeniture and due of birth, 
 
 (3) Prerogative of age, (1) crowns, (2) scepters, (3) laurels, 
 But by degree, stand in authentic place? 3 
 
 Again: 
 
 But (1) manhood is melted into courtesies, (2) valor into compliment, and (3) 
 men are turned into tongues, and trim ones, too. 4 
 
 Again: 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 Again: 
 
 For she is (1) lumpish, (2) heavy, (3) melancholy. 
 
 Say that upon the altar of her beauty 
 
 You sacrifice (1) your tears, (2) your sighs, (3) your heart. 6 
 
 Had I power I should 
 
 (1) Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell, 
 
 (2) Uproar the universal peace, (3) confound 
 All unity on earth. 1 
 
 To be directed 
 As from her (1) lord, (2) her governor, (3) her king/ 
 
 To wound (1) thy lord, (2) thy king, (3) thy governor. 
 
 Is fit for (1) treasons, (2) stratagems and (3) spoils. 10 
 I might continue these examples at much greater length, but I 
 think I have given enough to prove that both Bacon and the writer 
 of the Plays possessed, as a characteristic of style, a tendency to 
 balance their sentences in triplicate forms. This trait grew out of 
 the sense of harmony in the ear; it was an unconscious arrange- 
 ment of thoughts in obedience to a peculiar inward instinct, and it 
 goes far to establish identity. 
 
 1 2d Henry VI., iv, 1. 6 Ibid. 
 
 - Merry Wives of Windsor, iv, 2. 7 Macbeth, iv, 3. 
 
 3 Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 8 Merchant 0/ Venice, iii, 2. 
 
 4 Much Ado about Nothing, iv, t. 9 Taming 0/ the Shrew, v, 2. 
 8 Two Gentlemen of Verona, iii, 2. l0 Merchant of Venice, v, 1. 
 
**§/<*. IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 499 
 
 ^^H^^^^ VIII. Catalogues of Words. 
 
 The man who thinks in concrete forms solidifies words into 
 ideas. He who has trained himself to observe as a natural philoso- 
 pher, builds in numerical order bases for his thought. He erects 
 the poem on a foundation of facts. He collects materials before 
 he builds. 
 
 This trait is very marked in Bacon. He was the most observant 
 of men. No point or fact escaped him. Hence he runs to the 
 habit of stringing together catalogues of words. 
 
 For instance, he says in The Experimental History: 
 
 There are doubtless in Europe many capable, free, sublimed, subtile, solid, 
 constant wits. 
 
 Again he speaks of 
 
 Servile, blind, dull, vague and abrupt experiments. 1 
 
 Again he says: 
 
 Let anti-masques not be long; they have been commonly of fools, satyrs 
 baboons, wild men, antics, beasts, spirits, witches, Ethiopes, pigmies, turquets, 
 nymphs, rustics, cupids, statues moving, and the like. 8 
 
 Bacon also says: 
 
 Such are gold in weight, iron in hardness, the whale in size, the dog in smell, 
 the flame of gunpowder in rapid expansion, and others of like nature. 3 
 
 We turn to Lear, and we hear the same voice speaking of 
 
 False of heart, light of ear, bloody of hand; hog in sloth, fox in stealth, wolf in 
 greediness, dog in madness, lion in prey. 4 
 
 Again Shakespeare says: 
 
 As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends. 5 
 
 And here is another instance of the tendency to make catalogues 
 
 of words: 
 
 Beauty, wit, 
 High birth, vigor of bone, desert in service, 
 Love, friendship, charity, are subjects all 
 To envious and calumniating time. 6 
 
 Again we have, in the same play — the most philosophical of 
 all the Plays — these lines: 
 
 All our abilities, gifts, natures, shapes, 
 Severals and generals of grace exact, 
 Achievements, plots, orders, preventions. 
 Excitements to the field, or speech for truce. 
 
 1 Great histauration. 3 Novum Orguuum, book ii. 5 Macbeth , v, 2. 
 
 - Essay Of Masks. 4 Lear, iii, 4. 8 Troilns and Cressida, iii, 3. 
 
5 oo PA RA LL ELI SMS. 
 
 Success or loss, what is, or what is not, serves 
 As stuff for these two to make paradoxes. 1 
 
 And in the famous description of the horse, in Venus and Adonis, 
 we see the same closely-observing eye of the naturalist: 
 
 Round-hoofed, short- jointed, fetlocks shag and long. 
 Broad breast, full eye, small head, and nostril wide, 
 
 High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong, 
 Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide. 
 
 Prof. Dowden says: 
 
 This passage has been much admired; but is it poetry or a paragraph from an 
 advertisement of a horse-sale ?' 
 
 And here, in a more poetical passage, we observe the same ten- 
 dency to the enumeration of facts: 
 
 My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 So fiew'd, so sanded, and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew; 
 Crook-kneed and dew-lapped, like Thessalian bulls; 
 Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth-like bells, 
 Each under each. 3 
 
 And in the same vein of close and accurate observation of 
 
 details, "the contracting of the eye of the mind," as Bacon calls it, 
 
 is the following description of a murdered man: 
 
 But see, his face is black and full of blood; 
 
 His eye-balls further out than when he lived, 
 
 Staring full-ghastly like a strangled man; 
 
 His hair upreared, his nostrils stretched with struggling; 
 
 His hands abroad displayed, as one that grasped 
 
 And tugged for life, and was by strength subdued. 
 
 Look, on the sheets his hair, you see, is sticking; 
 
 His well-proportioned beard made rough and rugged, 
 
 Like to the summer's corn by tempests lodged. 4 
 
 IX. The Euphonic Test. 
 
 Tn Mr. Wilkes' book, Shakespeare from an American Point of View, 
 
 there is contained an essay (p. 430) by Professor J. W. Taverner, of 
 
 New York, in which he attempts to show that Bacon could not 
 
 have written the Shakespeare Plays, because of the Euphonic Test. 
 
 And yet he says: 
 
 Upon examination of the limited poetry which we have from the pen of Bacon, 
 I find nothing to criticise. Like unto Shakespeare, he takes good note of any 
 deficiency of syllabic pulsation, and imparts the value- of but one syllable to the 
 
 1 Troilus and Cressida, i, 3. 3 Midsummer Nigkfs Dream, iv, '. 
 
 " ^hak. Mind and A ri, p. 45. * 2d Henry 1 '/., iii, 2. 
 
IDENTITIES OF STYLE. 50I 
 
 dissyllables heaven, wearest, many, even, goeth; and to glittering and chariot but the 
 value of two, precisely as Shakespeare would. 
 
 But he tries to show that Bacon could not have written the 
 Plays because it was his custom to run his sentences, as I have 
 shown, into triplets. He says: 
 
 Bacon, in this feature of the rhythmical adjustment of clauses, attaches to 
 those sentences of his which are composed of triple clauses of equal dimensions, and 
 which possess such regularity which he never seeks to disturb, etc. 
 
 And he gives in addition to the instances I have quoted from 
 Bacon the following, among others: 
 
 A man cannot speak (i) to his son but as a father, (2) to his wife but as a hus- 
 band, and (3) to his enemy but upon terms. 
 
 Judges ought to be (1) more learned than witty, (2) more reverent than plausi- 
 ble, and (3) more advised than confident. 
 
 And he argues that Shakespeare 
 
 Does not object to four or more clauses, but he does to three. 
 
 And therefore Bacon did not write the Plays. Such arguments 
 are fully answered by the pages of examples I have just given from 
 the Shakespeare Plays, showing that the poet is even more prone 
 to fall into the triple form of expression than Bacon — more prone, 
 because there is more tendency to harmonious and balanced ex- 
 pressions in poetry than in prose. 
 
 But the Professor admits that there "is a kind of melody of 
 speech that belongs to Bacon," and that his ear is exact, "and 
 counts its seconds like the pendulum of a clock." 
 
 In truth, if any man would take the pains to print the prose 
 disquisitions and monologues of Shakespeare, intermixed with 
 extracts from as nearly similar productions of Bacon as may be, 
 the ordinary reader would scarcely be able to tell which was which.. 
 
 If such a reader was handed this passage, and asked to name 
 the author, I think the probabilities are great that he would say it 
 was from the pen of Francis Bacon: 
 
 Novelty is only in request; and it is dangerous to be aged in any kind of 
 course, as it is virtuous to be constant in any undertaking. There is scarce truth 
 enough alive to make societies secure, but security enough to make fellowship 
 accursed: much upon this riddle runs the wisdom of the world. 
 
 We have here the same condensed, pithy sentences which mark 
 the great philosopher, together with the same antithetical way of 
 balancing thought against thought. 
 
5 o 2 PA RA L LEL ISMS. 
 
 Yet this is from Shakespeare. It will be found in Measure for 
 Measure. ' 
 
 And we can conceive that the following passage might have 
 
 been written by Shakespeare — the very extravagance of hyperbole 
 
 sounds like him: 
 
 Contrary is it with hypocrites and impostors, for they, in the church and before 
 the people, set themselves on fire, and are carried, as it were, out of themselves, and, 
 becoming as men inspired with holy furies, they set heaven and earth together. } 
 
 There is not a great stride from this to the poet's eye in a fine 
 phrensy rolling from earth to heaven, from heaven to earth; and 
 the madman seeing more devils than vast hell could hold. 
 
 In short, the resemblance between the two bodies of compo- 
 sitions is as close as could be reasonably expected, where one is 
 almost exclusively prose, and the greatness of the other consists in 
 the elevated flights of poetry. In the one case it is the lammer- 
 geyer sitting among the stones; in the other it is the great bird 
 balanced on majestic pinions in the blue vault of heaven, far above 
 the mountain-top and the emulous shafts of man. 
 
 'Act, iii, scene 2. *Meditationet Sacra' — Of Impostors. 
 
HP- 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 THE DEMONSTRATION 
 
 "Come hither, Jpirit, 
 Jet Caliban ass hi/ Compsjiionr free: 
 Untie the Jpell" 
 
 Tempejt, V,L 
 
PART !. 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 
 
 I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver. 
 
 Othello, /,.,•. 
 
 I HAVE given, in the foregoing pages, something of the reason- 
 ing — and yet but a little part of it — which led me up to the con- 
 clusion that Francis Bacon was the author of the so-called Shake- 
 speare Plays. 
 
 But one consideration greatly troubled me, to-wit: Would the 
 writer of such immortal works sever them from himself and cast 
 them off forever ? 
 
 All the world knows that the parental instinct attaches as 
 strongly to the productions of the mind as to the productions of the 
 body. An author glories in his books, even as much as he does 
 in his children. The writer of the Plays realized this fact, for he 
 speaks in one of the sonnets of " these children of the brain:'' They 
 were the offspring of the better part of him. 
 
 But, it may be urged, he did not know the value of them. 
 
 This is not the fact. He understood their merits better than all 
 the men of his age; for, while they were complimenting him on "his 
 facetious grace in writing," he foresaw that these compositions 
 would endure while civilized humanity occupied the globe. The 
 sonnets show this. In sonnet cvii he says: 
 
 My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, 
 Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme, 
 
 While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes : 
 And thou in this shalt find thy monument, 
 When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. 
 
 And in sonnet lxxxi he says: 
 
 :>°5 
 
506 THE CIPHER JX THE PLA VS. 
 
 The earth can' yield me but a common grave, 
 When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie. 
 Your monument shall be my gentle verse, 
 
 Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read; 
 And tongues to be your being shall rehearse, 
 When all the breathers of this world are dead; 
 You still shall live (such virtue hath my pen), 
 W T here breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men. 
 
 And in sonnet lv he says: 
 
 Not marble, not the gilded monuments 
 
 Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; 
 But you shall shine more bright in these contents 
 
 Than unswept stone besmeared with sluttish time. 
 
 Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity, 
 
 Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room 
 Even in the eyes of all posterity, 
 That wear this world out to the ending doom. 
 So, till the judgment that yourself arise, 
 You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes. 
 
 There was, as it seems to me, no doubt: i. That Bacon wrote 
 the Plays; 2. That he loved them as the children of his brain; 3. 
 That he estimated them at their full great value. 
 
 The question then arose, How was it possible that he would dis- 
 own them with no hope or purpose of ever reclaiming them ? How 
 could he consent that the immortal honors which belonged to him- 
 self should be heaped upon an unworthy impostor? How could he 
 divest Bacon of this great world-outliving glory to give it to 
 Shakspere ? 
 
 This thought recurred to me constantly, and greatly perplexed 
 me. 
 
 One day 1 chanced to open a book, belonging to one of my chil- 
 dren, called Every Boy's Book, published in London, by George 
 Routledge & Sons, 1868; a very complete and interesting work of 
 its kind, containing over eight hundred pages. On page 674 I 
 found a chapter devoted to " Cryptography," or cipher-writing, and 
 in it I chanced upon this sentence: 
 
 The most famous and complex cipher perhaps ever written was by Lord Bacon. 
 It was arranged in the following manner: 
 
 aaaaa stands for a. abaaa stands for i and j. baaaa stands for r. 
 
 aaaab ' ' 
 
 " b. 
 
 abaab ' ' 
 
 " k. 
 
 baaab 
 
 " s. 
 
 aaaba ' ' 
 
 c. 
 
 ababa ' ' 
 
 " 1. 
 
 baaba ' ' 
 
 " t. 
 
 aaabb ' ' 
 
 " d. 
 
 ababb " 
 
 " m. 
 
 baabb ' ' 
 
 " u and v. 
 
HOW I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 507 
 
 aabaa stands for e. abbaa stands for n. babaa stands for w. 
 
 aabab " " f. abbab " " o. babab " " x. 
 
 aabba " " g. abbba " " p. babba " " y. 
 
 aabbb " " h. abbbb " " q. babbb " " z. 
 
 Now suppose you want to inform some one that "All is well." First place 
 down the letters separately according to the above alphabet: 
 
 aaaaa ababa ababa abaaa baaab babaa aabaa ababa ababa 
 Then take a sentence five times the length in letters of " All is well " — say it 
 is, " We were sorry to have heard that you have been so unwell." 
 Then fit this sentence to the cipher above, like this: 
 
 aaaaaababaababaabaaabaaabbabaaaabaaababaababa 
 we were so rrytofiav <'hea/d t h^y^uhav <?bee«sounwe/l 
 
 Marking with a dash every letter that comes under a b. Then put the sen- 
 tence down on your paper, printing all marked letters in italics and the others in 
 the ordinary way, thus: 
 
 We were sorry to /mve hea;d that you haw been so unwell. 
 The person who receives the cipher puts it down and writes an a under ever) 
 letter except those in italics: these he puts a b under; he then divides the cipher 
 obtained into periods of five letters, looks at his alphabet, and finds the meaning to 
 be: " All is well." 
 
 And on page 681 of the same chapter I found another allusion 
 
 to Bacon: 
 
 Most of the examples given will only enable one to decipher the most simple 
 kind, such as are generally found in magazines, etc.; for if that intricate cipher of 
 Lord Bacon's were put in a book for boys it would be a waste of paper, as we will 
 venture to say that not one in a thousand would be able to find it out. 
 
 Here was indeed a pregnant association of ideas: 
 
 1. Lord Bacon wrote the Plays. 
 
 2. Lord Bacon loved them; and could not desire to dissociate 
 
 himself from them. 
 
 3. Lord Bacon knew their inestimable greatness; and 
 
 4. Lord Bacon dealt in ciphers; he invented ciphers, and 
 
 ciphers of exquisite subtlety and cunning. 
 Then followed, like a flash, this thought: 
 
 5. Could Lord Bacon have put a cipher in the Plays? 
 
 The first thing to do was to see what Lord Bacon had said on 
 the subject of ciphers. I remembered that Basil Montagu in his 
 Life of Bacon had said, speaking of his youth and before he came 
 
 of age: 
 
 After the appointment of Sir Amias Paulett's successor, Bacon traveled into 
 the French provinces and spent some time at Poictiers. He prepared a work upon, 
 ciphers, which he afterward published. 1 
 
 1 Works of Lord Bacon, vol. i. 
 
5 o8 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 I turned to the De Augment's, and there I found what is practi- 
 cally an essay on ciphers. The statement of Montagu is some- 
 what of an error, for no separate essay was ever published by 
 Bacon on that subject. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 As for writing, it is to be performed either by the common alphabet (which is 
 used by everybody) or by a secret and private one, agreed upon by particular per- 
 sons, which they call ciphers. 1 
 
 Now I had noted that, in his letters to Sir Tobie Matthew, he 
 spoke of certain writings as the works of the alphabet. The reader 
 will observe how often in this essay the word alphabet is used in 
 connection with cipher-writing. In the sentence just quoted he 
 tells us that writing may be performed in a secret and private 
 alphabet "which they call ciphers'* Was the reverse true? Could 
 cipher-writings be called " works of the alphabet " ? There is some- 
 thing very mysterious about these "works of his recreation " — these 
 "works of the alphabet" — which no one was to be "allowed to 
 copy." 
 
 Bacon continues: 
 
 Let us proceed, then, to ciphers. Of these there are many kinds : simple 
 ciphers, ciphers mixed with non-significant characters, ciphers containing two differ- 
 ent letters in one character, wheel ciphers, key ciphers, word ciphers, and the like. 
 But the virtues required in them are three : that they be easy and not laborious to 
 write; that they be safe and be impossible to be deciphered, and lastly, that they 
 be, if possible, stick as not to raise suspicion. For if letters fall into the hands of 
 those who have power either over the writers or over those to whom they are 
 addressed, although the cipher itself may be safe and impossible to decipher, yet 
 the matter comes under examination and question, unless the cipher be such as 
 either to raise no suspicion or to elude inquiry. Now for this elusion of inquiry, 
 there is a new and useful contrivance for it, which, as I have it by me, why should I set 
 it down among the desiderata, instead of propounding the thing itself? It is this : 
 Let a man have two alphabets, one of true letters, the other of non-significants; 
 and let him infold in them two letters at once, one carrying the secret, the other 
 such a letter as the writer would have been likely to send, and yet without anything 
 dangerous. Then if any one be strictly examined as to the cipher let him offer 
 the alphabet of non-significants for the true letters, and the alphabet of true letters 
 for the non-significants. Thus the examiner will fall upon the exterior letter, which 
 finding probable, he will not suspect anything of another letter within. 
 
 How subtle and cunning is all this ! Note the use of the word 
 alphabet. Note, too, the excuse that he gives for discussing the 
 cipher: " he has it by him " — lest anyone might suppose he was 
 
 * Works of Francis Bacon, vol. ix, p. 115. 
 
HO W I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 
 
 5°9 
 
 furnishing a key to some other writings. Observe his rule, that 
 the cipher "must not raise suspicion" as to its existence; it must 
 be "infolded" in something else; so that the reader, falling upon 
 the exterior writing, will not suspect another writing within. 
 He continues: 
 
 But for avoiding suspicion altogether, I will add another contrivance which I 
 devised myself when I was at Paris in my early youth, and which I still think 
 worthy of preservation. For it has the perfection of a cipher, which is to make 
 anything signify anything; subject, however, to this condition, that the infolding 
 writing shall contain at least five times as many letters as the writing infolded : no 
 other restriction or condition whatever is required. The way to do it is this : 
 First let all the letters of the alphabet be resolved into transpositions of two 
 letters only. For the transposition of two letters through five places will yield 
 thirty-two differences, much more twenty-four, which is the number of letters in 
 our alphabet. Here is an example of such an alphabet. 
 
 Here follows the alphabet I have already quoted from the Every 
 
 Boys Book. 
 
 He continues: 
 
 Nor is it a slight thing which is thus by the way effected. For hence we see 
 how thoughts may be communicated at any distance of place by means of any 
 objects perceptible either to the eye or ear, provided only that those objects are 
 capable of two differences; as by bells, trumpets, torches, gun-shots, and the like. 
 
 Herein he anticipated the telegraphic alphabet. 
 
 But to proceed with our business : When you prepare to write, you must 
 reduce the interior epistle to this biliteral alphabet. Let the interior epistle be — 
 
 Fly. 
 
 Example of reduction. 
 
 FLY 
 
 aabab ababa babba 
 
 Have by you at the same time another alphabet in two forms — I mean one in 
 which each of the letters of the common alphabet, both capital and small, is 
 exhibited in two different forms — any forms that you find convenient. 
 
 Example of an alphabet in two forms: 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 A 
 
 B 
 
 \ 
 
 A 
 
 a 
 
 
 B 
 
 B 
 
 b 
 
 » 
 
 C 
 
 c 
 
 C 
 
 C 
 
 D 
 
 D 
 
 (1 
 
 ,/ 
 
 E 
 
 E 
 
 e 
 
 
 F 
 
 F 
 
 f 
 
 f 
 
 G 
 
 G 
 
 g 
 
 g 
 
 II 
 
 II 
 
 h 
 
 // 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 K 
 
 K 
 
 k 
 
 k 
 
 L 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 / 
 
 M 
 
 M 
 
 m 
 
 in 
 
 N 
 
 N 
 
 n 
 
 n 
 
 () 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 
 
 
 P 
 
 P 
 
 P 
 
 P 
 
 
 
 Q 
 
 q 
 
 q 
 
 R 
 
 X 
 
 r 
 
 r 
 
 s 
 
 S 
 
 s 
 
 s 
 
 T 
 
 T 
 
 t 
 
 
 U 
 
 u 
 
 u 
 
 u 
 
 Y 
 
 V 
 
 V 
 
 V 
 
 W 
 
 W 
 
 w 
 
 u ' 
 
 X 
 
 z 
 
 X 
 
 z 
 
 : 
 
 X 
 
 i 
 
 Y 
 
 Y 
 
 y 
 
 y 
 
5io THE CIPHER IX THE J' J. A VS. 
 
 Then take your interior epistle, reduced to the biliteral shape, and adapt to it 
 letter by letter your exterior epistle in the biform character; and then write it out. 
 Let the exterior epistle be: 
 
 DO NOT GO TILL I COME. 
 
 Example of adaptation. 
 FLY 
 
 aa bab ab abab a bba 
 Do not go till I come. 
 
 I add another large example of the same cipher — of the writing of anything by 
 anything. 
 
 The interior epistle, for which I have selected the Spartan dispatch, formerly 
 sent in the Scytale : 
 
 All is lost. Mindarus is killed. The soldiers want food. We ean neither get 
 hence nor stay longer here. 
 
 The exterior epistle, taken from Cicero's first letter and containing the Spartan 
 dispatch within it: 
 
 In all duly or rather piety tozvards you I satisfy everybody except myself. Myself 
 I never satisfy. Eor so gj-eat are the services which you have rendered me, that, seeing 
 you did not rest in your endeavors on my behalf till the thing was done, I feel as if my 
 life had lost ALL its sweetness, because I cannot do as much in this cause of yours. 
 The occasions are these : Ammonius the king's ambassador openly besieges us with 
 money, the, business IS carried on through the same creditors who were employed in it 
 when you were here, etc. 
 
 I have here capitalized the words all and is, supposing them to 
 
 be part of the sentence, "All is lost/' but I am not sure that I am 
 
 right in doing so. The sentence ends as above and leaves us in 
 
 the dark. Bacon continues: 
 
 This doctrine of ciphers carries along with it another doctrine which is its rela- 
 tive. This is the doctrine of deciphering, or of detecting ciphers, though one be 
 quite ignorant of the alphabet used or the private understanding between the 
 parties : a thing requiring both labor and ingenuity, and dedicated, as the other 
 likewise is, to the secrets of princes. By skillful precaution indeed it may be made 
 useless; though, as things are, it is of very great use. For if good and safe 
 ciphers were introduced, there are very many of them which altogether elude and 
 exclude the decipherer, and yet are sufficiently convenient and ready to read 
 and write. But such is the rawness and unskillfulness of secretaries and clerks in 
 the courts of kings, that the greatest matters are commonly trusted to weak and 
 futile ciphers. 
 
 I said to myself: What is there unreasonable in the thought 
 
 that this man, who dwelt with such interest upon the\ subject of 
 
 ciphers, who had invented ciphers, even ciphers within ciphers — 
 
 that this subtle and most laborious intellect might have 1 rjected a 
 
 cipher narrative, an "interior epistle," into the Shakespeare Plays, 
 
 in which he would assert his authorship of the same, and reclaim 
 
 for all time those " children of his brain " who had been placed, for 
 
 good and sufficient reasons, under the fosterage of another? 
 
HOW I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 51 r 
 
 I knew also that Bacon had all his life much to do with ciphers. 
 Spedding says: 
 
 In both France and Scotland Essex had correspondents, in his intercourse with 
 whom Anthony Bacon appears to have served him in a capacity very like that of a 
 modern under-secretary of state, receiving all letters, which were mostly in cipher, 
 in the first instance, forwarding them (generally through his brother Francis' 
 hands) to the Earl deciphered, and accompanied with their joint suggestions. 1 
 
 But Bacon also referred again to the subject of ciphers in the 
 second book of The Advancement of Learnings where he briefly treats 
 of the same theories. He says: 
 
 The highest degree whereof is to write omnia per omnia, which is undoubtedly 
 possible, with a proportion quintuple at most of the writing infolding to the writing 
 infolded, and no other restraint whatsoever. 
 
 In his enumeration of the different kinds of ciphers, 2 he names, 
 as I have shown, "word ciphers." These are ciphers where the 
 word is infolded in other words, and where the cipher is not one of 
 representatives of the alphabetical signs. This seems to be the 
 meaning of the example given of the Spartan dispatch, although, 
 as I have said, he seems to leave the subject purposely obscure. 
 
 Speaking of Dr. Lopez' conspiracy to poison the Queen, Bacon 
 refers to certain letters — 
 
 Written in a cipher, not of alphabet, but of words, such as mought, if it were 
 opened, impart no vehement suspicion." 
 
 In the Second Book of The Advancement of Learning Bacon says: 
 
 But there yet remains another use of Poesy Parabolical, opposite to the former, 
 wherein it serves, as I said, for an infoldment; for such things, I mean, the dignity 
 whereof requires that they should be seen, as it were, through a veil; that is, when 
 the secrets and mysteries of religion, policy and philosophy are involved in fables 
 or parables. 4 
 
 Note here the significant use of the word infoldment. 
 
 And in this connection I quote the following from the Valerius 
 
 Terminus: 
 
 That the discretion anciently observed, though by the precedent of many vain 
 persons and deceivers abused, of publishing part and reserving part to a private suc- 
 cession, and publishing in such a manner whereby it may not be to the taste or 
 capacity of all, but shall, as it were, single and adopt his reader, is not to be laid aside, 
 both for the avoiding of abuse in the excluded, and the strengthening of affection 
 in the admitted. 5 
 
 1 Spedding, Life and Works, vol. i, p. 250. 3 Life and Works, vol. i, p. 282. 
 
 3 Advancement 0/ Learning, vol. ix, p. 116. 4 De A ugnientis, vol. viii, p. 442. 
 5 Pe Augment/*, chap. 18. 
 
$12 THE CIPHER JX THE J' LAYS. 
 
 And again: 
 
 To ascend further by scale I do forbear, partly because it would draw on the 
 example to an over-great length, but chiefly because it would open that which in 
 
 this 7vork I determine to reserve} 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 And as Alexander Borgia was wont to say of the expedition of the French for 
 Naples, that they came with chalk in their hands, to mark up their lodgings, and 
 not with weapons to fight; so I like better that entry of truth which cometh peace- 
 ably with chalk, to mark up those minds which are eapable to lodge and harbor it, than 
 that which cometh with pugnacity and contention. 
 
 And again he says, in the same work: 
 
 Another diversity of method there is [he is speaking of the different methods of 
 "tradition," i.e., of communicating and transmitting knowledge], which hath some 
 affinity with the former, tised in some eases by the discretion of the ancients, but dis- 
 graced since by the imposture of many vain persons, who have made it as a false 
 light for their counterfeit merchandises; and that is, enigmatical and disclosed. The 
 pretense thereof [that is, of the enigmatical method] is to remove the vulgar capac- 
 ities from being admitted to the secrets of knowledge, and to reserve them to selected 
 auditors, or wits of such sharpness as can pierce the veil. 2 
 
 And he also says in the Second Book of the De Augmentis: 
 
 Now, whether any mystic meaning be concealed beneath the fables of the 
 ancient poets is a matter of some doubt. For my part, I am inclined to think a 
 mystery is involved in no small number of them. 
 
 Spedding says: 
 
 The question is whether the reserve Bacon contemplated can be justly com- 
 pared with that practiced by the alchemists and others, who concealed their discov- 
 eries as " treasures of which the value would be decreased if others were allowed to 
 share it." ... It is true that in both of these extracts Bacon intimates an intention 
 to reserve the communication of one part of his philosophy — "formula ipsa interpre- 
 tationis et inventa per eande/u" — to certain fit and chosen persons. . . . The fruits 
 which he anticipated from his philosophy were not only intended for the benefit of 
 all mankind, but were to be gathered in another generation? 
 
 Of course all this is expressed obscurely by Bacon, although no 
 man was more capable of expressing it clearly, had he desired so to 
 do. But, putting all these things together, I drew the inference 
 that Bacon proposed to reserve some part of his teaching for another 
 generation, for the benefit of mankind; that this was to be behind a 
 veil, which keen wits might pierce; and he believed that the great 
 writers of antiquity had, in like manner, buried certain mysteries in 
 their works, the keys to which are now lost. 
 
 1 De Augmenttf, chap. 2. 2 Works, Boston, vol. i, p. 185. 3 Ibid. 
 
HOW I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 513 
 
 And says Speckling: 
 
 Thus I conceive that six out of the ten passages under consideration must be 
 set aside as not bearing at all upon the question at issue. Of the four that remain, 
 two must be set aside in like manner, because, though they directly allude to the prac- 
 tice of transmitting knowledge as a secret from hand to hand, they contain no evidence 
 that Bacon approved of it. 
 
 And it is most remarkable that in the next chapter after that in 
 which we find the lengthy discourse about ciphers, already quoted, 
 Bacon proceeds to discuss " the Handing on of the Lamp, or Method 
 of Delivery to Posterity," and repeats himself again. He says there 
 are two ways to transmit knowledge: 
 
 For both methods agree in aiming to separate the vulgar among the auditors 
 from the select; but then they are opposed in this, that the former makes use of a 
 way of delivery more open than the common; the latter (of which I am now going 
 to speak), of one more secret. Let the one, then, be distinguished as the Exoteric 
 method, the other as the Acroamatic; a. distinction observed by the ancients princi- 
 pally in the publication of books, but which I transfer to the method of delivery. 
 Indeed this acroamatic or enigmatical method was itself used among the ancients, 
 and employed with judgment and discretion. But in later times it has been dis- 
 graced by many, who have made it a false and deceitful light to put forward their 
 counterfeit merchandise. The intention of it, however, seems to be by obscurity of 
 delivery to exclude the vulgar (that is the profane vulgar) from the secrets of knowl- 
 edge, and to admit those only who have either received the interpretation of the 
 enigmas through the hands of the teachers, or have wits of such sharpness and dis- 
 cernment as can pierce the veil. 1 
 
 Is it not significant that immediately after the discussion of 
 ciphers, in which he said that there were two kinds of writing, 
 " either by the common alphabet or by a private and secret one," 
 he should proceed to tell us that there are two ways of handing 
 on the lamp to posterity, both of which exclude the vulgar, but one 
 of them is more secret than the other, used formerly among the 
 ancients [he has just given us an example in the Spartan Scytale] — 
 an acroamatic or enigmatical method, the " veil " of whose 
 " obscure delivery * J can only be penetrated by those who have been 
 let into the secret, or who have wits sharp enough to pierce it. 
 
 Delia Bacon says of the Elizabethan period: 
 
 It was a time when the cipher, in which one could write "omnia per omnia," 
 was in request; when even " wheel ciphers " and doubles were thought not unwor- 
 thy of philosophic notice . . . with philosophic secrets that opened down into the 
 bottom of a tomb, that opened into the Tower, that opened on the scaffold and the 
 block. 2 
 
 1 De A ugmentis, book vi. 2 Philosophy of S/iak. Plays I T nfotded, p. 10. 
 
514 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 Ben Jonson, in his Epigrams, says, speaking of the young states- 
 men of London: 
 
 They all get Porta for -the sundry ways 
 To write in cipher, and the several keys 
 To ope the character. 1 
 
 Porta was the famous Neapolitan, Johannes Baptista Porta. He 
 
 died in 1615. 
 
 Says W. F. C. Wigston: 
 
 It is difficult for us in this free age to understand all this. . . . For the neces- 
 sity that arose for secrecy, and the intimacy of religion, politics and poetry cannot 
 be fully grasped in an age where they have neither necessity nor interest to be in 
 any way inter-related or inter-dependent. 2 
 
 And that Bacon expected that in the future he would have an 
 
 increase of fame or a justification of his life, seems to be intimated 
 
 in the first draft of his will: 
 
 I leave my memory to the next ages and foreign nations, and to my own coun- 
 trymen after some time be passed. 
 
 And in the last copy of his will he changes this phraseology, and 
 
 says: 
 
 For my name and memory I leave it to men's charitable speeches, and to for- 
 eign nations, and to the next ages. 
 
 Did he omit the words in italics because they might be too sig- 
 nificant ? 
 
 He always looked over the heads of the generation in which he 
 
 lived, and fastened his eyes upon posterity. He anticipated the 
 
 great religious and political revolution which soon after his death 
 
 swept over England. He believed that the world was on the eve of 
 
 great civil convulsions, growing out of religious fanaticism, in 
 
 which it was possible civilization might perish, despite the art of 
 
 printing. He says: 
 
 Nor is my resolution diminished by foreseeing the state of these times, a sort of 
 declination and ruin of the learning which is now in use; for although I dread not 
 the incursions of barbarians (unless, perhaps, the empire of Spain should strengthen 
 itself, and oppress and debilitate others by arms, itself by the burden), yet from 
 civil wars (which, on account of certain manners, not long ago introduced, seem to 
 me about to visit many countries), and the malignity of sects, and from these com- 
 pendiary artifices and cautions which have crept into the place of learning, no less 
 a tempest seems to impend over letters and science. Nor can the shop of the 
 typographer avail for these evils. 3 
 
 1 Epigram xcii. The New City. 2 A New Story of S/iak., p. 193. 
 
 ;i On the Interpretation 0/ Nature. 
 
HOW I CAME TO LOOK FOR A CIPHER. 515 
 
 What more natural than that he, the cipher-maker, being the 
 author of the Plays, should place in the Plays a cipher story, to be 
 read when the tempest that was about to assail civilization had 
 passed away, — the Plays surviving, for they were, he tells us, to 
 live when " marble and the gilded monuments of princes " had 
 perished — even to the general judgment. If he was right; if the 
 Plays were indeed as imperishable as the verses of Homer, they 
 must necessarily be the subject of close study by generations of 
 critics and commentators; and sooner or later some one would 
 " pierce the veil " and read the acroamatic and enigmatical story 
 infolded in them. Then would he be justified to the world by that 
 internal narrative, reflecting on kings, princes, prelates and peers, 
 and not to be published in his own day; not to be uttered with- 
 out serious' penalties to his kinsfolk, his family, his very body in 
 the grave. Then, when his corpse was dust, his blood extinct, or 
 diluted to nothingness in the course of generations; then, when all 
 vanities of rank and state and profession and family were obliter- 
 ated; when his memory and name were as a sublimated spirit; then, 
 "in the next ages," "when some time had been passed," he would, 
 through the cipher narrative, rise anew from the grave. 
 
 So the life that died with shame 
 
 Would live in death with glorious fame. 1 
 
 " His eye," says Montagu, "pierced into future contingents." 
 That can not be called improbable which has happened. If I 
 had not fallen upon the cipher, some one else would. It was a mere 
 question of time, with all time in which to answer it. 
 
 And this material and practical view sets aside that other and 
 profounder conception, in which the operations of the minds of men 
 are but the shadowings of an eternal purpose, and all history 
 and all nature but the cunningly adjusted parts of a great exter- 
 nal spiritual design. 
 
 Much Ado About Nothing, ii, 3. 
 
 
CHAPTER IT. 
 HOW J BECAME CERTAIN THERE IV AS A CIPHER. 
 
 A book where men may read strange matters. 
 
 Macbeth^ t\j. 
 
 IN the winter of 1878-9 I said to myself: I will re-read the Shake- 
 speare Plays, not, as heretofore, for the delight which they would 
 give me, but with my eyes directed singly to discover whether there 
 is or' is not in them any indication of a cipher. 
 
 And I reasoned thus: If there is a cipher in the Plays, it will 
 probably be in the form of a brief statement, that " I, Francis 
 Bacon, of St. Albans, son of Nicholas Bacon, Lord Keeper of the 
 Great Seal of England, wrote these Plays, which go by the name of 
 William Shakespeare." 
 
 The things then to be on the look-out for, in my reading, were 
 the words Francis, Bacon, Nicholas, Bacon, and such combinations 
 of Shake and speare, or Shakes and peer, as would make the word 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 I possessed no Concordance at the time, or I might have saved 
 myself much unnecessary trouble. 
 
 The first thing that struck me was the occurrence in The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor 1 of the word Bacon. The whole scene is an 
 intrusion into the play. The play turns upon Sir John Falstaffs 
 making love to two dames of Windsor at the same time, and the 
 shames and humiliations he suffered therefrom. And this scene 
 has nothing whatever to do with the plot of the play. Mistress 
 Page, one of the Merry Wives, accompanied by her boy William, 
 meets with Sir Hugh Evans, the Welsh parson and schoolmaster, — 
 old Dame Quickly being by; — and Mistress Page tells the school- 
 master that her husband says the boy William " profits nothing at 
 his book;" and she requests him to " ask him some questions in his 
 accidence." In the first place, it is something of a surprise to find 
 the wife of a yeoman, or man of the middle class, who is able to> 
 
 1 Act iv, scene i. 
 
 516 
 
HO W I BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER. 517 
 
 tell whether or not the boy correctly answers the Latin questions 
 put to him. But what, in the name of all that is reasonable, has 
 the boy's proficiency in Latin to do with Sir John Falstaff s love- 
 making ? And why take up a whole scene to introduce it ? The 
 box William nowhere appears in the play y except in that scene. He is 
 called up from the depths of the author's consciousness, to recite a 
 school lesson; and he is dismissed at the end of it into nothingness, 
 never to appear again in this world. Is not this extraordinary ? 
 
 We have also the older form of the play, which is only half the 
 size of the present, and there is no William in it, and no such scene. 
 That first form was written to play, and it has everything in it of 
 action and plot necessary to make it a successful stage play, and 
 tradition tells us that it was successful. But what was this 
 enlarged form of the play written for, if the old form answered all 
 the purposes of a. play? And why insert in it this useless scene ? 
 
 Richard Grant White calls it "that very superfluous scene in 
 The Merry Wires of Windsor." He acknowledges that "it has 
 nothing whatever to do with the plot." ' 
 
 Speaking of the contemporaries of Shakspere, Swinburne says: 
 
 There is not one of them whom we can reasonably imagine capable of the 
 patience and self-respect which induced Shakespeare to re-write the triumphantly- 
 popular parts of Romeo, of Falstaff and of Hamlet, with an eye to the literary per- 
 fection and performance of work, which, in its first outline, had won the crowning 
 suffrage of immediate and spectacular applause.* 2 
 
 But while these reasons might possibly account for the re-writing 
 of the parts of Romeo, Falstaff and Hamlet, there is no literary per- 
 fection about The Merry Wives of Windsor to explain the doubling 
 of it in size; there is very little blank verse in the comedy, and still 
 less of anything that can aspire to be called poetry. Why, then, 
 was it re-written ? And why, when re-written, was this superfluous 
 scene injected into it? That the reader may be the better able to 
 judge of it, I quote the scene entire, just as it appears on pages 53 
 and 54 of the Folio of 1623: 
 
 Actus Quartus. Sc-kxa Prima. 
 
 Enter Mistris Page, Quickly, William, Evans. 
 
 Mist. Pag. Is he at M. Fords already think'st thou? 
 
 Qui . Sure he is by this; or will be presently; but truely he is very couragious 
 mad, about his throwing into the water. Mistris Ford desires you to come sodainely. 
 
 1 Genius of Shak., p. 283, - Thomas Middleton, Shakespeariana, vol. iii, No. 26, p. 61. 
 
5 i8 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 Mist. Pag. He be with her by and by: He but bring my yong-man here to 
 Schoole : looke where his Master comes; 'tis a playing day I see; how now Sir 
 Hugh, no Schoole to-day? 
 
 Eva. No : Master Slender is let the Boyes leave to play. 
 
 Qui. 'Blessing of his heart. 
 
 Mist. Pag. Sir Hugh, my husband saies my sonne profits nothing in the 
 world at his Booke: I pray you aske him some questions in his Accidence. 
 
 Ev. Come hither William; hold up your head; come. 
 
 Mist. Pag. Come-on, Sirha; hold up your head; answere your Master; be 
 not afraid. 
 
 Eva. William, how many numbers is in Nownes ? 
 
 Will. Two. 
 
 Qui. Truely, I thought there had bin one Number more, because they say 
 od's-Nownes. 
 
 Eva. Peace, your tatlings. What is (Faire) William? 
 
 Will. Pulcher. 
 
 Qu, Powlcats? There are fairer things than Powlcats, sure. 
 
 Eva. You are a very simplicity o'man : I pray you peace. What is (Lapis) r 
 William ? 
 
 Will. A Stone. 
 
 Eva. And what is a Stone ( William ?) 
 
 Will. A Peeble. 
 
 Eva. No, it is Jjipis: I pray you remember in your praine. 
 
 Will. Lapis. 
 
 Eva, That is a good William: what is he ( William) that do's lend articles. 
 
 Will. Articles are borrowed of the Pronoune, and be thus declined. Singu- 
 lar iter nominativo hie, hae, hoc. 
 
 Eva, Nominativo hig, hag, hog: pray, you marke: genitivo huius. Well. 
 what is your Accusative-case? 
 
 Will. Accusativo hinc. 
 
 Eva. I pray you have your remembrance (childe) Accusativo hing, hang, hog. 
 
 Qu. Hang-hog, is latten for Bacon, I warrant you. 
 
 Eva. Leave your prables (o'man). What is the Focative case ( William ?) 
 
 Wilt. O, Vocativo, O. 
 
 Eva. Remember William, Focative, is caret. 
 
 Qui. And that's a good roote. 
 
 Eva. O'man, forbeare. 
 
 Mist. Page. Peace. 
 
 Eva. What is your Genitive case phi nil I ( // 'illiam /) 
 
 Will. Genitive case? 
 
 Eva. I. 
 
 Will. Genitive horum, ha rum, horum. 
 
 Qu. 'Vengeance of Ginyes case; fie on her; never name her (childe) if she be- 
 a whore. 
 
 Eva. For shame o'man. 
 
 Qu. You do ill to teach the childe such words; hee teaches him to hie, and to 
 hac; which they'll do fast enough of themselves, and to call horum ; fie upon you. 
 
 Evans. O'man, art thou Lunatics ? Hast thou no understandings for thy 
 Cases & the number of the Genders? Thou art as foolish Christian creatures, as 
 I would desires. 
 
 Mi. Page, Pre'thee hold thy peace. 
 
 Ev, Shew me now ( William) some declensions of your Pronounes. 
 
I/O IV / BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER, 519 
 
 Will. Forsooth, I have forgot. 
 
 Ev. It is Qui, que, quod; if you forget your Quies, your Ours and your Quods 
 you must be preeches : Go your waies and play, go. 
 
 M. Pag. He is a better scholler then I thought he was. 
 
 Ev. He is a good sprag-memory : Farewel Mis. Page. 
 
 Mis. Page. Adieu good Sir Hugh : Get you home, boy, Come we stay too 
 long. Exeunt. 
 
 I will ask the reader, after a while, to recur to this scene, and 
 note the unusual, the extraordinary way in which the words are 
 bracketed and hyphenated. 
 
 It is very evident that there is nothing in this scene which has 
 the slightest relation to the play of The Merry Wives. It is simply 
 a schoolmaster, who speaks broken English, hearing a boy his 
 lesson. There is no wit in the scene, and what attempts at wit 
 there are seem to me very forced. 
 
 It was written and inserted simply to enable the author to 
 reiterate the name William eleven times, and to bring in the 
 word Bacon. The whole scene is built up, created, constructed 
 and forced into the play to find an opportunity to use the word 
 Bacon without arousing suspicion. 
 
 " Hang-hog is the Latin for Bacon," says Dame Quickly, and we 
 know just where the pun came from. I have already quoted the 
 anecdote in a former chapter, but I repeat it here. It was inserted 
 by the publisher of the third edition of the Resuscitatio, 1671, to- 
 gether with fifteen other anecdotes: 
 
 Sir Nicholas Bacon, being appointed a judge for the northern circuit, and 
 having brought his trials that came before him to such a pass, as the passing of 
 sentence on malefactors, he was by one of the malefactors mightily importuned to 
 save his life; which, when nothing that he had said did avail, he at length desired 
 his mercy on account of kindred. "Prithee," said my lord judge, " how car e 
 that in?" "Why, if it please you, my lord, your name is Bacon and mine is 
 Hog, and in all ages Hog and Bacon have been so near kindred that they 
 are not to be separated." "Ay; but," replied Judge Bacon, "you and I cannot 
 be kindred except you be hanged; for Hog is not Bacon until it be well hanged." 
 
 Here we have precisely the idea played upon by Dame Quickly. 
 " Hang-hog is the Latin for Bacon," says the old woman. " Hog is 
 not Bacon until it be well hanged," says Sir Nicholas. 
 
 Here, then, we have not only a scene forced into the play, to 
 introduce a jest with the word Bacon in it; but we find that 
 jest connected with Sir Francis, because it related to an incident in 
 the life of his father. 
 
 / 
 
5 20 THE CIPHER JX THE PLAYS. 
 
 All this is most remarkable. But, having found- William repeated 
 eleven times, I asked myself, Where is the rest of the name, Shakes- 
 peare, if there is really a cipher here, and the recurrence of Willia?n 
 and the occurrence of Bacon are not accidents ? I soon found it. 
 
 On the same page and column on which the scene I have just 
 quoted terminates, page 54, in the next scene, Mistress Page, speak- 
 ing of Ford's jealousy, says: 
 
 Why, woman, your husband is in his olde lines againe: he so takes on yonder 
 with my husband; so railes against all married mankinde; so curses all Eves 
 daughters of what complexion soever; and so buffettes himself on the forehead, 
 crying peere-ovA., peere-oxxt, that any madnesse I ever yet beheld, etc. 
 
 Here we have the last part of Shakespeare's name, and we will see 
 hereafter that, in the cipher rule, the hyphenated words are, at times, 
 counted as two separate words. It seemed to me very unnatural 
 that any jealous man would beat his forehead and tell it to peer out; 
 or even tell his brain to peer out. Men usually employ their eyes for 
 purposes of watchfulness. All that Ford needed was the evidence 
 of his eyes to satisfy his jealousy. It was not a case of intellectual 
 eyesight — of the brain peering into some complicated mental 
 puzzle. It seemed to me, again, as if this was forced into the text. 
 
 But where was the first part of Shakespeare's name ? As the 
 last syllable was pecre, the first syllable — to give the full sound 
 — ■ would have to be shakes^ and not shake. I found it on the next 
 page but one, page 56, in the sentence which describes the ghost 
 of Heme the hunter, in the Windsor forest: 
 
 Mist. Page. There is an old tale goes that Heme, the 
 Hunter (sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest), 
 Doth all the winter time, at still midnight, 
 Walk round about an Oake, with great rag'd horns, 
 And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle, 
 And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain 
 In a most hideous and dreadful manner. 
 
 I turned to the original Merry Wives of Windsor, which I find 
 published in Hazlitfs Shakespeare Library, " as it hath bene divers 
 times acted by the right Honorable my Lord Chamberlaines ser- 
 vants, both before her Maiestie, and elsewhere; " and I found the 
 original of this passage in the following crude and brief form: 
 
 Oft have you heard since Home, the hunter, dyed, 
 That women, to affright their little children, 
 Ses that he walks in shape of a great stagge. 
 
HO W J BECAME CERT A IX /HERE WAS A CIPHER* 521 
 
 Here there is nothing of "shakes a chain." Neither is there any- 
 thing of the " peere-out, peere-out," in the other sentence. The 
 original is : 
 
 Mrs. Page. Mistress Ford, why, woman, your husband is in his old vaine 
 again, hee's coming to search for your sweet heart, but I am glad he is not here. 
 
 Now as I had / 7 'illiani Shakes-peere and Bacon, I said to myself, 
 Is there anything of Bacon's first name ? 
 
 There is no Francis in the play; but we have Frank and 
 Francisco. In act ii, scene i, Mistress Ford says to her husband: 
 
 How now (sweet prank), why art thou melancholy? 
 
 Everywhere else in the play he appears as Master Ford; as, for 
 instance, his wife says: 
 
 Mis. Ford. You use me well, Master Ford, do you ? 
 
 Is it not singular that when a Frank was needed to complete the 
 name, it should crop out in this unnecessary way, once only and 
 no more ? 
 
 Again, the Host of the Tavern says, speaking of the duel between 
 
 Dr. Caius and Sir Hugh Evans: 
 
 To see thee fight, to see thee foigne, to see thee traverse, to see thee here, to see 
 thee there, to see thee pass thy puncto, thy stock, thy reverse, thy distance, thy 
 montant. Is he dead, my Ethiopian? Is he dead, my Francisco? Ha, bully ! what 
 says my Esculapius ? etc. 
 
 As there is no Francisco present or anywhere in the play, this is 
 all rambling nonsense, and the word is dragged in for a purpose. 
 
 In the same way I observed Pranctsco to make its appearance 
 in the enlarged edition of Hamlet, while it did not occur in the orig- 
 inal. In the copy of 1603, "as it hath been diverse times acted by 
 His Highness' servants in the Cittie of London," the play opens 
 
 thus: 
 
 Enter Two Centinels. 
 
 Their names are not given, and their speeches are marked 1 and 
 2; but in the copy of 1604, " newly imprinted and enlarged to almost 
 as much again as it was, according to the true and perfect coppie," 
 we find: 
 
 Enter Barnardo and Francisco, two Centinels. 
 
 And the scene opens thus: 
 
 Bar. Whose there ? 
 
 Fran. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourselfe. 
 
 Bar. Long live the king. 
 
522 THE CIPHER IN THE /'LAYS. 
 
 Fran, fiarnardo. 
 
 Bar. Hee. 
 
 Fran. You come most carefully upon your hour. 
 
 Bar. 'Tis now struck twelve, get thee to bed, Francisco. 
 
 And then Francisco disappears to his bed and never again reap- 
 pears in the play, any more than William does in the Merry Wives, 
 after he has recited that interesting Latin lesson. Now why were the 
 sentinels named at all ? There might be some excuse for giving 
 Barnardo a cognomen, as he continues in the scene to converse with 
 Horatio and Marcellus. But what importance was a name to the man 
 who was instantly swallowed up in oblivion and the bed-clothes ? 
 
 But it was in the first part of King Henry IV. that I found the 
 most startling proofs of the existence of a cipher. 
 
 In act ii, scene i, we have a stable scene, with the two " carriers " 
 and an hostler; it is night, or rather early morning — two o'clock — 
 it is the morning of the Gadshill robbery; the carriers are feeding 
 their horses and getting ready for the day's journey; and in the dia- 
 logue they speak as follows: 
 
 / Car. What Ostler, come away and be hanged; come away. 
 2 Car. I have a gammon of Bacon, and two razes of Ginger, to be delivered 
 as far as Charing-crosse. 
 
 This occurs on page 53 of the Histories ; we have seen that the 
 other word Bacon occurs on page 53 of the Comedies. As these are 
 the only instances in which the word Bacon occurs alone and not 
 hyphenated with any other word, in all these voluminous plays, 
 occupying nearly a thousand pages, is it not remarkable that both 
 should be found on the same numbered page? 
 
 We have the original of this robbery scene in another old play, 
 entitled The Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth. In each case the 
 men robbed were bearing money to the King's treasury; and in 
 each case they called upon the Prince after the robbery for restitu- 
 tion. In the old play, Dericke, the carrier, who is robbed by the 
 Prince's man, says: 
 
 Oh, maisters, stay there; nay, let's never belie the man; for he hath not beaten 
 and wounded me also, but he hath beaten and wounded my packe, and hath taken 
 the great rase of Ginger that bouncing Bess . . . should have had. 
 
 But there is no bacon in his pack. That was added, as in tin/ 
 other instances, when the play was re-written, doubled in size, and 
 the cipher inserted. 
 
HOW I BECAME CERTAJX THERE WAS A CIPHER. 523 
 
 I said that Bacon, in making any claim to the authorship of the 
 Plays, would probably seek to identify himself (as centuries might 
 elapse before the discovery of the cipher) by giving the name of 
 his father, the celebrated Sir Nicholas, Queen Elizabeth's Lord 
 Keeper ; and here, in the same scene, on page 53, appears his 
 father's name. 
 
 The chamberlain enters the stable; also Gadshill, "the setter" 
 of the thieves, as Poins calls him; that is, the one who points the 
 game for them. The chamberlain says: 
 
 Cham. Good-morrow, Master Gads-Hill; it holds current that I told you yester- 
 night. There's a Franklin in the wilde of Kent hath brought three hundred marks 
 with him in gold. I heard him tell it to one of his company last night at supper; 
 a kinde of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge, too (God knows what); they 
 are up already and call for egges and butter. They will away presently. 
 
 Gad. Sirra, if they meete not with S. Nicholas Clarks, He give thee this necke. 
 
 Cham. No; He none of it. I prithee, keep that for the hangman, for I know 
 thou worship'st S. Nicholas as truly as a man of falshood may. 
 
 First, I would observe the unnecessary presence of the word 
 Kent. Why was the county from which the man came mentioned ? 
 Because Kent was the birthplace of Sir Nicholas Bacon, and in any 
 cipher narrative it was very natural to speak of Sir Nicholas Bacon 
 born in Kent. 
 
 But observe how Saint Nicholas is dragged in. He is repre- 
 sented as the patron saint of thieves, when in fact he was nothing 
 of the kind. Saint Anthony, I believe, is entitled to that honor. But, 
 ingenious as Bacon was, he could see no other way to get Nicholas 
 into that stable scene, and into the talk of thieves and carriers, 
 except by such an allusion as the foregoing; and he made it even 
 at the violation of the saintly attributes. Saint Nicholas, Bishop 
 of Myra, was born in Patara, Lycia, and died about 340. " He is 
 invoked as the patron of sailors, merchants, travelers and captives, 
 and the guardian of school-boys, girls and children." He is the 
 original of the Santa-Klaus of the nursery. 
 
 And in the same scene on the same column we have; 
 If I hang, old Sir John hangs with mee. 
 
 This gives us the knightly prefix to Nicholas Bacon's name. 
 And it appeared to me there was something here about the 
 Exchequer of the Commonwealth of England; for all these words- 
 drop out in the same connection. Only a few lines below the word 
 
5 2 4 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 Nicholas y the word Commonwealth is twice dragged in, in most 
 absurd fashion. 
 
 Describing the thieves, Gadshill says: 
 
 And drink sooner than pray; and yet I lie, for they pray continually to their 
 saint the Commonwealth ; or rather not pray to her but prey on her, for they ride 
 up and down on her, and make her their Bootes. 
 
 Cham. What, the Commonwealth their Bootes? Will she hold out water in 
 — a foul way ? 
 
 The complicated exigencies of the cipher compelled Bacon to 
 talk nonsense. Who ever heard of a Saint Commonwealth ? And 
 who ever heard of converting a saint into boots to keep out water ? 
 
 And on the next page we have the word exchequer twice 
 repeated: 
 
 Pal. I will not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy 
 father's exchequer. 
 
 Again: 
 
 Bardolph, Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards, there's money of the King 
 coming down the hill, 'tis going to the King's exchequer. 
 
 Pal. You lie, you rogue, 'tis going to the King's tavern. 
 
 And a little further on we have: 
 
 When I am King of England} 
 
 And as the Court of Exchequer was formerly a court of equity, 
 in the same scene we find that word: 
 
 Pal. If the Prince and Poynes be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity 
 stirring. 
 
 Here again the language is forced; this is not a natural expres- 
 sion. 
 
 All this is in the second act of the play, and in the first act we 
 have: 
 
 As well as waiting in the court} 
 
 O, rare I'll be a brave judge? 
 
 For obtaining of suits.* 
 
 And then we have master of the great seal — 
 
 Good-morrow, Master Gads-hill. 5 
 
 We'll but seal, and then to horse. 6 
 
 For they have great charge. 7 
 
 'Act ii, scene 4. *fst Henry II'., i, 2. 3 Ibid., i, 2. 4 Ibid., i, a. 
 
 . & Ibid., ii. 1. "Ibid., iii, .. Mbid., ii, r. 
 
HO IV I BECAME CERT A EX THERE WAS A CITHER. 5 2 5 
 
 All this is singular: Sir — Nicholas — Bacon — of Kent — Master 
 of the — great — seal of the Commonwealth of England. 
 
 And again: Judge of the court of the exchequer — equity. 
 
 It is true that this might all be the result of accident. But I g0' 
 a step further. 
 
 On the next page, 54, and in the next scene, I found the follow- 
 ing extraordinary sentences: 
 
 Enter Travellers. 
 
 Trav. Come Neighbor; the boy shall leade our Horses downe the hill: Wee'll 
 walk a-foot awhile, and ease our legges. 
 
 Thieves. Stay. 
 
 Trav. Iesu bless us. 
 
 Falstaff. Strike: down with them, cut the villains throats; a whorson Caterpil- 
 lars; Bacon-fed knaves, they hate us, youth; downe with them, fleece them. 
 
 Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever. 
 
 Falstaff. Hang ye gorbellied knaves, are you undone? No ye fat Chuffes, I 
 would your store were here. On Bacons, on, what, ye knaves ? Yong men. 
 must live, you are Grand Iurers, are ye? Wee'll iure ye i'faith. 
 
 Heere they rob them and binde them. 
 
 Let us examine this. 
 
 The word Bacon is an unusual word in literary work. It 
 describes, in its commonly accepted sense, an humble article o£ 
 food. It occurs but four times in all these Plays of Shakespeare,. 
 viz.: 
 
 1. In The Merry Wives of Windsor, in the instance I have given, 
 page 53 of the Comedies, " Hang-hog is the Latin for Bacon.' 1 '' 
 
 2. In the \st Henry IV., act ii, scene 1, "a gammon of Bacon/' 
 page 53 of the Histories. 
 
 3. In these two instances last above given, on page 54 of the 
 Histories. 
 
 So that out of four instances in the Plays in which it is used 
 this significant word is employed three times on two successive 
 pages of the same play in the same act ! 
 
 I undertake to say that the reader cannot find in any work of 
 prose or poetry, not a biography of Bacon, in that age, or any 
 subsequent age, where no reference was intended to be made to the 
 man Bacon, another such collocation of Nicholas — Bacon — Bacon- 
 fed — Bacons. I challenge the skeptical to undertake the task. 
 
 And why does Falstaff stop in the full tide of robbery to partic- 
 ularize the kind of food on which his victims feed? Who ever 
 
526 THE CIPHER JX TffE PLAYS. 
 
 heard, in all the annals of Newgate, of such superfluous and absurd 
 abuse ? Robbery is a work for hands, not tongues. And it is out 
 of all nature that Falstaff, committing a crime the penalty of 
 which was death, should stop to think of bacon, or greens, or beef- 
 steak, or anything else of the kind. 
 
 I« it intended as a term of reproach ? No; the bacon-fed man 
 in that day was the well-fed man. I quote again from the famous 
 Victories of Henry V. 
 
 John, the cobbler, and Dericke, the carrier, converse; Dericke 
 proposes to go and live with the cobbler. He says: 
 
 I am none of these great slouching fellows that devoure these great pieces of 
 beefe and brewes; alas, a trifle serves me, a woodcccke, a chicken, or a capons 
 legge, or any such little thing serves me. 
 
 John. A capon ! Why, man, I cannot get a capon once a yeare, except it be 
 at Christmas, at some other man's house, for we cobblers be glad of a dish of rootes. 
 
 Falstaff might fling a term of reproach at his victims, but 
 scarcely a term of compliment. 
 
 But Falstaff calls the travelers Bacons ! Think of it. If he had 
 called them hogs, I could understand it, but to call them by the 
 name of a piece of smoked meat ! I can imagine a man calling 
 another a bull, an ox, a beef; but never a tenderloin. Moreover, 
 why should Falstaff say, "On, Bacons, on !" unless he was chasing 
 the travelers away ? But he was trying to detain them, to hold on 
 to them, for the stage direction says: "Here they rob them and 
 binde them," 
 
 When I read that phrase, "On, Bacons, on ! " I said to myself: 
 Beyond question there is a cipher in this play. 
 
 And on the same page, in the same scene, I found: 
 
 Falstaff. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good King's sonne. 
 
 Here the last words were unnecessary — Falstaff s request was 
 complete without it. But suppose it followed the word Bacons in 
 the cipher — then we would have Sir Nicholas Bacon s son. 
 
 And on page 55, the next page of the Folio, I found the fol- 
 lowing : 
 
 Sc.KNA QUARTA. 
 Enter Prince' and Poines. 
 
 Prin. Ned, prithee come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh 
 a little. 
 
 Poines. Where hast been. Hall ' 
 
HOW / BECAME CERTAIN THE. RE WAS A CIPHER, 527 
 
 Priii. With three or four logger-heads, amongst three or four score Hogs- 
 heads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. Sirra, I am sworn, 
 brother, to a leash of Drawers, and can call them by their names, as Torn, Dicke 
 and Francis. 
 
 Why Tom, Dick and Francis?. The common expression, here 
 alluded to, is, as every one knows, " Tom, Dick and Harry." Why 
 was Harry thrown out and Francis substituted ? Why ? Because 
 the cipher required it; because it gives us: 
 
 Francis — Bacon — Nicholas — Bacon s — sonne. 
 
 But this isn't all. On the next page, 56, we have a continuation 
 of this conversation between the Prince and Poins; and in it this 
 occurs (I print it precisely as it stands in the Folio): 
 
 Prince. . . . But Ned, to drive away time till Falslaffe come, I prythee do thou 
 stand in some by-roome, while I question my puny Drawer, to what end he gave 
 me the Sugar, and do never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be 
 nothing but, Anon: step aside and He shew thee a President. 
 
 Poincs. Frajicis. 
 
 Prince. Thou art perfect. 
 
 Fain. Francis. 
 
 Enter Drawer. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon, sir; look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralfe. 
 
 Prince. Come hither Francis. 
 
 Fran. My Lord. 
 
 Prin. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ? 
 
 Fran. Forsooth five years, and as much as to 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon sir. 
 
 Prin. Five years. Berlady, a long Lease for the clinking of Pewter. But 
 Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy Indenture, & 
 shew it a faire paire of heeles, and run from it ? 
 
 Fran. O Lord sir, He be sworne upon all the Books in England, I could find 
 in my heart. 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon sir. 
 
 Prin. How old art thou* Francis? 
 
 Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shalbe 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon sir; pray you stay a little, my Lord. 
 
 Prin. Nay, but harke you Francis, for the sugar thou gav'st me, 'twas a peny- 
 worth, was't not? 
 
 Fran. O Lord sir, I wish it had bene two. 
 
 Prin. I will give thee for it a thousand pound : Aske me when thou wilt, and 
 thou shalt have it. 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon. 
 
 Prin. Anon Francis? No Francis, but to-morrow Francis; or Francis, on 
 thursday: or indeed Francis when thou wilt. But Francis. 
 
 Fran. My Lord. 
 
528 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 Erin. Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Ierkin, Christall button, Not-pated, Agat 
 ring, Puke stocking, Caddice garter, Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch. 
 
 Iran. O Lord sir, who do you meane? 
 
 Erin. Why then your browne Bastard is your onely drinke : for looke you. 
 Francis, your white Canvas doublet will sulley. In Barbary sir, it cannot come to 
 so much. 
 
 Fran. What sir? 
 
 Foin. Francis. 
 
 Prin. Away you Rogue. Dost thou heare them call? 
 
 What was the purpose of this nonsensical scene, which, as some 
 one has said, is about on a par with the wit of a negro-minstrel 
 show ? What had it to do with the plot of the play ? Nothing. 
 
 But it enabled the author to bring in the name of Francis 
 twenty times in less than a column. And observe how curiously 
 the words Francis are printed: five times it is given in italics 
 and fifteen times in Roman type. 
 
 And are not these twenty Francises on page 56 of the Histories, 
 and the Shakes on page 56 of the Comedies, and the peere on page 
 54 of the Comedies, and the Bacon-fed and Bacons on page 54 of the 
 Histories, and the Bacon on page 53 of the Comedies, and the Nicho- 
 las and Bacon on page 53 of the Histories, and the William eleven 
 times repeated on page 53 of the Comedies, all linked together, and 
 simply so many extended fingers pointing the attention of the 
 sleepy-eyed world to the fact that there is something more here 
 than appears on the surface ? These are the indices, the exclamation 
 points, that Bacon believed would, sooner or later, fall under the 
 attention of some reader of the plays. 
 
 But go a step farther. On page 67 of the same play in which 
 all this Nicholas-Bacon-Francis-Bacon-Bacons is found, we find the 
 name of Bacon's country-seat, St. Albans. 
 
 No point of the earth's surface was more closely identified with 
 Francis Bacon than St. Albans. It was his father's home, his moth- 
 er's residence; the place where he spent his leisure, where probably 
 he produced many of these very plays; the place from which he 
 took his knightly title, Viscount St. Albans, when he rose to great- 
 ness. I have shown how the name is peppered all over several of 
 the plays, while there is no mention of Stratford-on-Avon from 
 cover to cover of the volume. On page 67 we have Falstaff's cele- 
 brated description of his ragged company. It concludes as fol- 
 lows: 
 
HOW I BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER. 529 
 
 There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my company, and the halfe Shirt is two 
 Napkins tackt together, andthrowne over the shoulders like a Heralds coat, without 
 sleeves: and the Shirt, to say the truth, stolne from my host of S. Alboncs, or the 
 Red-Nose Inne-keeper of Davintry. But that's all one, they'le finde Linnen 
 enough on every Hedge. 
 
 This might pass well enough so long as one's suspicions were not 
 aroused as to the existence of a cipher. But the critical would then 
 ask, Why St. Albans ? There were hundreds of little villages in 
 England of equal magnitude. Why should the man of Stratford, 
 who is supposed to have had no more connection with St. Albans 
 than he had with Harrow, Barnet, Chesham, Watford, Hatfield, 
 Amersham, Stevenage, or any other of the villages near St. Albans, 
 why should he select the residence of Francis Bacon as the scene of 
 the theft of the shirt ? 
 
 But in 2d Henry IV., act ii, scene 2, page 81 of the Folio, we find 
 St. Albans again, under equally suspicious circumstances. Prince 
 Hal asks Bardolph, Falstaff's servant, where his master sups, and 
 vhat company he has. 
 
 Prin. Sup any women with him ? 
 
 Page. None my Lord, but old Mistris Quickly and M. Doll Teare-sheet. 
 
 Prin. What Pagan may that be ? 
 
 Page. A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman of my Masters. 
 
 Here we are asked to believe that Prince Hal, the constant com- 
 panion of Falstaff (for Falstaff and his men are called his ''contin- 
 ual followers "), did not even know the name of the woman who 
 held the relations to Falstaff which Doll Tearsheet sustained. But 
 we will see that this surprising ignorance was necessary for the 
 question he was about to ask : 
 
 Prin. . . . This Doll Teare-sheet should be some Rode ? 
 
 Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way betweene S. Albans and London. ' 
 
 We can see the process of construction going on before our very 
 eyes, and leading up to that word St. A/bans; just as we saw the 
 school-boy's lesson in The Merry Wives culminating in the word 
 Bacon. 
 
 The prince asks where Falstaff sups — who is with him ? Doll 
 Teare-sheet. Who is she? She must be some road — some com- 
 mon path? Yes; as common as the way between St. Albans and 
 London. 
 
 1 2d Henry IV., 71, 2. 
 
530 THE CIPHER IX THE PLA VS. 
 
 Why St. Albans ? All roads in England lead to London. Why 
 not the road to York ? Or to Stratford ? Or to Warwick ? Or to 
 Coventry ? Or to Kenilworth ? Why, out of all the multitude of 
 towns and cities of all sizes and degrees in England, does the writer 
 again pick out the residence of the man who was Francis — Bacon 
 — Nicholas — Bacons — sonnc, — and whose name so mysteriously 
 appears on pages 53, 54 and 56 of the Comedies and Histories ? 
 
 There was another spot in England with which Francis Bacon 
 w T as closely identified — Gray's Inn, London. Here he received his 
 law education; here he was lecturer, or "double-reader;" here he 
 gave costly entertainments, masques and plays to the court; here he 
 built his famous lodge; here he retired in his old age. And this 
 word, too — a few pages from the St, Albans I have just quoted — 
 appears in the play. Speaking to his cousin Silence about Sir John 
 Falstaff, Robert Shallow, justice of the peace, says: 
 
 Shal. The same Sir John, the very same. I saw him break Scoggan's head 
 at the Court-gate, w*hen he was a crack not this high; and the very same day did I 
 fight with one Sampson Stock-fish, a Fruiterer, behinde Greyes-Inn} 
 
 As Shallow and his fight, and Sampson Stock-fish the fruiterer, 
 and the whole play, were the work of the imagination and never 
 had any real existence, why locate the battle, which has nothing 
 to do with the play, or with Falstaff, or with anything else, 
 behind Francis Bacon's law school? What had the man of 
 Stratford to do with Gray's Inn, that he should thus drag it into 
 his play, neck and heels, when there was not the slightest necessity 
 for it ? 
 
 And then again, right in this same scene, and a few lines prior to 
 the words I have just quoted, I found another mysterious William 
 who bobs up into the text of the play without the least particle of 
 connection with the plot, and then settles down again forever under 
 the waters of time, just as the boy William did in The Merry Wives. 
 
 Silence and Shallow are cousinsj Silence is in commission with 
 Shallow as justice of the peace. The scene opens with a conver- 
 sation between them. 
 
 Shallow. By yea and nay, Sir, I dare say my cousin William is become a 
 good Scholleg he is at Oxford still, is he not? 
 Silence. Indeed, sir, to my cost. 
 
 * 2d Henry IV. y iii, . 
 
HOW 1 BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER. 53' 
 
 What has this got to do with the play ? Why should Shallow 
 be so ignorant of the whereabouts of his cousin ? Are there any 
 other plays in the world where characters appear for an instant and 
 disappear in this extraordinary fashion, saying nothing and doing 
 nothing; but remaining, like Chevy Slyme, in Martin Chuzzlewit, 
 perpetually out of sight around a corner? 
 
 But there are a great many other Williams that thus float for an 
 instant before our eyes and vanish. In act v, scene i of this same 
 2d Henry 71'., we have three in the space of half a column. Shal- 
 low is talking to his man-of-all-work, Davy : 
 
 Shallow. Davy, Davy, Davy, let me see (Davy), let me see; William Cooke, 
 bid him come hither. . . . 
 
 Davy. And again, sir, shall we sowe the head-land with Wheate? 
 
 Shallow. With red Wheate Davy. But for William Cooke . are thereno young 
 Pigeons? 
 
 Davy. Yes Sir. 
 
 William the Cook does not "come hither." And a little fur.... 
 on Shallow again refers to him: 
 
 Shallow, Some pigeons Davy, a eouple of short-legged Hennes: a ioynt of 
 Mutton, and any pretty little tine Kickshawes, tell William Cooke. 
 
 And so William Cook goes off the scene into oblivion. 
 And then there is another William. 
 
 Davy. Sir, a new link to the bucket must needs be had. And, sir, do you 
 mean to stop any of William's wages, about the sack he lost the other day at 
 Hinckley Fair? 
 
 And still a third William flashes upon us for an instant, like a 
 dissolving view. 
 
 Davy. I beseech you, sir, to countenance William Visor, of Woncot, against 
 Clement Perkes of the hill. 
 
 Hut Visor, like the rest, disappears in vacuum. 
 
 And in As You Like If 1 another William comes in, to go off 
 again. He has no. necessary coherence with the play; the plot 
 would proceed without him. He proposes to marry Audrey, but 
 the clown scares him off, and, after having fretted his brief five 
 minutes on the stage, he wishes the clown * k God rest you, merry 
 sir : " and steps out into the darkness. He is a temporary fool, and 
 he answers no purpose save to bring in the word William. 
 
 1 Ac t v. scene t. 
 
5$2 THE CIPHER IN the pla vs. 
 
 Will. Good even Audrey. 
 And. God ye good Even William. 
 Clown. Is thy name William? 
 
 Will. William, sir. 
 
 Clown. A fair name. Wast borne i' th Forrest here? 
 
 Will. I, sir, I thank God. 
 
 I found also that the combinations, Shake and speare, or "sphere. 
 or Shakes and peer, or spur, or spare, occur in all the plays. The word 
 Shake or Shakes is found in every play in the Folio, and in Pericles, which 
 7i<as not printed in the Folio. 
 
 In manv cases the word Shake or Shakes is evidently forced into 
 the text. 
 
 In All's Well that Ends Well we have: 
 
 Clown. Marry you are the wiser man: for many a man's tongue shakes out his 
 master's undoing. 1 
 
 Again: 
 Again: 
 
 Again: 
 Again : 
 
 But I must shake fair weather. 2 
 
 And like the tyrannous breathing of the north 
 Shakes all our buds from growing. :; 
 
 First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you. 4 
 
 Servant. If you did wear a beard upon your chin 
 I'd shake it in this quarrel. 
 
 And, again, the voluble old nurse in Romeo and Juliet refers to- 
 an earthquake that occurred when she was weaning Juliet: 
 
 When it did taste the wormwood on the nipple 
 Of my dug, and felt it bitter, pretty fool! 
 To see it tetchy and fall out with the dug. 
 Shake, quoth the dove-house. 5 
 
 And observe how singularly, in such a master of rhythm and 
 language, the word shake is forced into this speech of Hamlet, 
 when he is swearing Horatio and Marcellus: 
 
 As I, perchance, hereafter may think meet 
 
 To put an antic disposition on — 
 
 That you, at such times seeing me, never shall 
 
 With arms encumber'd thus, or thus head shake, 
 
 Or by pronouncing of some doubtful phrase, etc. ,; 
 
 1 Act ii, scene 4. 3 Cymbeline, i, 4. " Romeo and Juliet, i, 3. 
 
 2 2d Henry VI. , v, 1. * Julius Ceetar, iii, 1. ■ Hamlet, i, 5. 
 
110 IV I BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CITHER. $33 
 
 In the 2d Henry IV., when the swaggering Pistol is below 
 and asks to come up, Dame Quickly protests against it, but Falstaff 
 reassures her, that he is not a swaggerer, but a cheater : 
 
 Cheater call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater; 
 but I do not love swaggering. I am the worse when one says, swagger : Feele 
 masters how I shake. 
 
 And this is the same Dame Quickly who, a little before, in the 
 same play, threatens to throw the ponderous Falstaff into the 
 channel, and who "cares nothing for his thrust " if she "can but 
 close with him! " Any one can see that her act, in turning to Fal- 
 staff and the servant, and asking them to "feel how she shakes," is 
 forced and unreasonable. 
 
 Clifford says to Cade's followers: 
 
 Who loves the king, and will embrace his pardon, 
 Fling up his cap and say — God save his majesty ! 
 Who hateth him, and honors not his father, 
 Henry the Fifth, that made all France to quake, 
 Shake he his weapon at us, and pass by. 1 
 
 Is not this a forced and unnatural expression ? Would it not 
 have been sufficient to have taken the affirmative vote on the ques- 
 tion, or, if he put the negative, to have required some more natural 
 sign ? 
 
 And again, Iago says of poor Cassio, after he has made him 
 
 drunk: 
 
 I fear the trust Othello puts in him, 
 On' some odd time of his infirmity, 
 Will shake this island.' 2 
 
 And when we turn to the last syllable of Shakespeare's name we 
 find evidence that it too is forced into the text. 
 
 In 1st Henry TV.* facing that page $$ which we have found so 
 pregnant, these lines stand out as if in connection with the Bacon 
 and the Nicholas Bacon opposite them: 
 
 War. Peace, cousin, say no more. 
 And now / will unclasp a secret book, 
 And to your quick conceiving discontents 
 I'll read you matter, deep and dangerous, 
 As full of peril and adventurous spirit 
 As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud 
 On the unsteadfast footing of a Speare. 
 
 1 2d Henry 17., iv, 8. * Othello, ii, 3. 'Act i, scone 3, on page 5*. 
 
534 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 As a spear did not usually exceed ten feet in length, we are 
 forced to ask ourselves, What kind of a stream could that have been 
 which it was used to bridge ? One could more readily leap it by the 
 aid of the spear, than cross on such a frail and bending structure. 
 
 Again, after Falstaff has been exposed by Prince Hal and 
 Poins, in his prodigious lying about the battle which he pretended 
 to have fought, to retain the plunder they had taken from the trav- 
 elers, his knavish followers, Peto and Bardolph, as soon as his back 
 was turned, proceed to testify against him: 
 
 Prin. Tell me now in earnest how came Falstaff's sword so hacked ? 
 
 Peto. Why he hacked it with his dagger; and said he would swear truth out of 
 England but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to 
 do the like. 
 
 Hard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with sfear-gTass, to make them bleed, and 
 then to beslobber our garments with it. 
 
 This is ingenious; but would not blades of grass have done as 
 well without particularizing the species of grass ? 
 
 Again, in 2d Henry VI., York says, speaking to the King, of 
 
 himself and the crown: 
 
 That gold must round engirt these brows of mine; 
 Whose smile and power, like to Achilles' spear, 
 Is able with the change to kill and cure. 1 
 
 This comparison of a man to a spear, and a medicinal spear at 
 that, is not natural. 
 
 I had observed that the word beacon in that day was pro- 
 nounced the same as bacon. This is shown in an anagram quoted 
 by Judge Holmes, from a volume of poems of the same Sir John 
 Davies to whom Bacon wrote the letter already quoted, in which he 
 referred to himself as a concealed poet: 
 
 To the Right Honorable Sir Francis Bacon, Knight, Lord High Chancellor of 
 England: 
 
 Anagr* [ Heacone 
 ) Beacon 
 
 Thy virtuous Name and Office joyne with Fate, 
 
 To make thee the bright Beacon of the state. 
 
 In fact, it is well known that the English of Shakespeare's day 
 
 was spoken as the peasants of Ireland now speak that tongue. 
 
 Elizabeth's court were delighted to hear that 
 
 A baste without discoorse of ray son 
 Would have morned longer. 
 
 *Act v. seme ,. 
 
The Irish obtained the English 'tongue just as the aristocracy of 
 that age spoke it, and, with the conservatism of a province, retained 
 it unchanged; and so it happens that the despised brogue of the 
 sister island represents to-day, Hke a living fossil, the classic speech 
 of England's greatest era. 
 
 The spelling of the Folio of 1623 gives us the pronunciation of 
 a great many words. I note a few. 
 
 Ugly is spelled ougly ; l hoard is spelled hoord, ~ retreat is spelled 
 retrait;'' aboard is Spelled aboard; 1 murderer is spelled murtherer ;' 
 second is spelled sucond; 6 earth is spelled earte; 1 grant is spelled 
 graunt? 
 
 As a rule the e had the a sound; 'thus beacon became bacon; and 
 even beckon had the same sound, and both were used in the cipher 
 as the equivalent for Bacon. Hence I think the words in Hamlet — 
 
 It beckons you to go away with it 9 — 
 
 are the sequel to Francisco. 
 
 And again: 
 
 lago beckons me. 10 
 
 In Troilus and Cressida we have: 
 
 The wound of peace is surety, 
 Surety secure; but modest doubt is called 
 The beacon of the wise, the tent that searches 
 To the bottom of the worst." 
 
 This is very forced. Modest doubt becomes a blazing signal fire, 
 and this again becomes a probe to search a wound! And this in a 
 master of expression, who never lacked words to set forth his real 
 meaning. 
 
 In Lear, Kent speaks of the sun as 
 
 The beacon to this under globe. 
 
 The commentators could not understand that the part of the 
 earth on which the sun shone could be "the under globe;" and so 
 they inserted in the margin: "looking up to the moon.'" The neces- 
 sities of the cipher constrained the sentence. 
 
 In a great many instances the word Bacon seems to have been 
 made by combining Bay with con, or can, which in that day was pro- 
 
 1 2d Henry IV..\v.i. 2 Ibid., iv, i. 3 Ibid., iii, 2. 
 
 4 Tempest, i, 1. 5 Richard II. , v, 6, • 1st Henry IV. , v. . 
 
 7 Ibid. 8 Ibid., v, 3. • Hamlet, i, 3. ( 
 
 ™ Othello, iv. i. M Troilus and Cressida, ii, 3. 
 
53 6 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE J' LA VS. 
 
 nounced with the broad sound like con, as it is even yet in England 
 and parts of America. 
 
 In such a desperate bay of death. 1 
 
 The other day a bay courser. 2 
 
 To ride on a bay trotting horse. 3 
 
 I'd give bay curtail. 4 
 
 He seems to have been fond of the bay color in a horse. 
 
 Why, it hath bay windows. 5 
 
 The bay-trees all are withered. 6 
 
 Brutus, bay me not. 7 
 
 And then we have: 
 
 Ba, pueritia, witti horn added. £a. s 
 Proof will make me cry ba. 9 
 
 Ana when we come to the con, it is still more forced. 
 Thy horse will sooner con an oration. 10 
 
 The cipher pressed him hard when he wrote such a sentence as 
 
 this: It is not the horse will deliver an oration, or the horse will 
 
 study an oration, but the horse will con it. 
 
 And again: 
 
 But I con him no thanks for it." 
 
 Yet, thanks, I must you con. 12 
 
 This is sheer nonsense. 
 
 Then several curious facts presented themselves. We seem to 
 
 have many references in a cipher narrative to different plays and 
 
 poems. I have already called attention to that instance of the word 
 
 Adonis, — 
 
 Thy promises are like Adonis' 1 gardens, 13 — 
 
 and the difficulty the commentators had to discover what it meant. 
 
 In the same play, in the same act, scene 2, I found the word 
 
 Venus: 
 
 Bright star of Venus, fallen down. 
 This gives us the two words of the name of the poem of Venus 
 and Adonis, the "first heir of the poet's invention." 
 
 1 Richard III., iv, 2. ''Julius Ca-sar, iv, 3. 
 
 - Timon of 'Athens, i, 2. 8 Love's Labor Lost, v, \. 
 
 • Lear, iii, 4. 9 Two Gentlemen of Verona, i, 1. 
 
 4 AlPs Well that Ends Well, ii, 3. 10 Troilus and Cressida, U, 1. 
 
 5 Twelfth Night, iv, 2. " All's Well that Ends Well, iv, 3. 
 
 * Richard 11., ii, 4. 32 Timon of Athens, iv. |. 
 
 ™ 1st Henry IV., i, 6. 
 
HOW I BECAME CERT A IX THERE WAS A CIPHER. 537 
 
 In Titus Andronicus* we have all the words necessary to con- 
 struct the name of his second poem, The Rape of Lucrete. 
 
 The words of the name of Marlowe's play, Dido, Queen of Car- 
 thage, all appear in The Merchant of Venice. 
 
 The name of Marlowe's play Doctor Faustus appears in The 
 Merry Wives of Windsor, Faustus being in the possessive case, 
 "Doctor Faustuses.""' 
 
 The name of Marlowe's great play Tamburlaine appears in The 
 Merry Wives of Windsor very ingeniously concealed. The Welsh- 
 man says, in his broken English, 
 
 The tevil and his tain. 
 Again: 
 
 What wouldst thou have, boor? 1 * 
 
 And it is to be observed that this word boor occurs nowhere else 
 in the Plays; neither does tarn. The word boors, in the plural, is 
 found once, and once only, in The Winter s Tale;* but even that 
 would not make the second syllable of Tamburlaine. 
 
 The last syllable was probably formed by a combination of lay 
 
 and /'//. 
 
 When the court lay at Windsor. 6 
 
 The ins, of course, are numerous in the play. 
 
 Richard Simpson, in his valuable work, The School of Shahspere, 7 
 has an interesting discussion upon the play of Histriotnastix, which 
 he supposes to be written by Marston. In it the author introduces 
 Troilus and Cressida, and Troilus makes a burlesque speech in which 
 this line occurs: 
 
 And when he shakes his furious speare. 
 
 This Mr. Simpson believes to be an "allusion to Shakespeare." 
 And strange to say, while Shakespeare seems to be alluded to in 
 the Histriotnastix in this burlesque Troilus and Cressida, in the 
 real Troilus and Cressida the Histriomastix is plainly referred to. 
 While Marston mocks Shakespeare in his play, the real Shake- 
 speare probably tells, in cipher, something significant about the 
 Histriomastix in his play; for it is conceded that there was a battle 
 of wits at this time, participated in by Jonson, Marston and 
 others. 
 
 Act i\\ settles 
 
 r and 2. 
 
 9 Merry Wives, iv, 5. 
 
 »Ibid., i 
 
 i, 1. 
 
 Ibid., iv, 5. 
 
 
 6 Act v, scene 2. 
 
 7 Vol. ii, p. j. 
 
 "Ibid., i 
 
 i, .!, 
 
-538 THE CIPHER JX THE PLAYS. 
 
 In Troilus and Cressida the word try occurs only once: 
 
 Let me go and try? 
 The first part of this word Histriomastix could be easily con- 
 structed of his-try-o. The his and occur repeatedly: 
 when degree is shaked.'- 
 The last part of the word mastix is given as ma stick. 
 
 Speak, Prince of Ithaca, and be't of less expect 
 That matter needless, of importless burden, 
 Divide thy lips, than we are confident, 
 When rank Thersites opes his /unstick jaws, 
 We shall hear music, wit and oracle. :{ 
 
 In the first place "the rank Thersites" has no place here. He 
 is not in the scene. The debate is between Ulysses and Agamem- 
 non. Ulysses asks Agamemnon to "hear what Ulysses speaks/* 
 and Agamemnon replies as above. But what is " mastick " ? There 
 is no such word in the language. It is printed in the Folio with a 
 capital initial, "as marking something emphatic," says Knight. In 
 some editions the word had been changed into mastive, simply 
 because the commentators did not know what it meant. But 
 both Simpson and Knight, although they had no idea of a cipher, 
 thought that it was an allusion to the play of Histriomastix. 
 
 The Massacre of Paris, another of Marlowe's plays, may be 
 alluded to in the 1st Henry VI. : • 
 
 The general wreck and massacre.* 
 This word is found only in three of the Plays, and in two of 
 these the word Paris occurs. In 1st Henry VI. it occurs in the 
 same scene with massacre. 
 
 Orleans, Paris, Guysors, Poictiers. 5 
 In Richard III. we have: 
 
 Destruction, blood and massacre} 
 In the same play we have: 
 
 Crowned in Paris. 1 
 
 George Peele's play, lite Arraignment of Paris, seems to be 
 
 referred to in Hamlet: 
 
 Our person to arraign in ear and ear." 
 
 1 Troilus and Cressida, iii, 2. * rst Henry /"/., i, 1, "■ Ibid., ii. 3. 
 
 9 Ibid., i, 1. 6 Ibid., ii. 8 Hamlet ! V, 
 
 8 I hid., j, 3. f> Richard 11 7„ ii, 4. 
 
HOW / BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER. 
 
 539 
 
 Will he tell us what this show meant. 
 
 First what Danskers are in Pi 
 
 (ins. 
 
 This is the only time the word Paris is used in Hamlet. 
 
 Ben Jonson's play of Cynthia's Revels seems to be referred to in 
 
 Romeo and Juliet and in Pericles. It is remarkable that Cynthia 
 
 appears only twice in the Plays, and each time in the same play we 
 
 find the word Revels. 
 
 The pale reflex of Cynthia s brow. ;; ' 
 
 With this night's revels.* ■ 
 
 This is the only occasion revels appears in Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 In Perieles we have: 
 
 By the eye of Cynthia hath. ' 
 And again : 
 
 Which looks for other revets.* 
 
 This is the only time the word revels appears in Perieles. 
 
 Marlowe wrote the poem of Hero and Leander. In the Shake- 
 speare Plays Leander occurs in but three plays. The Two Gentlemen 
 of Verona. Much Ado About Nothing and As You Like It, and in each 
 of these flays the name of Hero occurs, and only once in any other 
 play, to-wit, Romeo and Juliet ! This is certainly remarkable, that 
 out of all the Plays Leander should occur in but three and Hero in 
 but four; and in three out of four it matches Leander : 
 
 In The Two Gentlemen of Verona we have: 
 
 Scale another Hero's tower. 7 
 And again: 
 
 Young Leander. 9 
 In Much Ado we have: 
 
 It is proved, my lady /Era. 9 
 And again: 
 
 Leander, the good swimmer. 1 " 
 
 In As You dike It we have: 
 
 Though Hero had turned nun." 
 And again: 
 
 Leander, he would have lived. 18 
 
 In the last four instances the words occur in the same act an J 
 
 
 teene. 
 
 1 Hamlet, iii. . " Two Gentlemen of Verona, ii, i. 
 
 2 Ibid., ii. i. *Ibid., i. i. 
 
 1 Romeo and Juliet, iii, 5. ■ Much Ado. About Nothing, v, 2. 
 
 4 Ibid., i. 4. 10 Ibid. 
 
 * Pericles, ii. 4- ll As You Like It. iv. 1. 
 
 •Ibid., ii. . '2 Ibid. 
 
54° 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE FLA VS. 
 
 Marlowe also translated the Elegies of Ovid, and we find the 
 words translate, Elegies, Ovid, all in As You Like It : 
 Make thee away, translate thy life. 1 
 And elegies on brambles.* 2 
 Honest Ovid:'' 
 
 And in Love's Labor Lost we have again translation and Ovidius. 
 
 A translation of hypocrisy. 4 
 Ovidius Naso was the man. 5 
 
 This is the only time translation and Ovidius occur in the entire 
 Shakespeare Plays, and, strange to say, we find them in the same play ! 
 
 The words Edward the Second, another of Marlowe's plays, appear 
 in The Merry Wives of Windsor \ Henry VLLL., Richard LL., 2d Henry 
 IV., 1st Henry VI. , etc. 
 
 It thus appears that we find embalmed in the Shakespeare Plays 
 the names of every one of Marlowe's plays or poems except The Jew 
 of Malta, and even in this instance the name of the principal char- 
 acter of the play, the bloody and murderous Jew, Barabbas, is found 
 in The Merchant of Venice; and the words Jew and malt (combined 
 by a hyphen with "malt-worms") occur in 1st Henry IV. It would 
 need but an a to complete the name. And both the Jew and the 
 malt are found in the same act. 
 
 The full name of Christopher Marlowe appears in The Taming of 
 the Shrew. Thus: 
 
 Christopher Sly. 6 
 I did not bid you mar it. "' 
 A low, submissive reverence/ 
 In none of the other plays is such a combination found, for the 
 word Christopher occurs in no other play. 
 
 The combination Mar and low appears in The Tempest, The Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona and The Winter s Tale, while Mar and lo will 
 be found in several others. 
 
 The name of Bacon's beautiful home at St. Albans — Gorhams- 
 frury — appears in Romeo and Juliet, thus: 
 
 In blood, all in gore blood.'-' 
 
 A man to bow in the ha///s. U) 
 
 And badest me bury love. 11 
 
 1 . \s You Like It, v, t. 5 Ibid., iv, 2. " Act ill, scene 2. 
 
 "■'Ibid., iii, j. e Taming of the Shrew, Induction. "'Act ii, scene 4. 
 
 • Ibid., iii, 2. 7 Ibid., iv, ;. " Act ii, scene ;. 
 
 * Love** Labor Lost, v, 2. e Ibid., Induction. 
 
HOW I BECAME CERTAIN THERE HAS A CIPHER. 541 
 
 In Hamlet we have the name of Bacon's dear friend Bettenham, 
 
 pronounced Battenham, to whom he erected a monument at Gray's 
 
 Inn : 
 
 To batten on this moor. 1 -9 
 
 Together with most weak hams.'- 
 
 I observed also the name Rawley (the name of his chaplain) in 
 
 Henry V.: 
 
 Their children rawly left 3 — 
 
 while the combination Sir Walter Raleigh thus appears in Richard 
 
 III.: 
 
 Sir Walter Herbert. 4 
 
 The air is Raw and cold."' 
 
 A book of prayers on their pillow /ay.'' 
 
 And again in Trailus and Cressida, thus: 
 Cold palsies, raw eyes. 1 
 Drink up the tees and dregs. s 
 
 While the combination raw and lay is found in The Merry Wives 
 of Windsor, Love's Labor Lost and five other plays. 
 The name of Bacon's uncle, Burleigh, is found in 
 
 The /w/r-boned clown.' 1 
 Xow the huT\y~6urly 's done.'" 
 The news of hurly-iurly innovation." 
 
 I observed another curious fact, that the name of the play Meas- 
 ure for Measure seemed to be very often referred to in the dramas; 
 and in many cases the words ran in couples. Thus the word meas- 
 ure appears in the Merry Wives of Windsor only twice: 
 To measure our weapons. 1 -' 
 To guide our measure round about. 13 
 
 In Twelfth Night it likewise appears only twice: 
 
 In a good tripping measure } x 
 After a passy measure. , 18 
 
 In Measure for Measure itself the play seems to be referred to.. 
 in the cipher narrative, thus: 
 
 No sinister measure.™ 
 And measure still for measure. n 
 
 1 Act iii, scene 4. 7 Act v, scene 1. n Act v, scene 5. 
 
 2 Act ii, scene 2. ■ Act iv, scene 1. ' ' Act v, scene 1. 
 
 3 Act iv, scene 1. • 2d Henry J'/., iv, 10. >■ Act v, scene 1. 
 
 4 Act v, scene 3 — Act iv, scene 5. 10 Macbeth, i, 1. ,a Act iii. scene 2- 
 ■ Act v, scene 3. n 1st Henry //'., v, 1. 17 Act v, scene 1.. 
 '' Act iv, scene 3. 12 Act i, scene 4. 
 
- 42 THE CIPHER IN THE PI, A VS. 
 
 la A Winter's Talc the word also -occurs twice, and only 
 
 twice: 
 
 Measure me. 1 
 
 The measure of the court. 9 
 
 In The Comedy of Errors it also appears twice only: 
 Not measure her from hip to hip. ;{ 
 Took measure of my body. 4 
 
 In Macbeth we find the same dualism: 
 
 Anon we'll drink a measure.'' 
 We will perform in measure.* 
 In Troilus and Cress/da we have the same word twice: 
 By measure of their observant toil. 7 
 Fair denies in all fair measure* 
 In King Lear also it appears in this double form: 
 If you will measure your lubber's length.'* 
 And every measure fail me. 10 
 In Othello we have it again twice, the last time in the possessive 
 case, as if he was speaking of Measure for Measure's success, thus: 
 Would fain have a ?neasure to the health. 11 
 Nor for measures of lawn. 12 
 If the reader will examine the subject he will find that the word 
 measure runs in couples all through the other plays. It is either 
 matched with itself in the same play, as in As You Like It, where it 
 occurs in three couples; in Love's Labor Lost, where there are also 
 three couples; in Richard II. % where there are two couples; in jd 
 Henry VI, where there are also two couples, and in Antony and Cleo- 
 patra, where there are also two couples; or it is found in the end 
 of one play, matching with the same word in the beginning of the 
 next play in the Folio, for the cipher narrative is oftentimes contin- 
 uous from play to play. 
 
 The name of the plays now generally attributed to Shakespeare, 
 the first and second parts of The Contention of the Houses of York and 
 
 Lancaster, is found in the ist and 2d Henry IV., thus: 
 
 1 
 
 1 Act ii, scene 1. » 6 Act iii, scene 4. 9 Act i, scene 4. 
 
 8 Act iv, scene 3. ' Act v, scene 7. 10 Act iv, scene 7. 
 
 3 Act iii, scene 2. ' Act i, scene 3. J ' Act ii, scene 3. 
 
 4 Act iv, scene . " Act iii, scene t. l8 Act iv, scene 3. 
 
HOW 1 BECAME CERTAIN THERE WAS A CIPHER 
 
 543 
 
 In the very heat 
 And pride of their contention} 
 
 And dialls the signs of leaping-// <;//.sv.v.-' 
 
 As oft as Lancaster doth speak. 3 
 
 His uncle York.* 
 
 The name reappears, abbreviated, in the beginning of 1st Henry 
 
 IV.: 
 
 The times are wild, Contention like a horse.'' 
 
 Between the royal field of Shrewsbury. 6 
 
 The gentle archbishop of York is up. 7 
 Under the conduct of young Lancaster} 
 And the entire name, as it appears upon the title-page of the 
 original quarto, is given in 3d Henry IV., "The Contention of the two 
 Famous Houses of York and Lancaster." Thus: 
 
 No quarrel, but a slight contention.'-' 
 
 Would buy two hours' life. 1 " 
 
 Were he as fa/nous and as bold." 
 
 The colors of our striving houses}' 1 
 
 m Strengthening mis-proud York} 9 
 
 O Lancaster, I fear thy overthrow." 
 
 The word contention is an unusual one and appears in but four 
 other plays, viz.: Henry I'., Troilus and Cressida, Cymbeline and 
 Othello, and in each case I think it has reference, in cipher, to the 
 play of The Contention of York and Lancaster, one of the earliest of 
 the author's writings. It is not found at all in thirty of the plays. 
 
 And how strained and unnatural is the use of this word 
 contention? It is plainly dragged into the text. As thus: 
 
 Contention (like a horse 
 Full of high feeding) madly hath broke loose. 18 
 
 And let the world no longer be a stage 
 To feed contention in a lingering act. 
 
 The genius of the author drags a thread of sense through these 
 sentences, but it is exceedingly attenuated and gossamery. 
 
 The name of Bacon's early philosophical work, The Masculine 
 Birth of Time, appears in three of the plays. The word masculine 
 
 1 Act i, scene i. 
 * Act i, scene 2. 
 ;i Act iii, scene : 
 1 Act i, scene 3. 
 8 Act i, scene 1. 
 
 r " Act i. scene 1. 
 
 7 Act i, scene 2. 
 
 8 Act i, scene 2. 
 
 9 Act i, scene 2. 
 10 Act ii, scene 6. 
 
 11 Act ii, scene 1. 
 
 12 Act ii, scene 5. 
 
 13 Act ii, scene 6. 
 
 14 Act ii, scene 6. 
 
 18 2d Henry IV., ii, a. 
 
544 
 
 THE CIPHER JX THE PL. 1 J "S. 
 
 is an unusual word in poetry; it occurs but three times in the entire 
 Folio, and each time the words birth and time accompany it, 
 either in the same scene or close at hand. For instance, in Twelfth 
 Nighty in act v, in the same scene (scene i) we have all three of the 
 words, masculine, birth, time. In ist Henry VI., masculine is in act 
 ii, scene i, while birth and time occur in act ii, scene iv. In 
 Troilus and Cressida they appear in act v, scene i, and act iv, scene 4. 
 
 The Advancement of Learning, the name of one of Bacon's great 
 Works, is found in The Tempest, 2d Henry IV. and Hamlet. The 
 words Scaling Ladders of the Intelligence are all found in Coriolanus. 
 
 With these and many other similar observations, I became satis- 
 fied that there was a cipher narrative interwoven into the body and 
 texture of the Plays. Any one of the instances I have given would 
 by itself have proved nothing, but the multitude of such curious, 
 coincidences was cumulative and convincing. 
 
 Granted there was a cipher, how was I to lind it? 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 A VAIN SEARCH IN THE COMMON EDITIONS 
 
 He apprehends a world of figures here, 
 But not the form of what he should attend. 
 
 ist Henry IV. , /,j. 
 
 IF there was a cipher in the Plays, written by Francis Bacon, why 
 should it not be Bacon's cipher, to-wit: a cipher of words 
 infolded in other words, " the writing infolding holding a quintuple 
 proportion to the writing infolded " ? 
 
 And if I was to find it out, why not begin on those words, 
 Francis, Bacon, Nicholas, Bacon's, son, in the ist Henry IV., act ii ? 
 
 I did so, using an ordinary edition of the Plays. For days and 
 weeks and months I toiled over those pages. I tried in every pos- 
 sible way to establish some arithmetical relation between these 
 significant words. It was all in vain. I tried all the words on 
 page 53, on page 54, on page 55. I took every fifth word, every 
 tenth word, every twentieth word, every fiftieth word, every hun- 
 dredth word. But still the result was incoherent nonsense. I 
 counted from the top of the pages down, from the bottom up, 
 from the beginning of acts and scenes and from the ends of acts 
 and scenes, across the pages, and hop, skip and jump in every 
 direction; still, it produced nothing but dire nonsense. 
 
 Since it was announced in the daily press of the United States 
 that I claimed to have discovered a cipher in the Shakespeare 
 Plays, there have been some who have declared that it was easy 
 enough to make any kind of a sentence out of any work. I grant 
 that if no respect is paid to arithmetical rules this can easily be 
 done. If the decipherer is allowed to select the words he needs at 
 random, wherever he finds them, he can make, as Bacon says, 
 "anything out of anything; " he could prove in this way that the 
 Apostle Paul wrote Cicero's orations. But I insist that, wherever 
 any arithmetical proportion is preserved between the words 
 selected, it is impossible to find five words that will cohere in 
 
 545 
 
546 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 sense, grammar or rhetoric; in fact, it is very rarely that three can 
 be found to agree together in proper order. 
 
 To prove this, let me take this very page 53 of 1st Henry //'.. on 
 which Nicholas Bacon is found, and try the tenth, twentieth, 
 fiftieth and hundredth words: 
 
 The tenth words are: 
 
 To, — it, — bids, — a, — can, — ana 7 , — found, — how, — looks, — on, — /, — 
 ripe, — /o(\ — once, — bearc, — 7c>e,— thrive, — short, — Heigh, etc. 
 
 The twentieth words are: 
 
 It, — a, — and, — how, — on, — ripe, — once, — we, — short, — hanged, — 
 Tom, — of, — give, — since, — in, — in, — a, — away, etc. 
 
 The fiftieth words are: 
 
 Can, — on, — beare, — hanged, — as, — in, — -your, — never, — /, — go, — 
 picking, — of, — //, — me, — mad, — pray, etc. 
 
 The hundredth words are: 
 
 O n, — hanged, — ///, — never, — He, — wild, — //, — then, etc. 
 
 The liveliest imagination and the vastest ingenuity can make 
 nothing of such sentences as these, twist them how you will. The 
 presence of order, and the coherence of things in the visible uni- 
 verse, prove the Creator. The existence of a regular, rhetorical, 
 grammatical, reasonable sentence, occurring at stated and unvary- 
 ing intervals in the texture of a work, proves conclusively that 
 some mind so prearranged it. The man who would believe 
 otherwise has just cause of complaint against the God who so mis- 
 erably equipped him for the duties of life. He would be ready to 
 believe, as Bacon himself has said, and as I have quoted elsewhere, 
 that you could write the separate letters of the alphabet on a vast 
 number of slips of paper, and then, by mixing and jumbling them 
 together, they would accidentally assume the shape of Homer's 
 Iliad! 
 
 A consecutive thought demonstrates a brain behind it. 
 
 If this prove false, 
 The pillared firmament is rottenness, 
 And earth's base built on stubble. 
 
 After many weary months of this self-imposed toil, trying every 
 kind and combination of numbers that I could think of, I gave it 
 up in despair. T did not for one instant doubt that there was a 
 cipher in the Plays. I simply could not find it. 
 
A VAIN SEARCH IN THE COMMON EDITIONS. 547 
 
 I wrote my books Atlantis and Ragnarok. After these were 
 off my hands, my mind kept recurring to the problem of the cipher. 
 At length this thought came to me: 
 
 The common editions of the Plays have been doctored, altered, 
 corrected by the commentators. What evidence have I that the 
 words on these pages are in anything like their original order? 
 The change of a word, of a hyphen, would throw out the whole 
 count. 
 
 I must get a copy of the play as it was originally pub- 
 lished. I knew there were facsimile copies of the great Folio of 
 1623. I must procure one. At first I bought a copy, octavo form, 
 reduced, published by Chatto & Windus. But I found the type 
 was too small for the kind of work I proposed. I at length, July 
 1, 1882, procured a facsimile copy, folio size, made by photo-litho- 
 graphic process, and, therefore, an exact reproduction of type, 
 pages, punctuation and everything else. It is one of those "exe- 
 cuted under the superintendence of H. Staunton," and published in 
 1S66 by Day & Son, London. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 THE GREA T FOLIO EDITION OF 1623, 
 
 Look, Lucius, here's the bonk I sought for. 
 
 Julius Casar, iv t j. 
 
 IN 1623 Shakspcre had been dead seven years; Elizabeth had 
 long before gone to her account; James was king; the Plays 
 had ceased to appear more than twelve years before. In that time 
 Bacon had mounted to the highest station in the kingdom. But a 
 great tempest was arising — a tempest that was to sweep England, 
 Ireland and Scotland, and bring mighty men to the surface; and 
 its first wild gusts had hurled the great Lord Chancellor in shame 
 and dishonor from his chair. 
 
 In 1623 Bacon, amid the wreck of his fortune, was settling up 
 his accounts with his own age and getting ready for posterity. 
 He said, in a letter to Tobie Matthew: 
 
 It is true my labors are most set to have those works, which I formerly pub- 
 lished, as that of Advancement of Learnings that of Henry V ' 1 'I., that of the Essays, 
 being retractate, and made more perfect, well translated into Latin by the help 
 of some good pens, which forsake me not. For these modern languages will, at 
 one time or another, play the bankrupt with books; and since I have lost much 
 time with this age, I would be glad, as God shall give me leave, to recover it 
 with posterity. 
 
 After speaking, in a letter to the Bishop of Winchester, of the 
 examples afforded him by Demosthenes, Cicero and Seneca, in the 
 times of their banishment, he proceeds: 
 
 These examples confirmed me much in a resolution, whereunto I was other- 
 wise inclined, to spend my time wholly in writing, and to put forth that poor 
 talent, or half talent, or what it is, that God has given me, not, as heretofore, to 
 particular exchanges, but to banks or mounts of perpetuity, which will not break. 
 
 The De Augmentis was published at the same time, in the same 
 year, as the Folio, and in it, as I have shown, is contained the 
 chapter on ciphers, and a description of that best of all ciphers — 
 omnia per omnia, where one writing is infolded in another. Thus 
 the cipher narrative and the key to it went out together in the 
 
 same year. 
 
 r ;• 
 
THE GREA 7' FOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 549 
 
 The Novum Organum was published, incomplete, in the autumn 
 of 1620; and he gave as a reason for sending it forth unfinished 
 that " he numbered his days and would have it saved." 
 
 In the same way he desired to save Macbeth, Julius Ctesar, Henry 
 17//., Cymbcliuc, The Winter's Tafe, etc., from the oblivion that 
 would fall upon them unless he published them; for the man in 
 whose name they were to be given out had taken no steps to secure 
 their rescue from the waters of Lethe. 
 
 And he speaks of them, as I take it, enigmatically in the fol- 
 lowing: 
 
 As for my Essays, and some other particulars of that nature, I count them but as 
 the recreation of my other studies, and in that sort I propose to continue them, though 
 I am not ignorant that those kind of writings would, with less pains and embrace- 
 ment, perhaps yield more luster and reputation to my name than those other which 
 I have in hand. But I count the use that a man should seek of the publishing of 
 his own writings, before his death, to be but an untimely anticipation of that which 
 is proper to follow a man, not to go along with him. 1 
 
 We have seen him describing poetry as a recreation, as some- 
 thing that "slipped" from one like gum from the tree; and we 
 have seen him, in his letters to Tobie Matthew, referring to certain 
 " works of his recreation," which no one was to be allowed to 
 copy, and to unnamed "works of the alphabet." And now he says 
 that he proposes to publish these works, and "continue them" 
 down to posterity. And he believes that these works would yield 
 more luster and reputation to his name than those which he has in 
 hand, to-wit, his philosophical and prose works. Surely the Essays 
 and the acknowledged fragments he left behind would not yield 
 more " luster and reputation" than the Novum Organum and the 
 De Augmentis. He must refer, then, to some great works. And 
 how purposely obscure is that last sentence! 
 
 I count the use that a man should seek of the publishing of his own writings 
 before his death to be but an untimely anticipation of that which is proper to fol- 
 low a man, not to go along with him. 
 
 He is taking the utmost pains to publish his writings before his 
 death, "remembering his days, and that they must be saved," and 
 yet he tells us that this is an untimely anticipation of what must 
 follow him. That is, if the works are not published they will be 
 lost; and it is better they should be lost; and then the glory of 
 
 1 Letter to the Bishop of Winchester. 
 
550 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 them will follow the author's death! Bacon is never obscure 
 unless he intends to be so. And in this I think he means as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 ... As for my Essays and the Shakespeare Plays, I will continue them — pre- 
 serve them for posterity. I am aware that those plays would give more luster and 
 reputation to my name, if I acknowledged them, than my philosophical writings; 
 but I think there is a certain glory which should follow a man, by rising up long 
 after his death, rather than accompany him by being published in his own name 
 before his death. 
 
 If he does not hint at this, what does he mean ? Surely there is 
 no great distinction between a man publishing his writings a year 
 before his death, and having his executors publish them a year after 
 his death; and why should the one be an " untimely anticipation of 
 the other" ? And just about this period Bacon writes to Sir Tobie 
 that "it is time to put the alphabet in a frame ; " and we will see 
 that the cipher depends on the paging of the great Folio, and the 
 paging is as a frame to the text. 
 
 And side by side with the Novum Organum and the De Augmen- 
 tis, mighty pillars of his glory, appears, at the same time, this noble 
 Folio, which, as Collier says, " does credit to the age, even as a speci- 
 men of typography." 1 
 
 And at the same time Lord Bacon sends some " great and noble 
 token " to Sir Tobie Matthew, and Sir Tobie does not dare to name 
 the work in his letter of thanks, but, in the obscure way common to 
 the correspondence of these men, says: " The most prodigious wit 
 that ever I knew, of my nation and of this side of the sea, is of your 
 lordship's name, though he be known by another." That is to say, 
 Sir Tobie, writing probably from Madrid, says: "Your lordship is 
 the first of wits — you are the greatest wit I have ever known, 
 either in England, i my nation,' or Europe, ' on this side of the sea,' 
 though you have disguised your greatness under an assumed 
 name." 
 
 And " a great and noble token," indeed, is this Folio. The world 
 has never seen, will never see such another. It is more lustrous 
 than those other immortal books, the Novum Organum and the 
 De Augmentis, and its columnar light will shine through all the 
 ages. It is another Homer — more vast, more civilized, more 
 varied, more complicated; multiplied in all forms and powers a 
 
 1 English Dramatic Poetry, vol. iii, p. 313. 
 
THE GREAT FOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 551 
 
 thousand-fold. And no other name than Homer is worthy to be 
 
 mentioned beside it. 
 
 Collier says of the Folio: 
 
 As a specimen of typography it is on the whole remarkably accurate; and so 
 desirous were the editors and printers of correctness that they introduced changes 
 for the better even while the sheets were in progress through the press. 1 
 
 Even to-day it must be a subject of admiration. Its ponderous 
 size, its clear, large type, its careful punctuation, its substantial 
 paper, its thousand pages, all testify that in its day it was a work 
 of great cost and labor. 
 
 I had read somewhere that it was very irregularly paged, and 
 when I procured my facsimile copy I turned first to this point. 
 
 I found the volume was divided, as the index showed, into three 
 divisions, Comedies, Histories and Tragedies; and that the paging 
 followed these divisions, commencing at page 1 in each instance. 
 This was not unreasonable or extraordinary. In some cases there 
 are errors of the printer, plainly discernible as such. For instance, 
 page 153 of the Comedies is printed 151, but the next page is marked 
 with the correct number, 154; page 59 of the Comedies is printed 
 page 51; page 89 of the Histories is printed 91; 90 is printed 92, etc. 
 But as a whole the Comedies are printed very regularly. In each 
 case the first page of a play follows precisely the number of the 
 last page of the preceding play. Between Twelfth Night and The 
 Winter' 's Talc there is a blank page, but even this is taken into 
 account, although it is not numbered. The last page of Twelfth 
 Night is 275, then comes the blank page, which should be 276, and 
 the first page of The Winter s Tale is 277. I call attention to this 
 particularly, because it goes to prove that the great changes in the 
 numbering of pages of some of the Plays, in the Histories, are not 
 likely to have been the result of negligence. 
 
 The Histories begin with King John, on page 1, and the 
 pages proceed in regular order to page 37, in the play of Richard II., 
 which is misprinted 39. Richard II. ends on page 45; the next play, 
 1st Henry IV., begins on page 46; then pages 47 and 48 are missing, 
 and the next page is 49; and after this the paging proceeds in due 
 order, with the exception of the apparent typographical errors on 
 pages 89, 91, etc., already referred to, to the end of the 2d Henry IF., 
 
 1 English Dramatic Pcetry % vol. iii, p. 313. 
 
552 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 which terminates on page ioo. Then there is an Epilogue^ which 
 occupies an unnumbered page, which would be, if numbered, 101; 
 then another unnumbered page is devoted to the names of the 
 characters in the play; this should be page 102. The next page is 
 the opening of the play of Henry V. f but, instead of being page 103, 
 it is numbered 69 ! 
 
 If, after this number, 69, the pages had proceeded again, 104, 105, 
 106, etc., in regular order, yve might suppose that the 69 was a typo- 
 graphical error. But no; the paging runs 70, 71, 72, 73, in perfect 
 order, to 95, the last page of the play, and the next play, 1st Henry 
 IV., begins on page 96; and so the paging continues, in due order, 
 with one or two slight mistakes, which are immediately corrected, 
 to the end of Henry VIII., on page 232. ■ 
 
 Here again we have a surprise : 
 
 The next page, unnumbered, is the prologue to Troilus and Cres- 
 sida. It should be page 233; the next, on which the play opens, 
 is also unnumbered, but should be page 234; the next page is 
 numbered, but instead of page 235 it is page 79 ! The next is 
 80, and all the rest of the pages of Troilus and Cressida are left 
 unnumbered 7 
 
 Now, when it is remembered that some of the typographical 
 errors first referred to (such as calling 153, 151, but making the rest 
 of the paging before and after it correct) are in some of the copies 
 of the Folio printed with the proper page numbers, showing, as Mr. 
 Collier says, that the printers were so desirous of accuracy that 
 they stopped the press to make necessary corrections, it is inexpli- 
 cable that they should permit such a break to remain as that 
 between 2d Henry IV. and Henry V., where the count fell off thirty- 
 three pages. But it may be said the mistake occurred without their 
 noticing it. If pages w r ere numbered as we number manuscript 
 copy, this might be possible, for, making a mistake in the true num- 
 ber in one instance, we may naturally enough continue the mistake 
 in the subsequent pages. But how the same printers who stopped 
 the press to correct minor errors could have allowed this great 
 error to stand, I cannot comprehend. 
 
 But this is not all. How could they possibly fail to observe the 
 fact that a great number of pages in Troilus and Cressida //ad no 
 numbers at all? 
 
THE GREAT FOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 553 
 
 It is said that Troilus and Cressida was inserted as an after- 
 thought, and this is confirmed by the fact that it does not appear 
 in the Table of Contents, and therefore it was not paged. But it 
 is paged so far as two pages are concerned, 79 and 80. If it had 
 been inserted all unpaged, or all paged to correspond with Henry 
 VIII. , we could understand it. But where did those numbers 79 
 and 80 come from ? There is no place in the volume where there 
 is any break at page 78; we cannot therefore suppose that it was 
 shifted from its proper place, and carried some of its paging with it. 
 
 But I found still another instance where the first page of a play 
 does not follow the number of the preceding play. In the Trage- 
 dies, Timon of Athens ends with page 98; then follows a list of the 
 characters in the play, which occupies a page; this, if numbered, 
 would be page 99. Then comes a blank page, which we will call 
 too; then Julius Cwsar opens with page 109 ! It is correctly paged 
 to the end of the play. Why this break of eight pages ? 
 
 The paging is also broken in upon to make Timon of Athens 
 begin with page 80. The preceding play is Romeo and Juliet ; it 
 begins on page 53, and the pages are regularly numbered until we 
 reach the last page, which, instead of being 77, is 79. Then Timon 
 opens on page 80, and the paging runs along to 81 and 82, and 
 then repeats itself: 81, 82. If we will correct 79 to 77, we will find 
 that the second 81 and 82 are exactly right. But why was the cor- 
 rection not made on the first page instead of the fourth ? 
 
 It seemed to me that these repeated instances of Henry /'., 
 Troilus and Cressida, Julius Cwsar and Timon of Athens proved con- 
 clusively that there was some secret depending upon the paging of 
 the Folio, and that these plays had been written upon the basis of 
 a cipher which did not correspond with the natural paging of the 
 Folio; and that this paging had to be forcibly departed from in this 
 way, and continued, per order, even when the printers were cor- 
 recting minor errors. 
 
 I was the more confirmed in this by a study of the "signa- 
 tures " or " tokens " of the printers. 
 
 The signatures, as shown by the token numbers at the bottom 
 of the pages, run in groups of twelve pages, thus: a, a blank; 
 a2, a blank; aj (sometimes af) } and then six blanks, making % 
 twelve pages or six leaves in all. Now, where 2d Henry //'. joins 
 
554 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 on to Henry V. the signatures ran: gg } a blank; gg2 } a blank; ggj, a 
 blank ; ggj, a blank, and then eight pages blanks, or four more than 
 the regular number; then the first page of Henry V. is marked h, then 
 a blank, then I12, then a blank, then hj, then six blanks, and then 
 i, etc. It, therefore, appears that the printers had to piece out Henry 
 IV. by the insertion of four pages additional; and certainly all this 
 doctoring could not have been accomplished without the printers 
 observing that the last page of 2d Henry IV. was paged ioo, and the 
 first page of Henry V. numbered 69. And as the signature of Henry V. 
 is //, following gg } when properly it should have been h/i, it would 
 seem as if the Henry V. was paged and tokened separately. This 
 could only have been done under specific directions; and this would 
 look as if the Plays were printed in separate parcels. 
 
 It also appears that the Troilus and Crcssida must have been 
 printed separately. All the tokens of the other plays are alphabeti- 
 cal, as a> b, c, etc., aa, bb, cc, etc. But in the Troilus and Cressida 
 the signatures are all composed of the printers' sign for a para- 
 graph, «[, mixed with g, thus: g, f 2, gj, f f, Jg2, ^gj, and the 
 last page of the play is marked TTITj tnen a blank leaf, and then 
 the Tragedies open with aa. But as the twelve pages of the signa- 
 ture x, which composed the last part of Henry VIII., would have 
 properly extended over into two pages of Troilus and Cressida, it is 
 evident that there must have been more doctoring here. A printer 
 will see at once that Troilus and Cressida must have been set up by 
 itself, and marked by different tokens, so as not to conflict with the 
 rest of the work, which therefore was not finished; and conse- 
 quently that it would have been most natural for the printer to 
 have paged it regularly from page 1 to the end, or made the paging 
 correspond with the last page of Henry VIII, or not paged it at all. 
 There is no reason for paging two leaves 79 and 80, and leaving 
 the rest blank. And there is no reason why, when the pressmen 
 stopped the press to correct the accidental errors in the paging in 
 other instances, they should have left these errors standing. It 
 seemed to me beyond a question that these inconsistencies in the 
 paging were made to order. 
 
 Roberts, the actor, asserted that Henry Condell was a printer 
 by trade; 1 and it is very possible that the Folio cf 1623 may have 
 
 1 Collier's Eng, Dram. Poetry^ iii. 
 
THE GREAT FOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 555 
 
 been set up under his immediate supervision, and hence these 
 irregularities perpetuated by his orders. 
 
 Being satisfied that there was a cipher in the Plays, and that it 
 probably had some connection with the paging of the Folio, I 
 turned to page 53 of the Histories, where the line occurs: 
 
 I have a gammon of Bacon and two razes of ginger. 1 
 
 I commenced and counted from the top of the column down- 
 ward, word by word, counting only the spoken words, until I 
 reached the word Bacon, and I found it was the 371st word. 
 
 I then divided that number, 371, by fifty-three, the number oi 
 the page, and the quotient was seven! That is, the number of the 
 page multiplied by seven produces the number of the word Bacon. 
 
 Thus: 
 
 53 
 _7 
 37i 
 
 This I regarded as extraordinary. There are 938 words on the 
 page, and there was, therefore, only one chance out of 938 that any 
 particular word on the page would match the number of the page. 
 
 But where did that seven come from which, multiplying 53, 
 produced 371 = Bacon} I found there were seven italic words 
 on the first column of page 53, to-wit: (1) Mortimer, (2) Glen- 
 dower ', (3) Mortimer, (4) Douglas, (5) Charles, (6) IVaine, (7) Robin. 
 If the reader will turn to the facsimile, given herewith, he may 
 verify these statements. 
 
 There are 459 words on this column, and there was, therefore, 
 only one chance out of 459 that the number of italic words would 
 agree with the quotient obtained by dividing 371 by 53. 
 For it will be seen that if Charles Waine had been united by a 
 hyphen, or if waine, being the name of a thing, a wagon, had been 
 printed in Roman letters, the count would not have agreed. 
 Again, if the word Heigh-ho (the 190th word) had not been 
 hyphenated, or if Chamber-lye had been printed as two words, 
 the word Bacon would not have been the 371st word. Or if 
 the nineteenth word, infaith, had been printed as two words, 
 the count would have been thrown out. If our selves (the 
 sixty-fourth and sixty-fifth words) had been run together as one 
 
s] 
 
 - s (j THE CIPHER JX THE PLA VS. 
 
 word, as they often are, the word Bacon would have been the 370th 
 word, and would not have matched with the page. Where sc 
 many minute points had to be considered, a change of any one of 
 which would have thrown the count out, I regarded it as very 
 remarkable that the significant word Bacon should be precisely 
 seven times the number of the page. 
 
 Still, standing alone, this might have happened accidentally. 
 
 I remembered, then, that other significant word, Saint Albans, 
 In act iv, scene 2, page 67, column 1. 
 
 And the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host of S. Albones. 
 
 I counted the words on that column, and the word S. Albones 
 was the 402d word. I again divided this total by the number of 
 the page, 67, and the quotient was precisely 6. 
 
 67 
 6 
 402 = " S, Albones." 
 
 I counted up the italic words on this column, and I found there 
 were just six, to- wit: (1) Bardolph, (2) Pete, (3) Lazarus, (4) Jack, 
 (5) Hal, (6) John. 
 
 This was certainly extraordinary. 
 
 There were on that page 890 words. There was, therefore, but 
 one chance out of 890 that the significant word S. Albones would 
 precisely match the page. But there was only one chance in 
 many thousands that the two significant words Bacon and 
 S. Albones would both agree precisely with the pages they were on; 
 and not one chance in a hundred thousand that, in e ac_h case, the 
 number of italics on the first column of the page would, when mul- 
 tiplied by the page, produce in each case numbers equivalent to 
 the rare and significant words Bacon and S. Albones. 
 
 On the first column of page 67 there are a great many words 
 united by hyphens and counting as one word each, to- wit: Sut- 
 ton-cop-hill, souced-gurnet, mis-used, house-holders, a struckfoolc (fowl), 
 wild-duck, dis-cardcd, trade-fallen, dis-honorable, old-faced, swine-keeping, 
 skare-crows. Here are thirteen hyphens. If there had been eleven, 
 or twelve, or fourteen, the count would not have matched. Some 
 of these combinations are natural enough, as swine -keeping, skare- 
 crows, etc., but some of the others are very forced. Why print 
 dishonorable, misused and discarded as two words each ? Why not 
 
THE GREAT EOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 
 
 00/ 
 
 Sution-cop hill? Why link together all three of these words ? Does 
 it not look like an ingenious cramming of words together so as to 
 make the word S. Albones the 402d word ? 
 
 And as there was but one chance in 890 that the significant 
 word S. Albones would be the multiple of the page, so, as a 
 change of any one of these thirteen hyphens would have thrown 
 out the count, there is but one chance out of thirteen times 890, or 
 one out of eleven thousand five hundred and seventy, that this could 
 be the result of accident! 
 
 I returned to page 53. I counted from the top of the first col- 
 umn to the bottom, and there were 459 words; then from the top 
 of the second column downward, and the first Nicholas was 
 the 189th word; total, 648 words. I found that 648 was the precise 
 result of multiplying 54, the next page, by 12: 
 
 459 
 
 54 
 
 
 
 12 
 
 
 648 
 
 io8 
 
 54 
 
 
 
 648 = ' 
 
 1 Nicholas.' 
 
 Now, if the reader will turn to the facsimile he will observe- 
 that there are exactly t7velve words in italics on the first column of 
 page 54 ! 
 
 As seven times page 53 yielded the 371st word, Bacon } so I 
 found that six times page 53 made 318; and that if I commenced 
 to count from the top of the second subdivision of column one of 
 page 55, that from there to the bottom of the column there are 
 255 words, which, deducted from 318, leaves 62; and from the 
 beginning of scene iv, 2d column, page 55, downward, the 62d 
 word is the word Francis. 
 
 Now, if you turn to page 54 and begin to count at the top of 
 the subdivision of the scene, on the first column, caused by " Enter 
 Gads-hill" counting in the first word, you will find there are to the 
 top of the column 396 words; if, then, you count down to the word 
 Bacons, you will find it the 198th word, — total, 594; and 594 is 
 precisely eleven times 54: 
 
 39 6 54 
 
 K)8 11 
 
 594 54 
 
 ?4 . * 
 
 594 =" Bacons." 
 
55<S THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 And the facsimile will show that there are precisely eleven 
 words in italics from the top of the first column down to " Enter 
 Gads-hill." 
 
 And if we commence to count from the end of scene 2, col- 
 umn 2, page 54, backward and up the first column of the same, 
 the 477th word is the word son, and 477 is precisely nine times 53. 
 
 And so I had: 
 
 53 X 6= 318= Francis — 2nd column, page 55. 
 
 53 X 7 = 371 = Bacon — 1st column, page 53. 
 
 54 X 12 = 648 = Nicholas — 2nd column, page 53. 
 54 X 11 = 594= Bacon's — 2nd column, page 54. 
 53 X 9 = 477 = Son — 1st column, page 54. 
 
 All these things tended to make me more and more certain that 
 there was a cipher in the Plays, and that it depended upon the 
 paging of the Folio. 
 
 I had observed, on page 67, how adroitly thirteen words were 
 hyphenated to make S. Albones the exact multiple of the page. 
 I began to study the hyphenation of words, and the way in which 
 bracket sentences were formed in the body of the text, as I judged, 
 to enable the author to make his cipher-count match. That this 
 was the purpose I found many proofs. It is well understood that 
 a parenthesis in brackets is a subordinate sentence, explanatory of 
 the main sentence, but not essential to it. That is to say, the main 
 sentence will read and make sense just as well without it as with 
 it. If I say: 
 
 At this time (the weather being pleasant), John came to see me, 
 I have formed a correct sentence, which can be read with or 
 without the parenthesis. But if I write: 
 
 At this time, the weather (being pleasant), John came to see me, 
 I have formed a sentence which without the words in brackets 
 makes nonsense. 
 
 If the reader will turn to the exact reprint of act iv, scene 1 of 
 
 The Merry Wives of Windsor, he will find the following curious 
 
 instances of bracketing w T ords: 
 
 What is (Faire), William ? 
 
 What is {Lapis), William ? 
 
 What is a stone ( William) ■ 
 
 What is the Focative case ( William)? 
 
 Never name her (childe). 
 
 Leave your prables Voman). Etc. 
 
THE GREAT EOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 559 
 
 In the first two instances the sentence, without the words in 
 brackets, has no meaning. In the other, there is no reason in "the 
 world why the name, or designation of the person addressed, 
 should be embraced in brackets. 
 
 Again, on the first column of the same page, Falstaff says: 
 
 Adieu! you shall have her (Master Broome); Master Broome, you shall cuck- 
 old Ford. 
 
 Now, if there was any typographical reason for putting one of 
 these Master Broomes in brackets, why was not the other simi- 
 larly treated ? 
 
 Multitudinous instances of the same kind can be found in the 
 Folio. 
 
 If the use of brackets was uniform, we might consider it a habit 
 of the writer, or a vice of the printers of that era; but such is not 
 the case. 
 
 It is well known that the 2d Henry IV. is but a continuation of 
 the 1st Henry IV. The latter ends with the death of Hotspur on 
 the field of Shrewsbury; the other opens with Hotspur's father 
 receiving the news of his death. The characters in the two plays 
 are the same; the plot is the same; the two are practically one. 
 Yet we find in the 1st Henry IV. the brackets used very sparingly, 
 while in the 2d Henry IV. the pages are literally peppered with 
 them. There are nine pages in the 1st Henry IV. that do not con- 
 tain a bracket word, to-wit, pages 54, 57, 61, 65, 66, 67, 69, 70, 72; 
 while there is not one page in the 2d Henry IV. which does not 
 contain words in brackets. In the last ten pages of the 1st Henry 
 IV. there are but seven words in brackets, while in the first ten 
 pages of 2d Henry IV. there are three hundred and fifty-nine! 
 
 Take the following sentence, in the speech of the King, on page 
 85 of 2d Henry IV., and observe the ridiculous extent to which 
 brackets are used, where there was really no necessity for them: 
 
 But which of you was by, 
 (You cousin Nevil, as I may remember), 
 When Richard, with his eye brim-full of Teares, 
 (Then checked and rated by Northumberland) 
 Did speak these words (now prov'd a prophecy): 
 Northumberland thou Ladder, by the which 
 My cousin Bullingbrooke ascends my Throne: 
 (Though then, Heaven knows, I had no such intent, 
 But that necessitv so bowed the State 
 
560 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 That I and Greatnesse were compelled to kisse:) 
 The Time shall come (thus did hee follow it), 
 The Time will come that foul Sinne gathering head 
 Shall breake into Corruption. 
 
 Here we have a sentence, containing ninety-three words, of 
 which forty-six are in brackets, and forty-seven not in brackets ! 
 And scarcely one of these bracketings is necessary. 
 
 Now when you remember that there are nine pages in the ist 
 Hairy IV. without a bracket word, and ten consecutive pages with 
 but seven, is it natural or reasonable to find here, in a continuation 
 of the same play, forty-six bracket words out of a total of ninety- 
 three ? Must there not' have been some reason for it ? 
 
 Compare these totals: 
 
 Total bracket words. Total hyphenated words. 
 
 ist Henry IV. ill 224 
 
 2d Henry IV 898 307 
 
 Why should there be more than eight times as many bracket 
 words in the second part of what is practically one play as there is 
 in the first part ? 
 
 Now all these evidences were, as I have said before, cumulative; 
 they all pointed in the same direction. If I find in the sand the 
 tracks of many feet, directed to all points of the compass, I cannot 
 predicate what direction the multitude took, or meant to take. 
 But if I come across numerous tracks all pointing in the same 
 direction, I can reasonably conclude that those who owned those 
 feet moved toward the point so indicated; and if I find the tracks 
 of a vast multitude, with every foot pointed to the north, and the 
 ground trampled and cut by artillery wheels, and the herbage 
 crushed, and the limbs of the very trees torn down, I should be a 
 fool indeed if I doubted my own senses, and failed to conclude that 
 an army had passed there and was marching northward. 
 
 And so this accumulation of testimonies forced me, in despite 
 of all doubts and hesitations, to the fixed and positive belief that 
 the text of some of the Shakespeare Plays, perhaps all of them, 
 contained cipher-work. 
 
 To be sure, it took me some time to reason out how the book 
 coulpl have been printed so as to make the paging match with the 
 cipher story; and the conclusion I reached was this: That Bacon, 
 when he resolved to tell, in this secret manner, the history of 
 
THE GREAT EOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 561 
 
 his life and his era, and had selected his own short acting plays, in 
 their first brief form, for the web into which he would weave his 
 story (for we find The Merry Wives, Henry V., Romeo and Juliet, Ham- 
 let and other plays still existing in that original form, without the 
 significant cipher words), determined that some day he would 
 publish his cipher-plays in folio volume; and the cipher was con- 
 structed altogether with that end in view. To insert the cipher he 
 had to double the size of the original plays; and this is the reason 
 we have them " enlarged to as much again," as is stated in the pre- 
 face to some of the quarto editions. 
 
 Now then, Richard II. having ended on page 45 (and probably 
 Richard II. and King John constitute jointly a cipher narrative, 
 united, just as we will see hereafter that the 1st and 2d Henry IV. 
 are united), he then made his calculation that the 1st Henry IV. 
 would occupy twenty-eight pages and this would make the first 
 page of 2d Henry IV. page 74. Upon this basis he worked; for it 
 is my impression that those coincidences I have just shown, of 
 Francis — Bacon — Nicholas — Bacon's — son, are either parts of a 
 cipher different from that which I have worked out, or that they 
 have no relation to the cipher proper, but were put there to lead 
 some subsequent investigator along to the conviction that there 
 was a cipher in the Plays. And I should conclude that Bacon 
 made a mistake in his estimate, and that the 1st Henry IV., when 
 finished, contained but twenty-six pages. Hence he was driven 
 to the expedient of dropping two pages, or one leaf, out of the 
 count; and, hence, in the Folio, page 49 follows page 46. 
 
 But, having settled upon page 74, he begins his work. lie 
 writes his text on the basis of the equivalent in words of what he 
 thinks each column of the Folio, when printed, will contain, using 
 either large sheets or two sheets bearing the same number. For 
 instance, the first column of page 74 contains 294 words. These 
 could be readily written on one sheet of paper; and the same is 
 true of the second column, which contains 270 words. When he 
 comes to page 75, the first column of which contains 468 words 
 and the second 541, if he had not single sheets large enough for 
 these he used two or more, giving them the same paging, as, for 
 instance, 75 1 or 75 s , etc. The number of words on a column was 
 largely dependent on the necessities of the cipher; hence, we will 
 
562 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 find three hundred and odd words on one column, and six hundred 
 and odd on another. Let the reader turn to our facsimiles, and 
 compare the second column of page 76 with the second column of 
 page 80. Both are in prose, and each contains one break in the 
 narrative, caused by the entrance of characters. Yet the first has 
 615 words, while the other contains 553 words. And, to get the 
 615 words into the second column of page 76, the type had to be 
 crowded together very closely, and we have the words, " Doth not 
 the King lack subjects?" printed (as the reader will see, by look- 
 ing near the bottom of the column) thus: 
 
 Doth not the K. lack subjects? 
 On the second column of page 64 of 1st Henry IV., all in prose, 
 and containing also one break, there are but 472 words; while on 
 the first column of page 62 of the same play, all in prose, with 
 three interruptions, there are but 375 words. There could as well 
 have been 500 words printed on that column as 375. But we will 
 see, as we proceed, that the necessity the cryptologist was under 
 to use the same significant words more than once (counting from 
 the bottom of the column up, as well as from the top of the col- 
 umn down) determined the number of the words on the column; 
 even though he had to print King as simply K. y to get them all in, 
 in the one case; or to put in such phrases as the following, heavily 
 leaded, in the other case, as on page 64: 
 
 Enter the Prince marchings and Ealstaffe meets 
 
 him playing on his Trunchion 
 
 like a Fife. 
 
 Compare this with the first column of page 79, where a similar 
 stage direction has not even a separate line given it, but is crowded 
 in at the end of a sentence, thus: 
 
 Page. Away you Scullion, you Ram pall ion, you Fustil- 
 lirian: He tucke your Catastrophe. Enter Ch. Justice. 
 
 Here the writer did not allow even room enough to print the 
 word Chief in full. 
 
 Now, having the Plays written on sheets, and so paged as to 
 correspond with a prospective Folio, Bacon was in this dilemma: 
 If he did not print the Plays during Shakspere's life-time, with the 
 cipher in them, and Shakspere's name on the title-page, men would 
 
THE GREAT EOLIO EDITION OF 1623. 563 
 
 •say in the future, as they have said recently, that the Plays were 
 really Shakspere's, and that he (Bacon) had stolen them and inter- 
 jected a cipher claiming them. And so he published some of them 
 in quarto. But as the paging of the quarto would begin with page 
 1, while the cipher was founded on page 74, or page 69 (as in 
 Henry V.), or page 79 (as in Troilus and Cressida), it was absolutely 
 impossible to decipher the inner story. But, to make assurance 
 doubly sure, Bacon cut out of the quarto whole sentences that 
 were in the Folio sheets, and set into the text of the quarto sen- 
 tences and whole scenes that were not in the Folio; so that the 
 most astute decipherer could have made nothing out of it, how- 
 ever cunningly he might have worked. And this is the explana- 
 tion of the fact that while the editors of the Folio of 1623 assure 
 the public that it is printed from " the true originall copies," and 
 that all previous quarto editions were " stolne and surreptitious 
 copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of injuri- 
 ous impostors that expos'd them;" and that the Folio copies were 
 "perfect of their limbs and absolute in their numbers, as he (Shake- 
 speare) conceived them," nevertheless, the publisher of Shake- 
 speare to-day has to go to these same very much denounced quartos 
 for many of the finest passages which go by the name of the great 
 poet. 
 
 And here is another curious fact: Bacon was not content to 
 publish the Plays during the life of Elizabeth and his keen-eyed 
 cousin, Cecil, with a different paging; but where the word Bacon 
 occurred, in the quartos, it is printed with a small b, so as not 
 to arouse suspicion, instead of with a capital £, as in the Folio ! 
 And most of those curious bracketings and hyphenations which so 
 mar the text of the great Folio, like "smooth-comforts-false" etc., are 
 not to be found in the quartos. 
 
 One can fancy Francis Bacon sitting at the play — in the 
 background — with his hat over his eyes — watching Elizabeth 
 and Cecil, seated, as was the custom, on the stage, enjoying 
 and laughing over some merry comedy, little dreaming that the 
 internal fabric of the play told, in immortal words, all the dark- 
 est passages of their own dark lives — embalmed in the midst of 
 wit and rollicking laughter, for the entertainment of all future 
 ages. And so the long-suffering and much abused genius enjoyed 
 
564 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 his revenge, even under the very nose of power; so he rose 
 
 superior to 
 
 The law's delay, 
 The insolence of office, and the spurns 
 Which patient merit of the unworthy takes. 
 
 And when the time came to "put the alphabet in a frame" all 
 he had to do was to have Condell and Heminge contract with the 
 printers to print the Folio in columns, precisely as ordered, Bacon 
 himself secretly correcting the proofs. Or Bacon may have bought 
 the type and had it printed at Gray's Inn, or St. Albans, or at the 
 house of Condell or Heminge. If printers were told to follow copy 
 precisely, and put exactly as many words on a column as there 
 were on a sheet of the original manuscript, they would, of course, 
 do so; and only in this way can the extraordinary features of the 
 Folio of 1623 be accounted for. And if the printers needed a reason, 
 to allay suspicion, it could be given in the pretended reverence of 
 the actor-editors for the work of " their worthy friend and fellow, 
 Shakespeare;" for it follows, of course, that Heminge and Condell, 
 or one, at least, of them, was in the secret of the real authorship. 
 
 And this also explains why one-half the Plays were not pub- 
 lished until 1623, and why for nearly twenty years so few were put 
 forth. The author could never know how far suspicion might be 
 aroused by the curiously garbled state of the text. But in 1623 
 the generation that had witnessed the production of the Plays was 
 mostly dead; Burleigh and Cecil and the Queen were all gone; and 
 Bacon himself was nearing the last mile-stone of his wonderful 
 career. There was but little risk of discovery in the few years that 
 remained to him between 1623 and the grave. 
 
 The great Folio was the culmination of Bacon's life-work as re- 
 garded one portion of his mighty intellect; even as the De Augmcn- 
 tis and the Novum O rganum were the culmination of his life-work 
 as to the other side — his philosophy. And side by side, at the 
 same time, he erected these great pillars, the one as worthy, as 
 enduring, as world-sustaining as the other. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 Polonius. What do you read, my lord ? 
 Hamlet. Words, words, words. 
 
 Hamlet, it, 2. 
 
 HAVING satisfied myself, in this way, that, beyond question, 
 there was a cipher narrative in the Shakespeare Plays, I 
 •commenced the task of deciphering it. It has been an incalcula- 
 ble labor, reaching through many weary years. 
 
 I had but one clue: that the cipher words were to some extent y 
 the multiples of the pages on which they occur. But the problem 
 was, In what order do they follow each other ? What is the 
 sequence of arrangement ? 
 
 My first conception of the cipher narrative was that of a brief 
 statement of the fact that Francis Bacon was the real author of the 
 Plays. The words constituting this sentence might, I thought, be 
 widely scattered, and but two or three to a play. On page 84 I 
 found the word William. 
 
 I dare say my cousin William is become a good Scholler. 1 
 
 In the subdivision above this, in the same column, being the end 
 of act iii* scene 2, there were three hyphenated words, and thirty- / f 
 five words in brackets. If you deduct 3 from 86 it leaves 83, and 
 on page 83 we find: 
 
 Feele, Masters, how I shake. 2 
 
 If you deduct 35 from 87, the next column, it leaves 52, and on 
 page 52 we have : 
 
 The uncertain footing of a Speare. 
 
 Here, I thought, I have a clue: — William Shakespeare. But, 
 unfortunately, the rule would carry me no farther. 
 
 Then I was perplexed as to the true mode of counting. Was I 
 to analyze words into their meaning and count them accordingly? 
 "Was whafs, as in "what's the matter," one word or two words, 
 
 1 2d Henry IV., iii, 2. * 2d Henry IV. , ii, 4. < 
 
 565 
 
/ 
 
 566 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 "what is"? Was o'tti clock, one word, two words or three words? 
 Was tli other to be counted as two words, as "the other," or as one 
 word, "t'other" ? Were the figures ioo to be counted as one word, 
 or as "one hundred," two words? 
 
 As I was working in the dark, it was a long time before I 
 arrived at Bacon's purpose, and then I found that he adopted the 
 natural rule, that the typographical consideration governed, and a 
 word was a group of letters, separated by spaces from the rest of 
 the text, whether it meant one, or two, or a dozen objects. The 
 only exception seems to be where the word is merely slurred to 
 preserve the rhythm of the blank verse, as in: 
 
 Had three times slain th' appearance of the king. 1 
 
 Here the tti is counted as a separate word. At different stages I 
 was led, by coincidences, to adopt one theory and then the other, and 
 I recounted and numbered the words from time to time, until the 
 text was almost obliterated with the repeated markings. I give 
 herewith one page, page 79, of 2d Henry IV.? which will show the 
 defaced condition of my facsimile, and at the same time give some 
 idea of the difficulty of the work. 
 
 Many times I struck upon clues which held out for two or 
 three points and then failed me. I was often reminded of our 
 Western story of the lost traveler, whose highway changed into 
 a wagon-road, his wagon-road disappeared in a bridle-path, his 
 bridle-path merged into a cow-path, and his cow-path at last de- 
 generated into a squirrel track, which ran up a tree ! So my hopes 
 came to naught, many a time, against the hard face of inflexible 
 arithmetic. 
 
 I invented hundreds of ciphers in trying to solve this one. 
 Many times I was in despair. Once I gave up the whole task for 
 two days. But I said to myself: There is certainly a cipher here; 
 and what the ingenuity of man has made, the ingenuity of man 
 ought to be able to unravel. 
 
 My own preconceptions often misled me. Believing that each 
 cipher word belonged to the page on which it was found, I did not 
 look beyond the page. 
 
 At last, in my experimentations, I came across the word vol- 
 ume. 
 
 1 2d Henry II'., ii, i; 2d col., p. 75, Folio. a Act ii, scene 1. 
 
LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 567 
 
 Yea, this man's brow, like to a Title-leafe, 
 Fore-tels the nature of a Tragicke Volume.* 
 
 I said to myself, if Bacon tells the story of the authorship of 
 the Plays, he would be very likely to refer to this volume, or a volume. 
 I counted the words. Volume was the 208th word on the first 
 column counting from the top. I could not make 208 in any way 
 the multiple of the page, 75. At a venture I added the total 
 number of words on the preceding column, 248, to it, making 
 456. This, also, would not fit to page 74 or 75. Again I experi- 
 mented. I added the total on the first column of page 74, 284 
 words. The sum then stood: 
 
 On the first column of page 74 284 
 
 On the second column of page 74 248 
 
 On the first column of page 75 208 
 
 Total 740= " volume. ' 
 
 I divided 740 by seventy-four, the number of the page on which 
 
 the count commenced, and I had exactly ten ! 
 
 74X10=740. 
 
 And there were ten words in brackets on the first column of 
 
 page 74! 
 
 Here was a revelation. I noticed the significant word mask 
 
 in the same context with volume: 
 
 Northumberland. Yea, this man's brow, like to a Title-leafe, 
 
 Fore-tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume: 
 
 So lookes the Strond when the Imperious Flood 
 
 Hath left a witnest Usurpation. 
 
 Say, Morton, didst thou come from Shrewsbury? 
 
 Morton. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord), 
 Where hateful death put on his ugliest Maske 
 To fright our party. 
 
 Note the artificial character of the language, " a witnessed 
 usurpation " — why 7i'lt//essed ? Again: Why would death put on a 
 mask? Is not the bare death's-head terrible enough? A mask 
 would subdue its horrors. 
 
 I labored over mask. I said to myself, Shakespeare was Bacon's 
 mask. I could not match it with 74 or 75. At length, after 
 much experimentation, this question occurred to me: Why 
 might not the cipher run /// the columns as well as down? I 
 
 1 2d Henry IV., i, t. 
 
5 68 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 shrank from the proposition, as I did from every suggestion which 
 
 increased the complexity of the work; but at length I went to 
 
 experimenting. 
 
 I first discovered a curious fact, that while the tenth word 
 
 from the top of a column was, of course, the tenth word, you 
 
 could not obtain the tenth word from the bottom of a column 
 
 by deducting ten from the total of words on that column. If 
 
 the reader will turn to the facsimile, given herewith, on page 
 
 75, he will see that there are 447 words on the first column. 
 
 If now he deducts ten from 447, the result is 437, to-wit, the 
 
 word doing; but this is really not the tenth word from the 
 
 bottom, for if he starts to count each word (skipping the two 
 
 words in brackets), he will find that the tenth word is me, the 
 
 next subsequent word to doing. Thus: (1) gainsaid, (2) be, 
 
 (3) to, (4) great, (5) too, (6) are, (7) you, (8) wrong, (9) such, 
 
 (10) me. The reader will therefore find, in accordance with 
 
 this rule, that wherever I count up a column in these pages, I 
 
 deduct the number from the total of the column and add one, 
 
 thus: 
 
 447 
 10 
 
 437+1 = 438 
 
 If now we apply this rule, and add together the words on the 
 
 two columns of page 74, viz., 284-1-248 = 532, and deduct 532 from 
 
 740, we have left 208. We have seen that the 208th word from the 
 
 top was the word volume. Now let us count 208 words up the 
 
 same column: 
 
 447 
 208 
 239+ 1 = 240 
 
 The 240th word is mask! If the reader doubts my accuracy, let 
 him count up the column for himself. 
 
 This might be a coincidence, but repeated experimentations 
 
 (proved that it was not, and that the cipher goes up as well as 
 down the columns. 
 
 Now, if we regard the first word of the first column of the first 
 page as the starting-point of these words, we have the words vol- 
 ume and mask radiating out from that first word and going 
 forward, the one down, the other up the column. Now let us start 
 
LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 569 
 
 from this same first word, and count backward until we reach the 
 
 740th word: 
 
 On second column of page 73 there are 237 words 
 
 On first column of page 73 there are 169 " 
 
 Total on page 406 ' ' 
 
 If we deduct 406 from 740 the remainder is 334. The 334th 
 word on the next column (second of page 72) is therefore. If we 
 count up the column we have: 
 
 Total words on column 588 
 
 Deduct. , 334 
 
 254+1 = 255 
 The 255th word is image. 
 
 Now let us commence again at the top of the first column of 
 
 page 74, and count down that column, and backward, until we 
 
 reach the 740th word. We have: 
 
 First column of page 74 284 words 
 
 Second column of page 73 237 " 
 
 First column of page 73 169 
 
 690 " 
 
 If we deduct this 690 from 740 the remainder is 50. The fiftieth 
 word down the next column is but. Let us count the fiftieth word 
 up the column, thus: 
 
 Total 588 
 
 Deduct 50 
 
 538+1 = 539 
 The 539th word is own. 
 
 If we commence at the top of the first column of page 75 we 
 
 have : 
 
 10x74 =••• 740 
 
 On first column, page 75 447 
 
 Remainder . . 293 
 
 The 293d word is his. Up the column it is the 2i5~i6th word, 
 greatest. We found that the words mask and volume were the 208th 
 words on that column. The 208th word on the first column of 
 page 74 is wrath. 
 
 After a long time, by a great deal of experimentation, I discov- 
 ered that the count runs not only from the beginnings and ends of 
 acts, scenes and columns, but also from the beginnings and ends 
 of such subdivisions of scenes as are caused by the stage direc- 
 tions, such as "Enter Morton," " Enter Falstaff," "A retreat is, 
 sounded," " Exit Worcester and Vernon," " Falstaff riseth up," etc. 
 
57o THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 If now we count the first subdivision of the first column of page 
 75, we will find it contains 193 words. If we start at the last word 
 of the 193 and count upward and down the next column, we will 
 lack thirty-nine of 740, thus: 
 
 In subdivision first column, page 75 193 words. 
 
 Second column, page 75 508 " 
 
 70T " 
 Remainder 39 ' ' 
 
 740 " 
 
 The thirty-ninth word from the top of the second column of 
 page 75 is the word a. Now let us count thirty-nine up the next 
 column (first column of page 76), thus: 
 
 498 
 
 39 
 459 + 1 = 460 
 The 460th word is said. 
 
 We have seen that after counting the whole of page 74 (532), 
 we needed 208 to make up 740, and that the 208th words yielded 
 volume, mask and wrath. If we take that remainder, 208, 
 and commence to count forward from the beginning of scene 4, 
 page 73, column 1, we will find that the 208th word is shown, the 
 129th word on the 2d column of page 73. Again, if we com- 
 mence at the same starting-point — the beginning of scene 4 — and 
 count up, we find ninety words, which, deducted from 208, leaves 
 118; if now we count down the next column (2 of 72), we find that 
 the 118th word is a, while, if we count up, from the top of the 
 second subdivision in the column (171st word), the 11 8th word is 
 (53-)- 1 z= 54) the word hide; while if we count down from the same 
 point, the beginning of scene 4, page 73, there are 79 words; these 
 being deducted from 208, it leaves 129: and the 129th word, 
 counted down from the same 171st word, makes 300, the word 
 prove; and up from the bottom of the next subdivision, 346, it 
 makes (217-f-i = 218) the word counterfeit, which was used in 
 that age for picture. Thus Bassanio says, on opening the casket,, 
 and finding therein Portia's miniature: 
 
 What find I here? 
 Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god 
 Hath come so near creation? 1 
 
 1 Merchant of Venice, iii, 2. 
 
LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. 
 
 571 
 
 If we again take that remainder, 208, and begin to count from 
 the top of the fourth scene, 1st column of page 73, then we have 
 208 — 90= 1 18, as before; and this, carried up the next column, yields 
 588 — 118 = 470-)- 1=471, Percy. 
 
 If we now arrange these words together in some kind of 
 order, we have Percy — said — in — greatest — wrath — prove — image 
 st.oum — upon — his — volume — but — a — counterfeit — mask — hide 
 my — own. 
 
 But near the word volume, as I have shown, is the word title-leaf 
 and near the but is the word face (57th word, 2d column of page 
 72), so that we can imagine a sentence reading something like this: 
 Percy said he was in a state (134 — 2, 75) of the greatest wrath, and 
 would prove that the counterfeit image shown upon the title-leaf of his 
 volume is but a mash to hide my own face. ^ 
 
 I said to myself: Although this int erp retation may not be cor- 
 rect, it is certainly surprising that such a concatenation of signifi- 
 cant words should all be_produced by finding the 740th word 
 frorn__pojn ts of departure clearl y re lated and coherent ; for in every 
 case Jth£.xau-n L is from the beginning or end of page 74. 
 
 Then I observed that if we multiplied 74 by 12 instead 
 of 10, the result was 888; and if we commenced to count from 
 the top of the first column of page 72, the result was 494, 
 total on first column of page 72; this, deducted from 888, leaves 394, 
 which is the very significant word plays. Then I said to myself, 
 Volume of plays. Do the multipliers of 74 alternate? 
 
 This led to making a series of tables of all the words produced 
 by multiplying 74, 75 and 76, the three pages embraced in scene 1 
 of act i of 2d Henry IV, and a comparison of these revealed the 
 following startling facts, which forever put an end to any doubts 
 that might still linger in my mind as to the existence of a cipher 
 in the Plays. 
 
 If we multiply the last page in the scene, page 76, by 11, the 
 number of bracket words on the first column of page 74 (count- 
 ing the hyphenated word post-horse as two words), the result 
 is, 76X 11 = 836. 
 
 Now, if we commence at the beginning of column 1, page 74, 
 and count forward to the 836th word, excluding bracket words and 
 counting hyphenated words as one word, we have: 
 
 / 
 
 
572 THE CIPHER IN THE PLAYS. 
 
 On page 74 532 
 
 In first column page 75 304 
 
 Total 836 
 
 The 304th word in the first column of page 75 is the word 
 found. 
 
 If now we start from the top of the next page, page 75, and 
 again count to the 836th word, in the same way, excluding the 
 bracket words and counting the hyphenated words as single words ; 
 we have the following: 
 
 On first column page 75 447 
 
 On second column page 75 389 
 
 Total 836 
 
 The 389th word is out. 
 
 Here we have the combination " found out " — by the same count 
 from the beginning of two consecutive pages. This is remarkable; but 
 it might be accidental. But here comes the astonishing feature of 
 the discovery, which could not be accidental: 
 
 If you multiply 75, the number of the second page of the scene, 
 by 12, the number of words in italics on the first column of page 
 74, the result is 900. 
 
 We found that the 304th word, found, on the first column of 
 page 75, was the 836th word from the beginning of page 74, exclud- 
 ing the bracket words and counting the hyphenated words as 
 single words. How would it be if we counted in the bracket words 
 and counted the hyphenated words as separate words? Let us see: 
 
 The word found is the 836th word. 
 
 Bracket words, first column, page 74 10 
 
 Bracket words, second column, page 74 22 
 
 Bracket words, first column, page 75, preceding found 13 — 45 words. 
 
 Hyphenated words, additional, first column, page 74 8 
 
 Hyphenated words, additional, second column, page 74 . . . 2 
 Hyphenated words, first column, page 75, preceding found. 9 — 19 words. 
 
 900 
 
 That is to say "found" is the 836th word (11X76 = 836) from 
 the beginning of page 74, exclusive of the bracket words and the 
 hyphenated words counted as single words; and it is the 900th 
 word (12X75=900) counting in the bracketed words and the 
 hyphenated words as separate words ! 
 
LOST IN THE WILDERNESS. $jy 
 
 Again: we found that the 389th word, on the second column of 
 
 page 75, was also the 836th word. 
 
 The word out 836 words. 
 
 Bracket words, on first column, page 75 21 
 
 Bracket words, on second column, page 75, preceding out. . 30 — 51 words.. 
 
 Hyphenated words, first column, page 75 9 
 
 Hyphenated words, second column, page 75, preceding out. 4 — 13 words. 
 
 y 900 
 
 And again we find that the word "out" is the 836th word 
 (11X76 = 836) from the beginning of page 75, less the bracketed 
 words, and counting the hyphenated words as one word each; and 
 it is the 900th word (12X75 = 900), counting in the bracketed words 
 and the hyphenated words double ! 
 
 In other words: 
 
 The sum total of bracket words and hyphens, between the top 
 of the first column of page 74 and the word " found," is 64, and 
 this is precisely the difference between 836 and 900! 
 
 And the sum total of bracket words and hyphens between the 
 top of the first column of page 75 and the word " out " is again 
 64; and this is precisely the difference between 836 and 900 ! 
 
 How is this result obtained ? By the most careful and delicate 
 
 adjustment of the words, like the elements of a profound puzzle. 
 
 The difference between 836 = found out, and 900 = found out, is, I 
 
 say, the precise number of the bracketed and hyphenated words in 
 
 each case. If these had varied one word in the four columns, it 
 
 would have thrown the count out ! And it is easy to see how the 
 
 text was forced to get in the precise number of these words. At 
 
 the bottom of the first column of page 74 we have: 
 
 From Rumours tongues, 
 They bring smooth-Comforts-false worse than True- wrongs. 
 
 Who ever heard of "smooth-comforts-false" being run together 
 
 into one word ? Only the necessities of the cipher could have 
 
 justified such a violation of sense. And what a pounding together 
 
 of meaning was required to make "true-wrongs"! Again, we 
 
 have, — as the 181st word, — first column, page 75 : 
 
 That had stolne 
 The horse he rode-on. 
 
 "Rode on " are as clearly two words as "the horse." 
 Again we have, 244th word, first column, page 74: 
 
574 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PIA VS. 
 
 This worm-eaten-Hole of ragged stone. 
 
 "Worm-eaten" might be hyphenated, but surely not "worm- 
 eaten-hole." 
 
 The bracketings are totally unnecessary in every case. We have, 
 second column, page 74: 
 
 I spake with one (my Lord) that came from thence. 
 
 What human necessity was there to place " my lord " in brackets ? 
 
 Again (column 1, page 75): 
 
 I ran from Shrewsbury (my noble Lord). 
 
 Again (column 2, page 75): 
 
 From whence (with life) he never more sprang up. 
 
 And yet if a single one of these extraordinary bracketings and 
 hyphenations had failed, the count would have broken down. And 
 that this whole thing is forced and unnatural is shown by the 
 further fact that we have here one hundred and twenty-eight bracket 
 and hyphenated words on the two pages, 74 and 75, preceding 
 these words found out; while on the preceding pages, 72 and 73, 
 there are but three bracket words and four hyphenated words ! 
 
 In short, there is not one chance in many hundred millions that 
 this coordination of 836 and 900, upon the same words, could have 
 occurred by accident. 
 
 What does it prove ? 
 
 That the plays — or this play at least — is a most carefully con- 
 structed piece of mosaic work, most cunningly dovetailed together, 
 with marvelous precision and microscopic accuracy. That there is 
 not one cipher, but many ciphers in it. That it is a miracle of 
 industry and ingenuity. And that these are the works to which 
 Bacon alluded when he said: 
 
 For there is some danger, lest the understanding should be astonished and 
 chained down, and as it were bewitched, by such works of art as appear to be the 
 very summit and pinnacle of human industry, so as not to become familiar with 
 them; but rather to suppose that nothing of the kind can he accomplished, unless 
 the same means be employed, with perhaps a little more diligence and accurate 
 preparation. 1 
 
 1 Novum Organum. book ii. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 THE CIPHER FOUND. 
 
 If circumstances lead me, I will find 
 
 Where truth is hid, though it were hid indeed 
 
 Within the center. 
 
 Hamlet, ii. 2. 
 
 WHILE such evidences as the foregoing satisfied me of the 
 existence of a cipher, I was still but at the .beginning of 
 my task. 
 
 What words followed found out? Found out what? Who found 
 out? W T as I to look on the next column, the next page, the next 
 scene, or the next play ? 
 
 The creator of the cipher was master of his work, and could 
 throw the sequent words where he pleased. He might match a 
 play in the Histories with one in the Comedies, and thus the 
 words would be separated by hundreds of pages. Nothing was 
 impossible to the ingenuity manifested in that checker-work of 
 found out. All I knew was that the cipher words held an arith- 
 metical relation to the numbers of the pages on which, or near 
 which, they occurred, but beyond that all was conjecture. I was 
 as if one had taken me into a vast forest, and told me that, on cer- 
 tain leaves of certain trees, was written a narrative of incalculable 
 importance to mankind; and had given me a clew to know the , 
 especial trees on which the words were to be found. If I had 
 climbed into and searched the branches of these trees, and col- 
 lected, with infinite care, the words upon them, I was still at my 
 wits' end. How was I to arrange them ? As I did not know 
 a single sentence of the story, nor the rule by which it was con- 
 structed, I might have the very words I needed before me and 
 would not recognize them. 
 
 It seems to me that the labors of Champollion le Jeune and 
 Thomas Young, in working out the Egyptian hieroglyphics from 
 the tri-lingual inscription on the Rosetta stone, were simple com- 
 pared with the task I had undertaken. They had before them a ♦ 
 
 575 
 
576 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 stone with an inscription in three alphabets — the hieroglyphic, 
 the demotic and the Greek; and the Greek version stated that the 
 three inscriptions signified the same thing. The problem was to 
 translate the unknown by the known. It was observed that a cer- 
 tain oval ring, inclosing a group of hieroglyphic phonetic signs, 
 stood in a corresponding place with the name of Ptolemy in the 
 Greek; and the same group was found, often repeated, over sitting 
 figures of the temple of Karnak. The conclusion was inevitable, 
 therefore, that that group signified Ptolemy. Furthermore, the 
 word king occurred twenty-nine times in the Greek version of the 
 Rosetta inscription, and a group holding corresponding positions 
 was repeated twenty-nine times in the demotic. Another stone 
 gave the phonetic elements which constituted the Word Cleopatra. 
 Champollion and Young thus had acquired the knowledge of 
 numerous alphabetical signs, with the sounds belonging to them, 
 and the rest of the work of translation was easy, for the Egyptian 
 language still survived in a modified form in the mouths of the 
 Coptic peasants. 
 
 But in my case I knew neither the rule nor the story. I tried 
 to obtain a clue by putting together the words which constituted 
 the name of the old play, The Contention between York and Lancas- 
 ter, as found in the end of 1st Henry IV. and the beginning of 
 2d Henry IV.; but, unfortunately, Contention occurs twice (73d word, 
 second column, page 74, 2d Henry IV., act i, scene 2, and the 496th 
 word, second column, page 75), while York and Lancaster are 
 repeated many times. 
 
 Even when I had progressed so far, by countless experimenta- 
 tions, as to guess at something of the story that was being told, I 
 could not be certain that I had the real sense of it. For instance, 
 let the reader write out a sentence like this: 
 
 And then the infuriated man struck wildly at the dog, -and the mad animal 
 sprang upon him and seized him by the throat. 
 
 Then let him cut the paper to pieces, so that each slip contains 
 a word, jumble them together, and ask a friend, who has never seen 
 the original sentence, to reconstruct it. He can clearly perceive 
 that it is a description of a contest between a man and a dog, but 
 beyond this he can be sure of nothing. Was the dog mad or the 
 man ? Which was infuriated? Did the dog spring on the man, or 
 
THE CIPHER FOUND, 
 
 577 
 
 the man on the dog? Which was seized by the throat? Did the 
 man strike wildly at the dog, or the dog spring wildly at the man? 
 
 Every word in the sentence is a new element of perplexity. In 
 fact, if you had handed your friend three slips of paper, containing 
 the three words, struck, Tom, John, it would have been impossible 
 for him to decide, without some rule of arrangement, whether Tom 
 struck John or John struck Tom; and the great question, like that 
 of the blow inflicted on Mr. William Patterson, would remain for- 
 ever unsettled. 
 
 My problem was to find out, by means of a cipher rule of 
 which I knew little, a cipher story of which I knew less. A more 
 brain-racking problem was never submitted to the intellect of man. 
 It was translating into the vernacular an inscription written in an 
 unknown language, with an unknown alphabet, without a single 
 clue, however slight, to the meaning of either. I do not wonder 
 that Bacon said that there are some ciphers which exclude the 
 decipherer. He certainly thought he had constructed one in these 
 Plays. 
 
 I. The Heart of the Mystery. 
 
 The central point upon which the cipher turns is the dividing 
 line between the two plays, the first part of Henry IV., and the second 
 part of Henry IV.; and the essentials of the rule are found on the 
 last page of the former play and the first page of the latter play. 
 
 Observe how cunning this is. 
 
 Here was a puzzle the solution of which depended upon putting 
 together the two ends of two plays. Neither alone would give the 
 rule or solve the problem. 
 
 And Bacon published Part i of Henry IV. in 1598 and Part 2 / 
 
 in 1600. Why ? Because he was not sure that the artificial character 
 of the text might not arouse suspicion in that age of ciphers, and he 
 desired to test it. He submitted, it with curious interest to the . 
 public. But if it had aroused suspicion; if "Francis" "bacon" 
 (printed with a small b), " Nicholas " " bacons " (also with a small 
 ^"),"son," "St. Albans," etc., etc., had caught the suspicious eyes 
 of any of Cecil's superserviceable followers, then he would have 
 held back the second part, and it would have been simply impos- , 
 sible for any person to have worked out the cipher story; because 
 
578 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 it turned upon pages 73 and 74 of an intended folio, while the 
 quarto copy of the play began with page 1. 
 
 The original sheets of the author's manuscript, arranged in 
 pages, as we have them in the great Folio of 1623, which paging 
 alone could have revealed the treasonable story, were doubtless 
 inclosed in some box or coffer, and carefully buried at St. Albans or 
 Gray's Inn; for in that age of absolute power no man's private 
 papers or desks were safe from a visitation of the myrmidons of 
 the law. We will see that when Nash, the actor, was arrested for 
 writing a seditious play, the Council ordered his papers to be at 
 once examined. 
 
 Delia Bacon said: 
 
 We know that this was an age in which not the books of the learned only were 
 subjected to "the press and torture which expulsed from them all those particulars 
 that point to action " — action, at least, in which the common weal of men is most 
 concerned; that it was a time when the private manuscript was subjected to that 
 same censorship and question, and corrected with those same instruments and 
 engines which made them a regular part of the machinery of the press; when the 
 most secret cabinet of the statesman and the man of letters must be kept in order 
 for that revision; when his most confidential correspondence, his private note-book 
 and diary, must be composed under these restrictions; when in the church not the 
 pulpit only, but the secrets of the study, were explored for proofs of opposition to 
 the power then predominant; when the private desk and drawers of the poor, 
 obscure country clergyman were ransacked, and his half-formed studies of ser- 
 mons, his rude sketches and hypothetical notes of sermons yet to be — put down 
 for private purposes, perhaps, and never intended to be preached — were produced 
 by government as an excuse for subjecting him to indignities and cruelties to 
 which those practiced upon the Earl of Kent and the Earl of Gloster in the play 
 [of Lear'] formed no parallel. 1 
 
 And in 1600, after the first part of the play of Henry IV. had 
 stood the test of two years of criticism, and the watchful eyes and 
 ears of Francis Bacon could see or hear no sign or sound to indicate 
 that his secret was suspected, he ventured to put forth the second 
 part of the play. But this, like the other, began with page 1, and 
 detection was almost impossible. 
 
 And for twenty years scarcely any of the Plays known by 
 the name of Shakespeare were put forth, because to the keen eyes 
 of the author they were peppered all over with suspicious words 
 and twistings of the text, which might arouse suspicion and betray 
 the fact that they were cipher-work. And when at last all the 
 Plays were published in the great Folio, in 1623, arranged in their 
 
 1 The Philosophy of the Plays of Shakespeare Unfolded, p. 568. 
 
THE CIPHER FOUND. 579 
 
 due order, there was, as I have heretofore said, little risk of dis- 
 covery. And in this Folio all the Plays were matched together, as 
 I infer, just as these two parts of Henry IV. are; that is, the cipher 
 of each group of two plays depended upon the last page of one and 
 the first page of the other. Thus there was but little risk in put- 
 ting out Othello alone, or Troilus and Cressida by itself, not only 
 because the paging of the quarto was not the same as that of the 
 Folio, but because these plays were not accompanied by their 
 cipher-mates, so to speak. They were like those curious writings 
 we have read of in romances, where the paper was cut in half and 
 each half secreted by itself, the writing not to be read and the 
 secret revealed until they were put together. 
 
 II. The Diagram on which the Cipher Depends. 
 
 If the reader will study the facsimiles of pages 73 and 74 of the 
 Folio of 1623, herewith given, he will find that the following 
 diagram gives the skeleton, or construction, of the pages and 
 columns, without the words. And as the entire cipher-story in the 
 two plays, the first and second parts of Henry IV., radiates out from 
 this diagram and extends right and left to the beginning of the First 
 Part and the last word of the Second Part, it will be well for the 
 reader to consider it closely. 
 
 The figures in the middle of the parts of the diagram give the 
 number of words in each subdivision. The figures on the margin 
 give the number of words from one point of departure to 
 another. The abbreviation " hy," in this diagram, means hyphen- 
 ated : it indicates that there are double words in the text, like 
 ill-spirited, which are to be counted as one word or as two 
 words, according to the requirements of the cipher rule. The sign 
 " (3)" signifies that, in addition to the regular number of words in 
 the text, there are three additional words in brackets : like "(as 
 we heare)," in the second column of page 73. 
 
 Throughout the cipher story, the abbreviations h and b will be 
 used to save printing in full " hyphenated words " and " words in 
 brackets/' respectively. 
 
580 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE TLA VS. 
 
 f i 
 
 +J 
 
 4, ^ 
 
 Page 73. 
 
 End of J st Henry IV. 
 1st Column. 2nd Column, 
 
 Page 74. 
 Beginning of 2nd Henry IV. 
 
 A 
 
 27 
 
 A 
 
 28 
 
 
 A 
 03 
 
 
 A 
 209 (3) 
 
 Scsena Quarta. 
 
 79 1 hy. 
 
 V 
 
 [The End of the Play.] 
 Total on Page: 406 (3) 1 hy. 
 
 The Second Part of 
 Henry the Fourth. 
 
 1st Column. 2nd Column. 
 
 Actus Primus. Scaena Prima. 
 
 Induction. 
 
 Serena Secunda. 
 
 284 
 
 (10) 7 hy. 
 
 (1 hy) 
 
 M 
 
 V 
 
 
 168 
 (21) 1 hy. 
 
 
 A 
 
 30 (1) 1 hy. 
 
 4»H 
 
 
 
 
 ss ! 
 
 h 
 
 
 «! 
 
 
 
 
 1 1 A. 
 
 
 1 1 ' 
 
 A 
 
 ; j$ 
 
 k 
 
 't** 
 
 ; 
 
 Here we observe that the first column of page 73 is broken into 
 three parts: first by the words "A retreat is sounded" and secondly 
 by the words u Sccena Quarta." The first subdivision contains 27 
 words, the second 6$ words, the last 79 words. Now if we count 
 from the top of the column to the end of the first subdivision, we 
 have 27 words; but if we count to and include the first word of the 
 next subdivision, there are 28 words. If we count from the top of 
 the column to the bottom we have 169 words; but if we count from 
 the top of the second subdivision to the bottom of the column, we 
 have, exclusive of the first word, 141 words; and from the end of 
 the first subdivision, and including the first word of the second sub- 
 division, we have 142 words. 
 
 Again: if we count from the top of the column to the break 
 caused by the words " Sccena Quarta" we have 90 words; and to 
 the top of the second subdivision, and including the first word of 
 the .same, we have 91 words. And if we count from the end of the 
 first subdivision to the words "Sccena Quarta" we have 63 words; 
 or, from the top of the second subdivision, excluding the first word, 
 we have, to the end of the scene, 62 words. 
 
 Again: if we count from the end of the second subdivision, the 
 90th word, to the bottom of the column, we have 79 words; but 
 from the 91st word down we have but 78 words. But there is a 
 
THE CIPHER FOUND. 5 8i 
 
 hyphenated word in that subdivision, to-wit, the word ill-spirited, 
 the 97th word in the column; if this is counted in, that is, if it is 
 counted as two words instead of one, then the 79 words become 80 
 words, and the 78 words become 79 words. 
 
 I would here explain that in the cipher the words spoken by the 
 characters are alone counted : the "stage directions," and the names 
 of the characters speaking, are excluded from the count; so also 
 are the numbers of the acts and scenes. 
 
 Here, then, we have in the first column of page 73 these numbers: 
 
 Words in first subdivision 27 
 
 Words in second subdivision 63 
 
 Words in third subdivision 79 
 
 Words in the column 169 
 
 Words from 27th word to bottom of column 142 
 
 Words from 27th word to the end of second subdivision 63 
 
 Words from 28th word to the end of column 141 
 
 Words from 28th word to the end of second subdivision 62 
 
 Words from the top of column to the end of second subdivision 90 
 
 Words from the top of column to the beginning of third subdivision 91 
 
 Words from the beginning of third subdivision to end of column 79 
 
 Words from the beginning of third subdivision, plus one hyphen 80 
 
 . Now, all these numbers, in their due and regular order, become 
 modifiers of the root-numbers whereby the cipher story is worked 
 out. 
 
 But there is another set of modifying numbers in the second 
 column of page 73. 
 
 There are two subdivisions of this column, caused by the break 
 in the narrative where the words of the stage-direction occur: 
 Exit Worcester and Vernon. 
 
 The first subdivision contains 28 words, the second 209 words; 
 
 the column contains 237 words, besides three words in brackets, 
 
 " (as we heare)," on the seventh line from the bottom. If these are 
 
 counted in, then the column contains 240 words, and the second 
 
 subdivision contains 212 words. This column, then, gives us these 
 
 modifying numbers : 
 
 Words in first subdivision 28 
 
 Words in second subdivision 209 
 
 Words in second subdivision, plus the bracket words 212 
 
 Words in column ; 237 
 
 Words in column, plus the words in brackets 240 
 
 Words from end of first subdivision to end of column 209 
 
 Words from beginning of second subdivision to end of column 208 
 
 Words from beginning of second subdivision, plus bracket words 211 
 
582 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 But it will be found hereafter that the modifying numbers 
 found on page 73 are not used in the cipher narrative until the 
 same has been first modified by the numbers obtained, in the same 
 way, on page 74. That is, page 74 is used before page 73. We 
 therefore turn to that page. 
 
 The first column of page 74 contains no breaks or subdivisions. 
 There are 284 words in the text, besides 10 words in brackets, 7 
 hyphenated words, and 1 hyphenated word inside a bracket — the 
 word post-horse, on the fourth line. This gives us, therefore, the 
 following numbers: 
 
 Total words in column 284 
 
 Total words in column, plus words in brackets 294 
 
 Total words in column, plus hyphenated words 291 
 
 Total words in column, plus hyphenated and bracket words 301 
 
 Total words in column, plus all the hyphenated and bracket words in the 
 
 column 302 
 
 We pass now to the second column. Here, as in the first col- 
 umn of page 73, we have three subdivisions; and these two col- 
 umns — the first of 73 and the second of 74 — constitute the 
 magical frame on which the cipher principally turns, and it is 
 from the marvelous interplay of the numbers found therein that 
 the cipher narrative is wrought out. 
 
 The first subdivision of the second column of page 74 con- 
 tains 50 words; the second, 168; the third, 30; and the reader will 
 observe hereafter how those figures, 50 and 30, play backward 
 and forward through the cipher story; and he will see how the 
 whole story of Shakspere's life, as well as Marlowe's, radiates out 
 from that central subdivision, containing 168 words, or 167, exclu- 
 sive of the first word. 
 
 The second column of page 74 gives us, then, these figures: 
 
 Number of words in first subdivision 50 
 
 Number of words in second subdivision 168 
 
 Number of words in third subdivision ' » 30 
 
 Number of words from top of column to beginning of second subdivision .... 51 
 
 Number of words from beginning of second subdivision to end of same 167 
 
 Number of words from beginning of column to end of second subdivision. . . . 218 
 Number of words from beginning of column to beginning of third subdivision . . 219 
 
 Number of words from beginning of column to end of column 248 
 
 Number of words from beginning of third subdivision to end of column , 29 
 
 Number of words from end of second subdivision to end of column 30 
 
 Number of words from end of first subdivision to end of column 198 
 
 Number of words from end of column to beginning of second subdivision. . . . 197 
 
THE CIPHER EOUND. 583 
 
 But there are in this column 22 words in brackets and 2 
 hyphenated words. These are in the second and third subdivis- 
 ions, and modify them accordingly. That is to say, there are 21 
 words in brackets in the second subdivision and 1 in the third; and 
 there is 1 hyphenated word in the second subdivision and 1 in the 
 third. Hence we have these additional numbers: 
 
 Number of words in second subdivision 168 
 
 Number of words in second subdivision, plus 21 bracket words 189 
 
 Number of words in second subdivision, plus 1 hyphenated word 169 
 
 Number of words in second subdivision, plus 22 bracket and hyphenated words 190 
 
 Number of words in third subdivision 30 
 
 Number of words in third subdivision, plus 1 bracket word 31 
 
 Number of words in third subdivision, plus 2 bracket and hyphenated words. . 32 
 
 The multipliers which produce the root-numbers are found in 
 the first column of page 74. They are: 10 (the number of bracket 
 words); 7 (the number of hyphenated words); n (the number 
 of bracket words, plus the one hyphenated word, post-horse, 
 included in the bracket); and 18 (the total of bracketed and 
 hyphenated words in the column). 
 
 We have here, then, the machinery of Bacon's great cipher; and, 
 as we proceed with the explanation of its workings, the wonder of 
 the reader will more and more increase, that any human brain 
 could be capable of compassing the construction of such a mighty 
 and subtle work. 
 
 The cipher story I shall work out in the following pages is but 
 a small part of the entire narrative in these two plays. I break, as 
 it were, into the midst of the tale, like one who overhears the mid- 
 dle of a conversation between two men: he has not got it all, but 
 from what he gleans he can surmise something of what must have 
 preceded and of what will probably follow it. 
 
 The root-numbers out of which the story grows are as follows: 
 
 505< 506, 513, 516, 523. +> .? 
 
 These are the keys that unlock this part of the cipher story, 
 in the two plays, 1st and 2d Henry IV. They do not unlock it all; 
 nor would they apply to any other plays. They are the product of 
 multiplying certain figures in the first column of page 74 by cer- 
 tain other figures. The explanation of the way in which they are 
 obtained I reserve for the present, intending in the future to work 
 
5^4 
 
 THE CIPHER IN THE PLA VS. 
 
 out the remainder of the narrative in these two plays, which I here 
 leave unfinished. It may, of course, be possible that some keen mind 
 may be able to discover how those numbers are obtained and antici- 
 pate me in the work. I have to take the risk of that. My publishers 
 concur with me in the belief that the copyright laws of the United 
 States will not give me any exclusive right to the publication of 
 that part of the cipher narrative in the plays which is not worked 
 out by myself. I shall therefore have worked for years for the 
 benefit of others, unless in this way I am able to protect myself. 
 " The laborer is worthy of his hire," and if such a discovery as this 
 could have been anticipated by the framers of our copyright laws, 
 they would certainly have provided for it. For if a man is entitled 
 to gather all the benefits which flow from a new application of 
 electricity, as in the telegraph or the telephone, to the amount of 
 millions of dollars, certainly there should be some protection for 
 one who by years of diligent labor has lighted a new light in litera- 
 ture and opened a new gate in history. 
 
 Neither do I think any reasonable man will object to my reserv- 
 ing this part of the cipher. My friend Judge Shellabarger, of 
 Washington, said in an address, in 1885, before a literary society of 
 that city: 
 
 If any man proves to me that in any writing the tenth word is our, the twen- 
 tieth word Father, the thirtieth word who, the fortieth word art, the fiftieth word in, 
 the sixtieth word heaven, and so on through the whole of the Lord's Prayer, we 
 must confess, however astonished we may be, that such a result could not have 
 occurred by accident; but that these words must have been ingeniously woven into 
 the text by some one, at those regular and stated intervals. 
 
 And if this be true when the cipher word is every tenth word, 
 would it not be equally true if the Lord's Prayer occurred in the 
 text at intervals represented by the following figures? 
 
 10th word. 
 
 1 8th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 10th word. 
 
 1 8th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 Our 
 
 Father, 
 
 who 
 
 art 
 
 in 
 
 heaven, 
 
 10th word. 
 
 18th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 10th word. 
 
 1 8th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 hallowed 
 
 be 
 
 thy 
 
 name: 
 
 thy 
 
 kingdom 
 
 10th word. 
 
 1 8th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 10th word. 
 
 1 8th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 come; 
 
 thy 
 
 will 
 
 be 
 
 done 
 
 on 
 
 10th word. 
 
 1 8th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 10th word. 
 
 1 8th word. 
 
 27th word. 
 
 earth 
 
 as 
 
 it 
 
 is 
 
 in 
 
 heaven. 
 
THE CIPHER FOUND. 585 
 
 That is to say, if the cipher narrative moves through the text 
 not 10, 10, 10, etc., but 10, 18, 27; 10, 18, 27; 10, 18, 27, etc. 
 
 And if this be true of a short writing, like the Lord's Prayer, 
 does it not amount to an absolute demonstration if this series of 
 numbers, or any other series of numbers, extends through many 
 pages of narrative, from the beginning of one play to the end of 
 another? 
 
 Instead of the cipher story in these Plays being, as some have 
 supposed,. a mere hop-skip-and-jump collocation of words, it will be 
 found to be as purely arithmetical, and as precisely regular, as 
 either of the examples given above. 
 
4<f 
 
 The Firil: Part of Henry tke Fourth, 
 
 with the Life and Death of HENRY 
 
 SirnamedHOT.SPVRRE. 
 
 <ttf Bus Trimw* Scocna Trima. 
 
 ggtif&lKiftg.LoYdfekti ofLtocaperjzgrle 
 
 Ki»g s 
 ;0 fhaien as we a re; fo wan with car e\ 
 iFjndc we a time for frighted Peace to panr* 
 Vnd breath i7;ortwmdcdaccentsof new broils 
 jjTo be comracne'd if* Strond* a^rarre remote : 
 No ffiDRtbe th t ! fty en 1 1 a n cc c-f th i s Soi fej 
 Shall daube her iippes with her ownc cnildrerrs biaod i 
 No mo re fhajl trenching Warre channell her fields, 
 N&rbruife her FJowrets witrtthe Armed hoofes 
 Of hofl^e faces. Thofeoppofcd eye*, 
 Which like rhc Meteors of a troubled Heauerij 
 Ml of one Nature, of one Subftancc bred, 
 P d lately meete intheinteftinelhacke*, 
 And furious cloze of ciuill Butchery, 
 Shall now m rnutuall weU-bcfcernmg rankes 
 March all one way, and be no more oppo* u 
 Agamft Acquaintance, Kindrcd.and Allies.. 
 The edge o£. Warre, like an ilUfheathed knife, 
 No more /Hall cut his Matter. Therefore Friends, 
 As farreas to theSepulchcc of Cnrift, 
 Whofe Souldier now vndcr whofe blcffeiCrorTe 
 We arc imprefted and irtgagdro fight* 
 Forthwith a power of Eoglifh fhall we leuie* 
 Whofe ar mes were moulded in their Mothers wornbe, 
 To chacerliefc Pagans in thofe holy Fields, 
 Ouer wliofe Acres walk'd thofe blcflcd fecte 
 Which fouueene hundred yearcs ago were natl'd 
 Forouraduantagc on thebittci CrniTe. 
 Bttcthis ourpur pofe is a tweluemonth ohf, 
 And bootlefTe 'tis to tcllyou we will go ; 
 Therefore we mcetenctnow. Then letmehearc 
 Of you my gentle Coufin Weftmerhnd 
 Whatycfternightour Councell did decree. 
 ia forwarding this deere expedience* 
 / Weft* My Liege jTlii.hjfte was hot ioqucftion, 
 And many limits of the Charge fet downe 
 Bfltycfternighti when all athwart there came 
 APoftfromWalesjloaiienwithheauyNcwes; 
 Whofe woi ft was, That the Noble CMmmtr^ 
 wading the mfcnofHerefordfhirc to fight 
 Agiinft the irregular and wildc Clendower^ 
 Was by ih$ rude bands ofthat Welftunan takers 
 ftfliaillQufawci ofhis people butchered ; 
 
 Vpon whofe dead corpes there was fuckjjiifuie $ 
 
 SuchbeaftlyjiliameltiVerransforfMfjonv 
 By thofe WcHhwomen done, as may not be 
 (Without much flume) re told or fpoken of. 
 
 King _ It fecmes then, that thetidings of thiibroif^ 
 Brake crTourbufindTc for the H«Iy land* 
 
 Wefa This roatcht with other Me,my gracious Ldj& 
 Farre more vneucrt and vnwelcome Ncwct ' 
 Camefrom the North. aiulthusJcdid report 8 
 On Holy-roode day, the gallant Hoiffmne chut* 
 Young harry Percy* and braue zslrchtbald, 
 That euer.vaiiant and approoued Scot, 
 At Holmtden mer, where they did fpend 
 A fad and bloody boure ; 
 As by difebarge of their Artillcrle, 
 Anafliapeofhkcly-hoodihejicweswastolds 
 For he that brought them, in the very heate 
 And pride of their contention, did take horfe> 
 Vucet taine of the iflue any way. 
 
 Kt*g Hcerc is a deere and true induftrious fnen J^ 
 Sh Walter 2?//*»r,new lighted from his Horfd 
 StrainM with the variation of each l'oy!e 4 
 Betwixt that Holmtden ^x\A this Seat of ours : 
 And he hath brought ys fmooth and svelcomes newes; 
 The Earlc oiDowglas is difcoiiifitedj 
 Ten thoufand bold Scots, two and twenty Knight! 
 Balk'd in their owneblood did S\t Walter (te 
 On Holntedons PJaines, Of Prifoners, Hotftmr$ tooic 
 Mordakq Earle of Fife, and eldeft fonne 
 Jo beaten ^Dow^Us and tbe Earle ofj4(foB M 
 QtMttrrjt esfngtuflnA Merit e it h. 
 And is nouhisan honourable fpoy[c> 
 A gallant prire ? Ha Coiin,is it not?Infaith hi** 
 
 Weft. AConqueftforaPrincetoboaftof. 
 
 Ki»i, Yea, there thou mak'ft me fad, & mak*ft fllfi fift 
 lncnuy,thatmy Lord Not thumberland 
 Should be the Father of fo Weft a Sonne : 
 ASonne,whois the Theame of Honors tongue; 
 Among'it a Groue, the very ftraigbtefl PJan^ 
 Who is fwect Fortunes Minion,and her Pride: 
 Whil'ft I by looking on the praife of him. 
 See Ryot and Difhonor ftaine the brow 
 Ofmyyong iiforry. O that it could be prou'd, * 
 That fomeNight-tripping-Faiery, had exchanged 
 In Cradle»dothe $, our Children where they lay, 
 And ealfd mine Percy -, his Plmtttm i 
 
5° 
 
 The Firfl ^Pari o/IQng Henry the Fourth. 
 
 Telnet. Good morrow fweet Hal. What faics Mon- 
 fieur Remorfe 1 ? Whar fayes Sir Iohn Sacke and Sugar : 
 lackef? How agrees the Dwell and thec about thy Soule, 
 that ihou foldeft him on Good-Friday laft, for a Cup of* 
 Madera,and a cold Capons leggc? 
 
 Prin. Sir Iohn ftands to his word, thediuel (hall haue 
 his bargaine,ror he was neucryer a Breaker oFProuerbs: 
 He xpiHgitte the ditteKbis due. 
 
 poht.Then art thou damn'd For keeping thy word with 
 the diuell. 
 
 Brin. Elfc he bad damn'd for cozeningthe diuell. 
 
 Foy. But my lads., my Lada/to morrow morning,l>y 
 fours a clocke early at Gads hill, there are Pilgrimes go- 
 ing to Canterbury with rich Offerings, and Traders ri- 
 ding to London with fat Purfes. I haue vizards for you 
 all ; you haue horfes for your felucs : Gads-hill lyes to 
 night in Rochcfter, I haue befpoke Supper to morrow in 
 Eaficheapcj we may doe it as fecurc as fleepc: if you will 
 go,IwillftufTe your Purfes full of Cfownes : if you will 
 pot, tarry at home and be hang'd. 
 
 TaL Heare ye Ycdward,if I tarry at home and go not, 
 lie hang you for going, 
 
 foy. You will chops. 
 
 'Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one? 
 
 Pnn. Who,Irob?IaTheefc?NotI. 
 F^/.ITherc's neither hoaefty, marihood,norgocd fel- 
 low fhrp in tbee. nor thou eam*(t not of theblood-royall, 
 if thou dal*ft not (land foi ren (hillings. 
 
 Writ** Well then.once in my dayes lie be a mad-cap. 
 
 W*(* Why;that*s well faid. 
 
 Pritt. Well; come what will, He tarry at home. 
 
 Fal. lie be a Traitor then, when thou art King. • 
 
 £>r/».;T care not. 
 
 ¥ojn. Sir fob*,! prytheeleaue the Prince 8f me alone, 
 I will lay him downc fuch reafons for this aduemure,that 
 he fliall go. 
 
 Fal. Well, maift thou haue the Spirit of-perfwafion ; 
 and he the eares of profiting, ithat what thou fpeakeft , 
 may moue ; and what he heares may be beleeucd.that the 
 true Piince,roay(for recreation fakc)proue a falfe thecfe j 
 for the pooreabufes ofihetime,wanr countenance. Far- 
 well.you (hall findc meinEaftcheape. 
 1 Prin. Farwellthelattei Soring.. FarewellAlholIown 
 Summer. 
 
 Poj. Now, my g©ed fweet Hony Lord, ride with vs 
 to raorrow.Tl haue a left to execute, that I cannot rr.an- 
 nage alone. Falftaffe; Harvey. Rt>J[iit,md'q*dt-hiR t fhall 
 robbethofe men that wcehpue aheady way-laydc, your 
 fclfc andl, wil not be thererand when ihey haue the boo- 
 ty, if you and I do not iobthcm^ cut rhis head from tny 
 fhoulders. 
 
 /V/w.But how fhal w* part with rhem in fecting forth? 
 
 Poyn. Why,we wil fet forth before or after them. and 
 appoint them a place of n ceting, wherin it is at our plea- 
 fure to faile \ and then will they aduenturc ,vppon the ex- 
 ploit rhemfelucs, which they fhall haue no fooner atchie- 
 ued, but wce'l fet vpon them. 
 
 Prin. Jjbiittis like that they will know vs by our 
 horfes.by ourh3bits,and by euery other appointment to 
 beoui felues. , 
 
 Toy. Tut our hotfes they fhall not fee, He tyc them in 
 the wood, our vizards wee will change aftei wee leaue 
 them : and firrah, 1 haue Cafes of Buckram for the nonce, 
 to imrnaske our noted outward garments. 
 
 Prin. But! doubt they will be too hat d for vs. 
 fein, Well,for two of them, I know them to bee as 
 
 true bred Cowards as euer turn'd backc.and for the third 
 if he fight longer then he feesreafon,Ileibrfwear Armes, 
 The vertue of chisleft will be, the incomprehenfible lyes 
 that tbisfat Rogue will tell vs,when we meeieatS Uf pcri 
 how thirty at leaf* he fought with, what Wardes, vvbai 
 blowes, what extremities he cndured;and in thercproofe 
 of this, lyes the ieft. 
 
 Trin. Well, He goe with thee, prouide vs all thing, 
 neceffary, and meete roe tomorrow night m EaftcheapL 
 there He fup. Farewell. n> 
 
 Poyn. Farewelhmy Lord. ExitPmr* 
 
 Prin. I know you all, and will a-while yphold 
 The vnyoak'd humor of your idleneflc : 
 Yechecrein will I imitate the Sunne, 
 Who doth permit the bafe contagious cloudes 
 To fmothet vp his Beauty from the world, 
 That when he pleafe agame to be himfcife, 
 Being wantcd,hemay be more wondred ar, 
 By breaking through the foule and vgly mifts 
 Of vapours, that did feeme to liranglchim. 
 If all the ycarc were playing holidaics, 
 To fport, would be as tedious as to worke j 
 J But when they lcldome come, they wiflu-for come, 
 { And nothing pleafeth but rare accidents. 
 So when this loofe behauiour I throw off, 
 And pay the debt 1 neuer proroiied ;' 
 By how much better then my word I am. 
 By fo much fliall 1 falfifie mens hopes, 
 And like bright Mettail on a Allien ground ; 
 My reformation glittering o're my fault, 
 Shall fhew more goodly, and attract mor* eyes^ 
 Then that which hath no foyle to fet it off. 
 lie fo offend, to make offence a skill, 
 Redeeming time^when men thinke lead I will. 
 
 Sccena Tertia. 
 
 Enter the IGng y Northfimkr/andjrorceJ}er^Hotjparre a 
 Sir Walter 72 lu*t, and others. 
 
 King* My blood hath beene coo cold and temperate^ 
 Vnapt to ftirre at the fc indignities, 
 And you haue found me ; for accordingly, 
 You tread vpon my patience : But be fure, 
 I will from henceforth rather be my Selfe, 
 Mighty, and to befear'd, then my condition 
 Which hath beene fmooth as Oyfc^fofc as yortgDowne, 
 And therefore loft thatTitle efrefpedt, 
 Which the proud foule ne're payes,but to the proud, 
 
 Wor. Our houfe (my Soueraigne Licge)little dsfcruei 
 The fcourge of greatneffe to be vfed on it, 
 And that fame greatneffe too, which our ownehandi 
 Haue holpe to make fo portly. 
 
 Nor. My Lord. 
 
 King. Wor cefter get thec gone : for I do fee 
 Danger and difobedience in thine eye. 
 O fir, your prefenceis too bold and peremptory* 
 And Maieftie might neuct yet endure 
 The moody Frontier of a feruant brow, 
 You haue good Ieauetolcaue vs. When we need 
 Your vfe and counfell,we fhall lend for you. 
 You were about to fpeake. 
 
 North, Yea, my good Lord. 
 
 1 & Thofe 
 
J* 
 
 TheFirft TartofKjngHemy tbeFourth. 
 
 Hot. JBut&rft Ipray you j did King Riehardtthen 
 Prodaime my brother Aiortimtf, 
 Heyrexo the Crowned , 
 ' "iW. HedidjOiyfeifedidhcareir. 
 
 //<?/. Nay then 1 cannot blame his CoufinKIng, 
 That wifh d him on tbeDarren Mountaines ftaru'd. 
 But fhall tt be, that you-that let the Crowne _ 
 Vpon the head of this forge t-full man, 
 And foch'rs fakc,wore the^detefted blot 
 Of murtherous lubornatioiT? Shall it be, 
 That you a world of carles vndergoe, 
 Being the Agents, or bafe fecb'nd mcanes, 
 The Cords, tbe Ladder, or the Hangman rather ? 
 O pardon, if that I defcend ib low, 
 To ftiew the Line, and the Predicament 
 Wherein you range vnder this fubtill King. 
 Shall it for Qiame^be fpoken in thefc dayes, 
 Or fill vp Chronicles in time-to come, 
 That men of your Nobility and Power, 
 Did gage them both in an vniuft behalfe v 
 (As Both ofyoiijGod pardon it, haue done) 
 To put -down? RtcbarJ t that fweetloucly Rofe, 
 And plant this Thome, this Canker "2>«#/»£&w%? 
 And fhall it in more fhame be further fpoken, 
 That you arefool'd, difcardcd.and fhookeoft 
 By him, for whom thefe Thames ye vnderwent ? 
 No : yet time femes, wherein you may redeeme 
 Your baaim'd Honors, and rcftore your felues 
 Into the good Thoughts of the world againe. 
 Reuenge the geering and difdain'd contempt 
 Of this proud King, who ftudies day and night 
 To anfwer all the Debt he owes vnto you, 
 Euen with the bloody Payment ofyoui deaths : 
 Therefore I fay < 
 
 Wat-. Peace Coufin . fay no more. 
 And now 1 will vncfaspe 2 Secret booke, 
 And to your quicke conceyuing Difcontcnts, 
 He reads you Matter, deepe and dangerous. 
 As full ofperill andaduenturoui Spine, 
 As to o*re-\valke a Current, roaring loud 
 On the vnftedfaft footing of a Spcare. 
 
 Hot. It he fall in, good night, or 'hnke or fwimme: 
 Send danger from the Ealt vnto the Welt, 
 So Honor crofle it from the North to South, 
 And let them grapple : The blood more ltirres 
 Torowzea Lyon,then to ftart a Hare. 
 
 Nor Imagination offome great exploit, 
 Drhies him beyond the bounds of Patience. 
 
 Hot. Byheiuen, me thinkes it were an eafie leap, 
 To plucke bright Honor from the pale-fac d Moone, 
 Or diue into the bottome oi ihe deepe, 
 Where"Fadome-line could neuer touch-the ground, 
 And plucke vp drowned Honor by the Lockes : 
 So hexhat'doth redeerneber thence, might wcare 
 Without Co-riuall, alfher Dignities: 
 But out vpon this halfe-'inc d Eellowfhip. 
 
 IFcr. Kc'apprehetids a World of Figures here, 
 But not the forme oi whathefhould attend : 
 Good Coufin gule me audience for a-while, 
 And lift to me. 
 
 Hoi. T cry you mercy. 
 
 V/ly. Thole fame Noble Stottes 
 That are your Ptifoners, 
 
 .. Hoi. illc keepe them all. 
 By heauen, ne fhall pot haue a Scot of them:' \ 
 Noiif a Scot would hue his Soule,hc fhallnot.' ' 
 
 Ilckccpe them, by this Hand. 
 
 War. You (tart away, 
 And lend no eare vnto my purpofes. 
 Thofe Prifoners you fhall keepe. 
 
 Hot. Nay, I will j that's flat: 
 He faid, he would not ranfome Morumer; 
 Forbad my tongue to fpeakeot',*/orr?wrr. 
 But I will findc him when he lyes afleepe, 
 And in his eare, lie holla Mortimer. 
 Nay, He haue a Starlirfg fhall be taught to fpcake 
 Nothing but Morttmer > and giueit him, 
 To keepe his anger ftili in motion. 
 
 Wnr. HeareyouCoufia:aword. 
 
 Hot, All ftudies heere I folemnly defie, 
 Saue how to gall and pinch this Buftitigkrooke, 
 And that fame Sword and Buckler Prince of Wales. 
 But that I thinkchis Father loues him not, 
 And would be gbd he met with fome mif chance* 
 I would hauepoyfon'd him with a pot of Ale, 
 
 War. Farewell Kinfinan : He talketo you 
 When you arebetter tempctd to attends 
 
 Nor.\ Why what a Wafpe-tongu'd & impatient foole 
 Art thou, to breakeinto this Womans mood, 
 Tying thine care to no tongue but thine owneT 
 
 Hot. Why look you, I am whipt & fcourg'd witbrods, 
 Netted, and ftung with Pifmires,whcn I heare 
 Of this vile Politician BuRingbreoke. 
 VaRjchArds time : What de'ye call the place ?• 
 A plague vpon't, it is in Glouftcrihire : 
 'Twas, where the madcap Duke bis Vnde kept, 
 HisVndeYorke,Viherelfirflbow'dmykncc 
 Vnto this King of Smiles, this BtiRingfocske: 
 When you and he came backe fcom' RaaenfpurgH. 
 
 Nor, AtBarkleyCaftle, 
 
 Hot. You fay true r 
 Why wh3t a caudie dcale of curteHe, 
 This-fawning Grey hound then did proffer me, 
 Looke when his infant Fortune came to age, 
 And gentle Harry "Percy, and kinde Ccufiu : 
 O, the Diuell take fuch Couzcners,God forgiucme, 
 Good Vnde tell your tale, for 1 haue done. 
 
 Wor. N3y, if you haue not, too't againe, 
 WeeTftay your leyfure. 
 
 Hot. I haue done infooth. 
 
 TVor. Then once more toyour Scottifh Prifoners. 
 Deliuer them vp w'thout their ranfome ftraight, 
 And make the Dowglas fonne your onely meane 
 For powr.es in Scotland : which for diuers reifons 
 Which I Qiall fend you written,be aflur'd 
 Will eafily be granted you, my Lord. 
 Your Sonne in Scotland being thus imp 1 y'd» 
 Shall fecrctly into the bofome creepe 
 Of that fame noble Prelate^ well bclou'dj 
 TheArchbifhop. 
 
 Hot. OfYorke,is'tnot? 
 
 Wor. True, who besres hard „ 
 His Brothers death at Briftovr, the Lord Scrooge, 
 I fpeakenot this in eftimation, . 
 As what I thinke might be, but what 1 know 
 Is ruminated,plotted-and fet downe, 
 And onely ftayes but to behold the face 
 Of that occafion that /hall bring it on. 
 
 Hot. Jimcllit: 
 Vpon my life, ;t will do wond*rous well. 
 
 Nor. Before the game's a-foot, thou ftilllef ft flip. 
 
 Hot. Why,it cannot choofe but be aNoblc plot, 
 
 And 
 
And then fbcpowcr ofScotland;and ofV orkc 
 
 n 
 
 TCoioync with Mortimer* Hi. 
 
 Wen And fo they fhall. 
 
 IteU Infaiih it is exceedingly well aym'd.r 
 
 VTir* And 'tis no little rcafon bidi vs fpeed, 
 lofaue our heads, by raifingofaHead : 
 Fb^ beare oisr fcluer*$.#uc»f » we can r 
 TJbfjKiftg wiiltflwayce thinke himinoar debt£ 
 Xrtd ihinkc,we thinke ourfclucs vuGtisficd, 
 Tillhehath found a tirocMapay »s home. 
 Artdftf^OJJkdyjiioW be doth beginne 
 To iflai»tffl»ngera~to his lookcs of lout, 
 
 KtU He docsjie does; weel be rcucng?<j;On him. 
 
 W<mt Coj$r),fafeWelU No further go in this > 
 Then I by tetters fnall foxtSk your courfe 
 Wrientlmelstipe, which will be fodainlyi 
 JltftealetoG/rtw/anxrr and ioe, Moriimer x 
 VVticre you,and Dowglas ,i\na our powjes sroncc, 
 RaXwill fafhion it, (hall happily mecte, 
 TTobeare out fortunes in out owne ftrong armes, 
 WhiCfi now wChold ataiuch vneertatnty^ 
 
 ffhn Farewell good Brother, we ftiaiIthfiue,Ttruft. 
 
 Jfof* Vncle.adieu : O Jet thehoures be fhort, 
 Tillfieldsjand blowes,and grones,applaud our (fan.JUS0 
 
 MlusSccundus, Scena^Prima, 
 
 Enter a Carrier with a hanterne in his hand f 
 
 % .Car. Heigh-ho,an'tbenot fouteby the day,IIe be 
 hang'd. Charles waine is ouer the new Chimney, and yec 
 oUthorfenotpackt, WhatOftler? 
 
 Oft, Anon.anon. 
 
 XJCar. I prethee Tom, beate Cuts Saddle, put a few 
 Hockcs in the point; the poore lade is wrung in the wi- 
 )&crsjputofallceiTc. 
 
 Enter another Carrier* 
 
 4.Car. tpeafe andBeanes arenas dankehcte as a Dog, 
 and this is the next way to giue poore lades thf Bortes : 
 This houfc is turned vpfide downe fince T^phia the Qftler 
 dyed; 
 
 3+Car, Poore fellow neuer ioy'd fince the price of oats 
 WfC/H was the death of him. 
 
 4. Car, I thinke this is the mofl villanous houfc In al 
 Condon rode for Fleas: I am Rung like a Tench; 
 
 i,£V. Like a Tench? There is ne're a King in Chri- 
 ftendome, could be better bit,then I hauebeene fince the 
 hrftCoclcc. 
 
 a.Car. Why, you will allow vs ne're a] lourden, and 
 then we leake in your Chimney : and yout Chamber -lye 
 breeds Fleas like a Loach. 
 
 I ,Car, What Oftle^comc away,and be hangd:come 
 away. 
 
 *.Car> 1 haue a Gammon of Bacon, tand two razes of 
 Ginger,tobc deliuered as farre as Charing-croffe. 
 
 XtCar. TheTurkiesinmy Pannier are i^aite ftarued. 
 WrracOftler? A plague on thee,haft thou nctseran eye in 
 thy head PCan'ft not heare ? And t'were not as good a 
 deed as drinke, to break thepate oftiieej am a very Vil- 
 hine. Come and bchang'd,haft no faith in the? ? 
 Enter Gadt-htlt< 
 
 (jad. Good-morrow Carriers. Whatsacloctcf 
 
 Cat* I thinke icbe two a clocke. 
 
 CaL I prethee lend me thy Lanthoriie to fee my Gel- 
 
 ding in the ft able. 
 
 I .Car, Nay (oft J pray ye, I know a crick worth two 
 of that. 
 
 Cad. I prethee lend me thine. 
 
 t.Car. I,whcn, canft tell f Lend mee thy Lanthorne 
 (quoth.a) marry lie fee thee hangd fitft* 
 
 Cad. Sirra Carrier ; What time do you mean to come 
 to London? 
 
 tlCar, Time enough to goc to bed with a Candle, 1 
 warrant thee. Come neighbour CHugges. wee'JLcallvp 
 the Gentlemen, they wilWong with company/for they 
 hauc great charge. JExvmt 
 
 Enter Chamhertaint. 
 
 Gad. Whatho,ChamberIaine? 
 
 Cham. At hand quoth Pick-put fe. 
 
 Gad. That's cuen as faire,as at hand quoth the Chanv 
 berlaine : For thou varieft no more from pickhtg'of Por- 
 fes, then g'ming direction, doth from labouring . Thou 
 lay ft the plot, how. 
 
 Cham. Good morrow Maftet Gads- Hill, it holds cur- 
 rant that I told you yefternight. There's a Franklin in the 
 wildc of Kent, hath brought three hundred Markes with 
 him inGolJ:I heard nimtell it to one of his company Iaft 
 night at Supper; a kindeof Auditor, one that hath abun- 
 dance of char ge too (God knowes what) they are vp air 
 ready, and call for Eggcs and Butter. They will away 
 prefently, 
 
 Gad, Sirra, if they meete not with S .Nicholas Clarks, 
 He giue thee this necke. 
 
 iham* No, He none of it : I pry thee keep that for the 
 Hangman, for I know thouwoifhipft S.Nicholas a s tr«* 
 ly as a man of falfhood may. 
 
 Gad. What talkeft thou to me of the Hangman? If I 
 hang, lie make a fat payrc of Gallowes. JFor, if I.hang* 
 old Sir John hangs with mee, and thou know'ft bee's no 
 Starueling* Tut, there arc other Troians that ^ drearn'rl 
 not of, the which (for fport fake) are content to doc the 
 Profeffion lbme grace ; that would (if matters fhould bee 
 look'd into) for their owne Credit fake, make all Whole. 
 1 am ioyned with no Foot-laiid-Rakers, no Long-ftaffe 
 fix-penny ltrikers,noneofthefcmad Muftachio-purplc- 
 hu'd-Maltvvormcs, but with Nobility, and Tranquiliiic; 
 Bourgomaftcrs, and great Oneycrs, luch as can holdc in, 
 fuch as will ftrikc fooner then fpeake ; and fpeake fbonei 
 then drinke. and drin^c fooner then pray : and yet 1 fy«?j 
 for they pray continually vnto their Sainnhc Common- 
 wealth ; or rather, not to pray to her, but prey on hertfor 
 they ride vp & downe on hcr,and make hir their Boots. 
 
 Cham. What,thc Commonwealth their Bootes* Witt 
 (he hold out water in foulc way ? 
 
 Gad. She wil^fhe will; luftice hath liquor'd her. We 
 (teak as in a Caftlccockfurc-: we haue the rcceit of Fern- 
 fccde,we walke inuifiblc. 
 
 Cham, Nay , I thmlic ratber^au are more beholding 
 to the Night, then tothcFernfeed,foryour walking in- 
 uifible. 
 
 Cad. Giue roe thy hand. 
 Thou fhalt haue a fhare in our purpofe, 
 As I am a rrue man. 
 
 Cham, Nay,ratherletmeehauelt,asyoii«eafalfe 
 Theefc. 
 
 Gad, Goetoo : Homo is a common name to all men, 
 
 Bid the Oftler bring tfie Gelding out of the ftable. Fare- 
 
 well^yc criuddy Knaue, Exeunt, 
 
 e 2 Seen a 
 
54 
 
 TheFirjl'Part ofK^ng Henry the Fmrtk 
 
 SctfnaSeemda, 
 
 Sifit 'Pjtnee i Pojws/md Peto. 
 
 Points. Come flielter,fhelter, I haue remoued Fdlfiafs 
 florfe,andfi<iftelfslvke a gum d Vduet. 
 
 frm* Standttofe. 
 
 E*ierf*ljteffe., 
 'Yak ToineSyPoineSyznA be kang'd Power. 
 
 Prin. Peace ye fat-kidney *d Rafcall, what a brawling 
 doflthoulcccpe. 
 
 Fal. What femes. Hal}, 
 
 Prit> m He is walk'd vj* to the top of the hill,llc go feek 
 him. . 
 
 F^. lam aecurft to rob mthatTheefe company: that 
 Rafcall hath remoued my Hdrfe.and tied htm I know not 
 where.' If I trautllbut foure foot by the fquire further"* 
 foote a I ftiall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not but 
 to dye a fatre death for all this, if I fcape hanging for kil- 
 ling that Rogue, I haue forfwotne his company hourely 
 any time this two and twenty yeare,©7 yet rambewitcht 
 with theRogues company. Jf the Rafcall haue norghien 
 trie medicines to makeme lottehim^lebchaog d;it could 
 fiotbetlfe si hauc dr'unkc Medicines. Poms, Hal t a 
 Efagueypon you \>Qth.\Bardolphi'Petg : lie ftarue ere I 
 rob a foote further.' And 'twere not as good a decdeasto 
 drfrike, to turneTrue-Tnafo,and to leaue theft Rogues, I 
 aratbeverieflt Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth. 
 Eight yards of vneuen ground, is thrtefcore & ten miles 
 afoot with me : and tbe ftony-hearred Viflaines kr.owe it 
 will enough. A plague ypon'^when Theeues cannot be 
 twe one to another. ThejWhtftle. 
 
 Whew :a plague light yponyoH&U.Giue my Horfe you 
 Rogues :giue me my Horfc.and'be hang'd; 
 
 ;JV*».7peaceyefarguttes,' lye downe, Jay thine car* 
 clofe to the ground, and lift if thou can hcarc the aead of 
 Trauclkrs. 
 
 T*F. Haue you aay leauers to lift roe vp agajn^belng 
 downe? He not bearemine owne flefli fo far afoot again, 
 for all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plague 
 meaneyeto colt me thus ? 
 
 Ptix.Thou ly'fhthou art not colted,thou art vncoIteiL 
 
 Fal. -I prethee good Prince H<?/,hcip me t o my horfc, 
 good Kings Tonne. 
 
 Triri. OutyouRogue^fhalllbeyourOfller? 
 
 Fal. Go hang chy felfe in thine bwneheire-apparanta* 
 Garters : If I be tanc, He peach for this: andl haue not 
 Ballsds made on all, and fung to filthy tunes, let a Cup of 
 Sackebemy poyXon : when a left is fo forward. Si 2 foots 
 foOjIhaseit. * 
 
 MtntGadfJiil? 
 
 Gad. Standi 
 
 Fall $0 1 do^agairift myvi'iih 
 foh.s Q 'tis our Setter, Tknow his voyce : 
 £ardolft,yih&t ne wes ? 
 
 3?*i, Cafe ye^afeye ;*>rr withyour Vizards^, there"* 
 roonyiifrlfeRWsxomniing^owne the hill, 'tis] going 
 tojthSKingsBxchequcr-, 
 JKtf^u^eyoirtoguey*^ 
 75^;Thier^!ffaugh t^makev* a!12 
 "Waft Ttrhehan^,: 
 
 Prirt. You foure mall front them in the narrow Lane* 
 Ned andl,wiU walke lower? if they fcape from'youi ini 
 counter,then they light on vs.' 
 
 Veto/ But how many be of them ? 
 
 Cad. Some e i ght or teny 
 
 Fal. Will they not rob vs? 
 
 Pr'm ' What, a Coward Sir Teh Paunch 
 
 Fal.; Indeed I am ttotlohnof Gaunt your Grandfatheri 
 b ut y et no Coward, Hal. 
 
 Pritt^ Wec'l leaue thatto the proof** 
 Poor. Sirra Iacke, thy borfe ftands behfnde the hedgj 
 when thon needft him, there thou (halt finde him. Fare* 
 welhand ftandfaft.' 
 
 Fal. .Now cannot I ftrike him.if I fhouldbe hangM, 
 J?nnS:Ned, where are our difguifes f 
 
 Pom. Hecrc hard by : Stand dofe> 
 
 Fal. Now my Matters, happy man be his dole, fay I 
 eucry man to his bufineflV 
 
 Billet Trauelltrs. 
 
 Tra. Come Neighbor: the boy (hall leade out Rorfes 
 dowhe the! hill : Wee*l walke a-foot a while ; and cafe our 
 Legges, 
 
 Theeues. Stay. 
 
 7V<.,lc(ublelTevs. 
 
 JEal. Strile. down with them, cut the villains throats; 
 a whorfon Caterpillars : Bacon fed Knaues * they hate vs 
 I youth ; downe with them.fleece them,' 1 
 
 Tra. 0,we are vndonejaoth we and ours for cuer — • 
 
 Fal. Hang ye gorbcllied knaues,areyou vndone ? Nii 
 yeFatChurTe»,I would your More '.were heere^. On Ba- 
 con s. on, what yeknaues?Yong men muft hue, yotfare 
 Grand Iurers,areye . Wee'l iure ye ifaith; 
 
 Heere theyyob them t aad binde them. Snter the 
 Prince and Pomes. 
 
 T'WiCTheTheeues haue bound the Truc-men : Now 
 could thou and I rob theTheeuej,a!id gomerily to Loni 
 don, it would be argument for : a Weeke, Laughter foi 1 
 Moncth,anda good iell for euer, 
 
 Paynes. Stand clofe. I hcarc them comming. 
 
 MnterTheettes againe. 
 
 Fal. Come my Mailers, let vs fhare,and then toborlff 
 befoce day : and the Prince and Poyncs bee not two ar* 
 rand Cowards, there's no equity {tirritig. There's no mot 
 valour in that Poyncs,than 111 a wrlde Dueke« 
 
 Jurist* Your money 
 
 Pwr^iyilfaines; 
 iAsihej arefharingftieVtmcz and Poynea \fet ivpon-ttie&& 
 
 They xHrtiHaxAjJeaniiig the booty behind theati 
 
 frinct!. Got With much eafc. Now merrily ctf tftftfti 
 !TheThfecue*are fcastrcd,and poltcftwiih fear fafti |dW» 
 !y, eh at they dare not meet each other : each takes his tw> 
 |ow for aft OfficcrrAway good Ued r jFalJlajfe fweitesto 
 death.and Lards the lea ne earth as he walkes along;weKI 
 not for laughing^l (hould pittyrhTm* 
 
 'JPoSttflfom the Rogue^bat'di, ?xchhi± 
 
 SwruiTertia. 
 
 MmerHotfjtttrrefoltujreadiHgaLetttr. % 
 TButfor mine owne part ;mf Lord, JconldbetweSemttitrtdU 
 it tbirc^in refyeft ofthctml beareyottrhoufe. 
 
 He 
 
XbePirfiTartofKm gHettrytbeFmth, 
 
 55 
 
 He could be contented : Why is he nor thcaPiarerp.cdt.of 
 the loue he besres our houfc. ' He (he w es in chis',he loucs 
 hisowne Barne better then he loues our houfc. Lee me 
 fipcibmc more*, i The pnrpofeyoji ; vndertake isj&angttgttt* 
 Why that's certainc i'Tis dangerous to takeaColde, to 
 flrcpe, to drinkc : but t tell you.(my Lord foole) out 'of 
 thisNettle^Dangeri we pluckethis Flower^ Safety. Tbf 
 mrpofeyott undertake is dangerous, the Friends- jottJiaue no* 
 uudvnctrtaine>tUeTmcit felfevnforted^amA jqw^ypholt 
 Plot too light, t for ike counterpoize of fo great am Oppofttion. 
 Say you Jo, fayyou fo : I fay vncoyou. againej, you are a 
 (hallow cowardly Hinde^andyonXye., What.a.lackc- 
 brainc is this? 1 prolcrt, our plot U as good a plor as cuer 
 v/as laid j our Friend true and coriftant :. A good Plotic, 
 goodFricnds.andfuUofexpeclation: An excellent plot* 
 yciy good Friends* What a Frofty-ipitUcd rogue is this? 
 Why, my Lord of Yorke commends the plot v and the 
 generallcourfc of the action; By this hand.if 1 were now 
 by.thisRafcalLlcouldbraine him with his Ladies Fan, 
 Is there not my Father; my .Ynckle, and my Sclfe, Lord 
 Edmund Moriimer t my Lord of Torke t mA Owen Cjlendou'r} 
 Is there not b.efides, the Dowglast Haue I not all their let* 
 tersjtomeetemeinArmesby the ninth of the next Mo- 
 ncth ? and ore they not (ome of them fct forward already?. 
 What a Pagan Raltall is this? AnlnfideMHai you (nail 
 ieen.ow in very (inccrity of Feare and Cold hcart.-willhc 
 to the King,;and lay open all our proceedings* 0,1 could 
 diuide my fclfe, and go to buffets*, for moiling fucha di(h 
 «f skinrd Milk with fo honourable an Action. Hang him. 
 lethim tell the King wcare prepared. I will fet.totwards 
 tOflighr. 
 
 Enter his Lady, 
 
 How now Kate,lmuft leaue you within thefc two hours. 
 
 La, O.my good Lord* why /arc you thus alone / 
 For what offence haue J this fortnight bin 
 A banifiYd woman from my Harries bed ? 
 Tell me (fwcer Lord) what is't that takes from thee 
 Thy ftomacke^pleafure.and thy golden deepe? 
 Why doft thou bend thine eyes vpotvthe earth ? 
 A.ad (tart fo often when thou fitt'ft alone ? - 
 Why haft thou loft the fre(h blood in thy cheekc* ? 
 And glucn my Treafures andmy rights of thee, 
 To thicke-ey 'd.mufing, andeurft.meUncholiy ? 
 In my faint-flumbers, 1 by theehaue watcht, 
 Andnesrdthce^rourmorexales of Iron Warre* : 
 Speake tcarrnes ofmana ge to thy bounding Steed, • 
 
 Cry courage to the field.. - And thou baft talk'd 
 OfSaUies^and.RetircsiTrenches.TcntSi 
 fPalizadoes, Frontiers ,PaMpets^ 
 OfBafiliskesjOf Canon, Culucrinii 
 OfPrifonersianfome, andof Souldiera flafnCi 
 AudaU.thecuttent of a headdy fight; , 
 thy Ipir'u within thee hath beene fo at' Warre, 
 And thus hatbib beftirr'd thee lathy IkepCi 
 That beds offweate hath ftood vpon thy Brow, 
 like bubbles in a late-diftutbed Streamer 
 And in thy face Grange motions baue appcar'd_ 
 Suchas we fee when men rcftraine their breath 
 Onfome great. (o'daine hatt.iQw.haf portents. are thefe? 
 Some hcauiebulincflc hath my Lord in hand, 
 Aodl rouft know it : clfe helctueamenot. 
 
 Her. > What ho ;_Is GiUiams with the Packer gone t 
 
 St n He is my Lord.an honre.agorle. .. 
 -iHtt.Hath ^w/fr/brought thofeJiorlelJ&QibeSheiifrer 
 
 Ser. One horfc,myXord,he brought eucn.no w» 
 
 HotZ WhatHoilc ? AJRoanc,a crop carc.is it not. 
 
 Set. It is my Lord, 
 
 Hot.. That Roane Aall be myTbwne; Well, twill 
 backc htm ftraight. Ejperaace+bid Butler lead him. lorth 
 into the Parke. 
 
 La.. Bui hear cyoujny Lord. 
 
 Hoi* What fay'ft thou my Lady $ 
 
 La. What is it carries you away 1 
 
 Hot. Why,myhorfe(my touc)myhor(e» 
 
 La~. Out' you mad-headed A pej. a WcazelLbatraiof 
 fuch a dcale of Spleene^ as y ou are.tou\ withi In.footh lie 
 know your bufineflc Harry* than I wjuY tfcare my Bro^ 
 chet Montmtr doth ttirreabout his Title; and hath lent 
 foryou to line his enterprizci \ But if you go-— — 
 
 Hot. Sofarre a fooi/ ( (ball beOTcary, Loue^ 
 
 LA Come.come.you Paraquito, anfwer me directly 
 vnto this queftion that I fluU^kcA Judcede: He brcake 
 thylittlc finger Harrjjf thou wilt not.tel me true. 
 
 Hot. Away .away you trifler :.Loue.IIouethcenor^ 
 T carenotforthee Kate.: this is no world 
 To pGy with Mamrncts.andto tilt with Yipsi 
 We muft haue bloodie Nofes.and crack'd Grownes^ 
 And pafle them currant too. .Gods me,myhor(e. 
 W hat fav'ft thou Kate} what woid'ft thourhauc withine. ? 
 
 Irn., Do y p not loue me? Do yenot indeed ?, 
 Well, donor; then, .For fince you loue menofi 
 Twill not loue my felfc. Do yew not loue nae2 
 Nay.tell mc if thou, (peak'ft in ieft»or no* 
 
 Hot. Cd*me> wilt thou fee meridc? 
 And when lam a horfebacke. I will fweare 
 I loue thee infinitely. But hcarke you Kate, 
 I m'u ft not haue you hencerorth^queftion mc, 
 Whether I go : nor reafon whereabout:* 
 Whether I muft, 1 muft: and to conclude, 
 This Eucning muft I leaue thee,gcmje Kate. 
 Ilino.wyouwife.but yet no'furthct wife 
 Then HarryPeraes wife. Coriftant you are, 
 But yet a woman ; and for fecrecic,? 
 No Lady clofer^ForlTWill belceuc 
 T nou wilt not vtter what thou do' ft not kno w» 
 And fa farre wiltl truft thee,gentl«Kate v> 
 
 (4. Howlofarrc? 
 
 /JVr.Nofcan inch furtheri .Bntbarkc you Kmet, 
 Whither T go, thither (hall you go top : 
 To day will I fct forth, ro morrow you* 
 Will this rontenr you Kate I 
 
 Let. Itmuft offorce. 
 
 SxtHMt 
 
 Scmtii Quarts 
 
 Enter Prince and Poiniti^ 
 
 Prim 7\T^,prethec come out of that iatropmej?: lend 
 mc Uw hand to laugh a little. 
 
 fo'weu Wherehaft bencHalll 
 
 SM&r. With.threeorfoureLoggw-he3ds,-amongft3. 
 orfourefcoreHoglheads. I haue foundcd.the vcrie bafe 
 firing of humility. Sirrajam fworn brother to a lea(h of 
 Drawers .andean call them by their names.as T^.i)/^, 
 and Francis. Thcy.takeitalteadv vpontheirconfidenceV 
 that thoughl be but Prince of Wales, ycryl.am tfee King 
 of GuTtefic^ellingrae flatly I am no proud lack like Fat- 
 ftaffejovi a Corinthians lad oFmcttlc.-a good boy,' and 
 when 1 am King of England,! (hall command al toe good 
 Laddcs in Eaft-chcape. They calldrinking dcepe t . dy- 
 ongScaTletrj and whcDyoubreath myouiwaming^thcn 
 e z tbey 
 
56 
 
 TheFirft Tart of Ring Henry the Fourth. 
 
 |thcycryhem,and bid you play it off. To conclude, lam \ 
 i'o good a proficient ia one quarter of an houre,tbat I C3n 
 drinjie with any Tinker in his owne Language duringmy 
 life. I tell thee AW,thcu haft loft much honor, that thou 
 wer't nor wi:h me in this action : but fwcet Ned t to fwee- 
 ten which name o{Ned,l giue thee this peniworth of Su- 
 gar, clapteuen now into my hand by an vndcr Skinker, 
 one that neuerfpake other Englifn in his life, then Eight 
 fallings andjix pence, and, Ton are welcome : with this fhril 
 addition, ts4non, ssfmnjir, Score a Pint of 'Bayard in the 
 Halfe Moone,oi to. But Ned, to driue away time till Yd- 
 fiaffe come, I pry thee doc thou Hand in fomeby-roome. 
 while I queftion my puny Drawer, to what end hee gaue 
 me the Sugar, and do neuer leaue calling Francts, that his 
 Taleto me may be nothing but, Anon : ftcp afide, and He 
 fhewtheeaPrefident. 
 
 Poines. Francis. 
 
 Pun* Thou art perfect. 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Enter Drawer. 
 
 Fran. Anon,anon fir ; lookc downe 'into the Pomgar- 
 nct.Ralfi: 
 
 Prince, Come hither Francis. 
 
 Fran. My Lord. 
 
 Trin. How long haft thou toferuc, Francis? 
 
 Fran, Forfooih fiuc ycares,and as much at to— — — 
 
 Pom. Francif. 
 
 Fran. Anon,anon fir. 
 
 Prin. Fine yeares f Bcrlady a long Leafe tax the din- 
 king of Pewter. But Francis, dareft thou be fo valiant, as 
 to play the coward with thy Indenture, & fhew it 3 faire 
 paire of heeles,and run from it? 
 
 Fran. O Lord fir, He be fworne vpon all the Books in 
 England, I could finde in my heart. 
 
 Pain. Francis. 
 
 Fran, Ano^anop fir. 
 
 Prin, How old att x\\ou,FravcU ? 
 
 Fran. Let me fee, about Michaelmas nextl/halbe— 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon fir, pray you flay alittle.my Lord.- 
 
 Prin. Nay but harke you Francis, for the Sugar thou 
 gaueft me/twas a peny worth,was't not > 
 
 Fran. O Lord fir, I would it had bene two. 
 
 Prin. I will giue tbee for it a thoufand pound : Askc 
 me when thou wilt,and thou (halt haue it. 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Fran. Anon, anon. 
 
 Prw.Anon Francis? No Francis.but to morrow Fran- 
 cis : or Fraficis,on thurfday:or indeed Francis whentho" 
 wilt. But Francis. 
 
 FWr My Lord. 
 
 Prin. Wilt thou rob this Leathetne Ierkin, Chriftall 
 button, Not-pated, Agat ring, Puke flocking, Caddice 
 g3ricr, Smooth tongue,Spaniih pouch. 
 
 Fran. O Lord fir,who do you mcane f 
 , Prttt. \Vhy then youcbrowne Baftardis youronefy 
 drinke : for looke you Francis,your white Canuas doub- 
 let will fulley. In Barbary fir,it cannot cometo fo much. 
 
 Fran. What fir? 
 
 Poin. Francis. 
 
 Prm. Away youRogue,doftthouhcar« them call? 
 Jfearethey both call him, the Drawer ftands amazed, 
 nuihnoming which way to go. 
 
 ■ Enter Vintner 
 Vitf* .Whatyftand'il thou ftill,and hear'ft fuch a Cal- 
 
 ling PLookctotheGutfts within. My Lord, oldeSir 
 Ichn with halfe a dozen more,are at the doote : ihall I let 
 them in? 
 
 Pri». Let than alone awhile 4 and then open the doore, 
 Poines. 
 
 Enter Poines. 
 
 Poin. ;»non,anon fir. 
 
 Prin. Sirra, Falfiaffe and the reft of the Thecues,areat 
 the doore,fhall we be merry t 
 
 Poin. As mcrrie as Crickets my Lad. But harke yee, 
 W 7 hat cunning match haue you made with this ieft ofthe 
 Drawer? ComCjWhat's the i flue? 
 
 Prin.l am now of all humors,that haue (hewed them: 
 felucs humors, fincc the old dayes of goodman Adam, to 
 the pupill age of this prefent twelue a clock at midnight. 
 What's a clocke Francis? 
 
 Iran. Anon,anonfir. 
 
 Prin, That euer this Fellow fhould haue fewer words 
 then a Parrer, and yet thefonneofaWoman. Hisindu- 
 firy is vp-ftaires and down-ftaires, his eloquence the par- 
 cell o r a reckoning. I am not yet ofFercies mind,the Hot- 
 Ipurre ofthe North, he that killes me fome fixe or feauen 
 dozen of Scots at a Breakfaft, waihes his hands,and faies 
 to his wife ; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my 
 fweet Hxrry fayes (he, how many haft thou kill'd to day? 
 Gtuc my Roane horfe a drench (fayes hee) and anfweres, 
 fome fourtcene,an houre after : a trifle,a trifle I prethee 
 call in F*//?*/f*, lie play /V^, and that damn'd Brawne 
 fhall play Dame ^Mortimer his wife./tow/ayes the drun- 
 kard. Call Id Ribs,call in Tallow. 
 
 Enter Falfiaffe. 
 
 Poin. ' Welcome Iackc,where haft thou beene? 
 
 Fal. A plague of all Cowards I fay,iand a Vengeance 
 too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sackc Boy. Ere 
 I leade this lifelong, He fowc nether ftoc';es, and mend 
 them too. A plagueofall cowards. Giue me aCop of 
 Saclce, Rogue. Is tbeteno Vcrtue extant : 
 
 Prin. Didtfthou>Bciier fee Titan kiflc a d.fh of Butter, 
 pittifuli hearted Titsnthar melted at the fweete Taleof 
 the Sunne ? If tboiididftythenjbehold that compound. 
 
 Fal. You Rogue, heere's Lime in thisSacke too:there 
 is nothing butRoguery to be found in Villanous man;yet 
 a Coward is worfe then a Cup of Sack with lime. A vil- 
 lanous Coward, go thywayes old Iacke, die when thou 
 wiltyfmanhood.good manhood be not forgot vpon the 
 face ofthe earth,thenaml a fhotten HenTng : there lines 
 not three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of them 
 isfat,andgrowcsold,GodhelpethewhiIe,abadworIdl 
 fay. I would I were a Weauer,I couldfing all manner of 
 fongs. A plague ofalLCowards,I fay ftill. 
 
 Prin. Hownow Woolfacke,what mntter you ? 
 
 Fal. AKings Sonne? Ifl do notbeate thee out ofthy* 
 Kingdorne with a dagger: of Lath, and driue all thy Sub- 
 ie£ts afore thee like a flocke of Wilde-geefe, lie neuer 
 wearehaireon my face more. You Prince of Walet? 
 
 Prin, Why you horfon round man?what*s the matter? 
 
 pal. Are you not a Coward? Anfwer me to that,aod 
 Poines there?.' 
 
 Prin. Ye fatch paunch, and yeccallmeeCowardVlfe 
 flab thee. 
 
 Fa/. I call thec Coward ? He fee thee damn'd ere I caul 
 the Coward: burl would giue a thoufand pound Icould 
 runasfaftasthotfeanft. Youareflraight enough hi the 
 fhoulders, yon care not who fees your backe : Call you 
 
 . that 
 
The FirjlTart of Betrry the Fourth; 
 
 57 
 
 that hacking of your friends? a plague vpon fuch, bac- 
 king; glue mc them thai will face me. GiuemeaCup 
 of Sjskrl anva Rogue if I drunketo day. 
 _ Pftna. O Villaine, thy Li£pea ae fcarce wip'd> fincc 
 jnourcTrunk'ilIafb 
 
 Falfi. All's one for tba*. HkArivket. 
 
 Aplague of all Cowards ftill,fay I, 
 Princa What's the matter ? ; 
 Palfi What's the matter? here be foure of vs, haue 
 ta'ne a thoufand pound thisJMoming, 
 prince. Where is hjac^i where is it ? 
 Jpalft, Where is ic ? taken from ys, it is: a hundred 
 vpoopoorc foure of vs. 
 
 Prince* What, a hundred, man"? 
 palfLl am aRogue,if I were not atbalfe Sword with 
 a dozen of them two houres together. 1 haue fcaped by 
 miracle. lam eight timet thruft through the Doublet, 
 foure through the Hofe, my Buckler cue through, and 
 tnrough, my Sword backt likeaHand~faw,«r* ftgnum. 
 I neucr dealt better fined was a man: all would not doe. 
 A plag»c of all Cowards: let them fpcake; if they fpeake 
 more or lefie then truth^they are villaines, and the fonnss 
 of darknclTc. 
 
 Prince. Speake firs,how was it? 
 Gad. We fourc fet vpon fornc dozen. 
 pat/?. Sixtccne,at icaft.my Lord. 
 Cad. And bound them. 
 Pets. No,no,they were not bound, 
 V*lfl. You Rogue, they were bound, euery man of 
 them, or I am a lew elfe,an Ebrew lew; 
 
 Cad, As wc were (haring,fome fixe or feuen frefn men 
 fet vpon vs. 
 
 palji.. And vnbound the reft, and then come in the 
 other. 
 Prince. What,fbught yee with them all ?' 
 JFdji. All ? I know not what yee call, all : but if I 
 fought not with fiftic of them, 1 am a bunch of Radifn : 
 if there were not two or three and fiftie vpon poore olde. 
 lackey then am I no two-legg'd Creature. 
 
 Pom. Pray Heaucn, you haue not murtherecT fome of 
 them. . 
 
 palfl. Nay, tbat's paft praying for, I haue pepper'd 
 two of them : Two I am fure 1 haue payed, two Rogues 
 inBuckrom Sutes. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a 
 Lye,fpit in my facc,caH me Horfc; thou knoweft my olde 
 word: here I lay.and thus Ubore my point; fourc Rogues 
 in Buckrom let driuc at me. 
 Prince, Whatjfoure? thou fayd'ft but two.cuen now. 
 palfl* Foure /£«/, I told thecfouren 
 pom. I,I,hefaid foure. 
 
 Palfi. Thefe foure came all a-front,and mainely thruft 
 at me ; I made no more adoe, but tooke all their feuen 
 points in my Targuet,thus. 
 Prince. Scucn i why there were but foure.cuen now. 
 palfl k InBuckrom. 
 Pom. I,foure,in Buckrom Sutes. 
 falfl. Seucn,by thefe Hilts,or I am a Villaine elfc* . 
 Prin. Prethee let him aione,we (hall haue more anon. 
 Podfl. Doeft thou hearc mt t Hal I 
 Prin. Land marke thee tooj lack^. 
 palfl. Doe fo,forit is worth the liftningtoo: thefe 
 nine in Buckrotn,tbatI told thee of. 
 W». So,two more alreadie. 
 Ftlfl. Their Points bring broken-* 
 Poin. Downc fell his Hofe, 
 
 Jfalfl. Began to giueme ground : but I followed tne 
 i 
 
 elofcjCiime in foot and handjand with a thought,feucn of 
 thee'eucnlpa/d, 
 
 Prin. Ojr.onftrous! eleuen Buckrom men grawnc 
 out of two o 
 
 Palfl* Eat as SbeDeuill would haue it, three mif-bc- 
 gotcenKnaues,in Kendall Greene, came at my Back, and 
 lecdriue at mejfot it was fo.datke 3 fcfe/,thai thou could'ft 
 not fe£ thy Hand. 
 
 Frm. Thefe Lyes are like the Father that begets them, 
 gtolTc as a Mountaine,open,palpabIe. Why thou Clay- 
 bray n'd Guts s thou Knotty-pat ed Foolc,thou Horfon ob 
 fecne gi'catte Tallow Catch * 
 
 Falfl, ^Whatjart thou mad? art thou mad ? Is not :he 
 truth,thc truth > 
 
 Prim Why, how could'ft thou know thefe men in 
 "Kendall Greene, when it was fo darke,thou could'ft not 
 fee thy Hand i Come.tell vs your reafon: what fay 'ft thou 
 to this ? 
 
 Pom. Come,youi reafor. hct^ your re.afon< 
 Falfl.'. WhatjVpon compulsion ? No : were I at the 
 Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I, would not 
 tell you on compulfion.lGi'ue you a reafon on compulfi- 
 o\\ ? If Reafons were as plentse as Black-beme$ s I would 
 giuc noman a Reafon vponcompulfion,!* 
 
 Prin. lie beno JongCLguiltieofthisfinne. This fan- 
 guineCoward.thts Be*? ^refler^this Horkbacli-breaker, 
 this huge Hill of Flefli* 
 
 ^Falfl. AwayyouScarnelingjyouElfe-slciniyou dried 
 Neats tongue, Bulles-psiTtll, you ftockc-fiftuO for breth 
 to vtter. What is like thee? You Tailorsy ard,y ou ftieath 
 you Bow-cafe,you vile ftanding tucke. 
 
 Prin. Well, breath a-while,and then to't againe : and 
 when thou haft tyr'd thy fclfe in bafe comoarifons, heare 
 me fpcake but thus* 
 Poin. Marke lacke* 
 
 Prin. Wc two,faw yon foure fet on foure and bound 
 them,and were Matters of their Wealth : mark now how 
 a plaineTale fhall put you downe. Then did we two, fet 
 on you foure,and with a word, outfae'd you from your 
 prize,and haue it : yea,and can fhew it you in the Hoofc . 
 And FAlfiaffe y yo\x caried your Guts away as nimbly /*vith 
 as quickc dexteritie,and roared for mercy, and ftill rannc 
 and roar'd, as euerl heard Bull-Calfe. What a Slaucart 
 thou, to hacks thy fword as thou haft done, and then fay 
 it was in fighr. What trick? what deuiccJ? what ftarting 
 hole canft thou now findout-to hide thee from this open 
 and apparant fhame > 
 
 Poines. Come, let's heare Iacke : What tricke haft 
 thou now? 
 
 Fal. I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why heare 
 ye my Matters, was it for me to kill the Heire apparant ? 
 Should I turne vpon the true Prince? Why , thou knoweft 
 I amas valiant as Hercules : but bewate Inftincl, the Lion 
 will not touch the true Prince : Inftl..# is a great matter. 
 I was a Coward &n Inftind. I fhali thinkethe besser of 
 my felfe, and thee, during my life : I, foi a valiaRe Lion, 
 and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you haue 
 th*Mony. Hoftcfle,clap to the doores; watch to night, 
 pray to morrow. Gallants, Lads,Boyes, Harts of Geld, 
 all the good Titles of Fellowship come to you . What, 
 {hail we be merry? ftiali we haue a P!sy extempory. 
 
 Prin. Content,and the argument (hall be, thy runitig 
 away. 
 pal. A,no more of that Hall t znd thou loueft me. 
 
 Enter Hoftejfe. 
 Hofi, My Lord, the Pxincc ? 
 
 Priii, 
 
58 
 
 The Firft&MofJfyng Hem the Fourth. 
 
 Prin^ How nm ray Lady she Hoftefle * whac fay*ff 
 .thou to me? 
 
 hojtejfe* M»ry,rrjy lord, there isa Noble man of the 
 Court at doore would fpeake with you : bee fay es,hce 
 comes from your Father. 
 
 Prw. Giue him as much as will make him a Royall 
 m3rf,and fend him backe againe to m.y Mother. 
 
 Faljt. Whatmannerofmanisb.ee? 
 
 Hoftetfe. An old man. 
 
 F*//?.What doth Grauitic out of his Bed at Midnight? 
 Shall I giuehimhis anfwere'? 
 
 Frin.. Prethee doe lac fc* 
 
 Taljl. 'Faitb,and lie fend him packing. Exit*\ 
 
 Prince* Now Sirs: you fought fiurc; To did you 
 Ptto 9 fo did yoviSardtl: you are Lyons too, you ranne 
 away vpon inftinft i you will not couch the true Prince;- 
 no, fie. 
 
 Bard. 'Faith ,T ratine when I faw Others runne. 
 
 Frin. Tell mee now in earneft, how came Faljlajfes 
 Sword fohackt? 
 
 Peto. Why,he hackt itvlth his Dagger, and faid,hee 
 would iwcare truth out of England.but hee would make 
 youbelecue it was done in fight,andperf waded vs to doc 
 the like. 
 
 ; IJBard* Yea^nd to tickle out Nofes with Spear-gratTe, 
 to make them bleed, and then to beflubbcr our garments 
 with it, and (weave it was the blood of true men. I did 
 snatl did not this feuen yteres before, 1 blufht to heare 
 his monftrous deuiees. 
 
 frin. O Wlaine, thou ftoJcft a Cup of Sicke cigh- 
 teeneyeeres agoe, and wcrt taken with the banner, and 
 cuer fin ce thou haft bluftt extempore: thou hadft fire 
 and fword on thy fide, and yet thou ranft away ; what 
 inltinft hadft thou for it ? 
 
 'Bard. My Lord, doe you fee thefe Meteors ? doe you 
 behold thefe Exhalations ? 
 
 Prin. I doe. 
 
 'Bard* What thinke you they portend? 
 
 ?rin» Hot Liucrs,and cold Purfes. 
 
 M Choler,my Lord,if rightly taken, 
 
 Trin. No,if rightly taken, Halter. 
 
 Bnler Faljlaffe. 
 
 Hcere comes leane&cfoheere corncs Bare-bone. How 
 now my fweet Creature of Bombaft, how long is't agoe, 
 lack* face thou faw'ft thine owne Knee ? 
 
 Falft, My owne Knee ? When I was about thy yeeres 
 {Hal) I was not an Eagles Talent in the Wafte, 1 could 
 haue crept into any AldermansThumbe-Ring : a plague 
 of fighing and griefe, it blovves a man vp like aBIadder. 
 There's villanous Newes abroad : heere was Sir lohtt 
 Ytralj from your Father ; you muft *goc to theCourt in 
 the Morning. The fame mad fellow of the North tPercj ; 
 and hee of Wales, that gaue tAmamon the Baftinado, 
 and made Lucifcr Cuckold, and fworetheDeuill his true 
 Liege-man vpon the Croilc of a Wclchihookc j what a 
 plaguccallyouhim? 
 
 Peitt. OyG/endower, 
 
 Taljl. OveetitOwtn ; the fame, and his Sonne in taw 
 tMortimeriZnti o\& Northumberland, zn& the fprightly 
 Scot of Scots, Dowglasy that runnes a Horfe-backe vp a 
 Hill perpendicular. 
 
 Prm. Hee that rides at high ipeede.and with a Piftoll 
 kills a Sparrow Pying.' 
 
 Taljl. You h?ue hit it. 
 
 JPrin. So did he neuer the Sparrow. 
 jaljt. Well, that Rafcall hath good xfiettai] In Krai 
 hee will not tunne. 
 
 JPrfa Why,whac a Rafcail art thou then.toprayfe him 
 fo for running? 
 
 FalA A Horfe-backc (yeCuckoc) bui a foot hee will 
 not budge a foot. 
 
 ?tia. 1 Yes/4cJ^vponinftinc"t« 
 
 Palft* I grant ye,vpon inftinft: Well,hce is there too, 
 andonecJ*/wvfe&,and a thoufaad blew-Cappes more. 
 mrcelicr\%&Q\nc away by Night : thy Fathers Beard is 
 turn'd white with the Newes ; you may boy Land now 
 as chcape as (linking MackrelL 
 
 PntfJThm 'tis Iike,if there come ahot Sunne^d this 
 cluill buffetting hold, wee {hall buy Maiden-heads aa 
 they buy Hob-naylcs,by the Hundred?. 
 
 Falfi, 3y the Mafle Lad.thou fay'ft truest is like wee 
 (hall haue good trading that way. But tell me Hal, art 
 not thou horrible afcar'd ? thou being Heire apparanfc 
 could the World pickc thee out three fuch Encmyes al 
 gaine.asthat Fiend Dewglas, that Spirit Percy, and that 
 Deuill Gtendmerf Art not thou horrible afraid ? Doth 
 not thy blood thtH at it ? 
 
 Prirt. Not a whit : I lacke fomc of thy inftineT. 
 
 Faffi. Well thou wilt be horrible chidde to morrow, 
 when thou commeft to thy Father ; if thou doe loue me, 
 pra&il'e an anfwere. 
 
 Frin, Doethou ftand formy Fathcr,and examine met 
 vpon the particulars of my Life. 
 
 Talfi* Shall 1? content: This Ch3yre (hall- bee mj 
 State* this Dagger my Scepter, and this Culhion my 
 Crownc. 
 
 P.rin. Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'd-Stoole,thy Gol- 
 den Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, a/id thy precious rich 
 Crowne.tor a pittifull bald Crowne. 
 
 Fatfl, Well,andiheflre of Grace be not quite out of 
 thee now fhalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Satke 
 to make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be though* I 
 haue wept, for 1 muft fpeakc in pallion, and I will doe it 
 in King Cam&yfes vaine. 
 
 Prw. WelljhecrcismyLegge. 
 
 FalSl. And hcere is my fptech: ftand afideNobilitie. 
 
 Ecfleffe. This is excellent fport,yfaith. 
 
 Falfi. Weepc not, fweet Qucene , for trickling tearea 
 arevaine. 
 
 Hoflcjfe. O thcFatherihowheeholdc&his counte- 
 nance? 
 
 FalftXot Gods fake Lords,conuey my truftfulIQuccoi 
 Forteares doe {top thefioud-gatesof her eyes*. 
 
 hoflefe. O rare,he doth it as like one of thefe harfoisjl 
 Players^aseuerlfee. 
 
 Taljl, Peace good Pinr*p©r,pcacegoodTicSle.braum 
 Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou fpended tfiy 
 time; but alio, how thou art accompanied: Forthou^ 
 the Camomile ,thc more it is tfodcn,tlie faftcr it gtowesj 
 yet Youth, the more it is wafted, the fooner it wearcsij 
 1 hou arrmy Sonne : I haue partly thy Mothers Word, 
 partly my Opinion j but chiefely.a villanous tricks of 
 thine Eye s and a fooiilh hanging of thy nether Lippe, fiat 
 doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, hcure 
 lycththeifosnt : why, being Sonne to me, art thou fa 
 poyntedat^ Shall the bleiTed Sonne of Heauen prouea 
 Micher, and eate Black-berry es? 1 aqueftion noc to bee 
 askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Thcefe* and 
 take Purfes ? aqueftion CO be askt. There is a thing, 
 Harr/f which thoii hait often heard of and it isknowne to 
 
 many 
 
66 
 
 TheFirJl *P art offing Henry the Fourth. 
 
 Jtfejf. His Letters beares his mindc,not I his mindc. 
 
 jyor. J prethee tell me,doth he keepe. bis Bed ? • 
 , Meff. He did,my Lo.d/oure dayes ere.I fct forth.s 
 And at-the time of my departure thcnccv 
 He was much fear'd by his Phyfician. 
 
 ff#r. ;I would the [rate of time had (lift beenewhole, 
 Ere he by (lcknefle had beene vifited : 
 His health .waspeuer better worth then now. 
 
 Hotjp.Sicke now? qroope now?'this fieknes doth infect 
 The very Life- blood of our Enrerprife, 
 Tis carcbinghithcr,euento our Campe. 
 He writes" me here,thacinward ficknefle, 
 And that his friends by .depuration 
 Could not fo foonebe drawne: nor did he thinke it meet, 
 To lay fo dangerous and dears a trult 
 On any Souls remou'd,but on his owne: 
 Yet. doth he giue vs bold aduertifementi 
 Thai with our fmall coniunition wefiiould on a 
 To fee how Fortune is diiposk'd to v s * 
 For,as he writes.thcre i* no quailing now, 
 Becaui'e the King is cettainely poffeft 
 Of allourpurpoiesaWhaciayyouioit ? 
 
 War, Youi Fathers fkknefie is a mayme to vs. 
 
 Hat$. A pcrilluiKGafh.a very Limine loptofEs 
 And ycr,m;&ith,icjs jrmthis preient wana 
 Seemes more then weJhall firiaeit. 
 \\' ere it good;ro fet't-ht exa£t wcalch of altour ftatca 
 All at oneCafl i To fet-fo rich s mayne 
 On the nicehazard of one doubtfull houre, 
 It were not good : for therein (haul d we reade 
 The very Bottome,and the SouleoOiope, 
 TheWy Lift,the very srtmofl Bound 
 Of all our fortunes. 
 
 Doxvg. Faith,andfv -wee {houfd". 
 Where, now remaincsitfwcet. reuerfion. 
 We may boldly fpettf3,vp;oti v the hope 
 Of vth a u's to come in : 
 A comfort of retyrementliues in this. 
 
 Hotjp'.. A TUhacuaqs,a.Home.to flyervino, 
 IF that the Dcuilf and Mifchance looke bjgge 
 Vpon the Maydenhcad of our Affaires. 
 
 \?f'br/ JZHtyci I would your EatherLtiajtbccne. here; 
 fhe O lilicic and Hcire of? our Attempt 
 Brookes no dioludtn lcwIlLbe thought a 
 By fome,that know norwhy he is away, 
 That wifedomc'loyaltieisnd mecre difhke 
 Of our proceedings.kepuhe Earle from hence. 
 Andxhinke,'howfuch.an:spprehenfion 
 May turnethetydcof fcarefull Fa&ion, 
 And breedcakindeof quettionin ourcaufe: 
 For <*cil .you know.wce of the offring fide, 
 Mr.ft keepe aloof'e h" om ihiCi arbitrement, 
 And (top ill fight". ftolcs,euery loope/rom whence 
 I he eve of rcafou may prie in vpon vs : 
 Ttiis sbfence nf your f-ather drawes a Curtain^ 
 That ihcvves^he.igtioranta kinde of fearc, 
 £ e fo r ejvorjjr cam t.i>f« 
 
 UoiR; "YoUitraynetoo firre. 
 Xtatacroflns ab fence make thisvfe; 
 klena&a l.ultre.ai'ui more great Opinion, 
 Ajif.n-ct'D.areto yonr great Enterprise, 
 Tlrc.ii.rtl'-c E»rk were'here : for men mutt thinke^ 
 lFv.:.c.ivii1io'j:bishclpe,canmakeaHead 
 '1:0 ;2.ujh.agamil thcKingdomc.; with his helpc, 
 WcTKiII 'o.'re-turne it topfic.-turuy downe : 
 Y.ct .all '"goes w.cll,yet'aU-our,ioynts are whole. 
 
 Vcwg*. A3 heart can thinke : 
 There is noxfuch a. word lpokeo£in Scotland, 
 AuhiiDreame of Feare. • 
 
 Zn ter Sir Richard Veram. 
 
 Ho(§ My Cou fin r«ww,weIcome by my Soul©, 
 
 Vera. Pray God my newes be worth a wclcome,Loid, 
 The Earle of. Weftmcrland,feuen thoufand ftrong, 
 Is marching hither-wards, with Prince labn. 
 
 Holjft, Noharrae: what more? 
 
 Vi m. And further, I haue learn'd, 
 1 The Kinghimfelfe in pcrfon hath fir forth, 
 Or hither-wards intended Ipecdily, 
 With ftrong and mightie precaution: 
 
 Hoi [p. He fhall be v/clcome too. 
 Where is his Sonne, 
 
 The mmble-footed Mad-CapJPrinceof WaleS > 
 And his Cumrades.thatdaftthe World afide, 
 Andbid.it pafic? 
 
 Vem, Alfmrnifhr t alllnArmes; * 
 Afl.plumV.. like Eilridgesj that with the Windc 
 Bayted like Eagles,hauing lately bath'd, 
 Glittering inGoiden Co'ares.likc Jmage*, 
 As full of fpirit as the Moneth of May, 
 And gorgeouins theSunncat.Mid-fummefj. 
 Wanton asyouthfull Goates,wildc as youngBulIs* 
 J faw young Harry with his Beuer on» 
 His Cullies on his thfghe?,gallantly arnvd 1 , 
 Ri(e from the ground jike/eathercd;c^ww7, 
 And vaultcdwith fuch.eafe into his Sear, 
 As if an Angcll dropt downc fronithe.Cloucls, 
 To turnf ^rid windc a fierie Vegafui 
 And wi cch the World with Noble Hojiemanihipi, 
 
 Hotfp l^Ja more, no more',. 
 Wortc then tne bunne ijaMarckf 
 This prayfc dotKnourifli Agues .? lelthemcome. 
 Theyicome like Sacrifices an their^rimrrw;, 
 And to the fire-ey'd Maid ofJmoakle.Vl^rre, 
 Al! hoi,and bleeding^wlllwee^fTcribeau 
 Incimzylz&iMars lliallon his Aitatu'i&jt 
 Vp,td the care5 in blood. I am on fiire^- 
 To hearetbis rfch reprizalLtisfpnighi 
 And yet not ourst Come',! t me takcmyiHorfe, 
 Who is to'bearesrac.Ukf'aThun.deribolt/ 
 Againft jh'e.bofome-of -the, Prince of s Wales'* 
 /^^U.o;tori7,fh3li4ioiffyrfetQHoife. 
 MefiejandneTretpaajtiliixnc drop do.vvn.eACSoarfejf 
 Oh,that:(7/r^i?£r„w£re;c.ome< 
 
 VsKi, TherejsmoTe neA'cs 9 
 I learned in Worce(ter,as I.rode along, 
 Htfcarinot tlraw.his Kdwti^his four'et«;enerda.ye«. 
 
 IW£. That.'s the,worlt:Tidings,t;that> J he3relOI 
 
 ye« 
 
 tVor. Ihy.rtfy, faith.that bearcs a frofty. foilhdv, 
 
 ffoijjn What 'roaythc, Kings whoiedbatcaile rcacft 
 vnro > 
 
 Vtri To thirty tfioiirand* 
 
 Hot. Forty let it be? 
 My Father and GU»dorverhtx\\ghoCn aw?y* 
 Th* powres ofvs,may 'lerucfo great a day, 
 Come.letvstake a mufter fpeedily i 
 Doojnefday :s neere; dye all,dye merrily* 
 
 Vow. 'Talke not or flying Iamoutoffeare 
 Of death,or deaths handy ot this prjchalfey care. 
 
 gxtrntOmnefll 
 Seen* 
 
The Ftrft, Tart ofKjng Henry the Fourth 
 
 67 
 
 Selena Secmda* 
 
 Enter Fa/flafe and ' Bardolpb. 
 
 Falfl. 'Bardolph^t thee before to Couentry, fill me a 
 Bottle of Sack.our Souldicrs (hall march through; wce'lc 
 wSutton-cop-hill to Night. 
 
 'Bard. Will you giuc me Money, Captains* 
 
 Tal^i. Lay out,lay out. 
 
 "Bard. This Bottle makes an Angel!. 
 
 Falfl. And if icdoe, take it for thy labour : and if it 
 make twentie , take chera all , He an'fwere the Coynage. 
 Sid my Lieutenant /Wmcece me at the Townes end. 
 
 'Bard. 1 will Captaine : farewell. Exit. 
 
 F*lft. If I be not afharnM of my Souldiers, I am a 
 fowc't-Curnet : I hauemif-vs'd the Kings Preffe dam- 
 nably. I haue got, in exchange of a hundred and fiftie 
 Soufdiers, three hundred and odde Pounds. I preffe me 
 none but good Houfe-holders,Yeomcns Sonnesrenquirc 
 me out contracted Batchelers, fuch as had beene ask'd 
 twice on thcBanes: fuch a Commoditic of warme flaues, 
 as had as lieue heare the Dcuill, as a Drumme ; fuch as 
 feare the reporr of a Calmer, worfe then a ftruck-Foole, 
 bra hurt wilde-Ducke. 1 prcft oie none but fuch Toftes 
 and Butter. with Hearts in their Bellyes no bigger then 
 Pinncs heads, and" they haue bought out their feruices: 
 And now, my whole Charge confifts of Ancients, Cor- 
 norals^Lieutenants/jentlcroen of Companies, Slaues as 
 ragged as Lazaru* in the painted Cloth,where the Glut- 
 tons Dogges licked his Sores; and fuch, as indeed were 
 neuer Souldicrs, but dif-carded vniuft Seruingmen,youn- 
 gerSonnes to younger Srothers, reuolted tapfters and 
 Oftlcrs,Tradc-falne, the Cankers of a calme World.and 
 long Peace , tenne times more dis-honorablc ragged, 
 then an old-fae'd Ancient; and fuch haue I to fill vp the 
 roomes of them that haue bought out their feruices: that 
 you would thinke, that i had a hundred and fiftie totter'd 
 Prodigalls,lately come from Swinerkeeping,from eating 
 DraffcandHuskes, A mad fellow met mo on the way, 
 and told me.I had vnloaded all the Gibbets,and preftthe 
 dead bodyes. No eye hath feene fuch skar-Crowes: He 
 not march through Couentry withthcm,that's flat. Nay, 
 and the Villaincs march wide betwixt the Legges, as if 
 they had Gyues on ; for indeede, I had the motfof them 
 out of Prifon. There's not a Shirt and a halfe in all my 
 Company ; and the halfe Shirt is two Napkins tackt to- 
 gether, and throwne ouerthe (houldcrs like a Heralds 
 CoatjWithout fleeucs: and the Shirt, to fay the truth, 
 ftolne from my Hoft of S. Albones , or the Red-Nofc 
 Inne-keeper of Dauintry But that's all onc,thcy*lc finde 
 Linnen enough on euery Hedge. 
 
 Enter the Prince % and the Lord efWeftmerland. 
 
 Prince. How now blowne IackJ how now Quilt t 
 Falfl. What Hall How no*y mad Wag.whataDeuill 
 do'ilthouinWarwjckfhire? My good Lord of Wcft- 
 raerland J'cry you mercy, I thought yourHonour had al- 
 ready beene at Shrewsbury. 
 
 Wr/£ 'PaithiSirjfofof/tismore then time thar I were 
 mere, and you too; but my Powers are there alreadie. 
 The King,i can tell you, lookes for ?s all : wc mufj away 
 *U to Night. 
 
 Falfl. Tut,ncuer feare me,I am as vigilant as a Cat,to 
 fteale Creame. 
 
 Prince. I thinke to fteale Creame indeed,for thy theft 
 hath alreadie made thee Butter : buc tell me,/*^, whole 
 fellowes are thefe that come after ? 
 
 Falfl. Mine,//4/,mine. 
 
 Prince. 1 did neuer fee fuch pittifull Rafcals. 
 
 Falfl. Tut,tut,good enough to tofTe: foode for Pow- 
 der, foode for Powder; they'le fill a Pit,as well as better: 
 tufh man.mortall mcn.mortall men. 
 
 fVeflm. I, but S ir tohn, me thinkes-they arc exceeding 
 poore and barc,too beggarly. 
 
 F alft. Faith.for their pouertie,I know not where they 
 had that 5 and for their barenefle , J am furc they neuer 
 lcarn'd that of me. 
 
 Prince. No,l\z be fwor:.c,vnlciTe you call three fingers 
 on thcRibbes bare.But fii.a^makchafte,!'^ is already 
 in the field. 
 
 Falfl. What, is the King encamp'd 1 
 
 Weftm. Hce is. Sir John, I feare wee (ball flay coo 
 long. 
 
 Falfl. WelI,to the latter end of a Fray, and the b egin- 
 ning of a Feaft, fits a dull fighter, and a kecne Gueft. 
 
 Extant. 
 
 Scoena Tertia. 
 
 Enter Hot fttir ^trailer Jlewglatjuid 
 
 potfr. WeeMe fight with him to Night. 
 
 Ware. It may not be. 
 
 Dowg. You giue him then aduantage. 
 
 Vern. Not a whit. 
 
 Tb$. Why Cxyy ou fo r lookes he not for fiipply? 
 
 Vern. So doe wee. 
 
 Hotjp. His it cercaine,ours is doubtfull. 
 
 Wore. Good Coufin be aduis'd^ftirrc not tonight* 
 
 Vera, Doe not,my Lord. 
 
 Dowg. You doenot counfaile well : 
 You fpeake it out of feare,and cold heart. 
 
 Vent. Doe me no flandcr,Do)»»^.* by my Life, 
 And I dare well maintaine it with my Life, 
 If well-rcfpecled Honor bid m? on, 
 1 hold as little counfaile with weake feare, 
 A* you,my Lord,or any Scotthac this day liucy« 
 Let it be feene to morrow in the Battel!, 
 Which of vs fcares. 
 
 Dorvg. Yea,or to nighti 
 
 Vern. Content. 
 
 hotjp. Tonight,fayI. 
 
 Vern. Come,come,rt may not be. 
 I wonder much,being me of fuch great leading a* youare 
 That you fore-fee not what impediment j 
 Drag backc our expedition : certaine Horfc 
 Gf my Coufin Kernons are not yet come yp, 
 Your Vnckle Warceflers Horfe came bnt to day, 
 And now their pridcand mettall isaflcepej 
 Their courage with hard labour tame and dull, 
 That not a Horfc is halfe the halfe of himfelfe,, 
 
 Hotjp. So arethe Horfes of the'Enemie 
 In gcnerall iourncy batcd,and brought Iov» : 
 The better part of ours are fuU of reft. 
 
 f 5 War. The 
 
6% ^heFk^an^K^n^HmrytbeFtm^k 
 
 Were. The number of the King crceetieth our; s 
 For Gods fakerCoufin.ftay till all come in. 
 
 The Trufiqet founds i Party. Enter Sir 
 WatterBlunt, 
 
 'Blunt. 1 come'With gracious offers from she liing, 
 If you vouchfafe mc hearing,and refpe&. 
 
 Hotjp. Welcomc.Sir Walter'Blmt: 
 And would ro God you were of our determination. 
 Some of vs loue you well i and eucn thofe fomc 
 Enuie your great deferuings,and good nam?, 
 Beeaufe you are not of our qualitie, 
 But (tend againft vs like an Enemie. 
 
 j3/*»r.And Heauen defend,but ftill I Should ftand fo, 
 So long as out of Limit, and true Rule, > 
 You ftand againft anoynted Maieftie* 
 But to my Charge. 
 The King hath lent tolcnow 
 The nature ofyourGriefes.and whereupon 
 You coniure from the Breftof Ciuill Peace, 
 Such bold Hoftilitie, teaching his dutious Land 
 Audacious Crueltie. If that the King '- 
 Haue any way your good Deferts forgot, 
 Which htconfeffeth to be mangold, 
 He bids you nameyour Gricfes,and with all fpeed 
 You fball haue your defiresjwith intereft j 
 And Pardon abfolute for your felfe, and thefe, 
 Herein mis-led,by your fuggeftion. 
 
 &at(]>. The King is kinde : 
 And well wee know, the King 
 Knowes at what timt to promife,when to pay. 
 My Fathcr,roy Vnckle.and my felfe, 
 Did giuc him that fame Royaltic he wcares : 
 And when he was not fixe and twentie ftrong, 
 Sicke in the Worlds regard,wretched,and low, 
 Apoore vnminded Out-law, fneaking home, 
 My Father gaue him welcome to the (Lore: 
 And when he heard him fwearcand vow to God^ 
 He csme bu: to be Duke of Lancafter, 
 To fue bis Ltueric,and begge his Peace, 
 With teares of Innccencie,and tcarmes of Zeale; 
 My Father,m kinde heart and pitty mou'd, 
 Swore him affiflance,and perform'd it too. 
 Now.when the Lords and Barons of th^lealme. 
 Perceiu'd Northumberland did leane to him. 
 The more and Iclle came in with Cap and Knee, 
 Met him in Boroughs,C<tics, Villages, 
 Attended him on Bridges,(tood in Lanes, 
 Layd Gifts before him,proffer'd him their Oathes, 
 Gaue him their Heires,as Pages followed him, 
 Eucn at the hecles.in golden multitudes. 
 He prefently.as Greatneffe knowes it felfe, 
 Steps mc a little higher then his Vow 
 Made to my Fathcr.whilehis blood waspoore t 
 Vpon the naked fiiore at Rauenfpurgh : 
 And now(forfooth) takes on him toreforme 
 Some cevtaine Edicls.and iomeftrait Decrees, 
 That lay too'headic on the Common-wealth; 
 Cryes out vpon abufes 3 lcemcs to weepc 
 Oucr his Countries Wrongs: and by this Face^ 
 This fcemingBrowof lufiice.did h.ewinnc 
 The hearts of all that hce did angle for. 
 Proceeded furthcr,cut mc off the Heads 
 Of all the Fauoritcs,that the abfent King 
 In deputation left bchinde hiro hecre, 
 
 Wnen bee was perfonail in the Iri(h Warre. 
 „ 'Blunt. Tut,I came not so hcare this. 
 
 Hotjp. Then to the point, , 
 In ftiort time after, hec depos'd the King* 
 Soone after that,depriu'd him of his Life : 
 And in the neck of that.task c the whole State* 
 To make that worfe,fuffet'd hi* Kinfman fJHarck^ 
 Who i8,ifeuery Owner were plac'd, 
 Tndeedc his King,to be engag d in Wales, 
 There,without Ranforae,tolye forfeited ; 
 Bifgrac'd me in my happic Vi&ories,/ 
 Sought to intrap me by intelligence, 
 Rated my Vnckle from the Councell-Boord, 
 In rage difmifs'd my Father from the Court, 
 Broke Oath on Oath,committed Wrong on Wrong, 
 And in conclufion,droue vs to fceke out * 
 
 This Head of fafctie; and witlulUoprie 
 Into his Title: the which wee finde 
 Too indirect, for long continuance. 
 
 "Blunt. Sham.returnethisanfwertQtheKin^? 
 
 Hotjp. Notfo,SirW4/ttr. 
 Wee'Ie with-draw a Awhile : 
 Goe to the King,and let there beimpawn'd 
 Some furetie for a fafe returne againe, 
 And in the Morning early dial! my Vnckle 
 Bring himour purpofc : and fo farewell. 
 
 Blunt. I Would you would accept of Grace and Loue, 
 
 Hotjp. And't may bejbwee (hall. „ 
 
 Blunt. Pray Heauen you doe. Exeunt. 
 
 Scena Quartet. 
 
 Enter the Arch.Bi(ko$ ofrarfawcL Sir MkheB. 
 
 vftr£.Hie,good Sir Aftche!l t bcate this fealedBrkfc 
 Withwingedhaftctothe Lord Marfhall, 
 This to my Coufin Scroope, and all the reft 
 To whom they arc directed. 
 If you knew how much they doe import, 
 You would makehafie. 
 
 Sir Mich. My good Lord,I guefle their tcacr* 
 
 Jirch. Like enough you doe, 
 Tomorrow,good Sir Michelljs a day, 
 Wherein the fortune often thoufand men 
 Muft bide the touch. For Sir,at Shrewsbury, 
 As I am truly giuen to vnderftand,' 
 The Kmg.with mightie and quick-rayfed Power, 
 Meetes with Lord Harry : and 1 fcare,Sir Michelle 
 Wh3t with the fickneffe of Northumberland* 
 Whofe Power was in the firft proportion ; 
 And what with Owen Gleudaners abfence thence, ' 
 Who with them was rated firmely too, 
 And comes not in,ouer-rui'd by Prophecies, 
 I fcare the Power of Percy is too weakc, 
 To wage an inftant tryall with the King. 
 
 Sir Mich. Why yvay good Lord,you need not fear** 
 There is 2W£/«**,and Lord KMortimer. 
 
 Arch. No,LMQrtimer\s not there. 
 
 Sir mc .But there is Mordake^ernon, lord Harry T#i 
 And there is my Lord of Worccfter, 
 And a Head of gallant Warriors, 
 Noble Gentlemen 
 
 Arnh^ 
 
The Firjl Tart of Kjng Henry the Fcurth. 
 
 69 
 
 50 
 
 100 
 
 t/frch. And fo there is* but yet the King hath drawne 
 The fpccisll head of all the Land together : 
 The Prince of Wales, Lord foknot Lancafter, 
 The Noble Wsftmerland, and warlike 'Blunt ; 
 And many moc Corriuals 1 ancTa'eare men 
 Of cftimation, and command in Armes. 
 *Sir M. Doubt not my Lord, he fhall be well opposed 
 esfrch. I hope no IclTe? Yet n«3iull 'tis to feare, 
 And to preiient the worft, Sir -^^OJpeed ; 
 For if Lord Percy thriuc not, ereTrjeT^ne 
 Difmifle his power, he meancsto vifit vs : 
 For he hath heard of our Confederacies 
 AndjTTs but Wifedometo make ftrong againft him : 
 Therefore make haft, I mu^, go write againe 
 To other Friends : and fo fatewell,Sir MickrlL Exeunt. 
 
 120 
 
 ABus Qmnitts. Scena Trima. 
 
 150 
 
 Enier the King, Prince of Wales, Lord John ofLancafler, 
 hurls oftVefimerland,Sir waiter Bl»nt y 
 
 andFalJlzfe. 
 
 King. How bloodily rhcSunnc begins topecrc 
 Aboueyon husky hill; the day lookespale 
 At his diftemperature, 
 
 PriM. The Southernc winde 
 Doth play the Trumpet to hi3 purpofes, 
 And by his hollow whittling in the Leaues, 
 Fortetsa Tempe(x„and a'bluft ring day. 
 
 King . Then with the lofers kt it fympathize. 
 For nothingcan feeme foule to thofe tnatwrnT^ 
 
 The Trumpet founds. 
 Enter Worcester. 
 
 King, How now my Lord of Worfter? 'Tis not well 
 That you and 1 fhould meet vpon fuch tearmes. 
 
 200 Asnowwejmeet. Youhaue deceiu'dour truft, 
 
 And made vs doffe our eafie Robes of Peace, 
 
 To crufh our oldljjgjj^ in vngentlc Steele : 
 
 This is not well^my Lordjtjj^is not well. 
 
 What fay you to it ? Will you againe vnknit 
 
 1 h This churlifh knot of all-abhorred Warre? 
 
 - And nioue in that obedient Orbc agr.j'ne, 
 
 Where you did giue^afaire and naturall light, 
 And be no more an c ( jngTJjd - Meteor, 
 Aprodigic of Feare, and a Portent 
 Ofbroachcd Mifchcefe, to the vnbtirne Timss? 
 
 Worl Hcare me,my Liege : 
 %r,mine owne part, I could be well content 
 
 ; [ To ent ertaine the Lagge-end of my life 
 With quiet houres : For l$o protcft, 
 Ihaue not fought the day of rj^diflike. 
 
 King, You haue nor fought it : how comes it then? 
 Fal. Rebellion lay in his way,anu he found it< 
 Prin. Peace,C hewet. peace. 
 
 350 fror - Itpleas'd your rvisicfty,to turneyour looker 
 Of Fauour, from my Sclfd, and all our Houfc ; *" 
 A"d yet I muft remember youmy Lord, 
 Weweret]iejirft,and deareftofyourFricnds : 
 For you, mv ftaffe of Office did I breake 
 In Rtcbards'tlmc, and poafled dav and night 
 Toraectc youoaihe.w^aj^ kifleyour haudj 
 
 400 
 
 L 
 
 When yet you were in place, and in account 
 Nothing f o ftrong and fortunate, as I • 
 it was my Selfc, my Brother, and his Sonne, 
 That brought youhome, and b oldly did out-d*re 
 The danger of the time. Y ou f wore t o vs, 
 Andyou did fweare that Oath at L Joncafter, 
 That you did nothing of purpofe 'gatnlt thc-State, 
 Norc laime no further, then your new-fa!ne.ri«hcj 
 The feate of £?*?««? ,..Dukedume.of Lancafrer, 
 To this, wcTware our aide; But in fiiort fpace> 
 It rain'd downe Fortune ihowring onyour head, 
 And fuch a floud of Grcatneffe fellonyou', 
 What with our helpc,whac with theabfenc King, 
 What with the injuries ofwanton time, 
 Thcfeeming f ufTcranccs t hat you had borne, 
 And the contranous VYindes thar held the King 
 So long in the vnlucky Irifh Warre v" 
 That a ll in England did repute him dead* : 
 ^nTTTronvthisfwarme of faire advantages'. 
 You tookeoccaiion to be quickly woo'd^ 
 To gripe thegenerallfway into your handj 
 ForcotyourOath toys at Donca(ter t 
 And being fed byvs, you vs'd vs fo, 
 AstnatvngentlegulitheCuckoweiBircL, 
 Vfcth the Sparrow, dicvopprelTe our Neil, 
 Grew by our Feeding, to fo greats bulke, 
 T hat euen our Loue durft not come neerc your fight 
 For feare of fwallowing : But with nimble wing 
 We were infore'd for fafety fike,toflye 
 Out ofyour light, anS raifc t his prefent Head, 
 Whereby we ftand oppolcd by fuch mcanei 
 Asyou your felfe, haue forg'd-againftyour lelfc, 
 Bv vnkinde vfage, dangerous; countenance, 
 And violation of all faith and troth? 
 S worneto vs tnyonger encerprize* 
 
 Kin. TheCe things i ndeedc y ou haue artkuTaeed, 
 Proclaim'd atMarket iJroUes read in Churches, 
 To face the Garment of Rebellion 
 With fome fine c olour, that may pleafc the eye 
 Offickle Changelings, and poore Difcontcnts^ 
 Which gape, and rub the Elbow at the newe» 
 Of hurly burly Innouation : 
 And neuer yet did Infurre£lion wane 
 Such water- colours, to impaint nTfeaufc 2 
 Nor moody Bcpgars, (taruing for a tkac 
 Of pell-mell hauocke,and confufion-i 
 
 Prim In bothour Armies, thereis many a foule 
 Shall pay fidlaearely for this enco&irer, 
 1 f once they loyne in t rial! . Tell your Nephew, 
 The*Prince of Wales ciotn ioyne with all the world 
 In ptaife of Henry Percie : By my Hopes, 
 This prefent enterprize fecoffhisliead. 
 1 donot thinke a brauer Gentleman, 
 More a£tiue,yali'ant,or more valiant yong, 
 
 More daring.or more bold,is.now aliue« 
 To grace this latter Age with Noble deeds. 
 For my party! may fpeake it to my fharae, 
 I haue a Truant beene roChiualry, 
 Andfo I heare, he doth account me too : 
 Yet this before my Fathers Maicfty, 
 I am content that he fliall take the oddes 
 Of his great name and eftimation, 
 And willjto faue the blood on either fide, 
 Try fortune with h"im, in a Single Fight. 
 
 King And Princeof Vv^ales.foaarevgg YeillCf t&ee> 
 Albeit, confidetacions infinite "J 
 
 403 -(0)- 2h 
 
 504- (0)- 4 h. 
 
jo The Firft Tart o/^mgHenry the Fourth. 
 
 Do make againft tct No good Worftcr,no, 
 We louc our people well • euen thofe we roue 
 That are miGed vpon your Coufins pare : 
 And will they xake the offer of our Grace s 
 Both he, and they, and you ; yea,euery man 
 Shall be my Friend againe, and lie be his. 
 So tellyour Coufin.and bring me wbrd.j 
 What he * ill do/ But if he will not yeeld, 
 Rebuke and dread correction waite on vs* 
 And they (hall do their Office. So bee gone* 
 We will not now be troubled with reply. 
 We offer faire^tafee it aduifcdly. 
 
 Exit iVorcefter. 
 
 Priit. It will not be accepted.on my life, 
 The DMgfaand the Hotffntrre both together, 
 Are confident againft the world in Armes. 
 
 King. Hence therefore, euery Leader to his charge,, 
 For on rheir anfwet will we fet on them ; 
 And God befriend e», as our caufc is iuft. txeunt, 
 
 Manet Prince and Faljlaffe. 
 
 Tai. Hal, if thou fee me downe in the battell, 
 And beftride me, fo; Vis a point of friendfnip. 
 TV/w.Notbing but a CololTus can do thee that frendfhip 
 Say thy prayers, and farewell. 
 
 Fal. I would it were bed time /iW,and all well 4 
 
 frin. Why.thou ow'itheauen a death. 
 
 Falfi* Tis lot due yet : I would bee loath to pay him 
 before his day. What neede \ bee fo forward with him, 
 that call's not on rre ? Vv*eTT, 'tis no mawe^Honor prickes 
 me on. But how if Honour pricke me off when I come 
 on ? How then? Can Honour fet too a leggc? No : 01 an 
 arme ? No : Or take away the greefe of a wound ?TSTo. 
 Honour hath no skill in Surgerie,then ? No.What is Ho- 
 nour ? A word. What is that word Honour ? A yre : A 
 trim reckoning. Who hath it ? He that dy'de a Wednef- 
 day. Doth he feelc it? No. Doth hee hears it? No. Is it 
 infcnfible then? yea, co the dead- But wil it not liue who 
 the liuing? No, Why ? Detr3c*tion wil not (after ir,ther- 
 fore lie none of it*' Honour is a meert Scutcheon, and fo 
 endsmyCatcclnTine. JExti. 
 
 Scena Secunda* 
 
 Enter Wercejfery andStr 7{[cbard Vjcrncn. 
 
 IVor- O no.my Nephew muit not know,Sir Richard, 
 The liberall kinde offer of theKing„ 
 ""Vtr. 'Twere beft he did. 
 
 Wor* Thenweareaflvndone. 
 It is nor poffible, it cannot be, 
 The King would Jccepe his word iD Iouing vs, 
 He will fufpect vs ftill and findc a time 
 TopuniPn th'rs offencein others faults : 
 SnppofitiorjjaH out hues, fhall be ftucke full of eyes ; 
 ForTreafon is bi'trrufted like theFoxe, 
 Who ne're fo tame, fo cherj(ht,and lock'd vp, 
 Will haue awildcmcfce of his Anceftors : 
 lookc how He can, or facTor merrily, 
 Interpretation will mifquote our lookes. 
 And we (hall feede like Oxen at a flail, 
 The better chcriflit, SHI the nearer death. 
 My Nephewes trefpafle may dTwcII forgot, 
 Ithath the excufc ofyouth,and heate of bloody 
 
 And an adopted name of Ptiuilcdge, 
 Ahaire-brain'd Hetjjmrre, gouern'd by aSplceno 
 All his oflfences liue vpon my head, 
 And on his Fathers, ' We did rraine him on 
 And his corruption being tane from vs, 
 We as the Spring of all, (hall pay for all : 
 Therefore good Coufin, ler not Harry know 
 In any cafe, the offer of the King, 
 
 Ver, Deliuer what you wilLjle (ay 'tis. Co, 
 Heere comes your Cofin. 
 
 Emer Hotjpmre^ 
 
 Hot. MyVnklcisr«urn*d, 
 Deliuer vp my Lord ofWeftmerland* 
 Vnkie, whSFnewe- ? 
 
 War. The King will bid you battell prefently, 
 
 ©w.Dcfiehim by the Lord of Weftmerland. 
 
 Hot, Lord Dowglas : Go you and tell him fo. 
 
 Do*, Marry and (hall.and verie willingly. 
 
 Exa Doxtght, 
 
 IVor. There is no feeming mercy in thcKing. 
 
 Hot, Did you begge any?God forbid. 
 
 War. I told him gently of our greeuance-, 
 Of his Oath-breaking : which he mended thus, 
 By now forfwearing that he is forfwornc, 
 He cals vs Rebels, Traitors , and will fcourgs 
 With haughty armes, this hatefull name in vs. 
 Enter Dowglat. 
 
 2)ovp. Arrae Gentlemen, to Armes, for I haue thrown 
 Abraue defiance in KlngHenrtes teeth : 
 And Weftmerland th3t was ingag'd did bcare ir, 
 Which cannot choofc but bring him quickly on. 
 
 War. The Princcof Wales, ftept tonh before the king, 
 And Nephew, chaileng'd you to (ingle fight. 
 
 Hot. O, would the quarrel! lay vpon our heads, 
 And that no man might draw (horc breath to cfay ~ 
 But I and Harry Monmouth. Tell mCjtell mee, 
 How (hew'd his Talking ?Scem'd it in contempt ? 
 
 *Ver. No, by my Soule : I neuer in my life 
 Did heare a Challenge vrg'd more modeitly, 
 Vnleffv: a Biotherfhoul J a Brother dare 
 To gentle exercife, and proofe of Armes. 
 He gaue you all the Duties ofa Man, 
 Trimm'd vp your rrailes with a Princely tongue. 
 Spoke your defcruings like aChronicle 4 
 Making you euer better thcnhlspraHe^ 
 By ftill difpraifingpraife, valcw'd with you : 
 And which became him like a Prince indeed^ 
 He made a blufhiag cirall ofhirofelfe, 
 And chid his Trewanr youth with fuch a Grace, 
 As if he maitred there a double fpiric 
 Of teaching, and of learning inftantly : 
 There did he paufe. " But let me tell the World, 
 If he ont-Iiue the enuie of this dayf 
 England did neuer owefo fweet a hope, 
 So much mifconftrued in his WantonnciTe. 
 
 Hot. Coufin, I thinke thou art enamored 
 On his Follies : neuer did I heare 
 Of any Prince fo wilde at Liberty. 
 But be he as he will, yel once ere night, 
 I will imbrace him with a Souldiers arme, 
 That he (hall (hrinke vnder my curtefie. 
 Arme,armc with fpeed. And FeIlow's,Soldiers,Friend$, 
 Better cenfider what you haue to do, 
 That I that haue not well she gift of Tongue, 
 
 Can 
 
 
 5< 
 
 1C 
 
 20 
 
 25 
 
 33 
 
 1 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 478- (0) 
 
 454"(0) - 3^. 
 
iO 
 
 )l 
 
 DO 
 
 Thet Firji Tart of Kjng Henry tbefmrtL 
 
 7* 
 
 50 
 
 100 
 
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 Can life your blood vp with perfwafion. 
 Enter a (Jlfejfenger, 
 Mtf. My Lord,heere arc Lettersioryou. 
 Hot, I cannot reade them now 
 OGentlemem the time of life is (hort ; 
 Xofpend that fhoTtncffcbafcIy,wcre too long. 
 If life did ride vpon a Dials poinr, 
 Still aiding attltcarnuali of an houre, 
 And if we Hue, we Hue to treade on Kings: 
 irdye;braue death.when PrinceFoye with vs. 
 Now for our Confciences, the Ara.es is faire, 
 Wncn the intent for bearing them is mft. 
 Enter another (Jltefengcr. 
 ftfef. My Lord prepare, the King-comes on space* 
 liar. I thanke htm . that hectics me from my yj.ei 
 For I profeffer.ot calking: QneTyT his, 
 Let each nun do his beft. Andneere 1 draw a Sword, 
 VVhofe worthy temper 1 intend to fta"ifie 
 With the beft blood that I can mectc withall, 
 [n the aducnture of this perilious day. 
 Now EfpcranceP^rj, and fee on : 
 Sound all the lofty I nit rumen ts of Warre, 
 Andby that Muficke, let v sail imbrace : 
 Porheauen to earth,fomc of vs neuer fnail, 
 Afccond time do fuch a curtefie. 
 
 The ensvracejbeTrumj/etsfoUKd, the King entereth 
 with his power, alarum vnto the battel!. 7 hen enter 
 t>owg'as % ar.dSti Walter 'Blunt. 
 2?/«,Whac t thy namc A th3t in battel thus y croficft me? 
 What honor do ft thou feeke vpon my head? 
 
 r Dow. Know then my nameis Dowglas, 
 And I do haunt thee in the battell thus, 
 Becatife fome tell me, that thou art a King, 
 Blunt. TheyTell thee true. 
 
 Bow. The Lord of Sta^ord deere to day hath bought 
 ThvlikcneiTe -.for irrfled of thee King Harry, 
 This Sword hath ended him, fo fhafl it thee, 
 Vnlefle thou yecld thee as a Prifoner. 
 $ Blu. I was not borne to yeeld,thou haughty Scot, 
 And thou fhalv finde a King that wjlreucnge 
 Cords Staffords death. 
 
 F ioht , Blunt if (lainefhen enters Flotjp.'ir, 
 Hot. O Dowglas ,hadft thou fought at Hcimedon thus 
 F ncuer had triumphed ore a Scot. , 
 Dow. All's doncall's won,here breathlcs lies rhe king 
 Hot. Where f" 
 Dew. Heerc. 
 
 Hot. Th\rDon>gUs} No,I know this fa.ee fail well : 
 A gallantKnight he was, his name was Blunt y 
 Scmblably furnifli'd like the King himfelfc. 
 
 Dow, Ah foole : go with thy fouje whether it goes, 
 A borrowed Title haft thou bought too dcere. 
 Why didft thou tell me, that thou wer taJCing - 
 Hot. The King hath many marching in his Coats. 
 ZW. bjow by my 5 word ,1 will kijrall his Coates, 
 He murder all nis Wardrobe?peece by pecce, 
 Yntilll meet the King. 
 Hou Vp^andaway, 
 ,0«r Souldiers ftand full rakely for tVe day. ' Exeunt 
 alarum, and enter Fal/Iaffe foltts. 
 Fal. Though I could, fcapc (hor-frce at LpgdonJ fear 
 tne (hot hecre : here's nofcoring,but vpon the pate.Soft 
 who»are you ? Sir Walter 'Blunt f there's Honour for you ; 
 here's no vanity, I am as hot as molten Lcad^aod as he*, 
 uy toojheauenkecpe Lead out of mee, Ioeexiencj more 
 weight theammc ownefiowelles. 1 haue ted m* ra« of 
 
 Muffins where they are peppei'd : there's notthree of my 
 150. left aliue^and they for the Townes end, to beg du- 
 ring life. Bu t who comes heeref 
 Enter the Prince, 
 
 Pr#.\Vhat,(tand'ft thou idleherePLend me thv fword, 
 Many a Nobleman likes ftarkc 3nd ftiffe 
 Vnder the hooucs oTvaunting enemies, 
 Whole deaths are vnrcueng d. Prethy lend me thy fword 
 "" Fat 0//«/,J pretheegiucmcleauc to breath awhile: 
 Tuikc Gregory ncuer did fuch deeds in Armcs as I haue 
 done this day, I haue paid Percy ,1 haui made him lure. 
 wr *7rin. He is indced,3nd liuing to kill thee ; "™ 
 Iprethee lend me thy fword* 
 
 "■ FaI'}. Nay Hal if Percy bee aliue, thou getft not my 
 Sword but take my PiftoHif thou wilt. 
 
 Prin. Giue it me : ! WrTat, is it in the Cafe : 
 
 till. I Hal t 'tis hot : There's that will Sacke 3 City 
 TbeVrsnce drawes oM a bottle of Sacke-. 
 
 Prut. What, is it a timc.toicftanddally now. Exit. 
 "Tbrowes it at him. 
 
 FaI. If Percy be aliue, He pierce him: ifhedocomein 
 myway/o^fhedonotjiflcoTicinhis (willingly) let 
 him make a Carbonado of me: Ilskenoc fuch grinning 
 honour as Sir Walter hath : Giue mee life, which if I can 
 faue, foufnordioaour comes vniook'd for, and therY an 
 end. Exit 
 
 t^larmrjexcurftons^nter the King,the Prince^ 
 
 LqrJIobnofLancafter, and Ear It 
 
 ofWefimerlund, 
 
 King I prethee Harry withdraw thy fclfc, thcu blcc- 
 deft too much: Lord lohn ofLancajler.pi you with hjr|Z 
 *j£.M. NotI,my Lord,vnlefle I did bleed too« 
 
 Prin 1 befecch your Maiefty make vp* 
 Leaft you retirement do amaze your friends. 
 
 King. I will do lot 
 My Lord of Weftmetland leade him tohis.Tenr. 
 
 Weft. Come my Lord, lie leade yoiuo your Tent. 
 
 Pr'w. Lc-d me my Lord? I Jb not need your helpej 
 And heaucu forbid a fnallow {cratch fliouldclriug 
 TheprinceofWalesfromfuchafi^asthi^ 
 Where ftain d Nobility lyes trouen on, 
 And RebeW Armcs triumph in maflacres. 
 
 I0I1. We breath too long: Come cofin We.li-erland, 
 Our doty this way lics/or heaueas fale come 
 
 Prin By heauen thou haft deceiu d me Lancifter^ 
 I did not think e thec Lord of fuch a lpint . 
 Before, 1 lou'd thee as a Brother, lohn ; % 
 
 But now. Idorefoecl thec as my Soule. 
 
 King. I faw mmnold Lord Percy at the point, 
 With luftier maintenance then Hid looke for 
 Offuch an yngrowng Warriour. 
 
 Prin. 6 this Boy, lends-mettall to vs all. 
 Enter Dowglas. 
 
 Dow. Another Kiog?They gtow like Hydra's heads* 
 I am the Dowglas, fatall to all thofe 
 Thai* weare thofe colours on them. What artthou 
 Jhat countexfeit'ft the perfon of a King? 
 
 KitifrTkc Kiaghimfelfe ;. who Dw^Uu gticues at hilt 
 
 So 
 
 50 
 
 100 
 
 150 
 
 (1) 
 200 
 
 Exit. 
 
 250 
 
 300 
 
 350 
 
 100 
 
 168 -CO) -\h 
 
 133 — U> 
 
1 yz The Firft&artoflQng Henry the Fourth. 
 
 Sqmany of his fcadowes tbotf haft mcr t 
 And not thevery King. I haue two Boyes 
 Seekef^rq and th? felfe about the Field : 
 But feeing thou fall'ft onrnefd luckily, 
 I will affay thee : fo defend thv felfe* 
 
 'Dew, I feare chouart anoraer counterfeit : 
 And yet infaitht frou bear'(l thee like a King: 
 Bat mine I am lute thou art,whoere thou be, 
 And thus I win thee. Tbeyfiiht^ the K.beingm danger , 
 titter Prmce. 
 
 tiint. Hold vp they head viIeScof,ot thou artlikc 
 Keoer to hold it vp againe : the 4 Spirits 
 Of valiant Sberlj.SiajfbrdfBltoitjtc in my ArratfJ 
 It is the Prince of Wales that threatens thee, 
 WEo neuer promifechj but he meaner to pay. 
 
 Thty PtghtfDowgtaifytth. 
 Cheerely My Lord : how fare's your Grace ? 
 Sir Nicholas Gavrfey hath for fuccourfent, 
 And fo hath Clifton : He to Clifton ftraight* 
 ~"l&wjr. Stay,and breath awhile. 
 Thou haft redeemed thy loft opinion, 
 And fhew'd thou mak'ft fome tender of my life 
 In this faire tefcug thou haft brought to race, 
 
 Prin. O heauen, they did me too much iniury* 
 That euer faid 1 hcarkned to your d eath. 
 If it were Co, I might haue let ajfiflS, 
 The infulting hand of DmgUs ouer you^ 
 Which would haue bene as fpeedy in your end, 
 As ali the poyfonousPotions in the world, 
 And fau'd the Treacherous labour o£your Sonne. 
 
 K, Make vp to Chftm^\t to Sir Wcholas GaHJey. Qcit 
 £nter Hatfyttr. """ 
 
 Hot. If I miftake not, thou art Harry Monmouth. 
 
 Prin, Thou fpeak'ft as if I would deny my name. 
 
 Hot* My name is Harris Percie. 
 
 frin.'Wbj then I fee a very valiant, rebel ofthatname* 
 I am the Prince of Wales. and tbinke not Tercy j 
 To Gsare with me in fclo r y any more ; 
 Two Starrcs keepe not their motion in qne.Sphere, 
 Nor can one England brookc a double xeigne, 
 Qf Harry Percy ^dt the Prince of Waler. 
 
 Hot* Not (hall \iHarry> for the hourc is come 
 To end the ojjc_of vs; and wouLUohcauen, 
 Thy ttamein Armes; were now as grcatas mme. 
 
 Prin. lie make it greatcr. ete 1 part from thee/ 
 And all the budding Honors on thy Creft, 
 He crop,tomake a Garland for my head, ' 
 
 Hot. I can no longer brooEe thy VankieS- &£*> 
 Enter Faljtafe. 
 
 Pal. Well faid 7f*/,to it Hat. Nay you (hall finde no 
 Boyes play heere.J can tell you. 
 
 Enter Dowglas he fight smth Falftaffewbofah dowtt 
 
 tit tfhfxvere dead. The frwce'kiHeth Percie. 
 
 Hot. OhMnryjtJiojihafTrob'd me of my youth: 
 I better brookc t£g Ioflc of brittle life, 
 Then thofe proud Titles thou jjaJi wonne of me, 
 They wound my thoghts worfe,then ttafword my fle(h; 
 But thought's the flaue of Life,ajii LifeVTimcs foole; 
 And Time, that takes iuruey of aiithe world, 
 Mnfthaueaftop. O. T could Pronhefie. 
 But that the Earth,and the cold hand of death. 
 Lyes on my Tongue : No /V*7,thou att duft 
 And food for— — — - 
 
 Prin, Fox Worme*,braue/V?T7 .Farewell greatheart: 
 Ikwea u) d, h mbmon.how much art thou fhrunke?. 
 that this bodic did conuine a ipirit, 
 
 AKingdomefor it was too fmall a bound ; 
 But n ow two pace? of the vilcft Earthl 
 Is rcomc sneugh. This Earth that bearec ths dcac^ 
 Beares notaTTueTo ftouta Gentleman. 
 If thou wer'tfenftEle of curtcfle, 
 Ifhould not make fo great a (hew of Zcale. 
 But let my fauours hide thy mangled face, 
 JSnd euen in thy behalfe,lle thanke my felfc 
 Fordoing tnefe favrc Rites of Tenderneflc. 
 Adicu,and take thy'praife with thee to heauen, 
 Thy ignomy (lecpe with thee intne grauc a 
 But not Kmembred in thy Epitaph. 
 What?01d Acquaintance? C o u ld not all thisflefli 
 Ketpe in a little life^Poore facTe",farewell ; 
 I could haue better fpai^d a bettet man . 
 0,1 (houldhauea heauy miiTeof tljee, 
 XfjL were much in loue with Vanity. 
 Death hathnot ftgucke fo fat a Deere to day, 
 Though many o'carer in this bloody Fray s 
 Imbo weird wiiTTTee thee by and by* 
 Till then,in blood,by tfobftpereie Ivc. Exit* 
 
 Talftaferifetbvp. ' 
 
 PaIJI* Imbowell'd? If thou imbowel! Rice to dayjlc 
 giue youl egue to powder me,and eat me too to morow, 
 'Twai t-me to counterfet, or thathotte Termagant^wj) 
 had paid me fcot and lot too.Counterfei i? I am no coun. 
 ccrfeit; to dye, is to be a counterfeit, for bee bbut tfec 
 counterfeit of a man.who hathnot the life oft man s Bui 
 to counterfeit dying^yvhen a manthcr cby liu«h,is to hi 
 no counterfeit,but thctrue and perfect image of life ijj« 
 deede. The bettcr part of Valour, is Difcrenon; in the 
 which Better parrT l haue faued my life. I ana atlcaide of 
 this Gun-powcfer Percy though he i>c dead. How if hee 
 fhould counterfeit too, and lift? \ am afraid bee would 
 prouc the better counterfcit:thereforclle make him lure.' 
 yea.and llefwearelkiP/dhioi. Why may not bee rife as 
 well as I :Nothing confutes mebut eyes, anjj no-oTdie 
 fees me.Thrrefore firra^with a new wound in your thigh 
 come you along me. Trt%* Hotfinrre on bu iecke* 
 
 Evur Prince and lohn-ofLanc^fier. 
 
 Prin. Come Brother lohn % full brauely haftthouflelht 
 thy Maiden fwcrd. 
 
 hhn. Butfoft. who haueweheeret* 
 Did you not tell mc this Fatman was dead ? 
 
 Prin. I did, I faw himoTad, 
 BreachieCfc and bleeding on the ground: Art thou aliue? 
 Or u it fantafir that playes vpmrour cye-figb.t l 
 I ^rethee fpesk c.we wili not truft oureyes" 
 Without our earcs. Thou a rt not what thou feern'ft. 
 
 Pal. No, that's certaine ; I am not a double man ; bfit 
 if 1 be not lacfa Fatjlaffe^htn ami a lacks : There is Per* 
 ryj£yout Fathet will do me any Konor,fo: ifno ^tj et hhw 
 kill the next P<rrw himfelfc. I looketo bccitherEarleojf 
 Duke,Ican affurcyou. 
 
 Prin t Whv .P^ra I kill'd my fclfe, and faw thee dead» 
 
 Pal. Did ft thou?LordXord. how the world is giuen 
 to Lyin g? I grauntyou I was downe. and cue ofpreatb, 
 
 and fo was he, but we rofe both at ajjinftant.and fought 
 alonghoureby Shrewsburie clocke. jyflmay beebelee- 
 ued /o • if not,let them t^aftfhould reward Valour^beare 
 the finne vpon their owne heads . He take'r on my death 
 I gaue him this wound in the Thigh : if the man #?crea- 
 liuejand would deny it, J would make him cate a p«ce 
 o£my fword. 
 
 hhn. This is the ftrangeft Tale that e'r?j^ieapd. 
 
 Prin,, This is the ftrangeftTcHow,Brother hhn. 
 
 Come 
 
 ~^~ 
 
 588-(0) -37i 
 
The Firjl Tart ofI\ing Henry the Fourth. 
 
 Come bring y.our luggage Nobly on your backc 
 
 For my partjif a Iyc may Ao thee grace, 
 
 He yitfl it with the happieft tcatraes I hauc. »• 27 
 
 *sf Retreat u founded, 
 TftS Trumpets found R ctrcat.thc day is ours : 
 Come Brother, lei's to the higheft of the field, 
 » fee what Friends are Iujmg» who are dead . Exeunt 
 FaJ. lie follow as thcyTayT'fot Reward. Bee that re- 
 wards IPC,' -einen reward bim, Ifldogrow great again. 
 fie grow Icffe? For Itepurgc, and leaue Sackc andliue 
 cleanly^s a Nobleman fhouIdcJoT-- 90— ^ xit 
 
 11 
 
 Scma Qmrta. 
 
 The TrutttpersfoKtfdi. 
 
 Enter tbeKing, Prince oftfates, Lord Iobn efLtnatfter i 
 
 Earle cfwejfmerland, Mtb Worccflcr& 
 
 Vernon Pnjbners. 
 
 King. Thus euerdid Rebellion finMe Rebuke. 
 IIMpirited Worcefter.did wc not fend Grace* 
 Pardon ,and tcarmes ofLoueTB all of you I 
 And would'ft thou turne our ofrcTs contrary > 
 Mifufe c hc tenor of thy Kiofmans truft? 
 Three Knights vpon our party flame to day, 
 ANob!eEarIe!,andmany;a creature elfe, 
 Kad beene aliuc this houre, 
 If like a Chriftian thou had ft rruly borne 
 Betwixt out Armies, true Intelligence. 
 
 Wor, What I hane donc,myFa!ttyvrg d me to, 
 1GD - (0) -17* 
 
 And I embrace this fortunspaiicntly, 
 Smcenoc to beauoyded, it fals on mee. 
 
 King, Beare'Worcefter to dczih,zn£2Jernm too ; 
 Other Offenders we will paufespon, 
 
 Exit mrcefter and Vernon. 
 How goes trie Field? 
 
 Prin. "The Noble Scot Lord DmgUs k when bee Can 
 The fortune of the day quite turn'd from him, T mm 
 The N oble Percy flaine.and allhis men, 
 ^pon the foot of feare.fied with the reft 5 
 And rallingTrom a hill, he was fo bruia'd 
 That the purfuersTooke him. At my Tenc 
 The Vmglas is, and I bcleecb your Grace, 
 1 may difpofeof him. 
 
 King. With allmy hearts 
 
 Prin. ThenBrothern?5»ofLanc3?er, 
 To you this honourable bounty f hall belong 1 
 Go to the DmglAS,in& deliuer him 
 
 if Vp to his pleafUre, ranfomlcfle and free : 
 Tits Valour fhewne vpon cur Grefts to day, 
 Hath taught vs how fS Tnenfh fuch high deeds, 
 Eucn in the bof ome of our /Lduerfaries. 
 
 King, Then this rcmaincs i tnal We" diuidc our Power. 
 You Sonne lobn.&nd my Coufin Weftmerland 
 Towards Yorke fhall bend you.withyour deereft fpeed 
 To meet Norihumbei land, arTffthe Prelate Stroopc> 
 Who(as wc heare)arc bufily in Armes. 
 My Selfe, and jTou Sonne Harry will toward* Wales, 
 To fight with UTendmer.iDd iheEarle ofMarcb. 
 Rebellion in this Land iHOT ofehisway? 
 Meeting the Checkc ofTucTi another day : 
 And fince this BuSnctfe fo faire is done, 
 let vs not leaue till all our owne be wonne. Exam, 
 
 50 
 100 
 
 15( 
 
 (3) 
 20C 
 
 (3) 
 
 07i 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 "* 
 
74 
 
 The Second Part of Henry the Fourth; 
 
 Containing his Death : and the Coronation. 
 
 of King Henry the Fift. 
 
 edftus Primus, SccenaTrirna* 
 
 I 
 
 NDVCTION, 
 
 Enter 'Rumour. 
 Penyour Ear es ;For whiekof you will ftop 
 f he ventof H«ari»g,whcr>»loud &w«r fpeakes? 
 t , from the Orient, to the drooping Weft 
 (Making "the winde my Poit-horfe) ftill vnfold 
 The A6fo commcncedonchls Ball of Earth. 
 Vpon my Tongue, coniftnuall Slan lersride> 
 The which, in euery J- angU3gc> J pronounce, 
 Stuffing the Eares of china with falfe Reports : 
 I fpeakc cTF Peace, while couertEnmitic 
 ( Vnder the fmile of Safety)woundsr thcWorid : 
 And who but Rumour, who but onely I 
 Makefearfull MITfVers, and prepar'd Defence, 
 Whil'ft the biggeyeare; fwolnc with Tome other gtiefes, 
 Is thought with childe, by the fierne TyrantiWarrc, 
 And no fssch matter? IXumor.r^ is a Pipe 
 Biowne by Surjnifes, i eloufics, Conie&urcsj 
 And of fo eafie, and fo j^am'ea (lop, 
 That the blunt Monftcr, with viTcountad heads, 
 The ftill difcordant, wauering Multitude, 
 Can play vpon it. But what ncedel thus 
 My well-knowncBody to Anathomize 
 Among my hou^old ? Why is £w»w heere ? 
 I run before King Harriet vi&oty, 
 Who in a bloodie field by Shrewsburie 
 ffatrTbeaten downe yong Hotjpttrre ,aud bis TrOcpes^ 
 Quenching the flame of hold Rebellion, 
 Euen with cheRebels blood. But what meane I 
 To fpcake fo true at firft ? My Office is 
 15 novfc abroad, that Harry CMonMomb fell 
 Vnoar the Wrath of Noble Hotjptirres Sword: 
 Jtfd that the King, beJorcthe DcwglM Rage 
 Stocp'd his Annointed head, as low as death. 
 This haue I rumout'd through the peafant-Townes* 
 Bejwecnc the Royall Field of Shrewsburie, 
 Aadthis Worme-eaten-Hole of ragged Stone, 
 Where Hot flumes Father, old Northumberland, 
 Lyes crafty fake. The Pofles come tyring on, 
 And not a man of them brings other newes 
 Then they haue learn d of Me. 'From Rumurt Tongues, 
 They bring fmooth-Comforti-fa'.fe, wc:fc then True- 
 wrongs. Exit 
 * 10) -8fc 
 
 Siena Secunda, 
 
 Enter Lord e Bardotfe y and the Porter* 
 
 L/Bar, Who kcepes the Gate heere hoi ? 
 Where is the Earle? 
 
 For. What.flulJ I fay you are i* 
 
 Bar. Tell thou the Earle 
 That the Lord Baxdolfe doth attend hint heere. 
 
 Per. His Lordfbip is walk'd forth into the Orchard 
 Pleafe it your Honor, knocke buti&cfaeGtoj, 
 And he himfelfe.wHl ahfwer. 
 
 Enter Northumberland, 
 
 L ."Bar. HeelC comes the Earle. 
 
 Nor. What newes Lord Bardolfe> Eu'ry minute now 
 Should be the Father of fame Strat3gem; 
 The Times are wilde : Contention (liki a Horfe 
 Full oFhigh Feeding) madly hath b;oke loofc, 
 And bcares downe all before dim* 
 
 L.Bar. Noble Earie, 
 I bring you certaine newes from Shrewsbury. 
 
 Nor. Good,andheauenwi!l. 
 
 L.Bar. As good as heart can wifh : 
 The King is almoin wouno'ed to the death : 
 And in the Fortune of my Lord your^ohne, 
 prince Hank flaine out-right : and both the Blmtt 
 Kill'd by cho hand ofDowglas, Yong Prince Iok; t 
 And WeGmerland, andStafrbrd,fled the Field. 
 And Harrie Monmouth 1 s BTawne (the Hulke Sir tokt) 
 Is prifonerra your Sonne* O/uchaDay, 
 (So foughtrio follow'd, and lb faireiy wonnc) 
 Came not, till now, to dignific theft" imes 
 Since Cafars Fortunes. 
 
 Nor. How is this dertu'd? 
 Saw you the Field? Came you from Shrewsbury ? , 
 
 L.Bar. I fpake with one (my L.)that came frdthen^ 
 A Gentleman well bred,and of good name, 
 That freely rendet'd me thefe newes for true. 
 
 Nor, Heere comes my Seruant Tranert t Yihom I fen* 
 OnTuefday laft, to liften after Newes. 
 EnterTratteru 
 
 LJBar, My LordJ oucr-rod him on the way* 
 And he is furnilli'd with no certainties, 
 More then he (haply)may retaile from me. 
 
 Nor J$ow Trover*, what good tidings cornefftiSyc i 
 
 .)IO ft*: 
 
TbeficondTart of King Henry the Fourth. 
 
 75 
 
 Tr<t..My Lox^Sit lohtt .VmfrtuiKiuxxx d me b'acke 
 With ioyiul fydingsi; and (being better hors'd) 
 Out-rod me. After him,, came fpun ing head 
 ^Gentleman (alrooit fore-fpent with ipecd) 
 That ftopp'd by mc, to breath his bloodied b&£$ A 
 He ask d the way to Chefter t And of him 
 tdid-demand what Ncwcs from Shrewsbury: 
 He told me, thatRebcllion had 111 Iucke, 
 And that yong Harry Perries Spurre was cold. 
 With that he gaue his able Horfe the head, 
 And bending for wards ftrooKe his abiehceies 
 Agsinft ths panting fides or his poore lade 
 Vp to the Rowcll head* and flatting fo, 
 He feem'd in running, to dejuiuj&Ehe way, 
 Staying no longer queftion. 
 
 North. Ha?Againei 
 Saidiieyong H^me Percyes Spurre was cold «> 
 (Of /^f-5p*rrff,cold-Spurrc?) chat Rebellion, 
 Hadmecillluckc? 
 
 {,$ar> My lord: He tell you what, 
 If njy yong Lord your Sonnc,haue not the day, 
 Vpon mine Honor, for a fiiken point 
 jle giuc my Barony. Neuer talkc of it. 
 
 Nor. Why fliould the Gentleman that rude hgXraiters 
 Giuerheniuch inftances ofLoflcf 
 
 L.Var. Who,hc? 
 rjc'was Tome hicldingPelloWj that nad folnej 
 TheHorfcherodc-on ; and fpon my lite 
 Speakeataduencurc. Loake,hexexomes more-Ncwes, 
 
 JEntff'lMmat* 
 
 93 
 
 Nor* Yes, this mans trow, like to iTitle-leafe^ 
 Fore-iels the Nature of a Tragtcke Volume : 
 Solookes. the.Strond, when the Imperious flood. 
 Hath leftawitneft Vfurpation., 
 Say Morton % did'ft thou come from Shrewsbury }, 
 
 Mou I ran fronrShrewsbuiy (my Noble Lor J) 
 Where hatefull death" put on his. vglicitMaikc. 
 To fright our party. 
 
 North. Howc.othTRySonne,and brother? 
 Thou trembl'it; and the whitcneflc in thy Cheeke 
 Is apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand. 
 Eucn fuch amafij fo faint,fo fpiritleffc, 
 So dull, fo dead ullooke > fo w , oe-be-gone > 
 Drew PrUms Curtaineiin- the dead ofnight, 
 And would baue told him,Kalfe his Troy w^buro'd. 
 But Priam found the Fircere he his Tfliigue: 
 And I, my Perries death, ere thou repor t'ft it. 
 This, thou would'ft fay : Your Sonne didthus,and thus : 
 £oui Brother, thus . So fought the Noble Z?03g/<*/, 
 Stopping my greedy earejWith their bold deeds. 
 But in the end (to <\op mine Eare indeed) 
 Thou haft a Sigh, to blow away thisPraife, 
 Ending wjiJi Brother, Sonne,and all are dead. 
 
 Mor. 'Doivglas is huing,ajicj jour Brother,yec2 
 But for my Lord, your Sonne. 
 
 North. \^hy he is dead. 
 Sec what a ready tongue Sufpitionuatji ; 
 Hcthat but feares the thing,hc would not know, 
 Hath by Inftin6t,knovyledge from others Eyes, 
 That what he feard, is'chanc'd. Yet fpeake(Mra>») 
 Tell thou thy Earlc,hisDiuination Lies, 
 And 1 will take i c, as a fwcec Difgrace, 
 And make thec rich, for doing me fuch wrong. 
 
 Mar^ You are too great, to be (by mc) gainfaid : 
 
 Your Spirit js too true, your Feares too ccrtaine. 
 
 North. Yctfor all thrs,fay not that Perries dead. 
 I fee a ftrange Confeflion In thine Eye : 
 Thou fhak'ft thy head, and hold'ft it Fearc, or Sinne, 
 To fpcakea UUj£> If he be flaine,fay fo : 
 TheTongue offends afit, that reports his deash ; 
 And he doth finne that doth belye the dead ; 
 Not he,which fayes the dead is not aliue: 
 Yet the fitft bringcr of vnwekome Newes 
 Uasjh but a loofmg Office : andhis Tongue a 
 Sounds cuer after as a fullen Bell 
 Rcmcmbred, knolling a departing Friend. 
 
 It.'Bar. I cannot thinkef my Lord)your (on is dead. 
 
 Mor. I am forty, I fliould force you to bclceue 
 That, which 1 would tjaheaucn,Ihad not feenc. 
 But thefc mine cyes,faw.him in bloody ftate > 
 Rend'ring faint quittancc/ L wearied,and ou t-breath'd) 
 To Henrie Monmwth % vi\\Qk fwift wrath b»ate downc 
 The neuer-daunted Perrie to tjjjc. earth, 
 From wbence(with life)he neuer more iprung ?p, 
 I" &&» his death (whofc fpirit lent a fire, 
 Euen to the dulleftPeazant in his Campe) 
 Being bruited oncs/tooke fire and heate ajaajfc 
 From chebeft temper a Courage in his Troopes. 
 For fjoro his Mettle, was his Party fteel'd ; 
 Which once.inliinjL abated, all the reft 
 Turn'd on themfelues, like dull ajiclheauy Lead i 
 And as the Thing, that's heauy in it/elfc, 
 Vponenforcement,flyes_with grcateft fpeedc, 
 So did our Mcn,heauy in H. ■ pirns loffe, 
 Lend to this weight, {ucbjightncflc with their Feare, 
 That Arrowes fled not Twiftcr towtarjitheir ayme, 
 Then did our Soldiers ( ayming at their fafety) 
 Fly from the rlsUi* Then was that Noble Worceflcr 
 Too fooneta'ne prifoner : ani.that furious Scot, 
 (The bloody Eowglai) whofc well-labouring fwor J 
 Had three times flaine th'appearance of the King, 
 Gan vailehis ftomackc, and did grace the fliame 
 Of thofethat turn'd their bacitex: and in his flight, 
 Stumbling in Fcare,was tookc. The furnme ofall, 
 Is, that the King hath wonnc : and hath ^ent out 
 A fpeedy power, to encounter you my^Lord, 
 Vnder the Conduct of yong Lancafter 
 And Weflmerlarid. TliiSJs the Newes at full. 
 
 North. For this,I ftiallhaue time enough to rnoufO£ 
 In Poy fon .there is. Phy ficke : ?ni this new* 
 (Hauing beenc wcll)that would haue made me ficke, 
 Being ficjj&haue in fome meafure,madc me well- 
 And as the Wretcb.whofe Feaucr-weakned ioynt^ 
 Like ftrengthleflc Hindges,bucklc vnder liftj 
 Impatient of hi^Fit, breakes like a fire 
 Out af his keepers armes : Euenio, my Limbes 
 ( Weak'ned with greefe) being now inrag'dwith greefej 
 Arc thrice themfelues. Hence therefore thou nice au^h* 
 A fcalie Gauntlet nov^with ioynts of Steele . 
 Muft glouxthishand. And hence thou fickiy Quoife^ 
 Thou arta.guard too wanton for the head, 
 Which PrinceSjflelh'd with Conqueft,ayme to bit* 
 Now biode my Browcs with Iron.and approach 
 The ragged'ft hoore,that Time and Spigbt da?ebiing 
 Tofrowne vpon thenrag'd Northumberland. 
 Let Hcaucn kiflc Earth : now let not Natures hand 
 SCeepe the w ildc Flood confin'd : Let Ordei dye, 
 frnd let the world no longer be a ttage 
 To feede Contention in a lipg'ring A<51 ;i 
 But let one fpirit of the Hrft-borne C/unt 50S 
 
 g Rcignr 
 
 50 
 
 100 
 
 (3),( 
 150 
 
 200 
 
 (4) 
 25C 
 
 (3) 
 
 100 
 
 350 
 
 450 
 
 500 
 
y 6 The fecondTart of J^ingHenry the Fourth. 
 
 Reigoe in all bofomes, that each heart being fee 
 
 On bloody Courfcs, the rude Scene may end* 
 
 And darknelTebe the buricr of the dead. (Flonor. 
 
 LlBar Sweet EarIc,dmorce not wifedom from your 
 
 Mor. The Hues ofall your lotting Complices 
 Leane-on your health, the which if you giuCrO re 
 To ftormv PalTion, rouft perforce decay* 
 YoiLcafl ithcuen: o fWarte fmv Noble Lord) 
 And fumm'd the accomptof Chance,beforeyou laid 
 Let gs make head : It was your prefurmize, 
 Thftrinfjhe dole of blowes,your Son might drop. 
 You knew he walk'd o're perils, on an edge 
 MorclikelyToiall i°> ™ en to get o're : 
 You were aduis'd his flefh was capeable 
 Of Wounds, and Scarres ; and that his forward Spirit 
 Would lift him, where moft trade of dange r rang'd . 
 Yet did you fay go forth : and none o f this 
 (Though ftrongly apprehended) could reftratna 
 The ftfffc-borne Action : What hath then befalne> 
 Or what hath this bold entcrprize bring forth, 
 More then djit Being, which was like to be ? 
 
 L.Bar. We all that are engaged to this lofle, 
 Knew that we ventur'd on fuch dangerous Seas, 
 That if we wrought out life,was ten to one : 
 And yet we venturd for the gaine proposed, 
 Choak'd the refpe& of likely pcrill fear'd, 
 And fince we are o're-iet,vcnture againe. 
 Come, we will all put forth ; Body,and Goods, 
 
 TWer.'Tis more then time : And (my moft Noble Lord) 
 I heare for certaine, and do fpeake the truth : 
 The gentl e Arch-bifhop of Yorke is vp 
 With well appointed Powres : he is a man 
 Who with a double Surety binde'shis Followers. 
 My Lord (your Sonne)had onely but the Corpei, 
 But fhadowes. and the fhewes of men to fight.. 
 For that fame wordf Rebdlionl) did diuide 
 The a&ion of their bodies, from their foules r 
 And they did fight with queafincfle, conftrain'd 
 As men drinke Potions; that their Weapons only 
 Seem'd on our fide : bu^for their Spirits and Soules, 
 This word (RebelIion)7t had froze them vp, 
 As Fifh are in a Pond. But now tbeBifhop 
 Turnes Insurrection to Religion, 
 Suppos'd fincerc.and holy in his Thoughts : 
 He's follow'd botn with Body,and with Mindc : 
 And doth enlarge his Rifing, with the blood 
 OjTaireKing Richard, fcrap'd from Pomfiet ilones, 
 Deriues from heaucn> his Quatrell.and his Caufe i 
 Tels thcm,he doth beftride a bleeding Land, 
 Gafping for life, vndcr gxcax.Btttimgbrooke y 
 And rnorc ? and Icffe.do Bocketo follow him. 
 
 jtforih. I knew of this before- But to fpeake truth, 
 This prefent greefe had wip'd it from my ra'mde. 
 Go in with me^ and councell euery man 
 The apteft way for fafety, and reucnge : 
 Get Pofts,and.Letters,anamake Friend's with fptfed, 
 Neuer Co few,nor neuer yet more need. 4.48 — Exeunt. 
 
 Scena Tenia. (14) ~' u ~ 
 
 Enter Fat [I aft, and Page. 
 fVi/.Sirta A'ou gianr,what laics the Doc7t.ro my water? 
 Pag. He laid fir,the water it klfewasagood healthy 
 waten but for the party that ow d it,he might haue more 
 difeafes then h* ^i?w for. 
 
 Fat. Men of all forts take a pride to gird at mee : the 
 498 -(14) - S& 
 
 braine of this foolim compounded Clay-man, is not able 
 jo, inuent any thing that tends to laughter, t more then t 
 inuenr,orisinuentedonme. J am not onc lft witty in my 
 felfe^but the caufe that witja in other men, I doe heerc 
 walkc before thee,likfia Sow, that hath o'rewhelm'd all 
 her Litter, but ojje^ If the Prince put thee into my Ser- 
 uice for any other reafon, then to fct mce off, why then! 
 haue no iudgement. Thou horfon Mandrake, thou art 
 fitter to be woroe in my cap, then to wait at jypjj heeles. I 
 was neuer mann d with an Agot till now ; but I will fette 
 you neyther in Gold, nor Siluer, but in trilde apparell,and 
 fend you backe againe j£ your Mafter. for a Iewcll. The 
 Tuuenali (the Prince your Matter) whofe Chin i« nor y C t 
 fiedg'd, I will fooncr haue a beard grow. in the Palme of 
 1 my hand, then he (Kail get oce on hischeeke : yet he will 
 not fttcke to fay, his Face is a Facc-Royall. Heauen may 
 finifh it wn"en he will, it is not a haire anjifTc yet : he may 
 ♦keepeTt ftill at a Face-Royall , for^Barbei fhall n-iJer 
 earne fix pence out of it; fjaiyet he will be crowing, as if 
 he had writ man euer fince his Father was a Batcbcllou?, 
 He may keepe his owne Grace, but he is almoft out jj£ 
 mine, I canaffurehim. What faid Vi.T)ombledon % about 
 the Sattenfor my fhortCloalcc,and Slops. ? 
 
 Pag. He laid fir .you fliould procure him better AfTu 
 rance,then!5W^.' he wold not take his Bond & yours* 
 he lik'd not the Security. 
 
 Pal. Tet him bee damn'd like the Glutton, may hii 
 Tongue be hotter,a horfon Achitopbel; a Rafcally-yea- 
 fprfooth-knaue^Jjcare a Gentleman in hand, and then 
 ftand vpon Seen! . The horfon fmooth-pates doe now 
 weare nothing butTiigh fhoes» and bunches of Keycs at 
 their girdles : and if a,man is through with them in ho* 
 heS Taking-vp, thenthey muft ftawd vpon Securitie 
 had as liefe they would put Rats-bane in my mouth, _. 
 offer to ftoppe it with Security. I look'd hee fiiould haue 
 fent me two anTtwenty yards of Satten (as I am true 
 Knight) and he fends me Security . WeH,he may fleep in 
 Security, for he hath the home of Abundance : and the 
 lightneffc of his Wife lnines through it, and yet cannot 
 he fec.though he haue his owne LanthOrnc to light him, 
 Where's 'Barfotfel 
 
 Pag. He's gone into Smithfield £o buy your worfhip 
 a horfe. 
 
 Fat. 1 bought him in Paules,and hec'l buy mee a horfe 
 in Smithfield. Ifl could get niee a wife in the Stewes, I 
 "were Mann'd.Hors'djand Wiu'd.' — 457™ 
 Snttr Chiefe Itt^ice^ndSeruant. 
 
 Tag. Sir, heere comes the Nobleman that committed 
 the Prince for flriking hirr ,,about , 'Bardolfe. 
 
 Fat. Wait clofe.I will not fee him. 
 
 Ch.Iufi. What's he that goes there? 
 
 Ser. Fa/Jtajft^ntSTpleik your Lordfhip. 
 
 Ifift. He that was in queftion for the Robbery ) 
 
 Ser. He my Lord, but he hath fince done good ferufce 
 at Shrewsbury: and(a7Tneare}iisnow going with fome 
 Cbarge,to the Lord lohnofLancafttr. 
 
 luh. What to Yorkerfcall him backe againe, 
 
 Ser. Sir Ioh» Falftaffe. 
 
 Fat. Boy,teIl him.I am deafe. ' 
 
 Pag. You muft fpeake lowdcrjny Mafter is deafe. 
 
 /«/?» I am fure hejs^to the hearing of any thing good. 
 Go pluckeJiiniby the Elbow,! muft fpeake with him. 
 
 Ser. Si r Iohn. 
 
 iW. What fa yong knaue and beg?Is there not wj£S?l3 
 
 there not imp'-oyment.-'Doth not the K.l3ckfi> bjefis? Do 
 
 pot the Rebels want Soldiers?Though it be afhamcto be 
 
 . Ofc' on 
 
 5« 
 
 G< 
 
TkefecondTm t offing Henry the Fourth. 
 
 77 
 
 oo 
 
 50 
 
 50 
 
 00 
 
 150 
 
 ,2) 
 
 00 
 
 c 50 
 
 (9) 
 
 1 h 
 [2) 
 00 
 
 on any fide but one, it is vvorfe flume to bcgge,; then to 
 be on the worft fidc,were it worle therftbe name of Re- 
 bellion can tell how to rna'flkis. 
 
 $er. YoumiftakemcSir* 
 
 Fd. Why fit? Did 1 fay you were an honeft manPSet- 
 tlng my Knight-hood,"and my Souidierlhip afide, 1 had 
 Jyrdin my throat, if I had laid fo. 
 
 Ser. I pray youT^Sir) then fct your Knighthood and 
 your Souldicr-fliip afidc, and giuc mcc Jcaoe to tell you, 
 you lye in your throat, tf you (ay i am any otherthen an 
 honeft man. 
 
 Fal. IgjuctheeleauetotcIImcfo? Hay a-fide thai 
 which growes ro me? Ifchou gec'ft any Ieaueofme,hang 
 me : if thou tak'ft Ieauc,thou vvcr't better be hanjfd :you 
 Hunt-counter,hence : Auant. 
 
 Sir. Sir,my Lord would fpe&kc with you, 
 
 Jh(1. Sir lahn Fatftaffe,* word with you* 
 
 FaUMy good Lord:giueyour LcraThTp good time of 
 theday lam glad tofeeyour Lorcifhip abroad : I heard 
 {ay your loidfrSipwasficke. i hope your LordfhTp goes 
 abroad by aduife Your Lordir.ip (though not clean paft 
 yout youth)hath vet fomc ^nsck ot'age in you: fome r el- 
 lilh of the faltncfle of Time, and I rocfi humbly befcech 
 your LorduHip.to haue a reuerend care of ynurhealeh. 
 
 hfi. Skfokn, TTentyoa befotcyour Expedition, to 
 Sfucwsburie. 
 
 Fal. Jfitpleafcyour Lordfhip,] hearehis Male file is 
 Miurn d with ibmcTIi Tcomfort from Wales. 
 
 hft. 1 talke not oliiis Maicfty : yoa would not come 
 whenlfentforyo'j? 
 
 Fal. And 1 hcare moreouar.hls Highneflfeis falne into 
 this fame whotfai Aj>oplexie. (y cu - 
 
 A^.Welljhcauen mend him. T pray let me fpe->.k with 
 
 Fal. This Apoplexic isf as I take it)a kind of Letnarl 
 £ic, a fleeping of the blood, a hoi fen Tingling. 
 
 J*JF. What tell y ou mc of it r be it as it is. 
 
 Fal. It hath korigirtaTl from much greefc; from fl-ndy 
 indperturbaiion'of the brainc. ] hauercad thecaufc of 
 bis effects in Galtn. It is a kinde of deafened 
 
 /*j?.;jth"inkeyouarc falne into the dileafc; Foryeu 
 dcare not what I lay to y ou. 
 
 Fal. Vety wcll(my Lord )verywell : rather gn'tplcafc 
 you) itisthcdifeafeofnotLiftning, the malady©? not 
 Marking, that 1 am troubled withall.. ""* 
 
 foil. Topunifliyoubytheheclcs, would amend the 
 Ktentiongfyour earej,8c I care not if I be your Phylitian 
 
 F«l. lam as pooreas I'o&, my lordjbuc not fo Patient: 
 your Lord/hip may minifler the Potion of imprifonment 
 to me jn rcfpe£l of Pouertic : but how Hliould bee your 
 Paticnt,to follow your prefcriptions, trie wife may make 
 fome dram of a fcrupIe,or indeede,afcrupleit lelfe. 
 
 t*ft. I fent for you (when there were matters againft 
 pou foi your life) to come fpeakc with me. 
 
 Pal. As I was then aduiied by my learned CounceUn 
 ibelawes of this La.nd-feniice, I did not come. 
 
 /«/?. Wel^thc truth is(fir M»)you Hue in great infamy 
 
 Fal.tic that buckles him in my belt,canot line in letic. 
 
 /«/?.Youf Meanes is very flender,and your wa [ Threat. 
 
 Fal. I wouldit/were otherwife : 1 would my Meanes 
 SJEJgreatcr, and my watte flenderer. 
 
 tuft. You haue mi (led the youthfull Prune; 
 
 Val. The ypng Prince hath milled mec. lamtheFel- 
 ow with the great bcliy,and he my Dogge. 
 
 /w/fiWclljIarolothto gall ancw-heald woundryour 
 dales feruice at Shrewsbury, hath a little gilded ouei 
 your Nights exploit on Gads-hill. You may thanke the 
 
 vnquiet time, for your quiet o 're-polling that Action. 
 
 Fal. My Lord j (Wolfe. 
 
 /«/?.But linceall is wcl.keep it fo: wake no: a llcepiug 
 
 FzL To wake a Wolfe, is as bad as to froelTa Fox, 
 
 /«.What?you areas a candle,"!r)ebetter part burnt out 
 
 Fal. A Waflell-Canaic, my Lord; all TaiJow : if I did 
 fay ofwax 4 my growth would approue me truth. 
 
 Iufi* There is not a white haue on your face, but. (hold 
 bane his cfredr of grauity. 
 
 Fal. - His effecToTgfauy, grauy, grauy. 
 
 Inft You follow the yong Prince vp and downe, like 
 his cuil'I Angelk 
 
 Fal. Not fo (my Lord) your ill 'A^gell is light : but I 
 hopchethatlookes vpon mcc, ; will take mce without; 
 weighing: and y^e?.:n fome refpefts [grant,! cannot go j 
 I cannot tell.Vertue is of fo little regard in thefc Coftor> 
 rnon^crs,that true valor is turn'd Beare-heard, Prcgnan? 
 cicismadcaTapfter, and hath his ciuicke wit wolVed in 
 giuing RccFnings : all the other gifts appertinent to man 
 \as the inancc a this Agc'fhapesthcm) arc not woortha 
 Goofcberry. You that arc old , confider not the capaci- 
 ties of vs that arcyong : you mcafcre tnc heat of our Li- 
 ueTsjwith me binemei ofycur gals: & we thatareinthe 
 vaward of our youth,I muft confcfle,are'wagges too, 
 
 Itifi. DoyoufctdownTyout name in the lcrowleof 
 youtn,that are written downc old, with all the Charrac- 
 tcrs ofagc?h3ueyou not a mouTcyc ? a dry handP.3 yel- 
 low cheeke?a white besidi; a decrcafing leg? an increfing 
 belly? 3 s not your voice broken/'yout winde fhortPyour 
 wit (ingle? ancT euery part about you blafled with Anti- 
 quity ?and wilyou cal your fclfc yongPFy.fy^y, fir Iohh. 
 ,Fd, My Lotd. l was borne with, a whire head, ec fom- 
 thu?g ground bcily.Formy voice,l haue iou it withhsl- 
 lowingand finging of Ant hemes. To approue my youth 
 farther A will not: the truth is, I am oneiy olde in iudge- 
 ment and vnderltandmg: and lie that will caper- with mee 
 for a thoufand Markes,lei him lend methe luony, g^ haue 
 at him. For the boxc of th'eare that tbeTrincc gaueyou, 
 he gaue it like a rude Prince.a'ndyou tookeit like a fenfr- 
 ble Lord. TlTaue check t him tor it , ?- d the yong 1 ion re* 
 pents : Marry not in allies and fad :-clos:n7TSut innew 
 Silke.atjd-oidSacke, 
 
 Inft. Wel.heauen fend the Prince a better companion. 
 
 FaI. Heauen fend the Companion a better Prince : 1 
 cannot rid my hands of him* 
 
 lu/fc WelLthe King hath fcucr'd you and Prince -H«r- 
 r/,I h?*are ynu are going with Lord hhn of Lancafter, a- 
 gainft the AwrhlTTDbop^and the Earle of Northumberland 
 
 Fal. Yes,I thanke your pretty Tweet witfot it ibut 
 looke you pray, (all you that kifiemy Ladie Peace, at 
 home)that our Armies ioyn not in a hot day: for if I take 
 but two {hirts out with me,and I meanc ngt to Fweat ex- 
 traordinarily : if itbee a hot day, if I brandilh any thing 
 but my Bottle, would I might neuer fpit white againe : 
 There is not a dacngcrous Action canpeepc out his head, 
 but lam thruft vnonit. W*H,I cannot laft euer. • .■ 
 
 laft. Wcll a be honehVUe honeft,and bcauen bletTeyout 
 Expedition. 
 
 Fal. Will your Xordftrip lend mee a thoufand pound, 
 to furnifh me forth ^ 
 
 /«/?. Not a peny, nc« a peny : you are too impatient 
 to beare croltcs . Fate you well. Commend mee to my 
 Corm Weftmerland . \ 
 
 - Fal. If I do.hliop me with a three-man-BeetJk* A TOM 
 can no more feparatc Age and Couetoufoefle^thfin be can 
 part yong Umbcs and Ictchery : bLtthe Gowi'gallcs |hjr 
 
 577 -(24) -lh, 
 
 610-(19)-G7i 
 
jS ^hefecondTartofK^in gHenrythe Fourth^ 
 
 onc,and the pox pinches the other ; and fo bothihe De- 
 grees pteue&t my curfes. Boy ? 
 
 P/tge. Sir. 
 
 Fal. What money \fm my pur re ? 
 
 PAge. Seuen groats:and twopence. 
 
 Tat, IcaDgetnoremedy3gainftthis ConfumptTon of 
 thepurfe. Borrowing onely lingers,! and lingers it out, 
 butthedifeafcisincureablc. Gobearcthis letter tomy 
 Lord of Lancafter. this to the Prince, this to the Earlc of 
 WcQmerland, end this to old Miftris Vrfala, whomc I 
 haue weekly fworne to marry, fincelpcrceiud the firft 
 white haire on my chin. About it : you know where to 
 findeme. ApoxofthisGowtj or aGowtofthisPoxe: 
 for the one or th'other playes the rogue with my great 
 toe : It is no matter, if I do halt,lhaue the warres for my 
 colour,and my Peniion fhall fceme the more reafonable. 
 A good wit will make vfe of any thing : 1 will turne dif- 
 cafes to commodity. 1G2 — Exeunt 
 
 Scena Quarta. 
 
 Enter zArchbithop,Hafti»gs i \JMmbray i and 
 LordHardolft. 
 Ar.Thus hauc you heard our caufcs.& kno our Means : 
 And my moft noble Friends, I pray you all 
 Speake plainly your opinions of our hopes; 
 Andfiift(Lord MarfluH)what fay you to it ? 
 
 Mow. I well allow the cccafion ©four Artnes, 
 But gladly would be better (atisfied, 
 How (in our Meanest we fhould aduance our felues 
 Tolooke withforhead boW and big enough 
 Vpon the Power and puifance ofrjjp King. 
 
 Haft. Our prefent Muftcrs grow vpon thcFile 
 To fiue and twenty thoufand men of choice : 
 And our Supplies, liue .largely in the hope ■ 
 Of great Northumberland ,whofe bo'lbme burnes 
 With an incenfed Fire of Injuries. 
 L.Bar.Thc qucflion then(Lord HdttiKgs)i\m&& thus. 
 Whether out prefent fine and twenty thoufand 
 May hold-vp-hcad,without Northumberland: 
 
 JIaff,' With him,we may. 
 
 ZjfBur. I marry ^here's the point: 
 But if without him we be thought to feeble, 
 My iudgement is,wc fJhould not ftep too farrc 
 Till we had his Afsiftance by the hand. 
 For ina Thcame fo bloody fac'd,as this, 
 ConiciSlure, Expe£tation,and Surmife 
 Of Aydfes incertaine^fliould not be admitted 
 
 -Arch. 'Tis very tiuj Lord Tardolfefor indeed 
 It was yong Hotfpurres cafe, at Shrewsbury. 
 
 L.Bar. It was(my Lord)who lin'd himfelfwith hope. 
 Eating the ayre, on promifc of Supply, 
 Flatt'ringhimfelfc withProiecTofa power, 
 Much fimllcr, then the fmalleftofhis Thoughts, 
 And fo with great imagination 
 (Proffer to mad men") led his Powers to death, 
 And (winking) leap'd into deltru&ionv , 
 * Haft. But (by .your Icaue)it neuer yet di dh--r T 
 To lay downe likely-hoods,and formes of hope. 
 
 L.Bar. Yes, if.this prefent quality of warre, 
 Indeed the infant acTion: a caufe on foot, 
 Liues fo in hope : As in an early Spring, 
 Wc iceth'appearingbuds,which to proue frulte, 
 Hope giucs not fo much warrant, as Difpaire 
 TijatFrofts will bite thcrrt. When wemcane to build, 
 Wpfitft furucy the P16t,thcn draw the Modcll, 
 
 i And when we fee the figure of the home 
 / Then muft wc rate the coft of the Erection, 
 Which if we finde out-weighes Ability, 
 What do we then, but draw a-ne w the Model! 
 In fewer offices i Or at leaft, defift 
 To buildc at all ? Much more, in this great worke, 
 (Which is (almoft) to plucke a Kingdome downe 
 And fet another vp)fhould we furuey 
 Theplot of Situation,and the Modell ; 
 Confent vpon a furc Foundation : 
 Queftion Surueyors, know our owne eflate, 
 How able fuch a Worke to vndergo, 
 To weigh againft his Oppofite? Or elfe, 
 We fortih'e in Paper,and in Figures, 
 Vfing the Names of men, inftead of men : 
 Like one,that drawes the Modell ofa houfe 
 Beyond his power to builde it ; who(halfe through) 
 Giues o're, and leaues his part-created Coft 
 A naked fubiedl to the Weeping Clouds, 
 And wafte,for churlifh Winters tyranny. 
 
 Haft. Grant that our hopes(yet likely of faire byrth) 
 Should be ftill-borne . and that we now polTcft 
 The vtmoft man ofcxpeelation : 
 Ithinkc we area Body ftrong enough 
 (Eben as we are) to equal! with the King, 
 £.2?,*r.vVhat is the Kingbut fiue & twenty thoufand? 
 Haft.- To vs no more : nay not fo much Lord Hardslfc 
 For his diuifions (as the Times do braul) 
 Ate in three Heads : one Power againft the French, 
 And one 3gainft Glendower: Perforce a third 
 Muft take vp vs : So is the vnfirme King 
 In three diuided : and his Coffers found 
 With hollow Ppuerty,and Emptincfle. 
 e^r.That he fhould draw his fet&rall ftrengtbi tegitbej 
 And come againft vs in full puiflance 
 Need not be dreaded 
 
 Haft. Ifheilvoulddofo, 
 He leaues his backe vnarm'd, theFrencn.and Welch 
 Baying him at the hecles : neuer feare that. 
 
 L,Binr. Who is it like fhould lead his Forces hither. 
 Haft. The Duke of Lancafter,and Weftmerland : 
 Againft the Wei {ft hi mf elfe, and Har/ie Monmonth. 
 But who is fubftitused 'gainft the French, 
 1 haue no certaine notice. 
 
 t Anh. Letvson: 
 And publifh the occafion of our AXT£.;. 
 The Common-wealth is ficke of their owne Choice^ 
 Their ouer-grecdy loue hath r, ufetied : 
 An habitation giddy, and vnfure 
 Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart. 
 O thou fond Many, with what loud applaufe 
 Did'ft thou beatc heauen with bkfling 'Btttiingbrookfi 
 Before he was,what thou would'ft haue him be ? 
 And being now trimnVd in thine owne defircs, 
 Thou (beaftly Feedcr)art fo full of him, 
 That thou prouok'ft thy felfe to caft him vp 
 So,foj(thou common Dogge) did'ft thou difgorgC 
 Thy glutcon-bofomc of the Royall Richard, 
 And now thou would'ft eate thy dead vomit vp. 
 And howl ft^o finde it. What tmftis in thefe Times? 
 They ,that When Richard liu'd,would haue him dye, 
 Are now become enamour'd on his grat!<° 
 Thou that threw'ft duft ?p6n his goodly I ) 
 When through proud London he camefighingon, 
 After th^dmired hecles ofBaRiugbrooke, 
 Cri'ft now, O Earth, yecld vs that King agine, j 
 
 And 
 
 ±i 
 
 -~tn 
 
 4fii-(^)-n: 
 
5; 
 
 50 
 
 00 
 
 50 
 
 TbefecondTart of %jff> Henry the Fourth. 
 
 79 
 
 And rake thou this (O thoughts of men accurt 'J) 
 "J>aft t Andto Comtifeemes beft\ things Prefentjeorft. 
 
 Move. Shall we go draw ournumbers,andfex.ori? 
 
 Haft.We artTimes fubie&s.and Time bXcIs,bc gon*> 
 
 ffimSccundtis. SccemTrima. 
 
 Jinter Hojhjfe ,mrb two Ojficers.Fangy^and Snarl 
 
 jKellefft. Mr.F^,haueyou entrcd the A&ion ? 
 
 Fang- It is enter'd. 
 
 Hoihjfe. "Whet'i your Yeomantls IU luffy yeoman?. 
 Will he Hand toil? 
 ''Tang. Sirrah, whzrc s Snare c 
 
 'Hosltfe. I J,goodM..$Mre., 
 
 £nare r Heere^nccre. . 
 
 Fang.Snare^e: muQ ArrcflSir hhtt Fatfiaft, 
 
 'Heft. I good Nl.S*are,l hauc enter d hinyandall., 
 
 5».It may chance coft fome of vs cur l jucs irve vvil ftab 
 
 Hojicjfe^ Alas thr day: take heed of him : he fhbd me 
 in mine owne houfc, and that moft beaftly^ he cares not 
 what mifchrcfe he doth, ifhjs weapon be out._Hce will 
 foynelikeanydiuclhhcwillfpate ncithcrman, wornjnj 
 norchilJe. 
 
 Fang. If I can clofe with him,! care not for (us thrufl. 
 
 Hoftfjfe. Mo,nor I neither ; 1 ic be ar your elbow 
 
 Fang. Jflbutfift himonce:ifhccomcbut_wuhinmv' 
 Vice. . " T 
 
 .Hoft. I am vndone with his going:I warrantee is an 
 infiBitiucthingvponmyfcore. Good M.Eaw^holdhim 
 fure:good M. Snare let him not fcape, he comes conrinu- 
 acdyto Py-Corner(fauing your manTioods)to buy a fad- 
 die, and hee is indited to dinner to the I.ubbars head in 
 Lomb.-rdftrecr,to M.Smcotbes the Silkm3n.I pra'ye,(ince 
 my~Exion is enter'd,and my Cafe fo openly known tothe 
 wnrld.let him be brought in to his anfwer: A lOO.Marke 
 is along one,for a poore lene woman to bearc: & I haue 
 borne,and borne,and borne, and hauc bin fub'doff. and 
 fub d-offj from this day to that day, that ic is aXhamc.to 
 be thought on.Tnere is no honefty in fucb dealing, vnlcs 
 a woman fhould be made an Affc and a Beaft, to beare e- 
 ueiy Knaues wrong. Enter Falfiafe and 3ardolfe. 
 
 Yonder he comes, andthatarrant Malmcfey-Nofe Bar- 
 dolfe with himX)o your Officcs.doyour omces:M.F.iw£, 
 & M.Snare } do me.do me^do me your Offices. 
 
 F4/.How now. ? whofe Mare's dead? what's the matter ? 
 
 Fang. Sir/^Iarreftyou,atthcfuitofMift.^V^/r, 
 
 falft. AwayVarlets.draw^ri?/^ : Cut me oft the 
 Villaineshcad: throw theQueane in the Channel. 
 
 #ejP.Throwrneinthechannell?Ile throw thee there.; 
 Wilt thou?wilc thour'thou baftardly rogue.Murder,mur- 
 der,Q^thouHony.fuckle villaine 3 wilt tkou kill Gods of* 
 r»cers,and the Kings? O thou hony-fecd Rogne,thou art 
 4honyfeed,aMan-queHer,and a woroan-queller. 
 
 Falft Keep thernoff,o\«'*fc//*'. Fang. A rcfcu,a refcu, 
 
 Hoft. Good people bring a refcu.Thou wilt not?thou 
 to Ojwilt not? Do,do thou Roguc.-Do thou Hempfccd 
 
 P*ge. Away you S cullion, you Rampalhan, you FuftiJ- 
 hrian: Tie tucke your Cataltrophc. Enter. Cb.Iuftic*. 
 
 J»ji. What's the matter? Kccpe the Peace here, hoa. r 
 Hoft. Good my Lord he good to mcc* IbefeechyoU 
 ^.3nd to rr.e. 
 
 £Aj*/?.How now fir /<?&»? What areyoubrauling here? 
 Doth this become your place,your time > snd buhneflc ? 
 You fhould hauc bene well on your way to Yorke* 
 Stand from him Fellow i wherefore hang.'ft vporthim* 
 
 Lj( 
 
 00 
 
 Heft.. Ohmy moft worfhiptull Lord^andltpleafeyour 
 Grace,! am a pooicjwiddow.of Eaffcheap > and heis arre- 
 ted at my fuit, Ch. luftSnr what: FumrneT 
 
 Ik/Otis motetbtn &r^5me(myJ.ord)itisfora]Itali 
 Ihaue,h^hath eaten meiDurofhouleandhomeiheehath 
 put all my fubftancelntothatfatbelly ofhis r burXwiIl 
 haue (Toms of it out agalne^^iIwULrideJfrieea'Nighrs, 
 like the Mare, L 
 
 Falft, I thinkclamaslike-iande rae Marej iQhaue 
 any vantage*oTground,toi gervp. 
 
 Ch: Itift^JrloYi ^ comes th»s,Sir/^» i Fy,.whatarnaaof 
 good temrier would endure tbi«empeft,ot exclamation ? 
 Are you not afbam'd to inforcea poore* Widdcwe. taib 
 rough a courie.to comeby hecowne^ 
 
 Falft. _ Whar is the grofle furaRe that i owe thee? 
 .Hoft.' Marry (if thou wet t ant!%eit man)thy felfe^cV 
 themonycoo. Thoudidftfvvcatltomce vponaparccll 
 gilt Goblet, iuuiig in my Dolphin-chamber at the round 
 uble,by a fca-colc fire^on Wednefday in Whklorcvveek. 
 when the Princebrokc thy headfot Iik'ning him to a(Tn> 
 gingman ofWindfor;Thoa.dldft.(Wearetomethen(asJ 
 was wafhing thy wound)tamarry me.and make meamy 
 hady thy wifes^inftj deny it ? Did not- good wife Keech 
 the Butchers wife come in then,and cal me gcflip^g/^- 
 lj} comming in to borrow a mefle of Vinegar: telhngvs, 
 (he had a good dim of Prawnes-wbcreby ^ didft Jefire"te 
 eat (ome ^whereby I told thee they were ill for a greene 
 wound? And didft not thou (wh*nfhewas gone downe 
 ltaires)dc(ire me to be no more familiar with fuch poore 
 pcople,faying.i[iat ere long they (hould call me Madam? 
 And did'A^notkiffe me,andlbidmee fetch thee 50^ J 
 put thee now to thy Book-oath.denv it \i ihoucanff^ 
 
 TaIJ My Lord^his is a poorcmad ig^tand fhe (ayes 
 vp & downe the town^that hej^eldcft foa is likeyoukShc 
 hath bin in gpod ca(e.& the tram is, pouerty hath diffra- 
 cted her : b,uctor thefc roolifli Officers, I befecch you^ 1 
 may ba.u£ redrcfle againft them. 
 
 'Iuft. Sir IobnSxrlchn.1 am well acquainted with your 
 maner of wrenching the true caufe,the falfc way.lc is not 
 a confident brow, nor the throDg of wordes,, that come 
 with fuch (more then impudent)fawcines from jt^u, can 
 thruff me from a leuell confidcration,! know tyou ha'pra- 
 Cti/d vpon the cafie-yeelding fpiritof this woman, 
 w Hoft.. Yp in troth rny Lord - 
 
 Iuft. Prethec peace:pay her the-4gbj; ;you owe her, and 
 vnpay the villany you haue doj\e her:th'e one you may do 
 with rtarling mony,&,the other with currant repentance 5 . 
 
 Fal. My Lor^l, I will nor mdergo this fneape without 
 reply You call honorable Boldnes,impudcntSawcinefle 
 If a man wil curt'fie,and fay nothing,he is vertuous : Nci 
 my Lord(your humble duty remcbred)I wiIInotb«X£»JI 
 futor.I fay to you,I defire deliu'ranc- from theCc Officer* 
 being vpon hafty employment in the Kings Affaires- 
 
 luft. YQufpeakc,ashauingpowertodowrongj But 
 anfwer \\\ the effect of* youc Reputation, and fatisne^he 
 poore womaii* 
 
 Falft. Come hither Hoffefle. Suter 7H.V»wor 
 
 Ch.iHf}, Now Mafter Gower; What newes ? 
 
 Gov, .The King(my Lord) and Henrie Prince of Wales 
 Are neere at hand; TJji reft the Paper icllcJ. 
 
 lalfl. As I am a Gentleman^ 
 
 Hoft. Nay,you faid fo before. 
 
 Fal. As I am aGcntleman.Cam£»rio more wordiefit 
 
 Hoft. By this Heauenly ground I tread on, 1 muff be 
 faine to pawncbothmy Plate,and tncTapiftry ofmydy- 
 nine Chambers. 
 
 r Ftp 
 
 518-C8) — 7/j. 
 
 598-(29)-4A. 
 
go 
 
 he fecondTart o0gng Henry the Fourth. 
 
 '; Fat. Glattes,glafles, isthe onelydrioking ; and for 
 thy walks a pretcy flight Drollery, ortnc Srorie ofth^ 
 Prodjgal l, or'thc Germane hunting in W aterworke,-i$ 
 worina thouland ofthefe Bed-hangings, and thefe Fly- 
 bitten TapHSnes. Lee it be tenne pound (ifthoucanft.) 
 Come, if k wejtt not for tny hurnors, there is not a better 
 Wench in England. Go. wafh thy face, and draw thy 
 A&ion: Come,' thou muftnotbee in this humour with 
 me, come, I knowihou was-t feUoii tothis. 
 
 Hofl. Pjetbec (SirXfcwjkt it be but twenty Nobles, 
 I loath to pawne my Platcin good eameft la. 
 
 '&/.' Letit alohe; He make^therflrift -;yoa'l bra fool 
 Ml . 
 
 If oft. Well, you fhall haue if although I frawnemy 
 Gowne. Ihope you'l come to Supper ; You'l pay me al- 
 together? 
 
 F*/,iWiUIliue:'Gowthfar,withher : hooke.on, 
 hooke-on. 
 
 Hoft* Willyou haucDogTVtfrg-^/ mect yoiratfup- 
 
 $tr?\ - 
 
 F4//N0 more words. Let's haueher. 
 
 £$./##. '^hauc heard bitter ncwes. 
 
 ¥d • What's the newes (my good Lord?) 
 
 £hjn.\ Whetelay theKtng laft night ? 
 
 Mef. At Bafingftoke my Lord. 
 
 TEah I hope (my Lord jai^'a weU. r ' What lithe toewes » 
 my Lord? 
 
 CbJ*ftJ Corns all his. Forces backe? 
 
 Mef' No- FiftecncliundredFootjfiuernnjctrecTHojfe 
 Ate marched vp to my Lord of Lancaster, 
 Againft Notthumbcrland.an"d the Archbifhu p, 
 
 ■fid I Comes thc.King bactcefrom Wales;my noble L? 
 • XkJitft. '• You (hall haue Lcttcr^of m-eprefcntly « 
 Come. go -along with. me J( «cod M. Gomt. 
 
 pal. My Lord. 
 
 CbJuft* -What's tig matter? 
 
 Pal. : Mailer Gomef, {ball i cntreate you with mec to 
 dinner? 
 
 Gow? I tnuft waite vpon my good Lord heere. 
 jUhartkeyou,good S\rleh». 
 
 Ch.Iafi; Sir /^vyouloyterbfieie too long beingyou 
 are to take Souldi.cts yp, ia Countries as you go. 
 
 pal.'- Will you fup with mc^s^Si Gowrei 
 iChJttft. What foohfh Maftet taught you thefe-.inan- 
 ner.Sj S\t Tobn ? 
 
 FaL Matter Gower\ if they become meenot,.heewa^a 
 Foolethat taught them mee . This is the right Fencing 
 grace (my Lord) tap for tap,and fo part faire. 
 
 ^Chjttfi: NowiL.ctd lighten thee, thou aft a great 
 EobleT x Exeunt 
 
 -338-(ia)-5^ 
 
 Scena.Secunda. 
 
 Enter Pmce'Hem, PoMz, t ftftlolfc, 
 and P Age, 
 ^fo. s 2jru(tQifi;Iam exceeding weary. 
 %&#* Isitcometothat?Xhad thought wearlnesdurit 
 notb^ueatrach'd one of fa high blood. 
 
 y^ag^tfdotnfne:<(houghltdifcolotirs the complexion 
 cFrttji<5reaiBeffe;toaclaiowledgeit . Doth it not 'fliew 
 VilcTelf imtwytc^defire fmall Beere ? 
 ; Jftsiiu Why^PjiaB&ouldnotbefoloofely fiudicd, 
 
 3«.)6 
 
 (12) 5ft 
 
 as to rememberftyweake aCompofition. 
 
 Prince* Belikethen, my Appetite was hot Princely 
 got? for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Crcai 
 ture, Small Beere. But indeede thefe humble tonfidera- 
 "ijon^makc meoutoflouewithn.yGreatnefle. Whata 
 diigrace is it to me, to remember thy name ? Or to kno w 
 thy.face to morrow ?Orto tike note how^Tny pairec 
 Silk ftockings ^ baft? (Viz.thefe,and thofe that-wcre thy 
 peach-coloupd ones:) Orjpbeare the Inuentorieof thy 
 fhirts,.as one for fupcrflnity, and oneotberifj^rvfe. But 
 that the Tennis-Court-keepcr knowe s better thenl, f or 
 it is a low ebbc of Linnen: w jth thee, when thou kcpt'ft 
 notHacket there, as thou haft not done a great while,bcv 
 caufe the r^jft of thyLow Countries;haue made a fhift to 
 eate^p thy Holland. 
 
 Poin. How ill it followes, after you haue labour'd f Q 
 hard,you fhould talkc fo idlely?Te!l mrhow many good 
 yong Piinces would do fo, their Fathers lying fo fickc: as 
 yours is? 
 
 JPrw. Shall I tell tji^e one thing, point* ? 
 
 Poin. Yes : and let it be an excellent good thing. 
 
 Prin. It ihaltferue among wittes of no higher breej 
 ing then thine. 
 
 toin. Go to ; I ftand thepufl^. ojyouronc thing, that 
 you'l tell. 
 
 ,Prin. Why, I tell tfae. lt Is not meet, that 1 fiiould be 
 fad ujay my Father -is ficke:-albeit I could tell to rhee(at 
 to one it plcafes me.for fault pt abetter,to call my friend) 
 J could be fa<f,artd.£ad indeed too* ^ 
 
 Poini : -< Very hardlv voon filch afubTe£r. 
 Prin7< Thtfu*ink^n?e as'farre.nj ;thcDiuefs Booke, as 
 • thousand F^^-fbr-obctaracicanifperffftencie. Let the 
 end try the man;.- But Ite^l thee, my hart'bleeds inward, 
 ly, that my Fache/ is jg ilekeiihd I keeping fuch vild com- 
 pany as thou art jljatji in rcafon taken from me, aH'often- 
 tat'on of foyrow. 
 
 Poin? The reafon? 
 
 T'r/w.Wha&W'OuTd'lt thoutriinlcofme.if nhold weep? 
 
 Potn. I wou*d thinke thee a moft Princely hypocrite. 
 
 Ptin.. if would be cuery mans thought :* and thou art 
 a blefied FelloWito thinke as cuery man thinkes rneuer a 
 Bjajis thought-ill the-w.ojld,keepes the Rodc-way better 
 then tjiinjc : euery man would thinke me an Hypocriteis- 
 dee'ffe. 7 And ^hjt accitesyour moft worftnpful thoughlf 
 to thinke fo? 
 
 Poin?Why, }&££%& you haue beeneibTewde, and & 
 much ingraflFed to Falfttffe* 
 
 Prin. And to thee. 
 
 Teintx,. Nay, I am welffpolccn ft£ I can heare it with 
 mine owneeares:thevS£flifl that they can fay ofmeiSjthat 
 lamaiecond Brother, and that I am a proper FfHnw,e of 
 my handsr rand thofe two things I confeflcj^canoc helpe. 
 Looke,looke,hcre comes Tardolfe. 
 
 Prince:* And the Bo y thatl gaue Falfiafe, he nadhim 
 from me ^bjjiJian^and fee it thefat villain hauenot trans, 
 form'dhjjpji&pc, 
 
 Enter Bardo/fe. 
 
 'Bar, Saue your Grace* 
 
 Prin, Attdyours^oft Noble llArAolfe* 
 
 Poin. jCafljcyoupernitiausAflre,youbafiifulI Foolei 
 muft you bc blufliing ? Wherefore blulh you nowf what 
 a Maidenly man at^JUXUtf are you become ? Is it futh* 
 matter: to gjgt apottle-pots Maiden-head ? 
 
 Page. He callM me euen now (my Lord)througl\ared 
 Latcice;andl could difcemenopart of bis face from the" 
 
 window- 
 
 52?-(28)-G/i 
 
 5< 
 
 li 
 
 i; 
 
10 
 
 TbefecondTart ofE^ngHenrythe Fourth. 
 
 Si 
 
 .10 
 
 00 
 
 .10 
 
 window : a: laft I fpy'd his eyes, and mer'koughchc had? 
 made two bolgsjn the Aic- vviucs new Petticoat , & pec-- 
 ped through, 
 
 Prtn. Hath no: the boy profited ? 
 2for, Away,you horfon ypright Rabbct,away 
 Page- A way,ycu rafcally jilt heat dreame.away. 
 Prim Inttruct va Boy t what dreame, Boy f" " 
 page. Marry.(my. Lozdl^thhea dream d, Hie was de- 
 tiuer'doiaF irebrand,and therefore I call hininV dream, 
 
 Urince* AcrCrownes-worcrfofgojisd Interpretation • 
 There it is. Boy. 
 
 Torn. O that this good Blcflofne could bee" kept from 
 Cankers: WeUsehcrc ufixperfcetoprefci'.uethee. "" 
 
 'Bard. Iftyou do not make lumb« hingM^mon* yoa> 
 chegallowcs (hall be wrong'd. 
 '""prince. And how doth thy Matter, Bardolpb ? 
 
 '*Bar. Well,my good Lord : he heard of your Gr:crt 
 ctorningtoTawoe. There's a Letter for you. 
 
 • P«». L)eHucr*d with good rcfpccl: And how doth ihe . 
 Martlemas^your Matter? 
 fBard* In bodily health Sir. 
 
 Pain. ! Marry, the immorrail paYt neectes a PbynYian.* 
 birtthatmouesnat him : though that bee fkke, it dyes 
 nor. 
 
 [Prince/- I'do allowthte Wen \o bee as. familiar with 
 rae.as my dogge': andhe holds his place, :1olfooke you 
 he writes.' 
 
 Pettt.Letter. John Fafftaffe Knight : (Euery man f mutt 
 know that,as- oft .as" beeihath occaliontonamcMmfelfe:) 
 Euert like thofc thai; arekinneto the King; for thcy ncuer 
 pricketneir finger, but they fay,there is lorn of the kings 
 blood fpilt. How comes that ( fayes he) that takes v poti 
 him not to concei'ie ? the anfwer is as ready ajj a borvow- 
 e3 cap : I am the Kings pooie Cofin,Sir. 
 
 ■Prince. Nay, they will be kiu to vsjtjii* thevwil fetch 
 ittYorn Faphst.y Buttw the Letter: i ~— Sir John Falftaffit. 
 Knight- to the Sonne of the King; necreflhU Father, Harrii 
 Prince of [Tales, greeting;' s 
 
 'pfm. Why this !s£ Certificate. 
 fPrin. Peace. 
 fpftH imitate the honourable Romainesin heHitie< 
 
 $oi», Sure he meanc* breuity in breath:fhort-Wmded. 
 I commend %g to thes^ I commend thee. and I leme thee. , Ee£ 
 not too familiar with Pointz, for hecmijitfestbj Fauottrs fo 
 mch t ihathefweares thou art to marrtcf^ Sijler Nell, Re* 
 fetit at idle times as than vr^ayjl^^fo farewell. 
 
 Tbinejbyjea andno ; which is; as much as to fay, as thoti 
 vfefi him. \ Iacke PaTftafrc m'th. my Familiars. 1 
 lohn with mj-^ret hers andSifter-jtrSir-. 
 Iohn, with all Etswpe. 
 My Lord, I will' ftcepe this Letter in Sack, and make htm 
 eajeit. ~ 
 
 Pfin, ThatVto make him eate twenty of his Words . 
 But do you vie me thus Med.} Muft I marrv vour Sifter? 
 
 /Pd/»J M3y the Wench haue no worle Fortune.. Bjjrl 
 Mtterfgidfo., 
 
 JPiimSW.<t% thus we play the FooIes with the time & 
 ^efpirits-ofthe wife^intheclouds.andmocke ys S Is 
 ybttrMafter heere in London t 
 ~yBarcL Yes my Lcrd. 
 _ /V«r, Where fuppesh'e? Doth the old Sore, feedeln 
 •theoldFranke?, 
 
 'Bard.hi the ©Jo* place my Lord, in Eatt-cheape. 
 Tritt. What Company? 
 Page. Ephcfiansmy Lord .oftheold Church. 
 Prtn. Sup any women with him ? 
 
 Fag&. NonemyLord,bm oldMiftris i^w^andM 
 DolT eare-fkeet: 
 mmm Prin. What Pagan may that be ? 
 
 Page' A proper,GentIewoman,Sir, and aKinfwoman 
 of my Matters. 
 
 firhh Euen fuch Kin, as the Parifii Hcyfors are to the 
 Towne-Bull ? 
 Shall we fteaic vpon them (Ned) atSupper? 
 
 .Poiiu \ am your rhadow,my Lord , He follow you. 
 
 Prtn.' Sirrah,you boy, and Twdolph, no word to vour 
 Matter that I amyet in Towne. 
 There^ for your filence. 
 
 Baft 1 baue no tonguc,lir. 
 
 Page, And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it. 
 
 Prin. FareyTwellrgo, 
 This VoJlTeare fheet fliouTditt fome Rode. 
 
 Poin. I warrant yous as common as the way between! 
 S^Alhans,and London * 
 
 Prtn. How might we fee Faljlajfe beftow. himfelfe to 
 night, "n his true colours,and not cur felues befeenej' 
 
 P~Aa Put ontwo Leather lerldns, and Aprons,- and 
 wa cevponnimzt his Tabie,hke Drawers. . 
 
 Pritt. Ffom a God, to^ Bui!? A heaure^decten/ion : It 
 wasloues cafe. From a_Prince,toa Prcncicc,iioWtran£. 
 formation, that Giall be mine: for ineucry th»ng,'thepur- 
 pofc muftweigh with the foUy. Follow me Aftihl! Exeunt 
 
 """l85 (n 3fe 
 
 100 
 
 150 
 
 Scena Tenia. 
 
 "Enter KarthumherlandhisLadie^ndHarrie 
 PercieiLadte. 
 
 TJarth. I prethec louing Wife, jncj gentle Daughter, 
 Giuc an euen way vnto my rough Affaires: ; 
 Put net you on the Vif3ge«f the Times, 
 And be like tbemtoPercie,'troublefome* 
 
 Wife. 1 haue giuen puer ; I will fpeak noTtrore, 
 Do what you will : vour Wiledome, be your guide, 
 
 Marth, Afas (fwcet WJfc)myHoaor is at pawne . 
 And t^ut my going, nothing can redecmeit,^ 
 
 La. Oh yetjfor hcauens fake.go not to thefe Warrs j 
 The Time was(Father) when you brokcyour word A 
 When you were more endeer'd to itjthennow, ; 
 \Vhenyourowne Percy j^jhj^ my heart-decre-7/4?7/^ 
 Threw many a Northward lookejto fee hj^Fathcr: 
 Bring vp his Powres r bucrre'didlongjo vaine,. 
 Who then perfw^aded you to ftay at home? 
 There were t Wo Honors lott; Yours, and yourSonnef* 
 For Yours , may heaucnlyalofy brightest : 
 For His, it Aucke jrvojiiitni,3Sthe Sonne 
 Iuthe ptav VGutfof He3uen :and by hisLight 
 Did all the Cheualrie of Ejj^Ja^d moue 
 .To do braue A cts. He was (indeed)the Glafle 
 Wherein theNobre^Youth did dreffe themffcSues, 
 He had no Legges, jhjrpraclic'dnothis Gate:" ^ , 
 'And fpeaking thicke Cwhicb Nature madehis blernifh) 
 Rcramgthc Accents of the Valiant". 
 For thofethar could fpeake low jfld tardily, 
 Would turne their ownePerfcdtion.toAbufe, 
 Tn feeme tike him. So that in Speech,inGatc, 
 In Diet^ in Affections of delight, 
 In Militarie Rules- Humors.of BJaojL, 
 
 23o-(9)-3^. _5c 
 
 1/i 
 
 \h 
 
 (1) 
 50 
 
 200 
 
 (2) 
 
 250 
 
 (1) 
 
 2h 
 
 300 
 
 350 
 
 (1) 
 l/i 
 
 (5) 
 
 400 
 
 480 -yd) -Ih . 
 
 420-UOj-OTi. 
 
lh (3) 
 
 U 
 50| 
 
 1/ 
 
 [4)101 
 
 150 
 
 !0( 
 
 82 ThefecondTart ofKjn^ Henry the FowtL 
 
 250 
 
 lh 
 lh 
 
 He vrat the Marke,andGl*u>, Coppy^and Book*. 
 That faflnon'd otheri.. And him, O wondrous! hitrij 
 Ottiraclc of Men L Him did you Ieaue 
 (Second t0ddne) yrr-feeonded by you, 
 To lookcypon the hideous God of Warre, 
 In dif.a3uaQtage,co abide a field, 
 Where nothing but tfietound ofHotjpurs Name 
 Did fceine defeofiblc ; fo you left him* 
 Neuer,0 ntuer doe his Ghoft the wrong, 
 To hold ycTGTHonor more prccifc 8nd nice 
 With others,then witblnm. Let t hem a lone ; 
 The Marfhall and the Arch-biflbop areltrong. 
 Had my fweet Harry had but halfc their Number*, 
 To day might I (hanging on Hotftmrs Nccke) 
 Haue talk"3 of tJMotwioath *G.raue. 
 
 Worth* Belhrcwyout heart, 
 (Faire Daughter) you doc draw my Spirits from mc, 
 With new lamenting ancient Ouer.fights. 
 But I rauft goe,an d meet with Danger there. 
 Or it will fceke me in another place, 
 And finde me worfe prouided. 
 
 WifeTXi fiye to Scotland, 
 Till that theNobles.and the armed Commons, 
 Haue of tKetr Puiffancc made a littletafte. 
 
 Lady* If they get grouhd.and vantage of the King, 
 Then ioyne y on with them, like a Ribbc ofS teele, 
 To make Strength ftrongcr. Bucfor alfour loucs, 
 Firft let them trye.tnemfelues. So did your Sonne, 
 He was fo fuffer'd ; fo came I a Widow ; 
 Andneuer (hall haue length of Life enough, 
 TBfSine vpon Remembrance with mine Eyes, 
 That it maf fFow^and fprowt,as high as Hcauen, 
 For Recordation to my NoBTe Husband. 
 
 i\7i)«6.Come,come,go in with mci'tis with my Minde 
 As with theTydc/well'dvp vnto his height, 
 That makes a ftill-ftand,running neythcr way. 
 FSTffie would I ffoeto meet the A.rch-biu»op 1 
 But many thoufand Reafons hold me backe. 
 Twill refoluc for Scotland: there ami, 
 TillTime and Vantage crauc my company, 
 
 Selena Ouarta. 
 
 .h 300 
 
 lh 
 
 lh 
 LA 35C 
 
 lh 
 400 
 
 JLxshw. 
 
 Enter tmDr avers, 
 
 1, ffrasnt. What haft thou brought there? Apple. 
 lohns ? Thou know 'ft Sir Iohn calitiot craJurc an Applc- 
 Tohn . 
 
 iiDraw. Thou fay'ft crus : the Prince once feraDifh 
 of Apple.Iohns before him, and told him there were fine 
 more Sir Johns': and,puttingoff hi*H«,faid,I will now 
 cake my leaue of thefe frxe drie, round, old-wither'd 
 Knights. It angerM him to the heart : but hee nl^fof- 
 gotthat. 
 
 xYDr<#»\ Why then couev* and fct theiu downc : an£ 
 fe? if thrmicanft finde out Sneakes Noy fc ; Miftris Tearc?_ 
 Jheavroul&fomc haue feme Mufique. 
 "T;Z)r^Hf. Sirrhajheerewill be the Prince, and Maftcr 
 2>W«rx,anom and they will put on two of our lerkins, 
 and Aprouu, and Sir lohn muft not know of it : JBardotpb 
 ha:h brought word, 
 
 I . Draw. Then here will be old Vtu : . itwill bearrex- 
 eellem. ft ratagem, ; 
 
 % . Draw, lie fee if I can finde out Sheakg* Exit. 
 
 , S»xtrHofiep> and T)ol % 
 
 1 
 
 Heft. Sweer-hean, me thinkes now you are in an ex- 
 cellent good temperalitre : your Pulfidge beates as ex- 
 traordinan^as heart woultftSSfire 5 and your Colouf 
 (Iwarrantyou) is as red as anyRofc : But you haue, 
 drankc too much Canaries, and that's a maruellous feat* 
 ching Wine ; and r perfumes the blood, ere wee can fay 
 ;what*« rhlsTHow doe you now > 
 ""TftCBtHm then I wa » : Hem. 
 
 fToft. Why that was welffaia : A good heart 5 worth 
 Gold. Lookc,hcrc comes Sir hhn. 
 
 EntirFaljlaffe. 
 
 ' Talf}. When Arthur pr^ tn Oarr— (emptie the Jordan) 
 andwM a worthy King : How nowMiftris Doll 
 
 R6s~i> SickofaCalme:yea.good-footh. 
 
 F«M. SSTs all her Seel: if they be once in a Calcic, 
 they are fick, 
 
 Dal. Tou muddie Rafcall,ls that all the comfort yat» 
 giue me ? 
 
 Talft, You make fat RafcaJIs.Miftris r Dol: 
 
 DoL I make them ? Gluttonie and. Diieafes make 
 them, I make thetflllcTr. 
 
 Falft. I* the Cooke make the Gluttonieiyouhelpe to 
 make fhc Dlfcafes (7>el) we catch of you (Dd) we catch 
 of you*: Grant that. my poore Vertue, grant that* 
 
 !7><?/. I mafry.our Chaynes^nd Our lewels fc 
 
 Falft. Your BrooehFs, %.ea"rles, and O wches 1 For tO 
 lerue braucly,is to come hahing off: you know,to come 
 off the Breach,with his Pike bent brauely, and toSiirge- 
 rie brauely ; to venture vpon the charg*iI-Cha"mber$ 
 braucly. 
 
 Ho/r. Why this is the olde fathion : you two neuer 
 mecte,butyou fall to fomc difcord : you are both (in 
 good trotF) as Rhcumatikc as two drie Tories, you can- 
 not one bcate with'^andthcrs Confirmities. What tht 
 good-yere ? One mufiBearc7and that muft bee you 
 you are the weaker Veffelj • as they lay, the emptier 
 Veffell, ■ , 
 
 Do!. Canaweake emptieVefiVlI bcare fuch a huge 
 full Hogs-head ? There's a whole Marchants Venture 
 of Buideuv-Scuffeinhims you haue not fccneaHul!ce 
 Better ftufft in the Hold. Come, He be friends with thee 
 faat>f: ^ Thou art going to theWarres, and whether I 
 {hall euer fee thee againc , or no, there is no body 
 cares. 
 
 £nter7)rawer. 
 
 Drawer, Sir, Ancient fiftoU is below, and would 
 (peake with you. 
 
 \Dot. Hang him, fwaggering Rafcall , let him net 
 come hither : it is the foule-mouth'dft Rogue in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 Hoft t If hec fwagger, let him not come here : 1 mtfft 
 liue amonglt tfiy Neighbors, He no Swaggerers; I am 
 in good nafie,and fame* with the very belt : (hut the 
 doore, there comes no Swaggerers heere : I haue not 
 hu'd all this* while, to haue iwaggcring now : ihut th* 
 doore, I pray you, 
 
 halsl. Do'fl thou heare,Ho(TeiTe ? 
 , ,/J*j?.'Pray you pacifie yourfclfe(Sir 2oh»)thctc romes 
 no Swaggerers hecrc, 
 
 b& TalflVo'* 
 
 (0) -llh 
 
 425 - (13) - 7h 
 
TheJecond c Partofl\w!g Henry the Fourth, 
 
 % 
 
 Ftlfi. D o'ft tho u hear e? ic is mine Ancient, 
 
 Hoft . Tilly-falty(Sir M^neuerjejl me, your ancient 
 Swaggerer comes noc in my dooresjl was before Maftcr 
 Tiftck, the neputie, the other day ; and as hec faid to me 3 
 it was no longe r a<;o e then Wednefday laft : Neighbour 
 jjguicklj (fayes rice-) Msfter jDombe y o\K Minifter^wa^ by 
 then : Neighbour ®*ickly (fayes hee ) receiue thole that 
 areCiuill; forffaytrt hee) you are in an illNamc : now 
 hce faidipj can tell whereupon : for(fayes hee} you arc 
 i* honcft Woman, and well thought on 5 therefore take 
 heede whatSucClsj^u receiue: Receiue (fayes hee) no 
 daggering Compsmons.Thcre comes noneheere, XsiP 
 would blefie you to hearc. what hee faid. N o^ i\e no 
 Swaggerers, 
 
 Falft. Hee's no Swaggerer(Ho{tefie:)a tame Cheater, 
 hee: you may Broakc l.ii;i as gently, as a Puppie Grey- 
 hound :,-hee will not lwa g g W-W t tr fftBatbgric Hcnne, if 
 ber feathers turns backs Uttsuyjhcm of Ecfiftancc. Call 
 him vp (Drawer.} 
 
 Hoft. Cheater, call you him ? I will barre no honeft 
 man my houfe>uor no (theater : out I doe noi foue fwag- 
 gering ; I amibc worfewhertonc fayes, fwaggcr : Feele 
 MaficrSjhow I fiiake: looke-yau,I warrant you. 
 
 Dol. £0 you doe,Hofteflc. 
 • Haft. Doe I ? y ea,in very troth doe I,if k were an A - 
 
 pcnLeafe : T cartnnr sh^eSwfl-pgererg. 
 
 £n:er PiftoljmcL Tfarda/pb andhii Boy, 
 
 Tift. 'Saue you, Sir lohHi 
 
 Falft, Welcome hads^Piftol. Hzre(PJJ?oQlchkrgc 
 you with a Cup of Sackes doc you difchar^c vpon mine 
 Hofteffe. 
 
 Pift. 1 will difchargevpon bet (Sir /*£») with two 
 Bullets. 
 
 Fatft. She If PiaoII-ptoofc^SiO y°" fnall hardly of- 
 fend her. 
 
 Hoft Game: Iie-drinke no Ptoofes,nor no Bullets : J 
 willdiiake no more then will doe me good, for no jjQafls 
 pleafurc, I. 
 
 Pift. Then to you (Miftris Dorothie) Iwili charge 
 you, 
 
 Del. CJjaxggme? Ilcorhe you (fcuruie Companion} 
 what ?you poore; bafe. rafcallv. cheating . lacke-Linnen- 
 Mate: awayyoumouldicRoguejawayi iammeatiflr 
 yourMafter* 
 
 Pift. Iknowyou,MiftrisZ)«rtfrfaA 
 
 T>oL Away you rur.pnrfr Rafc3ll, you filthy Bung, 
 •way : By this Wiueylle tjjjjtfjtmy Knife m your mouldic 
 Chappes,if you play the fawcieCuttle with me. Away 
 youBoulc-AleRafcall..youfiaikfifaittItfl3leIug/er,you. 
 Since when, 1 pray yoUjSir ? jaJiat 4 with two Points on 
 your moulder ? much. 
 
 Pift. I will rnurt^r your Ruffe,Fo*r this* 
 Hoft, NOjgood Gaptaine Piftot .♦ not h^e re. fweete 
 Captaine. 
 
 Dol. Captaine?. thou abhominabtedamn'd Cheater* 
 artthcuafiiafham'd co be call'd Captaine? If Captaines 
 were of my minde, they would trunchibn you out,for ta- 
 king their Names vpon you.before you haueearn'd them. 
 You a CajnaiaePyou fiauejForwhat ? for rearing a poore 
 Whores Bj^inaBawdy-foa-fe? H"ce aCaptaine? hang 
 hJmRogutiiige liuesvpoitmouldie fteW'd-Pruines,, and 
 dry'deCakes.rA Captaine.? XhdieViUaines.will mafce 
 the word Captaine odious : Therefore Captaines haa 
 needelooketoir. 
 
 Bard. 'Pray thee goc downe,good Ancknr. 
 
 Falft. Hcarke thee hithcrj^ifilis Bel 
 
 Pift. Not I ; I rclljjicewnar* Corporal! r Bardrf$h\\ 
 could teare her : He be reueng'd on her. 
 
 Page. 'Pray thee goc downe. 
 
 Pift. Ilefeeherdaran'dfM: 10 Pluro y sfa m$ A Lake, 
 to the InfernaliDeepc, where Erebus and Torture s vild e 
 alfo. Hold Hooke and Line, fay I ; Downe: downe 
 Pogges.Howne Fates: h'aue wee not /:&*.-» here? 
 
 Hoft. Good Captaine i P/ ^ / f i be quiet, it is very late.: 
 I befeeke you,Baw,3ggrauate your Choler. 
 
 Pift. Thciebe good Humors indcede. Sha?I Pack , 
 
 
 jisrjjcs, and hollow-pampered lades of Aiia,which can- 1 h 
 not goc burjfcittic miles a day, compare with Cs/ir, and \ 1 . ,> 
 with Caniballsgjad Trcirn Greekes ? nay, rather damne 
 them with King Cerbern^^ Ice the Welkin roate: fliall 
 wee fall foule fo rToye s ? 
 
 Hoft. By my troth Captaincy thefe are very bititt 
 words. 
 
 i 'Bard, .fiegsne, good Ancient: this will, grow toa. 
 BrawJ ganon . 
 
 Pift, Die men,l;keDoggcs;giue Crownes IikcPinnes: 
 Hauejge not Hiren here? 
 
 Hoft. Onmyword(CapMiDe)theresnoneruchJiej;ei (1) 
 What the go od-yere^oey outhinke 1 woul i denye^a ? 1 h 
 I pray be quiet. 
 
 Pitt. Then feed.and be far (env faire /alipoles.) Cam e. Wj 
 gtue me fomcSack,5/^n«wnw«' tormeitte/tyertipmecon- 200 
 tente. Feare wee broad-fides ? No,l« the Fiend gjflgfire; 1 h 
 GiuemefomeSack: and Sweet-heart lye thou th^rp ; \h 
 Come wee to full Paints here . and are *t ^eterds no- 
 thing ? 
 
 Fal. Piftol,\ would beqntet 
 
 ?;i?. Sweet Knight^,|^rfjy^Mf!e:wIjat?weehH« 
 feenc the feuen Starres. 
 
 Dol. yhrufl him downe (layres,! carmiit endure iucli 
 a FuftianEaltall. 
 
 Pift. Thruft him downe ftayres.? knawwc not Gallo- 
 way Nagges ? 
 
 Fal. i3tUfiit him downe {Bardolph) likeafiioae-groac 
 fiiilling: nav.if heeikje nothing but foeakenotbing; 3 )iec 
 fball be nothing here. 
 
 'Bard. £flme,get you downe ftayres. 
 
 pift. What? (hall wee hauelncifton? j&aJIwce.e»« 
 brew'? then Death rockc me afleepe,abridgemywdoleii»ll 
 dayes: why then let gricuous, gaftly, gaping Wounds, 
 vntwin djhe Sifters three: Come jltropoiJ.-fay. 
 
 HiSi'. Hcrc's-goodftufretflMUKl. 
 
 Fal. GiuememyRapier,Boy. 
 
 Dol., A prestee Pack,-, J p f * ,t1lp< ' doeoot draw. 
 
 FaL Gety*srdowneftayres» 
 
 Hoft. Here's a^flfidfer tumult: He forfweare keeping 
 houfe,before lie bcinrJidCe tirr»ts,and frights. SotMur. 
 ther I warrant now. Alas.aks, pucvp your naked Wea. 
 pons,putvp your naked VKeac.onj. 1 
 
 VaL I prcthce lack&e quiet^ thcRafcallis gone i- &, 
 you whorfoji litdevaliant Villaine,yoo r 
 
 Heft. Areyairoociutfr 1 th' Groyne? me thought nee 
 made alhrewdThtufiar your Belly. 
 
 Ftd. Haue you turn'd him out of doores i 
 
 /feri^XcsSir: cheRafcall'sdrunke: you liauc ^urt 
 him (Sir) inibe-lhouldef. 
 
 Fal. ARa&alltobrauemei, 
 
 TtiL Ah^oafwcerUttlcRogacvyorr-; &la$,poore Ape r 
 howtrjoafweattt? Come^kcmewipethyFacetCoiae 
 on,you whorfon Chopfi J& Rogae,lIouc »hce : Thou 
 
 art) 
 
 250 
 
 (1) 1 
 
 500 
 
 350 
 
 400 
 
 (1) 
 
 450 
 
 4>H-(§2J-10/i 
 
 "465 - (uj^mr 
 
84 Thefecond^PartofKjngHenrytheFourth. 
 
 5<* 
 
 17* 
 
 17* 
 1001 
 
 (2) 
 
 150 
 
 200 
 
 U 
 
 250| 
 
 2fr 
 300 
 
 lh 
 3501 
 
 lA 
 
 400 
 
 arc as valorous as Heeler of Troy,worth fine of Agt 
 non s an J tenne times betcer then the nine Worthies : ah 
 Villaine. 
 
 Fal, Arafcally Slaue,Iwill toffe the Rogue ina Blan- 
 ket. 
 
 Del. Doe,if thou darft for thy heart : if thou doo'ft, 
 lie sanuas thee bet weenc a paire of ShectesT 
 
 Enter dfojique. 
 
 Page, The Mufique is come,Sir. 
 
 Fal. Let them play : play Sir*. Sit on my Knee; Del. 
 A Rafc3ll,bragging Slaue : cheTEogue fled from mc like 
 Quick-filuer. 
 
 Dot, And thou followd'ft him like a Church: thou 
 whorfon little tydic 3artbolmewT3ore-pigge,Y»hejiwilc 
 thou leaue 6ghting on dayes,and foy ning on nights, and 
 begin to patch vp thine old Body for Hcauen ? 
 
 Enter the Prince and Tomes disgnifd. 
 
 Fal. Peace (good Dol) doe not fpeake UkeaDeaths- 
 head : doe nor. bid me remember mine end, 
 
 Dol, Sirrh3, what humor is the Prince of? 
 
 Fal. A good (hallow young fellow : hee would haue 
 made a good Pander, hee would haue chipp'd Bread 
 wetT 
 
 Dol. They, f ay poines hath a good Wit. 
 
 Fal. Hee a good Wi|_f hang him B'aboonchis Wit is 
 asthicke as Tewksburie Muftard : there is no more con- 
 ceit in him,then is in a Mallet. 
 
 Dol. Why dolli the- Prince louc him fa t-hen ? 
 
 Fal. Beca-jfe their Legges arc both ofa bigneffc: and 
 hee playesat Q^oirs well,and eates Conger and Fe nneTT^ * 
 and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap.diagons,and rides 
 thewildcMarc with the Boycs,and iumpes vpon Ioyn'd- 
 ftooles.and fweares w ith a good grace, and weares His 
 Boot very fmoothd ike vnto the Signe of the Legge; and 
 brecdes nobate with telling of difcreete ftorics: and fuch 
 other Gambol! Faculties hee hath, that (hew a weake 
 Minde,and anjiblc Body,for the which the Prince admits 
 him ; fot the Prince himfelfe is fuch another : the 
 weight oFanhayre will turne the Scales betvveenc their 
 Flabcr-de-pois. 
 
 Prince. Would njy; this Naueof aWheele haue his 
 Eares cut oj£? 
 
 Fain, Let vs beat him before his Whore. 
 
 Vrince, ; Looke,if tjjfcwithcr'd Elder hath not his Poll 
 claw'd like a Parrot . 
 
 Poin. Is it not ftrange, that Defire fhould Co many 
 veetes ont-liue performance ? 
 
 Fat. Kifle me Dol. 
 
 Prince. Saturne and Vena* this veerc , in ConiuncUon ? 
 Whar. fayes the Almanack to that ? 
 
 ?<>;«. And l ooke whether the ficrie Trtvon. his Man, 
 benotlifping tojns Mafters eld Tablcs^hisNotc-Booke, 
 his Counccll.kecper ? 
 
 Fal. Thou 4o_ft giue mc flatt'ring Buffer 
 
 Dol. Naytruely, I kifle thee with a moft conftant 
 heart. 
 
 Fats I am olde, I am y?ifc. 
 
 Dol, I louc tbee betcer. then T loue ere a fcujujj young 
 Boy of them all* 
 
 Fat. What Stuffe wilt thou haue aKirtle of ? I (hall 
 recciue Money on Thurfday: tjjgj^ lhalt baueaCappe 
 to morrow, A merrie Song, ccjafi ; it gtowes Jate, 
 
 wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget roe* when \ aru 
 gone. 
 
 Dol. Thou wilt fee me a weeping, if thou fay*f| Cat 
 pioue that euer I dreffe my fel'fe I iandfomc, till thy m 
 turne : well,hearken the end. 
 
 Fal. Some $&ck, Fratic*t, 
 
 'Prm.Pein. Anon,anon,Sir* 
 
 ¥al. Ha? a Baftard Sonne of the Kings? And ttt not 
 thou Poines^is Brother ? 
 
 Prince . Why thou Globe of finfull Continentr^'whai 
 a Life do'ft thou lead f mm 
 
 Fal. Abetter then thou; IamaGentleman 3 thouart 
 aDrawefT 
 
 Prince. Very true, Sit : and I come to draw you out 
 by the Eares. 
 
 Hofi, Oh, the Lord preferuethy good Grace: We! 
 come to London. Now Heauen blefle that fwecte Face 
 of thine : what,arc you come from Wales? 
 
 Fal. Thou whorfon mad Compound of Maieftle t by 
 this light Flcfluand c orrupt B lood.ttfou art welcome* 
 
 Dol. How? you fat Foole.l fcorne you. 
 
 Poin, My Lord, hee will driue you out of your re 
 uengc, and turne all to a merryment, if you taken ot thfc 
 heat. 
 
 Prince, You whorfon Candle-myne you, howvildly 
 did you fpeake of me euen now, before this honetl,m- 
 t uouifc ciuill Gentlewoman ? 
 
 Hofi* 'BlciTmgon your good heart, and fo Lee is b| 
 mytroth* 
 
 Fal. Didftthotfheareme? 
 
 frmce. Yes: andyouknewmfc a as you did when ycik 
 ranne away by Gads-hill : youknew 1 wai atyour back, 
 and (poke it on purpofe,to trie my patience. 
 
 Fat. No,no,no : not fo ; 1 did not thinke, thou wall 
 within hearing. 
 
 prince. I (hall driue you then to confeffe the wilrjil 
 abufc, and then I know now to handle you, 
 
 FaU No abufe {Hall) on mi«e Honor,no abufe, 
 
 PrinceTtiot to difprayfc me? anc^cail mc Pantlcr«iHid 
 Bread-chopper, and I know not.wnare 
 
 Fal. Noabufe(tt«/J 
 
 Poith No abufe? 
 
 Fal, No abufe (Ne£) in the World: honcft Nedawt 
 I difprays'd him before t%e W.icked, tjjaj the Wicked 
 might not fall in louc with him: Inwhichdoing, I haue 
 done the part of a carefuIl Friend.an5 a true Subiec>,and 
 thy Father is t£giue me thankes for it* No afo\ifc{ffalt) 
 none (Ned) none; no Boyes,none, 
 
 Prince. See now whether pure Feare,and entire Qowj 
 ardife. doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentle- 
 woman,to clofe with vs? Is (hee of the Wicked ? Is thine 
 Hoftclfe heereTof the Wicked ? Or is the Boy of tj£ 
 Wicked ? Or honeft Bardohb (whofe Zealc burne* in his 
 Nofc) of the Wicked? 
 
 Voiir. Anfwcre thou dead Elme.anfwerc, 
 
 Fal. The Fiend hath priclct downe "Bardofyb irrecoue* 
 rable,and his Face hZuerferj Priuy-Kitchin,whcrehee 
 doth notEing but r oft Mault.Wormc* : for the Boyj 
 there is a good AngeU about him>but the Deuili out* 
 bids him too* 
 
 Prince. FoTtJjfcWmnen? 
 
 Fal, For one of them, (hee is in Hell ajreadit.liDa 
 burnes poore Soules : for the other, I owe 
 ney ; and whether (hee bee damn'd for thap, I 
 not. 
 Heft. No,l warrant you* 
 
 F**AN?o. 
 
 I .I H I|IMI» 
 
 443 -(2)- il/» 
 
 465 -(ID - 7/* 
 
The fecondTart ofK^ingHmry the Fourth. 
 
 85 
 
 )0 
 
 50 
 
 I) 
 
 00 
 
 I'd. No,I clunkc chou arc not : J thinkc thou att quit 
 forthbr. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thec, 
 tor fuffcring 'fleiu to bee eaten io thy houfe, contrary to 
 the Law, :or the which I think e thou wile howlc. 
 
 tfaSli All Viduallers'doe Co s WEai'is a Ioyntjjf 
 Jtluuon,oc rw o,in a whol c Lent ? 
 
 Fnnce. YoUjGentlewoman. 
 
 (DoL What fayes yoorGracc? 
 
 FJfc . His tiracefayes diat # wblchbis fleih rcbells 
 Mptafi* 
 
 Jlofi. Wholcnocks fo lowd at doore? lookctothe 
 dcose there, transit 2 
 
 Eater Fen. 
 
 Trim. Ptf#,h<w now? what ncwes ? 
 Fett. The King,your Eather,is at Weftminfter, 
 And cherTaFe t wentie weake and wearied Poftes, 
 Come from tber^orth ^and as I came along, 
 lrnel^and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaincs , 
 Jkre*hcaded,fv?cati&g,knocking at the^I auernes, 
 Jtad asking euery one for Sir lohn Falfiajfe, 
 
 Prince, By Heauen (Fairies)! fecle me much to blame, 
 »oidlytoprophane the precious time, """ 
 kVhenTempcltof Commotion,likc the South, 
 Jgome with black Vapour , doth begin to melt, 
 An3 drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads. 
 Cine me my S word,and Liloake : 
 Fdfiaf e.good night . Exit, 
 
 FaUI. Now comes in the fweeteft Morfcll of the 
 eight, and wee muft hence, and leaue irvnpickt. More 
 knocking atthe doore? How now ?.. what's the mat- 
 ter? " 
 
 ZBard. Yon muft away to Court,Sir,prefent!y, 
 &. dozen Captaines itay at doore for you. 
 
 Eiljr. Pay the Mufitians.Sirrha: farewell Hoftefle, 
 fr.rewcll Dol. You fee (my good Wenches) how rrien of 
 Merit atsTought after : the vndefcruer .mayilecpe^vhen 
 the man of Action is calTa on. Farewell good Wenches: 
 if I be not lent away pofle > 1 will fee youagainc, ere I 
 goe. 
 
 Hoi. I cannot fpeake : if my heart bee not readie 
 to burlfc — Well (faecce lacks) haue a care of thy 
 felreT" 
 
 Tdjl. Farewell, farewell. Exit, 
 
 Hosl. Well, fare thee well : I haue knowne thee 
 thefe twentie nine.yecres» come Pcfcod-time : but an 
 honefter^and truer-hearted man-— Weil, fare thee 
 well, 
 
 Bard.'' Miftris Teare-Jheeu 
 
 Hoft. What's the matter? 
 
 Bard. Bid Miftris Tcare-frset come to my Matter. 
 
 Bofi. Ohjunnc !/>«/» ranne: runnc. goodpg/. 
 Exeunt, 
 
 ;50 
 
 Aflus.Tertius. Scena Trim a, 
 
 Enter the K.teg,mth a "Page, 
 
 Kt'«£.Goe.call the EarlesofSurrcy,and of Warwick: 
 fat ere they come.bid them ore-reade theie Letters, 
 andwell confidcr of them : make good fpeed. Exit. 
 
 How many thouland of my poorcfl Subiecls 
 
 Arc 3t this holvre afleepe ? O Sleepe, O gentle Stcepe, 
 
 NaturcTfoft Nurfe,how haue 1 frighted thee, 
 
 That thou no cnors'wiit weigh my eye-lids downe, 
 
 And fteepe mySences in For-gctfulnefTe ? 
 
 Why rather (Sleepe) ly eftthoa in finoakie Cribs, 
 
 Vpon vneafie Pallad s ftretching thee, 
 
 And huifhc with bulling Night, flyes tathyflumber t 
 
 Then in the perfum'd Chambers of the Great ? 
 
 Vnde r the Canopies of coftly Sc~ee, 
 
 And I'ull'd with founds of fweeteft Melodie ? 
 
 O thou dullGod,why fyeftrhou with the vilde, 
 
 In loathfome Bcds,and Ieau'ft the Kingly Couch - 
 
 A Warch«cafe,or a common Larum-Bell ? 
 
 Wilt thcu.vpon the high and giddie Maft, 
 
 Sealevp the Ship!b"oyes Eyes.and rock his Braincs, 
 
 In Cradle of the rude imperious Surge , 
 
 And in the vification of the Wmdes, 
 
 Who take ^hc Ruffian Billowesbv the top. 
 
 Curling their monftrous heads .and hanging them 
 
 With deaffning Clamors in theUipp'ry Clouds,' 
 
 That with the hurley.Dcath it felfe awakes ? 
 
 Canft thou (O parti all Sleepe) eju^ thy Repofc* 
 
 To the wet Sea-Boy ,in an hourejo rude: 
 
 And in the calmeft,and moft rtilleit Nighr, 
 
 With all appliances, and meanes to boote, 
 
 beny it to^ King ? Then happy LoweJye downe, 
 
 Vneafie Ives the Head .that weares a Crowne. 
 
 Enter warwich and Surrey. 
 
 War, Many good-morrowes to your Maieftie, 
 King. Ts it good-morrow, Lords > 
 War. 'Tis One a Clock, and pa ft. 
 ■K/flg'. Why then good-morrow to you: all(my Lords:) 
 Haue y ou read o're the Letters that I fent you i , 
 Wat. We haue (my Liege.) 
 
 King. Then you pcrceiue the Body of our Kingdoms, 
 How foule it is : what ranke Difeafcs grow, 
 And with what danger, neere the Heart of it ? 
 
 War. Trithiirata P.odv vet diftempcr'd. 
 Which to his former ftrength may be reftor'd* 
 With good ad«iice,and little Medicine : 
 My Lord Northumberland will foonc be cool'd. 
 
 King.OU Heauen,that one might readthe Book of Fare, 
 And fee the reuolution of the Times 
 Make Mountaincs leuell- and the Continent 
 (Wearic of folide firmenefle)melt it felfe 
 Into the Sea : and other Times, to fee 
 The beachie G irdle of tj^Occan 
 Too wide for Neptmes hippes ; how Chances mocks 
 And Changes fill the Cuppe of Alteration 
 With diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeresgone, 
 Since Richard,and Norifwmberland, great fjufifldj, 
 Did feaft together ; and in two yeeres after, f 
 Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeerci fince, 
 This Terete was the man,neereft my Soule, 
 Who,like a Brother , toyl'd in my Affaires, 
 And layd his Louc and L^£g vnder my foot: 
 Yea,for my fake,euen to tiifieyes of 'Flcbard 
 Gauc him defiance. But which of jtfiu was b/ 
 (You Coufin Nentsi I may remember) 
 When Rich*rd,*i\ih his Eye,brim-full of Tfilttlf 
 (Then check'd.and rated by North#mberl«nd) 
 Did fpeake thefe word? (nowprou'daProphccie:) 
 NortbHmkerlandjhou. Laddcr,by the wiiisa 
 
 My 
 
 l/i 
 
 fl) 
 50 
 
 100 
 
 150 
 
 (3) 
 l/i 
 
 200 
 
 l/i 
 l/i 
 
 (2)' 
 
 (2) 
 250 
 
 300 
 
 (4) 
 
 350 
 
 400 
 
 (7) 
 l/i 
 (6) 
 (4) 
 
 358 -(6)- lh 
 
 450 -(29)- 9/i 
 
$6 ThefecondTart of Kjw Henry the Fourth. 
 
 My Coufin ^Bnllingbrooke afcends my Throne : 
 (Though tticn,Heauen knowes,! had no fuch intent, 
 But that necefiitic fo bow'd the State, 
 That land Grestnefle were compcll*d to kiflc:) 
 TheTimc (hail come (thus did hee follow it) 
 TheTimc will come that foule Sinne gathering head, 
 Shall breake into Corruption : fo went on, 
 Fore-telling this fame Times Condition, 
 And the diuifion of our Ami tic. 
 
 War. There isjj Hiftoric in all mens Liues, 
 Figuring the nature of the Times deceas'd: 
 The which obferu d, a man may prophecic 
 With a neere avme,ofthc mainc chance of things, 
 As yet not coracto Life,which in their Scedes 
 A*nd weake beginnings lye entreafurca : 
 Such things become the Hatch and Brood of Time J 
 And by the nccelTarie forme of Tins, 
 King Richardm'ight creates perfect gucfle, 
 That great Northumberland* then falfe to him, 
 Would of xTTaTSeec^gro^tf jo a greater falfcnefle, 
 Which (hould not finde a ground to roote vpon, 
 Vnleflc on you. 
 
 King. Arc thefe things then NecefTities ? 
 Then let vs meete them like NecelTiciesj"*" 
 And that fame word.cuen now cryesout onrs: 
 They fay .ThTBifhop and Northumberland 
 Are fifue th"oufand ftrong. 
 
 War. It cannot be (my Lord:) 
 Rumor doth doubhTjhke the Voice,and Eccho, 
 The numbers of the feared. Pkafe it your Grace 
 To goe to brd, vpon my Life (my Lord) 
 The Pow'rs that you alrcadie haue fent forth, 
 Shall bring this Prize in my canTy. 
 To comfort you themorej haue rcceiu'u 
 A"*ccttalne inftancc ,that Clendourh dead. 
 Your MaieBreKath beene thi s fortnight ill, 
 And thefc vnfcafon'd howrcs perforce muft addc , 
 Vnto 'your SicknefTe, 
 
 Ktng. 1 will take your counfaile : 
 And were thefe inward Warres once out of hand. 
 Wee would (deare Lards) ynto the Holy-Land . 
 
 2GO-(35)-37i Extmt ' 
 
 Scena Secunda. 
 
 tnter Shallow and Silence : with Mouldie shadow 3 
 Wart % Feeble , "Buil-calfe. 
 
 Sbal. Come-on,come-on. come-on : giuc mee your 
 Hand,Sft; giuc mee your Hand-, Sir : an early ftirrcr,by 
 the Rood. And how doth my good Coufin Silence I 
 
 SiL Good-morrow,good Coufin Shallow . 
 
 Shal. And how doth my Coufin, your Bcd-fcllow ? 
 and you r faireft Daughter, and mine, my God-Daughter 
 Ellen I 
 
 SiL Alas,a blacke C^eU (Coufin Shallow.) 
 
 Shal. By yea and nay ,Sir, I dare fay my Coufin William 
 is become a good Scholler ? hee is at Oxfqut full, is hee 
 not? 
 
 SiL Indcede Sir,to my coft. 
 
 Shal. ijje muft then to the lnnes of Court Ihortly : I 
 was once of Clemems Inne j where (I ihinke) they will 
 talkc of mad Shallow yet. 
 
 SiL You were call'd luftie Shallow then(Coufin) 
 
 Shal. I was call'd any thing r and 1 would haue done 
 any thing indecde too,and roundly too. There was I and 
 little lobn Doit of StTftotdmire, and blacke George'Bare 
 and Vrancu Pick^bons^ndWjIl Scjuele a Cot-fal-man, you 
 hadnotfoure fuch Swtndge-bucklcrs in all the lnnes of 
 Court 3gainc : And I may fay to you> wee knew where 
 the t Bona- r Robas were, and had the belt of them all at 
 commandemenr. Thcnwas lac^e Fal/lajfe(nov{ Sit lohn) 
 afeoy, and Page to Thomai ^Mowbray y Duke of Nor 
 folke. 
 
 SiL This Sir lohn (Coufinj that comes hither anon a- 
 bout Souldicrs ? 
 "~~Uhal. The fame Sir lohn } the very fame : 1 faw him 
 breake Scoggant Head at the Court-Gate, whennce was 
 aCr3ck,not thus high : and the very fame day did I fijjrit 
 With one Sampfon-Stocl^fijk, a Fruiterer, bjHm'de Grcyes- 
 Innc. Oh the mad dayes that I haue fpentT°and to fee 
 how many of mine olde Acquaintance arc dcaifl 
 
 SiL Wee fhall all follow (Coufin.) 
 
 ShaL Certaine: 'tis certaine: very fure, very furc: 
 Death is certaine to all, all (hall dye. How a good Yoke 
 of Sullocki at Stamford Fayre ? 
 
 SiL 1 ruly Coufinj was nor there. 
 
 ShaL Death is ccrtaine. Is old Double of yourTowne 
 liuing yet ? 
 
 SU. Dead,Sir. 
 
 ShaL Dead i Sec,fee : hec drew a good Bow : and 
 dead? hec fhocj* finelhoote. Iohn of. Gaunt loued 
 him well, and betted m uchMoney on his head. Dead? 
 hec would haucclajjc inthcCiowratTwelue-fcorejand 
 carryrd you a forehand Shaft at foureteenc, find foure- 
 teencand ahallcTtnat it would haiie done a mans heart 
 good to fee. H ow a (core of Ewes now ? 
 
 SiL Thereafter as they be : a fcore of good Ewes 
 maybe worth tenne pounds. 
 
 ShaL And is olde Double dead ?294- (6 V" 10 h 
 
 JLnzer r Bardol$h and his Boj 
 
 SiL Heere come rwo of Sir Iohn Falftaffes Men (as I 
 thinkc.) 
 
 ShaL Good-morrow,honeit Gentlemen. 
 
 'Bard. I befcech you,which is lufticc Shallow ? 
 
 ShaL 3 am £c£m5WW(Sir)apooreEfquircofthis 
 Countie, and one of the Kings Iufticcs of the Peace: 
 What is your good pleafure with roc ? 
 
 Bard. My Captainc (Sir) commends him to yoo : 
 my Captame,Sir lohn Taljlajfe : a tall Gentleman, and a 
 mod gallant Leader. 
 
 Shal. Hee grcetes me well . ( Sir) I knew him a 
 good Back-S word-man. How doth fjje good Knight ? 
 may I askchow my Lady his Wife doth ? 
 
 Bard. Sir,pardon : a Souldier is better accommoda* 
 ted.then witha Wife 
 
 ShaL Ttls well faid Sir; and ids well faid, indecde, 
 too: Better accommodated? it isgood,^ca indecde is 
 it : good phrafes arc furcly,and eucrv where very com- 
 mendable. Accommodated , it comes of Accommedo', 
 very goodj good Phrafc. 
 
 *B.vrd. Pardon, Sir, 1 haue heard tnc word. Phrafc 
 call you it ? by this Day, 1 know not the Phrafc : but 
 I will maintains the Word with mv Sword , to bec a 
 Souldier.like Word , and a Word of exceeding good 
 Command. Accommodated : that is, when a man is 
 (as they fay) accommodated : or, when a man is, being 
 
 whereby 
 
 1J 
 
 (3 
 
 
 l\\ 
 
 3( 
 
 40 
 
 45 
 
 3G2-(39)- 97i 
 
 4SG-(15)- 14 A 
 
2) 
 
 )0 
 
 5<> 
 
 Thefecond c Part ofK jngH enry the Fourth. 
 
 87 
 
 m 
 
 50 
 
 00 
 
 hereby he thought to be accommodated , -which As an 
 excellcnuhing. 
 
 Enter Falfiajfe. 
 
 Shal. It is vcrv .hi ft : Lookc, heere comer good Sir 
 fohii. Giucmcycur hand, g'memeyout Wor-fliipsgood 
 hand :Truft mc.you Iooke well : and beare your, yeares 
 very well.- Wckomcgood Sir Mar, 
 
 FaL I an) glad co/cc you well, good M . Robert Shal- 
 low. Matter Sure'EarJas I thinke c 
 
 Shal, No KrJohnj it is my Colin Silence ; in Commifli- 
 onwithmee. 
 
 FaL GoadM.Sttene^it well befits you {hould be of 
 ihc peace* 
 
 Sit. Your good Worfhip. is. welcome. 
 
 f^.Fye, this is hot weather (Gentlemen) haueyou 
 prouided gje hecrc halfe adozen of fufficientmen?, 
 
 ShaL Marry hauc we fir 1 Will yo"u fie ? 
 
 FaL Let me fee themjlbefcecb.you. 
 
 ShaL Where's theRollf Where s the Roll? Where's 
 thcRoll ? Lermeiec, letmc fee,lct me fee ; fo,fo,fo,fo : 
 yea marry Sir> Raphe Mouldie:\ct them appeare as I call: 
 lit them do fo, let them do fo : Let raee fee, Where is 
 jMtoftfr? 
 
 Mod. Hcere.if itpleafe you. 
 
 Shot, What thinke you (Sir lohn) a good Urob'd fel- 
 low: yong.ftrong, and of good friends, 
 
 Fal. Is thy name Monldie ? 
 
 fJHtnl. Yea.ifitpleafeyou. 
 
 Tat. Jis the more time thou wert vs'd. 
 
 Sha_L. Ha.ha.ha, moft exccHenc.Things that are moul- 
 diejlackcv f e • very lingular good. Well faide Sir lehn x 
 very well faid. 
 
 J*/.. Pricke him. 
 
 MohL.1 was prickt well enough before, ifyou could 
 hauc let me alone: my old Dame will be vndone now/or 
 onctodoehjgr Husbandry, and her Drudgery 5 you need 
 nottohaucprickjme, there are other men fitter to goe 
 out.thenl. 
 
 FaL Go too: peace Monttie,yo\\ iKall goe. (JHouldic^ 
 it istimeyouLwcrc (pent, 
 
 "Mont. Spent? 
 
 5Wfow._Peace,feIIow,peace; ftandafide : Know you 
 where you "arc? For the otherfii lohm Let me izv.Simon 
 Shadore. 
 
 'JFaL I marry, let me hauc hirxua nt vnder : iw s like to 
 be a cold foul dier. 
 
 Shal* Where s Shadow} 
 
 Shad. Heere fir. 
 
 fal. Shadow, whofe fonne art thou £ 
 
 Shad. My Mothers fonne, Sir. 
 
 Falfi. Thy Mothers fonne : like enough, and thy Fa- 
 piers (hadow : fo the fonne ofth eFemale . is the fhadow 
 of the Male ; it is often fo indeede, but novof the Fathers 
 fubftancc. 
 
 ShaL Do you like him,iir lohrt f 
 
 falfi. Shadow wilt ierue for Summer : pnekchim : For 
 weehaue anumber of (hadowes to fill vppc the Muftei- 
 Booke. 
 
 Shal. Thomas Wars? 
 
 ^.".Where's he? 
 
 Wart, Heere fir. 
 
 f«lfl* Is thv name Wan X 
 
 Ww.'.Yeafir. 
 
 F*l, Thou art a very ragged Warr. 
 
 410 - (3) - 2h 
 
 Shal. .Shalll pricke him downe^ 
 $\rl&h*$ ■ 
 
 Falfi* Itwere fupcrfluous: for his apparrel is built vp- 
 onhis backe, and the whole frame ftands vponpins:prick 
 him no more. 
 
 ShaL. Ha,ha,ha, you can do it fir ; you caadoe it; ; 1 1 
 commend you well, 
 Francis Feeble. 
 
 Feeble. Heere fir; 
 
 Shal. What Trade arr thou Feeble? 
 
 Jeeble. XWomans Taylor fir* 
 
 ShaL Shall I pricke himdlr } 
 
 FaL You may; 
 But if hehad beene a mans Taylorjhe would haue prick" d 
 you. Wilt thou make as many holes in aiv enemies Bat- 
 taile,as thou haft done in a Womans petticoce ? 
 
 Feeble, . I will doe my good will fir, you can hauc no 
 more,. 
 
 Falfi. Well fatd,good Womans Taiiour: Wellfayde 
 Couragious Feeble: thou wilt bee as valiant as the wrafh- 
 full Doue,or moft magnanimous Moufe. Pricke the wo- 
 mans Taylour well Matter «#^W, dcepe Maifter Sfia& 
 law. 
 
 Feeble: X would war/ might haue gone lir..< 
 
 FaL I would thou wert a mans Tailor,tbat y might'ft 
 mend him, and make him fit ro goe. Lcannot put him to 
 apriuate fouldier; that is the Leader ofib many thoit- 
 fands. Let that fuffice,moft Forcible Feeble f 
 
 Feeble. ItfliaHfufrTce--. 
 
 Falfi, lam bound to thce» reuerend .Feeble. Who is 
 thenexc ? 
 
 Shal. Peter Bnlcalfe of the Greene. 
 
 Falfi. Yea marry, letvs fee Ttulctlfe. 
 
 Ml. Heere fir 
 
 FaL Truft mc,a likelyFcIlow. Come.prickeme *BnU 
 calfe till he roarc againe. 
 
 *Bnl. Oh.good my Lord Captaine. 
 
 Fat. Whar?do'ft thouroare before th art prickr^ 
 
 But. Oh fir,I am a difeafed man. 
 
 Tal. What difeafe haft thou ? 
 
 BhL A whorfon cold fir, a cough fir, which I caoght 
 with Ringing in the Kings affayres, vpon his Coronation 
 day,fir. 
 
 Fat. Come^houihaltgototheWarresinaGowne: 
 we wilf haue away thy Coltf, and I will take fuch order, 
 that thy friends ftiall ring for thee. Is hcertall 7 
 
 Shal. There is two more called then y out number J 
 you muft hauebutfoure heere fir^andfo Iprayyou goin. 
 with me to dinner. 
 
 FaL Come, I will goe drinke with you, but I cannot 
 tarry dinner. I am glad to feeyou in good troth. Mallei 
 ShalUw, 
 
 ShaL O foloha, doe you remember fince wee lay all 
 night in the Windcmilhin S Georges Field. 
 
 jaifiajfe. No more ot that good Maftcr Shatiob: No 
 more of that. 
 
 Shal. Haf it was a merry nighr. And is hne Kight- 
 ..srior&ealiue? 
 
 FaL She liucs,M.5W/f»'; 
 Shal. She neucr couldjyvay with me# 
 FaL Ncuer,ncuer : ftie would al way e$ fay ihee could 
 not abide M.Shallow. 
 
 ShaL I could anger her to theheart : ihee was tnea ^ 
 Bona-Roba. Doth fhe hold her ownc well. 
 
 FaL Old.old, M. Shallow. 
 
 ShaL Nay,{he muft be old, (be cannot ichoofcJmt.be 
 
 , gg 
 
 44G-(0) - % h 
 
 50 
 
 100 
 
 150 
 
 200 
 
 150 
 
 300 
 
 350 
 
 Ih 
 
 \h 
 
 100 
 
 \h 
 
 old: 
 
88 The ficond 'Tart of I\ing Henry the Fodrtk 
 
 old : certaine (hee's o,ld : and had Robin Nigbt-worke , by 
 ol d Nigbt-worke, before I came to Clements nne. 
 
 Si/. That's fiftie fiue yeercs agoe. j 
 
 Sbd, Hah, Coufin5//ww, that ihou hajift fccne that, 
 that this Knight and I haue feene : hah, Sir /«&» , faid I 
 well? 
 
 " Falft? ■ Wee haue beard the Chymes at mid-ni ght ,M a, 
 fter£6«&»*. 
 
 5JW. Tharwee haue.that wee haue ; in faith,Sir lahn, 
 wee haue : our watch-word was,Hem-Boyes. Come, 
 let's to Dinner ; come.lct's co Dinner : Oh the daye* thar 
 wee haue feene. Comc,comc. 
 
 BkI, Good Matter Corporate 'Bardolfh* fland my 
 fritnd, and heere is fourc Harry tenne (hillings in French 
 Qrowncs foi you : in very tn:th,fii,l had as lief behang'd 
 (ir,as goc : -and yet,for mine owne part.fir,! do not care ; 
 but rather, becaufe 1 amvnwllling, and for mine owne 
 partjhaueardefir'e to flay with my friends* filfe>.fa- 1 did 
 jiot care/or mine owne part,fo much* 
 .,Bard. Go-too; ftand afide. 
 Mould. And good Matter CorporaIlCaptalne,for my 
 Aid Dames fake, ftand my friend : thee hath no body to 
 doe any thing about hcr,v\ hen I am gone \ and (he is old* 
 and cannot helpe her fclre : you (bill haue. fortie/rf. 
 ' "Sard. Go-too : ftand afide. 
 
 Feeble. I care not, a man can die bur once : wee owe A 
 death. I will neuer bcarc a bafc minde : if it be my defti- 
 >nie,fo:if itbenot.fo: no'rnanistoogood to feruehis 
 Prince : and let ir goc which way it will,he that did this 
 yccrc,te quit for the next. . 
 *" Bard. Well faid,thou art a good fellow. 
 feeble. Nay J will beare no bale minde. 
 Faijt. Come fir,whiehmen (hall I haue } 
 SbaL Foure of which you pleafe. 
 , JSurd. Sir,a word with you; 1 haue three pound. to 
 free CMauldiC and fall-calfe* 
 Falfi. Go-too: well, 
 
 SbaL Cocie,fir M», winch fourc will you haue ? 
 Waifi* Doe you chufe forme. 
 Shot* Marry then , tJMealdie, BkR-calfc t feeble l and 
 shadow. 
 
 Falfi. Matildie^sA "BttS-CAlfr: for you Mouldie,lhy 
 at home,tilI you arc part fcruicc ; and for your pait,2?»//- 
 r^.grow tul you come vnto it : 1 will noneof you. 
 
 SbaL Sir lobn$\x Ubtt^oc not your felfe wrong,they 
 are your Ukdycftimen^and I would haue you feru'd with 
 thebefl. 
 
 Falj}. Will you tell me (M after SU&m) how to chufc 
 amant* Care I fortheLJmbe,tlieThewes, ihe ftature, 
 buike^ and bi£gc afiemblance of a man ? giue mec the 
 ipirk (Mattel SbaRew.) Where's tVartl you fee what 
 a ragged appearance it is : hee fhall charge you, and 
 difcharge you, with the motion of a Pewtcrers Ham. 
 tact : come oft andon, fwifcer then hce that gibbets on 
 i&eBrcwersSSuckier. And this fame halfe-fac'd fellow, 
 jShmsmgiVK me tbie man : hec prcfents no marke to the 
 EneiSic the fbc.man may with as great ayme leuell ac 
 the edge of a Pen-knife j and for a Rctrait, how fwiftly 
 will this fetSle, the Womans Taylor, runne onv O, giuc 
 me the fpare area, and fpare me the great ones. Puunc a 
 Calyuer imcf 9*n* hmd,Bardotpb. 
 
 Fard. Hold J*W,Traucrfe:thus,thus,thuj. 
 Fdlft. Come,manage me your Calyncr : fo; very well, 
 go-roo.very good,cxceeding good. O.giue mealwayes 
 ?£«little,leane,old,cnopt,bald Shot. Well faid tvarrjhov 
 arta goodScab s hold^here it a Tetter for thee. 
 
 Shit. Hee is not his Craftumafter, hee doth not doe 
 itfight. 1 rcmen.berac Mile^end.Greenc 4 wbcm Lry 
 at Clements I hue. J was then $\t r Dag<met in es&tfavf 
 Show : there was a little quiuer fellow, and hecwocid 
 manage you his Pccce thus : and hce would about* 
 and about, and come you inland come you in * Ral/ 
 tah, tab, would hee fay, Bownce would hce fay, aa^ 
 away ogainc would hec goc,&nd againe would he coins: 
 J (hall ncucr fee fucKa fellow. 
 
 fdlfi. Thefe fellowes will doe well, Mafic* Sbtltv. 
 Farewell M afi cr Silence^ I will not vfe many wordes with 
 you: fare you welt, Gentlemen both: I thanta yoilj 
 I murt a dozen mile to night/^Wu^giue the Soul<Keri 
 Coates.' 
 
 SbaL JSir /^»,Heauen blefle you, and ptolper your 
 Affaires, and fend vs Peace. As you returne, vifit 
 my houfe. Let our old acquaintance be renewed s pe r- 
 aducnture I will with you to the Court 
 
 Falft. I would you would,Maffer 5£wiflw. 
 
 SbaL Go-too : I haue (poke at a word* Fare tou 
 well. Mx*.\ 
 
 FtilJI. Fare you well 4 gentle Gentlemen. On'2fo. 
 dotph> leade the men tway. As I returne, I will fetch otf 
 thefe Iuftices : ldoe fee the batrome-of Iuffice$kfc 
 low. How fubied wee old men are to this vice of iy* 
 ing? This fameftaru'd lullice hatridone nothing but 
 prate to me of the wildenefle of hit Youth, ana the 
 Fcatci hce hath done about Turnball-ftrecr, and euery 
 third word a Lye, ducr pay'd to the hearer, then the 
 Turkcs Tribute. I doe remember him at Ciementtlxm.% 
 like a man made after Supper,of a Cheefe.paring, Wnea 
 hee was naked, hee was, forall the, world, lilce a forked 
 Radifh, with a Head fantaftically caru'd vpon it With t 
 Knife. Hce was fo forlorne,that3ii* DimenHons (itt 
 any thickc fight) were inuincible.1 Hce was the wry 
 Genius of Famine : hce came cuer in the rere-wartlof 
 the Fafliion : And now is this Vices Dagger become a 
 Squire, and talkcs as- familiarly of tohtt of GauntiaS if 
 hce had beene fworne Brother co him t and He be fworne 
 hee neuer faw him but once in the Tilt-yard,and then he 
 butft his Head, for crowding among tbeMarfhals men. 
 I faw it, and told John of Gaunt, hce beat hts owne 
 Name, for you might haue trufs'd him and all his Ap^, 
 parrcll into an Eele-'skinne.: the Cafe of a Treble Hoc- 
 boy was a Manfion for him : a Court : and now hath 
 hec Land,and Eceu.es. Well, 1 will be acquainted with 
 him, if I returne : and it (hall goe hard, but I will make 
 him a Philofophers two Stones to me. J If the young 
 Dace be a Bayc forthcold Pike, I fee no reafon.inthe 
 Law of Nature, but / may fnap ac him. Let tfmclhape, 
 and there an end. Exemt^ 
 
 ActusQmrtus. Scem^Prima. 
 
 Enter the *4rch*biff/op t {Jftiowbra-jjla&inglj 
 tVeflmerland, Coliude* 
 
 "£//&. >Wbat is this Forreft call'd ? 
 Hafi, Tis Gualtrce Forrefl, and't flUJ plealeyBar 
 Grace " 
 
 Tifb.Hetc fland(my Lords)and fend difcoucrcrs farsh, 
 To know the numbers of our Enemies. 
 
PART II. 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE TREASONABLE PE4Y OF RICHARD IE 
 
 A most contagious treason come to light. 
 
 Henry V., iv, 8. 
 
 AFTER the Table of Contents of this book, especially that part 
 of it which relates to the Cipher narrative, had been published, 
 the remark was made, by some writers for the press: "Why, history 
 knows nothing of the events therein referred to." And by this it 
 was meant to imply that if the history of Elizabeth's reign did 
 not give us these particulars they could not be true. The man 
 who uttered this did not stop to think that it would have been a 
 piece of folly for Francis Bacon, or any other man, to have labori- 
 ously inclosed in a play a Cipher narrative regarding things that 
 were already known to all the world. The reply of the critics 
 would have been, in the words of Horatio: 
 
 There needs no ghost, my Lord, come from the grave, 
 To tell us this. 
 
 A cipher story implies a secret story, and a secret story can not 
 be one already blazoned on the pages of history. 
 
 But it is indeed a shallow thought to suppose that the historian, 
 even in our own time, tells the world all that occurs in any age pr 
 country. As Richelieu says: 
 
 History preserves only the fieshless bones 
 Of what we were; and by the mocking skull 
 The would-be wise pretend to guess the features. 
 Without the roundness and the glow of life, 
 How hideous is the skeleton ! 
 619 
 
620 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 But, at the same time, I admit that the Cipher narrative, to be 
 true, must be one that coheres, in its general outlines, with the 
 well-known facts of the age of Elizabeth; and this I shall now 
 attempt to prove that it does. 
 
 The Cipher story tells us of a great court excitement over the 
 so-called Shakespeare play of Richard II.; of an attempt on the 
 part of the Queen to find out who was the real author of the play; 
 of her belief, impressed upon her by the reasoning of Robert Cecil, 
 Francis Bacon's cousin, that the purpose of the play was treason- 
 able, and that the representation on the stage of the deposition and 
 murder of the unfortunate Richard was intended to incite to civil 
 war, and lead to her own deposition and murder. The Cipher also 
 tells us that she sent out posts to find and arrest Shakspere, intend- 
 ing to put him to the torture, — or " the question," as it was called in 
 that day, — and compel him to reveal the name of the man for 
 whom, as Cecil alleged, he was but a mask; and it also tells how 
 this result was avoided by getting Shakspere out of the country 
 and beyond the seas. 
 
 What proofs have we that the Queen did regard the play of 
 Richard II. as treasonable ? 
 
 They are most conclusive. 
 
 I. The Play. 
 
 If the reader will turn to Knight's Biography of Shakspere, p. 
 
 414, he will find the following: 
 
 The Queen's sensitiveness on this head was most remarkable. There is a very 
 curious record existing of "that which passed from the Excellent Majestie of 
 Queen Elizabeth, in her Privie Chamber at East Greenwich, 4 Augusti, 1601, 43 
 Reg. sui, towards William Lambarde," which recounts his presenting the Queen 
 his Pandecta of historical documents to be placed in the Tower; which the 
 Queen read over, making observations and receiving explanations. The following 
 dialogue then takes place: 
 
 William Lambarde. He likewise expounded these all according to their original 
 diversities, which she took in gracious and full satisfaction; so her Majesty fell 
 upon the reign of King Richard II., saying: "I am Richard II., know ye not 
 that?" 
 
 IT. L. [Lambarde]. Such a wicked imagination was determined and attempted 
 by the most unkind gentleman, the most adorned creature that ever your Majesty 
 made. 
 
 Her Majesty. He that will forget God will also forget his benefactors: this 
 tragedy was played forty times in open streets and houses. . . . 
 
 The " wicked imagination " that Elizabeth was Richard II. is fixed upon Essex 
 by the reply of Lambarde, and the rejoinder of the Queen makes it clear that the 
 " wicked imagination" was attempted through the performance of tne tragedy of 
 
THE TREASONABLE PLAY OF RICHARD II. 621 
 
 The Deposition of Richard II. " This tragedy was played forty times in open 
 streets and houses." The Queen is speaking shL.months after the outbreak ol 
 Essex, and it is not improbable that the outdated play — that performance which in 
 the previous February the players " should have loss in playing" — had been ren- 
 dered popular through the partisans of Essex after his fall, and had been got up in 
 open streets and houses with a dangerous avidity. 
 
 But this is not all. 
 
 It will be remembered that Essex had returned from Ireland, 
 having patched up what was regarded by Elizabeth as an unreason- 
 able and unjustifiable peace with' the rebel O'Neill, whom he had 
 been sent to subdue. He was placed under arrest. 
 
 I again quote from Knight's Biography of Shakspcre, pp. 413 
 
 and 414: 
 
 Essex was released from custody in the August o f i6oo 1 but an illegal sentence 
 had been passed upon him by commissioners, that he should not execute the offices 
 of a Privy Councilor, or of Earl Marshal, or of Master of the Ordnance. The 
 Queen signified to him that he was not to come to court without leave. He was a 
 marked and a degraded man. The wily Cecil, who at this very period was carry- 
 ing on a correspondence with James of Scotland, that might have cost him his 
 head, was laying every snare for the ruin of Essex. He desired to do what he 
 ultimately effected, to goad his fiery spirit into madness. Essex was surrounded by 
 warm but imprudent friends. They relied upon his unbounded popularity, not 
 only as a shield against arbitrary power, but as a weapon to beat down the strong 
 arm of authority. During the six months which elapsed between the release of 
 Essex and the fatal outbreak of 1601, Essex House saw many changing scenes, 
 which marked the fitful temper and the wavering counsels of its unhappy owner. 
 Within a month after he had been discharged from custody the Queen refused to 
 renew a valuable patent to Essex, saying that " to manage an ungovernable beast 
 he must be stinted in his provender." On the other hand, rash words that had 
 been held to fall from the lips of Essex were reported to the Queen. He was made 
 to say, " She was now grown an old woman, and was as crooked within as with- 
 out." The door of reconciliation was almost closed forever. Essex House had 
 been strictly private during its master's detention at the Lord Keeper's. Its gates 
 were now opened, not only to his numerous friends and adherents, but to men of 
 all persuasions, who had injuries to redress or complaints to prefer. Essex ' \ 
 always professed a noble spirit of toleration, far in advance of his age; and he now 
 received with a willing ear the complaints of all those who were persecuted by the 
 government for religious opinions, whether Roman Catholics or Puritans. He 
 was in communication with James of Scotland, urging him to some open assertion 
 of his presumptive title to the crown of England. It was altogether a season of 
 restlessness and intrigue, of bitter mortifications and rash hopes. Between the 
 closing of the Globe Theater and the opening of the Blackfriars, Shakspere was, in 
 all likelihood, tranquil amidst his family at Stratford. 
 
 The winter comes, and then even the players are mixed up with the dangerous 
 events of the time. Sir Gilly Merrick, one of the adherents of Essex, was accused, 
 amongst other acts of treason, with " having procured the outdated tragedy of The 
 Deposition of Richard If. to be publicly acted at his own charge, for the entertain- 
 ment of the conspirators." 
 
622 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 In the "Declaration of the Treasons of the late Earl of Essex and his Com- 
 plices," which Bacon acknowledges to have been written by him at the Queen's 
 command, there is the following statement: "The afternoon before the rebellion, 
 Merrick, with a great company of others, that afterwards were all in action, had 
 procured to be played before them the play of deposing King Richard II.; when it 
 was told him by one of the players, that the play was old and they should have loss 
 in playing it, because few would come to it, there was forty shillings extraordinary 
 given to play, and so thereupon played it was." 
 
 In the State Trials this matter is somewhat differently mentioned: "The 
 story of Henry IV. being set forth in the play, and in that play there being set 
 forth the killing of the King upon a stage; the Friday before, Sir Gilly Merrick 
 and some others of the Earl's train having an humor to see a play, they must needs 
 have the play of Henry IV, The players told them that was stale, they could get 
 nothing by playing that; but no play else would serve, and Sir Gilly Merrick gives 
 forty shillings to Phillips, the player, to play this, besides whatsoever he could 
 get." 
 
 Augustine Phillips was one of Shakspere's company, and yet it is perfectly 
 evident that it was not Shakspere's Richard II. nor Shakspere's Henry IV. that 
 was acted on this occasion. In his Henry IV. there is no "killing of the King 
 upon a stage." His Richard II., which was published in 1597, was certainly not 
 an out-dated play in 1601. 
 
 But Knight fails to observe that he has just quoted from Bacon's 
 official declaration, written with all the proofs before him, that it 
 was "the play of deposing King Richard I/." And the very fact 
 that there is no killing of a king in the play of Henry IV., while 
 there is such a scene in the play of Richard II., shows that the 
 writer of the State Trials had fallen into an error. 
 
 Neither is Knight correct in supposing that a play published in 
 1597 could not have been an outdated play in 1601. It does not 
 follow that because the play was first printed in 1597 it was first pre- 
 sented on the stage in that year. Some of the Shakespeare Plays 
 were not printed for twenty years after they first appeared, and a 
 good many plays of that era were not printed at all. And a play 
 may be outdated in a year — yes, in a month. And, moreover, the 
 canny players would be ready enough with any excuse that would 
 bring forty shillings into their pockets, whether it was true or not. 
 
 Knight continues: 
 
 A second edition of it [the play of Richard II] had appeared in 1598, and it 
 was no doubt highly popular as an acting-play. But if any object was to be gained 
 by the conspirators in the stage representation of "deposing King Richard II.," 
 Shakespeare's play would not assist that object. The editions of 1597 and 1598 do 
 not contain the deposition scene. That portion of this noble history which con- 
 tains the scene of Richard's surrender of the crown was not printed till 1608, and 
 the edition in which it appears bears in the title the following intimation of its 
 novelty: " The Tragedie of King Richard the Second, with neio additions of the 
 
THE TREASONABLE PLAY OF RL CHARD LL. 
 
 623 
 
 Parliament Sceane, and the deposing of King Richard. As it hath been lately acted 
 by the Kinge's servantes, at the Globe. By William Shake-speare." 
 
 But Richard Grant White argues that, as there appear, in the 
 quartos of 1597 and 1598, the words, "A woeful pageant have we 
 here beheld," the deposition scene, which precedes these words in 
 the play, must have been already written, but left out in the printed 
 copies. For, says White, if the Abbot had not witnessed the depo- 
 sition, he had not beheld "a woeful pageant." Therefore, the new 
 additions, referred to in the title of the quarto of 1608, were addi- 
 tions to the former printed quartos, not to the play itself. 
 
 And if the original play, before it was printed, contained the 
 deposition scene, why would it not have been acted ? The play 
 was made to act ; the scene was written to act. So that it is plain, 
 beyond a question, that it was Shakespeare's play of Richard II. 
 which was mixed up in the treasonable events that marked the 
 closing years of Elizabeth's reign. Around this mimic tragedy the 
 living tragedy, in which Essex played the principal part, revolved. 
 
 And Knight makes this further remark: 
 
 In Shakespeare's Parliament scene our sympathies are wholly with King 
 Richard. This, even if the scene were acted in 1601, would not have forwarded 
 the views of Sir Gilly Merrick, if his purpose were really to hold up to the people 
 an example of a monarch's dethronement. But, nevertheless, it may be doubted 
 whether such a subject could be safely played at all by the Lord Chamberlain's 
 players during this stormy period of the reign of Elizabeth. 
 
 But it must be remembered that no man would dare, in that age, 
 or in any other age under a monarchy, to openly advocate or justify 
 the murder of kings; and hence the writer of the play puts many fine 
 utterances therein, touching the divine right of kings. But the 
 ignorant are taught, as Bacon said, more by their eyes than their 
 judgment; and what they saw in the play was a worthless king, who 
 had misgoverned his country, deposed and slain. A very suggestive 
 lesson, it might be, to a large body of worthy people who thought 
 Elizabeth had also misgoverned her country, and had lived too* 
 long already, and who hoped great things for themselves from the 
 coming in of King James. 
 
 Now, we will see in the next chapter that a certain Dr. Hay- 
 ward had put forth a pamphlet history, in prose, of this same depo- 
 sition, and had dedicated it to Essex, and that he had been arrested 
 and was threatened with torture. 
 
624 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 If, then, Elizabeth believed, as I have shown she did, that the 
 play of King Richard II. was treasonable; that she was represented 
 therein by the character of King Richard II., and that his fate was 
 to be her fate if the conspirators triumphed, what more natural than 
 that she should seek to have Shakspere arrested and locked up, and 
 submitted to the same heroic course of treatment she contemplated 
 for Dr. Hayward? For certainly the offense of the scholar, who 
 merely wrote a sober prose history of Richard's life, for the perusal 
 of scholars, was infinitely less than the crime of the man who 
 had set those events forth, in gorgeous colors, upon a public 
 stage, and had represented the deposition and killing of a king, 
 night after night, before the very eyes of swarming and exulting 
 thousands. 
 
 And if, as we will show, the Queen thought that Hayward 
 was not the real writer of his history, but that he was simply the 
 cover for some one else, why may she not have conceived the same 
 idea about Shakspere and his play ? 
 
 Why was Shakspere not arrested ? The Cipher story tells the 
 reason. 
 
 And here we note a curious fact. Judge Holmes says: 
 
 So far as we have any positive knowledge, the second edition of the Richard II., 
 which was printed in 1598, with the scene of deposing King Richard left out, was 
 the first one that bore the name of William Shakespeare on the title-page; and there 
 may have been some special reasons as well for the publication of it at that time 
 as for a close concealment of the real author's name. 1 
 
 Why should Shakespeare's name first appear, as the author of 
 any one of the Plays, upon the title-leaf of a play which was mixed 
 up with matters regarded as seditious and treasonable? And why 
 was the deposition scene left out, unless the writer of the play knew 
 that it was seditious? And if so, why was such a dangerous play 
 published at all? And observe the name of the author is given in 
 this first play that bears his name as " Shakespeare" not as the 
 man of Stratford always signed his name, "Shakspere" Was it 
 because of the treasonable nature of the work that the real author 
 allowed Shakspere this hole to retreat into ? Was it that he might 
 be able to say : "/ never wrote the Plays ; that is not my name. 
 My name is Shakspere, not Shakespeare" ? 
 
 1 The Authorship of Shak., vol. i, p. 135. 
 
THE TREASONABLE PLAY OF RICHARD II. 
 
 625 
 
 There are many things here the Cipher narrative will have to 
 explain, when it is all unraveled. Certain it is that there are mys- 
 teries involved in all this business. It was an age of plots and 
 counter-plots. 
 
 Knight well says: 
 
 In her conversation with Lambarde Elizabeth uttered a great truth, which 
 might not be unmingled with a retrospect of the fate of Essex. Speaking of the 
 days of her ancestors, she said: "In those days force and arms did prevail, 
 but now the wit of the fox is everywhere on foot so as hardly a faithful or virtuous 
 man may be found." ] 
 
 And, curiously enough, we here find that not only was one of 
 the Shakespeare Plays mixed up with the events which caused 
 Essex to lose his head and sent Southampton to the Tower, but we 
 will see that Francis Bacon was also in some way connected with 
 the play. 
 
 And if we will concede that there is a probability that the Queen 
 might have ordered the arrest of Shakspere, as she ordered the 
 arrest of Dr. Hayward, the question is, Why was he not arrested ? 
 If he remained in England, surely he would have been arrested if 
 the Queen had so ordered. And if he had been arrested, we should 
 have had some tradition of it, or some record of it, in the proceed- 
 ings of courts or council. And if he was not arrested with 
 Hayward, then he must have fled. How did he fly ? Who 
 told him to fly? Who warned him in time to get out of the 
 country? 
 
 All this the Cipher tells. 
 
 Let me put the argument clearly: 
 
 1. Hayward wrote a pamphlet history of the deposition 
 of King Richard II. Hayward was thrown into the Tower 
 and threatened with torture to make him reveal the real 
 author. 
 
 2. Shakspere was the reputed author of a treasonable play, 
 representing the deposition and killing of Richard II. ; a play which 
 was regarded as so objectionable that the hiring of the actors to 
 play it was made one of the charges against Essex which brought 
 his head to the block. 
 
 3. Why, therefore, was Shakspere not arrested ? 
 
 1 Knight 's Pictorial Shak. — Biography, p. 415. 
 
626 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 II. Bacon Assigned to Prosecute Essex for Having Had 
 Shakspere's Play Acted. 
 
 But this is not all. 
 
 When the Qeeen came to prosecute Essex for his treasons, the 
 Council assigned to Francis Bacon, as his part, that very hiring of 
 the actors to enact the deposition and murder of King Richard II. 
 And what was Bacon's reply ? 
 
 I quote from Judge Holmes: 
 
 Nor was this all. But when the informal inquiry came on before the Lords 
 Commissioners, in the summer of 1600, Bacon, in a letter to the Queen, desired 
 to be spared from taking any part in it as Queen's Counsel, out of consideration of 
 his personal obligations to his former patron and friend. But the Queen would 
 listen to no excuse, and his request was peremptorily refused. It will be borne in 
 mind that the Queen's object in this inquiry was to vindicate her own course and 
 the honor of the crown without subjecting Essex to the dangers of a formal trial 
 for high treason, and that her intention then was to check and reprove him, but not 
 io ruin his fortunes. Bacon made up his mind at once to meet the issues thus 
 intentionally forced upon him, and he resolved to show to her, as he says, that he 
 " knew the degrees of duties;" that he could discharge the highest duty of the 
 subject to the sovereign, against all obligations of private friendship toward an 
 erring friend; wherein, says Fuller, very justly, "he was not the worse friend for 
 being the better subject; " and that if he must renounce either, it should be Essex, 
 rather than the Queen, who had been, on the whole, personally, perhaps, the better 
 friend of the two to him : — well knowing, doubtless, that conduct is oftentimes ex- 
 plained equally well by the basest as by the loftiest motives, and that the latter are 
 generally the most difficult of appreciation. The next thing he heard was, that 
 the Lords, in making distribution of the parts, had assigned to him, "by the con- 
 clusion binding upon the Queen's pleasure directly, nolens vo/ens," that part of the 
 charges which related to this same "seditious prelude"; at which he was very 
 much annoyed. And they determined, he says, "That I should set forth some 
 undutiful carriage of my lord, in giving occasion and countenance to a seditious 
 pamphlet, as it was termed, which was dedicated unto him, which was the book 
 before mentioned of King Henry IV. Whereupon I replied to that allotment, and 
 said to their lordships that it was an old matter, and had no manner of coherence 
 with the rest of the charge, being matters of Ireland, and thereupon that /, having 
 been wronged by bruits before, this would expose me to them more; and it would be 
 said I gave in evidence mine own tales." What bruits? What tales? The Lords, 
 evidently relishing the joke, insisted that this part was fittest for him, as "all the 
 rest was matter of charge and accusation," but this only "matter of caveat and 
 admonition": wherewith he was but "little satisfied," as he adds, "because I 
 knew well a man were better to be charged with some faults, than admonished of 
 some others." Evidently, here was an admonition which he did not like, and it is 
 plain that he took it as personal to himself. Nevertheless he did actually swallow 
 this pill; for we learn from other history that on the hearing before the Lords 
 Commissioners "the second part of Master Bacon's accusation was, that a certain 
 dangerous seditious pamphlet was of late put forth into print concerning the first 
 year of the reign of Henry IV., but indeed the end of Richard II., and that my 
 lord of Essex, who thought fit to be patron of that book, after the book had been 
 
THE TREASONABLE PLAY OF RL CHARD LL. 
 
 627 
 
 out a week, wrote a cold, formal letter to my lord of Canterbury to call it in again, 
 knowing belike that forbidden things are most sought after." 1 
 
 But he who reads the proceedings of this trial will see that the 
 play of Richard II. filled a much more conspicuous place than Dr. 
 Hayward's pamphlet, and that it was to this, probably, that Bacon 
 really alluded when he said he had been "the subject of bruits," 
 and that the public would say " he gave in evidence his own tales." 
 Does it not occur to every intelligent reader that Bacon, in this 
 covert way, really says: "It has been reported that I am the real 
 author of that play of Richard II.; and now if I prosecute Essex 
 for having had it played, it will be said that I am using my own 
 composition for the overthrow of my friend"? 
 
 And it seems to me that when the whole of the Cipher story is 
 worked out, we shall find that Bacon was completely in the power 
 of Cecil; that he (Cecil) knew that Bacon was the author of the play; 
 that therefore he knew that Bacon had shared in the conspiracy; 
 and that Bacon had to choose between taking this degrading work 
 on his hands or going to the scaffold with Essex. If such was the 
 case, it was the climax of Cecil's revenge on the man who had 
 represented him on the stage as Richard III. It was humiliation 
 bitterer than death. 
 
 III. "The Isle of Dogs." 
 
 And we turn now to another curious fact, illustrative of how 
 greatly the Plays were mixed up in public affairs, and showing the 
 spirit of sedition which at this time pervaded the very air. 
 
 J. Payne Collier, in his Annals of the Stage, shows that in the 
 year 1597 an order was given by the Queen's Council to tear down 
 and destroy all the theaters of London, because one Nash, a play-writer, 
 had, in a play called The Isle of Dogs, brought matters of state upon 
 the stage; and Nash himself was thrown into prison, and lay there 
 until the August following. 
 
 What the seditious matter was that rendered The Isle of Dogs so 
 objectionable to the government, we do not know; it must have 
 been something very offensive, to cause a Queen who loved theat- 
 ricals as much as Elizabeth did to decree the destruction of all the 
 theaters of London. But all the details will probably be found 
 
 1 Holmes, The Authorship o/Shak., pp. 255-7. 
 
628 THE CIPHER NARRA 'FIVE. 
 
 hereafter in the Cipher story, together with an explanation of the 
 causes which induced the Queen to revoke her order. 
 Collier says: 
 
 We find Nash, in May, 1597, writing for the Lord Admiral's players, then under 
 Philip Henslowe, and producing for them a play called The Isle of Dogs, which is 
 connected with an important circumstance in the history of the stage, viz., the 
 temporary silencing of that company, in consequence of the very piece of which 
 Nash was the author. The following singular particulars are extracted from the 
 Diary kept by Henslowe, which is still, though in an imperfect and mutilated state, 
 preserved at Dulwich College. Malone published none of them: 
 
 Pd 14 of May, 1597, to Edw Jube, upon a notte from Nashe, twentye shellinges 
 more for the Iylle of Dogges, which he is wrytinge for the companey. 
 
 Pd this 23 of August, 1597, to Henerey Porter to cary to T. Nashe, nowe att 
 this tyme in the flete for wrytinge of the Eylle of Dogges, ten shellinges, to be 
 payde agen to me wen he cann. I saye ten shillinges. 
 
 Pd to M. Blunsones, the Mr. of the Revelles man, this 27 of August, 1597, 
 ten shellinges, for newes of the restraynt beying recaled by the lordes of the 
 Queene's Counsell. 
 
 Here we see that in the spring of 1597, Nash was employed upon the play, and, 
 like his brother dramatists of that day, who wrote for Henslowe's company, 
 received money on account. The Isle of Dogs was produced prior to the 10th of 
 August, 1597, because, in another memorandum by Henslowe (which Malone has 
 quoted, though with some omissions and mistakes), he refers to the restraint at 
 that date put upon the Lord Admiral's players. 
 
 On the 23d of the same month, Nash was confined in the Fleet prison, in con- 
 sequence of his play, when Henry Porter, also a poet, carried him ten shillings 
 from Henslowe, who took care to register that it was not a gift; and on the 27th of 
 August "the restraint was recalled" by the Privy Council. We may conclude 
 also, perhaps, that Nash was about the same time discharged from custody. 
 
 In reference to this important theatrical transaction, we meet with the following 
 memorandum in the Registers of the Privy Council. It has never before been 
 printed or mentioned: 
 
 A Letter to Richard Topclyfe, Thomas Foivler and Ric. Skevington, Esqs., Doctour 
 Fletcher and Air. Wilbraham. 
 
 Uppon information given us of a lewd plaie that was plaied in one of the plaie 
 howses on the Bancke side, contayninge very seditious and sclaunderous matter, 
 wee caused some of the players to be apprehended and corny tted to pryson; 
 whereof one of them was not only an actor, but a maker of parte of the said plaie. 
 For as muche as yt ys thought meete that the rest of the players or actours in that 
 matter shal be apprehended to receave soche punyshment as their lewde and 
 mutynous behavior doth deserve; these shalbe, therefore, to require you to 
 examine those of the plaiers that are comytted, whose names are knoune to yow, 
 Mr. Topclyfe; what ys become of the rest of theire fellowes that either had their 
 partes in the devysinge of that sedytious matter, or that were actours or plaiers in 
 the same, what copies they have given forth of the said playe, and to whome, and 
 such other pointes as you shall thincke meete to be demaunded of them; wherein 
 you shall require them to deale trulie, as they will looke to receave anie favour. 
 Wee praie you also to peruse soch papers as were founde in Nash his lodgings, 
 which Ferrys, a messenger of the chamber, shall delyver unto you, and to certifie 
 us the examynations you take. So, etc. 
 
 Greenwich, 15th August, 1597. 
 
 There is also another entry at page 327, dated 28 July, 1597, addressed to 
 the Justices of the Peace of Middlesex and Surrey, directing that, in consequence 
 of great disorders committed in common play-houses, and lewd matters handled on 
 
THE TREASONABLE PLA Y OF RICHARD II. 629 
 
 the stages, the Curtain Theater and the theater near Shoreditch should be dis- 
 mantled, and no more plays suffered to be played therein; and a like order to be 
 taken with the play-houses on the Bankside, in Southwark, or elsewhere in Surrey, 
 within three miles of London. In February, 1597-8, about six months before the 
 death of Lord Burghley, are to be observed the first obvious indications of a dispo- 
 sition on the part of the government of Elizabeth permanently to restrain theatrical 
 representations. At that date, licenses had been granted to two companies of 
 players only — those of the Lord Admiral and of the Lord Chamberlain — "to use 
 and practise stage playes " in order that they might be the better qualified to appear 
 before the Queen. A third company, not named, had, however, played "by way 
 of intrusion," and the Privy Council, on the 19th February, 1597-8, sent orders to 
 the Master of the Revels and to the Justices of the Peace of Middlesex and Surrey 
 for its suppression. 1 
 
 IV. The Date of the Cipher Story. 
 
 I am unable to fix with precision the date of the events nar- 
 rated in the Cipher narrative. They may have been in the spring 
 of 1597, at the same time the destruction of the theaters was ordered: 
 they may have been later. I fall, as it were, into the middle of the 
 story. Neither can we be sure of the year in which the first part of 
 Henry IV. was really printed by the date upon it. We know that 
 in the case of the great Folio of 1623 there have been copies found 
 bearing the date of 1622, and one, I think, of 1624. It would be 
 very easy to insert an erroneous date upon the title-leaf of the 
 quarto of the 1st Henry IV, and we have no contemporary record 
 to show what was the actual date of publication. 
 
 But I think I have established that the years 1597, 1598 and 1599 
 were full of plots and conspiracies against the Queen and Cecil, 
 and in favor of King James and Essex; and that the play of 
 Richard II. was used as an instrumentality to play upon the minds 
 of men and prepare them for revolution. I have also shown that 
 the Queen and the court were aware of these facts; that the 
 arrest of Shakspere as the reputed author of the treasonable play 
 must have accompanied the arrest of Dr. Hayward, unless some 
 cause prevented it — and that cause the Cipher narrative gives us. 
 
 It follows that the events set forth in the Cipher story are all* 
 within the reasonable probabilities of history. 
 
 » The History of English Dramatic Poetry and A titials of the Stage, by J. Payne Collier, Esq., ( 
 F. S. A., pp. 294-8. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TREASONABLE HISTORY OF HENRY IV., WRITTEN BY 
 
 DR. HA YWARD. 
 
 My breast can better brook thy dagger's point 
 Than can my ears thy tragic history. 
 
 jd Henry VI. , z/, 6. 
 
 JUDGE HOLMES gives the following interesting account of 
 the pamphlet supposed to have been written by Dr. John Hay- 
 ward, with, it was claimed, an intent to incite the Essex faction to 
 the overthrow of Queen Elizabeth: 
 
 Her disposition toward Essex had been kindly and forgiving, but she was 
 doubtful of him, and kept a watchful eye upon his courses. As afterward it became 
 evident enough, all his movements had reference to a scheme already formed in 
 his mind to depose the Queen by the help of the Catholic party and the Irish rebels. 
 He goes to Ireland in March, 1599, an( l after various doubtful proceedings and a 
 treasonable truce with Tyrone, he suddenly returns to London, in October follow- 
 ing, with a select body of friends, without the command, and to the great surprise 
 and indignation of the Queen; and a few days afterward finds himself under arrest, 
 and a quasi-prisoner in the house of the Lord Keeper. During this year Dr. Hay- 
 ward's pamphlet appeared. It was nothing more than a history of the deposing of 
 King Richard II., says Malone. It was dedicated to the Earl of Essex, without 
 the author's name on the title-page; but that of John Hay ward was signed to the 
 dedication. This Hayward was a Doctor of Civil Law, a scholar, and a distin- 
 guished historian of that age, who afterward held an office in Chancery under 
 Bacon. This pamphlet followed on the heels of the play, and it may have been 
 suggested by the popularity of the play on the stage, or by the suppression of the 
 deposing scene in the printed copy. 
 
 According to Mr. Dixon, "it was a singular and mendacious tract, which, 
 under ancient names and dates, gives a false and disloyal account of things and 
 persons in his o^n age; the childless sovereign; the association of defense; the 
 heavy burden of taxation; the levy of double subsidies; the prosecution of an Irish 
 war, ending in a general discontent; the outbreak of blood; the solemn deposition 
 and final murder of the Prince." Bolingbroke is the hero of the tale, and the exist- 
 ence of a title to the throne superior to that of the Queen is openly affirmed in it. 
 A second edition of the Richard IT. had been printed in 1598, under the name of 
 Shakespeare, but with the obnoxious scene still omitted; and it is not until 1608, in 
 the established quiet of the next reign, that the omitted scene is restored in print. 
 It is plain that during the reign of Elizabeth it would have been dangerous to have 
 printed it in full; nevertheless, it had a great run on the stage during these years. 
 
 Now, Camden speaks of both the book of Hayward and the tragedy of Richard 
 II. He states that, on the first informal inquiry, held at the Lord Keeper's house, 
 in June, 1600, concerning the conduct of Essex, besides the general charges of dis- 
 
 630 
 
THE TREASONABLE HISTORY OF HENRY IV. 631 
 
 obedience and contempt, "they likewise charged him with some heads and articles 
 taken out of a certain book, dedicated to him, about the deposing Richard II." 
 This was doubtless Hayward's book. But in his account of the trial of Merrick 
 (commander at Essex' house), he says he was indicted also, among other things, 
 " for having procured the outdated tragedy of Richard II to be publicly acted 
 at his own charge, for the entertainment of the conspirators, on the day before the 
 attack on the Queen's palace." " This," he continues, " the lawyers construed as 
 done by him with a design to intimate that they were now giving the representa- 
 tion of a scene, upon the stage, which was the next day to be acted in reality upon 
 the person of the Queen. And the same judgment they passed upon a book 
 which had been written some time before by one Hay ward, a man of sense and 
 learning, and dedicated to the Earl of Essex, viz.: that it was penned on purpose 
 as a copy and an encouragement for deposing the Queen." He further informs us 
 that the judges in their opinion "produced likewise several instances from the 
 Chronicles of England, as of Edward II. and Richard II., who, being once be- 
 trayed into the hands of their subjects, were soon deposed and murdered." And 
 when Southampton asked the Attorney-General, on his trial, what he supposed 
 they intended to do with the Queen when they should have seized her, Coke 
 replied: "The same that Henry of Lancaster did with Richard II.: . . . when he 
 had once got the King in his clutches, he robbed him of his crown and life." This 
 account of Camden may be considered the more reliable in that, as we know from 
 manuscript copy of his Annals, which (according to Mr. Spedding) still remain in 
 the Cottonian Library, containing additions and corrections in the handwriting of 
 Bacon, it had certainly passed under his critical revision before it was printed in 
 1627. And this may help us to a more certain understanding of the allusions 
 which Bacon himself makes to those same matters in his Apology and in his 
 account of the trial of Merrick; for, while in the latter he expressly names the 
 tragedy of Richard II, in the former, as also in the Apophthegms, the book of Dr. 
 Hayward only is mentioned by name, and there is, at the same time, a covert 
 (yet very palpable) allusion in them both to the tragedy also, and to his personal 
 connection with it. 1 
 
 And we find Bacon referring again to this same book of Dr. 
 Hayward, in his Apology. After telling' how he wrote a sonnet in 
 the name of Essex, and presented it to the Queen, with a view to 
 bringing about a reconciliation with the great offender, he adds: 
 
 But I could never prevail with her, though I am persuaded she saw plainly 
 whereat I leveled; and she plainly had me in jealousy, that I was not hers entirely, 
 but still had inward and deep respect toward my Lord, more than stood at that time 
 with her will and pleasure. About the same time I remember an answer of mine 
 in a matter which had some affinity with my Lord's cause, which, though it grew 
 from me, went after about in others' names. For her Majesty being mightily 
 incensed with that book which was dedicated to my Lord of Essex, being a story * 
 of the first year of King Henry IV. ; thinking it a seditious prelude to put into the 
 people's heads boldness and faction, said she had an opinion that there was treason 
 in it, and asked me if I could not find any places in it which might be drawn 
 within case of treason. Whereto I answered: For treason, surely I found none; 
 but for felony, very many. And when her Majesty hastily asked me wherein, I 
 told her the author had committed very apparent theft; for he had taken most of 
 
 1 The Ajdhorship of Shakespeare — Holrr.CF. vol. i, pp. 243-6. 
 
632 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 the sentences of Cornelius Tacitus and translated them into English, and put them 
 into his text. 1 
 
 Judge Holmes shows that this jest did not apply to Dr. Hay- 
 ward's book, but that it does apply to the play of Richard II, which 
 is full of suggestions from Tacitus. But Bacon did not want to 
 touch too closely upon the play; although one can readily see 
 that if the Queen was thus moved against a mere pamphlet, she 
 must have been much more incensed against that popular dramatic 
 representation, which had been acted "more than forty times in 
 houses and the public streets," as she told Lambarde, and which 
 showed, in living pictures, the actual deposition and murder of 
 her prototype, Richard II. 
 
 Judge Holmes seems to think that the words, "a matter which 
 had some affinity with my Lord's cause, which, though it grew from 
 me, went after about in others' names," meant that the pamphlet or 
 play "grew from him;" but Mr. Spedding claims that it was the 
 "answer" which "grew from him and went after about in others' 
 names," and the sentence seems to be more reasonably subject to 
 this construction. Bacon would hardly have dared to thus boldly 
 avow that he wrote the pamphlet or play, although as a pregnant jest 
 he may have constructed a sentence that could be read either way. 
 
 Judge Holmes continues: 
 
 So capital a joke did this piece of wit of his appear to Bacon, that he could not 
 spare to record it among his Apophthegms, thus: 
 
 58. The book of deposing King Richard II. and the coming in of Henry IV., 
 supposed to be written by Dr. Hayward, who was committed to the Tower for it, 
 had much incensed Queen Elizabeth, and she asked Mr. Bacon, being of her 
 learned counsel, whether there was any treason contained in it? Mr. Bacon, 
 intending to do him a pleasure, and to take off the Queen's bitterness with a merry 
 conceit, answered, " No, Madam, for treason I cannot deliver an opinion that there 
 is any, but very much felony. 'I The Queen, apprehending it, gladly asked, How? 
 and wherein? Mr. Bacon answered, "Because he hath stolen many of his sen- 
 tences and conceits out of Cornelius Tacitus." 
 
 The designation here given to the book comes much nearer to a correct naming 
 of the play than it does to the title of Dr. Hayward's pamphlet, and the suggestion 
 that the Doctor was committed to the Tower for only being supposed to be the 
 author, and that he, in his answer, intended to do the Doctor a pleasure, looks very 
 much like an attempt at a cover; and is, to say the least, a little curious in itself. 
 That Dr. Hayward had translated out of Tacitus was, of course, a mere pretense; 
 but that the play drew largely upon the "sentences and conceits of Cornelius 
 Tacitus," will be shown to be quite certain. 2 
 
 And Bacon alludes to this matter again, in his Apology, as follows: 
 
 1 Holmes, The A uthorship o/Shak., p. 250. 2 Ibid., p. 252. 
 
ROBERT DEVEREUX, EARL OF ESSEX. 
 
or THt 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
THE TREASONABLE HISTORY OE HENRY IV. 633 
 
 And another time, when the Queen could not be persuaded that it was his 
 writing whose name was to it, but that it had some more mischievous author; and 
 said, with great indignation, that she would have him racked to produce his author, 
 I replied: " Nay, Madam, he is a doctor, never rack his person, but rack his style; 
 let him have pen, ink and paper, and help of books, and be enjoined to continue 
 the story where it breaketh off, and I will undertake, by collating the styles, to 
 judge whether he were the author or no." 
 
 Now, all these things go to show that there was a storm in the 
 court; that there were suspicions of treasonable motives on the 
 part of some man or men in writing what were, on their face, 
 harmless pamphlets or plays; that the Queen was enraged, and 
 wanted to know who were the real authors. 
 
 So much does history (or a few brief glimpses of history in the 
 trial of Essex and the Apophthegms of Bacon) afford us; and the 
 Cipher narrative takes up the story where history leaves it. But it 
 will be seen that that narrative is perfectly consistent in all its parts 
 with these historical events. 
 
 II. The Capias Utlagatum. 
 
 But, it will be said, did Shakspere ever fly the country ? Could 
 he have done so without the fact being known to us ? Would he 
 not have been arrested on his return ? Could he have ended his 
 days peacefully at Stratford, if he had committed any offense 
 against the laws ? 
 
 I grant you that if he had been proclaimed as a fugitive from 
 justice, we should have heard of it, either from the court records or 
 tradition. But if he, an obscure actor, had wandered away and 
 after a time had come back again, it is not likely any notice would 
 have been taken of it that would have reached us. The man was, 
 in the eyes of his contemporaries, exceedingly insignificant; and 
 hence the absence of all allusions to his comings or goings. Hence 
 we have his biographers arguing that he must have gone with his 
 company to Scotland, and even Germany, while there is not the 
 slightest testimony that he did or did not. In fact, his whole life 
 is veiled in the densest obscurity. As William Henry Smith says, the 
 only fact about him of which we are positive is the date of his death. 
 
 But suppose that Shakspere and the play of Richard II. and 
 Francis Bacon were all simply incidents of a furious contest 
 between the Cecil faction and the Essex faction to rule England; 
 suppose they were mere pawns on the great checker-board of court 
 
634 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 ambition. Then we can understand that at one stage of the game 
 Essex' star may have been obscured and Cecil's in the ascendant; 
 and Cecil may have filled the ears of the Queen with just such rep- 
 resentations as are set forth in the Cipher story; and in her rage the 
 Queen may have sent out posts to arrest Shakspere and his fol- 
 lowers; and the Council may at the same time have issued the 
 order, quoted in the last chapter, to tear down all the play-houses 
 in London. 
 
 But Essex was the Queen's favorite; he was young and hand- 
 some, and she loved young and handsome men; in the last years of 
 her life she enriched one young man simply because he was hand- 
 some. Their quarrel may have been made up, and Essex may, in 
 the rosy light of renewed confidence, have made light of Cecil's 
 charges; and the Queen may have relented and revoked the order 
 for the destruction of the Curtain and the Fortune, and agreed to 
 let Shakspere return unmolested. 
 
 Or, facts may have come out which showed that Bacon was the 
 real author of the Plays; there may have been a scene and a con- 
 fession; he may have apologized and denied any treasonable intent, 
 for it was difficult to prove treason in a play which simply repeated 
 historical events, larded with platitudes of loyalty; and he may 
 have been forgiven, and yet never again fully trusted by the Queen. 
 He may have described his own condition in the words which he 
 puts into the mouth of Worcester, in the play of ist Henry IV.: 
 
 It is not possible, it cannot be, 
 
 The King would keep his word in loving us, 
 
 He will suspect us still, and find a time 
 
 To punish this offense in others' faults. 
 
 Suspicion all our lives shall be stuck full of eyes; 
 
 For treason is but trusted as the fox, 
 
 Who, ne'er so tame, so cherished and locked up, 
 
 ,Will have a wild trick of his ancestors. 
 
 Look how we can, or sad or merrily, 
 
 Interpretation will misquote our looks. 1 
 
 Certain it is there was some cause that kept Francis Bacon 
 down for many years despite all his ambition and ability. 
 
 When the entire Cipher story is worked out we shall doubtless 
 have the explanation of many facts in Bacon's life which now seem 
 inexplicable. 
 
 1 Jst Henry VI., v, 2. 
 
THE TREASONABLE HISTORY OE HENRY IV. 635 
 
 But we have a piece of historical evidence which goes far to con- 
 firm the internal narrative in the Plays. 
 
 If the reader will turn back to page 292 of this work, he will 
 find a copy of a letter addressed by Bacon to his cousin Robert 
 Cecil, in 1601, complaining of some insults put upon him in open 
 court by his old enemy, Mr. Attorney-General Coke. I quote from 
 the letter the following: 
 
 Mr. Attorney kindled at it and said: "Mr. Bacon, if you have any tooth 
 against me pluck it out, for it will do you more hurt than all the teeth in your 
 head will do you good." I answered coldly, in these very words. " Mr. Attorney, 
 I respect you; I fear you not; and the less you speak of your own greatness, the 
 more will I think of it." 
 
 He replied: " I think scorn to stand upon terms of greatness toward you, who 
 are less than little, less than the least; " and other such strange light terms he gave me, 
 with such insulting which cannot be expressed. Herewith stirred, yet I said no 
 more but this: " Mr. Attorney, do not depress me so far; for I have been your 
 better, and may be again, when it please the Queen." With this he spake, neitner 
 I nor himself could tell what, as if he had been born Attorney-General, and in 
 the end bade me not meddle with the Queen's business, but mine own. . . . 
 Then he said it were good to clap a capias utlegatum upon my back ! To which I only 
 said he could not, and that he was at fault; for he limited up an old scent. 
 
 He gave me a number of disgraceful words besides, which I answered with silence. 1 
 
 Upon reading this, I said to myself, What is a capias utlegatum ? 
 Wherein does it differ from any ordinary writ? And I proceeded 
 to investigate the question. I found that the old law authorities 
 spell the word a little differently from Mr. Spedding: he has it, in 
 the letter, "utkgatum; " the proper spelling seems to have been 
 "utlegatum." 
 
 What does it mean? 
 
 It is derived from the Saxon utlaghe, the same root from which 
 comes the word outlaw. 
 
 Jacobs says: 
 
 Outlaw. Saxon, utlaghe; Latin, utlagatus. One deprived of the benefit of the 
 law, and out of the King's protection. When a person is restored to the King's 
 protection he is inlawed again. - 
 
 And what is outlawry. It means that the person has refused to, 
 appear when process was issued against him; that he has secreted 
 himself or fled the country. I quote again from Jacobs: 
 
 Outlawry. Utlagaria. The being put out of the lata. The loss of the benefit of 
 a subject, that is, of the King's protection. Outlawry is a punishment inflicted 
 
 ] Spedding's Life and Works, vol. iii, 2 Jacobs' Law Dictionary, vol. iv, p. 454. 
 
 p. 2. London : Longmans. 
 
636 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 for a contempt in refusing to be amenable to the justice of that court which hath 
 authority to call a defendant before them; and as this is a crime of the highest 
 nature, being an act of rebellion against that state or community of which he is a 
 member, so it subjects the party to forfeitures and disabilities, for he loses his 
 liberam legem, is out of the King's protection, etc. ] 
 
 And the capias utlagatum was issued where a party who had thus 
 refused to appear — who had fled or secreted himself — returned to 
 his domicile. 
 
 I again quote from Jacobs' Law Dictionary: 
 
 Capias Utlagatum. Is a writ that lies against a person who is outlawed in any 
 action, by which the sheriff is commanded to apprehend the body of the party out- 
 lawed, for not appearing upon the exigent, and keep hini in safe custody till the day 
 of return, and then present him to the court, there to be dealt with for his con- 
 tempt; who, in the Common Pleas, was in former times to be committed to the 
 Fleet, there to remain till he had sued out the King's pardon and appeared to the 
 action. And by a special capias utlagatum (against the body, lands and goods in 
 the same writ) the sheriff is commanded to seize all the defendant's lands, goods 
 and chattels, for the contempt to the King; and the plaintiff (after an inquisition 
 taken thereupon, and returned into the exchequer) may have the lands ex- 
 tended and a grant of the goods, etc., whereby to compel the defendant to appear; 
 which, when he doth, if he reverse the outlawry, the same shall be restored 
 to him. 2 
 
 Now, then, when the Attorney-General, Coke, threatened Bacon 
 with a capias utlagatum, he practically charged him with being an 
 outlaw; with having refused to appear in some proceeding when 
 called upon by the government's law officers; with being, in short, 
 out of the Queen's protection; with having forfeited all his goods 
 and chattels. 
 
 But we know that Bacon never fled the country; that he always 
 had real estate which could have been seized upon if he had done 
 so. What, then, did Coke mean ? It was a serious charge for one 
 respectable attorney to make against another. 
 
 Anciently outlawry was looked upon as so horrid a crime that any one 
 might as lawfully kill a person outlawed as he might a wolf or other noxious 
 animal. 3 
 
 But suppose A employs B to commit some act in the nature of 
 a crime, but evidence cannot be obtained against A unless B is 
 taken and compelled to testify against A; and suppose, under these 
 circumstances, A induces B to fly the country. Now, if it can be 
 shown that there was some connection between A and the flight 
 of B, would not the outlawry of B attach to A, his principal? 
 
 1 Jacobs' Law Dictionary, vol. iv, p. 454. 2 Ibid., pp. 394, 395. 3 Ibid., p. 455. 
 
THE TREASONABLE HISTORY OF HENRY IV. 637 
 
 Jacobs says: 
 
 4thly. That it seems the better opinion that where there are more than one 
 principal, the exigent shall not issue till all of them are arraigned; and herein it is 
 said by Hale that if A and B be indicted as principals in felony, and C as acces- 
 sory to them both, the exigent against the accessory shall stay till both be attainted 
 by outlawry or plea; for that it is said if one be acquitted the accessory is dis- 
 charged, because indicted as accessory to both, therefore shall not he be put to answer 
 till both be attaint; but hereof he adds a dubitatur, because, though C be access- 
 ory to both, he might have been indicted as accessory to one, because the felonies 
 are in law several; but if he be indicted as accessory to both, he must be proved so. 
 2 Hawk. P. C, c. 27, § 132 — 2 Hale 1 :, History P. C, 200-201. If one exigent be 
 awarded against the principal and accessory together, it is error only as to the 
 latter. / Term Rep. K. B., 521. In treason all are principals; therefore, process 
 of outlawry may go against him who receives, at the same time, as against him 
 that did the fact. / Hales History P. C, 238. ! 
 
 Now, then, if Shakspere fled the country to escape arrest on 
 the charge of writing a treasonable play, and Bacon was the prin- 
 cipal in the offense, Bacon could not have been proceeded against, 
 under these rulings, until Shakspere was arraigned: hence, in some 
 sense, it might be claimed by Coke that Bacon was an outlaw by 
 the act of his accessory. And thus we can understand Coke's 
 threat to issue a capias utlagatum against Bacon. 
 
 And it will be observed that Bacon understands what Coke 
 referred to. There was no surprise expressed by him. He knew 
 there was some past event which gave color to Coke's threat, but 
 he defied him. His answer was: 
 
 To which I only said he could not, and that he was at fault; for he hunted up an 
 old scent. 
 
 And Bacon tells us Coke gave him " a number of disgraceful 
 words besides," but he is careful not to tell what they were. And 
 it will be observed that while Bacon very often refers in his letters 
 to bruits and scandals which attack his good name, he never stops 
 to explain the nature of them. Did they refer to the Shakespeare 
 Plays ? 
 
 And observe, too, how he lays this matter before Cecil. I reaW 
 between the lines of the letter something like this: 
 
 You know the agreement and understanding was that my connection with the 
 Plays was to be kept secret, and here you have told it, or some one has told it, all 
 to my mortal enemy, Coke; and he is blurting it all out in open court. I appeal 
 to you for protection; you must stop him. 
 
 1 Jacobs' Law Dictionary, vol. iv, p. no. 
 
638 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 If this be not the correct interpretation of the letter, why should 
 Bacon complain to his enemy, Cecil, about something his other 
 enemy, Coke, said against him concerning some threat to dig up an 
 old matter and clap a writ of outlawry on his back ? 
 
 It seems to me, however, that all these historical facts form a 
 very solid basis for the Cipher narrative which follows. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 
 
 Give me the ocular proof. 
 
 Othello, ///, j. 
 
 I AM aware that nine-tenths of those who read this book will 
 turn at once to that part of it which proves the existence of a 
 Cipher in the Shakespeare Plays. That is the all-important ques- 
 tion: that is the essence and material part of the work. 
 
 Is there or is there not a Cipher in the Plays ? A vast gulf sepa- 
 rates these two conclusions. Are the Plays simply what they are 
 given out to be by Heminge and Condell, untutored outpourings 
 of a great rustic genius; or are they a marvelously complicated 
 padding around a wonderful internal narrative ? 
 
 I am sorry to see that some persons seem to think that this 
 whole question merely concerns myself, and that it is to be an- 
 swered by sneers and personal abuse. I am the least part, the most 
 insignificant part, of this whole matter. 
 
 The question is really this: Is the voice of Francis Bacon again 
 speaking in the world ? Has the tongue, which has been stilled for 
 two hundred and sixty years, again been loosened, and is it about 
 to fill the astonished globe with eloquence and melody? 
 
 If it were announced to-morrow that from the grave at Stratford 
 there were proceeding articulated utterances, — muffled, if you 
 please, but telling, even in fragments, a mighty and wonderful 
 story, — how the millions would swarm until all the streets and lanes 
 and fields and farms of Stratford were overflowed with an excited 
 multitude; how the foremost ranks would sink upon their kneesj 
 around the privileged persons who were at the open tomb; how 
 every word would be repeated backward, from man to man, with 
 reverent mien and bated breath, to be, at last, flashed on the 
 wings of the lightning to all the islands and continents; to every 
 habitation of civilized man on earth. 
 
 639 
 
640 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 I ask all just-minded men to approach this revelation in the 
 same spirit. Abuse and insults may wound the individual: they 
 cannot help the untruth nor hurt the truth. 
 
 I. The Cipher a Reality. 
 
 That the Cipher is there; that I have found it out; that the nar- 
 rative given is real, no man can doubt who reads this book to 
 the end. There may be faults in my workmanship; there are none 
 in the Cipher itself. All that I give is reality; but I may not give all 
 there is. The difficulties are such as arise from the wonderful com- 
 plexity of the Cipher, and the almost impossibility of the brain 
 holding all the interlocking threads of the root-numbers in their 
 order. Some more mathematical head than mine may be able to 
 do it. 
 
 I would call the attention of those who may think that the 
 results are accidental to the fact that each scene, and, in fact, each 
 column and page, tells a different part of the same continuous story. 
 In one place, it is the rage of the Queen; in another, the flight of 
 the actors; in another, Bacon's despair; in another, the village 
 doctor; in another, the description of the sick Shakspere; in 
 another, the supper, etc. — all derived from the same series of num- 
 bers used in the same order. 
 
 II. The Nicknames of the Actors. 
 
 In the Cipher narrative, the actors are often represented by 
 nicknames, probably derived from the characters they usually played. 
 And Henry Percy is sometimes called Hotspur, because that was 
 the title given to the great Henry Percy, of Henry IV. 's time. 
 
 It is an historical fact that Francis Bacon had a servant by the 
 name of Henry Percy. His mother alludes to him, in one of her 
 letters, as, "that bloody Percy." His relations to Bacon were very 
 close. He seems to have had charge of all Bacon's manuscripts at 
 the time of his death. It is possible Bacon may have intended, at 
 one time, to authorize the publication of an avowal of his author- 
 ship of the Plays. He said in the first draft of his will: 
 
 But toward the durable part of memory, which consisteth in my writings, I re- 
 quire my servant Henry Percy to deliver to my brother Constable all my manu- 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 641 
 
 script compositions, and the fragments also of such as are not finished; to the end 
 that if any of them be fit to be published, he may accordingly dispose of them. 
 And herein I desire him to take the advice of Mr. Selden, and Mr. He rbert, of the 
 Inner Temple, and to publish or suppress what shall be thought fit} 
 
 It is also evident that Bacon held Henry Percy in high respect. 
 In his last will he says: 
 
 I give to Mr. Henry Percy one hundred pounds. 2 
 
 He was not a mere servant; he was "Master Henry Percy." 
 Did this tender and respectful feeling represent Bacon's gratitude 
 to Henry Percy for invaluable services in a great crisis of his life ? 
 
 We see exemplified the habit of the actors in assuming the names 
 of the characters they acted on the stage, in Shakspere's remark in 
 the traditional jest that has come down to us: " William the Con- 
 queror comes before Richard III.;" representing himself as Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror, and Burbage by the name of his favorite role, 
 the bloody Duke of Gloster. 
 
 As illustrating still further how the names of the actors became 
 identified with the names of the characters they impersonated, I 
 would call attention to the following fact: 
 
 Bishop Corbet, writing in the reign of Charles I., and giving a description of 
 the battle of Bosworth, as narrated to him on the field by a provincial tavern- 
 keeper, tells us that when the perspicuous guide 
 
 Would have said, King Richard died, 
 And called, a horse ! a horse ! he Burbage cried. 3 
 
 III. Queen Elizabeth's Violence. 
 
 It may be objected by some that the scene in which the Queen 
 beats Hayward was undignified and improbable; but he who reads 
 the history of that reign will find that Queen Elizabeth was a 
 woman of the most violent and man -like temper. We find it 
 recorded that she boxed Essex' ears, and that he half-drew his 
 sword upon her, and swore " he would not take such treatment 
 from Henry VIII. himself, if he were alive." And Rowland White 
 records: 
 
 The Queen hath of late used the fair Mrs. Bridges with words and blows of 
 anger. 
 
 1 Spedding, Life and Works, vol. vii, p. 540. 3 Halliwell-Phillipps, Outlines, p. 96. 
 
 2 Ibid., p. 542. 
 
642 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Mrs. Bridges was one of the Queen's maids-of-honor who had 
 offended her. 
 
 IV. The Language of the Period. 
 
 I would touch upon one other preliminary point before coming 
 to the Cipher story. Some persons may think that the sentences 
 which I give as parts of the internal narrative sound strangely, and 
 are strained in their construction; but it must be remembered that 
 the English of the sixteenth century was not the English of the 
 nineteenth century. The powers of our tongue have been vastly 
 increased. It is curious to note how many words, now in daily use, 
 cannot be found at all in the Shakespeare Plays. Here are some of 
 them: 
 
 Actually, 
 
 Dejection, 
 
 Mob, 
 
 Admission, 
 
 Despicable, 
 
 Occupied, 
 
 Alternate, 
 
 Director, 
 
 Pauper, 
 
 Alternately, 
 
 Disappointment, 
 
 Petitioning, 
 
 Amuse, 
 
 Disappoint, 
 
 Pledged, 
 
 Amusement. 
 
 Disgust, 
 
 Popularity, 
 
 Amusing, 
 
 Earnings, 
 
 Position, 
 
 Announce, 
 
 Effort, 
 
 Precarious, 
 
 Announcement, 
 
 Efforts, 
 
 Production, 
 
 Apologize, 
 
 Entitled, 
 
 Prominent, 
 
 Artful, 
 
 Era, 
 
 Promote, 
 
 Assert, 
 
 Exclusively, 
 
 Rapid, 
 
 Assort, 
 
 Exertions, 
 
 Rapidly, 
 
 Attack, 
 
 Exhausted, 
 
 Rebuff, 
 
 Aware, 
 
 Exorbitant, 
 
 Recent, 
 
 Brutal, 
 
 Failure, 
 
 Reduce, 
 
 Cargo, 
 
 Fatigue, 
 
 Ridicule, 
 
 Clenches, 
 
 Farce, 
 
 Risk, 
 
 Completely, 
 
 Fees, 
 
 Series, 
 
 Concede, 
 
 Fiendish, 
 
 Shrubbery, 
 
 Concession, 
 
 Flog, 
 
 Starvation, 
 
 Coffee, 
 
 Flogged, 
 
 State (meaning to declare). 
 
 Confinement, 
 
 Fun, 
 
 Statement, 
 
 Conflagration, 
 
 Funny, 
 
 Stating, 
 
 Connect, 
 
 Grasping, 
 
 Surround, 
 
 Connected, 
 
 Humiliation 
 
 Surrounding, 
 
 Connection, 
 
 Inability, 
 
 Tea, 
 
 Considerable 
 
 Income, 
 
 Tobacco, 
 
 Constructed, 
 
 Indebtedness, 
 
 Treated, 
 
 Correctly, 
 
 Intense, 
 
 Treatment, 
 
 Decided, 
 
 Interfere, 
 
 Valuable, 
 
 Declaration, 
 
 Interference, 
 
 Various. 
 
 Degradation, 
 
 Lineage, 
 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 643 
 
 To illustrate the difference in the style of expression, between 
 
 that day i,nd this, let us take this brief letter, written by Bacon in 
 
 1620: 
 
 I went to Kew for pleasure, but I met with pain. But neither pleasure nor 
 pain can withdraw my mind from thinking of his Majesty's service. And because 
 his Majesty shall see how I was occupied at Kew, I send him these papers of Rules 
 for the Star-Chamber, wherein his Majesty shall erect one of the noblest and dur- 
 ablest pillars for the justice of this kingdom in perpetuity that can be; after by his 
 own wisdom and the advice of his Lords he shall have revised them, and estab- 
 lished them. The manner and circumstances I refer to my attending his Majesty. 
 The rules are not all set down, but I will do the rest within two or three days. 
 
 Or take this sentence from a letter written by Bacon, in 1594, to 
 the Lord Keeper Puckering: 
 
 I was wished to be here ready in expectation of some good effect; and therefore 
 I commend my fortune to your Lordship's kind and honorable furtherance. My 
 affection inclineth me to be much your Lordship's; and my course and way, in all 
 reason and policy for myself, leadeth me to the same dependence; hereunto if 
 there shall be joined your Lordship's obligation in dealing strongly for me as you 
 have begun, no man can be more yours. 
 
 I need not say that no person to-day would write English in that 
 fashion. And that we do not so write it is partly due to Bacon him- 
 self, because, not only in the Plays, but in his great philosophical 
 works, he has infinitely polished and perfected our language. He 
 studied, in the Promus, the "elegancies" of speech; in the Plays he 
 elaborated "the golden cadence of poesy;" ' and in The Advancement 
 of Learning he gave us many passages that are perfectly modern in 
 their exquisite smoothness and rhythm. 
 
 If the Cipher sentences are quaint and angular, the reader will 
 therefore remember that he is reading a dialect three hundred years 
 old. 
 
 V. Our Fac-similes. 
 
 Since the discussion arose about my discovery of the Cipher in 
 the Plays, one of those luminous intellects which occasionally 
 adorn all lands with their presence, and which, I am happy to say, 
 especially abound in America, has made the profound observation 
 that probably I had doctored the Plays of Shakespeare, and changed 
 the phraseology, so as to work in a pretended Cipher ! 
 
 That rasping old Thersites of literature, Carlyle, said, in his 
 
 l LoTes Labor Lost, iv, 2. 
 
644 THE CIFHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 acrid and bowie-knife style: " England contains twenty-seven mil- 
 lions of people, — mostly fools" Now, while I have, as we say in the 
 law, "no knowledge or information sufficient to form a belief" as 
 to the truth or falsity of this observation, touching the English peo- 
 ple, I can vouch for it that, to some extent, Carlyle's remark applies 
 with great force to my native country. And, therefore, to meet the 
 observation of the luminous intellect first referred to, and prevent it 
 being taken up and echoed and re-echoed by multitudinous other 
 luminous intellects, as is their wont, I have requested my publishers 
 to procure facsimiles of the pages of the Folio under consideration 
 in my book, copied by the sun itself, from the pages of one of those 
 invaluable copies of the original Folio of 1623 which still exist among 
 us. And consequently Messrs. Peale & Co. proceeded to New York, 
 and, upon application to Columbia College, which possesses the most 
 complete copy, I am informed, in the United States, they were per- 
 mitted, through the kindness and courtesy of the officers of the Col- 
 lege, to photograph the original pages, (pages that might have been 
 at one time in the hands of Francis Bacon himself), directly onto the 
 plates on which they were engraved. The great volume was 
 sent every day, in the care of an officer of the College, to the ar- 
 tists' rooms, and the custodian was instructed never to permit it to 
 be taken out of his sight for a single instant, so precious is it 
 esteemed. And we have the certificate of Mr. Melvil Dewey, 
 Chief Librarian of Columbia College, to the fidelity of the fac- 
 similes now presented in this volume. They are, of course, re- 
 duced in size, to bring them within the compass of my book, but 
 otherwise they are exact and faithful reproductions of the original. 
 The numbers given on their margins, and the underscoring in 
 red ink of every tenth word, were printed on them subsequently, 
 to enable the critical to satisfy themselves that the words actually 
 occupy the numerical places on the pages which I assert they do. 
 Here is the certificate referred to: 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 
 
 645 
 
 Columbia College Library 
 
 Meivn. Dkwey. Chief Libn. Madison Ay. t 49* St. 
 
 -<JJ2^p 
 
 New York. -<J*4d /"J 
 
 7 
 
 VU lA^U^O COO A Out/ /d^vvUyt^Aj / Jryirv^ tm> 
 S?UL p (ULC4 >V£/U/ ^%JtU^yaJ>^ tsy^dbdls 
 
 Certificate of the Librarian of Columbia College. 
 
646 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 VI. Another Brilliant Suggestion. 
 
 But another of those luminous intellects (whose existence is a 
 subject of perpetual perplexity to those who reverence God) has 
 made the further suggestion that, granted there is a Cipher in the 
 Flays, Bacon put it there to cheat Shakspere out of his just rights 
 and honors ! Bacon, — says this profound man, — was a scoundrel; 
 he was locked up in the Tower for bribery (the same Tower in 
 which Mr. Jefferson Brick insisted Queen Victoria, always resided, 
 and ate breakfast with her crown on); and being in Caesar's Tower, 
 and having nothing else to do, this industrious villain took Shak- 
 spere's Plays and re-wrote them, and inserted the Cipher in them, 
 in which he feloniously claimed them for himself. 
 
 But as Bacon was only in the Tower one night, the perform- 
 ance of such a work would be a greater feat of wonder than any- 
 thing his admirers have ever yet claimed for him. 
 
 But if any answer is needed to this shallowness, it is found in 
 the fact that the original forms of the Shakespeare Plays, where 
 they have come down to us, as in the case of the first copy of The 
 Merry Wives, Hamlet, Henry V., etc., as they existed before they 
 were doubled in size and the Cipher injected into them, are very 
 meager and barren performances; and that it is in the Plays, after 
 Bacon had inserted the Cipher story in them (that night in the Tower), 
 that the real Shakespearean genius is manifested. 
 
 And if any further answer were needed it will be found in the 
 revelations of the Cipher itself. It will be seen that in many places 
 almost every word is a Cipher word. If I might be permitted, in so 
 grave a work as this, to recur to the style of the rostrum, I would 
 cite an anecdote: 
 
 A father had a very troublesome son, — not to say vicious, but 
 very vivacious. The boy was taken sick. A doctor was sent for. 
 The doctor applied a mustard-plaster. The father held a light 
 for him. 
 
 " Doctor," said the fond parent, " while you are at it, could you 
 not put a plaster on this young gentleman that would draw the 
 d 1 out of him ? " 
 
 The doctor, who knew the boy well, replied, " I fear, my dear 
 sir, if I did so, there would be nothing left of the boy." 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 647 
 
 • 
 And so I would say that, if you take out of the Plays the Bacon- 
 ian Cipher, there will be nothing left for the man of Stratford to 
 lay claim to. 
 
 And here I would remark that it is sorrowful — nay, pitiful — 
 nay, shameful — to read the fearful abuse which in sewer-rivers 
 has deluged the fair memory of Francis Bacon in the last few 
 months, in these United States, since this discussion arose; — let loose 
 by men who know nothing of Bacon's life except what they have 
 learned from Macaulay's slanderous essay. If Bacon had been a 
 common malefactor, guilty of all the crimes in the calendar, and 
 was still alive, and still persecuting mankind, they could scarcely 
 have attacked him more brutally, viciously, savagely or vindictively. 
 It teaches us all a great lesson: — that no man should ever here- 
 after complain of slanders and unjust abuse, when such torrents of 
 obloquy can be poured, without stint, by human beings, over the good 
 name of one of the greatest benefactors of the human race. And 
 it suggests that if the Darwinian theory be true, that we are 
 descended from the monkeys, then it would appear that, in some 
 respects, we have not improved upon our progenitors, but possess 
 traits of baseness peculiarly and exclusively human. 
 
 VII. The Method of the Cipher. 
 
 I have stated that there are live root-numbers for this part of 
 the narrative. These are 505, 506, 513, 516, 523. These are all nwdi- 
 ficatipns of one number. 
 
 I have also stated that these numbers are modified by certain 
 other numbers, which appear on page 73 and page 74, to-wit: on 
 the last page of the first part of King Henry IV., and the first page 
 of the second part of King Henry IV. These numbers I have 
 given on pages 581, etc., ante. 
 
 In the working out of the Cipher, 505 and 523 cooperate with 1 
 
 each other: that is, at first part of the story is told by 505; then it, 
 interlocks with 523; or a number due to 523 alternates with a 
 number due to 505. The number 506, as will be shown, is separ- 
 ately treated. The numbers 513 and 516 go together, just as 505 
 and 523 do. Afterwards a number which is a product, we will say, 
 of 505, goes forward, separating from the 523 products, and is put 
 
648 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 • 
 
 through its own modifications, as will be explained hereafter, and 
 the same is true of the products of 523. 
 
 In the order of the narrative the words growing out of 513 and 
 516 precede the words growing out of 505 and 523. 
 
 The first "modifiers" used are 218 and 219, and 197 and 198; then 
 follow 30 and 50. These are the modifiers found in the second 
 column of page 74; then follow the modifiers found on page 73. 
 
 iWhere the count begins from the beginning of a scene, it also 
 runs from the end of the same scene. \Where it begins to run from 
 a scene in the midst of an act, it is carried to the beginnings and 
 ends of that scene and of all the other scenes in that act. I Where it 
 \y begins from a page alone, it is confined to that page, or to the 
 column next but one thereafter, and moves only in one direction. 
 Where the Cipher runs from the beginning of a scene and goes for- 
 ward, it will also to a certain extent move backward. 
 
 The numbers acquired by working one page become root-num- 
 bers, and are carried forward or backward to other pages. 
 
 Thus, if we commence with the root-number 505, in the first 
 column of page 75, we find two subdivisions in that column, due to 
 the break in the narrative caused by the words of the stage direc- 
 tion: "Enter Morton" There are 193 words in the upper subdi- 
 vision, and 253 in the lower. If we deduct these from 505 and 523, 
 for instance, we have these results: 
 
 5o5 5o5 5 2 3 S23 
 
 193 ^53 193 2 53 
 
 312 252 330 270 
 
 Now, these numbers, we will see, are carried forward and back- 
 ward, in due order, and yield, according to the page or column 
 to which they are applied, different parts of the Cipher story. But 
 as these numbers would soon exhaust the number of pages, col- 
 umns, scenes and fragments of scenes to which they could be ap- 
 plied, they are in turn modified again, as already stated, by the 
 modifiers on pages 73 and 74. Thus, 30 and 50 deducted from 312 
 make the new root-numbers 282 and 262; treated the same way, 523 
 produces the root-numbers 300 and '280; and these new root-num- 
 bers, like the others, are carried entirely through both the first and 
 second parts of Henry IV. 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 
 
 649 
 
 And the reader will observe that the order in which these num- 
 bers progress is regular and orderly. For instance, the above 
 numbers, 282, 262, 300, 280, will work out an entirely different part 
 of the story from the numbers derived by deducting the first col- 
 umn of page 74, with its modifications, from 505 and 523. And the 
 order is in the historical order of the narrative. 
 
 For instance, if we commence on the first column of page 75, 
 and work forward, the story that comes out is about the Queen 
 sending out the soldiers to find Shakspere and his fellows, and the 
 flight of the terrified actors. This is all produced by 505, 506, 513, 
 516, 523, modified first by those two fragments of that first column 
 of page 75, to-wit, 193 and 253; and these, in turn, modified by the 
 modifying numbers in the second column of page 74, to-wit, 50, 30, 
 218, 198, or 49, 29, 219 and 197, accordingly as we count from the 
 last word of one fragment or the first word of the next. • 
 
 And this story, so told, it will be seen, is different from and sub- 
 sequent in order to the story told by commencing to work from the 
 last column of page 74, instead of the first column of page 75, which 
 relates to the Queen's rage, the beating of Hayward, etc. While, if 
 we commence at the first column of page 74, the story told is about 
 the bringing of the news to Bacon. 
 
 VIII. The Story Reduced to Diagrams. 
 
 For instance, let me represent the flow of the story, from the 
 fountain of one column into the pool of another, by diagrams; the 
 reader remembering that the story always grows out of those same 
 root-numbers, 505, 506, 513, 516, 523, modified always, in the same 
 order, by the same modifiers, 30, 50, 198, 218, 27, 62, 90, 79, etc. 
 
 1 st col., p.74. 
 
 
 2d C0l., p.74. 
 
 
 2d col., p.74. 
 
 
 ist col., p. 75. 
 
 The count 
 
 
 The story 
 
 
 The count 
 
 
 The Queen's 
 
 originating 
 
 
 of Bacon 
 
 
 originating 
 
 
 rage, her 
 
 on this 
 
 
 receiving 
 
 
 here tells 
 
 
 beating 
 
 Column 
 
 
 the news. 
 
 f 
 
 the story 
 
 
 Hayward, 
 
 tells - 
 
 
 
 
 of- 
 
 
 etc. 
 
650 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 1 st col., p. 75. 
 
 
 2d col., p. 75. 
 
 
 2d col., p. 75. 
 
 
 1 st col., p. 76. 
 
 The count 
 
 
 Sending for 
 
 
 The count 
 
 
 How Bacon 
 
 originating 
 
 
 Shakspere, 
 
 
 originating 
 
 
 was 
 
 here tells 
 
 
 the flight 
 
 
 here tells 
 
 
 overwhelmed 
 
 the story 
 
 
 of the 
 
 
 the story 
 
 
 with the 
 
 of- 
 
 
 actors, etc. 
 
 
 of- 
 
 
 news, etc. 
 
 1st col., p.76. 
 
 
 2d col., p.76. 
 
 
 2d col., p.76. 
 
 
 1 st col., p. 77. 
 
 The count 
 
 
 The bringing 
 
 
 The count 
 
 
 The doctor's 
 
 originating 
 
 
 of Bacon's 
 
 
 originating 
 
 
 treatment 
 
 here tells 
 
 
 body home, 
 
 
 here tells 
 
 
 of the 
 
 the story 
 
 
 and sending 
 
 
 the story 
 
 
 case, etc. 
 
 of- 
 
 
 for the 
 doctor. 
 
 
 of- 
 
 
 
 But it will be said that we have a break here, between Bacon be- 
 ing overwhelmed with the bad news, and the carrying home of his 
 body after he had taken poison. Yes, but the missing part of the 
 story is told by going backward instead of forward in the same due 
 and regular order. 
 
 That is to say, we take the root-numbers produced by modifying 
 5°5, 5 o6 > 5 T 3> 5 l6 and 5 2 3 b y J 93 and 253 (first column of page 75), 
 and we carry those root-numbers backward to the first column of 
 page 73, and we work out the directions of the Queen as to how 
 Shakspere was to be treated when arrested, how he was to be of- 
 fered rewards to reveal the real author of the Plays, etc.; and it 
 also tells how the Queen expressed her disbelief in Bacon's guilt, 
 and denounced his cousin Cecil for his lies and slanders concerning 
 him. 
 
 And when we take the root-numbers produced by the modifying 
 numbers found in the first column of page 74, and which told of how 
 the news was brought to Bacon, the same numbers so produced 
 are carried backward to the next page, and, working backward 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 
 
 651 
 
 and forward, they tell that which follows in due order, to-wit, 
 the conversation between Bacon and his brother Anthony, in which 
 Anthony urges him to fly. Thus: 
 
 1 st col., p. 74. 
 
 The Queen's 
 orders as to 
 Shakspere's 
 treatment, 
 etc. 
 
 And again 
 
 1 st col., p. 75. 
 
 The numbers 
 originating 
 here, carried 
 back, would 
 
 . tell - / 
 
 1st col., p-73- 2d col., p. 73. 
 
 The 
 
 conversation 
 
 of the 
 
 brothers. 
 
 *-«*. 
 
 1st col., p. 74. 
 
 The numbers 
 originating 
 here arei£ 
 carried 
 backward 
 and tell—. 
 
 While Bacon's taking the poison is told partly on page 76 and 
 partly on page 72, the finding of the body is told in the second 
 column of page 72, and carried by tke root-numbers so created 
 forward to page 76. The same rule applies to all the narrative 
 which I have worked out: the story radiates from that common 1 
 center, which I have called " The Heart of the Mystery, " the dividing 
 line between the first and second parts of the play of Henry IV. 
 
 Many have supposed that the Cipher story was made by jump- 
 ing about from post to pillar, picking out a word here and a word 
 there; but the above diagrams will show that it is nothing of the ^/ 
 kind. It moves with the utmost precision and the most microscopic 
 accuracy, from one point of departure to another, carrying the num- 
 bers created by that point of departure with it. And the cunning 
 

 652 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 with which the infolding play is adjusted to the requirements of 
 the infolded story is something marvelous beyond all parallel in the 
 achievements of the human mind. One of the difficulties I found 
 in tracing it out was this very exactness: the difference of a column 
 would make the greatest difference in the story told, and hence, if I 
 was not very careful, I would have two different parts of the narra- 
 tive running into each other. 
 
 IX. A Cipher of Words, not Letters. 
 
 One thing that must be understood is this, that the Cipher is 
 not one of letters, but of words. This renders it, in one sense, the 
 more simple. There is no translating of alphabetical signs into 
 aaaab, abbaa, abaab y etc., as in Bacon's biliteral cipher, which Mr. 
 Black and Mr. Clarke sought to apply to the inscription on Shak- 
 spere's tombstone. The words come out by the count, and all of 
 them. 
 
 To illustrate the Cipher in this respect, we will suppose the 
 
 reader was to find in an article, referring to the cipher-writings of 
 
 the middle ages, a sentence like this : 
 
 For there can be no doubt whatever, that if it be examined closely, there is 
 reason to believe that a cunningly adjusted and concealed cipher story, and one 
 not of alphabetical signs, but of words, may be found hidden, not only in books, 
 but letters of those ages, of which the very intricate key is lost. It may be re- 
 vealed by some laborious student in the future, but for the present age all the great 
 stories told therein, in cryptogram, are hopelessly buried. 
 
 Now, the reader might suppose this sentence to be just what it 
 appears to be on its surface. But if we arrange the words numer- 
 ically, placing the proper number over each word, and then pick 
 out every fifth word, we will find that they form together this sen- 
 tence: 
 
 No ; it is a cipher of 7vords, not letters, which is revealed in The Great Crypto- 
 gram. 
 
 Now, the Cipher in the Plays is on the same principle, only more 
 complicated: — the internal words hold an arithmetical relation to 
 the external sentence, and you have but to count the words to elim- 
 inate the story. But, instead of the number being, as in the above 
 sentence, 5, it is one which is the product of multiplying a certain 
 number in the first column of page 74 with another: this number 
 being in turn put through various modifications. 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 653 
 
 X. How the Cipher was Made. 
 
 But it may be asked: In what way was the Cipher narrative 
 inserted in the Plays? 
 
 Bacon, as I suppose, first wrote out his internal story. Then he 
 determined upon the mechanism of the Cipher. It was necessary to \/ 
 use some words many times over; but it would not do to pepper the 
 text with significant words. Hence, such words as shake and speare 
 and plays and volume and suspicion had to be so placed that they would 
 sometimes fit the Cipher counting down the column, and sometimes 
 fit it counting up the column ; and the necessities of this work 
 determined the number of words in a column or subdivision of a 
 column; and hence the fact, which I have already pointed out, 
 that some columns contain nearly twice as many words as others. 
 
 And here I would note that the word please, in Elizabeth's time, 
 was pronounced as the Irish peasant pronounces it to-day, that is to 
 say, as place; and it will be seen that Bacon uses please to represent 
 plays. And very wisely, since the word plays, recurring constantly, 
 would certainly have aroused suspicion. The word her was then 
 pronounced like hair, even as the Irish brogue would now give it ; 
 and, to avoid the constant use of her, in referring to Queen Eliza- 
 beth, as her Grace, her Majesty, etc., Bacon uses the word here, which 
 also had the sound of hair. This is shown in the pun made by 
 Falstaff, in the first part of Henry IV., act i, scene 2, where, speak- 
 ing to Prince Hal, he says: 
 
 That were it here apparent, that thou art heir apparent. 
 
 In fact it may be assumed that in that age in England the 
 vowels had what might be called the continental sound, that is to 
 say, the a had the broad sound of ah, and the e the sound of a. 
 Thus, reason was pronounced ray son, as we see in another of Fal- 
 staff's puns, which would be unintelligible with the present pro- 
 nunciation of the word: 
 
 » 
 
 Give you a reason on compulsion ? If reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I 
 would give no man a reason on compulsion. 1 
 
 Here Falstaff antagonizes raisins with blackberries. 
 
 In fact, the Cipher will give us, for the entertainment of the 
 
 1 1st Henry IV., ii, 3. 
 
654 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 curious, so to speak, a photograph, or rather phonograph, of the 
 exact sound of the speech of Elizabeth's age. 
 
 But, having written his internal story and decided upon the 
 mechanism of his Cipher, Bacon had to arrange his modifiers so 
 that they would enable him to use the same words more than 
 once. And it will be seen hereafter that the 50 on the second col- 
 umn of page 74 is duplicated by the 50 at the bottom of column 
 1 of page 76, so that such words as lift him up, and wipe his face, 
 etc., may be used in describing the keepers caring for the body of 
 the wounded Shakspere, and also of the lifting up of the body of 
 Bacon after he had taken the poison. 
 
 Now, having constructed his Cipher story, he applies his mechan- 
 ism to it, and he determines that in column 2, we will say, of 
 page 75, the word ?nen shall be the 221st word down the column, and 
 the word turned the 221st word up the column; then, in their 
 proper places, he puts the words turned, their, backs, and, fled, in, the, 
 greatest, fear, swifter, than, arrows, fly, toward, their, aim; and then he 
 constructs that part of the play so that it will naturally bring in 
 these words. But as the Cipher words are very numerous, he is 
 constrained to describe something in the play kindred to the story 
 told by the Cipher. Thus, this flight of the actors is couched in a 
 narrative of the flight of Hotspur's soldiers from the battle-field of 
 Shrewsbury, after he was slain. And, as Hotspur was Harry Percy 
 and Harry Percy was Bacon's servant, whenever there is a necessity 
 to name the servant in the interior story, the name of the Earl of 
 Northumberland's heroic and fiery son appears in the external 
 story. So when the doctor appears, in column 1 of page 77, to 
 prescribe for Bacon, after he took the poison, we have Falstaff tell- 
 ing the Chief Justice all the symptoms of apoplexy. 
 
 This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy, a sleeping of the blood, a hor- 
 son tingling. ... It hath its original from much grief, from study and per- 
 turbation of the brain. 1 
 
 And a little further down the same column we have disease, physi- 
 cian, minister, potion, patient, prescriptions, dram, scruple; all of which 
 words, as we will see in the Cipher story, besides sick, and belly, and dis- 
 comfort, axi& grows, in the same column, and hotter, and ratsbane, and 
 
 1 2d Henry fl\, i, 3. 
 
THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 655 
 
 mouth, in the preceding column, are used to tell the story of Bacon's 
 sickness and his treatment by the physician. 
 
 In the same way, when Percy visits Stratford and labors with 
 Shakspere to induce him to fly to Scotland until the dangers of 
 the time are past, Shakspere's wife and daughter being present, 
 one aiding Percy and the other opposing him, the story is told in 
 scene 3 of act ii of the second part of Henry IV., page 81 of the 
 Folio; and this short scene is an account of the effort of Northum- 
 berland's wife and daughter to persuade him to fly to Scotland, un- 
 til the dangers of the time are past. It must have been very diffi- 
 cult to construct this scene, for t he shorter the scene the more the 
 Cipher words are packed into it, until almost every word is used 
 both in the play narrative and the Cipher narrative. 
 
 In the same way it has been noted recently, by some one, that 
 the names of the characters in Loves Labor Lost, the scene of which 
 is laid in France, are the names of the generals who conducted 
 tlie_great war raging in France during Bacon's visit to that country; 
 and no doubt there is a Cipher story in this play, relating to these 
 historical events, as Bacon perhaps witnessed them, in which it was 
 necessary to use the names of these generals; and by this cunning 
 device Bacon was able to do so repeatedly without arousing suspi- 
 cion. And the name of Armado, the Spaniard, in the same play, 
 was doubtless a cover for references to the great Spanish Armada. 
 And, as a corroboration of this, we find the word Spain's, rare word 
 in the Plays, used twice in Love's Labor Lost, and the word Spaniard 
 also used twice in this play, while it occurs but four times in all the 
 other plays in the Folio. And the word great, which would natur- 
 ally be associated with Armada, which was spoken of usually as the 
 Great Armada, occurs in Love's Labor Lost twenty-four times, while in 
 the comedy of The Two Gentlemen of Verona it occurs but seven 
 times; in The Merchant of Venice but seven times; and in All's J Veil 
 that Ends Well but four times. » 
 
 XI. How the Cipher is Worked Out. 
 
 If the reader will turn to page 76 of the fac-si?niles, being page 
 76 of the original Folio, and the third page of the second part of 
 King Henry IV., and commence to count at the bottom of the scene, 
 
6 5 6 
 
 THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 
 
 to-wit, scene second, and count upward, he will find that there are 
 just 448 words (exclusive of the bracketed words, and counting the 
 hyphenated words as single words) in that fragment of scene second 
 in that column. Now, then, if we deduct 448 from 505, the remaind- 
 er is 57, and if he will count down the next column, forward, (second 
 of page 76), the reader will find that the 57th word is the word 
 her. That is to say, the word her is the 505th word from the end 
 of scene second; and the reader will remember that 505 is one of 
 the Cipher root-numbers. 
 
 Now, I have stated that one of the modifying numbers was 30. 
 Let us take 505 again and deduct 30; the remainder is 475. If, 
 instead of starting to count from the end of the second scene in 
 the first column of page 76 we count from the end of the first sub- 
 division of the corresponding column (one page backward), to-wit, 
 the first column of page 75, we will find thatin that first subdivision 
 there are 193 words; and that number deducted from 505 leaves as 
 a remainder 282. Now, if the reader will count down the next col- 
 umn forward, just as we did in the former case, he will find that 
 the 282d word is Grace; the two countings together making the 
 combination " her Grace" Thus: 
 
 
 1 st col., p. 75^ 
 
 
 / 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 / ' 
 
 
 l 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 1 
 
 5°5 
 
 
 30 
 
 1 
 
 475 
 
 iQ3- .' 
 
 
 193 
 
 
 282 
 
 
 ^ 2 d col 
 
 ,P-75- 
 
 \ 
 
 
 \ 
 
 
 ■¥ 
 
 
 282 = 
 
 Grace 
 
 
 
 1 st col., p. 76. ^- 
 
 -2d col., p. 76. 
 
 V 
 
 57 - Her 
 
 Now let us go a step farther. We have seen that Grace was 
 produced by deducting from 505 the modifying number 30. The 
 other modifying number, in this connection, is 50, to-wit, the num- 
 ber of words in the first subdivision of column 2 of page 74 • as 
 30 represents the number of words in the last subdivision of the 
 same column. We have seen that her was the fifty-seventh word 
 in the second column of page 76. Now let us deduct 50 from 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 
 
 657 
 
 505, and again start from the same point of departure, the end of 
 scene second, second column of page 76: 505 less 50 leaves 455. 
 If we deduct from 455 the 448 words in that fragment of the scene, 
 we have as a remainder 7; and if we again, as in the former instance, 
 count down the next column, we find that the seventh word is the 
 word is. (The same result is reached by deducting 50 from that fifty- 
 seventh word, her, the remainder being 7.) Now we have: Her Grace 
 is. Her grace is what ? 
 
 Let us go back again to the former starting-point, that 193d 
 word in the first column of page 75. We again use the root-num- 
 ber 505, but this time we deduct 50 from it, as in the last instance, 
 instead of 30, and again we have 455. Now, if we deduct 193 from 
 455> or > i n other words, if we count the 193 words, the remainder to 
 make up 455 is 262; and if we again count down the next column 
 forward, the 262d word is the word furious. "Her Grace is furious.'' 
 Thus : 
 
 Here it will be observed that the difference between 57 and 7 is 
 50, and the difference between 282 and 262 is 20, the difference be- 
 tween 30 and 50. 
 
 But if her Grace is furious, what has she done ? 
 
 We have seen that her was the 505th word from the end of the 
 scene; and grace the 605th word from the beginning of the second 1 
 subdivision of column 1 of page 75, counting upwards; and is the 
 505th word from the end of the scene, less 50; and furious the 505th 
 word from the beginning of the second subdivision of column 1 of 
 page 75, counting upw r ards again, less 50. But what is the 505th 
 word from the same last-named starting-point ? There are 193 words 
 
658 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 in column 1 of page 75 above the said second subdivision: if there- 
 fore we deduct 193 from 505, the remainder is 312; that is to say, 
 the 312th word in the second column of page 75 is the 505th from 
 the top of the second subdivision of column 1 of page 75. What 
 is the 312th word ? Turn to Xhe facsimile of page 75, and you will 
 see that the 312th word is sent, in the sentence " and hath sent 
 out." But where is the out, which is necessary to make the 
 phrase sent out? Again we deduct 50 from 312, and we have left 
 262: — 262, you will remember, was, — counting down column 2 of 
 page 75, — the word furious. Now let us count 262 words upward 
 from the end of scene 2d, just as we did to obtain the words her 
 and is; and we will find that the 262d word is the 187th word, to- 
 wit: out. But there are two words lacking to complete the sen- 
 tence, — " Her grace is furious and hath sent out." Where are these? 
 If we will again take 312, and count upward from the end of the 
 scene, we will find that the 312th word is the 137th word, and; 
 and now take the same common root, 505, which has produced 
 all these words, but, instead of counting from the beginning of the 
 second subdivision of column 1 of page 75 upward, count from 
 that point downward: there are 254 words in this second subdivis- 
 ion of column 1; this deducted from 505 leaves 251. Now sup- 
 pose we go again to that end of scene 2, from which we 
 derived her, is, and and out, but count downward instead of upward, 
 just as we did to get that remainder 251, and the result will be 
 that after counting the 50 words in that fragment of scene 3 in 
 the first column of page 76, we will have 201 words left, and if we 
 go up the preceding column (2d of page 75), we will find that the 
 251st word is the word hath, — the 308th word in the second 
 column of page 75. Here, then, we have, all growing out of 505, alter- 
 nating regularly: 
 
 "Her Grace is furious and hath sent out" 
 Can any one believe that this is the result of accident? If so, let 
 them try to create a similar sentence, in the same way, with num- 
 bers not cipher numbers. Take the number 500, for instance, and 
 count from the same points of departure, in the same order that 
 we have used in the previous instance, and they will have as a result, 
 instead of the above coherent sentence, the words: 
 
 Sow — vail — of — soon — restrain — sent — king — one. 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 659 
 
 Now let the reader, by the exercise of his ingenuity, try to make 
 a sensible sentence out of these words, twisting them how he will. 
 
 I do not at this time give the regular narrative, but simply 
 some specimens to explain the way in which the Cipher moves. 
 The narrative will be given in subsequent chapters. 
 
 Let me give another specimen, growing, in part, out of the same 
 starting-points, and being in itself part of the same story. We 
 have seen that 505 less 30, one of the modifiers, was 475, and that 
 475 less 193, the upper subdivision of column 1 of page 75, pro- 
 duced 282, the word grace. Now let us try the same 475, but count 
 down the said first column of page 75, from the same starting-point, 
 instead of up. There are 254 words in the second subdivision of 
 page 75; 254 deducted from 475 leaves 221, and the 221st word in 
 the next column (second of 75) is the word men; and if we count 
 up the column it is turned, the 288th word; thus: 
 
 508 
 
 221 
 
 2~87 + 1 = 288. 
 But if we recur to the upper subdivision again, that is, if we 
 deduct from 475, 193 instead of 245, we have the same 282 which 
 produced grace. But here we come upon another feature of the 
 rule which runs all through the Cipher: If the reader will look at 
 column 1 of page 75, he will see that in the upper subdivision 
 there are ten words in brackets and five hyphenated words. Now, 
 there are four ways of counting the words of the text: (1) Count- 
 ing the words of the text, exclusive of the bracket-words, and 
 regarding the hyphenated words or double words as one word; (2) 
 counting all the words of the text, including the bracket words, and 
 treating the hyphenated word as two or three words, as the case 
 may be; (3) counting in the bracket-words without the hyphenated 
 words, and (4) the hyphenated words without the bracket-words. 
 The first two modes of counting were exemplified in the instance 
 which I gave in chapter V., page 571, ante, where the words found 
 and out were reached by counting first 836 words, in the first 
 mode of counting, and then 900 words by the second mode of 
 counting; the count departing, as in these instances, from two 
 different pages, succeeding each other, to-wit: pages 74 and 75; 
 while here it is pages 75 and 76. 
 
66o 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 If, now, we start with any Cipher number, say, 475, which is 
 505 less 30, from the beginning of the second subdivision of the first 
 column of page 75, and count upward, we will find that there are to 
 the top of the column 193 words, plus to words in brackets and 5 
 words hyphenated, making a total of 208; and this deducted from 
 475 leaves a remainder of 267, instead of 282. And we will find 
 that the 267th word, counting down the second column of page 75, 
 is the word had. Here we have: "men had turned." But if we 
 carry that 267 up that column we have 
 
 508 
 267 
 241-1-1 = 242. 
 
 But there are in this count three hyphenated words; if we count 
 these in, then the 267th word is the 245th word on the column, 
 our. Now we have: u our men had turned." 
 
 Let us recur again to 505 and again deduct 30, and again we 
 have 475 as a remainder; then deduct 193 from it, as before, and 
 the remainder is again 282; now let us go to the beginning of the 
 next scene, in the first column of page 76; that scene begins with 
 the 449th word, and if we count the number of words below that 
 word, we will find there are 49; we deduct 49 from 282 and we have 
 left 233, and the 233d word, going down the same column, in 
 which all the other words have been found, is the word their. And 
 if we recur to the alternating number 221 and go up the same 
 column again, but count in the hyphenated words, we have as the 
 221st word, the 290th word, backs. 
 
 Here, then, we have the following: 
 
 505-30=475—193=282—15 b & /*=267 up the column + h =245 
 
 505—30=475—254=221 down 
 
 505—30=475—193=282—15 b & /fc=267 up 
 
 505—30=475—254=221 down 
 
 505—30=475—193=282—49 up 
 
 505—30=475—254=221 down 
 505—30=475—193=282 up 
 
 It will be observed that our, the first word above, was obtained 
 by counting in the hyphenated words in the column, as we passed 
 over them in the count; this is expressed by the sign " -4- h; n and 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 h =245 
 
 75:2 Our 
 
 =221 
 
 75:2 men 
 
 =267 
 
 75:2 had 
 
 =288 
 
 75:2 turned 
 
 =233 
 
 75:2 their 
 
 h =290 
 
 75:2 backs 
 
 h =280 
 
 75:2 and 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 
 
 661 
 
 the word backs was obtained, also, in the same way; and the word 
 ana 7 was obtained in like manner, and in each case we have this 
 represented, as above, by the sign " -f- /i." I would here explain 
 that "245 75:2 — our," in the above table, signifies that our is the 
 245th word in the second column of page 75; in this way the reader 
 can count every word and identify it for himself. 
 
 Observe how regularly the root-numbers alternate, as to their 
 movement after leaving the original point of departure, every other 
 word going up from the first word of the second subdivision of page 
 75, while the intervening words move downward; thus, we have 193 
 — 254 — 193 — 254 — 193 — 254 — 193; and hence, counting from these 
 points of departure, we have the alternations of up, down, up, down, 
 up, down, up. And every word of the sentence begins in the first 
 column of page 75 and is found in the second column of page 75; 
 and observe also how the numbers of the words alternate: 282 — 
 221 — 282 — 221 — 282 — 221 — 282; the sentence is perfectly sym- 
 metrical throughout; and every word is the 475th word from pre- 
 cisely the same point of departure. 
 
 Can any one believe that this is the result of accident? If ,so, 
 let them produce something like it in some composition where no 
 cipher has been placed. 
 
 The above table, presented in a diagram, will appear something 
 like this: 
 
 A 
 
 2nd col., p. 75. 
 
 st col., p. 76. 
 
 XII. Another Proof of the Cipher. 
 
 And here I would pause for a moment, to call attention to a fact 
 which shows the wonderfully complex nature of the Cipher, and 
 which deserves to be remembered with that instance, given in 
 
662 THE CIPHER NARRA 'FIVE. 
 
 Chapter V. of Book II., where the same words found and out 
 were used, in two different stories, by two different sets of cipher- 
 numbers, to-wit: ii X 76 = 836 and 12X75 = 900; the same words be- 
 ing 836 from two points of departure by excluding the bracketed 
 words and counting the hyphenated words as single words, and 900 
 from the same points of departure by counting in the bracketed 
 words and counting the hyphenated words as double words. 
 Now, in the second column of page 75 the 262d word is furious. 
 This is a word repeatedly used to describe the rage of the Queen, 
 and hence we find the number of words in the column and the 
 number of bracketed and hyphenated words cunningly adjusted 
 to produce it by several different counts. Thus: 505 — 50=455; 
 this, less 193 (the number of words above the second subdivision of 
 column 1 of page 75), makes 262 — furious. But now, if we 
 deduct from 262 the 15 bracket and hyphenated words in those 193. 
 words — in other words, if we count them in — as we have done 
 in the other instances given above — we have 247 ; and 247 down the 
 page is a very significant word, in connection with the Queen being 
 furious, the word fly; but if we count up the column, the 247th 
 word is again the same 202d word, furious! And if we take 
 another root-number, 516, and deduct 254 from it, that is, count 
 down from the top of that same second subdivision in column 1 
 of page 75, we again have 262, the same word furious. And if 
 we go up the column, instead of down, the 262d word is again that 
 significant word, fly. And if we take still another root-number, 
 513, and deduct 254 from it, as above, we have as a remainder 259, 
 and if we carry this down the column we reach the significant word 
 prisoner, and if we go up the column, counting in the bracketed 
 and hyphenated words, we find that the 259th word is again the 
 same 262d word, furious. 
 
 Let the incredulous reader verify these countings, and he will 
 begin to realize the tremendous nature of the Cipher, its immen- 
 sity and the incalculable difficulty of unraveling it; and he will be 
 rather disposed to thank me for the work I have performed, and to 
 help me to perfect it, where that work is imperfect, than to meet 
 me, as I have been met, with insults and denunciation. 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 663 
 
 XIII. Why Bacon Made the Cipher. 
 
 But the astonished world may ask: Why would any man per- 
 form the vast labor involved in the construction of such a Cipher? 
 Why, I answer, have men in all ages performed great intellectual 
 feats ? What is poetry but fine thoughts invested in a sort of 
 cipher-work of words? To obtain the precise balance of rhythm, 
 the exact enumeration of syllables and the accurate accordance of 
 rhyme, implies an ingenuity and adaptiveness of mind very much 
 like that required to form a cipher; so that, in one sense, a cipher 
 work, like the Plays, is a higher form of poetry. And nature itself 
 may be said to be a sort of Cipher of which we have not as yet 
 found the key. Montaigne says: "Nature is a species of enig- 
 matic poesy." But I may go a step farther, and argue that all 
 excessive mental activity, such as Bacon exhibited, even in his 
 acknowledged works, is abnormal, and in some respects a depart- 
 ure from the sane standard. The normal man is a happy well- 
 conditioned creature, with good muscles and a sound stomach, 
 whose purpose in life is to eat, sleep and raise children, and who 
 doesn't care a farthing what anybody may think of him a thousand 
 years after his death. Anything above and beyond this is imposed 
 on man by the Creator, for his own wise ends. The great geniuses 
 of mankind have been simply a long line of heavily-burdened, 
 sweating, toiling porters, who bore God's precious gifts to man 
 from the spiritual world to the material shore. 
 
 And like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, 
 Thou bear'st thy heavy burden but a journey, 
 Till death unloads thee. 
 
 But, on the other hand, Bacon probably enjoyed the exercise of 
 his own vast ingenuity, just as children enjoy the working-out of 
 riddles; just as the musician takes pleasure in the sound of his own 
 instrument; just as the athlete delights in the magnificent play of his 
 own muscles. And he probably had the Shakespeare Cipher in his 
 mind when he said, 
 
 The labor we delight in physics pain; 
 and 
 
 To business that we love we rise betime, 
 And go to *t with delight. 
 
664 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 We can imagine him, shut up in the hermitage of St. Albans, 
 poor, downcast, powerless; annoyed by debts; the whole force of 
 the reigning powers in the state bent to his suppression; with 
 every door of possibility apparently closed in his face forever; his 
 heart raging within him the while like a caged lion. We can im- 
 agine him, I say, rising betimes to go to the task he loved, the 
 preparation of the inner history of his times, in cipher, and the crea- 
 tion of an intellectual work which, apart from the merits of poetry 
 or drama, must, he knew, live forever, when once revealed, as one of 
 the supreme triumphs of the human mind; as one of the wonders of 
 the world. 
 
 XIV. The Cipher Continued. 
 
 We have worked out the sentence, Our men turned their backs and. 
 Let us proceed. 
 
 We have heretofore, in counting down column i, page 75, de- 
 ducted 254 words, that being the number of words below the 193d 
 word, the end of the first subdivision in the column. But if we 
 count from the first word of the second subdivision there are, below 
 that word y in the column, 253 words. We shall see hereafter that 
 this subtle distinction, as to the starting-points to count from, runs 
 all through the Cipher. Now, if we again take that root-number 
 505, and deduct 253, we have as a remainder 252; but if we count 
 in the bracket and hyphenated words in that subdivision, (15), we 
 will have as a remainder 237; and the 237th word in column 2 of 
 page 75 is the word fled, which completes the sentence, Our men 
 turned their backs and fled. 
 
 We saw, in the first instance, that her Grace is furious and hath sent 
 out; we come now to finish that sentence. What was it she sent 
 out? As we have counted downward all the words below the first 
 word of the second subdivision of column 1 of page 75, so we count 
 upwards all the words above the last word in the first subdivision. 
 There are in that first subdivision 193 words; hence 192, the num- 
 ber of the words above the last word, becomes, in the progress of 
 the Cipher, a modifier, just as we have seen 253 to be. Let us 
 again take the root-number 505, from which we have worked out 
 thus far all the words given, and after deducting from it the modi- 
 fier 50, we have left 455, which, it will be remembered, produced the 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAIXED. 
 
 665 
 
 words furious, is, hath and out. If from 455 we deduct 192, we have 
 as a remainder 263, and if we carry this up the next column (2d of 
 75), we find that the 263d word is the 246th word, soldiers. Her 
 Grace is furious and hath sent out soldiers. 
 
 But what kind of soldiers ? Up to this point every word has 
 flowed out of 505; now, the Cipher changes to 523, the root-num- 
 ber which I have said, under certain conditions, alternated with 
 505. Again we deduct the number 192, (which produced soldiers), 
 from 523, and we have as a remainder 331; we carry this up the 
 next column, as usual, and the 331st word is the 178th word, troops. 
 Again we take 505 and go down the column, instead of up, that is, 
 we deduct 254, as in the former instances, and we have as a re- 
 mainder 251; or if we count in the bracket and hyphenated words, 
 236; we go up the second column of page 75, and the 236th word is 
 of, the 273d word in the column. Here, then, we have: Her Grace is 
 furious and hath sent out troops of soldiers, and Our men turned their 
 backs and fled. 
 
 Now we turn again to the interlocking number 523, and, after de- 
 ducting the modifier 50, which leaves 473, counting up the column, 
 we have as a remainder 280, or, counting in the bracketed and hy- 
 phenated words, which formerly produced hath {hath turned), and the 
 265th word is the word well, the first part of the hyphenated word 
 well-laboring j but as the 265th was obtained by counting in the 
 hyphenated words in 193, we therefore count the hyphenated words 
 separately, and that gives us well. Now, if we count 505 from the 
 beginning of scene 3, column 1, page 76, down the 50 words in 
 that fragment of scene, and forward and down the next column, 
 we find the 505th word to be the 455th word in the second column 
 of page 86, to-wit, the word horsed. Here, then, we have sent out 
 troops of soldiers well horsed. In that day they used the word horsed 
 where we would employ the expression mounted; thus, Macbeth 
 
 speaks of * 
 
 Pity, like a naked, new-born babe, 
 Horsed on the sightless couriers of the air. 
 
 And at the top of the first column of page 75 we have: 
 
 My lord, Sir John Umfreville turned me back 
 With joyful tidings; and (being better horsed) 
 Out-rode me. 
 
666 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 But how did our men fly ? We have seen that 505 minus 30 pro- 
 duced 475, and this minus 254 left 221, and that 221, down the sec- 
 ond column of page 75, was men, and up the same column was 
 turned (our men turned their backs). Now let us carry 221 up the same 
 column again, but count in the bracketed and hyphenated words 
 in the space we pass over, and we will find that the 221st word is 
 the 296th word, in. Again let us take 505, deduct 193, and we have 
 left 312; now let us go again to the beginning of the next scene, 
 as we did to find the word their, and deduct, as before, 49, carry- 
 ing the remainder (263) up the second column of page 75, but 
 counting in the three additional hyphenated words, and we will 
 find the 263d word to be the 249th word from the top, the. Again 
 let us recur to 505, and, counting down the same first column of 
 page 75, from the usual starting-point, 254 words, we have left as 
 before 251 words; or, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated 
 words, 236; and if we count down the next column, counting in 
 the bracketed words, the 236th word is the 216th word, greatest. 
 And if we again take 505, and count up from the end of the first 
 subdivision of the first column of page 75, counting in the brack- 
 eted and hyphenated words, as we did in the last instance, we 
 have 297, which carried down the next column produces the word 
 fear. 
 
 505—30=475—254=221. 508—221+6 & h on col.— 
 505— 193— 312— 49=263— 508— 263+/*= 
 
 505 254=251—15 b & /z=236— 20 3=216. 
 
 505 193=312—15 b & /;=297. 
 
 Observe again the symmetry of this sentence: it all grows out 
 of 505; it is all found in the second column of page 75; the count 
 all begins at the same point in the first column of page 75, and it 
 regularly alternates: 254 — 193 — 254 — 193; — 2*21 — 312 — 251 — 
 312; two words go up the column together, and two words go 
 down the column together. Can any one believe that this is the 
 result of accident ? 
 
 We now have : Our men turned their backs and fled in the greatest fear. 
 
 We go a step farther. We recur to the interlocking number 
 523 and again deduct from it the modifier 30, which leaves 493; we 
 count down from the beginning of the second subdivision, to-wit, 
 
 
 Page and 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 296 
 
 75:2 in 
 
 249 
 
 75:2 the 
 
 216 
 
 75:2 greatest 
 
 297 
 
 75:2 fear 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 667 
 
 deduct 254, and we have 239 left; and the 239th word in the next 
 column is swifter. We take 523 again, but deduct this time the 
 other modifier, 50, instead of 30, and we have 473 left. We count 
 up the column, this time, instead of down, and, deducting 193 from 
 473, we have 280 left, or, counting in the 15 bracketed and hyphen- 
 ated words in that first subdivision, we have 265 left (the same 
 number that produced we//); and this, carried down the next col- 
 umn, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, produces 
 the word then, the 243d word in the second column of page 75. And 
 the reader will observe that in the text then is constantly used for 
 than. Here, in column 2 of page 74, we have: 
 
 That arrows fled not swifter toward their aim 
 Then did our soldiers (aiming at their safety) 
 Fly from the field. 
 
 We recur again to 505, and, counting down the column, — that is, 
 deducting 254, — we have 251 left, and counting in the 15 bracketed 
 and hyphenated words, we have 236 words left; we go down the 
 next column, and we find that the 236th word is arrows. Again 
 we take 505, and deduct the modifier 50, leaving 455, and, alter- 
 nating the movement, we go up from the beginning of the second 
 subdivision, that is, we deduct 193 from 455, and we have left 262, 
 (the number which produced furious). We carry this up the next 
 column, and the 262d word is the word fly. And if we again take 
 the root-number 523, and count down the first column of page 75, 
 that is, deduct 254, we have 269 left; and if we count up the next 
 column, this brings us to the word toward, the 240th word. We 
 take the root-number 523 again, and, counting up the column, we 
 deduct 193, which leaves 330; we carry this down the first column 
 of page 76, counting in 18 bracketed and hyphenated words, and 
 the 330th word is the 312th word, their. And this illustrates the ex- 
 quisite cunning of the adjustment of the brackets and hyphens to 
 the necessities of the Cipher: this same 312th word was the word 
 their which became part of turned their backs; it resulted from de- 
 ducting 193 from the root-number 505, which left 312; now we find 
 that 193 deducted from another root-number, 523, leaves 330, and as 
 there are precisely 18 bracketed and hyphenated words above it in 
 the column, the 330th word lights upon the same 312th word their. 
 
 Thus: 
 
 1 w 
 
 VNr 
 
668 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 505—193=312 down column 1, page 76 312 76:1 their 
 
 523— 193=330— 18 b & h " " " " " 312 76:1 their 
 
 One has but to compare this with the marvelous adjustments 
 shown on pages 571, 572 and 573, ante, whereby the same words, 
 found Bind out, are made to do double duty, by two different modes 
 of counting, (the difference between 836 and 900, the two root-num- 
 bers employed, being precisely equal, as in this case, to the number 
 of bracketed and hyphenated words in the text, between the 
 words themselves and the starting-point of the count), to realize 
 the extraordinary nature of the compositions we call the Shake- 
 speare Plays. 
 
 And observe again, in this last group of words, how regularly 
 254 and 193 alternate: 254—193 — 254 — 193 — 254 — 193; and 
 two groups of 523 each alternate with two groups of 505 each, 
 thus: 523, 523, 505, 505, 523, 523, 505. 
 
 But to continue: We recur to 505 again; deduct from it again 
 the modifier 30; this leaves us 475; deduct from this 193 plus the 
 bracketed and hyphenated words inclosed in the 193 words, and we 
 have left 267; we advance up the next column, and the 267th word 
 is the 242d word, aim. 
 
 Here, then, we have the sentence: 
 
 Our men turned their backs and fled in the greatest fear, swifter than 
 arrows fly toward their aim. 
 
 I might go on and fill out the rest of the narrative, but that will 
 be done in a subsequent chapter. This at least will explain the 
 mode in which the Cipher is worked out. 
 
 While it may be objected that I have not the different para- 
 graphs in their due and exact order in the sentences I have given, 
 or may give, hereafter, no reasonable man will, I think, doubt that 
 these results are not due to accident; that there is a Cipher in the 
 Plays, and a Cipher of wonderful complexity. And I shall hope 
 that the ingenuity of the world will perfect any particulars in 
 which my own work may be imperfect; even as the complete work- 
 ing-out of the Egyptian hieroglyphics was not the work of any 
 one man, or of any half-dozen men, or of any one year, or of any 
 ten years. 
 
 There is, of course, a species of incredulity which will claim 
 that all this wonderful concatenation of coherent words is the 
 
THE CIPHER EXPLAINED. 669 
 
 result of chance; just as there was a generation, a century or two 
 
 ago, which, when the fossil forms of plants and animals were first 
 
 noticed in the rocks, (misled by a preconceived notion as to the age 
 
 of the earth), declared that they were all the work of chance; that 
 
 the plastic material of nature took these manifold shapes by a series 
 
 of curious accidents. And when they were driven, after a time, 
 
 from this position, the skeptics fell back on the theory that God 
 
 had made these exact imitations of the forms of living things, and 
 
 placed them in the rocks, to perplex and deceive men, and rebuke 
 
 their strivings after knowledge. 
 
 With many men the belief in the Stratford player is a species of 
 
 religion. They imbibed it in their youth, with their mother's milk, 
 
 and they would just as soon take the flesh off their bones as the 
 
 prejudices out of their brains. Ask them for any reason, apart 
 
 from the Plays and Sonnets, (the very matters in controversy), why 
 
 they worship Shakspere; ask them what he ever did as a man that 
 
 endears him to them; what he ever said, in his individual capacity, 
 
 that was lofty, or noble, or lovable; and they are utterly at loss for 
 
 an answer; there is none. Nevertheless they are ready to die for 
 
 him, if need be, and to insult, traduce and vilify every one who 
 
 does not agree with them in their unreasoning fetish worship. It 
 
 reminds me of an observation of Montaigne: 
 
 How many have been seen patiently to suffer themselves to be burnt and 
 roasted for opinions taken upon trust from others, and by them not at all under- 
 stood. I have known a hundred and a hundred women (for Gascony has a certain 
 prerogative for obstinacy) whom you might sooner have made eat fire than forsake 
 an opinion they had conceived in anger. 
 
 And a remarkable feature, not to be overlooked, is, that not 
 only do a few numbers produce some of the twenty-nine words in 
 these sentences, b u t_t he^prjQ d u c e them all. Thus nearly all come 
 out of 505, towards the last intermixed with 523; and we derive 
 from 312 sent, out, soldiers, fly, furious, fear, their; while from 221 we 
 get men, turned, backs, in; and 251 gives greatest, arrows, etc. It 
 seems to me that if the reader were to write down these words, just 
 as I have given them, and submit them to any clear-headed person, 
 and tell him they were parts of a story, he would say that they evi- 
 dently all related to some narrative in which soldiers were sent out, 
 that somebody was furious, and some other parties were in the 
 greatest fear and had turned their backs to fly. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 
 
 Yet the first bringer of unwelcome news 
 Hath but a losing office; and his tongue 
 Sounds ever after as a sullen bell 
 Remembered knolling a departing friend. 
 
 2d Henry IV. y f, 2. 
 
 THE Cipher grows out of a series of root-numbers. Before we 
 reach that part of the story which is told by the root-numbers 
 5°5> 5 1 3> 5 J 6 and 523, there is a long narrative which leads up 
 to it, and which is told by another series of numbers, which grow 
 in due and regular order out of the primal root-number, which is 
 the parent of 505, 513, 516 and 523. They start at "The Heart of 
 the Mystery" the dividing line between the first and second parts of 
 Henry IV. and progress in regular order, forward and backward, 
 moving steadily away from that center, as the narrative proceeds, 
 until they exhaust themselves on the first page of the first part 
 and the last page of the second part of the play. Then the primal 
 number is put through another arithmetical progression, and we 
 reach the numbers I have named, 505, 513, 516 and 523, and 
 these give us that part of the story which is now being worked out. 
 And to tell that story we begin, properly, with the very beginning, 
 at " The Heart of the Mystery" in the first column of the second 
 part of the play of King Henry IV. 
 
 And here I would observe that as the Cipher flows out of the first 
 column of page 74 its mode of progression is different from the 
 Cipher referred to in the last chapter, for that grew out of the first 
 column of page 75, which is broken into two parts by the stage 
 direction "Enter Morton;" and hence the root-numbers were mod- 
 ified at one time by subtracting the upper half, and at another time 
 by subtracting the lower half; that is to say, by counting up from 
 
 670 
 
BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 
 
 671 
 
 "Enter Morton" or counting down. But the first column of page 
 74 has no such break in it; it is solid; and hence the root-numbers 
 sooner exhaust themselves. And this perhaps was rendered neces- 
 sary by the fact that there are but 248 words in the second column 
 of page 74, while there are 508 words in the second column of page 
 75. There would have been great difficulty in packing as many 
 Cipher words into 248 words as into 508 words. Hence the dif- 
 ferent Cipher numbers interlock with each other more frequently, 
 and in a short space we find all the Cipher numbers (except 506, 
 which has a treatment peculiar to itself and apart from the others) 
 brought into requisition. 
 
 The former Cipher numbers, to which I have alluded, ended 
 with some brief declaration from Harry Percy of the evil tidings; 
 and the first words spoken by Bacon are based on the hope that 
 there may be some mistake, that the news may not be authentic. 
 He inquires: " Saw you the Earl '? How is this derived?" "The Earl," 
 of course, means the Earl of Essex, and the head of the conspiracy. 
 And here I would also explain, that just as we sometimes modified 
 505 and 523, in the examples given in the last chapter, by counting 
 the words above the first word of the second subdivision of column 1 
 of page 75, to-wit, 193; and sometimes the words above the last word 
 of the first subdivision, to-wit, 192: so with this first column of page 
 74, if we count down the column there are 284 words, exclusive of 
 bracketed and the additional hyphenated words, but if we count up 
 the column we will find that the number of words above the last word 
 of the column is but 283, exclusive of bracketed words and the ad- 
 ditional hyphenated words. And this the reader will perceive is a 
 necessary distinction, otherwise counting up and down the column 
 would produce the same results; and as the Cipher runs from the begin- 
 nings and ends of scenes, and as the "Induction" is in the nature of a first 
 scene (for the next scene is called "Scena Secunda "), it follows that 
 we must adopt the same rule already shown to exist as to 193, 254, 
 etc., and which we will see hereafter runs all through the Cipher, 
 in both plays. And these subtle distinctions not only show the 
 microscopic accuracy of the work, but illustrate at the same time 
 the difficulty of deciphering it. 
 
 I place at the head of the column the root-numbers and their 
 
672 THE CIPHER NA RKA TI VE. 
 
 modifications; and the reader will note that every word of the co- 
 herent narrative which follows is derived from one or the other of 
 these numbers, modified by the same modifiers, 30 and 50, which 
 we found so effective on page 75, together with the other modifiers, 
 197, 198, 218 and 219, which are also found, as we have already ex- 
 plained, in the second column of page 74. 
 
 I would also call attention to the fact that just as we, in the pre- 
 ceding chapter, sometimes counted in the bracketed and additional 
 hyphenated words in the subdivisions of column 1 of page 75, and 
 sometimes did not: so in this case, sometimes we count in the brack- 
 eted and additional hyphenated words in column 1 of page 74, and 
 sometimes we do not. And as in the former instance we indicated 
 it by the marks " — 15 b&h," there being 15 bracketed and hyphen- 
 ated words in both those subdivisions, so in the following examples 
 we indicate it by the marks " — 18 b &h," there being 18 bracketed 
 and additional hyphenated words in column 1 of page 74. Where 
 the figures '* 21 b" or " 22 b & h" occur, they refer to the brack- 
 eted words or the bracketed and additional hyphenated words in 
 the same column in which the words are found. 
 
 I would call attention to the significant words in the narrative 
 that flow out of the modifiers; for instance, 523 — 284 = 239, from; 
 less 50= iSg, gentleman; less 30= 209 — 21 b== 188, a; less 30=158, 
 whom; 505 — 284 = 221, I; less 50=171, derived; less 30=191, bred; 
 505 — 284 = 221 — 21 b in column = 200, these; 523 — 284=239 — 
 21 b in column = 2i8, news; while 523 — 283 = 240, me; — 50 = 
 190, well; — 30=210, /. Here in two root-numbers, alternated 
 with the modifiers 50 and 30, we produce the significant words: 
 /, derived, these, news, from, a, well, bred, gentleman, whom, I. Surely, 
 all this cannot be accidental? 
 
 Suppose instead of these root-numbers, 505 and 523, we take 
 any other numbers, say 500 and 450, and apply them in the same 
 way, and in £he same order, as in the above sentence; and we will 
 have as a result the following words: came, the, a, name, listen, you, 
 fortunes, Monmouth, the, that, after. Not only do these words make 
 no sense arranged in the same order as in the above coherent sen- 
 tence, but it is impossible to make sense out of them, arrange them 
 how you will. You might put together: after that Monmouth ca?ne; 
 
BACO-N HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 
 
 673 
 
 but the remaining words will puzzle the greatest ingenuity; and 
 then comes the question: Who is Monmouth, and what has he to 
 do with any story that precedes or follows this? But 505, 523, 
 etc., not only produce a coherent narrative on this page, but on 
 all the other pages examined, and the story on one page- is a part of 
 the story on all the other pages. 
 
 I. The Narrative. 
 
 523 
 
 284 
 
 239 
 
 523 
 
 516 
 
 284 
 
 240 
 
 232 
 
 516 
 
 283 
 
 233 
 
 513 
 
 284 
 
 229 
 
 513 
 
 283 
 
 230 
 
 505 
 
 284 
 
 221 
 
 505 
 283 
 
 222 
 
 Page and 
 
 Word. Column. 
 
 523— 284=239— 51=188— 20 £& £=168. 168 74:2 How 
 
 505— 284=221— 51=170-1 £=169. 169 74:2 is 
 
 523— 284=239— 50=189— 19 £=1 70. 170 74:2 this 
 
 505—284=221—50=171. 171 74:2 derived? 
 
 523— 283=240— 18 b & £=222— 50=172. 172 74:2 Saw 
 
 505—283=222—30=192—19=173. 173 74:2 you 
 
 523—283=240. 248—240=8+1=9. 9 74:2 the 
 
 505—284=221—167=54. 54 74:2 Earl? 
 
 523— 284=239— 7 h (74: 1)=232. 232 74:2 No, 
 
 505—284=221. 221 74:2 I 
 
 523—284=239—18 b & h (74:1)=221— 50=171. 171 74:2 derived 
 
 505—284=221—21 £=200. 200 74:2 these 
 
 523—284=239—21 £=218. 218 74:2 news 
 
 505—284=221—219=2. 248—2=246+1=247. 247 74:2 from 
 
 523—284=239—30=209—21 £=188. 188 74:2 a 
 
 523-283=240—50=190. 190 74:2 well 
 
 505—284=221—30=191. 191 74:2 bred 
 
 523—284=239—50=189. 189 74:2 gentleman 
 
 505—283=222—29=193. 193 74:2 of 
 523—284=239—18 b & £=221—50=171. 248—171= 
 
 77+1=78+15=93. 93 74:2 good 
 
 505—284=221—167=54. 248—54=194+1=195 195 74:2 name 
 
 523—284=239—30=209. 209 74:2 whom 
 
 505—284=221—18 b & £=203—19 £=184. (184) 74:2 my 
 
 523— 284=239^18 b& £=221— 1 £=220. 220 74:2 lord 
 
 505—284=221—218=3. 3 74:2 the 
 
 523—284=239. 248—239=9+1=10. 10 74:2 Earl 
 
 516— 284=232— 21 £=211. 211 74:2 sent 
 
 513—283=230—50=180—19=161. 161 74:2 to 
 
 516—284=232. 248—232=16+1=17. 17 74:2 tell 
 
 523—283=240. 248—240=8+1=9+30=39. 39 74:2 your 
 
 523—284=239. 248—239=9+1=10+30=40. 40 74:2 Honor 
 
 505—284=221—168=53. 53 74:2 the 
 
674 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 This 168 is the middle subdivision of column 2 of page 74. It runs from 50 to 
 218, as is shown in the diagram, on page 580, ante; it contains 21 bracketed words 
 and one additional hyphenated word; its modifications will appear further on. From 
 50 to 218 there are 168 words; from 51 to 218 there are 167. 
 
 505—283=222—21 £—201. 
 516—584=232—30=202. 248—202=46+1=47. 
 513=284=229. 
 
 505—283=222—198=24—4 £ +/z=20. 
 513—284=229—22 £ & /*=207. 
 
 The word servant had anciently the sense of follower or subordinate. Hora- 
 tio, although a gentleman, and a scholar with Hamlet at Wittenberg, called him- 
 self the servant of Hamlet: 
 
 Hamlet. Horatio, or do I forget myself ? 
 
 Horatio. The same, my lord, and your poor servant ever. 
 
 Hamlet. Sir, my good friend, 
 
 I'll change that name with you. 
 
 Word. 
 201 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 74:2 
 
 news. 
 
 47 
 
 74:2 
 
 He 
 
 229 
 
 74:2 
 
 is 
 
 20 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 207 
 
 74:2 
 
 servant 
 
 516— 284=232— 18 b & /*=214— 21 £=193. 
 505—284=221—30=191. 193—191=2+1=3. 
 
 193 
 3 
 
 74:2 
 75:1 
 
 of 
 
 Sir 
 
 4 
 
 75:1 
 
 John 
 
 161 
 
 75:1 
 
 Travers, 
 
 24 
 
 75:1 
 
 by 
 
 Here the Cipher, as it begins to exhaust the possibilities of column 2 of page 
 74, overflows upon the next column through the channel of the subdivisions of 74:2. 
 That is to say, instead of counting 221 down that column, we commence to count 
 at the bottom of the second subdivision. This gives us to the bottom of the column 
 thirty words, which, deducted from the 221, leaves us 191, and this, carried up from 
 the bottom of the first subdivision of the next column, gives us the word Sir. 
 
 523—283=240—50=190. 193—190=3+1=4. 
 
 505—284=221—30=191—30=161. 
 
 505—283=222—198=24. 
 
 The 198 here is one of the modifiers in the second column of page 74; that is 
 to say, from the top of the second subdivision of the column to the top of the col- 
 umn there are 50 words, and from the bottom of the first subdivision to the bottom 
 of the column there are 198 words; and from the top of the second column to the 
 bottom of the column there are 197 words. 
 
 516— 284=232— 18 £&/*=214. 248—214=34+1=35. 35 74:2 the 
 
 516— 284=232— 30=202— 7 /fc=195. 195 74:2 name 
 
 516—284=233—50=183. 248—183=60. 66 74:2 of 
 
 523—284=239—50=189. 193—189=4+1=5. 5 75:1 Umfreville. 
 
 This 189 is the middle subdivision 168 plus the 21 bracketed words contained 
 therein, making together 189. 
 
 513—283=230—2 /fc=228. 
 513—284=229. 
 513—273=230. 
 
 516—284=232—30=202—20 b & /fr=182. 
 516—283=233—50=183. 248—183=65+1= 
 66+15 £=81 
 
 228 
 
 74:2 
 
 He 
 
 229 
 
 74:2 
 
 is 
 
 230 
 
 74:2 
 
 furnished 
 
 182 
 
 74:2 
 
 with 
 
 81 
 
 74:2 
 
 all 
 
BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 
 
 675 
 
 Word. 
 
 516—283=233—50=183—19 4—174. 174 
 
 516—283=233 233 
 
 516—283=233—30=203. 248—203=45+1=46 46 
 
 516—283=233—30=203—50=153. 248—153=95+1= 96 
 513—284=229—30=199. 248—199=49 + 1=50. 50 
 
 516—284=232—30= 202 202 
 
 516— 283=233— 30=203— 248— 203=43+ 1=46+2 h= 48 
 516—284=232—30=202—197=5. 18 4 & h —5= 
 
 13+1=14. 14 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 84:2 
 
 the 
 
 74:2 
 
 certainties, 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 74:2 
 
 will 
 
 74:2 
 
 answer 
 
 74:2 
 
 for 
 
 74:2 
 
 himself, 
 
 74:1 
 
 when 
 
 This last count needs a little explanation. In the former instances there was 
 always, after counting in all the words in column 1 of page 74, a remainder 
 which was carried over to the next column, or, through the subdivision in the 
 second column of page 74, overflowed into the first column of page 75. But sup- 
 pose there is, after deducting the modifier, no remainder to be thus carried to the next 
 column, then we must look for the word in the first column of page 74, by moving 
 up or down that column. And this is what is done in this instance. I might state 
 the matter thus: 516 — 30=486 — 197=289. Now, we are about to carry 289 up the 
 first column of page 74; but there are 18 4 & h in that column, which added to 284 
 makes a total in the column of words of all kinds of 302; — now, if we deduct 288 
 from 302 we have i3 + i=i4=w^«. We find the same course pursued to obtain 
 the word of on the eighth line below. 
 
 505—283=222—198=24. 193—24=169+1=170. 
 505—284=221. 248— 221=27+1=28+24 4+/&=52. 
 505—284=221. 248—221=27+1=28. 
 523—284=239—218=21. 248—21=227+1=228. 
 513—284=229—198=31. 
 505—283=222—198=24+4 4+/fc=20. 
 523—284=239—218=21. 
 516—284=232—30=202—18 4+ /*=184— 198=14. 
 
 284—14=270—1+3 4=274. 
 516—284=232—30=202=197=5. 248—5=243+1= 
 516—284=232—30=202—7 // (74:1)=195. 
 505—283=222—30=192. 
 
 505—284=221—168=53. 248—53=195+1=196+14= 
 505—284=221—168=53—248—53=195+1=196 
 
 +2 4+/&=198. 
 523—283=240. 
 
 505—283=222—22 4+/&=200. 
 523—283=240—22 4+//=218. 
 505—284=221—167=54—7 h 284=47. 248—47= 
 
 201 + 1=202. 
 505—284=221—18 4 & /^=203. 
 
 505—283=222—197=25. 193—25=168+1= 
 505—283=222—197=25. 193+25=218. 
 
 =169. 
 
 170 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 52 
 
 74:2 
 
 comes 
 
 28 
 
 74:2 
 
 here. 
 
 328 
 
 74:2 
 
 He 
 
 31 
 
 74:2 
 
 is 
 
 20 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 21 
 
 74:2 
 
 gentleman 
 
 274 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 244 
 
 74:2 
 
 good 
 
 195 
 
 74:2 
 
 name, 
 
 192 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 =197 
 
 74:2 
 
 freely 
 
 198 
 
 74:2 
 
 rendered 
 
 240 
 
 74:2 
 
 me 
 
 200 
 
 64:2 
 
 these 
 
 218 
 
 74:2 
 
 news 
 
 202 
 
 74:2 
 
 for 
 
 203 
 
 74:2 
 
 true. 
 
 169 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 218 
 
 75:1 
 
 left 
 
 We have just seen that the root-number was carried upward from the top of 
 the second subdivision in column 2 of page 74 and thence to the next column. 
 Here we see that the root-number is also carried downward from the same point, 
 by deducting 197, the number of words from that point to the bottom of the column. 
 
676 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 214 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 212 
 
 75:1 
 
 Strand 
 
 15 
 
 75:1 
 
 after 
 
 25 
 
 75:1 
 
 me, 
 
 246 
 
 75:1 
 
 but, 
 
 (13) 
 
 75:1 
 
 being 
 
 523—284=239—218=21. 193+21=214. 
 523—284=239—218=21. 193+21=214—2 A— 312. 
 523—284=239—30=209—30=179. 193—179= 
 
 14+1=15. 
 505—283=222—197=25. 
 
 505—284=221—18 4 & 7^=203—50=153+193=246. 
 505—284=221—30=191. 193— 191=2+1=3+4= 
 
 Here we come to an example that is often found in the Cipher, where the count 
 ends in a word in a bracketed sentence. It is difficult to explain in figures the re- 
 sult; the critical reader will have to count for himself up or down the column, as 
 the case may be, and he will ascertain that my count is correct. Where the 
 number of the word is inclosed in brackets, as in the above " (13) 75:1," it signi- 
 fies that it is not the 13th word by the ordinary count, but the 13th word counting 
 in the words in a bracketed sentence, and that the word itself is in such a sentence. 
 
 523-283=240—50=190. 193—190=3+1=4+4= (14) 75:1 better 
 
 The accuracy of this count can only be demonstrated by counting from 193, 
 inclusive, upwards, counting in the bracketed words, but not the hyphenated words; 
 and the 190th word will be found to be, by actual count, the word better. 
 
 523—284=239- 
 
 505—283=222. 
 
 505—284=221— 
 
 505—284=221 
 
 523—284=239 
 
 523—284=239— 
 
 505—284=221 
 
 523—284=239 
 
 1=55. 
 505—284=221 
 523—283=240 
 505—284=221—: 
 505—284=221 
 505—284=221— 
 
 3 b & 1 h exc 
 
 50=189. 193—189=4+1=5+4= 
 
 224&/fc=199. 
 
 168=53— 7 7*=46. 
 
 218=21—4=17. 
 
 218=21—3 4=18. 
 
 198=23—4 4 & 7/=19. 
 
 50=189—50=139. 193—139=54+ 
 
 50=171. 193—171=22+1=23. 
 50=190—30=160. 
 219=2. 447— 2+/fc=(446). 
 50=171. 193—171=22+1=23+3 b- 
 50=171. 193—171=22+1=23+ 
 =27. 
 
 (15) 
 
 75:1 
 
 horsed, 
 
 222 
 
 74:2 
 
 over-rode 
 
 199 
 
 74:2 
 
 me. 
 
 46 
 
 74:2 
 
 He 
 
 17 
 
 75:1 
 
 came 
 
 18 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurring 
 
 19 
 
 75:1 
 
 head, 
 
 55 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 23 
 
 75:1 
 
 stopped 
 
 160 
 
 75:1 
 
 by 
 
 (446) 
 
 75:1 
 
 me 
 
 = 26 
 
 75:1 
 
 to 
 
 27 
 
 75:1 breathe 
 
 Here we count in the bracketed words and the additional hyphenated words 
 not included in bracket sentences. This is indicated by the sign " 4 & /i exc," mean- 
 ing, count in the bracket words and the hyphenated words exclusive of those in 
 brackets. The expression "came spurring head" means came spurring with 
 headlong speed. It was the customary expression of the day and is found in the 
 text. 
 
 505—283=222—50=172. 193—172=21 + 1=22+ 
 
 6 4 & /&— 28. 
 523—284=239—30=209—30=179. 
 516—283=233—50=183. 
 516—283=233—50=183+193=376. 
 513—283=230—30=200—15 b & 7z=185. 
 51 3— 283=230— 50=180. 
 523—283=240—30=210. 
 
 28 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 179 
 
 75:1 
 
 horse. 
 
 183 
 
 75:1 
 
 Upon 
 
 376 
 
 75:1 
 
 my 
 
 185 
 
 75:1 
 
 life 
 
 180 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 210 
 
 75:1 
 
 looks 
 
BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 
 
 '677 
 
 505—283=222—30=192. 
 523—283=240— 30=210— 10 0+2 h exc.=198. 
 505—283=222—50=172. 
 505—284=221—18 b & ^=203—30=173. 
 523—284=239—219=20. 193—20=173+1=174. 
 516—284=232—50=182—14 b & /;==168. 
 523—283=240— 50=190— 14 b & /&=176. 
 505—284=221—30=191—14 b & A— 177. 
 51 6—283=233—30=203 
 523—284=239—50=189 —10 £-179. 
 
 523—283=240—50=190 —10 £=180. 
 
 505—284=221—30=191 —10 0=181. 
 
 516—283=233—30=203—30=173—10 0=163. 
 523—283=240—30=210 —10 0=200. 
 
 505—283=222—198=24 —3 0=21 . 
 
 523—283=239—30=209—30=179—10 0=169. 
 
 Observe here how a whole series of words has in each case the mark "io0," 
 showing that the brackets have been counted in in every instance; while above it is 
 a group of words marked ** 14 & h," where both the bracketed words and the 
 additional hyphenated words have in each case been counted in. The 10 b is only 
 varied, in the first series, once, where it becomes " 3 0," because there are but 
 three bracketed words before the Cipher word is reached, while in the other cases 
 there are 10. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 192 
 
 75:1 
 
 more 
 
 198 
 
 75:1 
 
 like 
 
 172 
 
 75:1 
 
 some 
 
 173 
 
 174 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 hilding 
 fellow 
 
 168 
 
 75:1 
 
 who 
 
 176 
 
 75:1 
 
 had 
 
 177 
 
 75:1 
 
 stolen 
 
 203 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 179 
 
 75:1 
 
 horse 
 
 180 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 181 
 
 75:1 
 
 rode-on 
 
 163 
 
 75:1 
 
 than 
 
 200 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 21 
 169 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 gentleman; 
 he 
 
 516—284=232—30=202. 447—202=245+1=246. 246 
 523—284=239—50=189. 189 
 
 523—284=239—30=209. 209 
 
 513—284=229—50=179. 447—179=268+1=269+8 277 
 516—283=233—30=203—30=173. 447—173=274+ 
 
 1=275. 275 
 
 75:1 
 
 doth 
 
 75:1 
 
 look 
 
 75:1 
 
 so 
 
 75:1 
 
 dull, 
 
 75:1 spiritless 
 
 I would here call attention to another curious fact. We see in the above that 
 173, counting down the column, is hilding (or skulking — hiding), while up the 
 column it is spiritless, — the 275th word; — and if we count in the bracket words it 
 is tvoe-begone. While we will find hereafter that when we take 523 and count from 
 the top of the second column of page 74, downwards, 248 words, we have 275 words 
 left, and the 275th word is the same word, spiritless, and if we go up the column it 
 is the same word, hilding. This is another of the many proofs, like il found-out, ,f 
 that the words are many times cunningly adjusted to do double duty. 
 
 513—283=230—30=200—30=170. 193+170=363. 363 75:1 and 
 
 516—283=233—30=203—30=173. 447—173=274+ 1 
 
 =275+80=283. 
 523—284=239—30=209—30=1 79—1 //=1 78. 
 513—284=229—50=179. 
 523—283=240—30=210—30=180. 
 523—284=239—30=209—50=159. 
 523—284=239—50=189—50=139. 
 523—284=239—50=189—50=139. 193—139= 54 
 
 + 1=55+6 & //=61 61 75:1 was 
 
 283 
 
 75:1 
 
 woe-begone. 
 
 178 
 
 75:1 
 
 The 
 
 179 
 
 75:1 
 
 horse 
 
 180 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 159 
 
 75:1 
 
 rode 
 
 139 
 
 75:1 
 
 upon 
 
297 
 
 75:1 
 
 half 
 
 383 
 
 75:1 
 
 dead 
 
 45 
 
 75:1 
 
 from 
 
 - 18 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurring. 
 
 130 
 
 75:1 
 
 My 
 
 403 
 
 75:1 
 
 instinct 
 
 202 
 
 75:1 
 
 tells 
 
 438 
 
 75:1 
 
 me 
 
 172 
 
 75:1 
 
 some 
 
 396 
 
 75:1 
 
 thing 
 
 382 
 
 75:1 
 
 is 
 
 678 1 HE CIPHER NA RRA TI VE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column, 
 
 523— 284=239— 30=209— 30=179. 193—179=14+ 
 
 1=15+8 £=(23). (23) 75.1 sore-spent 
 
 523—284=239—50=189—50 (74:2)— 139. 193—139= 
 
 54+1—66. 55 75:1 and 
 
 523—283=240—30=210—30=180. 193—180=13+ 
 
 1=14+8 £=(22). (22) 75:1 almost 
 
 523—284=239—30=209—50=159. 447—159=288+ 
 
 1=289+8 £—297. 
 523—283=240—50=190. 193+190=383. 
 513—284=229—50=179—30=149. " 193—149= 
 
 44+1=45. 
 516—283=233—50=183. 193—183=10+1=11+7 b- 
 523—283=240—50=190—50=140—10 £— 1 30. 
 523—284=239—30=209. 194+209=403. 
 513—284=229—218=11. 193+11=204—2 /&=202. 
 513—283=230—198=32—22=10. 447—10=437 + 1= 
 516—284=232—50=182—10 £=172. 
 516—283=233—30=203. 193+203=396. 
 523—284=239—50=189. 193+189=382. 
 513—283=230—198=32—22 £—10. 447—10=437+ 
 
 1=438+2 £=440. 440 75:1 wrong. 
 
 Here the " 22 £ " represents the 22 bracketed words in the 198; that is, from the 
 end of the first subdivision of column 2 of page 74 to the bottom of the column there 
 are 22 words in brackets. 
 
 513—283=230—30=200—30=170. 170 75:1 He 
 
 513—283=230—198=32. 32 75:1 asked 
 513—283=230—218=12. 447—12=435+1=436+ 
 
 2 £=438. 438 75:1 me 
 513—283=230—30=200—30=170—14 b & 7^=156+ 
 
 1=157. 157 75:1 the 
 
 523— 284=239— 198=41— 7 £=34. 34 75:1 way 
 
 523—283=240—50=190. 190 75:1 here; 
 
 513—283=230—218=12. 12 75:1 and 
 
 505—283=222—198=24. 447—24=423 + 1=424. 424 75:1 I 
 
 Here we begin to call into requisition the modifiers in the first column of page 
 73; heretofore, the modifiers we have used have been altogether those in the second 
 column of page 74; hereafter, in this part of the story, we will find those of the 
 first column of page 73 coming more and more into use, until all the words grow 
 out of 505, 523, 516 and 513, less 284, modified by the modifying numbers in col- 
 umn 1 of page 73, to-wit, 28, 62, 90, 142 and 79. 
 
 The reader is asked to observe that every one of the last seventy-five words is 
 found in the first column of page 75, while the preceding part of the story was all 
 found in the second column of page 74; and the reader can see for himself that this 
 part of the story follows the other in natural historical order. 
 
 523—284=239—198=41—9 b & A— 83. 32 
 
 516—283=233—50=183—28=155. 193—155=38+1= 39 
 513—283=230—30=200. 193+200=393— 8 £=385. 385 
 513—283=230—50=180. 180 
 
 523—284=239—50=189. 447—189=258+1=259. 259 
 
 75:1 
 
 asked 
 
 75:1 
 
 him 
 
 75:1 
 
 what 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 75:1 
 
 is 
 
BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 
 
 679 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 437 
 190 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 doing 
 here, 
 
 12 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 385 
 
 75:1 
 
 what 
 
 373 
 
 75:1 
 
 are 
 
 =101 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 11 
 407 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 tidings 
 from 
 
 51 3—284=229—218=1 1 . 447—1 1=436 + 1=437. 
 513—283=230—30=200—10 £=190. 
 516—284=232—50=182. 193—182=11 + 1=12. 
 505—283=222—30=192. 193+192=385 
 513—283=230—50=180. 193+180=373. 
 516—283=233—50=183—90=93. 193—93=100+1= 
 513—284=229—218=11. 
 
 523—284=239—198=41. 447—41=406+ 1=407. 
 523—283=240—50=190—90=100. 447—100=347+ 
 
 1=348. 348 75:1 the 
 
 505— 283=222— ,50=172. 447—172=275+1=276+ 
 
 10£&/*=286. 286 75:1 Curtain? 
 
 The "Curtain Play-house" was probably the meeting-place of Harry Percy, 
 Umfreville and the other young men. To Percy it must have been a regular resort, 
 for it is probable he was the intermediary between Bacon and Shakspere. 
 
 505—284=221—50=171—90=81—50=31. 31 75:1 He 
 516—284=232—30=202—50=152. 193—152=41 + 
 
 1=42+6 />& //=48. 48 75:1 told 
 
 516—284=232—30=202. 193—202=6 + 1=7. 7 75:1 me 
 
 This needs a little explanation: it is difficult to state it in figures in the same 
 way as the other examples. We have 202 to carry up the first subdivision of 75:1, 
 but there are only 193 words in that subdivision, which would leave a remainder of 
 9; but suppose we add in the b & h words, we then have in the subdivision not 193 
 but 193 + 15=208; now if we deduct 202 from 208, we have: 208 — 202=6+1=7. 
 75:1, vie, as above. 
 
 523—284=239—50=189—62=127. 127 75:1 that 
 
 505—283=222—50=172—90=82=30—52. 193+ 
 
 52=245—2=243. 
 505—284=221—50=171—90=81—30=51. 193+51= 
 513— 284=229— 50=179— 50=129— 10 £=119. 
 51 6—284=232—50=182—62=1 20. 
 505—284=221—50=171—50=121. 
 505—283=222—50=172—50=122. 
 505—283=222—50=172—50=122. 193—122=71+1= 
 505—284=221—50=171—1 A— 170. 
 513—284=229—50=179—50=129. 193—129=64+ 
 
 1=65+1/^=66. 66 75:1 gave 
 
 505— 283=222— 50=1 72. 1 93—1 72=21 + 1=22 + 
 
 3 £=25. 
 523—283=240—30=210—198=12. 193+12=205—2 h. 
 516—283=233—30=203—10 6=193. 
 
 We return now to the second column of page 74, and we learn what the news 
 was that Percy received from Umfreville. And here we have a testimony to the 
 reality of the Cipher which should satisfy the most incredulous. 
 
 The reader will remember that I gave on page 580, ante, a diagram of what I 
 called The Heart of the Mystery, in which I showed that this part of the Cipher 
 originated out of certain root-numbers, 505, 506, 513, 516, 523, modified, first by the 
 
 243 
 
 75:1 
 
 our 
 
 =244 
 
 75:1 
 
 party 
 
 119 
 
 75:1 
 
 had 
 
 120 
 
 75:1 
 
 met 
 
 121 
 
 75:1 
 
 ill 
 
 122 
 
 75:1 
 
 luck; 
 
 ■ 72 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 170 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 25 
 
 75:1 
 
 me 
 
 203 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 193 
 
 75:1 
 
 news, 
 
68o THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 fragments of the scene in the second column of page 74; and, afterward, by the 
 fragments in the first column of page 73. And up to this point in the Cipher 
 story all the modifications (with two or three exceptions at the end of the narra- 
 tive) grow out of those modifiers which are found in the second column of page 
 74, to-wit, 50, 30, 218, 198, etc. Now we come to the modifiers in the first column 
 of page 73, to-wit, 27 or 28, 62 or 63, 89 or 90, 78 or 79, 141 or 142, etc. If what 
 I have given was the result of accident, the probabilities are that the application of 
 these modifiers would bring out words that could not be fitted at all into the story 
 produced by the modifiers on page 74, and that would have no relation whatever to 
 the news brought by Umfreville. 
 
 And here I would ask the incredulous to write down a sentence of their own 
 construction upon any subject, however simple, so that it contains a dozen or more 
 words, and then try to find those words in any column of the Shakespeare Plays. 
 The chances are nine out of ten they will not succeed. Take these last eleven words, 
 which, without premeditation, I have just written down: the chances are nine out 
 of ten they will not succeed; turn to the first column of page 75 and try to find them. 
 There is no chances in the column; it occurs but twice in the whole play, and the 
 nearest instance is on page 85 of the Folio, twenty columns distant. There is no 
 nine in the column, it occurs but once in the whole play, on page 84 of the Folio, 
 eighteen columns away. Even the simple little word they cannot be found in that 
 column. Neither can ten; it appears on page 76, two columns distant. The word 
 succeed is not found in the entire play. The nearest approach to it is succeeds, on 
 page 97 of the Folio, forty-four columns distant. If the reader will experiment 
 with any other sentence he will be satisfied of the truth of my statement. You 
 may sometimes examine a whole column and not find in it such a common word 
 as it or or or were. In fact, there are 114,000 words in the English language, and 
 the chances, therefore, of finding the precise words you need for any given sen- 
 tence, upon a single page of any work, are very slight indeed; for the page can at 
 most contain but a few hundred words out of that vast total; and, if we reduce the 
 vocabulary from 114,000 to 14,000, the same difficulty will to a large extent still 
 present itself. Therefore, even though it may be claimed that I have not reduced 
 the Cipher story to that perfect symmetry which greater labor might secure, I 
 think it will be conceded by every intelligent mind that the results I have shown 
 could not have come about by accident, but that there is a Cipher in the Plays. 
 
 To resume : We saw by the Cipher words given in the last chapter that the 
 Queen was furious and had sent out soldiers to arrest somebody, and that the 
 play-actors had taken fright and run away ; and we will see hereafter that the 
 Queen had beaten some one savagely and nearly killed him. Now, we have just 
 learned how the news was brought to Bacon ; how Harry Percy (for I will show 
 hereafter that it was Harry Percy) had been over-ridden by a messenger from the 
 Earl (of Essex) who had told him the news. Now, if there was no Cipher in this 
 text, the next series of modifications, to-wit, those of the first column of page 73, 
 would not bring out any words holding any coherence with this narrative, but a 
 haphazard lot of stuff having no more to do with it than the man in the moon. 
 But what are the facts ? 
 
 Let us, for the purpose of making the explanation clearer, confine ourselves to 
 505 and 523. Now, I showed that if we commenced at the beginning of column 
 1 of page 74 — that is, if we deducted 284 down the column, and 283 up the column 
 — we would have as a result certain root-numbers, thus: 
 
 505—284=221. 523—284=239. 
 
 505—283=222. 523—283=240. 
 

 i+*n 1> S f~lhr {yCvui Ji**, ^J^ JL±u-yHYm6 -VCLU- 
 
 
 n 
 
 premium, cuurt . Hfvtfir e^«y iT^/u* V^o l^c^rycs i/tx> 
 Cutk ha/vertrYi . 'TWt u&> nwutcrtr^ quod r ~c;iCL~ 
 
 OX SocovnorwYK pyrouvtw Cu-cnv^t j[ -Mia u*3 town 
 Sum Omjfast hfppoz : ^rioonij swUcet . V^Jam. fubff 
 CTUerCo j)ej zt Zxv&n iwtujL t^wt^ oLtOctu^ 
 
 won (jwe^ntvy^ \ Jit eatbzw^ oU> Zj^vC^tivHci 
 
 I : 
 
 
 Letter from the Lord Chancellor Verulam (Francis Bacon) to the University of Cambridge, 
 upon sending to their library his Novum Organum. (Reduced facsimile ) 
 
BA CON HE A R S THE BA D NE WS. 6 8 1 
 
 And I showed that if we modified these numbers, so obtained, by 30 and 50, the 
 modifiers in the second column of page 74, we would have these results: 
 
 221—50=171. 
 
 239—50=189. 
 
 222—50=172. 
 
 240—50=190. 
 
 221—30=191. 
 
 239—30=209. 
 
 222—30=192. 
 
 240—30=210. 
 
 And I showed that these root-numbers produced, alternately counting and not 
 counting the bracketed and additional hyphenated words, the sentence I have 
 given: — " I derived these news from one whom I spake with on the way here, a well- 
 bred gentleman whom my Lord the Earl sent to tell your Honor the news." 
 
 Now, let us take these same root-numbers and deduct from them the modifiers 
 in the first column of page 73, and see what the news was that Umfreville brought 
 from Essex. 
 
 We have 505 — 283=222. Let us deduct the words below the first word of the 
 last subdivision of column 1, page 73, to-wit, 78, from 222: 222 — 78=144. The 
 144th word in the second column of page 74, counting in the one hyphenated 
 word,- is Field, the 143d word, printed in the Folio with a capital F. Now, 
 Richard Field, son of Henry Field, of Stratford, was a printer in London. In 
 1593 he printed Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis, and the work was published and 
 sold, Halliwell-Phillipps tells us, at the White Greyhound, St. Paul's Churchyard, 
 by his friend John Harrison, publisher. 1 In 1594 Field printed the Rape of Lucrece. 
 How he came into this business is not clear. Or the Field here, and so often 
 referred to in the Cipher narrative, may have been Nathan Field, the player, who 
 was one of the principal actors of the day. It is true that Collier thinks Nathan 
 Field was the son of the Puritan preacher John Field, and if so he would have 
 been too young in 1597 or 1598 for the part suggested; but Collier may have made 
 a mistake. Nathan Field was more likely a Stratford man. 
 
 Now, let us take the root-number 523, deduct 284, and we have 239 ; let us 
 deduct from this another of the modifiers in the first column of page 73, to-wit: 90, 
 being the nnmber of words above the first word of the third subdivision, and the 
 remainder is 149 ; now, let us count down the second column of page 74, again count- 
 ing in the one additional hyphenated word, and we find that the 149th word becomes 
 the 148th word — is. Now, take again the same root-number, 222; modify it 
 by deducting one of the numbers of the second column of page 74 (for thus the 
 modifiers of pages 73 and 74 interlock with each other), to-wit: 50; we have 
 left 172 ; now, again deduct the modifier 78, which we have seen produced the 
 word Field, and we have left 94 ; we carry 94 up the second column of page 74 
 and we reach the word a, the 155th word. We return again to the root-number 
 239, which produced the word is, and again deduct the same modifier, 90, and we 
 have : 239 — 90=149, and the 149th word, in the second column of page 74, is 
 prisoner. Here we have: Field is a prisoner^ thus expressed: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—283=222—78=144—1 A— 148. 143 74:2 Field 
 
 523—284=239—90=149—1 /^=148. 148 74:2 is 
 505—283=222—50=172—78=94. 248—94=154+ 
 
 1=155. 155 74:2 a 
 
 523—284=239—90=149. 149 74:2 prisoner, 
 
 But let us go on with the story. The 28 used hereafter is the number from 
 
 1 Outlines Life of Shakspere, p. 70. 
 
682 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 the top of the column i of page 73 to the top word of the second subdivision, 
 inclusive ; the " 17 b & h" means that in carrying the number up the column we 
 count in the bracketed and additional hyphenated words in the column, in the 
 space passed over. 
 
 Word. 
 144 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 248—161=87+ 
 
 105 
 
 r4:2 
 
 505—283=222—78=144. 
 523—284=239—50=189— 28=161 
 
 1=88+17 b & ,£=105. 
 505—283=222—78=144. 248—144=104+1= 
 
 105+2 A— 107. 
 523—284=239—78=161. 
 505—283=222—79=143. 143—30=113. 
 523—284=239—50=189—79=110. 
 505—284=221—30=191—90=101—7 3=94. 
 523—284=239—188 (167+21 3)=51— 27 (73:1)=24. 
 505—284=221—30=191—79 (73:1)=112— 7 A— 105. 
 523—283=240—18 b & 3=222— 62 (73:1)=160. 
 505—283=222—79=143. 248—143=105 + 1=106. 
 523—284=239—50=189—90=99. 
 505—283=222—50=172—79=93. 
 523—283=240—90=150. 248—1 : 0=98+1=99. 
 505—283=222—79=143—50=93 + 193=286—7 b & 3= i 
 523—284=239—50=189—62=127. 248+127=121 + 
 
 1=128. 
 523—283=240—50=190—62=128. 
 505—284=221—30=191—63=128. 248—128=120+ 
 
 1=121+2 3=123. 
 505—284=221—30=191—62=129. 
 523—284=239— 50=189— 79=110— 7 3=103. 
 505—284=221—90=131. 
 523—284=239—90=149. 248—149=99+1=100+ 
 
 15 3= 
 505—284=221—79=142. 
 523—167=356—90=266—15 b & 3=251. 
 505—283=222—79=143—50=93—7 3=86. 
 
 " Bardolfe " was probably a nickname for Dr. Hay ward; — we will see him 
 described hereafter as anything but a gentleman in appearance. I have shown, on 
 page 30, ante, that the country so swarmed, at that time, with graduates of the uni- 
 versities of Oxford and Cambridge, who made their living as beggars, that Parlia- 
 ment had to interfere to abate the nuisance. 
 
 Here we have the excited Percy telling the news. It will be observed that 
 through twenty-nine instances the root-numbers 505 and 523 alternate without a 
 break; and it will also be observed that through thirteen instances the numbers 
 505 — 283 222 alternate regularly with 523 — 284=239; and that every word of this 
 connected story grows out of these root-numbers, modified by the modifiers 30 and 
 50, belonging to the second column of page 74, or go and 89, or 28, or 79 and 78, or 
 62 and 63, the modifiers found in the first column of page~73. Can any one believe 
 that order can thus come out of a chaos of words by a coherent rule if there is no " 
 Cipher here ? If I had the time to do more accurate work, all the above passages 
 could be reduced to perfect symmetry, as could every word of the Cipher narrative. 
 
 107 
 
 74:2 
 
 wounded 
 
 161 
 
 74:2 
 
 to 
 
 113 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 110 
 
 74:2 
 
 death; 
 
 94 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 24 
 
 74:2 
 
 Bardolfe 
 
 105 
 
 74:2 
 
 is 
 
 160 
 
 74:2 
 
 now 
 
 106 
 
 74:2 
 
 almost 
 
 99 
 
 74:2 
 
 as 
 
 93 
 
 74:2 
 
 good 
 
 99 
 
 74:2 
 
 as 
 
 279 
 
 75:1 
 
 dead; 
 
 122 
 
 74:2 
 
 slain; 
 
 128 
 
 74:2 
 
 killed 
 
 123 
 
 74:2 
 
 out-right 
 
 129 
 
 74:2 
 
 by 
 
 103 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 131 
 
 74:2 
 
 hand 
 
 115 
 
 74:2 
 
 of 
 
 142 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade. 
 
BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 683 
 
 The faults rest upon the neglect of certain subtle distinctions. For instance, the modi- 
 fier 50 becomes, when counted upward from the last word of the first subdivision of 
 column 2 of page 74, 49; just as we see that 79 becomes 78, in the first column of 
 page 73, if we count from the beginning of the third subdivision, instead of the end 
 of the second; just as we saw, in column 1 of page 76, that there were 50 words from 
 the end of scene 2 downward, but 49 words from the beginning of scene 3 downward. 
 In the same way there are 30 words from the end of the second subdivision of column 
 2 of page 74, but only 29 from the beginning of the third subdivision; and we will 
 find this 29 playing an important part hereafter in the Cipher. Now, if we use 49 
 or 29, where I have employed 50 or 30, we may thereby alter the root-number from 
 240 to 239, or from 221 to 222, and thus restore the harmony of the movement of 
 the root-numbers. But it would require another year of patient labor to bring this 
 about. And it is these subtle differences which make the work so microscopic in 
 its character; and if they are not attended to closely, they break up the symmetri- 
 cal appearance of the narrative. But the reader will find, as he proceeds, that 
 these distinctious are not invented by me to meet the exigencies of this part of my 
 work; but that they prevail all through the Cipher story. Thus the evidences of 
 the reality of the Cipher are cumulative; and where one page does not carry con- 
 viction to the reader, another may; and where both fail, a dozen surely cannot fail 
 to satisfy him. 
 
 And the reader will observe that twenty-six words of the twenty-nine in the 
 above example all originate in the first column of page 74, and are found in the 
 second column of the same. One might just as well suppose that the complicated 
 movements of the heavenly bodies resulted from chance, as to believe that these 
 twenty-six words, together with all the other seventy-nine words given in the 
 beginning of this chapter, could have occurred, in the second column of page ^4, by 
 accident, and at the same time match precisely with the same root-numbers which 
 we have seen producing coherent sentences on page 75, and which we will find 
 hereafter to produce coherent sentences on all the pages of these two Plays, so far 
 as I have examined them. In other words, to deny the existence of the Cipher, 
 the incredulous reader will have to assert that one hundred and Jive words out of the 
 two hundred and forty-eight in that column, did, by accident, cohere arithmetically 
 with each other, and with certain root-numbers, to make the connected story I have 
 given ! It will require a vaster credulity to believe this than to believe in the 
 Cipher. 
 
 Where the word dead is found in the above example the Cipher story overflows 
 into the next column, just as it did to produce the narrative of Umfreville stopping 
 his weary horse near Percy, on the road to St. Albans. And the reader will 
 observe that the same number, — 93, — which produces dead, down from the top of 
 the second subdivision in column 1 of page 75, produces also the word jade down 
 from the top of the first subdivision. 
 
 The word old requires some explanation. We have seen that the modifiers in 
 the second column of page 74 grow out of three subdivisions, the first containing 
 50 words, the second 167, the third 30. Now, we have seen that in the other 
 words of this story we start either from the top of column 2 of page 74, or from 
 the 50 or the 30, etc., and we carry this back practically to the first column of page 
 73, deduct from it one of the modifiers in that column, return to the top of the first 
 column of page 74, pass through that column, and the remainder over finds the 
 Cipher word in the next column forward. But suppose we have deducted a num- 
 ber from the root-number so large that after going to column 1 of page 73, and 
 being modified by one of the modifiers there, the remainder is not so great a num- 
 ber as 284, then, when we try to deduct from it the 284 words on column 1 of 
 
684 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 page 74, there is nothing left to carry over to the next column forward, and the re- 
 sult is we must find the Cipher word in the first column of page 74, where the count 
 gives out, instead of in the second. This is just what occurs in the case of the 
 word o Id. Let me give a parallel instance: — let us take the word as; strictly 
 speaking, we find it in this way: 
 
 523— 50 (74:2)=473— 90 (73:1)=383— 284 (74:1)=99. 99 74:2 as 
 
 Let us put the word old through the same formula, and we have it thus 
 expressed: 
 
 523—167 (74:2)=356— 90 (73:1)=266(74:1)— 15 b & //= 251 74:1 old 
 
 I. More of the Cipher Story. 
 
 But this is not all of the Cipher story that is found in this second column of 
 page 75; but as it begins to run, as I have shown, from the first column of page 73, 
 so the root-numbers produced therefrom commence to apply themselves to other 
 columns besides the second of page 74; for it follows of course that the Cipher can- 
 not always cling to that column, or it would soon be exhausted; you cannot insert 
 a story of 2,000 words in a column of 248 words. Hence we will find the Cipher 
 beginning to radiate, right and left, from column 1 of page 73, to the next column 
 forward and the next column backward; and even through the fragments of these 
 columns it will be found to overflow into the next columns, just as we found it 
 overflowing through the fragments of column 2 of page 74 into column 1 of page 
 75. Thus the reader will perceive that there is order even in apparent disorder, 
 and that a symmetrical theory runs all through the Cipher work. 
 
 Here we have, following the preceding statement, and in the same order, the 
 words being alternately derived from 505 and 523, modified by the modifiers in the 
 last column of page 74, and the firstcolumn of page 73, the following statement. And 
 the identification of the writer of the internal narrative with Francis Bacon is here 
 established. It will be seen that it is "your cousin " that is in authority and that 
 sends out the posts, or mounted men who ride post, to bring Bacon into court to 
 answer the charges which assail his good name; and we know that Bacon's uncle, 
 Burleigh, and his cousin, Robert Cecil, really controlled England at that time. And 
 we will see hereafter that this " cousin " of the Cipher story is this same Cecil — 
 represented in the Cipher as "Sees-ill," or "Seas-ill," or even "Says-ill;" for the 
 name had in that day the broad sound of the e, even as the peasant of Ireland still 
 calls the sea the say. And this is one of the proofs of the reality of my work: the 
 teller of the story does not say, in a formal manner: "/, Francis Bacon, wrote the 
 Shakespeare Plays;" but we stumble upon the middle of a long narrative, in which, 
 possibly, the authorship of the Plays was but a minor consideration. 
 
 I would also add that the Fortune and the Curtain were the two leading play- 
 houses of that day, at which most of the Shakespeare Plays were first produced; 
 and it will be seen how completely this statement that they were in the hands of 
 the soldiers accords with the order of the Council stated on page 628, ante, in which 
 the Queen directed all the theaters to be dismantled, because the actors had brought 
 matters of state on the stage. 
 
 Page and 
 
 Word. Column. 
 
 523—283=240—142=98. 248—98=150+1=151. 151 74:2 Your 
 
 505—284=221—30=191—27=164. 164 73:2 cousin 
 
 523—284=239—50=189. 248—189=59+1=60 + 15^=75 74:2 hath 
 

 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 144 
 
 73:2 
 
 even 
 
 211 
 
 74:2 
 
 sent 
 
 123 
 
 74:2 
 
 out 
 
 173 
 
 74:1 
 
 his 
 
 257 
 
 74:1 
 
 posts 
 
 161 
 
 74:2 
 
 to 
 
 87 
 
 74:2 
 
 bring 
 
 177 
 
 74:2 
 
 you 
 
 112 
 
 74:2 
 
 in. 
 
 142 
 
 74:2 
 
 The 
 
 =114 
 
 74:2 
 
 Fortune 
 
 124 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 130 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 286 
 
 75:1 
 
 Curtain 
 
 71 
 
 74:2 
 
 are 
 
 125 
 
 74:2 
 
 both 
 
 160 
 
 74:2 
 
 now 
 
 (77). 
 
 74:2 
 
 full 
 
 115 
 
 74:2 
 
 of 
 
 28 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 174 
 
 74:1 
 
 troops. 
 
 BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 685 
 
 505—283=222—78=144. 
 523—283=240—28=212—1 //=211. 
 505—284=221—90=131—8 b & //=123. 
 523—30=493—218=275—90=185—12 b & A— 178. 
 505—30=475—218=257. 
 523—284=239—78=161. 
 505—284=221—30=191—27=164. 248—164=84 
 
 + 1=85+2 //=87. 
 523—284=239—62=177. 
 505—284=221—30=191—79=112. 
 505—284=221—79=142. 
 
 523—283=240—90=150. 248—150=98+1=99+15 b= 
 505—284=221—90=131—7 /;=124. 
 523— 283=240— 30=210— 79=131— 1//=130. 
 505—284=221—78=143—50=93. 193+93=286. 
 523—283=240—62=178. 248—178=70+1=71. 
 505—284=221—89=132—7 3—125. 
 523—284=239—79=160. 
 
 505—284=221—27=194. 248— 194=54 +1=55+ />= 
 523—284=239—90=149. 248— 149=99 +1=100 +£= 
 505—284=221. 79—50=29—1 ,4—28. 
 523—30=493—219=274—90=184—1 />=1 74. 
 
 But even this does not exhaust the possibilities of this little column of 248 
 words in the hands of the magical cryptographist. I stated that 505 and 523 alter- 
 nated with each other, and that 516 and 513 ran in couples. Much that I have 
 worked out came from 523 and 505; let us now turn to the other numbers. And 
 here we have a typical sentence: 
 
 516—284=232—30=202. 248—202=46+1=47+22/;= 69 
 513—284=229—50=179. 248—179=69+1= 70 
 
 516—284=232—30=202. 248—202=46+1=47+ 
 
 24 b & A— 71 
 513—284=229—50=179. 248—179=69+1=70+2 h= 72 
 
 Observe the perfect symmetry of this sentence. Take it in columns: — the 
 figures of the first column are 516 — 513 — 516 — 513; those of the second column are 
 284 — 284 — 284 — 284; those of the third column are 232 — 229 — 232 — 229; those of 
 the fourth column are 30 — 50—30 — 50; those of the fifth column are 202 — 179 — 202 
 — 179; those of the sixth column, 248 — 248 — 248 — 248; those of the seventh column, 
 202 — 179 — 202 — 179; and they produce in regular order the 6gth, 701/1, 71st, and 
 j 2d words, to-wit: the times are wild. And every one of these words is obtained 
 by going tip the same column. And even in the application of the bracket and 
 hyphenated words the reader will perceive, as he goes on, a regular system and 
 sequence. 
 
 And here I would call the attention of the reader to the fact that this expres- 
 sion, " the times are wild" was used in that age where we to-day would say the 
 times are disturbed or dangerous. We see the expression in this very column: 
 
 What news, Lord Bardolfe ? . . . 
 The times are wild. 
 
 74:2 
 
 The 
 
 74:2 
 
 times 
 
 74:2 
 
 are 
 
 74:2 
 
 wild. 
 
686 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 One such Cipher sentence as the above is by itself enough to demonstrate the 
 existence of a Cipher in the Shakespeare Plays. And I think the reader will be 
 ready to take it for granted that any imperfections which may exist in other sen- 
 tences are due to my imperfect work, and not to the Cipher itself. 
 
 But this sentence does not stand alone: — the proofs are cumulative. He will 
 find flowing right out of the same roots, varied only by the fact that the ground 
 gone over becomes exhausted, and the Cipher numbers have therefore to apply 
 themselves in contiguous columns, a continuous story. And here I would say that 
 the Earl of Shrewsbury herein referred to was one of the Cecil or anti-Essex 
 party. He was one of the Commissioners to try Essex on the preliminary charges 
 preferred against him, and afterwards sat as one of the jury of peers who tried 
 him for his life. 1 He was an acquaintance of Bacon, for we find him on the 15th of 
 October, 1601. writing the Earl a letter, asking "to borrow a horse and armor for 
 a public show " of some kind, probably "the joint mask of the four Inns of 
 Court." 2 He was one of the Cecil courtiers, and very likely to have been sent out 
 by Cecil for the purpose indicated. 
 
 516—284=232—18 b & h- 214. 
 513—284=229—50= 179. 
 
 Word. 
 
 248-214=34+1=35. 35 
 248-179=69+1=70+ 
 
 15 /;=85 
 516—283=233—50= 183. 248—183=65+1=66. 66 
 513—284=229—50=179. 179 
 
 513—284=229. 229 
 
 513—283=230—50= 180— 20 b & /fc=160. 160 
 
 516—284=232—21 £=211. 211 
 
 513—283=230—50= 180—50=130—7 />=123. 123 
 =233— 18£&/*=215. 215 
 
 51 3— 284=229— 50=1 79 . 248—1 79=69 + 1=70 + 
 
 llb&A= 87 
 513—50=483—217=266. 266 
 
 516—283=233—50= 183. 248—183=65+1=66 
 
 +15 J— 81 
 516—28-1=232—50=182. 248—182=66+1=67+15/;= 82 
 513—284=229—18 b & //=21 1—30=181. 248—181= 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 74:2 
 
 The 
 
 74:2 Earl 
 
 74:2 of 
 
 74:2 Shrewsbury 
 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 
 84:2 
 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 
 67+1=68 + 15 /;=83. 
 516—283=233-30=203. 248—203=45+1=46. 
 513—284=229—50=179—50=129. 
 516—284=232—50=182. 248—182=66+1=67. 
 513—284=229—18 b & A=21 1—30=181. 248—181= 
 
 67+1=68. 
 516—284=232—217=15. 447—15=432+1=433. 
 51 3—50=463—1 97=266. 
 516—284=232—217=15 . 
 513—218=295—10 £=285—284=1. 
 516—284=232—2 //=230. 
 513—283=230—30=200. 
 
 83 
 
 46 
 
 129 
 
 68 
 433 
 226 
 
 15 
 
 1 
 
 230 
 
 200 
 
 516—284=232—18=214. 248—214=34+1=35+2 //= 37 
 
 74:2 
 74:1 
 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 75:1 
 74:1 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 74:2 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 
 is 
 
 now 
 
 sent 
 
 out 
 
 to 
 
 bring 
 them 
 
 all 
 before 
 
 him 
 
 and 
 
 by 
 
 some 
 
 stratagem 
 make 
 them 
 say 
 who 
 
 furnished 
 these 
 plays. 
 
 But this is not all the story originating from the first column of page 74, and 
 1 Spedding, Life and Works, vol. 2, pp. 173 and 283. 'Ibid., p. 370. 
 
BACON HEARS THE BAD NEWS. 68 7 
 
 found in the second column of page 74 and the first column of page 75. For 
 instance, in the first column of page 75 we have the conversation between Percy 
 and Umfreville, and a description of how Percy " struck the rowell of his spur 
 against the panting sides of his horse " and rode ahead to St. Albans to tell the 
 news. And in the second column of page 74 we have the directions from Bacon 
 to the servant " who keeps the gate" to take Umfreville into the orchard, where 
 Bacon followed him and had a secret conversation with him, in which he tells him 
 all the news which is related in the following chapters. To work out all this 
 fully would take more space and time than I can afford; but if the reader will 
 employ the root-numbers I have given above, and modify them as I have shown 
 in the above examples, he will be able to elaborate this part of the Cipher story for 
 himself. 
 
 I am aware that Collier ' claims that the Fortune play-house was built origi- 
 nally in 1599-1600, by Phillip Henslow and Edward Allen, while I suppose the 
 narrative to refer to 1597; but this, in all probability, was a re-building or enlarge- 
 ment; for Maitland called the Fortune "the oldest theater in London," and Sir 
 John Chamberlain spoke of it as "the first play-house in this town." It would be 
 very natural on such re-building or enlargement to use the old name, which already 
 had a trade value; and we know that the Fortune play-house was burned down in 
 1621 and re-erected with the same name; and if this was done in 1621, it may also 
 have been done in 1599-1600. 
 
 1 English DratJiatic Poetry, vol. iii, p. 114. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. 
 
 Let them tell thee tales 
 Of woeful ages long ago betid. 
 
 Richard //., z>, /. 
 
 UMFREVILLE tells Bacon what Cecil told the Queen. Cecil 
 is trying to show that Shakspere did not write the Plays, and 
 incidentally he tells the story of Marlowe. The words more-low 
 doubtless give the broad pronunciation which attached to the name 
 Marlowe in that age; and for the better hiding of the Cipher it was 
 necessary to use words having the same sound, but a different 
 spelling. 
 
 The facts stated in the Cipher narrative accord substantially 
 with what we know of the biography of Marlowe. 
 
 The dagger of Francis Archer averted one trouble which was hanging omin- 
 ously over his victim's head. A very few days before the poet's death a "note" 
 of his " damnable opinions and judgment of religion and God's work had been laid 
 before Elizabeth's council, with a view to the institution of proceedings against 
 him." J 
 
 And, singularly enough, when we turn to the original paper now 
 in the British Museum (MS. Harl. 6853, folio 320), in which the in- 
 former, Richard Bame, made those charges against Marlowe, after 
 giving many of the poet's irreligious and anti-Christian utterances, 
 the document concludes with the following: 
 
 He sayeth, moreover, that he hath coated [quoted] a number of contrarieties out 
 of the Scriptures, which he hath geeven to some great ??ien, who in convenient tyme 
 shal be named. When these things shall be called in question, the witnesses shall be 
 produced. 2 
 
 It would almost seem as if there was a knot of young men, 
 among whom was Bacon, of an irreligious turn of mind; and 
 
 1 The Works of Marlowe, Chatto & Wind us, p. 20. 2 Ibid., note B, page 370. 
 
 688 
 
CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. 689 
 
 Marlowe had inconsiderately repeated in public some of the cur- 
 rent expressions which he had heard among them; and the " contra- 
 rieties out of the Scriptures" might have been the very Characters of 
 a Believing Christian in Paradoxes, which Bacon may have read 
 over to his Bohemian associates. And we can here see that who- 
 ever had this " note" of the informer's statements laid before the 
 council, knew that there were "some great men" connected, in 
 some way, with Marlowe, whom it was probably desirous to get at. 
 And all this strikingly confirms the Cipher story. 
 
 And here I would note that heretofore the Cipher has advanced 
 from one column to the next; but as we now reach the beginning 
 of the second scene, it not only flows forward to the next column, 
 but it moves backward and forward from the end of the same 
 scene second, and also from the beginning and end of the preceding 
 scene, called the Induction. And it will be observed that, having in 
 this way more points of departure, the root-numbers do not alternate 
 as in the simpler instances already given, but a great deal more of 
 the story flows out of one number. 
 
 And I would further note that heretofore the outside play bore 
 some resemblance to the internal story, because the Cipher words 
 were all packed in a small compass; but here we come to a part of 
 the work where the Cipher narrative, being more widely scattered, 
 has no resemblance to the tale told in the play; and yet out of 
 the same root-numbers is eliminated a narrative as coherent and 
 rhetorical as that already given. 
 
 It will be observed that the following sentence alternates regu- 
 larly between 523 and 505, and that in each instance the starting- 
 point is from the top of the third subdivision of column 2 of page 
 74. From and including the word my, at the beginning of the 
 sentence, " My Lord, I over-rode him on the way," to the top of the 
 column, there are 219 words. And the reader will perceive that 
 each word starts from this point, so that we have, in this long sen- 
 tence of twenty words, 523 alternated with 505, in each case 219 
 being deducted; and each word is either the 304th word or the 
 286th word. But in the space comprising those 219 words there 
 are twenty-one bracket words. These constitute the "21 o" which, 
 the reader will see, are deducted from both 304 and 286. The 15 
 
690 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 b & // refers, as shown previously, to the 15 bracketed and hyphen- 
 ated words comprised in the upper or lower subdivisions of col- 
 umn 1 of page 75, the count moving through these to reach the 
 next column. 
 
 523—219=304—254=50. 248—50=198+1=199+1 £= 
 505—219=286—50=236. 248-236=12+1=13+ 
 
 24 £ & 4=37. 
 523—219=304—218=86. 447—86=361+1=362+3 b- 
 50 5— 21 9=286— 50=236. 
 523—219=304—21 £=283. 283—193=90. 284— 
 
 90=194+1=195+6 4=201. 
 505—219=286—21 £=265. 447—265=182+1= 
 
 183+4 4=187. 
 523—219=304—21 £=283. 283—193=90. 284— 
 
 90=194+1=195. 
 505—219=286—21 £=265. 447—265=182+1=183. 
 523—219=304—50=254. 
 505—219=286—254=32—15 b & 4=17. 508—17= 
 
 491 + 1=492+1A=493. 493 75:1 stage 
 
 This sentence is perfectly symmetrical. Observe the arrangement of the lines: 
 (1) 523—505—523—505—523—505—523—505—523—505; (2) 219—219—219—219— 
 219— 219— 219— 219— 219— 219; (3) 304—286—304—286—304—286—304—286— 
 304 — 286. 
 
 505—219=286—30=256. 
 523—219=304—21 £=283—218=65. 
 505—197=308—254=54. 248—54=194+1=195. 
 523—219=304—22 b & 4=282. 447—282=165 + 1= 
 505—219=286—30=256. 447—256=191 + 1=192. 
 523—219=304—21 £=283. 283—218=65. 284—65= 
 
 219+1=220+6 4=226. 
 505—219=286—254=32—15 £ & k— 17. 508—17 
 
 491 + 1=492 
 523—219=304—21 £=283. 
 505—21 9=286—1 93=93. 
 523—219=304—30=274. 447—274=173+1=174. 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 =200 
 
 74:2 
 
 These 
 
 37 
 
 74:2 
 
 plays 
 
 =365 
 
 75:1 
 
 are 
 
 236 
 
 75:1 
 
 put 
 
 201 
 
 74:1 
 
 abroad 
 
 187 
 
 75:1 
 
 at 
 
 195 
 
 74:1 
 
 first 
 
 183 
 
 75:1 
 
 upon 
 
 254 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 256 
 
 75:1 
 
 in 
 
 65 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 195 
 
 74:2 
 
 name 
 
 166 
 
 75:1 
 
 of 
 
 192 
 
 75:1 
 
 More 
 
 226 
 
 74:1 
 
 low, 
 
 492 
 
 75:2 a 
 
 283 
 
 75:1 woe-begone, 
 
 93 
 
 75:2 sullen 
 
 174 
 
 75:1 
 
 fellow. 
 
 Here the Cipher numbers change from 523 and 505 to 516 and 513. 
 
 51 6—167=349—30=319—254=65. 
 
 516—167=349—30=319. 
 
 516—167=349—21 £=328. 498—328=170+1=171. 
 
 513—167=346—30=316—193=123—15=108. 448— 
 
 108=340+1=341. 
 513—167=346—254=92. 
 513—167=346—254=92—15 £ & 4=77. 448—77= 
 
 371 + 1=372. 
 513—167=346—254=92. 448—92=356+1=357. 
 
 65 
 319 
 171 
 
 75:2 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 He 
 
 had 
 
 engaged 
 
 341 
 92 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 in 
 a 
 
 372 
 357 
 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 quarrel 
 with 
 
CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. 
 
 691 
 
 89 
 
 433 
 
 359 
 
 Word. 
 513—167=346— 1 4=345— 30=315. 498—315=183+ 
 
 1=184+8 £—198. 192 
 
 513—167=346— 22 £ & 4=324—30=294—50 (76.1.)= 
 
 244—4 4=240. 240 
 
 516—167=349—50=299. 448—299=149+1=150. 150 
 513—167=346—254=92. 92 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 £ & A— 327— 284— 48. 248—43=205 
 
 + 1=206+1 £=207. 207 
 
 516—167=349—50=299—49 (76:1)=250. 250 
 
 516—167=349—22 £ & 4=327—30=297—50=247— 
 
 193=54—15=39. 
 513—167=346—254=92—15 b & A— 77. 508—77= 
 
 431 + 1=432 + 1 4=433. 
 513—167=346—254=92. 447—92=355+1=356 +- 
 
 3 £=359. 
 
 516— 167=349— 49 (76:1)=300. 508—300=208+1= 209 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327. 327 
 
 516—167=349—30=319—197 (74:2) =122. 284— 
 
 122=162+1=163. 163 
 
 513—167=346—1 4=345— 30=315— 10 b & 4=305. 305 
 516— 167=349— 22 b& 4=327. 498—327=171 + 1= 172 
 516—167=349—50=299. 603—299=304+1=305. 305 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324—30=294. 294 
 
 516—167=349—49 (76:1)=300. 603—300=303+1= 304 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 254=73. 508—73= 
 
 435+l=436+l/*=437. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—7 b & 4= 
 516—167=349. 448—349=99+1=100+11 £=111. 
 516—167=349—30=319—49 (176.1) =270. 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324—248=76. 284—76= 
 
 208+1=209+6 4=215. 
 516—167=346—30=319. 447—319=128+1=129+ 
 
 16 £ & 4=145. 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324— 248=76. 2°4— 76= 
 
 208+1=209. 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324— 248=76. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 30=297— 284=1 3— 
 
 10£(74:1)=3. 237—3=234+1=235. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—248 (74:2)=79. 284— 
 
 79=205+1=206+6 A— 212. 
 513— 167=346— 22 £& 4=324— 248 (74:2)=76— 1 4= 
 516—167=349—22 b & k— 827— 248— 79. 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324—248=76—9 b & 4=67. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—248=79—8 b & 4 exc.= 
 516—1 67=349—22 b & 4=327—248=79—7 £=72. 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324— 50=274— 248=26. 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324—50=274— 248=26. 
 513—167=346—22 b & 4=324—248=76. 
 513—167=346— 248=98—24 b & 4 (74:2) 
 
 =74—10 £=64. 64 
 
 437 
 270 
 111 
 270 
 
 215 
 
 145 
 
 209 
 
 76 
 
 235 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 76:1 
 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 74:2 
 76.2 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:2 
 76:1 
 
 74:1 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 76:2 
 
 75:2 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 75:2 
 
 74:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 74:1 
 75:1 
 
 73:2 
 
 one 
 
 Arch 1 
 or, \ 
 
 a 
 
 servant, 
 about 
 
 wanton, 
 
 ending 
 in 
 a 
 
 bloody 
 hand 
 
 to 
 
 hand 
 
 fight, 
 
 in 
 
 which 
 he 
 was 
 slain. 
 
 The 
 
 point 
 
 of 
 his 
 
 J12 
 
 74:1 
 
 sword 
 
 75 
 
 75:1 
 
 struck 
 
 79 
 
 75:1 
 
 against 
 
 67 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 71 
 
 75:1 
 
 head 
 
 72 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 26 
 
 75:2 
 
 eye, 
 
 26 
 
 74:1 
 
 making 
 
 76 
 
 74:1 
 
 fearful 
 
 74:1 wounds. 
 
6g?. 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 This account of Marlowe's death agrees exactly with the records and traditions 
 which have come down to us. The parish register of Debtford, the village to which 
 he had fled, records " Christopher Marlowe, slaine by ffrancis Archer, the I of 
 June, 1593." His biographer says: 
 
 In the last week of May, 1593, he was carousing at Debtford, in — to say the 
 least — very doubtful company; and, taking offense at some real or supposed insult 
 to himself or his female companion, he unsheathed his dagger to avenge it, and, 
 in the scuffle which ensued, received a mortal wound in the head from his own 
 weapon. 
 
 And in a contemporary ballad, 
 death is thus told: 
 
 The Atheist 's Tragedie, the story of Marlowe's 
 
 His lust was lawless as his life, 
 
 And brought about his death, 
 For, in a deadlie mortal strife, 
 
 Striving to stop the breath 
 Of one who was his rival foe, 
 
 With his own dagger slaine, 
 He groaned and word spake never moe, 
 
 Pierced through the eye and braine. 
 
 The reader will observe the exquisite cunning with which the name of Archer 
 is concealed in the text. The first syllable is the first syllable of Arch-bishop, sepa- 
 rated from bishop by a hyphen. Arch comes from 513 — 167 — 30, and or from 516 
 — 167 — 50: here we have the two common modifiers 30 and 50. But to obtain the 
 first syllable, we count in the brackets and hyphens in 167; in the other case we do 
 not; and, in the first instance, we begin at the end of scene 2, descend to the bot- 
 tom of the column, and, returning to the top of the column, go downward; in the 
 other case, we begin at the same point of departure and go up the column. 
 
 But there is even more of the story about Marlowe. We have references to 
 these very proceedings against him for blasphemy. 
 
 523 
 
 167 
 
 356 
 50 
 
 356 
 30 
 
 356 
 21 
 
 356 
 22 b & h 
 
 356 
 
 306 
 
 326 
 
 335 
 
 334 
 
 Word. 
 523—167=356—50=306—193=113. 508—113=395 
 
 + 1=396. 396 
 
 523—167=356—284=72—7 h (74:1)=65. 65 
 
 523—167=356—50=306—13 £=293. 293 
 
 523—167=356—192=164. 508—164=344+1=345. 345 
 523—167=356—21 b (167)=335— 192=143— 15 b & h 
 
 =128. 498—128=370+1=371. 371 
 
 523—167=356—21 b (167)=335— 192=143. 143 
 
 523—167=356—248=108. 193+108=301—7 b & h= 294 
 
 523—167=356—248=108. 193+108=301. 301 
 
 523—167=356—50=306. 448—306=143. 143 
 
 523—167=356—193=163. 458—163=295+1=296. 296 
 
 523— 1 67=356— 193=1 63. 458—1 63=295 + 1=296 + 
 
 3 /;=299. 299 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:2 My 
 
 74:2 father 
 
 75:1 would, 
 
 75:2 in 
 
 523—167=356—30=326—254=72. 
 
 72 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 76:1 
 76:2 
 
 76:2 
 
 75:2 
 
 his 
 
 wrath, 
 
 have 
 
 burned 
 
 the 
 
 horson 
 
 rascally- 
 
 yea- 
 
 forsooth- 
 
 knave 
 
 alive 
 
CECIL TELLS THE STORY OF MARLOWE. 
 
 693 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 97 
 
 75:1 in 
 
 143 
 
 76:1 the 
 
 306 
 
 75:1 fire 
 
 128 
 
 76:1 of 
 
 441 
 
 76:2 Smithfield 
 
 461 
 
 76:2 
 
 the 
 
 58 
 
 75:2 
 
 sin 
 
 501 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 502 
 
 76:2 
 
 hath 
 
 464 
 
 76:2 
 
 committed 
 
 523—167=356. 447—356=91 + 1=92+5 £=97. 
 
 523—167=356. 498—356=142+1=143. 
 
 523—167=356—50=306. 
 
 523—167=356—21 £=335—192=143—15 b & £=128. 
 
 523—167=356—193=163. 603—163=440+1=441. 
 
 523—167=356—193=163—50=113. 603—113=490+ 
 
 1^491 + 3 £=494. 494 76:2 for 
 
 523—167=356—21 b (167)=335— 192=143. 603— 
 
 143=460+1=461. 
 523—167=356—50=306—248=58. 
 523—167=356—253=103. 603—103=500+ 1=501 . 
 523—167=356—254=102. 603—102=501+1=502. 
 523—167=356—21 b (167)=335— 192=143. 603— 
 143=460 + 1=461 + 3 £=464. 
 
 Here the Cipher root-number changes, by one degree, from 523 — 167=356 to 
 516—167=349. 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 b& £=327— 248=79. 79 75;1 against 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & £=327—248=79. 
 
 369 + 1=370. 
 516—167=349—22 b & £=327—248=79— , 
 516—167=349—22 b & £=327—30=297. 498—297= 
 
 201 + 1=202. 202 76:1 the 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 b& £=327— 193=134. 134 75:2 state. 
 
 The reader will observe here another of those extraordinary hyphenations, 
 which, of themselves, ought to go far to prove the artificial and unnatural charac- 
 ter of the text of the Plays: rascally-yea-forsooth-knave. Here are four words 
 united into one word by hyphens ! I doubt if another such example can be found 
 in the literature of the last two hundred and fifty years. 
 
 Smithfield, the reader is aware, is that part of London where offenders against 
 religion were burned alive. It was there John Rogers suffered in 1555. 
 
 If there is no Cipher here, is it not remarkable that Smithfield should occur in 
 the text just where it is wanted so as to cohere arithmetically with burned, alive and 
 fire. And we will see hereafter, in the chapter on the Purposes of the Plays, that 
 the same 163 (523 — 167=356 — 193=163) which, carried up the second column of 
 page 76, brings us to Smithfield, carried up the first column of the same page brings 
 us to religion, the 336th word in the column. A very pregnant association of ideas 
 in that age: Smithfield and religion ! For we will see that Cecil charges that the 
 Plays, not only under the name of Shakespeare, but also under that of Marlowe, 
 were written by Bacon with intent to bring the religious opinions of the day into 
 contempt. 
 
 448—79= 
 
 
 
 
 
 370 
 
 76:1 
 
 Heaven 
 
 7 b=72. 
 
 72 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
""'VARSITY) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE STORY OE SHAKSPERE'S YOUTH. 
 
 long 
 
 To hear the story of your life, which must 
 Take the ear strangely. 
 
 Tempest, v, I. 
 
 HERETOFORE the story has flowed mainly from the first col- 
 umn of page 74, or, as in the last chapter, from the last sub- 
 division of column 2 of page 74. We come now to a part of the story 
 which is derived altogether from the middle subdivision of column 
 2 of page 74, and which flows forward and backward, after this 
 fashion: 
 
 Page 74. 
 Col.i.^,Col.2. 
 
 / r ~ 
 
 \ V / 
 
 
 1 1 
 
 1 ( 
 
 4f= 
 
 
 1 ' ' 
 
 (i 1 
 
 t 
 
 — *- 
 
 1 
 
 Itl 
 
 i|| 
 
 
 
 *j \ 
 
 l s^ 
 
 Page 75. 
 Col. 1. X0I.2. 
 
 \ / 
 
 \ 
 
 V | 
 
 V 
 
 y 
 
 
 \ 
 
 A \ 
 
 
 Page 76. 
 Col. 1. -Col. 2, 
 
 / 
 
 1 1 
 
 1 / 
 
 \ — 
 
 j 
 
 l \ 
 
 That is to say: starting from that middle subdivision of column 
 2 of page 74, the count is carried up and down the next column,, 
 forward and backward, and through these, or their subdivisions, to 
 the contiguous columns. And the count (as indicated by the con- 
 tinuous line) is carried forward to the end of the same scene in 
 which that second subdivision is found, and thence radiates up and 
 down, right and left, as shown in the diagram. It is also carried 
 backward to the beginning of the preceding scene, and of the scene 
 preceding that, and from these points of departure radiates up and 
 
 694 
 
THE STORY OF SHAKSPERE'S YOUTH. 695 
 
 down, backward and forward, until all the possibilities are ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 And even the incredulous reader will be forced to observe that 
 these numbers, so applied, bring out a body of words totally 
 different from those which told of the flight of the actors or the bring- 
 ing of the news to St. Albans; and these words describe the events 
 of Shakspere's youth, and could scarcely be twisted into describing 
 anything else. 
 
 And every word is produced by one of the following root- 
 numbers, used directly or subjected to the ordinary modifications, 
 to-wit: 356, 338, 349 and 346. And these numbers are thus ob- 
 tained: 
 
 523 505 516 513 
 
 167 167 167 167 
 
 356 338 349 346 
 
 This 167 is, of course, the number of words in that middle sub- 
 division of 74:2; that is to say, from 51, the first word of the middle 
 subdivision, to 318, the last word of the same, counting in that last 
 word, there are just 167 words. 
 
 But the above numbers are first modified by the counting in of 
 the bracketed words and additional hyphenated words in that sec- 
 ond subdivision of column 2 of page 74, to-wit, 22. This gives us, 
 applied to the above root-numbers, the following results: 
 
 356 338 349 346 
 
 22 22 22 22 
 
 334 316 327 324 
 
 And these, in turn, are modified by the modifiers on pages 74 and 
 73, as in the former chapters. And here again, as in the former 
 instances, for a time the 523 alternates with the 505, and the 516 
 with the 513, and then the story is all told by a single number. 
 
 But these numbers are also modified by the counting in of the 
 21 bracket words alone in that second subdivision, exclusive of the 
 one additional hyphenated word; and also by counting in the one 
 hyphenated word alone exclusive of the 21 bracket words; and this 
 gives us the following results: 
 
 Counting in the bracketed words alone — 
 
696 THE CIPHER NAUR A TIVE. 
 
 356 338 327 346 
 21 21 21 21 
 
 335 317 306 325 
 
 Counting in the hyphenated word alone — 
 
 356 338 327 346 
 1111 
 
 355 337 326 345 
 
 And it will be observed hereafter that these numbers are cun- 
 ningly adjusted so as to use the same words in different sentences, 
 the external play, as well as the internal story, being twisted to con- 
 form thereto. And hence peculiarities of expression may some- 
 times be accounted for by the necessities of this Cipher story inter- 
 locking with itself. 
 
 I do not give the story in its regular order, but in fragments, se- 
 lecting first those examples which are simplest, and therefore more 
 easily capable of demonstration. Describing Shakspere's revenge 
 on Sir Thomas Lucy, the Cipher story furnishes us the following 
 statements. The 145 and 146 relate to the second subdivision of 
 the second column of page 76; there being 145 words from the top 
 of the subdivision inclusive and 146 words from the end word in- 
 clusive of the first subdivision. There are also three words in 
 brackets in this subdivision, and these, when counted in, increase 
 the 145 to 148, and the 146 to 149. The 254 and 193, used below, 
 are, of course, the same 193 and 254 which produced the story of the 
 flight of the actors; that is to say, they represent the two subdi- 
 visions of column 1 of page 75. 
 
 505—167=338—284=54—7 //=47. 
 
 523—167=356—22 b & //=334— 145=189— 8 b & A— 
 
 505—167=338—146=192. 
 
 523—167=356—50=306—145=1 61. 
 
 505—167=338—145=193. 
 
 523—167=356—22 b & 7^=334—50=284—254=30. 
 
 448—30=418+1=419. 
 505—167=338—145=193—3 £—190. 
 523—167=356—22 b & //=334— 254=80— 15 b & /*= 
 505—167=338—22 b & ^=316—30=286. 457—286= 
 
 171 + 1=172. 
 523—167=356—22 b & /z=334— 145=189. 448—189= 
 
 259+1=260. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 47 
 
 74:2 
 
 He 
 
 181 
 
 77:1 
 
 goes 
 
 192 
 
 76:1 
 
 one 
 
 161 
 
 77:1 
 
 day 
 
 193 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 419 
 
 76:1 
 
 with 
 
 190 
 
 76:1 
 
 ten 
 
 65 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 172 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 260 
 
 76:1 
 
 followers 
 
THE STORY OF SHAA'SPERE'S YOUTH. 
 
 697 
 
 505—167=338—22=316—30=286—5 /;=281. 
 523—167=356—30=326. 448—326=122+1=123. 
 505—167=338—50=288—145=143. 
 523—167=356—30=326—50=276—254=22+ 
 
 448=470. 
 505—167=338—50=288—284=4. 
 523—167=356. 356—146=210—6 *— 204. 
 505—167=338—22=316—145=171—3 *— 168. 448— 
 
 168=330+1=331. 
 523—167=356—22 b & //=334— 30=304— 30=274— 
 
 145=128—3 £=125. 448—125=323+1=324. 
 505—167=338—22=316—145=171. 498—171=328. 
 523—167=356—22=334—193=141—15=126—49=77 
 505— 167=338— 22=316— 50=C66. 
 523—167=356—30=326—193=133. 508—133=375 -+ 
 
 1=376. 
 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 1 93=1 15 . 
 505—167=338—5 /z=335 
 
 523—167=356—30=326—145=181—3 £=177—9 b & b 
 505—167=338—50=288—145=143. 
 523—167=356—22=334—50=284—254=30—15 £ & h 
 
 =15+448=463. 
 505—1 67=338—145=193—6 £=187. 
 523—166=357—50=306—145=161. 448—161= 
 
 287+1=288. 
 523—167=356—22=334—50=284—193=91 . 448— 
 
 91=357+1=358. 
 505—167=338—50=288—22=266—145=121. 448— 
 
 121=327+1=328. 
 523—167=356—22=334—14 £=320. 
 505— 167=338— 22=316— 145=171— 3 £=168. 
 523—167=356—145=211. 448—211=237+1=238. 
 505—167=338—14 £=324. 
 
 523—167=356—50=306—284=22. 248—22=226+ 1 
 505—167=338—11 £ & //=327. 
 523—167=356—50=306—284=22. 
 505—167=338—284=54—18 £ & //=36. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 281 
 
 76:1 
 
 did 
 
 123 
 
 76:1 
 
 lift 
 
 143 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 470 
 
 76:1 
 
 water 
 
 4 
 204 
 
 74:1 
 76:1 
 
 gate 
 of 
 
 331 
 
 r6:l 
 
 the 
 
 324 
 
 76:1 
 
 fish 
 
 328 
 
 76:1 
 
 pond 
 
 77 
 
 76:2 
 
 off 
 
 266 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 376 
 
 75:2 
 
 hinges 
 
 115 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 335 
 
 76:1 
 
 turns 
 
 =168 
 
 76:1 
 
 all 
 
 143 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 463 
 
 76:1 
 
 water 
 
 187 
 
 76:1 
 
 out 
 
 288 
 
 76:1 
 
 from 
 
 358 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 328 
 
 76:1 
 
 pond, 
 
 320 
 
 76:1 
 
 froze 
 
 168 
 
 76:1 
 
 all 
 
 238 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 324 
 
 76:1 
 
 fish, 
 
 227 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 327 
 
 76:2 
 
 girdles 
 
 22 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 36 
 
 74:2 
 
 orchard. 
 
 There may, of course, be flaws discovered in the workmanship of the above; 
 but I'think the candid man will concede that these significant words could not all 
 have come together through the same root-numbers, by accident. They will be 
 found nowhere else in the same order. In fact, pond is not found in any other 
 place in these two plays, and but four other times in all the Shakespeare Plays, 
 and froze occurs but this one time in both these plays, and but three other times in 
 all the Shakespeare Plays; while fish occurs but once in 2d Henry IV. But here 
 we have fish, pond and froze and turns all coming together in the same paragraph; 
 and in the next paragraph water, and in the same column nearly all the words out 
 of which the above sentence is constructed. The word hinges is rare; it occurs but 
 one other time in all the Plays, and the word hinge but twice. It would be little 
 less than a miracle if these unusual words should all come together in one spot, 
 
698 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 just where they are needed, to tell the story of Shakspere's youth. And the story 
 that is here told, be it observed, while consistent with the traditions of Stratford 
 that there had been a riot (the same riot alluded to in The Merry Wives of Windsor), 
 in which the young men of the town took part with Shakspere as their leader, 
 against Sir Thomas Lucy, is, at the same time, not a statement of anything which 
 had already come down to us. 
 
 And to show that this story is not forced, observe how markedly the significant 
 words grow out of the root-numbers. For instance, 505 less 167 is 338; the 338th 
 word is sincere, which, as we will see hereafter, refers to Shakspere's father; but, 
 if we count in the five hyphenated words, then the 338th word is the 333d 
 word, turns— turns the water out of the pond. But if we count in the fourteen 
 bracketed words, then the 338th word is the 324th word, fish. And if we take 523 
 and deduct 167, we have 356, which is rising; or, counting in the 22 bracketed and 
 hyphenated words contained in the 167 words, we have 334, which is insurrection, 
 referring, with rising, to the riot inaugurated by the boys of Stratford; and, if we 
 count in the 14 bracketed words in the column, we have 320, froze. 
 
 But let us go a step further and find 356 in the first column of page 75, and the 
 word is away, referring to the running away of the young men; while 334 (356 less 
 the 22 b & // words) is fought; and up the column it is spur, the latter part of Shak- 
 spere's name; and if we take 356 and modify it by deducting the modifier 30, we 
 have 326, and if we take from this 193, the first subdivision of column 1 of page 75, 
 the remainder is 133, the word bloody; and if we take 505 — 167=338 and deduct 
 from this the modifier 50, we have 288, and if we carry this down the first column 
 of page 76, counting in the twelve bracketed words, we find that the 288th word is 
 the 276th word, fight. So that we see that not only do these roots, even subjected 
 to the simplest treatment, yield the story I have given in detail about the destruction 
 of the fish-pond, but the same roots also tell the story of how Shak-spur fought a 
 bloody fight. But all this I shall give with more detail hereafter. 
 
 What I claim is, that the existence of the Cipher is not only proved by the fact 
 that certain root-numbers, applied to a particular column, yield a consistent nar- 
 rative peculiar to that column, and which could not be found anywhere else; but 
 that these same root-numbers applied to other contiguous columns, produce other 
 parts of that same story, each part being consistent with the rest and forming 
 together a continuous narrative. 
 
 For instance, these root-numbers, so applied, give us the following narrative of 
 the battle between the young men of Stratford and Sir Thomas Lucy's game- 
 keepers: 
 
 505—167=338—22=316—30=286—15 b & //=271. 
 
 523—167=356—22 b & 7^=334—50=284. 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—5 /^=303. 
 
 523—167=356—22 b & //=334— 30=304. 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 
 
 523— 167=350—22 b A //=334. 
 
 505—1 67=338—22 b & //=316— 193=123. 508—123= 
 
 885+1— 886+1 >&— 887 ' 
 523—167=356—30=326. 326—193=133. 
 505—167=338—50=288—12^=276. 
 505—167=338—22 b & A— 316— 5 ,4—811 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95, 
 
 Word. 
 
 271 
 
 284 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 74:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 They 
 drew 
 
 303 
 
 76:1 
 
 their 
 
 304 
 115 
 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 weapons 
 and 
 
 334 
 
 76:1 
 
 fought 
 
 387 
 
 75:2 
 
 a 
 
 133 
 276 
 311 
 
 75:2 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 bloody 
 
 fight 
 
 for 
 
 95 
 
 76:1 
 
 an 
 
218 
 
 75:1 
 
 left 
 
 238 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 85 
 
 75:1 
 
 poor 
 
 131 
 
 75:1 
 
 young 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 THE STORY OF SHAKSPERE'S YOUTH. 699 
 
 Page and 
 
 Word. Column. 
 505—167=338—30=308—254=54. 508—54=454+1 455 75:1 hour, 
 
 505— 167=338— 22 £ & // — 316 — 50=266— 4 £=262. 262 74:1 not 
 
 505—167=338. 338 75:1 stopping 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 508—115= 
 
 393+1=394. 394 75:2 even 
 
 505—167=338—30=308. 498—308=190+1=191. 191 76:1 to 
 
 523—167=356—22 £ & £=334—248=86—50=36— 
 
 9 bh A— 27. 27 75:1 breathe. 
 
 The reader will note the constant recurrence of the numbers 316, 334, 308, etc. 
 And here we have a statement which accords well with what we know, by 
 tradition, of Shakspere's hurried departure for London: 
 
 505—167=338—30=308. 308 75:1 He 
 
 505—167=338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238. 447-238 
 
 =209+1=210+8 £—218. 
 505—167=338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238. 
 523— 167=356— 22 b & £=334— 248=86— 1 £=85. 
 505— 167=338— 193=145— 14 b & A— 131. 
 523—167=356—22 b & £=334— 248=86. 
 505—167=338—22 b & £=316— 30=286— 1 93=93— 
 
 10 £=85. 83 74:1 big 
 523— 167=356— C 2 b & £=334—248=86—22 £ (74:2)= 
 
 64— 1£=63. 63 75:1 with 
 
 505— 167=338— 22 £& £=316— 30=289— 193=93. 93 74:1 child. 
 
 Observe that there is a difference of precisely ten words between big and child: 
 — big is 83, child is 93; and there are precisely ten bracketed words in the column 
 above the 83 and 93. The evidences of arithmetical adjustment are found every- 
 where. 
 
 And here, in the same connection, I would call the attention of the critical 
 reader to the marvelous evidences of the artificial character of the text shown in 
 that word jade. It is often used in the narrative in connection with the word old — 
 "the old jade" — to describe the Queen. It would, of course, have provoked 
 suspicion if the Plays had been dotted all over with the word qtceen; and hence, as 
 Bacon had repeated cause to refer to her in his internal narrative, he had to do so 
 in some indirect way; and one of his favorite expressions was "the old jade." 
 But it would not have been safe to use even these words too often, and therefore, 
 when they were employed, the scenes and fragments of scenes had to be so 
 adjusted that they would fit to them by the different counts of the Cipher, so that 
 they might be used over and over again, in the progress of the story. 
 
 For instance: 
 
 (1.) We have here seen that 523, less all the words in the second subdivision 
 of 74:2, is 334. If now we commence to count from the beginning of column 74:2, 
 the 334th word is the 86th word in the next column, jade. (2.) But if we take 523 
 again, and deduct from it the same second subdivision, exclusive of the words in 
 brackets and the additional hyphenated words, we have 356; and if again we com- 
 mence to count from the top of column 74:2, but count in the words in brackets 
 and carry the remainder over to the next column, again the count lights on the 
 same 86th word — jade. (3.) And if we again take the first count above, 334, and 
 modify it by deducting the modifier 30, we have left 304, and if we begin to count 
 
yoo THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 from the bottom of the second subdivision of 74:2, counting up and forward, the 
 304th word is the same 86th word — jade. (4.) And if we take 505 and commence 
 to count from the end of the first subdivision of the same 74:2, and count down- 
 ward, we have left 307; if we carry this to the middle of the next column, 75:1, and 
 count upwards from the beginning of the second subdivision, we have 114 left, and 
 this carried up from the end of the first subdivision, 75:1, counting in the bracketed 
 words and additional hyphenated words, again brings us to the same word, jade. 
 (5.) And if we go back to the second example above (523 — 167=356), and again 
 begin at the top of 74:2, and count down, we have left 108; and this carried up the 
 next column from the bottom of the first subdivision, not counting in the bracketed 
 and hyphenated words, again brings us to the 86th word, jade. (6.) And if we take 
 505 and count from the top of the third subdivision of 74:2 upward, we have 286 
 left; and this, less 193, is 93, and this, carried down column 1 of page 75, count- 
 ing in the words in brackets, falls again on the same 86th word, jade. (7.) And 
 if we take 505 and deduct 167, we have left 338; modify this by deducting the modi- 
 fier 50, and we have 288 left; carry this up through the first subdivision of column 
 1 of page 75, and we have 95 left; descend again down column 1 of page 75, but 
 counting in this time the additional hyphenated as well as the bracketed words, and 
 again we come to the 86th word, jade. There are other counts which produce the 
 same result, but they are with root-numbers with which the reader is not so familiar 
 as with the above. 
 
 Here, then, are seven times where the same word, jade, is reached by seven 
 different countings, used in seven different parts of the same Cipher narrative. 
 One can conceive from this the careful adjustments to each other of pages, scenes, 
 fragments of scenes, words, brackets and hyphens which were necessary to perfect 
 this delicate piece of skeleton work, before Bacon set pen to paper to manipulate 
 the external padding into a coherent play. And one can perceive, also, the extent 
 of a Cipher narrative in which the Queen is so often referred to. The truth is, I 
 give but fragments of the story. 
 
 If the reader thinks that this is also accident, let him take some other numbers 
 and see if he can make this word match with them. It is doubtful if he can find 
 a single number (not a Cipher number) which can be made to agree, from the 
 starting-point of any of these pages or subdivisions, with this word, jade, so as to 
 cohere precisely. I have tried it with many numbers without success. And it 
 must be remembered that the seven numbers here used, and which do match with 
 jade, hold an infinitesimally small proportion to all the combinations of figures 
 which are possible even in groups of three each. It would be an Ossa of marvels 
 piled on a Pelion of miracles if these seven figures should, by accident, be so pre- 
 cisely adjusted to the size of the pages, scenes and fragments of scenes, and to the 
 exact number of bracketed and hyphenated words therein, as to produce, by all 
 these different countings, the same word jade. 
 
 And when we turn to the word old, which accompanies the word jade when 
 applied to the Queen, we find the same significant adjustments; but not so numer- 
 ous, for we have seen the word jade once applied to Shakspere's wife, and it is also 
 applied in the Cipher story to a horse. 
 
 (1.) If, for instance, we take 505 and deduct 254, the second subdivision of 75:1, 
 we have left 251, a root-number which we shall find to be extensively used; we turn 
 to 74:1, and the 251st word is old. (2.) If we take 505 and deduct 167, we have 
 338; if we count in the 22 bracket and hyphenated words, this becomes 316; this, 
 modified by deducting 50, becomes 266; and if we carry this down the first column 
 of page 74, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, the 266th word is 
 
THE STORY OE SHAKSPERE'S YOUTH. 
 
 701 
 
 the 251st word, the same word old. (3.) If, again, we take 523 and deduct 218, 
 (from 30 upward 74:2), we have 305 left; deduct the modifier 50, and we have 255 
 left; this carried down 74:1, counting in the hyphenated words, brings us again to 
 old. (4.) If we take 523 and deduct 167, we have 356, and, less the b & h words, 
 334; and, less the modifier 30, it becomes 304: if we count down the 74:2 column, 
 counting in the bracketed words, we have a remainder of 34, which, carried up the 
 next column forward, brings us again to the same word, old. (5.) If we take 505 
 and deduct 198, (50, 74:2 downward), we have 307; or, less the 22 bracket words, 
 285; carry this again through 74:2 and we have a remainder of 37, which, carried 
 up the next column forward, 74:1, counting in the hyphenated words, again brings 
 us to the same word old. 
 
 Let me put these remarkable results in regular order: 
 
 505—254=251. 
 
 505—167=338—22 4 & 4=316— 50=266— 15 b & 4= 
 523—218=305—50=255—4 b^ 251. 
 523—167=356—22 4 & 4=334— 30=304— 248=.:0— 
 
 224=34. 284—34=250+1=251. 
 505—198=307—22 b & 4=285— 248=37. 284—37= 
 
 247+1=248+3 4=251. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334— 248=86. 
 523—167=356—248=108—22 b (74:2)=86. 
 523— 167=356— 22 b & 4=334—30=304—218=86. 
 505—198=307—193=114 193—114=79+1=80+ 
 
 64 & 4=86. 
 523—167=356—248=108. 193—108=85+1=86. 
 505—219=286—193=93—7 4=86. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—9 b & 4=86. 
 
 And that these results are not accidental the reader can satisfy himself by ob- 
 serving that every one of these olds and Jades comes out of 505 and 523; not one is 
 derived from the other root-numbers 516 and 513. This shows that it is in the 
 part of the story told by 505 and 523 the Queen is referred to as ''the old jade." 
 And see how completely some of these accord, the same root-number producing 
 both words: 
 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334— 30=304— 248=56— 
 
 22 4=34. 284—34=250+1=251 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334—30=304—! 
 
 Again: 
 
 505—198=307—22 b & 4=285—248=37. 
 
 247+1=248+3 4=251. 
 505—198=307—22 b & 4=285—198=87- 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 218=86. 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 284—37= 
 
 
 
 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 1=86. 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TJ1K PURPOSES OF THE PLA VS. 
 
 Now I see 
 The bottom of your purpose. 
 
 AU y s Well that Ends Well, ///, 7. 
 
 CECIL tells the Queen that, having heard that the Essex party 
 were representing the deposition and murder of Richard II. 
 on the stage, and cheering uproariously at every "hit," even as the 
 liberty-loving German students in a later age applauded every preg- 
 nant sentence in Schiller's play of The Robbers, he sent a friend 
 to ascertain the facts, who returned with the statement that the 
 reports were all true. And we have the following sentence, descrip- 
 tive of the scene on the death of the King, who was murdered at 
 Pomfret by Sir Pierce of Exton, as represented in the last act of 
 the play of Richard II.: 
 
 523 
 
 167 
 
 356 
 
 356—22 b & 4=334— 193=141 
 356—50=306—284=22+ 193= 
 356—22 b & 4=334— 248=86- 
 356—254=102—15 b & /ft— 87. 
 356—22 b & 4=334— 248=86. 
 356—22 b & //=334— 248=86. 284—86=198 + 1 
 199+6 4=205. 
 
 356 356 
 
 356 
 
 
 
 21 * (167) 1/4(167) 
 
 22 b & 4 (167) 
 
 
 335 355 
 
 334 
 
 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 1—15 b & 4=126. 
 
 126 
 
 75:2 
 
 But 
 
 =215—2 4=213. 
 
 213 
 
 75:1 
 
 when 
 
 -1 4=85. 
 
 85 
 
 75:1 
 
 poor 
 
 , 448—87=361 + 1= 
 
 362 
 
 76:1 
 
 King 
 
 448—86=362+1= 
 
 303 
 
 76:1 
 
 Richard 
 
 205 
 
 .4:1 
 
 fell 
 
 356—30=326—193=133—15 b & 4 =118. 498—118= 
 
 380+1=381. 
 356—22 b & 4=334—50=284—17 b & A— 287. 
 356-30=326—50=276. 447—276=171 + 1=172+ 
 
 15 b & 4=187. 
 356—30=326—193=133. 498—133=365+1=366. 
 356—1 4=355—248=107—22 b (74:2)— 85. 284—85= 
 
 199+1=200+6 4=206. 
 356—22 b & 4=334—193=1.41—15 b & 4=126. 
 356—22 b & 4=334—248=86—3 />=83. 
 
 381 
 
 76:1 
 
 a 
 
 267 
 
 76:1 
 
 corpse 
 
 187 
 
 75:1 
 
 at 
 
 366 
 
 76:1 
 
 Pomfret, 
 
 206 
 
 74:1 
 
 under 
 
 126 
 
 74:1 
 
 uncounted 
 
 83 
 
 76:1 
 
 blows, 
 
 702 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLA VS. 
 
 703 
 
 Word. 
 
 356—22 b & £=334—50=284—248=36—22 b (74:2)= 
 
 271 
 
 75 
 
 358 
 
 126 
 
 76 
 
 14. 284—14=270+1=271. 
 356—1 £=335—248=107—22 £ (74:2)=85— 10 £=75 
 356—22 b & £=334—193=141. 498—141=357+1= 
 356—22 b & £=334—193=141—15 b& h— 196. 
 356—21 £=335—248=87—11 b & h— 76. 
 356—1 £=355—248=107—22 £=85. 284—85=199 
 
 + 1=200. 
 356—248=108. 
 
 356— 30=326— 50=276— 15 b & A— 261. 
 356—22 b & £=334—248=86. 193—86=107+1= 
 356—22=326—284=42. 193—42=151 + 1=152+1 £=153 
 .356—21 £=335—284=51—18 b & £=33 + 50=83— 
 
 7 £= 76. 
 356—21 £=335—284=51—18 £ & A— 88. 
 356—22 £ & £=334—248=86. 498—86=412+1= 
 356—50=306. 
 356—22 £ & £=334—193=141—15 £ & £=126. 448— 
 
 126=322+1=323. 323 
 
 356— 22. b & £=334—193=141. 508—141=367+1 
 
 65=128 + 1=129 129 
 
 356—30=326—50=276—248=28—22 £=6. 284— 
 
 6=278+1=279. 279 
 
 356—50=306—13 £=293. 293 
 
 356—30=326—50=276—253=23—15 £ & £=8. 448— 
 
 8=440+1=441. 441 
 
 356—30=326—50=276. 284—276=8+1=9. 9 
 
 200 
 108 
 261 
 108 
 
 76 
 
 33 
 
 413 
 
 306 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 74:1 
 75:1 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 74:1 
 
 74:1 
 75:1 
 74:1 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 74:1 
 75:1 
 
 76:1 
 74:1 
 
 they 
 
 make 
 
 the 
 
 most 
 
 fearful 
 
 noise; 
 
 again 
 
 and 
 
 again 
 
 it 
 
 broke 
 forth; 
 
 it 
 seemed 
 
 they 
 would 
 
 never 
 stop. 
 
 The reader will note that every word here is the 356th word; and the figures at 
 the beginning of the chapter show how that number is obtained. He will further 
 observe the constant recurrence of the same terminal numbers, 86, 133, 108, 141, 
 276, and their modifications. It would require some art, in any other writing, to pick 
 out the words of such a coherent sentence without any arithmetical limitations what- 
 ever, simply taking a word here and there where you find it; but when you obtain 
 every word of such a sentence as the above in arithmetical order, each one being 
 the 356th from certain points of departure, it surely cannot be accident. 
 
 But Cecil goes on still further to give his views of the purposes of the play of 
 Richard II And here we still have the same original root-number, and we find the 
 same terminal numbers constantly recurring, to-wit, 108, 141, 133, etc., and again 
 they work out a coherent narrative which holds due relation to the whole Cipher 
 story. 
 
 356—248=108. 193—108=85+1=86+3 £=89. 
 
 356—30=326—192=134. 
 
 356— 22 £& £=334—50=284—12 £=272. 
 
 356—248=108—7 £=101. 
 
 356—22 £ & £=334—193=141—15 £ & £=126. 284— 
 
 126=158+1=159. 
 356—1 £=355—248=107. 284—107=177 + 1=178. 
 356— 1 £=355— 248=107. 284—107=177+1=178+ 
 
 6 £=184. 184 74:1 rebels 
 
 89 
 
 75:1 
 
 The 
 
 134 
 
 74:1 
 
 play 
 
 272 
 
 76:1 
 
 shows 
 
 101 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 159 
 
 74:1 
 
 victory 
 
 178 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
7°4 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 92 
 
 76:1 
 
 o'er 
 
 95 
 
 76:1 
 
 an 
 
 223 
 
 74:1 
 
 anointed 
 
 97 
 
 74:1 
 
 tyrant; 
 
 434 
 
 74:1 
 
 and 
 
 108 
 
 74:1 
 
 by 
 
 153 
 
 76:1 
 
 this 
 
 106 
 
 74:1 
 
 pipe 
 
 65 
 
 75:2 
 
 he 
 
 80 
 
 75:2 
 
 hath 
 
 107 
 
 74:1 
 
 blown 
 
 183 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 177 
 
 74:1 
 
 flame 
 
 178 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 180 
 
 74:1 
 
 rebellion 
 
 248 
 
 76:1 
 
 almost 
 
 34 
 
 74.2 
 
 into 
 
 1 
 
 74:1 
 
 open 
 
 98 
 
 74:1 
 
 war. 
 
 356—1 7/=355— 50=305— 193=112— 15 £ & h=97— 
 
 ob&h=92. 
 356—50=306—193=113—15/; & 7/=98— 3 £=95. 
 356—30=326—193=133—15 b & ^=118—50=68. 284 
 
 —68=216+1=217+6 7*=223. 
 356—248=108—11 b & /&— 97. 
 356—22 b & ^=334—254=80—15 b & 7;=65. 498—65 
 
 =433+1=434. 
 356—248=108. 
 
 356—50=306. 448— 306=1 42 + 1=143+10 b & A— 
 356—248=108—2 h (74:2)=106. 
 356—22 b & 7*=334— 254=80— 15 b & /fc=65. 
 356—22 b & /;=334— 254=80. 
 356—1 7^=355— 248=107. 
 
 356—248=108. 284—108=176+ 1=177+6 /fc=183. 
 356—248=108. 284—108=176+1=177. 
 356—1 7*=355— 248=107. 284—107=177+1=178. 
 356—1 7/=355— 248=107— 2 h (74:2)=105. 284— 
 
 105=179+1=180. 
 356—22 b & //=334— 30=304— 49=255— 7 b & h=24S. 
 356—1 A— 855— 30=325— 284=41— 7 h (74:1)=34. 
 356—22 b & 7^=334— 50=284. 284—284=0 + 1=1 . 
 356—248=108—10 £=98. 
 
 It may be asked why the root-number (523 — 167=) 356 is here continuous, 
 while in some of our former examples it alternated with (505 — 167=) 338; but it 
 would appear, from my researches, that it is only at the beginning that this alterna- 
 tion exists; and that, as the Cipher progresses, it diverges, and follows out one of 
 the root-numbers after another to its ramifications: thus 338 will be found, after a 
 time, to produce a story different from, but connected with, that told by 356. The 
 process might be compared to a nimble squirrel on two branches of a tree, grow- 
 ing out of the same portion of the trunk. For a time it leaps from branch to 
 branch; then, as they widen out, it follows the ramifications of one branch to the 
 end. 
 
 The reader will also note that all the story we have thus far given is derived 
 from three pages, 74, 75 and 76; and most of it is from pages 74 and 75; and it will 
 be found, as we proceed, that we have not exhausted one-tenth of the possibilities 
 of these pages. It would be marvelous if we had been able to make such con- 
 nected grammatical and historical sentences out of a dozen pages; it is still more 
 marvelous that they have been found in two or three. We have on these three 
 pages not only the names of Marloive, and Archer and Cecil and Shak'st-spicr, Hay- 
 ward and the old jade, but the name of King Richard and Potnfret and King John, 
 and, as we will see, the Contention of York and Lancaster, and a number of other 
 tvpical words, which, if there is no Cipher, could only have coincided here by a species 
 of miracle. I am aware that the hypercritical will say, as has been intimated already, 
 that the foregoing results are due to my " ingenuity; " but ingenuity cannot create 
 the very significant words which are shown to exist in the text, on these pages 74, 
 75 and 76, together with Bacon, Bacons, St. Albans, Grays Inn, etc., which ap- 
 pear near at hand. Those words were there two hundred years before I was born. 
 
 We have seen that 356, modified by carrying it through column 74:2, produced 
 the statement that Bacon had used the play of Richard II. as a pipe wherewith to 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLA VS. 
 
 7°5 
 
 blow the flame of rebellion almost into open war. Now let us take the very next 
 portion of the text which follows column 74:2, to-wit, the first subdivision of 75:1, 
 and we have results running in the same direction of thought, viz.: that Bacon 
 had also been trying to poison the mind of the multitude with irreligious views. 
 Surely, such connected thoughts could not, by accident, run out of the same root- 
 numbers, counting, in the one instance, from the top of one column, and, in the 
 other instance, from the top or middle of the next column. 
 
 And it will also be observed that the statements here made agree precisely with 
 what I have shown, in the first part of this book, as to Bacon's early religious 
 views, and the treasonable purposes of some of the plays; and also with the facts 
 revealed on the trial of Essex as to the conspirators hiring the actors to enact this 
 very play of Richard II, so that they might gloat their eyes with the sight of a 
 tragedy on the mimic stage which they hoped to bring into effect very soon upon 
 the stage of the world. It follows that partisans and conspirators, assembled for 
 such a purpose, would act very much as the Cipher story describes. 
 
 356—21 £=335—284=51. 248—51=197+1=198 + 
 
 2 £ & /;=200. 
 356—21 £=335—193=142. 284—142=142+1=143. 
 356—30=326—284=42—7 h (74:lj=37. 
 356—193=163—15 £ & A=U8. 508—148=360+1= 
 356—30=326—193=133—15 b & /;=118. 508—118= 
 
 390+1=391 + 3 £=394. 
 356—193=163—15 b & A=U8. 508—148=360+1= 
 
 361+4 b & 7;=365. 
 356—50=306—146 (76:2) =160. 
 356—30=326—50 (76:1)=276— 145=131— 5 b & k— 
 356—1 h (74:2)=355— 50=305— 146=159. 498—159= 
 
 339+1=340. 
 356—30=326—145=131. 577—131=446+1=447+ 
 
 11£&/;=461. 
 356—30=326—145=131—3 £=128. 
 356—193=163. 498—163=335 + 1=336. 
 356—1 ^=355—30=325—193=132— 15 £&/fc=117. 
 356—30=326—146=180—3 b (146)=177— 9 b & h= 
 356—50=306—146=160—3 b (146)=157. 
 356—30=326—146=180—3 b (146)=177. 448—177= 
 
 271 + 1=272+2 £=274. 
 356— 30=326— 193=133— 15 £& ^=118+162 (78:1)= 
 356—30=326. 
 
 356—50=306—145=161. 498—161=337+1=338. 
 356—50=306. 498—306=192+1=193+10 £ & h= 
 356—30=326—193=133. 456 + 133=590. 
 356—30=326—193=133. 
 356—30=326—50=276—193=83—15 £ & /z=68— 
 
 50 (76:1)=18— 1/^=17. 
 356—193=163. 448—163=285+1=286. 
 356—30=326—193=133—15=118—50 (76:1) = 
 
 68. 508—68=440+1 + 1 ^=442. 
 356—193=163. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 200 74:2 These 
 
 143 74:1 well-known 
 
 37 74:2 plays 
 
 361 76:2 have 
 
 394 75:2 even 
 
 365 
 
 75:2 
 
 made 
 
 160 
 
 77:1 
 
 the 
 
 126 
 
 76:1 
 
 most 
 
 340 
 
 76:1 
 
 holy 
 
 (461) 
 
 77:1 
 
 matters 
 
 128 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 336 
 
 76:1 
 
 religion, 
 
 117 
 
 75:2 
 
 which 
 
 168 
 
 76:1 
 
 all 
 
 157 
 
 77:1 
 
 good 
 
 274 
 
 76:1 
 
 men 
 
 280 
 
 78:1 
 
 hold 
 
 326 
 
 76:1 
 
 in 
 
 338 
 
 76:1 
 
 sincere 
 
 203 
 
 76:1 
 
 respect, 
 
 590 
 
 76:2 
 
 subjects 
 
 133 
 
 76:2 
 
 for 
 
 17 
 
 76:2 
 
 laughter; 
 
 286 
 
 76:1 
 
 their 
 
 442 
 
 75:2 
 
 aim 
 
 163 
 
 75:2 
 
 being, 
 
706 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 318 
 
 76:1 
 
 it 
 
 348 
 
 75:2 
 
 is 
 
 337 
 
 103 
 
 7:61 
 76:1 
 
 supposed, 
 to 
 
 141 
 
 74:1 
 
 thus 
 
 346 
 122 
 
 75:2 
 
 74:1 
 
 poison 
 the 
 
 351 
 
 76:1 
 
 mind 
 
 113 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 358 
 
 75:2 
 
 the 
 
 129 
 
 74:1 
 
 still 
 
 130 
 
 74:1 
 
 discordant, 
 
 131 
 132 
 
 74:1 
 74:1 
 
 wavering 
 multitude. 
 
 356—30=326—50 (76:1)=276— 145=-131 . 448— 
 
 131=317+1=318. 
 356—193=163. 508—163=345+2 4=347. 
 356—19 bhk-* 887. 
 356—253=103. 
 
 356—22 4 & 4=334—193=141. 
 356—193=163. 508—163=345+1=346. 
 356—193=163. 284—163=121 + 1=122. 
 356—193=163—15 b & 4=148^ 498—148=350+1= 
 356—193=163—50 (74:2)— 118. 
 356—22 b & 4=334— 193=141 . 498—1 41=357 + 1= 
 356—193=163. 284—163=121 + 1=122+7 //=! 29. 
 356—22 b& 4=334—193=141— 11 b & 4=130. 
 356—21 4=335—193=142—11 b & A— 181. 
 356—21 4=335—193=142—10 4=132. 
 
 The reader will here observe that every word of the above sentence is the 356th 
 word from certain well-defined starting-points; just as every word of the last sen- 
 tence was also derived, in the same way, from 356. He will also observe that 356 
 — 248=108, and, as 108 produced so many of the words touching the blowing of 
 the flame of rebellion into open war, so here 356 — 193=163 and 356 — 193=163 — 
 15 b & 4=148 produce the significant words being, poison, mind, religion, etc. And 
 what is the difference between these numbers 108 and 163? Simply this, — that 
 108 is 356 less the second column of page 74; and 163 is 356 less the next subdi- 
 vision of the text — the first subdivision of column 1 of page 75; so that the ends 
 of these two fragments, which produce these two coherent parts of the same state- 
 ment, as to the purposes of the Plays, touch each other. 
 
 And it will be remembered, as I have shown heretofore, that Measure for Meas- 
 ure contained many irreligious utterances; and that the character of Sir John Old- 
 castle was regarded, by the court, as a reflection on Protestantism, and the author 
 of the play was compelled to change the name of the character to Sir John Falstaff. 
 But the significant utterances growing out of the same root-number (356), and 
 the same parts of the same columns, do not end here. The purposes of the Plays 
 are still further discussed by Cecil, and he makes an assertion as to the intents of 
 the conspirators which is amply confirmed by the subsequent insurrection which 
 cost Essex his head. 
 
 356—50=306—146=160—3 b (146)— 157. 448—157= 
 
 291 + 1=292. 
 356—253=103. 284—103=181 + 1=182+6 4=188. 
 356—248=108. 448—108=340+1=341. 
 356—22 b & 4=334—50=284—193=91. 498—91= 
 
 407+1=408. 
 356—30=326—254=72—10 4=62. 
 356—253=103—1 4=102. 
 356—253=103. 498—103=395 + 1=396. 
 356—146=210. 284—210=74+1=75. 
 356—30=326—193=133—15=118. 498—118=380+ 
 
 1=381. 
 356. 
 356—50=306—146=160. 498—160=338+1=339. 
 
 292 
 
 76:1 
 
 They 
 
 188 
 
 74:1 
 
 mean 
 
 341 
 
 76:1 
 
 in 
 
 408 
 
 76:1 
 
 this 
 
 62 
 
 74:1 
 
 covert 
 
 102 
 
 75:1 
 
 way 
 
 396 
 
 76:1 
 
 to 
 
 75 
 
 74:1 
 
 make 
 
 381 
 
 76:1 
 
 a 
 
 356 
 
 76:1 
 
 rising 
 
 339 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
THE PURPOSES OF THE PLA VS. 
 
 707 
 
 356—22 b & 4=334— 254=80— 50 (76:1)=30. 508— 
 
 30=478+1=479+1 4=480. 
 356—22 b & 4=334—50=284—193=91. 498—91= 
 
 407+1=408. 
 356—253=103—15 b & 4=88. 448—88=360+1= 
 356—22 b & 4=334—253=81—15 b & 4=66. 448— 
 
 66=482+1=483. 
 356—254=102. 448—102=346+1=347. 
 356—21 ^=335—50=285—145=140. 498—140= 
 
 358—9=359. 
 
 Word. 
 
 480 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 flood 
 
 408 
 
 76:1 
 
 this 
 
 361 
 
 76:1 
 
 fair 
 
 483 
 
 76:1 
 
 land 
 
 347 
 
 76:1 
 
 with 
 
 359 
 
 "6:1 blood, 
 
 The text will show the reader that the word rising was the usual expression in 
 that day for insurrection. 
 
 But Cecil thinks the writer of the Plays intends not only to make rebels, but 
 infidels, of those who witness the representation of them on the stage; and we have 
 this significant utterance: 
 
 356—30=326—193=133—15 b & 4=118. 508—118= 
 
 390+1=391+4 b& 4=395. 395 75:2 so 
 
 356— 50 (76:1 )=306— 146=160. 160 76:1 that 
 
 356— 22 b& 4=334—254=80—50 ( 76:1 )=30— 14=29. 29 76:2 not 
 
 356— 22 £ & 4=334— 254=80— 50 (76:1)=30. 30 76:2 only 
 
 356—50=306—146=160. 448—160=288+1=289. 289 76:1 their 
 
 356—193=163. 448—163=285+1=286+14=287. 287 76:1 bodies, 
 
 356— 22/; & 4=334—253=81. 81 75:2 but 
 
 356—193=163. 448—163=285+1=286. 286 76:1 their 
 356—50=306—146=160. 448—160=288+1=289 
 
 +1 4=290. 290 76:1 souls, 
 
 356— 253=103— 15 b & 4=88— 2 4=86. 86 76:1 might 
 
 356—30=326— 50(76 :1)=276— 145=131. 131 77:1 be 
 
 356—30=326. 603—326=277—1=278—8^=286. 286 76:2 damned. 
 
 Observe here how the root-numbers bring out the words: 356 carried forward 
 through the second subdivision of 76:2 (146) and brought back and carried up the 
 column 76:1 yields their, and, counting in the one hyphenated word, souls; while 
 the same 356 carried through the first subdivision of 75:2 (193) and taken up the 
 same column 76:1 produces their, and, counting in that same one hyphenated 
 word, produces bodies. 
 
 And then we have this further sentence, showing that Essex was supposed to 
 be represented on the stage in the popular character of Harry Monmouth, Prince 
 of Wales, in the Plays of 1st and 2d Henry IV. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—145= 
 
 152— 3 b (145)=149. 284—149=135+1=136. 136 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—145= 
 
 152—3 b (145)=149— 1 4=148. • 148 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 b& 4=327—50=277—145 (76:2) 
 
 =132—3 b (145)=129— 11 b & 4=118. 118 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 248=79— 22=57— 7 b= 50 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—284=43. ?48 -43 
 
 =205+1=206. 206 
 
 74:1 
 
 It 
 
 74:2 
 
 is 
 
 74:1 
 
 plain 
 
 75:1 
 
 that 
 
 74:2 
 
708 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 73:2 
 
 Lord 
 
 73:1 
 
 the 
 
 73:2 
 
 Earl 
 
 Word 
 516—167=349—22 b & ^=327—284=43—7 h (284)=36. 36 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327— 284=43. 43 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—284=43—7 h (284)= 
 
 36. 237—36=201 + 1=202. 202 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 <$& 7=327— 219 (74:2)=108— 21 b 
 
 (219)=87. 284—87=197+1=198. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327— 193=134. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—193=134—15 b & 7= 
 
 119. 248—119=129+1=130—15^=145. 
 516— 167=349— 22 £ & 7=327— 219 (74:2(=108— 
 
 21 b (219)=87. 284—87=197+1=198+6 7= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—50=277—145 (76:2) 
 
 =132— 3 £=129. 248—129=119+1=120. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—284=43. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—284=43. 237—43= 
 
 194+1=195. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—193=134—15 b & 7= 
 
 119. 248—119=129+1=130. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297—145 (76:2) 
 
 =152—28=124. 588—124=464+1=465. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—193=134. 248—134 
 
 =114+1=115. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—193=134—15 b & 7= 
 
 119. 248— 119=129+1=130+16 b& 7=146. 
 516—167=349—22 b & ^=327—30=297—145 (76:2)= 152 
 
 It will be observed here that every word grows out of the same root-number, 
 327 (516 — 167=349 — 22 b & 7=327). Here is certainly a most astonishing array of 
 words to occur accidentally. 
 
 The reader may say to himself, that such curious words as are found in these 
 three pages of this play occur in all writings; but this is not the fact. For the pur- 
 pose of testing the question I turned to Lord Byron's great drama, Manfred. It is 
 the work of a lofty genius, as the Plays are; it contains much exquisite poetry, as 
 do the Plays; it is made up altogether of conversations between the characters, 
 as are the Plays. Yet I failed to find in it all a single shake — spur — jade —cur- 
 tain — play — stage — scene — act — contention, or any other of the significant words 
 out of which such a narrative as the above could be constructed. 
 
 198 
 
 74:1 
 
 is 
 
 134 
 
 74:2 
 
 young 
 
 145 
 
 74:2 
 
 Harry 
 
 204 
 
 74:1 
 
 Monmouth, 
 
 120 
 
 74:2 
 
 Prince 
 
 43 
 
 73:2 
 
 of 
 
 195 
 
 73:2 
 
 Wales, 
 
 130 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 465 
 
 72:2 
 
 Duke 
 
 115 
 
 74:2 
 
 of 
 
 146 
 
 74:2 
 
 Monmouth's 
 
 152 
 
 74:2 
 
 son. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE QUEEN BE A TS HA YWARD. 
 
 Thou vinew'dst leaven, speak ! 
 I will beat thee into handsomeness. 
 
 Troilus and Cresszda, ii, /. 
 
 IN the following examples I think the critical reader will see con- 
 clusive evidence of the existence of a Cipher. The root-num- 
 bers go out from the beginning and end of that middle subdivision 
 of 74:2 which we have already seen producing the story of Marlowe 
 and of Shakspere's youth: that is to say, if we go down from the 
 top of that subdivision we have 198 words to the bottom of the 
 column; if we go up from the bottom of that subdivision, or, strictly 
 speaking, from the top of the third subdivision, we have 219 words; 
 and all this story which follows grows out of 523 and 505 modified 
 by deducting 198 or 219, and moving forward to the next column, 
 and backward or forward from the end of the scene. 
 
 And when we come to observe how every word that goes out of 
 these roots is utilized in the Cipher story, and also to note how the 
 same numbers produce so many significant words, it seems to me 
 that all incredulity must disappear. Take, for instance, the root- 
 number 505 — 219 = 286 — 193 = 93; the number 93 gives us (75:2 
 ■down) sullen; (76:1 up) rising; (75:1 down) starting; (75:2 up) joints; 
 (75:1 up) blow; (75:1 down) plus the bracket words, jade; (75:1 up 
 from 193) plus the b & h words, Ha, the first part of the name of 
 Hay ward; (75:1 down from 193) Curtain, the name of the play-house; 
 plus the bracket words, woe-be-gone, describing Hayward's appear- 
 ance. In the same way the root-number 505 — 198=307 produces 
 {up 75:2) crutch and (up 75:1) end; while 286 — 50 = 236 from the end 
 of the scene forward and backward yield us steeled; and down 75:2 
 it produces friend, alluding to Hayward. In fact, if the reader will 
 carefully study the examples that follow he must conclude that not 
 only is there a Cipher here, but that the rule is as stated, with the 
 
 709 
 
710 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 ford. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 10 
 
 74:1 
 
 The 
 
 93 
 
 75:2 
 
 sullen 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 57 
 
 75:2 
 
 doth 
 
 216 
 
 74:2 
 
 432 
 
 75:2 
 
 listen 
 
 exception perhaps of the position of some of the minor words, which 
 may be displaced. In fact, the words that flow out of these 
 root-numbers tell the story I have given, and could scarcely be 
 made to tell anything else. 
 
 Hayward has evidently been imprisoned for some time when 
 brought before the Queen; he attempts to defend his dedication of 
 the Life of Henry IV. to Essex by praising the latter. This in- 
 furiates the Queen, and the scene follows which is described: 
 
 523— 219=304— 22 £=282. 284—282=2+1=3+7//= 
 
 505—219=286—193=93. 
 
 523—219=304—22 £ & //=282— 248=34. 284—34= 
 
 250—1=251. 
 505—219=286—193=93—7 £=86. 
 505—219=286—21 6=265—193=72—15 b & 7^=57. 
 523—219=304—254=50—15 b & A— 85. 248—35= 
 
 213+1=214+2 b & //=216. 
 523—219=304—50=254—193=61 . 508—61=447+ 
 
 1=448 + 1/^=449. 
 505—198=307—193=114. 193—114=79+1=80. 
 523—219=304—50=254—193=61—15 b & A=46 
 
 -r 193—989. 
 523—219=304—50=254—193=61—15 b & A— 46. 
 
 508—46=462+1=463. 
 523—219=304—50=254—193—61—15 b & /z=46. 
 
 508—46=462+1=463+1 /&=464. 
 505—219=286—21 £=265— 193=72— 15 b& //=57. 
 523—219=304—50=254—193=61—15 b & .4=46+ 
 
 193=239—5 b & /fc=234. 
 523—219=304—50=254—193=61. 508—61=447+1= 
 505—219=286—193=93—15 b & //=78. 508—78= 
 
 430+1=431 + 1 //=432. 
 505—219=286—193=93—50 (76:1)=43. 508—43= 
 
 465+1=466. 
 505—198=307—193=114. 
 
 505—219=286—193=93. 498—93=405+1=406. 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 b & //=99. 284—99= 
 
 185+1=186. 
 505—219=286—193=93. 448—93=355—1=356. 
 523—219=304—50=254—10 £=244. 
 505— 219=286— 19c=93— 15 b & //=78. 498—78= 
 
 420+1=421. 
 505—219=280-193=93. 
 
 523—198=325—2 b (74:2)=323-^48=75— 1 //=74. 
 505— 219=286— 50=236— 50=186— 20 £=166. 
 505—219=286—193=93. 193—93=100+1=101 + 
 
 6 £ & /U=107. 
 523—198=325—193=132. 448—132=316+1=317. 
 
 449 
 
 80 
 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 
 with 
 the 
 
 239 
 
 75:1 
 
 ugliest 
 
 463 
 
 75:2 
 
 frown 
 
 464 
 
 57 
 
 75:2 
 
 76:2 
 
 upon 
 her 
 
 234 
 
 =448 
 
 75:1 
 75:2 
 
 hateful 
 brows, 
 
 too 
 
 466 
 
 75:2 
 
 enraged 
 
 114 
 
 75:2 
 
 to 
 
 406 
 
 76:1 
 
 speak; 
 
 189 
 
 74:1 
 
 but, 
 
 356 
 
 76:1 
 
 rising 
 
 244 
 
 76:1 
 
 up 
 
 421 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 93 
 
 75:1 
 
 starting 
 
 74 
 
 75:1 
 
 forwards, 
 
 166 
 
 '75:2 
 
 took 
 
 107 
 
 75:1 
 
 Ha > 
 
 317 
 
 76:1 
 
 word \ 
 
THE QUEEN BE A TS HA YWARD. 
 
 7ii 
 
 293 
 
 78 
 92 
 
 171 
 
 Word 
 
 505—219=286—50=236—193=43. 603—43=560+1=561 
 505—219=286—193=93—15 b & /fc=78. 448—78= 
 
 370+1=371. 371 
 
 505—219=286—50=236—146=90—3 £ (146)=87. 87 
 
 505—219=286—193=93—15 b & /fc=78. 498—78= 
 
 420+1=421. 421 
 
 505—219=286—30=256. 448—256=192+1=193+ 
 
 8 £=201. 
 523—198=325—254=71+458=529—3 £=526. 
 523— 198=325— 193=132— 15 b & 7;=117— 7 £=110. 
 505—219=286—21 £=265—49 (76:1)=216. 508—216= 
 
 292+1=293+6 £=299. 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 284—86=198+1= 
 505—219=286—21 £=265—49 (76:1)=216. 508— 
 
 216=292+1=293. 
 523—198=325—193=132—15 £ & /fc=117. 193— 
 
 117=76+1=77+1 7/=78. 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 £ & A=W— 7 £=92. 
 523—219=304—22 £ & 7^=282. 447—282=165+ 
 
 16 £& 7*=171. 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 £ & /fc=99. 193—99= 
 
 94+1=95+3 £=98. 
 523—198=325—248=77. 
 523—198=325—193=132. 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 £ & /z=99. 193—99= 
 
 944- 1=95+6 £&/;=101. 
 505—219=286—21 £=265—49 (76:1)=216. 
 505— 198=307— 50=257— 193=64— 15 £& 7*=49+ 
 
 193=242. 
 523—198=325—248=77. 447— 77=370 +1=371 +3=£ 
 505—219=286—30=256. 
 505—219=286—30=256—4 7/=251 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 
 523—198=325—2 h (198)=323— 248=75. 
 505—198=307—193=114. 508—114=394+1=395 
 
 + l//=396. 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86— 1 *— 85. 
 523— 219=304— 193=111 . 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 £ & 7;=99. 
 523—198=325—50=275—193=82. 
 523—219=304—218 (74-2)=86— 10 £=76. 
 505—219=286—193=93. 447—93=354+1=355. 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 
 523—198=325—193=132—15 £ & ^=117. 193—117 
 
 =76+1=77+3 £=80. 
 505—219=286—50=236—50 (76:1)=186. 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 £ & 7;=99. 447—99= 
 
 348+1=349. ' 
 523—198=325—193=132—15 £ & 7z=117. 193—117= 
 
 76+1=77+6 b& 7^=83. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 76:2 
 
 76:1 
 77:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:1 
 75-1 
 
 75:1 
 
 by 
 
 his 
 throat 
 
 and 
 
 201 
 
 76:1 
 
 choked 
 
 526 
 
 76:2 
 
 him. 
 
 110 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 299 
 
 75:2 
 
 took 
 
 199 
 
 74:1 
 
 to 
 
 his 
 
 heels 
 and 
 
 98 
 
 75:1 
 
 running 
 
 77 
 
 76:2 
 
 off 
 
 132 
 
 75:2 
 
 in 
 
 101 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 216 
 
 75:2 
 
 greatest 
 
 242 
 
 75:1 
 
 fright, 
 
 =374 
 
 75:1 
 
 but 
 
 256 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 86 
 
 75:1 
 
 jade 
 
 75 
 
 75:1 
 
 struck 
 
 396 
 
 75:2 
 
 my 
 
 85 
 
 75:1 
 
 poor 
 
 11 
 
 75:1 
 
 young 
 
 99 
 
 75:2 
 
 friend 
 
 82 
 
 75:2 
 
 a 
 
 76 
 
 74:1 
 
 fearful 
 
 355 
 
 75:1 
 
 blow 
 
 86 
 
 74:1 
 
 with 
 
 80 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 186 
 
 75:2 
 
 steeled 
 
 349 
 
 75:1 
 
 end 
 
 83 
 
 75:1 
 
 of 
 
7 I2 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 254 
 
 388 
 
 410 
 
 108 
 
 92 
 
 108 
 
 523—219=304—50=254. 
 
 523—219-304—193=111. 498—111=387+1=388. 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 £ & /*=99. 508—99= 
 
 409—1=310. 
 523—198=325—193=132—15 b & A— 117. 117—9= 
 505—219=286—193=93—1 A=92. 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 193— 86=107 -hl= 
 523—219=304—193=111. 193—111=82+1=83+1 /;=84 
 523—198=307—2 b (198)=305— 193=112. 508—112= 
 
 396+1=397. 397 
 
 523—218=304—193=111. 508—111=397+1=398. 398 
 523—218=304—193=111 
 
 +1 /z=399. 
 505—198=307—193=114 
 505—198=307—193=114 
 
 +3 £—(398). 
 505—219=286—50=236—193=43. 603—43=560 
 
 + 1=551. 
 523—219=304—1 h (2 19)=303— 146=157. 577—157 
 
 =420+1=421. 421 
 
 523—219=304—193=111. Ill 
 
 505—198=307—2 b (198)=305— 193=1 12. 508—112 
 
 508—111=397+1=398. 
 508—111=397+1=398 
 
 508-114=394+1=395. 
 508—114=394+ 1=395 
 
 399 
 395 
 
 (398) 
 
 561 
 
 (397) 
 
 193—99 
 
 457— 117= 
 
 =396+1 +£=(397). 
 505—198=307—193=114—15 b & A— 99. 
 
 =94+1=95. 
 505—198=307—193=114—10 £=104. 
 523—198=325—254=71 . 
 523—198=325—248=77—9 b & /*=68. 
 523—219=304—50=254—13 £=241. 
 523—198=325—193=132—15 £ & A— 117 
 
 340+1+1 /&=342. 
 505—219=286—50=236. 
 505+198=307—193=114—2 £=112. 
 523—198=325—248=77. 
 523—219=304—193=111. 193—111=82+1=83+ 
 
 6 £ & /;=89. 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86— 3 £=83. 
 505—219=286—50=236—2 /fc=234. 
 523—198=325—193=132. 508—132=376+1=377. 
 505—219=304—22 £ & /*=282. 447—282=165+1= 
 523— 198=325— 2 h ( 74:2)=323— 193=130. 508—130 
 
 =378+1=379+4 £& //=383. 
 505—219=286—193=93. 508—93=415+1=416. 
 523—198=325—248=87—2 £=75—9 £ & /z=66. 66 
 
 505—219=286—193=93. 193— 93=100+1=101 + 1 //— 102 
 523— 198=325— 2 £ (74 :2)=323— 193=130. 508—130 
 
 =378+1=379. . 379 
 
 523—198=325—145=180—49 (76:1)— 181. 131 
 
 505—219=286—30=256. 448—256=192+1=193. 193 
 505—219=286—50=236—146=90—3 £=87. 577— 
 
 87=490+1=491. 491 
 
 95 
 104 
 
 71 
 
 68 
 
 241 
 
 342 
 236 
 
 112 
 
 77 
 
 89 
 
 83 
 
 234 
 
 377 
 
 166 
 
 416 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 75:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 great 
 
 75:2 crutch, 
 
 75:1 again 
 
 75:1 and 
 
 75:1 again. 
 
 75:1 His 
 
 75:2 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 75:2 
 
 limbs 
 being 
 
 now 
 so 
 
 75:2 weakened 
 
 76:2 
 
 by 
 
 77:1 imprisonment 
 74:2 and 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:1 
 74:1 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:1 
 76:1 
 74:1 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 
 75:2 
 75:2 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 
 grief, 
 
 he 
 is 
 not 
 able 
 to 
 
 stand 
 
 the 
 force 
 
 of 
 
 the 
 blows; 
 
 the 
 hinges 
 
 of 
 
 his 
 
 joints 
 
 gave 
 
 way 
 
 under 
 him; 
 and 
 
 he 
 
QUEEN ELIZABETH, 
 
THE QUEEN BE A TS HA YWARD. 
 
 713 
 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86. 284—86=198+1= 
 
 199+6/^=205. 
 523—198=325—193=132—15 b & //=117. 498—117 
 
 =331+1=382. 
 505—198=307. 
 
 523—198=325—248=77—7 £=70. 
 523—198=325—193=132. 498—132=366+1=367. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 205 
 
 r4:l 
 
 fell 
 
 382 
 
 76:1 
 
 bleeding 
 
 307 
 
 76:1 
 
 on 
 
 70 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 367 
 
 76:1 
 
 stones. 
 
 I am not proceeding in the historical order of the narrative. We first have the 
 account of Hayward being brought before the Queen. It is in the orchard of the 
 royal palace. The Queen and Cecil assail him fiercely about the dedication of his 
 History of Henry IV. to Essex. The name of Cecil is thus formed: 
 
 523— 198 (74:2)=325. 498—325=173+1= 
 505—198 (74 :2)=307— 254=53. 
 
 474+8 b- 
 
 182 
 53 
 
 76:1 
 75:1 
 
 Seas 
 ill 
 
 These are the same root-numbers, 325 and 307, which we saw running together 
 in the previous examples; and the primary root-numbers, 523 and 505, are the same 
 which we have seen alternating together through whole columns of examples. The 
 point of departure is the same, to-wit, from the end of the first subdivision of 74:2, 
 at the 50th word; there are 248 words in the column, and 50 from 248 leaves 198. 
 In the first instance the root-number 325 is carried to the bottom of column 1 of 
 page 75 and up the column; in the other instance it is taken to the middle of 75:1, 
 thence dozen, thence returning down the same column. 
 
 And we find then this sentence: 
 
 -2 h- 
 
 264—193=71- 
 
 264. 
 
 264—248 (74:2)=16. 
 
 =264—30=234. 44&— 234= 
 
 498—264=234+1= 
 498—264=234— 
 
 447—71= 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & h- 
 505—219=286—22 b & h 
 505—219=286—22 b & h 
 505—219=286—22 b & h 
 
 214+1=215. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264. 
 
 50=184+1=185 + 2 /;=187. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71 
 
 376+1=377+3^=380. 
 505—219=286—22 b & 7^=264— 30=234— 10 b- 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 13 £=251 . 
 505—219=286—22 b & /z=264— 50=214. 447 
 
 233+1=234+2 //=236. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 50=214. 
 505—219=286—22 b & /;=264— 193=71— 15 b & k— 
 
 56. 248— 56=192+1=193+2 b & /*=195. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71— 15 b & h= 
 
 56. 248—56=192+1=193. 
 505—219=286—22 b & /;=264. 447—264=183+1= 
 505—219=286—22 b & /*=264— 193=71 . 447—71= 
 
 376+1=377. 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—193=71—1 /;=70. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 254=10. 
 
 =224. 
 
 214= 
 
 264 
 16 
 
 215 
 235 
 
 187 
 
 380 
 224 
 251 
 
 236 
 
 214 
 
 195 
 
 76:1 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 74:2 
 
 said 
 
 to 
 
 him: 
 
 Come, 
 speak 
 
 out. 
 
 Why 
 didst 
 thou 
 
 put 
 the 
 
 193 
 
 74:2 
 
 of 
 
 184 
 
 75:1 
 
 my 
 
 377 
 
 75:1 
 
 Lord 
 
 70 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 10 
 
 74:2 
 
 Earl 
 
75:1 
 
 upon 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 75:1 
 
 title-leaf 
 
 74:2 
 
 of 
 
 75:1 
 
 this 
 
 75:1 
 
 volume ? 
 
 714 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—193=71—15 b & h=56. 
 
 193—56=137+1=138+1 /fc=138. 138 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—193=71—15 b & /fc=56. 
 
 447—56=391 + 1=392+3^=395. 395 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & /z=264— 50=214— 13 b & h exc. 
 
 =201. 201 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—193=71—15 b & h= 
 
 56. 248—56=192+1=193. 193 
 
 505—219=286—22 /; & /fc=264. 447—264=183+1= 
 
 184+11 £=195. 195 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—248=16+194=210— 
 
 2 7^=208. 208 
 
 The reader will observe that we have here a sentence of twenty-three words, 
 which not only cohere with each other grammatically and rhetorically, but accord 
 with the history of events as they have come down to us. We have just seen that 
 the Queen beat Hayward. What was his offense? History tells us that it was 
 because of the dedication of his book to the Earl of Essex. And here, without our 
 looking for it, the root-number 505 — 219=286 — 22 b & ^=264 brings out the ques- 
 tion of Cecil: said to him: Come, speak out. Why didst thou put the name of my 
 Lord the Earl upon the title-leaf of this volume ? And of these twenty-three words 
 every one originates from 505 — 219, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated 
 words in 219, to-wit, 22, which gives us the formula as above: 505 — 219 — 22 b&h 
 =264. And out of these twenty-three words fifteen are found in the same column of 
 page 73, within a few inches of space; and the other four are found in the next pre- 
 ceding column. Surely never before did accident pack so much reason, history, 
 grammar, rhetoric and sense into so small a compass. And what a marvelous 
 piece of composition is this, where we find the names of Marlowe, Archer, Hayward, 
 Shakspere, Cecil, Henslow, the old jade, the Contention of York and Lancaster, King 
 fohn, the Fortune, the Curtain, act, scene, stage, and such sentences as the above, all 
 grouped together on three pages. And so arranged that many of the words are used 
 over and over again. 
 
 Take the words which constitute the name of Cecil — I say nothing of other 
 pages, but speak only of these three, or, strictly speaking, these two and a half 
 pages, containing about 2,000 words. The word ill, the terminal syllable of Cecil, 
 occurs in the plays, either alone or hyphenated with other words, about 250 times. 
 It occurs in the entire Bible, including the Old and New Testament, but eleven 
 times ! And yet, as the equivalent of evil, we would expect to find it used many 
 times in writings having such relation to moral wrong-doing as the Scriptures. 
 The word ill occurs in the second part of Henry LV. eighteen times standing alone; 
 it does not occur once alone in the first part of Henry LV. But it is cunningly con- 
 cealed in " z7/-sheathed knife," "z7/-weaved ambition" and " z7/-spirited Worcester;" 
 and also in hill, pronounced in those good old days, " 'ill. " This word hill, unusual 
 in dramatic poetry or elevated composition, occurs seven times in the first part of 
 Henry IV. and only once in the second part. Why these differences? Because, as 
 I have shown, the first part was first published, to run the gauntlet of suspicion, 
 and Bacon took especial care to exclude all words that might look like Cipher 
 work; and assuredly, if Cecil suspected a Cipher narrative, or had any intimation 
 of such, he would be on the lookout for such words as might, compounded, consti- 
 tute his own name. 
 

 Page and 
 
 
 Wo 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 67 
 
 75:2 
 
 says 
 
 67 
 
 75:2 
 
 says 
 
 67 
 
 75:2 
 
 says 
 
 67 
 
 75:2 
 
 says 
 
 182 
 
 76:1 
 
 seas 
 
 182 
 
 76:1 
 
 seas 
 
 182 
 
 76:1 
 
 seas 
 
 53 
 
 75:1 
 
 ill 
 
 THE Q UEEM BE A TS HA Y WA RD. 7 1 5 
 
 On these three pages the word ill occurs twice, both times in the first subdi- 
 vision of 75:1. 
 
 He told me that Rebellion had ill hick. 
 
 Said he . . . Rebellion 
 
 Had met ill luck. 
 
 And just as we found the position of the words and the dimensions of the 
 pages, columns, scenes and subdivisions of scenes adjusted to each other to pro- 
 duce old jade, etc., so we find these words seas ill and says ill holding curious rela- 
 tions to the text. For instance 
 
 523—248=275—193=82-15 b & k=67. 
 523—198=325—193=132—15 £ & /*=117— 50 (76:1)= 
 523—193=325—50=275—193=82—15 b & k=ffl. 
 523—193=325—254=71—4 h (254)=67. 
 523—193=325. 498—325=173+1=174+8 £=182. 
 523—193=325—50=275. 448—275=173+1=174+ 
 
 8 £=182. 
 516—167=349—22 b & /z=327— 146 (76:2)=182. 
 523—198=325—248=77—24 b & h (248)=53. 
 523—167=356—22 b & h (167)=334— 193=141. 193— 
 
 141=52+1=53. 53 75:1 ill 
 
 516—167=349—193=156—15 b & A— 141. 193—141= 
 
 52+1=53. 53 75:1 ill 
 
 516—50=466—50 (76:1)=416. 447—416=31 + 
 
 21 b& /;=53. 53 75:1 ill 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & h (167)=327. 447—327= 
 
 120+1=121. 121 75:1 ill 
 
 505—167=338. 447— 338=109+1=110+11 £=121. 121 75:1 ill 
 
 513+167=346—248=98—24 b & h=U. 193—74= 
 
 119+1=120+1^=121. 121 75:1 ill 
 
 I here give seven seas or says and seven ills; but this does not begin to exhaust 
 the possibilities. The reader will observe that Cecil is especially referred to in 
 that part of the narrative which grows out of 523 — 198=325, and 516 — 167=349. 
 
 In answer to Cecil's question, Hayward is foolish enough to praise Essex as a 
 great and good man and the first among princes, (505 — 219=286 — 22 £&/z=264 — 
 193=71. 508 — 71=437 + 1=438, 75:2, princes), and then we have, preceding the 
 sentence given in the first part of this chapter, the words following, describing the 
 Queen's rage: 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & 7^=264—4 /;=260. 260 
 
 523—219=304—22 b & /^=282. 284—282=2+1=3+ 
 
 10 £=13. 13 
 
 523—219=304—22 b & 7^=282—193=89. 508—89= 
 
 419+1=420+1 A— 421. 421 
 
 505—219=286—193=93—15 £ & /z=78. 78 
 
 505—219=286—193=93. 447—93=354+1=355+ 
 
 3 £=358. 358 
 
 523— 219=304—22 £ & 7/=282— 193=89. 448—89= 
 
 359+1=360. 360 
 
 74:1 
 
 On 
 
 74:1 
 
 hearing 
 
 75:2 
 
 this 
 
 /5:2 
 
 unwelcome 
 
 75:2 
 
 praise 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71 . 193—71= 
 
 122+1=123. 123 
 
 523—219=304—50 (76:1)=254. 254 
 505—219=286+22 b & k=2Q4— 193=71. 193—71= 
 
 122+1=123+1/^=124. 124 
 
 505—219=286—21 £=265—193=72—15 b & A— 57. 57 
 
 523—219=304—22 b & /z=282. 282 
 
 523— 219=304— 193=111+193=304— 4 b col.=300. 300 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—193=71. 71 
 
 523—219=304—218 (74:2)=86— 9 b & k— 77. 77 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264. 264 
 
 505—198=307. 448—307=141 + 1=142. 142 
 
 523—198=325—253=72—15=57. 57 
 
 505—198=307—254=53—2 /;=51 . 51 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—193=71—1 /*=70. 70 
 523—219=304—22 b & //=282— 193=89. 193—89= 
 
 104+1=105. 105 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:1 
 76:2 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 76:1 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 my 
 noble 
 
 Lord 
 
 her 
 Grace 
 
 was 
 
 not 
 
 able 
 
 to 
 restrain 
 
 her 
 passion 
 
 any 
 
 longer. 
 
 Then follows the description of the beating of Hayward already given. 
 
 We learn from Bacon's anecdote that the Queen did not believe that Hayward 
 was the real author of the pamphlet history of the deposition of Richard II., but 
 suspected that some greater person was behind him. And the Cipher tells us that 
 she tried to frighten him into telling who this person was. She threatens him with 
 the — 
 
 75:1 
 
 loss 
 
 75:1 
 
 of 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 74:1 
 
 ears. 
 
 523—219=304—22 b & /z=282— 254=28. 193—28= 
 
 165 + 1=166+1 //=167. 167 
 
 523— 219=304— 22 b& //=282. 447—282=165+1= 166 
 
 523—219=304—22 b & /*=282— 254=28. 28 
 
 523—219=304—22 b & /;=282. 284—282=2+1=3. 3 
 
 Observe the symmetry of this sentence. Every word grows out of the same 
 root-numbers, (523 — 219=304 — 22 b & ^=282); loss is the 28th word up from the 
 bottom of the second subdivision of 75:1, and his is the 28th word up from the bot- 
 tom of the second subdivision of 75:1; while of is the 282d word up the same 75:1 
 and ears the 282d word up the corresponding column of the next preceding page, to- 
 wit: 74:1. In every case the bracketed and hyphenated words are not counted in. 
 While if we carry the same 282 through the second column of page 74 and up the 
 preceding column it brings us to old, (the old jade); or, counting in the three 
 bracketed words in the lower part of 74:1, to the word crafty. 
 
 The Queen denounces Hayward. She speaks of — 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & /*=264— 198=66 +193=259— 
 
 2 £=257. 257 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & /*=264— 30=234. 234 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 50=214— 4 /;=210. 210 
 
 And says: 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & /*=264— 197=67— 2 h (197>= 
 
 05 + 193=258—5 b & //=253. 253 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—50=214. (74:2) 214 
 
 75:1 
 
 Thy 
 
 75:1 
 
 hateful 
 
 75:1 
 
 looks; 
 
 r5:1 
 ?5:1 
 
 and 
 the 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 255 
 
 75:1 
 
 whiteness 
 
 256 
 
 75:1 
 
 in 
 
 262 
 
 75:1 
 
 thy 
 
 258 
 259 
 260 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 cheek 
 
 is 
 apter 
 
 261 
 
 75:1 
 
 then 
 
 257 
 
 75:1 
 
 thy 
 
 263 
 264 
 265 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 tongue 
 to 
 tell 
 
 262 
 214 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 thy 
 nature. 
 
 THE Q UEEN BE A TS HA Y WARD. 7 i ; 
 
 505—219=286—22 b & /;=264— 197 (74:2)=67+193 
 
 260—5 b & /i— 255. 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—198=66+193=259— 
 
 3 £—256. 
 505—219=286—22 b & £—264—193—71. 193+71= 
 
 264—2 /&=262. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 197=67 + 193=260— 
 
 2 A— 368. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 198=66. 193—66= S 
 505—219=286—22 b & /;=264— 197=67+193=260. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71. 193+71= 
 
 264—3 £=261. 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—197=67+193=260— 
 
 3 £=257. 
 505—219=286—22 b & //=264— 193=71 +194=265— 
 
 2 /;=263. 
 505— 219=286— 22 b & /;=264— 193=71 + 193=264. 
 505—219=286=22 b & /;=264— 193=71. 194—71= 
 505—219=286—22 b & ^=264—193=71 + 194=265- 
 
 3 £=262. 
 505—219=286—22 b & h=26±— 50=214— 10 b col. = 
 
 Every one of these eighteen words comes out of the same root-number (505 — 
 219=286 — 22 b & ^=264) which produced the sentence of twenty-three words 
 recently given, and all these forty-one words cohere in meaning. And what is still 
 more remarkable, every one of the eighteen words in the above sentence is found 
 in the same column of the same page, and all of them in the compass of nine lines; 
 and thirteen out of the eighteen are found in two lines! If this be accident, it is 
 certainly something astounding. Observe also that we have here four thys. 
 There is not a single thy on the whole of the preceding page, 74; nor on the whole 
 of the succeeding page, 76. Why is this difference ? Because here the Queen is 
 talking fiercely to an inferior, Hayward, and is thouing him. There are three 
 thys in these two lines, and every one of them is used by the root-numbers in the 
 aoove sentence; and one is used twice. And it is only possible to thus use thirteen 
 words out of two lines containing seventeen zvords, by the subtle adjustment of the 
 bracketed and hyphenated words; and six of the above words are the 71st word 
 from the end of the first subdivision of 75:1, or the beginning of the second subdi- 
 vision of the same; while five are the 67th word and three the 66th word from 
 the same points of departure. 
 
 I am aware that it may be objected that it is claimed that Hayward was not 
 arrested until 1599, and that the first part of Henry IV. (interlocking through the 
 Cipher with this second part) was published in 1598. But the date of Hayward's 
 arrest is obscure and by no means certain; and if it were certain, it does not fol- 
 low that because a quarto edition of the play of 1st Henry IV. has been found, 
 with the date 1598 on the title-page, it is therefore certain that it was published in 
 that year. It would be but a small trick for the mind that invented such a com- 
 plicated cipher to put an incorrect date on the title-leaf of a quarto to avoid suspi- 
 cion, for who would look for a cryptogram, describing events that occurred in 1599, 
 in a book which purported to have been published in 1598? 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 CECIL SA YS SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA VS. 
 
 Your suspicion is not without wit or judgment. 
 
 Othello >, iv, 2. 
 
 WE come now to an interesting part of the narrative — the 
 declaration of Cecil's belief that neither Marlowe nor Shak- 
 spere was the real author of the Plays which were put forth in 
 their names. 
 
 And it will be noticed by the reader how marvelously the whole 
 narrative flows out of one root-number. That is to say, the third 
 number, 516, is modified by having deducted from it 167, to-wit: 
 the number of words after the first word of the second subdivision 
 of column 2 of page 74, down to and including the last word of the 
 subdivision. And the reader cannot fail to notice what a large part 
 of the Cipher narrative of Shakspere and Marlowe flows from this 
 second subdivision. 
 
 And the reader will also observe that in this second subdivision 
 there are 2t words in brackets and one additional hyphenated 
 word — or 22 in all; these added to the 167 make 189; and 189 
 deducted from 516 leaves 327. Or, the same result is obtained by 
 first deducting from 516 the 167, and then deducting from the 
 remainder 22 for the bracketed and hyphenated words. I express 
 the formula thus: 
 
 5I 6— 167=349— 22 b &//=327. 
 Every word of all the sentences in the following chapter grows out 
 of the number 327: 
 
 „ Page and 
 
 Word. Column. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & h— 827. 498—327=171+1= 
 
 172+10/; & 4=182. 182 76:1 Seas 1 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 /> & 4=327. 447—327=120+1= 121 75:1 ill \ 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 /> & 4=327— 30=297— 50(76:1)= 247 76:2 said 
 
 718 
 
S1IAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE TLA VS. 
 
 719 
 
 Observe, here, how precisely the same number brings out .was and ill: compare 
 the numbers in groups; — 516 — 516; — 167 — 167; — 349 — 349; — 22 b& h — 22b & h\ — 
 327 — 327; — and going up the first column of page 76 with 327, we find seas; while 
 going up the first column of page 75 with 327 brings us to ill. 
 
 516—167=349— 22 b & 7;=327— 284=43. 447—43 
 
 =404+1=405+3 /;=408. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7v=327— 254=73— 15 b & //= 
 
 58. 448—58=390+1=391. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7;=327— 50=277— 50 (74:2) 
 
 =227—1 7/=226. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7;=327— 254=73— 50 (76:1) 
 
 =23—1 k— 22. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—30=297—254=43 
 
 — 15J&//=28. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—248=79. 193—79 
 
 =114+1=115+ b&h=(121). 
 516— 167=349— 22 b & 7;=327— 254=73— 15 b &h = 
 
 58. 498—58=440+1=441. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—50=227—7 b & k— 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327. 
 516—167=349—22 b & A— 827— 146 (76:2)=182. 
 
 498—182=316+1=317. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 193=134. 248— 
 
 134=114+1=115. 
 516— 167=349— 22 £ & 7^=327—254=73—15 b & h 
 
 =58—5 /;=53. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 408 
 
 75:1 
 
 that 
 
 391 
 
 76:1 
 
 More \ 
 
 226 
 
 74:1 
 
 low ; 
 
 22 
 
 76:1 
 
 or 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 Shak'st 
 
 (121) 
 
 75:1 
 
 spur 
 
 441 
 
 76.1 
 
 never 
 
 220 
 
 76:2 
 
 writ 
 
 327 
 
 76:1 
 
 a 
 
 317 
 
 76:1 
 
 word 
 
 115 
 
 74:2 
 
 of 
 
 53 
 
 74:1 
 
 them. 
 
 I will ask the skeptical reader to examine the foregoing three remarkable com- 
 binations of words : seas-ill (Cecil), nwre-low (Marlowe), and shak'st-spur (Shak- 
 spere). Remember they are all derived from the same root-number, and the same modi- 
 fication of the same root-number: 516 — 167=349 — 22 b & h (i67)=327; — and that they 
 are all found in four columns ! Are there four other columns, on three other con- 
 secutive pages, in the world, where six such significant words can be discovered? 
 And, if there are, is it possible to combine them as in the foregoing instances, not 
 only by the same root-number, but by the same modification of the same root-num- 
 ber ? If you can indeed do this in a text where no cipher has been placed, then the 
 age of miracles is not yet past. 
 
 And here, confirmatory of this opinion, thus bluntly expressed by Cecil, as to 
 the authorship of the Shakespeare and Marlowe Plays, we have — growing out of 
 precisely the same root-number and the same modification of the same root-number — 
 still other significant words- 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7*=327— 198=129. 447—129 
 
 =318+1=319. 319 75:1 It 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7?=327— 237 (73:2)=90. 90 74:1 is 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—198 (74:2)=129— 
 
 11 /; & 7/=118. 118 74:1 plain 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—198 (74:2)=129— 
 
 90(73:1)=39. 39 73:2 he 
 
720 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7;=327— 193=134. 284—134 
 
 =150+1=151. 151 74:1 is 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 30=297— 248=49. 49 74:1 stuffing 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7;=327— 90 (73:1)=237— 3 b= 234 73:2 our 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & h=327— 248=79— 22 b (248; 
 
 =57—6 b & A— 61. 51 74:1 ears 
 
 516— 167=349— 22 b & /*=327— 219=108— 22 0=86. 86 74:1 with 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327— 248=79— 24 b&h (248)=55 74 : 1 false 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & h=327— 30=297— 219 (74:2>= 
 
 78—22 b (219)=56. 56 74.1 reports 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7z=327— 30=297— 248=49+ 
 
 90(73:1)=139— 1 7;=138. 138 73.1 and 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—30=297—29 (74:2)= 
 
 268—15 b & //=253. 253 74:1 lies 
 
 516—167—349—22 b & 7^=327—30=297— 219 (74:2)= 
 
 78— 22 b (219)=56. 284—56=228+1=229. 229 74:1 this 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7*=327— 30=297— 248=49. 
 
 90(73:1)+49=139. 139 73:1 many 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—198 (74:2)=129— 
 
 10 0=119. 119 74:1 a 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7;=327— 90 (73:1)=237— 29 
 
 (73:2)=208. 284— 208=76+1=77+7 7^=84. 84 74.1 year. 
 
 The reader will observe how marvelously the fragments of the scene on 74*2 
 are adjusted to 516 — 167=349 — 22 b & h (i67)=327, to produce on 74:1 nearly all 
 the above coherent words. And every word here given arises out of the same 
 root-number and the same modification of the same root-number, to-wit: 516 — 167 
 =349 — 22 b & h (i6j)=32j. And of the seventeen words in the above sentence, 
 thirteen are found on 74:1 — a short column of 302 words I 
 
 Let me explain this a little more fully. As we have foun ( d the root-number, 
 516 — 167=349 — 22 ° & ^=327, it is natural that we should carry it to the beginning 
 of column 2 of page 74, which is the beginning of the second scene; and that, as 
 is the rule with the Cipher, we should deduct the number of words in that column, 
 248, and thus obtain a new subordinate root-number to carry elsewhere. We have 
 therefore 327 — 248=79. If we turn to the preceding column, 74:1, we find that 
 the 79th word is prepared, which we will see used directly in connection with the 
 preparation of the Plays ! And if we carry 79 up the column, it brings us to tinder, 
 the 206th word: — prepared under the name, etc. But if we modify 79 by deducting 
 the usual modifier, 30, we have 49, which, down the column, gives us stuffing, 
 ( "stuffing our ears," etc.), and up the column it gives us betzveen, which we will 
 see directly to be used in the significant group of words: Contention between York 
 and Lancaster, the name of one of Bacon's early plays. If we modify 79 by 
 deducting the other usual modifier, 50, we have left 29, the very significant word 
 acts. And, as we obtained 79 by deducting 248 from 327, — if we go back and 
 count in the bracket words in the 248, we reduce the 79 to 57 (79 — 22 b (74:2)=57); 
 and that gives us, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, the word 
 ears — "stuffing our ears" But if we also deduct the hyphenated words in 
 248, as well as the bracketed words, we have 55 (79 — 24 b & h (74:2)=55), which 
 gives us false. And then observe how ingeniously the mechanism of 74:2 is 
 adapted to the work required of it ! If, instead of counting from the bottom of the 
 
SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE TLA YS. 721 
 
 column (74:2), we count from the beginning of the last subdivision of the column 
 (219), this brings us the words with — reports — this (" stuffing our ears with false 
 reports"); while if we go down from the same point on 74:2, counting in the 29 
 words, and back as before, we land first upon the word other, which we will see 
 used directly, in connection with " other plays," and then, counting in the brack- 
 eted and hyphenated words, upon the word lies, which fits in very naturally with 
 " false reports" and both with Cecil's declaration that Marlowe and Shakspere did 
 not write the plays attributed to them. And then, if we take the same root- 
 number, 327, and begin to count from the end of the first subdivision downward, 
 we have 198 words, which deducted from 327 leaves 129, and this carried down 
 74:1, counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, brings us to the 118th word, 
 plain — " it is plain" — in the foregoing sentence, and this 129, less 50, brings us 
 again to the 79th word, the significant word prepared; and up the column again 
 it brings us again to the word under, which goes with it. Here we see increasing 
 proofs of the marvelously ingenious nature of the Cipher, and of the superhuman 
 genius required to fold an external narrative around this mathematical frame-work 
 or skeleton so cunningly that it would escape suspicion for two hundred and fifty 
 years. 
 
 And just as the root-number, 327, was carried to the beginning of scene 2d of 
 2d Henry IV., so the remainders-over, the root-numbers so obtained, are carried to 
 the beginning of the next preceding scene, The Induction; and thence, in the prog- 
 ress of the Cipher, they are carried to the beginning of the next scene preceding 
 this, to-wit: the last scene of the first part of Henry IV., and, returning thence, 
 just as we saw they did in the chapter relative to Bacon receiving the news, they 
 determine the position of the Cipher words in column 1 of page 74. 
 
 Thus the reader will perceive the movements of the root-numbers through the 
 text are not invented by me to meet the exigencies of an accidental collocation of 
 words in one particular chapter, but they continue unbroken all through the Cipher 
 narrative. 
 
 But if we take the same root-numbers obtained by modifying 327 (516 — 167= 
 349 — 22 b & 7=327), by deducting therefrom the modifying numbers in column 2 of 
 page 74, to-wit: 219, 29, 198, 50, or 218, 30, 197, 49, (according as we count from 
 the beginnings or ends of the subdivisions), and we reach some additional sen- 
 tences, all cohering with those already given. 
 
 For instance, Cecil tells the Queen, speaking of Shakspere: 
 
 516—167=349—22 b &7=327— 197=130. 193—130 
 
 =63+1=64. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—193=134. 284—134 
 • =150+1=151. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—198=129—24 b & 7= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—219=108—22 b & h= 
 
 86—1 7=85. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—50 (74:2)=277. 
 516—167=349—22 b& 7=327—30=297—284=13— 
 
 7 7 (284)=6+91=97. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—219=108. 447—108 
 
 =339 + 1=340. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—50=277—248=29. 
 
 169—29=140+1=141. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 ' 64 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 151 
 
 74:1 
 
 is 
 
 105 
 
 74:1 
 
 a 
 
 85 
 
 75:1 
 
 poor, 
 
 277 
 
 75:1 
 
 dull, 
 
 97 
 
 73:1 
 
 ill-spirited, 
 
 340 
 
 75:1 
 
 greedy 
 
 141 
 
 73:1 
 
 creature, 
 
722 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 50=277. 447—277= 
 
 170 + 1=171 + 11 4=182. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—198=129—24 4 & 4= 
 
 105. 284—105=179 + 1=180+6 4=186. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—198=129. 284—129 
 
 =155 + 1=156+6 4=162. 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—50=277. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—284=13. 
 
 174&4 exc— 13=4. 
 516— 167=349— 22 4 & 4=327—219=108—21 b (218)= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—284=13— 
 
 7 4 (284)=6. 508—6=502+1=503. 
 516 -167=349—22 b & 4=327—284=43—10 /=33. 
 
 90+33=143—1 4=142. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—248=79—11 bat h— 
 516— 167=349— 22 4 & 4=327—198=129—10 4=119. 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—198=129—22 4=1 07. 
 516—1 67=349—22 4 & 4=327—219=108—21 4 (219) = 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—219=108. 284—108 
 
 =176+1=177-16 4=183 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—219=108. 284—108 
 
 =176+1=177. 
 516—167=349—224 & 4=327—198=129—22 4-=107, 
 
 284—107=177+1=178. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—198=129—24 b & 4 
 
 (74:2)=105. 284—105=179+1=180. 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—248=79—24 4 & 4 (248) 
 
 =55+51 (74:2)=106. 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4—327—218—109. 447—109 
 
 =338+1=339+8 4=347. 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—219=108—22 4 & 4 = 
 
 86. 284—86=198+1=199. 
 51 6—167=349—22 4 & 4 = 327—219=108—10 4=98. 
 ,516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—248=79. 
 5 1 (5—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—197=130—50=80. 
 
 447—80=367+1=368+3 4=371. 
 516 - 1 67=349— 22 4 & 4=327—30=297—284=13+ 
 
 90 (73:1)=103. 
 516-1 67=349—22 4 & 4=327—90=237—10 4=227. 
 51 6—1 67=349— 22 4 & 4=327—30=297—248=49— 
 
 24 4 & 4=25. 284—25=259 + 1=260 + 3 4=263. 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—79 ( 73: 1 )=248— 10 4= 
 516—167=349—22 4 & 4=327—219=108—11 4 & 4= 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 182 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 186 
 
 74:1 
 
 but 
 
 162 
 
 74:1 
 
 a 
 
 277 
 
 75:2 
 
 veil 
 
 4 
 
 74:1 
 
 for 
 
 87 
 
 74:1 
 
 some 
 
 503 
 
 one 
 
 142 
 
 73:1 
 
 else, 
 
 68 
 
 74:1 
 
 who 
 
 119 
 
 75:1 
 
 had 
 
 107 
 
 74:1 
 
 blown 
 
 87 
 
 75:1 
 
 up 
 
 183 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 177 
 
 74:1 
 
 flame 
 
 178 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 180 
 
 74:1 
 
 rebellion 
 
 106 
 
 74:2 
 
 almost 
 
 347 
 
 75:1 
 
 in 
 
 199 
 
 74:1 
 
 to 
 
 98 
 
 74:1 
 
 war 
 
 79 
 
 75:1 
 
 against 
 
 371 
 
 75.1 
 
 your 
 
 103 
 
 73:1 
 
 Grace 
 
 227 
 
 74:1 
 
 as 
 
 263 
 
 74:1 
 
 a 
 
 238 
 
 74:1 
 
 royal 
 
 97 
 
 74:1 
 
 tyrant. 
 
 It would seem as if Cecil had information that the stage-manager met every 
 night, perhaps in some dark alley of unlighted London, some party, and gave him 
 a share of the proceeds of the Plays. The performances at that time were during 
 the day. 
 
 The reader will again observe that every word of the foregoing and following 
 sentences is the 327 th from certain well-defined points of departure. If he thinks he 
 
 or ***- r 
 
 
SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PIA VS. 
 
 723 
 
 can construct similar sentences, per hazard, with any number not a Cipher- 
 number, let him try the experiment. 
 
 And observe how cunningly the text is adjusted so as to bring out the words, — 
 "blown t lie flame of rebellion into war" — by the root-number, 516 — 167=349 — 22 
 b & ,4—327; and also by the root-number, 523 — 267=356, as shown in Chapter VII., 
 " The Purposes of the Plays." And how is this accomplished? Because the dif- 
 ference between 327 and 356 is 29; and the difference between 248, the total 
 number of words on column 2 of page 74, and 219, the total number of words from 
 the top of the same column to the beginning of the last subdivision of that column, 
 is also 29; and hence the words fit to both counts. It is absurd to suppose that all 
 this dedicate adjustment of the Cipher root-numbers to the frame-work of 74:2, 
 " The Heart of the Mystery," came about by chance. 
 
 But Cecil continues: 
 
 516— 117=349— 22 b & 4=327— 30 (74:2)=297— 284= 
 516— 16.= ;49— 22 b & A— 327— 218 (74:2)— 100— 50— 
 
 59. 193—59=134 + 1=135. 
 516-167=349—22 b& 4=327—248=79^193=272— 
 
 2 4=270. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—218 (74:2)=109-50= 
 
 59. 447—59=388+1=389. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—248=79—22 b (74:2)== 
 
 57—7 *— 50. 
 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 284=43. 248— 43 _ 
 
 205+1=206. 
 516-167=349—22 b & 4=327— 284=43— 7 4 (284)= 
 
 36+90=126—1 4=125. 
 516—167=349—22 /; & £— 827— 284— 48. 248—43= 
 
 205 + 1=206+1 4=207. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—248=79—22 b (248)— 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4—327— 218(74:2)— 109— 5<> 
 
 =59—1 4=58. 
 516—167=349—22 b & A— 327— 248— 79— 27 (73:1)— 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277. 447— 2T7 
 
 =170+1=171. 
 516—167=349—22 b ft 4=327— 248=79— 7 *— 70. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 29(73 :2)=278— 14 
 
 b ft h exc.=264. 
 516-167=349—22 b & 4=327—219=108—22 £=86. 
 
 284—86=198+1=199. 
 516-167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—237(73:2) 
 
 =40. 248—40=208 + 1=209. 
 516-167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—284=13. 
 
 248-13=235+1=236. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—198 (74:2)— 129. 
 
 193—129=64+1=65+1 4=66. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—218 (74:2)— 109— 50— 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—6 4=291. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—283=44. 
 516—167=349—22 b ft 4=327—30=297. 
 516—167=349—22 b ft 4=327—218 (74:2)— 109-50— 
 
 Word. 
 
 13 
 135 
 
 270 
 
 389 
 
 50 
 
 206 
 
 125 
 
 207 
 57 
 
 58 
 
 171 
 
 70 
 
 264 
 199 
 209 
 236 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 74:2 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 74:2 
 
 73:1 
 
 74:2 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 73:2 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 74:1 
 
 74:1 
 
 74:2 
 
 74:2 
 
 have 
 
 a 
 
 suspicion 
 
 that 
 
 my 
 
 kinsman's 
 
 servant, 
 young 
 
 Harry 
 Percy, 
 
 was 
 the 
 
 to 
 
 whom 
 
 he 
 
 66 
 
 75:1 
 
 gave 
 
 59 
 
 74:2 
 
 every 
 
 291 
 
 75:1 
 
 night 
 
 44 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 297 
 
 75:1 
 
 half 
 
 59 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
724 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 284=43. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7/=327— 198=129— 90=39. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7;=327— 198=129— 79=50+29= 
 516—167=349—22 b & k— 327— 219— 58. 284—58= 
 
 226+1=227+6 //— 233. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327— 198=129— 79=50, 
 516—167=349—22 b & A— 327— 248— 79— 22 0—57. 
 
 193—57=136+1=137+1 /*— 138. 
 516—167=349—22 b & k— 327— 284— 48. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327— 248=79— 22 0—57. 
 
 193—57=136+1=137. 
 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 29 (73:2)— 298— 284 
 
 =14—10 0—4. 
 
 The Curtain play-house was surrounded by a muddy ditch to keep off the rab- 
 ble, and doubtless the money paid to see the performances was collected at a gate 
 at the drawbridge. 
 
 And then we have this striking statement: 
 
 Word. 
 43 
 
 39 
 =79 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:1 
 
 73:2 
 
 73:2 
 
 what 
 
 he 
 took 
 
 233 
 
 50 
 
 74:1 
 73:2 
 
 through 
 the 
 
 138 
 43 
 
 75:1 
 
 74:2 
 
 day 
 
 at 
 
 137 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 4 
 
 74:2 
 
 gate. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7^=327—30=297—248=49+ 
 
 90 (73:1)=139. 
 516—167=349—22 b & A— 327— 50— 277. 
 516—167=349—22 b & /&— 827— 30— 297— 50— 247— 
 
 219=28—22 0—6. 447—6=441 + 1=442. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—284=43—18 b & h 
 
 (284)=25. 248—25=223+1=224. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327— 254=73— 50(74:2)= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—29 (73:2)=278. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—50=277—237=40. 
 
 284—40=244+1=245. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0= 327— 248— 79— 50— 29+ 
 
 28 (78:2)— 57. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—248=79—22 b (248)= 
 
 57—7 £=50. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327— 284=43. 248—43= 
 
 205+1=206. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—248=79—2 h (248)= 
 
 77. 237—77=160+1=161 + 3 0—164. 
 516— 167=349— 22 b& 0=327— 284=43— 18 b & 
 
 (284)=25+50 (74:2)=75. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—248=79. 
 516—167=349—22 b & h— 327— 254— 73— 15 b & 7;= 
 
 58—50 (76:1)— 8. 
 516—167=349—22 & *— 827— 254— 73. 
 516—167=349—22 & 0=327—30=297—248=49— 
 
 22 £—27—2 b=27. 
 516—167=349—22 & 4—827—254 (75:1)— 78. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—30=297—248=49. 
 
 284—49=235+1=236. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 0=327—193=134—15 b & 0= 
 
 119—50=69. 457 (76: 2) +69=526— 3 0—523. 
 
 139 
 
 277 
 
 442 
 
 73:1 
 
 74:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 Many 
 rumors 
 
 224 
 23 
 
 278 
 
 74:2 
 74:1 
 /4:1 
 
 on 
 
 the 
 
 tongues 
 
 245 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 57 
 
 73:2 
 
 men 
 
 50 
 
 75:1 
 
 that 
 
 206 
 
 74:2 
 
 my 
 
 164 
 
 73:2 
 
 cousin 
 
 75 
 79 
 
 74:2 
 74:1 
 
 hath 
 prepared 
 
 8 
 73 
 
 76:2 
 74:1 
 
 not 
 only 
 
 [27] 
 73 
 
 74:1 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 Contention 
 
 236 
 
 74:1 
 
 between 
 
 523 
 
 76:1 
 
 York 
 
SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE PLA VS. 
 
 725 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—254=73—15 b & 7= 
 
 58. 508— 58=450 +1=4" 1. 
 516—167=349—22 b & >&— 327— 145 (76:2)=182. 
 
 508—182=326+1=327. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327— 248=79— 7 £=72. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327— 193=134. 284—134 
 
 =150+1=151 + 6 A— 157. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—193=134—49 (76:1) 
 
 =85. 603—85=518+1=519. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297—248=49— 
 
 22 7=27. 284-27=257+1=258+3 7=261. 
 516—167=349—22 b 6 7=327—193=134. 448—134 
 
 =314+1=315+1 7=316. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—193=134. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327— 248=79— 10 /;=69. 
 516—167=349—22/; & 7=327—29 (73:2)=278— 10 b= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—283 (74:1 up)=44— 
 
 7 h (283)=37. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—254=73. 508—73= 
 
 ,135 + 1=436+17=437. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327— 27 (73:1)=300— 284= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—284=43. 43+193= 
 516—167=349—22/^ & 7=327— 284=43— 10 /=33. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—284=43. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—237 (78:2)— 00. 284 
 
 —90=194+1=195. 
 516—167=349 -22b& 7=327—248=79. 284—79= 
 
 205+1=206. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—219 (74:2)— 108. 
 
 193— 108=85+1=86+3 £=89. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—284=43—18 b & h 
 
 (284)=25. 219—25=194+1=195. 
 516—167=349—22/; & 7=327—50=277—218=59. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—28 (73:2)=299— 284 
 
 =15. 248—15=233+1=234. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—50=277—218=59. 
 
 284—59=225+1=226. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—237 (73:2)=9C, 169 
 
 —90=79 + 1=80. 
 516—167=349—22 b & A— 827— 284— 43— 15 b & 7 
 
 (284)— 25+218— 243— 2** 7=241. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297—169 (73:1) 
 
 =128. 237— 128=109+1=110 + 3 /;=113. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—237 (73:2)— 90. 284 
 
 —90=194+1=195+6 7=201. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—50=277—219=58. 
 
 284—58=226+1=227. 
 516— 167=349— 22 b & 7=327—237 (73:1)— 90- 
 
 11b & 7=79. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 451 
 
 75:2 
 
 and 
 
 327 
 
 72 
 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 
 Lancaster 
 
 and 
 
 157 
 
 74:1 
 
 King 
 
 519 
 
 76:2 
 
 John 
 
 261 
 
 74:1 
 
 and 
 
 316 
 
 134 
 
 69 
 
 268 
 
 76:1 
 74:1 
 74:1 
 74:1 
 
 this 
 
 play, 
 
 but 
 
 other 
 
 37 
 
 74:2 
 
 plays 
 
 437 
 16 
 
 236 
 33 
 43 
 
 75:2 
 74:2 
 75:1 
 74:2 
 74:2 
 
 which 
 are 
 put 
 
 forth 
 at 
 
 195 
 
 74:1 
 
 first 
 
 206 
 
 74:1 
 
 under 
 
 89 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 195 
 59 
 
 74:2 
 74:1 
 
 name 
 of 
 
 234 
 
 74:2 
 
 More \ 
 
 226 
 
 74:1 
 
 low ) 
 
 80 
 
 73:1 
 
 and 
 
 241 
 
 74:2 
 
 now 
 
 113 
 
 73:2 
 
 go 
 
 201 
 
 74:1 
 
 abroad 
 
 227 
 
 74:1 
 
 as 
 
 79 
 
 74:1 
 
 prepared 
 
726 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & /;=327— 30=297— 248=49. 
 
 447—49=398+1=399+3^=402. 402 75:1 by 
 
 516—167=349—22/; & //=327— 30=297— 254=43— 
 
 15 b & h (254)=28. 28 75:2 Shak'st 
 
 516—167=349-22/; & A— 827— 210 (74:2)— 108— [ 
 
 22/;&//=86. 193— 86=107 + 1=108+6 b& //= 114 75:1 spurred 
 
 And here let us pause, and — if any doubt still lingers in the mind of the reader 
 as to existence of a Cipher narrative infolded in the words of this text — let us con- 
 sider the words shak'st and spurre, and observe how precisely they are adjusted to 
 the pages, scenes, and fragments of scenes; just as we found the words old 
 jade and seas-ill to match by various processes of counting with the root- 
 numbers. 
 
 We have shak'st but once in many pages. It would not do to use it too 
 often — it would arouse suspicion; hence, we will soon find Jack substituted for it, 
 which, no doubt, was pronounced, in that day, something like shock or shack. I 
 have heard old-fashioned people give it the shock sound, even in this country, 
 where our sounds of a are commonly narrower and more nasal than the English. 
 The word shak'st is found on the fourth line of column 2 of page 75 of the Folio: 
 
 Thou shak'st thy head and hold'st it Feare or Sinne, etc. 
 
 While the spurns are many times repeated in the first column of page 75, thus: 
 
 He told me that Rebellion had ill luck 
 
 And that yong Harry Percies Spurre was cold. 
 
 And eight lines below we have it again: 
 
 Said he yong Harry Percyes Spurre was cold? 
 (Of Hot-Spurre, co'ld- Sp u'r re ?) that Rebellion 
 Had met ill lucke? 
 
 Here in twelve lines the word spurre occurs four times, and it does not occur 
 again until near the end of the play. 
 
 Now let us see how these words match with the Cipher numbers. If we take 
 505 and deduct the modifier 30, we have 475 left; if we count forward from the top 
 of column 2 of page 75, the 475th word is shak'st; that is, leaving out the bracketed 
 and hyphenated words. But if we again take 505 and count from the same point, 
 plusb& h, the 505th word is again shak'st. Why? Because there are just 30 brack 
 eted and hyphenated words in column 1 of page 75, and these precisely balance the 
 30 words of the modifier in 74:2. But if we take 505 again, and deduct 29, the num- 
 ber of words in the last section of 74:2, we have left 476; and if we start to count 
 from the end of scene 2 on 76:1, and count up and back and down, the 476th word 
 is the same word shak'st; and if we take the root-number 506 and deduct 30 and 
 count in the same way again, the count ends on the same word, shak'st. 
 
 And here, to save space, I condense some of the other identities. The reader 
 will observe the recurrence of the very root-numbers we have been using: 
 
 505—219=286—50=236—193=43—15 b & h (193)= 28 
 505—284=221—193=28. 28 
 
 505— 219=286— 193=93— 15 £ & h (193)=78— 50 (76:1)=28 
 505—30=475—254 (75 :1)=221— 193=28. 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
SHAKSPERE DID NOT WRITE THE TLA VS. 
 
 727 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 1 
 28 
 
 To: 2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 ) 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 505— 193=312— 15 £ &/i (193)=297— 254=43— 15 b & h 
 (193)— 28. 
 
 505—30=475—193=282—254=28. 
 516—167=349—22 b & /;=327— 30=297— 254=43— 15 
 
 b & h (254)=28. 
 516—167=349—22 b & A— 827— 50— 277— 146 (76:2)= 
 
 131_3 = 128— 50=78— 50=28. 
 505—50=455—219 (74:2)=236— 193=43— 15 b ft h 
 
 (193)— 28. 
 505—29=476—218=258—22 b & h (218)— 236— 193— 
 
 43— 15/, & //(193)=28. 
 
 And there are still others ! 
 
 Can any man pretend this came about by accident ? No; for be it observed that 
 every number which produces the word shale st in the above examples, counting from 
 the beginning or end of pages or fragments of pages, is a Cipher number. And 
 this concordance exists not once only, but fourteen times ! 
 
 And as the internal narrative must bring in some reference to Shakspere every 
 one of these fourteen times, by these fourteen different counts, the reader can 
 begin to realize the magnitude of the story that is hidden under the face of this 
 harmless-looking text. And then, be it also observed, eleven of these fourteen 
 references grow out of that part of the story which comes from the root-number 
 505; the word shak'st does not match once, nor can it be twisted into matching with 
 523 or 513. Why? Because Bacon only occasionally refers to Shakspere; his 
 story drifts into other and larger matters than his relations to the man of Stratford. 
 The only time when 523 touches upon Shakspere is when it alternates with 505, thus: 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & h (167)— 316-30— 286— 50 (74:2) 
 
 —236—193—43—15 b ft h (193)— 28. 
 523—167=356—22 b & h (167)— 334. 447—334=113 
 
 + 1—114. 
 
 But let us turn to the word spurre. We have: 
 505—167—338—254—84—15 b ft A— 69— 9 b ft //— 60. 
 516—167=349—22 b & //— 327— 50— 277— 193=84— 
 
 15 b & h= 69— 9 b & h— 60. 
 505—198 (74:2)— 307— 218 (74:2)— 89— 22 b ft h (218)= 
 
 67—7 £—60. 
 505—197 (74:2)— 308— 248— 60. 
 505—167 (74:2)— 888— 1 h (167)— 337— 248=89— 22 b 
 
 (248)— 67— 7 0— 60. 
 505—198 (74:2 =307— 193=1 14. 
 523—167=356—22 b & A— 334. 447—334=113+1= 
 523—167=3:6—22 b & /— 334— 248— 86. 193—86= 
 
 107+1—108+6 b & h=A 14. 
 505—193=312—198 (74:2)— 114. 
 505—167—338—1 h (167)=337— 254— 83. 193—83— 
 
 110+1—111 + 3^—114. 
 516—167—349. 447—349—98+1—99—6 A— 105. 
 516—219=297—193=104—15 b & h— 89. 193—89 
 
 =104+5—2 b & A— 107. (107) 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 shak'st 
 
 114 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 114 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 114 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 114 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 114 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 114 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 (105) 
 
 75:1 
 
 spurre 
 
 lo:l 
 
 spurre 
 
7 2 8 THE CIPHER NA RRA TI VE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 516—167 349—22 b & ^=327— 237=90— 3 b (237) 
 
 =87 193—87=106+1=107. (107) 75:1 spurre 
 
 516- -167=349—22 b & //=327— 193=134— 15 b & h= (119) 75:1 spurre 
 
 Here are fourteen spurres to match the fourteen shak'sls. 
 
 I have not the space to summarize the number of instances wherein more and 
 low are similarly made to harmonize with the root-numbers and the scenes and 
 fragments of scenes. I have already given two such instances. 
 
 Then let the reader observe that extraordinary collocation of words: The Con- 
 tention between York and Lancaster, King John, and other plays; all growing out of 
 the same Cipher number, 327. If there is no Cipher in the text, surely these pages, 
 74, 75 and 76, are the most marvelous ever seen in the world; for they contain not 
 only the names of the old jade, Cecil, Marlowe, Shakspere many times repeated, but 
 Archer, the Contention between York and Lancaster, King John, and all the many 
 pregnant and significant words which go to bind thsse in coherent sentences — not 
 a syllable lacking. While it may stagger the credulity of men to believe that any 
 person could or would impose upon himself the task of constructing such an 
 unparalleled piece of work, it is still more incomprehensible that such a net-work 
 of coincidences could exist by accident. 
 
 But it may be said these curious words would naturally occur in the text of any 
 writings. Let us see: There is the Bible; equally voluminous with the Plays, 
 translated in the same era, and dealing, like the Plays, with biography, history and 
 poetry. The word shake occurs in the Plays 112 times; in the Bible it occurs but 
 35 times. There is no reason, apart from the Cipher, why it should occur more 
 than three times as often in the Plays as in the Bible. The word play occurs in the 
 Plays more than 300 times; in the Bible it occurs 14 times ! And remember that 
 the word play in the Plays very seldom refers to a dramatic performance. Played 
 is found in the Plays 52 times; in the Bible 7 times. Player occurs in the Plays 29 
 times; in the Bible 3 times. Jade is found 24 times in the Plays and not once in the 
 Bible. Stage occurs 22 times in the Plays and not once in the Bible. Scene occurs 
 40 times in the Plays; not once in the Bible. 
 
 But it may be said that dramatical compositions would naturally refer more to 
 play and plays and scene, etc. , than a religious work. But in the Plays themselves 
 there are the widest differences in this respect. In King John, for instance, the 
 word please (pronounced plays) occurs but once; in Henry VIII. it is found 28 
 times ! Play occurs but twice in the Comedy of Errors, but in 1st Henry IV. we 
 find it 12 times; in Henry VIII. 14 times, and in Hamlet 35 times ! Shake occurs 
 but once each in Much Ado, 1st Henry VI, in The Alerchant of Venice, Measure 
 for Measure, the Meny Wives, and the Two Gentlemen of Verona; while in Julius 
 Ccesar we find it seven times, in Macbeth 8 times, in Lear 8 times, and in Othello 
 7 times. 
 
 These differences are caused by the fact that in some of the Plays the Cipher 
 narrative dwells more upon Shakspere than in others. But shake is found in every 
 one of the Plays, and it is therefore probable that the Stratford man entered very 
 largely into Bacon's secret life and thought, and consequently into the story he 
 tells. It will be a marvelous story when it is all told, and we find out what the 
 wrong was that Caliban tried to work upon Miranda. 
 
 But we go still farther with Cecil's reasons for believing that Shakspere did not 
 write the Plays, and we carry the same root-number with us into another chapter. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 SHAKSPERE INCAPABLE OF WRITING THE PL A VS. 
 
 A very superficial, ignorant, unweighing fellow. 
 
 Measure for Measure, iii, 2. 
 
 EVERY Cipher word in this chapter also is the 327 th word from the 
 same points of departure which have given us all the Cipher story 
 which has preceded it. 
 
 We have this further statement from Cecil to the Queen: 
 
 516 
 
 167 (74:2) 
 
 349 
 
 349 
 
 22 £ & 4 
 
 327 
 
 327 
 50 
 
 277 
 
 516—167=349—22 £ & h— 327— 50^-277— 50— 227. 
 
 603— 227=376+ 1=377. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 30=297— 193=104. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 30=297— 193=104— 
 
 50=54—50 (76:1)— 4. 508—4=504+1=505+1 4= 
 516— 167=349— 22 £ & 4=327— 30=297— 193= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—193=104— 
 
 15 b & 4=89. 448—89=359+1=360. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—50 (76:1)= 
 516— 167=349— 22 £ & 4=327— 49 (76:2)=85. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—146 (76:2)— 181— 
 
 9 4 & £=(172). 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—49 (76:1)= 
 
 248—248=0+1=1. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 50=277— 146=131 . 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—193=104. 
 
 448—104=344+1=345. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—145=132- 
 
 10 £=122. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b& 4=327—193=134—5 4 (193) 
 
 =129—2 4=127. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—193=84— 
 
 15 £& 4=69— 10 £=59. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—193=104— 
 
 15 b& 4=89. 508—89=419+1=420. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277. 284—277= 
 
 7+1=8+18 £&4=(26). 
 
 729 
 
 
 327 
 
 
 
 30 
 
 
 
 297 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 377 
 
 76:2 
 
 He 
 
 104 
 
 74:1 
 
 is 
 
 =506 
 
 75:2 
 
 the 
 
 104 
 
 75:2 
 
 son 
 
 360 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 227 
 
 76:2 
 
 a 
 
 85 
 
 75:1 
 
 poor 
 
 (172) 
 
 peasant 
 
 1 
 
 74:2 
 
 who 
 
 131 
 
 76:1 
 
 yet 
 
 345 
 
 76:1 
 
 followed 
 
 122 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 127 
 
 76:1 
 
 trade 
 
 59 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 420 
 
 75:2 
 
 glove 
 
 (26) 
 
 74:1 
 
 making 
 
73° 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 30=297— 193=104 
 —33—101. 
 
 516—167=349—22 4 & /i=327— 30=297— 248=49— 
 
 22 4=(27). 
 516— 167=349— 22 £ & 4=327— 30=297— 49 (76:1)= 
 
 248—44=244. 
 516— 167=349— 224 & 4=327— 30=297— 49 (74:2)= 
 516— 167=349— 22 b & 4=327— 30=297— 193=104— 
 
 50=54. 603—54=549+1=550. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277. 447—277= 
 
 170 + 1=171. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—146 (76:2) 
 
 =151—3 4=148—3 A— 145. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297— 193=104— 
 
 10 b (193)=94. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—254=73—15 b & h— 
 
 58. 248—58=190+1=191. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—30=267. 
 
 448—267=181+1=182+10 4& 4=192. 
 516—167=349—22-4 & 4=327— 30=297— 50=247. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—248=29— 
 
 2 h (248)=27. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 30=297— 50=247— 
 
 12 b & 4=235. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 50=277— 145=132. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297. 447—297 
 
 =150+1=151+5 A— 156. 
 516— 167=349— 22 b & 4=327—30=297— 248=49— 
 
 24 b & 4 (248)=25. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 50=277. 447—277-= 
 
 170 + 1=171 + 11 4=182. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 254=73— 51 (448)= 
 
 22. 603—22=581 + 1=582. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—193=134-10 b (19 5) 
 
 =124. 448—124=324+1=325. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—193=104. 
 
 284—104=180+1=181. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—145 (76:2) 
 
 =132—11 b & h— 121. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—145=132 
 
 —7 4=125. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 50=277. 284—277 
 
 =7+1=8. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327-193=134—15 b & h 
 
 =119. 284—119=165+1=166+6 4=172. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 50=277— 49 (76:2)= 
 
 228—44=224. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 4=327— 248=79. 447—79= 
 
 368+1=369+3 4=372. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 101 
 
 76:1 
 
 in 
 
 (27) 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 244 
 
 74:1 
 
 hole 
 
 248 
 
 74:1 
 
 where 
 
 550 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 171 
 
 75:1 
 
 was 
 
 K5 
 
 76:1 
 
 born 
 
 94 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 191 
 
 74:2 
 
 bred, 
 
 192 
 
 76:1 
 
 one 
 
 247 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 27 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 235 
 132 
 
 74:1 peasant-towns 
 
 74:2 of 
 
 156 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 25 
 
 74:1 
 
 West. 
 
 182 
 
 75:1 
 
 And 
 
 582 
 
 76:1 
 
 there 
 
 325 
 
 76:1 
 
 are 
 
 181 
 
 277 
 
 74:1 
 74:1 
 
 even 
 rumors 
 
 121 
 
 74:1 
 
 that 
 
 125 
 
 74:2 
 
 both 
 
 8 
 
 74:1 
 
 Will 
 
 172 
 
 74:1 
 
 and 
 
 224 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 372 
 
 75:2 
 
 brother 
 
SHAKSPERE INCAPABLE OF WRITIXG THE PLA VS. 
 
 73 1 
 
 -145 (76:2)= 
 -193=104. 
 
 Word. 
 
 = 132 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 76:1 
 
 did 
 
 -50=247— 
 
 405 
 
 75:2 
 
 themselves 
 
 -193=104 
 
 397 
 
 76:1 
 
 follow 
 
 496+6 7*= 
 -145 (76:2) 
 
 -193=84— 
 
 202 
 
 127 
 
 74:1 
 76:1 
 
 that 
 trade 
 
 -145=152. 
 
 69 
 
 76:2 
 
 for 
 
 =443. 
 
 -50 (76:1)= 
 -145(76:2) 
 1=156. 
 -5 7=292. 
 248—73 
 
 443 
 
 227 
 
 156 
 292 
 
 77:1 
 76:1 
 
 74:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 some 
 
 time 
 
 before 
 they 
 
 -145=132. 
 
 176 
 
 74:2 
 
 came 
 
 
 153 
 
 74:1 
 
 here. 
 
 516—167—349—22 b & 7=327—50=277- 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297- 
 
 508—104=404—5=405. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297- 
 
 145=102. 498—102=396+1=397 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297- 
 
 — 15 b & 7=89. 284—89=195+1= 
 516—167=349—22 b ft 7=327—50=277- 
 
 =132—5 b ft 7=127. 
 516—167=319—22 b & 7=327—50=277- 
 
 15 b ft 7=69. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297- 
 
 577—152=425 + 1=426+17 b & 7= 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—50=277- 
 516—167=349—22 b ft 7=327—50=277- 
 
 =132—3 £=129. 284—129=155+ 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—30=297- 
 516—167=349—22 b ft 7=327—254=73. 
 
 =175+1=176. 
 516—167=349—22 b & 7=327—50=277- 
 
 284—132=152+1=153. 
 
 Here are fifty-six more words, growing out of the same root-number: 516 — 167 
 =349 — 22 b & 7=327, modified by 30 or 50, which gave us whole pages of narrative 
 in the last chapter. We will see hereafter that we advance in order, from the more 
 complex to the more simple; that is, the above root-number 327, obtained bv count- 
 ing in the 22 bracketed and hyphenated words in the second subdivision of column 
 2 of page 74, is followed by 516 — 167=349, where we leave out of the count the 
 22 bracketed and hyphenated words. And this is cunningly contrived, because 
 one trying to unravel the Cipher would first undertake the more simple and obvious 
 forms, and would scarcely think of obtaining a root-number by counting in the 
 bracketed and hyphenated words in the second subdivision of column 2 of page 74, 
 or any similar subdivision. 
 
 The "brother" here referred to was Shakspere's brother Gilbert, born in 
 1566, two years after Shakspere's birth. If Shakspere came to London in 1587, 
 Gilbert was then twenty-one years of age. Very little is known of him. Halli- 
 well-Phillipps thinks he was in later life a haberdasher in London. 1 
 
 But as his name does not. occur in the subsidy lists of the period, it is not 
 unlikely that he was either a partner with, or assistant to, some other tradesman 
 of the same occupation. 
 
 The fact that he is found in London accords with the intimation in the Cipher 
 narrative, that he came there with his brother, and probably was at first also a 
 hanger-on about the play-houses. 
 
 The reader will here observe how the words glove making grow T out of the 
 same root-number; one being 327 minus 30, the other 327 minus 50. Observe also 
 how the terminal number 104 produces is, the, son, of, followed, glove, in, he, and, 
 themselves, and that: while 277 gives us he, a, vet, the, of, making, teas, the, rumors 
 that, both, Will, his, did, trade, for, time, and before. 
 
 If there is no Cipher here, how could glove and making and all these other 
 words grow out of 327 modified by 50 and 30? 
 
 Outlines, pp. 23 and 24. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. 
 
 This morning, like the spirit of a youth 
 That means to be of note, begins betimes. 
 
 A utony and Cleopatra, iv, 2. 
 
 EVERY Cipher word in this chapter is the 338th word from the same 
 points of departure as in the previous chapters. 
 I gave in Chapter VI., page 694 ante, something of the story 
 of Shakspere's youth, and yet but a fragment of it. I am of the 
 opinion that it runs out, with the utmost detail and particularity, 
 on the line of the root-number 338 [505 — 167 (74:2)=338] to the 
 end of 2d Henry 1 7., and, possibly, to the beginning of 1st Henry 
 IV. I gave in Chapter IV. the statement that Shakspere — 
 
 Goes one day and with ten of his followers did lift the xvater-gate of- the fish pond 
 off the hinges, and turns all the water out from the pond, froze all t lie fish, and girdles 
 the orchard. 
 
 And also: 
 
 They drew their weapons and fought a bloody fight, never stopping even to 
 breathe. 
 
 And further, that when he ran away from home — 
 
 He left his poor young jade big with child. 
 
 Now between the description of the destruction of the fish-pond 
 and the account of the fight there comes in another fragment of the 
 story. 
 
 The narrative seems to be a confession, made by Field. Hence 
 its particularity. It is believed that Richard Field, the printer, was 
 a Stratford man. In 1592 Shakspere's father, with two others, was 
 appointed to value the goods of " Henry Feelde, of Stratford, 
 tanner," supposed to have been the father of Richard Field the 
 printer." 1 Halliwell-Phillipps asserts positively that he was his 
 father. 2 Richard Field was also, as I have shown, the first printer 
 of Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece. 
 
 '- Collier's English Dramatic Poetry, iii, 439. 2 Outlines, p. 69. 
 
 73 2 
 
SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. 
 
 733 
 
 505—167=338—284=54. 
 
 505—167=338—248=90—24 b & h (248)=66— 5 b— 
 505—167=338—49 (74:2)=289. 498—289=209^1= 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288. 498—288=210 + 1= 
 505—167=338—6 //=332. 
 
 505—167=338—284=54. 237—54=183+1=184. 
 505—167=338. 498—338=160+1=161+10 b & //= 
 505— 167=338— 284=54+28 (73:2)=82. 
 505—167=338—284=54—18 b& h (284)=36. 
 505—167=338—284=54. 
 
 505—167=338—145 (76:2)=193— 4 h col. =189. 
 505—167=338—50=288—146 (76:2)— 143— 8 b (146)= 
 505—167=338—145 (76:2)=193— 3 b (145)=190. 
 
 448—190=258+1=259. 
 505—167=338—145 (76:2)=193. 448-193=255+1 
 
 =256+4 £=260. 
 505—167=338—50=288. 498—288=210+1=21 1 
 
 +1 A— 212. 
 505— 167=338— :0 (74:2)=288— 193=95— 50 (76:1) 
 
 =45. 508—45=463+1=464. 
 -6—167=338—50=288—22 b & 7^=266— 50=216— 
 
 145=71. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 54 
 
 73:2 
 
 And 
 
 61 
 
 74:1 
 
 while 
 
 214 
 
 76:1 
 
 we 
 
 211 
 
 76:1 
 
 are 
 
 332 
 
 75:1 
 
 thus 
 
 184 
 
 73:2 
 
 busily 
 
 171 
 
 76:1 
 
 engaged 
 
 82 
 
 73:2 
 
 my 
 
 36 
 
 73:2 
 
 Lord 
 
 54 
 
 73:2 
 
 and 
 
 189 
 
 77:1 
 
 some 
 
 139 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 259 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 260 
 
 76:1 
 
 followers 
 
 212 
 
 76:1 
 
 set 
 
 464 
 
 75:2 
 
 upon 
 
 71 
 
 76:1 
 
 us. 
 
 The reader will observe that every word of this sentence is derived from the 
 same root-number (505 — 167=338), and he will also note how often the terminal 
 root-number, 54, is used. 
 
 Then follows the description of the "bloody fight" given in Chapter VI. 
 
 The story of Shakspere's deer-killing is found in the latter part of 1st Henry IV. 
 We take the same root-number, 505 — 167=338, and, commencing on the first 
 column of page 73 (part of " The Heart of the Mystery"), we find that, by inter- 
 mingling the terminal fragments of the second scene of 2d Henry IV. with the 
 terminal fragments of the last scene of 2d Henry IV., we get these words: 
 
 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 79 (73:1)= 
 
 160. 588—160=428+1=429. 429 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—1// col.— 114. 114 
 505—167=338—50=288—169 (73:1)— 119— 1 h 
 
 (169)— 118. 346—118=228+1=229. 229 
 
 505—167=338—50=288—142 (78:1)— 146— 1 h (142) 
 
 =145+170=315—1 h col.— 814. 314 
 
 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 90 (73:1)= 149 
 505—167=338—50=288—169 (73:1)— 119— 1 h (169)= 118 
 505—167—338—50=288—142 (73:1)— 146— 1 h (142)= 145 
 
 72:2 
 r5:l 
 
 72:1 
 
 Jack I 
 spur * 
 
 hath 
 
 72:2 
 
 killed 
 
 72:2 
 
 many 
 
 72:2 
 
 a 
 
 72:2 
 
 deer. 
 
 As I have before noted, Jack had probably in that day the sound of shack, for 
 the word, being derived from the French, retained the sh or zh sound. We find 
 this given by Webster to Jacquerie. The word Jack will be found repeatedly used, 
 in the Cipher, for the first syllable of the name of Shakspere. It will be noted in 
 this example that out of seven words all are derived from 338 — 50=288, except 
 one, which is 33S — 30; two are derived from 288 — 169=119; two from 288 — 49 
 
231 
 
 72:2 
 
 the 
 
 145 
 
 72:2 
 
 deer 
 
 237 
 
 
 
 73 
 
 73:2 
 
 was 
 
 258 
 
 72-2 
 
 indeed 
 
 734 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 (76:i)=239, and two are derived from 288 — 142=146. This recurrence of terminal 
 root-numbers is very significant. I would explain that 142 is the number of words 
 from the end of the first subdivision of 73:1 to the bottom of the column; and 79 
 and 90 are, of course, the two other principal subdivisions of that column. And 
 the reader will observe that to obtain 338 — 169 we have deducted the number of 
 words from the top of the first subdivision of 73:1 down the column; while when 
 we have 338 — 142 we hr.ve the number of words from the bottom of that same sub- 
 division down the same column. It will thus be seen that there is a relation and 
 an order in the formation of the sentence; that it moves from the two ends of the 
 same subdivision. 
 
 It seems that Shakspere and "our party" had killed a deer, made a fire and 
 had the body " half eaten: " 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—167=338—141 (78:1)— 197. 237—197=40+1= 41 73:2 The 
 
 505— 167=338— 30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76:1)=258. 588 
 
 —258=330+1=331 + 1/^=332. 332 72:2 body 
 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76:1)=258. 284 
 
 —258=26+1=27+7 h col. =34. 34 74:1 of 
 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 27 
 
 (73:1)=231. 
 505—167=338—193 (75:1)=145. 
 505—167=338—169 (73:1)=169— 1 h (169)=168. 
 
 —168=69+1=70+3 b col. =73. 
 505— 167=338— 30 (74:2)=308— 50=258. 
 505—167=338—30=308—198 (74 :2)=1 10+ 194=304 
 
 — 7 b&h col. =297. 297 ?5:1 half 
 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 13 
 
 b&h col.=245. 24?) 74:1 eaten. 
 
 If the reader will count down from the top of 74:1 he will find the word eaten 
 cunningly hidden in the middle of the hyphenated word worm-eaten-hole, 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 198 (74:2)=110- 
 505—167=338—30=308—141 (73 :1)=167. 
 
 167=3+1=4. 
 505— 167=338— 193=145+346 (72:2)=491— 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 141 (73:1)=167. 
 505—167=338—141=197. 237—197=40+1=41 
 
 + 3 b col.=44. 44 73:2 the 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179 
 
 — 1 h (79)=178. 237—178=59+1=60. 60 73:2 foot 
 
 505— 167=338— 28 (73:1)=310. 588—310=278+1= 279 72:2 of 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—141 (73:1)=167. 588— 
 
 167=421+1=422. 422 72:2 a 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—141=167. 237—167 
 
 =70+1=71. 71 73:2 hill. 
 
 Let the reader consider for an instant how different are the words that are 
 here the 338th from certain clearly established points of departure, as compared 
 with the words produced by 523 — 167=356; or as compared with those which came 
 out from 505 and 523 minus the subdivisions of 75:1. Compare: Shakspere had 
 
 
 110 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 194=304. 
 
 304 
 
 75:1 
 
 found 
 
 170— 
 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 72:2 
 
 it 
 
 -1 A col.= 
 
 = 490 
 
 72:2 
 
 lying 
 
 
 167 
 
 72:2 
 
 by 
 
513 
 
 72:2 
 
 fought 
 
 =337 
 
 72:2 
 
 a 
 
 197 
 
 72:2 
 
 hot 
 
 310 
 
 72:2 
 
 and 
 
 153 
 
 72:2 
 
 bloody 
 
 197 
 
 7o:2 
 
 fight. 
 
 SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. y 35 
 
 killed many a deer; . . . the body of the deer ivas half eaten. He found it lying by 
 t 'he foot of a hill; with: How is this derived? Saw you the Earl? etc.; or: Her 
 Grace is furious and hath sent out, etc. ; or: With this pipe he hath blown the fame of 
 rebellion almost into open war, etc. In every case the character of the words is 
 totally different. 
 
 The Cipher story proceeds to tell how Sir Thomas Lucy and his son came upon 
 the scene — they had a fight with the poachers and drove them off. We have: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—167=338—30=308-50 (76:1)=258— 27 (73:1) 
 
 =231 + 170 (72 :2)=401. 401 72:2 We 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—142 (73:1)=166. 347 
 
 (72:2)+ 166— 513. 
 505—167=338—30=308—141 (73:1)=167+170 (72:2)= 
 505—167=338—141 (73:1)=197. 
 505—167=338—28 (78:1)— 310. 
 505—167=338—142 (73:1)— 196. 346—196=150+1 
 
 —151+2 h col — 158. 
 505—167=338—141 (73:1)— 197. 
 
 Certainly, if all this is accident, it is extraordinary that the accident on one page 
 should precisely accord with the accident on all other pages; that is to say — 505 
 — 167=338, minus 30 and 50, tells us the story of the last "bloody fight," when 
 the boys of Stratford destroyed Sir Thomas Lucy's fish-pond, and here we have the 
 account (by the same 505 — 167=338 — 30 and 50) of a previous "hot and bloody 
 fight," when Sir Thomas found them devouring the body of a deer. And it was 
 in revenge f or punishment inflicted for the first fray — 
 
 [505—167=388—142 (73:1 )=196. 347 (72:2)— 196= 
 
 151+1--152+2 h col.— 154. 154 72:2 fray]— 
 
 that the yourg desperadoes organized the riot to destroy the fish-pond. And in 
 this latter fight Shakspere was badly wounded, shot by a pistol in the hands of Sir 
 Thomas Lucy. The story is too long to give here in detail. Every letter from my 
 publishers is 1 cry of despair about the increasing size of this work; and some of 
 my malignant and ungenerous critics are clamoring that my book will never 
 appear. I cm therefore only give extracts from the story. It runs through a great 
 part of page ]2 of 1st Henry IV. My Lord, for he was lord of the barony, and his 
 son, are mounted and armed. And here we have the word barony, the 149th word of 
 the 75:1 obtained from the same root-number, thus: 
 
 505— 167=-!8— 50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 90 
 
 (78:1>-149. 149 75:1 barony 
 
 They Q ome with all their household: 
 
 505—167^338—50=288—49 (76:1)— 289— 79 (73:1) 
 
 =160. 284—160=124+1=125. 125 74:1 with 
 
 505— 1C~^338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 90 (73:1)= 149 74:1 household; 
 
 a great multitude; and to find multitude, we repeat the last count but one, adding 
 in, however, the hyphenated words, thus: ■ 
 
 505— 16~— 338— 50— 288— 49 (76:1)— 239— 79 (73:1) 
 
 -=160. 284— 160— 124+1— 125+7 h col.— 182. 132 74:1 multitude 
 
736 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 And here we have great: 
 
 505—167=338—237=101—3 b (237)=98. 169— { 
 
 =71 + 1=72. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 72 
 
 73:1 
 
 great 
 
 The number 90 represents the end of scene 3 on 73:1; and the number 79 that 
 part of the next scene in the same column. See how the same number, 149, pro- 
 duces barony and household; while the corresponding number, 160, produces with 
 and multitude. 
 
 And here we find the story running on, and the same terminal numbers, 149, 
 160, etc., continuing to produce significant words. We can see the philosophy of 
 every word; they come either from deducting the whole of the first column of page 
 73 or the whole of the second column, or the fragments of each. We have had the 
 body of the half-eaten deer — found lying by the foot of the hill — the hot and bloody 
 fight — the lord of the barony coming with a great multitude of his household. And 
 Shakspere ran away, and — 
 
 505- 
 
 59 
 
 78 
 (160) 
 
 249 
 
 73:2 
 
 74:2 
 74:2 
 
 75:1 
 
 The 
 
 pursuers 
 followed 
 
 and 
 
 79 
 
 73:2 
 
 took 
 
 119 
 
 73:2 
 
 him 
 
 149 
 
 74:2 
 
 prisoner. 
 
 471 
 
 72:2 
 
 Percy 
 
 467=338—30=308—79=179. 237—179=58 
 
 + 1=59. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 79=160. 
 
 237—160=77+1=78. 
 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 79 (73:1)= 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—198 (74:2)= 
 
 61 + 193=254—5 b & h col. =249. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 79=160- 
 
 1 h (79)=159. 237—159=78+1=79. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 169 (73:1)=119. 
 505—167=338—50=288—49=239—90=149. 
 505—167=338—50=288—169=119—1 h (169)=118. 
 
 588—118=470+1=471. 
 505—167=338—50=288—49=239—79=160. 170+ 
 
 160=330. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 79 (73:1)= 
 505—167=338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238— 63 (27 to 91) 
 
 =175. 237—175=62+1=63+3 b col.=66. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 50(76 :1)=238— 90=148. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 49(76 :1)=239— 90=149. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 78 (79 d) 
 
 =181. 237—181=56+1=57. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 79(73 :1)=179— 
 
 1 ; 2 (79)=i78. 237— 178=59+ 1=60+ 3/; col. =63. 
 
 I do not pretend, for the reason stated, to give the whole account of this first 
 raid of the Stratford boys, but simply to call attention to the fact that this page 73 
 is as full of arithmetical adjustments, with 505 — 167=338, as we found it to be in 
 Chapter IV. with 505 — 284, and 523 — 284, etc. 
 
 In the presence of Percy in this story we probably have the explanation of the 
 original relationship of Bacon with Shakspere. Percy was Bacon's servant; he 
 was, it seems, from Stratford, and he was Shakspere's friend; hence when Bacon, 
 after Marlowe's death, needed another mask, Percy, Bacon's confidant, doubtless 
 suggested Shakspere. 
 
 And here we have the account of how Sir Thomas charged on the insurgents, 
 who were destroying the fish-pond: 
 
 330 
 
 72:2 
 
 and 
 
 179 
 
 73:2 
 
 the 
 
 66 
 
 73:2 
 
 rest 
 
 148 
 
 73:2 
 
 of 
 
 149 
 
 73:2 
 
 our 
 
 57 
 
 73:2 
 
 men 
 
 63 
 
 73:2 
 
 fled. 
 
SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. 
 
 737 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 248 (74:1) 
 
 =10. 193—10=183 + 1=184. 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)— 288— 50 (76:1)=238— 50 
 
 (74 :2)=188+ 193=381— 4 A col.=377. 
 505—167=338—254 (75:1)=84 — 9^&/^ col.— 75. 
 505—167=338—30 (74 :2)=308— 198=110. 193—110 
 
 =83+1=84. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76 :1)=258— 198=60. 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 193—110=83+ 
 
 1=84+3 £ col.— 87. 
 505—167=338—30=308—219=89—1 k col.=88. 
 505—167=338—50=288—248=40—7 b col— 33. 
 505—167=338—248=90. 
 505—167=338—30=308—219 (74:2)=89. 
 505—1 67=338—30=308—248=60 + 1 94=254. 
 505—167=338—248=90—9 b & h col.— 81, 
 505—167=338—30=308—219=89—7 b col.— 82. 
 505-1 67=338—248=90—7 b col.— 83. 
 505—167=338—254 (75:1)— 84. 
 505—167=338—50=288—219 (74:2)=69. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)— 258— 198— 60 
 
 + 193—253. 
 505—167—338—49 (76:1)— 289. 447—289—158+1— 
 505—167—338—30=308—50 (76:1;— 258— 219 (74:2;= 
 505—167—338—193—145. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 184 
 
 75:1 
 
 My 
 
 377 
 
 75:1 
 
 Lord 
 
 75 
 
 75:1 
 
 struck 
 
 84 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spur 
 
 87 
 88 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 up 
 to 
 
 33 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 90 
 
 75:1 
 
 rowell 
 
 89 
 254 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 against 
 the 
 
 81 
 
 82 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 panting 
 sides 
 
 83 
 
 75:1 
 
 of 
 
 84 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 69 
 
 75:1 
 
 horse 
 
 253 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 159 
 
 75:1 
 
 rode 
 
 39 
 
 75:1 
 
 him 
 
 145 
 
 75:2 
 
 down. 
 
 Here are twenty words, all originating out of the same number, which has been 
 telling the story of Shakspere's youth for many pages past, to-wit: 505 — 167—338; 
 and all but one of the twenty are found in the first column of page 75; and the 
 greater part, 16 out of 20, are found in the first subdivision of that column. If 
 this be accident, certainly there is nothing like it anywhere else in the world. 
 
 And Sir Thomas shoots Shakspere, leaving a scar that marked him for life. 
 Prof. John S. Hart thought he saw the traces of such a scar in the Dusseldorf death- 
 mask. And Bacon, to still better carry out the delusion, that Shakspere was Shake- 
 speare, wrote in one of the sonnets — the 112th: 
 
 Your love and pity doth the impression fill 
 Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow. 
 
 The story, I have said, goes back to the beginning of scene 3, act v, page 71, 
 of 1st Henry IV., and the pistol is found in 71:2, as will appear below. 
 We are told: 
 
 505— 167=338— 30— 308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193— 65. 
 
 193—65—128+1—129+1 k— 180. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(74:2)— 258. 
 505—167—338—30—308—247 (74:2 up)— 61. 
 505—167—338—50 (76:1)— 288— 26 b& h col=262. 
 505—167—338—30—308. 
 505—1 67—338—248—90 + 1 94—284. 
 505—167—338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)— 238. 
 
 130 
 
 75:1 
 
 My 
 
 258 
 
 71:2 
 
 Lord 
 
 61 
 
 75:1 
 
 was 
 
 262 
 
 75:1 
 
 furious, 
 
 308 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 284 
 
 75:1 
 
 drew 
 
 238 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
73* 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1>=289— 169 (73:1)=120. 
 505—1 67=338—30=308—50 (76 : 1)=258— 1 98=60 
 
 + 193=253. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 213 (71:2) 
 
 =46—1 h (213)=45. 458—45=413+1=414. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248=41— 22 b (248)= 
 
 19—3 b col.=16. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 198 (74:2) 
 
 =61—24 b & // (198)=37. 
 505—167=338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60. 284-69 
 
 =224+1=225. 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 219 (76:1)=89. 193 
 
 —89=114+1=115+6 b& 6=121. 
 505—167=338—284=54. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b & h (193) 
 
 =100+193=293. 
 505—167=338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60. 193—60 
 
 =133+1=134+1 h col.=135. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289. 433—289=144+1= 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 218 (74 :2)=70. 
 505—167=338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60— 22 b (248) 
 
 =38—5 b col.=33. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 
 
 508—65=443+1=444. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 198 (74:2) 
 
 =61—22 b (198)=39. 
 505—167 338—30=308—248 (74:2)=60— 24 b&h 
 
 (248)=36— 5 b col— 81. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 248 (74:2)= 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76 :1)=258— 50=208— 
 
 146=62+162=224—5 b col =219. 
 505—167=338—30=308—254=54. 284—54=230+ 
 
 1=231+5 h col.=236. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)=258— 248 (74:2) 
 
 =10+193=203. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)=41 
 
 447—41=406+1=407. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 120 
 
 71:2 
 
 pistol 
 
 253 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 414 
 
 71:1 
 
 shot 
 
 16 
 
 75:1 
 
 him, 
 
 37 
 
 75:1 
 
 and, 
 
 225 
 
 74:1 
 
 as 
 
 121 
 
 75:1 
 
 ill 
 
 54 
 
 75:1 
 
 luck 
 
 293 
 
 75:1 
 
 would 
 
 135 
 
 75:1 
 
 have 
 
 145 
 
 71:1 
 
 it, 
 
 70 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 33 
 
 74:1 
 
 ball 
 
 444 
 
 75:2 
 
 hit 
 
 39 
 
 75:1 
 
 him 
 
 31 
 
 74:1 
 
 on 
 
 10 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 219 
 
 78:1 
 
 forehead, 
 
 236 
 
 74:1 
 
 between 
 
 203 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 407 
 
 75:1 
 
 eyes. 
 
 Observe here the recurrence of remarkable words, fitting precisely to 505 — 167 
 =338 : drew — pistol — shot — ball — hit — forehead — between — eyes; — with all the 
 other words descriptive of a heady conflict: hot and bloody fight — struck — spur — 
 up — to — rowel — against — panting — sides — horse — rode him down; — My Lord, 
 furious, etc., etc. After a while we will find this same 505 — 167=338 describing 
 Shakspere's ailments and Ann Hathaway's appearance, and selecting out of the body 
 of the text, as if with the wand of a magician, an entirely different series of words. 
 
 And I will ask the reader to note that ball occurs but once in 2d Henry IV. y 
 and shot but once in 1st Henry IV.; pistol, as the name of a weapon, does not 
 occur once in 2d Henry IF., and but twice in 1st Henry IV.; hit occurs but 
 once in 2d Henry IV.; forehead occurs but this one time in both of the plays; 
 rowel occurs but this one time in both these plays, and but once more in all the 
 
SHAKSPERE WOUNDED. 
 
 739 
 
 Plays. And yet here we find all these rare words coming together in the text, and 
 in a short space; and all of them tied together by the root-number, 505 — 167=338. 
 What kind of a cyclone of a miracle was it that swept them all in here in a bunch 
 together, and made each the 338th word from a clearly defined point of departure ? 
 But the marvel does not end here: 505 — 167=338 has many more coherent 
 and marvelous stories to unravel before we have done with it. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 
 
 Away with him to prison. 
 
 Measure for Measure, v, I. 
 
 T~* VERY Cipher word in this chapter grows out of the root-number 
 -*-* 505— 167=338- 
 
 At first it was thought that Shakspere was killed outright. We 
 read: 
 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 248— 40— 9 b & h— 81 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 193=95— 15 b & h 
 
 (193)=80. 284—80=204+1=205. 
 505-167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)=41— 
 
 5d col.— 86. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 254 (75:1)=35— 
 
 15b&/i (254)=20. 
 505-167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)=41— 
 
 6b & A col.— 85. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)— 289— 10 £ col.— 279. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 198 (74:2)=91. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 198 (74:2)— 91. 
 
 284—91=193+1=194. 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 198 (74:2)=90. 
 
 284—90=194+1=195. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248 (74:2)— 41— 
 
 22£(248)=19. 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)— 288— 49 (76:1)=239. 
 
 508—239=269+1=270+8 b col.— 278. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 24£ col.— (265). 
 505—167—338—50 (76:1)— 288— 49 (76:1)— 239. 
 
 508— 239— 269+1=270+2 h col.— 272. 
 505— 167=338— 30— 308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193= 
 
 65+193=258—5 b & h col.— 258. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)— 258— 4 7/ col.— 
 505— 167— 338— 30— 308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193=65. 
 
 193+65=258—3 b col —255. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76:1)— 258— 193— 65. 
 
 193+65—258—2 7/ col. =256. 
 
 740 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 . 31 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 205 
 
 74:1 
 
 fell 
 
 36 
 
 74:1 
 
 upon 
 
 20 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 35 
 
 74:1 
 
 earth. 
 
 279 
 
 74:1 
 
 They 
 
 91 
 
 74:1 
 
 thought 
 
 194 
 
 74:1 
 
 at 
 
 195 
 
 74:1 
 
 first, 
 
 19 
 
 74:1 
 
 from 
 
 278 
 
 75:2 
 
 his 
 
 (265) 
 
 75:2 
 
 bloody 
 
 272 
 
 75:2 appearance 
 
 253 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 254 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 255 
 
 75:1 
 
 whiteness 
 
 256 
 
 75:1 
 
 in 
 
SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 
 
 741 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)— 258— 197 (74:2) 
 
 =61—24 b&h (198)=37— 9 b & h col.— 28. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 
 
 193+65=258. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76 :1)=258— 193=65— 
 
 15* ft A (198)— 60. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 193=65. 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)— 288. 447—288=159+1 
 
 =160+113 col.— 171. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50(76 :1)=258— 193=65. 
 
 447—65=382+1=383. 
 505—167—338—49 (76:1)=289— 218 (74:2)=71— 
 
 1 h col.— 70. 
 505—167—338—30—308—49 (76:1)— 260. 284— 
 
 259—25+1—26+7/* col.=33. 
 505—167=338—193=145. 508—145=363+1=364 
 
 +l>i— 365. 
 505—167—338—50—288—49 (76:1)=239. 447—239 
 
 =208 + 1=209 + 2 A— 21 1 . 
 505— 167^=338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)— 239. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 13 3 & h— 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 198 (74:2)=90. 193 
 
 +90=283—3 b col.— 280. 
 505—167—338—50 (76:1)— 288— 197 (74:2)=91— 22 £ 
 
 (197)— 69. 284—69—215+1—216+6 //— 222. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50 (76:1)— 258. 447—258 
 
 —189+1=190+13 3—203. 
 505—167—338—49 (76:1)— 289— 218 (74:2)— 71. 
 505—167—338—30 (74:2;— 308— 49 (76:1)— 259— 219 
 
 (74:2)— 40. 
 505—167—338—50—288—49 (76:1)— 239— 237 (73:2) 
 
 =2 + 90—92. 
 505—167=338—193=145—15 b & A— 130. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column! 
 
 
 28 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 258 
 
 75:1 
 
 cheek, 
 
 50 
 
 75.1 
 
 that 
 
 65 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 171 
 
 75:1 
 
 was 
 
 383 
 
 75:1 
 
 dead. 
 
 70 
 
 75:1 
 
 The 
 
 33 
 
 74:1 
 
 ball 
 
 365 
 
 75:2 
 
 made 
 
 211 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 239 
 
 75:1 
 
 ugliest 
 
 246 
 
 74:1 
 
 hole 
 
 280 
 
 75:1 
 
 in 
 
 222 
 
 74:1 
 
 his 
 
 203 
 
 75:1 
 
 fore 
 
 71 
 
 75:1 
 
 head 
 
 40 
 
 92 
 130 
 
 75:1 
 
 73:1 
 75:2 
 
 ever 
 saw. 
 
 Observe how cunningly the length of column 1 of page 74 is adjusted to the 
 word ball so that the root-number 505 — 167=338 brings it out the first time going 
 down the column and again going up the column. Observe, also, the matchless 
 ingenuity of the work. We have seen worm-eaten-hole furnish the world eaten, as 
 descriptive of the half-consumed deer; now we find it giving us the word hole; and 
 anon we shall see it used as a whole — worm-eaten-hole — to describe the prison to 
 which Shakspere was taken. In the above example it is difficult to express in fig- 
 ures the way in which we get the word hole, but if the reader will count down the 
 column (74:1), counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, he will find that 
 the 259th word is, as I state, the word hole. The same is true of the word fore, 
 the first part of fore-head; it is the 258th word by actual count up 75:1 counting in 
 the bracketed words, although it is difficult to express the formula in figures. And 
 how marvelous is it that we not only find the word forehead, (which only occurs 
 once in these two plays), as given in the last chapter, cohering with 338, but here 
 we have again the elements to constitute the word, and each of the two words is 
 again the 338th word. And if fore-tells had not been separated, in the Folio, into 
 
742 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 two words — a very unusual course — by a hyphen, this result would have been 
 impossible; as well as that curious combination found-out, and half the cipher 
 work given in the preceding pages. The reader will thus perceive the small 
 details upon which the whole matter turns; and how impossible it is that 148 
 bracketed and hyphenated words could be scattered through these three pages, 
 by accident, in such positions as to bring out this wonderful story. Such a thing 
 can only be believed by those who think that man is the result of a fortuitous 
 conglomeration of atoms, and that all the thousand delicate adjustments revealed 
 in his frame came there by chance. 
 
 Observe, also, that in the foregoing examples the count for the words, fell upon 
 the earth; they thought at first from, originates in each instance from the fragment 
 of scene 2, on 76:1; and the words are all found on 74:1; and that every word of 
 the whole long sentence of thirty-six words, with two exceptions, originated in the 
 same fragment of a scene, the 49 or 50 words at the bottom of 76:1'; and that out 
 of the thirty-six words thirty-one are found on 74:1 or 75:1. 
 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 49 (76:1)— 259— 219 
 
 (74:2)=40— 9 £ & /; col.=31. 31 75:1 He 
 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 254 (75:1)— 85. 284 
 
 —35=249 + 1=250+3 A col.— 253. 253 74:1 lies 
 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 218 (74:2)— 70— 
 
 24£&/i=46. 46 73:2 quite 
 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 49 (76:1)=259. 284 
 
 —259=25+1=26. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 
 505—167=338. 448 (76:1)— 338=110+1=111 + 
 
 3 h col.— 114. 
 505—167=338—50=288. 498 (76:1)— 288=210+1= 
 505—167=338—30=308. 448 (76:1)— 308=140+1= 
 
 141+3// col. =144. 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)— 288. 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 5 h col.— 283. 
 505— 167— 338— 49(76:1)— 289— 218 (74:2)— 71— 9 b & h- 
 
 Here, again, every word is 505 — 167=338, minus 30 or 50; every one begins 
 on 76:1, and all but one of the last seven are found on 76:1. 
 
 We have the whole story of the fight told with the utmost detail. I am not 
 giving it in any chronological order. Shakspere, before Sir Thomas shot him, 
 had not been idle. Sir Walter Scott was right when he supposed, in Kenilworth, 
 that William was a good hand at singlestick. We read: 
 
 505—167—338—30—308—49=259—90=169. 237 
 
 —169— 68+1— 69+3 £ col.— 72. 72 73:2 He 
 
 505—167=338—30—308—50 (76 :2)=258— 90=168 
 
 —50 (74:2)— 118. 284—118=166+1=167. 167 74:2 hath 
 
 505—167=338—30—308—50—258—90—168. 168 74:1 beaten 
 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 63 (79)=195— 
 
 8 k col.— 192. 192 76:1 one 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—49 
 
 (76:1)— 130. 508— 130— 378+1— 379+3 £—382. 382 76:1 of 
 505— 167— 338— 50— 288— 49— 239— 90(73:1)— 149 
 
 — 7 £ col.— 142. 142 74:2 the 
 
 26 
 
 74:1 
 
 still. 
 
 259 
 
 76:1 
 
 His 
 
 114 
 
 76:1 
 
 wounds 
 
 211 
 
 76:1 
 
 are 
 
 144 
 
 76:1 
 
 stiff 
 
 288 
 
 76:1 
 
 from 
 
 283 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 =62 
 
 75:1 
 
 cold. 
 
SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 
 
 743 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—50 
 
 (76:1)— 118. 508—118=390+1=391 + 1 4=392. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—3 b col.=92 
 305—167=338—49=289—254=35—15 b & 4=20. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & h col.=80 
 
 — 9 b & h col. =71. 
 505—107=338—30=308—193=115. 193—115=78 
 
 + 1— 79+3 £ col.— 82. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—50 
 
 (76:1) — 129 — 1 h col.— 128. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 508—95=413 
 
 + 1=414+1 4=415. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95+193=288. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169. 284 
 
 —169=115+1=116+7 Acol.— 123. 
 505—167=338—193=145—49 (71 :)=96. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—49 
 
 (76:1)— 119. 508—119=389+1=390. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—50 
 
 (76:!)— 118. 508—118=390+1=391. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49 (79:1)— 259— 90 (73:1)= 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 79(73 :1)— 179 
 
 —20 b & h col. =159. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—1 h (79) 
 
 =178—50=128. 508—128=380 + 1=381 +4 b & 4= 
 505—167=338—49=289—254=35. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169. 193— 
 
 169=24+1=25+6 b & 4=31. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & 4=80. 
 
 284—80=204+1=205. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—63=195—50 
 
 (76:1)— 145. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145 
 
 =24. 577—24=553+1=554. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & 4 (193)= 
 505—167=338—49=289 -254 (75:2)— 85. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180—50 
 
 (76:1)— 130. 508—130=378+1=379. 
 505—167=338—49=289—254=35—15 b & 4=20. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)=230 
 
 —22 b & 4=208. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)= 
 
 230—1 4=229. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)=230 
 
 —145=85—3 b (145)— 82. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168— 
 
 7 b col. =161. 
 
 Word. 
 
 392 
 92 
 20 
 
 390 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:2 
 76:1 
 74:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 keepers 
 o'er 
 
 the 
 
 head. 
 
 82 
 
 75:1 
 
 sides 
 
 258 
 
 77:1 
 
 and 
 
 128 
 
 76:1 
 
 back, 
 
 415 
 
 75:2 
 
 with 
 
 288 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 123 
 
 74:1 
 
 blunt 
 
 96 
 
 76:1 
 
 edge 
 
 of 
 
 391 
 
 75:2 
 
 his 
 
 169 
 
 76:2 
 
 stick, 
 
 159 
 
 74:2 
 
 till 
 
 180 
 
 76:2 
 
 it 
 
 =385 
 
 75:2 
 
 breaks; 
 
 35 
 
 75:2 
 
 or 
 
 31 
 
 75:1 
 
 he 
 
 205 
 
 74:1 
 
 fell 
 
 145 
 
 75:2 
 
 down 
 
 554 
 
 77:1 
 
 to 
 
 80 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 35 
 
 74:1 
 
 earth 
 
 379 
 
 75:2 
 
 under 
 
 20 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 208 
 
 75:1 
 
 heavy 
 
 229 
 
 75:1 
 
 weight 
 
 82 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 161 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
744 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 505— 1 67=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73 : 1)=230 
 —145=85—2 //col. =83. 
 
 Word. 
 
 S8 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 76:1 
 
 blows. 
 
 It was then that Sir Thomas put spurs to his horse and charged on Shakspere, 
 as narrated in the last chapter, and shot him. 
 
 One of the men looked at Shakspere and said : 
 
 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22 b (198)=68. 
 
 447—68=379+1=380. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 
 505—167=338—50=288—198=90. 447—90=357+1= 
 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22 £—68. 447 
 
 —68=379+1=380+3 £=383. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180—50 
 
 (76:1)— 130. 508— L30=378+ 1=379+4 h col.— 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90 (73:1)— 168 
 
 —49=119. 603—119=484+1=485+3 b col.— 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & /i=S0— 49 
 
 (76:1)— 81. 193—31=162+1=163. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & //— 80— 
 
 50 (76:1)— 30— -7 b col.— 23. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & //=80— 
 
 50=30. 447—30=417+1=418+2 £=420. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15/; & /;=80— 50= 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & /i=S0 
 
 —49 (76:1)— 31. 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110—1 h col.— 109. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & A=S0 
 
 _49 (76:1)— 31. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 £ & /*— 80. 
 
 447—80=367+1=368. 
 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—24 £ & h (198) 
 
 =66+193=259—3 £ col. =256. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & /i=80 
 
 4-193=273—3 b col.— 270. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & //=80+ 
 
 193=273. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49 (76:1)=259— 90 (731)= 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 49(76 :1)=259— 90=169. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—143 (73:1)— 116. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—50 (76 : 1 )=45 
 
 +193=238—2 /*=236. 
 505-167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b & h— 80. 
 
 447—80=367+1=368+3 £=371. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 447—115= 
 
 332+1=333+8 b col.— 841. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 193—115= 
 
 78+1=79. 
 505— 167— 338— 30— 308— 49— 259— 90(73 :1)=1G9. 
 
 193—169—24+1—25+3 b col. =28. 
 
 380 
 95 
 
 =358 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 Why, 
 he 
 
 is 
 
 383 
 
 75:1 
 
 dead. 
 
 383 
 
 75:2 
 
 His 
 
 488 
 
 76:2 
 
 Lordship 
 
 163 
 
 75:1 
 
 then 
 
 23 
 
 75:1 
 
 stopped 
 
 420 
 
 : 30 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 horse 
 
 31 
 109 
 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 said: 
 
 31 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 368 
 
 75:1 
 
 is 
 
 256 
 
 75:1 
 
 in 
 
 270 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 273 
 169 
 169 
 116 
 
 75:1 
 73:2 
 74:1 
 74.1 
 
 faint. 
 
 Bend 
 
 down 
 
 and 
 
 236 
 
 75:1 
 
 put 
 
 371 
 
 75:1 
 
 your 
 
 341 
 
 75:1 
 
 ear 
 
 79 
 
 75:1 
 
 against 
 
 28 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 
 
 745 
 
 Word. 
 505—167=338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 90=149. 
 
 248—149=99+1=100. 100 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—145 (76:1)— 113. 113 
 505—167=338—49=289—254=35—15 b & A— 20. 20 
 
 505— 167— 338— 50=288— 198=90— <>4 b ft h (198)= 
 
 66. 193—66=127+1=128+1 A— 129. 129 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 110 
 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95—15 b ft A— 80. 
 
 447—80=367+1=368. 368 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169— 
 
 4 b col. =165. 165 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—79=180+193 
 
 =373—4 // col. =369. 369 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:1 
 
 heart, 
 to 
 see 
 
 if 
 he 
 
 is 
 
 yet 
 
 living. 
 
 Here we have still more pages upon pages, growing out of that same number, 
 505 — 167=338. And note the unusual words: beaten — keepers — blunt — edge — stick 
 — breaks; — earth — under — heavy — weight — blows; — bend — down — put — r ear — 
 against — heart — faint — living, etc. The word stick occurs only one other time in 
 these two plays; the word keepers appears only on this occasion; the word keeper is 
 found, however, once in this play. 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—28 (73:1)— 281 
 
 —10/^ col. =221. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—143 (73:1)= 
 
 116. 284—110=168+1=169. 
 505- 167=338—49=289—254=35. 248—35=213 
 
 +1—214+1 £—215. 
 505—167=338—49=289—254=35. 248—35=213 
 
 + 1=214+2 b & A— 216. 
 505—1 67=338—30=308—49=259— 143=1 1 6 . 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 194+110=304. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b ft //— 100 
 
 —50 (76:1)— 50. 
 505—167=338—49=289—254=35—7 b col =28. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b ft //— 100. 
 505—167=338—209 (73:2)— 129. 
 505— 167=338— 49 (76:1)=289— 145=144. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b & A— 100 
 
 —49=51. 448—51=397+1=398. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49—259—145—114— 
 
 6 b ft //— 108. 
 505—167=338—146 (76:1)— 192. 237—192=45+1= 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259. 284—259=25 + 1= 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)— 230— 
 
 218 (76:1)— 12. 447—12=435 + 1=436. 
 505—167=338—30—308—193=115—10 b col. =105. 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)— 308— 193— 115— 15 b & h 
 
 =100—7 b col. =93. 
 505—167=338—30—308—49—259—193=66—5 b col.- 
 
 259 
 
 76:2 
 
 He 
 
 221 
 
 74:1 
 
 stooped 
 
 169 
 
 74:1 
 
 down 
 
 215 
 
 74:2 
 
 to 
 
 216 
 
 74:2 
 
 listen 
 
 116 
 
 74:1 
 
 and 
 
 304 
 
 75:1 
 
 found 
 
 50 
 
 75:1 
 
 that 
 
 28 
 
 75:1 
 
 his 
 
 100 
 
 74:1 
 
 heart 
 
 129 
 
 74:1 
 
 still 
 
 144 
 
 75:2 
 
 beat. 
 
 398 
 
 76:1 
 
 He 
 
 108 
 
 77:1 
 
 lay 
 
 46 
 
 73:2 
 
 quite 
 
 26 
 
 74:1 
 
 still 
 
 436 
 
 75:1 
 
 for 
 
 105 
 
 74:1 
 
 a 
 
 93 
 
 74:2 
 
 good 
 
 =61 
 
 74:1 
 
 while; 
 
 [ VNIVER8ITY J 
 
746 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 99 
 
 76:2 
 
 at 
 
 214 
 
 74:2 
 
 last 
 
 213 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 246 
 
 74:1 
 
 ragged 
 
 170 
 
 74:1 
 
 young 
 
 371 
 
 75:2 
 
 wretch 
 
 284 
 
 75:1 
 
 drew 
 
 39 
 
 75:2 
 
 a 
 
 226 
 
 74:1 
 
 low 
 
 =353 
 
 75:1 
 
 sigh 
 
 12 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 30 
 
 74:1 commenced 
 
 384 
 
 277 
 
 76:1 
 61:1 
 
 gasping 
 for 
 
 27 
 
 75:2 
 
 breath. 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b & h=100 
 
 —1 h col.=99. 
 505—167=338—49 (76 :1)=289— 254=35. 248—35 
 
 =213+1=214. 
 505-167=338—49=289—254=35—15 b & /i=20 
 
 + 193=213. 
 505—167=388—49 (76:t)=289— 248=41— 2 // (248) 
 
 =39. 284—39=245 + 1=246. 
 505-167=338—30=308—193=115. 284—115= 
 
 169 + 1=170. 
 505—167=338-145 (76:2)=193— 50 (76:1)=143. 
 
 508—143=355+1=356+5 b & /;=371. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95+193=288—4 //= 
 505—167=338—30=308—254=54—15 b=39. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—193=65. 284— 
 
 65=219+1=220+6 //=226. 
 505—1 67=338—50=288—1 93=95. 447—95=352 + 1= 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73:1)=230 
 
 —219=12. 
 505—167=338—49=289—254=35—5 b col. =30. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=115. 498—115= 
 
 383+1=384. 
 505—167=338—49=289—12 b col. =277. 
 505—167=338—50=288—254=34—7 b col. =27. 
 
 Those who may insist that there is no Cipher here will have to explain the con- 
 currence of all this remarkable array of words: ragged — young — ivretch; — 
 stooped — dozvn; — listen — heart — beat; — low — sigh; — commenced — gasping — 
 Ireaih, etc. It might be possible to work out a pretended Cipher story, consisting 
 mainly of small words — the its, the thes and the ands; but here in these four 
 pages we have had every word necessary to tell not only the story of the kill- 
 ing of the deer, and the destruction of the fish-pond, but the subsequent fight; the 
 •charge of Sir Thomas Lucy on horseback, the pistol shot, the fall of two wounded 
 men, the apparent death of Shakspere, Sir Thomas stopping his horse, the exam- 
 ination for the signs of life, the low sigh of returning animation, and even the 
 gasping for breath, as the injured Shakspere regains consciousness. Surely, if 
 there is no Cipher here we can say of the text, as was said of Othello's hand- 
 kerchief: "There's magic in the web of it." 
 
 But the miracle does not end here; we will see, hereafter, this same root- 
 number going on to tell a wonderful story, which connects itself regularly and 
 naturally with all that we have given in these pages. 
 
 Take the following sentence. Here every word, as the reader will see, comes 
 out of the same corner of the text, by the same root-number, to-wit: 338 minus 50 
 or 30, as heretofore; while the count originates either from the end of the second 
 scene or the beginning of the third, in 76:1, the two being separated only by the 
 title of the scene. 
 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 
 
 4:b col. =245. 245 76:2 But 
 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 162 (78:1)=127— 
 
 ll^col.=116. 116 78:2 it 
 
SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 
 
 747 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—167=338—49 (76 :1)=289— 145=144. 448— 
 
 144=304+1=305+1 h col.=306. 306 76:1 seemed 
 
 ■505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 161 (78:1)— 128. 
 
 498—128=370 + 1=371. 371 76:1 his 
 
 505— 167=338— 50 (76:1)=288— 30=258— 146=112 
 
 — 3 ^(146)=1 09 +162=271— 5 b col.=266. 266 78:1 injuries 
 
 ,505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 30=258— 146 (76:2) 
 
 =112—5 b & // col.=107. 107 76:1 were 
 
 505—167=338—49 (76 :1)=289— 145=144. 448— 
 
 144=304+1=305. 305 76:1 only 
 
 505— 167=338— 49 (76:1)=289— 30=259— 146=113 
 
 _3 b (146)=110. 110 76:1 flesh 
 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 30=259— 145=114. 114 76:1 r ^ wounds. 
 
 And observe how in connection with all the words already given, descriptive of 
 a bloody fight, and " gasping for breath," come in these words: seemed — injuries 
 — were — only — flesh — wounds. This is the only time flesh occurs in this act; 
 and the only time wound occurs in this scene; and this is the only time injuries is 
 found in this act. Yet here they are all bound together by the same number. 
 
 And here I would note, in further illustration of the actuality of the Cipher, 
 that no ingenuity can cause 505 — 167=338 to tell the same story that is told by 
 505 — 193=312, or by any other Cipher number. One Cipher number brings out 
 one set of words, which are necessary to one part of the narrative, while another 
 number brings out, even when going over the same text, an entirely different set of 
 words. This will be made more apparent as we proceed. 
 
 But what did Shakspere's associates do when he went down before his Lord- 
 ship's pistol? They did just what might have been expected — they ran away; and 
 the Cipher tells the story. And here we still build the story around that same frag- 
 ment of 49 words on 76:1 (intermixed with the first and last fragments, 50 and 30, 
 on 74:2) which has given us so much of the recent narrative; assisted, also, by the 
 next fragment of a scene, in the next column, — 145 or 146, 76:2. The first sub- 
 division of the next column ends at the 457th word; the second begins at the 458th 
 word. And to the end of the column there are 145 or 146 words, as we count down 
 from 457 or 458. 
 
 505—167=338—145=193—1 h col. =192. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289. 508—289=219+1= 
 505—167=338—50 (74.2)=288. 508— 288=220 +1= 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 
 
 20£col.=218. 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 30 (74:2)=258— 
 
 1 h col. =257. 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308. 508—308=200 + 1 
 
 =201+3 //col. =204. 
 505— 167=338-30=308— 29 (73:2)=279. 
 505— 167=338— 49=289— 30=259— 79(79 :1)=180 
 
 _50(76:1)=130. 
 505— 167=338— 49=289— 30=259— 146=113— 
 
 3/;(146)=110. 
 505—167=338—49=289—30 (74:2)=259— 10 /> col.— 
 505—167=338. 448—338=110+1=111. 
 
 192 
 
 75:2 
 
 All 
 
 220 
 
 75:2 
 
 our 
 
 221 
 
 75:2 
 
 men, 
 
 218 
 
 75:2 
 
 so 
 
 257 
 
 75:2 
 
 soon 
 
 204 
 
 75:2 
 
 as 
 
 279 
 
 74:1 
 
 they 
 
 130 
 
 r5:2 
 
 110 
 
 77:1 
 
 that 
 
 249 
 
 76:1 
 
 he 
 
 111 
 
 76:1 
 
 was 
 
74 8 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 
 75:2 
 
 Word. 
 
 505—167=338—50 (76:l)=288-30 (74:2)=258. 258 
 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1) 289—30 (74:2)=259. 259 
 505- -167=338—30=308—146=162—3 b (146)=159 
 
 — 96 & h col.— 150. 150 
 505—167=338—49=289—50=239. 508-239= 
 
 269+1=270. 270 
 505—167=338-49 (76:1)=289. 508—289=219 
 
 + 1=220 + 3/; col. =223. 223 
 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 24 b col. =(264). (264) 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 50 (74:2)=238— 
 
 22 b & h col. =216. 216 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288. 508—288=220+1 
 
 =221 + 13^ col.=234. 234 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 50 (74:2) =238. 
 
 508— 238=270+1=271+2 h col.=273. 273 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288. 448—288=160+1= 161 
 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288-145 (76:1)=143. (143) 
 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288. 288 
 
 505—167=338—145=193. 193 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 
 
 1 h col.=237. 237 75:2 
 
 505—167=338—146 (76:2)=192— 22 b & h col.=170. 170 75:2 
 
 505—167=338. 508—338=170+1=171. 171 75:2 
 
 505—167=338—145=193. 193 75:2 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 49=259. 508— 
 
 259=249+1=250. 250 75:2 
 
 505—167=338—49=289—30=259—193=66. 66 76:2 
 
 505—1 67=338—30=308—254=54—50(76 : 1)=4 + 457=461 76 :2 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 49=259— 79(73 :1)=180. 
 
 448—180=268+1=269. 269 76:2 
 
 505— 167=338— 30 (74:2)=308— 13^ col.=295. 295 76:1 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308. 508—308=200+ 
 
 1=201 + 16 b & h col.=217. 217 75:2 
 
 505— 167=338— 49 (76:1)=289— 50 (74:2)=239. ' 239 75:2 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76: 1)=258. 508 
 
 —258=250+1=251. 251 75:2 
 505—167=338—50 (76:1)=288— 50 (74:2)=238. 508 
 
 -238=270+1=271. 271 75:2 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 22 
 
 b & h col. =21 7. 217 75:2 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 145= 113 76-1 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2,=308— 50 (76:1)=258— 22 
 
 b & h col.=236. 236 75:2 
 
 taken 
 prisoner 
 
 or 
 
 slaine,. 
 
 in 
 the 
 
 greatest 
 
 fear 
 
 75:2 of 
 
 76:1 being 
 
 76:1 apprehended,, 
 75:2 turned 
 76:1 and 
 
 fled 
 away 
 from 
 
 the 
 
 field, 
 into 
 the 
 
 shadows, 
 
 with 
 
 speed 
 swifter 
 
 than 
 
 the 
 
 speed 
 of 
 
 Here is another sentence of thirty-four words, growing out of 505 — 167=338;: 
 every word found on 75:2 or 76:1. Observe how those remarkable words taken — 
 prisoner — fear — slaine — appreliended — fled — speed — swifter — arrows — all come 
 out together, at the summons of the same root-number, cohering arithmetically 
 with absolute precision; and found — not scattered over a hundred pages, or ten 
 pages — but compacted together in two columns of 1,003 words! If this stood? 
 
SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 749 
 
 alone it should settle the question of the existence of a Cipher in the Shakespeare 
 Plays; — but it is only one of hundreds of other sentences already given, or yet to 
 come, bbserve how those typical words speed — swifter — than — speed — arrows 
 — all come out of the same number and the same modifications. Speed is 338 less 
 30 up the column phis b & h; swifter is 338 less 50 down the column; than is 338 less 
 50 up the column; speed (the same word) is 338 less 50 down the column,///^ b & 
 A; arrows is 338 less 30 down the column, plus b & h. See how the same word 
 speed is so adjusted as to be 338 less 30 up the column and 338 less 50 down the 
 column! 
 
 But if further evidence is needed to satisfy the incredulous reader of the 
 presence of the most careful design and accurate adjustment of the words of the 
 text to the columns, and parts of columns, of the Folio, let me bring together three 
 parallel parts of the same story, existing far apart in the narrative, it is true, but 
 joined here by textual contiguity. We will see that some of the same words are 
 used thrice over to tell, first of the flight of the actors on hearing that they were 
 likely to be arrested for treason; secondly, the flight of Hens/070, the theater man- 
 ager, with his hoarded wealth; and thirdly, the story of the flight of the young men 
 of Stratford, when interrupted by Sir Thomas Lucy and his followers in the work 
 of the destruction of his fish-pond. Now a colossal prejudice might insist that the 
 story I have just given could come about by accident, — so as to precisely fit to 
 that fragment of a scene at the bottom of 76:1, and that other fragment of a scene 
 on 74:2, marshaled by the key-note, 505 — 167=338; but I shall now proceed to 
 show that the text of the % Folio has been so arranged and exquisitely manipulated, 
 that these very same words are made to match to the subdivisions of another 
 column, 75:1, by the key-note of two other and totally different Cipher numbers, 
 to-wit: 505 and 513; making a sort of treble-barreled miracle, so extraordinary and 
 incomprehensible, that I think the Shakspereolators will have to conclude that if 
 there is not a Cipher in these Plays there ought to have been one. 
 
 To get the three narratives side by side, into the narrow compass of a page, I 
 shall have to abbreviate the explanatory signs and figures; but I have already given 
 so many instances of these that I think the reader will understand what is meant 
 without them. I print in italic type those words which are duplicated in two or three 
 columns. To save space I do not give the column and page before each word, 
 because they are all found on 75:2, or 76:1, or 74:1. I therefore insert simply the 
 figures 5, 6 or 4 before the words* — 5 meaning 75:2, and 6, 76:1, and 4, 74:1. I 
 place the root-numbers which work out the story at the top of each column. The 
 15 b & h means, of course, the 15 bracketed and hyphenated words in 193 or 254, 
 the upper and lower subdivisions of 75:1. Where other figures are added or 
 deducted they refer to the bracketed and hyphenated words above or below the 
 Cipher word, as the case may be, in the same column. Where only the bracketed 
 words or the hyphenated words are counted by themselves I indicate it by b or //. 
 
 I do not pretend to give the words of these sentences, at this time, in their 
 exact order, but simply to show how T the same words are brought out, from different 
 starting-points, by different root-numbers; a result which would only be possible 
 through the most careful double and triple pre-arrangement and adjustment of the 
 root-numbers to the number of words in the text, and the number of bracketed 
 and hyphenated words in the columns, creating thereby a marvelous parallelism, 
 which it seems to me utterly excludes the thought that the results obtained have 
 occurred by chance. 
 
a 
 
 CO 
 
 as ia 
 
 8313 
 
 12 I? 
 
 e* UJ |e3 
 
 SS|S 
 
 
 <u 
 
 "ft _ 
 
 = 3 ^ ■§ I rt fi « 
 
 io io »c w 
 
 r - J3 -O q5 ^ «d 2 
 
 loioioioiooeiowioioioco 
 
 Oi O •. . 
 
 OJ N (M CO OS W t" N ,A « ro w ri i'J uj i- ri 
 
 M^PM^tD'^Wt'fflTHH^COtO 
 
 co »d t- h 
 
 4. + 
 
 Oi GO 
 GO GO 
 Oi oi 
 
 OS GO GO 
 GO <X> GO 
 « (M « 
 
 CO GO 
 CI GO 
 
 T-l Oi 
 
 + 2 + 
 
 
 «« 
 
 
 + + "S 
 
 
 
 Oi =3 GO 
 
 
 
 
 GO GO « 
 
 
 ii 
 
 GO ^ GO 
 
 
 + 
 
 X 
 
 5 
 
 
 lO CO ~a 
 
 
 
 .11. 
 
 Oi GO GO GO 
 
 •ft 
 
 o 
 
 508—2 
 
 508—2 
 
 -50—25 
 
 | 
 
 5* 
 
 Oi 
 
 T— 
 1 
 
 CO 
 
 4 
 
 25 
 
 | 
 
 O* 
 1 
 
 "/ 
 
 OS 
 
 GO GO Oi 
 
 1 
 
 GO 
 
 GO GO GO GO 
 
 - 
 
 © 
 
 / 
 
 JO CO GO 
 
 Iffl 
 
 IT 
 
 W W W CM 
 
 55 
 
 IT 
 
 0> 
 
 <M « « 
 
 ©5 
 
 Ct 
 
 Ma 
 3 3: 
 
 £8 
 
 •-co cc«n >> 
 
 </) c: <» •" 
 
 £I||s§sgc s 
 
 s- * J «o u 
 
 if -2 »*s1 
 
 y & « 
 
 C £ <u 
 
 •a K 
 
 w ~ 
 
 8 . M 
 
 c jr. .S ^ ►» +»' 
 
 
 10lOWW10lOlO-^^10 
 
 CO i-l OO Oi O H o 
 Oi oi GO GO Oi Oi Oi 
 « w W « « « CO 
 
 lOrtfiClOlOiOWTjlCOlOlO'^lOlO 
 
 © ■* ^^ O W ^ OS LO f 1 CO CO © 
 NHiii>t'!>W«C»WO} 
 Oi tH Oi CO 
 
 I 
 III 
 
 Oi^ 
 
 >i -* Oi 
 
 JO CO CO 
 
 o 
 
 Oi Oi 
 Oi 
 
 CO 
 
 Oi Oi Oi 
 
 HHHIO 
 
 I I I I 
 
 CO CO CO o 
 
 T-l 3 
 
 iO ^ 
 
 o o 
 
 Oi t- 
 
 Oi Oi Oi JO 
 
 OCOCOCOCOCOT-COCOOCOCOOCOCOOiOCOCi 
 t» h (X) CO » H ^CCi-HH©COH«bCOO 
 
 Oi JO ■**• •>* -* tO »~ -rt< Oi JO JO Oi ^ lO Oi Oi ^ Oi 
 
 .a i» •« * .a JS -d -tf 5 «, J els ^ *. S •- e 
 
 tOiotO lOlCiOO'OlOWWWlOlOlOlOW'OlOlOlO'O^ 
 
 i s lSl|s 
 
 s 8 l§2|a 
 
 S S |8I£ 
 
 8 s |5S|g 
 
 i g |Sl|8 
 
 SS|3 
 
 
 bfl 
 
 a c .a 
 
 a 
 
 01 « ^ 
 
 » S IS * 
 
 OOb-03i0Ob""0iT-i?0J>-OC0 0i 
 
 OtOCOo50HCSCOK5jOTj*^CO'<t 
 
 OiOioiCQOiOiciOiOiOiOiOiOiOiOiOiOi 
 
 J, 
 
 I 
 
 c 
 
 O* 
 CO 
 
 n 
 
 O CO 
 Oi 00 
 
 XI 
 
 ' Oi 
 
 4 I 
 
 • Ms 
 
 so 
 
 I 
 
 JO 
 
 Oi «*s 
 
 II « 
 
 Si Si 
 
 o to 
 
 + 
 
 Oi 
 
 J- 
 
 Oi 
 
 is 
 
 <: oi 
 
 3 1 
 
 © o 
 
 tO "5 
 
 c- oi 
 
 i-i Oi Oi 
 Oi GO GO 
 Oi Oi Oi 
 
 t- Oi Oi T-H 
 
 CO GO GO Oi 
 Oi Oi Oi Oi 
 
 l II I t-( Oi Oi 
 
 i 4 1 ii i ii « ii 
 
 Oi ^ o o to JO O Oi 
 
 OiT-lT-llOT-ll-HlOOi 
 
 I I I I I I I I . 
 
 GO T-i Oi Oi tH Oi Oi tH h 
 OCOGOGOOiGOCOCOJO 
 JO Oi Oi Oi Oi Oi Oi Oi Oi 
 
 II II g « g 
 
 *3 t2 *° 2 ® 
 
 tH Oi Oi Oi b- 
 •O CO CO 00 CO 
 Ot Oi Oi Of. Oi 
 
SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 75 * 
 
 Here the reader will perceive that the same words: men — turned — backs — 
 Jled — swifter — than — arrows — greatest — fear, are used, some of them in two r 
 some of them in three separate narratives, descriptive of three different flights; 
 mingled of course with words, in each instance, which do not occur in the others. 
 But this is not all. Observe how carefully the hyphens and brackets in column 
 75:2 are adjusted to the necessities of the Cipher. For instance, the root-number 
 505 — 30=475 — 254 gives us 221; and this carried down the column gives us men/ 
 and up the column it brings us to 288, turned; but, if we count in the two hyphen- 
 ated words, it gives us backs — " turned their backs." On the other hand, 513 — 
 30=483 — 193 gives us 290; it will be noticed that we have here the same 30; and 
 the 193, the upper subdivision of 75:1, takes the place of 254, the lower subdi- 
 vision of the same. Now if we carry this 290 down the column it brings us to the 
 same word, backs, which we have just obtained by going up the column with 221. 
 But there are also two hyphenated words above 290 as well as below it, or four in 
 all in the column, exclusive of the bracketed words; and if we count these in, as 
 we did before with 221, the count falls again on turned — "turned their backs." 
 Now, if there had been five hyphenated words in that column this could not have 
 been accomplished; or if three of the four hyphens had been above 288 and 290 the 
 count would also have failed. 
 
 If Francis Bacon did not put a Cipher in this play, what Puck — what Robin 
 Goodfellow — what playful genius was it, — come out of chaos, — that brought 
 forth all this regularity ? 
 
 Now it may be objected that Bacon would not have used the comparison of 
 great speed to a flight of arrows twice; but observe the difference: 505 gives us 
 Jled . . . swifter than arrows fly toward their aim; while 338 gives us fled away 
 with speed szuifter than the speed of the arrows. And it must be remembered that, 
 although the words for these two comparisons are found in the same column, the 
 stories spring from different roots, and probably stand hundreds of pages apart in 
 the Cipher narrative itself. And then, as we find Bacon constrained, by the neces- 
 sities of the Cipher, to depart in the text of the Plays in many instances from both 
 grammar and sense, as in: 
 
 Or what hath this bold enterprise bring forth ? 
 
 76:1; or: " Therefore, sirra, with a new wound in your thigh come you along [sic] 
 me," 72:2; or: 
 
 Hold up they head, vile Scot, 
 
 72:1; or: "This earth that bears the \sic\ dead," 72:2, etc.: so, without doubt, he 
 was compelled, in such a complicated piece of work as the Cipher, to use the 
 same words, — for instance, swifter than arrows, — twice, or oftener, when it was 
 arithmetically easier to use them than to avoid using them. And what an infinite 
 skill does it imply, that he had so adapted the length and breadth of the different 
 parts of the Cipher narrative to each other, that the story of the three flights given 
 above could be brought around so as to fit into column 2 of page 75, and avoid the 
 necessity of recurring, in different other pages and columns, to the same words — 
 turned — backs — fled — swifter — arrows, etc.! And backs, be it observed, does 
 not occur again anywhere else in either of these two plays. And the word backs is 
 found only six times in all the Historical Plays, and in every instance we find the 
 word turn, or turned, or turning, in the same act, and, in four cases out of the six, 
 in the same scene with backs. And arrows is found but nine times in all the Shake- 
 speare Plays. 
 
 But it may be thought by some that any numbers would lead to these same 
 
752 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 words. Let the reader experiment. The numbers 523 and 516 will produce some 
 of them, as I shall show hereafter; but 523 and 516 are Cipher numbers. Let us 
 take, however, a number not a Cipher number — for instance, 500 — and put it 
 through the same changes as the above; and it will yield us such incoherent words 
 as was — lead — with — from — with — King — well — laboring — and — gan — in — 
 three, etc. I do not think that any other numbers but the Cipher numbers can be 
 made to evolve even portions of any of the significant sentences found in this 
 three-fold example. 
 
 Let me give one more extraordinary proof of this exquisite adjustment of the 
 text to the Cipher; and I again place it in parallel columns that it may the more 
 clearly strike the eye of the reader. We have the same words, fear of being appre- 
 hended, used in two different portions of the narrative. Now the combination, 
 being apprehended, is one not likely to occur by chance; apprehended is found but nine 
 times in all the Plays ! And but this one time in this play. And being, (signifying 
 condition), but seven times in all the Plays ! And only this once in this play. The 
 reader will now see how these rare words come together twice, at the summons of 
 two different Cipher numbers: 
 
 
 513. 
 
 
 505—167=338. 
 
 513 
 
 513 
 
 483 
 
 338 288 
 
 193 
 
 30 
 
 193 
 
 50 (74:2) 145 
 
 320 
 
 483 
 
 290 
 
 288 143 
 
 513—449=34. 
 
 34 75:2 
 
 Fear 
 
 508—288=220+ 
 
 290—5 h col.— 
 
 448—290=158+ 
 
 1=159+2 h= 
 
 448—320=128+ 
 
 285 76:1 
 161 76:1 
 
 of 
 being 
 
 1=221 + 13/;= 234 75:2 
 
 288—50=238. 
 
 508— 238+2//=273 75:2 
 448—288=160+ 
 
 1=161. 161 76:1 
 
 Fear 
 of 
 
 being 
 
 1=129+11 £= (143) 76:1 apprehended. 288— 145 (76:)=(143) 76:1 apprehended. 
 
 Here we start from the initial word of scene 2 of 76:1 of the Folio, and 513 
 brings us to fear; the same less 193 (75:1) and less 50 (76:1) carried down the same 
 column gives us of; the same up the column, plus the hyphens, gives us being; and 
 the same 513 less 193, up the same column, gives us apprehended. The formula of 
 this last word cannot be clearly stated in figures, but actual count will satisfy the 
 reader that apprehended is the 320th word plus the brackets, counting up from 448. 
 
 Again, 505 — 167=338; 338 less 50 (74:2) gives us 2SS=fea?y this 288 carried 
 through the fragment at the bottom of 76:1 and up the next column gives us of; 
 and 288, the same number, up the column (76:1) gives us being; and the same 
 number, 288, carried through the adjoining subdivision (145, 76:2) gives us 143; 
 and actual count will demonstrate that apprehended is the 143d word down the 
 column, not counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words above it. 
 
 But to resume our narrative: 
 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 248=40+ 193=233+ b* 
 505-167=338—49 (76 :1)=289— 248=41. 194+ 
 
 41=235—^=235. 
 505— 167=338— 49=289— 218 (74:2)=71. 
 505—167=338—219 (74:2)=119. 
 
 Word. 
 (233) 
 
 (235) 
 
 71 
 
 119 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:1 
 74:1 
 75:1 
 
 My 
 
 Lord, 
 
 who 
 
 had. 
 
SHAKSPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 
 
 753 
 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2) === 288— 49=239— 50 (74:2)= 
 505—167=338—50=288—50=238—50=188— 
 
 12 b & h col.=176. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 50=188. 
 505— 167=338— 50=308— 50=258— 90(73 :1)=168. 
 
 508—168=340+1=341. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115—15 b & //=100. 
 
 248—100=148+1=149+3=160. 
 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 193 
 
 =45. 447—45=402+1=403+3 b col.=406. 
 505—167=338—49=289—248=41—24 b & k— 17. 
 505— 167=338-30=308— 198=1 10 ; 83 + 1=84 
 
 +3 3 col. 87. 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259-248=11+193= 
 
 204—2 ^=202. 
 505—167=338—49=289—248=41—22 b & /&— 19, 
 
 284—19=265+1=266. 
 505—167=338—30=308—193=115. 248—115= 
 
 133+1=134+16 b & h col. 
 505—167=338—49 (76:1)=289— 248=41— 24 3 & h 
 
 (248)=17. 447—15=432+1=433. 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 248=40— 1 h col.— 
 505—167=338—49=289—248=41—22 b & /i— 19. 
 
 447—19=428+1=429. 
 505—167=338—30 (74:2)=308— 193=115— 15 b & h 
 
 =100. 248—100=148 + 1=149. 
 
 Word. 
 289 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:2 
 
 in 
 
 176 
 
 188 
 
 74:1 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 mean 
 
 341 
 
 76:1 
 
 time, 
 
 (160) 
 
 74:2 
 
 followed 
 the 
 
 406 
 17 
 
 75:1 
 751 
 
 others, 
 came 
 
 87 
 110 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 up. 
 He 
 
 202 
 
 75:1 
 
 tells 
 
 266 
 
 74:1 
 
 them 
 
 150 
 
 74:2 
 
 to 
 
 433 
 39 
 
 75:1 
 75:1 
 
 make 
 him 
 
 429 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 149 
 
 74:2 
 
 prisoner. 
 
 It seems that the rioters had also kindled a fire to light their destructive work. 
 For we have: 
 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 248=40— 243 & h (248)= 
 
 16—1 A— 15. 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 284—110= 
 
 174+5=175. 
 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—22— b (198)=68. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—1 
 
 h col. =167. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 198=110— 9 b& //=101. 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 49" (76:1)— 239— 50 
 
 (74:2)=189— 12 b & h col. =177. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 298=40. 
 
 284—40=244+1=245. 
 505—167=338—50=288—198=90—24 b& h (193)=66. 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110. 284—110=174 
 
 +1— 175+6 h col.— 181. 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 50 
 
 (74:2)=188+ 193=381—8 3=373 
 505—167=338—30=308—198=110+194=304— 
 
 3 3 col— 301. 
 
 15 
 
 175 
 
 167 
 101 
 
 177 
 
 75:1 
 
 75:2 
 75:1 
 
 74:1 
 
 After 
 
 74:1 quenching 
 75:2 the 
 
 fire, 
 the 
 
 flames 
 
 245 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 66 
 
 75:2 
 
 which 
 
 181 
 
 74:1 
 
 even 
 
 373 
 
 75:1 
 
 yet 
 
 301 
 
 75:1 
 
 burned. 
 
754- THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 The word quenching only occurs one other time in all the thousand pages of 
 the Plays; and here it coheres arithmetically with flame, fire and burned; and this 
 is the only time when flame occurs in these two plays of ist and 2d Henry 1 V '. ; and 
 this is the only occasion when burned \s found in 2d Henry IV.; and it occurs but 
 once in ist Henry IV. 
 
 And here the narrative changes slightly its root-number; heretofore we have 
 elaborated this part of the story by 505 — 167=338; but in that 167 (74:2) there are 
 twenty-one bracketed words and one hyphenated word; if we count these in, then 
 the 167 becomes 189; and 189 deducted from the root-number, 505, leaves, not 338, 
 but 316. Hence, for a long narrative, hereafter, 316 becomes the root-number. We 
 have seen a similar change take place on page 718, ante, where a whole chapter 
 grows out of 516 — 167=349 — 22 b&/i (i67)=327. 
 
 We read: 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 261 
 
 76:1 
 
 my 
 
 262 
 
 76:1 
 
 Lord 
 
 58 
 
 76:2 
 
 litter 
 
 253 
 
 75:1 
 
 and 
 
 123 
 
 76:1 
 
 lift 
 
 266 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 267 
 
 73:1 
 
 corpse 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316—50=266—5 4=261. 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316—49=267—5 4=262. 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316—193 (75:1)— 128. 498 
 
 —123=375+1=376. 379 76:1 tells 
 
 505— 167=338— 223 & 4=3 16— 193=123. 457—123 
 
 =334+1=335. 335 76:2 them 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316— 193=123— 15 b & A— 
 
 108— 5b& 4 col =103. 103 76:1 to 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=-316— 50 (74:2)=266— 49 
 
 (76:1)=217— 145=72. 72 76:1 make 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316—193=123. 449= 
 
 123=326+1=327. 327 76:1 a 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316— 193=123— 15 b & k—> 
 
 108—50 (76:1)=58. 
 505—167=338—22/; & 4=316—50=266—13 3=253. 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316—193=123. 
 505— 167=338— 22 3 & 4=316—50=266. 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316—49 (76:1)=267. 
 505—167=338—22 b & 4=316—50=266. 603—266 
 
 =337+1=338. 338 76:2 up. 
 
 The exquisite art of the work is shown in that word litter. We have already 
 (505 — 448=57) used the 57th word, her, {her Grace is furious, etc.); here we use the 
 58th word, litter; and after a while we shall find the word derzvhelmed, the 55th word, 
 used to describe Bacon's feelings when he heard the dreadful news that Shakspere 
 was to be arrested and put to the torture to make him disclose the author of the 
 Plays. Now the Cipher story brought the words overwhelmed — her — Utter into jux- 
 taposition. How was Bacon to use these words in the external play? There- 
 upon, his fertile mind invented that grotesque image, wherein the corpulent Fal- 
 staff says to his diminutive page: 
 
 I do here walk before thee, like a sow that hath overwhelmed all her litter but 
 one. 
 
 It will be found that we owe many of the finest gems of thought in the Plays 
 to the dire necessities of the great cryptologist, who, driven to straits by the Cipher, 
 fell back on the vast resources of his crowded mind, and invented sentences that 
 would bring the patch-work of words before him into coherent order. Take that 
 beautiful expression : 
 
SHAK'SPERE CARRIED TO PRISON. 755 
 
 O Westmoreland, thou art a summer bird, 
 Which ever, in the haunch of winter, sings 
 The lifting up of day. 1 
 
 It will be found that summer, haunch, winter, sings and lifting are all Cipher 
 words, the tail ends of various stories, and the genius of the poet linked them to- 
 gether in this exquisite fashion. There was, to the ordinary mind, no connection 
 between haunch, a haunch of venison, and summer, winter and sings, but in an 
 instant the poet, with a touch, converted the haunch into the hindmost part of the 
 winter. It is no wonder that Bacon said of himself that he found he had "a 
 nimble and fertile mind." 
 
 1 2d Henry IV., iv, 2. 
 
OfTHC 
 
 v W/VER 8/Ty 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE DESCRIBED. 
 
 We will draw the curtain and show you the picture. 
 
 Twelfth Night, i, J. 
 
 WHEN "my Lord" (as the peasants called him) — Sir 
 Thomas — captured one of the marauders and destroyers of 
 his property, he was of course curious to know who it was. And 
 so by the same root-number (playing between the end of scene 
 second, 76:1, and the subdivisions of 75:1) we find the following 
 words coming out: 
 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 193 (75:1)=95. 
 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73:1)=230— 
 
 145=85. 448—85=363+1=364. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145= 
 
 24. 448—24=424+1=425. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258-63 (73: 1)=195— 
 
 10 £=185. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 447—95=352 
 
 +1—853+3 b col.— 856. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73 : 1)=230— 
 
 145=85. 498—85=413 + 1=414. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—79=179—49=' 
 
 130. 508—130=378+1=379+4 b & h col.— 
 505—167=338-30=308—49=259—79 (73 : 1)— 180— 
 
 \b col.=176. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 95 
 
 75:1 
 
 He 
 
 364 
 
 76:1 
 
 scraped 
 
 425 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 185 
 
 74:1 
 
 blood 
 
 356 
 
 75:1 
 
 away 
 
 414 
 
 76:1 
 
 from 
 
 383 
 
 176 
 
 75:2 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 face. 
 
 And when the blood was scraped away from the face of the wounded man, he 
 recognized " William Shagspere, one thone partie." Little did Sir Thomas think, 
 as he gazed upon him, that the poor wounded wretch was to be, for centuries, the 
 subject of the world's adoration, as the greatest, profoundest, most brilliant and 
 most philosophical of mankind. The whole thing makes history a mockery. It 
 is enough, in itself, to cast a doubt upon all the established opinions of the world. 
 
 I would note the fact that the word scraped occurs in but two other places in 
 all the Plays ! 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169. 169 75:1 He 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—63 (73 :l)— 195— 
 
 50=145—50=95. 95 75:2 remembered 
 
 75 6 
 
THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE DESCRIBED. 
 
 757 
 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168—145= 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168. 458— 
 168=290+1=291+8 £ & h col. =299. 
 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 63(73:1)— 195— 
 
 50=145. 508— 145=363 + 1=364+3^ col. = 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168. 508— 
 
 168=340+1=341+6 b col =347. 
 505— 167=338— 30=308— 50=258— 28 (73:1)=230— 
 
 145=85. 193—85=108+1=109+6 b & £—115. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—90=168. 
 505—167=338—50=288—193=95. 248—95=153+ 
 
 1 h col.— 155. 
 505—167=338—30=308—49=259—90=169—145= 
 
 24— 3 3(145)— 21. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—28 (73 :1)=230— 
 
 145=85. 
 505—167=338—30=308—50=258—248=10. 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 193=95— 50 (76:1)=45. 
 
 193—45=148 + 1=149. 
 
 Vord. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 23 
 
 77:1 
 
 the 
 
 299 
 
 76:2 
 
 rascally 
 knave 
 
 367 
 
 75:2 
 
 well; 
 
 347 
 
 75:2 
 
 there 
 
 115 
 
 75:1 
 
 was 
 
 168 
 
 76:1 
 
 not 
 
 155 
 
 74:2 
 
 a 
 
 21 
 
 77:1 
 
 worse 
 
 85 
 
 77:1 
 
 in 
 
 10 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 149 
 
 75:1 
 
 barony. 
 
 And here follows the description of the youthful Shakspere, as he appeared 
 on his native heath: — one of the half-civilized boys of "the bookless neighbor- 
 hood" of Stratford; the very individual referred to in the traditions of beer-drink- 
 ing, poaching and rioting which have come down to us. 
 
 To save work for the printers I will hereafter, instead of printing 505 — 167= 
 338, in each line, content myself with commencing each line with 338. 
 
 X 
 
 338—30 (74:2)=308— 145=163— 3 b (145)=160. 
 338—30=308—146=162. 457—162=295+1=296. 
 338—30=308—146=162—3 b (146)=159. 457—159 
 
 =298+1=299. 
 338—30=308—145=163. 
 
 338—30=308—146=162—9 b & h col. =153. 
 338—30=308—145=163—5 b & h col.=148. 
 338—30=308—50=258—50 (76:1)=208. 457—208 
 
 =249+1=250. 
 338—163=175. 
 338—49 (76:1)=289— 146=143— 3 b (146)=140. 457 
 
 —140=317+1=318. 
 338—30=308—49=259. 
 
 338—29 (74:2))=309. 456—309=148+1=149. 
 338—50=288—146=192—3 b (146)=189— 4 b col.— 
 338—49=289—146=193—3 b (146)=190— 4 b col.— 
 338—49 (76 :2)=289— 146=143— 1 h col.=142, 
 338—49 (76 :2)=289— 146=143. 
 
 338—49 (76:2)=289— 161=128+457=585— 3 b col — 
 338—193=145—5 b & h col.— 140. 
 338— 193=145— 43 col.— 141. 
 
 160 
 
 77:1 
 
 The 
 
 296 
 
 76:2 
 
 horson 
 
 299 
 
 76:2 
 
 knave 
 
 163 
 
 76:1 
 
 was, 
 at 
 
 153 
 
 76:1 
 
 this 
 
 148 
 
 76:1 
 
 time, 
 
 250 
 
 76:2 
 
 about 
 
 175 
 
 78:2 
 
 twenty; 
 
 318 
 
 76:2 
 
 but 
 
 259 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 149 
 
 76:2 
 
 beard 
 
 185 
 
 76:2 
 
 is 
 
 186 
 
 76:2 
 
 not 
 
 142 
 
 76:2 
 
 yet 
 
 143 
 
 76:2 
 
 fledged; 
 
 582 
 
 76:2 
 
 there 
 
 140 
 
 76:2 
 
 is 
 
 141 
 
 76:2 
 
 not 
 
758 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 338—50 (74:2)— 288— 146=142. 
 
 338—30=308—145=163. 457—163=294+1=295. 
 
 338—145 (76:2)=193— 3 b (146)— 190— 2 h col =188. 
 
 338—29 (74:2)=309. 
 
 338—30=308—145=163. 
 
 338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1 )=238— 146=142 
 
 —3 b (146)— 189. 
 338—49 (76:1)=289— 146=143. 577—143=434+1 
 
 =435+17 b& h— 452. 
 338—30=308—50=258—15 b & h col.— 348. 
 338—193=145. 457—145=312+1=313. 
 338—30=308—49=259. 603—259=344+ 1=345+ 
 
 2 h col. =347. 
 338—30=308—146=162—3 b (146)=159— 4 b col.— 
 338—30=308—145=163—3 £(145)=160— 4 b col.— 
 338—30=308—49=259. 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—145=114—3 b 'col.— 111. 
 338—50=288—50 (76:1)— 288. 
 338—50=288—162 (78:1)— 126. 
 338—50=288—50 (76:1)— 238— 7 £ col.=231. 
 338—49 (76:1)— 289— 161=128. 610—128=482+1— 
 338—30=308—49=259—3 h col. =256 
 338—49 (76:1)— 289— 162=127— 32 (79:1)— 95 
 
 —11 b col.— 84. 
 338—50=288—162 (78:1)=126— 58 (80:1)=66. 
 338—162=176—49 (76:1)— 127. 603—127=476 + 1— 
 
 477+3 b col. =480 
 338—162—176—49 (76:1)— 127. 458+127=585. 
 338—50 (74:2)— 288. 603—288=315+1=316. 
 338—49 (76:1)— 289. 603—289—314+1=315+2 /z— 
 338—50 (74:2)— 288. 603—288=315+1=316+ 
 
 2 /z— 318. 
 338—30=308—145=163. 457—163=294 + 1=295. 
 338—30=308—162=146—50=96—1 /z col. =95. 
 338—50=288—57 (79:1)— 231. 
 338—30—308—162—146. 458—146—312+1—313+ 
 
 7 b& /z— 320. 
 338—50 (74:2)— 288— 49 (76:1)— 289. 
 338—49 (76:1)— 289. 603—289—314+1—315+ 
 
 10 b & /z— 325. 
 338—50=288. 
 
 338—145—193. 577—193—384+1=385. 
 338—30—308—49—259—4 b col.— 255. 
 338—30—308—50 (76:1)— 258. 
 
 338—50=288—162 (78:1)— 126. 498—126=372+1= 
 33*8— 145=193— 161— 32— 1 A— 81. 
 338—145=193—3 * (145)— 190. 
 338—304 (78:1)— 34. 462—34—428+1—429. 
 338—50—288—49 (76:1)=239— lb & £ col. =232. 
 338—49—289—162=127—50=77. 603—77=526+1= 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 142 
 
 76:2 
 
 yet 
 
 295 
 
 76:2 
 
 a 
 
 188 
 
 76:2 
 
 haire 
 
 309 
 
 76:2 
 
 on 
 
 163 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 139 
 
 76:2 
 
 chin; 
 
 452 
 
 77:1 
 
 it 
 
 243 
 
 76:1 
 
 is 
 
 313 
 
 76:2 
 
 smooth 
 
 347 
 
 76:2 
 
 as 
 
 155 
 
 76:2 
 
 my 
 
 156 
 
 76:2 
 
 hand. 
 
 259 
 
 76:2 
 
 He 
 
 111 
 
 76:1 
 
 was 
 
 238 
 
 76:2 
 
 almost 
 
 126 
 
 78:2 
 
 naked; 
 
 231 
 
 78:1 
 
 without 
 
 483 
 
 77:2 
 
 shirts, 
 
 256 
 
 76:2 
 
 cloak 
 
 84 
 
 78:2 
 
 or 
 
 66 
 
 80:2 
 
 stockings, 
 
 480 
 
 76:2 
 
 He 
 
 585 
 
 76:2 
 
 doth 
 
 316 
 
 76:2 
 
 weare 
 
 317 
 
 76:2 
 
 nothing 
 
 318 
 
 76:2 
 
 but 
 
 295 
 
 76:2 
 
 a 
 
 95 
 
 76:2 
 
 cap; 
 
 231 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 320 
 
 76:2 
 
 shoes 
 
 239 
 
 76:2 
 
 out 
 
 325 
 
 76:2 
 
 at 
 
 288 
 
 76:2 
 
 the 
 
 385 
 
 77:1 
 
 heels, 
 
 255 
 
 76:2 
 
 short 
 
 258 
 
 76:2 
 
 slops, 
 
 373 ' 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 31 
 
 78:2 
 
 a 
 
 190 
 
 76:2 
 
 smock 
 
 429 
 
 78:2 
 
 on 
 
 232 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 = 527 
 
 76:2 
 
 back, 
 
THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSFERE DESCRIBED. 
 
 759 
 
 338—145=193—3 b (145)— 190— 3 h col.— 187. 
 338—317 (79:1)— 21. 
 
 338—49 (76:1)— 289— 162— 127+31 (79:1)— 158. 
 338—50=288—162=126—32=94—3 h col.— 91. 
 338—50=288—162=126—58 (80:1)=66. 523—66= 
 
 457+1=458. 
 338-162 (78:1)=176— 32 (79:1)— 144. 462—144= 
 
 318+1— 319+2 yfc— 321. 
 338— 145=193— 3 /> (145)— 190— lb col.— 189. 
 338—145=193—3 b (145)— 190. 577—190—387+1= 
 338—50 (74:2)=288— 49 (76:1)— 239— 145=94. 577 
 
 —94=483+1=484. 
 338—50 (74.2)— 288— 50 (76 :1)=238— 145=93, 577 
 
 —93—484+1=485. 
 338—30—308—49 (76:1)— 289. 
 338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)— 238— 163— 75— 32 
 
 (79:1)— 43. 462—43=419+1—420. 
 338—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 163=75— 32 
 
 (79:1)— 48. 
 338—162=176—32=144. 468—144=324+1=325 
 
 + 1 h col.— 
 338—30=308-145=163—5 b & h col.— 158, 
 
 338—50 (74.2)— 288— 49 (76 :1)=239— 145=94. 577— 
 
 94—483+1= 484+5 b & /;— 389. 
 338-50 (74:2)=288— 50(76:1)— 238— 145=93. 577 
 
 —93=384+1=385+5 b & /*— 390. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 187 
 
 76:1 
 
 out 
 
 21 
 
 79:2 
 
 at 
 
 158 
 
 79:1 
 
 elbow, 
 
 91 
 
 78:2 
 
 and 
 
 458 
 
 484 
 
 80:2 
 
 77:1 
 
 not 
 
 321 
 
 78:2 
 
 over 
 
 (189) 
 
 77:1 
 
 clean 
 
 388 
 
 77:1 
 
 The 
 
 truth 
 
 485 
 
 77:1 
 
 is, 
 
 259 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 420 
 
 78:2 
 
 lived, 
 
 43 
 
 78:2 
 
 at 
 
 326 
 
 78:1 
 
 this 
 
 158 
 
 77:1 
 
 time, 
 in 
 
 389 
 
 77:1 
 
 great 
 
 390 
 
 77:1* 
 
 infamy, 
 
 Here we have, brought out by the same root-number (338), a whole wardrobe: 
 cap — shirts — cloak — stockings — shoes — smock; together with out — at — heels — 
 on — back — out — at — elbo7vs; and also horson — knave — weare — nothing — 
 almost — naked. Why — if this is the work of chance — did not some of these words, 
 descriptive of clothing, come out by the other root-numbers, or by this same root- 
 number, when applied to other pages ? 
 
 Smock occurs but once in this play and but six other times in all the Plays; 
 elbow is found but once in this act and but twice in this play; shirts occurs but 
 this once in this act; slops is found only this one time in this play, and b nt one 
 other time in all the Plays; this is the only time stockings is found in the play, and 
 it occurs but eight times besides in all the Plays; this is the only time shoes is found 
 in this play; and this is the only time cap occurs in this act; and this is the only time 
 infamy is found in this play. Can any one believe that all these rare words came 
 together, in so small a compass, by chance; and that, by another chance, they were 
 each of them made the 338th word from some one of a few clearly defined points of 
 departure in counting? 
 
 Observe those words almost naked. Each is derived from 33S; nay, each is 
 derived from 338 minus 50=288. We commence with 288 at the end of scene 2 
 and go forward to the next column, and we have almost; we take 2S8 again, and 
 commence at the end of the next scene and go forward again to the next column, 
 and we have naked I This alone would be curious; but taken in connection with all 
 the other words in this sentence, which cohere arithmetically and in sense and 
 
760 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 meaning, with almost naked — no shifts or stockings — doth wear nothing but a cap, 
 and shoes out at the heels, and a smock out at the elboza, not over clean, it amounts to a 
 demonstration. 
 
 The word slops signified breeches. We have in the Plays: "A German, from 
 the waist downward all slops."* We also find, in the text under consideration, 
 Falstaff speaking of "the satin for my short cloak and slops." The word smack 
 signified a rough blouse, such as is worn by peasants and laborers.' 2 In the text 
 the word smock is disguised in smack, which was pronounced smock in that age. 
 
 Some explanation of the figures used as modifiers in the Cipher-work are 
 necessary. We are advancing, as Bacon would say, "into the bowels of the" 
 play. 
 
 Page 77 is solid; — that is to say, there is no break in it by stage directions or 
 new scenes. The first column of page 78 contains two fragments; one of 162 
 words, being the end of scene third; the other the first part of Sccena Quarta, con- 
 taining 306 words, with 17 bracketed words and 3 hyphenated words besides. If 
 we count from the end word of scene third upward, exclusive of that word, as we 
 have done in other instances, we have 161 words; if we count from the beginning 
 of scene fourth we have 162 words. In this fragment the words, "th'other," on 
 the 14th line, are counted as one word — " t'other." From the end word of scene 
 third downward there are 306 words; from the first word of scene fourth downward 
 there are 305 words. The next column of page 78 is unbroken. When we reach 
 the next column (79:1; we have a complicated state of things. The column is 
 broken into four fragments. The first of 31 words, with 5 words in brackets, con- 
 stitutes the end of scene fourth. Then we enter act second. The .first break is 
 caused by the stage direction, Enter Ealstaffe and Bardolfe, and ends with the 
 317th word from the top of the column; being the 286th word from the end of the 
 last act, or 285 from the beginning of act second, or 284, excluding the first and 
 last word. This gives us the modifier 286 or 285, or 284. And to the bottom of 
 the column there are 199 or 200 words. 
 
 The next break in the text is caused by the stage direction, Enter Ch. Justice, 
 ending with the 461st word, and containing 143 or 144 words, accordingly as 
 we count from the beginning of that subdivision or the end of the preceding 
 one; and the fourth fragment runs from the 461st word to the end of the column, 
 and contains 57 or 58 words. The second column of page 79 is broken by the 
 stage direction, Enter M. Gower. The first contains 533 words; the second con- 
 tains 64 or 65 words; and there are 534 words from the first word of the second 
 subdivision, inclusive, to the top of the column. This page gives us therefore these 
 modifiers: 
 
 31 — 32; — 317 — 318; — 284 — 285 — 286; — 199 — 200; — 461 — 462; — 143 — 144; — 
 57—58; — 533—534; —64—65. 
 
 And when we turn to the next column (78:1) the remainder of the scene, scene 
 1, act 2, gives us 338 words, with 12 b & 5 h words additional; and the fragment of 
 scene second, act 2 (78:1), gives us 57 or 58 words, as we count from the beginning 
 of scene second or the end of scene first. And the next column gives us two frag- 
 ments, yielding 461-2 and 61-2. 
 
 And here I would call the attention of the reader to the curious manner in 
 which the stage directions are packed into the corners of lines on page 79, as 
 compared with column 1 of page 75, where the words, Enter Morton, axe given 
 about half an inch space; or on page 64, where one stage direction is assigned 
 
 1 Much Ado about Nothing, ii, 2. 
 
 2 See Webster s Dictionary, " Sinock"" 1 and "Smock-frock." 
 
THE YOUTHFUL SHAKSPERE DESCRIBED. 761 
 
 three-quarters of an inch space; or page 62, where three stage directions have 
 nearly an inch and a half space, while three others, on this page, 79, have 
 not even a separate line given them. The crowding of matter on some 
 pages, as compared with others, is also shown by contrasting the small 
 space allowed for the title of Actus Secundus, Sccena Prima, on 79:1, with 
 the heading, not of an act, but a scene, on the next column (So:i). In the one 
 case the space from spoken word to spoken word is five-eighths of an inch, in the 
 other it is an inch and one-sixteenth. And that this is not accidental is shown 
 also in the abbreviations used on page 79: Chief is printed 67/./ remembered is 
 printed remebred; a hundred is printed a 100; 6° is constantly used for and; M. is 
 used repeatedly for Master; Mistress is printed Mist.; thou is repeatedly printed "!!;" 
 twenty shillings is printed 20 s. And observe how Lombard street and silk man 
 (79:1, 29th line) are run together into one word each, where anywhere else 
 we should at least have had a hyphen between their parts. And that these things 
 were deliberately done is shown in the case of the word remembered (79:2, 16 lines 
 from end); if it had been simply printed remebred we might suppose it was a typo- 
 graphical error, but the printer was particular to put the sign " over the e to show 
 that there had been an elision of part of the word. Now it took just as long to put 
 in that mark as it would have taken to insert the /;/ and the additional e between 
 the b and e. (Did the ordinary fonts of type of that age use this elision sign? Or 
 were these types made to order ?) 
 
 A still more striking fact is, that while by uniform custom each speaker in the 
 text of the Plays is allowed his line to himself, yet in two instances, on page 79, 
 the words uttered by an interlocutor are crowded in as part of the line belonging to 
 another speaker. Thus we have (79:1, 12th line from end) this line: 
 
 Falsi. Keep them off, Bardolfe. Fang. A rescue, a rescue. 
 And again (79:2, 3d line): 
 
 I am a poor widow of Eastcheap and he is arre- 
 sted at my suit. Ch. Just. For what summe ? 
 
 Here we see that the printer has not even room to print in full the words Chief 
 Justice, but condensed them into Ch. Just. 
 
 Now every printer will tell you that unless there had been some special and 
 emphatic order to crowd the text in this extraordinary fashion, it would not have 
 been done; but a dozen lines or more of page 79 would have been run over onto page 
 80, where, as we have seen, there is plenty of room for them. Compare 79:1 or 79:2 
 with 80:1. There are in So:i no abbreviations in spelling; no contractions, with 
 the single exception of one M. for Master; there is no & for and; no using of figures 
 for words, although we have " fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse;" no running 
 of the speeches of two characters together in one line. And there are 631 words on 
 79:2 and only 403 words on 80: 1 ! And yet each is a column, the one following the 
 other. Why should one column contain 228 words more than the other, or one- 
 third more words than the other ? There is on page 79 matter enough to constitute 
 two pages and a half, printed as column 1 of page 80 or as column 1 of page 62 
 is printed. 
 
 But the exigencies of the Cipher required that column 79:2 should contain 228 
 words more than column 80:1; and the carrying of a single word over from the one 
 to the other would have destroyed the Cipher on both pages; and hence all this 
 packing and crowding of matter, which one cannot fail to observe by simply glanc- 
 ing at the page, as given herewith in facsimile. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND HIS ADVICE. 
 
 The curses he shall have, the tortures he shall feel, will break the back of a man, the heart of 
 a monster. Winter's Tale, ii',3. 
 
 505—167=338. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 338—30=308—50=258—49=209. 603—209=394+1=395 76:2 The 
 
 338—30=308—49=259. 498—259=239+1=240. 240 76:1 Bishop 
 
 338—30=308—50=258—49=209—148=63. 63 77:1 said. 
 
 Who was the Bishop? It was his Lordship Sir John Babington, Bishop of 
 Worcester — " the right reverend father in God, Lord John, Bushop of Worcester " — 
 of the diocese in which Stratford was situated, — for whose protection was executed 
 that famous bond, dated November 28, 1582, to enable "William Shagspere, one 
 thone partie, and Anne Hathwey of Stratford, in the dioces of Worcester, maiden," 
 to marry with " once asking of the bannes of matrimony between them." ] We 
 know that the Bishop belonged to the Cecil faction, and when Essex was arrested 
 for treason, and he thought he could do so safely, he took advantage of the oppor- 
 tunity to attack him. Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
 Babington, Bishop of Worcester, glances at him [Essex] cautiously in a court 
 sermon; but when sent for by the angry Queen he denies that he pointed to the 
 Earl. 2 
 
 The Bishop belonged to the Cecil faction; he was Sir Robert's superserviceable 
 friend, and the very man, of all others, to tell him all about Shakspere's youth; and 
 we will see hereafter that ' ' Anne Hathwey " had dragged the future play-actor before 
 Sir John, as Bishop of the diocese; and that Sir John had compelled Shakspere to 
 marry her. So the Bishop knew all about him. And herein we find an explana- 
 tion of the bond just referred to; and the hurried marriage; and the baptism tread- 
 ing fast upon the heels of the bridal. 
 
 And it was the Bishop of Worcester who gave Cecil the description of Shak- 
 spere's appearance in his youthful days which we copied into the last chapter. 
 
 And there is a great deal in the Cipher story about the Bishop of Worcester. 
 When Cecil became suspicious of the Plays, he gave Sir John the plays of Richard 
 II. and Measure for Measure to examine, or, as Bacon was wont to say, to anato- 
 mize — ( The Anatomy of Wit, The Anatomy of Melancholy, etc.) The Bishop found 
 
 1 Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines, p. 569. 8 Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 123. 
 
 762 
 
THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AXD HIS ADVICE. 7 6 3 
 
 the same strain of infidelity in Measure for Measure which, centuries afterwards, 
 shocked the piety of Dr. Johnson; and he then told Cecil the story of Shakspere's 
 life, and expressed his opinion that the ragged urchin who had been dragged before 
 him, at eighteen years of age, and constrained, perforce, to accept the responsi- 
 bilities of matrimony, never wrote the play of Measure for Measure or Richard II. 
 The .Bishop of Worcester is also referred to in that part of the Cipher narra- 
 tive which grows out of the root-number 523, modified by commencing to count at 
 the end of the second subdivision of 74:2, the same subdivision which gives us all 
 the 33S story; but instead of counting only to the beginning of the subdivision, 
 (167), we go to the top of the column, which gives us 218 words as a modifier. We 
 then have: 
 
 523—218=305. 
 
 And if we again modify this by deducting 193 (upper 75:2), we have left 112; 
 or, if we deduct 254 (lower 75:2), we have 51 left; and if we deduct 50 at the end 
 of scene second (76:1) we have 255 left. And this last number, 255, gives us the 
 words Bishop and Worcester. Thus: if the reader will commence at the top of 76:1, 
 and count down the column, counting in all the words, bracketed and hyphenated, 
 he will find that the 255th word is the end word of the 240th compound word Arch- 
 bishop; and if he will carry his 255th number down the next preceding column, but 
 not counting in the bracketed and hyphenated words, he will find that the 255th 
 word is the word Worcester; so that the 255th word, 76:1, is Bishop, and the 255th 
 word, 75:2, is Worcester. And observe the exquisite cunning of the work. If the 
 reader will look at the opening of this chapter he will see that that same last word 
 of Arch-bishop was used in the 338 narrative. That is to say, 33S minus 30 (the 
 modifier on 74:2) equals 308, and this, commencing at the beginning of scene third 
 (76:1), and carried down the column, leaves 259; and 259, carried up the column, 
 counting in the hyphenated words, brings us to the same word to//c/ — the last 
 word of arch-bishop. And some time since we saw the arch of that word arch- 
 bishop used to give us the first syllable of the name of the man Archer, who slew 
 Marlowe ! 
 
 But lest it should bt thought that this coming together of Bishop and Worcester, 
 by the same number, 255, was another accident, I pause here, and, leaving the story 
 growing out of 338 alone for a while, I give a part of the narrative in which these 
 words Bishop of Worcester occur. And here I would ask the reader to observe that 
 you cannot dip into this text, at any point, with any of these primal root-numbers, 
 505, 513, 516 or 523, without unearthing a story which coheres perfectly with the 
 narrative told by the other numbers. And this has been one cause of the delay in 
 publishing my book. I have been tempted to go on and on, working out the mar- 
 velous tale; and I have heaps of fragments which I have not now time to put into 
 shape for publication. I have been like Aladdin in the garden: I turn from one 
 jewel-laden tree to another, scarce knowing which to plunder, while my publishers 
 are calling down the mouth of the cave for me to hurry up. 
 
 Cecil says to the Queen: 
 
 523—218=305. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 305—50 (76:1)=255— 145=110— 3 ^ (145)=107. 
 
 107 
 
 77:1 
 
 I 
 
 305—50=255 
 
 255 
 
 77:1 
 
 sent 
 
 305—50=255. 
 
 255 
 
 76:1 
 
 a 
 
 305—50=255. 
 
 255 
 
 76:2 
 
 short 
 
764 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 305—146 (76:2)=159— 1 b col.— 158. 
 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1)— 223. 
 
 305—146=159—4// col. =155. 
 
 305—50=255—7 b col. =248. 
 
 305—50=255. 449—255=194+1=195+2 A— 197. 
 
 305—193=112—50 (76:1)— 62. 603—62=541 + 1=542. 
 
 305—193=112—49 (76:1)— 63. 
 
 305—193=112. 457+112=569. 
 
 305—193=112—50=62+457=519. 
 
 305—193=112—50=62. 
 
 305—50=255. 508—255=253+1=254. 
 
 305—193=112—15 b & h (193)— 97. 448—97=351 + 1= 
 
 305—49 (76:1)— 256— 146— 111. 577—111=466+1 
 
 =467+3 b (145)— 470. 
 305—50=255—14 £ & 4 col.— 241. 
 305—193=112—50=62. 458—62=396+1=397. 
 305—50=255. 
 
 305—49=256—5 h col. =251. 
 305—145=160—3 b (145)— 157. 
 305—193=112. 449—112=337+1=338. 
 305—146=159. 449—159=290+1=291. 
 305—146=159. 498—159=339+1=340. 
 305—50=255—49 (76:1)=206— 32=174— 5 3 (32)= 
 
 169—2 b col.— 167. 
 305—254=51. 508—51=457+1=458. 
 305—193 112. 457—112=345+1=346. 
 305—193=112—15 b & h (193)— 97. 
 305—50=255—11 3 & A col.— 244. 
 305—50=255—10 £ col. =245. 
 305—254=51. 448—51=397+1=398. 
 305—50=255—162 (78:1)— 93. 
 305—32 (79:1)— 273. 468—273=195+1=196. 
 305—50=255. 610—255=355+1=356+9 b col.— 
 305—49=256. 610—256—354+1=355. 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1)— 223+162— 385— 9 £—276. 
 305—50—255—32 (79:1)— 223. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 158 
 
 77:1 
 
 time 
 
 223 
 
 76:2 
 
 since, 
 
 155 
 
 248 
 197 
 
 77:1 
 77:1 
 76:1 
 
 your 
 
 Majesty, 
 
 for 
 
 542 
 (63) 
 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 
 my 
 Lord 
 
 569 
 
 76:2 
 
 Sir 
 
 519 
 62 
 
 76:2' 
 76:2 
 
 John, 
 the 
 
 254 
 
 75:2 
 
 noble 
 
 =352 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 470 
 
 77:1 
 
 learned 
 
 241 
 397 
 
 76:1 
 76:2 
 
 Bishop 
 of 
 
 255 
 
 75:2 
 
 Worcester, 
 
 251 
 
 76:1 
 
 a 
 
 157 
 338 
 
 77:1 
 76:1 
 
 good, 
 sincere 
 
 291 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 346 
 
 76:1 
 
 holy 
 
 167 
 
 77:2 
 
 man; 
 
 458 
 
 75:2 
 
 and 
 
 346 
 
 76:2 
 
 had 
 
 97 
 
 75:2 
 
 a 
 
 244 
 
 77:1 
 
 talk 
 
 245 
 
 76:1 
 
 with 
 
 398 
 
 76:1 
 
 him; 
 
 93 
 
 77:2 
 
 and 
 
 196 
 
 78:1 
 
 I 
 
 365 
 355 
 
 77:2 
 77:2 
 
 gave 
 him 
 
 276 
 
 78:1 
 
 the 
 
 223 
 
 77:2 
 
 scroll. 
 
 Cecil had sent a short-hand writer to the play-house, who had taken down the 
 play of Richard II. 
 
 The reader will observe that 305, in this example, moves either from the lower 
 subdivision of 76:1, or the upper or lower subdivision of 75:1; 255 yields 1 — sent — 
 a — short — since — for — noble — Bishop — Worcester — talk — with — and — gave — 
 scroll; while 112 (305 — 193—1 12) yields my — Loi'd — Sir — John — the 1 — of — had — 
 a. Let the reader look at the words Sir John; they both count from the end word of 
 the first subdivision of 76:2, counting downward, and each is the 112th word, but 
 while Stria 112 words from 457, John is modified by deducting 50; that is, instead 
 of commencing to count with 112, from 457, we begin at the beginning of scene 
 third, count in the 50 words therein, and then carry the remainder to 457, and 
 thence down as before, And my Lord is much the same; my is again 112 less 50 
 (from the end of scene second downward), carried up 76:2; and lord is 112 less 49, 
 
THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND HIS ADVICE. 765 
 
 from the beginning of scene third, carried down 76:1. Surely all this cannot 
 be accident. 
 
 And the Bishop advised Cecil that Shakspere should be taken and put to the tor- 
 ture and compelled to tell who wrote the Plays. And here I would call the attention 
 of the reader to one or two other points which prove the existence of the Cipher, 
 and show the marvelous nature of the text. 
 
 We have seen that 523 minus 218 equals 305, and that 305 less 193 (upper sub- 
 division 75:1) makes 112. Now if we go down 75:2 the 112th word is force, while 
 up the same column the 112th word is limbs (put his limbs to the question and force 
 him to tell), while in the next column the 112th word down the column is capable. 
 And if we apply this 112 to the next column, we find it giving us the word sincere 
 (sincere and holy), counting upward from the top of scene third; while upward from 
 the end of scene second it yields supposed (the Plays it is supposed Shakspere was not 
 capable of writing); and down the same column the 112th word is that very word, 
 capable; while carried forward to the next column it yields Sir John, and from the 
 same column, 76:1, and the next, 76:2, it gives us my lord. And observe how cun- 
 ningly supposed and sincere are brought together, the one being the 112th word 
 from the end of scene 2, the other the 112th word from the beginning of scene 
 3; and note, too, the forced construction of the sentence: 
 
 Turns insurrection to religion, 
 
 Supposed sincere and holy in his thoughts. 
 
 Of course there is a clue of meaning running through this, but every word is a 
 Cipher word, and the words are packed together very closely; turns is "turns the 
 water out of the fish-pond," given in Chapter VI., page 697, ante; insurrection is 
 used three times in the Cipher story; religion was used in telling the purpose of the 
 Plays, as given in Chapter VII., page 705, ante; and we will find it used again and 
 again; and here in this chapter we have supposed, sincere and holy employed in the 
 Cipher narrative. 
 
 And Cecil expressed to the Bishop his opinion that Shakspere did not write the 
 Plays. He said: 
 
 Page and 
 
 Word. Column. 
 
 305— 50=255— 145=110— 3 b (145)=107. 107 77:1 I 
 
 305—50=255. 448—255=193+1=194+2 h col.= 196 76:1 ventured 
 
 305—50=255—161=94. 498—94=404+1=405. 405 76:1 to 
 
 305—50=255—145=110—3 b (145)=107— 3 b&h col.=104 77:1 tell 
 
 305— 50=255— 32 (79. 1)=223. 223 74:2 him 
 
 305—50=255—146=109. 577—109=468+1=469. 469 77:1 my 
 
 305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 447—59=388+1=389 75:1 suspicion 
 305—50=255—50=205—146—59. 447—59=388+ 
 
 1=389+3^=392. 392 75:1 that 
 
 305—50=255—32=223. 223 79:1 Master 
 
 305— 50=255— 32 (79:1)=223— 145=78— 50 (76:1)= 28 75:2 Shak'st ) 
 
 305— 50=255— 50 (76: 1)=205— 145=60. 60 75:1 spur ) 
 
 305—50=255—50=205. 508—205=303+1=304. 304 75:2 is 
 
 305— 50=255— 31=224— 145=79— 50 (76:1)=29. 29 76:2 not 
 305—50=255—32=223. 248—223=25+1=26+ 
 
 22 £ col. =48. 48 74:2 himself 
 
 305—193=112. 112 76:1 capable 
 
 305— 50=255— 32 (79: 1)=223. 223 78:1 enough, 
 
766 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223— 5 b (32)=218— 50 
 
 (76:1)— 168. 
 305—50=255—32 (79 :1)=223— 146=77— 30=47. 
 
 447-47=400+1=401. 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1 =223-5/; (32)=218— 50= 
 305—50=255—32=223—146=77—30=47. 447—47 
 
 =400+1=401 + 3 £—404. 
 305—50=255—32=223—5/; (32)=218— 49 (76:1)= 
 
 169. 508—169=339+1=340+2/; col.— 342. 
 305—50=255—31=224. 498—224=274+1=275. 
 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31)— 219— 50 (76:1)= 
 
 169. 508—169=339 + 1=340. 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1)=223— 3// col.— 220. 
 305—50—255—32 (79:1)— 223. 317(79:1)— 223— 94+1 
 305-50—255—49 (76:1)=206— 161 (78:1)— 45. 
 305— 50=255— 49=206— 161— 45— 32 (79:1)— 13. 
 
 462—13=449+1—450. 
 305— 50— 255— 31=224— 145— 79— 50(76:1)=29+ 
 
 457=486. 
 305—50—255—31=224—146=78. 
 305—50=255. 449—255=194+1—195. 
 305—50=255—50=205—32—173—5 b (32)— 168. 
 305—50—255—49—206—161—45—32—13. 
 305—50—255—146=1 09—3 b (146)— 106. 
 305—161 (78:1)— 144. 457—144—313+1—314+5 b col- 
 305—50—255—146—109. 498—109—388+1—390. 
 305—49 (76:1)— 256— 145— 111. 
 305—50—255—32 (79:1)— 223— 50=173— 3 h col.— 
 305—193—112. 448—112=336+1=337. 
 305—50—255—31—224—5 b (31) = 219— 50— 169— 49 
 
 (76:1)— 120. 
 305—50—255—162—93—50 (76:1)=43. 
 305—193—112. 284—112—172+1—173. 
 305—50—255—50=205—146—59. 448—59—389 + 1= 
 305—50—255—31—224—5 b (31)— 219— 50=169— 50 
 
 —119— 2 b col.— 117. 
 305—50=255—32=223—146=77. 610—77—533+1 
 
 —534+2// col. —536. 
 305—50—255—31 (79:1)— 224. 
 305—50—255—50=205. 
 305—50—255—50=205—145=60—3 b (145)— 57. 
 
 284—57—227+1=228. 
 305—50—255—32 (79:1)=223— 146=77— 30 (74:2)= 
 
 47—9 b & h col. 38. 
 305—50—255—50=205—146—59. 449—59—390+1= 
 305—50=255—50—205—146—59. 284—59—225+1= 
 305—50—255—50—205—146—59. 193—59=134+1= 
 305—145—160. 508-160—348+1—349+5 b & h= 
 305— 50— 255— 31— 224— hb (31)— 219. 
 305— 50=255— 31=224— 4 h col.— 220. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 168 
 
 75:2 
 
 and 
 
 401 
 
 75:1 
 
 hath 
 
 168 
 
 76:2 
 
 not 
 
 404 
 
 450 
 
 117 
 
 228 
 
 75:1 knowledge 
 
 342 
 
 75:2 
 
 enough, 
 
 275 
 
 76:1 
 
 to 
 
 340 
 
 75:2 
 
 have 
 
 220 
 
 76:2 
 
 writ 
 
 =95 
 
 79:1 
 
 the 
 
 45 
 
 78:2 
 
 much 
 
 (5:2 
 
 74:1 
 
 admired 
 
 486 
 
 76:2 
 
 plays 
 
 78 
 
 76:1 
 
 that 
 
 195 
 
 76:1 
 
 we 
 
 168 
 
 76:1 
 
 all 
 
 13 
 
 78:2- 
 
 rate 
 
 106 
 
 77:1 
 
 so 
 
 =319 
 
 79:2 
 
 high, 
 
 390 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 111 
 
 '77:1 
 
 which 
 
 170 
 
 76:1 
 
 are 
 
 337 
 
 76:1 
 
 supposed 
 
 120 
 
 75:2 
 
 to 
 
 43 
 
 75:2 
 
 be 
 
 173 
 
 74:1 
 
 his; 
 
 =390 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 which 
 
 536 
 
 77:2 
 
 ever 
 
 224 
 
 76:2 
 
 since 
 
 205 
 
 75:2 
 
 the 
 
 death 
 
 38 
 
 75:1 
 
 of 
 
 =301 
 
 76:1 
 
 More j 
 
 =226 
 
 74:1 
 
 low ) 
 
 =135 
 
 75:2 
 
 have 
 
 (354) 
 
 75:2 
 
 been 
 
 219 
 
 76:1 
 
 put 
 
 220 
 
 76:1 
 
 forth 
 
THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND HIS ADVICE. 
 
 767 
 
 305—50=255—31=224—145=79. 
 
 305—50=255—32=223—146=7;. 
 
 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31) — 219 — 50=169— 145= 
 
 305—50=255—162=93. 
 
 305—50=255—20 b col.— 335. 
 
 305— 50=255— 32=223— 146=77— 3 b col.— 74. 
 
 305—50=255—32=223—1 46=77—50 (76:1)— 27. 
 
 603—27=576+1=577. 
 305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 284—59=225+1 
 
 —226+6 h col.— 282. 
 305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 
 305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 
 305—50=255—50=205—145=60. 
 305—50=255—50=205—146=59. 
 305—50=255—50=205—146=59—6 b & h col. =53. 
 305—50=255—32=223—146=77—2 h col.— 75. 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224— 145=79. 
 305—50=255—31=224—145=79. 284—79=205+1= 
 305—50=255—32=223—5 b (82)— 218— 50— 168. 
 
 458—168=290+1=291. 
 305—50=255—50=205—146=59—3 b (146)— 56. 
 
 248—56=192+1=193+2/; & A— 195. 
 305— 50=255— 31=224— 145=79— 30 (74:2)=49. 
 
 447—49=398 +1=399 + 3=402. 
 305—193=112—15 b & /i=91—10b col =87. 
 305—50=255—50=205—145=60. 248—60=188+1= 
 305—50=255—49 (76:1)— 206. 603—206=397+1= 
 305— 146— 159— 3 £ (146)— 156. 
 
 305—49 (76:1)— 256— 145— 111. 577—111—466+1— 
 305— 50=255— 145=1 10. 
 305—50—255—50=20."). 
 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1)— 223— 50 (76:1)— 173. 
 305—50—255—49 (76:1)— 206. 
 305—50—255. 449—255—194+1—195. 
 305—162—143—2 h col. =141. 
 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31)— 219— 4 h col.— 
 305—50=255—162=93. 577—93=484+ 1—485. 
 305—50—255—49=206—162—44. 610—44=566+1 
 
 567+2 A col:— 569. 
 305—50—255—32 (79:1)— 223— 146— 77— 5 b & h col.= 
 305—50=255—50=205—32=173. 603—173=430+1= 
 305—49=256—30=226—50 (76:1)— 176— 1 h col.— 
 305—193=112. 248—112=136+1=137+12 b & h col.= 
 305—50=255—32=223. 610—223=387+1—388. 
 305—49=256—145—111. 457—111—346+1=347. 
 305—50—255. 508— 255— 253+1— 254— 3 h col.— 
 305— 50=255— 32— (79:1)— 223— 7 b & h col.— 216. 
 305—50—255—162=93—3 b col.— 90. 
 305—50=255—32=223. 518—223=295+1—296. 
 305—162—143. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 79 
 
 76:1 
 
 in 
 
 77 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 = 24 
 
 77:1 
 
 name. 
 
 93 
 
 77:2 
 
 And 
 
 235 
 
 75:2 
 
 that 
 
 74 
 
 76:1 
 
 it 
 
 291 
 
 195 
 
 r6:2 
 
 232 
 
 74:1 
 
 rumoured 
 
 59 
 
 75:2 
 
 that 
 
 59 
 
 74:2 
 
 every 
 
 60 
 
 76:2 
 
 one 
 
 59 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 53 
 
 74:1 
 
 them 
 
 75 
 
 76:1 
 
 was 
 
 79 
 
 74:1 
 
 prepared 
 
 =206 
 
 74:1 
 
 under 
 
 76:2 
 
 W\ 
 
 his 
 
 402 
 
 75 1 
 
 by 
 
 87 
 
 74:1 
 
 some 
 
 =189 
 
 75:1 
 
 gentleman. 
 
 398 
 
 76:2 
 
 His 
 
 156 
 
 77:1 
 
 Lordship 
 
 467 
 
 77:1 
 
 advised 
 
 110 
 
 77:1 
 
 that 
 
 205 
 
 75:2 
 
 the 
 
 173 
 
 75:2 
 
 best 
 
 206 
 
 75:2 
 
 thing 
 
 195 
 
 76:1 
 
 we 
 
 141 
 
 76:1 
 
 could 
 
 215 
 
 77:2 
 
 do 
 
 485 
 
 77:1 
 
 is 
 
 569 
 
 77:2 
 
 to 
 
 = 72 
 
 76:1 
 
 make 
 
 =431 
 
 76:2 
 
 him 
 
 175 
 
 76:2 
 
 a 
 
 =149 
 
 74:1 
 
 prisoner, 
 
 388 
 
 77:2 
 
 and, 
 
 347 
 
 76:2 
 
 as 
 
 257 
 
 75:2 
 
 soon 
 
 216 
 
 76:2 
 
 as 
 
 90 
 
 76:1 
 
 he 
 
 296 
 
 79:1 
 
 is 
 
 (143) 
 
 73:1 
 
 apprehendec 
 
768 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 305—193=112—49 (76:1)— 63. 508—63=445+1= 
 305—50=255—32=223—146=77- 50 (76:1)— 27. 
 
 457—27=430+1=431. 
 305—50=255—50=205—145=60. 508—60=448+1= 
 31)5—50=255—50=205—145=60. 508—60=448 
 
 + 1=449+1 *— 450. 
 305—50=255—146=109. 498—109=389+1=390. 
 305—146=159—3 b (146)— 156. 
 305—50=255—50=205—31 (79 : 1 )=1 74. 457—1 74= 
 
 283+1=284. 
 305—193=112—15 b & 7^=97—49=48. 
 305—50=255—31=224. 610—224=386+1=387+ 
 
 2 A— 389. 
 305—50=255—32 (79 :1)=223— 146=77. 498—77= 
 
 421 + 1=422. 
 305—193^112. 248—112=136+1=137. 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224. 610—224=386+1= 
 305—193=112. 248—112=136+1=137+11 b col.— 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)— 224. 448—224=224+1= 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1)— 223. 448—223=225 + 1= 
 305—50=255—50=205. 
 305—50=255—32=223—5 b (32)— 218. 448—218= 
 
 230+1=231 + 5 b & £=236. 
 305—146=159. 457—159=298+1=299. 
 305—50=255—32=223—162=61. 
 305—50=255—162=93. 498—93=405+1=406. 
 305—50=255—50=205—31=174—5 b & A— 169. 
 
 610—169=441 + 1=442+9 b col. =451. 
 305—49=256—162=94. 577—94=483+1=484. 
 305—50=255—32=223. 610—223=387+1=388. 
 305—50=255—145=110— 3 <H145)=107— 3 b & h col.= 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)— 224. 284—224=60+1=61 
 
 + l/i col. =68. 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224— 4 b col.=220. 
 805—50—2 55. 32 + 255=287 . 
 305—50=255—32 (79:1)— 223. 457—223=234 
 
 + 1=235. 
 305— 50=255— 146=109— 3 £(146)— 106. 577—106 
 
 —471 + 1—472. 
 305—50—255—50—205—146=59—2 h col. =57. 
 305—50—255—49 (76:1)— 206— 145— 61— 3 b (145)— 
 305—50=255—32—223. 498—223—275+1=276+ 
 
 2 b col.— 278. 
 305—50—255—32 (79:1)— 223— 5 b (32)— 218. 
 305—50=255—50 (76:1) — 205— 145=60— 3 b (145)— 
 
 57—1 h col.— 56. 
 305—50—255—31 (79:1)— 224— 5 b (31)— 219. 457— 
 
 219=238+1—239+11 b & £—250. 
 305—193=112—1 h col. —111. 
 305—193—112—10 b col =102. 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)— 224— 5 b (31)— 219. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 446 
 
 75:2 
 
 bind 
 
 431 
 
 76:2 
 
 him 
 
 =449 
 
 75:2 
 
 with 
 
 450 
 
 75:2 
 
 iron, 
 
 390 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 156 
 
 76:1 
 
 bring 
 
 284 
 
 76:2 
 
 him 
 
 48 
 
 ?6:2 
 
 before 
 
 389 
 
 235 
 
 56 
 
 77:2 
 
 76:2 
 
 77:1 
 
 the 
 
 422 
 
 76:1 
 
 Council; 
 
 137 
 
 74:2 
 
 and 
 
 387 
 
 77:2 
 
 it 
 
 148 
 
 74:2 
 
 is 
 
 225 
 
 76:1 
 
 more 
 
 226 
 
 76:1 
 
 than 
 
 205 
 
 76:1 
 
 likely 
 
 236 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 299 
 
 76:2 
 
 knave 
 
 61 
 
 77:2 
 
 would 
 
 406 
 
 76:1 
 
 speak 
 
 451 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 484 
 
 77:1 
 
 truth, 
 
 388 
 
 77:2 
 
 and 
 
 104 
 
 77:1 
 
 tell 
 
 68 
 
 74:1 
 
 who 
 
 220 
 
 76:2 
 
 writ 
 
 287 
 
 79:1 
 
 it. 
 
 But 
 
 472 
 
 77:1 
 
 in 
 
 57 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 58 
 
 76:1 
 
 event 
 
 278 
 
 76:1 
 
 that 
 
 218 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 lied 
 
 250 
 
 76:2 
 
 about 
 
 111 
 
 75:1 
 
 the 
 
 102 
 
 74:1 
 
 matter 
 
 219 
 
 77:2 
 
 your 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 234 
 
 76:2 
 
 Grace 
 
 111 
 
 75:2 
 
 should 
 
 410 
 
 76:2 
 
 have 
 
 109 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 397 
 
 75:2 
 
 limbs 
 
 351 
 
 76:2 
 
 put 
 
 275 
 
 76:1 
 
 to 
 
 =230 
 
 
 
 236 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 = 493 
 
 76:2 
 
 question 
 
 61 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 112 
 
 75:2 
 
 force 
 
 398 
 
 76:1 
 
 him 
 
 49 
 
 76:1 
 
 to 
 
 211 
 
 77:2 
 
 confess 
 
 42 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 THE BISHOP OF WORCESTER AND HIS ADVICE. 769 
 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)— 224. 457—224=233+1= 
 305—49 (70 :1)=256— 145=111. 
 305—193=112—15 b & ,4=97— 49 (76:1)=48. 45" 
 
 48=409+1=410. 
 305—193=112—3 b col.=109. 
 305—193=112. 508—112=396^1=397. 
 305—193=112. 457— 112=345 +1=346+ 5 £ col.= 
 305—50=255—50=205—31 (79*1)— 174. 448—174 
 
 =274+1=275. 
 305—50=255—32=224—5 b (82)— 219. 449—219= 
 
 + 1=231 + 5 b & //=236. 
 305—49 (76 :1)=256— 145=111. 603—111=492 + 1= 
 305—50=255—49 (76:1)— 206— 145— 61. 
 305—193=112. 
 
 305—254=51. 448—51=397+1=398. 
 305—254=51—2 h col. =49. 
 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224— 13 b & h col.— 211. 
 305—50=255—50=205—162=43—1 h col. =42. 
 305—50=255—32=223—5 b (32)=218. 449—218= 
 
 231 + 1=232+5 b & //=237. 237 76:1 truth. 
 
 Here, it will be observed, we have two more instances where Shakst-spur and 
 More-lozv come into the Cipher narrative by countings different from those already- 
 given. And if all this be accident, then surely we have a wonderful array of words 
 growing out of 305. Take that last sentence: Your Grace should have his limbs 
 put to the question and force him to con/ess the truth; here every word is the 305th 
 word, and they are all found in four columns, 75:2, 76:1, 76:2 and 77:2. Confess 
 only occurs two other times in this play; limbs occurs but two other times in this 
 play, and force but three other times in this play. I think an examination will 
 show that wherever limbs, force and confess are found in the Plays the word question 
 is near at hand. 
 
 "Alas I erShakspere" was used in that day where we would say "A/isterShakspere." 
 And observe that every word of Master Shakst-spur is the 255th word [523 — 21S 
 (74:2) — 305 — 50 (76:i)=255]. Master and Shakst are each 255 minus 32, the frag- 
 ment at the top of 79:1, and Shakst and spur are both taken through the second 
 section of 76:2 and then carried backward. 
 
 As a curious illustration of the adjustment of the length of columns to the 
 necessities of the Cipher I would call attention to the first column of page 74, the 
 first of the play. If the reader will turn back to pages 724 and 725 he will find 
 that the same words, prepared (79 — 74:1) and under (206 — 74:1), which are used in 
 the foregoing narrative, were there used as growing out of a different Cipher num- 
 ber, to-wit, 516; thus: 516 — 167=349 — 22 b & //=327 — 248=79. Now if we go dozen 
 the column (74:1) the 79th word is prepared; and if we go up the column the 79th 
 word is under (" prepared under the name of," etc.) But we have just seen that 
 305 minus 50 leaves 255, and this minus 49 (76:1) leaves 206; now if we carry 206 
 down that same column (74:1), it gives us again the same word under; and if we 
 carry it up the column it gives us again that same word prepared. So that the 
 reader can perceive that the number of words in the column between 79 and 206 was 
 fixed, and therefore the length of the whole column, by the necessity of making 
 prepared the 79th word from the top and the 206th word from the bottom, and under 
 the 79th word from the bottom and the 206th word from the top ! Was anything 
 more ingenious than this ever seen in the world? 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SHAKSPERE' S ARISTOCRA TIC PRETENSIONS. 
 
 Autolycus. I know you are now, sir, a gentleman born. 
 Clown. Ay, and have been so any time these four hours. 
 
 Winter's Tale, v^3. 
 
 EVERY Cipher word in this chapter grows out of the root-number 
 $2j — 2iS'=j0j; and all but the first four commence from the 
 end of scene 4, act i, or the beginning of act ii, scene 1. 
 
 I have given but part of the story in the foregoing chapter. 
 The Bishop goes on to tell Cecil his reasons for thinking that Shak- 
 spere, if arrested, will tell who wrote the Plays. He says that 
 Shakspere is no longer in poverty: 
 
 305—50=255—31 (79:1)=224. 
 
 Word. 
 224 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 78:2 
 
 Poverty 
 
 174 
 
 76:1 
 
 loss 
 
 193 
 
 78:2 
 
 heads 
 
 223 
 
 76:1 
 
 goods 
 
 And that neither he nor his men will risk the loss of their heads or their goods 
 to shield the real writer of the Plays: 
 
 305—50=255—50=205—31 (79:1)=174. 
 305—50=255—31=224—31 b & k— 193. 
 305—50=255—32=223 
 
 And the Bishop tells Cecil that, though Shakspere — 
 
 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 199 (79:1)— 46. 468 
 
 —45=423+1=424. 424 78:1 lives 
 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 3(31 )=21 9—4 h col. — 215 78:2 in 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 b (32)=219. 219—146= 
 
 73— 3 3(146)=70. 577—70=507+1=508+2//= 510 77:1 great 
 
 305—31=274—50=224. 224 78:2 poverty 
 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 5 b (32)=239. 239 78:2 in 
 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 b (32)=21 9. 219 78:2 his 
 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387+ 
 
 3 //col. =390. 390 79:2 young 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (32)=218— 50=168— 146 
 
 =22-3 3(146)=19. 577— 19=558 +1=559 +l//=560 77:1 days, 
 
 he is now wealthy, and that his coffers are full. In that age there were no banks, 
 and a man's money was contained in his coffers. We are told that when the 
 father of Pope retired from business, as a merchant in London, he carried home 
 
 770 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 274 
 
 78:2 
 
 His 
 
 220 
 
 78:2 
 
 coffers 
 
 190 
 
 78:2 
 
 are 
 
 240 
 
 78:2 
 
 full. 
 
 SUA ASF ERE' S A RIS TO CRA TIC PRE TENSIONS. 7 7 l 
 
 with him $100,000 in a chest, and when he needed money he went to his chest 
 and took it out. There was no drawing of checks in that day. 
 
 And here I would ask the reader to note the evidences of the Cipher connected 
 with that word coffers. The root-number we are working with is 305 [523 — 218 
 (74:2)=305]; now, there is at the top of column 1 of page 79 a fragment of scene 
 4, act i, containing 31 words; this deducted from 305 leaves 274, and if we count 
 down the next column forward (78:2), that is, if we return into the scene which gave 
 us the 31 words, the 274th word in the column, and the 305th from the end of the scene, 
 is the word his (" should lead his forces hither"). But if we deduct 50 — the com- 
 mon modifier of 74:2 — from 274, we have 224, and the 224th word is poverty, just 
 given in the preceding sentence; but if we count in the four hyphens in the column, 
 the 224th word is then the 220th word, coffers; and if we deduct 30 — the other com- 
 mon modifier of 74:2 — from 224, and count down the same column, we have 194. 
 And if we again count in the four hyphenated words, this makes the 194th word 
 the 190th word, are; and if we take 274 again and deduct 30 from that we have 244; 
 and if we again go down the same column and again count in the same four 
 hyphenated words, the 244th word becomes the 240th word, full. Here then we 
 have, in regular order, his coffers are full; thus: 
 
 305—31=274. 
 
 305—31=274—50 (74:2)=224— 4 h col.=220. 
 305—31=274—50 (74:2)=224— 30=194— 4 h col.— 
 305—31=274—30=244—4/^ col.— 240. 
 
 Here every word is the 274th, and is found in the same column, and the last 
 three are produced by counting in the same four hyphenated words. 
 
 And the Bishop goes on, by the same root-number, 274, to tell how Shakspere 
 got so much money. And here are some striking evidences of the Cipher. We 
 have the sentence "divided in three divisions,'" referring to the distribution of the 
 money made out of the Plays; — one part to the theater, one to the actors and one 
 to the ostensible author, Shakspere, who, in turn, divided with the real author, 
 Bacon. Now, the word divisions is very rare in the Plays; it occurs but twice in 
 this play, and not once besides in all the other nine Histories ! Yet here we find it 
 co-related arithmetically with divided and three; and this is the only time divided 
 occurs in this play ! And it is found but seven other times in all the Histories. 
 
 We saw that 305 — 31 (79:1)^274 — 30 (74:2)=244, and that 244, minus the 
 hyphenated words, was full. But if we deduct from 244 the 27 bracketed words 
 in the same column (78:2) we have left 217, and the 217th word in the same col- 
 umn is divided. Now we saw that 305 — 31=274 carried down the column produced 
 his ("his coffers "); but if we carry it up the same column it gives us as the 189th word 
 that rare word divisions, the only word of the kind, with one exception, in all the 
 ten Historical Plays; and as we saw that counting in the hyphens produced the 
 words coffers are full, so, if we count in the hyphens in that last example, we 
 have as the 274th word up the column, not divisions, but three; "divided three 
 divisions;" and if we deduct the common modifier, 198 (74 :2 )» from 274, and go up 
 the next preceding column with the remainder, 76, we have the 393d word, into; — 
 " divided into three divisions." But to make the division of the profits a fair one 
 the shares ought to have been equal; and here we have it: 305 — 31=274; and if we 
 deduct from 274, 79, the common modifier of 73:1, we have left 195; and if we count 
 in the 31 bracketed and hyphenated words we have the 164th word, equal. But 
 if from 274 we deduct the common modifier of 74:2, 50, we have 224 left, and if 
 
772 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 we deduct from 224 the same 79 (73:1) we have 145, and the 145th word down 
 the column is and, but carried into the bracket sentence it is fair. And put 
 together we have this sentence: 
 
 305—31=274—30 (74:2)— 244— 197 (74:2)=47. 462— 
 
 47=4154-1=416. 
 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 27 b col.— 217. 
 305—31=274. 462—274=1884-1=189+8 b & //— 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 610—269=341 + 1= 
 
 342+9 b col.— 351. 
 305—31=274—198 (74:2)=76. 468—76=392 + 1=393. 
 305—31=274. 462—274=188+1=189+3 h col.— 
 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 
 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 
 305—31=274—79 (73:2)=195— 31 b & h col.=164. 
 305—31=274. 462—274=188+1=189. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 b (31)=219. 
 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 462—145=317+1= 
 805— 81— 274— 3 h col.— 371. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—30=194. 462—194=268+1= 
 305—31=274—50=224—79 (73:2)=145— 22 b col.— 
 305—31=274—50=224+31=255—3 b col.— 252. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)— 269. 610—269=341+1= 
 
 342+3 h col.=345. 
 305—31=274—50=224—30 (74:2)=194— 79 (73:1) 
 
 =115. 462—115=347+1=348+6 b & k col.— 
 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 462—145=317+ 
 
 1=318+5=323. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)— 174. 603—174 
 
 =429+1=430. 
 305—31=274—218=56. 
 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 219 (74:2)— 25. 462 
 
 —25=437+1=438. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269— 197 (74:2)=72. 
 305—31=274—198=76. 76—57=19. 523—19= 
 
 504+1=505. 
 305— 50=255— 32=223— 30=193— 161=32 + /z— 32 
 305—32=273—30=243—198 (74:2)=45— 22 b (198)= 
 
 23. 518—23=495+1=496. 
 305—31=274. 598—274=324+1=325. 
 305—286 (31 to 317, 79:1)— 19. 462—19=443+1= 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)— 174. 
 305—31=274—50=224—79=145. 32+145=177. 
 305—31=274—218=56—2 /&— 54. 
 305—31=274—219—55 . 
 
 305—31=274. 598—274=324+1=325+1 h col.— 
 305—31=274—218=56—2 //=54. 
 305—32—273—30=243—13 h & £—230. 
 305—31=274—162=112—2 h col.=110. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 416 
 217 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 They 
 divided 
 
 197 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 351 
 393 
 
 77:2 
 78:2 
 
 money 
 into 
 
 192 
 
 78:2 
 
 three 
 
 [145] 
 
 145 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 fair 
 and 
 
 164 
 189 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 equal 
 divisions, 
 
 174 
 
 78:2 
 
 and 
 
 219 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 =318 
 
 78:2 
 
 own 
 
 371 
 =269 
 
 77:2 
 78:2 
 
 part 
 is 
 
 123 
 
 78:2 
 
 five 
 
 252 
 
 79:1 
 
 hundred 
 
 345 
 
 77:2 
 
 marks. 
 
 354 
 
 78:2 
 
 He 
 
 323 
 
 78:2 
 
 hath 
 
 430 
 
 76:2 
 
 bought 
 
 (56) 
 
 78:2 
 
 a 
 
 438 
 
 78:2 
 
 goodly 
 
 72 
 
 78:2 
 
 estate 
 
 505 
 
 80:2 
 
 called 
 
 32 
 
 78:1 
 
 New 
 
 496 
 
 79:1 
 
 Place, 
 
 325 
 
 79:2 
 
 and 
 
 444 
 
 78:2 
 
 he 
 
 174 
 
 76:2 
 
 is 
 
 177 
 
 79:1 
 
 going 
 
 (54) 
 
 78:2 
 
 to 
 
 (55) 
 
 78:2 
 
 pluck 
 
 326 
 
 79:2 
 
 down 
 
 54 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 230 
 
 77:2 
 
 old 
 
 110 
 
 78:2 
 
 house, 
 
SHAKSPERE'S ARISTOCRA TIC PRETEXSIONS. 
 
 773 
 
 305—286 (31 to 317, 79:l)=19. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 533 
 
 265+^=271. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)= 
 305—31=274—218 (74:2)— 56— 2 h col. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 462—269=193+1= 
 
 194+5 b col.=199. 
 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 5 b (31)=239— 197 
 
 (74:2)=42. 
 305— 3 1=2 74—50=224 +31=255 . 
 305—31=274—50=224+162=386—2 h col. =384. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 462—269=193+1= 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269+ 163=432—3 b col.— 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—4 h col. =170. 
 305—31=274—5 b (3 1)=269+ 163=432. 
 305—31=274—146 (76:2)=128— 3 b (146)— 125. 508 
 
 —125=383+1=384. 
 305— 31=274— 50=224. 498—224=274 + 1=275 + 
 
 2 b col. =277. 
 305—31=274—198=76. 
 305—31=274—50=224—30=194 -145=49. 577—49 
 
 =528+1=529+2// col.— 581. 
 305—31=274+162=436—20/; & h col. =416. 
 305—31=274—50=224—162=62—2 h col.— 60. 
 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 162=82— 14 b & A— 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)— 174. 498—174= 
 
 324+1=325. 
 305— 31=274— 197 (74:2)=77— 65(79 :2)=12— 2 b (65) 
 
 =10. 338—10=328+1=329. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)— 174 —3 b col.— 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29 449—29 
 
 =420+1=421. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 
 19 
 
 78:2 
 
 which 
 
 
 174 
 
 70:2 
 
 is 
 
 269=264+1= 
 
 
 
 
 
 (271) 
 
 79:2 
 
 gone 
 
 174—4 b col.— 
 
 170 
 
 76:2 
 
 to 
 
 col.— 54. 
 
 54 
 
 76:1 
 
 decay, 
 
 199 
 
 384 
 
 325 
 
 305—31=274—197 (74 
 305—31=274—197 (74 
 305—31=274—197 (74: 
 305—31=274—198 (74 
 
 12=326+1=327. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5=239—31 b & h col 
 
 2)— 77. 
 
 2)— 77— 11 £—66. 
 
 2)=77— 65 (79:1)= 12— 2 b (64)= 
 2 =76— 64 (79:1)— 12. 338— 
 
 r8:2 
 
 and 
 
 42 
 
 78:2 
 
 build 
 
 255 
 
 79:1 
 
 a 
 
 384 
 
 7+.1 
 
 great 
 
 194 
 
 78:2 
 
 one 
 
 429 
 
 78:1 
 
 in 
 
 170 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 432 
 
 78:1 
 
 spring 
 
 fit 
 
 277 
 
 76:1 
 
 for 
 
 76 
 
 78:2 
 
 a 
 
 531 
 
 77:1 
 
 prince. 
 
 416 
 
 78:1 
 
 Indeed, 
 
 60 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 68 
 
 78:2 
 
 surveyors 
 
 r6:l 
 
 329 
 
 80:1 
 
 now- 
 
 171 
 
 76:1 
 
 engaged 
 
 421 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 77 
 
 79:1 
 
 the 
 
 66 
 
 78:2 
 
 foundation 
 
 = 10 
 
 80:1 
 
 walls 
 
 327 
 
 80:1 
 
 part 
 
 208 
 
 78:2 
 
 up. 
 
 Architects were in that age called surveyors; this is shown in the text where the 
 word is used. 
 
 Foundation occurs only eight times in all the Plays, only three times in the 
 Historical Plays, and only this one time in this play. Walls occurs but this time 
 in this play ! And here we have these two rare words coming together, one on page 
 78:2, and the other on page 80, that is to say, in two contiguous scenes, and linked 
 together by the same root-number and the same modification of the same root-num- 
 ber, to-wit: 305 — 31=274 — 197 (74:2)=77; and in each case the bracket words are 
 counted in to place the terminal number. And the same remnant, 12, which gives 
 us, carried down 80:1 {minus the brackets in 65), walls, gives US, carried up from the 
 end of the scene, fiart( li walls part up "); and, modified by deducting the brackets, it 
 
774 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 gives us the word now; while the 12th word in the same column is pretty, which 
 alludes to Shakspere's daughter Susanna: 
 
 305—31=274—162=112. 
 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—65 (79:2)=14— 2 b 
 
 (65)— 12. 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 £ (32)=219. 420—219 
 
 =201+1=202. 
 305—31=274—197 (74 :2)=77+ 162=239. 
 305—31=274—197=77. 
 305— 31=274— 162=1 12+ 185=297. 
 305—31=274—30=244—6 b & h col. =238. 
 305—31=274—30=244—197=47—2 b col. =45. 
 305—31=274—3 h col. =271. 
 
 And the Bishop, who had an eye for the beautiful, 
 Susanna more particularly, and tells that she has — 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 112 
 
 78:2 
 
 His 
 
 12 
 
 80:1 
 
 pretty- 
 
 202 
 
 81:2 
 
 daughter, 
 
 239 
 
 78:1 
 
 to 
 
 77 
 
 78:1 
 
 whom 
 
 297 
 
 81:1 
 
 he 
 
 238 
 
 81:2 
 
 is 
 
 45 
 
 78:2 
 
 much 
 
 271 
 
 81:2 
 
 endeered. 
 
 proceeds to describe 
 
 305—31=274. 420—274=146+1=147. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 3 h col.— 
 305—31=274—50=224. 420—224=196+1=197+ 
 9 b col. =206. 
 
 And has been well taught: 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)— 1 74—146=28. 
 
 577—28=549+1=550. 
 305—31=274—30=244—197=47. 
 
 1=293+2 4=295. 
 
 339—47=292+ 
 
 147 
 
 (236) 
 
 206 
 
 550 
 
 295 
 
 81:2 
 81:2 
 
 81:2 
 
 77:1 
 
 a 
 sweet 
 
 visage, 
 
 well 
 
 80:1 taught. 
 
 Which the Bishop regards as foolish in a man in Shakspere's station in life: 
 305—31=274—30=244—197=47. 339—47=292+1=293 80:1 foolish. 
 
 And the Bishop proceeds to tell that Shakspere not only sought to "bear 
 arms " as a gentleman, but that he was trying to have his father, John Shakspere, 
 knighted ! This statement will appear astounding, but I have already shown (p. 51, 
 ante, et set/.) that he tried to obtain a coat-of-arms for his father by false representa- 
 tions; and he might have hoped that, through the influence of his friends in London 
 and about the court, he could accomplish the other and greater object; or it may 
 have been but a rumor obtaining among the aristocracy of the neighborhood, who 
 were indignant at the rich plebeian setting up for a gentleman. It was in October, 
 1596, that the application was made to the College of Arms for a grant of coat- 
 armor to John Shakspere. Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 It may be safely inferred from the unprosperous circumstances of the grantee 
 that this attempt to confer gentility on the family was made at the poet's expense. 
 This is the first evidence we have of his rising pecuniary fortunes, and of his deter- 
 mination to advance in social position. 1 
 
 And Grant White, it seems, shrewdly and correctly guessed 2 that there must 
 have been some protest against the granting of the coat-of-arms and that this 
 caused the delay from 1596, when the first application was made, to 1599, when it 
 was renewed with sundry alterations. And here we are told that Sir Thomas 
 
 1 Outlines, p. 87. 
 
 2 See page 53, ante. 
 
SHAKSPERE S ARISTOCRA TIC PRETENSIONS. 
 
 775 
 
 Word. 
 
 27 
 269 
 =507 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 79:2 
 
 78:2 
 80:1 
 
 It 
 is 
 the 
 
 101 
 
 80:1 
 
 earnest 
 
 385 
 
 80:1 
 
 desire 
 
 37 
 437 
 
 78:1 
 
 78:2 
 
 of 
 his 
 
 337 
 
 401 
 
 78:2 
 78:1 
 
 heart 
 to 
 
 Lucy was the one who blighted the actor's hopes. The Bishop tells Cecil, speaking 
 of Shakspere and his daughter Susanna, that — 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—197 (74:2)— 27. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—197=27. 533—27=506+ 1= 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 339—239= 
 
 100+1=101. 
 305—31=274—198 (74:2)=76— 64 (79:2)— 12. 396— 
 
 12=384+1=385. 
 305—31=274—145 (76:2)=129— 3 />=126. 162—126 
 
 =36+1=37. 
 305—31=274—50=224—198=26. 462—26=436+1= 
 305—31=274—145 (76:2)=129— 3 b (145)=126. 462 
 
 —126=336 -+-1=337. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239+ 162=401. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 338—239 
 
 =99+1=100+7 b col. =107. 
 305—31=274—50=224—30=194. 534—194=340 
 
 +1=341+8 b & h col. =349. 
 305—31=274—50=224—197=27. 186—27=159 
 
 +1=160. 
 305—32=273—50=223—16 b & h col.— 207. 
 305— 31=27*— 50=224— 198=26. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269— 218=51 + 162=213. 
 305—31=274—50=224-30=194 + 162=356. 
 305—31=274—30=244—58 (80:1)=186. 
 305—31=274—197=77. 
 305— 31=274— 198 (74:2)=76+ 162=238. 
 305—31=274—218 (74:2)=56. 
 305—31=274—30=244—197=47. 598—47=551 
 
 + 1=552. 
 305—31=274—218 (74:2)=56. 468—56=412+1= 
 
 The word file was used in that age where we would say list or catalogue or mem- 
 bership. Thus in Macbeth we have: 
 
 10; 
 
 349 
 
 80:1 
 
 make 
 
 her 
 
 160 
 
 81:2 
 
 a 
 
 207 
 
 79:2 
 
 lady 
 
 26 
 
 78:1 
 
 and 
 
 213 
 
 78:1 
 
 advance 
 
 356 
 
 78:1 
 
 himself 
 
 186 
 
 80:1 
 
 among 
 
 77 
 
 79:2 
 
 the 
 
 238 
 
 78:1 
 
 file 
 
 56 
 
 78:2 
 
 of 
 
 552 
 
 79:2 
 
 the 
 
 413 
 
 78:1 
 
 quality. 
 
 In Henry V., iv, 
 and in Lear, v, 3, we 
 
 I have a. file of all the gentry. 1 
 
 The word quality was the old expression for aristocracy. 
 8, we have the phrase, "gentlemen of blood and quality; 
 have: " Any man of quality or degree." 
 
 And here I would note that Halliwell-Phillipps* 2 shows that New Place had been 
 so named before Shakspere bought it; and that forty-eight years before his pur- 
 chase, to-wit, in 1549, it was " m great ruyne and decay and unrepayryd;" after 
 that it was owned by different parties before coming into Shakspere's hands. 
 
 And here, it seems to me, we have an instance of Bacon's profound prevision. 
 I have noted elsewhere how passages were injected into the quartos to break up 
 the count, so that, should any one attempt to get on the track of the Cipher, he 
 would be thrown off the scent; for a few words added upon one page might destroy 
 
 1 Macbeth, v, 2. 
 
 2 Outlines, p. 395. 
 
776 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 the Cipher for half-a-dozen pages. And I have also noted that sometimes these 
 additions contained very significant words, the better to attract and mislead the 
 investigator. And in this instance we find that, in act ii, scene 2, in Prince Henry's 
 speech, commencing " Belike, then, my appetite was not princely got," such an 
 additional paragraph was thrown into the text, and that it contained the word 
 ruins: — " bawl out the ruins of thy linen." Linen is preserved in the Folio, but 
 the rest of the sentence is omitted. Now if any one had imagined, in 159S, that he 
 perceived in all this : botight — estate — pluck — down — old — house — foundation — 
 walls — build — surveyors — new — place — decay, etc., a Cipher reference to Shak- 
 spere's home at Stratford, he would naturally fasten on that word, ruin s, as a part 
 of the story, and would spend his acumen on it; and thus "the non-significants," 
 as Bacon calls them, would have diverted his attention from the significants. 
 
 And I would here say that a mark or marc was equal to 13s. 4d., which would 
 be about ^380, or $1,900; but as money had then, we are told, twelve times its 
 present purchasing power, this would be equal to ^4,560, or $22,800 to-day. This 
 did not represent probably any particular division of the profits, but the amount 
 with which Shakspere returned to Stratford about 1595 or 1596. We find by the 
 records that he paid ^"60 for New Place; in 1598 he loaned ^30 to Richard Quiney; 
 in 1602 he bought 107 acres of land near Stratford from the Combes for ^320; and in 
 1605 he purchased a moiety of a lease of the tithes of Stratford, Welcombe, etc., for 
 ^■440. So that of the ^380 which he had in 1597-8, according to the Bishop, we can 
 account for ^90, expended near that time, besides the amount which he expended in 
 repairing and reconstructing New Place. And here I would note that Halliwell- 
 Phillipps 1 quotes Theobald, who was told, by Sir Hugh Clopton, that when Shak- 
 spere purchased New Place he "repaired and modell'd it to his own mind;" and 
 Halliwell-Phillipps thinks that " the poet made very extensive alterations, perhaps 
 nearly rebuilding it." And he surmises that these alterations were made in 1598, 
 because in that year Shakspere sold a load of stone to the corporation of Strat- 
 ford for rod. ; but it does not follow that the repairs were finished in the same year 
 they were begun, or that the surplus material was sold at once. 
 
 And the Bishop goes on to speak very contemptuously of Shakspere's aspira- 
 tions. The conflict between the play-actor and his neighbors represented the 
 world-old battle between money and blood; between mortgages and pedigrees; 
 between the new-rich and the old-respectable; and the position of Shakspere and 
 his family could not have been a very pleasant one. 
 
 The Bishop says of Shakspere: 
 
 Page and 
 
 Word. Column. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244. 610—244=366 + 1=367. 367 77:2 He 
 
 will 
 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 197=47+162=209— 2 £ col=207 78:1 be 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—197=47+162=209. 209 78:1 satisfied 
 
 305— 31=274— 218 (74:2)=56+ 162=218. 218 78:1 with 
 305—31=274— 50=224— 30=194— 50(76 :1)=144. 
 
 458—144=314+1=315+2 b col. =317. 317 76:2 nothing 
 
 305—31=274—197=77. 577—77=500+1=501. 501 77:1 less 
 
 305—31=274—50=224. 449—224=225+1=226. 226 76:1 than 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—30=194—145=49. 49 77:1 knighthood 
 
 305—31=274—218=56. 577—56=521 + 1=522. 522 77:1 and 
 
 305— 31=274. 577— 274=303+1=304+16 £ & ^ col .=320 77:1 the 
 
 1 Outlines, p. 231 . 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 319 
 
 80:1 
 
 right 
 
 78 
 
 78:2 
 
 to 
 
 301 
 
 70:2 
 
 bear 
 
 SUA K SEE RE' S A RIS TO CRA TIC PRE TEA'S J OXS. 777 
 
 505—30=275—197=78. 396—78=318+1=319 
 
 305—30=275—197=78. 
 
 305. 603—305=298+1=299 + 2 h col =301. 
 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269. 468—269=199+1= 
 
 200+3 h co). =203. 203 78:1 arms. 
 
 And the Bishop says that Shakspere's attempts excited the indignation of Sir 
 Thomas Lucy. 
 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 7 b col.=217. 217 77:1 Sir 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—30=194—145=49. 49 76:1 To ) 
 
 305-31=274— 30=244— 5 £(31)=239— 50(76:1)= 189 76:2 amiss ) 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)=174. 248—174= 
 
 74+1=75+2 fccol— 77. 77 74:2 Loose 
 305-31=274—50=224—30=194. 194+194=388— 
 
 4/t col. =384. 384 75:1 
 
 I 
 
 This To-amiss for Thomas may appear forced; but I give it as it stands, because 
 more than once I have found it appearing in the Cipher to represent Thomas. I 
 • find that Webster 1 says there was formerly to the long sound of o, as in old, hoe, 
 etc., what he calls a vanishing or diphthongal sound like oo; and I have myself 
 heard the first syllable of the word Thomas pronounced so as to rhyme with Rome. 
 Webster thinks the dropping of the diphthongal sound of o in such words as bolt, 
 most, only, etc. , is an American provincialism. Thackeray represents ' ' the cockney' ' 
 of London as saying Turn' -as. Thomas appears very often in 2d Henry IV. (and 
 not once in 1st Henry IV.), and Bacon could not use it too liberally without arous- 
 ing suspicion; hence this subterfuge. It must be remembered, too, that the pro- 
 nunciation of o was longer and softer then than now. For instance, the word 
 Ro?ne, in Bacon's time, was, it is well known, pronounced Room. We see this in 
 the expression in Julius Casar, i, 2: 
 
 Now is it Rome indeed and room enough 
 When there is in it but one only man. 
 
 We have modified it from room to Rome, and, if our posterity progress in the 
 same direction, the year 2000 may see the city of the Caesars called Rom or Rum. 
 
 And the neighbors are very much disturbed over Shakspere's pretensions. 
 They — 
 
 305— 31=274— 219 (74:2)=55+162=217. 217 78:1 look 
 
 305—31=274—162=112. 112 77:2 upon 
 
 305—31=274. 468—274=194+1=195. 195 78:1 it 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)=174. 248—174 
 
 =74+1=75+22 b=97. 97 74:2 as 
 
 305—31=274—198=76. 76 78.2 a 
 
 305— 145=160— G?> col. =154. 154 76:1 bold 
 
 305—31=274—219 (74:2)=55. 55 78:2 plot 
 
 to force himself into their ranks. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—198 (74:2)=26. 462—26= 
 
 436+1=437. 437 78:2 His 
 
 1 Unabridged Dictionary, p. xlii. 
 
778 
 
 THE CIPHER NARK A TTVE. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—162 (78:1)=62. 610—62 
 
 548+1=549. 
 305—31=274—61 (80:2)=213. 489—213=276+1= 
 
 277+2 // col.=279. 
 305—3 1 =274—50=224—146=78—3 b (146)=75. oy 
 
 _ 75=502 +1=503 +2 h col. =505. 
 305—31=274—30 (74:2)=244— 197=47— 2 h col.— 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (32)— 218. 468—218= 
 
 250+1=251 + 12 3=263. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—162=12! 610—12 
 
 =598+1=599. 
 305—31=274—145=129—3 b (145)=126. 577—126 
 
 =451 + 1=452+3 h col.=455. 
 305—31=274—219=55. 163—55=108 + 1=109. 
 305—31=274—219=55. 
 305—31=274—50=224—30=194—1 62=32. 
 305— 32=273— 30=243+162=405— 15 3 & //=390. 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194+186=380—3 h col 
 305—31=274—197=77. 163—77=86+ 1=87. 
 305—31=274—50=224—30=194—5 b (31)=189— 
 
 22 3col.=167. 
 305—31=274. 
 305—31=274—53 (31)=269. 468—269=199+1= 
 
 200+3// col.=203. 
 305—31=274—31 b & h col.=243. 
 305—31=274—30=244. 489—244=245 + 1=246. 
 305—31=274—50=224—162=62. 
 305—31=274—50=224—49 (76:1)=175— 90 (73:1)= 
 305—31=274. 468—274=194+1=195+3// col.— 
 305—31=274—4// col.=270. 
 
 Shakspere's application for coat-armor for his father, in 1596, was made to 
 " William Dethick, alias Garter, principal King of Arms." See how cunningly the 
 name is concealed in Death-thick. And observe how the first word goes out from 
 the beginning of one scene (79:1) and the other from the end of the preceding 
 scene; and each word is found by the same root-number and the same modifica- 
 tion of the same root-number: death is 305, less 32, less 30, carried one scene 
 backward to the beginning of scene 4, act i (78:1); while thick is 305, less 31, less 
 30, less 50, carried two scenes forward to the beginning of scene 3 of act ii (81:2). 
 And this word thick is comparatively rare in the Plays. It occurs but three other 
 times in id Henry IV.; but once in King John; not at all in Richard II, 1st Henry 
 IV., Henry V., or the first and second parts of Henry VI. Yet here we find it, just 
 where it is needed to make the name of the " King of Arms," in connection with the 
 story of Shakspere trying to procure a coat-of-arms. If this be accident, it is 
 extraordinary. 
 
 And Sir Thomas reads Shakspere's pedigree to the King of Arms of England. 
 Referring to his father, he says: 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 549 
 
 77:2 
 
 Lordship 
 
 279 
 
 81:1 
 
 is 
 
 71 
 
 
 
 505 
 
 77:1 
 
 very 
 
 45 
 
 78:2 
 
 much 
 
 263 
 > 
 
 78:1 
 
 incensed; 
 
 599 
 
 77:2 
 
 he 
 
 455 
 
 77:1 
 
 sent 
 
 109 
 
 78:1 
 
 a 
 
 55 
 
 78:1 
 
 letter 
 
 32 
 
 77:2 
 
 to 
 
 390 
 
 78:1 
 
 Death j 
 
 =377 
 
 81:2 
 
 thick, S 
 
 87 
 
 78:1 
 
 the 
 
 167 
 
 78:2 
 
 King; 
 
 274 
 
 81:1 
 
 of 
 
 203 
 
 78:1 
 
 Arms, 
 
 243 
 
 78:2 
 
 not 
 
 246 
 
 81:1 
 
 to 
 
 62 
 
 78:2 
 
 consent 
 
 85 
 
 78:2 
 
 or 
 
 198 
 
 78:1 
 
 allow 
 
 270 
 
 78:2 
 
 it. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—50 (76:1)=144. 144 76:2 
 
 305— 31=274-30=244— 50=194— 50(76 :1)=144— 
 
 11 b &h col. =133. 133 74:1 
 
 I 
 
SHAKSPERES ARISTOCRA TIC PRETENSIONS. 
 
 779 
 
 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 
 244 
 
 76:2 
 
 assure 
 
 -50=194. 
 
 191 
 
 77:1 
 
 you 
 
 - 50=194. 458—194=264+ 
 
 
 
 
 
 270 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 =269. 577—269=308+1= 
 
 309 
 
 77:1 
 
 hath 
 
 284— 26=258+1=259+ 
 
 
 
 
 
 262 
 
 74:1 
 
 not 
 
 -50=194. 
 
 194 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 78:1 smallest 
 
 87 
 240 
 239 
 
 76:1 
 76-2 
 76:1 
 
 drop 
 
 of 
 
 gentle 
 
 359 
 
 76:1 
 
 blood 
 
 488 
 
 77:1 
 
 in 
 
 355 
 144 
 
 76:1 
 74:1 
 
 his 
 body. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244. 
 305—31=274—30=244- 
 305—31=274- -30=24 1- 
 1—265+5 £—270. 
 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)= 
 305—31=274—248=26. 
 
 3 h col. =262. 
 305—31=274—30=244- 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31 )=239— 146=93. 
 
 468—93=375+1=376+1 k col. =377. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £=239—146=93—3 b (146) 
 
 =90— 3 b col. =87. 
 305—31=274—30=244—4 b col. =240. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £=239. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £=239— 146=93— 3 b (146) 
 
 =90. 448—90=358+1=359. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £=239—146=93—3 (146) 
 
 . =90. 577—90=487+1=488. 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 30=194— 50 (76:1)=144. 
 
 498—144=354+1=355. 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 30=194— 50 (76:1)=144. 
 
 I would ask the reader to observe this sentence carefully. Take those words, 
 ' ' smallest drop of gentle blood. " This is the only ' 'gentle " in the first act of this play; 
 and this is the only ' 'drop " in that act. And drop only occurs one other time in the whole 
 play. And this is the only time the word blood is found in scene 2 of act i of the Folio; 
 and this is the only time smallest occurs in this entire play. And body is only found 
 once in the Induction, where we find the word used above; and only twice in scene 
 second. How comes it, if there is no Cipher here, that out of many thousands of 
 words, this array of significant and rare words should all concur in the same 
 vicinity, held together by the same number? For it will be observed that every 
 word here, except two, is from the root 305 — 31=274 — 30=244; and those two are 
 words carried to the beginning of new scenes or pages (74:1 and 77:1); and many of 
 the words are number 244, modified by deducting the 5 bracketed words in the 31 at 
 the top of 79:1, making 239. Gentle is the 239th word from the top of 76:1; drop is 
 again the 239th word carried through the second section of 76:2 (146), leaving 90, and 
 the 90th word, including the brackets, down 76:1, is drop; and the 90th word up the 
 same column, from the end of scene second, is blood; and in the next sentence the 
 90th word up the next preceding column is gluve. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 7 b & h col.— 232 76:2 His 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)— 239. 457—239= 
 
 218+1=219 + 6 h col. =225. 225 76:2 father 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—7 b & h col. =237. 237 76:2 is 
 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 50 (76:1)=194. 498—194= 
 
 304+1=305. 305 76:1 only 
 
 305—31=274—30=244. 498—244=254+1=255. 255 76:1 a 
 
 305—31=274 (74:2)— 30=244— 50 (74:2)=194— 50 
 
 (76:1)=144— 4 b & h col. =140. 140 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93- 
 
 3 b (146;=90— 5 b & /z=85. 85 76:1 
 
 coster- 
 •2 monger's 
 
780 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 305—31=274—248 (74:2)=26. 193—26=167+1= 
 305—31=274—30=244—145=99. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93— 
 
 3 b (146)=90. 498—90=408 + 1=409. 
 305-31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 50— 189— 
 
 3 h col.=186. 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 
 305—31=274—30=244—10 b col =234. 
 305-31=274—145=129—2 h col =127. 
 305-31=274—5 b (31)=269— 4 h col.— 265. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £=239—146=93—3 b 
 
 (146)=90. 508—90=418+1=419+1 //= 420. 
 305—31=274—248 (74:2)=26. 
 305-31=274—50=224. 284—224=60+1=61. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239-146=93- 
 
 3 b (146)=90. 468—90=378 + 1=379. 
 305— 31=-274— 10 b col.=264. 
 305—31=274—30=244—7 b & /;=237. 
 305—31=274—248=26. 193+26=219. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269— 15 b & h col. =254. 
 305—31=274. 447—274=173+1=174. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 284— 224=60+1=61 + 7 h col 
 305—31=274. 284—274=10+1=11+18 b & h col.— 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 168 
 
 75:2 
 
 who 
 
 99 
 
 76:2 
 
 at 
 
 409 
 
 -248=26—22 b (248)— 4. 
 -254=20 
 -145=129—50=79. 44^ 
 
 305-31=274- 
 305—31=274- 
 305—31=274—145=129—50=79. 447—79=368+1 
 
 =369. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 
 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)— 269— 248— 21. 193+21— 
 305—31=274—50=224—193=31—15 b & h (193)— 
 
 16. 508—16=492+1=493. 
 
 493 
 
 76:1 
 
 present 
 
 186 
 
 76:1 
 
 wrought 
 
 194 
 
 74:1 
 
 at 
 
 234 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 127 
 
 76:1 
 
 trade 
 
 265 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 420 
 
 75:2 
 
 glove 
 
 (26) 
 
 74:1 
 
 making; 
 
 61 
 
 74:1 
 
 while 
 
 379 
 
 78:1 
 
 his 
 
 (264) 
 
 76:1 
 
 son 
 
 237 
 
 76:2 
 
 is 
 
 219 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 254 
 
 74:1 
 
 crafty- 
 
 174 
 
 75:1 
 
 fellow, 
 
 =68 
 
 74:2 
 
 who 
 
 29 
 
 74:1 
 
 acts 
 
 4 
 
 74:1 
 
 for 
 
 20 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 369 
 
 75:1 
 
 living 
 
 224 
 
 74:2 
 
 on 
 
 214 
 
 75:2 
 
 the 
 
 75:2 
 
 stage. 
 
 The reader will here observe t^at the whole of act i of this play of ad Henry 
 IV. is used as a basis for this wonderful Cipher, and the two ends of the act act 
 and react on each other. Thus we find the fragments of 74:2, the beginning of 
 scene second, as 50, 30, 198, 218, etc., used to modify the primal root-number, 523, 
 thus: 523 — 218—305; and when we carry this 305 to the end of the act, in 79:1, 
 and deduct the fragment of scene at the top of the column, containing 31 words, 
 we get the 274 which has been telling the Cipher story through several pages. But 
 this is not all. We take that 274, and again modify it by the fragments of 74:2, to 
 obtain the 224 and 244, etc. (274 — 50=224 and 274 — 30=244), which so abundantly 
 occur in the foregoing pages; and this again is modified by deducting the frag- 
 ment of 76:1 (50), the beginning of the third scene of the act, producing the 174 and 
 194 seen so often above. But even this does not end the marvelous interlocking 
 of the beginning and the end of the act under the spell of the Cipher, for we see the 
 count starting from the end of the act (305 — 31—274), carried back to the beginning 
 of the act; and there taken up the column to yield us acts, and taken through 74:2, 
 to yield us making (" glove-making"); and up 75:1 it gives us fellow, and down 74:1 
 (274 — 5 b (31)— 269) it produces crafty; while 224 (274 — 50—224), carried through 
 the first section of 75:1, brings us to stage. 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 420 
 
 75:2 
 
 glove | 
 I 
 
 (26) 
 
 74:1 
 
 making J 
 
 SUA KSPERE S A RIS TO CRA TIC PRE TENSIONS. 7 8 1 
 
 If the reader will turn back to page 729 he will find those words glove making 
 produced thus: 
 
 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 30=297— 193=104 
 
 —15 b & /&— 89. 508—89=419+1=420. 
 516—167=349—22 b & //=327— 50=277. 284—277 
 
 —7+1—8+18* * h col.=26. 
 
 Now compare this with the example just given. Observe how an entirely dif- 
 ferent primal number, modified by being carried to the end instead of the beginning 
 of the act, is brought back to the same place and brings out the same words: 
 
 523—218=305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 
 
 146=93— 3 /> (146)— 90. 508—90=418+1=419 
 
 + 1 h col.— 420. 420 75:2 glove j 
 
 523-218=305— 31=274— 248 (74:2)=26. (26) 74:1 making \ 
 
 Now consider how exquisitely the skeleton of the text must have been adjusted 
 to bring about these results: — in the first instance, the count goes forward to pro- 
 duce the word glove t and the one hyphen is not counted in; in the second case, the 
 count comes from the end of the act and moves backward y and the one hyphen is 
 counted in. The word making is obtained, in the one case, by going up column 1 
 of page 74, and counting in all the bracketed and hyphenated words; in the other 
 case, the root-number comes from the end of the act, passes through 74:2, and goes 
 down 74:1. Thus making fits to 274 down the column and to 277 up the column. 
 But some one may think that glove and making are to be found everywhere, all 
 through these Plays, and that therefore it is no trick at all to produce these wonder- 
 ful arithmetical coordinations. My answer is that this is the only time "glove" is 
 found in this play ! And this is the only time " making" is found in this act. It is 
 found but once besides in the play, in the fourth act, and once in the Epilogue. In 
 other words, the gentlemen who may think all this to be accident would have to go 
 thirty-six columns forward from 74:1 before they would find another making to 
 match \\\z.\x glove, to produce the designation of the recognized trade of Shakspere's 
 father. 
 
 It is impossible to deny the accuracy of my arithmetic (occasional typograph- 
 ical errors, of course, excepted), and it is impossible to deny that the facsimiles 
 given herewith are faithful copies of the Folio of 1623; and it seems to me that 
 all this hundred-fold accumulation of evidences must convince even the most skep- 
 tical that there is a Cipher in the Shakespeare Plays. I am aware that my workman- 
 ship is not complete, but it is approximately so; and my excuse will be, to all just- 
 minded men, the incalculable difficulties of the work. But it was fit and proper 
 that the Cipher made by the greatest intellect that ever existed, and embodied in 
 the greatest writings possessed by mankind, should be as marvelous as the source 
 from which it came, or the vehicle in which it is carried. 
 
 But this is not all — nor a tithe of all. The Bishop says that the aristocracy 
 of the neighborhood fear that Shakspere's friends in London will secure him his 
 coat-of-arms. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—163 (78:1)=61. 498—61= 
 
 437+1=438. 438 76:1 friends 
 
 305— 31=274— 5/>(31)=269+185(81:l)=454— 2 /* col. =452 81:1 London 
 
 And here I would call the reader's attention to the microscopic accuracy of this 
 
782 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 work. If he looks at column i of page 81 he would say it was solid: — he will see 
 no stage directions of exits or entrances. But if he will look very closely at the 
 185th word he will find this following it: 
 
 Poin. Letter. John Falstaffe Knight. 
 
 Poin. is the abbreviation of the name of Poins or Pointz, one of the characters; 
 and " Sir John Falstaffe" is the opening part of the letter from Falstaff to the 
 Prince; — for we read a little below, " Sir John Falstaffe Knight, to the son of the 
 King .... greeting," etc. But what is letter? It is not part of the letter. Nor 
 does Poins speak the word, for it is put in italics. It is a stage direction, meaning 
 that Poins reads the letter. And on this little hook the author hangs his Cipher, 
 for it breaks the column into two fragments. 
 
 And they fear the "villain's" influence with the Queen because of the Plays 
 he has written. And hence we have: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—79 (73:1)=145. 518—145= 
 
 373+1=374. 374 79:1 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—79 (73:i)=145. 518—145= 
 
 373+1=374+4 //col. =378. 378 79:1 Queen 
 
 villain's 
 
 Here is another cunning piece of work. The Queen is disguised in Queane, — 
 "a woman, a wench": 
 
 Cut me off the villain's head; throw the Queane in the channel. 
 
 And so they go on to tell the King of Arms that Shakspere never writ them: 
 that he has not the wit or the imagination: 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b '31)=239. 458—239= 
 
 219 + 1=220. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93— 3 b 
 
 (146)=90— 50=40— 1 h col.=39. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93. 
 
 468—93=375+1=376. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 /;=239— 146=93. 468—93 
 
 =375+1=376+8/; col. =384. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 ^=239—146=93. 468—93 
 
 =375+1=376+9/; & h col.=385. 
 
 And they express the opinion of Shakspere that — 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 3 h col.— 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 458—239= 
 
 219+1=220. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 /; (31)=239— 50=189. 
 
 489—189=309+1=310. 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 508—194=314 
 
 + 1=315+8 /> & h col. =323. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93— 3 b 
 
 (146)=90. 284—90=194+1=195. 
 305— 31=274— 5 b (31)=269— 193=76. 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 22^ & h col. =172. 
 
 220 
 
 76:2 
 
 Writ. 
 
 39 
 
 76:1 
 
 Wit. 
 
 376 
 
 78:1 
 
 The 
 
 384 
 
 78:1 
 
 great 
 
 385 
 
 78:1 
 
 imaginatio 
 
 236 
 
 76:2 
 
 He 
 
 220 
 
 76:1 
 
 was 
 
 310 
 
 76:1 
 
 but 
 
 323 
 
 75:2 
 
 the 
 
 195 
 
 74:1 
 
 first 
 
 76 
 
 75:2 
 
 bringer 
 
 172 
 
 75:2 
 
 of 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 377 
 
 76:1 
 
 them 
 
 239 
 
 76:2 
 
 out 
 
 94 
 
 76:1 
 
 on 
 
 20 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 269 
 
 81:1 
 
 Nearest 
 
 274 
 
 81:1 
 
 of 
 
 194 
 
 81:1 
 
 kin 
 
 SHAKSPERE'S ARISTOCRA TIC PRE TENSIONS. 783 
 
 305— 31=274— 5 b (31 )=269— 50=219— 146=73. 449 
 
 *-73— 376+1— 877. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)— 239— 145— 94. 
 305—31=274—254 (75:1)=20. 
 305—31=274—254=20—4 h (254)— 16. 508—16=492 
 
 + 1=493. 493 75:2 stage. 
 
 I have not the time or space to work it all out. The aristocracy jest over poor 
 Shakspere's pretensions of relationship to the blue blood of the county, and Sir 
 Thomas says, in his letter to Sir William Dethick, that he is only connected with 
 them through Japhet ! 
 
 305—31=274—5 b (81)— 269 
 
 305—31=274. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)— 239. 489- -239= 
 
 250+1=251. 251 81:1 fetch 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)— 239. 489—239 
 
 =250+1=251+2 /h=253. 253 81:1 from 
 
 305— 31— 274— 20 b & h col.— 254. 254 81:1 Japhet. 
 
 I do not pretend to work out the sentence, but simply to jot down from my 
 notes some of the principal words. If I followed the root-numbers into all their 
 ramifications each chapter would grow into a book. 
 
 And' here I would call attention to another proof of the arithmetical adjustment 
 of the text. I have just given the words, ' first bringer," thus: 
 
 305—31=274—30—244—5 b (31)=239— 146=93— 3 b 
 
 (146)— 90. 284—90—194+1—195. 195 74:1 First 
 
 305— 31— 274— 5 b (31)— 269— 193— 76. 76 75:2 bringer. 
 
 But after a while we will find Bacon expressing his fears that if Shakspere is 
 taken prisoner he will say that he was not the author of the Plays, but simply the 
 first bringer of them out upon the stage. And the words come out from the primal 
 root-number, 523. If we commence at the end of scene 2 (76:1) and count 
 upward and then go backward and down the column, the 523d word is first; and if 
 we commence again with 523 at the top of column 1 of page 75, and go down the 
 column and down the next column, the 523d word is bringer ! Thus: 
 
 523— 448— {backward) 75 75:2 First 
 
 523— 447— {forward) 76 75:2 bringer. 
 
 And it will be seen that the two words " first bringer " follow each other in the 
 text. It would have been difficult to have placed first and bringer in the same vicinity 
 without connecting them; hence the length of column 1 of page 75 and the length of 
 the fragment of scene on 76:1 had to be exactly adjusted to bring the two required \ 
 words side by side. If there had been 448 words in 75:1, instead of 447, or 449 
 words on 76:1, instead of 448, both counts would have fallen on the same words 1 
 I pity the man who can think all this was accidental. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SHAKSPERE'S SICKNESS. 
 
 Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead ! 
 
 2d Henry IV., it, 4. 
 
 EVERY word of the first part of this chapter grows out of the root- 
 number 323 — 2 18=303 , modified by deducting 31 or 32, to-wit, the 
 number of words in yp:i from the top of the column to the end of scene 4 y 
 act i, or to the beginning of scene I, act ii. The remainder of the chapter 
 is derived from 304 — 167=338, and shows hoiv substantially the same 
 story comes out of the same text by two different root-numbers. 
 
 My publishers advise me that there are already 850 pages in 
 type, and that I must condense the remainder of the Cipher story. 
 I shall therefore be as brief as possible, and instead of giving a con- 
 tinuous narrative I shall only give fragments of the story. 
 
 We have two descriptions of Shakspere's sickness, one given 
 by the Bishop of Worcester to Cecil, the other the narrative of 
 Bacon himself, interjected into the story; the former is the briefer 
 of the two. The first grows out of the root-number used in the 
 last chapter, 523 — 2i8==305; the other from the root-number 505 — 
 167=338, which gave us the story of Shakspere's youth, his quar- 
 rel with Sir Thomas Lucy, the fight, etc. 
 
 The Bishop says to Cecil, after describing Shakspere's intended 
 house, his "plate" (591 79:2, 96 80:1); his " tapistry" (594 79:2, 
 37 80:1); his " bed-hangins " (33 80:1), etc., that he will not live to 
 enjoy his grandeur; that he will — 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 305— 31=274— 5/;(31)=269— 4/fc=col.=265. 265 78:2 never 
 
 305—31=274—50=224. 462 -224=238+ 1=239+ 
 
 8 A col.— 242. 242 78:2 need 
 
 305—31=274—4/^=270. 270 78:2 it 
 
 305—31=274—50=224+32=256. 256 79:1 long. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 3=219—49 (76:1)=170— 
 
 4£col.=166. 166 76:2 He 
 
 784 
 
S//.I K'SPERE'S S/CA'.YESS. 
 
 785 
 
 Word. 
 
 174 
 
 209 
 
 230 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 76:2 
 
 T7'9 
 
 hear, 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)— 174. 
 805—81—274—50—224—54 (31)=219— 10 col.— 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 b (31)— 219. 448—219= 
 229+1*280. 
 
 305—285 (31 79:1)=20— 2 h (285)=18. 468—18= 
 
 450+1=451. 
 305—193=112. 162+112=274. 
 305—50=255—32=223. 577—223=354+1=355. 
 305-50=255. 
 
 305-31=274—27 (78:1)— 347. 
 305—31=274—50 (79:1)=224— 5 b (31) 219. 610— 
 
 219=391 + 1=392. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 (31)— 219. 610-219= 
 
 391 + 1=392+3=395. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387+ 
 
 \\b & /*=398. 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 b (31)=219. 610—219= 
 
 391 + 1=392+110 & A— 408. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387+9 b= 
 305—31=274—50=224. 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 54—218— 50=168— 162= 
 
 6. 610—6=604+1=605. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 *— 21 8—50—1 68. 458— 
 
 168=290+1=291. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386 + 1=387+ 
 
 3 h col. =390. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 0=218—50=168—146= 
 
 22— 3 (146)— 19. 577—19=558+1=559 + 1 A— 
 
 The reader will observe how singularly the words match with the count. The 
 root-number 305 — 31 (79:1)^274 — 5o(74:2>=224, carried up the column (77:2), count- 
 ing in the bracketed words, yields ashes; but counting in both the bracketed and 
 hyphenated words, it gives us sack-cloth. But if we count in, in that 31, the five words 
 in brackets, then we have: 305 — 50=255 — 31=224 — 5 b (3i)=2i9; and 219 taken up 
 the same column gives us repents, and counting in the three hyphenated words 
 alone it gives us in, and counting both the bracketed and hyphenated words it 
 gives us and. Here we have repents in sack-cloth and ashes. But this is not all. 
 The same root-number 224 carried up the same column, counting in the three 
 hyphenated words, yields the word young; and the same root-number 255 modified 
 by deducting 32 gives us, less 5 b (32), 218, and this carried to the beginning of the 
 scene and brought backward and up 77:1 gives us days: — voting days. 
 
 And observe that the word lechery occurs only this once in this play, and not 
 again in all the ten Histories. A.nd this is the only time repents is found in this 
 play, and it does not appear again in all the Histories. And this is the only time sack- 
 cloth occurs in this play, and it is found but once more in all (he Plays ! I mention 
 these facts for the benefit of those shallow intellects that think all words neces- 
 sary for all sentences can be found anywhere. 
 
 And then the Bishop goes on to speak again of Shakspere's wealth: 
 
 305—50=255—32—223—5 b (31)— 218— 50— 168. 458 
 
 —168=290+1=291. 291 76:2 His 
 
 451 
 
 78:1 
 
 at 
 
 274 
 
 78:1 
 
 present 
 
 355 
 
 77:1 
 
 very 
 
 255 
 
 74:1 
 
 sick; 
 
 247 
 
 78:2 
 
 he 
 
 392 
 
 77:2 
 
 repents, 
 
 395 
 
 77:2 
 
 in 
 
 398 
 
 77:2 
 
 sack-cloth 
 
 403 
 
 77:2 
 
 and 
 
 = 396 
 
 77:2 
 
 ashes, 
 
 253 
 
 78:1 
 
 the 
 
 605 
 
 77:2 
 
 lechery 
 
 224 
 
 77:2 
 
 of 
 
 291 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 390 
 
 77:2 
 
 young 
 
 560 
 
 77:1 
 
 days. 
 
;86 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4—219—50=169—146= 23 
 305—31=274—50—224—5=219—50=169—146=23. 
 
 318—23=295+1=290. 296 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28. 477— 
 
 28=449+1=450. 450 
 
 305—32=273—50=223-30=193+162=355. 355 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—193 (75:1)— 30. 448—30= 
 
 418+1=419. 419 
 
 305—31=274—193=81—15 4 & A— 66— 49— 17. 603 
 
 —17=586+1=587. 587 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50=168—50 
 
 (76:1)— 118. 118 
 
 305— 32=273— 30=243— 5 4=238— 145=93— 
 
 3 4 col.— 90. 90 
 
 305—31=274—193=81. 448—81=367+1=368. 368 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—193=31. 31 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—146=72+163= 
 
 235—5 b col. =230. 230 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50=168—50= 
 
 118. 603—118=485+1=486. 486 
 
 The Bishop admits they are popular: 
 
 31=274—50=224—5 4=219—50=169—146= 23 
 32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50=168—50= 118 
 31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29—5 4 col.— 24 
 
 305 
 305 
 305 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219—50=169—146 
 
 =23. 468—23=445+1=446. 
 305- 31=274—50=224—50=1 74—1 61=13 
 
 13=449+1=450. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 
 305—32=273—50=223—30=193—162=31- 
 305—32=273—50=223—50=173. 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 4=218— 50=16S 
 
 22—3 4 (146)— 19. 
 305—32=273—50—223—5=218—146=72. 
 305—32—273—50—223—5 4—218—50—168—163—5 
 
 462—5=457+1=458. 
 305—32=273—50=223—50=173—50 (76:1)— 123. 
 305—31—274—193=81—15 4 & h (193)— 66. 458— 
 
 60=392+1=393. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5=219—50=169+162= 
 305—31—274—50—224—50—174—146—28. 468— 
 
 28=440+1—441. 
 305— 31= 274— 193= 81— 49 (76:1)— 32. 
 305—31—274—30—244. 468— 244— 224+ 1=225. 
 305—31—274—30=244+162—406. 
 305—32—273—50=223—5 b & 4—218—50(70:1)— 
 
 168—145=23 + 163—186. 
 305—31—274—50—224—50—1 74—146—28—3 4 (146) 
 
 446 
 462— 
 
 450 
 
 224 
 
 -1 h col.— 30 
 
 173 
 
 —146— 
 
 19 
 72 
 
 458 
 123 
 
 393 
 331 
 
 441 
 
 32 
 
 225 
 
 406 
 
 186 
 = 9.S 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 78:1 
 79:1 
 
 77.1 
 
 78:1 
 
 76:1 
 76:2 
 76:2 
 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 78:1 
 
 76:2 
 
 r8:l 
 
 78:2 
 78:1 
 
 purse 
 
 is 
 
 well 
 lined 
 
 with. 
 
 the 
 
 gold 
 
 he 
 
 derives. 
 
 from 
 
 the 
 
 Plays. 
 
 77:1 The 
 
 78:1 Plays- 
 
 79:1 are 
 
 much 
 
 78:2 admired,. 
 
 79:2 and 
 
 78:2, draw 
 
 78:1 great 
 
 79:1 numbers, 
 
 77:1 and 
 
 yield 
 great 
 
 76:2 abundance. 
 78:1 of 
 
 78:1 fruit, 
 
 76:2 in 
 
 78:1 the 
 
 78:1 forms 
 
 78:1 
 78:1 
 
 of 
 groats 
 
SHA KSPERKS SICKNESS. 
 
 787 
 
 305—50=255—31=224—5=219—145=74—3 b (145) 
 
 =71. 577—71=506+1=507. 
 305—50=255—31=224—50=174—146=28. 
 
 Word. 
 507 
 
 28 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 :1 and 
 
 \:\ pence. 
 
 Observe here how plays comes out twice by the same number, once as please 
 (plase), 118 up 76:2, and the second time as plays, 118 down 78:1. And note how 
 cunningly the word is worked in the second time: " For the one or the other plays 
 the rogue with my great toe." 
 
 Observe also how the same numbers bring out purse — gold — abundance — 
 groats — pence — much — admired — dra7c> — great — numbers, etc., just as we saw 
 another number bringing out of these same pages shoes, stockings, cloak, slops f 
 smock, cap; in fact, a whole wardrobe. This is the only time groats occurs in this 
 play. It is found but four other times in all the Plays. And this is the only time 
 pence occurs in this play. It is found but five other times in all the Plays. Purse 
 occurs but four times in this play. T»his is the only time admired appears in either 
 /st or 2d Henry IV.; and this is the only time numbers is found in this act. 
 Abundance occurs but twice in this play, and but eight other times in all the Plays. 
 I should be sorry, for the credit of human intelligence, that any man could be 
 found who would think that all these unusual words — rare on a thousand pages — 
 have concurred arithmetically on two or three pages by accident. 
 
 And the aristocracy are in dread of the wealthy parvenu absorbing the territory 
 around him. The Bishop says: 
 
 305—50=255—31=224. 610—224=386+1=387. 
 305—50=225—31=224—5 b (31 )=2 19- 50=1 69- 
 
 146=23. 318—23=295 + 1=296. 
 305— 50=255—31=224—50=174—146=28—3 b 
 
 (148)— 26. 318—25=293+1=294 
 305—50=255—32=223—5 b=2 1 8—50=1 68—50 
 
 (76:1)=118. 603—118=485+1=486+3 b col. 
 305—50=255—32=223—5 /;=218— 50=1 68—146= 
 
 22—3 b (146)=19+31=50. 
 305—50=255—32=223-5 /; (32)=218— 50 (76:1)= 
 
 168. 603—168=435+1=436. 
 305— 50=255— 32=223— 5=218— 50=16S— 146= 
 
 22— 3 b (146)=19+ 162=181. . 
 305—32=273. 610-273=337+1=338 + 12 b & h= 
 305—31=274—193=81—15 b & h=66. 448-66= 
 
 382+1=383. 
 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31)=219— 49 (76:1)= 
 
 170—5 b & //=165. 
 305— 50=255— 31=224— ob (31)=219-49 (76)= 
 305—50=255—31=224—5 b (31)=219. 610—219= 
 
 391 + 1=392+9 b col. =401. 
 305— 50=255— 31=224— 5 <*(31)=219— 50 (76:1)= 
 
 169—146=23. 518—23=495+1=496. 
 
 387 
 
 77:2 
 
 It 
 
 296 
 
 79:1 
 
 1ST 
 
 294 
 
 79:1 
 
 thought 
 
 489 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 50 
 
 79:1 
 
 will 
 
 436 
 
 76:2 
 
 buy- 
 
 181 
 
 78:1 
 
 all 
 
 350 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 383 
 
 165 
 170 
 
 496 
 
 76:1 
 
 land 
 
 77:2 appertinent 
 76:2 to 
 
 r9:l 
 
 New 
 
 Place. 
 
 And note this group of words : buy — all — land — appertinent — to — A"e'o Place, 
 How lawyer-like is the language. Appertinent occurs but once in this play and but 
 twice besides in all the Plays ! Yet here it coheres arithmetically with buy — land — 
 Nezv Place. And this is the only time buy and land are found in this act, and buy 
 
788 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 311 
 
 78:1 
 
 We 
 
 69 
 
 78:2 
 
 know 
 
 402 
 
 81:2 
 
 him 
 
 31 
 
 77:2 
 
 as 
 
 22 
 
 81:2 
 
 a 
 
 219 
 
 78:2 
 
 butcher's 
 
 372 
 
 72:2 
 
 rude 
 
 140 
 
 78:1 
 
 and 
 
 386 
 
 78:2 
 
 vulgar 
 
 164 
 224 
 
 81:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 'prentice, 
 and 
 
 occurs but once besides in the whole play. And this is the first time place appears 
 in eighteen columns of the Folio — since ist Henry IV., act 5, scene 1. 
 
 And the Bishop expresses the opinion of his friends, the gentlemen around 
 Stratford, that the village boy they had known so well as a poacher could not have 
 written these " much admired plays." 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50 (76:1)=168. 
 
 468—168=300 + 1=301 + 10 4 col.=311. 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 162=82— 13 b & h col.— 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50=168—146= 
 
 22-3 /> (146)=19. 420—19=401 + 1-402. 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 30=193— 162=31. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=21 8—50=1 68—146= 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 4=239. 610—239=371 
 
 + 1=372. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219—50 (76:1)=169— 
 
 146=23. 162—23=139+1=140. 
 305—31=274—30=244—162=82. 462—82=380+ 
 
 1=381+5 4 col. =386. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50 (76:1)=168— 4 
 
 4 & h col. =164. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50=168—50= 
 
 118. 162—118=44+1=45. 
 305—32=273—50=223—50=173—50=123. 468— 
 
 123=345+1=346. 
 305—31=274—193=81—49 (76:1)=32. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219—50 (76:1)= 
 
 169—146=23—5 4 col.=18. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219—50=169—146= 
 
 23+162=185. 
 305—32=273—50=223—50=173+ 162=335. 
 305—31=274—30=244+162=406—2 k col =404. 
 305—32=273—50=223—193 (75:1)=30. 462—30 
 
 . 432+1=433. 
 305—31=274—193=81—49 (76:1)=32. 457+32= 
 305—31=274—50=224—4 4 col. =220. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—146=72. 448— 
 
 72=376+1=377. 
 305—31=274—193 (75:1)=81— 50 (76:1)=31. 458+ 
 
 31=489. 
 305—31=274—254 (75:1)=20. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—50=168—51=117 
 
 —1 h col. =116. 
 305—31=274—1 93=81—50=31. 
 305—31=274—254=20—15 4 & 4=5. 448—5=443+1= 
 305—31=274-50=224—5=219—50=169—50(76:1) 
 
 =119. 577—119=458+1=459+11 4=470. 
 305—32=273—50=223. 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 
 
 45 
 
 346 
 32 
 
 18 
 
 78:1 
 
 78:1 
 76:2 
 
 79:1 
 
 was, 
 in 
 
 our 
 
 185 
 
 78:1 
 
 opinion! 
 
 335 
 
 78:1 
 
 not 
 
 404 
 
 78:1 
 
 likely 
 
 433 
 
 78:2 
 
 that 
 
 489 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 220 
 
 76:2 
 
 writ 
 
 r6:l 
 
 them; 
 
 489 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 20 
 
 78:1 
 
 is 
 
 116 
 
 76:2 
 
 neither 
 
 31 
 
 76.2 
 
 witty 
 
 444 
 
 76:1 
 
 nor 
 
 470 
 
 77:1 
 
 learned 
 
 223 
 
 78:1 
 
 enough. 
 
 32 
 
 78:2 
 
 The 
 
SUA KSPERE S SICKNE SS. 
 
 789 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29—3 £ (145)= 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 £=219—145=74. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—58 (80:1)=160. 
 
 468—160=308 + 1=309. 
 305—32=273—162=111. 
 305—31=274—162=112. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 £=219—50 (76:1)=169 
 
 —145=24. 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 £=218— 50=168— 50=118 
 
 —2 h col. =11 6. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 £=219—50 ( r J6:l)=169— 
 
 146=23. 318—23=295+1=296. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28—1 h col.= 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28—3 £ (146) 
 
 =25. 317—25=292+1=293. 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32+32= 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—50=168. 489— 
 
 168=321 + 1=322+1 h col =323. 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 50—1 74— 146=28+317= 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 610— 
 
 32=578+1=579. 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 £=219— 50=169— 145= 
 305—31=274—5 £=269—162=107. • 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 38 (80 :1)=185. 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 
 
 Word. 
 
 = 26 
 
 74 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 79:1 
 
 79:1 
 
 subjects 
 are 
 
 309 
 111 
 112 
 
 78:1 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 far 
 
 beyond 
 
 his 
 
 24 
 
 78:2 
 
 ability. 
 
 116 
 
 78:2 
 
 It 
 
 296 
 
 ■ 27 
 
 79:1 
 81:2 
 
 is 
 even 
 
 293 
 64 
 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 
 thought 
 here 
 
 323 
 345 
 
 81:1 
 79:1 
 
 that 
 your 
 
 579 
 24 
 107 
 185 
 194 
 
 77:2 
 81:2 
 81:2 
 81:1 
 82:1 
 
 cousin 
 
 of 
 
 St. Albans 
 
 writes 
 
 them. 
 
 This is the only time cousin appears in this act, and the only time St. Albans is 
 found in this play; and this is the only time writes occurs in this play; and writ is 
 found but twice in this play; yet here in the same sentence we have writ and writes, 
 cousin and St. Albans, all united by the same number. This is also the only time 
 witty occurs in this play; it is found but fourteen times besides in all the Plays. 
 It does not appear in King John, Richard II, 1st Henry IV., or Henry V. The last 
 time it appears, previously to this instance, is in the Comedy of Errors, iii, 1, 289 
 pages or 57S columns distant ! learned is found' but two other times in this play. 
 Opinions appears but once besides in this play, and but ten times in all the Plays. 
 And this is the only time that either butcher or vulgar or 'prentice occurs in this 
 play; and 'prentice is only found three times in the thousand pages of the ] olio; and 
 both butcher and vulgar are comparatively rare words in the Plays. And butcher 
 is 305 — 31=274 — 50=224 — 5=219; and 'prentice is 305 — 32=273 — 50=223— 5 £= 
 218 less 50. That is to say, one commences to count from the last word of the first 
 section of 79:1, and the other from the first word of the next section. And this 
 is the only time ability is found in this play, or in all the ten Histories; and it only 
 occurs nine times besides in all the Plays. 
 
 If all this be accident, surely it is the most marvelous piece of accidental work » 
 in the world. 
 
 And then the Bishop recurs to Shakspere's health. He thinks that if Shakspere 
 is brought before the Council to answer for his offense, he is so enfeebled by disease 
 that the fear of the rack will compel him to tell all he knows about the authorship 
 of the Plavs. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 457+32=489 
 
 rG: 
 
 He 
 
79° 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 305— 31=274— 145=129— 2 £ col. 
 305—31=274—50=224—146=78 
 
 =533+2// col —535. 
 305— 31=274— 5 £=269. 518—269=249+1 
 
 6 h col. =256. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 =127. 127 
 
 77:2 
 
 cannot 
 
 610—78=532^1 
 
 
 
 535 
 
 77:2 
 
 last 
 
 =250+ 
 
 256 
 
 r9:l 
 
 long. 
 
 Observe how cunningly long is made the 224th word from the beginning of act 
 ii, scene 1, and the 274th word from the end of the same column: 
 
 305—31=274—50=224+32=256. 256 79:1 long 
 
 305—31=274—5 b (31 =269. 518—269=249^-1= 
 
 250+6// col. =256. 256 79:1 long 
 
 And this 250 is answer — brought to answer before the Council. And here is 
 Council: 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—146=28. 449— 
 
 28=421 + 1=422. 
 305- 31=274—50=224—146=78. 448—78=370 
 
 + 1=371. 
 305-32=273—50=223—7 h col.=216. 
 305—32=273-50=223—146=77—3 b (146)=74. 
 
 577—74=503+1=504. 
 305—32=273—50=223—145=78—3 b (145;=75. 
 
 577—75=502+1=503+2// col. =505. , 
 305—32=273—50=223—50 (76:1)=173. 577—173 
 
 404+1=405. 
 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—5 b & h col.=74. 
 305—32=273—162 (78:1)— 111. 
 305—32=273—50=223—50 (76:1)=173, 577—173 
 
 =404+1=405+3 h col.=408. 
 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—2 // col.=77. 
 305 -32=273—50=223—145=78. 
 305—31=274—162=112. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £=239—146=93. 577— 
 
 93=484+1=485. 
 305—31=274. 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218. 
 305—31=274—254 (75:1)=20— 15 b& h (254)=5. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (32)=218. 462—218= 
 
 244+1=245. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 577—224=353+1=354+ 
 
 11 b col —365. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387 + 
 
 2 //=389. 
 305—31=274—162 (78:1)=112. 
 305—31=274—162=112. 318—112=206+1=207 
 
 + 1 //=208. 
 305—31=274—145=129—3 b (145)=126. 
 305—31=274—162=112. 162—112=50+1=51. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 b (32)=218. 577—218= 
 
 359+1=360+11 b col. =371. 
 
 422 
 
 371 
 216 
 
 504 
 
 505 
 
 405 
 
 74 
 111 
 
 408 
 77 
 78 
 
 112 
 
 485 
 
 274 
 
 218 
 
 5 
 
 245 
 
 389 
 112 
 
 208 
 
 126 
 
 51 
 
 76:1 Council. 
 
 76:1 
 77:1 
 
 77:1 
 
 77:1 
 
 77:1 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 77:1 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 79:1 
 
 77:1 
 
 77:2 
 78:1 
 76:1 
 
 78:2 
 
 77:1 
 
 77:2 
 78:1 
 
 79:1 
 76:1 
 
 78:1 
 
 His 
 health 
 
 very- 
 poor; 
 
 it 
 was 
 
 my 
 
 presurmise 
 
 that 
 
 he 
 
 is 
 
 blasted 
 
 with 
 
 that 
 
 dreaded 
 
 disease, 
 
 the 
 
 a 
 
 most 
 
 incurable 
 
 77:1 malady. 
 
SUA KSPERK S SICKNE SS. 
 
 79 1 
 
 .-305—31=274—30=244—5 4=239—145=94. 448- 
 
 94=354 + 1=355. 
 305—32=273—162=1 1 1 . 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 50 (76:1 )=1 74— 145=29. 
 
 468—29=439+1=440. 
 305-31=274—50=224. 610—224=386+1=387. 
 
 Word. 
 
 355 
 111 
 
 440 
 387 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 76:1 
 
 77:2 
 
 78:1 
 
 77:2 
 
 His 
 looks 
 
 prove 
 it. 
 
 Observe the cunning of this workmanship. The name of Shakspere's disease 
 is the 112th word down the fragment of scene 3, in 78:1, and incurable is the 112th 
 word up the same. After a while we will see this reversed, incurable answering to 
 a Cipher number (51) down the column, and the other word answering to the same 
 number up from the end of the scene. Let the reader try the experiment, and he 
 will see herein another of the ten thousand evidences of arithmetical adjustment 
 in the text. 
 
 This is the only time incurable occurs in this play, and it is found but three 
 ■other times in all the Plays ! And this is the only time malady appears in this 
 play; and it occurs but twice besides in all the ten Histories, and but eight other 
 times in all the Plays ! 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £—239—57 (80:1)=182 
 
 —11 b col =171. 171 90:2 One 
 
 305—31=274—162=112. 610—112=498+1=499. 499 77:2 day 
 
 505— 32=273— 50=223— 5=218— 58 (80:1)=160. 160 80:1 I 
 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 5 4=219— 162=57— 2 4col.= 55 77:2 did 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 4=239. 317—239=78+ 
 
 1=79 + 5 b & 4=84. 84 79:1 chance 
 
 305— 31=274— 50=224+185=409— 16 4 col. =393. 393 81:1 to 
 505—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—58 (80:1)=160— 
 
 10 b & h col.=150. 150 80:1 meet 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 4=239. 317—239=78 
 
 +1=79. 79 79:1 him, 
 305-31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 58 (80:1)=136. 
 
 461—136=325 + 1=326. 326 80:1 and, 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219. 338—219=119 
 
 + 1=120. 120 80:1 although 
 
 305—31=274-30=244. 598—244=354+1=355. 355 79:2 I 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 h (31)=239. 598—239= 
 
 359+1=360+9 4 col. =369. 369 79:2 am 
 305—32=273—30=243—5 /;=238. 598—238=360 
 
 + 1=361+9 4 col. =370. 370 79:2 well 
 305-32=273—30=243—5 //=238. 598—238=360 
 
 + 1=361 + 10 4 &//=371. 371 79:2 acquainted 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—145=99. 448—99=349+1=350 76:1 with 
 
 305—31=274—30=244. 244 79:1 him, 
 
 305—31=274—50=224 + 185=409. 409 81:1 I 
 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 58(80 :1)=166— 10 4=156 156 80:2 would 
 
 305—32=273—30=243. 243 78:2 not 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 4 (31)=239. 598—239= 
 
 359 + 1=360. 360 79:2 have 
 
 305—31=274—30=244-5 4 (31)=239 239 79:1 known 
 
 305—31=274—162=112+31=143. 143 79:1 him, 
 
792 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 £=219. 598—219=379 
 
 + 1=380. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—50=168—1 £= 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—58 (80:1)=160— 
 
 4 £ & /I— 166. 
 305—31=274—30=244-162=82. 462—82=380+ 
 
 1+4 £& /&— 385. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5=239—234 (81:2)=5— 3 h 
 
 (234)=2. 338-2=336 + 1=337. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 380 79:2 the 
 
 167 81=2 transformation 
 
 156 81:2 was 
 
 385 78:2 so 
 
 337 80:1 great. 
 
 This is the only time transformation appears in this play, and it is found but 
 six other times in all the Plays. 
 
 Then the Bishop goes on to tell the conversation he had with Shakspere. He 
 beseeches his "worshipful Lordship" to go to his father's house, to see his 
 father, who was lying sick. 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—58 (80:1)= 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—58 (80:1)=160— 
 
 50=110. 
 305—31=274—50=224—58=166. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 £=219—58=161. 
 305—31=274—50=224—58=166-3 h col =163. 
 
 160 
 
 1:2 
 
 father's 
 
 110 
 
 78:2 
 
 house 
 
 166 
 
 80:2 
 
 is 
 
 161 
 
 80:2 
 
 lying 
 
 163 
 
 80:2 
 
 sick. 
 
 John Shakspere died about four years after the events here related. 
 
 I give these fragments because I have not the space to tell the whole story, 
 and I give the more significant words to show the reader that I am not drawing on 
 my imagination. 
 
 And the Bishop is invited to supper. Shakspere says: 
 
 305—32=273—50 (74:2)=223— 5 £ (32)=218— 50 (76:1) 
 
 =168. 396—168=228+1=229. 229 
 
 305—31=274—30=244-50=194. 194 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5=218—50=168. 396— 
 
 168=228+1=229+2 £ col. =231. °31 
 
 305—32=273—30=243—57 (80:1)=186. 186 
 
 305— 32=273-30=243— 5 £ (31)=238— 145 (76:2)=93. 
 
 338—93=245 + 1=246. 246 
 
 305—32=273—30=243—5 £=238—145=93—57 (80:1) 
 
 =36. 523— 36=487+ 1=488+4 £ & h col .= 492 
 
 305—31=274—30=244. 338—244=94+ 1=95. 95 
 
 305—31=274—30=244. 396—244=152+1=153. 153 
 305—32=273—30=243—5 £=238—145=93. 338— 
 
 93=245+ 1=246+2 £ col =248. 248 
 
 305—32=273—30=243—5 £=238—145=93—3 £ (145) 
 
 =90. 338—90=248+1=249. 249 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—58 (80:1 =160. 160 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 338-194=144+1=145 
 305—32=273-30=243—50=193. 193 
 
 305—32=273—30=243-50=193. 338-193=145+1=146 
 
 305—31=274—30: 
 305—31=274—30= 
 
 =244- 
 =244- 
 
 -50=194. 
 -50=194— 14 £& 
 
 h col.= 
 
 194 
 
 180 
 
 80:1 
 
 80:2 
 
 80:1 
 81:2 
 
 80:1 
 
 80:1 
 
 80 si 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 81:2 
 80:1 
 81:2 
 80:1 
 
 Come, 
 go 
 
 along, 
 
 I 
 
 entreat 
 
 you, 
 
 to 
 
 supper 
 
 with 
 
 me; 
 
 I 
 
 will 
 
 give 
 
 you 
 
 an 
 
 excellent 
 
SUA KSPERE' S SICKNESS. 
 
 793 
 
 305—33=273—50=223—5 0—218—50 (76:1)— 168— 
 62 (80:2)— 103. 489—100=383+1=384. 
 
 305— 32=273— 30=243— 50=193— 13 £ & h col.— 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 ^ — 218 — 58 (80:1)— 160. 
 523—160=363+1=364. 
 
 305—31=274-30=244—50=194. 396—194=202+ 
 1=203+2* col. =205. 
 
 Word. 
 
 384 
 (180) 
 
 364 
 
 205 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 81:1 
 80:1 
 
 80:2 
 
 80:1 
 
 sack, 
 my 
 
 worshipful 
 
 Lord. 
 
 And the Bishop and Shakspere hold a conversation during supper. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—185 (81:1)— 89. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 4=218—58=160—14 b & h 
 
 col. =146. 
 305—31=274—30=244—3// col.— 241 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—10 b col. =184. 
 305—31=274—30=244. 
 305— 32=273— 30=243— 5^=238—145=93— 57 
 
 (80:1)— 86— 2J col.— 84. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5=239—145=94—3 b (145) 
 
 =91. 489—91=398+1=399. 
 305—32=273—30=243. 523—243=280+1=281. 
 305—32=273—30=243—58 (80:1)— 185. 462—185 
 
 =277+1=278. 
 
 39 
 
 81:2 
 
 We 
 
 146 
 
 80:2 
 
 talk 
 
 241 
 
 80:2 
 
 upon 
 
 181 
 
 80:1 
 
 the 
 
 244 
 
 80:2 
 
 subject 
 
 34 
 
 399 
 
 281 
 
 278 
 
 80:2 
 
 81:1 
 80:2 
 
 80:2 
 
 of 
 
 his 
 sick 
 
 father. 
 
 blessed 
 
 hypocrite 
 
 Entreat appears but twice in this play — here and in the Epilogue. Supper 
 occurs four other times in this play — where Percy describes the supper at Shak- 
 spere's house. This is the only time excellent appears in this scene. It is not found 
 at all in King John or Richard II. This is the only time subject occurs in this act. 
 Worshipful is found but five other times in all the Plays. This is the only time 
 talk occurs in this act. 
 
 I need hardly explain that sack was a kind of Spanish wine, something like our 
 sherry. 
 
 And Shakspere professes great love for his father; but the Bishop thinks he is 
 a blessed hypocrite: 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 523—194=329+1=330 
 305 -31—274—50—224—5 /;— 219— 50 (76:1)— 169. 
 
 523— 169— '354+1=355+2 b col.— 357. 357 
 
 And that he is trying to make use of him, the Bishop: 
 
 305—31—274—30=244—57=187. 523—187=336+1= 
 305—31=274—50=224+185=409—16 b col =393. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219+185 (81:1)— 404 
 
 —16/; col. =388. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5=219+185—404. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5=239—57—182. 598— 
 
 182=416+1=417. 
 305—32=273- -30=243—5 4=238—145=93—3 b (145) 
 
 =90-58 (80:1)— 32. 
 
 And that he has taken advantage of his father's sickness to ingratiate himself 
 with him, the Bishop, in the hope of making his way among the aristocracy. And 
 the Bishop concludes he will let him think so: 
 
 =337 
 
 80:2 
 
 Think: 
 
 393 
 
 81:1 
 
 to 
 
 388 
 
 81:1 
 
 make 
 
 404 
 
 81:1 
 
 use 
 
 417 
 
 32 
 
 '9:2 
 
 80:2 
 
 of 
 
 me. 
 
794 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 305—31=274. 610— 274=336+1=337+9 £ col. = 346 77:2 Let 
 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 5 /;=239— 18/. col. 221 81:1 him 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194. 523—194=329+ 
 
 1=330+3 h col —333. 333 80:2 think 
 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 5 /;=239 + 185 (81 :1)=424. 424 81:1 so. 
 
 And Shakspere assures the Bishop that he himself stands high as a gentleman- 
 
 305-31=274—30=244—50=194—57=1 37. 523— 
 
 137=386+1=387+4 b&h col. =391. 391 80:2 I 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—57=137. 523— 
 
 137=386+1=387. 387 80:2 am 
 
 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—57=136. 523— 
 
 136=387+1=388. 388 80:2 well 
 
 305—31=274+30=244—50=194—57=137. 523— 
 
 137=386+1=387+2^=389. 389 80:2 spoken 
 
 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—57=136. 523— 
 
 136=387+1=388+2 /=390. 390 80:2 of. 
 
 And the Bishop gives a rapturous description of the sweet looks and good breed- 
 ing of Shakspere's daughter, Susanna; her low curtesy and her gentle accents; but we 
 will find this hereafter given more fully by another party — by Percy when he visits 
 Stratford. 
 
 And the Bishop examines Shakspere during this interview and thus describes 
 his appearance: 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—162=82. 462—82=380 + 1= 
 305—32=273—30=243—5^=238—27 b col.— 211. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £—239. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218—58 (80:1)=160— 
 
 5 b col. =155. 
 305—31=274. 
 305—32=273—30=243—5 b (32)— 238. 534—238= 
 
 296 + 1=297+2 h col.— 299. 
 305—32=273-30=243—27 b col. =216. 
 
 Shakspere was born about April 23d, 1564; consequently in 1597, which I sup- 
 pose to be the date of the events described in the Cipher story, he was just thirty- 
 three years old. Observe that this three is a different one from the three employed to 
 tell of the division of the profits of the Plays into three parts: this three is the 216th 
 word in 78:2; while the other was the io,2d word in the same column. There are 
 only three threes in act i of the Folio, — in sixteen columns, — and here we have two 
 of them within four lines of each other. Thirty occurs but eleven times in all the 
 Histories, and three times in this play; and this is the first time we come across it 
 in this play, and we will have to go eight columns forward, or twenty-four back- 
 ward, before we find it again. If there is no Cipher "here, surely it is marvelous 
 to find the words necessary to tell Shakspere's age coming together, separated only 
 by one column, and each one growing out of the same formula: 305 — 32=273 — 
 30=243. 
 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 *— 219— 50— 169-4 b col. =165 76:2 yet 
 
 305—31=274—30=244. 610—244=366+1=367. 367 77:2 he 
 
 305—32=273—5 /;=268— 10 b col.— 258. 258 77:2 is. 
 
 =381 
 211 
 239 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 77:2 
 
 He 
 is 
 not 
 
 155 
 
 274 
 
 80:1 
 
 81:2 
 
 more 
 than 
 
 299 
 216 
 
 79:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 thirty 
 three, 
 
SHAA'SPEAE' S S/CA'A T ESS. 
 
 795 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239. 
 305—31=274. 
 
 305—32=273—30=243—5 ^ — 238 — 13 b & £—225. 
 305—32=273—30=243—5 b (32)=238— 10 b col.— 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £=239—10 b col. =229. 
 305—32=273—30=243—13 b & k— col.— 230. 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 13* & h col =231. 
 305—3 1 =274—50=224—5=219—58 (80 : 1 )=1 61 . 
 305—31=274—50=224—50=174—4 h col. =170. 
 305—31=274—30=244—10 b col. =234. 
 305—31=274—50=224. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 4=239—3 k col. =236. 
 305—32=273—50=223—50=173—1 h col.— 172. 
 ■305—32=273—50=223—5=218—50 (76:1 )=1 68— 
 
 4 b col. =164. 
 305—31=274—50=224—50 (76:1)— 174. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 *=°19— 145=74— 3 b (145) 
 
 =71—2// col. =69. 
 .305—32=273—50=223—5 /;— 218— 50=1 68— 
 
 5b & k— 163. 
 305—31=274—13 b & k col =261. 
 .305—32=273—50=223. 
 305—31=274—50 (76:1 )— 224. 
 305—32=273—28 (73:1)— 246. 
 505—81—274—30—244. 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—146=98—2 h col.=96. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 />— 218— 146— 72— 2 h col.= 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 *=239— 145=94— 3 b (145) 
 
 =91. 420—91—329+1—330+7 b& h col. =337. 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 £— 239— 145— 94. 420— 
 
 94=326+1=327. 
 305—32=273—30=243—79 (73:1) — 1 64+ 162=326 
 
 —9b & h<— 317. 
 S05— 31— 274— 50— 224— 5 £—219—50 (76:1)— 169. 
 
 468—169=299+1=300. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 £—219—50 (76:1)— 169. 
 ;305— 31=274— 30=244— 5 ^=239—145=94. 448— 
 
 94=354+1=355. 
 305— 31— 274— 50— 224— 5*— 219— 146— 73. 
 305—32=273—50=223—10 b col. =213. 
 305—32=273—30=243—5=238—145=93—3 b (145) 
 
 =90. 420—90=330+1=331 + 1 h col. =332 
 :305— 32=273— 30=243— 5=238— 145=93— 3 b (145)= 
 305—31=274—30=244—5 b (31)=239— 145=94— 3 
 
 b (145)— 91. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 239 
 
 78:2 
 
 in 
 
 274 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 225 
 
 77:2 
 
 youth, 
 
 228 
 
 77:2 
 
 written 
 
 229 
 
 77:2 
 
 down 
 
 230 
 
 77:2 
 
 old 
 
 231 
 
 77:2 
 
 with 
 
 161 
 
 77:2 
 
 all 
 
 170 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 234 
 
 77:2 
 
 characters 
 
 224 
 
 77:2 
 
 of 
 
 23G 
 
 77:2 
 
 age. 
 
 172 
 
 76:2 
 
 His 
 
 164 
 
 76:2 
 
 cheek 
 
 174 
 
 7Q:2 
 
 is 
 
 69 
 
 f7:2 
 
 white, 
 
 163 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 261 
 
 77:2 
 
 voice 
 
 223 
 
 78:2 
 
 hollow, 
 
 224 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 245 
 
 77:2 
 
 hand 
 
 244 
 
 77:2 
 
 dry, 
 
 06 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 - 70 
 
 77:2 
 
 hair 
 
 337 
 
 81:2 
 
 grey, 
 
 327 
 
 81:2 
 
 his 
 
 317 
 
 78:1 
 
 step 
 
 300 
 
 78:1 
 
 feeble; 
 
 169 
 
 78:1 
 
 and 
 
 355 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 73 
 
 76:1 
 
 head 
 
 213 
 
 77:2 
 
 wags 
 
 332 
 
 81:2 
 
 as 
 
 . 90 
 
 76:1 
 
 he 
 
 91 
 
 76:1 
 
 walked. 
 
 I regret to set forth these facts concerning Shakspere's sickness. They are 
 much worse than even the most earnest Baconian had suspected. And yet this 
 statement is not in itself improbable. If any class were especially liable to the 
 dreaded social scourge it would appear to be the poor actors of that age, who, by 
 
 ^fct'1/ /.?«« Kll 
 
79 6 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 law, were " vassals" and " vagabonds," and who were necessarily surrounded by all 
 the temptations incident to their mode of life; their theaters being the favorite re- 
 sort for all the vicious of both sexes in the great city. I have already quoted what 
 Taine says: 
 
 It was a sad trade, degraded in all ages by the contrasts and the falsehoods 
 which it allows. 
 
 Only in the justice and sweetness of our modern civilization has it risen to the 
 dignity which it deserves; and the future will accord it an even higher standing, for 
 the pleasure and the benefit which it can afford to mankind. As an instrument of 
 good it has, as yet, been but partially developed. 
 
 We know, also, that Shakspere's contemporary, George Peele, actor and play- 
 writer, died of that same "shameful disease." 1 And we can see in the Cipher 
 statement an explanation of Shakspere's early death. He left the world at the age 
 of fifty-two; at a time when he should have been in the meridian of his mental and 
 the perfection of his physical powers. This will also explain his early retirement to 
 Stratford, and the little we know of his personal history, it being probable that he 
 spent much of his^time, in the latter part of his life, in Warwickshire. In 1604 we 
 find him suing Philip Rogers at Strat f ord for £\. 15s. iod. for malt sold. In 1608 
 he is sponsor for William Walker, at Stratford. In 1609 he sues John Adden- 
 brooke, at Stratford. It is also probable that Bacon desired to keep Shakspere out 
 of sight, and therefore out of London, as much as possible, so as to avoid the keen 
 eyes of his critical enemies: — for "he had been wronged by bruits before; " 
 and the Cipher shows that it was shrewdly suspected that the man of Stratford had 
 not the ability to write the Plays. 
 
 And this may also explain why it was that Shakspere acted parts that required 
 no particular action, such as the Ghost in Hamlet, or the old man, Adam, in As 
 You Like It. One of his younger brothers, according to Oldys, ■ described him as: 
 
 Acting a part in one of his own comedies, wherein, being to personate a 
 decrepit old man, he wore a long beard, and appeared so weak, that he was forced 
 to be supported and carried by another person to a table. 
 
 And the reader cannot help but note this wonderful array of words descriptive 
 of sickness brought out by the same modifications of the same root-number. 
 Observe how the bracketed and hyphenated words in 77:2 are employed, in con- 
 junction with the five bracketed words in 31, 79:1, to bring out the striking sen- 
 tence: "He is written down old with all the characters of age." We have also the 
 word his repeated six times, and always making its appearance in the proper place 
 in the text. There are whole columns of the play where his cannot be found, but 
 here they are in abundance when required. Characters appears but once in this play, 
 and but twice besides in all the ten Histories; written occurs but once in this play, 
 and but four times besides in all the ten Histories. Hollow is found but three times 
 in this play and but once in this act Wags occurs but this time in this play, and 
 but twice besides in all the Plays ! This is the only time step appears in this play. 
 And this is the only time feeble (not used as a man's name) is found in this play; 
 and the same is true of grey. 
 
 And here I would say that, if the reader is curious in such matters, he might 
 turn to Mrs. Clarke's Concordance of Shakespeare, p. 187, and observe how often: 
 the words disease and diseases occur in this play of 2d Henry IV. as compared with 
 the other Plays. They are found tivelve times; this, with the Cipher system of 
 using the same word over many times, probably implies thirty-six different refer- 
 ences, nearly all, I take it, to Shakspere's diseases. As against twelve times in this 
 
 1 Fleay's Skaktpere Manual, p. 5. a Outlines, p. 123. 
 
SHAKSPERES SICKNESS. 
 
 797 
 
 play, these words are not found once in the p'.ay of ist Henry IV., which precedes it, 
 •or in Henry I \ , which follows it. Neither are either of them found in Love's Labor Lost, 
 The Two Gentlemen of Verona, As You Like It, Twelfth Night, Richard II., the 
 third part of King Henry VI. , Richard III., Titus Andronieus, Romeo and Juliet, 
 Julius Cccsar, Othello, or Cymbeline. These words are found, in fact, as often in this 
 one play of 2d Henry IV. as they are in all the following plays put together: The 
 Tempest, The Merry Wires, Much Ado About Nothing, Midsummer Night's Dream, 
 The Merchant of Venice, Antony and Cleopatra, Pericles, Hamlet, King John, and 2d 
 Henry VI. Now the play of 2d Henry IV. has no more to do with diseases than 
 any other of these Plays; the plot does not in any wise turn upon any disease; the 
 references to it are all apparently incidental in the play, but are really caused by 
 the necessities of the internal Cipher narrative. And all this tends to show the 
 -artificial character of the text of these Plays. It is a curious study to examine the 
 Shakespeare Concordance and observe how strangely some plays are crowded with 
 a particular word which is altogether absent from others. Note the words glove 
 and please (plays), for instance. Please occurs once in King John, twice in Romeo 
 -and Juliet, three times in ist Henry I]'., fourteen times in 2d Henry IV., and 
 twenty-eight times in Henry VIII. ! And yet as a colloquialism — "please you, my 
 Lord," etc. — it might be expected to occur as often in one play as another. 
 And the Bishop continues with the description of Shakspere's appearance: 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 /, (3C)=218— 50 (76:1)= 
 
 168. 297— 168=129- 1=1 30 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 50 (76:1 )=144— 
 
 =4 b col.— 140. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 0— 218—30= 188— 9 b col.- 
 305— 32=273— 162=111 . 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /;=21 8— 50=168— 145= 
 
 23—3 b (145)— 20. 577—20=557-1=558. 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 0—218—50—168—145— 
 
 23. 577 — 23=554 - 1=555 — 2 A— 557. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31 )=209— 162=107. 468—107= 
 
 361 + 1=362. ' 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5 /'=218— 50=168— 145= 
 305—31=274—162 (78:1)— 112— 8 col. =109. 
 305—32=273—30=243—162=81—2 h col. =79. 
 305—32=273—30=243—162=81. 
 305—32=273—162=111—6 b & // col. 
 305—31=274—5 b (31)=269— 162=107. 462—107= 
 
 355+1=356. 
 305—32=273—162=111. 318—111=207+1=208. 
 305—3 1 =274—30=244—5 i =239— 145=94 - 1 62= 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 0—218—50 (76.1)— 168 
 
 —2 0—166. 
 305—32=273—30=243—1-15=98-13 b ft // col.— 
 305- 32=273—50=223—5 0—2 1 8— 50=1 08— 1 45= 
 
 23. 577—23=554-1= 
 305—31=274—30=244—145=99—3 // col. =96. 
 305—31=274—5 /;=269— 162=107. 610—107=503 
 
 + 1=504. 
 305—32=273—30=243—145=98—3 b (14~)=95. 
 
 Word. 
 
 130 
 
 140 
 
 =179 
 
 111 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 82:1 
 
 76:2 
 82:1 
 
 79:1 
 
 77:1 
 
 There 
 
 is 
 
 a 
 beastly 
 
 wound 
 
 77:1 new-healed 
 
 362 
 
 78:1 
 
 on 
 
 23 
 
 77:1 
 
 the 
 
 109 
 
 77:1 
 
 side 
 
 79 
 
 77:2 
 
 of 
 
 81 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 105 
 
 82:1 
 
 neck, 
 
 356 
 
 78:2 
 
 and 
 
 208 
 
 79:1 
 
 a 
 
 256 
 
 78:1 
 
 gre?t 
 
 166 
 
 81:1 
 
 wen 
 
 85 
 
 78:2 
 
 or 
 
 0") 
 
 77:1 
 
 gall, 
 
 96 
 
 81:2 
 
 some 
 
 504 
 
 77:2 
 
 thing 
 
 95 
 
 77:2 
 
 like 
 
798 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 =244- 
 
 =89. 
 =111 
 
 S b (31)=239— 145=94— 3 b 
 111=407+1=408+ 
 
 518- 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 89 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 411 
 97 
 
 79:1 
 
 77:2 
 
 King's 
 Evil, 
 
 111 
 
 77:1 
 
 which 
 
 423 
 
 99 
 
 112 
 
 76:1 
 82:1 
 77:1 
 
 every 
 
 day 
 
 grows 
 
 521 
 
 77:1 greater, 
 
 326 
 
 80:2 
 
 and 
 
 219 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 185 
 
 82:1 
 
 strength 
 
 572 
 
 79:2 
 
 more 
 
 300 
 
 78:1 
 
 feeble. 
 
 305—31=274—30= 
 
 (145)=91— 2 h 
 305—32=273-162 
 
 8 h col.— 411. 
 305—31=274-30=244—145=99—2 h col. =97. 
 305—32=273—1 62= 111. 
 305—31=274—50=224—145=79—3 b (145)=76. 
 
 498—76=422+1=423. 
 305—31=274—30=244—145=99. 
 305—31=274—162=1 1 2. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219—162=57. 577- 
 
 57=520+1=521. 
 305— 31=274— 30=244— 50=194— 57 v 80:l)=137. 
 
 462—137=325+1=326. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219. 
 305—31=274—162=112. 296—112=184+1=185 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 50=1 73— 146=27. 598- 
 
 27=571 + 1=572. 
 305—31=274—50=224—5 4=219—50 (76:1)=169. 
 
 468—169=299+1=300. 
 
 It is hardly necessary for me to explain that " the King's Evil " was the old-time 
 name for scrofula, because it was believed by our wise ancestors that the touch of the 
 king's hand would cure it; nor is it necessary to add that scrofula is generally accom- 
 panied by glandular ulcerations on the sides of the throat — precisely as described 
 in the Cipher story. King is a common word in the Plays, but kings is compara- 
 tively rare. This is the only strength in this act, and this is the only greater. 
 
 litis is the only " win" in all the Shakespeare Plays ! And yet here it appears, 
 just where it is wanted, to describe poor Shakspere's scrofulous condition. And 
 observe that gall and ivcn are both derived from precisely the same terminal root- 
 number 168 [305 — 32=273 — 50=223 — 5 4 (32)=2i8— 50 (76:i)=i68]. And this is 
 the only time gall appears in this play ! And it is found but four other times in all 
 the Histories ! 
 
 And the Bishop says that Shakspere is full of hope that he 
 
 305—31=274—30—244—146=98—3 4 (146)=95— 5 
 
 b & h col. =90. 
 305—31=274. 318—274=44+1=45. 
 305— 31 =274— 162=1 12. 468— 1 12=356+ 1=357 + 
 
 4 & h =366. 
 305—32=273—30=243—50=193+163=356. 
 305—31=274—162=112. 468—112=356+1= 
 305—31=274—30=244+185=429. 
 305—32=273—1 62=1 1 1 . 468—1 1 1 =357 + 1= 
 305—31=274-50=224—5 4=219—50 (76:1)=169— 
 
 145=24. 457—24=433+1=434. 
 305—32=273— 50=223— 5 4=218—50 (76:1)— 168+ 
 
 162=330— 2 h col. =328. 
 305—31=274. 610—274=336+1=337. 
 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—162=31 . 577— 
 
 31=546+1=547. 
 
 e that 
 
 he will n 
 
 ^cover: 
 
 90 
 
 76:1 
 
 He 
 
 45 
 
 79:1 
 
 is 
 
 366 
 
 78:1 
 
 flattering 
 
 356 
 
 78:1 
 
 himself 
 
 357 
 
 78:1 
 
 with 
 
 429 
 
 81:1 
 
 the 
 
 358 
 
 78:1 
 
 hope 
 
 434 
 
 328 
 337 
 
 547 
 
 76:2 
 
 and 
 
 78:1 expectation 
 77:2 that 
 
 77:1 he 
 
SHAHS FERE'S SICK A T ESS. 
 
 799 
 
 305— 32=273. 610—273=337+1=338. 
 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—162=31. 
 305—32=273—50=223. 577—223=354+1=355 
 
 +3/* col. =358. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 338 
 
 77:2 
 
 will 
 
 31 
 
 78:1 
 
 get 
 
 358 
 
 :1 
 
 well. 
 
 Flattering occurs but once besides in this play, and but eight times in all the 
 Histories. Expectation is found but twice in this act, and but eleven times in all 
 the Histories. 
 
 And Shakspere thinks he is yet young and his case not so bad: 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194 + 162=356—9 b & /;= 347 78:1 young; 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194+162=356—7/;= 349 78:1 case 
 305— 31=274— 50=224— 50 (76 : 1)=1 74 + 163=337— 
 
 2 £=335. 335 78:1 not 
 305—32=273—30=243—162=81. 462—81=381 + 1 
 
 =382+4 b & £=386. 386 78:2 so 
 
 305—32=273—30=243—50=193—162=31—1 £= 30 77:2 bad. 
 
 But the Bishop feels certain that he cannot recover from his terrible disease. 
 It is, he says, — 
 
 305—32=273—50=223—5 £=218— 50=168— 50=118. 
 
 468—118=350+1=351+8/; col. =359. 
 305-31=274—50=224—50=174—145=29. 
 305—31=274—30=244—163=81. 
 305—32=273—50=223—9 6 col. =214 
 
 He cannot escape the grave: 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—162=82. 577—82=495+1 
 
 =496+2 //col. =498. 498 77:1 
 
 305— 32=273— 50=223— 5£=218—50(76:l)=168+32=200 79:1 
 
 305—31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 32 78:2 
 305-31=274—30=244—50=194—162=32. 462— 
 
 32=430+1=431. 431 78:2 
 
 359 
 
 78:1 
 
 Eating 
 
 29 
 
 81:1 
 
 away 
 
 81 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 214 
 
 82:1 
 
 life. 
 
 Cannot 
 
 'scape 
 
 the 
 
 grave. 
 
 Here, with all these words descriptive of disease and weakness, we find the 
 inevitable grave. And this is the only time grave is found in this act. 
 
 505 — 167=338. 
 But I shall now go farther and show that these words descrip- 
 tive of Shakspere's sickness not only come out at the bidding of 523 
 — 218=305 — 31 or 32, but that they are called forth Irom the same 
 text by an entirely different Cipher number, to-wit: 505 — 167=338 — f 
 to which we now return. This must demonstrate beyond cavil the 
 most exquisite adjustment of the words of the play to certain arith- 
 metical requirements. I shall have to-be brief, for the story is an 
 endless one and the temptation is almost irresistible to follow it 
 out into its ramifications. 
 
8oo 
 
 THE CITHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 It must be remembered that, though these two stories are here 
 brought together on the same pages, they are probably separated by 
 hundreds of pages in the Cipher narrative. 
 
 Neither must it be forgotten that I have worked out but a tithe 
 of the story growing out of 523 — 218=305. I have given part of 
 that which flows from 305 minus 31 or 32, at the top of 79:1; but 
 305 is also modified by deducting the other fragments of 79:1, as 
 284 and 285 (31 or 32 to 317), 57 or 58, the last section in the column, 
 and 199 or 200 (318 to 518), etc. 
 
 In the following statement Bacon speaks himself: 
 
 338—31=307—30—277. 396—277=119+1=120. 
 
 338—57 (79:1)=281— 30=251. 
 
 338—31=307—163=144. 
 
 338—32=306—5 £=301 + 163=464—20 b & h col.= 
 
 338—31=307—5 £=302—30=272—145=127—3 b (145) 
 
 =124—4 b & h col.=120. 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 2 h col. =299. 
 338—31=307—5 £=302—50=252. 462—252=210+ 
 
 1=211 + 5/; col.=216. 
 338—31=307—50=257—4 h col. =253. 
 338—57 (79:1)=281— 27 b col. =254. 
 338— 31=307— 5 £=302— 50=252. 462—252=210+1= 
 338—57 (79:1)— 281— 50 (76:1) — 231 — 10 £=221. 
 
 338—57=281—50=231 . 
 338—57=281—49 (76:1)=232— 162=70. 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61 . 
 338—57 (79 :1)=281— 30=251. 
 338—58 (79:1) — 280 — 30=250— 50. 
 338—31 (79:1)=307— 162=145. 
 338—57=261—50=231—162=69. 
 338—31=307—5 £ (31)— 302— 30=272— 162=110. 
 
 610—110=500+1=501 + 2// col. 
 338—57 (79:1)=281— 50=231— 31 £ & h col. =200. 
 338— 31=307— 50=257— 7 £ col. =250. 
 338—31 =307—30=277—1 62=1 15. 
 338—31=307-50=257—50=207—145=62—50(7! 
 
 =12+457=469. 
 338— 31=307— 145=162+162=324— 9£ & h col.= 
 338—58 (79 :1)=280— 27=253. 
 338—31=307—30=277—162=115—4 £ & h col.— 
 388—32=306—50=256—50=206. 
 338— 32=306— 9 £ & h col.— 297. 
 338—31=307—50=257—162=95. 
 338— 162= 171 i. 
 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 120 
 
 80:1 
 
 Although 
 
 251 
 
 78:2 
 
 he 
 
 144 
 
 77:2 
 
 is 
 
 444 
 
 78:1 
 
 not 
 
 ) 
 120 
 
 77:2 
 
 yet 
 
 299 
 
 79:2 
 
 thirty 
 
 216 
 
 78:2 
 
 three, 
 
 253 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 254 
 
 78:2 
 
 back 
 
 =211 
 
 78:2 
 
 is 
 
 221 
 
 74:1 
 
 stooped 
 and 
 
 231 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 70 
 
 77:2 
 
 hair 
 
 61 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 251 
 
 77:2 
 
 beard 
 
 200 
 
 80:1 
 
 are 
 
 145 
 
 77:2 
 
 turned 
 
 69 
 
 77:2 
 
 white. 
 
 503 
 
 77:2 
 
 Any 
 
 200 
 
 78:2 
 
 one 
 
 250 
 
 77:1 
 
 would 
 
 115 
 
 77:2 
 
 take 
 
 469 
 
 76:2 
 
 him 
 
 315 
 
 78:1 
 
 by 
 
 253 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 111 
 
 77:2 
 
 looks 
 
 206 
 
 79:1 
 
 to 
 
 297 
 
 78:1 
 
 be 
 
 95 
 
 76:1 
 
 an 
 
 176 
 
 77:2 
 
 old 
 
SHA KSPERE' S SIC AWE SS. 
 
 801 
 
 A'ord. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 252 
 
 76:1 
 
 man. 
 
 112 
 
 79:1 
 
 He 
 
 62 
 
 77:1 
 
 had 
 
 :;ss 
 
 great 
 
 338—31=307—5 b (32)=302— 50=252. 
 338—31=307— 50=257— 145=1 12. 
 33S_31=307— 50=257— 50=207— 145=62. 
 338— 32=306— 50=256— 50(76: 1)=206— 145=61. 
 
 448— 61— 387-<-l— 888. 
 338—32=306—102=144. 458—144=314^-1=315+ 
 
 1b & //col. =322. 
 338—161=177. 577—177=400+1=401+3 A— 404. 
 338—31=307—30=277—50=227—5 b col.— 282. 
 338—32=306—50=256—5 £— 251— 162— 89. 598— 
 
 89=509+1=510^-2 £=512. 
 338—32=306—50=256. 
 338—31=307—145=162. 
 338—31=307—50=257—145=112. 
 338— 31=307— 50=257— 50=207— 145=62— 3 £=59 
 
 —2 h col. =57. 
 338—31=307—50=257—145=112—3 h col.— 109. 
 338—31=307—50=257—50=207—145=62—3 b (145) 
 
 =59—2 h col.— 57. 
 338—32=306—146=160+162=322—9 b & h col.— 
 338—31=307—50=257—50=207—145=62—3 b (145)= I 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61. 
 338— 31=307— 50=257— 50 (76:1)=207— 145=62. 
 
 448—62=386+1=387. 
 338—31=307—50=257—4 b col. =253. 
 338—32=306—162=144—5 b & h col.— 189. 
 
 Here, instead of 7oen and gall, we have bunches; and throat instead of neck. 
 And observe how the same significant words, thirty three, are brought out by 
 totally different numbers. 
 
 338—161=177. 
 
 338—162=176—5 £ & £ col.— 171. 
 338—162=176—4 £= 172. 
 338—32=306—50=256. 610—256=354+1=355+ 
 
 12 b & h= 867. 
 338—162=176—1 b col.— 175. 
 338—32=306—5 £=301—30=271—50=221. 577— 
 
 221=356+1=357. 
 338—162=176. 
 
 338—31=307—50=257. 598—257=341 + 1=342. 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61—4 b & *— 
 338—32=306—5 £=301—50=251. 610-251=359 
 
 + 1=360. 
 338—31=307—30=277—57 (79:1)— 220. 
 338—31=307—5 £ (31)=302— 50=252 + 162=414. 
 338—162=176—27 £ col. 
 338—161=177. 577—177=400+1=401. 
 
 Physician is comparatively a rare word in the Plays, — it is not found in more 
 than half the Plays; — yet it occurs in this play three times. Observe how 338 — 
 161 up the column is physician, while 338 — 162=176 down the column is sick. 
 
 822 
 
 76:2 
 
 bunches 
 
 404 
 
 77:1 
 
 as 
 
 222 
 
 78:1 
 
 big 
 
 512 
 
 79:2 
 
 as 
 
 256 
 
 80:1 
 
 my 
 
 162 
 
 79:1 
 
 fist 
 
 112 
 
 77:2 
 
 upon 
 
 57 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 109 
 
 77:1 
 
 side 
 
 57 
 
 77.2 
 
 of 
 
 313 
 
 78:1 
 
 his 
 
 ■ 59 
 
 27:1 
 
 throat 
 
 61 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 387 
 
 76:1 
 
 under 
 
 253 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 139 
 
 76:2 
 
 chin. 
 
 177 
 
 77:1 
 
 I 
 
 171 
 
 77:1 
 
 heard 
 
 172 
 
 77:1 
 
 say 
 
 367 
 
 77:2 
 
 he 
 
 175 
 
 77:1 
 
 was 
 
 357 
 
 77:1 
 
 very 
 
 176 
 
 77:1 
 
 sick 
 
 342 
 
 79:2 
 
 and 
 
 57 
 
 77:1 
 
 in 
 
 360 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 220 
 
 77:1 
 
 care 
 
 414 
 
 78:1 
 
 of 
 
 149 
 
 78:2 
 
 a 
 
 401 
 
 77:1 
 
 physicia: 
 
802 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 338—32 (79:1)— 306— 50=256-162=94— 11 b col.= 
 338—32=306—50=256—162=94—50 (76: 1)— 44— 
 
 1 h col. =43. 
 338—31=307—50=257. 462—257=205 + 1=206+ 
 
 5 b col.— 211. 
 338— 32=306— 50=256— 30=226— { 
 338—31=307—7 b col.=300. 
 338—31=307—162 (78:1)— 145. 
 338—57 (59:1)— 281 -50=231. 
 338—31=307. 
 333— 31=307— 49 (76:1)— 258. 462- 
 
 205+8 6 & *— 218. 
 338—32=306—197=109. 
 338—31=307—50=257—30=227—50=177. 468— 
 
 177=291 + 1=292+11 b &h col.— 303. 
 338—31 (79:1)=307— 50=257— 57— (79:1) 200. 
 
 577—200=377+1—378. 
 338—31=307—13 b & h col.— 294. 
 338—57 (79 : 1)— 281— 50=231 . 462—231—231 + 1— 
 338—57=28 1—50=23 1—50=181 
 338—32=306—146—160. 
 338—30—308—57—251. 
 338—284—54—2 b & h= 52. 
 3 38—49—289—162=127. 
 338 -50=288—162=126, 
 
 338—284 (79:1)=54— 5 b & //— 49. 162—49=113+1= 
 338— 2S4 (79:1)— 54. 162—54=108+1=109. 
 338—31=307—218 (74:2)=89. 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)— 301— 30— 271— 146— 125— 
 
 13 b * A— 112. 
 338—32=306—50=256—50—206—145—61 . 448— 
 
 61=387+1=388. 
 338—31=307—218 (74:2)=89. 162—89=73+1=74. 
 338—30=308—32 (79:1)— 276. 
 
 338—31=307—197 (74:2)— 110. 610—110—500+1— 
 338—32—306—5 (32)— 301— 30— 271— 11 3 & h col.- 
 338—31—307—5 £ (31)— 302— 30— 272— 11 * & A col.- 
 338—31—307—5 b (31)— 302— 30— 272— 161— 111— 
 
 2 /;— 109. 
 338-31—307—5 b (31)— 302— 30— 272. 577—272— 
 
 305+1—306+3 h col.— 309. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)— 302— 30— 272— 7 * col — 
 338—32—306—5 b (32)— 301— 30=271— 5 h col.— 
 338— 57— 281— 50— 231— 50— 181 - 145=36. 
 
 Word. 
 83 
 
 43 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 78:2 
 
 76:1 
 
 His 
 
 health 
 
 
 211 
 
 78:2 
 
 is 
 
 )— 176+163— 
 
 339 
 
 78:1 
 
 very 
 
 
 300 
 
 78:1 
 
 feeble 
 
 
 145 
 
 78:2 
 
 and 
 
 
 231 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 
 307 
 
 78:1 
 
 step 
 
 ■258—204+1= 
 
 
 
 
 
 213 
 
 78:2 
 
 unfirm. 
 
 
 109 
 
 77:2 
 
 He 
 
 303 
 
 378 
 
 77:1 
 
 troubled 
 
 294 
 
 77:2 
 
 with 
 
 232 
 
 78:2 
 
 several 
 
 181 
 
 76:1 
 
 dangerous 
 
 160 
 
 78:1 
 
 diseases; 
 
 251 
 
 78:2 
 
 he 
 
 [52] 
 
 78:2 
 
 is 
 
 127 
 
 78:2' 
 
 subject 
 
 126 
 
 79:2 
 
 to 
 
 114 
 
 79:1 
 
 the 
 
 109 
 
 79:1 
 
 gout 
 
 89 
 
 78:2 
 
 in 
 
 112 
 
 109 
 
 309 
 
 265 
 
 266 
 
 36 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 388 
 
 76:1 
 
 great 
 
 74 
 
 78:1 
 
 toe; 
 
 276 
 
 78:1 
 
 and 
 
 501 
 
 77:2 
 
 I 
 
 =260 
 
 77:1 
 
 hear 
 
 =261 
 
 77:1 
 
 moreover 
 
 77:2 
 
 77:1 
 77:1 
 
 77:1 
 
 he 
 
 hath 
 fallen 
 into 
 
 78:1 consumption. 
 
 Consumption occurs but once in this play, and but four other times in all the 
 Plays. Yet here we have it cohering with gout and the shameful disorder. And 
 gout also appears here twice together and but three other times in all the Plays ! 
 And toe appears but this time in this play and but twelve times besides in all the 
 thousand pages of the Plays. 
 
SNA KSPERE S SICKNE SS. 
 
 803 
 
 338— 32=306— 30=2 70 . 
 
 338-31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272. 577—272— 
 
 305+1—806. 
 338— 32=306— 5—301— 30=271. 577—271=306+1= 
 338—31—807—94 & h col. =298. 
 338—284=54—5 b & h (284)=49. 
 338—3 1=307—50=257. 402—257=205 + 1=206. 
 338—31=307—50=257. 396—257=139+1=140+ 
 
 7 4 col.— 147. 
 338—50=288—50 (79:1)— 231— 4 h col. =227. 
 338— 32(79:1)— 306— 30— 276— 31 b & h col. =245. 
 338—284 (32 to 316, 79:1)— 54— 54 & h (284)— 49. 
 338—57 (79:1)— 281— 10/; col.— 271. 
 338—31=307—50=257. 534—257=277+1—278+ 
 
 74 col.— 285. 
 338—31=307. 
 338—31—307—50=257. 
 
 338—284 (79:1)=54— 3 b (284)— 51. 162—51=111 + 1= 
 338—284 (32 to 316, 79:1)— 54— 3 b (284)— 51. 
 338—31=307—50=257. 462—257=205-1=206+ 
 
 54(31)— 211. 
 338—284 (32 to 316, 79:1)— 54— 50— 4 3 b (284)=1. 
 338—30=308—200 (318</)= 108. 
 338—284 (32 to 316, 79:1)— 54. 
 338—285=53—50—3. 
 33S— 284=54— 3 b (284)— 51. 
 338—50=288—284 (32 to 316, 79:1)— 4. 598—4= 
 
 594+1—595. 
 338—57 (79:1)=281— 50. 231—50=181. 
 338—50—288—284 (31 to 316, 79:1)— 4. 163—4= 
 
 159+1=160. 
 338—30=308—50=258—162=96. 610—96=514+ 1= 
 338— 285 (79:1)— 53. 533—53=480+1=481. 
 338— 31=307— 218 (74:2)=89+ 163=252. 
 338—32=306—30=276—50=226—162=64. 
 338—31=307—50=257—64 (79:2)— 193. 
 338—31=307—50=257—63 (79:2)=194— 161 (78:1)= 
 338—31=307—50=257. 598—257=341+1=342+ 
 
 94 col.— 851. 
 338—162=176—49=127—11/; col.— 116. 
 338—31=307—5 4—302—30—272. 577—272=305+1= 
 338—32—306—284 (79:1)=22— 3 b (284)— 19. 
 338—31—307. 610—307—303+1—304+124 & h= 
 33s— 31=307— 50=257— 27 4 col.— 880. 
 338—32=306—50—256—50=206—162—44. 
 338—31=307—50=257—162=95. 
 338—284 (33 to 317, 79:1)=54. 
 338— 31— 307— 50— 257— 50 (76:1)— 207. 
 338—32—306—50—256—162—94. 
 338— 31— 307— 50— 257— 57 (79:1)— 200. 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 272 
 
 78:1 
 
 And 
 
 306 
 
 77:1 
 
 it 
 
 =307 
 
 77:1 
 
 is 
 
 298 
 
 78:1 
 
 thought 
 
 49 
 
 79:2 
 
 he 
 
 206 
 
 78:2 
 
 must 
 
 147 
 
 80:1 
 
 have 
 
 227 
 
 78:2 
 
 that 
 
 245 
 
 78:2 
 
 dreaded 
 
 49 
 
 78:1 
 
 disease 
 
 271 
 
 74:1 
 
 they 
 
 285 
 
 79:2 
 
 call 
 
 307 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 257 
 
 78:2 
 
 French 
 
 =112 
 
 78:1 
 
 
 (51) 
 
 78:2 
 
 which 
 
 211 
 
 78:2 
 
 is 
 
 1 
 
 78:1 
 
 one 
 
 108 
 
 78:2 
 
 of 
 
 54 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 3 
 
 79:2 
 
 most 
 
 51 
 
 78:1 
 
 incurable 
 
 595 
 
 79:2 
 
 of 
 
 181 
 
 78:1 
 
 all 
 
 160 
 
 78:1 
 
 diseases; 
 
 =515 
 
 77:2 
 
 there 
 
 481 
 
 79:2 
 
 is, 
 
 252 
 
 78:1 
 
 in 
 
 64 
 
 77:2 
 
 truth, 
 
 193 
 
 80:1 
 
 no 
 
 33 
 
 78:1 
 
 remedy 
 
 351 
 
 79:2 
 
 for 
 
 116 
 
 78:2 
 
 it. 
 
 =306 
 
 77:1 
 
 It 
 
 19 
 
 79:1 
 
 seems 
 
 316 
 
 77:2 
 
 to 
 
 230 
 
 78:2 
 
 draw 
 
 44 
 
 78:2 
 
 all 
 
 95 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 54 
 
 79:2 
 
 substance 
 
 207 
 
 76:2 
 
 out 
 
 94 
 
 78:2 
 
 of 
 
 200 
 
 79:2 
 
 one, 
 
804 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 338— 31 =307— 49— 258. 
 
 338—31=307—5 b (31 )=302— 50=252. 
 
 338—284 (79:1) =54— 49 (76:1)=5. 
 
 338— 31=307— 50=257— 31 b & h col. =226. 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—31 b & h col. =225. 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—162=44. 396— 
 
 44=352+1=353. 
 338—284=54—30=24. 
 338—32=306-30=276—50 (76:1)=226. 
 338—31=307—145=62. 577—62=515 + 1=516. 
 338—31=307. 610—307=303+1=304+3// col .= 
 338—284 (32 to 316)=54— 50=4+162=166. 
 338—31=307—50=257—63 (79:2)=194— 2£ (63)= 
 338—31=307—30=277—3 1=246. 
 338—32=306—30=276 . 
 
 462—277=185 + 1=186+ 
 
 146—145 (76:2)— 1. 
 •162=114. 339-114=225 
 
 338—31=307—30=277. 
 
 5* col =191. 
 338—32=306—50=256. 
 338—31=307—161=146 
 338—32=306—30=276- 
 
 + 1=226. 
 338—50=288—284=4—2 h— 2. 462—2=460+1= 
 338—50=288—31 (791:1)=257. 462—257=205+1= 
 338- 163 (78:1)=175. 462—175=287+1=288. 
 338— 31=307— 1 6 1=146— 145=1 . 498—1=497 + 1= 
 338—58 (79:1)=280— 58 (80:1)=222. 
 338—32=306—30=276—50=226. 
 338—57=281. 598—281=317+1=318+9 b col.— 
 338—57 (79:1)=281— 7 b col.=274. 
 338—31 (79:1)=307— 162=145. 518—145=373 + 1= 
 
 374+4 // col. =378. 
 338—50=288—31 (79)=257— 5 b & h col. =252. 
 338—144 (317 d 79:1)=194. 
 338—31=307 (74:2)— 50=257— 5 b (31)=252. 
 338—57 (79:1)=281. 
 338—31=307—50=257—63 (79:2)=194. 
 338—31=307—30=277. 462—277=185+ 1=186+ 
 
 5 b col.— 191. 
 338—284=54—5 b & h (284)=49. 162—49=113+1= 
 338—284 (32 to 316, 79:1)=54. 463—54=414+1 = 
 338—32=306—30=276—50=226. 462—226=236 + 1 
 338—31=307—30=277. 
 338—57=281—50=231—64 (79:2)=167. 462—167 
 
 =295+1=296. 
 338—284 (32 to 316, 79:1)==54. 163+54=217—3 b 
 
 ( 284)=214. 
 338—30=308—162=146. 339—146=193+1=194 
 
 +2 b col. =196. 
 338—50=288—10 b col. =278. 
 338—31—307—30=277. 317 (79:1)— 277=40+1= 
 
 Word. 
 
 258 
 252 
 5 
 226 
 225 
 
 353 
 24 
 226 
 516 
 307 
 166 
 192 
 246 
 276 
 
 191 
 256 
 
 1 
 
 226 
 461 
 206 
 288 
 498 
 222 
 226 
 327 
 274 
 
 378 
 252 
 194 
 252 
 281 
 194 
 
 191 
 
 114 
 
 415 
 
 =237 
 
 277 
 
 296 
 
 214 
 
 196 
 
 278 
 
 41 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 80:1 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 80:1 
 79:2 
 
 76:2 
 77:1 
 
 77:2 
 78:1 
 78:1 
 79:1 
 78:1 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 76:1 
 
 80:1 
 
 78:2 
 
 79:1 
 
 78:1 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 78 f2 
 80:1 
 
 and 
 
 leaves 
 
 only 
 
 emptiness 
 
 and 
 
 weariness. 
 
 It 
 
 was, 
 
 I 
 
 have 
 
 heard 
 
 say, 
 
 brought 
 
 hither 
 
 in 
 
 the 
 
 reign 
 
 King 
 
 Harry, 
 
 the 
 father 
 
 of 
 
 the 
 present 
 
 Queen, 
 
 in 
 
 fifteen 
 
 hundred 
 
 and 
 fifteen. 
 
 78:2 In 
 
 78:1 the 
 
 78:1 war 
 
 78:2 against 
 
 78:2 the 
 
 78:2 French 
 
 78:1 our 
 
 80:1 foot 
 
 80:1 soldiers 
 
 79:1 entered 
 
SHAKSPERE S SICKNESS. 
 
 805 
 
 338—144 (317 d 79:1)=194— 58 (80:1)=136— 3 h col 
 338— 32=306— 30=276— 50=226-27 // col.=199. 
 338—144=194. 
 
 338—144=194—57=137—14 b & h col.=123. 
 338—57 (79:1)— 281. 
 
 The story of the war is told with great detail. 
 
 338-31=307—50=257. 
 
 338—32=306—218 (74:2)=88. 
 
 338— 32=306— 50=256— 50(76 :1)=206—1 h col.= 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206. 533—206=327+ 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—15 b & //=col.=241. 
 
 338—32=306—30=276 
 
 338—32=306—30=276—50=226+185=411— 
 
 3 // col =408. 
 338— 57=231— 50=231— 161=70. 
 338—32=306—31 b & A— 375. 
 33^—32=306—50=256. 462—256=206+1=207. 
 338—32=306—218 (74:2)=88. 
 333—145 (317 to 462)=193— 5 // (145 )=188— 50=11 
 338—284 (33 to 317)=54. 
 338-U5 (317 to 462, 79:l)=i93— 50=143. 
 338—32=306—30=276. 
 
 And then we are told: 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206 . 468 —206=262 + 
 
 1=263+10 £ col. =273. 
 388—32=306—197=109—11 b col. =98. 
 338—32=306—50=256—5^=251—50=201 + 186= 
 
 387—9=378. 
 338—32 (79 :1)=306— 50=256. 
 338—32=306—30—276—2 h col. =2 74. 
 338—32=306—30=276—50=226—4 h col. =222. 
 338—32=306—30=276—50 (10:1)=226. 508—226= 
 
 382+1=383. 
 338— 145=193— 186 (81 :2)=7— 4 £ & h 3. 489—3 
 
 =486+1=487. 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206. 
 338—32=306—30=276—162=114. 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—186=20. 489— 
 
 20=469+1=470+1 4—471. 
 
 And contracted the dreadful disorder. We then read: 
 
 338—32=306—30=276. 276 
 
 338—57=281. 588— 281— 252+1— 258+15 b & A— 268 
 
 33^—32=306— 30=276— 50=226— 15 b & h col. =211. 211 
 338—32=306—30=276—50=226. 396—226=170+1=171 
 338—57=281—50=231—64=167—22 b & A— 145. 145 
 
 338—57 (79:1)— 281— 50=231. ■ 231 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206. 396—206=190+1=191 
 338—200 (218 to 518, 79:1)=138. 338—138=200+1=201 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 .= 133 
 
 80:2 
 
 Holland 
 
 199 
 
 78:2 
 
 and 
 
 194 
 
 78:1 
 
 the 
 
 123 
 
 80:2 
 
 Low 
 
 281 
 
 80:1 
 
 Countries, 
 
 We read of the French that — 
 
 257 
 
 79:2 
 
 They 
 
 88 
 
 78:2 
 
 fortify 
 
 205 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 -1=328 
 
 79:2 
 
 town 
 
 241 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 276 
 
 75:2 
 
 Gan- \ 
 
 408 
 
 81:2 
 
 Gate. ^ 
 
 70 
 
 7+2 
 
 Our 
 
 275 
 
 78:2 
 
 forces 
 
 207 
 
 78:2 
 
 take 
 
 88 
 
 80:1 
 
 it 
 
 38. 138 
 
 80:2 
 
 after 
 
 54 
 
 80:1 
 
 a 
 
 143 
 
 80:2 
 
 hard 
 
 276 
 
 76:1 
 
 fight. 
 
 273 
 
 78:2 
 
 Our 
 
 98 
 
 78:2 ' 
 
 men 
 
 378 
 
 81:2 
 
 became 
 
 256 
 
 75:2 
 
 too 
 
 274 
 
 79:2 
 
 familiar 
 
 222 
 
 78:2 
 
 with 
 
 383 
 
 487 
 206 
 114 
 
 471 
 
 75:2 
 
 81:1 
 80:1 
 78:1 
 
 81:1 
 
 78:1 
 79:2 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 
 the 
 
 women 
 of 
 the 
 
 place — 
 
 And 
 when 
 
 the 
 King 
 
 and 
 
 his 
 
 forces 
 
 marched 
 
8o6 
 
 THE CIPHER NARKA rfVE. 
 
 338—50=288—31 (79:1)=257— 63 (79:2)— 194— 2 b 
 
 (68)— 192. 
 338—31 (79:1)— 307— 50— 257— 63 (79:2)— 194. 
 338—57 (79:1)— 281. 338—281=57+1=58. 
 338—57—281—30 (74:2)— 251. 533— 251=282+1— 
 338— 31— 307— 5 A— 30 .'—30—272—50—222, 461— 
 
 222—239+1=240+6 //— 246. 
 338—284 (79:1)— 54. 462—54—408+1=409. 
 338—50 (74:2)— 288— 57 (79:1)— 231. 
 338— 30— 308— 162— 146— 3&— 114. 462—114—348 
 
 + 1=349+1/;— 350. 
 338—31—307—5 0—302—285 (79:1)— 17— 2 h (285)— 
 
 15. 468—15—453+1—454. 
 
 And then we are told of the ravages of the dreadful disorder. 
 
 IVord. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 192 
 
 80:1 
 
 back 
 
 194 
 
 78:1 
 
 to 
 
 58 
 
 80:1 
 
 England 
 
 283 
 
 79:2 
 
 they 
 
 246 
 
 79:1 
 
 brought 
 
 409 
 
 78:2 
 
 it 
 
 231 
 
 80:1 
 
 along 
 
 350 
 
 78:2 
 
 with 
 
 454 
 
 78:1 
 
 them. 
 
 338—57 (79:1)— 281. 396— 281— 115+1— 116+8 h col. 
 338—31—307—5 (31)— 302— 50— 252. 598—252— 
 
 346+1—347. 
 338—144—194—57—137—11 b col —126. 
 338—58—280—58—222—3 h col.— 219. 
 338—57—281—50—231 + 163=394. 
 
 =119 
 
 It 
 
 -50= 
 
 57—57 (80:1)=200— 14 & // col. 
 
 347 
 
 79:2 
 
 hath 
 
 126 
 
 80:2 
 
 made 
 
 219 
 
 80:2 
 
 sad 
 
 394 
 
 78:1 
 
 destruction 
 
 486 
 
 80:2 
 
 among 
 
 184 
 
 80:1 
 
 the 
 
 318 
 
 79:2 
 
 poor 
 
 375 
 
 80:2 
 
 lewd 
 
 278 
 
 79:2 
 
 people 
 
 226 
 
 80:1 
 
 of 
 
 61 
 
 75:8 
 
 this 
 
 =328 
 
 79:2 
 
 town. 
 
 338—31—307- 
 
 338—144—194—10 col. =184. 
 
 338—57 (79:1)— 281. 598—281—317 + 1—318. 
 
 338—32—306—50—256—50—206—57—149. 523— 
 
 149—374+1—375. 
 338—58 (79:1)— 280— 2 A col.— 278. 
 338—32—306—30—276—50—226. 
 338— 32— 306— 50— 256— 50(76:1)— 206— 145— 61. 
 338—56—281. 598—281—317+1—318+100 & h col. 
 
 The reader will observe that the same root-number produces very significant 
 words. For instance, 338 minus 284 (284 is the number of words in the first sub- 
 division of 79:1 above the terminal word 317) leaves a remainder of 54; but in the 
 284 there are three words in brackets and two hyphenated words; these give us 54, 
 52, 51 and 49 (54 — 2 h= 52; 54 — 3 0=51; 54 — 5 b & A— 49). And if we turn to the 
 text we find that the 51st word (79:1) is incurable ; and the 49th is disease; while the 
 
 51st word up from the end of scene third (79:1) is ; the 54th is gout, and the 49th 
 
 up is the. But if we deduct 284 from 288 (338 — 50—288) instead of 338, then, 
 instead of a remainder of 54, we have a remainder of 4, and 4 down 79:1 is again 
 
 ; while up from the beginning of scene fourth inclusive it is diseases, and down 
 
 it is //card. 
 
 And observe, also, that 338 minus 31, the top section of 79:1, equals 307, and 
 307 down 78:1 is step, and plus the brackets it is feeble, and plus both brackets and 
 hyphens it is thought. And 307 produces big — fist — upon — side — throat — Trench. 
 But before we get to this it tells another story: 307, 78:2, is publish; and 307, 79:2, 
 is book. But this I will show hereafter. 
 
 This is the only time fif 'teen appears in this play; and this is the only time Hol- 
 land occurs in this play, and it is found but twice in all the Plays. And note how 
 ingeniously Low-Countries, the then name of the Netherlands, is worked in ! This 
 is the only time countries appears in this play; and it is found but six other times in 
 
SHAKSPERE'S SICKNESS. 807 
 
 all ike Plays ! Yet here it is cohering with Loiv — Holland — French — war — foot — 
 soldiers — entered — Gan-gate — fight — fifteen hundred and fifteen — reign — King 
 Harry, and all the other words appearing in these sentences. Queen is concealed in 
 Quean, which occurs but three times in all the Plays ! And emptiness appears also 
 but three times in all the Plays ! ! And weariness occurs but three times in all the 
 Plays !!! 
 
 If there is not a Cipher here, what miracle was it brought all these extraordi- 
 nary words together just where they were needed ? 
 
 After reading these sentences in the Cipher, I turned to the history of the 
 period and found that Henry VIII., father of Queen Elizabeth, led a large army 
 into France in 1513, and captured Therouanne and Tournay, (the latter town is in 
 "the Low Countries,") and beat the French at the Battle of the Spurs, at Guine- 
 gate; " made peace in 15 14," and " returned home with most of his forces." What 
 time the troops got back I have not been able to determine; but Bacon, writing 
 eighty-three years afterwards, may or may not have correctly stated the time as 
 1515; it may have been 1514. The reality of the Cipher, however, is demonstrated 
 in the fact that I did not know that Henry VIII. ever invaded France, and capt- 
 ured a town called Guinegate, until I found this statement brought out by the 
 number 338 radiating from column 1 of page 79, and applied to the pages and frag- 
 ments of pages of the text, as set forth above. The Cipher statement is valuable 
 for another reason: that it helps to settle the mooted question among scientists 
 whether that "dreaded disease" did or did not exist in Europe prior to the discov- 
 ery of America. There has been considerable discussion upon this point, but the 
 better opinion, among physicians, seems to be that it was imported into Spain from 
 the West Indies by the sailors of Columbus; from there it spread into France and 
 the Netherlands; and in 1515, according to the Cipher story, given above, it was 
 brought into England by the returning foot-soldiers of King Henry. And the fact 
 that Bacon could stop in the midst of his Cipher narrative to give these details as 
 to a shameful but most destructive disorder, is characteristic of the man who, in 
 his prose 'history of Henry VII., paused to describe the great plague which deci- 
 mated London in that reign; and even gave for the benefit of posterity the accepted 
 mode of treatment, so that, should it return, the people might have the benefit of a 
 knowledge of the remedies found useful in the past. And even here Bacon goes 
 on to tell the mode of treatment for the shameful disease in question, the princi- 
 pal of which, it seems, was the sweating it out of the system. We have Falstaff 
 saying, near the end of 77:2: "For if I take but two shirts out with me, and I 
 mean not to sweat extraordinarily." 
 
 338—57 (lower section 79:1)=281— 162 (78:1)=119. 
 
 610—119=491 + 1=492. 492 77:2 sweat. 
 
 But I have not the time or the space to work out the narrative. 
 
 I will conclude this chapter by calling the attention of the reader to the wonder- 
 ful manner in which the words descriptive of Shakspere's disease are so arranged 
 as to be used in two narratives by two different numbers, very much like the double 
 cipher which Bacon gives in the De Augmentis, where one cipher phrase is inclosed 
 inside of another, and both hidden in a harmless-looking sentence. 
 
 And let the reader examine the facsimile pages, given herewith, and he will 
 see that this task was only accomplished by the most extraordinary manipulation of 
 the text. Turn to page 78. Observe these unnecessary bracketings and hyphena- 
 tions in the first column: 
 
 And first (Lord Marshall) what say you to it ? 
 
808 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 And again: 
 
 But gladly would be better satisfied, 
 
 How (in our means) we should advance ourselves. 
 
 Then again we have: 
 
 The question then (Lord Hastings) standeth thus. 
 And in the same column Hastings says to Lord Bardolfe: 
 
 'Tis very true Lord Bardolfe, for indeed, etc. 
 
 Here there is a comma after Bardolfe. Why was not Lord Bardolfe embraced 
 in brackets as well as Lord Hastings ? They are only eleven lines apart. 
 
 Then note this line: 
 
 May hold-up-head without Northumberland. 
 
 Why were these three words compounded into one, like three-man-beetle in the 
 preceding column ? 
 
 Then look at these lines: 
 
 And so with great imagination 
 
 (Proper to mad men) led his Powers to death, 
 
 And (winking) leaped into destruction 
 
 But (by your leave) it never yet did hurt, etc. 
 
 No compositor would print these words in this fashion unless instructed to do 
 so. Compare this column with pages 70, 71 and 72 of 1st Henry IV. 
 
 But here is the crowning wonder of all this extraordinary bracketing: it is near 
 the top of 78:2: 
 
 Or at least desist 
 To build at all ? Much more in this great worke, 
 (Which is (almost) to pluck a kingdom down, 
 And set another up) must we survey, etc. 
 
 Here we have a totally unnecessary bracket sentence of eleven words, and in 
 the heart of it another bracket word ! A bracket in a bracket ! Was anything ever 
 seen like it in all the wonders of typography ? 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 
 
 Prince Hal. Wherein is he good but to taste sacke, and drink it ? Wherein neat and cleanly, 
 but to carve a capon, and eat it ? Wherein cunning but in craft ? Wherein crafty but in villainy ? 
 Wherein villainous but in all things? Wherein worthy, but in nothing? 
 
 1st Henry II'., ii, 4. 
 
 THE very labor of preparing this work for the press has in- 
 creased the perfection of my workmanship, and I ask my 
 critics to consider the following, especially the first sentences. Here 
 is complete symmetry. Every word is the 338th word [505 — 167 
 (74:2)=338]. But more than that: every word is the 338th word, 
 mi nits 31 or 32 (top 79:1); and the 31 and 32 regularly alternate 
 throughout the sentence. And not only is every word 505 — 167=338, 
 minus 31 or 32, but every 306 or 307 so obtained is modified by 
 counting in the five bracket words found in that fragment of 31 or 
 ^2 words at the top of 79:1; and the product 301 or 302 alternates 
 regularly throughout the example. And every word is 505 — 167=338 
 — 31 or 32, minus the 5 bracket words in 31 or ^2, itself, or less 30 or 
 50, the modifiers on 74:2; and these again are modified by deduct- 
 ing the fragments, 146 (76:2) or 162 (78:1), the nearest fragments of 
 scenes to 77:2 or 78:1, in which most of the words occur. 
 
 And observe those words, caper — it — about — halloing — and — singing. Caper 
 is 302 minus 30 = 272 tip the column (77:2); about is 302 minus 30 = 272 down the 
 same column; while it is 301 minus 50 tip the column. And 302 down the column is 
 belly, and 301 up the column, counting from the clue-word one (78:1), is halloing, 
 and 301 from the bottom of the column, plus the hyphenated words, is singing ! 
 And 302 gives the intervening and. And just as we saw the length of 74:1 
 determined by the necessity to use the words prepared and under by two different 
 counts, from the beginning and the end of the column, so here the necessity of 
 bringing caper and halloing, and singing, and belly, in their proper places from the two 
 ends of 77:2, by the numbers 301 and 302, determined that that column should con- 
 tain 610 words, no more and no less. A single additional word would have thrown 
 the count out. If, for instance, the Lord Chief Justice, where he says (284th word, 
 77:2) fy — fy — fy, had simply said fy once, or even twice, it would have destroyed 
 the Cipher. If the words three man beetle (587th) had not been united into one 
 word, thus, three-man-beetle, or if it had been printed "three-man beetle," the 
 
 809 
 
8io 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Cipher would have failed. Or if the Folio had contained the words which were 
 inserted in the Quarto, in Falstaff's speech, some eight lines in length, the count 
 would not have matched. Or if where Falstaff says (289th word, 77:2), " My Lord, 
 I was born with a white head," etc., the Folio had contained the words which are 
 found in the Quarto, "My Lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, 
 with a white head," etc., it would have destroyed the Cipher. We can see there- 
 fore why these words were inserted in the Quarto by Bacon, to break up the count, 
 in case decipherers got on the track of his secret; and why they were taken out again 
 when he was preparing the Folio for posterity. And we can see also how false is 
 the pretense of the actors, Heminge and Condell, that they had published the Plays 
 from the true original copies, " perfect in their limbs," etc. And it is to be noted 
 that the eight-line passage left out in Falstaff's speech deserves for its intrinsic 
 merits to have been perpetuated in the Folio: 
 
 It was always yet the trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing, 
 to make it too common. ... It were better to be eaten to death with rust than to 
 be scoured to nothing with perpetual motion. 
 
 In fact, these additions in the Quarto, being freed from the clogs and restraints 
 of the Cipher, are usually written with great force and freedom. We see the genius 
 of the author at its best. 
 
 The Bishop of Worcester is speaking in the following: 
 
 338—31=307—5 £ (31)=302— 30=272. 610—272 
 
 338+1=339+3 h col. =342. 
 338—32=306—5 £ (32)=301— 30=271— 162=109- 
 
 2 £—107. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 50=252— 30=222— 
 338—32=306—5 £=301—30=271—145=126—4 b 
 
 col.— 122. 
 338—31=307—5 £=302—30=272—79 (78:1)— 198 
 
 145=48. 462—48=414+1=415. 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 146=125. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 
 
 603—126=477+1=478. 
 338-32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 50=221. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 
 
 508—126=382+1=383. 
 338— 32=306— 5 b (32)=301. 610—301=309+1= 
 
 310+9 col. =319. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272. 610—272= 
 
 338+1=339. 
 338— 32=306— 5 b (32)=301— 50=251. 610—251= 
 
 359+ 1=360+9 £=369. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272. 
 338—32=306—5 b (31)=301 . 610—301=309+1= 
 338-31=307—5 b (32)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 
 
 508— 126=382+1=383+4 b & £=387. 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 50=251— 146=105. 
 338-31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 
 
 462—126=336+1=337 
 338—32=306—5 £=301. 611—301=310+1=311, 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 342 
 
 77:2 
 
 For 
 
 107 
 
 77:2 
 
 I 
 
 146= 76 
 
 77:2 
 
 have 
 
 & h 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 77:2 
 
 some 
 
 415 
 
 78:2 
 
 times 
 
 125 
 
 75:2 
 
 seen 
 
 478 
 
 76:2 
 
 him 
 
 221 
 
 77:2 
 
 in 
 
 383 
 
 75:2 
 
 his 
 
 319 
 
 ' 77:2 
 
 youth 
 
 339 
 
 77:2 
 
 caper 
 
 369 
 
 77:2 
 
 it 
 
 272 
 
 77:2 
 
 about 
 
 310 
 
 77:2 
 
 with 
 
 387 
 
 75:2 
 
 a 
 
 105 
 
 77:2 
 
 light 
 
 337 
 
 78:2 
 
 heart, 
 
 311 
 
 77:2 
 
 halloing 
 
SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 
 
 811 
 
 610—302=308+1=309+ 
 301. 610—301=309+1= 
 
 338—31=307—5 £=302. 
 
 3/*=312, 
 338—32=306—5 £ (31)= 
 
 310+3 £=313. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 50=222— 
 
 146=70. 468— 76=392 +1=393 +3 £= 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271 . 
 
 =252—146=105- 
 
 Word. 
 
 312 
 
 313 
 
 (396) 
 271 
 
 338—32=306—5 b (32) — 301 —50= 
 
 50 (76:1)=55. 508—55=453 + 1 —454+1 £= 455 
 
 338-32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 50=221. 221 
 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)— 302— 50— 252. 252 
 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)— 301— 50 (76 1)— 251. 251 
 
 338—31=307—5 b (32)=302— 50=252— 146=106— 
 
 50 (76:1 1— 56. 508—56=452 + 1=453+1 h col .= 454 
 338—32=306—5 h (32)— 301— 30=271— 146=125— 1 A— 124 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)— 302— 30=272— 50=222. 
 
 468—222=246+1=247. 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 50 (76:1)= 
 
 221. 458—221=237+1=238. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 
 
 raggedest 
 apparel, 
 
 and 
 
 almost 
 naked. 
 
 Here we have again the expression almost naked, growing out of 505 — 167= 
 338, but by different terminal numbers. In the former case it was: 
 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 50(76 :1)=238. 238 76:2 almost 
 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 162 (78:1)— 126. 126 78:2 naked. 
 
 Here we have it: 
 
 247 
 
 238 
 126 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 77:2 
 
 77:2 
 
 78:1 
 76:1 
 
 75:2 
 78:1 
 78:1 
 76:2 
 
 75:2 
 76:2 
 
 78:1 
 
 76:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 and 
 
 singing 
 
 by 
 the 
 
 hour, 
 
 and 
 
 in 
 
 the 
 
 505— 167— 338— 32— 306— 5*— 301— 30— 271 
 
 221. 458—221=237+1=238. 
 505— 167=338— 31=307— 5 £=302—30=272—146= 
 
 50= 
 
 238 76:2 almost , 
 
 126 78:2 naked. ) 
 
 This is the only time naked occurs in this act, and it is found but twice besides 
 in this play. And this is the only time almost occurs in that scene. This is the 
 only occasion when eaper appears in this play; and it occurs but eight times besides 
 in all the other Plays ! And halloing or hallowing is so rare a word that it is found 
 only thrice besides in all the Plays. And singing is a comparatively rare word; it 
 is found but twelve other times in all the Plays. This is the only time apparel is 
 found in two acts of this play, and it appears but three times in all the play. And 
 this is the only time " raggedest" occurs in all the Plays ! 
 
 I mention these facts to show how improbable it is that all these words, de- 
 scriptive of Shakspere's youth, with all the others descriptive of his sickness, etc , 
 should have come together here by accident, and be so placed as to cohere arith- 
 metically. 
 
 And then we read (pursuing the same rules, the same roots and the same alter- 
 nations) that Shakspere was — 
 
 338— 32=306— 5 £—301— 50=251 251 76:1 A 
 
 338—31=307—5 £=302— 50=252. 468—252=216+ 
 
 1—217+3 h co i =.220. 220 78:1 bold, 
 
 338—32=306—5=301—30=271—146=125— 
 
 5 b & h col. =120. 120 76:1 forward 
 
812 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 338—31=307—5 £=302. 610—302=308+1=309 
 
 +3 A— 812. 
 338—32=306—5 £=301- -30=27 1—145=126. 
 338—31=307—5 £=302—30=272—145=127. 462- 
 
 127=335 + 1=336. 
 338— 32=306— 5 £=301— 30=271— 146=125— 50= 
 
 75. 457+75=532. 
 
 And here, the formula changing as we work, we have 
 Bacon of Shakspere as he grew older. We hav 
 
 338—32=306—5 £=301 
 338—32=306—5 £=301 
 338—31=307—30=277- 
 338—32=30 3—50=256- 
 338—32=306 -50=256- 
 
 44=294+1=295. 
 338—31=307—5 £=302 
 
 518—126=392+1= 
 333— 32 =306—50=256- 
 
 1=369+4 £ & h col 
 338—32=306—50=256- 
 338—32 =306—50=256- 
 8*8—31—807—50—257- 
 338—32=307—30=277- 
 338—32=306—50=256- 
 
 1=369 + 2=371. 
 338—32=306—56=256 
 
 30=271—162=109. 
 —162=139. 
 
 -162=115—58 (79:1)=57. 
 -162=94. 
 -162=94—50=44. 338— 
 
 —30=272—146 (76:2)— 126. 
 393+4 h col.— 397. 
 -162=94 462—94=368+ 
 .=373. 
 -162=94. 
 
 -162=94. 448—94=354+1^ 
 -162=95. 462—95=367+1 
 -162=115—5 b col.— 110. 
 -162=94. 462—94=368+ 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 312 
 
 77.2 
 
 and 
 
 126 
 
 76:1 
 
 most 
 
 336 
 
 78:2 
 
 vulgar 
 
 532 
 
 76:2 
 
 boy. 
 
 j have 
 
 a descript 
 
 ion given by 
 
 follow 
 
 ing: 
 
 
 109 
 
 78:2 
 
 A 
 
 139 
 
 79:2 
 
 gross, 
 
 57 
 
 79:2 
 
 fat, 
 
 94 
 
 76:1 
 
 on \ 
 
 295 
 
 80:1 
 
 taught ) 
 
 397 
 
 79:1 
 
 rogue, 
 
 373 
 
 78:2 
 
 full 
 
 94 
 
 79:2 
 
 of 
 
 =355 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 =368 
 
 78:2 
 
 own 
 
 110 
 
 79:1 
 
 most 
 
 (371) 
 
 79:2 
 
 beastly 
 
 = 569 
 
 78:2 
 
 desires. 
 
 —162=94. 462—94=363+1^ 
 
 Taught is found but twice in this play; both times in act ii, scene i, with only 
 two lines between them. We have seen it used already to refer to Susanna's edu- 
 cation, and now we see it employed to describe Shakspere. Beastly is compara- 
 tively a rare word; it is found but twice in this play, and but twice besides in all 
 the Historical Plays. Desires is found but twice in this play, and but twelve times 
 in all the Histories. Gross occurs but twice in this play. 
 
 Observe also that all of these last five words are produced by precisely the 
 same root-number and the same terminal number, 94, while 115 is the same root- 
 number put through the same formula, except that 30 is the modifier instead of 50. 
 
 And then we have, coming out of the same root-numbers (for the difference 
 between 94 and 144 is just 50), the following: 
 
 338— 31=307— 5 £ (31)=302— 50=252. 252 77:2 A 
 
 338—32=306—5 £ (32) - 301—30=271—50=221—145= 
 
 76— 3 £(145)=73. 462— 73=389+1=390+1 h col. =391 78:2 glutton, 
 
 3^8—31=307—5 £ (31)=302— 30=272— 50=222. 
 
 577— 222=355+1=356+3 // col. =339. 339 77:1 rather 
 
 338—32 306—162=144. 461—144=317+1=318 
 
 +2//=320. 320 78:2 over-greedy 
 
 338—32=306—162=144—50=94. 468—94=374+1=375 78:1 than 
 
 318—32=306—162=144. 462—144=318+1=319. 319 78:2 choice. 
 
 Here again the alternations, 31, 32, etc., are preserved. 
 
 And here observe an astonishing fact: — the word glutton occurs but twice in all 
 
SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL PAL STAFF. 813 
 
 the thousand pages of the Flays, and both times it is found in this play, and in this act; 
 and both times it is used to describe Shakspere; and both times it grows out of 505 
 — /6y z =jjSf If the reader will turn back to 76:1 and take the number 338, and 
 count from the first word of scene third, downward and forward, he will find that 
 the 33Sth word is glutton. Thus: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 338—49 ( 76 :1;=289. 289 76:2 glutton. 
 
 And here we have it again occurring in 78:2, and again it is the 338th word; 
 and these are the only occasions when the word is found in all the Shakespeare Plays ! 
 And if we turn backward with this root-number we stumble again upon the story 
 of Shakspere's fight with the game-keepers and the flight of his companions, for 
 
 288 ^333 — 50=288) carried down the preceding column is turned (288, 75:2); and 
 
 289 (33S — 49 == 2Sg) is their; and 2S9 up the preceding column is our, and 2S8 is men; 
 and 2S8 up the same, plus b & h, is fled; and 289 — 50=239 down the same column is 
 swifter; and 289 up the same column plus the bracket words is arro-ws; and 239 
 down the same column plus the b & h is speed. Here, with a touch, as it were, we 
 have the elements of the sentence, Our men turned their backs and fled swifter than 
 the speed of arrows. But if we use the modifier 30, instead of 50, we have 289 — 30 
 =259, and 259 down the same column is prisoner; and plus one hyphen word it is 
 ta en (taken); and//«.c both b & h it is again fled; and 259 up the same column is 
 Field (" fled the field"); and plus the bracket words it is again prisoner; and plus 
 both b & h it is furious ! And 258 (288 — 30=258) down the column is to 1 en, and 
 up the column it supplies the then for "swifter than the speed," etc. In short, 
 everywhere we turn with the magical Cipher numbers, marvelous arithmetical 
 adjustments present themselves. 
 
 And then we have this description of Shakspere, coming, it will be observed, 
 out of that same 33S minus 31 or 32, counting in the five bracket words in the 31 
 or 32: 
 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)= 302- -30=272—50=222. 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 145=156— 2 b col.— 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 145— 157— 2 b col.— 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 4 h col.— 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)=302— 30=272— 146=126. 
 
 498—126=372+1=373. 
 338—32=306—5 (32)=301— 145=156— 2 £=154. 
 338—31 • 307—5 * (31)=302— 30=272— 50=222. 
 338— 32=306— 5 A32)=301— 30=271— 14 b & //= 
 
 Here we have the same regular alternatives, 31, 32; 31, 32; 31, 32; 31, 32. And 
 it stands to reason that to have carried on the deception as to the authorship of 
 the Plays in such wise as to escape suspicion, Shakspere must have been a man of 
 remarkable shrewdness and some natural ability. And we will find hereafter that he 
 was much like Sir John Falstaff in his characteristics. 
 
 But if (when we advance a step farther in the Cipher), instead of using 505 — 
 167=338 as the root-number, we count in the 22 b & h words in that 167, we obtain 
 still more interesting portions of the story. The formula now is 505 — 167=338 — 
 11b & /*=3i6; and to save labor to printers and readers I will use in the following 
 example only that terminal number, 316: 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & /;=316. 
 316— 32=284— 162=122— ±b &h col. =118. 118 77:2 Weighing 
 
 222 
 
 78:2 
 
 With 
 
 154 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 155 
 
 77:2 
 
 quick 
 
 267 
 
 77:2 
 
 wit 
 
 373 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 154 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 222 
 
 78:1 
 
 big 
 
 257 
 
 77:2 
 
 belly. 
 
814 
 
 THE CIPHER NARK A TIVE. 
 
 316—32=284—50=234. 603—234=369+1= 
 316—32=284—50=234—30 (76:1)— 204. 396—204 
 
 192+1=193+2/; col.— 195. 
 316—32=284—50=234—30=204—145=59. 610— 
 
 59=551 + 1=552 + 2// col.— 554. 
 
 Word. 
 
 370 
 195 
 554 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 76:2 
 
 80:1 
 
 two 
 
 hundred 
 
 pound. 
 
 Observe the accuracy of this. Weighing occurs but this one time in this play, 
 and but four times besides in all the Plays ! Yet here it is, with all the other words 
 descriptive of Shakspere's Falstaffian proportions before sickness broke him 
 down. Hundred occurs but three times in this play; and pound but once in this 
 act. Here every word is 505 — 167=338 — 22 b & //=3i6 — 32=284 — 50=234. Think 
 how many figures there are that might have applied themselves to that 505 to 
 modify it; and yet into this labyrinth of numbers we see the same terminal root- 
 number, reached through all these transmutations, picking out the coherent words, 
 as in the above sentence. 
 
 The reader will perceive, by looking at the text, that pound was used for pounds 
 in that day: — "Will your Lordship lend me a thousand pound?" 
 
 And now, marvelous to tell, Bacon refers to Shakspere, even as the Bishop 
 of Worcester did, as a glutton; and still more marvelous, the text is so adjusted 
 that again for the third time that same word glutton is used: 
 
 316—49=267—145=122. 448—122=326+1=327. 327 76:1 A 
 
 316—30=286—163=123. 123 78:1 great 
 316—30=286—50=236—163=73. 462—73=389+ 
 
 1=390+1 h col— 391. 391 78:2 glutton. 
 
 Now compare this with the manner in which glutton was just obtained: 
 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 30=271— 50=221— 145 
 =76—3 b (145)— 73. 462—73=389+1=390+ 
 1 h col. =391. 391 78:2 glutton 
 
 Here it will be observed that the difference between 145 and 162 is 17, and this, 
 plus the 5 b in 31 (79:1), makes 22, the number of b & h words in 165, and thus the 
 two counts are so equalized as to fall on the same word. But what a miracle of 
 arithmetical adjustments does all this imply ! 
 
 And then the description of the play-actor of Stratford goes on. We are told 
 he is, besides being a glutton, a drunkard. Or, as it is expressed, that — 
 
 316—49 (76:1)=267— 146=121. 498—121=377+1=378 
 316—50 (74:2)=266— 162=104. 104 
 
 316— 50(74:2=266— 145=121— db (145)— 118. 610— 
 
 118=492+1=493. 493 
 
 316— 30 (74:2)=286— 163 (78:1)— 128. 462—123= 
 
 339+1=340. 340 
 
 316—30 (74:2)— 286. 468—286=182+1=183+ 
 
 dh col. =186. 186 
 
 316— 49 (76:1)=267— 162=105. 577—105=472+1= 473 
 316—50 (74:2)=266— 162=104. 610—104=506+1=507 
 
 The word extraordinarily is a very rare word in the Plays. It is found but twice 
 in all the Plays ; and both times in this play ! And this is the only time fond appears 
 in all this play; and this is the only time bottle appears in all this play ! And fond 
 occurs but twelve other times in all the Historical Plays; and bottle but four other 
 
 76:1 
 
 He 
 
 77:2 
 
 is 
 
 77:2 « 
 
 extraordinarily 
 
 78:2 
 
 fond 
 
 78:1 
 
 of 
 
 77:1 
 
 the 
 
 77:2 
 
 bottle. 
 
SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL I- A 1ST A IF. 
 
 8l5 
 
 times ! Yet here they are linked together by the same root-number, with the 
 naturally coherent words: big — belly — weighing — two — hundred — pound — great 
 — glutton, etc. And glutton does not, I have shown, appear in any other of the 
 Shakespeare Plays ! Surely the blindest and most perverse must concede that all this 
 cannot be accidental. 
 
 And then we have the following important statement; 
 
 316—161=155—57=98—12 b & h col.=86. 
 316—161=155. 610—155=455+1=456. 
 316—49 (76:1)=267— 57=210. 
 316—162=154—57 (80:1)— 97. 523—97=426+1= 
 427-2 £=429. 
 
 =296. 
 =345 
 
 Word. 
 
 86 
 456 
 210 
 
 429 
 296 
 
 316—50 (74: 2)=266+ 32 (79:1)=298— 2 h col.- 
 316—30=286—162=124. 468—124=344+1= 
 
 +th— 846. 346 
 
 316—49=267—145=122. 122 
 
 316—50=266. 339—266=73+1=74. 74 
 
 316—30=286. 339— 286=53+ 1=54+ 3 £=57. 57 
 
 316—50=266—50=216. 468—216=252^-1=253. 253 
 
 316—30=286—161=125—57 (80:1)— 68. 523—68= 
 
 455+1=456. 456 
 
 316—31=285—30=255—4// col. =251. 251 
 
 316—161 (78:1)— 155— 2 b col =153. 153 
 
 816— 161— 155— §bh h— 150. 150 
 
 316—161 (18:1)— 155. 155 
 
 316—49=267. ' 267 
 
 316—31=285—50=235. 235 
 
 316—5 b & h col.— 311. 311 
 
 316—50=266—50=216. 468—216=252+1=253+ 
 
 3* col.— 256. 256 
 
 316—49=267—10 b col. =257. 257 
 
 316—31=285—145=140—3 £=137. 162—137=25+1=26 
 316—30=286—161=125. 468—125=343+1=344. 344 
 
 327 
 267 
 149 
 153 
 224 
 284 
 215+3/4—218 
 316 
 314 
 
 100 
 304 
 
 413 
 
 428 
 
 284 
 
 311 
 
 61 
 
 610—284=326+1=327 
 
 316—32=284, 
 
 316—49=267. 
 
 316— 163=153— 4 £ & £ col. =149. 
 
 316. 468—316=152+1=153. 
 
 316— 32=284— 50=234— 10 b col.=224. 
 
 316—32=284. 
 
 316—30=286—32=254. 268—254=214+1 
 
 316. 
 
 316—2 £=314. 
 
 316—32=284— 50=234— 65=169— 58 (80:1)=111— 
 
 ll£col.=100. 
 316. 610—316=294+ 1=295+9 b col.=304. 
 316—32=284—50=234—65 (79:2)=169— 58 (80:1)= 
 
 111. 523—111=412+1=413. 
 316—50=266+162=428. 
 316-32=284. 
 
 316-49=267. 577—267=310+1=311. 
 316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72— 11 />=61. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 80:2 
 
 77-9 
 
 80:2 
 79:1 
 
 78:1 
 78:2 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 
 78:1 
 
 80:2 
 78:2 
 T7:2 
 77:2 
 77:2 
 77:2 
 78:2 
 79-1 
 
 78:1 
 77:2 
 78:1 
 78:1 
 77:2 
 
 77:2 
 78:1 
 77:2 
 78:1 
 78:1 
 78:1 
 78:1 
 
 80:2 
 77:2 
 
 80:1 
 78:1 
 78:2 
 77:1 
 
 But 
 
 I 
 must 
 
 confess 
 there 
 
 was 
 
 some 
 
 humor 
 
 in 
 
 the 
 
 villain; 
 
 he 
 
 hath 
 
 a 
 
 quick 
 
 wit, 
 
 and 
 
 a 
 
 great 
 
 belly; 
 
 and, 
 
 indeed, 
 
 I 
 
 made 
 
 use 
 
 of 
 him, 
 with 
 
 the 
 assistance 
 
 of 
 my 
 
 brother, 
 
 as 
 
 the 
 
 original 
 
 model 
 
8t6 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 81&-32— 284— 46 * h col.— 280. 280 79:1 from 
 
 316—32=284-5 b (32)=279+ 162=441—3 h col.— 438 78:1 which 
 
 816— 81— 285. 285 78:1 we 
 
 816— 82— 284— 50— 284— 4 h col.— 286. 230 78:2 draw 
 
 316. 316 78:1 the 
 
 316—32=284—50=234. 234 77:2 characters 
 
 316. 316 78:2 of 
 316—30=286—161=125—50 (76:1)— 75. 603—75= 
 
 528+1=529. 529 76:2 Sir 
 
 316—32=284—50=234. 598—234=364+1=365. 365 79:2 John 
 
 316—32=284—161=123—50=73. 603—73=530+1=531 76:2 Falstaffe 
 
 316—30=286—162=124. 610—124=486+1=487. 487 77:2 and 
 
 316—31=285—50=235. 598—235=363+1=364. 364 79:2 Sir 
 
 316—30=286—162=124. 124 78:1 Toe ) 
 
 316— 32=284— 146=138— 3£ (146)=135+162= 297 78:1 be. f 
 
 It will be remembered that the characters of Sir John Falstaff and Sir Toby, 
 in Twelfth Night, have many points of similarity: both are corpulent, sordid, 
 gluttonous, sensual, wine-drinking and dishonest; indeed, very much such characters 
 as Bacon describes Shakspere to have been. 
 
 Note how many significant words come out of the same root-number: 234 is 
 characters ; it is also draw {draw characters); it is also, minus 162, model {model to 
 draw characters); it is also, up the next column forward, John; and 284 (234+50= 
 284) is, minus 161, Falstaffe; and 284 is from; and 234 again is brother. And 
 observe, also, the number 316, out of which 234 is drawn by deducting 32 (79:1): 
 316 from the top of scene fourth (78:1), carried backward to the next column and 
 down it, is made; and 316 from the end of column 78:1 upward is use {made use); 
 and 316 carried down the next column (78:2), is of {made useof); and 316, commenc- 
 ing at the end of the same scene and carried down 78:1, is him {made use of him). 
 
 And this revelation supplies an answer to a question which has puzzled the com- 
 mentators: Where did the author of the Plays find the character of Falstaff? 
 There was nothing like it in literature. Knight cannot discover ' " the very slight- 
 est similarity" to Sir John Oldcastle in the old play entitled The Famous Victories 
 of King Henry V. The name was borrowed, as I have shown, but not the char- 
 acter Ritson thinks the name was taken " without the slightest hint of the char- 
 acter." We have the explanation. The fat knight was Shakspere. 
 
 The character of Falstaff is often referred to in the Cipher story. The com- 
 bination Fall-staff is found in eighteen of the Plays; and wherever staff appears in 
 the text, in every case "fall" is near at hand! In The Tempest both occur in act 
 v, scene 1 ; in Much Ado both are found in act v, scene 1 ; in Richard II. both 
 appear in act ii, scene 2; in 2d Henry VI. both occur in act ii, scene 3; in jd Henry 
 VI. both are found in act ii, scene 1; and in Hamlet both appear in act iv, scene 5; 
 while in every other instance they are found near together. 
 
 The Cipher statement that Bacon had the assistance of his brother Anthony in 
 preparing some of the Plays is just what we might expect. This will account for 
 the familiarity with Italian scenes and names manifested in them; for Anthony had 
 resided for years in Italy. We can imagine the two brothers, alike in many traits 
 of mind, working together at St. Albans, or in their chambers at Gray's Inn; 
 
 J Introductory Notice to Henry IV., p. 166, vol. i of Histories. 
 
SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 
 
 817 
 
 Francis pulling the laboring oar, and the sick Anthony making valuable sugges- 
 tions as to plots and characters. And one cannot help but imagine how the brothers 
 must have enjoyed the rollicking scene of the fat Shakspere, leaping and singing 
 about on the stage, enacting his own shameful character in the disguise of Fal- 
 staff ! It was capping the climax of the ludicrous. It was a farce inside of a 
 comedy. 
 
 I am aware it will be thought by some that I had read the foregoing passage in 
 the Cipher story before I wrote that part of the Argument of this book wherein I 
 suggested ' that Shakspere was Falstaff. But I beg to assure the reader that all 
 the Argument was in type before I worked out this portion of the Cipher narrative. 
 In fact, the first suggestion that Falstaff might be Shakspere was made to me two 
 or three years ago by my wife. 
 
 And the multitude also enjoyed the sight, which must have entertained Francis 
 and Anthony so much. 
 
 316. 
 
 316—145=171—5 b & h col. =166. [316—146=170- 
 
 3/;=107— 163=4, 78:2, see]. 
 316—49=267. 610—267=343+1=344+3// col.— 
 316—32=284. 610-284=326+1=327 + 12/; & h col. 
 316—32=284-30=254. 468—254=214+1=215- 
 
 3 h col =218, 
 316-32=284—50=234. 457—234=223 + 1=224. 
 316—50=266—50=216. 468—216=252+1=253+ 
 
 3/, col. =256. 
 316— 15/;& .// col. =301. 
 316—49=267—10/^ col =257. 
 
 Word. 
 316 
 
 166 
 
 347 
 
 =339 
 
 218 
 224 
 
 256 
 301 
 9IW 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 77:1 
 77:2 
 77-9 
 
 78:1 
 76:2 
 
 78:1 
 77:2 
 77-9 
 
 To 
 
 see 
 
 him 
 caper 
 
 with 
 his 
 
 great 
 round 
 belly. 
 
 The curious reader will note that belly appears five times in acts i and ii of this 
 play, and twice in act iv, or seven times in all in this play; while it is altogether 
 absent from one-half the Plays, and appears but once in each of eight of the Plays. 
 Why? Because of the descriptions, here given, of Shakspere's corpulence, and 
 the story of the effect of the poison on the stomach of Francis Bacon, which will 
 hereafter appear. 
 
 And then Bacon goes on to tell of the wonderful success of the part of Sir 
 John Falstaff: 
 
 310-32=284—50=234+162=396. 
 316— 49(76: l)=267— 162=105. 
 316—32=284—50 (76:1)=234. 
 316—32=284—14 b col. =2 70. 
 316—32=284—30=254. 468—254=214+1=215+ 
 
 15 b & h col. =230. 
 316—31=285—162=123—61 (80:2)=62. 489—62= 
 
 427+1—428. 
 316—31=285—162=123—13/; & k col. =110. 
 316—32=284—50=234—146=88—3 b (146)=85. 
 
 4.-,:— 85=372 + 1=373. 
 316—50=266. 534—266=268+1=269 7£col.= 
 
 396 
 
 78:2 
 
 It 
 
 105 
 
 78:2 
 
 draws 
 
 234 
 
 78:2 
 
 together, 
 
 270 
 
 79:1 
 
 to 
 
 230 
 
 428 
 110 
 
 373 
 
 276 
 
 78:1 
 
 81:1 
 
 78:2 
 
 76:2 
 79:2 
 
 the 
 
 play I 
 house ) 
 
 yards, 
 such 
 
 See p. 279, ante. 
 
 f Of THE >t 
 
 ( VNIYERSITY J 
 

 Page and 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 884 
 
 78:1 
 
 great 
 
 234 
 
 78:1 
 
 musters 
 
 229 
 
 78:1 
 
 of 
 
 278 
 
 79:2 
 
 people, 
 
 309 
 
 78:1 
 
 far 
 
 111 
 
 78:2 
 
 beyond 
 
 186 
 
 79:1 
 
 my 
 
 141 
 
 78:2 
 
 hopes 
 
 247 
 
 78:1 
 
 and 
 
 154 
 
 78:2 • 
 
 expectation, 
 
 139 
 
 78:2 ' 
 
 that 
 
 349 
 
 76:2 
 
 they 
 
 376 
 
 77:2 
 
 took 
 
 473 
 
 77:2 
 
 in 
 
 354 
 
 77:2 
 
 at 
 
 39 
 
 78:2 
 
 least 
 
 277 
 
 78:1 
 
 twenty 
 
 344 
 
 77:2 
 
 thousand 
 
 345 
 
 77:2 
 
 marks. 
 
 Si 8 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 316—32=284—50=234—146=88—3 b (146)=85 
 
 468—85=383+1=384. 
 316—32=284—50=234. 
 316—32=284—50=234—5 b col.— 229. 
 316—50=266. 534—266=268+1=269+9 b & h col— - ; 
 316—7^=309. 
 
 316-32=284—162=122—11 b col.— 111. 
 316—162=154+32 (79:1)=186. 
 316—162=154—13 /;=141. 
 316—32=284—50=234. 468—234=234+ 1=235+ 
 
 120 col. =247. 
 316—162=154. 
 316—32=284—145=139. 
 
 316— 3 1=285— 30=255. 603—255=348+ 1=349. 
 316—31=285—50=235. 610—235=375+1=376. 
 316—32=284—146=138. 610—138=472+1=473. 
 316—50=266. 610—266=344+1=345+9 b col.— 
 316— 32=284— 50=234— 163=71— 32 (79:1)=39. 
 316—32=284—7/; col. =277. 
 316—49=267. 610—267=343+1=344. 
 316—50=266. 610—266=344+1=345. 
 
 The word yard is peculiar; it meant what was called the pit, fifty years ago,,, 
 and what is now designated as the parquette; it was the roofless body of the play- 
 house. Collier says, speaking of the Globe theater: 
 
 It had rails to prevent spectators in the yard from intruding on the stage. * 
 
 And again Collier says: 
 
 W. Fennor in his Description, 1616, speaks with great contempt of that part 
 of the audience in a public theater which occupied the yard . . . He adds: 
 But leave we these, who for their just reward 
 Shall gape and gaze among the fools in the yard. 2 
 
 Yard occurs but four times in all the Plays; this is the only time draws is found 
 in this play; and this is the only time musters appears in this scene. Musters sig- 
 nified gatherings of people. "Defense, musters, preparations" (Henry V., ii, 4); 
 and "make fearful musters and prepared defense" (1st Henry IV , Induction). 
 Expectation is found five times in this play, and but six times in all the other nine 
 Historical Plays ! Even the common word far is found but once in act i, and but 
 four times more in all this play; and least occurs but twice in this play; and marks 
 but this one time in this play; and even hopes is found but twice in this act and 
 scene, and four times in all the play. 
 
 And it seems the tradition was right which said Queen Elizabeth was especially- 
 pleased with the character of Sir John Falstaff. We read: 
 
 316—32=284—57=227—14 b & h col. =21 3. 
 316—31=285—50 (76:1)=235. 
 316—32=284—50=234—65 (79:2)=169— 10 
 316—31=285—50 (76:1)— 286. 
 
 1 English Dramatic Poetry, vol. iii, p. no. 
 
 213 
 
 79:1 
 
 It 
 
 235 
 
 80:2 
 
 pleases 
 
 \ col.— 159 
 
 80:1 
 
 her 
 
 235 
 
 77:1 
 
 Majesty 
 
 2 Ibid., vol. iii, p. : 
 
 '43* 
 
 
SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 
 
 19 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 446 
 
 78:1 
 
 much 
 
 180 
 
 78:2 
 
 more 
 
 339 
 
 76:2 
 
 than 
 
 118 
 
 77:1 
 
 any 
 
 156 
 
 78:1 
 
 thing 
 
 86 
 
 78:2 
 
 else 
 
 176 
 
 79:1 
 
 in 
 
 35 
 
 80:1 
 
 these 
 
 118 
 
 78:1 
 
 Plays. 
 
 45 
 
 78:1 
 
 It 
 
 9 
 
 79:1 
 
 seems 
 
 416 
 
 78:1 
 
 indeed 
 
 381 
 
 78:2 
 
 to 
 
 235 
 
 77:2 
 
 grow 
 
 138 
 
 77:2 
 
 in 
 
 137 
 
 77:2 
 
 regard 
 
 270 
 
 77:2 
 
 every 
 
 286 
 
 79:1 
 
 day. 
 
 316—32=284+162=446. 
 
 316—32=284—50 (74:2)=234— 50 (73:1)=184— 
 
 4 h col =180. 
 316—50=266. 603—266=337+1=338+1 h col.= 
 316—50=266—145=121—3 b (145)=118 
 316. 468—316=152+1=153+3 h col =156. 
 316—32=284—50=234—146=88—2 h col =86. 
 316—31=285—50=235—57=178—2 h col.=176. 
 316. 338— 316=22+ 1=23+ 12 £ col.=35. 
 316—50=266—145=121—3 b (145)=118. 
 
 And then we are told that the part of Sir John continued to increase in popu- 
 larity: 
 
 316—50=266—145=121—3 b (145)=118. 162—118= 
 
 44+1=45. 
 316—145=171—162=9. 
 316—32=284—30=254 + 162=416. 
 316—32=284—50=234—146=88—3 b (146)=85. 
 
 462—85=377+1=378+3/; col. =381. 
 316—31=285—50=235. 
 316—32=284—146=138. 
 316—31=285—146=139—2 b col. =137. 
 316-31=285—154 & h col. =270. 
 316—30=286. 
 
 And then we are told that the popularity of Sir John with the swarming multi- 
 tudes helped Bacon somewhat out of the necessities which his biographers tell us 
 pressed so sorely upon him: 
 
 3 1 6—3 J=28 1—50=234. 61 0—234=376 +1=377. 
 
 316—32=284—30=254-5 b col =249. 
 
 316—32=284—146=138 
 
 316— 49=267+162=429— Mb col. =412. 
 
 316—57 (80:1)=259— 62 (80:2)=197. 
 
 316—32=284—145=139—3 b (146)=136. 610—136 
 
 =474+1=475+2 h col. =477. 
 316—32=284—146=138. 577—138=439 + 1=440+ 
 
 3/,col.=443. 
 316—32=284—145=139- -3 b (145)=136. 
 316—32=284—30=254. 255—50=205—4 h col.= 
 
 Bacon was unable to take care of his gains; but the thrifty Shakspere turned 
 his share to good account. We read: 
 
 315—32=284—146=138—3 4 (146)=135— 5 b col.— 
 316—32=284—50=234—50=184+162=346. 
 316—32=284—146=138. 577—138=439+1=440. 
 316— 32=284— 50=234— 50=184— 22 b & h col. =162. 
 316—31=285—30=255—50=205—146=59+162= 
 
 221— 6 4 col.— 216. 
 316—32=284—162 (78:1)— 122— 58 (80:1)— 64. 523— 
 
 64=459^1=460+2 4 col.=462. 
 
 377 
 
 77:2 
 
 It 
 
 249 
 
 78:1 
 
 supplies 
 
 138 
 
 77:1 
 
 my 
 
 412 
 
 78:1 
 
 present 
 
 197 
 
 81:1 
 
 needs 
 
 477 
 
 77:2 
 
 for 
 
 443 
 
 77:1 
 
 some 
 
 136 
 
 77:2 
 
 little 
 
 201 
 
 77:1 
 
 time. 
 
 130 
 
 79:1 
 
 He 
 
 346 
 
 78:1 
 
 was 
 
 440 
 
 77:2 
 
 wise 
 
 162 
 
 78:2 
 
 enough 
 
 216 
 
 462 
 
 78:1 
 
 80:2 
 
 to 
 
820 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 316. 577—316=261 + 1=262. 262 
 
 316—32=284—146=138. 162—138=24+1=25 25 
 316—32=284—50=234—50=184. 462—184=278+ 
 
 1=279+8 b & /fr=287. 287 
 316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72— 50 (76:1)=22. 
 
 457-22=435+1=436. 436 
 
 316—32=284—146=138. 462—138=324+1=325. 325 
 
 316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72. 72 
 
 316—32=284—146=138. 468—138=330+1=331 331 
 
 316—32=284—50=234—50=184—4 h col— 180. 180 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 77:1 
 
 78:1 
 
 78:2 
 
 76:2 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 78:1 
 77:1 
 
 his 
 groats 
 
 and 
 
 buy 
 
 an 
 
 estate 
 
 of 
 
 lordship. 
 
 And then the Cipher tells us something altogether new, that will be interesting 
 to all lovers of the Plays, and especially to the great German race. Bacon says: 
 
 3 16— 50=266— 58=208. 
 
 316—145=171. 
 
 316—32=284—58=226—11 b col.— 215. 
 
 316—30=286. 598—286=312+1=313. 
 
 316— 2 /i col. =314. 
 
 316—32=284—50=234. 577—234=343+1=344. 
 
 316. 338—316=22+1=23. 
 
 316—144 (317 to 461 79:1)— 172. 577—172=405+ 
 
 1=406+11 /.col. =41 7. 
 316—31=285—30=255. 
 
 •316—31=285. 598—285=313—1=314+9 b col .= 
 316—57 (80:1)=259. 
 
 ;316— 30=286— 57=229— 14 bah col =2l5. 
 .316— 31=285— 50=235. 338—235=103+1=104. 
 316—32=284—14 b col. =(270). 
 316— 30=286— 57 (80:1)— 229. 598—229=369+1= 
 316. 338—316=22+1=23+5 h col.— 28. 
 316—30=286—57 (80:1)=229. 
 316—31=285—57=228. 523—228=295+1=296. 
 316—58 (80:1)— 268. 523—258=265+1=266. 
 316—57=259. 588— 259— 274+1— 275 + 7 J coi.— 
 316—32=284—57=227. 598—227=371 + 1=372+ 
 
 10 b & /z=382. 
 316—30=286—57 (80:1)— 229. 
 31 6— 32=284. 338—284=54+ 1=55+3 /*— 58. 
 316—31=285—30=255. 338—255=83 + 1=84. 
 316—145=171—5 b & h col.— 166. 
 316-32=284. 598—284=314+1=315. 
 .316—31=285—162=123. 
 316—32—284—50=234—50 (76:1)=184. 462—184= 
 
 278+1=279. 
 316—31=285—30=255. 338— 255=83+1=84 -i 
 
 3 h col.— (87). 
 316—32=284—30=254. 888—254—84+1—85+ 
 
 3/; col. =(88). 
 316-31=285-50=235. 339-235=104+1=105. 
 316—31=285. 338—285=53+1=54 + 3 h col.=57. 
 
 208 
 171 
 215 
 313 
 314 
 344 
 23 
 
 417 
 255 
 323 
 259 
 215 
 104 
 (270) 
 370 
 28 
 229 
 296 
 366 
 282 
 
 229 
 58 
 84 
 166 
 315 
 123 
 
 279 
 
 (87) 
 
 (88) 
 105 
 
 57 
 
 80:2 
 77:1 
 80:2 
 79:2 
 79:2 
 77:1 
 80:1 
 
 77:1 
 79:2 
 79:2 
 .79:2 
 80:2 
 80:1 
 79:2 
 79:2 
 80:1 
 79:2 
 S0;2 
 80:^5 
 79:2 
 
 79:2 
 80:2 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 77:1 
 79:2 
 78:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 80:1 
 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 80:1 
 
 I 
 
 heard 
 
 that 
 
 my 
 Lord 
 
 the 
 German 
 
 Minister 
 
 told 
 
 Says j 
 ill \ 
 
 that 
 it 
 
 was 
 
 well 
 worth 
 coming 
 
 all 
 
 the 
 
 long 
 
 way 
 
 to 
 England 
 
 to 
 see 
 this, 
 part 
 
 of 
 
 Sir 
 
 John 
 
 alone, 
 
 in 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 315 
 
 79:2 
 
 this 
 
 428 
 
 81:1 
 
 play 
 
 325 
 
 79:2 
 
 and 
 
 255 
 
 78:2 
 
 The 
 
 329 
 
 81:1 
 
 Merry 
 
 19 
 
 81:1 
 
 Wives 
 
 235 
 
 77:2 
 
 of 
 
 193 
 
 79:2 
 
 Windsor. 
 
 SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFF. 821 
 
 316—32=284. 598—284=314+1=315. 
 316—30=286—162 (78:1) — 124 — 62 (80:1)— 62. 489 
 
 — 62=427 +1=428. 
 316—32=284. 598—284=314+1=315+10 b & h= 
 316—31=285—30=255. 
 316— 32=284— 57=227— 62=165— 4£ & h (62)=161. 
 
 489—161=328+1=329. 
 316— 32=284— 145=139— 58 (80:1)=81— 62=19. 
 316—31=285—50=235. 
 316—64 (79:2)— 252— 57 (80:1)— 195— 2 h col.— 193. 
 
 Here the word merry is disguised in marry, which represented the pronuncia- 
 tion of the word in that age. Mr. F. G. Fleay, in his Shakespeare Manual, p. 66, 
 shows that e was then usually pronounced like "a in m^re," and "rarely as e in 
 eve;" and merry was therefore pronounced marry or m'ary. After awhile we 
 shall see Merry Wives of Windsor used again, with the word merry as found 
 in the same act, scene fourth, "A merry song, come; it grows late." And how 
 cunningly is wives disguised in ale-wive' s (19, 81:1). And yet the work is 
 strained. The line is: " He had made two holes in the ale-wive's new petticoat." 
 It should be alt-wife's; but -wife's would not have given us the Merry Wives of 
 Windsor, and hence the woman had to be turned into a plural. And see how 
 Windsor is dragged in: " The prince broke thy head for likening him to a singing 
 man of Windsor." Why a singing man of Windsor and not of some other town? 
 And what was a " singing man of Windsor" ? Let the curious examine the Con- 
 cordance for the relations between the words merry wives and Windsor, or the dis- 
 guise Wind-sir, in the different Plays. 
 
 And what is "the German hunting in water-worke " ? The commentators can 
 make nothing of it? And we will see that as German is the 316th word from the 
 last word of scene 1, so hunting is the 316th word from the beginning of the next 
 scene, and that it describes Shakspere's rabbit-hunting as a boy: 
 
 316—161 (78:1)=155— 57(80:1 =98— 61 (80:2)— 37— 
 
 4/; & //(61)=33. 33 81:1 rabbit ) 
 
 316. 339—316=23—1=24. 24 80:1 hunting \ 
 
 and that 98 (155 — 57=98) is low (80:2), and that 37 [155 — 57=98 — 61 (8o:2)=37] is 
 rascally; and that the same 234 (316 — 32=284 — 50=234) which produced draw, 
 characters and so many other important words, carried through that same 57, and 
 up from the end of the first section of the next column, plus 1 hyphen, yields 286, 
 80:2, company; and so we have: rabbit — hunting — rascally — low — company! 
 
 It would seem, I say, as if German admiration of the great genius revealed in 
 the Plays began at an early period; and the pride with which Bacon refers to this 
 approbation of a distinguished foreigner is characteristic of the man who left 
 " his memory to the next ages and to foreign nations" He felt the inadequacy of 
 the development of his own people at that time. 
 
 It may be objected that I gave in the beginning of the chapter a long sentence 
 where 31 and 32 regularly alternated; but that in the foregoing, and in some pas- 
 sages that follow, we have 316 used by itself as a root-number, and sometimes alter- 
 nated with 30, 50, 31 and 32. The answer is that in these latter instances the top 
 fragment of 79:1 is not used as a starting-point, as in the former case, but that the 
 number 316 plays backward and forward between the beginning of scene third and 
 the end of scene fourth; and that 316 is the real root-number. 
 
822 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 =325 
 
 81:1 
 
 swears 
 
 92 
 
 77:2 
 
 up 
 
 175 
 
 80:2 
 
 and 
 
 94 
 
 77:2 
 
 down 
 
 283 
 
 79:2 
 
 they 
 
 521 
 
 77:2 
 
 can 
 
 53 
 
 80:1 
 
 not 
 
 164 
 
 78:2 
 
 equal 
 
 104 
 
 80:1 
 
 it 
 
 92 
 
 78:2 
 
 in 
 
 374 
 
 81:1 
 
 all 
 
 375 
 
 81:1 
 
 Europe, 
 
 And we also have given at length, in the Cipher narrative, the conversation 
 between Cecil and the German Minister. And the Minister — 
 
 316—32=284—57=227—62=165. 489—165=324 + 1= 
 
 316—32=284—30=254—162=92. 
 
 316—31=285—50=235—57=178—3 h col.— 175. 
 
 316— 30=286— 30=256— 1 62=94. 
 
 316. 598-316=282+1=283. 
 
 316— 32=284— : 0=254— 162=92. 610—92=518+1 
 
 —519+2 h col.— 521. 
 316—30=286. 338—286=52+1=53. . 
 316—30=286—50=236—50=186—22 b col.— 164. 
 316—31=285—50=235. 338—235=103+ 1=104. 
 316—32^ 284—30=254—162=92. 
 316—31=285—50=235—57 (80:1)— 178— 62 (80:2)= 
 
 116. 489—116=373+1=374. 
 316—32=284—50=234—57=177—62=115. 489— 
 
 115=374+1=375. 
 
 These are rare words. Europe occurs but ten times in all the Plays; minister 
 but twice in this play, and but eleven other times in all the Historical Plays. Ger- 
 man is found but this one time in this play, and but nine times in all the Plays. 
 
 And observe the additional multitudinous proofs of the Cipher: While 316, up 
 from the end of scene 1, act ii, is German, 316, up the same column, but counting 
 in the five hyphens in the column, is worth; and 316 less 30 is 286, and this, less 57 
 (the section at the end of 80:1), is 229; and 229, carried down the preceding column, 
 is coming {worth coming); and 229 down the next column forward is to; and 229 up 
 the same column is well {well zvorth coming to); and 316 — 32=284, and this carried 
 again up from the end of scene 1, as in the case of German and worth, produces, 
 plus the hyphens, England {well -worth coming to England); and 284 again less 
 57 is 227, and 227 carried again up the preceding column, + b <& h, yields way; 
 and 316 less the same 57 produces long {well zvorth coming all the long way to Eng- 
 land). 
 
 I gave a great many instances, on page 715, ante, where says and ill or seas 
 and ill were matched together to produce Cecil (pronounced Sacil), and here we 
 have another; and we shall see still others as we progress. 
 
 Then the German Minister grows enthusiastic over the dramatic delineation 
 of the character of Sir John Falstaff . In his conversation with Cecil — 
 
 316—32=284—50=234—57=177—62=115. 115 
 
 316—32=284—30=254—186=68. 489—68=421 + 
 
 1=422+1 //=423. 
 316—30=286—57=229—3 h col.=226. 
 316—50=266—57=209. 
 316—49 (76:1)— 287— 57— 210. 
 
 316—50=266—57=209—61 (80:2)=148— 4 b&h col. 
 316—31=285—57=228—11 b col.=217. 
 316—57=259—186 (81 :2)=73. 
 316—32=284—57—227. 
 316—30=286—62 (80:2)=224. 
 316—57=259. 534—259=275 + 1=276. 
 316—31=285. 338—285=53+1=54. 
 
 81:1 
 
 He 
 
 423 
 
 81:1 
 
 said: 
 
 226 
 
 80:2 
 
 I • 
 
 209 
 
 80:2 
 
 tell 
 
 210 
 
 80:2 
 
 thee, 
 
 =144 
 
 81:1 
 
 the 
 
 217 
 
 80:2 
 
 man 
 
 73 
 
 81:1 
 
 that 
 
 227 
 
 80:2 
 
 could 
 
 224 
 
 81:1 
 
 conceive 
 
 276 
 
 79:2 
 
 such 
 
 54 
 
 80:1 
 
 a 
 
SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FALSTAFE. 
 
 823 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 146 
 
 81:1 
 
 part 
 
 173 
 
 81:1 
 
 as 
 
 73 
 
 80:1 
 
 this, 
 
 63 
 
 80:1 
 
 and 
 
 64 
 
 80:1 
 
 draw 
 
 104 
 
 80:1 
 
 it 
 
 =162 
 
 80:2 
 
 so 
 
 425 
 
 81:1 
 
 well, 
 
 217 
 
 80:2 
 
 should 
 
 168 
 
 81:1 
 
 be 
 
 145 
 
 81:1 
 
 immortal. 
 
 316—50 (76:1)=266— 57=209— 61 (80:1)=148— 
 
 2 6 col. =146. 
 316—31=285—49=235—62=173. 
 316—50=266. 338—266=72 + 1=73. 
 316—31=285. 338—285=53+1=54+9 6 col.— 63. 
 316—32=284. 338— 284=54 +1=55+9 £ col. =64. 
 316—31=285—50=235. 338-23"= 103+1— 104. 
 316— 32=284— 50=234— 58 (80:1)— 176— 14* & h col ■ 
 316—32=284—30=254—185 (81:2)— 69. 489—09= 
 
 420—1+4* & h (185)— 435. 
 316—31=285—57=228—11 * col. =217. 
 316—30=286—57=229—61 (80:2)— 168. 
 316—50=266—57=209—62 (80:1)— 147— 26 col.— 
 
 This is the only time immortal occurs in this play, and it is found but twice 
 besides in all the Historical Plays. And this is the only time conceive appears in 
 this play; and it is found but three times besides in all the Historical Plays. 
 Observe the word part in the Concordance: — how often it occurs in some plays 
 and how rarely in others. It is found but five times in Mac6eth, while we dis- 
 cover it twenty-four times in Hamlet; and play occurs 6ut four times in Macbeth; 
 while/*// and plays are found thirty-Jive times in Hamlet/ This is because the 
 Cipher story in the latter play tells us a great deal about the Plays and players, and 
 acting, etc., while in Macbeth those subjects are but little referred to. And where 
 flays are alluded to in the internal narrative, it is natural to speak of such and such 
 a part in the play, or of the first, second or third part of some of the Historical 
 Plays. 
 
 And it further appears (departing a little from our root-number 316) that — as I 
 had supposed — Shakspere was a usurer in the full sense of the term. We are told 
 by this same root-number, 338, that he acquired a great part of his wealth by this 
 practice, and is clad in — 
 
 538—32=306—5 * (32)=301— 30=271— 146— 125— 
 
 1 A— 124. 
 338—31— 307— 5 * (32)— 302— 30=272— 146— 126. 
 
 508—126=382+1=383 + 1=384. 
 338—32=306—5 * (32)=301— 30— 271— 50=221— 146 
 
 =75. 508—75=433+1=434. 
 538—31=307—5 * (31)=302. 
 338—32=306—5 * (32)=301— 30=271— 145=126. 
 
 610—126—484+1=485. 485 77:2 prince; 
 
 124 
 
 76:2 
 
 apparel 
 
 384 
 
 75:2 
 
 fit 
 
 434 
 
 75:2 
 
 for 
 
 302 
 
 76:2 
 
 a 
 
 That instead of being half-naked he is arrayed — 
 
 338—32=306—5 *=301— 50=271— 50=221. 221 
 338—31=307—5 * (31)=302— 30=272— 49=223. 
 
 610—223=387+1—388+14 * & //— 402. 402 
 538—32=306—5 *=301— 50=251— 50=201. 603— 
 
 201=402+1—403. 403 
 
 538—31=307— 5 *=302— 50 (76:1)— 252. 252 
 
 Very different from the rags he wore when he — 
 
 338—31=307—5 *— 302— 30=272. 508—272=236+1=237 
 
 77:2 
 
 in 
 
 77:2 
 
 silk 
 
 76:2 
 
 and 
 
 76:2 
 
 satin. 
 
 75:2 
 
 fled 
 
824 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 338—32=306—5 ^—301 — 145 — 166. 
 
 338—31=307—285 (79:1, 32 to 317)=22— 2 h (285)= 
 
 20. 462—20=442+1=443. 
 338—32=306—5 £=301—50=251—145=106—3 b 
 
 (145)— 108. 
 338—31=307—5 £=302—30=272. 461—272=189+ 
 
 1=1904 10 b& £=200. 
 
 Word. 
 
 166 
 443 
 
 103 
 200 
 
 338— 32=306— 5 b- 
 338—31=307—5 b= 
 420 -r 1=421. 
 
 =301- 
 =302- 
 
 -49 (76:1)=252— 11 b & h col.=241 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 77:2 
 
 78:2 
 77:1 
 
 79:1 
 
 77-1 
 
 to 
 
 London 
 
 to 
 
 'scape 
 from 
 
 -145=157. 
 
 (7—157= 
 
 421 
 
 77:1 imprisonment. 
 
 And that a large part of his wealth was derived not alone from — 
 -32 (79:1)=306— 5 b (312)=301— 162=139. 139 77:2 
 
 338—31 (79:1)=307— 5 £(31)=302— 30=272. 
 
 272 
 
 these 
 shows: 
 
 But from the lending of money at a high rate and by usurious practices. (The 
 reader will note the precision and regularity of the above sentences. Every word is 
 the 338th minus 31 or 32, alternated, minus the 5 bracketed words in 31 or 32). 
 We read that he doth — 
 
 338—31=307—50 (74:2)=257— 50 (76:1)=207— 146= 
 
 61. 610—61=549+1=550. 550 
 
 338—32=306—162=144. 162—144=18+1=19. 19 
 
 338—31=307—162=145. 610—145=465+^ col.— (475) 
 338—32=306—49=257—30=227. 227 
 
 338— 31=307— 50=257— 30=227- 5 b col. =222. 222 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—30=226—50=176—163=13. 13 
 
 2 h col.— 
 162— 
 
 598— 
 
 338—31=307—50=257—30=227—162=65- 
 338—32=307—50=257—50=207—145=61. 
 
 61=101+1=102. 
 338—31=307. 468—307=161+1=162. 
 338—32=306-50=256—50=206. 
 338—31=307—50=257—50=207—161=46. 
 
 46=552+1=553. 
 338—32=306—50=256—50=206—145=61 + 162= 
 
 223—5 b col. =218. 
 338—31=307—50=257—30=227—162=65. 
 338—32=306—49 (76 :1)=257— 30=227. 603—227= 
 
 376+1=377+3 b col. =380. 
 338—31=307—50=257—50=207—146=61 + 162= 
 
 63 
 
 102 
 162 
 206 
 
 553 
 
 218 
 65 
 
 77:2 
 78:1 
 77:2 
 76:2 
 78:1 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 78:1 
 
 78:1 
 
 77:2 
 
 79:2 
 
 78:1 
 78:2 
 
 lend 
 money 
 
 at 
 
 a 
 big 
 rate 
 upon 
 
 commodity 
 of 
 
 paper, 
 
 with 
 sure 
 
 380 76:2 security 
 
 223 78:1 enough. 
 
 Observe the regularity with which the Cipher moves in the foregoing: 31 — 32 
 — 31 — 32 — 31 — 32 — 31 — 32, etc. And note how all the words that are not due 
 directly to 306 or 307 are derived from 306 or 307, minus 30 or 50. Commodity is 
 a rare word; this is the only time it occurs in this play. It is found in King John 
 quite often, where it tells, probably, the story of Bacon's own money necessities; 
 it is found twice in 1st Henry IV., and but ten times besides in all the Plays. In 
 Measure for Measure, iv, 3, we find the " commodity of paper" alluded to. The 
 clown, describing the occupants of the prison, says: 
 
 First, here's Master Rash; he's in for a commodity of brown paper and old 
 ginger, ninescore and seventeen pounds. 
 
 Whereupon Knight says in a foot-note: 
 
SHAKSPERE THE ORIGINAL FAL STAFF. 825 
 
 The old comedies are full of the practice of the usurer — so notorious as to 
 acquire him the name of the brown paper merchant — of stipulating to make his 
 advances partly in money and partly in goods, which goods were sometimes little 
 more than packages of brown paper. 
 
 The practice is alluded to in 1st Henry IV., and there we have even the 
 word brown. It is dragged into the wild and senseless talk of the Prince to 
 Francis (ii, 4), the drawer: " Your brown bastard is your only wear." In act i, 
 scene 2, we have a commodity of warm slaves; and in act ii, scene 4, again, we have 
 "nothing but papers , my Lord." It would be curious to find how often commodity 
 — brown — paper appear together in the same vicinity in the different Plays; but I 
 have not the time or space to pursue the subject. 
 
 I will conclude this chapter by remarking that it adds very much to our knowl- 
 edge of Shakspere, his character and appearance. It tells us he was gross and 
 coarse in his nature and his life; that he was not devoid, however, of a certain 
 ready wit; a glutton in his diet and fond of the bottle. That he had many of the 
 characteristics of Falstaff , and that he was the model from which the characters of 
 Sir John and Sir Tobie were drawn. It also tells us that Bacon was assisted, to 
 some extent, in the construction of the Plays by his brother Anthony. It tells us 
 further that before Shakspere's health was broken down by his evil courses he 
 acted the part of Falstaff on the stage. It also tells us that the Plays drew great 
 crowds of delighted people, and greatly enriched all concerned in their production. 
 And this is confirmed from historical sources. Nash records that in a short space 
 of about three months, in the summer of 1592, the play of Henry VI. was witnessed 
 by "ten thousand spectators at least;" 1 and we are told that Romeo and Juliet, in 
 1596, " took the metropolis by storm." -2 And this chapter further confirms the 
 tradition of Elizabeth's admiration of the character of the fat knight; and it gives 
 us further the enthusiastic admiration of the German Minister. And beyond all 
 this it tells us that Shakspere had enriched himself by usurious practices, corrob- 
 orating the evidence of the numerous suits brought by him against different parties 
 to recover money loaned, and the fact that the only letter extant addressed to him 
 was touching a loan of money. 
 
 1 Halhwell-Phillipps, Outlines, p. 64. 2 Ibid., p. 85. 
 
 Note. The numbering in column 2 of page 7S in the facsimile is slightly 
 wrong; each number below the 51st should be moved backwards one. The error 
 is due to the fact that the word almost, line 7, enclosed in the bracket sentence of 
 eleven words, is not counted in as part of the bracket sentence, but as part of the 
 text; hence the first word, should, after the bracket sentence, is the 52d word in- 
 stead of the 51st, and all the succeeding numbers in the column have to be moved 
 backward to correspond. The Publishers. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SWEET ANN HA THA WA Y. 
 
 One woman is fair; yet I am well: another is wise; yet I am well: another virtuous; yet I am 
 well: but till all graces be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace. 
 
 Much A do, Hi. 2. 
 
 WE pass to another part of our story: the history of Shak- 
 spere's marriage. 
 I have already quoted one or two lines as to his rabbit-hunting. 
 The Bishop of Worcester says: 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—161=98. 457—98=359+1 
 
 =360+5 b col. =365. 365 76:2 He 
 
 338—30=308. 533— 308=225+ 1=226+13 £ col. = 239 79:2 had 
 338—50=288—49=239. 577- 239=338+1=339+ 
 
 3//col.=342. 342 77:1 fallen 
 
 338— 30=308— 31 (79:1)=277— 162=115— 49(76:1)= 66 76:2 into 
 
 338— 30=308— 50=258— 50=20^— 162=46— 2// col.= 44 78:2 all 
 338—30 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 31 (79:1)=207 
 
 —50 (76:1)=157— 145=12— 3 b (145)=9. 498—9 
 
 =489+1=490. 490 76:1 sorts 
 
 338-30=308—49=259—162=97+457=554. 554 76:2 of 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97. 97 77:2 evil 
 333—50 (74:2)=288— 50 (76:1)=238— 31 (79:1)=207 
 
 — 145 (76:2)=62— 50 (76:1)=12. 12 76:1 courses 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97. 457—97=360+1=361 76:2 with 
 338— 30=308— 50=258— 162=96— 32 (79:1)=64— 
 
 58(80:1.)=6. 6 80:1 drinking 
 
 338=30—308-50=258-49=209—162=47. 47 77:2 wassail 
 
 338—31=307—50=257. 257 76:2 and 
 
 338-49=289. 289 76:2 gluttony. 
 
 Then we are told how he annoyed Sir Thomas Lucy, " an upright and worship- 
 ful man." 
 
 888— 22 d & //=316— 161=155— 59=98— 61 (80:2)=37 
 
 _5/;col.=32. 32 
 
 338—22/; & /z=316-161=155— 57=98. 98 
 
 338—22 b & /i=316— 161=155— 57=98. 461—98= 
 
 363 + 1=364. 364 
 
 81:1 
 79:1 
 
 Upright 
 and 
 
 80:2 worshipful. 
 
 And we are told that he did- 
 
 826 
 
S WEE T ANN HA THA WA Y. 
 
 827 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 79:1 
 
 kill 
 
 80:2 
 79:1 
 
 many 
 a 
 
 81:2 
 
 deer. 
 
 77:2 
 
 hare 
 
 77:2 
 
 and 
 
 81:1 
 
 rabbit 
 
 80:1 
 
 hunting 
 
 79:2 
 
 o'nights 
 
 80:1 
 
 in 
 
 80:2 
 
 vile, 
 
 80:2 
 
 low, 
 
 81:1 
 
 rascally 
 
 80:2 
 
 company. 
 
 Word. 
 
 :338— 30=308— 161=147— 32=115. 518—115=403 
 
 + 1=404+2 k col.=406. 406 
 
 338—30=308—50=258—162=96—32=64—2 b col.— 62 
 338—30=308—50=258 -162=96. 518—96=422+1=423 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97+186 (81:1)= 283 
 
 And observe how cunningly that word deer, spelled deere, is concealed in the 
 triple-hyphenated word, heart-deere- Harry : It is not spelled dear, as it is elsewhere, 
 but deere. See deare Lord, end scene 1, act Hi, p. 86, Folio. Deare was one thing 
 and deere another, and here the Cipher required deere. 
 
 And we are told that he spent his time — 
 
 :316— 32=284— 50=234— 162=72— 2 // col. =70. 70 
 
 316—31=285—162=123—4/; & h col. =119. 119 
 
 316—161=155—57=98-61 (80:2)==37— 4 b & h (61)= 33 
 -316. 339—316^23 + 1=24. 24 
 
 ■ 316— 32=284— 146=138— 3 £ (146)=135— 58 (80:1) 
 
 =77— 2 b col. =75. 75 
 
 316— 31=285— 5 //col =280. 280 
 
 316-32=284—50=234—57=177. 461—177=284+1=285 
 316—161=155—57=98. 98 
 
 4316—161=155—57=98—61 (80:2)=37. 37 
 
 •316-32=284—50=234—57=177. 461—177=284+1 
 
 =285 + 1 h col . =286. 286 
 
 Observe that rabbit occurs but four times in all the thousand pages of the Plays, 
 and but once in this play, and /uniting- is found but fifteen times in all the Plays, 
 and but once in this play. And here is another evidence of the Cipher in the 
 Plays: — rascally is found in but six plays out of thirty-seven; and \t is found once 
 in The Merry Wives, where Shakspere's story is talked about in Cipher, and four 
 times in this play, where he is also dealt with. That is to say, rascally appears 
 but eleven times in all the Plays, and five of these are where Shakspere is spoken 
 •of in the Cipher narrative ! This illustrates that all words are not found on all 
 pages, but that each subject begets its own vocabu'ary. 
 
 We are told that — 
 
 :338— 30=308— 162=146-32=114. 396—114=282+1 
 
 =--283+2/^ col.=285. 
 ;338— 30=308— 163=145. 
 :338-30=308— 49=259— 162=97— 50=47. 457—47 
 
 =410+1=411. 
 •338—30=308—162=146—31 (79:1)=115. 523—115 
 
 =408+1=409+4/; & /^413. 
 338— 30=308— 49=252— 162=97— 32 (791)=65. 
 
 339—65=274+1=275. 275 
 
 338—30=308—162=146-31=115—5^=110—58 
 
 (80:1)=52. 462—52=410 + 1=411. 
 : 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—2 <^=63 
 . 33$— 30=308— 162=146— 3 1=1 15. 
 4338—30=308— 162=146— 31=115— 58(81 :1)=57. 
 
 523—57=466+1=467. 467 80:2 most 
 
 285 
 
 80:1 
 
 Will 
 
 145 
 
 78:2 
 
 and 
 
 411 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 413 
 
 80:2 
 
 brother 
 
 411 
 
 80:2 
 
 a 
 
 . 63 
 
 80:2 
 
 pair 
 
 115 
 
 79:2 
 
 of 
 
828 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 338—30=308—162=146—31=115—5 b (31)— 110— 
 
 58(80:1)=52. 523—52=471 + 1=472. 472 80:2 pernicious 
 
 338—30=308—163=145. 518— 145— 373 -t-1— 374 79:1 villains. 
 
 The reader will observe here that every word grows out of 308 (338 — 30=308), 
 and that in every case but one the 308 is modified by deducting 162 from it; that is 
 to say, by carrying 'the 30S to the end of scene third (78:1) and counting upwards; 
 while in the case of the one exception referred to, we commence to count one word 
 further down, to-wit: from the beginning of scene fourth, instead of from the end 
 of scene third. And every one of these 308 minus 162 or 163 is carried again 
 through the last fragment of scene fourth, containing 31 words, or 32 if we count 
 from the first word of the next scene (act ii, scene 1) inclusive. 
 
 And he will observe that the modifications are made by 49, 162, 31 or 32, 
 and 57 or 58. Now 49 is the first fragment of scene j, and 162 is the last fragment 
 of scene j; and 31 or 32 represents the last fragment of scene 4; and 57 or 58, the 
 first fragment of scene 2, act ii; and 308 put through these changes yields the remark- 
 able sentence above given. 
 
 And then comes the story of his trouble with Ann Hathaway. Here we have 
 the name: 
 
 338— 200 (79:1 )=1 38. 462-138=324+1=325. 325 78:2 Ann 
 
 338—200 (79:1)— 138— 5 // (200)— 183. 462—133= 
 
 329+1—330 330 78:2 Hathl 
 
 338— 200 (79:1)— 138— 13 ^ col. =125. 125 78:2 a [ 
 
 338—31 (79:1)=307— 30=277— 50=227. 598—227 
 
 =371 + 1=372+10^ & h col.— 382. 382 79:2 way. 
 
 Here it will be observed Ann hath a are all derived from 338 — 200=138; these 
 came from the fragment of 79:1 below the end of the second subdivision of the 
 column, to the bottom of the column (318 + 200=518, number of words on page); 
 while the last word comes from the fraction above the first word of that same sub- 
 division to the top of the column. And we will see that same number 277 yielding 
 a great many other significant words, as 277, 78:1, twenty (Ann was twentv-five); and 
 up 79:2, less 1 hyphen, it is she, etc. 
 
 And it seems she was a widow and her legal name was Whatley, but she was 
 generally called by her maiden name. And here we have it again: 
 
 338—32 (79:1)— 306— 30— 276— 5 b (32)— 271 + 162=433 
 
 — 3 A col.— 430 78:1 Ann 
 
 838— 200(79:1)— 188— %b col.— 136. 136 79:2 What \ 
 
 338-31 (79:1)— 307— 30— 277— 50— 227— 57 (80:1)— t 
 
 170. 338—170—168+1—169. 169 79:1 lay. ) 
 
 And there is a long narrative here about Ann and her troubles. By the same 
 root-number 338, modified by deducting the 22b & h in 167, as heretofore, we have 
 another reference to her: 
 
 605—167—338—22 b&h (167) 
 316— 31=285— 2 h col.— 283. 
 316—31—286. 
 
 316—49 (76:1)=267+ 163—430. 
 316—50 (76:1)— 266— 199 (79:1)=67— 5 b (199— 62. 
 
 598—62—536+1—537. 00 i iv.a wnat > 
 
 316— 49=267— 200(79:1)— 67. 468—67=401 + 1— 402 78:1 lay. v 
 
 =316. 
 
 
 
 283 
 285 
 430 
 
 79:2 
 79:2 
 
 78:1 
 
 They 
 call 
 Ann 
 
 537 
 402 
 
 79:2 
 
 78:1 
 
 What 
 lay. 
 
SWEE T ANN HA THA WA V. 829 
 
 Observe the adroitness with which the same Ann, or, as it is disguised, An (430, 
 78:1), is made to do double duty once by the root-number 338, and then by the 
 modified root-number 338 — 22 b & £—316, both counts falling on the same word 
 from the same starting-point. And the same is true of the word a (125, 78:2). 
 
 And she was a widow ! 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 125 
 
 78:2 
 
 A 
 
 125 
 
 79:2 
 
 widow. 
 
 338—50=288—163=125. 
 838—50=288—103=125. 
 
 In the Consistory Court at Worcester, in the marriage register, there is an 
 entry in these terms: " 15S2, Nov. 27, William Shaxpere and Anne Whately of 
 Temple Grafton." The next day, November 28, 15S2, a bond is given to the 
 Bishop of Worcester to hold him harmless for '"licensing," etc., the marriage of 
 William Shagspere and Anne Hathwey . The Shakspereolators have always ignored 
 the license entry; and although there was no record of a license to Shakspere to 
 wed Ann Hathaway, they would have none of the Whately woman. And Knight 
 even goes so far as to give us a picture of the old church at Hampton Lucy, 1 and 
 would have us believe that Shakspere and the " sweet Anne " were married in it, 
 although there is not a shred of evidence to sustain the belief; and we have a 
 delightful rural picture of the " ribands, rosemary and bay," the "roundels," the 
 " wheaten garlands," the "bride cup" and the bridal banquet; all constructed, as 
 most of the Shakspere biography has been, out of the vivid imagination of the 
 writer, who sought, in this way, from the beggarly materials afforded him, to create 
 a man that would fit into the requirements of the Plays. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps is said, in an article in the London Telegraphy ' to be of the 
 opinion that Ann Hathaway never lived in the Hathaway cottage; that is, that she 
 was not a daughter of Richard Hathaway, alias Gardner, of Stratford, who died in 
 15S2. Mr. Rolfe' 2 concurs in this view. Richard Hathaway's will names seven 
 children, and Anne was not one of them. The London Telegraph says: 
 
 It is deplorable to have doubts started as to whether the Shakespeare Museum 
 contains a single genuine relic; whether Anne Hathaway's cottage is not, after all, 
 a simple fraud; and Mary Arden's farm a disreputably unhistorical building. . . . But 
 will they care to go to the shrine of the great poet if a cloud of doubt surrounds 
 some of its most cherished monuments? If everything at Stratford were shown as 
 being only doubtfully connected with the Bard ? For example, instead of the 
 guide-post pointing the way to Anne Hathaway's cottage, it might be sadly truth- 
 ful to say, "To the reputed cottage of Anne Hathaway." Mary Arden's farm- 
 house ought to be ticketed as an " uncertain " building, and Shakespeare's tomb in 
 the church would have to be pointed out as the tomb "either of Shakespeare or 
 somebody else. " 
 
 A. Hall, in a letter to the London Athencrum, 1886, suggests that Richard Hath- 
 away, alias Gardner, may have married a widow named Whately, from Temple 
 Grafton, and that she might have taken the nam ; of Hathaway as his step- 
 daughter. 
 
 But here in the Cipher is the explanation of the mystery: Ann had bean mar- 
 ried to one Whatley; and when the bride herself gave her name, Nov. 27, 1582, for s 
 the marriage license, she gave it correctly, and she was married by that name; but 
 the next day, when her farmer friends were called upon to furnish the bond to 
 indemnify the Bishop, they gave the lawyer who drew the bond the name by 
 which, in the careless fashion of such people, she was generally known. 
 
 1 Biography, p. 223. * SAafo/eariana, Sept., 1886, pp. 430, 431. 
 
 2 Literary World, Boston, Jan. 23, 18S6, p. 30. 
 
S 3 o 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 De Quincey says of the marriage bond: 
 
 Trepidation and anxiety are written upon its face. . . . Economy, which 
 retards the marriage, is here evidently in collision with some opposite principle 
 which precipitates it. How is all this to be explained? Neither do we like the 
 spectacle of a mature young woman, five years past her majority, wearing the sem- 
 blance of having been led astray by a boy who had still two years and a half to 
 run of his minority. 
 
 And we are told that — 
 
 316—31 (79:1)=285— 16 & h col. =269. 
 
 316—50=266—162=104. 
 
 316—7 col. =309. 
 
 316—31 (79:1)— 285— 14 col =271. 
 
 816—50=266—162=104. 
 
 316—163=153—6 & h col. =147. 
 
 This the only time the word pregnancy appears in all the goo,ooo words of the 
 Plays ! And it appears just where it is needed to tell the story of Shakspere's 
 marriage; and it is found side by side with Ann — Hath — a — way, and Ann — 
 What — lay (by two different counts); and other still more significant words that 
 are to follow. I weary of asking the question: — can all this be accident? 
 
 And then we have this description of her: 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 (269) 
 
 78:2 
 
 She 
 
 104 
 
 77:2 
 
 is 
 
 309 
 
 78:1 
 
 far 
 
 (271) 
 
 79:2 
 
 gone 
 
 104 
 
 79:1 
 
 in 
 
 147 
 
 77:2 
 
 pregnancy. 
 
 330 
 
 78:2 
 
 hath 
 
 29 
 
 80:1 
 
 a 
 
 459 
 
 77:2 
 
 pretty 
 
 62 
 
 80:1 
 
 face 
 
 450 
 
 77:2 
 
 and 
 
 473 
 
 79:2 
 
 a 
 
 338—30=308—31=277. 598—277=321 + 1=322. 322 79:2 
 
 338—50=288—146=142—3 b (146)=139. 462—139= 
 
 323+1=324+6 & h col =330. 
 338-32=306—50=256—162=94—65=29. 
 S38— 30=308— 145=163. 610—163=447+1=448+ 
 
 11 0& /;=459. 
 338—50=288—162=126—64 (79:2)=62. 
 338—30=308—145=163. 610—163=447+1=448+ 
 
 2h col.— 460. 
 338—50=288—162=126. 598—120=472+1=473. 
 338—50=288—162=126—57 (79:1)=69. 396-69= 
 
 327+1=328. 328 80:1 
 
 338—50=288— 162=126— 30=96— 64 (79:2)=32+ 
 
 338=370 370 
 
 338—199=139. 139 80:1 
 
 338—50=288—162=126—65 (79:2)— 61. 396—61= 
 
 335+1=336. 336 80 
 
 338—30=308—285=23+338=361. 361 90 
 
 338— 199(318^79:1;— 139. 139 78 
 
 338—30=308—285=23. 162—23=139+1=140. 140 78 
 
 338—50=288-161=127. 396—127=269+1=270+ 
 
 2 b col. =272. 272 80:1 
 
 338—50=288—161=127—57 '79:1)— 70— 57 (80:1)=13. 
 
 523—13=510+1=511. 511 80:2 
 
 338—200 (79:1, 317 d)= 138— 65 (79:2)— 73. 162— 
 
 73=89+1=90. 90 78:1 
 
 She 
 
 fair 
 
 80:1 complexion, 
 with 
 
 a 
 
 high 
 color 
 and 
 
 long 
 
 red 
 
 hair. 
 
 This is the only time red appears in this act; it is found but twice besides irt 
 this play. And this is the only time color occurs in this act. And this is the only 
 time complexion appears in this play, and it is found but four other times in the ten 
 
S WEE T ANN HA THA WA Y. 
 
 831 
 
 Historical Plays. And it is dragged in here by the heels: " It discolors the com- 
 plexion of my greatness," says Prince Hal, "to acknowledge that I am weary !'* 
 And note how it is matched with fair (" fair complexion"). Each is 505 — i67=33& 
 — 50—288 — 162 (78:i)-=i26; and both words are found in the same column, the one 
 carried through the last subdivision of 79:1, the other through the last subdivision 
 of 79:2. 
 
 And this statement about Ann's appearance confirms the tradition recorded by 
 Oldys, that she was quite handsome; but — 
 
 338—30=308-31 (79:1)— 377. 598—277=321+1= 
 
 396—88=308 + 1=309. 
 
 =109. 
 
 188+1=189. 
 462—133=329 + 1= 
 
 ■50- 
 
 598—69= 
 
 338—200=138—50: 
 
 338—199=139—30: 
 
 338—199=139. 
 
 338— 58(79 :1)=280. 468—280 
 
 338—200=138—5 h (200)— 133. 
 
 330+6/. & h— 886. 
 338—57 (79 :1)=281— 162=119- 
 
 529+1=530. 
 338—162=176—50=126. 462— 126=336+l=337i 
 
 5 b col. =342. 
 338—200=138—50=88. 518—88=430+1=431. 
 338—199=139—30=109. 
 
 338—162=176—50=126. 462—126=336+1=337. 
 333—31=307—30=277—50=227—50=177+163= 
 
 340—2 h col. =338. 
 338—161=177. 177+163=340. 
 338—200=138—50=88—58 (79:1 )=30— 1 h col.— 
 338—200=138—50=88. 88—57 (79:1)— 31. 598— 
 
 —31=567+1=568. 
 338—163=175—50=125. 462—125=337+1=338 
 
 +6£ & h col.— 814. 
 338—199=139—30=109. 185—109=76+1=77. 
 
 Ford. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 322 
 
 79:2 
 
 She 
 
 309 
 
 80:1 
 
 was 
 
 109 
 
 78:2 
 
 a 
 
 139 
 
 79:2 
 
 gross 
 
 189 
 
 78:1 
 
 and 
 
 336 
 
 338—161=177—49 (76:1)=128. 
 
 338—200 (79:1)=138— 30=108- 
 
 43=295 + 1=296 + 2=298. 
 
 -65 (79:2)=43. 338- 
 
 338—31=307. 533— 307=226+1=927. 
 338—31=307—200 (79:1)=107. 338— 107=231 -t-l= 
 338—199=139—30=1 09. 
 
 338—57=281. 
 338—32=306—200=1 06. 
 338—199=139—30=109—2 // col. 
 
 =107. 
 
 338— 32 (79:1)=306— 30=276+162=438. 
 
 338—200 (79:1) — 138 — 50=88— 58 (79:1)= 
 338—200=1 38—50=88. 162—88=74+1= 
 338—32=306. 533—306=227+1=228. 
 
 30. 
 =75. 
 
 568 
 
 344 
 77 
 
 128 
 
 298 
 
 227 
 232 
 
 109 
 
 281 
 106 
 107 
 
 438 
 
 30 
 75 
 
 228 
 
 r8:2 
 
 79:2 
 
 78:2 
 81:2 
 
 79:2 
 
 80:1 
 
 79:2 
 80:1 
 
 78:2 
 
 78:1 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 78:2 
 78:1 
 79:2 
 
 vulgar 
 
 530 
 
 79:2 
 
 woman; 
 
 342 
 
 78:2 
 
 with 
 
 431 
 
 79:1 
 
 a 
 
 109 
 
 79:2 
 
 good 
 
 337 
 
 78:2 
 
 heart, 
 
 338 
 
 78:1 
 
 'tis 
 
 340 
 
 78: 'l 
 
 true. 
 
 29 
 
 78:2 
 
 but 
 
 loud 
 tongue 
 
 and 
 rough 
 
 manners; 
 
 a 
 
 gossip 
 
 with 
 
 a 
 giddy 
 head, 
 the 
 model 
 from 
 which 
 
 I 
 
 draw 
 
 Mistress 
 
 Quickley. 
 
 And the Bishop says: 
 
8 3 2 
 
 THE CIPHER NAKRA TIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 
 338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239. 239 
 
 338—144 (79:1, 317 to 461)=194— 57=137. 137 
 335—31=307—5 /,=302— 285 (79:1)— 17— 2 h (285)=15. 
 
 462—15=447+1=448. 448 
 
 338—31=307—5 ^=302—285 (79:1^=17—3 b (285)= 14 
 338—31=307—5 £=302—285 (79.1) — 17 — 5 b & h (285) 
 
 =12. 462—12=450+1=451. 451 
 
 338—200=138—5 h (200)=133— 3 k col. =130. 130 
 
 338—31 (79:1)=307— 5 £=302-285=17. 17 
 239—31=307—5 /;=302— 285 (79:1)— 17. 462—17= 
 
 445+1=446. • 446 
 338—200=138—5 h (200)=133— 32 (79:1)— 101. 533 
 
 —101=432+1=433. 433 
 
 338-200=138— 5// (200)=1 33. 133 
 
 338—31=307—30=277+162=439—3// col.=430. 436 
 
 338—31=307—30=277—50=227—50=177+162= 339 
 
 338— 31=307— 30=277— 50=227— 5 b col.=222. 222 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 79:2 
 
 80:2 
 
 78:2 
 78:1 
 
 She 
 follows 
 
 after 
 my 
 
 Appearing is a rare word; it is found but six times in all 
 but three times in this play and but once in this scene; weepi 
 this play; big is found but once in this act. 
 
 And she brought her captive lover along with her; she — 
 
 78:2 heels 
 
 78:2 weeping 
 
 78:2 and 
 
 78:2 sighing-; 
 
 79:2 her 
 
 78:2 waste 
 
 78:1 appearing 
 
 78:1 very 
 
 78:1 big. 
 
 the Plays; waste occurs 
 
 ng appears but twice in 
 
 338—200=138. 338—138=200+1=201. 
 
 338—50=288—27=261 . 
 
 338—199=139. 338—139=199+1=200+2 b col.— 
 
 Marched occurs but nine times in all the Plays, 
 out. There was — 
 
 201 80:1 Marched 
 261 78:2 him 
 
 202 80:1 up. 
 
 But all Stratford had turned 
 
 A 
 great 
 
 throng 
 
 of 
 people 
 singing. 
 
 338— 32=306— 50=256— 57 (30:1)=199— 10/ & //= 189 79:2 
 
 338—284=54—3 £—51—2 h col =49. 49 78:2 
 338—32=306—30=276—58 (c0:l)— 218. 5C8— 218= 
 
 380+1=381 + 10/- & /i col. =391. 391 79:2 
 
 338—31=307—50=257—57 (80:1)=200— 8 b col =192 : 
 
 338—32=306—50=256. 533—256=277 + 1=278. *78 79:2 
 
 338— 31=307— 50—257—57=200— 10/ &h col. = 190 79:2 
 
 The villagers were having a merry time over poor Ann's misfortunes. 
 
 In the last chapter I asked: — Why — if there is no Cipher — did we have "the 
 singing man of Windsor?" But the Cipher then explained the appearance of 
 Windsor, and now we see the reason why the unknown man of Windsor was a 
 singing man. 
 
 The Bishop complains that he was just sitting down to dinner — 
 
 338—200=138—50=88. 338—88=250+1=251. 251 80:1 dinner— 
 
 when the rabble broke in upon him. 
 
 She asked the Bishop to grant her redress: 
 
 3^8— 200 (79:1)— 138. 
 338—31 (79 :1)=307— 50=257. 
 338—32 (79:1)— 306— 58 (80:1) 
 
 +1—851+104 * A— 361. 361 79:2 redress. 
 
 The reluctant lover had tried to escape the bonds of matrimony: 
 
 
 138 
 
 78:2 
 
 Grant 
 
 396—257=139+1= 
 
 140 
 
 80:1 
 
 her 
 
 =248. 598—248=350 
 
 
 
 
SWEET ANN HA THA IV A V. 
 
 833 
 
 Word. 
 338—57=281. 598— 281=317+1=318+9 b col. — 327 
 338— 200=138— 3// col. =135. 135 
 
 338— 199=139— 30=109— 50=59— 2 b col.=57. 57 
 
 338—200=138—64=74—2 b (64)=72. 518—72=446 
 
 + 1=447. 447 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 79:2 
 
 The 
 
 78 
 
 churlish, 
 
 79:2 
 
 fat 
 
 rogue 
 
 And then we are told, the root-number changing, as heretofore, from 505 — 167 
 =338, to 505—167=338—32 b & // (i67)=3i6, that Shakspere fled. He— 
 
 316—31=285—50=235. G10— 235=375+1=376. 
 316—284 (79:1)— 82. 
 
 316—56 (79:1^=260—50=210. 462—210=252+1= 
 316—50=266—64 (79:2)=202. 462—202=260+1= 
 261+8 h col.— 264. 
 
 37G 
 
 77:2 
 
 took 
 
 32 
 
 77:2 
 
 to 
 
 253 
 
 78:2 
 
 his 
 
 264 
 
 heels. 
 
 256 
 
 285 
 
 229 
 
 254 
 
 212 
 
 78:2 
 
 7ft -9. 
 
 79:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 Welsh. 
 
 Coming 
 back, 
 
 the 
 
 354 
 
 78:1 
 
 officers 
 
 207 
 
 78:2 
 
 take 
 
 284 ' 
 
 78:1 
 
 him. 
 
 And hid himself among the Welsh, — for Wales was near at hand: 
 
 316—50=266—59 (79:1)=207. 462—207=255+1= 
 316—31 (79:1)— 285. 
 
 But he grew homesick, and — 
 
 316—50=266—32 (79:1)— 234— 6 b (82)— 229. 
 
 316—30=286—32=254. 
 
 316—30=286—32=254. 462—254=208+1=209+ 
 
 3 ) t col. =212. 
 316—30=286—32=254. 598—254=344+1=345+ 
 
 9 b col. =354. 
 316—50=266—32 (79:1)=234— 27/; col. =207. 
 316—32=284. 
 
 Even the details of the arrest and the struggle of Shakspere are given (by 316) 
 with great particularity. The reader will find them embalmed in the latter part of 
 column 1, page 79, disguised in the arrest of Falstaff by Dame Quickley. Indeed, 
 the fragments into which page 79 is divided are so many, and the brackets and 
 hyphens are so numerous, that almost every word of the text, in some places, is 
 used in the Cipher story. And hence, to accomplish this result, the external story 
 was made to tell of the arrest of Sir John Falstaff by Dame Quickley, because of 
 money loaned him, with complaints that he had promised to marry her; while the 
 internal story tells how Shakspere had borrowed money from Ann Hathaway under 
 similar promises, and how she finally settled her claim by marrying her dissolute, 
 eighteen-year-old debtor. It is no wonder that he left her, in his last will, his 
 " second-best bed." A marriage so made could hardly have been a happy one. 
 
 But the question maybe asked: Why does the Cipher rule in some of the fol- 
 lowing instances differ from that found in the preceding chapters ? There the words 
 moved right and left from a common center. Here they are found in clusters, all 
 in the same column; and the text, the hyphens and brackets are so arranged as to 
 bring out sentences almost identical with those found in the text. The answer is, 
 that it is only the terminal root-numbers, created by deducting the ends of scenes 
 or acts, that become new factors to be carried in all directions, to other scenes and 
 acts; but where the fragments are inside of, and parts of, scenes, like 284 and 285, 
 57 and 58, 64 and 65, the work they perform is confined to the contiguous columns. 
 
 In the description of the arrest we learn that Will was taken by surprise as he 
 was loitering about the streets of Stratford. We are told that — 
 
834 
 
 316—31=285. 
 316—31=285—161=124 
 316—31=285—30 (74:2)=255. 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 285 
 
 80:1 
 
 Will, 
 
 396—124=272+1= 273 
 
 80:1 
 
 being 
 
 =255. 255 
 
 78:2 
 
 unarmed, 
 
 is, after a hard fight, at length taken prisoner. Had he been armed they would have 
 found him a dangerous person to handle: 
 
 316—32=284—30=254—162=92. 610—92=518+1=519 
 
 But, being unarmed, they are able to take him up: 
 
 316—31=285—30=255—162=93. 396—93=303+1 
 316—32=284—162=122. 396—122=274+1=275. 
 316—31=285—161=124—50=74. 
 
 77:2 dangerous. 
 
 316—31=285—162= 
 2d col. =276. 
 
 316—32=284—162= 
 2 b col.— 277. 
 
 316—31=285—30= 
 
 =123. 
 =122. 
 
 396—12^ 
 
 f3 + 1=274— 
 
 396—122=274+1=275+ 
 
 462—255=207+1=208. 
 
 And they take him on — 
 
 316—31=285—162=123—30=93. 610—93=517+1= 
 
 316—31=285+162=447. 
 
 316—161=155+163=318. 
 
 316—1 62=154—50=104, 533—104=429+1=430. 
 
 316—65 (79:2)=251— 4/> & h col.=247. 
 
 316—31=285—30=255. 
 
 316—31=285—30=255—162=93. 610—93=517+1 
 
 =518+2 h col =520. 
 316—31=285—30=255. 
 316—162=154—4// col. =150. 
 316—65 (79:2)=251— 30=221— 32=189^ 162=351— 
 
 2//col.=349. 
 
 =304 
 
 80:1 
 
 They 
 
 275 
 
 80:1 
 
 are 
 
 74 
 
 78:2 
 
 able 
 
 276 
 
 80:1 
 
 to 
 
 277 
 
 80:1 
 
 take 
 him 
 
 208 
 
 78:2 
 
 up. 
 
 =518 
 
 77:2 
 
 A 
 
 447 
 
 78:1 
 
 warrant 
 
 318 
 
 78:1 
 
 for 
 
 430 
 
 79:2 
 
 debt 
 
 247 
 
 79:1 
 
 in 
 
 255 
 
 77:2 
 
 an 
 
 520 
 
 77:2 
 
 action 
 
 255 
 
 80:1 
 
 upon 
 
 150 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 349 
 
 78:1 
 
 Observe how all the law phrases come out by the same root-number — warrant 
 — debt — action — case. And directly we will see arrested at my suit. Warrant is 
 found but once in each of the plays of Macbeth, Midsu?nmer Nigh? 's Dream, Love's 
 Labor Lost, Merchant of Venice, All's Well, and jd Hen ry VI., and not at all in 
 Julius Caisar; but it occurs eleven times in The Merry Wives (where Shakspere's 
 story is also told), and four times in act ii of this play, and once in the last scene 
 of act i ; or six times altogether in this play. This is the only time debt occurs in 
 this play. It is found, however, once in the Epilogue. 
 
 And Ann tells the Bishop, astonished at such a scene of love-making, that — 
 
 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23— 5 b & h (285)=18. 
 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24— 5 b & h (285)=19. 
 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23— 3 b (285)=20. 
 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24— 3 b (285)=21. 
 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=24— 2h (285)=22. 
 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23. 
 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24. 
 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23. 598—23=575+1= 
 
 18 
 
 79:2 
 
 He 
 
 19 
 
 79:2 
 
 is 
 
 20 
 
 79:2 
 
 arrested 
 
 21 
 
 79:2 
 
 at 
 
 22 
 
 79:2 
 
 my 
 
 23 
 
 79:2 
 
 suit, 
 
 24 
 
 79:2 
 
 for 
 
 i76 
 
 79:2 
 
 by 
 
S WEE T A NN HA THA IV A Y. 
 
 835 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24. 598—24=574+1=575 
 
 +2 h (284)— 577. 577 79:2 this 
 
 338—285=53—30 (74:2)=23. 598—23=575 + 1=576 
 
 +2 h (285)— 578. 578 79:2 heavenly 
 
 338—285=53-30 (74:2)=23. 598—23=575 + 1=576 
 
 +3* (285)— 579. 579 79:2 ground 
 
 338—284=54—30 (74:2)=24. 598—24=574+1=575 
 
 +5 b & h (284)=580. 580 79:2 I 
 
 :338 — 285=53— 30 (74:2)=23. 598-23=575+1=576 
 
 +5 b & h (285)— 581. 581 79:2 tread. 
 
 Here it will be perceived that 23 and 24 down the column (79:2), modified by 
 the brackets and hyphens in 284 and 285, produce the upper part of the sentence; 
 and 23 and 24 carried up the same column, modified in the same way, produce the 
 latter part of the sentence; and the words flow in regular sequence from 18 to 24, 
 and again from 576 to 581. And it will be observed that the oath taken by Ann 
 Whatley, "by this heavenly ground I tread," is much more appropriate to her than 
 to Dame Quickley; for Ann was at the Bishop's house, while Dame Quickley had 
 Falstaff arrested in the open street, which, certainly, was not "heavenly ground." 
 
 But the sentence flows right on. What does Ann call the " heavenlv ground" 
 to witness ? 
 
 338—284=54—50 (76:1 )=4— 3 b (284)— 1. 
 338—285=53—49 (76:1=4—2 h (284)— 2. 
 338—284=54—49 (76:1)— 5— 2 h (284)— 8. 
 338—285=53—49 (76:1)— 4. 
 338—284=54—49 (76:1)— 5. 
 
 Here we have perfect regularity; and the words produced are the 1st, 2d, 3d, 
 4th and 5th of the text. And when we increase the root-number by 50 (4+50=54) 
 we have another similar series, showing the accurate adjustment of the text to the 
 Cipher. And observe what good service 338 minus 284=- 54 and 338 minus 285= 
 53 perform in this story. We have just seen that 53 and 54 minus the common 
 modifier, 30, produced "He is arrested at my suit, for by this heavenly ground I 
 tread;" and minus the other common modifier, 50, we have just got the words, Oh 
 my most worshipful Lord; and now we turn to 53 and 54 themselves, unmodified, 
 and we have the following sentence: 
 
 338—284 (79:1)— 54r— 56 & h (284)— 49. 
 338—285 (79:1)— 53— 3 b (285)— 50. 
 338—284 (79:1)— 54— 3 b (285)— 51. 
 333—284=54—2 h col. (285)— 52. 
 338—285=53 
 338—284=54 
 
 Here again the words follow in the regular order of the text, 49, 50, 51, 52, 53 
 and 54. And when we have exhausted the root-number 338, carried through the 
 second subdivision of 79:1 (284 and 285), we fall back on the first subdivision of the 
 same column, containing 31 and 32 words, (as we count from the end of one scene 
 or the beginning of another), with the following results, which hitch onto the sen- 
 tence worked out by the second subdivision: 
 
 338—32=307—50—256—199 (79:1)— 57— 2 b col.— 55. 79:1 into 
 
 1 
 
 79:2 
 
 Oh 
 
 2 
 
 79:2 
 
 my 
 
 3 
 
 79:2 
 
 most 
 
 4 
 
 79:2 
 
 worshipful 
 
 5 
 
 79:2 
 
 Lord, 
 
 49 
 
 79:2 
 
 he 
 
 50 
 
 79:2 
 
 hath 
 
 51 
 
 79:2 
 
 put 
 
 52 
 
 79:2 
 
 all 
 
 53 
 
 79:2 
 
 my 
 
 54 
 
 74:2 
 
 substance 
 
 338—31=307—50—257—199 (79:1)— 58— 2 b col. 
 
 56 
 
 79:1 
 
 that 
 
8 3 6 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 57 
 
 79:1 
 
 fat 
 
 58 
 
 79:1 
 
 belly. 
 
 43 
 
 79:2 
 
 me 
 
 44 
 
 79:2 
 
 out 
 
 45 
 
 79:2 
 
 of 
 
 46 
 
 79:2 
 
 house 
 
 47 
 
 79:2 
 
 and 
 
 48 
 
 79:2 
 
 home. 
 
 338—32=306—50=256—199 (79:1)— 57. 
 338—31 (79:1)— 807— 50— 257— 199 (79:1)— 68. 
 
 Here again the words follow in their regular order; the last sentence ended 
 with 54; this begins at 55 and runs regularly to 58. 
 
 And the widow further complains that the " divine William" hath — 
 
 338—32=306—162=144—50 (74:2)=94— 50 (76:1)=44 
 
 — 3d col.— 42. 42 79:2 eaten 
 
 338—31=307—162=145—50=95—50=45— 
 
 2 b col. =43. 
 338—32=306—162=144—50=94—50=44. 
 338—31=307—162=145—50=95—50=45. 
 338— 285=53— 5 b &h (284)=48— 2 b col.=46. 
 338—284=54—5 b & h (284)=49— 2 b col.— 47. 
 338— 285=53— ob & /*(284)— 48. 
 
 Here again the words follow the regular sequence of the text, 42, 43, 44, 45, 
 46, 47 and 48. 
 
 Surely if all this is accident it is the most miraculous series of accidents ever 
 seen in the world. 
 
 And the widow also says that the young spendthrift has borrowed and spent 
 all her money, and has come back from Wales in the ragged and woe-begone con- 
 dition which the Bishop described to Cecil: without shirts, stockings, cloak, etc. 
 And she grieves over the loss of her money; it is a case of " Oh my ducats ! Oh 
 my daughter ! " 
 
 338—65=273. 518—273=245+1=246. 
 338—64=274. 518—274=2444 1=245+6/; col— 
 338—65=273. 518—273=245+1=246+6 h col— 
 338— 64=274— 50=224+32=256— Zb col =253. 
 3o8— 64=274— 2 b (64)=272— 50=222+32=254. 
 338—65=273—50=223 + 32=255. 
 338—64=274—50=224+32=256. 
 338—65=274—49 (70 :1)=225+ 32=257. 
 
 The young scamp had wasted the widow's dower in riotous living, while she 
 was enamored of his youth and good looks. And she continues the plaintive 
 story of her wrongs: 
 
 338—57=281—50=231. 598—231=367+1=368. 
 
 338—64=274. 
 
 338—65=273—3 b col. =270. 
 
 338—64=274—1 h col. =273. 
 
 338— 65=273— 2 £ (65)=271— 3 b col.— 268. 
 
 338—64=274—3 b col.— 271. 
 
 338—65=273—1 h col.— 272. 
 
 338—50=288 (79:2)— 64=224. 
 
 338—50=288—65 (79:2)=223. 
 
 338—50—28^-64 (79:1)— 224. 
 
 295+2 £ (64)=297. 297 
 
 338—50=288—65 (79:1)— 223. 
 
 296+2 £ (64)=298. 298 
 
 246 
 
 79:1 
 
 For 
 
 251 
 
 79:1 
 
 a 
 
 252 
 
 79:1 
 
 100 
 
 253 
 
 79:1 
 
 mark 
 
 254 
 
 79:1 
 
 is 
 
 255 
 
 79:1 
 
 a 
 
 256 
 
 79:1 
 
 long 
 
 257 
 
 79:1 
 
 one. 
 
 518—224=294+1= 
 518—223=295+1= 
 518—224—294+1 = 
 
 518—223=295+1= 
 
 368 
 
 79:2 
 
 I 
 
 274 
 
 79:1 
 
 have 
 
 270 
 
 79:1 
 
 borne 
 
 273 
 
 79:1 
 
 and 
 
 268 
 
 79:1 
 
 borne 
 
 271 
 
 79:1 
 
 and 
 
 272 
 
 79:1 
 
 borne; 
 
 295 
 
 79:1 
 
 there 
 
 296 
 
 79:1 
 
 is 
 
 79:1 
 
 79:1 honesty 
 
SWEET ANN II A THA WA Y. 
 
 837 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 299 
 
 79:1 
 
 in 
 
 300 
 
 79:1 
 
 such 
 
 301 
 
 79:1 
 
 dealing. 
 
 266 
 
 79:1 
 
 I 
 
 267 
 
 79:1 
 
 have 
 
 275 
 
 79:1 
 
 bin 
 
 276 
 
 79:1 
 
 fubbed 
 
 277 
 
 79:1 
 
 off 
 
 =278 
 
 79:1 
 
 and 
 
 280 
 
 r9:l 
 
 from 
 
 338—64=274—49=225. 518—225=293+1=294+ 
 
 5// col. =299. 
 338—64=274—50=224. 518—224=294+1=295+ 
 
 5 h col. =300. 
 338—65=273—50=223. 518—223=295+1=296+ 
 
 5/ ; col. =301. 
 338—64=274—8 b col. =266. 
 338— 65=273— 2 b (65)=271— 4 b & h col. =267. 
 338—64=274—30=244. 518—244=274+ 1=275. 
 338—65=273—30=243. 518—243=275+1=276. 
 338—64=274—30=244—2 b (64)=242. 518—242= 
 
 276 + 1=277. 
 338—65=273—30=243—2 £—241. 518—241—277+ 
 338—64=274—30=244. 518—244—274+ 1—275 - 
 
 5 h col. =280. 
 338—65=273—30=243. 518—243=275 +1—276 + 
 
 X>h col. =281. 
 338—64=274—30=244—2 b (64)=242. 518—242= 
 
 276+1=277+5 h col. 282. 
 338—65=273—30=243—2 b (65)— 241. 518—241= 
 
 + 1=278+5 h col. =283. 
 338—30=308—50=258+31=289—5^ & h col. =284 
 338— 30=308— 50=258+32=290— 5 4 & h col. =285. 
 
 Observe the exquisite adjustment of the foregoing; the alternations are regular: 
 274, 273, 274, 273, 274, 273, 274, 273; and every word is 338 minus 64 or 65, minus 
 30. If there had not been those two bracketed words in 64 or 65 the words would 
 not have matched as they do. If there had not been the five hyphenated words in 
 the lower part of the column the sentence would have been imperfect. If the 
 second " fubbed off" had not been uniced into one word by a hyphen the Cipher 
 would have failed. And why are those words, "fubbed off," printed once with a 
 hyphen, and, two words above, printed again without a hyphen? And here we 
 have the very Warwickshire dialect the critics have been talking so much about: — 
 the cultured English spoken by " sweet Ann Hathaway." And observe another 
 detail: Some of the Cipher words given in previous sentences depended upon a 
 sixth hyphen in that second " fubbed-off." But if that hyphen instead of being there 
 had been, say, on the next line, between thought on, our sentence would have been 
 ruined. It is these delicate adjustments of means to ends that must carry convic- 
 tion to even the most skeptical. 
 
 And the fair Ann demands satisfaction, since — 
 
 277 
 
 281 
 
 79:1 
 
 this 
 
 282 
 
 7 
 
 79:1 
 
 day 
 
 • 
 
 283 
 
 79:1 
 
 to 
 
 284 
 
 79:1 
 
 that 
 
 285 
 
 79:1 
 
 day. 
 
 338— 65=273— 30=243— Sb col.— 285. 
 338—64=274—30=244—8 4 col.— 286. 
 338—65=273—30=243—2 b (65)— 241— 9 b & h col. 
 338—65=273—30 243—2 b (64)=241— 3 b col.— 
 338—64—274—30—244—2 b (64)— 242— 3 b col.— 
 338—65—273—30—243—3 b col.— 240. 
 338—65—273—30—243—2 b (64)— 241. 
 338—64=274—30=244—2 b (64)=242. 
 
 And she wants to have him indicted: 
 
 338—64 (79:2)— 274— 2 b (64)— 272— 50— 222. 
 
 235 
 236 
 232 
 238 
 239 
 240 
 241 
 242 
 
 222 
 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 79:1 
 
 79:1 
 
 My 
 
 case 
 
 is 
 
 openly 
 
 known 
 
 to 
 
 the 
 
 world. 
 
 To 
 
^ 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 338— 64(79:2)— 274. 
 
 338—64 (79:2)— 274— 30=244. 
 
 338— 64=274— 50—824— 2 b (64)= 
 
 =222—9 b & A col. 
 
 Page anJ 
 Word. Column. 
 
 274 79:1 have 
 
 244 79:1 him 
 
 213 79:1 indicted. 
 
 The word indicted does not appear anywhere in its proper form in the Plays. 
 In this instance it is given as indited (probably in obedience to the requirements of 
 the Cipher, as it may be used in the sense of " written," in some other part of the 
 story); and it is also found in Othello, iii, 4, spelled again indited. But only twice, 
 in any form of spelling, meaning indicted, is it found in all the Plays. Yet here it 
 is with arrested, suit, warrant, etc., just where the Cipher narrative needs it. 
 
 The " poet" " deniges " the soft impeachment and tries to brave it out, some- 
 what as Falstaff does in the play. Whereupon Ann replies, in the words of 
 Mistress Quickley: Didst thou not — 
 
 338—31=307. 598—307=291 + 1=292. 
 338—32=306. 598— 306=292 +1=293. 
 338—31=307. 598— 307=291 + 1=292 +2 A col.— 
 338—32=306—50=256—58 (80:1)=198— 2 h col.— 
 338—65=273—2 b (65)— 271— 57 (80:1)— 214— 
 
 Ub& A col. =200. 
 338—64=274—2 b (64)=272— 57 (80:1)— 215— 
 
 14 b & A col. =201. 
 338—65=273—2 b (65)=271— 57 (80:1)= 214— 
 
 12 b col.=202. 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)— 801. 
 338—31=307—5 b (31)— 302. 
 
 338—31=307. 598—307=291 + 1=292+11 b & A= 
 338—32=306—2/; col. =304. 
 338—31=307—2// col. =305. 
 338—32=306. 
 338—31=307. 
 
 338—31=307—30=277—50=227. 534—227=307+ U 
 338—32=306—30=276—50=226. 534-226=308+1= 
 338-49=289. 598—289=309+1=310. 
 338-50=288. 598—288=310+1=311. 
 338—50=288. 598—288=310+1=311 + 1 A col.— 
 338—64=274—2 b (64)=272— 57 (80:1)— 215— 
 
 12 b col. =203. 
 338—65=273—2 b (65)=271— 57 (80:1)=214. 
 338—64=274—2 b (64)=272— 57 (80:1)=215. 
 338—65=273—57 (80:1)— 216. 
 338—64=274—57 (80:1)— 217. 
 338—49=289—57=232—14 £—218. 
 338—65=273—2 b (65)— 271— 50=221— 2 A col.— 219. 
 338— 64=274— 2 b (64)=272— 50=222— 2 A col.— 220. 
 338-65—273—2 b (65)— 271 . 
 338—64=274—2 b (64)— 272— 50=222. 
 338—65 (79:2)— 273— 50— 228. 
 338—64=274—50—244 
 
 338—22 b & //— 316— 32=284— 50— 234— 2 A col.— 
 338— 22 £ & £—316—31—285—50—235—2 A col.— 
 
 292 
 
 79:2 
 
 kiss 
 
 293 
 
 79:2 
 
 me 
 
 294 
 
 79:2 
 
 and 
 
 196 
 
 79:2 
 
 swear 
 
 200 
 
 79:2 
 
 to 
 
 201 
 
 79:2 
 
 marry 
 
 202 
 
 79:2 
 
 me ? 
 
 301 
 
 79:2 
 
 I 
 
 302 
 
 79:2 
 
 put 
 
 303 
 
 79:2 
 
 thee 
 
 304 
 
 79:2 
 
 now 
 
 305 
 
 79:2 
 
 to 
 
 306 
 
 79:2 
 
 thy 
 
 307 
 
 79:2 
 
 Book-oath; 
 
 =308 
 
 79:2 
 
 deny 
 
 =309 
 
 79:2 
 
 it 
 
 310 
 
 79:2 
 
 if 
 
 311 
 
 79:2 
 
 thou 
 
 312 
 
 79:2 
 
 canst. 
 
 203 
 
 79:2 
 
 And 
 
 214 
 
 79:2 
 
 did 
 
 215 
 
 79:2 
 
 not 
 
 216 
 
 79:2 
 
 goodwife 
 
 217 
 
 79:2 
 
 Keech, 
 
 218 
 
 79:2 
 
 the 
 
 219 
 
 79:2 
 
 butcher's 
 
 220 
 
 79:2 
 
 wife, 
 
 271 
 
 79:2 
 
 come 
 
 222 
 
 79:2 
 
 in 
 
 223 
 
 79:2 
 
 then 
 
 244 
 
 79:2 
 
 and 
 
 232 
 
 79:2 
 
 borrow 
 
 233 
 
 79:2 
 
 a 
 
SWEET ANN HA THA WA Y. 
 
 839 
 
 533—285=248+1= 
 533—284=249+1= 
 533—285=248+1= 
 
 533—284=249 + 1= 
 
 534-285=249+1= 
 
 251 
 
 252 
 
 338—22 3 & 3=316—32=284—50=234. 
 388—22 b & 3=316—31=285—50=235. 
 338—32=306— 5 b (32)=3()1— 57=244— 2 h col. 
 338— 31=307— 5 b (32)=302— 57=245— 2 3 col.- 
 338—32=306—5 b (32)=301— 57=244. 
 338— 32=307— 5 £ (31)=302— 57=245. 
 338—32=306—58 (80:1)=248— 2 3 col. =246. 
 338—32=306—57 (80:1)=249— 2 3 col. =247. 
 338—32=506—58=248. 
 338—223 & 3=316—31=285. 
 338— 22 3 & 3=316—32=284. 
 338—22 b & 3=316—31=285. 
 
 249+2 3 col. =251. 
 338—22 b & 3=316—32=284. 
 
 250+2 3 col. =252. 
 338—223 & 3=316—31=285. 
 
 250+1=251+2 3 col.=253. 
 338—65=273—14 b col.=259— 23(65)=257— 2 3 col.- 
 338—64=274— 14 3 col. =260— 23 (64)=258— 2 3 col.. 
 338—65=273—14 3 col.=259— 23 (65)=257. 
 338—64=274—14 b col.=260— 2 3 (64)=258. 
 338—65=273—143 col —259. 
 338—64=274—143 col. =260. 
 338—31=307—30=277—143 col.=263— 2 3 col.= 
 338—32=306—30=276—143 col.=262. 
 338—31=307—30=277—14 3 col.=263. 
 
 And then Ann tells how Will desired her to — 
 
 338—65=273—2 3 (65)=271. 
 
 338—64=274—2 3 (64)=272. 
 
 338—65=273. 
 
 338—64=274. 
 
 338—31=307—30=277—2 3 col.=275. 
 
 338—32=306—30=276. 
 
 338—31=307—30=277. 
 
 338—32=306—50=256. 533—256=277+1= 
 
 338—57 (79:1)=281— 2 h col.— 379. 
 
 338—56 (79:1)=282— 2 3 col.=280. 
 
 338—57=281. 
 
 338—56=282. 
 
 338—65=273—2 3 (65)=271— 14 3=257. 
 
 338—32=306—22 b& h col =284. 
 
 338—31=307—22 3 & 3=285. 
 
 338—32=306—20 3 col. =286. 
 
 338—31=307—20 b col.— 887. 
 
 And observe another evidence of the adjustment of the 
 eted and hyphenated words to the necessities of tl 
 found the word call with the root-number 316 [338 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 234 
 
 79:2 
 
 mess 
 
 235 
 
 79:2 
 
 of 
 
 242 
 
 79:2 
 
 a 
 
 243 
 
 79:2 
 
 dish 
 
 244 
 
 79:2 
 
 of 
 
 245 
 
 79:2 
 
 prawns, 
 
 246 
 
 79:2 
 
 whereby 
 
 247 
 
 79:2 
 
 thou 
 
 248 
 
 79:2 
 
 didst 
 
 249 
 
 79:2 
 
 desire 
 
 250 
 
 79:2 
 
 to 
 
 :9:\ 
 
 79:2 
 
 eat 
 
 253 
 
 79:2 
 
 I 
 
 ^255 
 
 79:2 
 
 told 
 
 =256 
 
 79:2 
 
 thee 
 
 257 
 
 79:2 
 
 they 
 
 258 
 
 79:2 
 
 were 
 
 279 
 
 79:2 
 
 ill 
 
 260 
 
 79:2 
 
 for 
 
 261 
 
 79:2 
 
 a 
 
 262 
 
 79:2 
 
 green 
 
 263 
 
 79:2 
 
 wound. 
 
 271 
 
 79:2 
 
 Be 
 
 272 
 
 79:2 
 
 no 
 
 273 
 
 79:2 
 
 more 
 
 274 
 
 79:2 
 
 familiar 
 
 275 
 
 79:2 
 
 with 
 
 276 
 
 79:2 • 
 
 such 
 
 277 
 
 79:2 
 
 poor 
 
 278 
 
 79:2 
 
 people, 
 
 279 
 
 79:2 
 
 saying 
 
 280 
 
 79:2 
 
 that 
 
 281 
 
 79:2 
 
 ere 
 
 282 
 
 79:2 
 
 long 
 
 257 
 
 79:2 
 
 they 
 
 284 
 
 79:2 
 
 should 
 
 285 
 
 79:2 
 
 call 
 
 286 
 
 79:2 
 
 me 
 
 287 
 
 79:2 
 
 madam. 
 
 Df the 
 
 number 
 
 of the brack- 
 
 ipher. 
 
 A little 
 
 while ago we 
 
 lb & h (i67)=3i 
 
 6] thus: 
 
 316—31=285. 
 
 285 
 
 79:2 
 
 call. 
 
840 THE CIPHER NAUR A TIVE. 
 
 And now we have the same word call coming out again at the touch of 338. 
 Why ? Because there are precisely 22 bracketed and hyphenated words in the 
 column (79:2) above the word call; and the 22 b & A in the column exactly equalize 
 the 22 b & A in the 167 in 74:2 ! Hence we have this result: 
 
 Word. 
 285 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 79:2 
 
 call 
 
 285 
 
 79:2 
 
 call 
 
 505—167=338—22 b & A (167) — 316 — 31=285. 
 505—167=338—31=307—22 b & A in col.— 285. 
 
 Another conundrum for the men who believe the sun is an accidental bonfire, 
 and man a fortuitous congregation of atoms ! 
 
 There are a few points I will ask the reader to note: First, the many sAes and 
 hers in this story. We could not have found these in the Cipher story in act i, 
 for that entire act of four scenes does not contain a single she and but one her. 
 And this illustrates that we cannot make everything out of anything. Again, I 
 would note the great many a's: "a 100," "tfdish," "a green wound," "a widow," 
 "a pretty face," "a fair complexion," "a high color," "a gross and vulgar 
 woman," '* a loud tongue," etc. We find nothing like this in the preceding chap- 
 ters, but where it was needed we have it. 
 
 Some of the words used in the foregoing sentences are quite rare. TArong is 
 found bat twice in this play, and but seven times besides in all the Historical Plays. 
 People occurs but three times in this play. Arrested appears but this time in this 
 play, and but ten times in all the Plays. Suit is found but four times in this play. 
 Heavenly occurs but twice in this play, and this is the only time tread is found in 
 this play. And thus we see that even so little a matter as Ann Hathaway's oath 
 could not be constructed without bringing together this array of unusual words. 
 
 It may be objected that the wife of Shakspere would not be called madam under 
 any circumstances; but it must be remembered that Shakspere's father had been the 
 chief officer of the town; and Shakspere's effort to obtain a coat-of-arms shows 
 that he had a lively sense of all the dignities belonging to his family, — and even 
 of some that did not belong to it. In 1571, Shakspere's father was made chief 
 alderman, and therefore he is entered on the parish records as "magistri Shak- 
 spere," and thereafter he is no longer " Johannis Shakspere," but " Mr. John Shak- 
 spere." Indeed, a writer on Shakspere's life has remarked that it must have been 
 quite an elevation for Ann Hathaway to have married "the high-bailiff's son." 
 
 And Will's father, John Shakspere, is indignant at the whole business. He 
 thinks his son has been entrapped by the widow, and that she "is no better than 
 she should be." And he calls his son sundry pet names: 
 
 338—31=307—30=277+32=309. 309 79:1 ass 
 
 338. 338 80:1 fool 
 
 He says: 
 
 338—30=308—31 (79:. ,=277. 598—277=321 + 1 
 
 =322. 
 338—162=176—1 4=175. 
 338—30=308—31=277. 
 338—161=177—4// col. =173. 
 
 And that she was the — 
 
 338—30=308-31 (79:1)— 277. 598—277=321 + 1= 
 
 322+9/; col =331. 331 79:2 eldest 
 
 322 
 
 79:2 
 
 She 
 
 175 
 
 77:1 
 
 was 
 
 277 
 
 78:1 
 
 twenty- 
 
 173 
 
 78:2 
 
 five; 
 
SWEET ANN HA THA WA Y. 
 
 841 
 
 338—30=308—285 (70:1)— 28. 598—23=575+1= 
 
 Word. 
 
 576 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 79:2 
 
 by 
 
 338_30=308—284 (79:1)— 24. 
 
 24 
 
 78:1 
 
 seven 
 
 338—50=288—162=126. 523— 12C— 397+ 1—398 
 
 398 
 
 80:1 
 
 years. 
 
 Is it not remarkable, — if this is all accident, — that we have here the very words 
 to tell the real age of Shakspere's wife, at the time of her marriage, and the pre- 
 cise number of years' difference between her age and that of her husband? And 
 this is the only time "eldest" occitrs in this play? And it occurs just where it is 
 needed. And seven is found but twice in this play. Years is disguised in the word 
 'ears, the pronunciation of the period slurring thejj' where it began a word. 
 
 And the matter was much laughed over among the neighbors. It was — 
 
 338-49=289—161=128. 462—128=334+1= 335 
 
 338—50=288—162=126. 126 
 
 338—200=138. 468—138=330+1=331. 331 
 338—50=288—161=127. 462—127=335+1=336+ 
 
 5/ ; col. =341. 341 78:2 many 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 78:2 
 
 subject 
 
 78:1 
 
 of 
 
 128 
 330 
 
 ie 
 
 472 
 
 79:2 rough 
 78:1 surmise. 
 
 78:1 
 
 77:2 
 
 boy. 
 
 not 
 
 338—49=289—161=128. 
 
 338—199 (79:1)=139. 468—139=329+1=330. 
 
 For he was but a boy: 
 
 338—32=306—285 (79:1)=21— 5 6 & h (285)=16. 
 
 And, in the opinions of the neighbors, it did — 
 
 338—199=139. 610—139=471+1=472. 
 338—31=307—285 (79:1)=22— 3 £(285)=19. 162—19 
 
 =143+ 1=144. 
 338— 32=306— 285 (79:1)=21— 5 £ (285)=16. 162—16= 
 338—58 (80:1)=280. 
 
 he 
 
 338—30=308—31=277—5 b (31)=272. 
 338—30=308—31=277—4 h col. =273. 
 
 her from the 
 538—161=177. 523—177=346+1=347. 
 
 of 
 338— 199=139— 5 h (199)=134— 2 b col. =132. 132 77:2 virtue. 
 
 This is the only time reasonable is found in this play, and this is the only time 
 virtue occurs in this act; and the same is true of seem; this is the only time surmise 
 is found in this play; and this is the only time road-way appears in all the Plays ! 
 
 But debt was a serious business in that day, for it meant imprisonment for years, 
 with, oftentimes, no food provided for the unhappy wretches, who had to depend for 
 life upon the charity of such passers-by as might be good enough to fill the basket 
 lowered to them from the prison window. And so, with that threat hanging over 
 him, " the bard of Avon " accepted the sweet bonds of matrimony. The Bishop — 
 
 338—22 b & /;=316— 32-=284— 5 b (32)— 279— 4 h col.=275 78:2 forces 
 338— 22 £ & //=316— 32=284— 50=234— 32 b & h col.— 
 
 202. 461—202=259+1=260. 260 78:2 him 
 
 338— 22 £ & //=316— 32=284— 50=234— 31 b & h col.=203 78:2 perforce 
 
 144 
 
 78:1 
 
 seem 
 
 =146 
 
 78:1 
 
 reasonable 
 
 280 
 
 79:2 
 
 that 
 
 272 
 
 78:1 
 
 should 
 
 273 
 
 78:2 
 
 lead 
 
 347 
 
 80:2 
 
 road-way 
 
8 4 2 
 
 THE CIPHER NARK A TIVE. 
 
 to marry; no great hardship, perhaps, for he had, we are told, 
 
 338—22// & /;=316— 31=285— 5=280— 199 (79:1)= 
 338—22 b & A— 816— 32— 884— 5 ^=279—199 (79:1)= 
 338— 22 £ & /;=316— 31=285— 5 £-=280—199=81. 
 
 162—81=81 + 1=82. 
 338— 22 b & //=316— 32=284— 5 /;=279— 199 (79:1)= 
 
 80. 162—80=82+1=83. 
 338- 22 b & h— 816— 81— 885— 5 £=280—50=230—58 
 
 (80:1)— 172. 598— 172=426 +1=427+ 6 £ col.— 
 
 ford. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 81 
 
 78:1 
 
 sworn 
 
 80 . 
 
 78:1 
 
 weekly 
 
 82 
 
 83 
 
 78:1 
 
 :8:1 
 
 to 
 
 marry 
 
 433 
 
 »:2 
 
 her. 
 
 And observe here an astonishing fact: this is the only time the word " weekly" 
 appears in all the nine hundred thousand words of the Plays ! And sworn appears 
 but this once in twenty-nine columns of this play, and but two other times in all 
 the play. And see how precisely they move together. To even construct so 
 simple a phrase of five words as the foregoing, the cryptologist had to import 
 one word never used before or afterward in the Plays, and another word used but 
 three times in this play. And then observe that sentence, " sworn weekly to 
 marry her." Every word is 505 — 167=338 — 22b & ^=316 — 31 or 32 (regularly 
 alternated) minus the 5 b in 31 or 32. And four of the words are found in that 
 same fragment of a scene at the top of 78:1, and two of them are 80 and 81 down 
 from the top of the fragment, and two of them are 80 and 81 up from the end of 
 the fragment ! 
 
 And then we have the whole story of the precipitate marriage. It must take 
 place at once, or " the divine William " might fly again to Wales; but it was neces- 
 sary to publish a notice of the bans three times in advance of the marriage: 
 
 505—167=338—50 (74:2)— 288— 31 (79:1)— 257. 
 
 462—25 7—205 + 1 =206. 
 505—167=338—32 (79:1)— 306. 
 505— 167— 338— 50=288— 32(79 :1)=256. 
 505—167=338—32 (79:1)— 306— 5 b (32)— 301. 
 505—167=338-50—288—31 (79:1)=257— 5 b (31)— 
 
 252. 462—252=210+1—211+5 b col.— 216. 
 505—167=338—30—308—32 (79:1)— 276. 462—276 
 
 =186+1—187+/;= 
 505—167=338—162=176. 
 505— 167— 33 S— 50=288— 32 (79:1)— 256. 468—256 
 
 —212 + 1=213. 
 
 206 
 
 78:2 
 
 Must 
 
 306 
 
 78:2 
 
 publish 
 
 256 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 301 
 
 78:2 
 
 notice 
 
 216 
 
 (187) 
 176 
 
 78:2 
 
 78:2 
 79:2 
 
 three 
 
 times 
 in 
 
 213 
 
 78:1 advance. 
 
 The word publish is quite rare: itis found but eight times in all the Plays,, 
 and but once in this play; and notice is comparatively rare: it occurs but ten times 
 in all the Histories, and but once in this play; and advance is also a rare word: it is 
 found but twelve times in all the Histories, and but this time in this play ! Here, 
 then, are three words, publish — notice — advance — (together with the compara- 
 tively rare words three — times) — not found anywhere else among all the many thou- 
 sand words of this play; and yet all brought together on the same page (page 78),, 
 and all tied together in a bunch by the same number: 
 
 338—31= 
 338—32= 
 338—32= 
 338—31— 
 
 78:2 
 
 Must 
 
 78:2 
 
 publish 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 78:2 
 
 notice 
 
Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 78:2 
 
 three 
 
 78:2 
 
 times 
 
 78:2 
 
 advance. 
 
 S WEE T ANN HA THA WA Y. 843 
 
 338—31= 
 338—32= 
 338—32= 
 
 And, more than all this, these significant words are thus bunched together, 
 just where we have found all the other significant words that tell the story of Shak- 
 spere's marriage ! And, historically, we know that the marriage was peculiar, to 
 say the least; and that a bond had to be given to avoid the necessity of calling the 
 bans more than once. 
 
 And we have here, also, the whole story of the bond. Here is the bond: 
 
 338— 146=192— 3 /> (146)=189. 457—189=268+ 
 
 1=269+6 h col. =275. 275 76:2 bond 
 
 John Shakspere offered to go upon it, but he was not considered sufficient, and 
 at last two friends of the family are found; and sweet Ann Hathaway enters into 
 history, to be sung by poets and idealized by fools. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 BA CON VER WHELMED. 
 
 News fitting to the night, 
 Black, fearful, comfortless and horrible. 
 
 King John, v, 6. 
 
 MY publishers write me that the book now contains over 900 
 pages, and that the edition de luxe " looks like a Chicago Direct- 
 ory ! " And, therefore, fascinating as the story is to me, I must con- 
 dense the remainder of it into the smallest possible compass. I regret 
 to leave the history of Shakspere unfinished. I have worked out frag- 
 ments of it all the way through to the end of 2d Henry IV. It gives 
 in detail his conversations with his father, his dread of being 
 hanged, his flight to London, the poverty of his wife and children, 
 his own wretchedness and distress in the metropolis, his begging 
 on the streets in mid-winter with the tears frozen on his face; his 
 being relieved by Henslow. I will try to give fragments from 
 these narratives, if I have time and space after finishing the story 
 announced in the prospectus of my publishers; if not, the particu- 
 lars will have to go into some future work. 
 
 We turn back to the beginning of scene third (76:1), and we 
 have to use now a Cipher-number different from that 505 — 167= 
 338 which has given us so much of the foregoing narrative; but 
 even with so different a number we shall find the text responding 
 with sentences just as significant as those already given. And the 
 reader will note that, although we go over the same ground which 
 gave us the Shakspere story, derived from 33%, we flush always an 
 entirely different covey of game, in the shape of Cipher words. 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 COS— 29 (74:2)=476— 457=19— 9 b col.=10. 
 505—449=56—5 h (449)=51 . 603—51=552 + 1= 
 505—146 (76:2)=359. 498—359=139+1=140. 
 
 844 
 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 10 
 
 76:1 
 
 On 
 
 553 
 
 76:2 
 
 hearing 
 
 140 
 
 76:1 
 
 this 
 
BACON OVERWHELMED 
 
 845 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 208 
 
 r5:2 heavy 
 
 505—161=344—30 (74:2)— 314. 508—314=194+1= 
 
 195+13 £=208. 
 505—161=344—284=60—10 b (284)=50. 248—50 
 
 =198+1=199+2 b & h col.— 801. 
 505—449=56—50=6. 457—6=451 +1=452. 
 505—49=456—146=310. 498—310=188+1=189. 
 505—449=56—1 h col.— 55. 
 505—49 (76:1)— 456— 162 (78:1)— 294. 
 505—449=56—5 h (440)— 51. 
 
 505—29 (74:2)=476— 447=29. 508—29=479+1= 
 505—29 (74:2)=476. 498—476=22+ 1= 23. 
 505—449=56—50=6. 
 505—49=456—1 46=31 0—50 (76 : 1)— 260 . 
 505—49 (76:1)=456— 448 (76:1)— 8— 5 h (448)— 3. 
 
 603—3=600+1=601. 
 505—146=359—305 (78:1)— 54. 
 505— 49(76:1)— 456. 456—284 (74:1)— 172. 
 505—50=455—146—309—3 b (146)=306. 468—306 
 
 =162+1=163+20 b & b col.— 183. 
 505—449—56. 
 
 506—449—56. 508—56=452+1=453. 
 505—146=359. 448—359=89+1=90+3 h col. =93. 
 505—146—359—49=310. 448—310—138+1—139. 
 505—146=359—161=198. 610—198=412+1—413 
 
 +11 h & A— 424. 
 505—49—450—30=426. 462—426—36+1=37+ 
 
 21 b col. =58. 
 
 This is the only time overwhelmed appears in this play; it is found but four 
 other times in all the Plays ! Flood occurs but three times in this play; plainly 
 appears but twice in this play, and but six times besides in all the Histories. 
 Perils is found but twice in this play, and but once besides in all the Histories; 
 and but four times besides in all the Plays ! And this is the only time "situation " 
 is found in all the Plays ! 
 
 505—146=359. 577—359—218+1=219. 
 
 505—145—360. 448—360—88—1—89. 
 
 505—145—360—3 b (145)— 357. 
 
 505—146=359—3 b (145)— 356. 
 
 505—49=456. 
 
 505—145—360—305=55—2 h col. =53. 
 
 505— £0=475— 447 (75:1)— 28. 
 
 505— 30=475— 161— 314- -247 (74:2)— 67— 7 b col.— 
 
 505—145=360—50=31 ). 498—310—188+1—189. 
 
 505—146=359. 498—359—139+1=140. 
 
 Here we have another combination of Shakst-spur, besides the fourteen given 
 elsewhere; and here we have another mode of counting, besides the ones already 
 given, whereby apprehended is reached. And this is the only time apprehended appears 
 in this play, while Shak'st is found but twice: once here, and once in The Winter' s 
 Tale, iv, 3; and while the Concordance gives the word very properly in both 
 instances, as shakest, the Folio gives it in both instances as shak'st; because shak'st 
 
 201 
 
 74:2 
 
 news 
 
 452 
 
 76:2 
 
 I 
 
 189 
 
 76:1 
 
 ■was 
 
 55 
 
 76:2 
 
 o'erwhelmed 
 
 294 
 
 77:2 
 
 with 
 
 51 
 
 76:2 
 
 a 
 
 480 
 
 75:2 
 
 flood 
 
 23 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 6 
 
 75:2 
 
 fears 
 
 260 
 
 75:2 
 
 and 
 
 601 
 
 76:2 
 
 shame. 
 
 54 
 
 77:2 
 
 I 
 
 172 
 
 74:2 
 
 saw 
 
 183 
 
 78:1 
 
 plainly 
 
 56 
 
 76:2 
 
 all 
 
 453 
 
 75:2 
 
 the 
 
 93 
 
 76:1 
 
 perils 
 
 139 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 424 
 
 77:2 
 
 my 
 
 56 
 
 78:2 
 
 situation. 
 
 219 
 
 77:1 
 
 I 
 
 89 
 
 77:1 
 
 knew 
 
 357 
 
 77:1 
 
 very 
 
 356 
 
 77:1 
 
 well 
 
 456 
 
 75:2 
 
 that 
 
 53 
 
 77:2 
 
 if 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 Shak'st I 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spur \ 
 
 189 
 
 76:1 
 
 was 
 
 (140) 
 
 76:1 a 
 
 pprehendec 
 
8 4 6 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 could be combined here with spur, and with the same word spur in The Winter's 
 Tale (iv, i) to give the sound of Shakespere's name, while shakest could not ! Thus 
 we find everywhere evidences of the Cipher. 
 
 505—146=359. 448—359=89+1=90. 
 
 505—145=360—193=167. 
 
 505—449=56—50 (74:2)=6— 5 h (449)=1. 603—1= 
 
 602+1=603. 
 505—146=359—50=309—4 h col.=305. 
 505—449=56—50=6. 
 505—449=56. 162—56=106+1= 
 505—146=359. 
 
 505—146=359—305=54—2 h col. =52. 
 505—146=359—3 b (146)=356— 30=326. 
 505—146=359—161=198—10 b col.=188. 
 ; 05—146=359—16 :=197. 610—197=418+1=414 
 
 +-11 ^ & h col. =425. 
 505—145=360. 498—360=138+1=139. 
 :.05— 145=360— 30=330. 498—330=168+1=169. 
 .1 05—146=359—30=329—50=279—248=31 . 284— 
 
 31=253+1=254. 
 505—146=359—304 (78:1)=55— 20 b & h (304)=35. 
 505—146=359—304 (78:1)=55— 20 b & h (304)=35. 
 
 610—35=575+1=576+2 h col.=578. 
 505—146=359—305 (78:1)=54— 20 b & h (305)=34. 
 
 610—34=576+1=577+2 h col.=579. 
 505—146=359-29 (74:2)=330— 3 b (146)— 827. 
 
 498—327=171 + 1=172+10 b & h col. =182. 
 505— 49=456— 50=406— 304 (78 :2)=102. 
 
 What contempt for the corpulent "bard of Avon" is expressed in that phrase, 
 "he would be as clay, — or rather tallow, — in the hands of," etc.! This is the only 
 time fox occurs in this play; and this is the only time crafty is found in this play; 
 and this is the only time tallozu is found in this play, and it occurs but five other 
 times in all the Plays ! And this is the only time clay appears in this play. And 
 this is the only time seas is found in this play. So that in this short sentence there 
 are five words found nowhere else in this play; in other words, this sentence could 
 not be constructed anywhere else in this play; nor would all these words come out 
 at the summons of any other number. And herein we have also still another com- 
 bination forming the name of Cecil. 
 
 The story proceeds: 
 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 90 
 
 76:1 
 
 he 
 
 167 
 
 76:2 
 
 will 
 
 603 
 
 76:2 
 
 be 
 
 305 
 
 77:1 
 
 as 
 
 6 
 
 76:2 
 
 clay, 
 
 107 
 
 78:1 
 
 or 
 
 359 
 
 77:1 
 
 rather 
 
 52 
 
 77:2 
 
 tallow, 
 
 326 
 
 76:1 
 
 in 
 
 188 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 425 
 
 77:2 
 
 hands 
 
 139 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 169 
 
 76:1 
 
 that 
 
 254 
 
 74:1 
 
 crafty 
 
 35 
 
 77:2 
 
 fox, 
 
 578 
 
 77:2 
 
 my 
 
 579 
 
 77:2 
 
 cousin 
 
 182 
 
 76:1 
 
 Seas \ 
 
 102 
 
 77:2 
 
 ill. S 
 
 505—146=359—3 b (146)=356— 50=306. 
 505—145=360—50=310. 498—310=188+1 
 .1 ( ) 5—1 46=359—50=309 
 
 189. 
 498—309=189+1=190. 
 
 505—145=360—50=310. 498—310=188+1=189+ 
 
 2/i col. =191. 
 505—146=359—50=309. 498—309=189+1=190 
 
 +2 h col. =192. 
 505—145=360—50=310—50 (76:1)=260. 508—260 
 
 =248+1=249. 
 
 306 
 189 
 190 
 
 191 
 
 192 
 
 249 
 
 77:1 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 76:1 
 
 75:2 
 
 It 
 
 was 
 ten 
 
 to 
 
 the 
 
BA CON O VER WHELMED. 
 
 847 
 
 505—146=359—50=309. 577—309=268+1=269. 
 505—146=359—50=309—10 b & h col. =299. 
 505—146=359—3 b (146)=356— 193 (75:1)=163— 49 
 
 =114— l/;col.=113. 
 505—146=359-50=309—11 b col.=298. 
 505—146=359—30=329—162=167. 603—167=436 
 
 + 1=437+3 b col. =440. 
 505—30=475—193=282—49=233—22 b & // col.— 
 505— 145=360— 248=112— 22 £ (248)=90— 10 b col.= 
 505—145=360—50=310—4 b col.— 306. 
 505— 145=360— 3 b (146)=357. 603—357=246+1= 
 
 247+6 //col. =253. 
 505—145=360—248=112. 284—112=172+1=173. 
 505—146=359—3 b (146)=356— 161=195. 603—195 
 
 =408+1=409+3 b coi =412. 
 505— 145=360— 50=310 . 
 505— 146 = 359— 163=196— 13 b & h col.=183. 
 503—146=359—161=198—10 b col. =188. 
 503—146=359—193=166—15 b & A— 151. 284—151 
 
 =133+1=134. 
 505—146=359—163=196. 
 
 505—146=359—162 (78:1)=197— 10 b col.=187. 
 505—146=359—3 b (146)=356. 
 505—146=359—193 (75:1)=166— 15 £ & h (198)— 151. 
 
 508—151=357+1=358+6^ col. =364. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 269 
 
 77:1 
 
 whorson 
 
 299 
 
 76:2 
 
 knave 
 
 113 
 
 76:2 
 
 will 
 
 298 
 
 77:1 
 
 tell 
 
 440 
 
 76:2 
 
 in 
 
 211 
 
 75:2 
 
 self 
 
 80 
 
 74:1 
 
 defence 
 
 306 
 
 76:2 
 
 and 
 
 253 
 
 76:2 
 
 for 
 
 173 
 
 74:1 
 
 his 
 
 412 
 
 76:2 
 
 own 
 
 310 
 
 76:2 
 
 security 
 
 183 
 
 77:2 
 
 that 
 
 188 
 
 77:2 
 
 the 
 
 134 
 
 74:1 
 
 play 
 
 196 
 
 77:2 
 
 of 
 
 187 
 
 77:^ 
 
 Measure 
 
 356 
 
 77:2 
 
 for 
 
 364 
 
 i5:2 Measure — 
 
 187 
 
 77:2 
 
 Measure 
 
 35 
 
 79:2 
 
 for 
 
 364 
 
 75:2 
 
 Measure. 
 
 See how precisely these words come out by the same root-number. 
 
 This play of Measure for Measure, and its irreligious tendencies, are alluded to 
 in another part of the Cipher narrative, growing out of 505 — 167=338. I have 
 stated on page 762, ante, that Cecil gave this play, and the play of Richard II., 
 to the Bishop of Worcester to " anatomize." And here we have the name of the 
 play again by a different root-number from the above: 
 
 338— 30=308— 50=258— 57 (79:1 )=201— 14 
 
 14 b & A col. =187. 
 338— 30=308— 50=258— 163=95— 58(79 :1)=37— 
 
 2 b col. =35. 
 338—30=308—163=145. 508—145=363+1=364. 
 
 Consider the careful adjustment that was necessary to make these words come 
 out by these two different kinds of counting from the same starting-point ! Notice 
 that 197 down 77:2 produces Measure, and 201 down the same column, by the 
 arrangement of brackets and hyphens, produces the same word Measure; and 151 
 up 75:2 produces Measure, and 145 up the same column produces the same word, 
 Measure. If there had been a single bracket or hyphen more or less in either one 
 of these four countings, the Cipher would have failed to produce, two different 
 times, by two different numbers, the name of the play Measure for Measure ! 
 
 And the Bishop said, — speaking of this last Measure for Measure and Richard 
 the Second, — that he believed there were utterances in both hostile to the Christian 
 religion. I have shown, on pages 208 and 209, ante, what those utterances were. 
 And here we have the name of Richard the Second, growing, like the last Measure 
 for Measure, out of 505 — 167=338. The Bishop speaks of — 
 
8 4 8 
 
 THE CIPHER NAKRA TIVE. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58 (80:1)= 7 77:2 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58=7+ 
 
 461=468. 468 80:2 noble 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—32=65—58=7. 7 80:2 composition, 
 
 338—30=308—49=259—161=98—31=67—5 b (31)= 
 
 62—2 h col. =60. 
 338—30=308-49 259—161=98—31=67—5 *— 62. 
 
 489—62=427+1=428. 
 338—30=308—49=259—162 97—31=66. 
 338-30=308+162=470—468 (col. 78:1)=2. 462—2 
 
 —460+1—461. 
 338—30=308—163=145—31=114—5 b (31)=109— 
 
 65 (79:2)=44. 462—44=418+1=419. 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—2 h col =95. 
 338—30=308—163=145—31=114. 523—114=409 + 
 
 1—410+2 £—412. 
 
 And the Bishop says, after reading these Plays, that he (I) — 
 
 338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 162=77. 162—77= 
 
 85+1=86. 86 78:1 
 
 338—50=288—49 (76:1)=239— 162=77— 32=45. 45 78:2 
 
 338—50=288—50 (76:1)=238— 162=76— 62 (80:1)=14. 
 
 468 
 
 7 
 
 60 
 
 428 
 66 
 
 461 
 
 78:2 
 
 81:1 
 79:2 
 
 78:2 
 
 that 
 
 the 
 
 play 
 of 
 
 King 
 
 419 
 
 78:2 
 
 Richard 
 
 95 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 412 
 
 80:2 
 
 Second, 
 
 perceived 
 much 
 
 173 
 
 295 
 
 186—14=172+1=173. 
 338— 50=288— 49 (76:1)=239— 162=77— 32=45. 
 
 339—45=294+1=295. 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45. 162—45 
 
 =117+1=118. 
 338— 50=288— 49=239— 162=77— 4 b & A col. =73. 
 333—50=288—49=239—162=77—31=46. 163+46=1 
 338—50=288—50=238—162=76—31=45—2 b col.— 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 32+77=109. 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 
 338—50=288—50=238—162=76—62 (80:2)=14— 4 
 
 £&/;(62)=10. 186—10=176+1=177. 177 
 
 338—49=289—30=259—162=97. 610—97=513+ 
 
 1=514+2 /z=516. 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77—57 (80:1)=20+185= 
 338—50=288—50=238—162=76. 468—76=392+1 
 
 =393+1 /,=394. 
 338—50=288—49=239. 77—32=45. 
 338—30=308—49=259—162=97—2 h col. =95. 
 338—50=288—49 (76 :1)=239— 163=76. 523—76= 
 
 447+1=448+2/5 col. =450. 
 338—30=308—163=145—31=114. 449—114=335 
 
 + 1=336. 
 
 81:2 
 
 these 
 
 118 
 
 78:1 
 
 plays 
 
 73 
 
 81:1 
 
 that 
 
 =209 
 
 78-1 
 
 satisfied 
 
 43 
 
 79:2 
 
 me 
 
 109 
 
 79:1 
 
 that 
 
 77 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 81:2 purpose 
 
 516 
 
 77:2 
 
 is 
 
 =205 
 
 81:2 
 
 the 
 
 394 
 
 78:1 
 
 destruction 
 
 45 
 
 79:2 
 
 of 
 
 95 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 450 
 
 80:2 
 
 Christian 
 
 336 
 
 76:1 
 
 religion. 
 
 And the Bishop came to the conclusion that these — 
 
 338—1 h (167)=337— 30=307— 49=258— 31 (79:1)= 
 
 227— 5 b (31)=222+ 162=384. 384 
 
 338— l=337r-30=307— 49=258— 31=227. 227 
 
 76:1 
 
 78:1 
 
 great 
 and 
 
BACON OVERWHELMED. 
 
 8 49 
 
 338—1=337—30=307—49=258—31 (79:1)=227— 5 b 
 (31)=222. 162+222=384—11 b & h col. =373. 
 
 338—1 (76:2)=337— 304 (78:1)=33— 20 b & h (304)= 
 13. 462—13=449+1=450. 
 
 338— 1(76:2)=337— 50=28"— 49=238— 161=77— 49 
 =28+458=486. 
 
 are the work of a gentleman who is at heart a pagan: 
 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 
 338—30=308—50=258—162=96—56 (79:l)-=40. 
 
 598—40=558 + 1=559. 
 338—50=288—49=239—163=76—62 (80:2)=14 
 
 —1 h col. =13. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 373 
 
 78:1 
 
 much 
 
 450 
 
 78:2 
 
 admired 
 
 486 
 
 76:2 
 
 Plays 
 
 77 
 
 559 
 
 13 
 
 78:2 
 
 work 
 
 (9:2 gentleman 
 
 81:2 
 
 pagan 
 
 Observe how many significant words come out of the same numbers: 77, or 
 its alternate, 76, produces perceived — much — in — these — plays — that satisfied me 
 that his put pose — destruction — of — Christian — work — pagan; while 96 and 97, 
 which are just 20 more than 76 and 77, due to the fact that between the common 
 modifiers, 30 and 50, there is a difference of 20, produced — noble — composition 
 — gentleman. 
 
 And observe the remarkable character of the words growing out of these roots. 
 Composition is a rare word; it is found but once in this play, and but fourteen times 
 besides in all the Plays. Perceived is found but once in this play, and but twelve 
 times besides in all the Plays. And satisfied appears but once in this play, and but 
 thirteen times besides in all the Histories. And destruction is found but once in 
 this play, and but thirteen times besides in all the Histories. And this is the only 
 time pagan is found in this play, and it is found but eight, times besides in all the 
 Plays. And Christian is found but twice in this play. And this is the only time 
 religion is found in this play. Let the reader compare the number of times the 
 word second appears in this play with the number of times it is found in Much Ado, 
 Love's Labor Lost, Twelfth Night, etc. It is not found at all in several of the 
 Plays. And this is the only time admired occurs in this play, and it is found but 
 twice besides in all the Histories. And Measure occurs but once in this play 
 besides the cwo instances given above. And not only do these remarkable 
 words grow out of the same primary root-number, but out of the same modification 
 of the primary root-number, and even out of the same terminal Cipher-number! 
 And almost every word is found nowhere else in this play, and rarely anywhere 
 else in all the Plays ! 
 
 And the Bishop praises the literary merit of the Plays highly. He says the 
 language is most choice — 
 
 338—50=288-49=239. 284—239=45+1=46. 46 74:1 Language 
 
 338— 30=308— 163=145— 31=114— 57 (80:1)=57. 
 
 523—57=466+1=467. 467 80:2 most 
 
 338—50=288—50=238. 468—238=230+1=231 + 
 
 15 b & // col.=246. 246 78:1 choice. 
 
 And that in this particular they have had — 
 338—31=307—143 (318 d 79:1)=164. 462—164=298 
 
 +1=299 
 338—31=307- 
 
 •143=164. 
 
 299 
 164 
 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 
 No 
 equal 
 
8 5 o 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Word. 
 338—49=289—30=259—162=97. 462—97=365+1=366 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 420—77=343+1 
 
 —844+64 col.— 350. 350 
 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77—64 '79:2)=13— 
 
 1 h col. =12. 12 
 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77. 77 
 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77 + 185=262— 
 
 2/; col. =260. 260 
 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45. 45 
 
 338—50=288—49=239—162=77—32=45—5 b (32)= 
 
 40. 339—40=299+1=300+2=302. 302 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 78:2 
 
 81:2 England 
 
 77:1 
 
 79:2 
 
 81:2 
 79:2 
 
 80:1 
 
 since 
 the 
 
 time 
 of 
 
 Gower. 
 
 Observe again how many significant words here grow out of 77, besides the 
 long catalogue already produced by it. 
 
 It must be remembered that in 1597 the literature of England, in its own 
 tongue, was very limited. The poet alluded to, John Gower, was born in York- 
 shire about 1325, and died in 1408. His Confessio Amantis was written in English 
 in eight books, it is said, at the request of Richard II. Hallam says of him: " He 
 is always sensible, polished, perspicuous, and not prosaic, in the worst sense of the 
 word." He seems to have been a favorite of the Bishop. And the Bishop reit- 
 erates his conviction, after reading these Plays, that Shakspere has not the power 
 of brain to have produced them : 
 
 505—167=338—49=289-32=257. 468-257=210 
 
 + 1=211 + 12/; col. =223. 223 78:1 enough 
 
 505—167=338—49=289—32=257. 577—257=320 
 
 + 1=321. 321 77:1 brain 
 
 505— 167=338— 49=289— 3!i=258. 468—258=210 
 
 + 1=211 + 15^ & h col. =226. 226 78:1 power. 
 
 Observe how precisely these significant words match; they come out of the 
 same number; except that 31 and 32 alternate, as in other examples given hereto- 
 fore. 
 
 And the Bishop also reads the play of Richard the Third. Here we have it: 
 
 338—50=288—50=238. 468—238=230+1= 
 338—50=288—50=238—31 (79:1)=207— 163=44. 
 
 462—44=418+1=419. 
 338—50=288—50=238. 
 338—50=288—30=258. 462—258=204+1=205. 
 
 231 
 
 78.1 
 
 King 
 
 419 
 
 78:2 
 
 Richard 
 
 238 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 205 
 
 78:2 
 
 Third. 
 
 But let us recur to the story of Bacon's feelings when he heard the bad news. 
 He says he knew that if Shakspere was taken and he confessed the truth (as he 
 believed he would), he was a ruined man. In that event — 
 
 505—50=455—31=424. 462— 424=38 + 1=39 + 
 
 5 h col. =44. 44 78:2 All 
 
 505—30=475—146=329. 447—329=118+1=119+ 
 
 Mb col. =130. 130 75:1 my 
 
 505—30=475—146=329—3 b (146)=326. 462—326 
 
 =136+1=137+4 // col.— 141. 141 78:2 hopes 
 
BACON OVERWHELMED. 
 
 851 
 
 Word. 
 
 505—145=360. 498—360=138+1=139. 139 
 
 505—146=359—3 b (146)— 856. 356 
 
 505—31=474. 603—474=129 + 1=130. 130 
 505—49=456—161=295. 603—295=308+1=309+ 
 
 10£a h col.— 819. 319 
 
 505— 30=475— 50 (76:1 )=425. 508—425=83+1=84. 84 
 
 505—449=56—14 b (449)=42- 1 4—41 . 41 
 
 505— 146=359— 3 b (146)— 356. 498—356=142+1= 143 
 
 505—161=344—31 b& h col.— 318. 313 
 
 505—146=359—3 £(146)— 356. 448—356=92+1= 
 
 93+14 b&/i col. =107. 107 
 
 505—146=359—32 (79:1)=327— 3 b (146)=324— 50= 274 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 76:2 
 
 76:2 
 75:2 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 
 78:2 
 
 r6:l 
 
 of 
 
 rising 
 
 to 
 
 high 
 office 
 in 
 the 
 Common- 
 wealth 
 
 were 
 blasted. 
 
 And again observe how rare some of these words are: This is the only time 
 rising is found in this play, and it occurs but thirteen times besides in all the Plays ! 
 Commonwealth is lound three times in this play, and but nine times in all the Com- 
 edies, and but four times in all the Tragedies. Blasted appears but once in this 
 play, and but nine times besides in all the Plays ! Hopes is found but three other 
 times in this play. 
 
 And Bacon says: 
 
 505—31=474. 474 76:2 I 
 
 505— 30=475— 58 (80:1)— 417. 417 80:2 am 
 
 505—30=475—58=417. 523— 41 7=106+. =107. 107 80:2 not 
 
 505-32=473—58—415. 498—415=83+1=84+ 
 
 • 11/; col. =95. 95 76:1 an 
 
 505— 81— 474— 4 h col.— 470. 470 79:2 impudent 
 
 505—31=474. 474 79:2 man 
 
 505—82=473—58=415. 415 80:2 that 
 
 505—30=475. . 475 79:2 will 
 
 505—49=456—50—406. 603—406—197+1—198. 198 76:2 face 
 
 505—32—473—50=423—58 (80 : 1)— 365 . 603—365 
 
 —288+1—239. 239 76:2 out 
 
 505—49—456. 603—456—147+1—148. 148 76:2 a 
 
 505— 58 (80:1)— 447. 462—447—15+1=16+24=40. 40 80:2 disgrace 
 
 505— 31=474— 27/; & A col. =447. 447 79:2 with 
 
 505—32=473—30=443—57—386—30 b & h col.— 356. 356 80:2 an 
 
 505— 32=473— 50=423— 23 b col.— 400. (400) 79:2 impudent 
 
 505— 49=456. 603— 456— 147+1— 148+16 £ & h col— 164 76:2 cheek, 
 
 505—31—474—50=424—26 b & h col. =398. 398 79:2 sauciness 
 
 505—32=473—162=311. 311 77:2 and 
 
 505— 32=473— 4// col. =469. 469 79:2 boldness. 
 
 And here Bacon repeats the very language he used in 1594 in a letter to Essex 
 (see page 273, ante): 'T am not an impudent man that would face out a disgrace." 
 
 And these are the only times impudent occurs in 2d Henry IV., and it is found 
 but seven times besides in all the Plays ! And these are the only occasions when 
 sauciness is found in this play, and it occurs but four times besides in all the Plays. 
 Yet here both are found repeated twice in the compass of a few lines. And the 
 word disgrace is found but twice in this play. 
 
*5* 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 And Bacon grieves at the disgrace his exposure will bring upon the memory 
 of his father. He says it — 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 Ill 
 
 29 
 423 
 
 160 
 442 
 258 
 363 
 468 
 49 
 421 
 
 79:2 
 80:2 
 79:2 
 
 80:2 
 78:2 
 78:2 
 80:2 
 79:2 
 80:2 
 79:2 
 
 would 
 
 humble 
 
 my 
 
 father's 
 
 proud 
 
 and 
 
 most 
 
 honorable 
 
 name 
 
 505-50=455—32=423. 533—423=110+1=111. 
 505— 30=475— 50=425— 396 (80 :1)=29. 
 505—50=455—32=423. 
 505—30=475—50=425—58 (80:1)=367. 523—367= 
 
 156+1=157+3// col.=160. 
 505— 31=474— 32 b col. =442. 
 505—31=474—50=424—162=262—4 // col.=258. 
 505-31=474—50=424—57=367—4 h col.=363. 
 505— 32-473— 5 £(32)=46S. 
 505—30=475. 523—475=48+1=49. 
 505—30=475—50=425—4// col.=421. 
 505—31=474—50=424. 534—424=110+1=111 + 
 
 27 b col. =138. 
 505—31=474—39 b & // col. =435. 
 505—32=473—30=443—57 (80:1)=386— 4// col.— 
 505—30=475—50=425—10/' col.=415. 
 505—31=474. 533—474=59+1=60. 
 505—31=474. 598—474=124+1=125. 
 505— 31=474— 27 b & h col.=447. 
 505—31= 474. 598—474=124+1=125+4 // col.— 
 505—31=474—50=424—162=262. 
 505—162=344—7 // col. =337. 
 505—30=475—396 (80:1)— 79. 461-79=382+1= 
 505—31=474—9 b col. =465. 
 505— 32=473— 30=443— bb (31)=438— 7 h col =431 
 
 And what is it that would so distress the widow 
 we have seen, was preeminently a religious lady ? 
 
 505—30=475—50=425—396 (80:1)=29. 523—29= 
 
 494+1=495+4/; & // col. =499. 499 80:2 to 
 
 505—31=474—50=424—57=367. 367 80:2 think 
 
 505— 30=475— 58(80:1)=417. 417 78:2 that 
 
 505— 31=474— 58=416. 416 80:2 I 
 505—31=474—50=424—30=394—58=336— 
 
 26/>col.=310. 310 80:2 should 
 
 505— 31=474— 62(80:2)=412— 1ft /• coi. =394. 394 81:1 make 
 
 505— 32=473— 50=423— 58 (80:1 W365—.G/; col. = 339 80:2 a 
 
 505— 57 (80:1)=448— 3 // col. =445. 445 81:1 mock 
 
 505— 30=475— 58 (80:1)=417. 417 79:2 of 
 505—32=473—50=423. 533 -423— 1 1 + 1=111 + 
 
 27 b col.=138. 138 79:2 the 
 505-31=474—396 (80:1)=78. 523—78=445+1= 
 
 446+4£ &// col. =450. 450 80:2 Christian 
 505— 146=359— Zb (146)=356— 193=163. 498—163 
 
 =335+1=336. . 336 76:1 religion. 
 
 It was certainly enough to shock the pious Lady Ann to know that her son had 
 written, in Measure for Measure, of the conception of the Christian religion as to 
 the eternal condition of the wicked, in these startling words: 
 
 138 79:2 the 
 
 435 78:2 dust 
 
 382 80:2 and 
 415 77:2 send 
 
 60 79:2 his 
 
 125 79:2 widow 
 
 447 79:2 with 
 
 129 79:2 a 
 
 262 77:2 broken 
 
 337 78:2 heart 
 
 383 80:2 to 
 465 76:2 the ■ 
 
 . 431 78:2 grave. 
 
 of Sir Nicholas Bacon, who, as 
 
 Here is the statement: 
 
BACON OVERWHELMED. 
 
 853 
 
 Or to be worse than worst 
 Of those, that lawless and incertain thoughts 
 Imagine howling. 
 
 And Bacon tells what he feared: — that he would be — 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 132 
 
 77:1 
 
 hanged 
 
 271 
 
 78:2 
 
 like 
 
 51 
 
 76:2 
 
 a 
 
 (389) 
 
 78:2 
 
 dog 
 
 79 
 
 80:2 
 
 for 
 
 60 
 
 505—31=474—5 b (31)— 469. 577—469=108+1= 
 
 109+23 b col.— 132. 
 505—146=359—162=197. 462—197=265+1=266 
 
 +5b col.— 271. 
 505— 31=474— 50- =424. 457—424=33+1=34+17 
 
 b & h col. =51. 
 505—30=475—49 (76:1)=426— 31=395— Qh col.— 
 505—30=475—396 (80:1)— 79. 
 505—31=474-50=424. 462—424=38+1=39 + 
 
 21 b col.— 60. 
 505—30=475—396 (80:1)=79— 17 b & h (396)=62. 
 
 489—62=427+1=428. 
 505—31=474—49=425—4 h col.— 421. 
 505—146=359—162=197—26 b&h col.— 171. 
 505— 31=474— 49 (76:1)=425— 30=395. 
 505—146=359—162=197. 
 505— 31=474— 58(80:1)=416— 4 h col. =412. 
 
 Observe the symmetry of these words of King Richard the Second, 
 — 31=474 — 49 alternates with 505 — 146=359 — 162. 
 
 And here we have Richard the Second by another and a different 
 
 the 
 
 428 
 
 81:1 
 
 play 
 
 421 
 
 80:2 
 
 of 
 
 171 
 
 78:2 
 
 King 
 
 395 
 
 78:2 
 
 Richard 
 
 197 
 
 78:2 
 
 the 
 
 412 
 
 80:2 
 
 Second. 
 
 hard 
 
 the Second, 
 
 see how 505 
 
 and 
 
 a different 1 
 
 -oot-number. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. 
 
 Wheresoe'er he is, 
 Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living. 
 
 As You Like It, z*z7, /. 
 
 ITURa< to another part of the Cipher story, or rather I recur to 
 it, because I have already referred to it in a previous chapter. 
 I can do no more now than give a few words, here and there, to 
 show that the Cipher story runs through all these pages, and is 
 called forth by the same root-numbers. 
 
 505—448=57. 
 
 505—193=312—30=282. 
 
 505—448=57—50=7. 
 
 505—193=312—50=262. 
 
 505—193=312. 448—312=136+1=137. 
 
 505—254=251—50=201. 508—201=307+1= 
 
 505— 198_312. 
 
 505—193=312—50=262. 448—262=186+1= 
 
 505—193=312—31 (79 :1)=281— 50=231. 462—231 
 
 =231 + 1=232. 
 505— 254=251— 5 k col.=246. 
 505—50=455. 
 
 505—193=312=30 (79:1)=282— 27 b col.=255. 
 505—248=257. 
 
 505—248=257—50=207. 447—207=240+1= 
 505—193=312—237 (73:2)=75. 169—75=94+1= 
 505—254=251—30=221—193=28. 
 505—197 (74:2)=308— 248=60. 
 505— 254=251— 15 b & h (254)=236— 49 (76:2)=187. 
 
 508—187=321 + 1=322. 
 505—248=257—50=207. 
 505—254=251—30=221—31 (79:1)=190. 462—190 
 
 =272+1=273. 
 505—254=251—10 4 col. =241. 
 505—193=312—237=75 + 90=1 65 . 
 505— 193=3 12— 50=262. 
 505—193=312—50=262. 498—262=236+1=237+ 
 
 4 4 col— 241. 
 505—354=251—10 b col. =241. 
 
 854 
 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 57 
 
 76:2 
 
 Her 
 
 282 
 
 75:2 
 
 Grace 
 
 7 
 
 76:2 
 
 is 
 
 262 
 
 75:2 
 
 furious 
 
 137 
 
 76:1 
 
 and 
 
 308 
 
 75:2 
 
 hath 
 
 312 
 
 75:2 
 
 sent 
 
 187 
 
 76:1 
 
 out 
 
 232 
 
 78:2 
 
 several 
 
 246 
 
 76:1 
 
 well 
 
 455 
 
 76:2 
 
 horsed, 
 
 255 
 
 78:2 
 
 unarmed 
 
 257 
 
 74:1 
 
 posts 
 
 241 
 
 75:1 
 
 to 
 
 95 
 
 73:1 
 
 find 
 
 28 
 
 75:2 
 
 Shak'st \ 
 
 60 
 
 75:1 
 
 spur, S 
 
 322 
 
 75:2 
 
 under 
 
 207 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 273 
 
 78:2 
 
 lead 
 
 241 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 165 
 
 73:1 
 
 my 
 
 262 
 
 76:1 
 
 Lord 
 
 241 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 241 
 
 76*. 1 Shrewsbury. 
 
THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO EIND SNA A' SEE RE. 855 
 
 This accords with the statement on page 686, ante, that the forces sent out to 
 find Shakspere and the rest of the players were under the direction of the Earl 
 of Shrewsbury. And there was no necessity of sending armed troops to arrest a 
 party of poor actors. The object was secrecy; hence, no tradition has come down 
 to us of the attempt to arrest Shakspere. If armed soldiers had gone to Stratford 
 looking for him, it would have made such an impression on the minds of the vil- 
 lagers that, in all probability, it would have been remembered, and we should have 
 heard something of it. And yet the matter was important enough to require 
 prompt action under a prominent, reliable and discreet leader; for it was not 
 merely the offense of playing seditious plays that was in question, but the fact that 
 this had been done as an incentive to rebellion; and no one could tell in that 
 troubled age how far the attempt had succeeded, or how soon civil war might 
 break forth. The object was to quietly gain possession of the actors and probe 
 the thing to the bottom. 
 
 And the reader will observe how the beginning of scene 1, act i, interlocks 
 with the end of the same act, in the words several — well — horsed — unarmed — posts 
 — under — lead, etc. With ampler leisure I could reduce this to a precise, mathe- 
 matical, continuous system. 
 
 And Cecil proposed — 
 
 Page and 
 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—254=251. 498— 251=197+1=198+2/; col.= 200 76:1 proposed — 
 
 that the Earl should divide his forces into three divisions and send them in differ- 
 ent directions wherever the actors were likely to be. 
 
 505—193=312—30=282. 448—282=216+1=217. 217 76:1 Will 
 
 505—193=312—30=282. 282 76:1 divide 
 505—254=251—30=221—32=189. 462—189=273 
 
 + 1=274. 274 78:2 his 
 
 505— 193=312— 32 (79:1)=280— 5 £ (32)=275. 275 78:2 forces 
 505—193=312—32=280—5 h (32)=275. 462—275= 
 
 187 + 1=188+3 /,col.=191. 191 78:2 in 
 505—193=312—31=281—5 6 (31)=276. 462—276= 
 
 186+1=187+5 4 col.=192. 192 78:2 three 
 
 505— 254=251— 30=221— 32 (79:1)=189. 189 78:2 divisions. 
 
 Here it will be observed that the same words, three — divisions, which came out 
 at the summons of 523 — 218 (7-i:2)=305 — 31 (7g:i)=274 (see page 772, ante), and 
 which were then used to describe the allotment of the money made by the Plays, 
 between actors and author, are again employed at the call of 505 — 193=312 — 31 
 and 505 — 254 — 32; that is to say, 505, less the upper section of 75:1, produces, car- 
 ried to the end of act i, three; and 505 less the lower section of 75:1, carried to 
 the beginning of act ii, gives us divisions. And 305 (523 — 218=305) — 31=274, car- 
 ried up 78:2, plus the hyphens, produces the same word three; and the same 305 
 — 31=274, carried up the same 78:2, not counting in the hyphens, produces the 
 same word divisions. Surely, no one will believe that all this delicate adjustment 
 of the text and its brackets and hyphens, to two different numbers, could come 
 about by accident. If it stood alone it would be enough to stagger incredulity; 
 but, as it is, it is only one of thousands of other and similar instances. 
 
 But the Queen, while taking these steps, does not fully believe that Francis 
 Bacon could have written the treasonable play of Richard IE And she rebukes 
 Ce~.il for making such a charge against him. And the Queen says to Cecil: 
 
8 5 6 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 505—193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253. 284—253 
 
 =31 + 1=32. 
 505—193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)— 253+ 193= 
 505—193=312—29 (73 :2)=283— 193=90. 508—90 
 
 =418+1=419. 
 505—193=312—29 (73:2)=283. 284—283=1 + 1=2 
 
 +7// col.=9. 
 505—193=312—50=262—208 (73:2)=54. 284—54= 
 
 230+1=231+5// col.=236. 
 505—193=312—50=262—15/; & //=247— 237=10— 
 
 3 b (237)— 7. 
 505— 1 93=312— 30=282— 29 (73:2)=253. 
 505—193=312—29 (73:2)=283. 284—283=1 + 1= 
 505— 193=312— 30=282— 28 (73:2)=254. 
 505—193=312—30=282—248 (74:2)=34. 284—34= 
 
 =250 + 1=251. 
 505—193=312—30=282—28 (73:1)=254— 4 h col.— 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 208 (73:1)— 54. 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 90 (73:1)— 172. 
 505—193=312—50=262—15 b & //— 247— 237=10— 
 
 3 b (237)— 7. 284—7=277+1=278+3 h coL— 
 505—193=312—50—262—154 & 7^=247— 237=10— 
 
 3 4=7. 284—7=277+1=278. 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 50=212— 78(73:1)— 134. 
 
 237— 134=103+1— 104+3 4 col.— 107. 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 79(73:1)— 183. 
 
 Here it will be observed that every word grows out of 505 minus 193, the upper 
 section of 75:1; we will have directly a sentence that grows out of 505 minus 254, 
 the lower section of the same column and page. The above sentence is produced 
 by counting from the beginnings and ends of the subdivisions of the preceding col- 
 umn, 73:2; the next sentence will be derived by counting from the beginnings and 
 ends of 74:1 or 74:2. Thus the reader will perceive that there is not only regularity 
 in the results, but a method and system in the work. 
 
 But the sentence goes on: 
 
 505—254—251—15 4 & h (254)=236. 284—236=48+1—49 
 505— 248=257— 2 h (248)=255. 284—255—29+1= 
 
 30+7// col. =37. 37 
 
 505—254—251—248—3. 3 
 
 505—248—257—51 (74:2)=206. 284—206=78+1= 
 
 79+7// col.— 86. 86 
 
 505—254—251. 284— 251— 33+1— 34+5 b col.— 39 
 
 505—248=257—4 h col.— 253. 253 
 
 505—254=251—156 & h (254)=236— 50=186. 284— 
 
 186=98+1=99. 99 
 
 505—248=257—22 4=235. 284—235=49+1=50+5 £—55 
 505—254=251—15 b & 4=236. 284—236—48+1=49 
 
 + 7 //col. —56. 56 74:1 reports 
 
 Observe the perfect symmetry of this: 505 — 254 (75:1)— 251 is regularly alter- 
 nated with 505 — 248(74:2)— 257. And all the words are in column 1 of page 74! 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 32 
 
 74:1 
 
 This 
 
 446 
 
 75:1 
 
 thing 
 
 419 
 
 75:2 
 
 must 
 
 9 
 
 74:1 
 
 stop. 
 
 236 
 
 74:1 
 
 Between 
 
 7 
 253 
 
 74:1 
 75:1 
 
 you 
 and 
 
 2 
 254 
 
 74:1 
 74:1 
 
 your 
 crafty 
 
 251 
 
 74:1 
 
 old 
 
 250 
 
 74:1 
 
 father, 
 
 54 
 
 74:1 
 
 with 
 
 172 
 
 73:2 
 
 your 
 
 281 
 
 74:1 
 
 smooth. 
 
 278 
 
 74:1 
 
 tongues, 
 
 197 
 183 
 
 73:2 
 73:2 
 
 you 
 are 
 
 74:1 stuffing 
 
 74:1 
 
 my 
 
 74:1 
 
 ears 
 
 74:1 
 
 with 
 
 74:1 
 
 continual 
 
 74:1 
 
 lies 
 
 74:1 
 
 and 
 
 74:1 
 
 false 
 
THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO FIXD SHAKSPERE. 
 
 857 
 
 tt'ord. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 222 
 
 78:2 
 
 this 
 
 139 
 
 78:1 
 
 many 
 
 263 
 
 74:1 
 
 a 
 
 84 
 
 74:1 
 
 year. 
 
 And what a concatenation of words: stuffing my ears with continual lies and false 
 report*! And we know that Cecil desired to keep Bacon out of office and power, 
 and we can surmise that this would be the very means he would resort to. And 
 the coarse-minded, crafty old Queen, even if she suspected Bacon, would be very 
 apt to talk in this way to Cecil, for we have historical testimony that she would 
 assault "this little man " (as she called him) with bitter vituperation. 
 
 505— 193— 312— 90— 222. 
 505—248—257—208 1 73:2)— 49+90— 189. 
 
 505— 193=312— 30=282— 15 3 & *— 267— 4* col. 
 505—254—251—50—201. 284—201—83+1—84. 
 
 And here I would ask the reader to turn to pages 719 and 720, ante, and note 
 how the same words stuffing — ears — false — reports — lies — this — many — a — year, 
 which here come out at the summons of 505 carried through 74:2 and the upper 
 and lower subdivisions of 75:1, were also brought out, by an entirely different mode 
 of counting, by the root-number 516 — 167=349 — 22 b & // (i67)=327 ! For instance, 
 327 — 30, carried through 74.2 and down 74:1, yields stuffing, while 505 — 254=251 
 — 15 b & h (254)=236, carried up 74:1, yields the same word, stuffing; and the same 
 number 236, plus the hyphens, up the same column, yields reports; while the same 
 number 327, again less 30, again carried through 74:2 and again carried down 74:1. 
 yields the same word, reports. And so with the other words. The adjustments here 
 are as delicate and as manifold as in the works of a watch; and the one is just as 
 likely to have come together jy chance as the other. 
 
 And the Queen was in a — 
 
 505—193=312—30=2*2—15 b & A— 267— 29 (73:2)— 238 
 50.5—193=312—30=282—50 (74:2)— 282— 12 b 
 
 col. =220. 220 
 
 and commenced to rebuke Cecil severelv: 
 
 505—193=312—50=202. 284—262—22+1—28+ 
 
 col. =30. 
 505—193—312—284—28—10 b col. =18. 
 505—193=312—237 (73:2)— 75. 169—75=94-1=95 
 
 +1 h col.— 96. 
 505—193=312—209 (73:2)— 103. 169—103=66 + 1= 
 505—193=312—15 3 & h (193)— 297— 24S» 10 5 6 col.. 
 505— 193=312— 10 b & h (193)— 197— 30=267— 28 
 
 (73:2)— 239. 284—239=45-1=46. 
 505—193=312—15 b & A— 297— 30— 267— 28 (73:2)= 
 
 239. 284—239—45+1—46+50—96. 
 505—254-251—208—43. 284— 43=241-1=242. 
 505— 193=312— 15 b ft *— 897— 30— 267— 28 (73:2)= 
 
 239. 284— 239— 45+1— 46+30.J76. 
 505—193—312—50—202 -15 b & A— 247. 2*4—247= 
 
 37+I— 88+5* col.— 43. 
 505—254=251—30=221. 284—221=63-1=64. 
 505—193=312—30=282. 284—282=2-1=3+7// col. 
 505—193=312—30=282. 284—282—2 - 1=3. 
 505—254=251. 284-251=33 + 1=34. 
 
 74:1 royal 
 
 '4:1 rage, 
 
 30 
 
 74:1 
 
 Commenced 
 
 18 
 
 73:2 
 
 to 
 
 96 
 
 73:1 
 
 rebuke 
 
 67 
 
 73:1 
 
 him 
 
 =44 
 
 74:1 
 
 in 
 
 46 
 
 74:1 
 
 language 
 
 96 
 
 74:1 
 
 stern 
 
 242 
 
 74:1 
 
 and 
 
 76 
 
 74:1 
 
 fearful, 
 
 43 
 
 74:1 
 
 which 
 
 64 
 
 74:1 
 
 wounds 
 
 =10 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 3 
 
 74:1 
 
 ears 
 
 84 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
s 5 s 
 
 7 VIE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 505—193—312—30=282—50 (74:2)=232. 284—232 
 
 =52+1=53. 
 505—254=251—30=221. 284—221=63+1=64+ 
 
 7// col. =71. 
 505— 193=312— 15 b & ^=297—30=267—29 (73:2)= 
 
 288—224* h col.— 216. 
 505— 193=312— 50=262-50=212— 79(73 :1)=1 33. 
 505—193=312—248=64—2 h (248)=62— 50. 
 505—153=252—248=4. 
 505—193=312—49=263. 
 505—193=312—30=282. 
 505—193=312—50=262—15/; & /=247. 284—247= 
 
 37+1=38. 38 
 
 505—193=312—50=262—248=14—2/2 (248)=12. 237 
 
 —12=225 + 1=226. 
 505—193=312—50=262. 
 505—193=312—284=28. 
 
 505—193=312—248 (74:2)=64— 22^ (248)=42. 
 505—193=312—50=162. 284—162=22+1=23+ 
 
 12£&//=35. 35 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 53 
 
 74:1 
 
 them 
 
 71 
 
 74:1 
 
 who 
 
 216 
 
 74:2 
 
 listen 
 
 133 
 
 73:2 
 
 to 
 
 12 
 
 73:2 
 
 it; 
 
 4 
 
 74:1 
 
 for 
 
 263 
 
 74:1 
 
 a 
 
 262 
 
 74:1 
 
 worse 
 
 74:1 tongue 
 
 226 
 
 73:2 
 
 is 
 
 262 
 
 74:1 
 
 not 
 
 28 
 
 73:2 
 
 upon 
 
 42 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 74:1 
 
 earth. 
 
 Observe how regularly this sentence moves. It accords with historical truth, 
 so far as it concerns Elizabeth's violent temper and abusive tongue; and it accords 
 with the probabilities that the Queen would not, without conclusive proof, believe 
 that Sir Nicholas Bacon's son could engage in treasonable practices. Nearly all 
 the words grow out of 505 — 193=312; or, where they do not come from the 505 
 minus the upper section of 75:1, they come from 505 minus the lower section of 
 75:1, and they are nearly all found on 74:1, except where fragments left after deduct- 
 ing 74:1 or 74:2 are carried backward to the last page or forward to the next page. 
 
 And the Queen tells Cecil that he has been unfair to Bacon; that he has — 
 
 505—254=251—30=221 . 
 505—254=251—50=201—30=171. 284—171= 
 505—254=251—15 £=236—10 b col. =226. 
 
 as to assail Bacon — 
 
 221 
 
 74:1 
 
 stooped 
 
 =113+1=114 
 
 74:1 
 
 so 
 
 226 
 
 74:1 
 
 low, 
 
 161 
 
 f4:l 
 
 505— 254=251— 50=201— 30=171— 10 h col —161. 
 505—193=312—248=64—2// (248)=62. 284—62 
 
 =222+1=223+6// col. =229. 
 505—193=312—248=64—2 h (248)=62. 
 505—193=312—30=282—248=34. 
 505— 254=251— 15 b & h (254)=236. 284—236=48 
 
 +1=49+12 b & h col. =61. 
 505—248=257—208 (73:2)=49— 3 b (208)=46. 169 
 
 —46=123+1=124. 
 505—193=312—30=282—237 (73:2)=45. 169—45 
 
 =124 + 1=125. 
 505— "248— 257— 2 h (248)=255. 
 
 And in her "royal rage " she tells Cecil that, if he does not find Shakspere, 
 and prove his charge against Bacon to be true, he shall lose his office: 
 
 229 
 
 74:1 
 
 this 
 
 62 
 
 74:1 
 
 covert 
 
 34 
 
 75:1 
 
 way, 
 
 61 
 
 74:1 
 
 while 
 
 124 
 
 73:1 
 
 thy 
 
 125 
 
 73:1 
 
 kinsman's 
 
 255 
 
 74:1 
 
 sick. 
 
THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO EIND SHAKSPERE. 
 
 859 
 
 -505—193=312—284 (74:1)— 28. 237—28=209+1= 
 505—248=257—50=207—10 b col.=197. 
 
 And the Queen tells the posts — 
 
 505—248=257—50=207. 447—207=240+1=241. 
 505—254=251. 284—251=33+1=34+7/; col.— 
 505—193=312—248=64. 
 
 505—248=257-22 b (248)=235. 284—235=49+1= 
 505—193=312—248=64. 237—64=173+1. 
 £05— 254=251. 284—251=33+1=34. 
 505—248=257—22 (248)=235. 284—235=49+1= 
 505—193=312—30=282—15* & h (193)=267. 284— 
 
 267=17 + 1=18+10*=(28). 
 505— 248=257— 24 b & A— 333. 
 505—248=257—237 (73:2)=20+90=110. 
 505—193=312—30=282. 284—282=2+1=3+"/; col. 
 505—248=257—22* (248)— 285. 
 
 505—248=257—24 * & h (248)=233. 284—233=51 + 1 - 
 505—193=312—50=262. 284—262=22+1=23. 
 505— 193=312— 30=282— 15 £ & h (193)=267. 284— 
 
 267=17+1=18+7 h col. =25. 
 
 
 Page and 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 210 
 
 73:2 
 
 lose 
 
 197 
 
 74:1 
 
 office. 
 
 241 
 
 75:1 
 
 To 
 
 41 
 
 74:1 
 
 ride 
 
 64 
 
 73:2 
 
 with 
 
 50 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 174 
 
 73:2 
 
 speed 
 
 34 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 50 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 28 
 
 74:1 
 
 wind 
 
 233 
 
 74:1 
 
 through 
 
 110 
 
 73:1 
 
 all 
 
 =10 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 235 
 
 74:1 peasant-towns 
 
 =52 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 23 
 
 74:1 
 
 the 
 
 25 
 
 (4:1 
 
 West. 
 
 Observe here the recurrence of the same root-numbers: 505 carried through 
 74:2, containing 248 words, leaves a remainder of 257; 257 taken down the pre- 
 ceding column, 74:1, brings us to posts; but less the bracket words in 74:2 it produces 
 peasant-towns; and less both the oracketed and hyphenated words it gives us 
 through {posts through peasant-towns); and up the column it is stuffing, slanders, of, 
 •etc. And note how 505 — 193=312 produces speed — wind — West, etc. 
 
 And the Queen tells them to give large rewards to the man who finds the 
 •actors. 
 
 505—193=312—237 (78:2)— 75. 
 505—193=312—237 (73:2j=75— 3/; (287)— 72 
 
 501— 193=312— 284=28+90 (73:1)— 118. 
 505—193=312—28 (73:2)— 284— 10* col. =274. 
 505—193=312—284=28. 90—28=62+1=63. 
 505—193=312—50=262—237=25. 170 (72:2)— 25 
 
 =145+1=146. 
 505—193=312—50=262—237=25. 
 505—193=312—50—262—237=25. 346 + 25=37 1 . 
 505—193=312—50—262—208 (73:1)=54— 3* (208)= 
 505—193=312—30=282—15* & h col. =267. 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 209 (73:2)=53. 
 505—193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253. 284—253 
 
 —31+1—32+126 & h col.— 44. 
 505—1 93=31 2—50=262 —209 (73:2)— 58 . 
 505—193—312—50=262—237=25+170(72:2)= 
 505—193=312—50=262—237=25. 169—25=144+1=145 
 
 Some of my readers may have thought that the marvelous revelations of the 
 foregoing pages were merely coincidences. But here we are invading another 
 play, the play of 1st Henry IV. , with cipher numbers derived from 2d Henry IV., 
 
 75 
 
 74:1 
 
 Make 
 
 72 
 
 73:1 
 
 great 
 
 118 
 
 73:1 
 
 offers 
 
 274 
 
 74:1 
 
 of 
 
 63 
 
 73:1 
 
 rewards 
 
 146 
 
 72:2 
 
 to 
 
 25 
 
 72:2 
 
 the 
 
 371 
 
 72:2 
 
 man 
 
 51 
 
 73:1 
 
 who 
 
 267 
 
 74:1 
 
 brings 
 
 53 
 
 74:1 
 
 them 
 
 44 
 
 74:1 
 
 in, 
 
 53 
 
 73:1 
 
 dead 
 
 195 
 
 72:2 
 
 or 
 
 =145 
 
 73:2 
 
 alive. 
 
86o 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 and we find the words of the story coming out in regular order as in the above sen- 
 tence. And how completely does this fit into the story already told., We have 
 had the narrative of the Queen's rage, the flight of the actors, the despair of Bacon, 
 the order to send out posts to find Shakspere and his fellows, the separation of the 
 soldiers into three divisions; and here we have the offer of great rewards to the man 
 who brings them in dead or alive. If this is accident, then the world is an acci- 
 dent. 
 
 And the Queen says she does not believe that this woe-begone, hateful, fat 
 creature, Shakspere, had been a mask for her brilliant friend, whom she has known 
 since a child: 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 75:1 This 
 
 75:1 woe-begone > 
 
 75:1 
 
 72:2 
 
 73:1 
 73:1 
 73:1 
 
 73:1 
 75:1 
 
 74:1 
 
 hateful, 
 fat 
 
 creature 
 had 
 been 
 
 mask 
 
 known 
 
 Word. 
 
 505—193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253. 447—253= 
 
 194+1=195. 195 
 
 505— 193— 312— 29(73:2)— 283. 283 
 
 505—193=312—50=262—28 (73:2)=234. 234 
 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 29 (73:2)=233— 90 (73. iw 143 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 208 (73:2)=54— 3 b (208)= 
 
 51 + 90=141. 141 
 
 505—193=312—50=262—209 (73 :2)=53+ 90=143. 143 
 505—193=312—50=262—208 (73:2)=54+90=144. 144 
 505—193=312—50=262—209 (73:2)=53— 3 b (209)= 
 
 50+90=140. 140 
 
 505-193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253— 13 b col.— 240 
 
 for the son of her old friend; for she had — 
 
 505—193=312—50=262—90=172—28=144. 144 
 
 505—193=312—209 (73 :2)=103— 79=24. 588—24= 
 
 564+1=565+1 h 565 (79)=566. 
 505—193=312—91 (73:1)— 221. 
 505—193=312—30=282—29 (73:2)=253. 447—253 
 
 =194+1=195+11 b col. =206. 
 505—193=312—91 (73:1)— 221— 29 (78:2)— 192. 284— 
 
 192=92+1=93. 
 
 And the Queen had all the incredulity of the Shakspereolators of the nine- 
 teenth century, and she says: I pronounce this story the strangest tale in the world, 
 and not to be believed, and a lot of lies. 
 
 505—193=312—209 (73:2)— 103— 90— 13. 588—13= 
 
 575 + 1=576. 576 
 
 505—193=312—209 <73:2)= 103— 91=12. 588—12= 
 
 576+1=577. 577 
 
 505—193=312—50=262—28 (73:2)=234— 169 (73:1) 
 
 =65. 170-65=105+1=106. 106 
 
 505—193=312—28 (73 :2)=284— 79=205. 588—205 
 
 -383+1—884. 384 
 
 505—193=312—50=262—15 b & A— 247— 28 (73:2)= 
 
 219. 284—219=65+1=66. 66 
 
 505—193=312—29 (73 :2)=283— 90=193. 193 
 
 505— 193— 812— 28(73:2)— 284— 27 (73:1)— 257+171— 428 
 505—193=312—50=262—28 (73:2) :== 234— 169 (73:1)= 
 65. 588—65=523+1=524. 524 
 
 566 
 
 72:2 
 
 him 
 
 221 
 
 73:2 
 
 since 
 
 206 
 
 75:1 
 
 a 
 
 93 
 
 74:1 
 
 child. 
 
 72:2 
 
 Strangest 
 
 72:2 
 
 tale 
 
 72:2 
 
 in 
 
 72:2 
 
 the 
 
 74:1 
 
 world; 
 
 
 not 
 
 72:2 
 
 to 
 
 72:2 
 
 be 
 
 72:2 
 
 believed. 
 

 
 Page and 
 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 346—205 
 
 
 
 
 
 144 
 
 72:2 
 
 a 
 
 
 205 
 
 72:2 
 
 lot 
 
 ) b (237)= 
 
 42 
 
 73:1 
 
 of 
 
 
 253 
 
 74:1 
 
 lies. 
 
 THE QUEEN* S ORDERS TO FIXD SHAKSPERE. 86 1 
 
 And the Queen says Cecil has been telling her — 
 
 505— 193=312— 28 ( 73 :2)=284— 79=205. 
 
 ^141 + 1=142+2 h col.— 144. 
 505—193=312—28 (78:2)— 284— 79— 205. 
 
 505— 193=312— 30=282— 237 (73 :2)=45- 
 505—193=312—30=282—29=253. 
 
 And here again we have the combination — it is found more than twenty times 
 in these two plays — giving the name of Bacon's cousin: 
 
 505—193=312—28 (73:2)=284— 27 (73:1)=257. 588— 
 
 257=331+1=332. 332 72:2 Sees 
 
 505—193=312—30=282—208 (73:2)=74. 169—74= 
 
 95+1=96+1 *— 97. 97 73:1 ill 
 
 And here we have it again: 
 
 505—193=312—30=282—28 (73:2)=254— 90=164+ 
 
 170_ 884—2 h col.— 882. 332 72:2 Sees 
 
 505—193=312—30=282—209 (73:2)=73. 169-73= 
 
 96+1=97. 97 73:1 ill 
 
 In this last instance it will be observed that the two words move in paralle. 
 lines: 505 — 193=312 — 30=282; and the first word, sees, starts from the end of the 
 first subdivision on 73:2, and goes upward and to the end of the scene on 73:1, and 
 up again and backward and down from the end of the second section of 72:2. The 
 other word, ///, starts from the same point of departure, the end of the first section, 
 but moves downward through the column and backward and up the preceding 
 column to the word ill. And in the first instance the count departs in the same 
 way from the same starting-point and moves up through 28 and down through 208 
 in the same order. 
 
 And right here, in connection with the elements of the pame of Cecil, we have 
 kinsman's and your cousin. We saw that 164 (505—193 (75:1)— 312 — 30 (74:2)=2S2 
 — 2S (73:2)=254 — 90 (73:i)=i64) produced sees; but it also produces cousin: 
 
 505— 193=312— 50=262— 90=172. 172 73:2 your 
 
 505—193=312—30=282—28=254—90=164. 164 73:2 cousin. 
 
 And that same 282, which, modified by carrying it through the first section of 
 73:2, produced sees and ill and cousin, also, carried through all of 73:2, produces 
 kinsman's: 
 
 505— 193=312— 208 (73:2)=104— 27 (73:2)=77. 77 72:2 thy 
 
 505—193=312—30=282—237=45. 169—45=124+1=125 72:2 kinsman's 
 
 And the "old termagant" goes on to say that if Cecil can prove that Bacon 
 Avrote the Plays she will have him executed. I have not time to work this out in 
 detail, but I call the attention of the critical to the way in which the same num- 
 bers, which have already done such good service, respond again with most signing 
 cant words. Here we have: 
 
 505—1 93=3 1 2—50=262—208 (73 :2)=54— 3 b (208)— 51 . 
 
 90—51=39 + 1=40. 40 73:1 the 
 
 505—193=312-209=103—3 b (209)— 100— 27— 73. 
 
 170—73—97-hl—98. 98 72:2 old 
 
 505—193=312—50=262—208 (73:2)— 54— 27 (73:1 )= 
 
 27+171=198. 1^ 72:2 termagant 
 
862 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 And let us pause and observe the manner in which this word termagant is so> 
 placed that like Seas-ill, ShaJc st-spur, old jade, etc , it can be repeatedly used in 
 referring to the Queen. It is accompanied by the word old — " the old termagant. " 
 
 Let us take the combination with which we are already familiar, 505 — 167= 
 338 — 50=288. If we commence to count at the end of scene third (73:1), and 
 count up that fragment of a column and down the preceding column, we have: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505— 167=338— 50=288— 90(73 :2)=198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Take 516-167=349 — 22 b ft li=32j — 50=277. If we commence to count at 
 the same point of departure as in the last instance, but count downward through 
 73:1, and then again down the next column as before, we again reach termagant > 
 thus: 
 516— 167=349- 22/; &//=327— 50=277— 79(73:2)= 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Or let us take still another root-number, to-wit: 513 — 29 (74:2), and we have, 
 going through the same 90 used in the first instance: 
 
 513—29 (74:2)=484— 90 (78:1)— 894 588—394=194 
 
 + 1=195+3 h col.=198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Here we perceive that 484 — 90=394. Let the reader turn to the fac-simile and 
 he will find that 394 in the same column with termagant is plays ! 
 
 513—29 (74 :2)=484— 90=394. 394 72:2 plays 
 
 Surely a very significant combination; for the old termagant and the plays rep- 
 resented very important subjects in Bacon's life and thoughts. We noted how 
 plays was brought in in 78:1: — " for one or t'other plays the rogue with my great 
 toe;" and here we have: 
 
 Art thou alive, 
 Or is it fantasy that plays upon our eye-sight ? 
 
 We can see the Cipher in the very process of construction. And if I had time 
 and space I could show that nearly every word in that sentence, nay, in all these 
 columns, is a Cipher wore 1 But to resume: 
 
 We have seen that the text was so arranged as to bring out the word termagant 
 in response to the summons of 505, 516 and 513: — here we have the fourth primal 
 root-number, 523. We have just reached termagantby deducting 29, the lower sec- 
 tion of 74:2, from 513; we now deduct the upper section of 74:2 from 523, and we have: 
 
 523—50 (74:2)=473— 79 (73:1)=394. 588—394=194 
 
 + 1=195+3 h col. =198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Here again we have the terminal number, 394; but how? We obtained it in the 
 last instance by deducting from 513 ( — 29=484) the upper section of 73:2, to-wit, 90 ; 
 now we obtain it by deducting from 523 ( — 50=473; the loiver section of 73:2, to-wit, 
 79. And again the 394 produces the word plays ! But think of the exquisite ad- 
 justments that were necessary to bring this about. The cryptologist could not use 
 the word termagant (even though applied, as in the text, to a man !), or the word 
 plays, very often, without exciting suspicion; and he tells us in the Be Augment is that 
 one of the first requirements of a cipher is that it "be such as not to raise suspicion." ' 
 Therefore he so adjusted the fragments of 73:1 that, counting upward from the end 
 of the scene, with the number 513 — 29, it would yield 394, which gives us both 
 
 l Bacon's Works, vol. ix, p. 115. 
 
THE QUEEN' S ORDERS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. 863. 
 
 termagant and pl&ys; while counting downward, from the same point, with 523 — 50, 
 would again give us 394 and the same words, termagant and plays ! 
 
 But this is not all. Turn back to the two immediately preceding instances, 
 and we have the same process repeated, but with different elements. Thus: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—167=338—50=288—90=198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 516— 167=349— 22/; & A— 327— 50=277— 79=198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Here we have the same process of cunning adjustment: — Again we count up 
 from the end of the scene to produce 19S — termagant; and again we count down 
 from the same point to produce 19S — termagant ! And observe these numbers are 
 not accidental: they are produced in the same way: 
 
 505—167 (74:2)=338— 50=288. 
 
 516=167 (74:2)=349— 50=299— 22 <$ &/z=277. 
 
 And the difference between 288 and 277 is eleven; and the difference between 
 79 and 90 is eleven ! 
 
 But even this is not all. Let us take the fifth primal number, 506, and deduct 
 50, and we have 456. Now we have seen that in the middle section of 73:1, be- 
 tween 28 and 90, there are 62 words. Let us deduct this fragment, just as we 
 deducted 79 and 90 before, and we have: 
 
 506—50=456—62=394. 394 72:2 plays 
 
 506—50=456-62=394. 588—394=194+1=195+ 
 
 3/;col.=198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Or let us take the first primal number again, 505, and deduct the fragment at 
 the top of 74:2, from 50 upwards, to-wit, 49, and we have the same result : 
 
 505—49=456—62=394. 
 
 505—49=456—62=394. 588—394=194+1=195+ 
 3// col. =198. 
 
 But even this does not end the use of the word tt 
 
 505—193 (75:1) — 312— 284 (74 :1)=28+ 170=198. 
 
 But there is still more. When the brothers, Francis and Anthony Bacon, are 
 discussing the bad news, the Cipher (with a root-number carried back from 74:2) 
 refers again to the old termagant; thus: 
 
 523— 30(74:2=493— 254 (75:1)=239— 141 (73:1)= 98 72:2 old 
 
 523—30=493—254=239—90=149. 346—149=197 
 
 + 1=198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Let the critical reader study this. Here we have the same formula, 523 — 30 
 =493 — 254=239. But how do the terminals vary ? Old'is obtained by counting 239 * 
 words from the beginning of the second section of 73:1 to the end of the column; 
 now, as between 28 and 169 there are 141 words, we deduct 141 from 239, and we 
 have 98 left; and the 98th word on the next preceding column is old. But to find the 
 word termagant we commence at the top of the first section 73:1, instead of the 
 second, and instead of going to the end of the column we go to the end of the scene; 
 this gives us 90 words; and 90 deducted from 239 leaves 149, and this, taken to the 
 
 394 
 
 72:2 plays 
 
 198 
 
 72:2 termagant 
 
 'rmagant. 
 
 We have : 
 
 198 
 
 72:2 termagant 
 
86± 
 
 THE CIPHER NAKRA TIVE. 
 
 end of the second section of 72:2, and carried upward, yields termagant. 
 put this in the form of a diagram: 
 
 Let 
 
 Col. 2, p. 72./ 
 
 Col. 1, p. 73. 
 
 I think it is probable that a full investigation of the Cipher will show that these 
 words — old termagant — are used at least a score of times in the internal nar- 
 rative. Here are some instances of the word old: 
 
 If we commence with the root-number 505, to count from the end of 73:2 and 
 count upward and forward, counting in the whole of page 73, containing 406 
 words, and also the one hyphenated word, the 505th word is the 98th word, old; 
 thus: 
 
 505-407=< 
 
 Word. 
 98 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 72:2 
 
 We also have, matching the termagant already cited, the following: 
 
 old 
 
 old 
 
 523-29 (74:2)=494) 588— 494=94 +1=95 +3 h col. = 98 72:2 
 
 523—50 (74:3)— 473— 79— 894. 588—394=194+1= 
 
 195+3 A col.— 198: 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Observe the precision of this: the only difference is this, that the first word 
 comes out of 523 less the last section of 74:2; the other, out of the first section of 
 74:2; and that in the first case we commence to count, really, from the end of the 
 third section of 73:1, and in the other case from the beginning of the same. 
 
 And here we have another duplication: 
 
 505-167=338— 237 (73:2)=101— 3/; (237)=98. 98 72:2 old 
 
 505— 107=338— 50=288— 90(73 :1)=19 3. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Here the count runs first from the end of scene 4, act v, 1st Henry IV., then 
 from the beginning of it. 
 
 And here is still another: 
 
 505—30 (74:2)=475— 50=425— 237 (73:2)=188 
 
 —90(73:1^=98 98 72:2 old 
 
 505—49 (74:2)— 466— 62 (73:1)=394. 588—394=194 
 
 + 1—195+3//— 198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 But away and beyond all these adjustments the word termagant is used by the 
 large root-numbers, which I have shown to lie at the very beginning of the Cipher 
 narrative, and of which 505, 506, 513, 516 and 523 are but modifications. Thus, 
 
THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. 865 
 
 there are twelve italic words in column 1 of page 74; let us multiply 74, the num- 
 ber of the page, by this number 12, and we have 888. Now commence to count 
 at the top of 72:1 and count downward, and go forward to the next column and down- 
 ward again, and we have plays, and counting downward and forward as before, 
 but upward, counting in the hyphens on 73:2, we have termagant. Thus: 
 
 Paare end 
 
 Word. Column. 
 
 74x12=888— 494 (72:1)=394. 394 72:2 plays 
 
 74X12=888—494=394. 588—394=194+1=195+ 
 
 3/;col.=198. 198 72:2 termagant 
 
 Here, then, I have shown that not only does termagant come out at the call of 
 every one of our Cipher numbers, 505, 506, 513, 516 and 523, but even at the sum- 
 mons of one, at least, of the higher numbers which precede these in the order of 
 the narrative. 
 
 In short, every act, scene, fragment of scene, page, column, word, bracket 
 and hyphen, in all the pages of these two plays, and, as I believe, of all the Plays, 
 has been the subject of the most patient, painstaking prevision and arithmetical 
 calculation and adjustment, to a degree that is almost inconceivable. These His- 
 tories are, indeed, histories in a double sense; these Comedies may be the mask for 
 inner tragedies; and, perhaps, — with a fine touch of humor, — the Tragedies them- 
 selves may be but the cover for comedies of real life. 
 
 The man was sublime: — he played with words ; he made the grandest and pro- 
 foundest thoughts of which the brain is capable the strings of his exquisite puz- 
 zle; he made a jest of mankind, by setting up a stock and stone for their worship; 
 and he dealt at once and forever a deadly blow to all absolute belief in the teach- 
 ings of history. 
 
 I should not dare to utter these opinions save in the presence of so many 
 marvelous proofs. But there is no imagination in the multiplication table; no self- 
 deception can invade the precincts of addition and subtraction; two and two are 
 four, everywhere, to the end of the chapter. 
 
 But to resume our narrative: 
 
 And Cecil tells them when they find Shakspere and his men to offer them 
 immunity for their past misdeeds, if they will make a clean breast of it and tell 
 who really prepared the dangerous play of Richard II. Observe how remarkably 
 the significant words come out from the terminal root-number, 312. 
 
 505-193 (75:1)=312. 
 
 312—237 (73:2)=75— 50 (73:2)=25. 
 
 312—208 (73:2)=104— 90 (73:1)=14. 
 
 312—209 (73:2)=103. 
 
 312—208 (73:2)=104. 
 
 312—90=222—30=192—3 b col —189. 
 
 312—208 (73:2)=104. 169—104=65+1=66. 
 
 312—237=75—30 (74:2)=45. 
 
 312—27 (73:1)=285— 237=48. 
 
 312—208 (73:2)=104— 27 (73:1)=77. 588—77=511+1=512 
 
 312—79 (73:1)=233. 
 
 312—237=75—30 (74:2)=45— 3 b (237)=42. 
 
 312— 50=262— 79=183+ 346 (72:2)=529. 
 
 312—142 (73: 1)=170— 30 (74:2)=140. 588—140= 
 
 448+1=449. 
 312— 28(73:1)=284. 
 
 25 
 
 73:1 
 
 Terms 
 
 14 
 
 72:2 
 
 of 
 
 103 
 
 73:1 
 
 grace, 
 
 104 
 
 73:1 
 
 pardon 
 
 189 
 
 73:2 
 
 and 
 
 66 
 
 73:1 
 
 reward 
 
 45 
 
 73:1 
 
 to 
 
 48 
 
 74:2 
 
 himself 
 
 =512 
 
 72:2 
 
 and 
 
 233 
 
 73:2 
 
 all 
 
 42 
 
 73:2 
 
 of 
 
 529 
 
 72:2 
 
 them 
 
 449 
 
 72:2 
 
 if 
 
 284 
 
 72-2 
 
 he 
 
866 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 312—79=233+170=403—1 h col. =402. 
 
 312—90=222. 588—222=366—1=367. 
 
 312—208 (73:2)=104— 27 (78:1)— 77. 
 
 312—90=222—27 (73:1)— 196. 
 
 312—79=233. 
 
 312— 90=222— 169 (73:1)— 53+170— 223. 
 
 312—50=262—27 (78:1)— 385. 
 
 312—50=262—208=104—90=14+346=360. 
 
 312—27 (73:1)— 285— 29 (74:2)=256— 237=19. 248- 
 
 19=229+1=230. 
 312—90=222—30 (74:2)— 192. 237—192=45 + 1= 
 
 46+3 £ col.— 49. 
 312—27 (73:1)— 285— 29 (74:2)— 256— 237=19. 248 
 
 —19—229+1—230+1 b col.— 231. 
 312—90 (73:1)— 222. 
 
 312—90—222—50=172—28 (73:2)— 144— 10 b col.— 
 312— 79— 233— 30— 203— 3 £ col.— 200. 
 312—237—75—27 (73:1)— 48— 29 (73:")— 19. 
 312—90—222—50—172. 237—172=65+1—66. 
 312—237—75—27 (73:1)— 48. 
 312—209—103. 171-103—68+1—69. 
 312—90=222—27 (73:1)— 195. 588—195—393+1— 
 312— 90= J" 22. 
 312—90—222— 50— 172. 
 
 312 -79=233— 27 (73 :1)= 206. 588—206=382+1— 
 312—284 (74:1)— 28. 
 312—284—28+91=119. 
 
 512—143 (73:1)— 169. 237—169=68+1—69+3 b col. 
 312—28 (73:1)=284— 171 (72:2)— 118. 
 312—29 (73:2)— 283— 90— 193. 
 312—142 (78:1)— 170. 
 312—29 (73:2)— 283— 90— 193— 170. 
 312—90—222+171 (72:2)— 393— 2 h col.— 391. 
 312—29 (73:2)— 283— 79— 204. 
 312—28 (73:1)— 284— 171 (72:2)— 113. 494—113— 
 
 381 + 1=382. 
 312—208—104—79—25. 
 312—79 (73:1)— 233— 170= 63. 494—03—431+1— 
 
 432+1 h col.— 433. 
 312—90 (73:1)— 222— 208 (73:2)— 14. 284—14— 
 
 270+1=271. 
 312—29 (73:2)=283— 90— 193. 346—193—153+1= 
 
 154+2/4 col.— 156. 
 312—209—103—30 (74:2)— 73+90— 163. 
 312—29 (73 :2)=283— 90=193. 
 312—90=222. 237—222=15+1=16. 
 312—90—222. 237—222—15+1=16+28 (73:1)= 
 312—90=222—169 (78:1)— 58. 588—53—535+1— 
 312—90—222—169=53—1 h (169)— 52. 588—52= 
 
 036+1—537 
 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 402 
 
 72:2 
 
 will 
 
 367 
 
 72:2 
 
 tell 
 
 77 
 
 73:2 
 
 the 
 
 195 
 
 74:2 
 
 name 
 
 233 
 
 72:2 
 
 of 
 
 223 
 
 72:2 
 
 the 
 
 235 
 
 72:2 
 
 man 
 
 360 
 
 72:2 
 
 who 
 
 230 
 
 74:2 
 
 furnished 
 
 49 
 
 73:2 
 
 him 
 
 231 
 
 74:2 
 
 with 
 
 222 
 
 73:2 
 
 this 
 
 134 
 
 74:1 
 
 play 
 
 200 
 
 73:2 
 
 and 
 
 19 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 66 
 
 73:2 
 
 rest 
 
 48 
 
 72:2 
 
 of 
 
 69 
 
 72:2 
 
 these 
 
 394 
 
 72:2 
 
 Plays. 
 
 222 
 
 72:2 . 
 
 But 
 
 172 
 
 72:2 
 
 if, 
 
 383 
 
 72:2 
 
 on 
 
 28 
 
 73:1 
 
 the 
 
 119 
 
 73:1 
 
 contrary, 
 
 =72 
 
 73:2 
 
 he 
 
 113 
 
 72:2 
 
 means 
 
 193 
 
 72:2 
 
 to 
 
 170 
 
 72:2 
 
 lie 
 
 23 
 
 72:1 
 
 about 
 
 391 
 
 72:2 
 
 it 
 
 204 
 
 72:2 • 
 
 and 
 
 382 
 
 72:1 
 
 play 
 
 25 
 
 72:2 
 
 the 
 
 433 
 
 72:1 
 
 fool, 
 
 271 
 
 74:1 
 
 they 
 
 156 
 
 72:2 
 
 will 
 
 163 
 
 73:1 
 
 have 
 
 193 
 
 72:2 
 
 to 
 
 16 
 
 73:2 
 
 bear 
 
 44 
 
 73:2 
 
 the 
 
 536 
 
 72:2 
 
 sin 
 
 537 
 
 72:2 
 
 upon 
 
THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. 
 
 867 
 
 Word. 
 
 538 
 539 
 540 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 72;2 
 72:2 
 
 72:2 
 
 their 
 own 
 heads, 
 
 143 
 
 72:2 
 
 Fat 
 
 586 
 
 72:2 
 
 fellow. 
 
 312—29 (73 :2)=283— 90=193+346=539— 1// col.— 
 312—29 (73:2)=283— 90=193+346=539. 
 312—29 (73:2)=283— 90=193+347=540. 
 
 And Cecil refers to Shakspere as " the fat fellow ' 
 
 312— 169 (73:1)=1 43. 
 
 312—169 (73:1)=143— 50 (74:2)=93— 90 (73:1)=3. 
 588—3=585+1=586. 
 
 Thus confirming the statements found on pages 78 and 79 of the Folio. 
 
 And Cecil tells the Earl that the Queen is in a great rage. And here, again, it 
 is not safe to say in the text Queen or her Majesty, or to have more than one terma- 
 gant in several pages, and so the Queen is alluded to as " the royal maiden." 
 
 312—28 (73:1)=284— 237=47. 284—47=237+1= 
 312—79 (73:1)=233. 588—233=355+1=356. 
 312—90=222+170=392—2// col.=390. 
 312—142=170+ 170=340. 
 312— 90=222. 346—222=124+1=125. 
 312—208 (73:2)=104— 29 (74:2)=75— 3 b (208)— 72. 
 312— 208(73:2)=104— 30 (74:2)— 74-8 b (208)— 71. 
 284— 71=213+1— 214+6 h col. =220. 
 
 238 
 
 74:1 
 
 Royal 
 
 356 
 
 72:2 
 
 maiden 
 
 390 
 
 72:2 
 
 is 
 
 340 
 
 72:2 
 
 in 
 
 125 
 
 72:2 
 
 a 
 
 72 
 
 73:1 
 
 great 
 
 220 
 
 74:1 
 
 rage. 
 
 And the Queen doth swear: 
 
 312. 
 
 312 
 
 that every man engaged in the production of the play of Richard II. on the stage, 
 unless they give up the real author, — 
 
 312—237=75—27 (73:1)— 48. 170—48=122+1= 123 
 
 312—237=75—30—45—3 b (287)— 42+171=213. 213 
 
 312— 90=222— 169 (73: 1)=53. 170—53=117 + 1= 118 
 
 312_9o=222— 28 (73:1)=194. 346—194=152+1= 153 
 
 312—90=222. 237—222—15+1=16+3 b col.— 19. 19 
 
 72:2 
 
 should 
 
 72:2 
 
 die 
 
 72:2 
 
 a 
 
 72:2 
 
 bloody 
 
 73:2 
 
 death. 
 
 And Cecil says she told him to — 
 
 312— 28(73:1)=284+170— 454— 3 //col =451. 451 72:2 let 
 312—27 (73:1)=285— 29 (74:2)— 256— 237=19. 284— 
 
 19=265+1=266. 266 74:1 them 
 
 312— 27(73 :1)=285. 285 72:2 be 
 312—90=222—28 (73:1)— 194. 346—194—152+1= 
 
 153+2// col.— 155. 155 72:2 imbowelled. 
 
 And as for Shakspere, if he does not confess the truth, she will — 
 
 312—29 (73:2)— 283. 588—283=305+1—306. 
 
 312—237=75—30=45+90=135. 
 
 312—29 (73:2) 283—30=253. 433—253=180+1= 
 
 312—79—233—30=203. 
 
 312—209 (73:2)— 103. 169—103—66+1—67. 
 
 But if he will reveal a'l he knows he will be spared: 
 
 306 
 
 72:2 
 
 make 
 
 135 
 
 73:1 
 
 a 
 
 181 
 
 71:2 
 
 carbonado 
 
 203 
 
 73:2 
 
 of 
 
 67 
 
 73:1 
 
 him. 
 
868 THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 312—79 (73:1)— 888. 
 
 346—233=113+1=114+ 
 
 
 
 3 h col. =117. 
 
 
 117 
 
 72:2 
 
 spared; 
 
 and not only spared, but favors shown him by the court: 
 
 312— 90=222— 169 (73:1)=53. 53 72:2 favors. 
 
 And the officers are directed to say nothing to any one about their mission, lest 
 the actors fly the country. And when they arrest Shakspere they are at first to 
 treat him kindly, and ask him why he should try to injure the Queen, who had 
 never harmed him; and appeal to his better feelings; and urge him to confess, to 
 save his own life and fortune. 
 
 312— 79 (73:1)=233. 433(71:2)— 233=200+1=201. 201 71:2 Save 
 
 312— 27 (78:1)— 285— 50— 285. 235 73:2 own 
 
 312—90=222—30=192. 213 (71:2)— 192=21 + 1=22 
 
 + 1=23. 23 71:2 life 
 
 312—79=233. 237—233=4+1=5. 5 73:2 fortune. 
 
 And they are to say to him that he must not hold back the information he has 
 as to the treasonable play; that there is — 
 
 312— 27— 285— 170(72:2)— 115. 494—115=379+1= 380 72:1 No 
 
 312—90=222—30=192. 192 72:2 time 
 
 312— 169(73:1)=143. 346+143=489. 489 72:2 to 
 
 312-29 (73:2)=283. 433—283=150+1=151. 151 71:2 dally. 
 
 In short, the crafty Cecil directed the officers that when they found Shakspere 
 they were to work upon him in every way possible — by appeals to his cupidity, his 
 ambition, and his terror of being burned alive — to tell the real author of the Plays, 
 especially of that dangerous play which represented the deposition and murder of 
 an unpopular King, and the execution of those councilors who stood to him in 
 the same relation in which Cecil stood to the Queen. 
 
 The reader will observe that every word of the story, for the last few pages, 
 grows out of the same terminal root-number, ji2, and nothing else. And that all the 
 modifications of this number arise out of the fragments of the scenes in columns 
 i and 2 of the same page, 73. A few words are carried backward to the begin- 
 ning of the third scene, page 71, column 2; just as we saw the Cipher carried for- 
 ward to the ends or the beginnings of acts and scenes in 2d Henry IV. So 
 that not only do we find the same capacity of the text to produce a coherent narra- 
 tive in these pages of 1st Henry IV., which we found to exist in 2d Henry IV., but 
 the story coheres with the narrative produced by the same root-number, 312, 
 in 2d Henry IV. For instance, we saw that 505, counting from the end of the first 
 section of 75:1 forward and down the next column, produced sent out: 
 
 505—193=312. 312 75:2 Sent 
 
 505—193=312. 498—312=186+1=187. 187 76:1 out 
 
 505— 248 (74:2)— 257. 257 74:1 posts 
 
 505—193=312—237=75. 169—75=194-1 1=195. 195 73:1 find 
 
 505—30 (74:2)— 475— 447— 28. 28 75:2 Shak'st i 
 
 505—197=308—248=60. 60 75:1 spur. \ 
 
 » 
 
 But here the very 312 which produced sent out and find tells the story of 
 
THE QUEEN'S ORDERS TO FIND SHAKSPERE. 869 
 
 what the posts were to do when they did find Shakspere; how they were to offer 
 him pardon and grace if he would make a confession as to who was the real author 
 of the Plays; and if he would not, that they were to threaten all the players who 
 had taken part in the presentation of the deposition scene of Richard II. with a 
 bloody death, that they should be imbowelled, etc. ; and we have even the fierce threat 
 of the savage old termagant, that of Shakspere himself she would make a carbonado 
 — a bon-fire — for the insults to the Christian religion contained in Measure for 
 Measure, of which he was the alleged author. 
 
 And observe how the fragments of 312 carried over from the first column of 
 page 74 produce so many significant words: 312 — 284 (74:i)=28; and 28 up the 
 the next column (73:2) is lose (lose his office), addressed by the Queen to Cecil, if 
 he did not find Shakspere and prove his story against Bacon to be true. And 28 
 up from the end of scene third (73:1) is rewards; and 28 down from the same point 
 is offers ("offers of rewards ") : 
 
 iVord. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 63 
 
 73:1 
 
 rewards 
 
 118 
 
 73:1 
 
 offers 
 
 312—284=28. 90—28=62+1=63. 
 312—284=28. 90+28=118. 
 
 Or take 312 again less the second column of page 74 instead of the first; we have 
 312 — 248=64; now d^down 73:2 is with; and 64 /// 73:2 is speed; and 312 — 50 (74:2) 
 =262, and this carried up 74:1 lands us in the midst of the first bracket sentence 
 on the word wind (ride with the speed of the wind); and while 64 up 73:2 produces 
 speed, the 174th word, if we add the modifier 30 it gives us march (174+30=204); 
 thus: 
 
 312— 248=64— 30 (74:2)=34. 237—34=203+1= 204 73:2 march; 
 
 and march, applied to the movements of the "well-horsed posts," is cunningly 
 disguised in the name of " the Earl of March." 
 
 I repeat that we cannot penetrate the text of these two plays, at any point, 
 without perceiving that, apart from any rule, the Cipher numbers call out words 
 that cohere in meaning and purpose, in a way that no other text in the world is 
 capable of. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 And the hand of time 
 Shall draw this brief into as huge a volume. 
 
 King John, it, i. 
 
 I AM constrained by the great size of my book to leave out much 
 that I had intended to insert. I have worked out the story of 
 Bacon attempting suicide by taking ratsbane: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—50 (74:2)=455— 50 (76:1)=405— 145 (76:2)=260 
 
 — 50 (76:1)=210. 508—210=298+1=299. 299 75:2 Took 
 
 505—50 (74:2)=455— 50 (76:1)=405— 145 (76:2)=260. 
 
 603— 260=343+1=344+8 <$ col =352. 352 76:2 ratsbane. 
 
 Preceding this we have, originating from pages 72 and 73 and their subdivi- 
 sions, a full account of his griefs, his intense feelings, his desire to shield the mem- 
 ory of his father, Sir Nicholas, from the ignominy which would fall upon it if it 
 was known that his son had shared with such a low creature as Shakspere the 
 profits of the Plays. Observe how the number 505 brings out ignominy: 
 
 505. 588—505=83+1=84. 84 72:2 ignominy. 
 
 And here we have his father's name: 
 
 505—27 (73:1)=478— 212 (71:2)=266. 494—266= 
 
 228+1=229. 229 72:1 Sir 
 
 505—169 (73:1)=336-212 (71.2)=124. 124 72:1 Nicholas. 
 
 Observe this: the Sir is 505 commencing at the end of the first section of 73:1, 
 at the 27th word, and counting upward; the remainder is then taken to the end of 
 the third scene (71:2), and carried up and brought back into the scene and down 
 the column. The Nicholas is the same root-number, 505, carried through precisely 
 the same process, save that we begin to count with 505 from the top of the same 
 first section of 73:1, instead of the bottom, and we go down 73:1, instead of up; 
 and when we return from the beginning of scene 3 (71:2) we go up the column in- 
 stead of down. 
 
 And here observe that the same number 478 (505 — 27 (73:1)— 478), which car- 
 ried to the end of the scene and brought back gave us Sir, if carried up 72:2 gives 
 us T ack; and this, with sphere, — 
 
 Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere, — 
 
 gives us another form of the word Shakspere. 
 
 870 
 
FRAGMENTS. 871 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 Ill 
 
 72:2 
 
 ■ 291 
 
 72:1 
 
 505—27=478. 588—478=110+1=111. Ill 72:2 Jack | 
 
 505— 80=425— 221 (71 :2)=204. 494—204=290+1= 291 72:1 sphere. \ 
 
 Here again we see the systematic arrangement: 505 — 27 (the first section 73:1) 
 is alternated with 80, the number of words from the end of the second section of 
 73:1 to end of the column. But when the remainder is carried to the beginning 
 of scene 3, 71:2, it is taken down the column through 221 words, instead of up the 
 column through 212 words. 
 
 And here we have Sir Nicholas again, — repeated in the progress of the inner 
 story: 
 
 505— 169 (73:1)=336— 1 h (169)=335— 212 (71:2)= 123 72:1 Sir 
 
 505— 63(73 :1>=442— 212 (71 :2)=230. 230 72:1 Nicholas. 
 
 \ 
 
 Here, it will be observed, the words flow again from the same corner of 73:1: 
 that is, for Sir we commence to count from the top of the first section of 73:1, 
 and count down the column, as we did to obtain Nicholas before ; but now we count 
 in the one hyphenated word in the column, and we get Sir. And the next Nicholas 
 is a different word from the one we used last : that was 124, 72:1 ; this is 230, 72:1. 
 We obtained that word by beginning to count, with 505, from the beginning of the 
 first section of 73:1 and going through the whole column; we procure this Nich- 
 olas by starting with the same number, 505, but, instead of going through the whole 
 column, we stop at the end of scene third; this gives us 63 words. (27 to 90=63.) 
 And here again we note the beautiful adjustments of the text to the Cipher; for, start- 
 ing from substantially the same place, with the same root-number, we produce Sir 
 Nicholas twice and Shakspere once ! And the 442 (505 — 63=442) which gave us 
 the last A r icholas, carried down 72:2 gives us, as the 442d word, father (my father, 
 Sir Nicholas) ! 
 
 And Bacon refers to the ignominy his exposure would bring upon his ancestors, 
 " those proud spirits," Sir Anthony Cooke, his grandfather; his father, Sir Nicholas, 
 and others of whom we know little or nothing, who had "won great titles in the 
 world." 
 
 It is a pitiful and terrible story, told with great detail. Bacon sacrificed him- 
 self, or intended to do so, to save his family and the good name of his ancestors 
 from the ignominy of his trial and execution at Smithfield as a traitor and an 
 infidel. 
 
 And then we have the terrible story of his sufferings: He lost consciousness 
 for a time and fell in the orchard and cut his head on the stones. He thought, in 
 ' is dreadful mental excitement and torture, — for he knew what it was • 
 
 Upon the tortures of the mind to lie 
 In restless ecstacy, — 
 
 that the spirits of his dead ancestors appeared and urged him to die ! Then came 
 a young gentleman who was visiting at the house, St. Albans; he walked forth into 
 the orchard; he stumbled over Bacon's body; he thought at first it was a dead 
 deer: — 
 
 523— 79 (73:1)=444. 588—444=144+1=145. 145 72:2 deer. 
 
 When he found it was a man, he drew his sword, in great terror, and asked who it 
 was, and what he was doing there, and finally ran to the house and returned, fol- 
 lowed by Harry Percy and the whole household, who came running. Then we have 
 Bacon resolving to keep quiet and counterfeit death, so as to allow the deadly drug, 
 
87 2 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 " which like a poisonous mineral doth gnaw the inwards," to do its complete work; 
 rejoicing to think that in a little while he will be beyond the reach of Cecil's envy 
 and the Queen's fury. Then we have the recognition, by Percy, that it is "our 
 young master; " and the lifting up of the body, and the carrying of it to the house 
 and to his room: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505—79=426—1 h (79)— 425— 406=19. 19 72:2 room. 
 
 Then follows the wiping the blood from his face; the undressing of him, — 
 taking off " his satin cloak and silken slops; " the sending for the doctor, — 
 
 505—50=455. 455 76:1 doctor,— 
 
 who was the village apothecary, a Mr. Moore; then the discussion of the family 
 as to what was the matter, some thinking he had fought a duel, others that he had 
 been assailed by ruffians, for he was too gentle, it was said, to quarrel with any 
 one. Then we have the refusal of the doctor to come, because the young man 
 owed him a large bill for previous services, which had been standing for some time 
 and not paid; and he demanded payment. 
 
 And, strange to say, we find this very doctor's bill referred to in a letter of 
 Lady Bacon to her son Anthony, given by Hepworth Dixon. 1 She says, under 
 date of June 15, 1596: 
 
 Paying Mr. Moore's bill for my physic, I asked him whether you did owe any- 
 thing for physic ? He said he had not reckoned with you since Michaelmas last. 
 Alas ! Why so long? say I. I think I said further it can be muted, for he hath 
 his confections from strangers; and to tell you truly, I bade him secretly send his 
 bill, which he seemed loth, but at my pressing, when I saw it came to above xv /. 
 or xvj /. If it had been but vij or viij, I would have made some shift to pay. I 
 told him I would say nothing to you because he was so unwilling. It may be he 
 would take half willingly, because " ready money made always a cunning apothe- 
 cary," said covetous Morgan, as his proverb. 
 
 We can imagine that the apothecary was incensed, because after his bill had 
 been presented, at the request of Lady Ann Bacon, it had not been paid; and 
 that months had rolled by, from June, 1596, until the events occurred which are nar- 
 rated in the Cipher — that is to say, until as I suppose, the spring of 1597; and 
 hence the heat of the man of drugs and his refusal to attend. The apothecary was 
 probably the only substitute for a doctor possessed by the village of St. Albans 
 at that time. 
 
 And here we have another little illustration of the cunning of the work. 
 Where the doctor said that they "owed" him money, the text is twisted to get in 
 the word thus : Falstaff says to the page: 
 
 Sirra, you giant, what says the doctor to my water ? 
 Page. He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy water; but for the 
 party that owned it, he might have more diseases than he knew for. 
 
 This is the way it is found in the standard editions; but if the reader will turn 
 to my facsimiles he will find the word 07vned printed owd. In this way, Bacon 
 got in the doctor's statement in the Cipher story, by misspelling a word in the 
 text. 
 
 But Bacon's aunt, Lady Burleigh, sister to his mother, and mother of his per- 
 secutor, Cecil, overheard the servants report that the doctor would not come unless 
 
 1 Personal History of Lord Bacon, page 391. 
 
FRAGMENTS. 873 
 
 his bill was paid, and she secretly gave the servant the money to pay it. And 
 observe, again, how cunningly the word aunt is hidden in the text: 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 505— 145 (76:2)=360. 360 77:1 aunt 
 
 But it is not spelled aunt, but ant, to-wit, and it. 
 
 Now, if the reader will examine the text of the play, he will find that and it is 
 usually printed, where it is condensed into one word, asand't. See the 485th word, 
 76:2. ' 
 
 And Essex had arrived to warn Bacon of his danger, and he observed that the 
 doctor did not come when he was first sent for, and he rebuked him fiercely, and 
 threatened to have his ears cut off; and the doctor answered with considerable spirit, 
 under cover of the retorts of Falstaff to the Chief Justice's servants. See upper 
 part of 77:1. 
 
 Then we have the voluble doctor's declaration that Bacon's troubles were due 
 to overstudy and perturbation of the brain, and were in the nature of an apoplectic 
 fit; and he prescribed for him. In the meantime, Bacon suffered terribly from the 
 effects of the poison, and, as he had taken a double dose, his stomach rejected it, 
 and his life was thereby saved. 
 
 Then we have the story of Harry Percy being sent in disguise to Stratford. I 
 have worked out enough of it to make a story as long as all the Cipher narrative thus 
 far given in these pages. 
 
 Percy's rapid journey, his arrival, his demand to speak at once with Shakspere; 
 the difficulties in the way. At last, he is shown up into the bed-room; the windows 
 are all closed, according to the medical treatment of that age; and Shakspere is 
 sweltering in a fur-trimmed cloak. Here we have a full and painful and precise 
 description of his appearance, very much emaciated from the terrible disorder 
 which possessed him. Percy told him the news and urged him to fly. Shakspere 
 refused. Percy saw that Shakspere intended to promptly confess and deliver up 
 " Master Francis," and save himself. Percy was prepared for such a contingency, 
 and told him that the man who was the ostensible author would suffer death with the 
 real author; and he asks him : Did you not share in the profits ; did you not strut about 
 London and claim the Plays as yours, and did you not instruct the actor who played 
 Richard II. to imitate the peculiarities of gesture and speech of the Queen, so as to 
 point the moral of the play: that she was as deserving of deposition as King Richard ? 
 (" Know you not, ' ' said the Queen to Lambarde, * ' that I am Richard the Second ! ' ') 
 And do you think, said Percy, that the man who did all this can escape punish- 
 ment? When Shakspere saw, as he thought, that he could not save himself by 
 betraying Bacon, he at last consented to fly. Then followed a stormy scene. Mrs. 
 Shakspere hung upon her husband's neck and wept; his sister, Mrs. Hart, bawled; 
 her children howled, and the brother Gilbert, who was drunk, commenced an assault 
 on Harry Percy, and drew a rusty old sword on him. Harry picked up a bung- 
 mallet, and knocked him down, and threw him down stairs into the malt cellar. 
 Then bedlam was let loose. In the midst of the uproar entered Susannah, who at 
 once calmed the tempest. Harry was astonished at her beauty and good sense. 
 He wonders how " so sweet a blossom could grow from so corrupt a root." We 
 have a long description of her. She put the children to bed, and when she had 
 heard Percy's story she advised her father to fly. He commenced to talk about 
 his family, and how well he stood with his neighbors, for that question of gentility 
 was his weak point. She replied, very sensibly, that they owed their neighbors 
 no obligations, and need care nothing for what they said or thought. And 
 
874 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Percy advised that they tell the neighbors that the Queen had sent for him 
 to prepare a play for some approaching marriage at court. Mrs. Shakspere 
 still wept and clung to him, and said she would " never see her dear hus- 
 band again;" that he was too sick to travel, etc. To all this Percy replied that 
 a sea- voyage and change of scene and air were the best remedies for his sickness; 
 that they would go to Holland and from there to France, and that " Master Fran- 
 cis" was acquainted with the family of De la Montaigne, and they could visit there; 
 and in the meantime that Essex would, as soon as the Queen's rage had subsided, 
 intercede for him, and he would thus be able to come back improved in health to 
 the enjoyment of his wealth; while if he stayed he would forfeit both life and fortune. 
 And Percy said he had a friend, a Captain Grant, who was about to marry a rela- 
 tive of his; his ship was then unloading at London, and they would have time to 
 get to London before it was ready to sail. They would go twenty miles a day 
 across the country, and hide in the vicinity of St. Albans, with some friends of 
 Percy's, and thence work their way to London in the night; that when the posts 
 found he had fled they would naturally think he had gone northward to Wales or 
 Scotland; they would not look for him near St. Albans or London. And Percy 
 suggested that Shakspere tell Captain Grant, to account for his secret flight, that 
 he was an unmarried man, and that he had fallen into some trouble with a young 
 woman; that a child was about to be born and that he was leaving the country on 
 that account. The night was stormy and dark, and the roads muddy, and there 
 would be none abroad to notice their flight. 
 
 Convinced by all these arguments, Shakspere told his wife to get some supper 
 ready and to bring him an old suit of leather jerkins, etc., which he had worn when 
 a butcher's 'prentice, and he proceeded to array himself in these. 
 
 Then follows, with great detail, a description of the supper, served by the 
 handsome Susannah; and every article of food is given, much of it coarse and in 
 poor condition; and Percy is vehement in his description and denunciation of the 
 very poor quality of the wine, which was far inferior to the kind that w r as served 
 at his spendthrift master's table. 
 
 I only touch upon the salient points of the narrative. We have all the conver- 
 sations given in detail, and with the graphic power that might be expected from 
 such a writer. 
 
 I have progressed far enough beyond this point to see that Shakspere went 
 to sea. Turn to page 85 of the facsimiles, and in the first column we have tempest, 
 commotion, vapor, captains, etc., while in the second column of the same page the 
 reader will find high and giddy mast, ship, surge, winds, monstrous billows, slippery, 
 clouds, hurley, sea, sea, ocean, Neptutie; while on page 82, column 2, we have vessel* 
 vessel, vessel, marchanfs venture, Burdeaux-stuff, hold (of a ship), hogs-head, etc.; 
 in 83:2 we have Captain, several times repeated, and in 82:2 we have grant, 
 two or three times. The story of the brawl is told on pages 83 and 84; in 
 85:1 we have Percy's description of how he overtook and outrode the scouts," 
 concealed in the lines: 
 
 I met and over-tooke a dozen captains, 
 Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns 
 And asking every one for Sir John Falstaffe. 
 
 For the description of the supper, we have (82:1) dish, apple-Johns; (82:2) cana- 
 ries — wine — pike — dry toasts; (83 : 1) ancient — mouldy — dried — cakes; stezaed- 
 prunes — bottle-ale — cup — sack; (84 : 1 ) bread — m ustard; (84 : 2) bread — kitchen — roast 
 — fat; (85:1) joint of mutton. Here are all the essentials of a supper, and yet 
 there is no supper described in the text. And we have just seen that we have 
 
FRAGMENTS. 875 
 
 (85:1, 85:2 and 82:2) all the words to describe a sea-voyage and a tempest on the 
 ocean, and yet there is no sea-scene in the play. 
 
 And here is another evidence of the Cipher, and of the microscopic character 
 of the work. I showed some time since that on page 83 the 184th word was 
 shake, and that it is forced into the text; because Dame Quickly, who had, in a pre- 
 ceding scene in the same act, threatened to throw the corpulent Sir John Falstaff into 
 the channel, and who did not fear his thrust, is now so terrified, by the mere 
 approach of a swaggerer, that she says, " Feel, masters, how I shake." This is 
 the first part of the name of Shakspere. Where is the rest of the name? It is on 
 the same page, in the next column, and yet it will puzzle my readers to find it. 
 Let them attempt it. And here I would observe that Bacon avoids putting Shake 
 and jr/d'ar near each other, lest it might create suspicion. Hence, where we have 
 shak' st, we find near at hand spur; where we have sphere (pronounced then spere) 
 we have close at hand not Shake but Jack, pronounced shack. And so here, where 
 we have shake, the last syllable is most cunningly concealed in the Italian quota- 
 tion of Pistol: Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contente. Now, in the Folio there 
 is a hair space between sper and ato; and this gives us the necessary syllable to 
 make the " Shake" Shake-sper. But the distinction is so minute that when Lionel 
 Booth made his literal copy of the Folio of 1623, the printers, while they faithfully 
 followed every detail of capitalization, spelling, pronunciation, etc., of the original 
 Folio, missed this point and printed the word as sperato. And in the very last scene 
 of the play, page 100, Pistol repeats his quotation, in a different form: Si fort una 
 me tormento sper a me contento. Here again we have sper separated from a. And 
 note the different spelling: in the first instance fortune serves in the Cipher story 
 for fortune, the name of the Fortune theater; tormente is used for torment; and con- 
 tente ior content; but m the. other instance, we have "fortune," "torments," and 
 "contents," because the Cipher grew less intricate as the end of the play 
 approached, and there was no necessity for the words to do double duty, as in the 
 former instance. 
 
 And here I would note another point. Falstaff says, "Throw the quean in the 
 channel;" and some of the commentators have changed this word, because there was 
 no channel a.t or near London, and the scene of Falstaff 's arrest is clearly placed in 
 London. What does it mean? The Cipher is telling something about the English 
 Channel; and hence this violation of the geographical unities. In the same way it 
 will be found that the sea-coast of Bohemia, Machiavel, in 1st and jd Henry J' I., 
 and Aristotle, in Troilus and Cressida, are to be accounted for: they were necessi- 
 ties of the Cipher narrative, and the congruities of time and p>ace had to give way 
 to its requirements. The correctness of the inside story was more important, in 
 the mind of the author, than -the proprieties of the external play. 
 
 If the reader will turn to page 56 he will see how adroitly the name of the 
 Spanish city of Cadiz, the scene of an English invasion, is worked into the text. 
 The Prince is talking nonsense to the drawer, Francis, and he says: 
 
 Wilt thou rob this Leatherne-jerkin, Christall button, Not-plated, Agat ring, 
 Puke stocking, Caddice garter, Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch ? , 
 
 And the boy very naturally exclaims: " O Lord, sir, who do you mean ?" 
 Yet here, in this rambling nonsense, Caddice conceals Cadiz, and four words 
 distant we have Spanish — and Cadiz was a Spanish town. In that incoherent "^ 
 jumble of words were probably grouped together the tail-ends of half a dozen dif- 
 ferent parts of the Cipher story. The wonder of the world will never cease when 
 all this Cipher narrative is worked out; it will be indeed — 
 
876 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 " The life-long wonder and astonishment " 
 
 of mankind for thousands of years to come. 
 
 It is not, of course, possible for me to prove the truth of my statements as to 
 the foregoing Cipher narrative in this volume; but I hope to follow this work 
 with another, in which I shall give the story in detail, and even follow the sick 
 Shakspere across the sea. While Cecil could not prove his case against Bacon 
 without the testimony of Shakspere, it must have been apparent to the Queen that 
 the actor had received warning of his danger from some one about the court; and 
 it might have been that facts enough came out to satisfy the Queen of Bacon's 
 guilt; and hence his inability to rise to any office of great trust during Elizabeth's 
 reign. 
 
 But I will give one little specimen which is most significant, and may be clearer 
 to the reader because of its simplicity. In most cases the scenes are divided up 
 into fragments by the stage directions, and these fragments complicate the working 
 of the Cipher; but here the entire scene is but a column in length, about one-half 
 of it being in 81:2, and the remainder in the next column, 82:1. The sentence I 
 give is: Harry at length persuaded him to fly. This significant collocation of words 
 refers to Harry Percy, after a long discussion, persuading Shakspere to fly the 
 country — the very flight referred to by Coke, in his allusion to clapping a capias 
 utlagatum on Bacon's back, some years afterward. 
 
 The Cipher number is 505. It commences to count from the upper section of 
 73:2, containing 2g words; therefore, 505 — 29=476; and the number here used is 
 476. And here we perceive the subtlety of the Cipher: If any one thought he 
 saw on pages 81 and 82 traces of a Cipher, he would naturally look for the key- 
 number on or near those pages; he would not think of going back to the end of a 
 preceding play, 1st Henry IV. , to find the first modifier of a number obtained from 
 the first page of 2d Henry IV. But here we have the Cipher contained on pages 
 •81 and 82 revealed by a number growing out of pages 73 and 74, eight or nine 
 pages distant. 
 
 Now this little scene of one column (scene 3, act ii, 2d Henry IV.) is literally 
 packed with Cipher words. I give only a fragment. 
 
 First we have : 
 
 505—29=476. 
 
 But I stated in the chapters in which I explained the Cipher rule that the 
 second group of modifiers was found in 73:1, and that they consisted of 27 or 28, 
 62 or 63, 90 and 79, and 141 or 142. Here we have in this brief sentence of seven 
 words these modifiers : 28 — 62 — 90. 
 
 If we deduct 28 from 476 we have 448; if we deduct from it 62 we have 414; 
 if we deduct from it 90, we have 386. Now, if these numbers, carried to a part of 
 the play eight pages distant from where they are obtained, produce a perfectly 
 coherent sentence, no one but an individual lacking in the ordinary faculties of the 
 human mind can believe that it is accidental. 
 
 Here, then, we have the sentence: 
 
 476—28=448—234 (81:2)=214. 
 
 83+9 b & *— 93. 
 476—62=414—134 (82:1)=280. 
 476—28=448—234 (81:2)=214. 
 476—62=414—296 (82:1)=118. 
 476—90=386—296 (82:1)=90. 
 
 296—214=82+1= 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 420—280=140+1= 
 
 92 
 141 
 
 82:1 
 81:2 
 
 Harry 
 at 
 
 186+118=304. 
 420—90=330+1= 
 
 214 
 304 
 331 
 
 82:1 
 81:2 
 81:2 
 
 length 
 
 persuaded 
 
 him 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 877 
 
 Word . 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 118 
 
 81:2 
 
 to 
 
 145 
 
 82:1 
 
 fly. 
 
 476-62=414—296 (82:1)=118. 
 476—90=386—234 (81 :2)=1 52 . 296—1 52=144 + 1= 
 
 And note that the first formula above, 476 — 28=448 — 234, carried up from the 
 end of the scene, gives us the 83d word (82:1), which is Marshal, and here is its 
 associate, Knight — the " Knight Marshal " was one of the officers of the court: 
 
 476— 28=448— 186 (81 :2)=262. 262 
 
 476— 28=448— 234 (81 :2)=214. 296—214=82+1= 83 
 
 81:2 Knight 
 82:1 Marshal. 
 
 But to make the first sentence plainer I give the following diagram, showing 
 the precise and regular movement of the four words — Harry at length persuaded: 
 
 Col. 2, p. 81 , 
 
 ^_Col._i, p.\82 
 
 'i x \ I 
 
 1 Harry \ \ 
 
 1 f \ 1 
 
 S ' 1 V J 
 
 1 / len ^ 
 
 8* 1 1 
 
 \ / 
 
 ^ 1 
 
 A 
 
 
 "E Scene 4 
 
 
 i J 
 
 
 T ' 
 
 V / 
 
 Or take the words Knight Marshal: 
 
 Col. 1, p. 81. ^ — . x Col. 2, p. 81 
 
 p. 82. 
 
 IMarshal 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 / 
 
 Scene 4 
 
 Those words — Harry at length persuaded - 
 of a Cipher in the Plays. 
 They stand thus: 
 
 476—28= 
 476—62= 
 
 476—28= 
 476—62= 
 
 But observe the movement of them: 
 
 ought alone to settle the question 
 
 Harry 
 
 at 
 
 length 
 
 persuaded. 
 
 ^ Of TMt 
 
 *T 
 
 ^HlVERS^ y 
 
 or 
 
878 THE CIPHER NA RRA TIVE. 
 
 476 — 28. Commence beginning scene 3, down, Harry 
 
 476 — 62 " end scene 3, «/, at 
 
 476 — 28 " beginning scene 3, dozun, iength 
 
 476 — 62 " end scene 3, up, persuaded. 
 
 But everywhere you touch with these numbers in this vicinity you bring out 
 significant words. For instance, 476 — 90 gave us 386 (which yielded him and fly). 
 But the same go (386 — 296=90), which, carried up 81:2, gave us him, carried down 
 the same column gives us go (90, 81:2), a word naturally connected with "per- 
 suaded him to fly; " and carried up from the end of the break in the same column 
 the same 90 gives us rode; and the same 476 — 28=448, carried through that same 
 first section of 81:2, leaves 262, and this, carried through the second section of 82:1 
 and down 82:2, plus the brackets, gives us muddy (" muddy roads "); and the same 
 90 taken downward from the end of first section of 81:2 yields vow (the road is now 
 muddy); and if we deduct from 476, instead of 90, its co-modifier, 79, we have left 
 397; and if we commence at the beginning of scene third, as before, and count 
 down and then up from the end of the scene, as in the other instances, we get the 
 word seek (the Knight Marshal comes to seek you): 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 476—79=397—234=163. 296—163=133+1=134 134. 82:1 seek. 
 
 And this same 163, down tew, plus the brackets, is armed (the armed soldiers 
 with the Knight Marshal). 
 
 And here we have the drunken brother alluded to. We saw that 505 — 29=476 
 — 28=448 produced, less the fragments in 81:2, Harry, length, muddy, etc. Now, 
 if, instead of counting from the beginning of scene third downward, through 234 
 words, we count upward, through 186 words, counting in that first word (for this 
 part of the narrative belongs to the third scene), we have the following: 
 
 476—28=448—186=262. 262 82:1 A 
 476—28=448—234=214—133 (82:1)=81. 425—81= 
 
 344 + 1^345. 345 82:2 swaggering 
 
 476—28=448—186=262—134 (82:1)=128— 5 k (134)= 123 82:2 rascal. 
 
 Here the 214 which produces swaggering is the same root-number that produced 
 length — " Harry at length persuaded," etc. And here we have the statement that 
 he was drunk, growing out of the same 414 which gave us persuaded: 
 
 476— 62=414— 234=180— 134 (82:1)=46— 5 // (134)= 41 82:2 drunk. 
 
 And so I might go on for another volume. 
 
 Here we have Shakspere's sister alluded to: Mistress Hart — see word 136, 82:2, 
 and word 78, 82:2; and again in Hart-de ere -Harry, 282, 81.2; and just as we 
 found the dear in this triple hyphenation spelled deere, because in the Cipher story 
 it referred to a deer, so we even have heart misspelled, to give us the correct spell- 
 ing of Shakspere's sister's name. Here we have it: 273, 80:2, hart ! 
 
 And here, growing out of the same root-number, 448, we have St. Albans: 
 
 476— 28=448— 134 (82:1)=314. 420—314=106+1= 107 81:2 St. Albans. 
 
 And if we count in the nine brackets in the column below St. Albans, we have 
 the word bestow; and if we count in both brackets and hyphens we have night; 
 and if we take 414 (476 — 62=414), which we have seen to alternate with 448, up 
 82:1, plus the brackets, it brings us to second; thus: 
 
 476— 28=448— 297 (82:1)— 151. 151 82:2 The 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 8 79 
 
 476—62=414. 430 (82:1) — 414=16+1=17+9 b col. 
 476—28=448—134=314. 420 (81 :2)— 314=106 + 1= 
 107+12 b& h=119. 
 
 And here we have: 
 
 Word. 
 = 26 
 
 119 
 
 169 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 82:1 
 
 81:2 
 
 81:2 
 8^:1 
 
 81:2 
 
 second 
 night 
 
 shall 
 bestow 
 
 at 
 
 82:1 St. Albans. 
 
 476—28=448—430 (82:1)=18. 186—18=168+1= 
 476—28=448—134 (82:1)=314. 420-314=106+1= 
 
 107+9 <5col.=116. 116 
 
 The second night we shall bestow ourselves at St. Albans. 
 
 476—28=448—297 (82:1)=151— 9/. (297)=142- 
 
 \b col. =141. 141 
 
 476— 28=448— 134 (82: 1)=314. 420—314=106+1= 107 
 
 Here the number 448 parts at the stage direction in 82:1, and carried up, back- 
 ward and down, it produces at, while carried down, backward and up, it produces 
 St. Albans .' 
 
 And observe how cunningly that at is made to do double duty, first in the sen- 
 tence, Harry at length persuaded, etc., and then in the above: 
 
 476— 62=414— 134 (82:1)=280. 420—280=140+1= 141 81:2 at 
 
 476—28=448—297 (82:1)=151— 9 b (297)=142— 
 
 l^col.=141. 141 81:2 at 
 
 Think of the infinite adjustments in every part of this text, any one of which 
 failing would destroy much of the Cipher narrative ! 
 
 And here, again, we have, out of the same root-numbers, The Merry Wives of 
 
 Windsor: 
 
 476—62=414—26 (85:l>=388+50 (84:1)=438. 
 476—28=448—186 (81 :2)=262— 57=205— 186 (81:2) 
 
 =19— l/zcol.=18. 
 476—62=414—186 (81:2)=228— 31 (79:1)=197— 
 
 ±b& h col. =193. 
 
 438 
 
 84:1 
 
 Merry 
 
 18 
 
 81:1 
 
 Wives 
 
 193 
 
 79:2 
 
 Windsor. 
 
 And here we have: 
 
 476—62=414—234(81:2) 
 
 —123=62+1=63. 
 476—28=448—186 (81 :2)=262. 
 
 +1=72+12 £ & h col.=84 
 
 180—57 (80:1)=123. 185 
 333 (85:1)— 262=71 
 
 84 
 
 81:2 
 
 85:1 
 
 Master 
 
 Francis. 
 
 The word Francis occurs in the Folio fifteen times; Francisco twice; Francois 
 once; and Frank ten times; or twenty-eight in all. It is probable that Bacon often 
 refers to himself under the disguise of France-is. France fills up nearly three col- 
 umns of Mrs. Clarke's Concordance, and is found in twenty of the Plays; even in 
 plays like The Merry Wives, the Merchant of Venice, the Comedy of Errors, and 
 Hamlet, where we would not naturally expect to meet it. 
 iii, scene 1, the word Francis is dragged in very oddly: 
 
 In Love's Labor Lost, act 
 
 Armado. Sirra Costard, I will infranchise thee. 
 
 Clown. O marry me to one Francis. I smell some Lenvoy, some goose in this. 
 
 Here infranchise is introduced to make a foundation for a pun on Francis. 
 But, as Costard is a man, he could not marry a man, and the word should be 
 
880 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 Frances, and so it is printed in the ordinary editions of to-day; but in the Folio of 
 1623 it is Francis ! And in the same play we have, act v, scene 1: 
 
 Pedant. Pa, pueritia, with a horn added. 
 Page. Ba, most seely sheepe, with a horn. 
 
 There is little meaning and no wit in this; but the word can added to Ba, with 
 the broad pronunciation of that age, would give us, with the misspelled Frances, 
 the whole name: Francis Ba-con. 
 
 But let us pass away from these examples and this part of 2d Henry IV., and 
 go backward, twenty-six columns, to act v, scene 1, of 1st Hetuy IV., and see if 
 the text there also responds to the magical influence of these same Cipher num- 
 bers. Some may say that I have shown nothing in the Cipher narrative that asserts 
 that Francis Bacon wrote the Plays. True; and that is one of the proofs of the 
 reality of the work I have performed. If I had wrought out only such sentences 
 as I desired, I would probably in the beginning have constructed a sentence directly 
 making the claim that " /, Francis Bacon, of St. Albans, son of the late Lord Chan- 
 cellor Nicholas Bacon, wrote the so-called Shakespeare Plays." But I could not find 
 what is not in the text; and I doubt if any such direct and distinct assertion of 
 authorship is made; nor would it be natural, when one thinks it over, that it should 
 be made; for if Bacon proceeds to give, in a long narrative, the history of his life, 
 he would advance, step by step, from his youth upward; we should hear of his 
 first essays in poetry; then of his first attempts at dramatic writing; then of his 
 acquaintance with Shakspere; then the history of a particular play; and so the 
 narrative would advance without any sign-board declaration of the kind supposed 
 above. But I have shown enough to satisfy any one that Shakspere did not write 
 the Plays; and I have also shown that the man who did write them was a certain 
 Master Francis, a cousin of Cecil, and that his father's name was Sir Nicholas; that 
 he resided at St. Albans. But here we have a reference to my uncle Burly, which 
 still further serves to identify the mysterious voice which is talking to us out of 
 these arithmetical adjustments, as the voice of the great Francis Bacon. And it 
 comes from another part of the text, showing that the Cipher is everywhere; and 
 it responds, not to 505, like the sentences I have just been giving, but to another 
 Cipher number, 523. 
 
 Let us commence with 523 at the beginning of scene 2, act i, 1st Henry IV., 
 page 70, column 1. From the first word, inclusive, of the scene, upward, we have 
 in the column 341 words: deduct 341 from 523. and we have 182 left; carry this up 
 the preceding column, and it brings us to the word burly: 
 
 Which gape and rub the elbow at the news 
 Of hurly burly innovation. 
 
 Why are these words not united by a hyphen, as are water-coloiirs, two lines 
 below them ? 
 
 Now, if we take that root-number 523 again, and commence at the same point, 
 but count down the column, instead of up, as in the last sentence, we pass through 
 138 words; and theee deducted from 523 leave 385; now deduct the common modi- 
 ifier, 30(74:2), and we have 355. Now, instead of going up 69:2, let us carry this 
 355 to the end of the first section of scene 1, act i, 69:1, and go upward; there are 
 179 words* from the end of that section to the top of the column; 179 deducted 
 from 355 leaves 176, and 176 carried down the preceding column (68:2) is uncle. 
 But if we count from the top of the second section of act i, scene r, we have 180 
 words, and this deducted from 355 leaves 175, which gives us the word my. Here 
 we have the words my uncle; and, growing out of precisely the same root-number^ 
 we have the word Burly, by a different count from that just given: 
 

 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 
 175 
 
 68:2 
 
 My 
 
 176 
 
 68:2 
 
 uncle 
 
 323 
 
 69:2 
 
 Burly. 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 88 1 
 
 523—138 (70:1)=385— 30 (74:2)=355— 180 (69:1)= 
 523—138=385—30=355—1 79 (69 : 1 )= 1 76. 
 523— 138=385— 60 (2d § 79:1)=325— 2 h col.— 
 
 Or, to give the word Burly, as at first stated, we have: 
 
 23-341=182. 504—182=322+1=323. 323 69:2 Burly. 
 
 Here the length of column 2 of page 69 was adjusted to the fragments of 70:1, 
 so that 523 would produce the word Burly both up and down the column ! 
 
 And observe how singularly this word uncle appears in the Plays. It is found but 
 once in each of the following plays: Merchant of Venice, All's Well, Comedy of 
 Errors and Cymbeline j but twice in each of the following plays: Tempest, Merry 
 Wives, Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet and Othello; while it is altogether absent 
 from The Two Gentlemen of Verona, Measure for Measure, Love s Labor Lost, Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream, The Taming of the Shrew, Twelfth Night, The Winters 
 Tale, Henry VIII. , Coriolanus, Timon of Athens, Julius Ciesar, Lear and Anthony 
 and Cleopatra. On the other hand, it is found eight times in King John, twenty 
 times in Richard II., ten times in 1st Henry 1 V., seventeen times in Richard III., and 
 eleven times in Troilus and Cressida. But while found ten times in 1st Henry IV. and 
 eight times in Henry V., it does not occur at all in the play between these, — 2d Henry 
 IV. ! There is no reason why uncle should appear eleven times in the Greek play 
 of Troilus and Cressida, and not at all in that other Greek play of Timon of Athens, 
 or in the Roman plays of Coriolanus and Julius Cesar, or why it should be found 
 twenty times in Richard II. and not at all in Henry VIII! The explanation will 
 be found to be, that in some plays Bacon is telling the history of his youth, with 
 which his uncle Burleigh had a great deal to do, while Lear, Timon of Athens, the 
 Roman plays, Hen?yVIII, etc., were written after his uncle's death, and the inter- 
 nal story does not relate to him, while the more youthful and joyoms plays, like The 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona and Love's Labor Lost, were composed before the dark 
 shadow of his kinsman's hostility fell upon his life. 
 
 And here is another significant fact. The difference between the first Burly 
 and the last is the difference of deducting the modifier 30. Now let us take the 
 last Burly and deduct the other modifier 50, that is, go down the column 50 words, 
 a~d what do we find ? Burly is the 323d word, 69:2, counting up the column; add 
 50 to 323 and we have 373, 69:2, and the 373d word is nephew ; and Bacon was 
 Burleigh's nephew ! Now take that same 186 and carry it through the first section of 
 scene 1, act i, 69:1 ; we have 122 or 123 left, accordingly as we count from the 179th 
 or 180th word; and we get the following words: 
 
 523—341=182—59=123. 123 69:2 Had 
 
 202 (68:2)— 122=80+1= 81 68:2 sought 
 
 202(68:2)— 123=79 -fl 
 
 82 68:2 to 
 
 202 (68:2)— 122=80+1 
 =81+2 //=83. 83 68:2 intrap 
 
 523— 341=182— 6 =422, 203 (68:2)— 122=81 + 1 
 
 =82 + 2/^=84. 84 68:2 me. 
 
 How? By excessive and extravagant praises of the Plays, hoping that in his 
 pride Bacon would admit the authorship. The accomplice of Burleigh and Cecil 
 in this work was Sir Walter (Raleigh), and Sir Walter is often referred to in the 
 text. Here we have him: 
 
 523- 
 
 -341= 
 
 =182- 
 
 -60= 
 
 =122. 
 
 523- 
 
 -341= 
 
 =182- 
 
 -59= 
 
 =123. 
 
 
 =80+2 h= 
 
 =82. 
 
 
 523—431= 
 
 =182- 
 
 -60= 
 
 =122. 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 205 
 
 68:2 
 
 Sir 
 
 -201 
 
 
 
 34 
 
 68:1 
 
 Walter. 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 523—138 (70:l)=3o5— 180 (69:1)— 205. 
 523—138 (70:1)=385— 30=355— 120 (69:1)=235- 
 
 (68:2)=34. 
 
 And here is the word praise: 
 
 523—138=385. 385 69:2 praise. 
 
 And the play they especially praised was The Famous Victories, one of the 
 early plays, here alluded to simply as the Victories. And the same root-num- 
 ber, 123, that produced sought to intrap vie, produces also Victories, thus : 
 
 523—341 (70:1)— 182— 66 (69:1)=123. 202—123=79+1=80. 68:2 Victories. 
 
 And note again, that while 523 — 138 (7o:i)=385, and this, counting from the 
 beginning of the second section of 69:1, produced sir, and from the top of the first 
 section of 69:1 produced Walter, that from the end of the first section of 69:1 it 
 leaves 206, and this less the modifier 30 is 176, and 176 is again uncle. 
 
 523—138=385—179=206—30=176. 176 68:2 uncle. 
 
 And I could go on and on ad infinitum, and show how 176 up from the end of scene 
 third (68:2) produces King; and I might then point to the word Richard's, 387, 69:1; 
 deposed, 25, 68:2; dtp rived, 31, 68:2; life, 35, 68:2; purpose, 180, 68:2; council-board, 
 92, 68:2; insurrection, 329, 69:2; rebellion, 296, 69:2; Sir Walter, 147-8, 68:2, and a 
 whole host of most significant words, every one of which has its Cipher arithmet- 
 ical arrangements. And here, too, is told the story of the sending of Percy to 
 Shakspere's home. There are 283 words in scene 1, act i, in column 1, page 69: 
 
 505— 193 (75 :1)=312— 283=29. 29 69:2 home. 
 
 And here we have the word strait growing out of precisely the same root as 
 home: 
 505— 193(75:1)=312— 59 (first section, act v, scene 1) 
 
 =253—191 (68:2)=62. 458—62=396+1—397. 397 68:1 strait. 
 
 And we saw that 29, carried forward to 69:2, made the word home, but carried 
 backward to 68:2 and down from the end of scene third, it gives us directed, thus: 
 
 505—193=312—288=29+202=231. 231 68:2 directed. 
 
 While counting in the four hyphens in 283 and in the column gives us 227, to; 
 and 312 — 120 (from top of act v to top of column)=i92, and the ig2d word, 69:2, is 
 bird, a rare word; the sentence is: directed him to go as straight as a bird flies to his 
 home; and 312—59 again =253, less the two hyphens in the column, gives us 251 
 (69:2), as; and 312 — 179 (from end section 1, scene 1, act v, up to top of column) 
 gives us 133; and 133 up the next preceding column (68:2) gives the 261st word, 
 a {straight as a bird); and then we have the word indirect: Percy is to go not by the 
 indirect ways, but straight as a bird flies, etc. 
 
 312—179=133. 133 68:2 indirect. 
 
 And 312 — 180 (from the top of second section, act v, scene 1, upward) = 132, 
 and this minus 50(74:2) leaves 82, and this carried to the beginning of scene 4(68:2) 
 and downward gives us understand (82 + 202=284, 68:2), while 83 (312 — 179= 
 133 — 50=83) carried up from the same point yields the 120th word, safety: to let 
 Shakspcre understand that his own safety requires him to fly. And so I might go 
 on and work out another volume of the story right here. 
 
FRAGMENTS. 
 
 S8 3 
 
 And now let us turn to some other fragments, for I desire to show that all the 
 Cipher numbers, 505, 506, 513, 516 and 523, applied in all parts of the text, pro- 
 duce coherent narratives, which I have now neither the space nor time to work out 
 in full. 
 
 Take the root-number 516 and deduct the 167 words in the second section of 
 74:2, and w r e have 349; now deduct the 22 b & // in 167, and we have 327. 
 
 And here we have a fragment of the statement of Cecil to the Queen, to-wit, 
 that, suspecting the real authorship of the Plays, the Earl of Shrewsbury went to the 
 Curtain (286, 75:1) Play-house to see Shakspere act: 
 
 516— 167=340— 22 b & h (167)=~327. 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 -284 (74:1)=43— 10 b (284)=33. 
 -50=277—248=29. 447—29= 
 
 73— 175+1- 
 
 448—73=375 
 
 349—22 b ft A— 827- 
 349—22 b & /^=327- 
 
 418+1=419. 
 349—22 b & //=327— 284 (74:1)— 48. 
 349—22 b & A— 827— 254— 73. 248- 
 
 176+3=179. 
 349—22 b a //— 327— 254 (75:1)— 73. 
 
 + 1=376. 
 349—22 b & A— 327— 50— 277— 248— 29 — 22 b (248)— 
 349—22 /,& /&— 327— 50— 277— 248— 29+440— 478. 
 349— 22/; & A— 327— 50— 277— 145— 182— 2 £—180. 
 349—22 b& //=327— 30=297— 50 (76:1)— 247— 146 
 
 (76:2) —101. 498—101=397+1=398. 
 349—22 b & h— 327— 49 (76:1)— 278— 254 24— 
 
 15 /, & /,=9. 508—9=499+1=500. 
 349_22 b ft A— 327— 49— 278. 
 349_22 b ft A— 827— 30— 297— 50— 247. 
 349—22 b & A— 827— 254 ( 75 :2 h- 78. 248—73=175 
 
 .4-1=1.76+4/; ft //— 180. 
 349—22 b ft A— 827— 80— 297— 50— 247— 3 *— 248. 
 349—22 b & *— 827— 50— 277— 248— 29— 22 b (248)= 
 349—22/^ & A— 827— 50— 277. 
 349—22 b & //=327— 50=277— 248=29. 447—29= 
 
 418+1=419+2 *— 421. 
 349—22 b ft //— 327— 193=134. 284—134=150+1= 
 349—224 ft A— 327— 50— 277— 145(76:2)— 132— 
 
 8 b & //=124. 
 
 33 
 
 419 
 43 
 
 179 
 
 376 
 
 478 
 130 
 
 398 
 
 78:2 
 
 75:1 
 73:2 
 
 The 
 
 Earl 
 of 
 
 r4:2 Shrewsbury 
 
 76:1 
 75:1 
 76:1 
 75:2 
 
 76:1 
 
 tells 
 me 
 he 
 saw 
 
 him 
 
 500 
 
 75:2 
 
 act. 
 
 278 
 
 76:2 
 
 He 
 
 247 
 
 76:2 
 
 said, 
 
 180 
 
 74:2 
 
 I 
 
 243 
 
 76:2 
 
 assure 
 
 7 
 
 74:1 
 
 you 
 
 277 
 
 76:2 
 
 your 
 
 421 
 
 75:1 
 
 divination 
 
 151 
 
 74:1 
 
 is 
 
 124 
 
 "4:2 
 
 right. 
 
 And he goes on to say that he — 
 
 349_22 b ft 7^=327— 50=277— 219 (74:2)— 58. 
 
 498—58=440+1=441. 441 76:1 never 
 
 349—22 b ft A— 827— 50— 277— 248— 29+193— 222 
 
 2 //=220. 220 75:1 witnessed 
 
 such a performance; that he had to stuff his quoife (his cap) into his mouth to keep 
 from laughing out loud. Shakspere was acting the part of Hotspur, and the Earl 
 says: " He speaks the rude tongue of the peasant-towns of the West ever since the 
 Conquest," and — 
 349-22 b & *— 827— 49 (76:1)— 278. 278 75:2 his 
 
88 4 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRA T1VE. 
 
 
 Word. 
 
 Pagre and 
 Column. 
 
 349—22 b & £=327— 30=297— 50=247- 
 
 -146=101—3 
 
 
 =98—50=48—1 A— 47. 
 
 47 
 
 76:2 
 
 walk 
 
 is grotesque and laughable. 
 
 And Cecil then gives in detail Shakspere's history after he first came to Lon- 
 don, when he was — 
 
 349—22 £ & 4=327—30=297. 
 
 349—22 £ & 4=327—50=277. 448—277=171 + 1= 
 
 349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—50 (76:1)— 247. 
 
 because Sir Thomas was furious: My — 
 
 349-22 b & 4=327— 30=297— 193=104 +£=104. 
 349—22 b & 4=327—50=277. 477—277=170+1 
 
 =171. 
 349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—50 (76:1)=247. 
 508—247=261 + 1=262. 
 
 And Shakspere would have been — 
 
 349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—145=132. 
 
 349—22 b & 4=327—50=277. 
 
 349—22 b & 4=327—30=297—193=104—15 b & 4= 
 
 89— 50 (76:1)=39 +457=496. 496 76:2 robbery. 
 
 And Cecil's friend Morton — 
 
 349—254 (75:1)=95. 
 
 349_146 (76:2)=203. 448—203=245+1=246. 
 
 349—146 (76:2)=203— 22 £=181. 
 
 349—50 (76: 1)=299— 27 £=272. 
 
 349—254=95—15 ^ & / /= 80+50 (74:2)=130. 
 
 -,49—253=96. 284—96=188+1=189 + 6 4=195. 
 
 349—145=204— 3 b (145)=201. 
 
 349—22 b & 4=327—50=277—49 (76:1)=228. 
 
 3^_22 b & 4=327—30=297—193=104—15 b & 4= 
 
 349— 22 £ & 4=327—50=277—145=132—2 £=130. 
 
 349—22 £ & 4=327— 30=297— 50 (76:1 )=247— 146= 
 
 101. 498—101=397+1=398. 398 76:1 
 
 297 
 172 
 
 247 
 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 76:1 
 
 constrained 
 to 
 
 fly 
 
 104 
 
 75:2 
 
 Lord 
 
 171 
 
 75:1 
 
 was 
 
 262 
 
 75:2 
 
 furious. 
 
 132 
 
 277 
 
 77:1 
 76:1 
 
 hanged 
 for 
 
 95 
 
 75:2 
 
 remembered 
 
 246 
 
 76:1 
 
 well 
 
 181 
 
 75:2 
 
 his 
 
 272 
 
 75:2 
 
 appearance 
 
 130 
 
 74:2 
 
 the 
 
 195 
 
 74:1 
 
 first 
 
 201 
 
 77:1 
 
 time 
 
 228 
 
 74:2 
 
 he 
 
 89 
 
 75:2 
 
 ever 
 
 130 
 
 75:2 
 
 saw 
 
 him. 
 
 And here we have again, growing out of this root-number, 349, the name of 
 Marlowe: 
 
 349— 193(75:1)=! 56. 
 349—254 (75:1)=95— 30= 
 + 6£&4 col. =226. 
 
 =65. 284—65=219+1=220 
 
 156 
 
 226 
 
 75:2 
 
 74:1 
 
 More 
 
 low. 
 
 And he describes Shakspere running about the inn-yards, with lanthorn in 
 hand, ready to run an errand or hold a horse. Then he says he was a servant of 
 Henslow, corroborating the tradition which said he entered the play-house first " as 
 a serviture," or servant. 
 
 349— 22 £ & 4=327—254=73- 
 + 1=206+1 £ col.=207. 
 
 -30=43. 248—43=205 
 
 207 
 
 74:2 servant. 
 
 And here we have the name of Philip Henslow: 
 
FRAGMENTS. 885 
 
 Page and 
 Word. Column. 
 
 349—22 b & A— 327— 50 (74:2)— 277— 50(76:1)=227— 31 
 
 (79:1)— 196— j b (31)— 191— 162— 29. 610—29= 
 
 581+2 >&— 583. 583 77:2 Philip 
 
 349—22 £& 4=327— 30=297— 193 (75:1)— 104* 
 
 508—104=404+1=405+14=406. 406 75:2 Hence \ 
 
 349— 22 4 & 4=327—50=277—218 (74:2 >=59. 284— [ 
 
 59=225^1=226. 226 74:1 low. J 
 
 Observe how craftily Philip is hidden in the text. Falstaff says: "If I do 
 Jillop me with a three-man-beetle." 
 
 The whole thing is forced. A Jillop with a beetle swung by three men is 
 absurd; and why are three man beetle all hyphenated? Because if they were not 
 this count would not match ! And note, too, how the same number, 516—167= 
 349 — 22 b& 4—327 produces low in More-4?7c and Hence/c^', reaching the same 
 word low {22b, 74:1) up the same column by 65 and 59. Why ? Because there are 
 six hyphenated words at the end of column 1, page 74: " peasant-towns," " worm- 
 eaten-hole," "smooth-comforts-false," and " true wrongs ;" all in eight lines and 
 all below low; so that 59 without these extraordinary hyphenations produces low; 
 and 65 with these extraordinary hyphenations produces the same word low. So that 
 to produce these two sets of words, More-low and Philip Hence-low, here given, 
 thirteen words had to be pounded together, by hyphenating them, so as to count as 
 Jive words ! Was ever anything like it seen in the annals of literature ? 
 
 But how was Shakspere serving Henslow ? He was — 
 349—22 b & k— 327— 60— 277— 26 b & /,— 25 1 . 251 75:2 then 
 
 349—22 b & 4=327— 30— 2 f J7— 49 (76: 1 ;=248. 508 
 
 —248=260+1=261 +6 4— 267. 267 75:2 laboring 
 
 for him; he was in his service : 
 
 349—22 b&h= 827— 30— 297— 50— 247— 146 (76:2) 
 
 —101. 577—101=476+1=477. 477 77:1 service 
 
 He was acting first in the capacity of call-boy, to summon the actors, when 
 their time came, to go upon the stage. Here we have it : 
 
 349—22 b & 4=327— 50=277— 193=84— 10 b (193)= 
 349—22 b & A— 327— 50— 277— 193— 84. 
 349—22 b & 4—327— 30=297— 50=247— 7 b & 4— 
 349—22 b ft A— 827— 193— 134— 5 A (193)— 129— 50 
 
 (76:1)— 79. 603—79=524+1=525. 525 76:2 call 
 
 349—22 b ft 4=327— 50—277— 193=84— 10 b (173)— 
 
 74. 458+74—532. 532 76:2 boy. 
 
 And then we have the whole story of Bacon's trouble at the death of Marlowe; 
 for although in one sense he was glad that so blatant and dangerous a fellow was 
 not to be brought before the Council to be questioned as to the authorship of his 
 Plays, yet Bacon found himself without a mask. He consulted Harry Percy, 
 who recommended Shakspere as a shrewd, prudent, cunning, close-mouthed man, 
 not likely to fall into the troubles which had overtaken Marlowe. And we have, in 
 the Cipher narrative, the whole story of Bacon sending Percy to interview Shak- 
 spere, whom he found not, as he did later, in silken apparel: 
 523—167 (74:2)— 356— 22 b & h (167)— 334. 603-334= 
 
 269+1—270. 270 76:2 He 
 
 74 
 
 75:2 
 
 The 
 
 84 
 
 75:2 
 
 office 
 
 240 
 
 76:2 
 
 of 
 
886 
 
 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334—30=304. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334—50=284. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=234— 50=284— 4 b col.— 
 523—167=356—22 I & 4=334—30=304. 
 523—167=356—22 b & h— 334— 80— 804. 447—304 
 
 =143+1=144. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334. 457-334=123+ 
 
 1=124. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334—50 (74:2)=284— 163 
 
 (78:1)— 121— 1 h col.— 120. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334—50=284—50 (76:1)= 
 
 234—146=88—3 b (146)— 85. 577—85=492+1= 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334—50=284—50=234— 
 
 146=88—3 b (146)— 85. 
 523—167=356—22 b & 4=334—50=284—49 (76:1)= 
 
 235— 3 4 col.— 232. 
 523—167—356—22 b & 4= 334— 50=284. 603—284 
 
 =319+1—320. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 304 
 
 75:1 
 
 found 
 
 284 
 
 76:1 
 
 him 
 
 280 
 
 76:2 
 
 not 
 
 304 
 
 76:1 
 
 in 
 
 144 
 
 75:1 
 
 silken 
 
 124 
 334 
 
 76:2 
 76:2 
 
 apparel, 
 with 
 
 120 
 
 76:2 
 
 silver 
 
 493 
 
 77:1 
 
 buckles 
 
 85 
 
 77:1 
 
 in 
 
 232 
 
 76:2 
 
 his 
 
 320 
 
 76:2 
 
 shoes. 
 
 And here we have the very picture of hoi 
 at the Curtain: 
 
 Percy drew him aside one night 
 
 523— 167— 356— 22 b & 7;— 334— 50— 284. 284 75:1 drew 
 523—167—356—22 b & 4=334—30=304—50 (76:1)= 
 
 254— 145 (76:2)— 109. 109 77:2 aside 
 
 523— 167=356— 22 4 & 4=334—30=304— 13 b col. = 291 75:1 night 
 
 and made him an offer of one-half of all that might be earned by the Plays if he 
 would father them. But I must stay my hand and reserve all this for the future. 
 
 But here is another fragment, and the last, which I will throw into the hopper. 
 When the wounded Shakspere, after his fight with the gamekeepers, was bailed out 
 and taken to his father's bouse, the village doctor, an apothecary, was sent for; and 
 he told Shakspere's father that the young man had better fly; that, though his wounds 
 were not dangerous, he had but a slender chance for his life, because of the wrath 
 of Sir Thomas. He — 
 
 505— 167=338— 22 6 m A=316. 
 
 316—50=266—50 (76:1)=216— 9 b & 4=207. 207 
 
 316—50=266. 448—266=182+1=183. 183 
 
 316—50=266—49=217—145=72—49=23+457= 480 
 316—193=123. 123 
 
 316—50 (74:2)=266— 50(76:1)— 216. 284—216=68+1=69 
 316—49=267—145=122. 448—122=326+1=327. 327 
 316—49=267—50=217—145=72. 577—72=505+1=506 
 316—50=206—50=216—145=71—5 b & 4=66. 66 
 
 316—49=267—145=122. 577—122=455+1=456. 456 
 316—49=267—145=122—3 /;(145)=119. 119 
 
 316—253=63. 448—63—385+1=386. 386 
 
 76:1 
 
 feared 
 
 76:1 
 
 that 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 75:2 
 
 had 
 
 74:1 
 
 but 
 
 76:1 
 
 a 
 
 77:1 
 
 slender 
 
 76:1 
 
 chance 
 
 77:1 
 
 for 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 76:1 
 
 life. 
 
 And he advised: 
 
FRA GA 
 
 IENTS. 
 
 316— 193=123— 15 b & h (193)— 108. 
 
 
 that — 
 
 
 S87 
 
 316—49=267. 457— 267=190+ 1=191. 
 316—50=266—3 /fc=263. 
 316-49=267— 145=122— 3 b (145)=119. 
 316—49=267. 457—267=190+1=191+5 £=196. 
 316— 50=266— 50=216— 50=166— 1/;=165. 
 
 And he proceeds to tell the gossip of the village: 
 
 316—193=123—15 b & h (193) — 1 08— 50=58. 603— 
 
 58=545+1=546. 
 316—145=171. 
 316—145=171. 
 
 316—145=171. 448—171=277+1=278. 
 316—50=266—145=121—2 //= 119. 
 316—145=171—3 b (145)=168. 
 316—248=68. 
 
 316—30=286—49 (76:1)— 287. 
 316—49=267—5 b col.— 262. 
 316—49=267. 603—267=336+1=337. 
 316—49=267—15/; & //=252. 
 
 316—145=171—3 b (145)— 168. 577—168=409+1= 
 316—30=286—145=141. 
 316—30=286—50=236. 603—236=367+1=368+ 
 
 8 £=376. 
 316— 145=171— 3 b (145)— 168. 577—168=409+1= 
 
 410+3/^=413. 
 316—50=266—145=121—3 b (145)— 118. 577—118 
 
 =459+1=460+3/^ col.— 463. 
 316—145 (76:2)— 171. 577—171—406+1=407. 
 316—30—286—49=237. 457—237=220+1=221 + 
 
 5 b col.— 226. 
 316—193—123—15 b & /*— 108. 448—108—340+1— 
 316—50 (74:2)— 266— 49(76:1)— 217. 603—217—386 
 
 + 1=387+33(145)— 390. 
 316— 50(74:2)— 266— 50 (76:1)=216. 
 316—50 (74:2)— 266— 50 (76:1)— 216— 145— 71. 284— 
 
 71=213+1=214+6 /;=220. 
 316—50=266—146=120—3 b col. =117. 
 316—49=267—7 h & £=260. 
 
 316—50=266—145=121. 498—121=377+1=378. 
 316— 146=170— 3 b (146)— 167. 508—167=341 + 1= 
 
 342+6=348. 
 316—193=123—15 b & h (193)— 108— 50=58+457= 
 
 515— 3 £=512. 
 316—193=123—49 (76:1)— 74. 
 316—49 (76:1 )— 267— 145=122. 
 316—145 (76:2)=171— 145=26. 448—26=322+1= 
 316— 49 (76:1) =267— 15 b & h col. =252. 
 316-248 (74:2)— 68. 
 
 Word. 
 
 Page and 
 
 Column. 
 
 
 108 
 
 76:1 
 
 advised 
 
 191 
 
 76:2 
 
 he 
 
 263 
 
 76:2 
 
 should 
 
 119 
 
 77:1 
 
 leave 
 
 196 
 
 76:2 
 
 at 
 
 165 
 
 75:2 
 
 once. 
 
 546 
 
 76:2 
 
 I 
 
 171 
 
 77:1 
 
 heard 
 
 171 
 
 278 
 
 76:2 
 76:1 
 
 say 
 that 
 
 119 
 
 76:1 
 
 his 
 
 168 
 68 
 
 76:1 
 74:1 
 
 Lordship 
 who 
 
 237 
 
 76:2 
 
 is 
 
 262 
 
 78:1 
 
 an 
 
 337 
 
 76:2 
 
 honest 
 
 252 
 
 76:1 
 
 man, 
 
 410 
 
 77:1 
 
 but 
 
 141 
 
 76:1 
 
 not 
 
 376 
 
 76:2 
 
 as 
 
 413 
 
 77:1 
 
 patient 
 
 463 
 
 77:1 
 
 as 
 
 407 
 
 77:1 
 
 Job, 
 
 226 
 
 76:2 
 
 was 
 
 341 
 
 76:1 
 
 in 
 
 390 
 
 76:2 
 
 the 
 
 216 
 
 75:2 
 
 greatest 
 
 220 
 
 117 
 
 74:1 
 76:1 
 
 rage, 
 and 
 
 260 
 
 76:2 
 
 said 
 
 378 
 
 76:1 
 
 he 
 
 348 
 
 r5:2 
 
 512 
 
 76:2 
 
 going 
 
 74 
 
 76:2 
 
 to 
 
 122 
 
 77:1 
 
 hang 
 
 323 
 
 76:1 
 
 every 
 
 252 
 
 7'-:l 
 
 mm 
 
 68 
 
 74:1 
 
 who 
 
Word. 
 
 Page and 
 Column. 
 
 
 61 
 
 75:1 
 
 was 
 
 171 
 
 76:1 
 
 engaged 
 
 256 
 
 75:1 
 
 in 
 
 358 
 
 76:1 
 
 the 
 
 394 
 
 78:1 
 
 destruction 
 
 113 
 
 76:1 
 
 of 
 
 154 
 
 77:2 
 
 his 
 
 324 
 
 76:1 
 
 fish 
 
 328 
 
 76:1 
 
 pond. 
 
 888 7 HE CIPHER NA RKA 7 7 1 r E. 
 
 316—248 (74:2)=68— 7 b col.=61. 
 
 316— 145(76:2)=171. 
 
 316—248=68+193=261—5 b & h col.=256. 
 
 31 6— 30=286— 145=141 . 498—141=357 +1=358 . 
 
 316—50=266—32 (79:2)— 384+102— 896— 2 h col .= 
 
 316— 50=266— 145 (76:2)— 121— 3 b (145)=118— 
 
 ! 5 b ft h col.=113. 
 
 316—162 (78:1)— 154. 
 
 316—30=286—161 (78:1)— 125. 448—125=323+1= 
 
 316—145 (76:2)— 171. 498—171=327+1=328. 
 
 And Shakspere's father tells him that many a man had been hanged for a 
 less offense; and that Sir Thomas would not scruple to give him the full extent of 
 the law; and that it did not take much in that day to send a man to the gallows, and 
 that he had better fly. And he sends him off with his parental blessing and a very 
 little money. 
 
 And here, before closing the Cipher narrative, I would say that it may be 
 objected that I have not given in detail much of the story set forth in the pros- 
 pectus and preliminary notice of my book, as to Bacon's attempted suicide and 
 Percy's visit to Stratford. This is true, but I have given much that I did not 
 promise, such as Shakspere's marriage and the description of Ann Hathaway. 
 And instead of furnishing the reader with a book of seven hundred pages, as 
 promised, I submit to him a book of nearly one thousand pages. 
 
 And the question may be asked, " Did Shakspere know there was a cipher in 
 the Plays asserting Bacon's authorship and exposing his own pretensions ? " I 
 think he did. I think that famous visit of Ben Jonson to Stratford, shortly before 
 his death, conveyed to him the intelligence, and that he requested Bacon to write 
 an inscription for his tombstone that would prevent his bones being cast out 
 when the exposure came. But he took a still further and most remarkable pre- 
 caution. 
 
 There has been found recently (1884) in the Bodleian Library an old letter from 
 a certain William Hall, a Queen's College man, who took his B. A. degree in 
 October, 1694, to Edward Thwaites, of Queen's College, a well-known Anglo- 
 Saxon scholar. Halliwell-Phillipps pronounces the letter genuine, and has printed 
 it for private circulation, with a preface, in which he* shows that it was probably 
 written in December, 1694, seventy-eight years after Shakspere's death. Mr. 
 Hall was visiting Stratford and wrote to his " dear Neddy." He quotes the famous 
 lines on the tombstone, and adds, " The little learning these verses contain would 
 be a very strong argument of the want of it in the author." He says that Shak- 
 spere ordered those four lines to be cut on his tombstone during his life-time, and 
 that he did so because he feared his bones might some day be removed; and he 
 further says that they buried him " full seventeen feet deep; deep enough to secure 
 him ! " 
 
 And so, seventeen feet below the surface, and with those famous lines above 
 him: 
 
 Blest be the man that spares these stones, 
 And cursed be he that moves my bones, 
 
 Shakspere awaits the revelation of the Cipher. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 A WORD PERSONAL. 
 
 Report me and my causes right 
 To the unsatisfied. Hamlet, p, j. 
 
 I BEGAN this book with an apology; I end it with another. 
 No one can be more conscious of its defects than I am. So 
 great a subject demanded the utmost care, deliberation and per- 
 fection; while my work has, on the other hand, been performed with 
 the utmost haste and under many adverse circumstances. 
 
 It was my misfortune to have announced, in 1884, that I believed 
 I had found a Cipher in the Plays. From the time I put forth that 
 claim until the copy was placed in the hands of the publishers, I 
 made no effort to advertise my book. But the assertion was so 
 startling, and concerned writings of such universal interest, that it 
 could not be suffered to fall unnoticed. I felt, at the same time, 
 that I owed some duties to the nineteenth century, as well as to the 
 sixteenth, and hence my work was greatly broken in upon by 
 public affairs. After a time the reading world became clamorous 
 for the proofs of my surprising assertion; and many were not slow 
 to say that I was either an impostor or a lunatic. Goaded by these 
 taunts, I made arrangements to publish before I was really ready to 
 do so; and then set to work, under the greatest strain and the 
 highest possible pressure, to try to keep my engagements with my 
 publishers. But the reader can readily conceive how slowly such a 
 Cipher work as this must have advanced, when every word was a 
 sum in arithmetic, and had to be counted and verified again and 
 again. In the meantime upon my poor devoted head was let loose < 
 a perfect flood-tide of denunciation, ridicule and. misrepresentation 
 from three-fourths of the newspapers of America and England. I 
 could not pause in my work to defend myself, but had to sit, in the 
 midst of an arctic winter, and patiently endure it all, while working 
 
 889 
 
89c THE CIPHER NARRA TIVE. 
 
 from ten to twelve hours every day, at a kind of mental toil the 
 most exhausting the human mind is capable of. 
 
 These facts will, I trust, be my excuse for all the crudeness, 
 roughness, repetitions and errors apparent in these pages. 
 
 In the Patent Office they require the inventor to state clearly 
 what he claims. I will follow that precedent. 
 
 I admit, as I have said before, that my workmanship in the 
 elaboration of the Cipher is not perfect. There are one or two 
 essential points of the Cipher rule that I have not fully worked 
 out. I think that I see the complete rule, but I need more leisure 
 to elaborate and verify it abundantly, and reduce my workmanship 
 to mathematical exactness. 
 
 But I claim that, beyond a doubt, there is a Cipher in the so-called 
 Shakespeare Plays. 
 
 The proofs are cumulative. I have shown a thousand of them. 
 
 No honest man can, I think, read this book through and say 
 that there is nothing extraordinary, unusual and artificial in the 
 construction of the text of 1st and 2d Henry IV. No honest man 
 will, I think, deny the multitudinous evidences I present that the 
 text ; words, brackets and hyphens have been adjusted arithmet- 
 ically to the necessity of matching the ends of scenes and fragments 
 of scenes with certain root-numbers of a Cipher. No man can pre- 
 tend that such words and phrases as the following could come in 
 this, or any other book, by accident, held together in every case 
 by the same Cipher numbers: 
 
 The Names of Plays. 
 
 1. Measure for Measure, three times repeated. 
 
 2. Contention of York and Lancaster, three times repeated. 
 
 3. The Merry Wives of Windsor, twice repeated. 
 
 4. Richard the Second, twice repeated. 
 
 5. Richard the Third, given once. 
 
 6. King John, twice repeated. 
 
 The Names of Persons. 
 
 1. Shakspere, repeated about twenty times. 
 
 2. Marlowe, repeated several times. 
 
 3. Archer, used once. 
 
 4. Philip Hensloiv, used once in full, and twice without first name. 
 
 5. Field, several times repeated. 
 
 6. Cecil, many times repeated. 
 
 7. The Earl of Shrewsbury, two or three times repeated. 
 
 ■\ 
 
A WORD PERSONAL. 891 
 
 8. Sir Thomas Lucy, twice repeated. 
 .9. Hayward. 
 
 10. Harry Percy, many times repeated. 
 
 1 1 . Master Francis. 
 
 12. My Uncle Burleigh, twice repeated. 
 
 13. My Lord John, the Bishop of Worcester, used twice. 
 
 14. Del hick, King of Arms. * 
 
 15. Ann Hathaway. 
 
 16. Ann Whatley, twice repeated. * 
 
 17. King Harry \ father of the present Queen. 
 
 18. Sir Nicholas^ twice repeated. 
 
 19. Sir Walter. 
 
 Names of Places. 
 
 1. St. Albans, twice repeated. 
 
 2. The Fortune Play-house. 
 
 3. The Curtain Play-house. 
 
 4. Nexv-Place. 
 
 5. Gui negate. 
 
 6. The Fire of Smith field. 
 
 7. Holland. 
 
 S. The Low Countries. 
 
 9. The fish pond, twice repeated. 
 
 Significant Phrases. 
 
 1. The old jade, many times repeated. 
 
 2. The old termagant, many times repeated. 
 
 3. My cousin, many times repeated. 
 
 4 . The roi 'a 1 1\ 'rant. 
 
 5. The royal maiden. 
 
 6. The rascally knave. 
 
 7. A butcher s 'prentice. 
 
 8. Glove-making, two or three times repeated. 
 
 9. The King's evil. 
 
 10. Fifteen hundred and fifteen. 
 
 Now I submit to all fair-minded men whether this is not an 
 astonishing array of words to find in about a dozen pages of the 
 text of two plays; and whether there is any other writing on earth 
 in which, in the same space, these words can be duplicated. I can- 
 not believe there is. But remember that not only are these sig- 
 nificant and most necessary words found in this brief compass, but 
 they fit exactly into sentences every word of which grows out of 
 the same determinate Cipher number. But, in addition to all this, 
 remember the dense packing of some columns, and the sparse con- 
 dition of the adjoining columns; remember how heart is spelled 
 hart where it refers to Shakspere's sister; remember how and it is 
 
Sg2 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 spelled an't, and not and't, where allusion is had to Bacon's aunt; 
 remember how dear is spelt deere when it refers to deer; remember 
 how sperato is separated by a hair space into sper ato, so as to give 
 the terminal syllable of Shake-sper ; remember how the rare word 
 rabbit is found in the text precisely cohering, arithmetically, with 
 hunting. Then turn to the Cipher story on page 79 of the Folio, 
 where not only scattered words come out, but where whole long 
 series of words are so adjusted, with the aid of the brackets and 
 hyphens, as to follow precisely the order of the words in the play ! 
 Then remember how every part of this Cipher story fits precisely 
 into what we know historically to be true; and, although much 
 of it is new, that part is, in itself, probable and reasonable. 
 
 The world will either have to admit that there is a Cipher in the 
 Plays, or that in the construction of this narrative I have manifested 
 an ingenuity as boundless as that which I have attributed to Bacon. 
 But I make no such claim. No ingenuity could create the words 
 necessary to tell this extraordinary story, unless they were in the 
 text. Take Bulwer's Richelieu, or Byron's Ma?ifred, or Goldsmith's 
 She Stoops to Conquer, or any other dramatic composition of the last 
 hundred years, and you will seek in vain for even one-tenth of 
 the significant words found herein; and as to making any of these 
 modern plays tell a coherent, historical tale, by counting with the 
 same number from the ends of scenes and fragments of scenes, it 
 would be altogether and absolutely impossible. 
 
 I do not blame any man for having declared a priori against the 
 possibility of there being a Cipher in the Plays. On the face of it 
 such a claim is improbable, and, viewed from our nineteenth century 
 standpoint, and in the light of our free age, almost absurd. I 
 could not, in the first instance, have believed it myself. I advanced 
 to the conception slowly and reluctantly. I expected to find only 
 a brief assertion of authorship, a word or two to a column. If any 
 man had told me five years ago that these two plays were such an 
 exquisite and intricate piece of microscopic mosaic-work as the facts 
 show them to be, I should have turned from him with contempt. I 
 could not have believed that any man would involve himself in 
 such incalculable labor as is implied in the construction of such a 
 Cipher. We may say the brain was abnormal that created it. But 
 
A WORD PERSONAL. 893 
 
 how, after all, can we judge such an intellect by the ordinary 
 standard of mankind ? If he sought immortality he certainly 
 has achieved it, for, once the human family grasps the entirety of 
 this inconceivable work, it will be drowned in an ocean of wonder. 
 The Plays may lose their charm; the English language may perish; 
 but tens of thousands of years from now, if the world and civilization 
 endure, mankind will be talking about this extraordinary welding 
 together of fact and fiction; this tale within a tale; this sublime and 
 supreme triumph of the human intellect. Beside it the Iliad will be 
 but as the rude song of wandering barbarians, and Paradise Lost a. 
 temporary offshoot of Judaism. 
 
 I trust no honest man will feel constrained, for consistency's sake, 
 because he has judged my book unheard, to condemn it heard. It 
 will avail nothing to assail me. I am not at issue. And you cannot 
 pound the life out of a fact with your fists. A truth has the inde- 
 structibility of matter. It is part of God: the threads of continu- 
 ity tie it to the throne of the Everlasting. 
 
 Edmund Burke said in a debate in Parliament about the popu- 
 lation of the American colonies: "While we are disputing they 
 grow to it." And so, even while the critics are writing their essays, 
 to demonstrate that all I have revealed is a fortuitous combination 
 of coincidence, keen and able minds will be taking up my imperfect 
 clues and reducing the Cipher rule to such perfection that it will be 
 as useless to deny the presence of the sun in the heavens as to deny 
 the existence of the inner story in the Plays. 
 
 And what a volume of historical truths will roll out of the text 
 of this great volume ! The inner life of kings and queens, the high- 
 est, perhaps the basest, of their kind; the struggles of factions in the 
 courts; the interior view of the birth of religions; the first coloniza- 
 tion of the American continent, in which Bacon took an active part, 
 and something of which is hidden in The Tempest; the death of Mary 
 Queen of Scots; the Spanish Armada, told in Loves Labor Lost; the 
 religious wars on thecontinent; the story of Henry of Navarre; the real 
 biography of Essex; the real story of Bacon's career; his defense of his 
 life, hidden in Henry VIII. , his own downfall, in cipher, being told 
 in the external story of the downfall of Wolsey. What historical 
 facts may we not expect, of which that account of the introduction 
 
894 THE CIPHER NARRATIVE. 
 
 of " the dreaded and incurable malady " into England is a specimen; 
 what philosophical reflections; what disquisitions on religion; what 
 profound and unrestrained meditations ! It will be, in short, the 
 inner story of the most important era in human history, told by the 
 keenest observer and most powerful writer that has ever lived. And 
 then think of the light that will be thrown upon the Plays them- 
 selves; their purposes, their history, their meaning ! A great light 
 bursting from a tomb, and covering with its royal effulgence the 
 very cradle of English Literature. 
 
 And so I trust my long-promised book to the tender mercies of 
 my fellow-men, saying to them in the language of the old rhyme: 
 
 Be to its faults a little blind, 
 And to its virtues very kind. 
 
BOOK III. 
 •CONCLU/iORT 
 
 "Delayed, 
 But nothing altered. What I was, I zsm? 
 
 WnferJr7afe,/K3. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 CONCLUSIONS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DELIA BACON. 
 
 Patience and sorrow strove 
 Which should express her goodliest. 
 
 King Lear, iv y j. 
 
 NO work in regard to the Baconian theory would be complete 
 without some reference to Miss Delia Bacon, who first an- 
 nounced to the world the belief that Francis Bacon was the real 
 author of the Plays. 
 
 America should especially cherish the memory of this distin- 
 guished lady. Our literature has been, to too great an extent, a col- 
 onial imitation, oftentimes diluted, of English originals. But here 
 is a case where one of our own transplanted race, out of the depths of 
 her own consciousness, marshaled to her conclusions by her pro- 
 found knowledge, advanced to a great and original conception. 
 
 I. '. ; ; Bacon's Biography. 
 
 I am indebted to Mr. W. H. Wyman 1 for the following notes of 
 Miss Bacon's biography: 
 
 Delia Bacon was born in Tallmadge, Ohio, February 2, 181 1. She was the 
 daughter of Rev. David Bacon, one of the early Western missionaries, and sister 
 of the late Rev. Dr. Leonard Bacon. She was educated at Miss Catharine E. 
 Beecher's school, in Hartford, and is described as a woman of rare intellect and 
 attainments. Her profession was that of a teacher and lecturer: the first woman, 
 
 1 Bacon-Shakespeare Bibliography. 
 
 899 
 
9°° CONCL USIONS. 
 
 Mrs. Farrar says, whom she had ever known to speak in public. At this time 
 she resided in Boston. Having conceived the idea of the Baconian authorship, 
 she became a monomaniac on the subject. Visiting England, in 1853, m search of 
 proofs for her theory, she spent five years there; first at St. Albans, where she sup- 
 posed Bacon to have written the Plays; then at London, where she wrote The Philoso- 
 phy of Shakespeare Unfolded, and subsequently at Stratford-on-Avon. Here, after 
 the publication and non-success of her book, she lost her reason wholly and 
 entirely. She was returned to her friends' in Hartford, in April, 1858, and died 
 there, September 2, 1859. 
 
 Mrs. John Farrar, in her interesting little book, Recollections of 
 Seventy Years, (pp. 319, etc.), gives the following account of Miss 
 Bacon's first appearance as a lecturer: 
 
 The first lady whom I ever heard deliver a public lecture was Miss Delia 
 Bacon, who opened her career in Boston, as teacher of history, by giving a pre- 
 liminary discourse describing her method, and urging upon her hearers the impor- 
 tance of the study. 
 
 I had called on her that day for the first time, and found her very nervous and 
 anxious about her first appearance in public. She interested me at once, and I 
 resolved to hear her speak. 
 
 Her person was tall and commanding, her finely-shaped head was well set on 
 her shoulders, her face was handsome and full of expression, and she moved with 
 grace and dignity. The hall in which she spoke was so crowded that I could not 
 get a seat, but she spoke so well that I felt no fatigue from standing. She was at 
 first a little embarrassed, but soon became so engaged in recommending the study 
 of history to all present, that she became eloquent. 
 
 Her course of oral lessons or lectures on history interested her class of ladies 
 so much that she was induced to repeat them, and I heard several who attended 
 them speak in the highest terms of them. She not only spoke but read well, and 
 when on the subject of Roman history she delighted her audience by giving them, 
 with great effect, some of Macaulay's Lays. 
 
 I persuaded her to give her lessons in Cambridge, and she had a very appre- 
 ciative class, assembled in the large parlor of the Brattle House. She spoke with- 
 out notes, entirely from her own well-stored memory; and she would so group her 
 facts as to present to us historical pictures calculated to make a lasting impression. 
 She was so much admired and liked in Cambridge, that a lady there invited her to 
 spend the winter with her as her guest, and I gave her the use of my parlor for 
 another course of lectures. In these she brought down her history to the time of 
 the birth of Christ, and I can never forget how clear she made it to us that the 
 world was only then made fit for the advent of Jesus. She ended with a fine cli- 
 max that was quite thrilling. 
 
 In her Cambridge course she had maps, charts, models, pictures, and every- 
 thing she needed to illustrate her subject. This added much to her pleasure and 
 ours. All who saw her then must remember how handsome she was, and how 
 gracefully she used her wand in pointing to the illustrations of her subject. I used 
 to be reminded by her of Raphael's sibyls, and she often spoke like an oracle. 
 
 She and a few of her class would often stay after the lesson and take tea with 
 me, and then she would talk delightfully for the rest of the evening. It was very 
 inconsiderate in us to allow her to do so, and when her course ended she was half 
 dead with fatigue. 
 
DELIA BACON. 901 
 
 II. Her Love Affair. 
 
 Delia Bacon's life was one of many sorrows. It would almost 
 seem as if there is some great law of compensation running through 
 human lives, so that those who are to be happy in immortal fame 
 too often pay for it by unhappy careers on earth. It is difficult 
 to conceive of a more wretched life than was that of Francis Bacon. 
 For a few short years only he rode the waves of triumphant suc- 
 cess; but his youth was enshrouded in poverty, and his age cov- 
 ered with dishonor. Even the great philosophical works, which the 
 world now holds as priceless, were received with general ridicule 
 and contempt; but his fame is to-day the greatest on earth, and will 
 so continue as long as our civilization endures. 
 
 And we seem to see the same great law of compensation run- 
 ning through the life of poor, unhappy Delia Bacon. Filled with a 
 divine enthusiasm for truth, her ideas were received by an ignorant 
 and bigoted generation with shouts of mockery. Nay, more, as if 
 fortune had not done its worst in this, her very heart was lacerated 
 and her womanly pride wounded, by a creature in the shape of a 
 man — a Reverend ( !) Alexander McWhorter. 
 
 A writer in the Philadelphia Times of December 26th, 1886, 
 gives the following account of this extraordinary affair: 
 
 Four young men were smoking in a chamber at a hotel in New Haven. It is 
 not to be assumed that they were drinking as well as smoking ; for at least one of 
 them had been a theological student in the Yale Divinity School, who was then a 
 resident licentiate of the university; and another was a nephew of a professor in 
 the theological department of that institution. Although they were so near to the 
 " cloth," they were a set of " jolly dogs," these young men, and so not averse to 
 a good cigar . Indeed, the resident licentiate, in whose room they were gathered, 
 was not only a good fellow, but a very rich young man. Presently, a waiter en- 
 tered and delivered a note to the host. It was couched in the following words: 
 
 Miss Delia Bacon will be happy to see Mr. at the rooms at the 
 
 Hotel this evening, or at any time that may be convenient to him. 
 
 Delia Bacon was the daughter of a Michigan missionary, and when she came 
 east in her girlhood, it was to qualify herself as a teacher. At school she made 
 rapid progress in everything except in English composition, to excel in which shei 
 most aspired, and, later on, it was conceded that her learning was not only unus- 
 ual, but extraordinary, in a woman. She was, indeed, from the outset of her 
 career as an instructor, a sibyl in aspect, as in fact; and her classes at New Haven 
 and Hartford, when she succeeded in establishing them, soon became the fashion. 
 Her lectures, for such her lessons really were, were attended by the most culti- 
 vated ladies of the two chief cities of Connecticut, the wives of the governors of 
 the State, the judges of the courts, the professors in the colleges, and other 
 
go 2 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 dignitaries, who came to her to learn wisdom. It was her custom to give receptions 
 at her parlors, and, as she was admitted to be particular and discriminating in her 
 invitations, it was esteemed an honor, especially by young men, to receive them. 
 This accounts for the peculiar phraseology of the letter quoted above, and it would 
 deprive her invitation to the resident licentiate of any indelicacy, although he had 
 not been formally presented to her, if she had reason to know that he desired to 
 call upon her. 
 
 Such was the case. 
 
 The young theologian lived at the same hotel, and had sought an introduction. 
 He was ten years her junior. He was well known, and was a young man of good 
 repute. He and Miss Bacon met daily at the same table. She had no objection 
 to the introduction, but the person who it was proposed should make it was ob- 
 jectionable to her. She therefore considered the request for an introduction as 
 equivalent to the ceremony, and asked the young man to call. Had the resident 
 licentiate been a gentleman who was offended at the informal character of the 
 invitation, he would simply have put the letter into the fire and said nothing about 
 it. The young theologian, from a want of that delicacy he affected to find absent 
 in another, chose to adopt a different course. He read the note to his companions. 
 He and they considered the invitation a gross violation of propriety in the lady. 
 It was with them the subject of uproarious mirth ; but the resident licentiate 
 accepted the invitation all the same, and, after making the call, wrote a ludicrous 
 account of the affair for the amusement of one of his classmates, a clergyman, 
 already ordained and ministering to a charge. But his first visit was not his last. 
 He was more than pleased with Delia Bacon's intellectual attainments — he was 
 interested in her personal attractions. He called upon her frequently. He showed 
 her marked attention. He acted as her escort in public. He professed for her a 
 profound and lasting affection, and would not take "no" for an answer. He even 
 followed her to a watering-place, with no other excuse than to be near her. These 
 two — the learned lady of New Haven, always busy and already impressed with 
 the notion that she had " the world's work " to perform, and the resident licentiate, 
 idle, because he was rich, and living near the university for years after he should 
 have been caring for souls — were lovers. She had allowed him to ensnare her 
 affections, notwithstanding the discrepancy in their years. He was completely 
 fascinated by the brilliant talk of a refined and cultivated woman, to whom the 
 whole field of belles leitres was a familiar garden. They read and studied to- 
 gether, and, with two such natures, it was only natural that their talk should be 
 more of books than of love. She even confided to him her favorite theory that 
 was afterwards to take complete possession of her, that Shakspere was not the 
 author of Shakespeare's Plays, and that they were written in cipher in order to 
 conceal for a time a profound system of political philosophy which it was her mis- 
 sion to reveal. He approved these ideas and encouraged the delusion in its inci- 
 pient stages. Then, when he tired of the flirtation, as all men do who fall in love 
 with women older than themselves, he turned viciously upon his uncomplaining 
 victim and contemptuously characterized an affair, that had begun with baseness 
 on his part, a literary intimacy. . . . Indeed, the very person to whom objection 
 was made by the lady became from the very outset the confidant of her admirer, 
 and either saw or heard or read everything she subsequently wrote to him. Besides 
 exposing her correspondence, the resident licentiate, while he was paying devout 
 court to the lady, was, also, at all times, secretly holding her up to ridicule among 
 his friends, and, when it was reported he was engaged to marry her, he indig- 
 nantly declared his surprise that any one who knew him should think him such a 
 fool. . . . 
 
DELIA BACON. 9- 
 
 The matter grew, after a time, into a scandal, and eventuated 
 in a trial before a council of the Congregational Church. 
 
 The clerical Lothario asserted in his own behalf that he had never made a 
 declaration of affection — that, so far as he was concerned, there had been no sen- 
 timent — not a thimbleful. In disproof of this, Miss Bacon's mother and brother 
 testified that they had seen a letter from her suitor to her that was " a real love 
 letter." This letter contained an account of the progress of the affection of the 
 gay young cleric for the tall sibyl. In it were such expressions as, " Then I loved 
 you," " I have loved you purely, fervently," " Though you should hate me, my 
 sentiment for you would remain unchanged." He said he would retain this senti- 
 ment through life, in death, and after death. . . . The toothsome gossip once begun, 
 it went from pious tongue to pious ear and from pious ear to pious tongue, until 
 it had spread all over the State of Connecticut, and even penetrated New York and 
 Boston. Not only were the old Professor and his family concerned in the circula- 
 tion of the story almost from the outset, but his house became the resort of those 
 who wished to hear it. Day after day his reception-room was thronged with those 
 who came to listen to the tale of wonder. As we have seen, other clergymen and 
 professors repeated the story everywhere on pretense of defending their clerical 
 brother. It was in this way that " the facts in the case" reached the ears of Miss 
 Bacon's friends. 
 
 " From village to village, from city to city, the marvel spread," wrote Cather- 
 ine Beecher afterwards, "till almost every village in New England was agitated 
 with it. No tale of private scandal had ever before been known to create so exten- 
 sive an excitement." 
 
 It is scarcely surprising that as the tale was told the wonder grew. The story 
 of a literary lady of five and thirty angling for a clergyman of twenty-five, and 
 ensnaring his unsophisticated affections, — it was always told with his share in the 
 courtship carefully excluded, — could not fail to prove grateful to the ears of good 
 people to whom society scandal and sensations were a boon not often afforded. 
 
 No one can read all this without thrills of indignation at the 
 base wretch who could thus, for the amusement of his friends, 
 trifle with the affections of a great and noble-hearted woman. And 
 it is not difficult to realize what must have been the feelings of the 
 eloquent scholar to find herself the talk of all New England, and 
 to have the tenderest emotions of her heart laid bare, and made the 
 subject of discussion by a public Congregational Church council. 
 The whole thing is horrible. And the writer in the Philadelphia 
 Times intimates that this great trial of her heart and pride had 
 something to do with the final overthrow of the poor lady's reason^ 
 
 III. The Putnam's Magazine Article. 
 
 It would seem that the thought that Shakspere did not write 
 the Plays was conceived by Miss Bacon as far back as 1845 ; but it 
 was not until 1856 that she announced her belief to the world. 
 
904 CONCLUSIONS, 
 
 This announcement was made in Putnam s Magazine of January, 
 1856, in the first article of that number. The editor was careful to 
 accompany the essay by a disavowal of any belief on his part in 
 the truth of the theory. He said : 
 
 In commencing the publication of these bold, original, and most ingenious and 
 interesting speculations upon the real authorship of Shakespeare's Plays, it is proper 
 for the editor of Putnam's Monthly, in disclaiming all responsibility for their start- 
 ling view of the question, to say that they are the result of long and conscientious 
 investigation on the part of the learned and eloquent scholar, their author; and that 
 the editor has reason to hope that they will be continued through some future num- 
 bers of the magazine. 
 
 But they were not continued. I have been told that Miss 
 Bacon's friends interfered to prevent the publication of any more 
 such startling and radical ideas. Mrs. Farrar gives a different 
 explanation. Be that as it may, this essay is the only one that 
 appeared from her pen in any American publication; and it is the 
 one thing that will save Putnam's Magazine from being forgotten. 
 
 Much has been said about Miss Bacon's insanity, as if it had 
 some necessary connection with the Baconian heresy and grew out 
 of it. And every one who has denied that the poacher of Stratford 
 wrote the Plays has been met with the reminder that Miss Bacon 
 died in a mad-house. It seems to have been forgotten that a great 
 many worthy people have died in mad-houses who believed that 
 Shakspere himself wrote the Plays; and a great many others have 
 ended their lives there who never heard of either Shakspere or 
 Bacon. And for one to go out of his mind implies that he has 
 some mind to go out of, and hence Miss Bacon's critics have spoken 
 from the assurance of positive safety. The truth is, insanity does 
 not com.e from opinions or theories, but it is a purely physical 
 disease, implying degeneration of the substance-matter of the brain. 
 A theory should stand or fall by itself, on its own merits, upon the 
 facts that can be adduced in its support; not by reference to 
 the personal careers of its advocates. If this were not so, what 
 religion on earth could not, in this way, be proved false? For the 
 insane asylums are full of people whose mania is some form or 
 other of religious belief. And the poet tells us, that 
 
 From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, 
 And Swift expires a driveler and a show. 
 
DELIA BACON. 905 
 
 But does it follow that Marlborough was not one of the greatest 
 and most successful military leaders that ever lived; or that Swift 
 was not a powerful and incisive writer and thinker ? 
 
 The injustice and absurdity of all such arguments is further 
 shown in the fact that the first book ever written, in defense of 
 Shakspere, against the assaults of Delia Bacon and William Henry 
 Smith, was the work of one Geo. H. Townsend, of London, pub- 
 lished in 1857; and the author of it subsequently became crazy and 
 committed suicide. But no Baconian ever argued therefrom that 
 every man who believed Shakspere wrote the Plays was necessarily 
 a lunatic and would end by self-murder, unless sent, as Grant 
 White suggested, to the insane asylum. The Shakspereans have 
 been insolent because they were cowardly. They felt that the uni- 
 versal prejudice and ignorance sustained them; inasmuch as the 
 clear-seeing and original thinkers are necessarily in the minority in 
 all generations. In all ages it has been the multitude who were 
 wrong, and the few who were right. 
 
 IV. Her Visit to England. 
 
 Mrs. Farrar gives the following account of Delia Bacon's visit to 
 England: 
 
 She expressed a great desire to go to England, and I told her she could go 
 and pay all her expenses by her historical lessons. Belonging to a religious sect 
 in which her family held a distinguished place, she would be well received by the 
 same denomination in England, and have the best of assistance in obtaining classes. 
 After talking this up for some time, I perceived that I was talking in vain. She 
 had no notion of going to England to teach history; all she wanted to go for was to 
 obtain proof of the truth of her theory, that Shakspere did not write the Plays 
 attributed to him, but that Lord Bacon did. This was sufficient to prevent my 
 ever again encouraging her going to England, or talking with her about Shak- 
 spere. The lady whom she was visiting put her copy of his works out of sight, 
 and never allowed her to converse with her on this, her favorite subject. We 
 considered it dangerous for Miss Bacon to dwell on this fancy, and thought that, 
 if indulged, it might become a monomania, which it subsequently did. 
 
 She went from Cambridge to Northampton, and spent the summer on Round 
 Hill, as a boarder, at a hydropathic establishment. Separated from all who knew 
 her, and were interested in her, she gave herself up to her favorite theme. She* 
 believed that the Plays called Shakespeare's contained a double meaning, and that 
 a whole system of philosophy was hidden in them, which the world at that time 
 was not prepared to receive, and therefore Lord Bacon had left it to posterity thus 
 disguised. At Round Hill she spent whole days and weeks in her chamber, took 
 no exercise, and ate scarcely any food, till she became seriously ill. After much 
 suffering she recovered and went to New York. To pay her expenses she was 
 
906 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 obliged to give a course of lessons in history; but her heart was not in them — she 
 was meditating a flight to England. Her old friends and her relations would not, 
 of course, furnish her with the means of doing what they highly disapproved; but 
 some new acquaintances in New York believed in her theory, and were but too 
 happy to aid her in making known her grand discovery. A handsome wardrobe 
 and ample means were freely bestowed upon her, and kind friends attended her to 
 the vessel which was to carry her to England on her Quixotic expedition. Her 
 mind was so devoted to the genius of Lord Bacon that her first pilgrimage was to 
 St. Albans, where he had lived when in retirement, and where she supposed he 
 had written all those Plays attributed to Shakespeare. She lived there a year, and 
 then came to London, all alone and unknown, to seek a home there. She 
 thus describes her search after lodgings: 
 
 On a dark December day, about one o'clock, I came into this metropolis, 
 intending, with the aid of Providence, to select, between that and nightfall, a res- 
 idence in it. I had copied from the Times several advertisements of lodging-houses, 
 but none of them suited me. The cab-driver, perceiving what I was in search of, 
 began to make suggestions of his own, and, finding that he was a man equal to the 
 emergency, and knowing that his acquaintance with the subject was larger than 
 mine, I put the business into his hands. I told him to stop at the first good house 
 which he thought would suit me, and he brought me to this door, where I have 
 been ever since. Any one who thinks this is not equal to Elijah and his raven, 
 and Daniel in the lion's den, does not know what it is for a lady, and a stranger, 
 to live for a year in London, without any money to speak of, maintaining all the 
 time the position of a lady, and a distinguished lady, too; and above all, such a 
 one cannot be acquainted with the nature of cab-drivers and lodging-house 
 keepers in general. 
 
 V. A Noble Londoner. 
 
 And in marked contrast with the treatment she received from 
 her friends and relatives, who refused to give her money or encour- 
 agement, is the course of this poor lodging-house keeper in London. 
 His memory should be perpetuated for the honor of our common 
 humanity. She continues in her letter: 
 
 The one with whom I lodge has behaved to me like an absolute gentleman. 
 No one could have shown more courtesy and delicacy. For six months at a time 
 he has never sent me a bill; before this I had always paid him weekly, and I believe 
 that is customary. When after waiting six months I sent him ten pounds, and he 
 knew that it was all I had, he wrote a note to me, which I preserve as a curiosity, 
 to say that he would entirely prefer that I should keep it. I have lived upon this 
 man's confidence in me for a year, and this comparatively pleasant and comfortable 
 home is one that I owe to the judgment and taste of a cab-driver. . . . Your ten 
 pounds was brought me two or three hours after your letter came, and I sent 
 it immediately to Mr. Walker, and now I am entirely relieved of that most painful 
 feeling of the impropriety of depending upon him in this way, which it has re- 
 quired all my faith and philosophy to endure, because he can now very well wait 
 for the rest, and perceive that the postponement is not an indefinite one. Your 
 letter has warmed my heart, and that was -chat had suffered most. I would have 
 frozen into a Niobe before I would have asked any help for myself, and would sell 
 gingerbread and apples at the corner of a street for the rest of my days before I 
 could stoop, for myself, to such humiliations as I have borne in behalf of my work — 
 and I knew that I had a right to demand aid for it. 
 
 VI. Her Interview with Carlyle. 
 In her first interview with Carlyle she told him of her great discovery in regard 
 
DELIA BACON. 9 oy 
 
 to Shakespeare's Plays, so-called, and he appeared to be interested in her, if not 
 in her hypothesis; but he treated that with respect, and advised her to put her 
 thoughts on paper. She accordingly accepted an arrangement kindly made for her 
 by Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson with the editors of a Boston magazine, worked very 
 hard, and soon sent off eighty pages. A part of this was published, and she re- 
 ceived eighteen pounds for it. Had this contract been carried out, the money 
 made by it would have supported her comfortably in London, but there arose some 
 misunderstanding between her and the editors, owing, perhaps, to her want oi 
 method and ignorance of business. She considered herself very ill-used, and would 
 have nothing more to do with them. 
 
 VII. Her Sanity. 
 
 We are struck here by the fact that while Thomas Carlyle and 
 Ralph Waldo Emerson not only believed in the possibility of her 
 theory being correct, and were ready to aid her to obtain a public 
 hearing; and while she was living upon the bounty of poor Mr. 
 Walker, and the contributions of Mrs. Farrar and other literary 
 acquaintances, her own family and immediate friends seem to have 
 abandoned her to starvation in London. It could not have been 
 upon any question of her sanity, for the Putnam's Magazine article 
 gives no indication of lunacy; it is an exceedingly lucid and able 
 essay; and certainly Carlyle and Emerson were better fitted to judge 
 of her mental condition than any coterie of the McWhorter stripe 
 could possibly be; and those eminent men, it seems, believed her to 
 be sane enough to be entitled to a full publication of her views. It 
 may have been that the mere theory that Francis Bacon wrote the 
 Shakespeare Plays was, in that day, regarded, by the average mind 
 in New England, as sufficient proof of lunacy, without any other 
 act or acts on the part of the unhappy individual who possessed it. 
 And even Mr. Nathaniel Hawthorne — another distinguished 
 writer of that day — held out his hand and helped her. His course 
 throughout was courteous and generous, and should be remem- 
 bered to his everlasting honor. 
 
 VIII. The Publication of Her Book. 
 
 Mrs. Farrar says : 
 
 She now found an excellent and powerful friend in Mr. Hawthorne. He kindly 
 undertook to make an agreement with a publisher, and promised her that her 
 
9 o8 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 book should be printed if she would write it. Deprived of her expected endow- 
 ment from writing articles for a periodical, she was much distressed for want of 
 funds, and suffered many privations during the time that she was writing her book. 
 She lived on ike poorest food, and was often without the means of having a fire in 
 her chamber. She told me that she wrote a great part of her large octavo volume 
 sitting up in bed to keep warm. 
 
 There is scarcely a more tragical story in the whole history of 
 literature. This noble, learned woman, with a mind that penetrated 
 far beyond her contemporaries, suffering for want of food in Lon- 
 don, and writing her great work wrapped in the bed-clothes, for 
 lack of a fire in her chamber. 
 
 Is it any wonder that her mind finally gave way? Where is 
 the brain that could long stand such a strain ? Poverty, hunger, 
 cold, intense and long-continued mental labor, the estrangement 
 from friends, the cruel indifference of relatives, the contempt of 
 the world, the sneers of the shallow and the abuse of the base. 
 
 And does any one believe she would have had to endure such 
 sufferings if she had been writing a sentimental, shallow book to 
 illustrate the heroic career and magnificent virtues of that illus- 
 trious money-grabber of Stratford ? No. All New England would 
 have come to her relief. She suffered because she proclaimed a 
 belief that the ignorant age regarded as improbable. She was 
 scourged into the mad-house by men who called themselves crit- 
 ics. And to the honor of England be it remembered that when 
 she was denied a hearing in America, and was abandoned by her 
 own kith and kin, she found friends and a publisher in London. 
 
 Mrs. Farrar continues: 
 
 It was when her work was about half done that she wrote to me the letter from 
 which I have made the foregoing extract. Her life of privation and seclusion was 
 very injurious to both body and mind. How great that seclusion was is seen in 
 the following passage from another of her letters to me : 
 
 I am glad to know that you are still alive and on this side of that wide sea 
 which parts me from so many that were once so near, for I have lived here much 
 like a departed spirit, looking back on the joys and sorrows of a world in which I 
 have no longer any place. I have been more than a year in this house, and have 
 had but three visitors in all that time, and paid but one visit myself, and that was 
 to Carlyle, after he had taken the trouble to come all the way from Chelsea to 
 invite me ; and though he has since written to invite me, I have not been able to 
 accept his kindness. T have had calls from Mr. Grote and Mr. Monckton Milnes; 
 and Mr. Buchanan came to see me, though I had not delivered my letter to him. 
 
 All the fine spirits who knew Miss Bacon found in her what pleased and inter- 
 ested them, and, had not that one engrossing idea possessed her, she might have 
 had a brilliant career among the literary society of London. 
 
DELIA BACON. 909 
 
 Yes; it was her dissent from the common opinion of mankind 
 that ruined everything. 
 
 One dark winter evening, after writing all day in her bed, she rose, threw on 
 some clothes, and walked out to take* the air. Her lodgings were at the West End 
 of London, near to Sussex Gardens, and not far from where my mother lived. She 
 
 needed my address, and suddenly resolved to go to the house of Mrs. R for it. 
 
 She sent in her request, and while standing in the doorway she had a glimpse of 
 the interior. It looked warm, cheerful and inviting, and she had a strong desire 
 to see my mother; so she readily accepted an invitation to walk in, and found the 
 old lady with her daughter and a friend just sitting down to tea. Happily, my 
 sister remembered that a Miss Bacon had been favorably mentioned in my letters 
 from Cambridge, so she had no hesitation in asking her to take tea with them. 
 The stranger's dress was such an extraordinary deshabille that nothing but her 
 lady-like manners and conversation could have convinced the family that she was 
 the person she pretended to be. She told me how much ashamed she was of her 
 appearance that evening; she had intended going only to the door, but could 
 not resist the inclination to enter and sit down at that cheerful tea-table, which 
 looked so like mine in Cambridge. 
 
 IX. Her Journey to Stratford. 
 
 Poor soul ! In rags and wretchedness she clung to the task 
 which she believed God had assigned to her. 
 
 The next summer I was living in London. The death of a dear friend had 
 just occurred in my house; the relatives were collected there, and all were feeling 
 very sad, when I was told by my servant that a lady wished to see me. I sent 
 word that there was death in the house, and I could see no one that night. The 
 servant returned, saying, " She will not go away, ma'am, and she will not give 
 her name." 
 
 On hearing this I went to the door, and there stood Delia Bncon, pale and 
 sad. I took her in my arms and pressed her to my bosom; she gasped for breath 
 and could not speak. We went into a vacant room and sat down together. She 
 was faint, but recovered on drinking a glass of port wine, and then she told me 
 that her book was finished and in the hands of Mr. Hawthorne, and now she was 
 ready to go to Stratford-upon-Avon. There she expected to verify her hypothesis, 
 by opening the tomb of Shakspere, where she felt sure of finding papers that 
 would disclose the real authorship of the Plays. I tried in vain to dissuade her 
 from this insane project; she was resolved, and only wished for my aid in winding 
 up her affairs in London and setting her off for Stratford. This aid I gave with 
 many a sad misgiving as to the result. She looked so ill when I took leave of her 
 in the railroad carriage that I blamed myself for not having accompanied her to 
 Stratford, and was only put at ease by a very cheerful letter from her, received a 
 few days after her departure. 
 
 On arriving at Stratford she was so exhausted that she could only creep up to 
 bed at the inn, and when she inquired about lodgings it was doubtful to herself, 
 and all who saw her, whether she would live to need any. One person expressed 
 this to her, but her brave heart and strong will carried her out the next day in 
 search of a home, and here as in London she fell into good hands. She entered a 
 very pretty cottage, the door of which stood open, found no one in it, but sat down 
 
9IO CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 and waited for some one to appear. Presently the woman entered, an elderly 
 lady, living on her income, with only one servant. She had never taken any 
 lodger, but she would not send Miss Bacon away, because she was a stranger and 
 ill; and she remembered, she said, that Abraham had entertained angels unawares. 
 So she made her lie down on her sofa, and covered her up, and went off to prepare 
 some dinner for her. Miss Bacon says, in her letter to me: 
 
 There I was, at the same hour when I left you, the day before, looking out 
 upon the trees that skirt the Avon, and that church and spire only a few yards 
 from me, but so weak that I did not expect ever to go there. I know that I have 
 been very near death. If anything can restore me, it will be the motherly treat- 
 ment I have here. 
 
 These incidents cannot fail to exalt our ideas of the noble, gen- 
 erous English character. Twice had this poor castaway found in 
 total strangers the kindest and most hospitable treatment; twice 
 had they opened their hearts and homes to one who seemed almost 
 abandoned by the world. Mrs. Farrar continues: 
 
 A few weeks after this I received a very cheerful letter from her on the subject 
 of the publisher of her book. She writes : 
 
 I want you to help me ; help me bear this new kind of burden which I am so 
 little used to. The editor of Frasers Magazine, Parker, the very best publisher in 
 England, is going to publish my book immediately, in such haste that they cannot 
 stay to send me the proofs. That was the piece of news which came with your 
 letter. How I wished it had been yourself instead, that you might share it with me 
 on the instant. It was a relief to me to be assured that your generous heart was so 
 near to be gladdened with it. Patience has had its perfect work. For the sake of 
 those who have loved and trusted* me, for the sake of those who have borne my 
 burden with me, how I rejoice ! 
 
 Mr. Bennock writes to me for the title, and says this has been suggested, 
 "The Shakespeare Problem Solved by Delia Bacon;'' but I am afraid that the 
 name sounds too boastful. I have thought of suggesting "The Shakespeare 
 Problem, by Delia Bacon, " leaving the reader to infer the rest. I have also 
 thought of calling it "The Baconian Philosophy in Prose and Verse, by Delia 
 Bacon;" or the "Fables of the Baconian Philosophy." But the publishers are the 
 best judges of such things. 
 
 That the book should be published under such agreeable auspices was the 
 crowning blessing of her arduous labors, and it is a comfort to her friends that this 
 gleam of sunshine illumined her path before the clouds settled down more darkly 
 than ever on her fine mind. 
 
 She remained for several months in Stratford, but I believe she never attempted 
 to open the tomb of Shakspere; and when she left that place, she returned home 
 to die in the bosom of her family. Thus ends the history of a highly gifted and 
 noble-minded woman. 
 
 Thus ends Mrs. Farrar's melancholy story — the story of a life 
 which was sacrificed for an idea as truly as ever were the mar- 
 tyrs of old who suffered in flame for their religious convictions. 
 For what death at the stake, with its few moments of agony, can be 
 compared with those long years of hardship, want, hunger, cold, 
 neglect and obloquy? 
 
DELIA BACON. -911 
 
 It has been the habit to speak of her book as an insane produc- 
 tion. Doubtless the shadow of the coming mental aberration may 
 hang over parts of it, and obscure the style, but there is a great 
 deal in it ^hat is clear, cogent and forceful. As it may interest 
 the reader who cannot readily procure a copy of the original work, 
 I copy a few extracts. The work is called The Philosophy of the 
 Plays of Shakespeare Unfolded: 
 
 X. The Art of the Play-writer. 
 
 Certainly, at the time when it was written, it was not the kind of learning and 
 the kind of philosophy that the world was used to. Nobody had ever heard of 
 such a thing. The memory of man could not go far enough to produce any 
 parallel to it in letters. It was manifest that this was nature, the living nature, 
 the thing itself. None could perceive the tint of the school on its robust creations; 
 no eye could detect in its sturdy compositions the stuff that books were made of; 
 and it required no effort of faith, therefore, to believe that it was not that. It was 
 enough to believe, and men were glad, on the whole, to believe that it was not 
 that — that it was not learning or philosophy — but something just as far from that, 
 as completely its opposite, as could well be conceived of. 
 
 How could men suspect, as yet, that this was the new scholasticism, the New 
 Philosophy? Was it strange that they should mistake it for rude nature herself, 
 in her unschooled, spontaneous strength, when it had not yet pubJicly transpired 
 that something had come at last upon the stage of human development, which was 
 stooping to nature and learning of her, and stealing her secret, and unwinding the 
 clue to the heart of her mystery? 
 
 How could men know that this was the subtlest philosophy, the ripest scho- 
 lasticism, the last proof of all human learning, when it was still a secret that the 
 school of nature and her laws, that the school of natural history and natural 
 philosophy, too, through all its lengths and breadths and depths, was open; and 
 that "the schools" — the schools of old chimeras and notions — the schools where 
 the jangle of the monkish abstractions and the "fifes and the trumpets of the 
 Greeks " were sounding — were going to get shut up with it. 
 
 How should they know that the teacher of the New Philosophy was Poet also — 
 must be, by that same anointing, a singer, mighty as the sons of song who brought 
 their harmonies of old into the savage earth — a singer able to sing down antiqui- 
 ties with his new gift, able to sing in new eras ? 
 
 But these have no clue as yet to track him with; they cannot collect or thread 
 his thick-showered meanings. He does not care through how many mouths he 
 draws the lines of his philosophic purpose. He does not care from what long dis- 
 tances his meanings look toward each other. But these interpreters are not aware 
 of that. They have not been informed of that particular. On the contrary, they 
 have been put wholly off their guard. Their heads have been turned, deliberately, 
 in just the opposite direction. They have no faintest hint beforehand of the depths 
 in which the philosophic unities of the piece are hidden; it is not strange, therefore, 
 that these unities should have escaped their notice, and that they should take it for 
 granted that there were none in it. It is not the mere play-reader who is ever going 
 to see them. It will take the philosophic student, with all his clues, to master 
 
9 r 2 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 them. It will take the student of the New School and the New Ages, with the torch 
 of Natural Science in his hand, to track them to their center. 
 
 XI. The Age of Elizabeth. 
 
 We all know what age in the history of the immemorial liberties and dignities 
 of a race — what age in the history of its recovered liberties, rescued from oppres- 
 sion and recognized and confirmed by statute, this was. We know it was an age 
 in which the decisions of the Bench were prescribed to it by a power that had " the 
 laws of England at its commandment," that it was an age in which Parliament, and 
 the press, and the pulpit, were gagged, and in which that same justice had charge, 
 diligent charge " of amusements also, and of those who only played at working." 
 That this was a time when the play-house itself, — in that same year, too, in which 
 these philosophical plays began first to attract attention, and again and again, — was 
 warned off by express ordinances from the whole ground of " the forbidden ques- 
 tions." . . . 
 
 To the genius of a race in whose nature development, speculation and action 
 were for the first time systematically united, in the intensities of that great histori- 
 cal impersonation which signalizes its first entrance upon the stage of human 
 affairs, stimulated into premature activity by that very opposition which would have 
 shut it out from its legitimate fields, and shut it up within those impossible, insuf- 
 ferable limits that the will of the one man prescribed to it then, — to that many- 
 sided genius, bent on playing well its part even under these conditions, all the 
 more determined on it by that very opposition — kept in mind of its manliness all 
 he time by that all-comprehending prohibition on manhood, that took charge of 
 every act — irritated all the time into a protesting human dignity by the perpetual 
 meannesses prescribed to it, instructed in the doctrine of human nature and its 
 nobility in the school of that sovereignty which was keeping such a costly crib here 
 then ; " Let a beast be lord of beasts," says Hamlet, " and your crib shall stand at 
 the king's mess; " " Would you have me false to my nature?''' says another, " rather 
 say I play the man I am;" to that so conscious man, playing his part under these 
 hard conditions, on a stage so high; knowing all the time what theater that was he 
 played it in, how " far" those long-drawn aisles extended; what " far-off" crowd- 
 ing ages filled them, watching his slightest movements; who knew that he was act- 
 ing " even in the eyes of all posterity that wear this world out to the ending doom: " 
 to such a one studying out his part beforehand, under such conditions, it was not 
 one disguise only, it was not one secret literary instrumentality only, that sufficed 
 for the plot of it. That toy stage which he seized and converted so effectually to his 
 ends, with all its masks did not suffice for the exigencies of this speaker's speech, 
 "who came prepared to speak well" and "to give to his speech a grace by action." 1 
 
 XII. Miss Bacon's Persecutors. 
 
 I take pleasure in giving the following very interesting letter 
 from William D. O'Connor. I need not say that Miss Elizabeth P. 
 Peabody, of Jamaica Plains, Massachusetts, referred to in it, is well 
 and honorably known as the friend of Emerson and Hawthorne 
 
 1 Delia Bacon, The Philosophy of the Plays of Shakespeare Unfolded, pp. 285-7. 
 
DELIA BACON. 913 
 
 and all the really great men of New England. Always a woman of 
 remarkable mental powers, she has attained a vast age with un- 
 clouded intellect. 
 
 Washington, D. C, Life-Saving Service, October io- n 1887. 
 My Dear Friend: 
 
 I have your note about the suppression of Miss Bacon's MS. I had the story 
 from Miss Peabody more than twenty-five years ago, and lately again, when I sa- 
 her at Jamaica Plains. 
 
 Her second version differs from the first only in this: — She now does not 
 think it was a life of Raleigh; but she told me it was when I first talked with her: 
 and her memory was nearer the event; and I am sure that the extracts from the 
 " Life of Raleigh," which you will see in the early part of Miss Bacon's book, are 
 her attempt to recall from memory some fragments of the lost MS., which, I re- 
 member Miss Peabody told me long ago, had cost twelve years' labor, and the loss 
 of which was a staggering blow to its author. 
 
 The tale ran thus: Emerson was powerfully impressed with Miss Bacon's 
 theory, and stood her friend in it from first to last. He was instrumental in send- 
 ing her to England, to prosecute her studies on the subject there; and gave her 
 letters of introduction to many people, and got her material aid. Before sailing, it 
 was arranged that the continuation to the Putnam's Magazine article in 1856 
 should appear in the same magazine, and she went off flushed with hope and con- 
 fidence. 
 
 Now came the beginning of disaster. Richard Grant White and some other 
 Shaksperioloters tore down to Putnam's; howled over the profanation like 
 cayotes, and finally scared him into discontinuing the publication. 
 
 Then Emerson had to write to Miss Bacon that her MS. was rejected, and 
 she in turn wrote back to have it sent to her in England for publication there, prob- 
 ably in her book, which she was then projecting. 
 
 The MS. (which I believe to have been a Life of Raleigh and a sort of a key to 
 the theory, dwelling, as I have been told it did, on the nature of Raleigh's School), 
 was sent to one of Emerson's brothers, William Emerson, at New York, for safe 
 keeping. In some way, and for some reason, which I cannot gather, it was passed 
 over to the care of Miss P R , at Staten Island. 
 
 When Miss Bacon's request to have the MS. sent to her in England was 
 
 received, Miss R was asked to have it brought over to New York to William 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 The story goes that she got into a close carriage with the package, at her resi- 
 dence on Staten Island, with the intention of driving to the ferry, crossing over to 
 New York, and delivering it in person to William Emerson. It was in the dark 
 twilight of an autumn evening, the roads were miry and full of hollows, and the 
 carriage swayed and joggled as it rolled. In one of these vehicular convulsions, 
 
 the package rolled from Miss R 's lap into the straw-covered bottom of the 
 
 carriage. Miss R put her hand down in search of it, and, not coming upon 
 
 it, reflected that it was perfectly safe in the close interior, and would be better found 
 when the carriage arrived at the ferry, where its motions would cease, and light 
 would aid in the search. Presently the terminus was reached, but the MS. could 
 not be found, though a rigorous investigation was made. I was told that it was 
 advertised for, but nothing was ever heard of it. 
 
 Was ever any occurrence more unexplainable, or more sinister ? I do not like 
 
9 I 4 CONCLUSIONS.^ 
 
 to suspect Miss R of complicity with any foul play, for I have always heard 
 
 that she was a high-minded lady; but how can this loss be explained under the cir- 
 cumstances ? When you bring to mind the nature of a coach interior, you will see 
 that the MS. could not be bounced out or jolted out by any possibility. It is an 
 utter mystery. 
 
 However, the MS. was lost, and it is said that Miss Bacon went wild when she 
 got the next letter from Emerson, telling her the bad news. 
 
 Whatever may be the explanation of this incident, I think there 
 can be little doubt that Delia Bacon was persecuted by the Grant 
 Whites of that era, denied a hearing in her own country, and driven 
 to a foreign land to find a publisher. The treatment of the poor 
 woman from first to last was simply shameful. She was persecuted 
 into the mad-house and the grave by men who called themselves 
 scholars and gentlemen. Their asinine hoofs beat upon the great 
 sensitive brain of the shrinking woman, and every blow was an- 
 swered by a shriek. And when, at last, they had, by their on- 
 slaughts, destroyed her intellect, the braying crew wagged their 
 prodigious ears, and in stentorian chorus clamored that her insan- 
 ity was indubitable proof of the falsehood of her theory, and of the 
 wisdom which lay concealed in their admirable and learned hoofs. 
 
 XIII. Delia Bacon's Portrait. 
 
 It is with deep regret that I find myself unable to fulfill the 
 promises made by my publishers, in their advertisements, to give 
 the public in this work, a copy of Delia Bacon's portrait. They 
 applied some months since to her nephew, the Rev. Leonard W. 
 Bacon, of Savannah, Georgia, and he referred them to his brother, 
 Theodore Bacon, a lawyer, in Rochester, N. Y. He replied that 
 he possessed a picture of Delia Bacon, an old daguerreotype, but 
 that the dress was peculiar and not fitted for publication. My 
 publishers then offered to send an artist to Rochester to copy the 
 features, and that they would give in the book simply an engraving 
 of the face and head. A representative of the firm even went to 
 Rochester, in connection with the matter, but failed to find Mr. 
 Bacon. After considerable correspondence a family council was at 
 last held upon this grave subject, and "the family" refused to fur- 
 nish my publishers with a copy of the picture, or permit them to 
 copy it themselves. 
 
DELIA BACON. 9I5 
 
 It is difficult to account for such action. I know of no pre- 
 cedent for it. The world is entitled to look upon the features of 
 its illustrious characters; and I cannot understand how any 
 ""family" has a right to monopolize them. Suppose there was but 
 one picture of Francis Bacon in the world, and that was in the 
 hands of the family of one of his nephews, and they refused to 
 permit the world to look at it ! In this case the sun painted the 
 picture, and it would seem especially to belong to mankind. But 
 poor Delia's ill fate pursues her even beyond the grave: — she was 
 suppressed, by her family, living, and she is suppressed by them 
 dead. 
 
 If the authors of books had been clamoring, for years past, for 
 Delia Bacon's picture, the case might be different; but this is the 
 first work ever published which seeks to defend the poor, misused 
 woman, and to honor her by giving her features to the world, — and 
 it is refused permission to do so ! If the picture itself was utterly 
 unfit to be seen by human eyes, it might be different; but I am told 
 that copies are being circulated in private hands. 
 
 It is to be regretted that some of the tender solicitude now 
 
 shown toward the picture of Delia Bacon, by her family, w T as not 
 
 manifested for the poor woman herself when she was starving and 
 
 shivering and living on the charity of strangers in London. But, 
 
 Seven cities claimed immortal Homer dead, * 
 Through which the living Homer begged for bread. 
 
 I am shocked to hear, since writing the above, that there is rea- 
 son to believe that "the family" refuse to permit Delia Bacon's por- 
 trait to appear in this book because they do not want her identified 
 with the theory that Francis Bacon wrote the Shakespeare Plays ! 
 
 Alas ! and alas ! As if Delia Bacon had any other claim upon 
 immortality than the fact that she originated that very theory! 
 And as if there was any chance of any of her " family " escaping 
 utter oblivion, in a generation or two, except by their connection 
 with her, and through her with that very theory. It is incompre- 
 hensible. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 WILLIAM HENR Y SMITH. 
 
 Here's Nestor, — 
 Instructed by the antiquary times, 
 He must, he is, he cannot but be wise. 
 
 Troilus and Cressida, ii, 3. 
 
 WE turn to the Nestor of the Baconian question — the distin- 
 guished William Henry Smith, who will always be remem- 
 bered as the first of Francis Bacon's countrymen who saw through 
 the Shakespearean myth, and announced the real authorship of the 
 Plays. 
 
 It is a gratification to know that this distinguished gentleman is 
 still alive, in hale old age, to witness the overthrow of the delusion 
 which he challenged in 1856. His portrait, which we here present,, 
 represents a jovial, clear-headed, kindly-hearted man. 
 
 I. Mr. Smith Described. 
 
 A Baconian correspondent, writing to Shakespeartana, de- 
 scribes Mr. Smith as follows: 
 
 He is an old gentleman, seventy-five or seventy-six years of age, I think, with 
 the brightest of eyes and the most energetic, kind manner that you can imagine. 
 His interest in the Baconian subject is still so great that he can hardly allow him- 
 self to speak upon it, it excites him too much; and on this account he has never 
 attended any of our meetings, although he comes here after them to hear the news. 
 He considers that we have got quite past him, and he will never again be dragged 
 into controversy. But no one is better up than he is, both in Bacon and 
 Shakespeare. As a young man his education seems to have been peculiar. He 
 was thrown very much upon himself and upon a few books, which he has evident- 
 ly read until he has them at his fingers' ends. A few choice classics, Burton's 
 Anatomy of Melancholy and The Pilgrim's Progress for his theology; Bacon for his 
 solid reading, Shakespeare for his lighter studies. It was the persistent reading of 
 these two groups of works which brought him to perceive the identity of their tone, 
 their field of knowledge, and finally of their author. He had no preconceived ideas, 
 but the conviction grew upon him. He belonged to a young men's debating 
 
 916 
 
/ / ILLIA M HENR Y SMI TH. 9^7 
 
 club. One day, a subject for debate being lacking, he proposed that it should be 
 debated whether Bacon or Shakespeare had the better claim to the authorship of 
 the Plays. The subject was considered, at first, too monstrous to be discussed; 
 but John Stuart Mill, being one of the members, spoke strongly in favor of giving 
 Mr. Smith a hearing. A paper was accordingly read, and produced such a sensa- 
 tion that Mr. Smith was requested to print it in the form of a letter to Lord Elles- 
 mere, the then head of the Shakespearean Society. Of course it was virulently 
 assailed by the Shakspereans, who tned by caricature and ridicule to annihilate 
 Mr. Smith and his notions. He then wrote a fuller statement and published it in a 
 little two-shilling-sixpence volume, and having done this he retired from the 
 scene. He did not care, he said, to have literary mud cast at him; the truth would 
 come out some day. Great domestic troubles overtook him, and for a while he 
 lost interest in everything, even in the fate of his book, living a very recluse life, 
 sometimes in London, but more often in a little country estate in Sussex. He is a 
 highly entertaining old gentleman, always ready with his joke and his apt quota- 
 tion, and with a laugh of infectious jollity. He had, he says, no desire to live, but 
 now he certainly would like to abide the publication of Mr. Donnelly's book, and 
 see how the learned Shakspereans are going to wriggle out of their very decided 
 statements. 
 
 II. The Charge of Plagiarism. 
 
 Mr. W. H. Wyman, in his Bacon-Shakespeare Bibliography, has the 
 following remarks: 
 
 A question of precedence as to the Baconian advocacy arose between Mr. 
 Smith and Miss Bacon's friends. Hawthorne, in his preface to Miss Bacon's book, 
 animadverted upon Mr. Smith for "taking to himself this lady's theory," result- 
 ing in the correspondence published in Smith's book. In his letter Mr. Smith 
 claimed that he had never seen Miss Bacon's Putnam 's Monthly article until after 
 his pamphlet was published, and also that he had held these opinions for twenty 
 years previously. But as Miss Bacon's article was published eight months pre- 
 vious to his pamphlet, and reviewed in the Athenceum in the meantime, his want 
 of knowledge was certainly very singular, and the precedence must be awarded to 
 her. 
 
 It seems to me that any one who reads this famous pamphlet of 
 1856 will come to the conclusion that these animadversions are not 
 just. There is no resemblance in the mode of thought between. 
 Miss Bacon's argument and that of Mr. Smith. Miss Bacon dealt* 
 in the large, general, comprehensive propositions involved in the 
 question; Mr. Smith's essay is sharp, keen and bristling with 
 points. Both show wonderful penetration, but it is of a different 
 kind. Miss Bacon's is the penetration of a philosopher; Mr. Smith's 
 that of a lawyer, 
 
 Neither should it be a matter of surprise that two different 
 minds should arrive at the same conclusions, at the same time, en 
 
9 1 8 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 this question: the only wonder is that the whole world did not 
 reach the same views simultaneously with them. 
 
 III. Mr. Hawthorne's Charge. 
 
 Concerning this question of originality in the discussion of the 
 
 question, Nathaniel Hawthorne, in his Preface to Miss Bacon's 
 
 book, had this to say: 
 
 Another evil followed. An English writer, (in a " Letter to the Earl of Elles- 
 mere," published within a few months past), has thought it not inconsistent with the 
 fair play on which his country prides itself, to take to himself this lady's theory, 
 and favor the public with it as his own original conception, without allusion to 
 the author's prior claim. In reference to this pamphlet, she (Miss Bacon) gener- 
 ously says: 
 
 This has not been a selfish enterprise. It is not a personal concern. It is a 
 discovery which belongs not to an individual, and not to a people. Its fields are 
 wide enough and rich enough for us all; and he that has no work, and whoso will, 
 let him come and labor in them. The field is the world's; and the world's work 
 henceforth is in it. So that it be known in its real comprehension, in its true rela- 
 tions to the weal of the world, what matter is it? So that the truth, which is 
 dearer than all the rest — which abides with us when all others leave us, dearest 
 then — so that the truth, which is neither yours nor mine, but yours and mine, be 
 known, loved, honored, emancipated, mitered, crowned, adorned — "who loses any- 
 thing, that does not find it?" And what matters it? says the philosophic wisdom, 
 speaking in the abstract, what name it is proclaimed in, and what letters of the 
 alphabet we know it by? — What matter is it, so that they spell the name that is 
 good for all, and good for each ? — for that is the real name here ? 
 
 Speaking on the author's behalf, however, I am not entitled to imitate her 
 magnanimity; and, therefore, hope that the writer of the pamphlet will disclaim 
 any purpose of assuming to himself, on the ground of a slight and superficial per- 
 formance, the results which she has attained at the cost of many toils and sacrifices. 
 
 IV. Mr. Smith Exonerated by Mr. Hawthorne. 
 
 In 1857 Mr. Smith published his book: Bacon and Shake- 
 speare: An Inquiry touching Players, Play-houses and Play-writers in 
 the days of Elizabeth. By William Henry Smith. London: John 
 Russell Smith, 36 Soho Square; and he prefaced it with copies of 
 a correspondence between Mr. Hawthorne and himself. In this 
 correspondence Mr. Smith assured Mr. Hawthorne: 
 
 I had never heard the name of Miss Bacon until it was mentioned in the re- 
 view of my pamphlet in the Literary Gazette, September, 1856. . . . If it were 
 necessary I could show that for upwards of twenty years I have had the opinion 
 that Bacon was the author of the Shakespeare Plays. 
 
 To which Mr. Hawthorne replies, June 5, i887 / as follows: 
 
 I beg leave to say that I entirely accept your statement as to the originality and 
 early date of your own convictions regarding the authorship of the Shakespeare 
 
WILLI A M HENR Y SMITH. 9 1 9 
 
 Plays, and likewise as to your ignorance of Miss Bacon's prior publication on the 
 subject. Of course my imputation of unfairness or discourtesy on your part falls 
 at once to the ground, and I regret that it was ever made. 
 
 My mistake was perhaps a natural one, although, unquestionably, the treat- 
 ment of the subject in your "Letter to the Earl of Ellesmere" differs widely from that 
 adopted by Miss Bacon. ... I now see that my remarks did you great in- 
 justice, and I trust that you will receive this acknowledgment as the only repara- 
 tion in my power. 
 
 V. The Conversion of Lord Palmerston. 
 
 One of the first and greatest converts to the Baconian theory 
 was made by Mr. Smith's book, namely, the famous Premier of 
 England, Lord Palmerston. Mr. Wyman quotes the following 
 from an article in Frasers Magazine for November, 1865: 
 
 Literature was the fashion of Lord Palmerston's early days, when, (as Syd- 
 ney Smith remarked), a false quantity in a man was pretty nearly the same as a 
 faux pas in a woman. He was tolerably well up in the chief Latin and English 
 classics; but he entertained one of the most extraordinary paradoxes, touching the 
 greatest of them, that was ever broached by a man of his intellectual caliber. He 
 maintained that the Plays of Shakespeare were really written by Bacon, who passed 
 them off under the name of an actor, for fear of compromising his professional 
 prospects and philosophic gravity. Only last year, when this subject was dis- 
 cussed at Broadlands, Lord Palmerston suddenly left the room, and speedily 
 returned with a small volume of dramatic criticisms, in which the same theory 
 (originally started by an American lady) was supported by supposed analogies of 
 thought and expression. "There," he said, "read that, and you will come to my 
 opinion." When the positive testimony of Ben Jonson, in the verses prefixed to 
 the edition of 1623, was adduced, he remarked, " Oh, these fellows always stand up 
 for one another, or he may have been deceived like the rest." The argument had 
 struck Lord Palmerston by its originality, and he wanted leisure for a searching 
 exposure of its groundlessness. 
 
 The volume alluded to was Smith's Bacon and Shakespeare.^ 
 
 The truth was that the comprehensive mind of the great states- 
 man, who had ruled the British Empire for so many years, needed 
 but a statement of the outlines of the argument to leap at once to 
 the conclusion that there was no coherence between the life of the 
 man of Stratford and the mighty works which go by his name. 
 
 In America we have a gentleman who, for breadth of mind, 
 knowledge of affairs, keenness of observation and depth of penetra- 
 tion, deserves to be named in the same breath with Lord Palmer-^ 
 ston. I refer to the celebrated Benjamin F. Butler, whose genius 
 has adorned alike the walks of peace and the fields of war. General 
 
 1 Bacon-Shakespeare Bibliog., p. 26. 
 
920 
 
 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 Butler, like Lord Palmerston, needed but the presentation of 
 the argument to reach the conclusion that Francis Bacon wrote the 
 Plays; and that opinion he has maintained inflexibly during a 
 period of thirty years. 
 
 When such large and trained intelligences accept the theory of 
 the Baconian authorship, as not only reasonable, but conclusive, it 
 is amusing to see small creatures, who have never been known out- 
 side of their own bailiwicks, protesting, with their noses high in 
 the air, that the theory is utterly absurd and ridiculous; and that it 
 is an insult to their brain-pans to be even asked to consider it. 
 
 VI. A Wonderful Fact Brought Out. 
 
 Mr. Smith's book, already referred to, is a very able and 
 original performance. It contained, for the first time, many of the 
 arguments that have since been used by all the writers on the sub- 
 ject. It is evident that his observation is very keen. I find, for 
 instance, this paragraph, which has a curious bearing on the Cipher 
 in the Plays: 
 
 We may here mention a fact which we have remarked, and have not seen 
 noted by any commentator — that every page in each of the three first folio edi- 
 tions contains exactly the sa?ne amount of matter: — the same word xvhich begins or 
 ends the page in the 1623 edition, begins and ends the page in the 1632 and 1664 edi- 
 tions; proving that they were printed from one another, if not from the same 
 types. The 1685 edition is altogether different. 
 
 This is a very remarkable fact. The curious paging of the 1623 
 edition must have been precisely followed in the edition printed 
 nine years later, and again in the edition printed forty-one years 
 later. Now, there were no stereotype or electrotype plates in those 
 days; and the type could not have been kept standing for forty-one 
 years. There are but two explanations: The first is, that some per- 
 son of means, we will say the author of the Plays, solicitous to 
 secure the perpetuation of the Folio from the waste and ravages 
 of "devouring time," had had printed in 1623 other editions, dated, 
 on the title-pages, 1632 and 1664, and left them to be brought out 
 by friends at those dates. The second explanation is that some 
 man or men had been left behind, — some friends of Bacon, — or 
 some secret society, if you please, like the Rosicrncians, — who, 
 knowing that there was a cipher in the Plays, and that it depended 
 
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WILLIAM HENRY SMITH. 9 2 * 
 
 •on the arrangement of the matter on the pages of that first Folio of 
 1623, took pains to see that the printers, in reprinting the Plays, 
 copied the exact arrangement of the text found in that Folio of 1623. 
 
 It is not within the human possibilities that any printer, unless p 
 peremptorily instructed so to do, would or could repeat the 
 arrangement of the matter found in the first Folio: — with three 
 hundred words in one column and six hundred in another; with 
 the stage directions, as I have shown, in one case taking up two or 
 three inches of space, and in another crowded into the corner of a 
 speech of one of the characters. 
 
 And on either supposition — that all the editions were really 
 printed in 1623, from the same type; or that the printing of the edi- 
 tions of 1632 and 1664 was supervised and directed by some intel- 
 ligent person with a purpose; — on either supposition, I say, it shows 
 there was some mystery about that first Folio. Surely Heminge 
 and Condell would not print copies of the Folio in 1623 to be put 
 forth forty-one years thereafter; and surely no person in 1632 or 
 1664 would insist on repeating the exact arrangement of type in 
 the edition of 1623, if he did not know that there was something 
 of importance attached to and depending on that arrangement. 
 
 But, after the edition of 1664, that directing intelligence had 
 passed away, and the Plays were left to take their natural course; 
 and hence the folio edition of 1685 departed altogether from the 
 standard set by the 1623 Folio; and ever after, until we reach the 
 modern era of facsimiles, the arrangement of every edition as to 
 paging, etc., has been utterly unlike that of the first Folio. 
 
 Francis Bacon was determined that his name and writings should 
 not perish from the face of the earth; hence in his will he left espe- 
 cial directions that copies of his philosophical works should be pre- 
 sented to all the great libraries then in existence; and with the same 
 profound prevision he may have arranged with Sir Thomas Meutis, 
 Harry Percy, Sir Tobie Matthew and other friends, who were doubt- 
 less in the secret of the Cipher, that editions should be put forth 
 after his death, with the same arrangement of the text, on which 
 the Cipher depended, so as to increase the chances of the work con- 
 tinuing to exist and of the Cipher being found out. 
 
9 2 2 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 VII. In Conclusion. 
 
 But it must be a source of gratification to the countrymen of 
 Francis Bacon, if the wreath of immortal glory is to be taken front 
 the head of Shakspere and placed on the brow of another, that 
 there was one Englishman with sagacity enough to look through 
 the illusions so cunningly constructed around the subject, and per- 
 ceive the hidden truth, as early as any other; and that for the 
 first steps of this great revelation they are not altogether indebted 
 to foreigners. It must be the hope of all men that this patriarch 
 may long live, in hale old age, to enjoy the honors justly belong- 
 ing to him. 
 
 It was my intention to have given, in this work, Miss Bacon's 
 famous Putnam's Magazine article in full and also Mr. Smith's orig- 
 inal letter to the Earl of Ellesmere, but I find my book already too 
 large, and I am reluctantly constrained to omit them. I would say 
 in conclusion that I possess copies of the original essays, and I con- 
 sider them worth a good deal more than their weight in gold. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 THE BACONIANS. 
 
 I count myself in nothing else so happy 
 As in a soul remembering my good friends; 
 And as my fortune ripens with my love 
 It shall be still my true love's recompense. 
 
 Richard II., ii, 3. 
 
 I AM sure that if the spirit of Francis Bacon could stand at ray- 
 side and speak, it would say: 
 
 11 In the day of my rehabilitation let not those who have main- 
 tained my cause be forgotten; do you justice to the clear heads and 
 kind hearts that have labored to bring me to the possession of my 
 own. They have endured abuse and mockery for my sake: let 
 them be set right in the eyes of mankind." 
 
 In this spirit I have given the two preceding chapters; in this 
 spirit I shall briefly refer to a few of the leading advocates of the 
 theory that Francis Bacon wrote the Plays. 
 
 I. William D. O'Connor. 
 
 The first book ever published, subsequent to the utterances of 
 Delia Bacon and William Henry Smith, in which the Baconian the- 
 ory was- advocated, was a work published in i860, entitled Har- 
 rington: A Story of True Love. By William D. O'Connor. Boston: 
 Thayer and Eldridge. i2mo, pp. 558. 
 
 I quote from Mr. Wyman's Bibliography' 1 the following extracts, 
 descriptive of this book: 
 
 Hawthorne, in his Recollections of a Gifted Woman (title 27), says of Miss 
 
 Bacon's book: 
 
 I believe it has been the fate of this remarkable book never to have had more 
 than a single reader. But since my return to America, a young man of genius and 
 
 1 Bacon-Shakespeare Bibliog., p. 23. 
 
 9 2 3 
 
924 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 •enthusiasm has assured me that he has positively read the book from beginning to 
 end, and is completely a convert to its doctrines. 
 
 It belongs to him, therefore, and not to me — whom, in almost the last letter 
 that I received from her, she declared unworthy to meddle with her work — it be- 
 longs surely to this one individual, who has done her so much justice as to know 
 what she wrote, to place Miss Bacon in her due position before the public and pos- 
 terity. 
 
 The " young man " referred to (in 1863) is the author of this novel. The story 
 itself is of the times of the Fugitive Slave Law. Mr. O'Connor introduces his own 
 Baconian theories through the dialogue of his title-hero, Harrington. 
 
 He also renders an acknowledgment to Miss Bacon as their source, in a note 
 at the end of the book: 
 
 The reader of the twelfth chapter of this book may already have observed 
 that Harrington, if he had lived, would have been a believer in the theory regard- 
 ing the origin and purpose of the Shakespearean drama, as developed in the admir- 
 able work by Miss Delia Bacon, entitled, The Philosophy of Shakespeare 's Plays Un- 
 folded, in which belief I should certainly agree with Harrington. 
 
 I wish it were in my power to do even the smallest justice to that mighty and 
 eloquent volume, whose masterly comprehension and insight, though they could 
 not save it from being trampled upon by the brutal bison of the English press, yet. 
 lift it to the dignity, whatever may be its faults, of being the best work ever com- 
 posed upon the Baconian or Shakespearean writings. It has been scouted by the 
 critics as the product of a distempered ideal. Perhaps it is. 
 
 " But there is a prudent wisdom," says Goethe, " and there is a wisdom that 
 does not remind us of prudence;" and, in like manner, I may say that there is a 
 sane sense, and there is a sense that does not remind us of sanity. At all events, 
 I am assured that the candid and ingenuous reader Miss Bacon wishes for, will 
 find it more to his profit to be insane with her, on the subject of Shakespeare, than 
 sane with Dr. Johnson. 
 
 A personal friend of Mr. O'Connor has, at my request, written 
 
 for me the following interesting account of his life: 
 
 William Douglas O'Connor has long been known as one of the most ear- 
 nest and determined of the Baconians. He was born in Boston, Massachusetts, 
 in 1833. His earliest aspiration was to be an artist, and several years of his youth 
 were devoted to the life of the studio. Finding, at length, his projected art career 
 impracticable, he applied himself to business occupations for a living, keeping an 
 eye meanwhile on literature as a possible profession, and maintaining the habit of 
 an omnivorous reader. His early days witnessed the memorable deepening of the 
 anti-slavery struggle, and he was one of many who threw themselves into the gal- 
 lant movement of resistance to the Slave Power, which then shook th£ Northern 
 centers, and had a notable arena in his native city. In 1851 he became associate 
 editor of the Free Soil newspaper in Boston, 71ie Commonwealth, and took an 
 active personal part in the stirring scenes of the place and period, such as the ren- 
 dition of Burns. The eventual suspension of The Commonwealth caused his mi- 
 gration to Philadelphia, where from 1854 to i860 he was connected editorially with 
 a weekly journal of large circulation, The Saturday Evening Post. In 1861 he 
 became Corresponding Clerk of the Lighthouse Board at Washington, of which in 
 1873 he became Chief Clerk. He resigned in 1874 and became Librarian of the 
 Treasury. A year later he entered the Life-Saving Service, then extremely con- 
 tracted in its functions, and an appendage of the Bureau of Revenue Marine. 
 Under the able management of Mr. Sumner J. Kimball, it gradually expanded, 
 until in 1878 it was formally organized by law as a separate establishment, thus 
 entering upon the career of splendid usefulness which is known to the whole 
 country; and Mr. O'Connor was promoted to the responsible position of its Assist- 
 
THE BACONIANS. 925 
 
 •ant Chief, which he has since continued to occupy with distinction. The elaborate 
 historical and descriptive articles on the Service in Appleton's and Johnson's 
 ■Cyclopedias are from his hand. 
 
 It is known to his friends that the extent and arduousness of his official occu- 
 pations have prevented him from doing the work in the field of literature of which 
 he is widely thought capable, although it is understood that his preparations toward 
 this end have been considerable. For several years following 1856 he published a 
 number of tales, which were popular at the time, such as The Sword of Manley, 
 What Cheer, The Carpenter, etc., and also several poems, among which To Athos, 
 Resiirge'nnis, To Fanny, etc., are still sometimes remembered. In i860 he pub- 
 lished Harrington, an anti-slavery romance, characterized by great picturesqueness 
 and fervor, the scene of which was laid in Boston, in the Fugitive Slave Law kid- 
 napping days. In 1866 the illustrious poet Walt WhitrrTan, having been ignomini- 
 ously ejected by the then Secretary, the Hon. James Harlan, from a position in 
 the Interior Department, on account of his book, published ten years before, Mr. 
 O'Connor came out in an impassioned pamphlet entitled The Good Gray Poet, not- 
 able for its range of literary learning and its eloquence, and chastised the outrage 
 with a cogency and vigor which turned the tide in the venerable poet's favor, and 
 started the strong movement in his behalf which has continued to this day both in 
 Europe and this country. It was this pamphlet that the Hon. Henry J. Raymond 
 termed editorially, in the New York Times, " the most brilliant monograph in Ameri- 
 can literature." In 1867 one of Mr. O'Connor's early magazine tales, The Ghost, 
 was published in book form in New York, with illustrations by Nast; and the story 
 was afterwards reproduced in the Little Classic series. In 1883 Dr. R. M. Bucke, 
 of Ontario, Canada, put forth an admirable memoir of Walt Whitman, in which 
 he published The Good Gray Poet, and to preface this Mr. O'Connor contributed a 
 long introduction, mainly tributary to the old bard, and armed, like a scythed 
 chariot, with a flashing plenitude of excoriation for his detractors and defamers. 
 In 1882-3 tne Massachusetts District Attorney for Suffolk County, Oliver Stevens, 
 aided by the Massachusetts Attorney-General, John Marston, the notorious An- 
 thony Comstock being also darkly apparent in the transaction, made an attempt to 
 legally crush by prosecution Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass, a new edition of 
 which had just been published by Osgood & Co. of Boston ; and on this occasion 
 Mr. O'Connor won signal distinction by several rousing letters in the New York 
 Tribune, so effective in their fulminations that they alarmed the assailants, and 
 broke the hostile movement down. In 1886, he published Hamlet's Note-Book, a 
 work which completely vindicated from the aspersions of Richard Grant White 
 the powerful and valid presentment of the Baconian case made by Mrs. Constance 
 M. Pott in her edition of Lord Bacon's Promas. Besides the special vindication, 
 the work has many points of value to the student of the Bacon-Shakspere con- 
 troversy, chief among which is the striking contrast instituted between the respec- 
 tive characters and lives of the two men — a contrast which tells heavily against 
 Shakspere. It is a tribute to the force of the book, that, despite the prevalent 
 Shakspere bias, it was received with general commendation. % 
 
 Mr. O'Connor is entitled to rank with the original Baconians. He gave his 
 ardent adhesion to Miss Delia Bacon's general theory immediately after the publi- 
 cation of her first paper in Putnam's Magazine in 1856, and in several journals of 
 that period he repeatedly championed her cause in uncompromising letters and 
 •editorials. 
 
 ... In the printed letter prefacing The Good Gray Poet, in Dr. Bucke's mem- 
 oir of Walt Whitman, he has several weighty pages on Lord Bacon, as the author 
 
9 2 6 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 of the Shakespeare drama. His special plea in Hamlet 's Note-Book has already 
 been referred to. He has considerable celebrity in certain private circles for his 
 powers in conversation and as a letter-writer, and it is said that on many occa- 
 sions, when the Bacon-Shakspere subject was the theme, he has made impres- 
 sions in various quarters which have become wide-spread and ineffaceable, and 
 brought many converts into the fold. 
 
 I have had the pleasure of knowing Mr. O'Connor personally, 
 and I have found him, as his friend says, a person of rare conversa- 
 tional powers, and possessed of a world of curious information. 
 
 The Celtic blood, implied in his name, gives him a combative, 
 chivalric spirit, which, however, is only aroused in defense of some 
 person to whom he thinks injustice has been done. Hence, when 
 Miss Bacon was universally denounced, he sprang to her defense; 
 when "the good gray poet," Walt Whitman, was persecuted by 
 shallow hypocrites, he entered the lists as his champion; and when 
 Richard Grant White assailed Mrs. Pott's Promus, in most virulent 
 and unmanly fashion, he wrote a book which is one of the brightest, 
 keenest and most vitriolic in our literature. Mr. O'Connor is of an 
 unselfish nature, unfitted to do much for himself, but very potent as 
 the defender of the oppressed. His heart permeates his intellect, 
 and his sympathy is greater than his ambition. A kindly, gener- 
 ous, admirable nature. 
 
 II. Hon. Nathaniel Holmes. 
 
 Among the pioneers of this grcc t argument — and one who 1 as- 
 
 done perhaps more complete and comprehensive work than any 
 
 other — is Hon. Nathaniel Holmes. Mr. Wyman calls him "the 
 
 apostle of Baconianism, " and gives the following as the theorem 
 
 of his book: 
 
 This work [T/ie Authorship of Shakespeare, by Nathaniel Holmes] undertakes 
 to demonstrate, not only that William Shakspere did not, but that Francis 
 Bacon did write the Plays and poems. It presents a critical view of the personal 
 history of the two men, their education, learning, attainments, surroundings and 
 associates, the contemporaneousness of the writings in question, in prose and 
 verse, an account of the earlier plays and editions, the spurious plays, and "the 
 true original copies." It gives some evidence that Bacon was known to be the 
 author by some of his contemporaries. It shows in what manner William Shak- 
 spere came to have the reputation of being the writer. It exhibits a variety of facts 
 and circumstances which are strongly suggestive of Bacon as the real author. A 
 comparison of the writings of contemporary authors in prose and verse proves- 
 that no other writer of that age, but Bacon, can come into any competition for the 
 authorship. It sifts out a chronological order of the production of the Plays, and 
 
THE BACONIANS. 9 2 7 
 
 of the several writings of Bacon, ascertaining the exact dates, whenever possible, 
 and shows that the more significant parallelisms run in the same order, and are of 
 such a nature, both by their dates and their own character, as absolutely to pre- 
 clude all possibility of borrowing, otherwise than as Bacon borrowed of himself. 
 It is amply demonstrated that mere common usage, or the ordinary practice of 
 writers, can furnish no satisfactory explanation of these parallelisms and identi- 
 ties. There is a continuous presentation of parallel or identical passages through- 
 out the work, with such commentary as was deemed necessary or advisable, in 
 order to bring out their full force and significance; and twenty pages of minor 
 parallelisms are given in one body, without commentary. 
 
 It gives some extensive proofs that Bacon was a poet, and suggests some 
 reasons for his concealment of his poetical authorship. There is some indication 
 of the object and purpose the author had in view in writing these Plays. It is 
 shown that the tenor of their teaching is in keeping with Bacon's ideas upon the 
 subjects treated in them. The latter half of the book presents more especially the 
 parallelisms in scientific and philosophical thought, with a view to show the identity 
 of the Plays and the writings of Bacon, in respect to their philosophy and standard 
 of criticism; and in this there is an endeavor to show that the character and drift 
 of the philosophy of Bacon (as well as that of the Plays) was substantially identical 
 Avith the realistic idealism of the more modern as of the more ancient writers on 
 the subject. 
 
 It is recognized that the evidences drawn from historical facts and biographical 
 circumstances are not in themselves alone entirely conclusive of the matter, how- 
 ever suggestive and significant, as clearing the way for more decisive proofs, or as 
 raising a high degree of probability; and it is conceded that, in the absence of 
 more direct evidence, the most decisive proof attainable is to be found in a critical 
 and thorough comparison of the writings themselves, and that such a comparison 
 will clearly establish the identity of the author as no other than Francis Bacon. 
 
 Judge Holmes was born July 2, 1814, at Peterborough, New 
 Hampshire; he graduated from Harvard University in 1837; was in 
 the Harvard Law School during 1838-39, and was admitted to the 
 bar, in Boston, in 1839. He practiced law at St. Louis from 1839 to 
 1865; was one of the Judges of the Supreme Court of Missouri 
 from 1865 to 1868, and Professor of Law in Harvard University 
 from 1868 to 1872; he resumed the practice of the law in St. Louis in 
 1872, and continued it until 1883, when he retired from business and 
 returned to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he now resides. At St. 
 Louis, Judge Holmes was Corresponding Secretary of the Academy 
 of Science from 1857 to 1883, except when absent at Cambridge; 
 and he has been a Fellow of the Academy of Arts and Sciences at 
 Boston since 1870. 
 
 His great work, The. Authorship of Shakespeare, was first pub- 
 lished in 1866 by Hurd & Houghton, of New York (now Houghton, 
 Mifflin & Co., of Boston and New York); the third edition of the 
 book appeared in 1875, with an Appendix, containing ninety-two 
 
928 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 pages of additional matters; and the last edition, published in 1886,, 
 
 has grown into two volumes, and contains a supplement of one 
 
 hundred and twenty pages of new matter. 
 
 When in college Judge Holmes' studies had more tendency to 
 
 metaphysics than to literature, merely as such. He read the 
 
 Shakespeare Plays, as he says, "to find out what great poetry was."" 
 
 He read, in 1856, Delia Bacon's celebrated Putnam s Magazine 
 
 article, and thereupon, he says, " I set to work to make a more 
 
 thorough study and comparison of the two sets of writings, and 
 
 soon found matter for surprise. Within a year I had convinced 
 
 myself of the identity of the author." He says: 
 
 My method was to read Bacon, and when I came across anything that was. 
 particularly Shakespearean to set the passage down in one column, and when I 
 found anything in the Plays that was particularly Baconian, I set it down in the 
 opposite column. Thus the context, thought and word were brought into com- 
 parison. 
 
 Another and very important part of the method was, to ascertain, as exactly 
 as possible, the date of the first known appearance of each play, or of such as had 
 appeared before the Folio of 1623 was published, and of each one of Bacon's 
 acknowledged writings; and the result was that the stronger resemblances in thought, 
 matter and word were pretty sure to appear in both writings if they were of nearly 
 the same date of composition. With these dates fixed in my memory, I was very 
 sure to go, at once, to the right work in which to find some exhibition of the same 
 matter, thought and expression. 
 
 I need scarcely add that Judge Holmes' work is exceedingly 
 able; it is and has been, since it was published, the standard author- 
 ity of the Baconians; and it is markedly fair and judicial in its tone. 
 One has but to look at the portrait of Judge Holmes, which we pre- 
 sent herewith, to read the character of the man — plain, straight- 
 forward, honest and capable. In fact, I might here observe that it 
 seems to me that all the portraits of the original Baconians presented 
 in this volume are remarkable for the intellectual power manifested 
 in them. A finer collection of faces never adorned the advocacy of 
 any theory. Instead of being, as the light-headed have charged, a 
 set of visionaries, their portraits show them to be people of pene- 
 trating, original, practical minds, who differ from their fellows sim- 
 ply in their power to think more deeply, and in their greater cour- 
 age to express their convictions. 
 
 III. Dr. William Thomson. 
 
 The next important contribution to the Baconian argument, in 
 
'cam or. 
 
THE BACOXIAXS. 
 
 929 
 
 order of time, was made by Dr. William Thomson, of Melbourne, 
 
 Australia, in his work. The Political Purpose of the Renascence 
 
 Drama: The Key of the Argument, an Svo pamphlet of 57 pages, 
 
 published at Melbourne, Sydney and Adelaide, in 1878, by George 
 
 Robertson. 
 
 I have not been able to procure copies of any of Dr. Thomson's 
 
 publications. I learn from Mr. Wyman's Bibliography that Dr. 
 
 Thomson was a practicing physician at Melbourne, Australia. Mr. 
 
 Wyman says: 
 
 He was evidently a fine scholar and an intense Baconian. He died during the 
 past year (1884), at the age of sixty-three. 
 
 Mr. Wyman sends me the following extract from a private letter 
 received by him from Melbourne: 
 
 The Baconian theory of Shakespeare's writings was an intense hobby with Dr. 
 Thomson; and even the day before he died he sent for some books on the subject: 
 the ruling passion strong in death. . . . His usefulnesses a member of society 
 was somewhat marred by his quarrelsome disposition. He was ever ready to put 
 on the literary war-paint, and raised up numerous enemies thereby. 
 
 From my knowledge of this end of the nineteenth century I 
 should interpret this last sentence to signify that Dr. Thomson was 
 persecuted and hounded by the advocates of "the divine Williams," 
 as the Frenchman called him; and that because he maintained his 
 convictions, — his intelligent convictions, — and would not agree 
 to think as the unreasoning multitude around him, he was re- 
 garded as a belligerent savage, ready at all times to don the war- 
 paint. The man who in this world undertakes to think his own 
 thoughts, and express them, will find the angles of ten thousand 
 elbows grinding his ribs continually. The fool who has no opinions,, 
 and the coward who conceals what he has, are always in rapport 
 with the streaming, shouting, happy-go-lucky multitude; but woe 
 unto the strong man who does his own thinking, and will not be 
 bullied into silence ! 
 
 Mrs. Pott writes me, recently: 
 
 I have had a long and pleasant correspondence with Dr. Thomson, and I felt , 
 his death very much. He was a very clever man. His friends, (some of whom 
 have been to see me), and his relations, claim for him that he was the originator of 
 the germ theories attributed to Koch. He illustrated the fact that phthisis is infec- 
 tious and communicable by germs in the air, and proved that it was unknown in 
 Australia until introduced in a definite manner by consumptive people from Eng- 
 land. He was a man to be remembered. 
 
93© CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 I regret that I cannot speak more fully concerning this able and 
 resolute gentleman, who held up the torch of the new doctrine in 
 the midst of an unbelieving generation, in the far-away antipodes. 
 
 In 1880 he published at Melbourne, Australia, a book entitled: 
 Our Renascence Drama; or. History made Visible. Sands and McDou- 
 gal. 8vo., pp. 359. 
 
 In 1881 he put forth a continuation of this work: William Shake- 
 speare in Romance and Reality. By William Thomson. Melbourne: 
 Sands and McDougall. 8vo, pp. 95. 
 
 In the same year he published at Melbourne a pamphlet of 
 sixteen pages entitled, Bacon and Shakespeare; also another pamphlet 
 of thirty-nine pages, entitled, Bacon, not Shakespeare, on Vivisection. 
 In 1882 he published another pamphlet of forty-six pages, entitled, 
 The Political Allegories in the Renascence Drama of Francis Bacon. In 
 1883 he put forth a pamphlet of twenty-four pages, entitled, A 
 Minute among the Amenities, in which he replies to certain pro-Shak- 
 spere critics in leading Australian periodicals; claiming that he was 
 denied a hearing by the papers that had attacked him, and was 
 forced to defend himself and his doctrines in a pamphlet. This 
 was the last of his utterances. 
 
 IV. Mrs. Henry Pott. 
 
 In 1883 appeared one of the most important contributions yet 
 made to the discussion of the Baconian question: The Fromus of 
 Formularies and Elegancies, (being Private Notes, circ. 1594, hitherto 
 unpublished), by Francis Bacon. Illustrated and elucidated by pass- 
 ages from Shakespeare. By Mrs. Henry Pott. With Preface by 
 E. A. Abbott, D.D., Head Master of the City of London School. 
 1883. London: Longmans, Green & Co. 8vo, pp. 628. 
 
 Mr. Wyman says: 
 
 The MSS. known as the Promus form a part of the Harleian collection in the 
 British Museum. . . . They consist of fifty sheets or folios, nearly all in the hand- 
 writing of Bacon, containing 1655 different entries or memoranda. The whole 
 seems to have been kept by Bacon as a sort of commonplace-book, in which he 
 entered at different times brief forms of expression, phrases, proverbs, verses from 
 the Bible, and quotations from Seneca, Horace, Virgil, Erasmus, and many other 
 writers. These are in various languages — English, French, Italian, etc. 
 
 Mrs. Pott's great work — and it is indeed a monument of in- 
 dustry and learning — has for its object to show that, while hundreds 
 
THE BACONIANS. 93 T 
 
 of these entries have borne no fruit in the preparation of Bacon's 
 acknowledged works, they reappear with wonderful distinctness in 
 the Shakespeare Plays. With phenomenal patience Mrs. Pott has 
 worked out thousands of these identities in her book. I have al- 
 ready made many citations from it. !f ome idea may be formed of 
 the marvelous industry of this remarkable lady when I state that, 
 to prove that we are indebted to Bacon for having enriched the 
 English language, through the Plays, with those beautiful courte- 
 sies of speech, " Good morrow," " Good day," etc., she carefully 
 examined six thousand works anterior to or conte?nporary with Bacon. 
 
 Mrs. Pott resides in London. She is nearing the fiftieth mile- 
 stone of her life. She comes of the best blood of England and 
 Scotland; of a long line of clergymen and lawyers. Judge Hali- 
 burton, of Nova Scotia, celebrated as the writer of the "Sam Slick " 
 papers, was a cousin of her mother. Her uncle, James Haliburton, 
 was the first Englishman to attempt to investigate the Pyramids of 
 Egypt. He lived among the Arabs and mastered their language, 
 as well as the hieroglyphics on the ancient monuments. The first 
 collection of mummies in the British Museum was presented by 
 him, and bears his name. It is claimed that Sir Gardiner Wilkin- 
 son appropriated his papers and labors without acknowledgment. 
 Sir Walter Scott was a Haliburton. Mrs. Pott's father, John Peter 
 Fearon, was a lawyer. " He came," says Mrs. Pott, in answer to 
 my questions, " of a long line of Sussex clergy and country gentle- 
 men. They seem, like the oaks, to have been indigenous to this soil." 
 Among the acquaintances of Mrs. Pott's youth were the celebrated 
 Stephensons and " dear old Professor Faraday." Mrs. Pott writes 
 me a charming account of her early years, from which I take the 
 liberty to quote a few sentences: 
 
 Things in general fell to me to do. To ride, to botanize and analyze with 
 my father; and to take notes for him at the Royal Institution lectures, which we 
 attended thrice a week during the season, from the time I was nine until I was 
 nineteen. We had an immense deal of company to entertain and cater for, and I 
 was dubbed " chief of the folly and decoration department; " and looking back, in 
 these days of high schools and cram, I cannot think how I got my education — 
 certainly not in the ordinary way. We had an extremely clever and original 
 governess, who had lived for sixteen years at Oxford in the family of the Dean of 
 Christ Church. She came to us overflowing with university ideas, knowledge of 
 books, etc.; and she impenetrated my imagination with a desire to know all sorts 
 of .hings which were considered to be far beyond the reaches of small souls; so 
 
93 2 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 that I remember steolitjg learned volumes from my father's shelves, hiding them 
 like a guilty thing, and glorying in the feeling that I did understand them, and 
 that if I had known the authors I could have talked to them to our mutual pleasure. 
 And somewhat in this way I made Bacon's acquaintance. One day, (I was ten or 
 eleven years old), an aunt took me to pay some visits. Whilst she and her friends 
 prosed drearily on, so to me it seemed, I improved the dismal hour by taking a 
 tour round the big drawing-room table, adorned with books radiating from the 
 center. Soon I found one with short pieces in good print, and read: " What is 
 truth? said jesting Pilate, and would not wait for an answer." I was delighted 
 with this new view of the subject, and the mixture of gravity and fun made me feel 
 at home with the author, for it was like my father. I read on, and I found it to be 
 a very nice book; so I looked at the title-page, and afterwards asked at home if 
 there were any books by a man called Francis Bacon, for I wished to read them. 
 It was not my father that I asked, and I was told that if was a conceited and ridi- 
 culous thing for a little girl to pretend to understand Bacon, who by all accounts 
 was too wise for any one to understand. That fixed him in my mind as a thing to 
 be seen into at the earliest opportunity; and somehow I must have got possessed 
 of the Essays, for my old governess told me a few years ago that when I was thir- 
 teen years of age we were speculating on the joys of heaven, and I said, to the 
 great surprise of the audience, that my idea would be to walk about and talk to 
 Francis Bacon. Of this I have no recollection; but I do remember the violent 
 repulsion which I felt at having to say " How d'ye do " to Lord Macaulay, because, 
 in my secret heart, I thought him a villain for having written such an essay about 
 Bacon. When I married, at the age of twenty, a friend asked me to name some- 
 thing which I would like him to give me. I said, "Bacon's Essays;" and that 
 little well-bound volume, (containing also the New Atlantis, The Wisdom of the 
 Ancients, and The History of Henry VIE), was the proximate cause of present 
 effects. It used to be on the table by which I sat whilst I had my daily cup of 
 five o'clock tea. As time went on, and in my happy little country home annual 
 babies were added to the household, they were always with me at this hour, whilst 
 the nurse was having her more important meal. Whilst they played and rolled 
 about (five under six years of age), I could not do much, but I could catch a few 
 refreshing ideas from my favorite author. I got to know the Essays through and 
 through, and was not long in perceiving the resemblances of thought between pass- 
 ages there and in Shakespeare. In the long damp evenings, before my husband 
 came home, I used to amuse myself by hunting out in the Plays the lines which I 
 thought I remembered. I began by trying to find out how much Bacon owes to 
 Plato, and soon found that Shakespeare owed as much. This was before the days 
 of a Shakespearean Concordance, at least I never heard of any; but in the search 
 for passages after my own fashion, I continually stumbled upon fresh resemblances 
 of thought and diction so surprising, that, at last, I said one day to our learned 
 old clergyman, the Rev. John Thomas Austen, that I felt sure that Bacon must 
 have taken the youthful Shakespeare by the hand and coached him, or in some 
 definite way helped him with his works. Mr. Austen said that others had thought 
 the same thing, but that experts, the Shakespearean Society and others, had in- 
 quired into the subject, which had been duly weighed and found wanting. I spoke 
 to others on the same topic, but found that it was held to be ridiculous, or even 
 offensive, to touch upon it. So, for a while, I said no more, but kept on scribbling 
 notes on the margins of my books, until my own mind grew confirmed and auda- 
 cious. I said to Mr. Austen that I had altered my ideas. Bacon did not help 
 Shakespeare, but he wrote all the Plays himself. Then Mr. Austen laughed at me 
 
THE BACONIANS. 933 
 
 kindly, and said I ought to have known Lord Palmerston, who to his dying day 
 maintained the same thing. I asked what were Lord Palmerston' s views. Mr. Aus- 
 ten said that he did not know; that he had some vaporous notions which the cir- 
 cumstances of the men's lives did not warrant. I said that if the idea savored of 
 " inane," I should be happy to be a fool in such good company as Lord Palmer- 
 ston's; and privately continued my researches. In 1874 we were in London, and 
 I casually met with Fraser s Magazine, July or August, containing that remarkably 
 fair> calm article which has now become almost classic. It summed up all that 
 had been published on the subject, and brought forward the names of Miss Delia 
 Bacon, and Mr. W. H. Smith, and Judge Holmes, of not one of whom had I ever 
 before heard. I was enchanted to find that there was nothing which upset the 
 theories which had been building themselves up about Bacon. I told Archdeacon 
 Pott, my husband's cousin, what I thought, and that the only scientific way of get- 
 ting at the truth was to take, separately, every branch of Bacon's learning, every 
 subject of his studies and researches, placing them under headings as in a 
 cyclopaedia, and comparing them with Shakespeare's utterances. I proposed to 
 begin with concrete substantives, to prove (what I already knew was a fact) that 
 Bacon and Shakespeare talked of the same things; then I would collect all the pass- 
 ages which showed their thoughts on those same things; and then, again, the 
 actual words which they used to express their thoughts. My cousin thought that 
 the task would be Herculean, and require an army of able workers, but no aid 
 was then to be had. " The learned " did not like my notions, and fought shy of 
 discussing them. " The unlearned " were useless; and the small amount of work 
 which I paid for was done in a perfunctory or uncomprehending way which ren- 
 dered it valueless. So I remembered my father's dictum that Time and Force 
 are convertible terms; and I recollected also a mushroom which, in a day and a night, 
 heaved up a great threshold stone at our garden door; and I thought that by small, 
 persistent efforts I would be even with that mushroom. So I began systematically 
 on the simplest subjects — Horticulture, Agriculture, etc.; arranging each detail 
 under a heading, and writing on the right half of the sheet what Bacon said, and 
 on the left what Shakespeare said. After doing Horticulture, Natural History, 
 Medicine, Metallurgy, Chemistry, Meteorology, Astronomy, Astrology, -Light, 
 Heat, Sound, Man, Metaphysics, Life, Death, etc., I proceeded to Politics; the 
 State, Kings, Seditions, etc.; Law, in all its branches; Mythology, Religion; the 
 Bible, Superstitions, Witchcraft or Demonology, etc. Then History, Ancient and 
 Modern, Geography, allusions to Classical Lore, Fiction, Arts, the Theater, 
 Music, Poetry, Painting, Cosmetics, Dress, Furniture, Domestic Affairs. Trades, 
 Professions; in short, everything. Then for the Grammar, (by aid of Dr. Abbott's 
 Shakespearean Grammar), and the Philology, by an exhaustive process of com- 
 parison, and by Pro?nns notes. Then I wrote a sketch of Bacon's life, consisting 
 of twenty-nine or thirty chapters, wherein, as I believed, I traced his history, 
 written in the Plays. Fortunately I made no attempt to publish this. Mean- 
 while I began another dictionary, which was well advanced when I broke down in 
 health. Having taken out all the metaphors, similes and figurative turns of speech 
 from the prose works, I compared them as before with the same sort of thing in 
 the Plays. I made about 3,000 headings, illustrated by about 30,000 passages. 
 
 This extraordinary mental activity and industry is quite Bacon- 
 ian; it 
 
 O'er-informs its tenement of clay, 
 And frets the pigmy body to decay. 
 
934 
 
 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 It is the spirit mastering the flesh; and it reminds one of the 
 expression used by one of the great French generals of the eight- 
 eenth century, who found himself trembling, as he was going into 
 battle: " Thou tremblest, O body of mine! Thou wouldst trem- 
 ble still more if thou knewest where I am going to take thee 
 to-day ! " 
 
 And this marvelous mental labor has been carried on in the 
 midst of the demands of a large family and the exactions of many 
 and high social duties. I was amused to find Mrs. Pott saying in 
 a recent letter, — in which she was discussing some very grave ques- 
 tions, — "But I must stop; for I have to give one of the children a 
 lesson on the violin." 
 
 Mrs. Pott is one of the most comprehensive and penetrating 
 minds ever born on English soil, and her nation will yet recognize 
 her as such; and she is, withal, a generous, modest and unpretend- 
 ing lady. It is an auspicious sign for the future of the human race 
 when women, who in the olden time were the slaves or the play- 
 things of men, prove that their more delicate nervous organization 
 is not at all incompatible with the greatest mental labors or the pro- 
 foundest and most original conceptions. And if it be a fact — as 
 all creeds believe — that our intelligences are plastic in the hands of 
 the external spiritual influences, then we may naturally expect that 
 woman — purer, higher, nobler and more sensitive than man — 
 will in the future lead the race up many of the great sun-crowned 
 heights of progress, where thicker-brained man can only follow 
 in her footsteps. 
 
 I owe Mrs. Pott an apology for venturing to quote so exten- 
 sively, as I have done, from her private letters, but I trust the 
 pleasure it will give the public will plead my excuse. 
 
 V. Other Advocates of Bacon. 
 
 Besides these distinguished laborers in the field of this great dis- 
 cussion, as advocates of Francis Bacon, there have been many 
 humbler, but no less gallant defenders of his cause, who, in 
 pamphlet, magazine, or newspaper, have set forth the reasons for 
 the faith that was in them; and who deserve now to be remembered 
 for their sagacity and courage. Among these I would mention. 
 
THE BACONIANS. 935 
 
 Francis Fearon, a brother of Mrs. Pott, whose able lecture, 
 recently, upon the question of Bacon's authorship of the Plays, has 
 been read by millions of people in England and America; the un- 
 known writer of the article which appeared in Frasers Magazine, 
 London, November, 1855; Richard J. Hinton, of Washington, D. C, 
 who published an able three-column article in the Round Table, of 
 New York, November 17, 1866, and has subsequently done yeoman 
 service in the cause; Rev. A. B. Bradford, of Enon, Pennsylvania, 
 who printed, in the Golden Age, May 30, 1834, and in the Argus and 
 Radical, of Beaver, Pennsylvania, December 29, 1875, a report of a 
 six-column lecture on the same theme; J. V. B. Prichard, who wrote 
 a ten-page article for Frascr's Magazine, London, August, 1874 
 (which was reproduced in LittelVs Living Age, October, 1874, and 
 attracted marked attention); the Ven. Archdeacon William T. Leach, 
 LL.D.. of McGill College and University, Montreal, Canada, who 
 delivered a lecture before the College on Bacon and Shakespeare, 
 November 13, 1879, an< ^ warmly espoused the side of Francis 
 Bacon as the author of the Plays. In addition to these I would 
 also mention: George Stronach, M.A., who advocated the Baconian 
 theory in The Hornet, London, August 11, 1875; M. J. Villemain, 
 who published two articles, in L* Instruction Publiqtie: Revue des 
 Lettres, Science et Arts, Paris, August 31 and September 7, 1878. 
 Also my friend O. Follett, Esq., of Sandusky, Ohio, who printed a 
 pamphlet of forty-seven pages, May, 1879, and another May, i88i,of 
 twelve pages, and has contributed a strong communication to the 
 Register, of Sandusky, Ohio, April 5, 1883, in answer to Richard 
 Grant White's "Bacon-Shakespeare Craze." Mr. Follett has, I un- 
 derstand, ready for the press a larger work on the Baconian author- 
 ship, which I hope will soon see the light. I would also refer to 
 Henry G. Atkinson, F.G.S., who, in the Spiritualist, London, July 
 4, 1879, an d m m any other periodicals, has advocated the Baconian 
 theory; also to O. C. Strouder, author of an article in the Witten- 
 berger Magazine, of Springfield, Ohio, November, 1880; also to 
 William W. Ferrier, of Angola, Indiana, who contributed num- 
 erous able articles on the subject to the Herald of that town in 
 the year 1881; also to E. W. Tullidge, editor of Tullidge s Quarterly 
 Magazine, Salt Lake City, Utah, who has written several strong 
 
936 
 
 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 \ 
 
 articles in advocacy of Bacon's authorship of the Plays; also to 
 John W. Bell, of Toledo, Ohio, who has written several newspaper 
 articles of the same tenor; also to Robert M. Theobald, of London, 
 England, one of the officers of the Bacon Society of London, 
 and an able and earnest advocate of Baconianism in leading 
 English journals. I would also mention the names of Edward 
 Fillebrown, of Brookline, Massachusetts, and the late Hon. Geo. B. 
 Smith, at one time a leading lawyer of the State of Wisconsin, 
 whom I had the pleasure of knowing. I would also refer to the 
 unknown writer of an able article in defense of Bacon's authorship 
 of the Plays, in the Allgemeine Zeitung, Stuttgart and Munich, March 
 i, 1883, four columns in length. I would also refer to the labors of 
 two of my friends, William Henry Burr, of Washington, D. C, a 
 powerful controversialist upon the question; and to Hon. J. H. 
 Stotsenburg, of New Albany, Indiana, the author of a very interest- 
 ing series of articles in an Indianapolis newspaper, entitled "An 
 Indian in Indiana." 
 
 VI. Appleton Morgan. 
 
 I regret that I cannot include in this catalogue of Baconians 
 Mr. Appleton Morgan, the author of The Shakespearean Myth, pub- 
 lished in 1881, by Robert Clarke & Co., of Cincinnati, Ohio (8vo, 
 pp. 342); but Mr. Morgan writes me recently that he is not a 
 Baconian. This is the more to be regretted because his book is 
 a powerful assault upon Shakspere's authorship: and it seems to 
 me that if Shakspere did not write the Plays there is no one left 
 to dispute the palm with Francis Bacon. Certainly there could 
 not have been half a dozen Shakespeares lying around loose in 
 London just at that time. Nature does not breed her monsters 
 in litters. While Mr. Morgan gives us in his work few new facts, 
 not already contained in the writings of Miss Bacon, William Henry 
 Smith and Judge Holmes, he arrays the argument in the case with 
 the skill of a trained lawyer, and brings out his conclusions in a 
 forcible manner. But I regret to see evidences, in some of Mr. 
 Morgan's recent utterances, which lead me to fear that he has re- 
 canted the opinions expressed in The Myth, and that he thinks the 
 man of Stratford may, after all, have written the Plays ! 
 

THE BACONIAN H. 
 
 VII. Professor Thomas Davidsoi 
 
 I take pleasure in presenting to the public the features of one 
 of the most accomplished scholars in America, who, while not an 
 avowed Baconian, has been largely identified with the presentation 
 of this book to the public, and therefore deserves to be mentioned 
 in it. Professor Davidson was sent to my home by the New York 
 World, in August, 1887, to examine the proof-sheets of this work. 
 He came believing that William Shakspere was undoubtedly the 
 writer of the Plays; he left convinced that this was almost impos- 
 sible; and since then, in numerous newspaper articles, he has pre- 
 sented most powerful arguments in support of his views. Only a 
 great man could thus overcome, in a few hours, the prejudices of a 
 life-time; only an honest man would dare avow the change. Prof. 
 Davidson is both. 
 
 He comes of the great race of Burns and Scott, and Hume and 
 Mackintosh; — a race whose part in the world has been altogether 
 out of proportion to the dimensions of their stormy little land; a 
 land which sits with the fair fields of England at her knees, and the 
 everlasting clouds upon her mountain brows. 
 
 Professor Davidson was born October 25, 1840, at Deer, Aber- 
 deenshire. He graduated as the first in his class at Aberdeen in 
 i860. He has traveled in Germany, France, Italy, Greece, Canada, 
 the United States, etc. From 1875 to 1877 he was a member of the 
 Harvard University Visiting Committee. He has written for all 
 the leading magazines and reviews of England and America. His 
 lingual acquirements and his universal learning are such that he 
 has been aptly termed " the Admirable Crichton of recent times." 
 
 But intellect and learning are cheap in these latter ages; they 
 are produced in superabundance. Professor Davidson has that, 
 however, which is better than a thoroughly-stored brain, to-wit: a 
 kind, broad heart, which feels for the miseries of his fellow-men. 
 The acquisitions of the memory cannot be expected to be perpetu- , 
 ated beyond the disintegration of the brain which holds them; but 
 the impulses for good come from the Divine Essence, and will live 
 when all the universities are but little heaps of dust. 
 
 VIII. James T. Cobb. 
 
 And here I would note the labors of an humble and unostentatious 
 
938 
 
 CO JVC L USIONS. 
 
 gentleman, who, while he has himself, I believe, published nothing 
 touching the Baconian controversy, has contributed not a little to 
 the elucidation of many remarkable parallelisms of thought and 
 expression between Bacon's acknowledged writings and the Shake- 
 speare Plays. Some of these have been used by Judge Holmes and 
 others by myself. Mr. James T. Cobb, of Salt Lake City, Utah, 
 school-teacher, born in Boston, graduated in 1855 from Dartmouth 
 College, resided in different Western States, and finally removed 
 to the great Salt Lake Basin. Mr. Cobb's verbal knowledge of the 
 Baconian and Shakespeare writings is equaled only by his pene- 
 tration into the spirit of the great mind which produced both. 
 
 IX. W. H. Wyman. 
 
 I cannot close this chapter without some reference to one who, 
 while not a Baconian, has yet materially contributed to the discus- 
 sion of the question. I refer to Mr. W. H. Wyman, of Cincinnati, 
 Ohio, author of TJie BibliograpJiy of tJie Bacon-SJiakespeare Contro- 
 versy, with Notes and Extracts, published in 1884 by Cox & Co., Cin- 
 cinnati, Ohio — a reasonably fair and well arranged compilation. 
 
 It is singular, indeed, that one who believed the Baconian theory 
 was a delusion and a snare should be at so much pains to collect 
 every detail of the controversy, amounting in all, in 1884, to 255 
 titles of books, pamphlets, essays and newspaper articles. So far 
 back as 1882 we find Mr Wyman publishing in a Wisconsin paper 
 a partial bibliographical list (25 titles); this grew in the same year 
 to a small book of 63 titles and eight pages; this in 1884 to the 
 work referred to of 255 titles and 119 pages; and I am informed 
 Mr. Wyman has now the material on hand for a large volume, which 
 will, I trust, soon be published. 
 
 Mr. Wyman was born in Canton, New York, July 21st, 1831. 
 In 1838 he removed with the rest of his family to Madison, Wiscon- 
 sin, then almost a wilderness. His father was publisher of a news- 
 paper there, and Mr. Wyman received most of his education in the 
 printing-office. He has been in the service of the JEtna Insurance 
 Company for thirty-two years, and now holds the responsible place 
 of Assistant General Agent for that corporation in the State of 
 Ohio. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 Xo more yet of this, 
 For 'tis a chronicle of day by day, 
 Not- a relation for a breakfast, nor 
 Befitting this first meeting. 
 
 Tempest^ r, /. 
 
 " I ^HE Cipher establishes that Francis Bacon wrote the Shake- 
 •*■ speare Plays; but it proves much more than^this to the reason- 
 ing mind. 
 
 The first of the Plays, we are told by Halliwell-Phillipps, (the 
 highest authority on the subject), appeared March 3, 1592. But 
 Bacon was born January 22, 1561; so that he was thirty-one years 
 of age when the first Shakespeare play was placed on the stage. 
 
 Can any one believe that the vastly active intellect of Francis 
 Bacon lay fallow from youth until he was thirty-one years of age? 
 
 The Rev. Mr. Newman, in his funeral oration over the son of 
 Senator Stanford, of California, collated many instances, going to 
 show how early the greatness of the mind manifests itself in men 
 of exceptional ability. He says: 
 
 In all this early intellectual superiority he reminds us that the history of heroes 
 is the history of youth. At eleven, Bacon was speculating on the Laws of the 
 Imagination; at twelve, a student at Cambridge; at sixteen, expressing his dis- 
 like for the philosophy of Aristotle; at twenty, the author of a paper on the defects 
 of universities; at twenty-one, admitted to the bar; at twenty-eight, appointed 
 Queen's Counsel Extraordinary. He reminds us of the tender and eloquent Pas- 
 cal, who, at the age of sixteen, published a Treatise on Conic Sections; at sev- 
 enteen, suggested the hydraulic press; at twenty, anticipated by his inventions 
 the works of Galileo and Descartes, and at twenty-four was an authority in higher 
 mathematics. He reminds us of Grotius, who entered the University of Leyden 
 at twelve; at fourteen, published an edition of Martianus Capella, which dis- 
 closed his acquaintance with Cicero, Aristotle, Pliny, Euclid, Strabo, and other 
 great writers; at fifteen, was an attache of a Dutch embassy to Henry IV.; at six- 
 teen, was admitted to practice; at twenty-four, was Advocate-General of the Treas- 
 sury of Holland, and at twenty-five was an authority on international law. He 
 
 939 
 
940 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 recalls to us Gibbon, who was in his Latin at seven; a student at Oxford at fifteen; 
 a lover of Locke and Grotius and Pascal at seventeen, and at twenty-five had 
 acquired the scholarship, gathered the materials, and formed the plan of that great 
 history which has given immortality to his name. He brings to mind our own 
 Hamilton, who entered college at fifteen; was an orator at seventeen; a political 
 writer at eighteen; at twenty, was on Washington's staff; at twenty-four, was a 
 legislator, and at thirty-two was Secretary of the Treasury of the United States. 
 Nay, more; his mental promise was like that of Washington, of Pitt, of Whitfield, 
 of Raphael, of Agassiz, in their early manhood. 
 
 And yet, up to 1592, when Bacon was thirty-one years of age, 
 he had published nothing but a pamphlet on a religious topic, and 
 a brief letter on governmental questions. What was he doing be- 
 fore he assumed the mask of Shakespeare ? 
 
 I. Early Plays. 
 
 He had, before " William Shagsper of thone part " appeared on 
 
 the scene, created a whole literature. That mighty renaissance of 
 
 English genius and reconstruction of the drama, which marks the 
 
 years between 1580 and 161 1, had begun while the beadles were 
 
 still amusing themselves and exercising their muscles over the raw 
 
 back of Shagsper; and when Shake-speare appeared in 1592, as an 
 
 author, he simply inherited a style of workmanship and a form of 
 
 expression already created. Swinburne says: 
 
 In his early plays the style of Shakespeare was not for the most part distinctively 
 his own. It was that of a crew, a knot of young writers, among whom he found at 
 once both leaders and followers, to be guided and to guide. 1 
 
 The young lawyer, Francis Bacon, being possessed of the crea- 
 tive, poetical instinct, and having discovered that there was in the 
 theaters a veritable mine of money, and that " a philosopher may 
 be rich, if he will," and still be a philosopher, poured forth, between 
 the year 158T, when he was twenty years of age, and 1592, when 
 he assumed the Shake-speare mask, a whole body of plays. They 
 were not perfected or elaborated; they were youthful and immature 
 experiments; many of them, most of them, have perished; they 
 were dashed off to meet some temporary money necessity; just as 
 we are told the original play of The Merry Wives of Windsor 
 was written in fourteen days; and Bacon's chaplain, Rawley, notes 
 the rapidity with which he composed his writings. The very names 
 of many of these plays are lost; some we have in glimpses; three 
 
 1 Swinburne, A Study of Shak., p. 243. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 941 
 
 years before Shakespeare began to write, in 1589, Peele addressed a 
 
 farewell to the Earl of Essex, Norris and Drake on their expedition 
 
 to Cadiz, in which he says: 
 
 Bid theater and proud tragedians, 
 Bid Mahomet, Scipio and mighty Tumburlain, 
 King Charlemagne, Tom Stucley and the rest 
 Adieu. To arms, etc. 1 
 
 Now, we know that there is a play of Tamburlaine^ attributed to 
 Marlowe, and a play of Tom Stuckley, the author of which is un- 
 known; hence we may reasonably infer that Mahomet, Scipio and 
 King Charlemagne were also plays, then being acted on the stage. 
 And the names imply that they were kindred in substance to Tam- 
 burlaine and Doctor Faustus; that is to say, they dealt with vast 
 characters and huge events, which naturally would fascinate the wild 
 imagination of a young man of genius; and they touched upon 
 subjects which might be reasonably expected to catch the attention 
 of one fresh from his academical studies. Tamburlaine ruled a 
 great part of the world; so did Mahomet; so did Charlemagne; while 
 the career of Scipio Africanus and his mighty victories was as 
 extraordinary as the powers which Doctor Faustus, through his 
 compact with the evil one, gained over the forces of nature, over 
 life and the tenants of the grave. 
 
 And in addition to these lost plays there are fifteen other 
 dramas that have survived the chances of time, and have been 
 attributed by many commentators to the pen which wrote the 
 Shakespeare Plays, to-wit: The Arraignment of Paris, Arden of 
 Ferersham, George-a- Greene, Locrine, King Edward III., Mucedorus, 
 Sir John Oldcastle, Thomas Lord Cromwell, The Merry Devil of Ed- 
 monton, The London Prodigal, The Puritan (or the Widow of Watling 
 Street), A Yorkshire Tragedy, Fair £m, The Two Noble Kinsmen, and 
 The Birth of Merlin. Many of these are now printed in all com- 
 plete editions of Shakespeare's works. In addition to these, 
 Pericles, Prince of Tyre, which was not inserted by Heminge and « 
 Condell in the great Folio, was published in quarto in 1609, with 
 the name of William Shakespeare on the title-page, and was played 
 at Shakespeare's play-house. It is now generally conceded to be 
 the work of Shakespeare. There was also a play called Love's 
 
 1 School of Shak., vol. i, p. 153. 
 
942 CONCL US/ON S. 
 
 Labors Won, named by Meres in 1598 as the work of Shakespeare, 
 which is either lost, or has survived under some other name. There 
 was also another play entitled Duke Humphrey, attributed to 
 Shakespeare during his lifetime, which was destroyed by the care- 
 lessness of a servant of Warburton, in the early part of the last 
 century. 
 
 Now, it must be remembered that all of the list of fifteen plays 
 given above, except The Merry Devil of Edmonton and The Two Noble 
 Kinsmen, were published during Shakspere' s life-time, in nearly every 
 instance with the ?iame of William Shakespeare, or his initials, on the 
 titlepage, and The Merry Devil of Edmonton was announced as the 
 joint work of Shakespeare and Rowley, and The Two Noble Kins- 
 men as having been written by Shakespeare and Fletcher. 1 So that 
 we have just as good authority for assigning most of these plays to 
 Shakespeare as we have for attributing to him those that go by his 
 name. Besides, the critical acumen of learned commentators has 
 discovered abundant evidence that they all emanated from the 
 same mind which produced Hamlet and Lear. 
 
 I regret that the limitations of space in this book, already too 
 bulky, prevent me from going fully into all these matters; but 
 they are " not a relation for a breakfast," but a subject that may 
 be recurred to hereafter. 
 
 The great German critics have, it seems to me, taken juster 
 views upon these " doubtful plays," as they are called, than the 
 English. Tieck refers to them in his Alt-Englisches Theater, oder Sup- 
 ple mente zum Shakspere, as follows: 
 
 Those dramas which Shakspere produced in his youth, and which Englishmen, 
 through a misjudging criticism, and a tenderness for his fame (as they thought) have 
 refused to recognize. 
 
 Tieck is speaking of George-a-Greene. He also, from internal 
 evidences, attributes Fair Em, The Birth of Merlin, The Merry 
 Devil of Edmonton, Edward III., and Arden of Eeversham, to Shake- 
 speare; while Schlegel says that Sir John Oldcastle, Thomas Lord 
 Cromwell, and The Yorkshire Tragedy, are " unquestionably Shake- 
 speare's." 
 
 The Yorkshire Tragedy appeared in 1608 with Shakespeare's name 
 on the title page; The Puritan, or the Widow of Wailing Street, was 
 
 1 Morgan, Shakespearean Myth, p. 286. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 943 
 
 published in 1607, as "written by W. S.;" The London Prodigal was 
 published in 1605, as " by William Shakespeare;" the play of Thomas 
 Lord Cro?nweIl was published in 1613, "written by W. S.;" Locrine 
 was published in 1595 as "newly set forth, overseene and corrected 
 by W. S.;" The Life of Sir John Oldcastle was published 1600 with 
 the initials "W. S." on the title-leaf. Speaking of Arden of Fever- 
 sham, Swinburne says: 
 
 Either this play is the young Shakespeare's first tragic masterpiece, or there 
 was a writer unknown to us then alive, and at work for the stage, who excelled him 
 as a tragic dramatist not less, to say the very least, than he was excelled by Marlowe 
 as a tragic poet. 
 
 He adds that Goethe is said to have believed that Shakespeare 
 wrote this play. 1 
 
 Here, then, is a whole body of literature, Shakespearean in its 
 characteristics, and yet discarded by Heminge and Condell from the 
 first complete edition of Shakespeare's works, printed from the "true 
 original copies." And, if I had the space for the inquiry, I could 
 show that these plays are full of Baconianisms, if I may coin a word. 
 For instance, Bacon had returned from the higher civilization of 
 France, (nearer geographically to the surviving Roman culture), 
 full of all the arts — music, poetry and painting. We see many refer- 
 ences to the art of painting in the Shakespeare Plays; it was still a 
 foreign art; and Swinburne says, speaking of Arden of Fever sham: 
 
 I cannot remember, in the whole radiant range of the Elizabethan drama, more 
 than one parallel tribute paid in this play by an English poet to the yet foreign art 
 of painting. 2 
 
 And it is a curious fact that the words, — 
 
 Come, make him stand upon this mole-hill here 
 That raught at mountains with outstretched arms, 
 Yet parted but the shadow with his hand, — 
 
 which we find in The Third Part of King Henry VI., are taken 
 bodily from The True Tragedy of Richard, Duke of York, a play not 
 published as Shakespeare's. 
 
 And Swinburne finds still another play, The Spanish Tragedy, • 
 which he believes to be the work of Shakespeare. He says: 
 
 I still adhere to Coleridge's verdict, . . . that those magnificent passages, 
 well-nigh overcharged at every point with passion and subtlety, sincerity and 
 
 l A Study 0/ Shakespeare, p. 135. 2 -^ Study of Shakespeare, p. 141. 
 
944 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 instinct of pathetic truth, are no less like Shakespeare's work than unlike John- 
 son's. 1 
 
 In short, the genius we call Shakespeare's is found dissociated 
 from the man Shakspere, and covering a vast array of matter which 
 the play-actor had nothing to do with: for Fair Em appeared 
 in 1587, while Shakspere was holding horses at the door f the play- 
 house; and some others of the plays, above named, now believed 
 to have been written by the Shakespeare pen, were never associated 
 with Shakspere's name during his lifetime, nor long afterwards. 
 And all this is compatible with the theory that a scholar of vast 
 intellectual precocity, like Bacon, and of immense fecundity, flooded 
 the stages of London with plays — to make money — for years before 
 Shakspere left Stratford; but it is utterly incompatible with the 
 belief that the man who left nothing behind him to show any 
 mental activity (except, of course, his alleged plays), and who dwelt 
 during the last years of his life at Stratford in utter torpidity of 
 mind, could have produced this array of unclaimed dramas. And 
 the reader will note that most of these plays were printed, for the first 
 time, between 1607 and 1613, just at the time Bacon was drawing to 
 the close of his poetical productiveness. It was as if he was trying 
 to preserve to posterity the history of the growth of his own mind 
 from its first crude, youthful beginnings to its perfect culmination; 
 from Stuckley and Fair E?n to Othello and Lear. 
 
 Besides these earlier plays there were a number which, it is 
 claimed, Shakespeare used and enlarged, and which are supposed 
 by the critics to have been written by other men, but which were in 
 reality Bacon's first essays upon those subjects. For it is not proba- 
 <' ble that any dramatic writer would re-cast and improve and glorify 
 another man's work. We can conceive of Charles Dickens, for in- 
 stance, taking up an immature sketch of his youth, and enlarging it 
 into David Copperfield or Bleak House; but we cannot imagine him 
 taking a story written by Thackeray and re-writing it and publish- 
 ing it under his own name. There, for instance, is the Contention 
 between the Houses of York and Lancaster, the early King Jolm, the 
 Famous Victories, and that Hamlet which it is claimed was first 
 played in 1585. And here is another instance of the same kind. 
 Swinburne says: 
 
 J A Study 0/ Shakespeare, p. 144. 
 
ftf^UHL. U~t- f/? 2>-(Ay S-HvCo>~<Uy 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON 
 
 945 
 
 The refined instinct, artistic judgment and consummate taste of Shakespeare 
 were never perhaps so wonderfully shown as in his recast of another man's work 
 — a man of real if rough genius for comedy — which we get in The Taming of the 
 Shrew. Only the collation of scene with scene, then of speech with speech, then 
 of line with line, will show how much may be borrowed from a stranger's material, 
 and how much may be added to it by the same stroke of a single hand. All the 
 force and humor alike of character and situation belong to Shakespeare 's eclipsed 
 and forhrn precursor; he has added nothing, he has tempered and enriched every- 
 thing. The luckless author of the first sketch is like to remain a man as name- 
 less as the deed of the witches in Macbeth, unless some chance or caprice of 
 accident should suddenly flash favoring light on his now impersonal and indiscov- 
 erable individuality. ... On the other hand, he is, of all the Pre-Shakespeareans 
 known to us, incomparably the truest, the richest, the most powerful and original 
 humorist; one, indeed, without a second on that ground, for the rest are nowhere. 1 
 
 And how comes it that the world was, just at that time, so full 
 of mighty but unknown geniuses? It seems to have rained Shake- 
 speares. 
 
 Then there is The Warning for Fair Women, arising out of a 
 murder in 1573, supposed to have been written before 1590, and 
 published in 1599. Mr. Collier 2 gives excellent reasons for believing 
 that it was written by the man who wrote Shakespeare; and says 
 the identities of language and thought are so great that it is aut 
 Shakespeare aut diabolus. And Collier 3 cites the names of a number 
 of other plays, "domestic tragedies" he calls them, which, like The 
 Yorkshire Tragedy and Arden of Feversham, were founded upon events 
 of the day; there is, for instance, Two Tragedies in One, based upon 
 the assassination of a merchant of London, The Fair Maid of Bris- 
 tol, The Stepmother s Tragedy, The Tragedy of John Cox of Collumpto?i, 
 The Tragedy of Page of Plymouth, Black Bateman of the North, etc., 
 all founded on actual occurrences which attracted public attention, 
 and which were seized upon by some fertile mind as subjects on 
 which to dash off short plays that would draw the multitude, and 
 fill the pockets of actors and author. Many of these "domestic 
 tragedies " are lost, but nearly all those that have been accidentally 
 preserved are deemed by our best critics, English and German, to 
 bear traces of the Shakespearean mind. And nearly all these ante- 
 date the time when Shakespeare appeared as a play-writer. 
 
 II. The Play of "Edward III." 
 
 It is generally supposed that Shakespeare originated that form 
 
 1 A Study of Shak., p. 124. 3 Ibid., p. 437. 
 
 1 History of Dram. Poetry, vol. ii, p. 440. 
 
946 
 
 CONCL US IONS. 
 
 of drama known as the historical play. This is not true. Marlowe 
 preceded him with Edward II, and an unknown writer with 
 Edward III Here we see that the purpose of teaching the multi- 
 tude the history of their own country in plays, descriptive of the 
 great events of different reigns, began before Shakspere appeared 
 on the scene, probably before he left Stratford. 
 
 Of the author of this play of Edward III. Swinburne says: 
 
 He could write, at times, very much after the fashion of the adolescent Shake- 
 speare. 1 
 
 This play was first printed in 1596, and ran through several 
 anonymous editions. Collier speaks of it as undoubtedly Shake- 
 speare's. 2 Capell published it in 1760, as " thought to be writ by 
 Shakespeare." Knight says "there was no known author capable 
 of such a play." 3 Ulrici is positive that Shakespeare wrote it. 
 
 There is a curious fact about this play. It contains the following 
 
 line: 
 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 
 And this line is precisely repeated in Shakespeare's 94th sonnet: 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 
 Either the unknown author stole this line bodily from Shake- 
 speare, or Shakespeare stole it bodily from him: for in neither case 
 were there any marks to show that it was a quotation. Public pur- 
 loining of whole lines is very unusual in any age; but it would be 
 most natural for an author to copy a few expressions from himself, 
 with intent to preserve them. 
 
 The writer of the play puts this speech into the mouth of the 
 
 Countess of Salisbury: 
 
 As easy may my intellectual soul 
 Be lent away and yet my body live, 
 As lend my body, palace to my soul, 
 Away from her, and yet retain my soul. 
 My body is her bower, her court, her abbey, 
 And she an angel pure, divine, unspotted; 
 If I should lend her house, my lord, to thee, 
 I kill my poor soul, and my poor soul me. 
 
 "This last couplet," says Swinburne, "is very much in the style 
 of Shakespeare's sonnets; nor is it wholly unlike even the dramatic 
 
 1 A Study of Shak., p. 235. 3 Knight's Doubtful Plays, p. 279. 
 
 2 History of Dram. Poetry, vol. iii, p. 311 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 947 
 
 style of Shakespeare in his youth." 1 He might have added that 
 the whole passage is decidedly Shakespearean. 
 
 The "angel, pure, divine, unspotted" reminds us of the descrip- 
 tion in Henry VIII., v, 4, of Queen Katharine as "a most unspotted 
 lily." 
 
 I quoted on page 534, ante, from 2d Henry VI., v, 1, the lines: 
 
 These brows of mine 
 Whose smile and power, like to Achilles' spear, 
 Is able with the change to kill and cure. 
 
 And in this play of Edward III. I find these lines: 
 
 The poets write that great Achilles' spear 
 Could heal the wound it made. 
 
 I could fill many pages with parallel passages, but that I have 
 not the space. There can be no doubt that Edward III. was written 
 by the same pen that wrote the Shakespeare Plays; and if Shakspere 
 was Shake-speare, why was it published anonymously; why did the 
 thrifty player permit it to be sold without the pennies going into 
 his own pocket ? 
 
 III. The Play of "Stuckley." 
 
 There was an English adventurer, Sir Thomas Stuckley, who was 
 first cousin to Sir Amias Paulet, the English Minister at the court 
 of France while Bacon was an attache of the legation. He was a 
 famous character during Bacon's youth — bold, warlike, chivalrous, 
 unfortunate; the very character to captivate a youthful imagina- 
 tion. He was killed at the battle of Alcazar, in Africa, August 4, 
 1578, about the time that Bacon returned to England from Paris, 
 and commenced the study of the law. His relationship to Sir 
 Amias Paulet must have made this dashing adventurer the sub- 
 jecc of a great deal of conversation among the members of the 
 English legation in Paris; and what more natural than that Francis 
 Bacon, if he had the dramatic instinct, should choose this interest- 
 ing theme as the subject of one of his first plays. Stuckley raises a 
 company of soldiers to fight in Ireland; he quarrels with the Cecils; 
 goes to Spain; is imprisoned by the Governor of Cadiz; enters the 
 service of Philip II.; the Pope makes him Marquis of Ireland, for 
 
 3 A Study of Shak., p. 253. 
 
948 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 which country he sets sail; he lands in Portugal; joins a Portuguese 
 expedition to Barbary, and is there slain — a wild, romantic, rash 
 and unreasoning career. 
 
 The play is evidently written by a lawyer; for he drags in law- 
 studies and law books, neck and heels, and to do so makes Stuckley 
 a law-student, when the fact was Stuckley never studied law. 
 
 Old Stuckley. I had as lief you'd seen him in the Temple walk, 
 Conferring with some learned counselor, 
 Or at the moot upon a point of law. 1 
 
 When he sees the array of swords, daggers and bucklers in his 
 
 son's room the old man exclaims: 
 
 Be these your master's books? 
 For Littleton, Stanford and Brooke 
 Here's long sword, short sword and buckler, 
 But all's for the bar; yet I meant to have my son 
 A Barrister, not a Barrator. 2 
 
 And Tom is made to express the disgust of a young law studentr 
 
 Nay, hark you, father, I pray you be content: 
 
 I have done my goodwill, but it will not do. 
 
 John a Nokes and John a Style and I cannot cotton. 
 
 Oh, this law-French is worse than buttered-mackerell, 
 
 Full o' bones, full o' bones. It sticks here, it will not down. 
 
 And this reminds us of the young man who said, " The bar will 
 be my bier." 
 
 Mr. Simpson sees evidence that this play was an early produc- 
 tion of Shakspere; but what had the boy of Stratford to do with 
 law-books ? And how did he acquire the intimate knowledge of 
 Stuckley's biography manifested in this play, and which astonishes- 
 the antiquarians? 
 
 And why should Shakspere drag into this play an allusion to 
 
 Bacon's home, at St. Albans, just as we have seen the same village 
 
 forced twenty odd times into the text of the Shakespeare Plays ? 
 
 It appears thus in the play of Tom Stuckley: 
 
 Vernon. Some conference with these gentlemen my friends 
 Made me neglect mine hour; but when you please 
 I now am ready to attend on you. 
 
 Harbart. It is well done, we will away forthwith. 
 St. Albans, though the day were further spent, 
 We may well reach to bed to-night. 3 
 
 1 Act i, scene i. 2 Ibid. 3 Acti. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACOX. 949 
 
 Now, St. Albans had nothing to do with the action of the piece; 
 we hear no more of it; Harbart does not go there, that we know of. 
 Why did the Stratford boy, if this play is, as Simpson thinks, one 
 of his early productions, without any necessity thus introduce the 
 place of Bacon's residence into his play? What thread of con- 
 nection, geographical, political, poetical or biographical, was there 
 between Stratford and St. Albans ? 
 
 I have only space to give two or three extracts to show the re- 
 semblance between Tom Stuckley and the Shakespeare writings. 
 
 In Stuckley we have: 
 
 Mix not my forward summer with sharp breath; 
 Nor intercept my purpose, being good. 
 
 Compare this with Shakespeare's: 
 
 Here stands the spring whom you have stained with mud} 
 This goodly summer with your winter mixed} 
 
 In Stuckley we have: 
 
 He soonest loseth that despairs to win. 
 
 This is the embryo of the thought: 
 
 Our doubts are traitors, 
 And make us lose the good we oft might gain„ 
 By fearing to attempt. 2 . 
 
 In Stuckley we find: 
 
 Nay, if you look but on his mind, 
 Much more occasion shall ye find to love him_ 
 
 Compare this with Shakespeare's 69th sonnet: 
 
 They look into the beauty of the mind. 
 In Stuckley we have: 
 
 You muddy slave. 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 You muddy rascal. 3 
 
 In Stuckley we have: 
 
 And that which in mean men would seem a fault, 
 As leaning to ambition, or such like, 
 Is in a king but well beseeming him. 
 
 1 Titus Andronicus, V, 2. 
 
 2 Measure for Measure, i, 5. %sd Jienry 7F., ii, 4. 
 
9 5 o CONCL USIONS. 
 
 In Shakespeare we have: 
 
 That in the captain's but a choleric word, 
 Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy. ' 
 
 And we catch a glimpse of the date of this composition by the 
 following allusion: 
 
 Will you so much annoy your vital powers 
 As to oppress them with the prison stink ? 
 
 Mr. Simpson calls attention to the following extract from Bacon's 
 Natural History: 
 
 The most pernicious infection, next the plague, is the smell of the jail, when 
 prisoners have been long and close and nastily kept; whereof we have had in our 
 time experience twice or thrice; when both the judges that sat upon the jail, and 
 numbers of those that attended the business, or were present, sickened upon it or 
 died. 2 
 
 This allusion in the play to " the prison stink" probably refers 
 to " the black assizes " at Oxford, in 1577, or at Exeter, in 1586; and 
 the probability is that the play of Stuckley was written by Francis 
 Bacon, soon after the death of Stuckley, and subsequent to his return 
 to England; and that reference was therein had to " the black assizes " 
 at Oxford, in 1577. 
 
 I would close by calling attention to the Shakespearean ring in 
 these lines from Stuckley 's address to King Philip of Spain: 
 
 Right high and mighty, if to kings, installed 
 
 And sacredly anointed, it belong 
 
 To minister true justice, and relieve 
 
 The poor oppressed stranger, then from thee, 
 
 Renowned Philip, that by birth of place 
 
 Upholds the scepter of a royal king. 
 
 Stuckley, a soldier and a gentleman, — 
 
 But neither like a soldier nor a man 
 
 Of some of thy unworthy subjects handled, -»- 
 
 Doth challenge justice at thy sacred hands. 
 
 IV. Christopher Marlowe. 
 
 We see it intimated in the Cipher that the plays of Christopher 
 Marlowe were written by Francis Bacon; that he was Bacon's first 
 mask or cover. Is this statement improbable or unreasonable ? 
 
 In the first place, let us inquire who Marlowe was. Christopher 
 Marlowe, or Marlin, as the name was often spelled, was born in 
 
 1 Measure for Measure, ii,2. 2 Natural History, cent, x, No. Q14. 
 
Dr. WILLIAM THOMSON, 
 
 OF MELBOURNE, AUSTRALIA; AUTHOR OF "THE RENASCENCE DRAMA. 
 
O THER MA SKS OF FRANCIS BA CON. 95 1 
 
 Canterbury precisely two months before the birth of Shakspere. 
 His father was " clarke of St. Marie's." Marlowe was educated at the 
 King's School, in his native town, and at Benet College, Cambridge, 
 Soon after coming of age, it is supposed, he followed the soldiers 
 to the wars in the Low Countries. The next we hear of him is as 
 an actor in London, and the author of Tamburlaine in 1587, when 
 twenty-three years of age. 
 
 We find the same incompatibilities between the work and the 
 life of Marlowe which exist in the case of Shakspere. While his 
 biography tells us that he was a drunken, licentious, depraved 
 creature, who was about to be arrested for blasphemy, and es- 
 caped the gallows or the stake by being killed in a drunken brawl, 
 "stabbed to death by a bawdy servingman rival of his in his lewd 
 love; M| at the same time he appears by his writings to have been 
 an exquisite poet who actually revolutionized English literature. 
 
 The Encyclopedia Britannica* says: 
 
 He is the greatest discoverer, the most daring and inspired pioneer, in all our 
 poetic literature. Before him there zvas neither genuine blank verse nor a genuine 
 tragedy in our language. After his arrival the way was prepared, the paths were 
 made straight for Shakespeare. 
 
 And the same high authority says, speaking of Tamburlaine: 
 It is the first poem ever written in English blank verse, as distinguished from 
 mere rhymeless decasyllables; and it contains one of the noblest passages, perhaps, 
 indeed, the noblest, in the literature of the world, ever written by one of the great- 
 est masters of poetry. 
 
 And it is a curious fact that Shakespeare steps upon the boards, 
 as a dramatic writer, just as Marlowe steps off. Marlowe was slain 
 June 1, 1593; and Halliwell-Phillipps says the first appearance of a 
 Shakespeare play was March 3, 1592 — the play of Henry VI. But 
 there are high authorities who claim that the play of Henry VI. was 
 written by Marlowe ! 
 
 Swinburne 3 finds that the opening lines of the second part of 
 
 Henry VI. are aut Christophorus Marlowe aut diabolus. He says: 
 
 I 
 It is inconceivable that any imitator, but one, should have had the power to 
 
 catch the very trick of his hand, the very note of his voice, and incredible that the 
 
 one who might would have set himself to do so; for, if this be not indeed the voice 
 
 and this the hand of Marlowe, then what we find in these verses is not the fidelity 
 
 of a follower but the servility of a copyist. ... He [Shakespeare] had much at 
 
 1 Sir William Vaughan, Golden Grote, 1600. 2 Vol. xv, p. 558. ? A Study o/Shak., p. 51. 
 
j 
 
 952 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 starting to learn of Marlowe, and he did learn much; in his earlier plays, and, 
 above all, in his earliest historic plays, the influence of the earlier poet, the echo of 
 his style, the iteration of his manner, may be perpetually traced. 
 
 The Encyclopedia Britannica 1 says: 
 
 It is as nearly certain as anything can be which depends chiefly upon cumula- 
 tive and collateral evidence, that the better part of what is best in the serious 
 scenes of King Henry VI. is mainly the work of Marlowe. 
 
 There are a group of plays which have been claimed alternately 
 for both M^arlowe and Shakespeare. The writings of the two men, 
 at the beginning of Shakespeare's career, overlap and run into each 
 other. 
 
 The same writer in the British Encyclopaedia thinks The Con- 
 tention between the Two Famous Houses of York and Lancaster, now 
 usually attributed to Shakespeare, was written by Marlowe. 
 
 Halliwell-Phillipps says: 
 
 There are a few striking coincidences of language, especially in the passage 
 respecting the wild O'Neil, to be traced in Marlowe's Edward II., and the 
 Contention plays of 1594 and 1595; and also that a line from the Jew of Malta is 
 found in the Third Part of Henry the Sixth, but not in the True Tragedy} 
 
 And here is another borrowed line : 
 
 Marlowe says, in Doctor Faustus* speaking of Helen of Troy: 
 
 Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, 
 And burnt the topless towers of Ilium ? 
 
 While in Shakespeare we have Troilus referring to this same 
 
 Helen in these words : 
 
 She is a pearl, 
 Whose price hath launched above a thousand ships, 
 And turned crowned kings to merchants. 4 
 
 And the genius and style exhibited in the early plays of Shake- 
 speare and the later plays of Marlowe are almost identical. 
 
 Cunningham says 5 of a passage in Tamburlaine, " One could 
 almost fancy that it flowed from the pen of Shakespeare himself." 
 Hallam 6 says The Jew of Malta is " more rigorously conceived, 
 both as to character and circumstances, than any other Elizabethan 
 play, except those of Shakespeare." Mr. Collier 7 thinks that if Mar- 
 lowe had written The Jew of Malta with a little more pains, "he 
 
 1 Vol. xv, p. 557. 5 Introduction to Works of Marlowe, p. xii. 
 
 2 Halliwell-Phillipps' Outlines of Life 6 Introduc. to Hist, and Lit. of Europe, vol ii, 
 
 of Skak., p. 220. p. 270. 
 
 3 Act v, scene 4. ''Hist. Drain. Poetry , vol. iii, 135. 
 
 4 Troilus and Cressida. ii, 2. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 953 
 
 ^would not only have drawn a Jew fit to be matched against Shy- 
 lock, but have written a play not much inferior to The Merchant of 
 Venice." Hazlitt pronounces one scene in Edward II. "cer- 
 tainly superior " to a parallel scene, in Shakespeare's Richard II. 
 Charles Lamb said " the death scene of Marlowe's King moves pity 
 and terror beyond any scene ancient or modern." And of the play 
 of Doctor Faustus the writer in the Encyclopedia Britannica 1 says: 
 
 Few masterpieces of any age, in any language, can stand beside this tragic 
 poem, for the qualities of terror and splendor, for intensity of purpose and sublim- 
 ity of note. 
 
 And we have seen the critics speculating whether Marlowe, if he 
 had not been prematurely cut off, in his twenty-ninth year, would not 
 hare been in time as great a poet as Shakespeare ! 
 
 As if bountiful Nature, after waiting for five thousand years to 
 produce a Shakespeare, had been delivered of twins in that year of 
 grace, 1564 ! And we are asked to believe that, if it had not been for 
 Marlowe's drunken brawl, the two intellectual monsters would have 
 existed side by side for thirty years or so, corruscating Tambur- 
 laines, Lears, Doctor Faustuses and Hamlets to the end of the chapter; 
 to the infinite delight of the pyrotechnically astounded multitude, 
 who couldn't have told the productions of one from the other. 
 But it was a sad fact that one of these brilliant suns was not able to 
 rise until the other had set; and unfortunate that both at last 
 •declined their glorious orbs into a sea of strong drink, while "the 
 god of the machine " was behind the scenes delivering immortal 
 sermons in behalf of temperance. 
 
 V. Still Other Writers. 
 
 We are in the presence of an unbounded intellectual activity — 
 a Proteus that sought as many disguises as nature itself. We see 
 the appearance of the country changing: the soft earth of the forest 
 begins to give place to stretches of sand and gravel; there are larger 
 patches of light through the tree-tops; we hear a mighty voice 1 
 murmuring in the distance. We are approaching the ocean. We 
 are coming nearer to a great revelation. 
 
 Mrs. Pott expresses the opinion, in a private letter, — and I have 
 great confidence in her penetration and judgment, — that she sees 
 
 1 Vol. xv, p. 557. 
 
954 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 the signs of the Promus notes, and other Baconianisms of thought 
 and expression, not only in the plays of Marlowe, but in the writings, 
 of Marston, Massinger, Middleton, Greene, Shirley and Webster. 
 She also believes that Bacon was the author of the poems which 
 appeared in that age, signed "Ignoto;" and that he must have helped 
 to edit the great book on Ciphers published in Holland in 1623. And 
 she adds: 
 
 He must have been at the bottom of the partly fictitious works about his own 
 society of the Rosicrucians, published in Holland 1603 et seq. 
 
 A friend calls my attention to the fact that Massinger denied the 
 divine right of kings; and I have shown that one of the purposes, 
 of the Shakespeare Plays was to assail this destructive superstition. 
 
 It will be said that no man could find the time for such vast 
 labors; but it must be remembered that apart from the Shakespeare 
 Plays we have very little that represents the first forty years of 
 Bacon's life; and the capacities of time depend on the man that 
 uses them. Napoleon said that great battles were won in the 
 " quarters of hours;" and we have heard of men, like the "Learned 
 Blacksmith," who acquired a new language by giving a half hour 
 every day to it for a year. Now, between 1581, when Bacon was 
 twenty, and 161 1, when his poverty terminated, there are thirty 
 years ! A man like Bacon could do an immense amount of work in 
 thirty years. If he dashed off a short play every two weeks, as 
 he did, we are told, The Merry Wives of Windsor, he could in that 
 time, if he had nothing else to do, produce seven hundred and eighty 
 plays ! Certainly he could have written one-eighth part of this, say 
 one hundred plays; and this number would probably cover all that 
 Mrs. Pott attributes to his pen; and he would still have had ample 
 time left for philosophy and politics. We can imagine him, when 
 his pockets grew empty, hurriedly scribbling off a farce or an after- 
 piece, or a blood-and-thunder tragedy, on any subject of popular 
 interest at the time, and giving it to Harry Percy to sell to some 
 of the roistering playwrights, to produce as his own. The man 
 who was borrowing five dollars at a time from his brother Anthony 
 would find such a field of labor very inviting; and those who 
 availed themselves of his genius would have every reason to keep- 
 his secret. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 955 
 
 VI. Montaigne's Essays. 
 
 The reader will start. What, — he will say, — is this man about 
 to claim that the Englishman, Francis Bacon, wrote the greatest 
 essays ever produced in France? This is midsummer madness! 
 
 But wait a moment. Let us suppose a case. Let us suppose an 
 Englishman, of a skeptical and, in some sense, irreligious turn of 
 mind; a believer in God and the immortality of the soul, to be sure, 
 but disgusted with the fierce and bloody religious wars of the period, 
 and with the persecutions practiced by the members of the different 
 Christian sects upon each other; for, in the name of the gentle 
 Nazarene, they ravaged the continent of Europe and burned each 
 other by hundreds at the stake. But suppose him living in a country 
 where the slightest irreligious utterance was treated as blasphemy, 
 and punished with death. Now suppose that he believed that only 
 skepticism could mollify the dreadful earnestness of the contending 
 sectarians; and he desired therefore to plant the seeds of doubt in 
 the minds of men, that they might grow, through many generations, 
 and produce a harvest of gentleness, toleration and freedom of 
 conscience. And suppose he wrote a series of essays with these 
 objects in view, with many covert utterances that would "insin- 
 uate," as Bacon said, these things into men's thoughts; that would 
 enter those houses where the white mark on the door, to use Bacon's 
 comparison, showed they were welcome; that would "select their 
 audience " of those that could " pierce through the veil." Now sup- 
 pose he — visiting France — found a friend in that country, of some 
 literary taste, who was willing to father these utterances, and trans- 
 late them into French, and put them forth in his own name as his 
 own work. Then, you perceive, the original English essays might 
 be published in England, with all their ear-marks upon them, as 
 translations of the French essays; and, coming in the guise of a 
 distinguished foreign work, they would not provoke that scrutiny 
 which would be given to the productions of an Englishman. For 
 who could blame the translator, or the publisher, if, in these 
 French essays, there were expressions capable of a double mean- 
 ing ? They did not make them, or the translation might not be 
 correct. And who would say that England should be deprived 
 of the opportunity to read great foreign works in the English 
 
. 
 
 956 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 tongue, because certain passages therein could be read in amerent 
 ways ? 
 
 And here I would first give Mrs. Pott's reasons for believing that 
 Bacon wrote the Essays of Montaigne. I quote from a recent letter: 
 
 I will try to tell you my grounds of belief: 
 
 i. Having examined "Florio's translation" 1603, I find it contains all the 
 metaphors, similes, etc., of Bacon's early period. No other metaphors, etc., but 
 certain Promns notes. 
 
 2. Having examined "Cotton's translation," published 1688, I rind it to be 
 very much enlarged, passages altered, paraphrased, etc., new passages introduced, 
 and old opinions negatived. 
 
 3. The metaphors and similes now include a number of Bacon's later period, 
 whereas in " Florio's" there is hardly a metaphor which cannot be found in plays 
 and works prior to the date of The Merry Wives. In Cotton there are other forms 
 introduced after Hamlet. 
 
 4. The French original cannot be made to match with both of these transla- 
 tions. If the French uses a metaphor thus: "A man should be careful how he 
 repeats a tale lest he get out of the road and lose his way in the wood," Florio 
 may translate it thus, but in Cotton you will find it changed to this extent, "he 
 should be careful, etc., lest he lose his way and fall into the l?'aps of his enemies." 
 {I have not the books, but quote from memory.) Such alterations are frequent. 
 Who made them ? How did Florio, the Italian master in the Duke of Bedford's 
 family, get employed to translate a volume of French essays into English? And 
 how did he manage so completely to master the peculiarities of Bacon's style, that 
 he could make it his own throughout the Essays? 
 
 5. And why is it that there is, in Montaigne's letters to friends, etc., bound up 
 in the same volume with the Essays, not one Baconism of thought or diction? 
 
 As to circumstantial evidence, we may observe: 
 
 6. That Montaigne was Mayor of Bourdeaux during the three years of Ba- 
 con's sojourn in those parts, when Bacon was known to be writing and studying. 
 
 7. Francis Bacon kept up the acquaintance which he formed with Montaigne 
 by means of his brother, Anthony Bacon, who is recorded to have visited Montaigne, 
 fro?7i England, after Anthony's return home. Montaigne also visited Francis Bacon 
 
 in England. I think that in the Cipher the name Montaigne will be found ren- 
 dered by Mountain, a word sometimes apparently hauled in somewhat irrele- 
 vantly. . . . 
 
 Montaigne's Essays, when one comes to dissect them, are only diffuse editions 
 of Bacon's mature and condensed utterances in the Essays, The Advancement of 
 learning, and other works; mixed up with observations, scientific, medical, physio- 
 logical and psychical, which are noted chiefly in the Sylva. 
 
 The object, as I take it, of his concealing the authorship of the early editions 
 of this remarkable book was that he might utter, under the mask of old age and of 
 French license of speech, opinions which would have been condemned as utterly 
 unbecoming for a younger man, an Englishman, and of Puritan family. 
 
 But there are other reasons: If the reader will turn to the En- 
 cyclopedia Britannica ' he will find that Montaigne never published 
 anything, except the translation into French of a Spanish work, 
 
 1 Vol. xvi, pp. 768, etc. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 957 
 
 until 1580, when he was forty-seven years of age; and that he never 
 wrote anything but these Essays. It is true that a journal was 
 found in the chateau of Montaigne, two hundred years after his 
 death, giving an account of a journey he took, and which purported 
 to be his work; but it is a vastly inferior performance to the Essays, 
 ""superfluous to a medical reader and disgusting to any other; " 
 and his "last and best editors, MM. Courbet and Royar," do not 
 accept it as "authentic." 
 
 Like Shakspere, little can be found out about him. The Ency- 
 clopaedia Britannica says: 
 
 Not much is known of him in these latter years, and, indeed, despite the labor- 
 ious researches of many biographers, of whom one, Dr. Payen, has never been 
 excelled in persevering devotion, it cannot be said that the amount of available 
 information about Montaigne is large at any time of his life. 
 
 And while the Essays are deistical, Montaigne died a devoted 
 Catholic. He had the mass served in his bed-room just before his 
 -death. 
 
 We find, on page 242 of Montaigne, a curious commentary on 
 
 the thought that the name is nothing, kindred to Shakespeare's 
 
 " what's in a name ?" He says: 
 
 Let us . . . examine upon what foundation we erect this glory and reputation, 
 for which the world is turned topsy-turvy: wherein do we place this renown that 
 we hunt after with so great flagrancy, and through so many impediments, and so 
 much trouble ? // is, in conclusion, Peter or William that carries it, takes it into his 
 possession, and whom it only concerns. . . . Nature has given us this passion for a 
 pretty toy to play withal. And this Peter or William, what is it but a sound when 
 ■all is done ? 
 
 Now, as the French for Peter is Pierre, we have " this William 
 or Pierre that carries away this glory and takes it into his posses- 
 sion;" and William-Pierre comes singularly close to William Shakes- 
 Pierre. 
 
 And not many pages anterior to this utterance, and in the same 
 
 chapter and train of thought, Montaigne says, on page 225: 
 
 All other things are communicable and fall into commerce; we lend our goods 
 and stake our lives for the necessity and service of our friend; but to communicate 
 a mans honor and to robe another with a man s 07on glory is rarely seen. 
 
 But he reflects, as above, what is glory, anyhow? William or 
 Pierre takes it and carries it away, and it concerns him only. 
 
 And remember this translation was published long after Bacon's 
 death; just as we have seen editions of the Folio published in 
 
958 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 1632 and 1664 that agreed precisely in the arrangement of the type 
 with that of 1623. And Mrs. Pott has shown that the translation 
 does not adhere to the original; and we have a striking illustration 
 of this on page 271, where the translator (an unheard-of thing) 
 actually interjects into Montaigne quotations from Ben Jonson 
 not found in the original. He says: 
 
 According to that of Mr. Jonson, which, without offense to Monsieur Montaigne, 
 / will here pre 'sume to insert ! 
 
 And is it not a little singular to find the Italian teacher quoting 
 the play-writer Ben Jonson ? 
 
 And again on page 259 he interpolates a poem from Plutarch,, 
 not in the original — an extraordinary liberty in any translator. 
 
 And we see the author, as a young man, asserting himself on 
 page 281: 
 
 For my part I believe our souls are adult at twenty, such as they are ever like 
 to be, and as capable then as ever. A soul that has not by that time given earnest 
 of its force and virtue, will never after come to proof. Natural parts and excel- 
 lences produce that they have of vigorous and fine, within that term, or never. 
 
 Surely no man who had written his first book at forty-seven 
 would be likely to give birth to that radical and unfounded utter- 
 ance; he would be more inclined to the belief of him of old, that 
 "young men think old men to be fools, but old men know young 
 men to be such." 
 
 And we find Montaigne expressing the exact root and ground- 
 work of Bacon's philosophy in this extraordinary sentence (page 
 469): 
 
 The senses are the beginning and the end of human knowledge. 
 
 This was the very point where the philosophy of modern times* 
 diverged from that of antiquity: the latter turned for light to the 
 operations of the human mind; the former to the facts of external 
 nature, as revealed by the senses. 
 
 In fact, in reading these Essays we see the Novum Organum in 
 its first forms, as they presented themselves to the youthful mind 
 of Bacon. Montaigne says (page 50): 
 
 He cannot avoid owning, that the senses are the sovereign lords of his knowledge; 
 but they are uncertain and falsifiable in all circumstances. ' Tis there that he is to 
 fight it out to the last. 
 
or thc r 
 
 { VNIVER8ITY 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. )$) 
 
 The purpose of the Baconian philosophy was to found knowledge 
 on the observations of the senses, after clearing the mind of its idols, 
 or preconceptions and errors; and it was on this line Bacon fought 
 it out to the last. 
 
 And we have this thought of the idols also in Montaigne. He 
 says (page 89): 
 
 To say the truth, by reason that we suck it in with our milk, and that the face 
 of the world presents itself in this position to our first sight, it seems as if we were 
 born upon condition to pursue this practice; and the common fancies that we find 
 in repute everywhere about us, and infused into our minds with the seed of our 
 fathers, appear to be most universal and genuine. 
 
 And here follows a thought that is as true to-day as it was in 
 1592: 
 
 From whence it comes to pass, that whatever is off the hinges of custom, is 
 believed to be also off the hinges of reason. 
 
 Bacon writes a speculative work, entitled The New Atlantis > and 
 in another place he discusses the probability of the truth of Plato's 
 story; and Montaigne (page 166) refers to the destruction of At- 
 lantis / and speculates at length whether or not the West Indies 
 could be part of the ancient island. 
 
 And we see the spirit of Bacon's subtle and paradoxical Charac- 
 ters of a Believing Christian in the following utterance of Montaigne 
 (page 417): 
 
 To meet with an incredible thing is an occasion to a Christian to believe, 
 and it is so much the more according to reason, by how much it is against human 
 reason. 
 
 And Bacon says: 
 
 A Christian is one that believes things his reason cannot comprehend. 1 
 
 And when we remember that Bacon did not dare to publish these 
 Taradoxes during his life-time, we can see why the same thoughts, 
 more fully elaborated, were put forth in the name of a foreigner, 
 for I have no doubt the Paradoxes as well as the Montaigne Essays 
 were the work of Bacon's unbelieving youth. 
 
 And here we have a thought worthy of Bacon's finest and highest 
 inspiration. Speaking of life, Montaigne says (p. 442): 
 
 For why do we from this instant derive the title of being, which is but a flash 
 i?i the infinite course of an eternal night? 
 
 1 Characters of a Believing Christian. 
 
960 
 
 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 I regret that I have not space to quote the thousands of magnifi- 
 cent and profound and Baconian thoughts that throng the pages 
 of these Essays. It is a veritable mine of gems. 
 
 And the very thought of Bacon that the senses were the holes 
 which communicated with the locked-up spirit, and that if we had 
 more holes through matter, more senses, we would apprehend 
 things in nature now hidden from us, appears in Montaigne. He 
 says (pages 479-499): 
 
 Who knows whether to us also one, two or three, or many other senses may not 
 be wanting? . . . Let an understanding man imagine human nature originally pro- 
 duced without the sense of hearing, and consider what ignorance and trouble such 
 a defect would bring upon him, what a darkness and blindness in the soul; he will 
 then see by that, of how great importance to the knowledge of truth the privation 
 of another such sense, or of two or three, should we be so deprived, would be. 
 .... Who knows whether all human kind commit not the like absurdity, for want 
 of some sense, and that through this default the greater part of the face of things is 
 concealed from us ? 
 
 And in the above quotation we see the embryo of the thought 
 expressed by Shakespeare: 
 
 There is no darkness but ignorance. 
 
 In short, we are brought face to face with this dilemma: either 
 Francis Bacon wrote the Essays of Montaigne, or Francis Bacon 
 stole a great many of his noblest thoughts, and the whole scheme 
 of his philosophy, from Montaigne. But Bacon was a complete 
 man; he expanded into a hundred fields of mental labor. Montaigne 
 did nothing of any consequence to the world but publish these 
 Essays; ergo: the great thoughts came not from Montaigne to 
 Bacon, but from Bacon to Montaigne. 
 
 And the writer of Montaigne was a poet. He says (page 78): 
 
 I am one of those who are most sensible to the power of the imagination; 
 every one is justled, and some are overthrown by it. It has a very great impress- 
 ion upon me; and I make it my business to avoid wanting force to resist it. 
 
 And again he says (page 100): 
 
 The poetic raptures and those prodigious flights of fancy that ravish and trans- 
 port the author out of himself, why should we not attribute them to his good for- 
 tune, since the poet himself confesses they exceed his sufficiency and force, and 
 acknowledges them to proceed from something else than himself? 
 
 Here we have the same thought expressed by Bacon, as to 
 divine influences in his work, and are reminded of his chaplain's- 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACOX. 
 
 96 r 
 
 statement that he got his thoughts from something within him, 
 apart from himself. 
 
 And he says (page 536), speaking of "poesy": "I love it in- 
 finitely." 
 
 And on page 142 he says: 
 
 I would have things so exceed and wholly possess the imagination of him that 
 hears that he should have something else to do than to think of words. 
 
 Here we are reminded of Hamlet's contempt for "words, words, 
 words." 
 
 And Montaigne had also the dramatic instinct. He says (page 
 597): 
 
 How oft have I, as I passed along the streets, had a good mind to write a farce y 
 to revenge the poor boys whom I have seen flayed, knocked down, and miserably 
 abused by some father or mother. 
 
 And the profound admiration of Julius Caesar, which we have 
 seen in Bacon and Shakespeare, reappears in Montaigne. He says 
 (page 612): 
 
 This sole vice (ambition) spoiled in him the most rich and beautiful nature that 
 ever was. 
 
 This is. precisely the thought of Bacon, who calls Julius Caesar 
 
 The most excellent spirit (his ambition reserved) of the world.' 
 
 Montaigne continues (page 610): 
 
 In earnest it troubles me when I consider the greatness of the man. 
 
 Here we see Bacon's intellect striving to match itself with that 
 of "the foremost man of all this world." And we see in Mon- 
 taigne the original of another thought which is found in Shake- 
 speare. Cassius says in reference to Caesar: 
 
 And that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books. 
 
 Montaigne says (page 615): 
 
 His [Cesar's] military eloquence was in his own time so highly reputed, that 
 many of his army writ down his harangues as he spoke them, by which means 
 there were volumes of them collected, that continued a long time after him. 
 
 And we see in Montaigne another curious conception which 
 appears in Shakespeare. Mark Antony moves the mob of Rome 
 with the exhibition of the dead Caesar's robe: 
 
 1 Advancement of Learning, book ii. 
 
 1 
 
962 
 
 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 You all do know this mantle; I remember 
 The first time ever Caesar put it on. . . . 
 Look in this place ran Cassius' dagger through; 
 See what a rent the envious Casca made; 
 Through this, etc. 
 
 And Montaigne says. 
 
 The sight of Caesar's robe troubled all Rome, which was more than his death 
 had done. 
 
 And in the Montaigne Essays we seem to see sundry references 
 to William Shakspere. He says (page 655): 
 
 How should I hate the reputation of being a pretty fellow at writing, and an 
 ass and a sot in everything else. ... Or do learned writings proceed from a man of 
 so weak conversation ? Who talks at a very ordinary rate and writes rarely: is to 
 say that his capacity is borrowed and not his own. A learned man is not learned 
 in all things; but a sufficient man is sufficient throughout ', even to ignorance 
 itself. 
 
 And we might even infer that there was a suspicion in Mon- 
 taigne's own neighborhood that he could not have written the 
 Essays. He says (page 672): 
 
 In my country of Gascony they look upon it as a drollery to see me in print. 
 The farther off I am read from my own home the better I am esteemed. I am 
 fain to purchase printers in Guienne; elsewhere they purchase me. 
 
 And when we come to identities of thought and expression I 
 could fill a book as large as this with extracts that are perfectly 
 paralleled in Bacon's acknowledged writings and in the Shakespeare 
 Plays. Let me give a few instances, not perhaps the strongest, but 
 those that first occur to me. 
 
 Montaigne says, speaking of death: 
 
 Give place to others, as others have given place to you} 
 
 Bacon says: 
 
 And as others have given place to us, so must we in the end give place to others} 
 
 This is not parallelism; it is identity. 
 
 That strange word eternizing, found both in Bacon and Shake- 
 speare, and applied to making a man's memory perpetual on earth, 
 (a very significant thought in connection with the man who com- 
 posed the Cipher), is found in Montaigne (page 129), used with the 
 same meaning, " the eternizing of our names." 
 
 1 Montaigne's Essays, Ward, Locke & Tyler's ed., p. 75. 2 Essay Of Death. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 06 , 
 
 And here is a striking parallelism: Hamlet tells his mother: 
 
 Leave wringing of your hands, peace, sit you down. 
 And let me wring your /cart. 
 
 Montaigne says (page 635): 
 
 And provided the courage be undaunted, and the expressions not sounding of 
 despair, let her be satisfied What makes matter for the wringing of our hands, if 
 we do not wring our thoughts. 
 
 Montaigne says: 
 
 For pedants plunder knowledge from books, and carry it on the tip of their 
 lips, just as birds carry seeds wherewith to feed their young. 
 
 And in Shakespeare we have, applied to a pedant: 
 
 He has been at a feast of learning and stoleti the scraps. 
 
 Montaigne says (page 296): 
 
 Death comes all to one, whether a man gives himself his end or stays to receive 
 it of some other means; whether he pays before his day \ or stays till his day of pay- 
 ment comes. 
 
 And in Shakespeare we have the following, just before the battle 
 
 of Shrewsbury: 
 
 Falstaff. I would it were bed-time, Hal, and all well. 
 Prince. Why, thou owest Heaven a death. 
 
 Falstaff. 'Tis not due yet; I would be loth to pay him defore his day. What 
 need I be so forward with him that calls not on me? ' 
 
 Speaking of the grave,. Montaigne says of the dead: 
 
 But they are none of them come back to tell us the news. 
 
 This is the embryo of Hamlet's reference to the grave as 
 
 That undiscovered country from whose bourn 
 No traveler returns. 
 
 Montaigne speaks of the stars as " the eternal light of those 
 
 tapers that roll over his head;" while Shakespeare has: 
 
 Night's candles are burned out. 
 Montaigne says (page 884): 
 
 I, who but crawl upon the earth. 
 Shakespeare says: 
 
 Crawling between earth and heaven. 9 
 Montaigne says: 
 
 The heart and life of a great and triumphant emperor is the breakfast of a little, 
 contemptible worm. 
 
 1 1st Henry IV. , v, i. 2 Hamlet, iii. 1. 
 
964 CONCL U SIGNS. 
 
 In Hamlet we have: 
 
 King. At supper? Where ? 
 
 "Hamlet. Not where he eats, but where he is eaten; 
 A certain convocation of worms are e'en at him. 
 Your worm is your only emperor for diet. 
 
 4 Montaigne says: 
 
 To what a degree, then, does this ridiculous diversion molest the soul, when all 
 her faculties shall be summoned together upon this trivial account. 
 
 And Shakspeare says in the sonnets: 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 I summon up remembrance of things past. 
 
 We are all familiar with that curious expression in Hamlet's 
 
 soliloquy: 
 
 When he himself may his quietus make 
 With a bare bodkin; 
 
 and some have wondered why a man should discard daggers and 
 swords and assassinate himself with a bodkin. We turn to Mon- 
 taigne and find, I think, the original of the thought. He says 
 (page 217): 
 
 A maid in Picardy, to manifest the ardor of her constancy, gave herself, with 
 a bodkin she wore in her hair, four or five good lusty stabs into the arm, till the 
 blood gushed out to some purpose. 
 
 Shakespeare speaks in Richard III. of "the bowels of the land;" 
 Montaigne (page 94) speaks of "the bowels of a man's own country." 
 Both used those strange words graveled and quintessence. . Mon- 
 taigne despised the mob. He speaks like Bacon and Shakespeare 
 of "the brutality and facility natural to the common people." 
 
 We find Shakespeare speaking of God thus: 
 
 O thou eternal mover of the heavens. 
 
 And we find in Montaigne these lines (page 47): 
 
 Th' eternal mover has, in shades of night, 
 Future events concealed from human sight. 
 
 Montaigne says (page 227): 
 
 We commend a horse for his strength and sureness of foot, . . . and not for 
 his rich caparisons; a greyhound for his share of heels, not for his fine collar; a hawk 
 for her wings, not for her gesses and bells. Why in like manner do we not value a 
 man for what is properly his own? He has a great train, a beautiful place, so 
 much credit, so many thousand pounds a year, and all these are about him, but not 
 in him. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 965 
 
 In Shakespeare we have the same thought thus expressed- 
 
 And not a man for being simply man 
 Hath any honor; but honor for those honors 
 That are without him, as place, riches and favor, 
 Prizes of accident as oft as merit. 1 
 
 I assure the reader that I have to stay my hand, — out of respect 
 
 for my publishers, — or I should fill pages with similar proofs and 
 
 parallelisms. 
 
 VII. "The Anatomy of Melancholy." 
 
 I cannot do more than touch upon a few of the reasons that lead 
 me to believe that Francis Bacon was the real author of The Anatomy 
 of Melancholy, which was published in 162 1, in the name of " Robert 
 Burton, of Leicestershire." Mr. Wharton says: " It was written, as 
 I conjecture, about the year 1600." It first appeared under a nom 
 de plume, that of "Democritus Junior." When it was first attributed 
 to Burton I do not know. Burton, like Montaigne, never wrote 
 anything but this one production; and, like Montaigne and Shak- 
 spere, very little is known of his life. His will, written by himself, 
 is a crude performance, and has no resemblance to the style of the 
 Anatomy. His elder brother, William Burton, was a student at the 
 Inner Temple in 1593, and afterwards a barrister and reporter 
 at the Court of Common Pleas, London. It is very probable 
 he was an acquaintance of Francis Bacon, being in the same 
 pursuit, in the same town, at the very time the Plays were being 
 written. 
 
 The Anatomy of Melancholy is a wonderful work: — wonderful for 
 its learning, its vast array of quotations from the classical writings, 
 in which it resembles the Montaigne Essays, the profundity of its 
 thoughts, its originality, and its Baconianisms. Dr. Johnson said 
 it was the only book that ever took him out of bed two hours 
 sooner than he wished to rise. We might infer that the Montaigne 
 Essays were the production of a sensitive, buoyant, jubilant, happy, 
 vivacious, youthful genius; the Anatomy, the work of the same 
 mind, older, overwhelmed with misfortunes, and steeped to the 
 lips in misery and gloom. The one represents the man who wrote 
 The Two Gentlemen of Verona and Love's Labor Lost; the other, the 
 
 1 Troilus and Cress/da, iii, 3. 
 
9 66 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 author of Timon of Athens and Hamlet. In fact, in many things it 
 is a prose Timon of Athens. 
 
 We have seen that about 1600 Bacon's fortunes were at their 
 blackest; his disgust with the world was absolute; he was sick, 
 poor, without hope, and plunged into excessive melancholy. He 
 himself refers, subsequently, to this dreadful period in his life, and 
 to the consequent failure of his health. We are told that the 
 author of the Anatomy wrote that work to overcome his despair and 
 divert his mind from its sorrows. We can imagine the laborious 
 Francis Bacon, with the same purpose, with the help of his "good 
 pens," collating a vast commonplace-book on the subject of "Mel- 
 ancholy," and the best modes of medical treatment to relieve it; 
 and this is just what the Anatomy is: it is a commonplace-book 
 with the citations strung together by a thread of original re- 
 flection; and it is full of identities with the writings of Bacon. 
 Let me give one instance, which is most striking. 
 
 Coffee, at the time the Anatomy was published, had not yet been 
 introduced into England; the first coffee-house was opened in Eng- 
 land, in Oxford, in 1651, by a Jew; and the second in London, by a 
 Greek servant of a Turkey merchant, in 1652. Bacon, we know, 
 was collecting the facts for his Natural History for years; Montagu 
 says some of them were drawn from observations made when he 
 was sixteen years of age; and as one of the curious facts, in that 
 compendium of facts, we find this entry: 
 
 They have in Turkey a drink called coffa, made of a berry of the same name, 
 as black as soot, and of a strong scent, but not aromatical; which they take, 
 beaten into powder, in water, as hot as they can drink it, and sit at it, in their 
 coffa-houses, which are like our taverns. This drink comforteth the heart and 
 brain, and helpeth digestion. 1 
 
 We turn to Burton, and we find him saying: 
 
 The Turks have a drink called coffee (for they use no wine), so named of a berry 
 as black as soot, and as bitter, (like that black drink which was in use among the 
 Lacedamonians, and perhaps the same), which they sip still of and sup as warm as 
 they can suffer; they spend much time in those coffee-hotises, which are somewhat 
 like our ale-houses or taverns, and there they sit chatting and drinking to drive 
 away the time, and to be merry together, because they find by experience that 
 that kind of drink, so used, helpeth digestion and procureth alacrity. 2 
 
 I italicise the words used by Bacon which are also used by Bur- 
 ton. Bacon's Natural History was not published until 1627, so that 
 
 1 Sylva Sylvarum, cent, viii, § 738. 2 Anatomy 9/ Melancholy \ v. 1. ii, p. 398. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACOX. 967 
 
 Burton could not have borrowed from it, and it is not probable 
 that Bacon would have borrowed from Burton without giving him 
 due credit therefor. And yet we find both writers treating of the 
 same subject, in the same language, with the same ideas, and even 
 falling into the same error, that is, to say that the coffee berry is 
 "as black as soot." 
 
 On page 129 of Volume I., Burton refers to details which show 
 the writer to have been intimately acquainted w T ith old Verulam, 
 in which St. Albans was situated, and with its antiquities. 
 
 B. Atwater of old, or, as some will, Henry I., made a channel from Trent to 
 Lincoln, navigable; which now, saith Mr. Camden, is decayed, and much mention 
 is made of anchors, and such like monuments, found about old Verulamium. 
 
 And at the bottom of the page, as a foot-note to this passage, 
 we have this curious and inexplicable remark: 
 
 Near S. Albans, which must not now be whispered in the ear. 
 
 One would almost suspect that the name of St. Albans was 
 dragged in, in this singular fashion, to meet the requirements of a 
 cipher narrative; and there are many other things in the Anatomy 
 which point in the same direction. Certain it is that the finding of 
 ancient anchors, in the meadows of Old Verulam, would be much 
 more likely to be known to Bacon, who was raised there and had, 
 as a boy, rambled all over those fields, than to Burton, born at 
 Lindley, in Leicestershire, and whose residence, nearly all his life, 
 seems to have been at Oxford. But, in any event, why was not 
 the name of St. Albans to be " whispered in the ear " ? 
 
 Burton avows the singular belief that England was formerly 
 more densely populated than it was in his time in the seventeenth 
 century; and in the year 1607 Bacon, in a speech in Parliament, ex- 
 pressed the same unusual conviction. 1 
 
 We turn to another remarkable evidence of identity. 
 
 It is well known that Bacon wrote a work called The New At- 
 lantis. It was an attempt to represent an Utopia. It was published ^ 
 in 1627. The name was a singular one for such a purpose. The 
 island of Atlantis, Plato tells us, was sunk in the ocean because of 
 the iniquities of its people. Why, then, employ a new Atlantis to 
 show the human race regenerated ? But this was Bacon's fancy. 
 
 1 Works, vol. V, p. 352. 
 
968 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 And, strange to say, we find Robert Burton in The Anatomy of Mel 
 ancholy falling into the same fancy, and declaring in 1600, or 1621 : 
 
 I will yet, to satisfy and please myself, make an Utopia of mine own, a new 
 Atlantis, a poetical commonwealth of mine own, in which I will freely domineer, 
 build cities, make laws, statutes, as I list myself. And why may I not? 5 
 
 And then he proceeds through some dozen pages to work out 
 his fable, very much as Bacon did in The New Atlantis, but not, of 
 course, as completely or philosophically; and evidently the New At- 
 lantis of Burton is but the rude sketch of The New Atlantis of Bacon. 
 Says Burton: 
 
 I will have certain ships sent out for new discoveries every yea. ... to ob- 
 serve what artificial inventions and good laws are in other countries. 2 
 
 While Bacon 3 details how, under the orders of the ancient King 
 Solomono, two ships were sent out every twelve years, from his New 
 Atlantis, to visit all parts of the earth, and acquire new knowledge 
 as to science, arts, manufactures and inventions. 
 
 Burton has his officers all paid out of the public treasury, " no 
 fees to be given or taken on pain of losing their places; " while 
 Bacon represents the officials of his New Atlantis as refusing any 
 fees, with the exclamation, " What, twice-paid !" 
 
 Burton says that in his Utopia 
 
 He that invents anything for public good, in any art or science, writes a treat- 
 ise, or performs any noble exploit, shall be accordingly enriched, honored and pre- 
 ferred. 
 
 While Bacon describes 4 the great galleries of his Utopia filled 
 with " the statues of all principal inventors" including Columbus, 
 the monk that made gunpowder, the inventors of music, of letters, 
 of silk, etc. He adds: 
 
 For upon every invention of value, we erect a statue to the inventor, and give 
 him a liberal and honorable reward. 
 
 In short, we see the seeds of Bacon's New Atlantis in Burton's 
 New Atlantis; and no one can doubt that they came out of the same 
 mind. 
 
 And I could fill pages, did space permit, with the startling iden- 
 tities of speech and thought which I have found to exist between 
 
 1 Anatcmy of Melancholy, vol. i, p. 131. 3 The New Atlantis, vol. i, p. 262, Montagu's ed. 
 
 ' 2 Page 137. 4 Ibid., vol. i, p. 209. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 969 
 
 the Anatomy and Bacon's acknowledged writings and the Shake- 
 speare Plays. 
 
 And in the Anatomy we see the vastness of those medical studies 
 which crop out in the Shakespeare Plays. 
 
 Indeed, the world will hereafter have to study the great Plays 
 by the wondrous light of the Essays of Montaigne and The Anatomy 
 of Melancholy of Burton. Here is the man himself revealed, in 
 youth and maturity. We see here the profound learning, the in- 
 exhaustible industry, the scope and grasp of mind, which have 
 glinted through the interstices of the Plays like the red light of the 
 dawning sun through the tangled leaves of a forest. We see, in 
 short, the tremendous preparations of that wondrously stored mind, 
 whose very drippings have astounded mankind in the disguise of 
 the untaught player of Stratford. 
 
 VIII. The Cipher. 
 
 And, incredible as it may seem, I think it will be found that 
 
 Bacon put the stamp of his Cipher upon nearly all his works, 
 
 with intent some day to have them all reclaimed. And why do I 
 
 say this ? Because nearly everywhere I find not only the words 
 
 Bacon, and St. Albans, and Francis, and Nicholas, and Shake, and 
 
 spur and speere, scattered over these unacknowledged works, but 
 
 because I can see those curious twistings of the sentences 
 
 which so puzzled commentators in the Plays, and which mark 
 
 the strain to bring in the Cipher narrative. The discussion of 
 
 this matter would fill a book; I can now but touch upon a few 
 
 proofs. 
 
 Take the Marlowe plays. Some of them exist, like some of the 
 
 Shakespeare Plays, in two forms: a brief form, and a larger form. 
 
 I found in the Doctor Faustus* that, when the Doctor is demanding 
 
 some exhibition of demoniacal power, Cornelius says: 
 
 Then haste thee to some solitary grove 
 
 And bear wise Bacon's and Albanus' works, 1 
 
 The Hebrew Psalter and New Testament, 
 
 And whatsoever else is requisite. 
 
 Here we have not only the name of Bacon, but Albanus. The latter 
 word the commentators changed to Albertus, and says one critic: 
 
 * Act i, scene 2. 
 
97o 
 
 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 Cornelius saddled Faustus with a heavy burden; the works of Albertus Magnus 
 fill twenty-one thick folios, and those of Roger Bacon are asserted to have been 
 one hundred and one in number. 
 
 It is evident that the order of Cornelius to bring along this 
 vast library was merely an excuse to drag in the significant 
 cipher words. 
 
 And again the name of Bacon appears in the same play: 
 
 I am Gluttony; my parents are all dead, and the devil a penny they have left 
 me but a small pension; and that buys me thirty meals a day and ten bevers; a 
 small trifle to suffice nature. I come of a royal pedigree; my father was a Gammon 
 of Bacon, and my mother was a hogshead of claret wine. 1 
 
 This is the same old "Gammon of Bacon" which the carrier 
 had in his panniers, and which did such good service, in ist 
 Henry IV." 
 
 And in The Jew of Malta Barabas and Ithamore are about to 
 strangle a friar. Ithamore says: 
 
 Oh, how I long to see him shake his heels. 3 
 
 And when they have strangled the friar Ithamore says: 
 
 ' Tis neatly done, here's no print at all. . . . Nay, master, be ruled by me a 
 little {stands up the body); so let him lean upon his staff; excellent, he stands as if 
 he were begging of Bacon. 
 
 The great artist had not yet acquired the cunning in handling 
 his suspicious words which is shown in the Plays. All this is very 
 forced: "shake his heels," " here's no print at all," "as if begging of 
 Bacon." 
 
 It seems to me these two plays go together in the cipher 
 work, and we have spheres in Doctor Faustus matching this shake in 
 The Jew of Malta. In Dido, Queen of Carthage, I find allusions to 
 Elizabeth, Burleigh, etc. And in all these plays there is a great deal 
 about Aristotle, and the Organon, and books, and libraries, and printing 
 and poets; and the singular word eternized appears in almost every 
 one of the Marlowe plays, just as we have found it in the Shake- 
 speare Plays, Montaigne's Essays, and The Anatomy of Melancholy ; 
 as if, in every one of them, Bacon, in the internal cipher story, 
 was repeating his purpose to do that which, in one of his acknowl- 
 edged masks, he advised the King to do, to-wit: to eternize his 
 name on earth. 
 
 1 Doctor Faustus, ii, 2. a Act ii, scene 1. 3 Act iv, scene 2. 
 
O THER MA SKS OF FRANCIS BA COX. 9 7 1 
 
 And in Montaigne's Essays we have (page 878): 
 
 Whoever shall cure a child of an obstinate aversion to brown bread, bacon or 
 garlic, will cure him of all kind of delicacy 
 
 The substance bacon was considered in that age a diet fit for 
 nobles; — the peasants could not get enough of it. Why should a 
 child have an aversion for it? It is all forced. 
 
 And the text of Montaigne is in some places fairly peppered 
 with the words Francis and Francisco. On page 42 we have " King 
 Francis the First," on the next line, "Fra ncisco Taverna, the ambas- 
 sador of Francisco Sforza;" in the next sentence, " King Francis" 
 again; on the same page " Signor Francisco;" on the next page 
 " King Francis" and on the next line "King Francis" again. On 
 page 46 we have: "Which makes the example of Francis, Marquis 
 of Saluzzo, who, being lieutenant to King Francis the First," etc. 
 On page 44 we have " King Francis" again. And we have Nicholas, 
 William, Williams, shake, and spur and speare many times repeated; 
 together with a great many allusions to England and Scotland, Mary 
 Queen of Scots (page 61), the Duke of Suffolk, the English, the White 
 Rose, King Henry the Seventh of England (page 36), Bullen; all of 
 which seem rather out of place in a French work not a history of 
 or dealing with English affairs. And there is a great deal also in 
 the text about plays, players, actors, tragedies, comedies, etc. And 
 we find the most absurd sentences dragged into the text to meet, 
 as I suppose, the requirements of a cipher story. Take for in- 
 stance this sentence (page 31): 
 
 What causes the misadventures that befall us do we not invent ? . . . Those 
 beautiful tresses, young lady, you may so liberally tear off, are in no way guilty, 
 nor is it the whiteness of those delicate breasts you so unmercifully beat, that with 
 an unlucky bullet has slain your beloved brother. 
 
 Who is the young lady ? There is nothing more about her in 
 the text. And is it the white breasts that have slain her brother? 
 Or did the young lady slay him? And where did the bullet come, 
 from? Was it from the white breasts? It is all nonsense and has 
 no connection with the text. And there are hundreds of such 
 passages. 
 
 And Montaigne ends one of his chapters with this singular dec- 
 laration (page 37): 
 
y 7 2 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 For my part I shall take care, if I can, that my death discover nothing that my 
 life has not first openly manifested and publicly declared. 
 
 I think Mrs. Pott is right in supposing that Montaigne is often 
 referred to in the Cipher story in the Shakespeare Plays in the 
 name of Mountaine; for instance, we find Pistol in The Merry Wives 
 calling Evans " thou Mountain* forreyner;" and in the same play 
 Falstaff alludes to himself as "a mountaine of mummy." And 
 both of these Mountaine s or Montaignes are cunningly accompanied 
 by the de and la, making the de la Montaigne. It would puzzle a 
 simple-minded man to know how Bacon, in an English play, could 
 work in twice the French words de la. But this is how he does it: 
 He has a French doctor in the play, Dr. Cuius, and his broken 
 English furnishes the de. In act i, scene 4, we have the Doctor ex- 
 claiming: 
 
 What shall de honest man do in my closet ? 
 
 And a few lines above this we have: 
 
 Diable, Diable, vat is in my closet ? 
 Villanie Za-roone: Rugby my rapier. 
 
 These adroit subtleties provide for the first Mountaine. The 
 other is as follows. In the same scene, a few lines further along, 
 
 we have: 
 
 1 wii! cut his throat in de park. 
 
 And in the first scene of the first act we have Shallow indulging 
 in the old-woman phrase: 
 
 I thank you always with my heart, la. 
 And in the next column we have " thou Mountaine forreyner." 
 And when we turn to the play of 2d Henry IV. we again 
 have De la Mountaine still more cunningly concealed, for there is 
 no Frenchman in that play to change the into de. In act ii, scene 4, 
 we have: "The weight of an hair will not turn the scales be- 
 tween the Haber-dfc-pois." Here we have the de; and in the same 
 act, scene 1, we find Dame Quickly saying: 
 
 Prithee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles, I loath to pawne my plate, in 
 good earnest, la. 
 
 And we turn to the next act, scene 1, and on the next page 
 
 after that on which the de is found we have: 
 
 And see the revolution of the times 
 Make Mountaines level. 
 
OTHER MASKS OF FRANCIS BACON. 973 
 
 De and la are very unusual in English plays, in fact they are 
 not English words; yet here we find them accompanying, in three 
 instances, the word Mountain; and the probabilities are that inves- 
 tigation will show this singular concordance to exist in some of the 
 other plays. 
 
 And, it seems to me, we have repeated references to The Anat- 
 omy of Melancholy in the Cipher story of the Shakespeare Plays. 
 In Romeo and Juliet we have: 
 
 What vile part of this anatomy. 1 
 And again: 
 
 Melancholy bells. 2 
 In the Comedy of Errors we have: 
 
 A mere anatomy, a mountebank. 3 
 And again: 
 
 But moody and dull melancholy.* 
 Here both words are in the same act and scene. 
 In King John the words occur in the same act, separated in the 
 Folio by only about one column of matter: 
 From sleep that fell anatomy. h 
 Or if that surly spirit Melancholy} 
 In Twelfth Night we have, separated by a page only: 
 I'll eat the rest of the anatomy.' 
 Being addicted to melancholy* 
 In 1st and 2d Henry IV. we seem to have the name of the book 
 and the ostensible author, Robert Burton: 
 Master Robert Shallow. 9 
 North from Burton here. 10 
 And in 2d Henry IV., v, 4, we have: 
 
 Thou atomy thou. 
 This needs but an an to make it anatomy. 
 And we also have: 
 
 Musing and cursed melancholy. n 
 
 1 Romeo and Juliet, iii, 3. 5 King John. iii, 3. 9 2d Henry IV., V, 5. 
 
 2 Ibid., iv, 5. 6 Ibid., iii, 2. 10 1st Henry IV., iii, 1. 
 
 3 Comedy 0/ Errors, v, 1. 7 Twelfth Night, iii, 2. " It* Henry IV.. ii. 3. 
 « Ibid., v.i. 8 ibid., ii. 5. 
 
9 7 4 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 And in the Itiduction to the Taming of the Shrewwe have: 
 Old Sly's son of Burton-heath. 
 
 In conclusion, I would say, we find Bacon once in The Merry 
 Wives of Windsor; we find Bacon twice in the first part of King 
 Henry IV.; we find Bacons once in the same play; we find Bacon in 
 The Jew of Malta; and we find Bacon twice in the play of Doctor 
 Faustus. In Thomas Lord Cromwell we have: 
 
 Well, Joan, he'll come this way; and by God's dickers I'll tell him roundly of 
 it, an if he were ten lords; a shall know that I had not my cheese and my Bacon 
 for nothing." ' 
 
 We find Bacon in Montaigne's Essays; and we find Bacon many 
 times repeated in The Anatomy of Mela?icholy. 
 
 We find St. Albans twenty odd times in the Shakespeare Plays; 
 we find St. Albans two or three times in the Contention between York 
 and Lancaster; we find St. Albans in the play of Tom Stuckley; we 
 find Albanus in Doctor Faustus and Albanum in Locrine; and we find 
 St. Albans in The Anatomy of Melancholy. 
 
 Can any one believe that all this is the result of accident ? Re- 
 member that bacon, in its common acceptation, is a word having no 
 relation to poetry or elevated literature; and St. Albans is a little 
 village, illustrious only through having been at one time the place 
 of residence of Francis Bacon. I do not think a study of the 
 dramas or poems of the next century, or of the present age, will 
 reveal any such liberal use of these words; in fact, I doubt if they 
 can be found therein at all, except where Francis Bacon and his 
 residence are distinctly referred to. 
 
 1 Act iv, scene 2. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 He was not born to shame ! 
 Upon h's brow shame is ashamed to sit; 
 For 'tis a throne where honor may be crowned, 
 Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
 
 Rom jo and Juliet, Hi, 2 
 
 LET us consider, as briefly as the importance of the subject will 
 permit, some of the assaults which have been made upon the 
 good name of Francis Bacon. 
 
 I. His Life as a Courtier. 
 
 First, it has been charged, with much bitterness, that he was a 
 courtier, truckling to power — an obsequious sycoohant to the 
 crown. 
 
 It is sufficient answer to this to refer to the fact that, as a 
 member of Parliament, he stood forth, in the face of Queen Eliza- 
 beth and all her power, and spoke in defense of the rights of the 
 House of Commons and the people; and that, although this act 
 injured seriously his chances of promotion, he resolutely refused to 
 recant a single sentiment of the views he had enunciated. It is 
 something in this age, when power is divided among many hands, 
 for the ambitious man to defy the frown of authority; but in that 
 era, when all power rested in the crown, opposition to the govern- 
 ment was political suicide. There was no public opinion outside 
 of the court; there were no newspapers; and Parliament itself was, 
 as a rule, the creature of the royal will. Surely no man who was 
 a mere truckler for place would thus have arrayed himself against 
 the powers of the state; or, if he had unwittingly stumbled into such 
 a position of antagonism, he would have hastened to repair the 
 damage by proper and profuse apologies and recantations. 
 
 It is true Bacon was ambitious, and he was a courtier because 
 
 9/5 
 
976 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 he was ambitious. There was no other avenue to preferment. He 
 
 had to seek the favor of the court or sink into absolute nothingness, 
 
 so far as position in the state was concerned. 
 
 He says: 
 
 Believing that I was born for the service of mankind, and regarding the care 
 of the commonwealth as a kind of common property, which, like the air and 
 water, belongs to everybody, I set myself to consider in what way mankind might 
 be best served, and what service I was myself best fitted by nature to perform. 1 
 
 And again he says: 
 
 But power to do good is the true and lawful end of aspiring; for good thoughts, 
 (though God accept them), yet towards man are little better than good dreams, 
 except they be put in act; and that cannot be ivithout power and place, as the vantage 
 and commanding ground. 8 
 
 These two utterances constitute, I think, the very key-note to 
 Bacon's whole public career. He sought place as the vantage- 
 ground from which to benefit mankind. He knew how little respect 
 there is for genius in rags. He says: 
 
 The learned pate 
 Ducks to the golden fool. All is oblique; 
 There's nothing level in our cursed natures 
 But direct villainy. 3 
 
 He had noted that 
 
 A dog's obeyed in office. 4 
 
 And who shall say he was wrong ? Who shall say how far the 
 title of Lord Verulam, or Viscount St. Albans, has cast a halo of 
 dignity and acceptability over his philosophy? It is too often the 
 position that commends the utterance. The h ;rn of the hunter, 
 ringing far and wide from the mountain top, reaches an audience 
 which the same note, muffled in the thick depths of the valley, could 
 not obtain. And if this be true in the enlarged, capacious and 
 cultivated age of to-day, how much more must it have been the 
 case in that wretched era, when, as Bacon said: 
 
 Courts are but only superficial schools 
 
 To dandle fools; 
 The rural parts are turned into a den 
 Of savage men. 
 
 And remember mankind had not receded to these conditions; 
 
 1 Proem Int. Nat. 3 Titus Andronicus, iv, 3. 
 
 2 Essay Of Great Place. * Lear, iv, 6. 
 
FRA NCIS BA CON. 977 
 
 it had advanced to them. The people of Western Europe were just 
 emerging from' the most profound brutality and barbarism. The 
 courts were the only centers of light and culture. Was it a crime 
 for the greatest intellect of the age to adapt itself to its pitiful 
 environment ? 
 
 So our virtues 
 Lie in the interpretation of the times. 1 
 
 Was it an offense for the ablest man of the age to seek place as 
 a stepping-stone to the opportunity for good ? "The times were 
 out of joint," and he believed he was born to "set them right;" and 
 he craved power as the Archimedes fulcrum from which he was to 
 move the world. 
 
 Moreover, he was poor — poor with many wants — a gentleman 
 with the income of a yeoman. The path to fortune as well as 
 power lay through the portals of the court. Can he be blamed for 
 treading it? 
 
 II. His Alleged Ingratitude to Essex. 
 
 But it is urged that Bacon was ungrateful to Essex. Wherein ? 
 Why, — it is said, — Essex gave him a piece of land worth about 
 ^£i,8oo, and Bacon afterwards took part in his prosecution for 
 treason. 
 
 Why did Essex give this land ? Because he was under many 
 obligations to Bacon and his brother Anthony, for years of faithful, 
 patient and valuable services, not only as political allies, but as 
 secretaries, laboring to advance his fortunes. Bacon had written 
 masks for his entertainments; he had written sonnets in his name, 
 to advance his interests with the Queen; he had popularized him in 
 the Plays; he had penned letters as if from himself to aid his for- 
 tunes; he had carried on his correspondence with all parts of Europe; 
 he had translated his ciphers; he had been his guide in politics; he 
 had used all his vast genius and industry for his advancement. 
 Bacon said in a letter, in 1600, to Lord Henry Howard, — Esse* 
 being still alive: 
 
 For my Lord cf Essex, I am not servile to him, having regard to my superior 
 duty. I have been much bound unto him; on the other side, / have spent more time 
 and jtiore thoughts about his well-doing than ever I did about mine own. 
 
 ' ' Coriolamts, iv, 7. 
 
978 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 Essex had tried, in return for these services, to secure Bacon the 
 place of Solicitor, and had failed. Then he came to him and said: 
 
 You have spent your time and thoughts in my matters; I die if I do not some- 
 what towards your fortune. 
 
 That is to say, he could not live under the sense of this unre- 
 quited obligation. The Twickenham property was not a gift; it was 
 the payment of a debt. 
 
 But Bacon knew the rash and uncontrolable nature of his 
 patron, and he accepted the property with a distinct intimation, 
 at the time, that he should not follow him into any reckless enter- 
 prises. He said to him, as he himself records, in his "Apology ": 
 
 My Lord, I see I must be your homager, and hold land of your gift; but do you 
 know the manner of doing homage in law ? Always it is with a saving of his faith 
 to the King and his other lords. 
 
 That is to say, his devotion as a friend must be limited by his 
 obligations and duties as a citizen. 
 
 Was this wrong ? Should he, because of a gift of a piece of land, 
 have followed the Earl into the foolish and treasonable practices 
 which culminated on the scaffold ? It is true that " a friend should 
 bear a friend's infirmities;" but should he therefore participate in 
 his crimes ? 
 
 And though it be admitted that Bacon had been engaged in a 
 conspiracy with Essex, in 1597, to create public opinion against 
 the Cecils, and even, perhaps, to bring about the deposition of the 
 Queen, by profound and far-reaching means, — does it therefore fol- 
 low that he should have gone with the Earl in his wild and unrea- 
 sonable attempt to raise the city and seize the person of the Queen? 
 There are few things more utterly abominable than the man who, 
 with talents hardly up to the requirements of private life, insists 
 on rushing into the management of great public affairs, and is 
 caught at last, like Essex, molten with terror, " betwixt the dread 
 extremes of mighty opposites." And one has but to look at the 
 picture of the unpleasant face of Essex, given herewith, to see that 
 he was a commonplace, vulgar soul, made great by the accident of 
 birth. Surely, that portrait does not represent the man for whom 
 the greatest intellect of the human race should have died on the 
 scaffold. 
 
FRANCIS BACON 
 
 979 
 
 And the course of Essex, after he was convicted of treason, and 
 just before his execution, shows the real character of this ignoble 
 man. His whole moral nature seemed to have given way, and he 
 proceeded to reveal to the government the names of some of his best 
 friends, — especially Sir Henry Neville, — whose connection with his 
 crime was not, until that time, known, and who had, no doubt, been 
 drawn into the conspiracy by their devotion to himself and his 
 fortunes ! Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
 He closes a turbulent and licentious life by confessing against his companions, 
 still untried, more than the officers of the Crown could have proved against them; 
 and, despicable to relate, most of all against the two men who have been his closest 
 associates — Blount and Cuffe. His confessions in the face of death deprive these 
 prisoners of the last faint hope of grace. They go with Meyrick and Danvers to 
 the gallows or the block. 1 
 
 But it may be said it was in bad taste for Bacon to participate 
 in the trial of Essex, because he had once been his friend. This 
 would be true if Bacon had volunteered for the task, but he did 
 not; he tried to be relieved from it. But he was the sworn officer 
 of the Crown, the official servant of the Queen; and the govern- 
 ment of Elizabeth was an absolute despotism. He was ordered to 
 appear and take part in the prosecution. He begged earnestly — 
 he pleaded — to be relieved. The Queen insisted; and not only in- 
 sisted, but assigned to him in the first trial — despite his protests — 
 that part of the arraignment which referred to Essex' followers 
 hiring the players to play the Shakespeare play of Richard II. ! Bacon 
 protested that he had " been wronged by bruits before, and this 
 would expose me to them more, and it would be said I gave in 
 evidence mine own tales." But the Queen was inexorable; and, says 
 Bacon, " I could not avoid that part that was laid upon me." 
 
 But it may be said that, notwithstanding all this, Bacon should 
 have refused to appear against one who had formerly been his 
 friend, and who was publicly regarded as his benefactor. He 
 should have resigned his place first. But there are no resignations 
 in despotisms; and, moreover, the Cipher narrative shows us that 
 Bacon may have held his own life at the tenure of the Queen's 
 mercy. He may have been compelled, but a short time before, to 
 confess the authorship of the Plays and his connection with a 
 
 1 Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 145. 
 
980 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 former treasonable conspiracy. The sword of Damocles may have 
 hung suspended over his head by a single hair — the forbearance of 
 Cecil. Should he, in such case, by refusing to perform an official 
 duty, have gone to the block with Essex, the victim of a desperate 
 and extravagant venture, in which he had taken no part ? For 
 Hepworth Dixon notes that in 1597 — the very year I have supposed 
 the Cipher narrative to refer to — a separation had taken place 
 between Bacon and Essex. He says: 
 
 Essex cools to a man whose talk is very much wiser than he wants to hear. 
 They have no scene; no qilarrel; no parting; for there are no sympathies to wrench, 
 no friendships to dissolve. Essex ceases to seek advice at Gray's Inn. They now 
 rarely see each other. 1 
 
 And the same high authority thus speaks of Bacon's course in 
 the last trial of Essex: 
 
 Called by the Privy Council to bear his part in the great drama, Bacon no more 
 shirks his duty at the bar than Levison shirked his duty at Ludgate Hill, or Raleigh 
 his duty at Charing Cross. As her counsel learned in the law, he had no more 
 choice or hesitation about his duty of defense than her captain of the guard. 
 Raleigh and Bacon have each tried to save the Earl, as long as he remained an 
 honest man; but England is their first love, and by her faith, her freedom and her 
 Queen they must stand or fall. Never is stern and holy duty done more gently on a 
 criminal than by Bacon on this trial. He aggravates nothing. If he condemns 
 the action, he refrains from needless condemnation of the man. 2 
 
 And to the very last he pleads for Essex' life; he intercedes with 
 the Queen; he does all he can to save him. And we are told that 
 it was not the Queen's intention to send Essex to the block, and 
 that his life would have been saved, at the very last, but for the 
 miscarriage of a ring which he sent to the Queen as his final appeal 
 for mercy. Whether this tradition be true or not, it is certain that 
 if Bacon had any hope of saving the man who had levied war against 
 the person of the Queen, and whose life was forfeit, he could better 
 attain that end by obeying the orders of the government than by 
 resisting them. 
 
 But we can only judge fully of his course in all this matter when 
 the entire Cipher narrative is laid bare. I feel assured that when 
 all the facts are known the character of the great man will come 
 forth relieved of the last spot and blemish. 
 
 We know enough to convince us that Bacon passed through some 
 
 1 Personal History of Lord Bacon, pp. 94, 95. 2 Ibid., p. id2. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 9 8i 
 
 dreadful and stormy experiences in the few years subsequent to 
 1597; and it was during or soon after this period that the mightiest 
 of the dramas made their appearance. Misfortune is a tonic to 
 strong natures and a poison to weak. There is a plant in South 
 America, a plain-looking, knobbed stalk, apparently flowerless; but 
 when the wind blows fiercely and agitates it, the rough lumps open 
 and the odorous blossoms protrude. So there are men the splendor 
 of whose faculties is never revealed until they are assailed by the 
 <:ruel winds of adversity. 
 
 To satisfy ourselves that Bacon was one of these, we have only 
 to compare Lear and Macbeth with Love's Labor Lost and The Two 
 Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 III. The Question of Bribery. 
 
 The eagle carries the turtle high up into the air and then lets 
 him fall, and descends to feast upon the crushed remains. Let us 
 learn a lesson from this incident. If we would utterly destroy a 
 man, we must first lift him far up on the wings of praise, into the 
 very heaven of exaltation, and then let him fall. When Pope, — 
 a crabbed, little, imperfect character, himself, — described Bacon as 
 the " greatest, wisest, meanest of mankind," the world took it for 
 granted that one who could so transcendently praise his victim must 
 certainly tell the truth about him. And an epigram is something 
 to be regarded with the utmost terror. Its power is deadly. Pack 
 even an error into a compact, antithetical combination of words, and 
 the whole world will be ready, ever after, to carry it around in their 
 mouths. Its very portability is a temptation to take possession of 
 it. Its acceptability is much greater than ordinary uncondensed 
 truth, even as a government coin will pass current where a lump 
 of ore of greater value would be refused. 
 
 But could the greatest and wisest of mankind be the meanest? 
 
 Can greatness be mean ? Is there not here, on the very face of the 
 
 epigram, a contradiction of terms ? 
 
 But why "the meanest of mankind"? Because, it is said, he 
 
 was convicted of bribery as a judge — nay more, he confessed to it; 
 
 he sold the rights of suitors; he bartered away justice for a price. 
 
 If it were true, it were a grievous fault, 
 And grievously hath Caesar answered it. 
 
982 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 If it were true, then indeed would Bacon be the paradox of 
 mankind — the highest powers linked to the basest instincts. Let 
 us look into the matter. 
 
 There are two issues presented: 
 
 1. Did Francis Bacon, while Lord Chancellor, receive gifts from 
 suitors in his court ? 
 
 2. Did he for these gifts pervert justice ? 
 
 The two issues are widely distinct. The first proposition in- 
 volved a custom of the age; — the second has been regarded as an 
 abhorrent crime in all ages. 
 
 IV. The System of Gifts. 
 
 Mr. Spedding — very high authority — says: 
 
 But it was the practice in England up to James the First's time at least; and 
 the traces of it are still legible in the present state of the law (1S74) with 
 regard to fees; for I believe it is still true that the law tuill not help either the bar- 
 rister or the physician to recover an unpaid fee; the professions being too liberal 
 to make charges, send in bills, or give receipts, or do anything but take the 
 money. . . . 
 
 And it is surely possible to conceive gifts both given and taken — even between 
 suitor and judge while the cause is proceeding — without any thought of perverting 
 justice either in the giver or taker. In every suit both sides are entitled to favor- 
 able consideration — that is, to the attention of a mind open to see all that makes 
 in their favor — and favorable consideration is all that the giver need be suspected 
 of endeavoring to bespeak, or the receiver of engaging to bestow. The suitor almost 
 always believes his cause to be just, though he is not always so sure, and in those 
 days he had not always reason to be so sure, that its merits would be duly con- 
 sidered, if the favorable attention of the judge were not specially attracted to them; 
 and though the judge was rightly forbidden to lay himself under an obligation to 
 either party, it must be remembered that in all other offices, and in all gentlemanly 
 professions, gifts of exactly the same kind — fees, not fixed by law or defined as to 
 amount by custom, or recoverable as debts, but left to the discretion of the suitor, 
 client or patient — were in those days the ordinary remuneration for official or pro- 
 fessional services of all kinds. ' 
 
 And Mr. Spedding further says: 
 
 The law officers of the Crown derived, I fancy, a considerable part of their 
 income from New Year's gifts and other gratuities, presented to them both by 
 individuals and corporations whom their office gave them opportunities of obliging. 2 
 
 And he gives instances where Lord Burleigh, and his son, Sir 
 Robert Cecil, and Lord Treasurer Suffolk took large gifts from 
 suitors having business before them, and saw no impropriety in 
 doing so. 
 
 1 Spedding, Life and Works, vol. vii, p. 560. 2 Ibid., p. 561. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 983 
 
 Hepworth Dixon says, describing that era: 
 
 Few men in the court or in the church receive salaries from the Crown; and 
 each has to keep his state and make his fortune out of fees and gifts. The King 
 takes fees. The Archbishop, the Bishop, the rural dean take fees. The Lord 
 Chancellor, the Lord Chief Justice, the Baron of the Exchequer, the Master of the 
 Rolls, the Attorney-General, the Solicitor-General, the King's Sergeant, the utter 
 barrister, all the functionaries of law and justice, take fees. 
 
 So in the great offices of state. The Lord Treasurer takes fees. The Lord 
 Admiral takes fees. The Secretary of State, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, 
 the Master of the Wards, the Warden of the Cinque Ports, the Gentlemen of the 
 Bedchamber, all take fees. Everybody takes fees; everybody pays fees} 
 
 Again Mr. Dixon says: 
 
 In some cases, particularly in the courts of justice, it is open. Bassanio may 
 present his ducats, three thousand in a bag. The Judge may only take a ring. A 
 fee is due whenever an act is done. The occasions on which, by ancient usage of 
 the realm, the King claims help or fine are many; the sealing of an office or a 
 grant, the knighting of his son, the marriage of his daughter, the alienation of 
 lands in capite, his birthday, a New Year's day, the anniversary of his accession or 
 his coronation — indeed, at all times when he wants money and finds men rich 
 enough and loyal enough to pay. In like manner the clergy levy tithe and toll; 
 fees on christenings, fees on churchings, fees on marriages, fees on interments, 
 Easter offerings, free offerings, charities, church extensions, pews and rents. 
 
 In the government offices it is the same as in the palace and the church. If 
 the Attorney-General, the Secretary of State, the Lord Admiral or the Privy Seal 
 puts his signature to a sheet of paper, he takes his fee. Often it is his means of 
 life. The retaining fee paid by the King to Cecil, as Premier of State, is a hundred 
 pounds a year. But the fees from other sources are enormous. These fee are not 
 bribes.' 2 
 
 And again I quote from Mr. Dixon: 
 
 A barrister may not ask wages for his toil, like an attorney or a clerk, nor can 
 he reclaim by any process of law, as the clerk and attorney can, the value of his 
 time and speech. If he lives on the gifts of grateful clients, these gifts must be 
 perfectly free. 3 
 
 in fact, it was clearly understood that the great officers of the 
 law, including the Lord Chancellor, were to be paid by these vol- 
 untary gifts. 
 
 Mr. Dixon says: 
 
 Thus the Seals, though the Lord Chancellor had no proper salary, were in 
 Egerton's time worth from ten to fifteen thousand pounds a year, of which princely 
 sum (twenty-five thousand a year in coin of Victoria) the King only paid him 
 eighty-one pounds six shillings and eight pence. Yelverton's place of Solicitor, 
 three or four thousand a year, of which he got seventy pounds from James. The 
 Judges had enough to buy their gloves and robes, not more. Coke, when Lord 
 
 1 Dixon, Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 290. 2 Ibid., p. 291. 3 Ibid., p. 292. 
 
9 84 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 Chief Justice of England, drew from the state twelve farthings less than two 
 hundred and twenty-five pounds a year. When traveling circuit he was allowed 
 thirty-three pounds six shillings and eight pence for his expenses. Hobart, Chief 
 Justice of the Common Pleas, had twelve farthings less than one hundred and 
 ninety-five pounds a year. Tanfield, Lord Chief Baron of His Majesty's Ex- 
 chequer, one hundred and eighty-eight pounds six shillings a year. Yet each of these 
 great lawyers had given up a lucrative practice at the bar. After their promotion 
 to the bench they lived in good houses, kept a princely, state, gave dinners and 
 masks, made presents to the King, accumulated goods and lands. These wages 
 were paid in fees by those who resorted for justice to their courts. 
 
 These fees were not bribes. The courts of law are full of abuses. The highest 
 officer of the realm has no salary from the state. Custom imposes on him a host 
 of servants; officers of his court and his household; masters, secretaries, ushers, 
 clerks, receivers, porters; none of whom receive a mark a year from the crown; 
 men who have bought their places, and who are paid, as he himself is paid, in fees 
 and fines. The amount of half these fees is left to chance, to the hope or gratitude of 
 the suitor, often to the cupidity of the servant, or the length of the suitor's purse. 
 The certain fines of chancery, as subsequent inquiries show, are only thirteen hun 
 dred pounds a year, the fluctuating fines still less; beyond which beggarly sum tho 
 great establishment of the Lord Chancellor, his court, his household, and his fol- 
 lowers, gentlemen of quality, sons of peers and prelates, magistrates, deputy-lieu- 
 tenants of counties, knights of the shire, have all to live on fees and presents. 
 
 But if Bacon's salary for the great office of Lord Chancellor, with 
 all its vast retinue of servants and followers, was but four hundred 
 dollars a year, and if in taking gifts he did no more than all his prede- 
 cessors had done, and all the other judges of England in that day 
 were doing, surely there is nothing here to entitle him to be called 
 " the meanest of mankind." 
 
 V. Did he Sell Justice? 
 
 But it will be said he confessed that he sold justice for a price 
 and decided the cases brought before him according to the amount 
 paid him. 
 
 He did nothing of the kind. He distinctly denies the charge. 
 He said in a letter to the King, in the very agonies of his trial: 
 
 And for the briberies and gifts wherewith I am charged, when the books of 
 hearts shall be opened, I hope I shall not be found to have the troubled fountain 
 of a corrupt heart, in a depraved habit of taking rewards to pervert justice; how- 
 soever I may be frail, and partake of the abuses of the time. 
 
 And again he said, in a letter to Buckingham, May 31, 1621: 
 
 However I have acknowledged that the sentence is just, and for reformation 
 sake fit, I have been a trusty and honest and Christ-loving friend to your Lordship, 
 and the juste st Chancellor that hath been in the five changes since my father's time. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 985 
 
 And he also says: 
 
 I praise God for it, I never took penny for any benefice or ecclesiastical living. 
 I never took penny for releasing anything I stopped at the Seal. I never took 
 penny for any commission, or things of that nature. 
 
 I never shared with any reward for any second or inferior profit. 
 
 Dixon says: 
 
 As he lies sick at York House, or at Gorhambury, hearing through his friend 
 Meautys of the moil and worry about him at the House of Commons, he jots, 
 on loose scraps of paper at his side, his answers and remarks. These scraps of 
 paper are at Lambeth Palace. 
 
 On one of these sheets he writes: 
 
 There be three degrees of cases, as I conceive, of gifts or rewards given to a 
 judge. 
 
 The first is, — of bargain, of contract, or promise of reward, pendente lite, and 
 this is properly called venalis sententia:, or baratria, or corruptelce munemm. And 
 of this my heart tells me I am innocent; that I had no bribe or reward in my eye 
 or thought when I pronounced any sentence or order. 
 
 The second is, — a neglect in the judge to inform himself whether the cause 
 be fully at an end or no, what time he receives the gift, but takes it upon the 
 credit of the party that all is done, or otherwise omits to inquire. 
 
 And the third is, — when it is received, sine fraude, after the cause is ended; 
 which, it seems, by the opinions of the civilians, is no offense. . . . 
 
 For the first, I take myself to be as innocent as any babe born on St. Inno- 
 cents' day in my heart. 
 
 For the second, I doubt, in some particulars I may be faulty. 
 
 And for the last, I conceive it to be no fault. 1 
 
 But here is another point to be considered: If Bacon had sold 
 justice for money, and had rendered unjust decisions, it would have 
 been most natural that those suitors who had been wronged by him 
 would have applied to Parliament, after his downfall, to have his 
 corrupt judgments overturned. Spedding says: 
 
 Upon this point, therefore, the records of Parliament tell distinctly and almost 
 decisively in Bacon's favor. They show that the circumstances of his conviction 
 did encourage suitors to attempt to get his decrees set aside; that several such at- 
 tempts were made, but that they all failed; thereby strongly confirming the popu- 
 lar tradition reported by Aubrey: "His favorites took bribes, but his Lordship 
 always gave judgment secundum cequum et bonurn. His decrees in Chancery stand 
 firm. There are fewer of his decrees reversed than of any other Chancellor" 2 
 
 Says Hepworth Dixon: 
 
 An attempt to overthrow some of his judgments fails. Of the thousands of 
 decisions pronounced by him in the Court of Chancery not one is reversed* 
 
 1 Dixon's Personal History 0/ Lord Bacon, pp. 335, 336. 
 
 2 Spedding, Life and Works, vol. vii, p. 558. 
 
 3 Dixon's Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 347. 
 
9 86 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 Surely this does not look like the record of an unjust judge — 
 "the meanest of mankind." After his downfall he was poor and 
 powerless, and his enemies had control of Parliament. If he had 
 perverted justice, in a single instance, would not the ferret eye of 
 Coke have detected it; and would he not, from his hatred of Bacon, 
 have triumphantly dragged it before the attention of England and 
 the whole world ? What kind of bribery was that in which the 
 decision was always given on the side of justice? 
 
 VI. The Real Cause of his Downfall. 
 
 But it will be asked, — Why, if this was indeed a just judge, 
 whose judgment even his enemies could not question; and if the 
 salary of the Lord Chancellor's place was but $400 per annum; 
 and if, in accepting gifts from suitors, Bacon simply followed an 
 ancient and universal custom: why was the greatest genius that 
 England has ever produced cast down in dishonor from his high 
 place, and committed to the Tower, a disgraced and ruined man? 
 
 It is a terrible story of a degraded era and a corrupt court. 
 There is not space to present it here in full. Let the reader who 
 desires to investigate the subject further turn to Hepworth Dixon's 
 Personal History of Lord Bacon, and read from page 300 to page 342. 
 He will there see that the foul and greedy Villiers' clan drove great 
 officials out of place for the purpose of selling their positions to 
 wealthy adventurers. Suffolk, the Lord Treasurer, was deprived of 
 the White Staff, imprisoned in the Tower, and fined ^30,000; Yel- 
 verton, the Attorney-General, was thrown out of office and fined 
 ^4,000. A public auction is made of these places. Sir Henry 
 Montague purchases the Treasurership for ^20,000; Coventry buys 
 the Attorney's place. The Villiers gang divide the spoils. " These 
 profits and promotions edge the tooth for more." Bacon is fixed 
 upon as the next victim. Conjoined with these maneuvers of 
 infamous men and still more infamous women, there is a tempest 
 brewing in the House of Commons, and Coke is there to direct the 
 violence of the storm against his old enemy, Bacon. A creature 
 named Churchill, who had been turned out of office by Bacon, for 
 selling an estate twice over, — a crime for which he should have 
 been sent to the penitentiary, — is employed to collect evidence 
 against the great Chancellor. Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
FRANCIS BACON 
 
 987 
 
 The causes heard are many — five or six hundred in every term; the servants 
 of the court are not all honest; some, indeed, are flagitious rogues. The Chan- 
 cellor has not taken them voluntarily into his service, nor can he always turn them 
 adrift: their places are their freeholds. Among thousands of suitors, all of whom 
 must have paid fees into the court, half of whom must be smarting under the pangs 
 of a lost cause, it will be strange, indeed, if cunning, malice and unscrupulous 
 power combined cannot find some charge that may be tortured into a wrong. . . . 
 
 VII. Not a Single Corrupt Act Proved. 
 
 Hepworth Dixon continues: 
 
 The evidence produced against him, as Heneage Finch has told the House of 
 Commons, proves his case and frees him from blame. Of the twenty-two charges 
 of corruption, three are debts — Compton's, Peacock's and Vanlore's: two of 
 these, Compton's and Vanlore's, debts on bond and interest. Any man who 
 borrows money may be as justly charged with taking bribes. One case, 
 that of the London Companies, is an arbitration, not a suit in law. Even 
 Cranfield, though bred in the city, cannot call their fee a bribe. Smithwick's 
 gift, being found irregular, had been sent back. Thirteen cases — those of 
 Young, Wroth, Hody, Barker, Monk, Trevor, Scott, Fisher, Lenthal, Dunch, 
 Montagu, Ruswell, and the Frenchmen — are of daily practice in every court of 
 law. They fall under Bacon's third list, common fees, paid in the usual way, paid 
 after judgment has been given. Kennedy's present, of a cabinet for York House, 
 has never been accepted, the Chancellor hearing that the artisan who made it had 
 not been paid. Reynell, an old neighbor and friend, gave him two hundred 
 pounds toward furnishing York House, and sent him a ring on New Year's day. 
 Everybody gives rings, everybody takes rings, on a New Year's day. The gift of 
 ^"500 from Sir Ralph Hornsby was made after a judgment, though, as afterwards 
 appeared, while a second, much inferior cause, was still in hearing. The gift was 
 openly made, not to the Chancellor, but to the officer of his court. The last case 
 is that of Lady Wharton; the only one that presents an unusual feature. Lady 
 Wharton, it seems, brought her presents to the Chancellor herself ; yet even her 
 gifts were openly made, in the presence of the proper officer and his clerk. Church- 
 ill admits being present in the room when Lady Wharton left her purse: Gardner, 
 Reeling's clerk, asserts that he was present when she brought the ^"200. Even 
 Coke is staggered by proofs which prove so much; for who in his senses can sup- 
 pose that the Lord Chancellor would have done an act known to be illegal and 
 criminal in the company of a registrar and a clerk ? It is clear that a thing which 
 Bacon did under the eyes of Gardner and Churchill must have been, in his 
 mind, customary and right. It is no less clear that if Bacon had done 
 wrong, knowing it to be wrong, he would never have braved exposure of 
 his fraud by turning Churchill into the streets. Thus, after the most rigorous 
 and vindictive scrutiny into his official acts, and into the official acts of his 
 servants, not a single fee or remembrance traced to the Chancellor can , by any fair con- % 
 struction, be called a bribe. Not one appears to have been given on a promise; not 
 one appears to have been given in secret; not one is alleged to have corrupted justice} 
 
 And yet it is upon this proceeding and these facts that the 
 
 most wonderful intellect of the race has been blackened in the 
 
 1 Dixon's Personal History of Lord Bacon, pp. 336, 337. 
 
9 8 8 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 estimation of the whole human family, and sent down through the 
 ages with a scurrilous epigram pinned upon his back, denouncing 
 him as the meanest man that ever lived upon the planet. 
 
 And if the fair-minded critic will set aside Macaulay's shallow 
 and unfair essay, and consult Spedding or Hepworth Dixon, he 
 will find that every minor charge against Bacon — his assisting at 
 the torture of Peacham; his consulting with the judges at the 
 instance of King James; his alleged ingratitude to Somerset, etc. — 
 are all fully met and disposed of. 
 
 VIII. Why did he Plead Guilty ? 
 
 But why — it will be asked — did he plead guilty to the charges ? 
 Dixon gives these reasons: 
 
 In a private interview James now urges the Chancellor to trust in him; to offer 
 no defense; to submit himself to the peers; to trust his honor and his safety to the 
 Crown. It is only too easy to divine the reasons which weigh with Bacon to intrust 
 his fortunes to the King. He is sick. He is surrounded by enemies. No man has 
 power to help him, save the sovereign. He is weary of greatness. Age is approach- 
 ing. In his illness he has learned to think more of heaven and less of the world. 
 His nobler tasks are incomplete. He has the Seals, and the delights of power 
 begin to pall. To resist the King's advice is to provoke the fate of Yelverton, still 
 an obstinate prisoner in the Tower. Nor can he say that these complaints against 
 the courts of law, against the Court of Chancery, are untimely or unjust. So far 
 as they attack the court, and not the judge, they are in the spirit of all his writ- 
 ings, and of all his votes. In his soul he can find no fault with the House of Com- 
 mons, though the accidents of time and the machinations of powerful enemies 
 have made him, the Reformer, a sacrifice to a false cry for reform. . . . 
 
 lie pleads guilty to carelessness, not to crime. But he points out, too, that all the 
 irregularities found in his court occurred when he was new in office, strange to his 
 clerks and registrars, overwhelmed with arrears of work. The very last of them 
 is two years old. For the latter half of his reign as Chancellor, the vindictive 
 inquisition of his enemies, aided by the treachery of his servants, has not been able 
 to detect in his administration o/ justice a fault, much less a crime} 
 
 But behind these reasons there were still many others. He was 
 in the unlimited power of the King; and the King was ruled by his 
 favorite, Buckingham, a merciless, greedy, sordid wretch, who 
 desired to sell Bacon's place to the highest bidder, and would not 
 be thwarted of his victim. The King was alarmed, also, at the 
 storm signals in Parliament. The tempest was rising which cost 
 his son his head. The cry for reform must be appeased; a tub 
 must be thrown to the whale. Bacon's ruin would satisfy for a 
 
 2 Dixon's Perianal History of Lord Bacon, p. 342. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 989 
 
 time the clamorous reformers, while it would enrich Buckingham 
 and his clique. Bacon was doomed. He understood the situation. 
 He regarded himself as a sacrifice. He said, in a letter to the King, 
 in 1620: 
 
 And now making myself an oblation, to do with me as may best conduce to the 
 honor of your justice, the honor of your mercy and the use of your service, resting 
 as clay in your Majesty's gracious hands, etc. 
 
 And again he said, with the voice of prophecy: 
 
 Those who now strike at your Chancellor will yet strike at your crown. 
 
 What would have been the result had he stood out and refused 
 to plead guilty? He would certainly have been convicted, impris- 
 oned, ruined by a heavy fine, perhaps sent to the block. 
 
 By the King's grace his fine of ^40,000 is remitted; he is released 
 from the Tower, and he has time to complete his great works. 
 
 He writes in cipher: 
 
 I was the justest judge that was in England these fifty years; but it was the 
 justest censure that was in Parliament these two hundred years. 
 
 That is to say, while personally innocent of bribe-taking, his 
 condemnation had led to the reformation of the abuse of gift-giv- 
 ing to judges. 
 
 But he puts this in cipher, — he whispers it, — and opposite it he 
 writes u stet" — as if he was preparing his papers for posterity, and 
 eliminating those things which might tell more than he wished the 
 world yet to know; just as we have seen his correspondence with Sir 
 Tobie Matthew excised and eliminated. 
 
 He bowed his neck to the storm which he could neither avert 
 nor control; biding his time, he took his secret appeal to " foreign 
 nations, the next ages, and to his own countrymen after some time 
 be passed." He made a formal confession, it is true, to Parliament, 
 but it is a defense and a justification, in every word, as well; for 
 with each case he gives those details which relieve it of all aspect 
 of bribery. 
 
 And he turned patiently away, with the burden of a great 
 injustice and a mighty sorrow upon him, and devoted the k.st five 
 years of his life to the putting forth of works unequaled since the 
 ojiobe first rolled on its axis. 
 
990 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 IX. The Doom of his Enemies. 
 
 And yet, being human, he must have rejoiced over the fate 
 which speedily overtook his corrupt and malicious persecutors. 
 Hepworth Dixon says: 
 
 From the seclusion of Gorhambury, or Gray's Inn, he watches the men who 
 have ruined his fortune and stained his name fall one by one. Before their year 
 of triumph ran out, Coke's intolerable arrogance plunged him into the Tower, 
 from which he escaped after eight months' imprisonment, to be permanently 
 degraded from the Privy Council, banished from the court, and confined to his 
 dismal ruin of a house at Stoke. The sale of Frances Coke to Viscount Purbeck 
 is a dismal failure. She makes the man to whom she was sold perfectly miserable; 
 quitting his house for days and nights; braving the public streets in male attire; 
 falling in guilty love with Sir Robert Howard; shocking even the brazen sinners 
 of St. James's by the excessive profligacy of her life. Purbeck steals abroad to 
 hide his shame. At last he goes raving mad. . . . 
 
 Were there space in Bacon's generous heart for vengeance, how the passions 
 of the great Chancellor would leap and glow as these adversaries fall before his 
 eyes like rotten fruit ! Never was the wisdom of counsel proved more signally, 
 the vindication of conduct more complete. All that he foresaw of evil has come to 
 pass. He does not, indeed, live to behold that fiery joy which lights and shakes 
 the land when Buckingham's tyranny drops under an assassin's knife; but he lives 
 long enough to find himself justified by facts on every point of his opposition to 
 the scandalous family policy and private bargains of the Villiers clan. . . . 
 
 The very next Parliament which meets in Westminster strikes down two of his 
 foes. Three years after his return to that trust he so grossly abused, Churchill 
 comes before the House of Commons as a culprit. He has been at his tricks 
 again, and is now solemnly convicted of forgery and fraud. Two months after 
 Churchill's condemnation Cranfield is in turn assailed. Charges of taking bribes 
 from the farmers of customs, of fraudulent dealing with the royal debts, of robbing 
 the magazine of arms, are proved against him; when abandoned by his powerful 
 friends, he is sentenced by the House of Commons to public infamy, to loss of 
 office, to imprisonment in the Tower, to a restitutionary fine of ,£200,000. " In 
 future ages," says a wise observer of events, " men will wonder how my Lord St. 
 Albans could have fallen, and how my Lord of Middlesex could have risen." ] 
 
 X. The World's Indebtedness to the Great Philosopher. 
 
 There have not been wanting those whose devotion to the man 
 of Stratford has been so great, that they have not only disputed 
 the title of Francis Bacon to the Plays, but have even denied that, 
 as a philosopher, he had any claims upon the respect of mankind. 
 
 Let us examine a few witnesses upon this point. 
 
 First, let us call that distinguished biographer and essayist, but 
 not historian, Macaulay, who has done more than any other man, 
 
 1 Dixon's Personal History of Lord Bacon, p. 356. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 99I 
 
 Pope alone excepted, to injure the reputation of Francis Bacon. 
 
 Macaulay says: 
 
 Ask a follower of Bacon what the new philosophy has effected for mankind, 
 and his answer is ready: " It has lengthened life; it has mitigated pain; it has ex- 
 tinguished diseases; it has increased the fertility of the soil; it has given new secur- 
 ities to the mariner; it has furnished new arms to the warrior; it has spanned great 
 rivers and estuaries with bridges of form unknown to our fathers; it has guided the 
 thunderbolt innocuously from heaven to earth; it has lighted up the night with the 
 splendor of the day; it has extended the range of the human vision; it has multi- 
 plied the power of human muscle; it has accelerated motion; it has annihilated dis- 
 tance; it has facilitated intercourse, correspondence, all friendly offices, all dispatch 
 of business; it has enabled man to descend to the depths of the sea, to soar into 
 the air, to penetrate securely into the noxious recesses of the earth, to traverse the 
 land with cars which whirl along without horses, and the ocean with ships which 
 sail against the wind. 1 
 
 But how, it may be asked, has all this been accomplished ? 
 
 By using the senses to understand external nature, and the 
 powers of the mind to master it for the good of man. 
 
 And therein is the key of all that we call progress and civiliza- 
 tion. Bacon perceived that the mind of man was a divine instru- 
 ment, lent to him for good purposes, not to be used on itself, but 
 to be turned upon that vast universe of matter which lies outside 
 of it. And hence, as he made Montaigne say, " the senses are the 
 beginning and end of knowledge: — there must we fight it out to 
 the end." 
 
 Macaulay says: 
 
 The chief peculiarity of Bacon's philosophy seems to us to have been this — 
 that it aimed at things altogether different from that which his predecessors had pro- 
 posed to themselves. . . . He used means different from those used by other philoso- 
 phers, because he wished to arrive at an end altogether different from theirs. . . . 
 It was, to use his own expression, "fruit." It was the multiplying of human 
 enjoyments and the mitigating of human sufferings. It was "the relief of man's 
 estate." . . . The art which Bacon taught was the art of inventing arts. ... He 
 was not the person who first showed that by the inductive method alone new truth 
 could be discovered. But he was the person who first turned the minds of specu- 
 lative men, long occupied in verbal disputes, to the discovery of new truth; and by 
 doing so, he at once gave to the inductive method an importance and dignity 
 which had never before belonged to it. . . . Two words form the key of the Bacon- 
 ian doctrine — utility and progress. The ancient philosophy disdained to be useful, 
 and was content to be stationary. It dealt largely in theories of moral perfection, 
 which were so sublime that they never could be more than theories; in attempts to 
 solve insoluble enigmas; in exhortations to the attainment of unattainable frames 
 of mind. It could not condescend to the humble office of ministering to the com- 
 fort of human beings. 
 
 1 Macaulay's Essays — Bacon, p. 278. 
 
992 CONCL U SIGNS. 
 
 It is marvelous that the world could not see that Shakespeare 
 was preaching this very philosophy: 
 
 Nature, what things there are 
 Most abject in regard and dear in use! 
 What things again, most dear in the esteem 
 And poor in worth. x 
 
 And again: 
 
 Most poor matters 
 Point to rich ends. 
 
 But it is claimed by some that Bacon's influence on our modern 
 civilization has been exaggerated. Let me call another excellent 
 witness: 
 
 Fowler proves 2 that Bacon's influence predominated in the mind 
 and philosophy of Locke, who alluded to him as " the great Lord 
 Verulam; " and that, through him, Bacon acted upon the minds of 
 " Berkley, Hume, Hartley, Reid, Stewart, the two Mills, Condillac, 
 Helvetius, Destutt de Tracy, to say nothing of less known or more 
 recent writers." He adds: " Descartes, Mersenne, Gassendi, Peiresc, 
 Du Hamel, Bayle, Voltaire, Condillac, D'Alembert in France; Vico 
 in Italy; Comenius, Puffendorf, Leibnitz, Huygens, Morhof, Boer- 
 haave, Buddaeus in Germany; and in England, the group of men 
 who founded, or were amongst the earliest members of, the Royal 
 Society, such as Wallis, Oldenburg, Glanville, Hooke and Boyle," 3 
 all bore testimony to the greatness of Bacon's service to science. 
 
 The great Scotchman Mackintosh says: 
 
 Bacon was not what is called a metaphysician; his plans for the improvement of 
 science were not inferred by abstract reasoning from any of those primary princi- 
 ples to which the philosophers of Greece struggled to fasten their systems. Hence 
 he has been treated as empirical and superficial by those who take to themselves 
 the exclusive name of profound speculators. He was not, on the other hand, a 
 mathematician, an astronomer, a physiologist, a chemist. He was not eminently 
 conversant with the particular truths of any of those sciences which existed in his 
 time. For this reason, he was underrated even by men themselves of the highest 
 merit, and by some who had acquired the most just reputation, by adding new facts 
 to the stock of knowledge. It is not therefore very surprising to find that Harvey, 
 "though the friend as well as the physician of Bacon, though he esteemed him 
 much for his wit and style, would not allow him to be a great philosopher," but said 
 to Aubrey, " He writes philosophy like a Lord Chancellor," — " in derision," as 
 the honest biographer thinks fit expressly to add. On the same ground, though in 
 a manner not so agreeable to the nature of his own claims on reputation, Mr. Hume 
 has decided that Bacon was not so great a man as Galileo because he was not so 
 
 1 Troilus and Cressida, iii, 3. 2 Bacon, p. 193. 3 Ibid., p. 195. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 993 
 
 great an astronomer. The same sort of injustice to his memory has been more 
 often committed than avowed, by professors of the exact and the experimental 
 sciences, who are accustomed to regard, as the sole test of service to knowledge, 
 a palpable addition to her store. It is very true that he made no discoveries; but 
 his life was employed in teaching the method by which discoveries are made. This 
 distinction was early observed by that ingenious poet and amiable man, on whom 
 we, by our unmerited neglect, have taken too severe a revenge, for the exaggerated 
 praises bestowed on him by our ancestors: 
 
 Bacon, like Moses, led us forth at last, 
 
 The barren wilderness he past, 
 Did on the very border stand 
 
 Of the promised land, 
 And from the mountain top of his exalted wit 
 
 Saw it himself, and showed us it. 1 
 
 Taine says: 
 
 When he wished to describe the efficacious nature of his philosophy by a tale, 
 he delineated in The New Atlantis, with a poet's boldness and the precision of a 
 seer, almost employing the very terms in use now, modern applications, and the 
 present organization of the sciences, academies, observatories, air-balloons, sub- 
 marine vessels, the improvement of land, the transmutation of species, regenera- 
 tions, the discovery of remedies, the preservation of food. "The end of our 
 foundation," says his principal personage, "is the knowledge of causes and secret 
 motives of things, and the enlarging of the bounds of human empire, to the effect- 
 ing all things possible. And this 'possible' is infinite." . . . 
 
 He recommends moralists to study the soul, the passions, habits, temptations, 
 not merely in a speculative way, but with a view to the cure or diminution of 
 vice, and assigns to the science of morals as its goal the amelioration of morals. 
 
 In 1603 Bacon said that he proposed to 
 
 Kindle a light in nature — a light which shall, at its very rising, touch and 
 illuminate all the border regions that confine upon the circle of our present knowl- 
 edge ; and so spreading further shall presently disclose and bring into sight all that 
 is most hidden and secret in the world. 
 
 Have not his anticipations been realized ? Does not the great 
 conflagration of science, kindled by his torch, not only burn up 
 the rubbish of many ancient errors, and enlarge the practical powers 
 of mankind, but is it not casting great luminous tongues of flame, 
 day by day, farther out into the darkness with which nature has 
 encompassed us? 
 
 And how grandly does he prefigure the station which he will 
 occupy in the judgment of posterity when he says that the man 
 who shall kindle that light 
 
 Would be the benefactor indeed of the human race, the propagator of man's 
 
 1 The Modern British Essayists- Mackintosh p. 18. 
 2 Taine's History of English Literature, p. 155. 
 
994 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 empire over the universe, the champion of liberty, the conqueror and subduer of 
 necessities. 
 
 He tried even to hurry up civilization. He sought to use the 
 royal power to give the seventeenth century the blessings now 
 enjoyed by the nineteenth. He writes King James, in 1620, present- 
 ing him with the Novum Organum: 
 
 I account your favor may be to this work as much as a hundred years' time ; 
 for I am persuaded the luork will gain upon mens minds in ages, but your gracing it 
 may make it take hold more swiftly; which I would be very glad of, it being a 
 work meant, not for praise or glory, but for practice and the good of man. 
 
 And again he says, in the same letter: 
 
 Even in your time many noble inventions may be discovered for man's use. 
 For who can tell, now this mine of truth is opened, how the veins go; and what 
 lieth higher and what lieth lower? 
 
 His heart thirsted for the good of mankind. He saw in his 
 mind's eye things akin to the marvels of steam and electricity. 
 And if Bacon had been king, or had ruled England with unlimited 
 power, instead of the foul and shallow Buckingham, who can say 
 how far the progress of the world might have been advanced in a 
 single generation ? 
 
 But he realized, at last, how delusive were these hopes. He 
 
 says, in a letter to Father Fulgentio, the Venetian: 
 
 Of the perfecting this I have cast away all hopes ; but in future ages perhaps 
 the design may bud again. . . . Such, I mean, which touch, almost, the universals 
 of nature, there will be laid no inconsiderab/e foundations of this matter. 
 
 And in the sonnets he says he had 
 
 Laid great bases for eternity. 
 
 But he knew that progress is a matter of great minds ; that civ- 
 ilization moves with giant strides from the apex of one grand soul 
 to another. He says: 
 
 And since sparks can work but upon matter prepared, I have the more reason 
 to wish that those sparks may fly abroad, that they may the better find, and light 
 upon those minds and spirits which are apt to be kindled. 1 
 
 XI. His Prophetic Anticipations. 
 
 " His mind," says Montagu, " pierced into future contingents.'* 
 
 He could 
 
 Look into the seeds of time, 
 And say which grain would grow and which would not. 
 
 1 Letter to Dr. Playfer. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 
 
 995 
 
 In The New Atlantis he anticipates the discovery of means of 
 "flying in the air;" also of vessels that move under the water; 
 also of " swimming-girdles," or life-preservers. He also believes 
 that some forms of perpetual motion will be discovered. He pre- 
 figures the telephone and the microphone when he represents the 
 people of the New Atlantis possessed of " certain helps which set to 
 ear do greatly further the hearing ; " and he anticipates a recent 
 useful invention in these words: " We have also means to convey 
 sounds in trunks and pipes, in strange lines and distances." He 
 also foreshadowed our Signal Service establishment: 
 
 We do also declare natural divinations of disease, plagues, swarms of hurtful 
 creatures, scarcity, tempests, earthquakes, great inundations, comets, temperature of 
 the year, and divers other things; and we give counsel thereupon what the people 
 shall do for the prevention and remedy of them. 1 
 
 He anticipated our system of patent-rights for the encourage- 
 ment of inventors, and even our national gallery of models: 
 
 For upon every invention of value we erect a statue to the inventor, and give 
 him a liberal and honorable reward. We have two very long and fine galleries: 
 in one of these we place patterns and samples of all manner of the more rare and 
 excellent inventions; in the other we place the statues of all the principal inventors. 2 
 
 He anticipated Darwin when he said: 
 
 It would be very difficult to generate new species, but less so to vary known 
 species, and thus produce many rare and unusual results. 
 
 He foreshadowed in The New Atlantis the system now adopted 
 by all civilized nations of conserving the health of its own people 
 by establishing a quarantine for strangers. 
 
 He anticipated the recent studies upon the shape of the conti- 
 nents 3 — "broad and expanded toward the north, and narrow and 
 pointed toward the south." 
 
 He anticipated Roemer's discovery of time being required for the 
 propagation of light. 
 
 He inclined, toward the last, to accept the doctrine of the rota- 
 tion of the earth on its axis, because if the heavenly bodies movec| 
 around the earth they would have to travel with inconceivable 
 velocity to make their diurnal journey. 
 
 He says: 
 
 J New Atlantis. * Ibid. * Novum Organutn, book ii. 
 
996 CONCL USIONS. 
 
 For if the earth stand still, and the heavens perform a diurnal revolution, 
 undoubtedly it is a system; but if the earth be rotary, it is, nevertheless, not abso- 
 lutely proved that it is not a system, because we may still fix another center of the 
 system, such as the sun , or something else. . . . And the consent of later ages and 
 of antiquity has rather anticipated and sanctioned that idea than not. For the 
 supposition of the earth's motion is not new, but, as we have already said, echoed 
 from the ancients. 1 
 
 The Italian anatomist Malpighi was " the first to apply the 
 microscope in investigating the anatomical structure of plants and 
 animals," but he was not born until after Bacon's death. And yet 
 we find Bacon in The New Atlantis saying: 
 
 We have also glasses and means to see small and minute bodies perfectly and 
 distinctly, as the shape and colors of small flies and worms, grains and flaws in 
 gems, observations in urine and blood, not otherwise to be seen. 
 
 We have seen him in the Plays approaching very closely to 
 Harvey's discovery of the circulation of the blood. 
 We also have him saying: 
 
 The very essence of heat, or the substantial self of heat, is motion, and nothing 
 else. 2 
 
 Let it not be forgotten, therefore, that Bacon was the first in 
 the world to reveal the great truth that heat is a mode of motion. 
 The savage regards heat as an animal. Lucretius believed it to be 
 a substance akin to the substance of the soul. Aristotle thought it 
 a condition of matter. Bacon called it " a motion of expansion; a 
 motion and nothing else." Descartes followed him and defined it 
 as the motion of the insensibly small parts of matter. Locke, 
 carrying out the same thought, called it " a very brisk agitation of 
 the insensible parts of an object.'* But long after Bacon's time 
 Lavoisier and Black still believed that heat was an actual substance. 
 Science, however, two hundred years after Bacon's Novum Organum 
 was written, has settled down into the conviction that the philoso- 
 pher of Verulam was right; and that heat is, as Davy expresses it, 
 4 * a vibratory motion of the particles of matter;" which is but a 
 condensation of Bacon's view that heat is "a mode of expansion of 
 the smaller particles of matter, . . . checked, repelled and beaten 
 back, so that the body acquires a motion alternate, perpetually 
 quivering, striving and struggling." 
 
 1 Description of the Intellectuai Globe, chap, vi, § 2. 9 Novum Organum, book ii. 
 
FRANCIS BACON. 99" 
 
 He approximated very closely to Newton's discovery of the law 
 of gravitation. He says: 
 
 Heavy and ponderous bodies must either of their own nature tend towards the 
 center of the earth by their peculiar formation, or must be attracted and hurried, 
 by the corporeal mass of the earth itself, as being an assemblage of similar bodies, 
 and be drawn to it by sympathy. . . . The attraction of the corporeal mass of the 
 earth may be taken as the cause of weight. 1 
 
 And we find him in the Plays saying: 
 
 But the strong base and building of my love 
 Is as the very center of the earth, 
 Drawing all things to it} 
 
 He suggested experiments with the pendulum upon great heights 
 and in deep mines, 
 
 Which have since been used as the most delicate tests of the variation of 
 gravity from the equator towards the poles. 
 
 In the Gcsta Grayorum* we find him anticipating public libra- 
 ries, public gardens of plants, zoological gardens, and even the 
 British Museum ! 
 
 Even in other directions his vast mental activity extended itself: 
 
 Nicolai claims Bacon as the founder of Free Masonry. 4 
 
 And I have shown that his philosophical thoughts have pene- 
 trated and permeated all the great minds who have since lived in 
 England and Europe. But who shall measure the influence of his 
 genius through the Plays upon the thoughts and opinions of man- 
 kind ? 
 
 De Ouincey calls him 
 
 The glory of the human intellect. 
 
 Carlyle speaks of him as 
 
 The greatest intellect who, in our recorded world, has left record of himself in 
 the way of literature. 
 
 Dr. Chalmers describes him as 
 
 An intellectual miracle. 
 
 Emerson says of him: 
 
 It was not possible to write the history of Shakespeare until now; for he is the 
 father of German literature: it was on the introduction of Shakespeare into 
 
 1 Noviim Organum, book ii. 3 Li'/e and Works, Spedding, vol. i, p. 335. 
 
 3 Troilus and Cressida, iv, 2. 4 A New Study of Shakespeare, p. 192. 
 
998 CONCLUSIONS. 
 
 Germany, by Lessing, and the translation of his works by Wieland and Schlegel,. 
 that the rapid burst of German literature was most intimately connected. It was. 
 not until the nineteenth century, whose speculative genius is a sort of living 
 Hamlet, that the tragedy of Hamlet could find such wondering readers. Now, 
 literature, philanthropy and thought are Shakespearized. His mind is the horizon 
 beyond which, at present, we do not see. Our ears are educated to music by his 
 rhythm. Coleridge and Goethe are the only critics who have expressed our con- 
 victions with any adequate fidelity; but there is in all cultivated minds a silent 
 appreciation of his superlative power'and beauty, which, like Christianity, qualifies 
 the period. 1 
 
 1 Representative Men, p. 201. 
 
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