ALVMNVS BOOK FVND 
 
 
SHAKESPEARE STUDIES 
 
 OTHEK ESSAYS 
 
ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS. 
 
SHAKESPEARE STUDIES 
 
 AND 
 
 ESSAY ON ENGLISH DICTIONARIES 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 THOMAS SPENCEB BAYNES, LL.B., LL.D. 
 
 PKOFESSOB OF LOGIC, METAPHYSDCS AND ENGLISH LITERATURE 
 
 IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ST. ANDREWS 
 EDITOR OF THE NINTH EDITION OF THE "ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA 
 
 WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL PREFACE 
 
 BY 
 
 PROFESSOR LEWIS CAMPBELL 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GKEEN, AND CO. 
 
 AND NEW YOKK : 15 EAST 16th STREET 
 
 1894 
 
- m 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SHAKESPEARE, 1 
 
 WHAT SHAKESPEARE LEARNT AT SCHOOL, . 147 
 
 SHAKESPEARIAN GLOSSARIES, 250 
 
 NEW SHAKESPEARIAN INTERPRETATIONS, . . . 300 
 
 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES, 358 
 
 845651 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THOMAS SPENCER BAYNES, the writer of these 
 essays, was born at Wellington, in Somersetshire, 
 on the 24th of March, 1823, and died in London 
 on the 31st of May, 1887. 
 
 His father, Joseph Baynes, was for fifty years 
 the minister of the Baptist congregation at 
 Wellington; arid his mother, whose maiden name 
 was Ash, was a descendant of Ash, the lexico- 
 grapher. Thomas Spencer's childhood and early 
 youth were spent in his native Somersetshire, 
 amid scenes and associations which left a deep 
 and permanent impression upon an unusually 
 receptive mind ; and the dialect and folk-lore of 
 the district contributed much to the enrichment 
 of his later studies in English. To the simple 
 and pious surroundings of his paternal home 
 there were added many delightful memories of 
 Rumhill House, the neighbouring country seat 
 of Mr. and Mrs. Cadbury, where much of his 
 boyhood was passed. After his too brief school 
 days at Bath and a mistaken attempt to secure 
 for him a commercial career, for which he had 
 no desire, his parents yielded to his urgent wish 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 to qualify for the ministry, and he commenced 
 a two years' course of study in the Baptist 
 College at Bristol. Then, like many Noncon- 
 formist students of that day, he was led by a 
 widening ambition, of which the first sign ap- 
 peared in his matriculation at London, to take a 
 full course of university study in Edinburgh. He 
 was twenty when he went there, and his curri- 
 culum lasted five years. Among many potent - 
 influences which surrounded him during this 
 period, the strongest was that of Sir William 
 Hamilton, the most learned of Scottish philo- 
 sophers and one of the most stimulating of 
 teachers. The young student's mind, without 
 losing anything of its seriousness, expanded on 
 all sides, till it became impossible for him to 
 return into the old groove. Scholastic and liter- 
 ary ambitions overbore the aspirations of the 
 preacher. He became the centre of a group of 
 friends, not unremarkable, both within the uni- 
 versity and beyond it; and after graduating in 
 the London University in 1850 his influence as 
 a teacher of philosophy in Edinburgh, first at the 
 Philosophical Institution, and afterwards as Sir 
 William Hamilton's assistant, obtained for him 
 a wider recognition. Amongst the most distin- 
 guished of his younger associates were Charles 
 Stanford, George Wilson the technologist, and 
 Dallas, afterwards the literary critic of the 
 
PEE FACE. Vll 
 
 Times and author of The Gay Science, John 
 Skelton and G. H. Lewes. He was the re- 
 cognised expositor of the Hamiltonian philo- 
 sophy, not only in the lecture room, but in 
 authorship. The translation of the Port Royal 
 Logic with a learned introduction, and the 
 Essay on the New Analytic, in which, amongst 
 other logical exposition, Hamilton's invention or 
 discovery of the "quantification of the predicate" 
 was clearly set forth, attracted considerable at- 
 tention and materially added to his reputation. 
 Altogether, the Edinburgh period, which came to 
 an end, after a partial break-down in health, in 
 1854, was one both of strenuous exertion and of 
 rich and varied mental experience. 
 
 There followed two years of comparative 
 retirement and leisure, passed chiefly at Rumhill, 
 which was now his home. There he wrote a 
 tractate on the Somersetshire dialect, which 
 attracted the attention of the late Prince Lucien 
 Bonaparte, and led afterwards to further associa- 
 tion between these two students of the varieties 
 of English speech. The essay on Sir William 
 Hamilton in the volume of " Edinburgh Essays " 
 was written about the same time. 
 
 Amongst his Edinburgh associates he had 
 been foremost in various journalistic enterprises, 
 and when in 1856 the Leader, a brilliant literary 
 periodical, passed into the hands of his life-long 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 friend, Mr. Edward F. S. Pigott, he joined the 
 staff of writers. This drew him to London, and 
 shortly afterwards he was appointed Examiner 
 in Philosophy for the University of London. 
 In 1857 he married Miss Gale, and settled in 
 the neighbourhood of Regent's Park. New ties 
 brought new responsibilities, and the demands 
 on his leisure increased with an increasing social 
 circle; but with all this his journalistic work did 
 not suffer. He became a regular contributor to 
 the Daily News, then in the tenth year of its 
 existence, and in 1858 he was established in the 
 office as assistant-editor. For six years his 
 labours in that capacity were unremitting ; and 
 his leaders, especially on foreign questions, added 
 greatly to the importance of the journal. He 
 was the keen advocate of progress, and of liberal 
 causes everywhere. " The subject of most fre- 
 quent recurrence with him," writes one who has 
 examined into the matter, " are the dealings of 
 Russia and Austria in Poland, the settlement 
 of Italy, the relations of Prussia and Denmark, 
 and the American War of Emancipation. Op- 
 pression in any form ^vas hateful to him. The 
 articles which found most immediate recognition 
 and gratitude from those on whose behalf they 
 were written, were the series supporting the 
 cause of Denmark against Prussia, and the still 
 more important series on the American War. 
 
PEE FACE. IX 
 
 On both of these questions he felt and wrote 
 very strongly; and so sensible were the Danes of 
 his energetic advocacy of their cause that some 
 of the leading men in Copenhagen invited him 
 to visit Denmark, which he did in 1862, accom- 
 panied by his wife. On the American War he 
 seems to have written about 200 articles. He 
 was far-sighted enough to anticipate the coming 
 rupture, and had made himself master of the 
 situation before the struggle actually commenced. 
 He was present in the gallery of the House of 
 Commons when the Alabama difficulty first made 
 its appearance, no bigger than a man's hand, and 
 that hand Earl Russell's. Hurrying back to his 
 pen at the News office, he wrote the first edi- 
 torial article that appeared against the conduct 
 of Lord John's Government." In the midst of 
 these absorbing duties, he found time not only 
 for practical educational work in Bedford Col- 
 lege and elsewhere, but for extending his studies 
 in the English dialects and in English etymology 
 generally. In 1860 he wrote for Prince Lucien 
 Bonaparte a version of the "Song of Solomon" in 
 the Somerset dialect, to form one of the series of 
 versions in dialect of the same book by Barnes, 
 Ilobson, Baird and others. 
 
 During this London period his intellectual 
 energy was at its height. But the long-continued 
 strain led to a serious break-down in 1864 ; and, 
 
X PEEFACE. 
 
 after a partial recovery, it became necessary to 
 look for some less exacting occupation. The 
 death of his friend and co-examiner, Prof. Ferrier, 
 and the promotion of Prof. Veitch to Glasgow 
 in the same year, made vacancies in both the 
 philosophical chairs in the University of St. 
 Andrews ; and to one of these, that of Logic, 
 Metaphysics, and English Literature, Baynes was 
 appointed. The election was a happy one. His 
 combination of literary with philosophical attain- 
 ments, his reputation as the favourite pupil and 
 assistant of Sir William Hamilton, recommended 
 him at once to the Scottish students, with whom 
 his own early experience inclined him to sym- 
 pathise '; while his knowledge of the world, and 
 ripening wisdom, gave him an exceptional influ- 
 ence over them. His devotion to them, and 
 their love and reverence for him, went on 
 increasingly until the close. His philosophic 
 teaching was of course more than adequate, 
 but the comparatively novel task of educating 
 men in English Literature had even more 
 fascination for his mind. He renewed the 
 study of Shakespeare with increased ardour 
 under these fresh conditions ; and, after some 
 years, his investigations began to shape them- 
 selves towards a fruitful result. He contem- 
 plated an edition in which the elucidation of 
 obscure and unfamiliar words should form one 
 
PBEFACE. XI 
 
 special feature, and of the essays in this volume 
 those on "Shakespearian Glossaries" and "New 
 Shakespearian Interpretations " belong to this 
 period. Other studies in English Literature 
 made their appearance in an article on " English 
 Dictionaries " for the Edinburgh Review (July, 
 1868), on " Chaucer " in the same review in 1870, 
 and on " Shelley " in April, 1871. The article on 
 " Aryan Mythology " in 1870 is on a subject bear- 
 ing at once on literature and philosophy ; while 
 those on Tylor's Primitive Culture (January, 
 1872), on Eraser's Berkeley in July of the same 
 year, and on Darwin's Expression of the Emotions 
 in April, 1873, were his chief published writings 
 on philosophy during this period. 
 
 In 1873, all other literary work was for the 
 time superseded by his acceptance of the general 
 editorship of the ninth edition of the Encyclo- 
 paedia Britannica. The organisation and over- 
 sight of this great work absorbed all the energy 
 that could be spared from his professorial duties, 
 and those of the London examinership, to which 
 he had been re-appointed. After some years of 
 this labour, he had a serious illness aggravated 
 by the loss of his favourite brother which neces- 
 sitated a complete rest. With his wife he spent 
 some time in Germany, where his health was for 
 the time renewed. He found it necessary, how- 
 ever, to devolve some part of the labour upon 
 
Xll PREFACE. 
 
 others; and in 1880 Prof. Robertson Smith, 
 who had already considerably relieved him, was 
 appointed co-editor. Even before this measure 
 of relief, he had returned to his Shakespearian 
 studies, and the essay here republished, entitled 
 " What Shakespeare learned at School," appeared 
 in three numbers of Fraser's Magazine in 1879 
 and 1880 during the editorship of Principal 
 Tulloch. It was always his intention, when 
 the work on the Encyclopaedia was ended, to 
 complete and publish a cycle of Shakespearian 
 papers, including, with those already mentioned, 
 others of which he had already laid down the 
 lines, and towards which he had accumulated 
 most of the material. Unhappily, the only 
 further Shakespearian work of his which saw 
 the light was the article " Shakespeare " in the 
 Encyclopedia Britannica. This is here repub- 
 lished as it first appeared. In editing himself, 
 he was compelled to use severe compression ; 
 and, had he lived to prepare the article for 
 separate publication, he would have developed 
 many points which had cost him much pleasur- 
 able labour in the way of research, but were in 
 the end dismissed in a few sentences. 
 
 Nevertheless, the work as it is here pub- 
 lished, with the kind permission of the Messrs. 
 Black, will be found very deserving of renewed 
 attention. In the course of its preparation he 
 
PEEFACE. Xlll 
 
 visited Stratford as the guest of the late Mr. 
 Charles A. Flower, of Avonbank, who lent 
 him much kindly assistance towards the study 
 of Warwickshire topography, and was greatly 
 struck by his guest's wonderful " eye for coun- 
 try ". The strength of the essay lies, how- 
 ever, not so much in the special as in the general 
 preparation of the writer. It was deeply rooted 
 in his own life, and drew upon his whole past 
 experience, in the world, not less than in the 
 study. His attempt to replace Shakespeare 
 in his actual environment is wonderfully suc- 
 cessful ; and, amidst such a farrago of all shades 
 of probability, to have taken a definite line 
 and held to it, with so much substantial 
 likelihood, is surely a remarkable achieve- 
 ment. High authorities will sometimes in com- 
 plimenting a writer use language which they 
 would possibly not employ to indifferent persons; 
 still the fact remains that Halliwell Phillipps 
 spoke of having " devoured " Baynes' " splendid 
 essay " ; that the late Prof. Minto, " sensible of 
 a great expansion of knowledge," regarded it as 
 " far and away the most suggestive biography of 
 Shakespeare yet written " " a brilliant piece of 
 writing " " a perfect picture of the man " ; and 
 that Bishop Charles Wordsworth, no mean 
 Shakespearian scholar, wrote as follows : "I can 
 only describe it as representing an enormous 
 
XIV PREFACE. 
 
 amount of multifarious reading and of energetic 
 thought, boiled down to a consistency so refined 
 that it gives no sign of the process it has under- 
 gone. It strikes me as the most wonderfully 
 massive and complete piece of work in the way 
 of literary criticism I have ever seen ; and I doubt 
 whether there is anything to equal it in that line." 
 
 Of Prof. Baynes' work among the students at 
 St. Andrews, I have already briefly spoken. Like 
 a true educator, his interest in them, wherever 
 possible, was continued into their after life, and 
 he has given many men a helping hand at criti- 
 cal moments in their career. Of what he was to 
 his colleagues, and to all his friends, in spite, 
 latterly, of failing health, there is not room to 
 speak at large. Amongst the closest and most 
 long-continued intimacies was that with Princi- 
 pal Tulloch, who relied much on Baynes' calm 
 and experienced judgment. The general feeling 
 was expressed, at the time of his death, in the 
 following Minute of the University Senate, more 
 expressive and heartfelt than such documents 
 are apt to be : 
 
 " Professor Baynes was known to all his 
 colleagues as one of the wisest and most genial, 
 as well as most distinguished, members of the 
 academic staff which the University of St. 
 Andrews has possessed during the 'present 
 generation. Many students scattered in the 
 
PREFACE. XV 
 
 various professions, and in distant lands, will 
 lament the loss of an inspiring teacher, a learned 
 guide to literature and philosophy, and an ever 
 sympathetic friend. Professor Baynes' removal 
 makes a gap in the professoriate which will be 
 increasingly felt as time goes on. His academic 
 position, his many-sided attainments, and his 
 wide acquaintance with literature and literary 
 men had an important bearing on the influence 
 and reputation of the university, which is now 
 lost to it ; while his friends miss the bright and 
 genial presence, and the ever happy influence of 
 a wise counsellor on all questions of public and 
 academic policy." 
 
 In 1877 he had been elected a member of 
 the Athenaeum Club by the committee under 
 the well-known rule. And during the ten years 
 of life which remained to him after that, he was 
 a familiar figure there, and enjoyed the oppor- 
 tunity of intercourse with congenial minds. His 
 cheery presence and quick-witted talk made him 
 a welcome comrade. 
 
 A memorial-portrait by Mr. Lowes Dickinson, 
 the gift of friends and past and present students, 
 was presented to Mrs. Bayries in 1888, the 
 year following her husband's death ; a fitting 
 tribute, not only to his worth, but to the warmth 
 and brightness of a companionship which had 
 been for thirty years his constant stay, and with- 
 
XVI PREFACE. 
 
 out which, during many days of trial and dis- 
 couragement, his work, which has borne such 
 lasting fruit, would have been impossible. 
 
 Though he died before his time, few lives 
 have been more complete and full. He had 
 realised, as few men do, the significance of the 
 successive impressions which he received so 
 vividly in a changeful life above all, perhaps, 
 in the London period, when his intellectual 
 efforts were most concentrated. Afterwards, in 
 times of comparative leisure, and also of suffer- 
 ing, his whole nature was mellowed, deepened, 
 and harmonised. And, amongst many fruits of 
 his long experience, perhaps none was more 
 charming than his power of sympathising with 
 the troubles and making allowance for the 
 errors of his friends. 
 
 Amongst these, his pupils at St. Andrews 
 must always be reckoned. He will never be 
 forgotten by them ; and they will recognise in 
 many parts of this volume " the sound of a voice 
 that is still ". 
 
 Best acknowledgments are due to the Messrs. 
 Black, and to Messrs. Longmans & Co., for per- 
 mission to publish the Essays contained in this 
 volume. 
 
 LEWIS CAMPBELL, 
 
 NICE, 19th March, 1894, 
 
8HAKESPEAK&M 
 
 WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616), the national poet 
 of England, the greatest dramatist that modern Europe 
 has produced, was born in April, in the year 1564, at 
 Stratford-upon-Avon, in the county of Warwick. The 
 known facts of the poet's personal history are com- 
 paratively few, and before giving them in order we pur- 
 pose considering in some detail the larger educational 
 influences which helped to stimulate his latent powers, 
 to evoke and strengthen his poetical and patriotic 
 sympathies, and thus prepare and qualify him for his 
 future work. In dealing with these influences we are 
 on firm and fruitful ground. We know, for example, 
 that Shakespeare was born and lived for twenty years 
 at Stratford-upon-Avon ; and we can say therefore with 
 certainty that all the physical and moral influences of 
 that picturesque -and richly-storied Midland district 
 melted as years went by into the full current of his 
 ardent blood, became indeed the vital element, the very 
 breath of life his expanding spirit breathed. We know 
 a good deal about his home, his parents, and his dom- 
 estic surroundings ; and these powerful factors in the 
 development of any mind gifted with insight and sensi- 
 bility must have acted with redoubled force on a nature 
 so richly and harmoniously endowed as that of the 
 Stratford poet. It would be difficult indeed to over- 
 estimate the combined effect of these vital elements on 
 
 1 Contributed to the ninth edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, 
 
 I 
 
2 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 his capacious and retentive mind, a mind in which the 
 receptjye' arid' Creative powers were so equally poised 
 of such unrivalled strength. This review of the 
 m-flueiio^ /operating with concentrated force 
 during the critical years of youth and early manhood 
 will help to connect and interpret the few and scattered 
 particulars of Shakespeare's personal history. These 
 particulars must indeed be to some extent connected 
 and interpreted in order to be clearly understood, and 
 any intelligible account of Shakespeare's life must there- 
 fore take the shape of a biographical essay, rather than 
 of a biography proper. We may add that the sketch 
 will be confined to the points connected with Shake- 
 speare's local surroundings and personal history. The 
 large literary questions connected with his works, such 
 as the classification, the chronology, and analysis of 
 the plays, could not of course be adequately dealt with 
 in such a sketch. It is the less necessary that this 
 wider task should be attempted as the main points it em- 
 braces have recently been well handled by competent 
 Shakespearian scholars. The best and most convenient 
 manuals embodying the results of recent criticism and 
 research will be referred to at the close of the article. 1 
 Meanwhile we have first to look at the locality of Shake- 
 speare's birth, both in its material and moral aspects. 
 
 Warwickshire was known to Shakespeare's contem- 
 poraries as the central county or heart of England. It 
 was the middle shire of the Midlands, where the two 
 great Roman roads crossing the island from east to 
 west and west to east met, forming at their point of 
 junction the centre of an irregular St. Andrew's cross, 
 
 1 In the Encyclopedia Britannica the article was followed by a 
 Bibliography compiled by Mr. H. R, Tedder, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 3 
 
 of which the arms extended from Dover to Chester on 
 the one side and from Totnes to Lincoln and the north 
 on the other. The centre in which these roads Watling 
 Street and the Fosse Way thus met was early known 
 from this circumstance as the High Cross. Being the 
 most important Midland position during the Eoman 
 occupations of the country, several Boman stations 
 were formed in the neighbourhood of this venerable 
 Quatre Bras. Of these Camden specifies the ancient 
 and flourishing city of Clychester, represented in part 
 by the modern Clybrook, and Manduessidum, the 
 memory of which is probably retained in the modern 
 Mancettar. Important Koman remains have also been 
 found within a few miles of Stratford at Alcester, a 
 central station on the third great Boman road, Bicknild 
 Street, which runs from south to north across the west- 
 ern side of the county. In later times, when means 
 of communication were multiplied, the great roads to 
 the north-west still passed through the county, and one 
 of them, the mail road from London through Oxford 
 to Birmingham, Stafford, and Chester, was the "streete " 
 or public way that crossed the Avon at the celebrated 
 ford spanned in 1843 by Sir Hugh Clopton's magnificent 
 bridge of fourteen arches. Immediately beyond the 
 bridge rose the homely gables and wide thoroughfares 
 of Shakespeare's native place. 
 
 In Shakespeare's time Warwickshire was divided 
 by the irregular line of the Avon into two unequal but 
 well-marked divisions, known respectively, from their 
 main characteristics, as the woodland and the open 
 country, or more technically as the districts of Arden 
 and Feldoii. The former included the thickly- wooded 
 region north of the Avon, of which the celebrated 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 forest of Arden was the centre, and the latter the 
 champaign country, the rich and fertile pasture lands 
 between the Avon and the line of hills separating 
 Warwick from the shires of Oxford and Northampton. 
 Shakespeare himself was of course familiar with this 
 division of his native shire, and he has well expressed 
 it in Lear's description of the section of the kingdom 
 assigned to his eldest daughter Goneril : 
 
 " Of all these bounds, even from this line to this, 
 With shadowy forests and with champains rich'd, 
 With plenteous rivers and wide-skirted meads, 
 We make thee lady." 
 
 No better general description of Warwickshire could in- 
 deed be given than is contained in these lines. Taking 
 the Eoman roads, Watling and Ricknild Streets, as 
 boundaries, they vividly depict the characteristic 
 features of the county, including its plenteous rivers 
 and wide-skirted meads. The old and central division 
 of Arden and Feldon is clearly embodied in the second 
 line, "with shadowy forests and with champains rich'd ". 
 This distinction, practically effaced in modern times by 
 agricultural and mining progress, was partially affected 
 by these causes even in Shakespeare's own day. The 
 wide Arden, or belt of forest territory which had once 
 extended not only across the county but from the Trent 
 to the Severn, was then very much restricted to the 
 centre of the shire, the line of low hills and undulating 
 country which stretched away for upwards of twenty 
 miles to the north of Stratford. The whole of the 
 northern district was, it is true, still densely wooded, 
 but the intervening patches of arable and pasture land 
 gradually encroached more and more upon the bracken 
 and brushwood, and every year larger areas were cleared 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 5 
 
 and prepared for tillage by the axe and the plough. In 
 the second half of the sixteenth century, however, the 
 Arden district still retained enough of its primitive char- 
 acter to fill the poet's imagination with the exhilarating 
 breadth and sweetness of woodland haunts, the beauty, 
 variety, and freedom of sylvan life, and thus to impart 
 to the scenery of "As You Like It" the vivid freshness 
 andreality of livingexperience. In this delightful comedy 
 the details of forest-life are touched with so light but 
 at the same time so sure a hand as to prove the writer's 
 familiarity with the whole art of venery, his thorough 
 knowledge of that "highest franchise of noble and 
 princely pleasure " which the royal demesnes of wood 
 and park afforded. In referring to the marches or wide 
 margins on the outskirts of the forest, legally known 
 as purlieus, Shakespeare indeed displays a minute 
 technical accuracy which would seem to indicate that 
 in his early rambles about the forest and casual talks 
 with its keepers and woodmen he had picked up the 
 legal incidents of sylvan economy, as well as enjoyed 
 the freedom and charm of forest-life. Throughout the 
 purlieus, for instance, the forest laws were only partially 
 in force, while the more important rights of individual 
 owners were fully recognised and established. Hence 
 it happened that Corin's master, dwelling, as Rosalind 
 puts it in a quaint but characteristic simile that betrays 
 her sex, "here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe 
 upon a petticoat," could sell "his cote, his flock, and 
 bounds of feed," and that Celia and Rosalind were able 
 to purchase " the cottage, the pasture, and the flock ". 
 It may be noted, too, that, in exchange for the in- 
 dependence the dwellers in the purlieus acquired as 
 private owners, they had to relinquish their common 
 
6 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 right or customary privilege of pasturing their cattle 
 in the forest. Sheep, indeed, were not usually included 
 in this right of common, their presence in the forest 
 being regarded as inimical to the deer. When kept in 
 the purlieus, therefore, they had to be strictly limited 
 to their bounds of feed, shepherded during the day and 
 carefully folded every night, and these points are faith- 
 fully reflected by Shakespeare. Again, only those 
 specially privileged could hunt venison within the forest. 
 But if the deer strayed beyond the forest bounds they 
 could be freely followed by the dwellers in the purlieus, 
 and these happy hunting grounds outside the forest 
 precincts were in many cases spacious and extensive. 
 The special office of a forest ranger was indeed to drive 
 back the deer straying in the purlieus. The banished 
 duke evidently has this in mind when, as a casual 
 denizen of the forest, he proposes to make war on its 
 native citizens : 
 
 " Come, shall we go and kill us venison ? 
 And yet it irks me, the poor dappled fools, 
 Being native burghers of this desert city, 
 Should, in their own confines, with forked heads, 
 Have their round haunches gor'd." 
 
 And the melancholy Jaques, refining as usual with 
 cynical sentimentalism on every way of life and every 
 kind of action, thinks it would be a special outrage 
 
 "To fright the animals, and to kill them up, 
 In their assign'd and native dwelling place ". 
 
 Not only in " As You Like It," but in "Love's 
 Labour's ..Lost," in "A Midsummer Night's Dream," in 
 the " Merry Wives of Windsor," indeed throughout his 
 dramatic works, Shakespeare displays the most intimate 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 7 
 
 knowledge of the aspects and incidents of forest life ; 
 and it is certain that in the first instance this knowledge 
 must have been gained from his early familiarity with 
 the Arden district. This, as we have seen, stretched 
 to the north of Stratford in all its amplitude and variety 
 of hill and dale, leafy covert and sunny glade, giant 
 oaks and tangled thickets, the woodland stillness 
 being broken at intervals not only by the noise of 
 brawling brooks below and of feathered outcries and 
 flutterings overhead, but by dappled herds sweeping 
 across the open lawns or twinkling in the shadowy 
 bracken, as well as by scattered groups of timid conies 
 feeding, at matins and vespers, on the tender shoots 
 and sweet herbage of the forest side. The deer-stealing 
 tradition is sufficient evidence of the popular belief in 
 the poet's love of daring exploits in the regions of vert 
 and venison, and of his devotion, although in a some- 
 what irregular way perhaps, to the attractive woodcraft 
 of the park, the warren, and the chase. The tradi- 
 tional scene of this adventure was Charlecote Park, a 
 few miles north-east of Stratford ; but the poet's early 
 wanderings in Arden extended, no doubt, much further 
 afield. Stirred by the natural desire of visiting at 
 leisure the more celebrated places of his native district, 
 he would pass from Stratford to Henley and Hampton, 
 to Wroxall Priory and Kenilworth Castle, to Stoneleigh 
 Abbey and Leamington Priors, to Warwick Keep and 
 Guy's Cliffe. The remarkable beauty of this last 
 storied spot stirs the learned and tranquil pens of the 
 antiquaries Camdeii and Dugdale to an unwonted effort 
 of description, even in the pre-descriptive era. "Under 
 this hill," says Camdeii, " hard by the river Avon, 
 standeth Guy-cliffe, others call it Gib-cliffe, the dwell- 
 
8 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 ing house at this day of Sir Thomas Beau-foe, de- 
 scended from the ancient Normans line, and the very 
 seate itself e of pleasantnesse. There have yee a shady 
 little wood, cleere and cristall springs, mossy bottomes 
 and caves, medowes alwaies fresh and greene, the 
 river rumbling here and there among the stones with 
 his stream making a milde noise and gentle whisper- 
 ing, and besides all this, solitary and still quietnesse, 
 things most grateful to the Muses." But the whole of 
 the circuit was richly wooded, the towns, as the names 
 indicate, being forest towns, Henley-in-Arden, Hamp- 
 ton-in-Arden, while the castles and secularised re- 
 ligious houses were paled off within their own parks 
 and bounds from the sylvan wilderness around them. 
 Some, like the celebrated castle of the Mountfords, 
 called from its pleasant situation amongst the woods 
 Beaudesert, having been dismantled during the Wars 
 of the Roses, were already abandoned, and had in 
 Shakespeare's day relapsed from the stately revelry 
 that once filled their halls into the silence of the sur- 
 rounding woods. At every point of the journey, indeed, 
 as the poet's eager and meditative eye embraced new 
 vistas, it might be said : 
 
 "Towers and battlements it sees 
 Bosomed high in tufted trees ". 
 
 On the southern margin of the Arden division, towards 
 the Avon, small farms were indeed already numerous, 
 and cultivation had become tolerably general. But the 
 region as a whole still retained its distinctive character 
 as the Arden or wooded division of the county. Even 
 now, indeed, it includes probably more woods and parks 
 than are to be found over the same area in any other 
 English shire. 
 
SHAKESPEAKE. \) 
 
 While parts of the Arden district were in this way 
 under cultivation, it must riot be supposed that the 
 champaign or open country to the south of the Avon, 
 the Feldon division of the county, was destitute of 
 wood ; on the contrary, its extensive pastures were not 
 only well watered by local streams overshadowed by 
 willow and alder, but well wooded at intervals by 
 groups of more stately trees. The numerous flocks 
 and herds that grazed throughout the valley of the Ked 
 Horse found welcome shelter from the noonday heat 
 and the driving wind under the green roofs and leafy 
 screens that lined and dotted their bounds of feed. 
 And, although even the grazing farms were compara- 
 tively small, almost every homestead had its group of 
 protecting elms, its out-lying patch of hanging beech 
 and ash, or straggling copse of oak and hazel. This is 
 still reflected in such local names as Wood Park, Shrub 
 Lands, Ockley Wood, Furze Hill, Oakham, Ashborne, 
 Alcott Wood, Berecote Wood, and Eadland Gorse. 
 These features gave interest and variety to the Feldon 
 district, and justified the characteristic epithet which 
 for centuries was popularly applied to the county as 
 a whole, that of " woody Warwickshire ". And Shake- 
 speare, in passing out of the county on his London 
 journeys, would quickly feel the difference, as beyond 
 its borders he came upon stretches of less clothed and 
 cultivated scenery. As his stout gelding mounted 
 Edgehill, and he turned in the saddle to take a parting 
 look at the familiar landscape he was leaving, he would 
 behold what Speed, in his enthusiasm, calls " another 
 Eden, as Lot the plain of Jordan ". While the general 
 aspect would be that of green pastures and grassy levels, 
 there would be at the same time the picturesque inter- 
 
10 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 mingling of wood and water, of mill and grange and 
 manor house, which gives light and shade, colour and 
 movement, interest and animation, to the plainer sweeps 
 and more monotonous objects of pastoral scenery. 
 
 On the historical side Warwickshire has points of 
 interest as striking and distinctive as its physical fea- 
 tures. During the Roman occupation of the country 
 it was, as we have seen, the site of several central 
 Roman stations, of which, besides those already noticed, 
 the fortified camps of Tripontium and Presidium on 
 the line of the Avon were the most important. A 
 Roman road crossed the Avon at Stratford, and radi- 
 ating north and south soon reached some of the larger 
 Roman towns of the west, such as Uriconium and 
 Corinium. Between these towns were country villas 
 or mansions, many of them being, like that at Wood- 
 chester, " magnificent palaces covering as much ground 
 as a whole town ". The entire district must in this 
 way have been powerfully affected by the higher forms 
 of social life and material splendour which the wealthier 
 provincials had introduced. The immediate effect of 
 this Roman influence on the native populations was, 
 as we know, to divide them into opposed groups whose 
 conflicts helped directly to produce the disastrous re- 
 sults which followed the withdrawal of the Romans 
 from the island. But the more permanent and more 
 important effect is probably to be traced in the far less 
 obstinate resistance offered by the Celtic tribes of Mid 
 Britain to the invading Angles from the north and 
 Saxons from the south, by whom themselves and their 
 district were eventually absorbed. Instead of the fierce 
 conflicts and wrathful withdrawal or extermination of 
 the conquered Britons which prevailed further east, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 11 
 
 and for a time perhaps further west also, the interven- 
 ing tribes appear to have accepted the overlordship of 
 their Teutonic neighbours and united with them in the 
 cultivation and defence of their common territory. The 
 fact that no record of any early Angle conquest remains 
 seems to indicate that, after at most a brief resistance, 
 there was a gradual coalescence of the invading with 
 the native tribes, rather than any fierce or memorable 
 struggle between them. Even the more independent 
 and warlike tribes about the Severn repeatedly joined 
 the Saxon Hwiccas, whose northern frontier was the 
 forest of Arden, in resisting the advance of Wessex 
 from the south. And for more than a hundred years 
 after the establishment of the central kingdom of the 
 Angles, the neighbouring Welsh princes are found 
 acting in friendly alliance with the Mercian rulers. It 
 was thus the very district where from an early period 
 the two race elements that have gone to the making of 
 the nation were most nearly balanced arid most com- 
 pletely blended. The union of a strong Celtic element 
 with the dominant Angles is still reflected in the local 
 nomenclature, not only in the names of the chief 
 natural features, such as rivers and heights, Arden 
 and Avon, Lickey, Alne, and Thames, bat in the 
 numerous combes and cotes or cots, as in the reduplicative 
 Cotswold, in the dims, dons, and dens, and in such dis- 
 tinctively Celtic elements as man, pol, try, in names of 
 places scattered through the district. The cotes are, it 
 is true, ambiguous, being in a majority of cases perhaps 
 Saxon rather than Celtic, but in a forest country near 
 the old Welsh marches many must still represent the 
 Celtic coet or coed, and in some cases this is clear from 
 the word itself, as in Kingscot, a variation of Kings- 
 
12 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 wood, and even Charlecote exists in the alternative 
 form of Charlewood. This union of the two races, 
 combined with the stirring conditions of life in a wild 
 and picturesque border country, gave a vigorous im- 
 pulse and distinctive character to the population, the 
 influence of which may be clearly traced in the subse- 
 quent literary as well as in the political history of the 
 country. As early as the ninth century, when the rav- 
 ages of the Danes had desolated the homes and scat- 
 tered the representatives of learning in Wessex, it was 
 to western Mercia that King Alfred sent for scholars 
 and churchmen to unite with him in helping to restore 
 the fallen fortunes of religion and letters. And after 
 the long blank in the native literature produced by the 
 Norman Conquest the authentic signs of its indestruc- 
 tible vitality first appeared on the banks of the Severn. 
 Layamon's spirited poem dealing with the legendary 
 history of Britain, and written at Bedstone near Arley, 
 within sight of the river's majestic sweep amidst its 
 bordering woods and hills, is by far the most important 
 literary monument of semi-Saxon. And, while the 
 poem as a whole displays a Saxon tenacity of purpose 
 in working out a comprehensive scheme of memorial 
 verse, its more original parts have touches of passion 
 and picturesqueness, as well as of dramatic vivacity, 
 that recall the patriotic fire of the Celtic bards. A 
 hundred and fifty years later the first great period of 
 English literature was inaugurated by another poem of 
 marked originality and power, written under the shadow 
 of the Malvern Hills. The writer of the striking series 
 of allegories known as Piers Plowman's Visions was a 
 Shropshire man, and, notwithstanding his occasional 
 visits to London and official employments there, ap- 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 13 
 
 pears to have spent his best and most productive years 
 on the western border between the Severn and the 
 Malvern Hills. In many points both of substance and 
 form the poem may, it is true, be described as almost 
 typically Saxon. But it has at the same time a power 
 of vivid portraiture, a sense of colour, with an intense 
 and penetrating if not exaggerated feeling for local 
 grievances, which are probably due to the strain of 
 Celtic blood in the writer's veins. Two centuries later, 
 from the same district, from a small town on an affluent 
 of the Severn, a few miles to the west of the river, came 
 the national poet, who not only inherited the patriotic 
 fire and keen sensibility of Layamon and Langland, 
 but who combined in the most perfect form and carried 
 to the highest point of development the best qualities 
 of the two great races represented in the blood and 
 history of the English nation. Mr. J. E. Green, in 
 referring to the moral effects arising from the mixture 
 of races in the Midland district, has noted this fact in 
 one of those sagacious side-glances that make his his- 
 tory so instructive. "It is not without significance," 
 he says, " that the highest type of the race, the one 
 Englishman who has combined in their largest mea- 
 sure the mobility and fancy of the Celt with the depth 
 and energy of the Teutonic temper, was born on the 
 old Welsh and English borderland, in the forest of 
 Arden." And from the purely critical side Mr. Matthew 
 Arnold has clearly brought out the same point. He 
 traces some of the finest qualities of Shakespeare's 
 poetry to the , Celtic spirit which touched his imagina- 
 tion as with an enchanter's wand, and thus helped to 
 brighten and enrich the profounder elements of his 
 creative genius, 
 
14 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 The history of Warwickshire in Anglo-Saxon times 
 is identified with the kingdom of Mercia, which, under 
 a series of ahle rulers, was for a time the dominant 
 power of the country. In later times, from its central 
 position, the county was liable to be crossed by military 
 forces if rebellion made head in the north or west, as 
 well as to be traversed and occupied by the rival armies 
 during the periods of civil war. The most important 
 events, indeed, connected with the shire before Shake- 
 speare's time occurred during the two greatest civil 
 conflicts in the earlier national annals the Barons' 
 War in the thirteenth century, and the Wars of the 
 Hoses in the fifteenth. The decisive battles that closed 
 these long and bitter struggles, and thus became turning- 
 points in our constitutional history, were both fought 
 on the borders of Warwickshire, the battle of Evesham 
 on the south-western and the battle of Bosworth Field 
 on the north-eastern boundary. The great leaders in 
 each conflict the founder of the Commons House of 
 Parliament and the " setter up and puller down of kings" 
 were directly connected with Warwickshire. Kenil- 
 worth belonged to Simon de Montfort, and its siege 
 and surrender constituted the last act in the Barons' 
 War. Daring the Wars of the Koses the county was 
 naturally prominent in public affairs, as its local earl, 
 the last and greatest of the lawless, prodigal, and 
 ambitious barons of medieval times, was for more 
 than twenty years the leading figure in the struggle. 
 But notwithstanding this powerful influence the county 
 was, like the country itself, very much divided in its 
 political sympathies and activities. The weakness and 
 vacillation of Henry VI. had stimulated the rival house 
 of York to assert its claims, and, as the trading and 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 15 
 
 mercantile classes were always in favour of a strong 
 government, London, with the eastern counties and the 
 chief ports and commercial towns, favoured the house 
 of York. On the other hand, South Wales, some of the 
 Midland and most of the western shires, under the 
 leadership of the Beauforts, and the northern counties, 
 under the leadership of Clifford and Northumberland, 
 supported the house of Lancaster. Political feeling in 
 the Principality itself was a good deal divided. The 
 Duke of York still possessed Ludlow Castle, and, the 
 Welsh of the northern border being devoted to the 
 houses of March and Mortimer, Prince Edward, the 
 young Earl of March, after the defeat and death of his 
 father at Wakefield, was able to rally on the border a 
 " mighty power of marchmen," and, after uniting his 
 forces with those of Warwick, to secure the decisive 
 victory of Towton which placed him securely on the 
 throne. Still during the earlier stages of the struggle 
 the Beauforts, with the Earls of Pembroke, Devon, and 
 Wiltshire, were able to muster in the south and west 
 forces sufficient to keep the Yorkists in check. And 
 when the final struggle came, when Henry of Eich- 
 mond landed at Milford Haven, the Welsh blood in 
 his veins rallied to his standard so powerful a contingent 
 of the southern marchmen that he was able at once to 
 cross the Severn, and, traversing North Warwickshire, 
 to confront the forces of Eichard, with the assurance 
 that in the hour of need he would be supported by 
 Stanley and Northumberland. Warwickshire itself 
 was, as already intimated, considerably divided even in 
 the more active stages of the conflict, Coventry being 
 strongly in favour of the Eed Eose, while Warwick, 
 under the influence of the earl, was for a while devoted 
 
16 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 to the cause of the White Rose. Kenilworth was still 
 held by the house of Lancaster, and Henry VI. at the 
 outset of the conquest had more than once taken refuge 
 there. On the other hand, Edward IV. and Richard 
 III. both visited Warwick, the latter being so interested 
 in the castle that he is said to have laid the foundation 
 of a new and " mighty fayre " tower on the north side, 
 afterwards known as the Bear's Tower. Edward IV., 
 in harmony with his strong instinct for popularity, and 
 command of the arts that secure it, tried to conciliate 
 the people of Coventry by visiting the town and witness- 
 ing its celebrated pageants more than once at Christ- 
 mas in 1465 and at the festival of St. George in 1474. 
 Although he was accompanied by his queen the efforts 
 to win the town from its attachment to the rival house 
 do not appear to have been very successful. Under 
 Edward's rule the manifestation of active partisanship 
 was naturally in abeyance, and no doubt the feeling 
 may to some extent have declined. Indeed, in the 
 later stages of the struggle Warwickshire, like so many 
 other counties, was comparatively weary and quiescent. 
 When Richard III. advanced to the north the sheriff of 
 the shire had, it is true, in obedience to the royal 
 mandate, levied a force on behalf of the king ; but as 
 this force never actually joined the royal standard it is 
 naturally assumed that it was either intercepted by 
 Henry on his march to Bosworth Field or had volun- 
 tarily joined him on the eve of battle. In view of the 
 strong Lancastrian sympathies in the north and east of 
 the shire the latter is by far the more probable supposi- 
 tion. In this case, or indeed on either alternative, it 
 may be true, as asserted in the patent of arms subse- 
 quently granted to Shakespeare's father, that his 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 17 
 
 ancestors had fought on behalf of Henry VII. in the 
 great battle that placed the crown on his head. Many 
 families bearing the name of Shakespeare were scattered 
 through Warwickshire in the fifteenth century, and it 
 is therefore not at all unlikely that some of their 
 members had wielded a spear with effect in the battle 
 that, to the immense relief of the country, happily 
 closed the most miserable civil conflict in its annals. 
 
 But, whether any of his ancestors fought at Bosworth 
 Field or not, Shakespeare would be sure in his youth 
 to hear, almost at first hand, a multitude of exciting 
 stories and stirring incidents connected with so memor- 
 able and far-reaching a victory. After the battle Henry 
 VII. had slept at Coventry, and was entertained by the 
 citizens and presented w T ith handsome gifts. He seems 
 there also to have first exercised his royal power by 
 conferring knighthood on the mayor of the town. The 
 battle was fought only eighty years before Shakespeare's 
 birth, and public events of importance are vividly 
 transmitted by local tradition for more than double that 
 length of time. At this hour the quiet farmsteads of 
 Mid Somerset abound with stories and traditions of 
 Monmouth and his soldiers, and of the events that 
 preceded and followed the battle of Sedgemoor. And 
 a century earlier local traditions possessed still more 
 vitality and power. In the sixteenth century, indeed, 
 the great events of the nation's life, as well as more 
 important local incidents, were popularly preserved and 
 transmitted by means of oral tradition and scenic 
 display. Only a small and cultured class could acquire 
 their knowledge of them through literary chronicles 
 and learned records. The popular mind was of neces- 
 sity largely fed and stimulated by the spoken narratives 
 
 2 
 
18 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 of the rustic festival and the winter fireside. And a 
 quiet settled neighbourhood like Stratford, out of the 
 crush, but near the great centres of national activity, 
 would be peculiarly rich in these stored-up materials of 
 unwritten history. The very fact that within eight 
 miles of Shakespeare's birthplace arose from their 
 cedared slopes the halls and towers of the great earl w T ho 
 for more than a quarter of a century wielded a political 
 and military power mightier than any subject had wielded 
 before, would give the district an exceptional prominence 
 in the national annals, which would be locally reflected 
 in an answering wealth of historic tradition. In Shake- 
 speare's day Warwickshire thus supplied the materials 
 of a liberal elementary training in the heroic annals of 
 the past, and especially in the great events of the recent 
 past that had established the Tudors on the throne, 
 consolidated the permanent interests of the Government 
 and the country, and helped directly to promote the 
 growing unity and strength, prosperity and renown, of 
 the kingdom. The special value of Shakespeare's 
 dramatic interpretation of this period, arising from his 
 early familiarity with the rich and pregnant materials 
 of unwritten history, has recently been insisted on 
 afresh by one of our most careful and learned authorities. 
 In the preface to his work on The Houses of Lancaster and 
 York, Mr. James Gairdner says : " For this period of 
 English history we are fortunate in possessing an un- 
 rivalled interpreter in our great dramatic poet Shake- 
 speare. A regular sequence of historical plays exhibits 
 to us, not only the general character of each successive 
 reign, but nearly the whole chain of leading events from 
 the days of Richard II. to the death of Eichard III. at 
 Bosworth. Following the guidance of such a master 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 19 
 
 mind, we realise for ourselves the men and actions of 
 the period in a way we cannot do in any other epoch. 
 And this is the more important as the age itself, 
 especially towards the close, is one of the most obscure 
 in English history. During the period of the Wars of 
 the Roses we have, comparatively speaking, very few 
 contemporary narratives of what took place, and any- 
 thing like a general history of the times was not written 
 till a much later date. But the doings of that stormy 
 age, the sad calamities endured by kings the sudden 
 changes of fortune in great men the glitter of chivalry 
 and the horrors of civil war, all left a deep impression 
 upon the mind of the nation, which was kept alive ~by 
 vivid traditions of the past at the time that our great dra- 
 matist wrote. Hence, notwithstanding the scantiness 
 of records and the meagreness of ancient chronicles, we 
 have singularly little difficulty in understanding the 
 spirit and character of the times." Familiar as he 
 must have been in his youth with the materials that 
 enabled him to interpret so stirring a period, it is not 
 surprising that even amidst the quiet hedgerows and 
 meadows of Stratford, Shakespeare's pulse should have 
 beat high with patriotic enthusiasm, or that when 
 launched on his new career in the metropolis he should 
 have sympathised to the full extent of his larger powers 
 with the glow of loyal feeling that, under Elizabeth's 
 rule, and especially in the conflict with Spain, thrilled 
 the nation's heart with an exulting sense of full political 
 life, realised national power, and gathering European 
 fame. 
 
 In the interval that elapsed between the battle of 
 Bosworth Field and the birth of Shakespeare, Warwick- 
 shire continued to be visited by the reigning monarch 
 
20 SHAKE SPE ARE . 
 
 and members of the royal family. The year after his 
 accession to the crown Henry VIII, with Queen 
 Catherine, visited Coventry in state, and witnessed 
 there a series of magnificent pageants. In 1525 the 
 Princess Mary spent two days at the priory, being 
 entertained with the usual sports and shows, and 
 presented by the citizens on her departure with hand- 
 some presents. The year after Shakespeare's birth 
 Queen Elizabeth made a state visit to Coventry, Kenil- 
 worth, and Warwick, the young queen being received 
 at every point of her progress with unusually splendid 
 demonstrations of loyalty and devotion. And nine 
 years before Shakespeare's birth King Edward VI., in 
 the last months of his reign, had specially interested 
 himself in the re-establishment by royal charter of the 
 free grammar school of the guild at Stratford, which 
 had been suppressed at the dissolution of religious 
 houses during his father's reign. 
 
 The town of Stratford lies on the north bank of the 
 Avon, at a point about midway in its course from its 
 rise in Northamptonshire hills to its junction with the 
 Severn at Tewkesbury. On entering the town, across 
 Sir Hugh Clopton's noble bridge, the road from the 
 south-east fans out in three main directions, on the 
 right to Warwick and Coventry, on the left to Alcester, 
 while between runs the central street, the modern re- 
 presentative of the old Roman way to Birmingham, 
 Chester, and the north. Further to the left a fourth 
 and less important road leaves the town beyond the 
 church, and, keeping in the main the line of the river, 
 goes to Bidford, Salford Priors, and Evesham. It is 
 a picturesque country road connecting a string of un- 
 dulating villages and hamlets with Stratford. The 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 21 
 
 town itself consisted in the sixteenth century of the low 
 gable-roofed wood-and-plaster houses, dotted at intervals 
 along these roads and down the cross streets that con- 
 nected them with each other and with the river. Most 
 of the houses in Shakespeare's time had gardens at the 
 back, and many at the sides also; and the space between 
 the houses, combined with the unusual width of the 
 streets, gave the town an open cheerful look which en- 
 abled it to retain pleasant touches of its earlier rural state. 
 As its prosperity increased the scattered dwellings natur- 
 ally tended to close up their ranks, and present a more 
 united front of exposed wares and convenient hostelries 
 to the yeomen and graziers, who with their wives and 
 families frequented the place on fair and market days. 
 But in Shakespeare's time the irregular line of gables 
 and porches, of penthouse walls and garden palings, 
 with patches of flowers and overarching foliage between, 
 still varied the view and refreshed the eye in looking 
 down the leading thoroughfares. These thoroughfares 
 took the shape of a central cross, of which Church, 
 Chapel, and High Streets, running in a continuous line 
 north and south, constituted the shaft or stem, while 
 Bridge and Wood Streets, running in another line east 
 and west, were the transverse beam or bar. At the point 
 of intersection stood the High Cross, a solid stone 
 building, with steps below and open arches above, from 
 which public proclamations were made, and, as in 
 London and other large towns, sermons sometimes 
 delivered. The open space around the High Cross 
 was the centre of trade and merchandise on market 
 days, and from the force of custom it naturally became 
 the site on which at a later period the market-house 
 was built. Opposite the High Cross the main road, 
 
'22 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 carried over Sir Hugh Clopton's arches and along 
 Bridge Street, turns to the left through Henley Street 
 on its way to Henley-in-Arden and the more distant 
 northerly towns. At the western end of Wood Street 
 was a large and open space called Eother Market, 
 whence Rother Street running parallel with High 
 Street led through narrower lanes into the Evesham 
 Road. 
 
 This open ground was, as the name indicates, the 
 great cattle market of Stratford, one of the most im- 
 portant features of its industrial history from very 
 early times. In the later Middle Ages most of the 
 wealthier inhabitants were engaged in farming opera- 
 tions, and the growth and prosperity of the place 
 resulted from its position as a market town in the 
 midst of an agricultural and grazing district. In the 
 thirteenth century a number of charters were obtained 
 from the early Plantagenet kings, empowering the 
 town to hold a weekly market and no fewer than five 
 annual fairs, four of which were mainly for cattle. In 
 later times a series of great cattle markets, one for 
 each month in the year, was added to the list. The 
 name of the Stratford cattle market embodies this 
 feature of its history, "rother" being a good Saxon 
 word for horned cattle, a word freely employed in 
 Early English, both alone and in composition. In 
 the sixteenth century it was still in familiar use, not 
 only in literature but in official documents and especi- 
 ally in statutes of the realm. Thus Cowell, in his 
 Law Dictionary, under the heading " Bother-beast," 
 explains that "the name comprehended oxen, cows, 
 steers, heifers, and such like horned beasts," and refers 
 to statutes of Elizabeth and James in support of the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 23 
 
 usage. And Arthur Golding, in 1567, translates Ovid's 
 lines 
 
 " Mille greges illi totidemque armenta per herbas 
 Errabant." 
 
 " A thousand flocks of sheep, 
 A thousand herds of r other-beasts, he in his fields did keep." 
 
 The word seems to have been longer retained and more 
 freely used in the Midland counties than elsewhere, 
 and Shakespeare himself employs it with colloquial 
 precision in the restored line of " Timon of Athens " : 
 ''It is the pasture lards the rother's sides". Many a 
 time, no doubt, as a boy, during the spring and 
 summer fairs, he had risen with the sun, and, making 
 his way from Henley Street to the bridge, 'watched the 
 first arrivals of the "large-eyed kine " slowly driven in 
 from the rich pastures of the " Ked Horse Valley". 
 There would be some variety and excitement in the 
 spectacle as the droves of meditative oxen were invaded 
 from time to time by groups of Herefordshire cows 
 lowing anxiously after their skittish calves, as well as 
 by the presence and disconcerting activity of still 
 smaller deer. And the boy would be sure to follow the 
 crowding cattle to the Eother Market and observe at 
 leisure the humours of the ploughmen and drovers 
 from the Feldon district, whose heavy intermittent 
 talk would be in perfect keeping with the bovine 
 stolidity of the steers and heifers around them. There 
 was a market-cross at the head of the Kother expanse, 
 and this was the chief gathering place for the cattle* 
 dealers, as the High Cross was the rallying-point of 
 the dealers in corn and country produce. In modern 
 Stratford Eother Market retains its place as the busiest 
 
24 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 centre at the annual fairs, during one of which it is still 
 customary to roast an ox in the open street, often 
 amidst a good deal of popular excitement and convivial 
 uproar. 
 
 The cross ways going from Bother Street to the 
 river side, which cut the central line, dividing it into 
 three sections, are Ely Street and Sheep Street in a 
 continuous line, and Scholar's Lane and Chapel Lane 
 in another line. They run parallel with the head line 
 of Bridge and Wood Streets, and like them traverse 
 from east to west the northern shaft of the cross that 
 constituted the ground plan of the town. Starting 
 down this line from the market house at the top, the 
 first division, the High Street, is now, as it was in 
 Shakespeare's day, the busiest part for shops and shop- 
 ping, the solid building at the further corner to the left 
 being the Corn Exchange. At the first corner of the 
 second division, called Chapel Street, stands the town- 
 hall, while at the further corner are the site and railed- 
 in gardens of New Place, the large mansion purchased 
 by Shakespeare in 1597. Opposite New Place, at the 
 corner of the third and last division, known as Church 
 Street, is the grey mass of Gothic buildings belonging 
 to the guild of the Holy Cross, and consisting of the 
 chapel, the hall, the grammar school, and the alms- 
 houses of the ancient guild. Turning to the left at the 
 bottom of Church Street, you enter upon what was in 
 Shakespeare's day a well- wooded suburb, with a few 
 good houses scattered among the ancient elms, and 
 surrounded by ornamental gardens and extensive private 
 grounds. In one of these houses, with a sunny expanse 
 of lawn and shrubbery, lived in the early years of the 
 seventeenth century Shakespeare's eldest daughter 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 25 
 
 Susunna, with her husband, Dr. John Hall ; and here 
 in spring mornings and summer afternoons the great 
 poet must have often strolled, either alone or accom- 
 panied by his favourite daughter, realising to the full 
 the quiet enjoyment of the sylvan scene and its social 
 surroundings. This pleasant suburb, called then as 
 now Old Town, leads directly to the church of the 
 Holy Trinity, near the river side. The church, a fine 
 specimen of Decorated and Perpendicular Gothic, with 
 a lofty spire, is approached on the northern side through 
 an avenue of limes, and sheltered on the east and south 
 by an irregular but massive group of elms, towering 
 above the churchway path between the transepts, the 
 chancel, and the river. Below the church, on the 
 margin of the river, were the mill, the mill-bridge, and 
 the weir, half hidden by grey willows, green alders, 
 and tall beds of rustling sedge. And, beyond the 
 church, the college, and the line of streets already 
 described, the suburbs stretched away into gardens, 
 orchards, meadows, and cultivated fields, divided by 
 rustic lanes with mossy banks, flowering hedgerows, 
 and luminous vistas of bewildering beauty. These 
 cross and country roads were dotted at intervals with 
 cottage homesteads, isolated farms, and the small 
 groups of both which constituted the villages and 
 hamlets included within the wide sweep of 6ld Stratford 
 parish. Amongst these were the villages and hamlets 
 of Welcombe, Ingon, Drayton, Shottery, Luddington, 
 Little Wilmcote, and Bishopston. The town was 
 thus girdled in the spring by daisied meadows and 
 blossoming orchards, and enriched during the later- 
 months by the orange and gold of harvest fields and 
 autumn foliage, mingled with the coral and purple 
 
26 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 clusters of elder, hawthorn, and mountain ash, and, 
 around the farms and cottages, with the glow of ripen- 
 ing fruit for the winter's store. 
 
 But perhaps the most characteristic feature of the 
 scenery in the neighbourhood of Stratford is to be found 
 in the union of this rich and varied cultivation with 
 picturesque survivals of the primeval forest territory. 
 The low hills that rise at intervals above the well- 
 turned soil still carry on their serrated crests the linger- 
 ing glories of the ancient woodland. Though the once 
 mighty forest of Arden has disappeared, the after-glow 
 of its sylvan beauty rests on the neighbouring heights 
 formerly enclosed within its ample margin. These 
 traces of the forest wildness and freedom were of course 
 far more striking and abundant in Shakespeare's day 
 than now. At that time many of the farms had only 
 recently been reclaimed from the forest, and most of 
 them still had their bosky acres " of tooth'd briars, 
 sharp furzes, pricking goss and thorns," their broom 
 groves, hazel copses, and outlying patches of unshrubbed 
 down. And the hills that rose above the chief villages 
 of the neighbourhood were still clothed and crowned 
 with the green and mystic mantle of the leafy Arden. 
 But, though much of the ancient woodland has dis- 
 appeared since Shakespeare's day, many traces of it 
 still remain. Any of the roads out of Stratford will 
 soon bring, the pedestrian to some of these picturesque 
 survivals of the old forest wilderness. On the Warwick 
 road, at the distance of about a mile from the town, 
 there are on the left the Welcombe Woods, and just 
 beyond the woods are the well-known Dingles, a belt 
 of straggling ash and hawthorn, winding irregularly 
 through blue-bell depths and briery hollows from the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 27 
 
 pathway below to the crest of the hill above ; while 
 immediately around rise the Welcombe Hills, from the 
 top of which is obtained the finest local view of Strat- 
 ford and the adjacent country. Looking south-west, 
 and facing the central line of the town, you see below 
 you, above the mass of roofs, the square tower of the 
 guild chapel, the graceful spire of the more distant 
 church, the sweep of the winding river, and beyond 
 the river the undulating valley of the Red Horse, shut 
 in by the blue 'range of the Cots wold Hills. A couple 
 of miles to the east of the Welcombe Hills is the village 
 of Snitterfield, where t Shakespeare'sgrandfather,Richard 
 Shakespeare, lived and cultivated to the end of his days 
 the acres around his rustic dwelling. Beyond the 
 village on its western side there is an upland reach of 
 wilderness in the shape of a hill, covered with shrub 
 and copsewood, and known as the Snitterfield Bushes. 
 Here Shakespeare as a boy must have often rambled, 
 enjoying the freedom of the unfenced downs, and 
 enlarging his knowledge of nature's exuberant vitality. 
 On the opposite side of the town, about a mile on the 
 Evesham road, or rather between the Evesham and 
 Alcester roads, lies the hamlet of Shottery, half con- 
 cealed by ancestral elms and nestling amongst its 
 homesteads fruits and flowers. From one of these 
 homesteads Shakespeare obtained his bride Anne 
 Hathaway. A mile or two on the central road, passing 
 out of the town through Henley Street, is the village of 
 Bearley, and above the village another sweep of wooded 
 upland known as Bearley Bushes. And at various 
 more distant points between these roads the marl and 
 sandstone heights, fringed with woods or covered with 
 wilding growths, still bear eloquent testimony to the 
 
28 SHAKESPEABE. 
 
 time when Guy of Warwick and his tutor in chivalry, 
 Heraud of Arden, still roamed the forest in search of 
 the wild ox and savage boar that frayed the infrequent 
 travellers and devastated at intervals the slender culti- 
 vation of the district. The subtle power of this order 
 of scenery, arising from the union of all that is rich 
 arid careful in cultivation with all that is wild and 
 free in natural beauty, is exactly of the kind best 
 fitted to attract and delight imaginative and emotional 
 minds. It possesses the peculiar charm that in char- 
 acter arises from the union of refined culture with the 
 bright and exhilarating spontaneity of a free and gener- 
 ous nature. 
 
 On its moral side such scenery has an expanding, 
 illuminating power which links it to the wider and 
 deeper interests of humanity as a whole. Nature 
 seems to put forth her vital energies expressly for the 
 relief of man's estate, appearing as his friend and 
 helper and consoler. Instead of being absorbed in her 
 own inaccessible grandeurs and solitary sublimities, 
 she exerts her benign influences expressly as it were for 
 his good, to cheer and brighten his evanescent days, 
 and beautify his temporary home. Bolder and more 
 rugged landscapes, gloomy glens, and thunder-scarred 
 peaks may excite more passionate feelings, may rouse 
 and strengthen by reaction the individualistic elements 
 of mind and character, and thus produce the hardy, 
 daring type of mountaineer, the intense self-centred 
 and defiant local patriot or hero, the chieftain and his 
 clansmen, contra mundum. No doubt, it is also true that 
 the vaster and loftier mountain ranges have a unique 
 power of exciting in susceptible minds the emotions 
 of awe, wonder, and sublimity. But the very power and 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 29 
 
 permanence of these mighty solitudes, the grandeur 
 and immobility of their measureless strength and 
 imperial repose, dwarf by comparison all merely human 
 interests ; and to the meditative mind swept by the 
 spirit of such immensities the moments of our mortal life 
 seem to melt as dewdrops into the silence of their eternal 
 years. The feelings thus excited, being in themselves 
 of the essence of poetry, may indeed find expression in 
 verse and in verse of a noble kind ; but the poetry will 
 be lyrical and reflective, not dramatic, or if dramatic in 
 form it will be lyrical in substance. As Mr. Ruskin 
 has pointed out, the overmastering effect of mountain 
 scenery tends to absorb and preoccupy the mind, and 
 thus to disturb the impartial view, the universal vision 
 of nature and human nature as a complex whole, or 
 rather of nature as the theatre and scene of human life, 
 which the dramatist must preserve in order to secure 
 success in his higher work. Mountain scenery is, 
 however, not only rare and exacting in the range and 
 intensity of feeling it excites, but locally remote in its 
 separation from the interests and occupations of men. 
 It is thus removed from the vital element in which the 
 dramatist works, if not in its higher influence an- 
 tagonistic to that element. Mr. Hamerton, who dis- 
 cusses the question on a wider basis of knowledge and 
 experience than perhaps any living authority except Mr. 
 Ruskin, supports this view. " As a general rule," he says, 
 "I should say there is an antagonism between the love of 
 mountains and the knowledge of mankind, that the lover 
 of mountains will often be satisfied with their appear- 
 ances of power and passion, their splendour and gloom, 
 their seeming cheerfulness or melancholy, when a mind 
 indifferent to this class of scenery might study the 
 
 
30 SHAKESPEABE. 
 
 analogous phases of human character." Where, indeed, 
 the influence of nature is overpowering, as in the East, 
 wonder, the wonder excited by mere physical vast- 
 ness, power, and infinitude, takes the place of intelli- 
 gent interest in individual life and character. 
 
 But the dramatic poet has to deal primarily with 
 human power and passion ; and not for him therefore 
 is the life of lonely raptures and awful delights realised 
 by the mountain wanderer or the Alp-inspired bard. 
 His work lies nearer the homes and ways of men, and 
 his choicest scenery will be found in the forms of 
 natural beauty most directly associated with their 
 habitual activities, most completely blended with their 
 more vivid emotional experiences. A wooded undulat- 
 ing country, watered by memorable streams, its ruder 
 features relieved by the graces of cultivation, and its 
 whole circuit rich in historical remains and associa- 
 tions, is, outside the domain of cities, the natural stage 
 and theatre of the dramatist and story-teller. This 
 was the kind of scenery that fascinated Scott's imagina- 
 tion, amidst which he fixed his chosen home, and where 
 he sleeps his last sleep. It is a border country of grey 
 waving hills, divided by streams renowned in song, and 
 enriched by the monuments of the piety, splendour, 
 and martial power of the leaders whose fierce raids and 
 patriotic conflicts filled with romantic tale and min- 
 strelsy the whole district from the Lammermoors to 
 the Cheviots, and from the Leader and the Tweed to 
 the Solway Firth. In earlier times Shakespeare's own 
 district had been virtually a border country also. The 
 mediaeval tide of intermittent but savage warfare be- 
 tween the unsubdued Welsh and the Anglo-Normans 
 under the feudal lords of the marches, ebbed and flowed 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 31 
 
 across the Severn, inundating at times the whole of 
 Powis-land, and sweeping on to the very verge of War- 
 wickshire. In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the 
 policy of intermarriage between their own families and 
 the Welsh princes was tried by the English monarch s ; 
 and King John, on betrothing his daughter Joan to the 
 Welsh prince Llewelyn, gave the manor of Bidford, 
 six miles from Stratford-on-Avon, as part of her dower. 
 The fact of this English princess being thus identified 
 with South Warwickshire may help to explain the pre- 
 valence of the name Joan in the county ; but the early 
 impulse towards the giving of this royal name would 
 no doubt be strengthened by the knowledge that John 
 of Gaunt's daughter, the mother of the great Earl of 
 Warwick, had also borne the favourite local name. 
 Shakespeare himself, it will be remembered, had two 
 sisters of this name, the elder Joan, born some time 
 before him, the firstborn of the family indeed, who died 
 in infancy, arid the younger Joan, who survived him. 
 But the local popularity of a name, familiarly associ- 
 ated with the kitchen and the scullery rather than with 
 the court or the palace, is no doubt due to one of the 
 more striking incidents of the long conflict between 
 the English and the Welsh on the western border. As 
 we have seen, during the Barons' War and the Wars 
 of the Koses the western border was the scene of active 
 conflict, each party seeking Welsh support, and each 
 being able in turn to rally a power of hardy marchmen 
 to its banner. And that the insurgent Welsh were not 
 idle during the interval between these civil conflicts we 
 have the emphatic testimony of Glendower : 
 
 " Three times hath Henry Bolingbrooke made head 
 Against my power : thrice from the banks of Wye 
 
32 SHAKE SPE ARE . 
 
 And sedgy-bottomed Severn have I sent him 
 Bootless home, and weather-beaten back ". 
 
 The Hotspur and Mortimer revolt against Henry IV. 
 well illustrates, indeed, the kind of support which English 
 disaffection found for centuries in the Welsh marches. A 
 rich heritage of stirring border life and heroic martial 
 story was thus transmitted from the stormy ages of faith 
 and feudalism to the more settled Tudor times. Apart 
 from the border warfare there were also the multiplied 
 associations connected with the struggles between the 
 nobles and the crown, and the rise of the Commons as a 
 distinctive power in the country. The whole local record 
 of great names and signal deeds was in Shakespeare's day 
 so far withdrawn into the past and mellowed by secular 
 distance as to be capable of exerting its full enchantment 
 over the feelings and the imagination. The historical 
 associations thus connected with the hills and streams, 
 the abbeys and castles, of Warwickshire added elements 
 of striking moral interest to the natural beauty of the 
 scenery. To the penetrating imagination of poetic 
 natures these elements reflected the continuity of na- 
 tional life as well as the greatness and splendour of the 
 personalities and achievements by which it was de- 
 veloped from age to age. They also helped to kindle 
 within them a genuine enthusiasm for the fortunes and 
 the fame of their native land. And scenery beautiful 
 in itself acquired a tenfold charm from the power it 
 thus possessed of bringing vividly before the mind the 
 wide and moving panorama of the heroic past. The 
 facts sufficiently prove that scenery endowed with this 
 multiplied charm takes, if a calmer, still a deeper and 
 firmer hold of the affections than any isolated and re- 
 mote natural features, however beautiful and sublime, 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 33 
 
 have power to do. This general truth is illustrated 
 with even exceptional force in the lives of Scott and 
 Shakespeare. Both were passionately attached to their 
 native district, and the memorable scenes amidst which 
 their early years were passed. So intense was Scott's 
 feeling that he told Washington Irving that if he did 
 not see the grey hills and the heather once a year he 
 thought he should die. And one of the few traditions 
 preserved of Shakespeare is that even in the most active 
 period of his London career he always visited Stratford 
 at least once every year. We know indeed from other 
 sources that during his absence Shakespeare continued 
 to take the liveliest interest in the affairs of his native 
 place, and that, although London was for some years 
 his professional residence, he never ceased to regard 
 Stratford as his home. 
 
 Amongst other illustrations of this strong feeling of 
 local attachment that might be given there is one that 
 has recently excited a good deal of attention and is worth 
 noticing in some detail. Mr. Hallam, in a well-known 
 passage, has stated that "no letter of Shakespeare's 
 writing, no record of his conversation, has been pre- 
 served ". But we certainly have at least one conversa- 
 tion reported at first hand, and it turns directly on the 
 point in question. It relates to a proposal made in 1614 
 by some of the local proprietors for the enclosure of 
 certain common lands at Welcombe and Old Stratford. 
 The Corporation of Stratford strongly opposed the pro- 
 ject on the ground that it would be a hardship to the 
 poorer members of the community, and their clerk, Mr. 
 Thomas Greene, who was related to Shakespeare, was 
 in London about the business in November of the same 
 year. Under date 17th November Greene says, in notes 
 
34 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 which still exist : " My cosen Shakespear comyng yester- 
 dy to town, I went to see him how he did. He told me 
 that they assured him they ment to inclose no further 
 than to Gospell Bush, and so upp straight (leavyng out 
 part of the Dyngles to the meld) to the gate in Clopton 
 hedg, and take in Salisburyes peece ; and that they 
 mean in Aprill to survey the land, and then to gyve 
 satisfaction, and not before ; and he and Mr. Hall say 
 they think ther will be nothyng done at all." This 
 proves that the agents of the scheme had seen Shake- 
 speare on the subject, that he had gone carefully into 
 the details of their plan, consulted his son-in-law Dr. 
 John Hall about them, and arrived at the conclusion 
 that for the present they need take no decided action 
 in the matter. There is evidently on Shakespeare's 
 part a strong feeling against the proposed enclosure, 
 and the agents of the scheme had clearly done their best 
 to remove his objections, promising amongst other 
 things that if it went forward he should suffer no 
 pecuniary loss, a promise already confirmed by a legal 
 instrument. But nine months later, when the local 
 proprietors seemed bent on pushing the scheme, Shake- 
 speare takes a more decided stand, and pronounces 
 strongly against the whole business. We have a notice, 
 dated September 1, 1615, to the effect that Mr. Shake- 
 speare had on that day told the agent of the corporation 
 " that he was not able to bear the enclosing of Wei- 
 combe ". As his proprietary rights and pecuniary 
 interests were not to be affected by the proposed en- 
 closure, this strong expression of feeling must refer to 
 the public advantages of the Welcombe common fields, 
 and especially to what in Scotland would be called 
 their " amenity," the element of value arising from their 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 35 
 
 freedom and beauty, their local history and associations. 
 Welcombe, as we have seen, was the most picturesque 
 suburb of Stratford. The hills, divided by the leafy 
 Dingles, afforded the finest panoramic view of the whole 
 neighbourhood. On their eastern slope they led to Ful- 
 broke Park, the probable scene of the deer-stealing 
 adventure, and towards the north-west to the village of 
 Snitterfield with its wooded sweep of upland " bushes ". 
 Every acre of the ground was associated with the 
 happiest days of Shakespeare's youth. In his boyish 
 holidays he had repeatedly crossed and recrossed the 
 unfenced fields at the foot of the Welcombe Hills on 
 his way to the rustic scenes and occupations of his 
 uncle Henry's farm in the outlying forest village. He 
 knew by heart every boundary tree and stone and bank, 
 every pond and sheep-pool, every barn and cattle-shed, 
 throughout the whole well-frequented circuit. And in 
 his later years, when after the turmoil and excitement 
 of his London life he came to reside at Stratford, and 
 could visit at leisure the scenes of his youth, it was 
 perfectly natural that he should shrink from the pro- 
 spect of having these scenes partially destroyed and 
 their associations broken up by the rash hand of 
 needless innovation. In his own emphatic language, 
 " he could not bear the enclosing of Welcombe," and 
 the only authoritative fragment of his conversation 
 preserved to us thus brings vividly out one of the best 
 known and most distinctive features of his personal 
 character and history his deep and lifelong attach- 
 ment to his native place. Another illustration of the 
 same feeling, common both to Scott and Shakespeare, 
 is supplied by the prudence and foresight ' they both 
 displayed in husbanding their early gains in order to 
 
36 SHAKE SPEAKE. 
 
 provide, amidst the scenery they loved, a permanent 
 home for themselves and their families. Shakespeare, 
 the more careful and sharp-sighted of the two, ran no 
 such risks and experienced no such reverses of fortune 
 as those which saddened Scott's later days. Both, 
 however, spent the last years of their lives in the home 
 which their energy and affection had provided, and both 
 sleep their last sleep under the changing skies and 
 amidst the fields and streams that gave light and music 
 to their earliest years. Hence, of all great authors, 
 they are the two most habitually thought .of in con- 
 nection with their native haunts and homesteads. 
 Even to his contemporaries Shakespeare was known as 
 the Swan of Avon. The two spots on British ground 
 most completely identified with the noblest energies 
 of genius, consecrated by lifelong associations, and 
 hallowed by sacred dust, are the banks of the Tweed 
 from Abbotsford to Dryburgh Abbey, and the sweep of 
 the Avon from Charlecote Park to Stratford Church. 
 To all lovers of literature, to all whose spirits have 
 been touched to finer issues by its regenerating in- 
 fluence, these spots, and above all the abbey grave and 
 the chancel tomb, are holy ground, national shrines 
 visited by pilgrims from every land, who breathe with 
 pride and gratitude and affection the household names 
 of Shakespeare and of Scott. 
 
 The name Shakespeare is found in the Midland 
 counties two centuries before the birth of the poet, 
 scattered so widely that it is not easy at first sight to 
 fix the locality of its rise or trace the lines of its pro- 
 gress. Several facts, however, would seem to indicate 
 that those who first bore it entered Warwickshire from 
 the north and west, and may therefore have migrated' 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 37 
 
 in early times from the neighbouring marches. The 
 name itself is of course thoroughly English, and it is 
 given by Camden and Yerstegan as an illustration of 
 the way in which surnames were fabricated when first 
 introduced into England in the thirteenth century. But 
 it is by no means improbable that some hardy borderers 
 who had fought successfully in the English ranks may 
 have received or assumed a significant and sounding 
 designation that would help to perpetuate the memory 
 of their martial prowess. We have indeed a distinct 
 and authoritative assertion that some of Shakespeare's 
 ancestors had served their country in this way. How- 
 ever this may be, families bearing the name are found 
 during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries in the Arden 
 district, especially at Wroxhall and Rowington, some 
 being connected with the priory of Wroxhall, while 
 during the fifteenth century the names of more than 
 twenty are enumerated as belonging to the guild of St. 
 Ann, at Knoll near Rowington. In the roll of this 
 guild or college are also found the representatives of 
 some of the best families in the county, such as the 
 Ferrerses of Tamworth and the Clintons of Coleshill. 
 Among the members of the guild the- poet's ancestors 
 are to be looked for, and it is not improbable, as Mr. 
 French suggests, that John and Joan Shakespeare, 
 entered on the Knoll register in 1527, may have been 
 the parents of Richard Shakespeare of Snitterfield, 
 whose sons gave each to his children the favourite 
 family names. Richard Shakespeare, the poet's grand- 
 father, occupied. a substantial dwelling and cultivated 
 a forest farm at Snitterfield, between three and four 
 miles from Stratford. He was the tenant of Robert 
 Arden of Wilmcote, "a gentleman of worship," who 
 
38 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 farmed his own estate, situated a few miles to the west 
 of Snitterfield. Kichard Shakespeare was settled at 
 the latter hamlet and doing well as early as 1543, 
 Thomas At wood of Stratford having in that year be- 
 queathed to him four oxen which were then in his 
 keeping ; and he continued to reside there certainly 
 till 1560, and probably till his death. He appears to 
 have had two sons, John and Henry, of whom John, 
 the eldest, early broke through the contracted circle of 
 rustic life at Snitterfield, made his way to Stratford, 
 and established himself as a trader in one of the lead- 
 ing thoroughfares of the town. This movement to the 
 town probably took place in 1551, as in 1552 John 
 Shakespeare is described in an official document as 
 residing in Henley Street, where the poet was subse- 
 quently born. As to the precise nature of his occupa- 
 tion, the kind of wares in which he principally dealt, 
 there are various and conflicting statements that have 
 given rise to a good deal of discussion. The earliest 
 official statement on the subject occurs in the register 
 of the bailiff's court for the year 1556. He is there 
 described as a " glover," which, according to the verbal 
 usage of the time, included dealing in skins, as well as 
 in the various leather-made articles of farming gear, 
 such as rough gauntlets and leggings for hedging and 
 ditching, white leather gloves for chopping wood, and 
 the like. But in addition to the trade of glover and 
 fell-monger tradition assigns to John Shakespeare the 
 functions of butcher, wool-stapler, corn-dealer, and 
 timber-merchant. These occupations are not incom- 
 patible, and together they represent the main lines some 
 of which at least a young farmer going into the town for 
 trading purposes would be likely to pursue. He would 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 39 
 
 naturally deal with the things he knew most about, 
 such as corn, wool, timber, skins, and leather-made 
 articles used in farm work in a word, he would 
 deal in farm conveniences and farm products. In a 
 town that was the centre and chief market of an agri- 
 cultural and grazing district, and as the member of a 
 family whose wide connections were nearly all engaged 
 in farming operations, his prospects were certainly 
 rather favourable than otherwise. And he soon began 
 to turn his country connection to account. There is 
 distinct evidence that he early dealt in corn and wood 
 as well as gloves and leather, for in 1556 he sues a 
 neighbour for eighteen quarters of barley, and a few 
 years later is paid three shillings by the corporation 
 for a load of timber. 
 
 The poet's father was evidently a man of energy, 
 ambition, and public spirit, with the knowledge and 
 ability requisite for pushing his fortune with fair 
 success in his new career. His youthful vigour and 
 intelligence soon told in his favour, and in a short time 
 we find him taking an active part in public affairs. He 
 made way so rapidly indeed amongst his fellow-towns- 
 men, that within five years after entering Stratford 
 he is recognised as a fitting recipient of municipal 
 honours ; and his official appointments steadily rise in 
 dignity and value through the various gradations 
 of leet-juror, ale-taster, constable, affeeror, burgess, 
 chamberlain, and alderman, until in 1568 he gains the 
 most distinguished post of official dignity, that of high- 
 bailiff or mayor of the town. Within twenty years 
 after starting in business in Henley Street he thus rises 
 to the highest place in the direction of municipal affairs, 
 presiding as their head over the deliberations of his 
 
40 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 fellow-aldermen and burgesses, and as chief magistrate 
 over the local court of record. Three years later, in 
 1571, he was again elected as chief alderman. There 
 is ample evidence, too, that during these years he 
 advanced in material prosperity as well as in municipal 
 dignities and honours. As early as 1556 he had means 
 at his command which enabled him to purchase two 
 houses in the town, one in Henley Street with a con- 
 siderable garden, and another in Greenhill Street with 
 a garden and croft attached to it. In the following 
 year he married an heiress of gentle birth, Mary Arden 
 of the Asbies, who had recently inherited under her 
 father's will a substantial sum of ready money, an 
 estate at Wilmcote, consisting of nearly sixty acres of 
 land with two or three houses, and a reversionary 
 interest in houses and lands at Snitterfield, including 
 the farm tenanted by Eichard Shakespeare, her husband's 
 father. Being now a landed proprietor* and a man of 
 rising position and influence, John Shakespeare would 
 be able to extend his business operations, and it is 
 clear that he did so, though whether always with due 
 prudence and foresight may be fairly questioned. To 
 a man of his sanguine and somewhat impetuous temper 
 the sudden increase of wealth was probably by no 
 means an unmixed good. But for some years, at all 
 events, he was able to maintain his more prosperous 
 state, and his new ventures appear for a time to have 
 turned out well. He is designated in official docu- 
 ments as yeoman, freeholder, and gentleman, and has 
 the epithet "master" prefixed to his name; this, 
 being equivalent to esquire, was rarely used except in 
 relation to men of means and station, possessing landed 
 property of their own. In a note to another official 
 
SHAKE SPE ARE . 41 
 
 document it is stated that about the time of his becom- 
 ing chief magistrate of Stratford John Shakespeare had 
 "lands and tenements of good worth and substance," 
 estimated in value at 500 ; and though there may be 
 some exaggeration in this estimate his property from 
 various sources must have been worth nearly that sum. 
 And in 1575 he increased the total amount by purchas- 
 ing two houses in Henley Street, the two that still 
 remain identified with the name and are consecrated 
 by tradition as the birthplace of the poet. But this 
 was his last purchase, the tide of his hitherto prosper- 
 ous fortunes being but too clearly already on the turn. 
 Having passed the highest point of social and com- 
 mercial success, he was now facing the downward 
 slope, and the descent once begun was for some years 
 continuous, and at times alarmingly and almost in- 
 scrutably rapid. 
 
 It seems clear indeed from the facts of the case that, 
 notwithstanding John Shakespeare's intelligence, ac- 
 tivity, and early success, there was some defect of 
 character which introduced an element of instability 
 into his career, and in the end very much neutralised 
 the working of his nobler powers. Faintly discernible 
 perhaps from the first, and overpowered only for a time 
 by the access of prosperity that followed his fortunate 
 marriage, this vital flaw ultimately produced its natural 
 fruit in the serious embarrassments that clouded his 
 later years. The precise nature of the defect can only 
 be indicated in general terms, but it seems to have 
 consisted very much in a want of measure and balance, 
 of adequate care and foresight, in his business dealings 
 and calculations. He seems to have possessed the 
 eager sanguine temperament which, absorbed in the 
 
 
42 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 immediate object of pursuit, overlooks difficulties and 
 neglects the wider considerations on which lasting 
 success depends. Even in his early years at Stratford 
 there are signs of this ardent, impatient, somewhat 
 unheedful temper. He is not only active and pushing, 
 but too restless and excitable to pay proper attention 
 to necessary details, or discharge with punctuality the 
 minor duties of his position. The first recorded fact 
 in his local history illustrates this feature of his charac- 
 ter. In April, 1552, John Shakespeare is fined twelve 
 pence, equal to between eight and ten shillings of our 
 English money now, for not removing the heap of house- 
 hold dirt and refuse that had accumulated in front of 
 his own door. Another illustration of his want of 
 thorough method and system in the management of his 
 affairs is supplied by the fact that in the years 1556-57 
 he allowed himself to be sued in the bailiff's court for 
 comparatively small debts. This could not have arisen 
 from any want of means, as during the same period, in 
 October, 1556, he made the purchase already referred to 
 of two houses with extensive gardens. The actions 
 for debt must therefore have been the result of negli- 
 gence or temper on John Shakespeare's part, and either 
 alternative tells almost equally against his habits of 
 business coolness and regularity. Another illustration 
 of his restless, ill-considered, and unbalanced energy 
 may be found in the number and variety of occupations 
 which he seems to have added to his early trade of 
 glover and leather-dealer. As his prospects improved 
 he appears to have seized on fresh branches of business, 
 until he had included within his grasp the whole circle 
 of agricultural products that could in any way be 
 brought to market. It would seem also that he added 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 43 
 
 farming, to a not inconsiderable extent, to his expand- 
 ing retail business in Stratford. But it is equally clear 
 that he lacked the orderly method, the comprehensive 
 outlook, and the vigilant care for details essential for 
 holding well in hand the threads of so complicated a 
 commercial web. Other disturbing forces may probably 
 be discovered in the pride and ambition, the love of 
 social excitement and display, which appears to be 
 among the ground notes of John Shakespeare's char- 
 acter so far as it is revealed to us in the few facts of 
 his history. His strong social feeling and love of 
 pleasurable excitement are illustrated by the fact that 
 during the year of his mayoralty he brought companies 
 of players into the town, and inaugurated dramatic 
 performances in the guild hall. It is during the year 
 of his filling the post of high-bailiff that we first hear 
 of stage plays at Stratford, and the players must have 
 visited the town, if not, as is most likely, at the invita- 
 tion and desire of the poet's father, at least with his 
 sanction and support. In such cases the players could 
 not act at all without the permission of the mayor and 
 council, and their first performance was usually a free 
 entertainment, patronised and paid for by the corpora- 
 tion, and called the mayor's play. In all this John 
 Shakespeare took the initiative, and in so doing pro- 
 bably helped to decide the future career of his son. 
 The notes of personal pride and social ambition are 
 equally apparent. It is on record, for example, that 
 soon after reaching the highest post of municipal dis- 
 tinction the poet's father applied to the Heralds' 
 College for a grant of arms. This application was not 
 at the time successful, but it seems to have been so far 
 seriously entertained that official inquiries were made 
 
44 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 into the family history and social standing of the 
 Shakespeares. But the remarkable fact is that such 
 an application should have been made at all by a Strat- 
 ford burgess whose position and prospects were so 
 unstable and precarious as the events of the next few 
 years showed those of John Shakespeare to be. At 
 the time of the application his increasing family must 
 have enlarged his household expenses ; while his official 
 position, combined with his open and generous nature, 
 his love of social sympathy, distinction, and support, 
 would probably have led him into habits of free-handed 
 hospitality and inconsiderate expenditure. All this 
 must have helped to introduce a scale of lavish domestic 
 outlay that would tend directly to hasten the financial 
 collapse in his affairs that speedily followed. And on 
 finding things going against him John Shakespeare was 
 just the man to discount his available resources, and, as 
 the pressure increased, mortgage his future and adopt 
 any possible expedient for maintaining the increased 
 port and social consequence he had imprudently as- 
 sumed. 
 
 This seems to have been the course actually pursued 
 when pecuniary difficulties arose. During the three 
 years that elapsed after his last purchase of house 
 property his affairs became so seriously embarrassed 
 that it was found necessary, if not to sacrifice, at least 
 to jeopardise the most cherished future of the family 
 in order to meet the exigencies of the moment. In 
 1578 John and Mary Shakespeare mortgaged for forty 
 pounds their most considerable piece of landed pro- 
 perty, the estate of the Asbies. The mortgagee was a 
 family connection of their own, Edmund Lambert, 
 who had married Mary Shakespeare's sister Joan. The 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 45 
 
 subsequent history of this transaction shows how bitter 
 must have been the need that induced the Shake- 
 speares to surrender, even for a time, their full control 
 ov.er the ancestral estate. The next year, however, 
 the pressure, instead of being relieved by the sacrifice, 
 had become still more urgent, and the only outlying 
 property that remained to meet it was the reversionary 
 interest in- the Snitterfield estate. Under a family 
 settlement Mary Shakespeare, on the death of her 
 stepmother, would come into the possession of houses 
 and land at Snitterfield almost equal in value to the 
 Asbies estate. But in 1579 the Shakespeares found it 
 necessary to dispose altogether of this reversionary 
 interest. In that year it was sold to Eobert Webb for 
 the sum of forty pounds. The buyer was a nephew of 
 Mary Shakespeare, being the son of Alexander Webb, 
 who had married her sister Margaret. In thus applying 
 to relatives or family connections in their need, and 
 disposing of their property to them, the Shakespeares 
 may have hoped it would be more easily regained 
 should times of prosperity return. The sacrifice of the 
 remaining interests in the Snitterfield property afforded, 
 however, only a temporary relief, quite insufficient to 
 remove the accumulating burden of debt and difficulty 
 which now weighed the Shakespeares down. The 
 notes of the proceedings of the Stratford Corporation 
 and of the local court of record sufficiently show that 
 John Shakespeare's adverse fortune continued through 
 a series of years, and they also enable us in part to 
 understand how he bore himself under the changes in 
 his social position that followed. These changes begin 
 in the critical year 1578. In January of that year, 
 when his brother-aldermen were called upon to pay a 
 
46 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 considerable sum each as a contribution to the military 
 equipment to be provided by the town, John Shake- 
 speare is so far relieved that only one half the amount 
 is required from him. Later in the year we find him 
 wholly exempted from the weekly tax paid by his 
 fellow-aldermen for the relief of the poor. In the 
 spring of the following year, on a further tax for 
 military purposes being laid on the town, he is unable 
 to contribute anything, and is accordingly reported as 
 a defaulter. A few years later, in an action for a debt, 
 a verdict is recorded against him, with the official 
 report that he had no goods on which distraint could 
 be made. About the same time he appears to have 
 been under some restraint, if not actually imprisoned 
 for debt. And as late as 1592 it is officially stated, as 
 a result of an inquiry into the number who fail to 
 attend the church service once a month according to 
 the statutory requirement, that John ShakespeareN 
 with some others, two of whom, curiously enough, are 
 named Fluellen and Bardolph, "come not to church 
 for fear of process for debt ". In the year 1586 another 
 alderman had at length been chosen in his place, the 
 reason given being expressly because " John Shake- 
 speare doth not come to the halles when they are 
 warned, nor hath not done for a long time ". 
 
 From this brief official record it would seem that 
 under his reverse of fortune he was treated with 
 marked sympathy and consideration by his fellow- 
 townsmen. For at least seven years after his troubles 
 first began his fellow-burgesses persist in keeping his 
 name in its place of honour on their roll, partly no 
 doubt as a mark of respect for his character and past 
 services, and partly it may be in the hope that his 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 47 
 
 fortunes might improve and prosperous days return. 
 And, when at length he is superseded by the appoint- 
 ment of another in his place, this is done, not on the 
 ground of his reduced circumstances, but simply be 1 
 cause he voluntarily absents himself from the council, 
 never attends its meetings or takes any part in its 
 affairs. This is a noteworthy fact illustrating still 
 further John Shakespeare's character. The statement 
 clearly indicates the kind of moral collapse that had 
 followed the continuous pressure of material reverses. 
 The eager sanguine nature that had so genially 
 expanded in prosperity was, it is clear, sorely chilled 
 and depressed by adversity. He abandons the usual 
 places of resort, withdraws himself from the meetings 
 of the corporation, and ceases to associate with his 
 fellow-burgesses. And, what is perhaps still more 
 noticeable, he gives up attending church, and no 
 longer even worships with his fellow-townsmen. All 
 this is the more significant because his circumstances, 
 though seriously embarrassed, and for some years much 
 reduced, were never so desperate as to compel him to 
 part with his freehold property in Henley Street. In 
 the darkest hours of his clouded fortune he still retained 
 the now world-famous houses associated with the 
 poet's birth and early years. There was no adequate 
 reason therefore why John Shakespeare should have 
 so completely forsaken the usual haunts and regular 
 assemblies of his fellow-townsmen and friends. But it 
 seems clear, as already intimated, that, while gifted 
 with a good deal of native energy and intelligence, 
 and possessing a temper that was proud, sensitive, and 
 even passionate, John Shakespeare lacked the kind of 
 fortitude and moral courage which enables men to 
 
48 SHAKE SPEAKE. 
 
 meet serious reverses of fortune with dignity and 
 reserve, if not with cheerfulness and hope. With the 
 instinct of a wounded animal he seems to have left the 
 prosperous herd and retired apart to bear his pain and 
 loss in solitude and alone. Nor apparently did he hold 
 up his head again until the efficient support of his 
 prosperous son enabled him to take active measures for 
 the recovery of his alienated estate and lost position in 
 the town. By the middle of the last decade of the 
 sixteenth century the poet's success in his profession 
 was thoroughly assured, and he was on the high road 
 to wealth and fame. As actor, dramatist, and probably 
 also as sharer in the Blackfriars theatre, he was in the 
 receipt of a large income, and according to tradition 
 received a considerable sum from the young Earl of 
 Southampton, to whom his poems were dedicated. The 
 son was now therefore as able as he had always been 
 willing to help his father to regain the position of com- 
 fort and dignity he had formerly occupied. We find 
 accordingly that in 1597 John and Mary Shakespeare 
 filed a bill in Chancery against John Lambert for the 
 recovery of the Asbies estate, which had been mort- 
 gaged to his father nearly twenty years before. 
 There had indeed been some movement in the matter 
 ten years earlier, on the death of Edmund Lambert, the 
 mortgagee. His son John being apparently anxious 
 to settle the dispute, it was proposed that he should 
 pay an additional sum of twenty pounds in order -to 
 convert the mortgage into a sale, and that he should 
 then receive from the Shakespeares an absolute title 
 to the estate. The arrangement was not, however, 
 carried out ; and in 1589 John Shakespeare brought a 
 bill of complaint against Lambert in the Court of 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 49 
 
 Queen's Bench. Nothing further, however, seems to 
 have been done, probably because Lambert may have 
 felt that in the low state of the Shakespeares' fortune the 
 action could not be pressed. In 1597, however, there 
 was a change in the relative position of the litigants, 
 John Shakespeare having now the purse of his son at 
 his command, and a bill in Chancery was accordingly 
 filed against John Lambert. The plea in support of 
 the Shakespeares' claim was that the original con- 
 ditions of the mortgage had been fulfilled, the money 
 in discharge having been offered to Edmund Lambert 
 at the proper date, but refused by him on the ground 
 that other sums were owing which must also be repaid 
 at the same time. To this plea John Lambert replied, 
 and there is a still further " replication " on the part 
 of the Shakespeares. How the matter was eventually 
 decided is not known, no decree of the court in the 
 case having been discovered. But the probabilities are 
 that it was settled out of court, and, as the estate did 
 not return to the Shakespeares, probably on the basis 
 of the proposal already made, that of the payment of 
 an additional sum by John Lambert. About the same 
 date, or rather earlier, in 1596, John Shakespeare also 
 renewed his application to the Heralds' College for a 
 grant of arms, and this time with success. The grant 
 was made on the ground that the history and position 
 of the Shakespeare and Arden families fully entitled 
 the applicant to receive coat armour. There can be 
 no doubt that the means required for supporting these 
 applications were supplied by the poet, and he would 
 be well rewarded by the knowledge that in the evening 
 of his days his father had at length realised the desire 
 of his heart, being officially recognised as a " gentle- 
 
 4 
 
50 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 man of worship". And, what would now perhaps 
 please his father still better, he would be able to hand 
 on the distinction to his son, whose profession pre- 
 vented him at the time from gaining it on his own 
 account. John Shakespeare died in 1601, having 
 through the affectionate care of his son spent the last 
 years of his life in the ease and comfort befitting one 
 who had not only been a prosperous burgess, but chief 
 alderman and mayor of Stratford. 
 
 Of Mary Arden, the poet's mother, we know little, 
 hardly anything directly indeed ; but the little known 
 is wholly in her favour. From the provisions of her 
 father's will it is clear that of his seven daughters she 
 was his favourite ; and the links of evidence are now 
 complete connecting her father Kobert Arden with the 
 great Warwickshire family of Arden, whose members 
 had more than once filled the posts of high-sheriff and 
 lord-lieutenant of the county. She was thus descended 
 from an old county family, the oldest in Warwickshire, 
 and had inherited the traditions of gentle birth and 
 good breeding. Her ancestors are traced back, not 
 only to Norman, but to Anglo-Saxon times, Alwin, an 
 early representative of the family, and himself con- 
 nected with the royal house of Athelstane, having been 
 vice-comes or sheriff of Warwickshire in the time of 
 Edward the Confessor. His son Turchill retained his 
 extensive possessions under the Conqueror ; and, when 
 they were divided on the marriage of his daughter 
 Margaret to a Norman noble created by William Kufus 
 Earl of Warwick, Turchill betook himself to his numer- 
 ous lordships in the Arden district of the county, and 
 assumed the name of De Ardern or Arden. His de- 
 scendants, who retained the name, multiplied in the 
 

 SHAKESPEARE. 51 
 
 shire, and were united in marriage from time to time 
 with the best Norman blood of the kingdom. The 
 family of Arden thus represented the union, under 
 somewhat rare conditions of original distinction and 
 equality, of the two great race elements that have gone 
 to the making of the typical modern Englishman. The 
 immediate ancestors of Mary Shakespeare were the 
 Ardens of Parkhall, near Aston in the north-western 
 part of the shire. During the Wars of the Roses 
 Robert Arden of Parkhall, being at the outset of the 
 quarrel a devoted Yorkist, was seized by the Lancas- 
 trians, attached for high treason, and executed at 
 Ludlow in 1452. He left an only son, Walter Arden, 
 who was restored by Edward IV. to his position in the 
 country, and received back his hereditary lordships and 
 lands. At his death in 1502 he was buried with great 
 state in Aston church, where three separate monuments 
 were erected to his memory. He had married Eleanor, 
 second daughter of John Hampden of Bucks, and by 
 her had eight children, six sons and two daughters. 
 The eldest son, Sir John Arden of Parkhall, having 
 been for some years esquire of the body of Henry VII., 
 was knighted and rewarded by that monarch. Sir John 
 was the great-uncle of Mary Shakespeare, his brother 
 Thomas, the second son of Walter Arden, being her 
 grandfather. Thomas Arden is found residing at Aston 
 Cantlowe during the first half of the sixteenth century, 
 and in the year 1501 he united with his son Eobert 
 Arden, Mary Shakespeare's father, in the purchase of 
 the Snitterfield estate. Mary Shakespeare was thus 
 directly connected by birth and lineage with those who 
 had taken, and were to take, a foremost part in the 
 great conflicts which constitute turning-points in the 
 
52 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 history of the country. On her father's side she was 
 related to Robert Arden, who in the fifteenth century 
 lost his life while engaged in rallying local forces on 
 behalf of the White Rose, and on her mother's side to 
 John Hampden, who took a still more distinguished 
 part in the momentous civil struggles of the seventeenth 
 century. 
 
 A very needless and abortive attempt has been made 
 to call in question Robert Arden's social arid family 
 position on the ground that in a contemporary deed 
 he is called a husbandman (agricola), the assumption 
 being that a husbandman is simply a farm-labourer. 
 But the term husbandman was often used in Shake- 
 speare's day to designate a landed proprietor who 
 farmed one of his own estates. The fact of his being 
 spoken of in official documents as a husbandman does 
 not therefore in the least affect Robert Arden's social 
 position, or his relation to the great house of Arden, 
 which is now established on the clearest evidence. He 
 was, however, a younger member of the house, and 
 would naturally share in the diminished fortune and 
 obscurer career of such a position. But, even as a cadet 
 of so old and distinguished a family, he would tena- 
 ciously preserve the generous traditions of birth and 
 breeding he had inherited. Mary Arden was thus a 
 gentlewoman in the truest sense of the term, and she 
 would bring into her husband's household elements of 
 character and culture that would be of priceless value 
 to the family, and especially to the eldest son, who 
 naturally had the first place in her care and love. A 
 good mother is to an imaginative boy his earliest ideal 
 of womanhood, and in her for him are gathered up, in 
 all their vital fulness, the tenderness, sympathy, and 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 53 
 
 truth, the infinite love, patient watchfulness, and self- 
 abnegation of the whole sex. And the experience of his 
 mother's bearing and example during the vicissitudes of 
 their home life must have been for the future dramatist 
 a vivid revelation of the more sprightly and gracious, as 
 well as of the profounder elements, of female character. 
 In the earlier and prosperous days at Stratford, when 
 all within the home circle was bright and happy, and 
 in her intercourse with her boy Mary Shakespeare could 
 freely unfold the attractive qualities that had so 
 endeared her to her father's heart, the delightful image 
 of the young mother would melt unconsciously into the 
 boy's mind, fill his imagination, and become a store- 
 house whence in after years he would draw some of 
 the finest lines in his matchless portraiture of women. 
 In the darker days that followed he would learn 
 something of the vast possibilities of suffering, personal 
 and sympathetic, belonging to a deep and sensitive 
 nature, and as the troubles made head he would gain 
 some insight into the quiet courage and self-possession, 
 the unwearied fortitude, sweetness, and dignity which 
 such a nature reveals when stirred to its depths by 
 adversity, and rallying all its resources to meet the 
 inevitable storms of fate. These storms were not 
 simply the ever-deepening pecuniary embarrassments 
 and consequent loss of social position. In the very 
 crisis of the troubles, in the spring of 1579, death 
 entered the straitened household, carrying off Anne, the 
 younger of the only two remaining daughters of John 
 and Mary Shakespeare. A characteristic trait of the 
 father's grief and pride is afforded by the entry in the 
 church books that a somewhat excessive sum was paid 
 on this occasion for the tolling of the bell. Even with 
 
54 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 ruin staring him in the face John Shakespeare would 
 forego no point of customary respect nor abate one jot 
 of the ceremonial usage proper to the family of an 
 eminent burgess, although the observance might in- 
 volve a very needless outlay. In passing through these 
 chequered domestic scenes and vividly realising the 
 alternations of grief and hope, the eldest son, even in 
 his early years, would gain a fund of memorable ex- 
 periences. From his native sensibility and strong 
 family affection he would passionately sympathise with 
 his parents in their apparently hopeless struggle against 
 the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. Above all 
 he would cherish the memory of his mother's noble 
 bearing alike under serene and clouded skies, and learn 
 to estimate at their true worth the refined strength of 
 inherited courage, the dignified grace and silent help- 
 fulness of inherited courtesy and genuine kindness 
 of heart. These recollections were vitalised in the 
 sprightly intelligence, quick sympathy, and loving 
 truthfulness belonging to the female characters of his 
 early comedies, as well as in the profounder notes of 
 womanly grief and suffering, struck with so, sure a hand 
 and with such depth and intensity of tone, in the early 
 tragedies. 
 
 But in addition to her constant influence and example 
 the poet was probably indebted to his mother for 
 certain elements of his own rnind and character di- 
 rectly inherited from her. This position may be main- 
 tained without accepting the vague and comparatively 
 empty dictum that Shakespeare derived his genius 
 from his mother, as many eminent men are loosely 
 said to have done. The sacred gift of genius has ever 
 been, and perhaps always will be, inexplicable. No 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 55 
 
 analysis, however complete, of the forces acting on the 
 individual mind can avail to extract this vital secret. 
 The elements of race, country, parentage, and education, 
 though all powerful factors in its development, fail 
 adequately to account for the mystery involved in pre- 
 eminent poetical genius. Like the unseen wind from 
 heaven it bloweth where it listeth, and the inspired 
 voice is gladly heard of men, but none can tell whence 
 it cometh or whither it goeth. While, however, genius 
 is thus without ancestry or lineage, there are elements 
 of character and qualities of mind that, like the features 
 of the countenance and the lines of the bodily frame, 
 appear to be clearly transmissible from parent to child. 
 Shakespeare not unfrequently recognises this general 
 truth, especially in relation to moral qualities ; and it 
 is mainly qualities of this kind that he himself appears 
 to have inherited from his gently born and nurtured 
 mother, Mary Arden of the Asbies. At least it is 
 hardly fanciful to say that in the life and character of 
 the poet we may trace elements of higher feeling 
 and conduct derived from the hereditary culture and 
 courtesy, the social insight and refinement, of the 
 Ardens. Amongst such elements may be reckoned his 
 strong sense of independence and self-respect, his deli- 
 cate feeling of honour, his habitual consideration for 
 others, and, above all perhaps, his deep instinctive 
 regard for all family interests and relationships, for 
 everything indeed connected with family character and 
 position. The two epithets which those who knew 
 Shakespeare personally most habitually applied to him 
 appear to embody some of these characteristics. They 
 unite in describing him as " gentle " and " honest " in 
 character, and of an open and free, a frank and gener- 
 
 
56 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ous disposition. The epithet "gentle" may be taken 
 to represent the innate courtesy, the delicate considera- 
 tion for the feelings of others, which belongs in a 
 marked degree to the best representatives of gentle 
 birth, although happily it is by no means confined to 
 them. The second epithet, "honest," which in the 
 usage of the time meant honourable, may be taken to 
 express the high spirit of independence and self-respect 
 which carefully respects the just claims arid rights of 
 others. One point of the truest gentle breeding, which, 
 if not inherited from his mother, must have been de- 
 rived from her teaching and example, is the cardinal 
 maxim, which Shakespeare seems to have faithfully 
 observed, as to nice exactness in money matters the 
 maxim not lightly to incur pecuniary obligations, and 
 if incurred to meet them with scrupulous precision and 
 punctuality. This he could not have learnt from his 
 father, who, though an honest man enough, was too 
 eager and careless to be very particular on the point. 
 Indeed, carelessness in money matters seems rather to 
 have belonged to the Snitterfield family, the poet's 
 uncle Henry having been often in the courts for debt, 
 and, as we have seen, this was true of his father also. 
 But, while his father was often prosecuted for debt, no 
 trace of any such action against the poet himself, 
 for any amount however small, has been discovered. 
 He sued others for money due to him and at times for 
 sums comparatively small, but he never appears as a 
 debtor himself. Indeed, his whole life contradicts 
 the supposition that he would ever have rendered 
 himself liable to such a humiliation. The family 
 troubles must have very early developed and strength- 
 ened the high feeling of honour on this vital point 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 57 
 
 he had inherited. He must obviously have taken 
 to heart the lesson his father's imprudence could 
 hardly fail to impress on a mind so capacious and 
 reflective. John Shakespeare was no doubt a warm- 
 hearted lovable man, who would carry the sympathy 
 and affection of his family with him through all his 
 troubles ; but his eldest son, who early understood the 
 secret springs as well as the open issues of life, must 
 have realised vividly the rock on which their domestic 
 prosperity had been wrecked, and before he left borne 
 he had evidently formed an invincible resolution to 
 avoid it at all hazards. This helps to explain what has 
 often excited surprise in relation to his future career 
 his business industry, financial skill, and steady pro- 
 gress to what may be called worldly success. Few 
 things are more remarkable in Shakespeare's personal 
 history than the resolute spirit of independence he 
 seems to have displayed from the moment he left his 
 straitened household to seek his fortunes in the world 
 to the time when he returned to live at Stratford as a 
 man of wealth and position in the town. While many 
 of his fellow-dramatists were spendthrifts, in constant 
 difficulties, leading disorderly lives, and sinking into 
 unhonoured graves, he must have husbanded his early 
 resources with a rare amount of quiet firmness and 
 self-control. Chettle's testimony as to Shakespeare's 
 character and standing during his first years in London 
 is decisive on this head. Having published a post- 
 humous work by Greene, in which Marlowe and Shake- 
 speare were somewhat sharply referred to, Chettle 
 expressed his regret in a preface to a work of his own 
 issued a few months later, in December, 1592 ; he 
 intimates that at the time of publishing Greene's 
 
58 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 Groatsworth of Wit he knew neither Marlowe nor 
 Shakespeare, and that he does not care to become 
 acquainted with the former. But having made Shake- 
 speare's acquaintance in the interval he expresses his 
 regret that he should, even as editor, have published a 
 word to his disparagement, adding this remarkable 
 testimony : " Because myself have seen his demeanour, 
 no less civil than he excellent in the qualities he 
 professes ; besides, divers of worship have reported his 
 uprightness of dealing, which argues his honesty, and 
 his facetious grace in writing, which approves his art ". 
 So that Shakespeare, during his earliest and most 
 anxious years in London, had not only kept himself 
 out of debt and difficulty, but had established a repu- 
 tation of strictly honourable conduct, " divers of 
 worship," i.e., men of position and authority entitled 
 to speak on such a point, " having reported his upright- 
 ness of dealing, which argued his honesty ". Now, 
 considering the poet's associates, occupations, and 
 surroundings, this is significant testimony, and conclu- 
 sively proves that, although fond of social life and its 
 enjoyments, and without a touch of harshness or sever- 
 ity in his temper, he yet held himself thoroughly in 
 hand, that amidst the ocean of new experiences and 
 desires on which he was suddenly launched he never 
 abandoned the helm, never lost command over his 
 course, never sacrificed the larger interests of the 
 future to the clamorous or excessive demands of the 
 hour. And this no doubt indicates the direction in 
 which he was most indebted to his mother. From 
 his father he might have derived ambitious desires, 
 energetic impulses and an excitable temper capable of 
 rushing to the verge of passionate excess ; but, if so, it 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 59 
 
 is clear that he inherited from his mother the firmness 
 of nerve and fibre as well as the ethical strength 
 required for regulating these violent and explosive 
 elements. If he received as a paternal heritage a very 
 tempest and whirlwind of passion, the maternal gift of 
 temperance and measure would help to give it smooth- 
 ness and finish in the working, would supply in some 
 degree at least the power of concentration and self- 
 control indispensable for moulding the extremes of 
 exuberant sensibility and passionate impulse into forms 
 of intense and varied dramatic portraiture ; and of 
 course all the finer and regulative elements of character 
 and disposition derived from the spindle side of the 
 house would, throughout the poet's early years, be 
 strengthened and developed by his mother's constant 
 presence, influence, and example. 
 
 John and Mary Shakespeare had eight children, four 
 sons and four daughters. Of the latter, two, the first 
 Joan and Margaret, died in infancy, before the birth 
 of the poet, and a third, Anne, in early childhood. In 
 addition to the poet, three sons, Gilbert, Kichard, and 
 Edmund, and one daughter, the second Joan, lived to 
 maturity and will be referred to again. William 
 Shakespeare was christened in Stratford church on 
 26th April, 1564, having most probably been born, 
 according to tradition, on the 23rd. In July of the 
 same year the town was visited by a severe outbreak 
 of the plague, which in the course of a few months 
 carried off one-sixth of the inhabitants. Fortunately, 
 however, the family of the Shakespeares wholly escaped 
 the contagion, their exemption being probably due to 
 the fact that they lived in the healthiest part of the 
 town, away from the river side, on a dry and porous 
 
60 SHAKESPEAKE. 
 
 soil. At the back of Henley Street, indeed, were the 
 gravel pits of the guild, which were in frequent use for 
 repairing the inundated pathways near the river after 
 its periodical overflows. For two years and a half 
 William, their first-born son, remained the only child 
 of his parents, and all his mother's love and care would 
 naturally be lavished upon him. A special bond would 
 in this way be established between mother and child, 
 and, his father's affairs being at the time in a highly 
 prosperous state, Mary Shakespeare would see to it 
 that the boy had all the pleasures and advantages 
 suitable to his age, and which the family of a foremost 
 Stratford burgess could easily command. Healthy 
 outdoor enjoyment is not the least valuable part of a 
 boy's education, and the chief recreations available for 
 the future dramatist in those early years would be the 
 sports and pastimes, the recurring festivals, spectacles 
 and festivities, of the town and neighbourhood, especi- 
 ally the varying round of rural occupations and the cele- 
 bration in the forest farms and villages of the chief in- 
 cidents of the agricultural year. Seed time and harvest, 
 summer and winter, each brought its own group of 
 picturesque merry-makings, including some more im- 
 portant festivals that evoked a good deal of rustic pride, 
 enthusiasm, and display. There were, during these 
 years, at least three of the forest farms where the poet's 
 parents would be always welcome, and where the boy 
 must have spent many a happy day amidst the freedom 
 and delights of outdoor country life. At Snitterfield his 
 grandfather would be proud enough of the curly-headed 
 youngster with the fine hazel eyes, and his uncle 
 Henry would be charmed at the boy's interest in all he 
 saw and heard as he trotted with him through the 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 61 
 
 byres and barns, the poultry yard and steading, or, from 
 a safe nook on the bushy margin of the pool, enjoyed 
 the fun and excitement of sheep-washing, or later on 
 watched the mysteries of the shearing and saw the 
 heavy fleece fall from the sides of the palpitating victim 
 before the sure and rapid furrowing of the shears. He 
 would no doubt also be present at the shearing feast, 
 and see the queen of the festival receive her rustic 
 guests and distribute amongst them her floral gifts. 
 At Wilmcote, in the solid oak-timbered dwelling of 
 the Asbies, with its well-stocked garden and orchard, 
 the boy would be received with cordial hospitality, as 
 well as with the attention and respect due to his 
 parents as the proprietors and to himself as the heir 
 of the maternal estate. At Shottery the welcome of 
 the Shakespeares would not be less cordial or friendly, 
 as there is evidence to show that as early as 1566 the 
 families were known to each other, John Shakespeare 
 having in that year rendered Kichard Hathaway an 
 important personal service. Here the poet met his 
 future bride, Anne Hathaway, in all the charm of her 
 sunny girlhood, and they may be said to have grown 
 up together, except that from the difference of their 
 ages she would reach early womanhood while he was 
 yet a stripling. In his later youthful years he would 
 thus be far more frequently at the Hathaway farm than 
 at Snitterfield or the Asbies. There were, however, 
 family connections of the Shakespeares occupying farms 
 further afield, Hills and Webbs at Bearley and Lam- 
 berts at Barton-on-the-Heath. There was thus an ex- 
 ceptionally wide circle of country life open to the poet 
 during his growing years. And in those years he must 
 have repeatedly gone the whole picturesque round with 
 
62 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 the fresh senses and eager feeling, the observant eye 
 and open mind, that left every detail, from the scarlet 
 hips by the wayside to the proud tops of the eastern 
 pines, imprinted indelibly upon his heart and brain. 
 Hence the apt and vivid references to the scenes 
 and scenery of his youth, the intense and penetrating 
 glances at the most vital aspects as well as the minutest 
 beauties of nature, with which his dramas abound. 
 These glances are so penetrating, the result of such 
 intimate knowledge and enjoyment, that they often 
 seem to reveal in a moment, and by a single touch as it 
 were, all the loveliness and charm of the objects thus 
 rapidly flashed on the inward eye. In relation to the 
 scenes of his youth what fresh and delightful hours at 
 the farms are reflected in the full summer beauty and 
 motley humours of a sheep-shearing festival in the 
 "Winter's Tale" ; in the autumn glow of the "sun-burnt 
 sicklemen and sedge-crowned nymphs " of the masque 
 in the 4< Tempest " ; and in the vivid pictures of rural sights 
 and sounds in spring and winter so musically rendered 
 in the owl and cuckoo songs of "Love's Labour's Lost" ! 
 But, in addition to the festivities and merry-makings of 
 the forest farms, it is clear that, in his early years, the 
 poet had some experience of country sports proper, such 
 as hunting, hawking, coursing, wild-duck shooting, and 
 the like. Many of these sports were pursued by the 
 local gentry and the yeomen together; and the poet, as 
 the son of a well-connected burgess of Stratford, who 
 had recently been mayor of the town and possessed 
 estates in the county, would be well entitled to share 
 in them, while his handsome presence and courteous 
 bearing would be likely to ensure him a hearty wel- 
 come. If any of the stiffer local magnates looked 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 63 
 
 coldly upon the high-spirited youth, or resented in any 
 way his presence amongst them, their conduct would 
 be likely enough to provoke the kind of sportive re- 
 taliations that might naturally culminate in the deer- 
 stealing adventure. However this may be, it is clear 
 from internal evidence that the poet was practically 
 familiar with the field sports of his day. 
 
 In the town the chief holiday spectacles and enter- 
 tainments were those connected with the Christmas, New 
 Year, and Easter festivals, the May-day rites and games, 
 the pageants of delight of Whitsuntide, the beating 
 of the bounds during Rogation week, and the occa- 
 sional representation of mysteries, moralities, and stage- 
 plays. In relation to the main bent of the poet's mind, 
 and the future development of his powers, the latter 
 constituted probably the most important educational 
 influence and stimulus which the social activities and 
 public entertainments of the place could have supplied. 
 Most of these recurring celebrations involved, it is 
 true, a dramatic element, some hero or exploit, some 
 emblem or allegory, being represented by means of 
 costumed personations, pantomime, and dumb show, 
 while in many cases songs, dances, and brief dialogues 
 were interposed as part of a performance. There were 
 masques and morris-dancing on May-day, as well as 
 mummers and waits at Christmas. In a number of 
 towns and villages the exploits of Kobin Hood and his 
 associates were also celebrated on May-day, often 
 amidst a picturesque confusion of floral emblems and 
 forestry devices. In Shakespeare's time the May-day 
 rites and games thus included a variety of elements 
 charged with legendary, historical, and emblematical 
 significance. But, notwithstanding this mixture of 
 
64 SHAKE SPEAKE. 
 
 festive elements, the celebration as a whole retained 
 its leading character and purpose. It was still the 
 spontaneous meeting of town and country to welcome 
 the fresh beauty of the spring, the welcome being 
 reflected in the open spaces of the sports by tall painted 
 masts decked with garlands, streamers, and flowery 
 crowns, and in the public thoroughfares by the leafy 
 screens and arches, the bright diffused blossoms and 
 fragrant spoils brought from the forest by rejoicing 
 youths and maidens at the dawn. May-day was thus 
 well fitted to be used, as it often is by Shakespeare, as 
 the comprehensive symbol of all that is delightful and 
 exhilarating in the renewed life and vernal freshness of 
 the opening year. 
 
 After May-day, Whitsuntide was at Stratford per- 
 haps the most important season of festive pageantry 
 and scenic display. In addition to the procession of 
 the guild and trades and the usual holiday ales and 
 sports, it involved a distinct and somewhat noteworthy 
 element of dramatic representation. And, as in the 
 case of the regular stage-plays, the high-bailiff and 
 council appear to have patronised and supported the 
 performances. We find in the chamberlain's accounts 
 entries of sums paid "for exhibiting a pastyme at 
 Whitsuntide". Shakespeare himself refers to these 
 dramatic features of the celebration, and in a manner 
 that almost suggests he may in his youth have taken 
 part in them. However this may be, the popular 
 celebrations of Shakespeare's youth must have supplied 
 a kind of training in the simpler forms of poetry and 
 dramatic art, and have afforded some scope for the 
 early exercise of his own powers in both directions. 
 This view is indirectly confirmed by a passage in the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 65 
 
 early scenes of the Return from Parnassus, where -the 
 academic speakers sneer at the poets who come up 
 from the country without any university training. The 
 sneer is evidently the more bitter as it implies that 
 some of these poets had been successful, more suc- 
 cessful than the college-bred wits. The academic critics 
 suggest that the nurseries of these poets were the 
 country ale-house and the country green, the special 
 stimulus to their powers being the May-day celebra- 
 tions, the morris-dances, the hobby-horse and the like. 
 But the moralities, interludes, and stage-plays proper 
 afforded the most direct and varied dramatic instruction 
 available in Shakespeare's youth. The earliest popular 
 form of the drama was the mystery or miracle play, 
 dealing in the main with Biblical subjects ; and> 
 Coventry being one of the chief centres for the produc- 
 tion and exhibition of the mysteries, Shakespeare had 
 ample opportunities of becoming well acquainted with 
 them. Some of the acting companies formed from the 
 numerous trade guilds of the " shire-town " were more- 
 over in the habit of visiting the neighbouring cities for 
 the purpose of exhibiting their plays and pageants. 
 There is evidence of their having performed at Leicester 
 and Bristol in Shakespeare's youth, and on returning 
 from the latter city they would most probably have 
 stopped at Stratford and given some performances 
 there. And in any case, Coventry being .so near to 
 Stratford, the fame of the multiplied pageants pre- 
 sented during the holiday weeks of Easter and Whit- 
 suntide, and especially of the brilliant concourse that 
 came to witness the grand series of Corpus Christi 
 plays, would have early attracted the young poet ; and 
 he must have become familiar with the precincts of 
 
66 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 the Grey Friars at Coventry during the celebration of 
 these great ecclesiastical festivals. The indirect evi- 
 dence of this is supplied by Shakespeare's references to 
 the well-known characters of the mysteries, such as 
 Herod and Pilate, Cain and Judas, Termagaunt with 
 his turbaned Turks and infidels, black-burning souls, 
 grim and gaping hell, and the like. The moralities 
 and interludes that gradually took the place of the 
 Biblical mysteries were also acted by companies of 
 strolling players over a wide area in the towns and 
 cities of the midland and western counties. Malone 
 gives from an eye-witness a detailed and graphic 
 account of the public acting of one of these companies 
 at Gloucester in 1569, the year during which the poet's 
 father as high-bailiff had brought the stage-players into 
 Stratford and inaugurated a series of performances in 
 the guild hall. The playacted at Gloucester was " The 
 Cradle of Security," one of the most striking and popular 
 of the early moralities or interludes. Willis, the writer 
 of the account, was just Shakespeare's age, having been 
 born in 1564. As a boy of five years old he had been 
 taken by his father to see the play, and, standing 
 between his father's knees, watched the whole per- 
 formance with such intense interest that, writing about 
 it seventy years afterwards, he says : " The subject took 
 such an impression upon me that when I came after- 
 wards towards man's estate it was as fresh in my 
 memory as if I had seen it newly enacted". In proof 
 of this he gives a clear and detailed outline of the play. 
 Willis was evidently a man of no special gifts, and, if 
 the witnessing a play when a child could produce on 
 an ordinary mind so memorable an impression, we may 
 imagine what the effect would be on the mind of the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 67 
 
 marvellous boy who, about the same time and under 
 like circumstances, was taken by his father to see the 
 performances at Stratford. The company that first 
 visited Stratford being a distinguished one, their plays 
 were probably of a higher type and better acted than 
 " The Cradle of Security " at Gloucester; and their effect 
 on the young poet would be the more vivid and stimu- 
 lating from the keener sensibilities and latent dramatic 
 power to which in his case they appealed. These 
 early impressions would be renewed and deepened with 
 the boy's advancing years. During the decade of 
 Shakespeare's active youth from 1573 to 1584 the best 
 companies in the kingdom constantly visited Stratford, 
 and he would thus have the advantage of seeing the 
 finest dramas yet produced acted by the best players of 
 the time. This would be for him a rich and fruitful 
 experience of the flexible and impressive form of art 
 which at a moment of exuberant national vitality was 
 attracting to itself the scattered forces of poetic genius, 
 and soon gained a position of unrivalled supremacy. 
 As he watched the performance in turn of the various 
 kinds of interlude, comedy, and pastoral, of chronicle 
 and biographical plays, of historical, domestic, or real- 
 istic tragedy, he would gain an instructive insight into 
 the wide scope and vast resources of the rising drama. 
 And he would have opportunities of acquiring some 
 knowledge of stage business, management, and effects, 
 as well as of dramatic form. Amongst the companies 
 that visited Stratford were those of the powerful local 
 Earls of Leicester, Warwick, and Worcester, whose 
 members were largely recruited from the midland 
 counties. The Earl of Leicester's company, the most 
 eminent of all, included several Warwickshire men, 
 
68 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 while some of the leading members, like the elder 
 Burbage, appear to have been natives of Stratford or 
 the immediate neighbourhood. And the poet's father 
 being, as we have seen, so great a friend of the players, 
 and during his most prosperous years in constant com- 
 munication with them, his son would have every facility 
 for studying their art. Curiosity and interest and the 
 like would prompt him to find out all he could about 
 the use of the stage " books," the distribution of the 
 parts, the cues and exits, the management of voice and 
 gesture, the graduated passion and controlled power of 
 the leading actors in the play, the just subordination of 
 the less important parts, and the measure and finish of 
 each on which the success of the whole so largely 
 depended. It is not improbable, too, that in connec- 
 tion with some of the companies Shakespeare may have 
 tried his hand both as poet and actor even before leav- 
 ing Stratford. His poetical powers could hardly be 
 unknown, and he may have written scenes and pas- 
 sages to fill out an imperfect or complete a defective 
 play; and from his known interest in their work he 
 may have been pressed by the actors to appear in some 
 secondary part on the stage. In any case he would be 
 acquainted with some of the leading players in the best 
 companies, so that when he decided to adopt their 
 profession he might reasonably hope on going to Lon- 
 don to find occupation amongst them without much 
 difficulty or delay. 
 
 Shakespeare received the technical part or scholastic 
 elements of his education in the grammar school of his 
 native town. The school was an old foundation, dating 
 from the second half of the fifteenth century and 
 connected with the guild of the Holy Cross. But, 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 69 
 
 having shared the fate of the guild at the suppression 
 of religious houses, it was restored by Edward VI. in 
 1553, a few weeks before his death. The " King's New 
 School," as it was now called, thus represented the 
 fresh impulse given to education throughout the king- 
 dom during the reign of Henry VIII. 's earnest-minded 
 son, and well sustained under the enlightened rule of 
 his sister, the learned virgin queen. What the course 
 of instruction was in these country schools during the 
 second half of the sixteenth century has recently been 
 ascertained by special research, 1 and may be stated, at 
 least in outline, with some degree of certainty and 
 precision. As might have been expected, Latin was 
 the chief scholastic drill, the thorough teaching of the 
 Koman tongue being, as the name implies, the very 
 purpose for which the grammar schools were originally 
 founded. The regular teaching of Greek was indeed 
 hardly introduced into the country schools until a some- 
 what later period. But the knowledge of Latin, as the 
 language of all the learned professions, still largely 
 used in literature, was regarded as quite indispensable. 
 Whatever else might be neglected, the business of 
 "gerund-grinding" was vigorously carried on, and the 
 methods of teaching, the expedients and helps devised 
 for enabling the pupils to read, write, and talk Latin, 
 if rather complex and operose, were at the same time 
 ingenious and effective. As a rule the pupil entered the 
 grammar school at seven years old, having already 
 acquired either at home or at the petty school the 
 rudiments of reading and writing. During the first 
 year the pupils were occupied with the elements of 
 
 1 See post, pp. 147-2-19. 
 
70 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 Latin grammar, the accidence, and lists of common 
 words which were committed to memory and repeated 
 two or three times a week, as well as further impressed 
 upon their minds by varied exercises. In the second 
 year the grammar was fully mastered, and the boys 
 were drilled in short phrase-books, such as the Sententice 
 Pueriles, to increase their familiarity with the structure 
 and idioms of the language. In the third year the 
 books used were ZEsop's Fables, Gate's Maxims, and 
 some good manual of school conversation, such as the 
 Confabulationes Pueriles. The most popular of these 
 manuals in Shakespeare's day was that by the eminent 
 scholar and still more eminent teacher Corderius. His 
 celebrated Colloquies were probably used in almost every 
 school in the kingdom ; and Hoole, writing in 1652, 
 says that the worth of the book had been proved 
 " by scores if not hundreds of impressions in this and 
 foreign countries". Bayle, indeed, says that from its 
 universal use in the schools the editions of the book 
 might be counted by thousands. This helps to illus- 
 trate the colloquial use of Latin, which was so essential 
 a feature of grammar school discipline in the sixteenth 
 and seventeenth centuries. The evidence of Brinsley, 
 who was Shakespeare's contemporary, conclusively 
 proves that the constant speaking of Latin by all the 
 boys of the more advanced forms was indispensable 
 even in the smallest and poorest of the country gram- 
 mar schools. The same holds true of letter- writing in 
 Latin ; and this, as we know from the result, was 
 diligently and successfully practised in the Stratford 
 grammar school. During his school days, therefore, 
 Shakespeare would be thoroughly trained in the con- 
 versational and epistolary use of Latin, and several 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 71 
 
 well-known passages in his dramas show that he did 
 not forget this early experience, but that like everything 
 else he acquired it turned to fruitful uses in his hands. 
 The books read in the more advanced forms of the 
 school were the Eclogues of Mantuanus, the Tristia and 
 Metamorphoses of Ovid, Cicero's Offices, Orations, and 
 Epistles, the Oeorgics and ^fflneid of Yirgil, and in the 
 highest form parts of Juvenal, of the comedies of 
 Terence and Plautus, and of the tragedies of Seneca. 
 Shakespeare, having remained at school for at least six 
 years, must have gone through a greater part of this 
 course, and, being a pupil of unusual quickness and 
 ability, endowed with rare strength of mental grip and 
 firmness of moral purpose, he must during those years 
 have acquired a fair mastery of Latin, both colloquial 
 and classical. After the difficulties of the grammar 
 had been overcome, his early intellectual cravings and 
 poetic sensibilities would be alike quickened and 
 gratified by the new world of heroic life and adventure 
 opened to him in reading such authors as Ovid and 
 Virgil. Unless the teaching at Stratford was very 
 exceptionally poor he must have become so far fami- 
 liar with the favourite school authors, such as Ovid, 
 Tully, and Yirgil, as to read them intelligently and 
 with comparative ease. 
 
 And there is no reason whatever for supposing that 
 the instruction at the Stratford grammar school was 
 less efficient than in the grammar schools of other 
 provincial towns of about the same size. There is 
 abundant evidence to show that, with the fresh im- 
 pulse given to education under energetic Protestant 
 auspices in the second half of the sixteenth century, 
 the teaching even in the country grammar schools was 
 
72 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 as a rule painstaking, intelligent, and fruitful. Brins- 
 ley himself was for many years an eminent and suc- 
 cessful teacher in the grammar school of Ashby-de-la- 
 Zouche, a small town on the borders of Warwickshire, 
 only a few miles indeed from Coventry ; and in his 
 Ludus Liter arius, referring to a book of exercises on the 
 Latin accidence and grammar he had prepared, he says 
 that he had chiefly followed the order of the questions 
 "of that ancient schoolmaster Master Brunsword of 
 Maxfield (Macclesfield) in Cheshire, so much com- 
 mended for his order and sch oilers ; who of all other 
 commeth therein the neerest unto the marke ". Another 
 provincial schoolmaster, Mr. Robert Doughty, a con- 
 temporary of Shakespeare, who was for nearly fifty 
 years at the head of the Wakefield grammar school, is 
 celebrated by Hoole, not only as an eminent teacher 
 who had constantly sent out good scholars, but as one 
 who had produced a class of teachers emulating his 
 own educational zeal and intelligence. The masters of 
 the Stratford grammar school in Shakespeare's time 
 seem to have been men of a similar stamp. One of 
 them, John Brunsword, who held the post for three 
 years during the poet's childhood, was almost certainly 
 a relative, probably a son, of the eminent Macclesfield 
 master whose character and work Brinsley praises so 
 highly. At least, Brunsword being an uncommon 
 name, when we find it borne by two grammar-school 
 masters in neighbouring counties who flourished either 
 together or in close succession to each other, it is 
 natural to conclude that there must have been some 
 relationship between them, and if so we may be sure 
 that the Stratford master, who was evidently the 
 younger man, had been well trained and must have 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 73 
 
 proved an efficient teacher. The masters. who followed 
 Brunsword were university men of at least average 
 attainments and ability, as they rapidly gained pro- 
 motion in the Church. Thomas Hunt, who was head 
 master during the most important years of Shake- 
 speare's school course, became incumbent of the neigh- 
 bouring village of Luddington ; and, if there is any 
 truth in the tradition that the poet's marriage was 
 celebrated there, it is not improbable that, from having 
 been a favourite pupil, he may have become the per- 
 sonal friend of his former master. In any case, during 
 the years of his school attendance the poet must have 
 gained sufficient knowledge of Latin to read for his 
 own instruction and delight the authors included in 
 the school curriculum who had struck his fancy and 
 stimulated his awakening powers. While his writings 
 supply clear evidence in support of this general position, 
 they also bring out vividly the fact that Ovid was a 
 special favourite with Shakespeare at the outset of his 
 career. The influence of this romantic and elegiac 
 Koman poet is indeed strongly marked and clearly 
 traceable in the poems as well as in the early plays. 
 
 According to Rowe's account, Shakespeare was 
 withdrawn from school about 1578, a year or two 
 before he had completed the usual course for boys 
 going into business or passing on to the universities. 
 The immediate cause of the withdrawal seems to have 
 been the growing embarrassments of John Shakespeare's 
 affairs, the boy being wanted at home to help in the 
 various departments of his father's business. The poet 
 had just entered on his fifteenth year, and his school 
 attainments and turn for affairs, no less than his native 
 energy and ability, fitted him for efficient action in 
 
74 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 almost any fairly open career. But open careers were 
 not numerous at Stratford, and John Shakespeare's 
 once prosperous way of life was now hampered by 
 actual and threatening difficulties which the zeal and 
 affection of his son were powerless to remove or avert. 
 No doubt the boy did his best, trying to understand his 
 father's position, and discharging with prompt alacrity 
 any duties that came to be done. But he would soon 
 discover how hopeless such efforts were, and with this 
 deepening conviction there would come upon him the 
 reaction of weariness and disappointment, which is the 
 true inferno of ardent youthful minds. His father's 
 difficulties were evidently of the chronic and compli- 
 cated kind against which the generous and impulsive 
 forces of youth and inexperience are of little avail. 
 And, after his son had done his utmost to relieve the 
 sinking fortunes of the family, the aching sense of 
 failure would be among the bitterest experiences of his 
 early years, would be indeed a sharp awakening to the 
 realities and responsibilities of life. Within the narrow 
 circle of his own domestic relationships and dearest 
 interests he would feel with Hamlet that the times 
 were out of joint, and in his gloomier moods be ready 
 to curse the destiny that seemed to lay upon him, in 
 part at least, the burden of setting the obstinately 
 crooked straight. As a relief from such moods and a 
 distraction from the fruitless toils of home affairs, he 
 would naturally plunge with keener zest into such 
 outlets for youthful energy and adventure as the town 
 and neighbourhood afforded. What the young poet's 
 actual occupations were during the four years and a 
 half that elapsed between his leaving school and his 
 marriage we have no adequate materials for deciding in 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 75 
 
 any detail. But the local traditions on the subject 
 would seem to indicate that after the adverse turn in 
 his fortunes John Shakespeare had considerably con- 
 tracted the area of his commercial transactions. Hav- 
 ing virtually alienated his wife's patrimony by the 
 mortgage of the Asbies and the disposal of all interest 
 in the Snitterfield property, he seems to have given up 
 the agricultural branches of his business, retaining only 
 his original occupation of dealer in leather, skins, and 
 sometimes carcases as well. His wider speculations 
 had probably turned out ill, and having no longer any 
 land of his own he apparently relinquished the corn 
 and timber business, restricting himself to the town 
 trades of fellmonger, wool-stapler, and butcher. Aubrey 
 at least had heard that Shakespeare after leaving 
 school assisted his father in these branches, and at 
 times with a deal of youthful extravagance indicative 
 of irrepressible energy and spirit. Aubrey also reports, 
 on the authority of Beeston, and as incidentally proving 
 he knew Latin fairly well, that for a time the poet was 
 a teacher in a country school ; while Maloiie believed 
 from the internal evidence of his writings that he had 
 spent two or three years in a lawyer's office. These 
 stories may be taken to indicate, what is no doubt 
 true, that at a time of domestic need the poet was 
 ready to turn his hand to anything that offered. It is 
 no doubt also true that he would prefer the compara- 
 tive retirement and regularity of teaching or clerk's 
 work to the intermittent drudgery and indolence of a 
 retail shop in a small market-town. There is, how- 
 ever, no direct evidence in favour of either supposition ; 
 and the indirect evidence for the lawyer's office theory 
 which has found favour with several recent critics is 
 
76 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 by no means decisive. Whether engaged in a lawyer's 
 office or not, we may be quite sure that during the 
 years of adolescence he was actively occupied in work 
 of some kind or other. He was far too sensible and 
 energetic to remain without employment ; shapeless 
 idleness had no attraction for his healthy nature, and 
 his strong family feeling is certainly in favour of the 
 tradition that for a time he did his best to help his 
 father in his business. 
 
 But, however he may have been employed, this 
 interval of home life was for the poet a time of active 
 growth and development, and no kind of business 
 routine could avail to absorb his expanding powers or 
 repress the exuberant vitality of his nature. During 
 these critical years, to a vigorous and healthy mind 
 such as Shakespeare possessed, action action of an 
 adventurous and recreative kind, in which the spirit is 
 quickened and refreshed by new experiences must have 
 become an absolute necessity of existence. The neces- 
 sity was all the more urgent in Shakespeare's case from 
 the narrower circle within which the once prosperous 
 and expanding home life was now confined. We have 
 seen that the poet occasionally shared the orthodox 
 field sports organised by the country gentlemen, where 
 landlords and tenants, yeomen and squires, animated 
 by a kindred sentiment, meet to a certain extent on 
 common ground. But this long-drawn pursuit of plea- 
 sure as an isolated unit in a local crowd would hardly 
 satisfy the thirst for passionate excitement and personal 
 adventure which is so dominant an impulse in the hey- 
 day of youthful blood. It is doubtful, too, whether in 
 the decline of his father's fortunes Shakespeare would 
 have cared to join the prosperous concourse of local 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 77 
 
 sportsmen. He would probably be thrown a good 
 deal amongst a somewhat lower, though no doubt 
 energetic and intelligent, class of town companions. 
 And they would devise together exploits which, if 
 somewhat irregular, possessed the inspiring charm of 
 freedom and novelty, and would thus be congenial to 
 an ardent nature with a passionate interest in life and 
 action. Such a nature would eagerly welcome enter- 
 prises with a dash of hazard and daring in them, 
 fitted to bring the more resolute virtues into play, 
 and develop in moments of emergency the manly 
 qualities of vigilance and promptitude, courage and 
 endurance, dexterity and skill. It would seem indeed 
 at first sight as though a quiet neighbourhood like 
 Stratford could afford little scope for such adventures. 
 But even at Stratford there were always the forest and 
 the river, the outlying farms with adjacent parks and 
 manor houses, the wide circle of picturesque towns 
 and villages with their guilds and clubs, their local 
 Shallows and Slenders, Dogberries and Verges ; and 
 in the most quiet neighbourhoods it still remains true 
 that adventures are to the adventurous. That this 
 dictum was verified in Shakespeare's experience seems 
 clear alike from the internal evidence of his writings 
 and the concurrent testimony of local tradition. In 
 its modern form the story of the Bidford challenge 
 exploit may indeed be little better than a myth. But 
 in substance it is by no means incredible, and if we 
 knew all about the incident we should probably find 
 there were other points to be tested between the rival 
 companies besides strength of head to resist the effects 
 of the well-known Bidford beer. The prompt refusal 
 to return with his companions and renew t'c contest 
 
78 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 on the following day, a decision playfully expressed 
 and emphasised in the well-known doggerel lines, 
 implies that in Shakespeare's view such forms of good 
 fellowship Were to be accepted on social not self- 
 indulgent grounds, that they were not to be resorted to 
 for the sake of the lower accessories only, or allowed to 
 grow into evil habits from being unduly repeated or 
 prolonged. It is clear that this general principle of 
 recreative and adventurous enterprise, announced more 
 than once in his writings, guided his own conduct even 
 in the excitable and impulsive season of youth and early 
 manhood. If he let himself go, as he no doubt some- 
 times did, it was only as a good rider on coming to the 
 turf gives the horse his head in order to enjoy the ex- 
 hilaration of a gallop, having the bridle well in hand 
 the while, and able to rein in the excited steed at a 
 moment's notice. It may be said of Shakespeare at 
 such seasons, as of his own Prince Hal, that he 
 
 " Obscured his contemplation 
 Under the veil of wildness ; which, no doubt, 
 Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night, 
 Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty ". 
 
 The deer-stealing tradition illustrates the same 
 point ; and though belonging perhaps to a rather later 
 period it may be conveniently noticed here. This frag- 
 ment of Shakespeare's personal history rests on a much 
 surer basis than the Bidford incident, being supported 
 not only by early multiplied and constant traditions, 
 but by evidence which the poet himself has supplied. 
 Eowe's somewhat formal version of the narrative is to 
 the effect that Shakespeare in his youth was guilty of 
 an extravagance which, though unfortunate at the 
 time, had the happy result of helping to develop his 
 

 SHAKE SPE ABE. 79 
 
 dramatic genius. This misfortune was that of being 
 engaged with some of his companions more than once 
 in robbing a park belonging to Sir Thomas Lucy of 
 Charlecote. Sir Thomas, it is said, prosecuted him 
 sharply for the offence, and in retaliation he wrote a 
 satirical ballad upon him, which so incensed the baronet 
 that Shakespeare thought it prudent to leave Stratford 
 and join his old friends and associates the players in 
 London. Other versions of the tradition exist giving 
 fresh details, some of which are on the face of them 
 later additions of a fictitious and fanciful kind. But 
 it would be useless to discuss the accretions incident 
 to any narrative, however true, orally transmitted 
 through two or three generations before being reduced 
 to a written shape. All that can be required or ex- 
 pected of such traditions is that they should contain 
 a kernel of biographical fact, and be true in substance 
 although possibly not in form. And tried by this test 
 the tradition in question must certainly be accepted 
 as a genuine contribution to our knowledge of the 
 poet's early years. Indeed, it could hardly have been 
 repeated again and again by inhabitants of Stratford 
 within a few years of Shakespeare's death if it did not 
 embody a characteristic feature of his early life which 
 was well known in the town. This feature was no 
 doubt the poet's love of woodland life, and the wood- 
 land sports through which it is realised in the most 
 animated and vigorous form. 
 
 The neighbourhood of Stratford in Shakespeare's 
 day afforded considerable scope for this kind of healthy 
 recreation. There was the remnant of the old Arden 
 forest, which, though still nominally a royal domain, 
 was virtually free for many kinds of sport. Indeed, 
 
80 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 the observance of the forest laws had fallen into such 
 neglect in the early years of Elizabeth's reign that 
 even unlicensed deer-hunting in the royal domains 
 was common enough. And hardly any attempt was 
 made to prevent the pursuit of the smaller game be- 
 longing to the warren and the chase. Then, three or 
 four miles to the east of Stratford, between the War- 
 wick road and the river, stretched the romantic park 
 of Fulbroke, which, as the property of an attainted 
 exile, sequestered though not seized by the Crown, 
 was virtually open to all comers. There can be little 
 doubt that when Shakespeare and his companions 
 wished a day's outing in the woods they usually re- 
 sorted to some part of the Arden forest still available 
 for sporting purposes. But sometimes, probably on 
 account of its greater convenience, they seem to have 
 changed the venue to Fulbroke Park, and there they 
 might easily come into collision with Sir Thomas 
 Lucy's keepers. There has been a good deal of dis- 
 cussion as to the scene of the traditional adventure, 
 but the probabilities of the case are strongly in favour 
 of Fulbroke. When Sir Walter Scott visited Sir 
 Thomas Lucy at Charlecote in 1828, Sir Thomas told 
 him that the park from which Shakespeare stole the 
 deer was not Charlecote, but one belonging to a man- 
 sion at some distance, the context indicating Fulbroke 
 as the scene of the exploit. And Mr. Bracebridge, in 
 his interesting pamphlet Shakespeare no Deer-Stealer, 
 has thrown fresh light on the subject, and made the 
 whole incident more intelligible by marshalling the 
 reasons in favour of this view. The park had, it 
 seems, been held by the Lucys under the Crown in the 
 time of Henry VIII., but was afterwards granted by 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 81 
 
 Queen Mary to one of her privy councillors, Sir 
 Francis Engelfield. Being a devoted Komanist, he 
 fled to Spain on the accession of Elizabeth, and was 
 subsequently adjudged a traitor, the Fulbroke estate 
 being sequestered though not administered by the 
 Crown. The park being thus without a legal custodian 
 for more than a quarter of a century became disparked, 
 the palings having fallen into decay and the fences 
 being in many places broken down. The deer with 
 which it abounded were thus left without any legal 
 protection, and might be hunted at will by enterprising 
 sportsmen. The only person likely to check this 
 freedom or to attempt to do so was Sir Thomas Lucy, 
 whose own park of Charlecote ran for a mile along the 
 other side of the river just below Fulbroke. As the 
 nearest large landed proprietor, having a direct interest 
 in the state of the neighbouring park, he might 
 naturally think himself entitled to act as a kind of ad 
 interim custodian of Fulbroke. And with his aristo- 
 cratic feeling, his severe and exacting temper, he 
 would be likely enough to push his temporary guardian- 
 ship of custom or courtesy into an exclusive right, at 
 least so far as the venison of the park was concerned. 
 In any case Sir Thomas's keepers would occasionally 
 perambulate Fulbroke Park as a protection to Charle- 
 cote, and in doing so they probably came upon Shake- 
 speare and his companions after they had brought 
 down a buck and were about to break it up for removal. 
 Or the hunted deer may have crossed the river at the 
 shallow ford between the two parks, and, pursued by 
 the eager sportsmen, have been brought down within 
 the Charlecote grounds. In either case the keepers 
 would denounce the trespass, and possibly with menac- 
 
 6 
 
82 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ing and abusive words demand the buck for their 
 master. On being treated in this insulting way, Shake- 
 speare, who had pride and personal dignity as well as 
 courage, would deny any intentional or actual trespass, 
 refuse to give up the venison, and plainly tell the keepers 
 that they might report the matter to Sir Thomas Lucy 
 and he would answer for himself and his companions. 
 On finding what had happened, Sir Thomas would be 
 all the more incensed and indignant from the con- 
 sciousness that he had pushed his claims beyond the 
 point at which they could legally be enforced. And, 
 being to some extent in a false position, he would be pro- 
 portionately wrathful and vindictive against the youth- 
 ful sportsmen, and especially against their leader who 
 had dared to resist and defy his authority. Sir Thomas 
 was the great man of Stratford, who came periodically 
 to the town on magistrate's business, was appealed to 
 as arbitrator in special cases, and entertained by the 
 corporation during his visits. In. character he seems 
 to have combined aristocratic pride and narrowness with 
 the harshness and severity of the Puritan temper. As 
 a landed proprietor and local magnate he was exacting 
 and exclusive, looking with a kind of Puritanical sour- 
 ness on all youthful frolics, merriment, and recreation. 
 He would thus have a natural antipathy to young 
 Shakespeare's free, generous, and enjoying nature, and 
 would resent as an unpardonable outrage his high- 
 spirited conduct in attempting to resist any claims he 
 chose to make. Sir Thomas would no doubt vent his 
 indignation to the authorities at Stratford, and try to 
 set the law in motion, and failing in this might have 
 threatened, as Justice Shallow does, to make a Star- 
 Chamber matter of it. This was the kind of extreme 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 83 
 
 course which a man in his position might take where 
 there was no available local redress for any wrong he 
 imagined himself to have suffered. And the Stratford 
 authorities, being naturally anxious to propitiate the 
 great man, may have suggested that it would be well 
 if young Shakespeare could be out of the way for a 
 time. This would help him to decide on the adoption 
 of a plan already seriously entertained of going to Lon- 
 don to push his fortune among the players. 
 
 There is, however, another aspect in which this 
 traditional incident may be looked at, which seems at 
 least worthy of consideration. It is possible that Sir 
 Thomas Lucy may have been prejudiced against the 
 Shakespeares on religious grounds, and that this feeling 
 may have prompted him to a display of exceptional 
 severity against their eldest son. As we have seen, 
 he was a narrow and extreme, a persecuting and almost 
 fanatical Protestant, and several events had recently 
 happened calculated to intensify his bitterness against 
 the Romanists. In particular, Mary Shakespeare's 
 family connections the Ardens of Parkhall had been 
 convicted of conspiracy against the queen's life. The 
 son-in-law of Edward Arden, John Somerville, a rash 
 and " hot-spirited young gentleman," instigated by 
 Hall, the family priest, had formed the design of going 
 to London and assassinating Queen Elizabeth with his 
 own hand. He started on his journey in November, 
 1583, but talked so incautiously by the way that he 
 was arrested, conveyed to the Tower, and under a 
 threat of the rack confessed everything, accusing his 
 father-in-law as an accomplice and the priest as the 
 instigator of the crime. All three were tried and con- 
 victed, their fate being probably hastened, as Dugdale 
 
84 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 states, by the animosity of Leicester against the 
 Ardens. Somerville strangled himself in prison, and 
 Edward Arden was hanged at Tyburn. These events 
 produced a deep impression in Warwickshire, and no 
 one in the locality would be more excited by them 
 than Sir Thomas Lucy. His intensely vindictive 
 feeling against the Eomanists was exemplified a little 
 later by his bringing forward a motion in Parliament 
 in favour of devising some new and lingering tortures 
 for the execution of the Romanist conspirator Parry. 
 As Mr. Froude puts it, " Sir Thomas Lucy, Shake- 
 speare's Lucy, the original perhaps of Justice Shallow, 
 with an English fierceness at the bottom of his stupid 
 nature, having studied the details of the execution of 
 Gerard, proposed in the House of Commons ' that 
 some new law should be devised for Parry's execution, 
 such as might be thought fittest for his extraordinary 
 and horrible treason ' ". The Ardens were devoted 
 Eomanists ; the terrible calamity that had befallen the 
 family occurred only a short time before the deer- 
 stealing adventure ; and the Shakespeares themselves, 
 so far from being Puritans, were suspected by many of 
 being but indifferent Protestants. John Shakespeare' 
 was an irregular attendant at church, and soon ceased 
 to appear there at all, so that Sir Thomas Lucy pro- 
 bably regarded him as little better than a recusant. 
 In any case Sir Thomas would be likely to resent the 
 elder Shakespeare's convivial turn and profuse hos- 
 pitality as alderman and bailiff, and especially his 
 official patronage of the players and active encourage- 
 ment of their dramatic representations in the guild 
 hall. The Puritans had a rooted antipathy to the 
 stage, and to the jaundiced eye of the local justice the 
 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 85 
 
 reverses of the Shakespeares would probably appear 
 as a judgment on their way of life. He would all the 
 more eagerly seize any chance of humiliating their 
 eldest son, who still held up his head and dared to 
 look upon life as a scene of cheerful activity and 
 occasional enjoyment. The young poet, indeed, em- 
 bodied the very characteristics most opposed to Sir 
 Thomas's dark and narrow conceptions of life and duty. 
 His notions of public duty were very much restricted 
 to persecuting the Romanists and preserving the game 
 on Protestant estates. And Shakespeare probably took 
 no pains to conceal his want of sympathy with these 
 supreme objects of aristocratic and Puritanical zeal. 
 And Sir Thomas, having at length caught him, as he 
 imagined, in a technical trespass, would be sure to 
 pursue the culprit with the unrelenting rigour of his 
 hard and gloomy nature. But, whatever may have 
 been the actual or aggravating circumstances of the 
 original offence, there can be no doubt that an element 
 of truth is contained in the deer-stealing tradition. 
 The substantial facts in the story are that Shakespeare 
 in his youth was fond of woodland sport, and that in 
 one of his hunting adventures he came into collision 
 
 I with Sir Thomas Lucy's keepers, and fell under the 
 severe ban of that local potentate. The latter point is 
 indirectly confirmed by Shakespeare's inimitable sketch 
 of the formal country justice in the second part of 
 "Henry IV." and the"" Merry Wives of Windsor," 
 Eobert Shallow, Esq., being sufficiently identified with 
 Sir Thomas Lucy by the pointed allusion to the coat of 
 arms, as well as by other allusions of a more indirect 
 but hardly less decisive kind. To talk of the sketch as 
 an act of revenge is to treat it too seriously, or rather 
 
86 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 in too didactic and pedestrian a spirit. Having been 
 brought into close relations with the justice, Shake- 
 speare could hardly be expected to resist the temptation 
 of turning to dramatic account so admirable a subject 
 for humorous portraiture. The other point of the 
 tradition, Shakespeare's fondness for woodland life, is 
 supported by the internal evidence of his writings, and 
 especially by the numerous allusions to the subject in 
 his poems and earlier plays. The many references to 
 woods and sports in the poems are well known ; and 
 in the early plays the allusions are not less frequent 
 and in some respects even more striking. Having no 
 space, however, to give these in detail, a general re- 
 ference must suffice. The entire action of " Love's 
 Labour's Lost " takes place in a royal park, while the 
 scene of the most critical events of the " Two Gentle- 
 men of Verona" is a forest inhabited by generous 
 outlaws, whose offences appear to have been youthful 
 follies, and who on being pardoned by the duke become 
 his loyal followers. In these early plays it seems as 
 though Shakespeare could hardly conceive of a royal 
 palace or capital city without a forest close at hand as 
 the scene of princely sport, criminal intrigue, or fairy 
 enchantment. Outside the gates of Athens swept over 
 hill and dale the wonderful forest which is the scene 
 of the " Midsummer Night's Dream " ; and in " Titus 
 Andronicus " imperial Borne seems to be almost sur- 
 rounded by the brightness and terror, the inspiring 
 charm and sombre shades of rolling forest lawns and 
 ravines, the " ruthless, vast, and gloomy woods ". 
 
 There can be no doubt, therefore, that during the 
 years of home life at Stratford Shakespeare was often 
 in the forest. But in the latter part of the time he 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 87 
 
 would be found still more frequently hastening through 
 the fields to Shottery, paying long visits at the Hatha- 
 way farm, followed by late and reluctant leave-takings. 
 For the next important fact in Shakespeare's history 
 is his marriage with Anne Hathaway. This event, or 
 rather the formal and ecclesiastical part of it, took 
 place in the end of November, 1582, the bond for the 
 licence from the Consistory Court being dated on the 
 28th of the month. Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps has, how- 
 ever, sufficiently proved by detailed instances that the 
 formal and public part of the ceremony would, accord- 
 ing to the usage of the time, have been preceded some 
 months earlier by the betrothal or pre-contract, which 
 was in itself of legal validity. Shakespeare's marriage 
 may therefore be dated from the summer of 1582, he 
 being then in his nineteenth year, while his bride was 
 between seven and eight years older. Many of the 
 poet's biographers have assumed that the marriage 
 was a hasty, unsuitable, and in its results an unhappy 
 one. It is necessary therefore to repeat with all possible 
 emphasis the well-founded statement of Mr. Halliwell- 
 Phillipps that "there is not a particle of direct evidence " 
 for either of these suppositions. The marriage could 
 hardly have been a hasty one, for, as we have seen, the 
 two families had been intimate for fifteen years, and 
 Shakespeare had known Anne Hathaway from his 
 early boyhood. As to whether it was suitable or not 
 Shakespeare himself was the best and only adequate 
 judge, and there is not, in the whole literature of the 
 subject, even the shadow of a successful appeal against 
 his decision. And, so far from the marriage having 
 been unhappy, all the evidence within our reach goes 
 to show that it was not only a union of mutual affection 
 
88 SHAKE SPEAKE. 
 
 but a most fortunate event for the poet himself, as well 
 as for the wife and mother who remained at the head 
 of his family, venerated and loved by her children, and 
 a devoted helpmate to her husband to the very end. 
 Looking at the matter in its wider aspects, and especi- 
 ally in relation to his future career, it may be said that 
 Shakespeare's early marriage gave him at the most 
 emotional and unsettled period of life a fixed centre of 
 affection and a supreme motive to prompt and fruitful 
 exertion. This would have a salutary and steadying 
 effect on a nature so richly endowed with plastic fancy 
 and passionate impulse, combined with rare powers of 
 reflective foresight and self-control. If Shakespeare's 
 range and depth of emotional and imaginative genius 
 had not been combined with unusual force of character 
 and strength of ethical and artistic purpose, and these 
 elements had not been early stimulated to sustained 
 activity, he could never have had so great and un- 
 interrupted a career. And nothing perhaps is a more 
 direct proof of Shakespeare's manly character than the 
 prompt and serious way in which, from the first, he 
 assumed the full responsibility of his acts, and unflinch- 
 ingly faced the wider range of duties they entailed. 
 He himself has told us that 
 
 " Love is too young to know what conscience is : 
 Yet who knows not conscience is born of love ? " 
 
 And it remains true that conscience, courage, simplicity, 
 and nobleness of conduct are all, in generous natures, 
 evoked and strengthened by the vital touch of that 
 regenerating power. Shakespeare's whole course was 
 changed by the new influence ; and with his growing 
 responsibilities his character seems to have rapidly 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 89 
 
 matured, and his powers to have found fresh and more 
 effective development. His first child Susanna was 
 born in May, 1583, and, as she was baptised on the 
 26th, the day of her birth may have been the 23rd, 
 which would be exactly a month after her father com- 
 pleted his nineteenth year. In February, 1585, the 
 family was unexpectedly enlarged by the birth of twins, 
 a boy and a girl, who were named respectively Hamnet 
 and Judith, after Hamnet and Judith Sadler, inhabitants 
 of Stratford, who were lifelong friends of Shakespeare. 
 Before he had attained his majority the poet had thus 
 a wife and three children dependent upon him, with 
 little opportunity or means apparently of advancing his 
 fortunes in Stratford. The situation was in itself 
 sufficiently serious. But it was complicated by his 
 father's increasing embarrassments and multiplied 
 family claims. Four children still remained in Henley 
 Street to be provided for, the youngest, Edmund, born 
 in May, 1580, being scarcely five years old. John 
 Shakespeare, too, was being sued by various creditors, 
 and apparently in some danger of being arrested for 
 debt. All this was enough to make a much older man 
 than the poet look anxiously about him. But, with 
 the unfailing sense and sagacity he displayed in practical 
 affairs, he seems to have formed a sober and just 
 estimate of his own powers, and made a careful survey 
 of the various fields available for their remunerative 
 exercise. As the result of his deliberations he decided 
 in favour of trying the metropolitan stage and theatre. 
 He had already tested his faculty of acting by occasional 
 essays on the provincial stage ; and, once in London 
 amongst the players, where new pieces were constantly 
 required, he would have full scope for the exercise of 
 
90 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 his higher powers as a dramatic poet. At the outset 
 he could indeed only expect to discharge the lower 
 function, but, with the growing popular demand for 
 dramatic representations, the actor's calling, though 
 not without its social drawbacks, was in the closing 
 decades of the sixteenth century a lucrative one. 
 Greene, in his autobiographical sketch Never Too Late, 
 one of the most interesting of his prose tracts, illustrates 
 this point in the account he gives of his early dealings 
 with the players and experiences as a writer for the 
 stage. Speaking through his hero Francesco, he says 
 that " when his fortunes were at the lowest ebb he fell 
 in amongst a company of players who persuaded him 
 to try his wit in writing of comedies, tragedies, or 
 pastorals, and if he could perform anything worth the 
 stage, then they would largely reward him for his 
 pains ". Succeeding in the work, he was so well paid 
 that he soon became comparatively wealthy, and went 
 about with a well-filled purse. Although writing from 
 the author's rather than the actor's point of view, Greene 
 intimates that the players grew rapidly rich and were 
 entitled both to praise and profit so long as they were 
 "neither covetous nor insolent". In the Return from 
 Parnassus (1601) the large sums, fortunes indeed, realised 
 by good actors are referred to as matter of notoriety. 
 One of the disappointed academic scholars, indeed, 
 moralising on the fact with some bitterness, exclaims : 
 
 " England affords those glorious vagabonds, 
 That carried erst their fardles on their backs, 
 Coursers to ride on through the gazing streets, 
 Sweeping it in their glaring satin suits, 
 And pages to attend their masterships : 
 With mouthing words that better wits have framed 
 They purchase lands, and now esquires are made ". 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 91 
 
 And in a humorous sketch entitled JKatseis Ghost, and 
 published in the first decade of the seventeenth century, 
 an apparent reference to Shakespeare himself brings 
 out the same point. The hero of the tract, Katsey, a 
 highwayman, having compelled a set of strolling players 
 to act before him, advised their leader to leave the 
 country and get to London, where, having a good 
 presence for the stage and a turn for the work, he 
 would soon fill his pockets, adding : " When thou feelest 
 thy purse well-lined, buy thee some place of lordship 
 in the country, that, growing weary of playing, thy 
 money may bring thee dignity and reputation-". The 
 player, thanking him for his advice, replies: "I have 
 heard indeed of some that have gone to London very 
 meanly, who have in time become exceedingly wealthy ". 
 The movement to the London stage was therefore from 
 a worldly point of view a prudent one, and for the 
 higher purposes of Shakespeare's life it was equally 
 wise and necessary. For besides the economic and 
 practical considerations in favour of the step there 
 must have pressed on the poet's mind the importance 
 of a wider sphere of life and action for the enlargement 
 of his inward horizon, and the effective development of 
 his poetical and dramatic gifts. 
 
 The exact date of this event of Shakespeare's 
 leaving Stratford for London cannot be fixed with 
 any certainty. All the probabilities of the case, how- 
 ever, indicate that it must have taken place between 
 the spring of 1585 and the autumn of 1587. In the 
 latter year three of the leading companies visited Strat- 
 ford, those belonging to the queen, Lord Leicester, and 
 Lord Essex ; and, as Lord Leicester's included three 
 of Shakespeare's fellow-townsmen, Burbage, Heminge, 
 
92 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 and Greene, it is not improbable that he may then 
 have decided on trying his fortune in London. At the 
 same time it is quite possible, and on some grounds 
 even likely, that the step may have been taken some- 
 what earlier. But for the five years between 1587 and 
 1592 we have no direct knowledge of Shakespeare's 
 movements at all, the period being a complete bio- 
 graphical blank, dimly illuminated at the outset by one 
 or two doubtful traditions. We have indeed the as- 
 surance that after leaving Stratford he continued to 
 visit his native town at least once every year ; and if 
 he had left in 1586 we may confidently assume that 
 he returned the next year for the purpose, amongst 
 others, of consulting with his father and mother about 
 the Asbies mortgage and of taking part with them in 
 their action against John Lambert. His uniting with 
 them in this action deserves special notice, as showing 
 that he continued to take the keenest personal interest 
 in all home affairs, and, although living mainly in 
 London, was still looked upon, not only as the eldest 
 son, but as the adviser and friend of the family. The 
 anecdotes of Shakespeare's occupations on going to 
 London are, that at first he was employed in a com- 
 paratively humble capacity about the theatre, and that 
 for a time he took charge of the horses of those who 
 rode to see the plays, and was so successful in this 
 work that he soon had a number of juvenile assistants 
 who were known as Shakespeare's boys. Even in 
 their crude form these traditions embody a tribute to 
 Shakespeare's business promptitude and skill. If there 
 is any truth in them they may be taken to indicate that, 
 while filling some subordinate post in the theatre, 
 Shakespeare perceived a defective point in the local 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 93 
 
 arrangements, or heard the complaints of the mounted 
 gallants as to the difficulty of putting up their horses. 
 His provisions for meeting the difficulty seem to have 
 been completely and even notoriously successful. There 
 were open sheds or temporary stables in connection 
 with the theatre in Shoreditch ; and Shakespeare's boys, 
 if the tradition is true, probably each took charge of a 
 horse in these stables while its owner was at the play. 
 But in any case this would be simply a brief episode in 
 Shakespeare's multifarious employments when he first 
 reached the scene of his active labours in London. He 
 must s.oon have had more serious and absorbing pro- 
 fessional occupations in the green room, on the stage, 
 and in the laboratory of his own teeming brain, " the 
 quick forge and working house of thought ". 
 
 But his leisure hours during his first years in 
 London would naturally be devoted to continuing his 
 education and equipping himself as fully as possible 
 for his future work. It was probably during this time, 
 as Mr. Halliwell-Phillipps suggests, that he acquired 
 the working knowledge of French and Italian that his 
 writings show he must have possessed. And it is 
 perhaps now possible to point out the sources whence 
 his knowledge of these languages was derived, or at 
 least the master under whom he chiefly studied them. 
 The most celebrated and accomplished teacher of 
 French and Italian in Shakespeare's day was the re- 
 solute John Florio, who, after leaving Magdalen College, 
 Oxford, lived for years in London, engaged in tutorial 
 and literary work, and intimately associated with 
 eminent men of letters and their noble patrons. After 
 the accession of James L, Florio was made tutor to 
 Prince Henry, received an appointment about the 
 
94 SHAKESPEABE. 
 
 Court, became the friend and personal favourite of 
 Queen Anne (to whom he dedicated the second edition 
 of his Italian dictionary, entitled the World of Words), 
 and died full of years and honours in 1625, having 
 survived Shakespeare nine years. Florio had married 
 the sister of Daniel the poet, and Ben Jonson presented 
 a copy of the Fox to him, with the inscription, " To his 
 loving father and worthy friend Master John Florio, 
 Ben Jonson seals this testimony of his friendship and 
 love ". Daniel writes a poem of some length in praise 
 of his translation of Montaigne, while other contem- 
 porary poets contribute commendatory verses which 
 are prefixed to his other publications. There are sub- 
 stantial reasons for believing that Shakespeare was 
 also one of Florio's friends, and that during his early 
 years in London he evinced his friendship by yielding 
 for once to the fashion of writing this kind of eulogistic 
 verse. Prefixed to Florio's Second Fruits, Prof. Minto 
 discovered a sonnet so superior and characteristic that 
 he was impressed with the conviction that Shakespeare 
 must have written it. The internal evidence is in 
 favour of this conclusion, while Mr. Minto's critical 
 analysis and comparison of its thought and diction 
 with Shakespeare's early work tends strongly to sup- 
 port the reality and value of the discovery. In his 
 next work, produced four years later, Florio claims the 
 sonnet as the work of a friend " who loved better to be 
 a poet than to be called one,'' and vindicates it from 
 the indirect attack of a hostile critic, H. S., who had 
 also disparaged the work in which it appeared. There 
 are other points of connection between Florio and 
 Shakespeare. The only known volume that certainly 
 belonged to Shakespeare and contains his autograph is 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 95 
 
 Florio's version of Montaigne's Essays in the British 
 Museum ; and critics have from time to time produced 
 evidence to show that Shakespeare must have read it 
 carefully, and was well acquainted with its contents. 
 Victor Hugo in a powerful critical passage strongly 
 supports this view. The most striking single proof of 
 the point is Gonzalo's ideal republic in the " Tempest," 
 which is simply a passage from Florio's version turned 
 into blank verse. Florio and Shakespeare were both, 
 moreover, intimate personal friends of the young Earl 
 of Southampton, who, in harmony with his generous 
 character and strong literary tastes, was the munificent 
 patron of each. Shakespeare, it will be remembered, 
 dedicated his "Venus and Adonis " and his " Lucrece " 
 to this young nobleman ; and three years later, in 1598, 
 Florio dedicated the first edition of his Italian diction- 
 ary to the earl in terms that almost recall Shakespeare's 
 words. Shakespeare had said, in addressing the earl : 
 " What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours, 
 being part in all I have devoted yours ". And Florio 
 says : " In truth I acknowledge an entire debt, not only 
 of my best knowledge, but of all, yea of more than I know 
 or can to your bounteous lordship, most noble, most 
 virtuous, and most honourable Earl of Southampton, 
 in whose pay and patronage I have lived some years, 
 to whom I owe and vow the years I have to live ". 
 Shakespeare was also familiar with Florio's earlier 
 works, his First Fruits and Second Fruits, which were 
 simply carefully prepared manuals for the study of 
 Italian, containing an outline of the grammar, a selec- 
 tion of dialogues in parallel columns of Italian and 
 English, and longer extracts from classical Italian 
 writers in prose and verse. We have collected various 
 
96 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 points of indirect evidences showing Shakespeare's 
 familiarity with these manuals, but these being numer- 
 ous and minute cannot be given here. It must suffice 
 to refer in illustration of this point to a single instance 
 the lines in praise of Venice which Holofernes gives 
 forth with so much unction in " Love's Labour's Lost ". 
 The First Fruits was published in 1578, and was for some 
 years the most popular manual for the study of Italian. 
 It is the book that Shakespeare would naturally have 
 used in attempting to acquire a knowledge of the 
 language after his arrival in London ; and on finding 
 that the author was the friend of some of his literary 
 associates he would probably have sought his acquaint- 
 ance and secured his personal help. As Florio was 
 also a French scholar and habitually taught both 
 languages, Shakespeare probably owed to him his 
 knowledge of French as well as of Italian. If the 
 sonnet is accepted as Shakespeare's work he must 
 have made Florio's acquaintance within a year or two 
 after going to London, as in 1591 he appears in the 
 character of a personal friend and well-wisher. In any 
 case Shakespeare would almost certainly have met 
 Florio a few years later at the house of Lord South- 
 ampton, with whom the Italian scholar seems to have 
 occasionally resided. It also appears that he was in 
 the habit of visiting at several titled houses, amongst 
 others those of the Earl of Bedford and Sir John 
 Harrington. It seems also probable that he may have 
 assisted Harrington in his translation of Ariosto. An- 
 other and perhaps even more direct link connecting 
 Shakespeare with Florio during his early years in 
 London is found in their common relation to the family 
 of Lord Derby. In the year 1585 Florio translated a 
 

 SHAKE SPE ABE. 97 
 
 letter of news from Rome, giving an account of the 
 sudden death of Pope Gregory XIII. and the election 
 of his successor. This translation, published in July, 
 1585, was dedicated " To the Bight Excellent and 
 Honourable Lord, Henry, Earl of Derby," in terms 
 expressive of Florio's strong personal obligations to 
 the earl and devotion to his service. Three years later, 
 on the death of Leicester in 1588, Lord Derby's eldest 
 son, Ferdinando, Lord Strange, became the patron of 
 Leicester's company of players, which Shakespeare had 
 recently joined. The new patron must have taken 
 special interest in the company, as they soon became 
 (chiefly through his influence) great favourites at Court, 
 superseding the queen's players, and enjoying some- 
 thing like a practical monopoly of royal representations. 
 Shakespeare would thus have the opportunity of making 
 Florio's acquaintance at the outset of his London 
 career, and everything tends to show that he did not 
 miss the chance of numbering amongst his personal 
 friends so accomplished a scholar, so alert, energetic, 
 and original a man of letters, as the resolute John 
 Florio. Warburton, it is well known, had coupled 
 Florio's name with Shakespeare in the last century. 
 He suggested, or rather asserted, that Florio was the 
 original of Holofernes in "Love's Labour's Lost ". Of all 
 Warburton' s arbitrary conjectures and dogmatic as- 
 sumptions this is perhaps the most infelicitous. That a 
 scholar and man of the world like Florio, with marked 
 literary powers of his own, the intimate friend arid 
 associate of some of the most eminent poets of the day, 
 living in princely and noble circles, honoured by royal 
 personages and welcomed at noble houses, that such 
 a man should be selected as the original of a rustic 
 
 7 
 
98 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 pedant and dominie like Holof ernes, is surely the 
 climax of reckless guesswork and absurd suggestion. 
 There is, it is true, a distant connection between 
 Holofernes and Italy the pedant being a well-known 
 figure in the Italian comedies that obviously affected 
 Shakespeare's early work. This usage calls forth a 
 kind of sigh from the easy-going and tolerant Mon- 
 taigne as he thinks of his early tutors and youthful 
 interest in knowledge. " I have in my youth," he tells 
 us, " oftentimes been vexed to see a pedant brought in 
 in most of Italian comedies for a vice or sport-maker, 
 and the nick-name of magister (dominie) to be of no 
 better signification amongst us." We may be sure that, 
 if Shakespeare knew Florio before he produced " Love's 
 Labour's Lost," it was not as a sport-maker to be mocked 
 at, but as a friend and literary associate to whom he 
 felt personally indebted. 
 
 But, whatever his actual relation to the Italian 
 scholar may have been, Shakespeare, on reaching 
 London and beginning to breathe its literary atmo- 
 sphere, would naturally betake himself to the study of 
 Italian. At various altitudes the English Parnassus 
 was at that time fanned by soft airs, swept by invigo- 
 rating breezes, or darkened by gloomy and infected 
 vapours from the south. In other words, the influence 
 of Italian literature, so dominant in England during 
 the second half of the sixteenth century, may be said to 
 have reached its highest point at the very time when 
 Shakespeare entered on his poetic and dramatic 
 labours. This influence was in part a revival of the 
 strong impulse communicated to English literature 
 from Italy in Chaucer's day. The note of the revival 
 was struck in the title of Thomas's excellent Italian 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 99 
 
 manual, " Principal rules of Italian grammar, with a 
 dictionarie for the better understandyng of Boccace, 
 PetrarcJia, and Dante" (1550). The first fruits of the re- 
 vival were the lyrical poems of Surrey and Wyatt, written 
 somewhat earlier, but published for the first time in 
 Tottle's Miscellany (1557). The sonnets of these poets 
 the first ever written in English produced in a few 
 years the whole musical choir of Elizabethan sonneteers. 
 Surrey and Wyatt were sympathetic students of Pet- 
 rarch, and, as Puttenham says, reproduced in their 
 sonnets and love poems much of the musical sweetness, 
 the tender and refined sentiment, of the Petrarchian 
 lyric. This perhaps can hardly in strictness of speech 
 be called a revival, for, strong as was the influence of 
 Boccaccio, and in a less degree of Dante, during the 
 first period of English literature, the lyrical poetry of the 
 south, as represented by Petrarch, affected English poetry 
 almost for the first time in the sixteenth century. This 
 influence, as subsequently developed by Lyly in his 
 prose comedies and romances, indirectly affected the 
 drama, and clear traces of it are to be found in Shake- 
 speare's own work. Surrey, however, rendered the 
 Elizabethans a still greater service by introducing 
 from Italy the unrhymed verse, which, with the truest 
 instinct, was adopted by the great dramatists as the 
 metrical vehicle best fitted to meet the requirements 
 of the most flexible and expressive form of the poetic 
 art. But, although in part the revival of a previous 
 impulse, the Italian literature that most powerfully 
 affected English poetry during the Elizabethan period 
 was in the main new. During the interval the prolific 
 genius of the south had put forth fresh efforts which 
 combined, in new and characteristic products, the 
 
100 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 forms of classical poetry and the substance of southern 
 thought and feeling with the spirit of mediaeval romance. 
 The chivalrous and martial epics of Ariosto and Tasso 
 represented a new school of poetry which embraced 
 within its expanding range every department of imagin- 
 ative activity. There appeared in rapid succession 
 romantic pastorals, romantic elegies, romantic satires, 
 and romantic dramas, as well as romantic epics. The 
 epics were occupied with marvels of knightly daring 
 and chivalrous adventure, expressed in flowing and 
 melodious numbers ; while the literature as a whole 
 dealt largely in the favourite elements of ideal senti- 
 ment, learned allusion, and elaborate ornament, and 
 was brightened at intervals by grave and sportive, by 
 highly wrought but fanciful, pictures of courtly and 
 Arcadian life. While Sidney and Spenser represented 
 in England the new school of allegorical and romantic 
 pastoral and epic, Shakespeare and his associates be- 
 took themselves to the study of the romantic drama 
 and the whole dramatic element in recent and con- 
 temporary southern literature. The Italian drama 
 proper, so far as it affected the form adopted by English 
 playwrights, had indeed virtually done its work before 
 any of Shakespeare's characteristic pieces were pro- 
 duced. His immediate predecessors, Greene, Peele, 
 and Lodge, Nash, Kyd, and Marlowe, had all probably 
 studied Italian models more carefully than Shakespeare 
 himself ever did ; and the result is seen in the appear- 
 ance among these later Elizabethans of the romantic 
 drama, which united the better elements of the English 
 academic and popular plays with features of diction 
 and fancy, incident and structure, that were virtually 
 new. Many members of this dramatic group were, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 101 
 
 like Greene, good Italian scholars, had themselves 
 travelled in Italy, knew the Italian stage at first hand, 
 and, as their writings show, were well acquainted with ,. 
 recent Italian literature. But the dramatic* element ' 
 in that literature extended far beyohd ,4'frd ci^lp'',ojT- 
 regular plays, whether tragedies, comedies, or' pastorals". 
 It included the collections of short prose stories which 
 appeared, or were published for the first time, in such 
 numbers during the sixteenth century, the novels or 
 novelettes of Ser Giovanni, Cinthio, Bandello, and their 
 associates. These stories, consisting of the humorous 
 and tragic incidents of actual life, told in a vivid and 
 direct way, naturally attracted the attention of the 
 dramatists. We know from the result that Shake- 
 speare must have studied them with some care, as he 
 derived from this source the plots and incidents of at 
 least a dozen of his plays. Many of the stories, it is true, 
 had already been translated, either directly from the 
 Italian, or indirectly from French and Latin versions. 
 Of Cinthio's hundred tales, however, only two or three 
 are known to have been rendered into English ; and 
 Shakespeare derived the story of Othello from the un- 
 translated part of this collection. Many of the Italian 
 stories touched on darker crimes or more aggravated 
 forms of violence than those naturally prompted by 
 jealousy and revenge, and are indeed revolting from the 
 atrocities of savage cruelty and lust related so calmly 
 as to betray a kind of cynical insensibility to their true 
 character. Shakespeare, however, with the sound judg- 
 ment and strong ethical sense that guided the working 
 of his dramatic genius, chose the better and healthier 
 materials of this literature, leaving the morbid excesses 
 of criminal passion to Webster and Ford. But the 
 
102 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 Italian influence on Shakespeare's work is not to be 
 estimated merely by the outlines of plot and incident 
 he borrowed from southern sources and used as a kind 
 of .canva-b -for- his matchless portraiture of human char- 
 acter? &.,nd action. It is apparent also in points of 
 structure' and diction, in types of character and shades 
 of local colouring, which realise and express in a con- 
 centrated form the bright and lurid, the brilliant and 
 passionate, features of southern life. The great majority 
 of the dramatis personce in his comedies, as well as in 
 some of the tragedies, have Italian names, and many of 
 them, such as Mercutio and Gratiano on the one hand, 
 lachimo and lago on the other, are as Italian in nature 
 as in name. The moonlight scene in the " Merchant of 
 Venice" is southern in every detail and incident. And as 
 M. Philarete Chasles justly points out, " Borneo and Juliet " 
 is Italian throughout, alike in colouring, incident, and 
 passion. The distinctive influence is further traceable 
 in Shakespeare's use of Italian words, phrases, and pro- 
 verbs, some of which, such as " tranect " (from tranare), 
 or possibly, as Rowe suggested, " traject " (traghetto), 
 are of special local significance. In the person of 
 Hamlet Shakespeare even appears as a critic of Italian 
 style. Referring to the murderer who in the players' 
 tragedy poisons the sleeping duke, Hamlet exclaims : 
 " He poisons him in the garden for his estate. His 
 name's Gonzago : the story is extant and written in 
 very choice Italian." In further illustration of this 
 point Mr. Grant White has noted some striking turns 
 of thought and phrase which seem to show that Shake- 
 speare must have read parts of Berni and Ariosto in the 
 original. No doubt, in the case of Italian poets, as in 
 the case of Latin authors like Ovid, whose works he 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 103 
 
 was familiar with in the original, Shakespeare would 
 also diligently read the translations, especially the 
 translations into English verse. For in reading such 
 works as Golding's Ovid, Harrington's Ariosto, and 
 Fairfax's Tasso, he would be increasing his command 
 over the elements of expressive phrase and diction, 
 which were the verbal instruments, the material vehicle, 
 of his art. But, besides studying the translations of 
 the Italian poets and prose writers made available for 
 English readers, he would naturally desire to possess, 
 and no doubt acquired for himself, the key that would 
 unlock the whole treasure-house of Italian literature. The 
 evidence of Shakespeare's knowledge of French is more 
 abundant and decisive, so much so as hardly to need 
 express illustration. There can be little doubt there- 
 fore that, during his early years in London, he acquired 
 a fair knowledge both of French and Italian. 
 
 But, while pursuing ^these collateral aids to his 
 higher work, there is abundant evidence that Shake- 
 speare also devoted himself to that work itself. As 
 early as 1592 he is publicly recognised, not only as an 
 actor of distinction, but as a dramatist whose work had 
 excited the envy and indignation of his contemporaries, 
 and especially of one so accomplished and so eminent, 
 so good a scholar and master of the playwright's craft, 
 as Kobert Greene. Greene had, it is true, a good deal 
 of the irritability and excitable temper often found in 
 the subordinate ranks of poetical genius, and he often 
 talks of himself, his doings, and associates in a highly- 
 coloured and extravagant way. But his reference to 
 Shakespeare is specially deliberate, being in the form 
 of a solemn and last appeal to his friends amongst the 
 scholarly dramatists to relinquish their connection with 
 
104 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 the presumptuous and ungrateful stage. In his Groats- 
 worth of Wit, published by his friend Chettle a few 
 weeks after his death, Greene urges three of his friends, 
 apparently Marlowe, Lodge, and Peele, to give up 
 writing for the players. " Base-minded men, all three 
 of you, if by my misery ye be not warned ; for unto 
 none of you like me sought those burs to cleave ; those 
 puppets, I mean, who speak from our mouths, those 
 anticks garnisht in our colours. Is it not strange that 
 I, to whom they have all been beholding ; is it not like 
 that you, to whom they have all been beholding, shall 
 (were ye in that case that I am now) be both of them 
 at once forsaken ? Yes, trust them not ; for there is an 
 upstart crow, beautified in our feathers, that, with his 
 tiger's heart wrapt in a player's hide, supposes he is as 
 well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of 
 you, and being an absolute Johannes fac totum, is, in his 
 own conceit, the only Shakescene in a country. Oh 
 that I might intreat your rare wits to be employed in 
 more profitable courses, and let these apes imitate your 
 past excellence, and never more acquaint them with 
 your admired inventions." This curious passage 
 tells us indirectly a good deal about Shakespeare. It 
 bears decisive testimony to his assured position and 
 rapid advance in his profession. The very term of 
 reproach applied to him, " Johannes Factotum," is a 
 tribute to Shakespeare's industry and practical ability. 
 From the beginning of his career he must have been in 
 the widest and best sense a utility man, ready to do 
 any work connected with the theatre and stage, and 
 eminently successful in anything he undertook. In the 
 first instance he had evidently made his mark as an 
 actor, as it is in that character he is referred to by 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 105 
 
 Greene, and denounced for going beyond his province 
 and usurping the functions of the dramatists. Greene's 
 words imply that Shakespeare not only held a foremost 
 place as an actor, but that he was already distinguished 
 by his dramatic success in revising and rewriting exist- 
 ing plays. This is confirmed by the parodied line from 
 the third part of "Henry VI.," recently revised if not 
 originally written by Shakespeare. This must have 
 been produced before Greene's death, which took place 
 in September, 1592. Indeed, all the three parts of 
 " Henry VI." in the revised form appear to have been 
 acted during the spring and summer of that year. It 
 is not improbable that two or three of Shakespeare's early 
 comedies may also have been produced before Greene's 
 death. And if so, his resentment, as an academic 
 scholar, against the country actor who had not only 
 become a dramatist, but had excelled Greene himself 
 in his chosen field of romantic comedy, becomes intelli- 
 gible enough. Even in his wrath, however, Greene 
 bears eloquent witness to Shakespeare's diligence, 
 ability, and marked success, both as actor and play- 
 wright. All this is fully confirmed by the more de- 
 liberate and detailed language of Chettle's apology 
 already quoted. Of Shakespeare's amazing industry and 
 conspicuous success the next few years supply ample 
 evidence. Within six or seven years he not only pro- 
 duced the brilliant reflective and descriptive poems of 
 "Venus and Adonis" and"Lucrece,"but at least fifteen of 
 his dramas, including tragedies, comedies, and historical 
 plays. Having found his true vocation, Shakespeare 
 works during these years as a master, having full com- 
 mand over the materials and resources of his art. The 
 dramas produced have a fulness of life and a richness 
 
106 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 of imagery, a sense of joyousness and power, that 
 speak of the writer's exultant absorption and conscious 
 triumph in his chosen work. The sparkling comedies 
 and great historical plays belonging to this period evince 
 the ease and delight of an exuberant mind realising its 
 matured creations. 
 
 Nor after all is this result so very surprising. 
 Shakespeare entered on his London career at the very 
 moment best fitted for the full development of his 
 dramatic genius. From the accession of Elizabeth all 
 the dominant impulses and leading events of her reign 
 had prepared the way for the splendid triumph of policy 
 and arms that closed its third decade, and for the yet 
 more splendid literary triumph of the full-orbed drama 
 that followed. After the gloom and terror of Mary's 
 reign the coming of Elizabeth to the crown was hailed 
 with exultation by the people, and seemed in itself to 
 open a new and brighter page of the nation's history. 
 Elizabeth's personal charms and mental gifts, her high 
 spirit and dauntless courage, her unfailing political 
 tact and judgment, her frank bearing and popular 
 address, combined with her unaffected love for her 
 people and devotion to their interests, awakened the 
 strongest feelings of personal loyalty, and kindled into 
 passionate ardour the spirit of national pride and 
 patriotism that made the whole kingdom one. The 
 most powerful movements of the time directly tended 
 to reinforce and concentrate these awakened energies. 
 While the Keformation and Eenaissance impulses had 
 liberalised men's minds and enlarged their moral hori- 
 zon, the effect of both was at first of a political and 
 practical rather than of a purely religious or literary 
 kind. The strong and exhilarating sense of civil and 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 107 
 
 religious freedom realised through the Keformation 
 was inseparably associated with the exultant spirit of 
 nationality it helped to stimulate and diffuse. The 
 pope, and his emissaries the Jesuits, were looked upon 
 far more as foreign enemies menacing the independence 
 of the kingdom than as religious foes and firebrands 
 seeking to destroy the newly established faith. The 
 conspiracies, fomented from abroad, that gathered 
 around the captive Queen of Scots, the plots succes- 
 sively formed for the assassination of Elizabeth, were 
 regarded as murderous assaults on the nation's life, and 
 the Englishmen who organised them abroad or aided 
 them at home were denounced and prosecuted with 
 pitiless severity as traitors to their country. Protes- 
 tantism thus came to be largely identified with patriot- 
 ism, and all the active forces of the kingdom, its rising 
 wealth, energy, and intelligence, were concentrated to 
 defend the rights of the liberated empire against the 
 assaults of despotic Europe represented by Rome and 
 Spain. These forces gained volume and impetus as the 
 nation was thrilled by the details of Alva's ruthless 
 butcheries, and the awful massacre of St. Bartholomew, 
 until at length they were organised and hurled with 
 resistless effect against the grandest naval and military 
 armament ever equipped by a Continental power, an 
 armament that had been sent forth with the assurance 
 of victory by the wealthiest, most absolute, and most 
 determined monarch of the time. There was a vigor- 
 ous moral element in that national struggle and triumph. 
 It was the spirit of freedom, of the energies liberated 
 by the revolt from Eome, and illuminated by the fair 
 humanities of Greece and Italy, that nerved the arm of 
 that happy breed of men in the day of battle, and 
 
108 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 enabled them to strike with fatal effect against the 
 abettors of despotic rule in Church and State. The 
 material results of the victory were at once apparent. 
 England became mistress of the seas, and rose to an 
 assured position in Europe as a political and maritime 
 power of the first order. The literary results at home 
 were equally striking. The whole conflict reacted 
 powerfully on the genius of the race, quickening into 
 life its latent seeds of reflective knowledge and wisdom, 
 of poetical and dramatic art. 
 
 Of these effects the rapid growth and development 
 of the national drama was the most brilliant and char- 
 acteristic. There was indeed at the time a unique 
 stimulus in this direction. The greater number of 
 the eager, excited listeners who crowded the rude 
 theatres from floor to roof had shared in the adventur- 
 ous exploits of the age, while all felt the keenest 
 interest in life and action. And the stage represented 
 with admirable breadth and fidelity the struggling 
 forces, the mingled elements, humorous and tragic, the 
 passionate hopes, deep-rooted animosities, and fitful 
 misgivings of those eventful years. The spirit of the 
 time had made personal daring a' common heritage : 
 with noble and commoner, gentle and simple, alike, 
 love of queen and country was a romantic passion, 
 and heroic self-devotion at the call of either a beaten 
 way of ordinary life. To act with energy and decision 
 in the face of danger, to strike at once against any odds 
 in the cause of freedom and independence, was the 
 desire and ambition of all. This complete unity of 
 national sentiment and action became the great char- 
 acteristic of the time. The dangers threatening the 
 newly liberated kingdom were too real and pressing to 
 
SHAKESPEAKE. 109 
 
 admit of anything like seriously divided councils, or 
 bitterly hostile parties within the realm. Everything 
 thus conspired to give an extraordinary degree of con- 
 centration and brilliancy to the national life. For the 
 twenty years that followed the destruction of the 
 Armada, London was the centre and focus of that life. 
 Here gathered the soldiers and officers who had fought 
 against Spain in the Low Countries, against France in 
 Scotland, and against Rome in Ireland. Along the 
 river side, and in noble houses about the Strand, were 
 the hardy mariners and adventurous sea captains, such 
 as Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, who had driven 
 their dauntless keels into unknown seas, who had 
 visited strange lands and alien races in order to enlarge 
 the knowledge, increase the dominions, and augment 
 the wealth of their fellow-countrymen. Here assem- 
 bled the noble councillors, scholars, and cavaliers whose 
 foresight and skill guided the helm of state, whose 
 accomplishment in letters and arms gave refinement 
 and distinction to court pageants and ceremonials, and 
 whose patronage and support of the rising drama 
 helped to make the metropolitan theatre the great 
 centre of genius and art, the great school of historical 
 teaching, the great mirror of human nature in all the 
 breadth and emphasis of its interests, convictions, and 
 activities. The theatre indeed was the living organ 
 through which all the marvellous and mingled experi- 
 ences of a time incomparably rich in vital elements 
 found expression. There was no other, no organised 
 or adequate means, of popular expression at all. Books 
 were a solitary entertainment in the hands of few ; 
 newspapers did not exist ; and the modern relief of 
 incessant public meetings was, fortunately perhaps, an 
 
110 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 unknown luxury. And yet, amidst the plenitude of 
 national life centred in London, the need for some 
 common organ of expression was never more urgent or 
 imperious. New and almost inexhaustible springs from 
 the well-heads of intellectual life had for years been 
 gradually fertilising the productive English mind. The 
 heroic life of the past, in clear outline and stately 
 movement, had been revealed in the recovered master- 
 pieces of Greece and Rome. The stores of more recent 
 wisdom and knowledge, discovery and invention, science 
 and art, were poured continually into the literary ex- 
 chequer of the nation, and widely diffused amongst 
 eager and open-minded recipients. Under this com- 
 bined stimulus the national intellect and imagination 
 had already reacted fruitfully in ways that were full of 
 higher promise. The material results of these newly 
 awakened energies were, as we have seen, not less 
 signal or momentous. The number, variety, and power 
 of the new forces thus acting on society effected in a 
 short period a complete moral revolution. The barriers 
 against the spread of knowledge and the spirit of free 
 inquiry erected and long maintained by mediaeval ignor- 
 ance and prejudice were now thrown down. The bonds 
 of feudal authority and Romish domination that had 
 hitherto forcibly repressed the expanding national life 
 were effectually broken. Men opened their eyes upon 
 a new world which it was an absorbing interest and 
 endless delight to explore, a new world physically, 
 where the old geographical limits had melted into the 
 blue haze of distant horizons a new world morally, 
 where the abolition of alien dogma and priestly rule 
 gave free play to fresh and vigorous social energies ; 
 and, above all, more surprising and mysterious than 
 
SHAKESPEARE. Ill 
 
 all, they opened their eyes with a strange sense of 
 wonder and exultation on the new world of the emanci- 
 pated human spirit. At no previous period had the 
 popular curiosity about human life and human affairs 
 been so vivid and intense. In an age of deeds so 
 memorable, man naturally became the centre of in- 
 terest, and the whole world of human action and 
 passion, character and conduct, was invested with 
 irresistible attraction. All ranks and classes had the 
 keenest desire to penetrate the mysterious depths, ex- 
 plore the unknown regions, and realise as fully as might 
 be the actual achievements and ideal possibilities of the 
 nature throbbing with so full a pulse within themselves 
 and reflected so powerfully in the world around them. 
 Human nature, released from the oppression and dark- 
 ness of the ages, and emerging with all its infinite 
 faculties and latent powers into the radiant light of a 
 secular day, was the new world that excited an admira- 
 tion more profound and hopes far more ardent than 
 any recently discovered lands beyond the sinking sun. 
 At the critical moment Shakespeare appeared as the 
 Columbus of that new world. Pioneers had indeed 
 gone before and in a measure prepared the way, but 
 Shakespeare still remains the great discoverer, occupying 
 a position of almost lonely grandeur in the isolation 
 and completeness of his work. 
 
 Never before, except perhaps in the Athens of 
 Pericles, had all the elements and conditions of a great 
 national drama met in such perfect union. As we have 
 seen, the popular conditions supplied by the stir of 
 great public events and the stimulus of an appreciative 
 audience were present in exceptional force. With 
 regard to the stage conditions, the means of adequate 
 
112 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 dramatic representation, public theatres had for the 
 first time been recently established in London 011 a 
 permanent basis. In 1574 a royal licence had been 
 granted by the queen to the Earl of Leicester's com- 
 pany " to use, exercise, and occupy the art and faculty 
 of playing Comedies, Tragedies, Interludes, and Stage 
 Plays, and such other like as they have been already 
 used and studied, as well for the recreation of our lov- 
 ing subjects as for our solace and pleasure when we 
 shall think good to see them " ; and, although the civil 
 authorities resisted the attempt to establish a public 
 theatre within the city, two or three were speedily 
 erected just outside its boundaries, in the most con- 
 venient and accessible suburbs, the Curtain and the 
 Theatre in Shoreditch, beyond the northern boundary, 
 and the Blackfriars theatre within the precincts of the 
 dissolved monastery, just beyond the civic jurisdiction 
 on the western side. A few years later other houses 
 were built on the southern side of the river, the Kose 
 near the foot of London Bridge, and the Hope and 
 Swan further afield. There was also at Newington 
 Butts a place of recreation and entertainment for the 
 archers and holiday people, with a central building 
 which, like the circus at Paris Garden, was used during 
 the summer months for dramatic purposes. These 
 theatres were occupied by different companies in turn, 
 and Shakespeare during his early years in London 
 appears to have acted at several of them. But from 
 his first coming up it seems clear that he was more 
 identified with the Earl of Leicester's players, of whom 
 his energetic fellow-townsman, James Burbage, was 
 the head, than with any other group of actors. To 
 Burbage indeed belongs the distinction of having first 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 113 
 
 established public theatres as a characteristic feature of 
 metropolitan life. His spirit and enterprise first re- 
 lieved the leading companies from the stigma of being 
 strolling players, and transferred their dramatic ex- 
 hibitions, hitherto restricted to temporary scaffolds in 
 the court-yards of inns and hostelries, to the more 
 reputable stage and convenient appliances of a perma- 
 nent theatre. In 1575 Burbage, having secured the 
 lease of a piece of land at Shoreditch, erected there the 
 house which proved so successful, and was known for 
 twenty years as the Theatre, from the fact that it was 
 the first ever erected in the metropolis. He seems also 
 to have been concerned in the erection of a second 
 theatre in the same locality called the Curtain ; and 
 later on, in spite of many difficulties, and a great deal 
 of local opposition, he provided the more celebrated 
 home of the rising drama known as the Blackfriars 
 theatre. When Shakespeare went to London there 
 were thus theatres on both sides of the water the 
 outlying houses being chiefly used during the summer 
 and autumn months, while the Blackfriars, being roofed 
 in and protected from the weather, was specially used 
 for performances during the winter season. In spite 
 of the persistent opposition of the lord mayor and city 
 aldermen, the denunciations of Puritan preachers and 
 their allies in the press, and difficulties arising from 
 intermittent attacks of the plague and the occasional 
 intervention of the court authorities, the theatres had 
 now taken firm root in the metropolis ; and, strong in 
 royal favour, in noble patronage, and above all in 
 popular support, the stage had already begun to assume 
 its higher functions as the living organ of the national 
 voice, the many-coloured mirror and reflection of the 
 
 8 
 
114 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 national life. A few years later the companies of 
 players and the theatres they occupied were consoli- 
 dated and placed on a still firmer public basis. For 
 some years past, in addition to the actors really or 
 nominally attached to noble houses, there had existed a 
 body of twelve performers, selected by royal authority 
 (in 1583) from different companies and known as the 
 queen's players. The Earl of Leicester's, being the 
 leading company, had naturally furnished a number of 
 recruits to the queen's players, whose duty it was to act 
 at special seasons before Her Majesty and the court. 
 But within a few years after Shakespeare arrived in 
 London the chief groups of actors were divided into 
 two great companies, specially licensed and belonging 
 respectively to the Lord Chamberlain and the Lord 
 Admiral. Under the new arrangement the Earl of 
 Leicester's actors (who, as already stated, after the 
 earl's death in ]588 found for a time a new patron in 
 Lord Strange 1 ) became the servants of the Lord 
 Chamberlain. James Burbage had already retired 
 from the company, his place being taken by his more 
 celebrated son Eichard Burbage, the Garrick of the 
 Elizabethan stage, who acted with so much distinction 
 and success all the great parts in Shakespeare's leading 
 plays. In order that the Lord Chamberlain's company 
 might have houses of their own both for summer and 
 winter use, Kichard Burbage, his brother Cuthbert, and 
 their associates, including Shakespeare, undertook in 
 1599 to build a new theatre on the bank side not far 
 
 1 This is maintained by Mr. Fleay in his recent Life and Work 
 of Shakespeare. But the history of the early dramatic companies 
 is so obscure that it is difficult to trace their changing fortunes 
 with absolute certainty. 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 115 
 
 from the old Paris Garden circus. We know from a 
 subsequent document, which refers incidentally to the 
 building of this theatre, that the Burbages had origin- 
 ally introduced Shakespeare to the Blackfriars company. 
 He had indeed proved himself so useful, both as actor 
 and poet, that they were evidently glad to secure his 
 future services by giving him a share as part proprietor 
 in the Blackfriars property. The new theatre now 
 built by the company was that known as the Globe, 
 and it was for fifteen years, during the summer and 
 autumn months, the popular and highly successful 
 home of the Shakespearian drama. Three years earlier 
 Kichard Burbage and his associates had rebuilt the 
 Blackfriars theatre on a more extended scale ; and this 
 well-known house divided with the Globe the honour 
 of producing Shakespeare's later and more important 
 plays. Shakespeare's position indeed of actor and 
 dramatist is identified with these houses and with the 
 Lord Chamberlain's company to which they belonged. 
 On the accession of James L, this company, being speci- 
 ally favoured by the new monarch, received a fresh 
 royal charter, and the members of it were henceforth 
 known as the king's servants. In the early years of 
 Shakespeare's career the national drama had thus a 
 permanent home in theatres conveniently central 
 on either side of the river, and crowded during the 
 summer and winter months by eager and excited audi- 
 ences. Even before the building of the Globe, the 
 house at Newington, where three of Marlowe's most 
 important plays and some of Shakespeare's early tra- 
 gedies were produced, was often crowded to the doors. 
 In the summer of 1592, when the first part of " Henry VI.," 
 as revised by Shakespeare, was acted, the performance 
 
116 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 was so popular that, we are told by Nash, ten thousand 
 spectators witnessed it in the course of a few weeks. 
 It is true that even in the best theatres the appliances 
 in the way of scenes and stage machinery were of the 
 simplest description, change of scene being often indi- 
 cated by the primitive device of a board with the name 
 painted upon it. But players and playwrights, both 
 arts being often combined in the same person, knew 
 their business thoroughly well, and justly relied for 
 success on the more vital attractions of powerful acting, 
 vigorous writing, and practised skill in the construction 
 of their pieces. In the presence of strong passions, ex- 
 pressed in kindling words and powerfully realised in 
 living action, gesture, and incident, the absence of can- 
 vas sunlight and painted gloom was hardly felt. Or, 
 as the stirring choruses in "Henry V." show, the want 
 of more elaborate and realistic scenery was abundantly 
 supplied by the excited fancy, active imagination, and 
 concentrated interest of the spectators. 
 
 The dramatic conditions of a national theatre were 
 indeed, at the outset of Shakespeare's career, more com- 
 plete, or rather in a more advanced state of development, 
 than the playhouses themselves or their stage accessories. 
 If Shakespeare was fortunate in entering on his London 
 work amidst the full tide of awakened patriotism .and 
 public spirit, he was equally fortunate in finding ready 
 to his hand the forms of art in which the rich and com- 
 plex life of the time could be adequately expressed. 
 During the decade in which Shakespeare left Stratford 
 the playwright's art had undergone changes so impor- 
 tant as to constitute a revolution in the form and spirit 
 of the national drama. For twenty years after the ac- 
 cession of Elizabeth the two roots whence the English 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 117 
 
 drama sprang the academic or classical, and the popu- 
 lar, developed spontaneously in the line of mysteries, 
 moralities and interludes continued to exist apart, and 
 to produce their accustomed fruit independently of each 
 other. The popular drama, it is true, becoming more 
 secular and realistic, enlarged its area by collecting 
 its materials from all sources, from novels, tales, 
 ballads, and histories, as well as from fairy mythology, 
 local superstitions, and folk-lore. But the incongruous 
 materials were, for the most part, handled in a crude 
 and semi-barbarous way, with just sufficient art to 
 satisfy the cravings and clamours of unlettered audi- 
 ences. The academic plays, on the other hand, were 
 written by scholars for courtly and cultivated circles, 
 were acted at the universities, the inns of court, and at 
 special public ceremonials, and followed for the most 
 part the recognised and restricted rules of the classic 
 drama. But in the third decade of Elizabeth's reign 
 another dramatic school arose intermediate between the 
 two elder ones, which sought to combine in a newer and 
 higher form the best elements of both. The main im- 
 pulse guiding the efforts of the new school may be 
 traced indirectly to a classical source. It was due, not 
 immediately to the masterpieces of Greece and Borne, 
 but to the form which classical art had assumed in the 
 contemporary drama of Italy, France, and Spain, especi- 
 ally of Italy, which was that earliest developed and best 
 known to the new school of poets and dramatists. This 
 southern drama, while academic in its leading features, 
 had nevertheless modern elements blended with the 
 ancient form. As the Italian epics, following in the 
 main the older examples, were still charged with 
 romantic and realistic elements unknown to the classi- 
 
118 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 cal epic, so the Italian drama, constructed on the lines 
 of Seneca and Plautus, blended with the severer form, 
 essentially romantic features. With the choice of 
 heroic subjects, the orderly development of the plot, the 
 free use of the chorus, the observance of the unities, 
 and constant substitution of narrative for action were 
 united the vivid colouring of poetic fancy and diction, 
 and the use of materials and incidents derived from re- 
 cent history and contemporary life. The influence of 
 the Italian drama on the new school of English play- 
 wrights was, however, very much restricted to points of 
 style and diction of rhetorical and poetical effect. It 
 helped to produce among them the sense of artistic 
 treatment, the conscious effort after higher and more 
 elaborate forms and vehicles of imaginative and pas- 
 sionate expression. For the rest, the rising English 
 drama, in spite of the efforts made by academic critics to 
 narrow its range and limit its interests, retained and 
 thoroughly vindicated its freedom and independence. 
 The central characteristics of the new school are suffi- 
 ciently explained by the fact that its leading represen- 
 tatives were all of them scholars and poets, living by 
 their wits and gaining a somewhat precarious livelihood 
 amidst the stir and bustle, the temptations and excite- 
 ment, of concentrated London life. The distinctive 
 note of their work is the reflex of their position as aca- 
 demic scholars working under poetic and popular im- 
 pulses for the public theatres. The new and striking 
 combination in their dramas of elements hitherto 
 wholly separated is but the natural result of their 
 attainments and literary activities. From their univer- 
 sity training and knowledge of the ancients they would 
 be familiar with the technical requirements of dramatic 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 119 
 
 art, the deliberate handling of plot, incident, and char- 
 acter, and the due subordination of parts essential for 
 producing the effect of an artistic whole. Their imagina- 
 tive and emotional sensibility, stimulated by their studies 
 in southern literature, would naturally prompt them to 
 combine features of poetic beauty and rhetorical finish 
 with the evolution of character and action ; while from 
 the popular native drama they derived the breadth of 
 sympathy, sense of humour, and vivid contact with 
 actual life which gave reality and power to their repre- 
 sentations. 
 
 The leading members of this group or school were 
 Kyd, Greene, Lodge, Nash, Peele, and Marlowe, of 
 whom, in relation to the future development of the 
 drama, Greene, Peele, and Marlowe are the most 
 important and influential. They were almost the first 
 poets and men of genius who devoted themselves to the 
 production of dramatic pieces for the public theatres. 
 But they all helped to redeem the common stages from 
 the reproach their rude and boisterous pieces had 
 brought upon them, and make the plays represented 
 poetical and artistic as well as lively, bustling and 
 popular. Some did this rather from a necessity of 
 nature and stress of circumstance than from any higher 
 aim or deliberately formed resolve. But Marlowe, the 
 greatest of them, avowed the redemption of the common 
 stage as the settled purpose of his labours at the outset of 
 his dramatic career. And during his brief and stormy life 
 he nobly discharged the self-imposed task. His first 
 play, " Tamburline the Great," struck the authentic 
 note of artistic and romantic tragedy. With all its 
 extravagance, and over-straining after vocal and rhetori- 
 cal effects, the play throbs with true passion and true 
 
120 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 poetry, and has throughout the stamp of emotional 
 intensity and intellectual power. His later tragedies, 
 while marked by the same features, bring into fuller 
 relief the higher characteristics of his passionate and 
 poetical genius. Alike in the choice of subject and 
 method of treatment Marlowe is thoroughly indepen- 
 dent, deriving little, except in the way of general 
 stimulus, either from the classical or popular drama of 
 his day. The signal and far-reaching reform he effected 
 in dramatic metre by the introduction of modulated 
 blank verse illustrates the striking originality of his 
 genius. Gifted with a fine ear for the music of English 
 numbers, and impatient of " the gigging veins of rhym- 
 ing mother wits," he introduced the noble metre which 
 was at once adopted by his contemporaries and became 
 the vehicle of the great Elizabethan drama. The new 
 metre quickly abolished the rhyming couplets and 
 stanzas that had hitherto prevailed on the popular 
 stage. The rapidity and completeness of this metrical 
 revolution is in itself a powerful tribute to Marlowe's 
 rare insight and feeling as a master of musical expres- 
 sion. The originality and importance of Marlowe's 
 innovation are not materially affected by the fact that 
 one or two classical plays, such as "Gorboduc" and 
 "Jocasta," had been already written in unrhymed verse. 
 In any case these were private plays, and the mon- 
 otony of cadence and structure in the verse excludes 
 them from anything like serious comparison with the 
 richness and variety of vocal effect produced by the 
 skilful pauses and musical interlinking of Marlowe's 
 heroic metre. Greene and Peele did almost as much 
 for romantic comedy as Marlowe had done for romantic 
 tragedy. Greene's ease and lightness of touch, his 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 121 
 
 freshness of feeling and play of fancy, his vivid sense 
 of the pathos and beauty of homely scenes and thor- 
 ough enjoyment of English rural life, give to his 
 dramatic sketches the blended charm of romance and 
 reality hardly to be found elsewhere except in Shake- 
 speare's early comedies. In special points of lyrical 
 beauty and dramatic portraiture, such as his sketches 
 of pure and devoted women and of witty and amusing 
 clowns, Greene anticipated some of the more delight- 
 ful and characteristic features of Shakespearian comedy. 
 Peele's lighter pieces and Lyly's prose comedies helped 
 in the same direction. Although not written for the 
 public stage, Lyly's court comedies were very popular, 
 and Shakespeare evidently gained from their light and 
 easy if somewhat artificial tone, their constant play of 
 witty banter and sparkling repartee, valuable hints for 
 the prose of his own comedies. Marlowe again pre- 
 pared the way for another characteristic development of 
 Shakespeare's dramatic art. His " Edward II." marks 
 the rise of the historical drama, as distinguished from 
 the older chronicle play, in which the annals of a reign 
 or period were thrown into a series of loose arid ir- 
 regular metrical scenes. Peele's "Edward I.," Mar- 
 lowe's " Edward II.," and the fine anonymous play 
 of " Edward III.," in which many critics think Shake- 
 speare's hand may be traced, show how thoroughly 
 the new school had felt the rising national pulse, and 
 how promptly it responded to the popular demand for 
 the dramatic treatment of history. The greatness of 
 contemporary events had created a new sense of the 
 grandeur and continuity of the nation's life, and ex- 
 cited amongst all classes a vivid interest in the leading 
 personalities and critical struggles that had marked its 
 
122 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 progress. There was a strong and general feeling in 
 favour of historical subjects, and especially historical 
 subjects having in them elements of tragical depth and 
 intensity. Shakespeare's own early plays dealing 
 with the distracted reign of King John, the Wars of 
 the Koses, and the tragical lives of Richard II. and 
 Eichard III. illustrate this bent of popular feeling. 
 The demand being met by men of poetical and dramatic 
 genius reacted powerfully on the spirit of the age, help- 
 ing in turn to illuminate and strengthen its loyal and 
 patriotic sympathies. 
 
 This is in fact the key-note of the English stage 
 in the great period of its development. It was its 
 breadth of national interest and intensity of tragic 
 power that made the English drama so immeasurably 
 superior to every other contemporary drama in Europe. 
 The Italian drama languished because, though carefully 
 elaborated in point of form, it had no fulness of national 
 life, no common elements of ethical conviction or aspi- 
 ration, to vitalise and ennoble it. Even tragedy, in the 
 hands of Italian dramatists, had no depth of human 
 passion, no energy of heroic purpose, to give higher 
 meaning and power to its evolution. In Spain the 
 dominant courtly and ecclesiastical influences limited 
 the development of the national drama, while in France 
 it remained from the outset under the artificial restric- 
 tions of classical and pseudo-classical traditions. Shake- 
 speare's predecessors and contemporaries, in elevating 
 the common stages, and filling them with poetry, 
 music, and passion, had attracted to the theatre all 
 classes, including the more cultivated and refined ; and 
 the intelligent interest, energetic patriotism, and robust 
 life of so representative an English audience supplied 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 123 
 
 the strongest stimulus to the more perfect development 
 of the great organ of national expression. The forms 
 of dramatic art, in the three main departments of 
 comedy, tragedy, and historical drama, had been, as we 
 have seen, clearly discriminated and evolved in their 
 earlier stages. It was a moment of supreme promise 
 and expectation, and in the accidents of earth, or, as 
 we may more appropriately and gratefully say, in the 
 ordinances of heaven, the supreme poet and dramatist 
 appeared to more than fulfil the utmost promise of the 
 time. By right of imperial command over all the 
 resources of imaginative insight and expression Shake- 
 speare combined the rich dramatic materials already 
 prepared into more perfect forms, and carried them to 
 the highest point of ideal development. He quickly 
 surpassed Marlowe in passion, music, and intellectual 
 power; Greene in lyrical beauty, elegiac grace, and 
 narrative interest ; Peele in picturesque touch and 
 pastoral sweetness ; and Lyly in bright and sparkling 
 dialogue. And having distanced the utmost efforts of 
 his predecessors and contemporaries he took his own 
 higher way, and reigned to the end without a rival in 
 the new world of supreme dramatic art he had created. 
 It is a new world, because Shakespeare's work alone 
 can be said to possess the organic strength and infinite 
 variety, the throbbing fulness, vital complexity, and 
 breathing truth of Nature herself. In points of artistic 
 resource and technical ability such as copious and ex- 
 pressive diction, freshness and pregnancy of verbal com- 
 bination, richly modulated verse, and structural skill 
 in the handling of incident and action Shakespeare's 
 supremacy is indeed sufficiently assured. But, after 
 all, it is of course in the spirit and substance of his 
 
124 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 work, his power of piercing to the hidden centres of 
 character, of touching the deepest springs of impulse 
 and passion, out of which are the issues of life, and of 
 evolving those issues dramatically with a flawless 
 strength, subtlety, and truth, which raises him so im- 
 mensely above and beyond not only the best of the play- 
 wrights who went before him, but the whole line of 
 illustrious dramatists that came after him. It is 
 Shakespeare's unique distinction that he has an ab- 
 solute command over all the complexities of thought 
 and feeling that prompt to action and bring out the 
 dividing lines of character. He sweeps with the hand 
 of a master the whole gamut of human experience, from 
 the lowest note to the very top of its compass, from 
 the sportive childish treble of Mamilius and the plead- 
 ing boyish tones of Prince Arthur, up to the spectre- 
 haunted terrors of Macbeth, the tropical passion of 
 Othello, the agonised sense and tortured spirit of Ham- 
 let, the sustained elemental grandeur, the Titanic 
 force, and utterly tragical pathos of Lear. 
 
 Shakespeare's active dramatic career in London 
 lasted about twenty years, and may be divided into 
 three tolerably symmetrical periods. The first extends 
 from the year 1587 to about 1593-94 ; the second, from 
 this date to the end of the century ; and the third, from 
 1600 to about 1608, soon after which time Shakespeare 
 ceased to write regularly for the stage, was less in 
 London and more and more at Stratford. Some 
 modern critics add to these a fourth period, including 
 the few plays which from internal as well as external 
 evidence must have been among the poet's latest pro- 
 ductions. As the exact dates of these plays are un- 
 known, this period may be taken to extend from 1608 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 125 
 
 to about 1612. The three dramas produced during 
 these years are, however, hardly entitled to be ranked 
 as a separate period. They may rather be regarded 
 as supplementary to the grand series of dramas be- 
 longing to the third and greatest epoch of Shakespeare's 
 productive power. To the first period belong Shake- 
 speare's early tentative efforts in revising and partially 
 rewriting plays produced by others that already had 
 possession of the stage. These efforts are illustrated 
 in the three parts of ''Henry VI.," especially the second 
 and third parts, which bear decisive marks of Shake- 
 speare's hand, and were to a great extent recast and 
 rewritten by him. It is clear from the internal 
 evidence thus supplied that Shakespeare was at first 
 powerfully affected by "Marlowe's mighty line ". This 
 influence is so marked in the revised second and third 
 parts of "Henry VI." as to induce some critics to believe 
 Marlowe must have had a hand in the revision. These 
 passages are, however, sufficiently explained by the 
 fact of Marlowe's influence during the, first period of 
 Shakespeare's career. To the same period also belong 
 the earliest tragedy, that of " Titus Andronicus," and the 
 three comedies "Love's Labour's Lost," the "Comedy 
 of Errors," and the " Two Gentlemen of Verona ". These 
 dramas are all marked by the dominant literary in- 
 fluences of the time. They present features obviously 
 due to the revived and widespread knowledge of classi- 
 cal literature, as well as to the active interest in the 
 literature of Italy and the South. " Titus Andronicus," 
 in many of its characteristic features, reflects the form 
 of Roman tragedy almost universally accepted and 
 followed in the earlier period of the drama. This form 
 was supplied by the Latin plays of Seneca, their darker 
 
126 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 colours being deepened by the moral effect of the 
 judicial tragedies and military conflicts of the time. 
 The execution of the Scottish queen and the Catholic 
 conspirators who had acted in her name, and the de- 
 struction of the Spanish Armada, had given an impulse 
 to tragic representations of an extreme type. This 
 was undoubtedly rather fostered than otherwise by the 
 favourite exemplars of Roman tragedy. The " Medea " 
 and"Thyestes" of Seneca are crowded with pagan horrors 
 of the most revolting kind. It is true these horrors 
 are usually related, not represented, although in the 
 "Medea" the maddened heroine kills her children on the 
 stage. But from these tragedies the conception of the 
 physically horrible as an element of tragedy was im- 
 ported into the early English drama, and intensified by 
 the realistic tendency which the events of the time and 
 the taste of their ruder audiences had impressed upon 
 the common stages. This tendency is exemplified in 
 " Titus Andronicus," obviously a very early work, the 
 signs of youthful effort being apparent not only in the 
 acceptance of so coarse a type of tragedy but in the 
 crude handling of character and motive, and the want of 
 harmony in working out the details of the dramatic 
 conception. Kyd was the most popular contemporary 
 representative of the bloody school, and in the leading 
 motives of treachery, concealment, and revenge there 
 are points of likeness between "Titus Andronicus" and 
 the " Spanish Tragedy". But how promptly and com- 
 pletely Shakespeare's nobler nature turned from this 
 lower type is apparent from the fact that he not only 
 never reverted to it but indirectly ridicules the piled- 
 up horrors and extravagant language of Kyd's plays. 
 The early comedies in the same way are marked by 
 
SHAKE SPEAKB. 127 
 
 the dominant literary influences of the time, partly 
 classic, partly Italian. In the "Comedy of Errors," for 
 example, Shakespeare attempted a humorous play of the 
 old classical type, the general plan and many details 
 being derived directly from Plautus. In "Love's 
 Labour's Lost " many characteristic features of Italian 
 comedy are freely introduced : the pedant Holofernes,the 
 curate Sir Nathaniel, the fantastic braggadocio soldier 
 Armado, are all well-known characters of the contem- 
 porary Italian drama. Of this comedy, indeed, Gervinus 
 says : "The tone of the Italian school prevails here more 
 than in any other play. The redundance of wit is only 
 to be compared with a similar redundance of conceit in 
 Shakespeare's narrative poems, and with the Italian 
 style which he had early adopted." These comedies 
 display another sign of early work in the mechanical 
 exactness of the plan and a studied symmetry in the 
 grouping of the chief personages of the drama. In the 
 "Two Gentlemen of Verona," as Prof. Dowden points 
 out, " Proteus the fickle is set against Valentine the faith- 
 ful, Silvia the light and intellectual against Julia the 
 ardent and tender, Lance the humorist against Speed 
 the wit ". So in "Love's Labour's Lost," the king and 
 his three fellow-students balance the princess and her 
 three ladies, and there is a symmetrical play of incident 
 between the two groups. The arrangement is obvi- 
 ously more artificial than spontaneous, more mechani- 
 cal than vital and organic. But toward the close of 
 the first period Shakespeare had fully realised his own 
 power and was able to dispense with these artificial 
 supports. Indeed, having rapidly gained knowledge 
 and experience, he had before the close written plays 
 of a far higher character than any which even the 
 
128 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ablest of his contemporaries had produced. He had 
 firmly ]aid the foundation of his future fame in the 
 direction both of comedy and tragedy, for, besides the 
 comedies already referred to, the first sketches of 
 " Hamlet " and "Borneo and Juliet " and the tragedy of 
 " Eichard III." may probably be referred to this period. 
 Another mark of early work belonging to these 
 dramas is the lyrical and elegiac tone and treatment 
 associated with the use of rhyme, of rhyming couplets 
 and stanzas. Spenser's musical verse had for the time 
 elevated the character of rhyming metres by identifying 
 them with the highest kinds of poetry, and Shakespeare 
 was evidently at first affected by this powerful impulse. 
 He rhymed with great facility, and delighted in the 
 gratification of his lyrical fancy and feeling which the 
 more musical rhyming metres afforded. Ehyme accord- 
 ingly has a considerable and not inappropriate place 
 in the earlier romantic comedies. The " Comedy of 
 Errors " has indeed been described as a kind of lyrical 
 farce in which the opposite qualities of elegiac beauty 
 and comic effect are happily blended. Rhyme, how- 
 ever, at this period of the poet's work is not restricted 
 to the comedies. It is largely used in the tragedies and 
 histories as well, and plays even an important part in 
 historical drama so late as "Richard II.". Shakespeare 
 appears, however, to have worked out this favourite 
 vein, and very much taken leave of it, by the publica- 
 tion of his descriptive and narrative poems, the " Venus 
 and Adonis" and the "Lucrece," although the enormous 
 popularity of these poems might almost have tempted 
 him to return again to the abandoned metrical form. 
 The only considerable exception to the disuse of rhym- 
 ing metres and lyrical treatment is supplied by the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 129 
 
 "Sonnets," which, though not published till 1609, were 
 probably begun early, soon after the poems, and written 
 at intervals during eight or ten of the intervening 
 years. Into the many vexed questions connected with 
 the history and meaning of these poems it is impossible 
 to enter. The attempts recently made by the Kev. 
 W. A. Harrison and Mr. T. Tyler to identify the 
 "dark lady" of the later sonnets, while of some 
 historical interest, cannot be regarded as successful. 
 And the identification,' even if rendered more probable 
 by the discovery of fresh evidence, would not clear up 
 the difficulties, biographical, literary, and historical, 
 connected with these exquisite poems. It is perhaps 
 enough to say with Prof. Dowden that in Shakespeare's 
 case the most natural interpretation is the best, and 
 that, so far as they throw light on his personal char- 
 acter, the sonnets show that "he was capable of 
 measureless personal devotion ; that he was tenderly 
 sensitive, sensitive above all to every diminution or 
 alteration of that love his heart so eagerly craved ; and 
 that, when wronged, although he suffered anguish, he 
 transcended his private injury and learned to forgive ". 
 Whatever question may be raised with regard to 
 the superiority of some of the plays belonging to the 
 first period of Shakespeare's dramatic career, there can 
 be no question at all as to any of the pieces belonging 
 to the second period, which extends to the end of the 
 century. During these years Shakespeare works as a 
 master, having complete command over the materials 
 and resources of the most mature and flexible dramatic 
 art. " To this stage," says Mr. Swinburne, " belongs 
 the special faculty of faultless, joyous, facile command 
 upon each faculty required of the presiding genius for 
 
 9 
 
130 SHAKE SPEARE. 
 
 service or for sport. It is in the middle period of his 
 work that the language of Shakespeare is most limpid 
 in its fulness, the style most pure, the thought most 
 transparent through the close and luminous raiment 
 of perfect expression." This period includes the 
 magnificent series of historical plays " Eichard II.," 
 the two parts of " Henry IV.," and " Henry V." and 
 a double series of brilliant comedies. The " Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream," "All's Well that ends Well," 
 and the "Merchant of Venice" were produced before 
 1598, and during the next three years there appeared a 
 still more complete and characteristic group, including 
 "Much Ado about Nothing," "As you Like It," and 
 " Twelfth Night ". These comedies and historical plays 
 are all marked by a rare harmony of reflective and 
 imaginative insight, perfection of creative art, and 
 completeness of dramatic effect. Before the close of 
 this period, in 1598, Francis Meres paid his celebrated 
 tribute to Shakespeare's superiority in lyrical, de- 
 scriptive, and dramatic poetry, emphasising his un- 
 rivalled distinction in the three main departments of 
 the drama, comedy, tragedy, and historical play. 
 And from this time onwards the contemporary recogni- 
 tions of Shakespeare's eminence as a poet and dramatist 
 rapidly multiply, the critics and eulogists being in most 
 cases well entitled to speak with authority on the 
 subject. 
 
 In the third period of Shakespeare's dramatic career 
 years had evidently brought enlarged vision, wider 
 thoughts, and deeper experiences. While the old 
 mastery of art remains, the works belonging to this 
 period seem to bear traces of more intense moral 
 struggles, larger and less joyous views of human life, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 131 
 
 more troubled, complex, and profound conceptions and 
 emotions. Comparatively few marks of the lightness 
 and animation of the earlier works remain, but at the 
 same time the dramas of this period display an un- 
 rivalled power of piercing the deepest mysteries and 
 sounding the most tremendous and perplexing problems 
 of human life and human destiny. To this period 
 belong the four great tragedies "Hamlet," " Macbeth," 
 " Othello," " Lear" ; the three Koman plays" Corio- 
 lanus," "Julius Caesar," "Anthony and Cleopatra"; 
 the two singular plays whose scene and personages are 
 Greek but whose action and meaning are wider and 
 deeper than either Greek or Roman life " Troilus and 
 Cressida" and " Timon of Athens"; and one comedy 
 " Measure for Measure," which is almost tragic in the 
 depth and intensity of its characters and incidents. 
 The four great tragedies represent the highest reach of 
 Shakespeare's dramatic power, and they sufficiently 
 illustrate the range and complexity of the deeper 
 problems that now occupied his mind. " Timon " and 
 " Measure for Measure," however, exemplify the same 
 tendency to brood with meditative intensity over the 
 wrongs and miseries that afflict humanity. These 
 works sufficiently prove that during this period Shake- 
 speare gained a disturbing insight into the deeper evils 
 of the world, arising from the darker passions, such as 
 treachery and revenge. But it is also clear that, with 
 the larger vision of a noble, well-poised nature, he at 
 the same time gained a fuller perception of the deeper 
 springs of goodness in human nature, of the great 
 virtues of invincible fidelity and unwearied love, and he 
 evidently received not only consolation and calm but 
 new stimulus and power from the fuller realisation of 
 
132 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 these virtues. The typical plays of this period thus 
 embody Shakespeare's ripest experience of the great 
 issues of life. In the four grand tragedies the central 
 problem is a profoundly moral one. It is the supreme in- 
 ternal conflict of good and evil amongst the central forces 
 and higher elements of human nature, as appealed to and 
 developed by sudden and powerful temptation, smitten by 
 accumulated wrongs, or plunged in overwhelming cala- 
 mities. As the result, we learn that there is something 
 infinitely more precious in life than social ease or worldly 
 success nobleness of soul, fidelity to truth and honour, 
 human love and loyalty, strength and tenderness, and 
 trust to the very end. In the most tragic experiences 
 this fidelity to all that is best in life is only possible 
 through the loss of life itself. But when Desdemona 
 expires with a sigh and Cordelia's loving eyes are 
 closed, when Hamlet no more draws his breath in pain 
 and the tempest-tossed Lear is at last liberated from 
 the rack of this tough world, we feel that, Death having 
 set his sacred seal on their great sorrows and greater 
 love, they remain with us as possessions for ever. In 
 the three dramas belonging to Shakespeare's last 
 period, or rather which may be said to close his 
 dramatic career, the same feeling of severe but con- 
 solatory calm is still more apparent. If the deeper 
 discords of life are not finally resolved, the virtues 
 which soothe their perplexities and give us courage 
 and endurance to wait, as well as confidence to trust 
 the final issues, the virtues of forgiveness and gener- 
 osity, of forbearance and self-control, are largely 
 illustrated. This is a characteristic feature in each 
 of these closing dramas, in the " Winter's Tale," 
 " Cymbeline," and the "Tempest". The "Tempest" 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 133 
 
 is supposed, on tolerably good grounds, to be Shake- 
 speare's last work, and in it we see the great magician, 
 having gained by the wonderful experience of life, and 
 the no less wonderful practice of his art, serene 
 wisdom, clear and enlarged vision, and beneficent self- 
 control, break his magical wand and retire from the 
 scene of his triumphs to the home he had chosen 
 amidst the woods and meadows of the Avon, and sur- 
 . rounded by the family and friends he loved. 
 
 We must now briefly summarise the few remaining 
 facts of the poet's personal history. The year 1596 
 was marked by considerable family losses. In August 
 Shakespeare's only son Hamnet died in the twelfth 
 year of his age. With his strong domestic affections 
 and cherished hopes of founding a family, the early 
 death of his only boy must have been for his father a 
 severe blow. It was followed in December by the death 
 of Shakespeare's unde Henry, the friend of his child- 
 hood and youth, the protector and encourager of his 
 boyish sports and enterprises at Bearley, Snitterfield, 
 and Fulbroke. A few months later the Shakespeare 
 household at Snitterfield, so intimately associated for 
 more than half a century with the family in Henley 
 Street, was finally broken up by the death of the poet's 
 aunt Margaret, his uncle Henry's widow. Although 
 the death of his son and heir had diminished the poet's 
 hope of founding a family, he did not in any way relax 
 his efforts to secure a permanent and comfortable home 
 for his wife and daughters at Stratford. As early as 
 1597, when he had pursued his London career for little 
 more than ten years, he had saved enough to purchase 
 the considerable dwelling-house in New Place, Strat- 
 ford, to which he afterwards retired, This house, 
 
134 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 originally built by Sir Hugh Clopton and called the 
 " Great House," was one of the largest mansions in 
 the town, and the fact of Shakespeare having acquired 
 such a place as his family residence would at once 
 increase his local importance. From time to time he 
 made additional purchases of land about the house and 
 in the neighbourhood. In 1602 he largely increased 
 the property by acquiring 107 acres of arable land, and 
 later on he added to this '20 acres of pasture land, with 
 a convenient cottage and garden in Chapel Lane, 
 opposite the lower grounds of the house. Within a 
 few years his property thus comprised a substantial 
 dwelling-house with large garden and extensive out- 
 buildings, a cottage fronting the lower road, and about 
 137 acres of arable and pasture land. During these 
 years Shakespeare made another important purchase 
 that added considerably to his income. From the letter 
 of a Stratford burgess to a friend in London, it appears 
 that as early as 1597 Shakespeare had been making 
 inquiry about the purchase of tithes in the town and 
 neighbourhood. And in 1605 he bought the unexpired 
 lease of tithes, great and small, in Stratford and two 
 adjoining hamlets, the lease having still thirty years 
 to run. This purchase yielded him an income of 
 38 a year, equal to upwards of 350 a year of our 
 present money. The last purchase of property made 
 by Shakespeare of which we have any definite record is 
 at once so interesting and so perplexing as to have 
 stimulated various conjectures on the part of his bio- 
 graphers. This purchase carries us away from Strat- 
 ford back to London, to the immediate neighbourhood 
 of Shakespeare's dramatic labours and triumphs. It 
 seems that in March, 1613, he bought a house with a 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 135 
 
 piece of ground attached to it a little to the south-west 
 of St. Paul's cathedral, and not far from the Black- 
 friars theatre. The purchase of this house in London 
 after he had been for some years settled at Stratford 
 has led some critics to suppose that Shakespeare had 
 not given up all thought of returning to the metropolis, 
 or at least of spending part of the year there with his 
 family in the neighbourhood he best knew and where 
 he was best known. The ground of this supposition is, 
 however, a good deal destroyed by the fact that soon 
 after acquiring this town house Shakespeare let it for a 
 lease of ten years. He may possibly have bought the 
 property as a convenience to some of his old friends 
 who were associated with him in the purchase. In 
 view of future contingencies it would obviously be an 
 advantage to have a substantial dwelling so near the 
 theatre in the hands of a friend. It was indeed 
 by means of a similar purchase that James Burbage 
 had originally started and established the Blackfriars 
 theatre. 
 
 .The year 1607-8 would be noted in Shakespeare's 
 family calendar as one of vivid and chequered domestic 
 experiences. On the 5th of June his eldest daughter 
 Susanna, who seems to have inherited something of her 
 father's genius, was married to Dr. John Hall, a medical 
 man of more than average knowledge and ability, who 
 had a considerable practice in the neighbourhood of 
 Stratford, and who was deservedly held in high repute. 
 The newly married couple settled in one of the pic- 
 turesque houses of the wooded suburb between the 
 town and the church known as Old Stratford. But 
 before the end of the year the midsummer marriage 
 bells had changed to sadder music. In December Shake- 
 
136 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 speare lost his youngest brother, Edmund, at the early 
 age of twenty-seven. He had become an actor, most 
 probably through his brother's help and influence, 
 and was, at the time of his death, living in London. 
 He was buried at Southwark on the last day of the year. 
 Two months later there was a family rejoicing in Dr. 
 Hall's house at the birth of a daughter, christened 
 Elizabeth, the only offspring of the union, and the 
 only grandchild Shakespeare lived to see. The re- 
 joicing at this event would be fully shared by the 
 household in New Place, and especially by Shakespeare 
 himself, whose cherished family hopes would thus be 
 strengthened and renewed. Six months later in this 
 eventful year fortune again turned her wheel. Early 
 in September Shakespeare's mother, Mary Arden of 
 the Asbies, died, having lived long enough to see and 
 welcome her great-grandchild as a fresh bond of family 
 life. She was buried at Stratford on the 9th of Sep- 
 tember, having survived her husband, who was buried 
 on the 8th of September, 1601, exactly seven years. 
 Mary Shakespeare died full of years and honour and 
 coveted rewards. For more than a decade she had 
 witnessed and shared the growing prosperity of her 
 eldest son, and felt the mother's thrill of joy and pride 
 in the success that had crowned his brilliant career. 
 The loss of his mother would be deeply felt by her 
 favourite son, but there was no bitterness in the be- 
 reavement, and it even seems to have exerted a tran- 
 quillising, elevating effect on the poet's mind and char- 
 acter. As he laid her in the grave he would recall and 
 realise afresh the early years during which her loving 
 presence and influence were the light and guide of 
 his boyish life. With these vivid and varied family 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 137 
 
 experiences a strong wave of home-yearning seems to 
 have set in, which gradually drew the poet wholly back 
 to Stratford. During the autumn visit connected 
 with his mother's death Shakespeare must have re- 
 mained several weeks at the New Place, for on the 
 16th of October he acted as godfather to the infant 
 son of an old personal friend, Henry Walker, who was 
 an alderman of the borough. The child was called 
 William after his godfather, and the poet must have 
 taken a special interest in the boy, as he remembered 
 him in his will. 
 
 It seems most probable that soon after the chequered 
 domestic events of this year, as soon as he could con- 
 veniently terminate his London engagements, Shake- 
 speare decided on retiring to his native place. He had 
 gained all he cared for in the way of wealth and fame, 
 and his strongest interests, personal and relative, were 
 now centred in Stratford. But on retiring to settle in 
 his native town he had nothing of the dreamer, the 
 sentimentalist, or the recluse about him. His healthy 
 natural feeling was far too strong, his character too 
 manly and well-balanced, to admit of any of the so-called 
 eccentricities of genius. He retired as a successful 
 professional man who had gained a competence by his 
 ow T n exertions and wished to enjoy it at leisure in a 
 simple, social, rational way. He knew that the com- 
 petence he had gained, the lands and wealth he pos- 
 sessed, could only be preserved, like other valuable pos- 
 sessions, by good management and careful husbandry. 
 And, taught by the sad experience of his earlier years, 
 he evidently guided the business details of his property 
 with a firm and skilful hand, was vigilant and scrupulously 
 just in his dealings, respecting the rights of others, and, 
 
138 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 if need be, enforcing his own. He sued his careless 
 and negligent debtors in the local court of record, had 
 various commercial transactions with the corporation, 
 and took an active interest in the affairs of the borough. 
 And he went now and then to London, partly on 
 business connected with the town, partly no doubt 
 to look after the administration and ultimate disposal 
 of his own theatrical property, and partly it may be 
 assumed for the pleasure of seeing his old friends and 
 fellow-dramatists. Even at Stratford, however, Shake- 
 speare was not entirely cut off from his old associates 
 in arts and letters, his hospitable board being brightened 
 at intervals by the presence, and animated by the wit, 
 humour, and kindly gossip, of one or more of his 
 chosen friends. Two amongst the most cherished of his 
 companions and fellow-poets, Drayton and Ben Jonson, 
 had paid a visit of this kind to Stratford, and been 
 entertained by Shakespeare only a few days before his 
 death, which occurred almost suddenly on the 23rd of 
 April, 1616. After three days' illness the great poet 
 was carried off by a sharp attack of fever, at that time 
 one of the commonest scourges, even of country towns, 
 and often arising then as now, only more frequently 
 then than now r , from the neglect of proper sanitary 
 precautions. According to tradition, the 23rd of April 
 was Shakespeare's birthday, so that he died on the 
 completion of the fifty-second year of his age. Three 
 days later he was laid in the chancel of Stratford church, 
 on the north wall of which his monument, containing 
 his bust and epitaph, was soon afterwards placed, most 
 probably by the poet's son-in-law, Dr. John Hall. 
 Shakespeare's widow, the Anne Hathaway of his youth, 
 died in 1623, having survived the poet seven years, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 139 
 
 exactly the same length of time that his mother Mary 
 Arden had outlived her husband. Elizabeth Hall, the 
 poet's grandchild, was married twice, first to Mr. Thos. 
 Nash of Stratford, and in 1649, when she had been two 
 years a widow, to Mr. afterwards Sir John Barnard of 
 Abingtoii in Northamptonshire. Lady Barnard had 
 no family by either husband, and the three children of 
 the poet's second daughter Judith (who had married 
 Richard Quiney of Stratford, two months before her 
 father's death) all died comparatively young. At Lady 
 Barnard's death in 1670 the family of the poet thus 
 became extinct. By his will made a few weeks before 
 his death Shakespeare left his landed property, the 
 whole of his real estate indeed, to his eldest daughter 
 Mrs. Susanna Hall, under strict entail to her heirs. 
 He left also a substantial legacy to his second daughter 
 and only remaining child Mrs. Judith Quiney, and a 
 remembrance to several of his friends, including his 
 old associates at the Blackfriars theatre, Burbage, 
 Heminge, and Condell, the two latter of whom edited 
 the first collection of his dramas, published in 1623. 
 The will also included a bequest to the poor of Strat- 
 ford. 
 
 From this short sketch it will be seen that all the 
 best known facts of Shakespeare's personal history bring 
 into vivid relief the simplicity and naturalness of his 
 tastes, his love of the country, the strength of his domestic 
 affections, and the singularly firm hold which the con- 
 ception of family life had upon his imagination, his 
 sympathies, and his schemes of active labour. He had 
 loved the country with ardent enthusiasm in his youth, 
 when all nature was lighted with the dawn of rising 
 passion and kindled imagination ; and after his varied 
 
140 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 London experience we may well believe that he loved 
 it still more with a deeper and calmer love of one who 
 had looked through and through the brilliant forms of 
 wealthy display, public magnificence, and courtly cere- 
 monial, who had scanned the heights and sounded the 
 depths of existence, and who felt that for the king and 
 beggar alike this little life of feverish joys and sorrows 
 is soothed by natural influences, cheered by sunlight 
 and green shadows, softened by the perennial charm of 
 hill and dale and rippling stream, and when the spring 
 returns no more is rounded with a sleep. In the more 
 intimate circle of human relationships he seems clearly 
 to have realised that the sovereign elixir against the ills 
 of life, the one antidote of its struggles and difficulties, 
 its emptiness and unrest, is vigilant charity, faithful 
 love in all its forms, love of home, love of kindred, love 
 of friends, love of everything simple, just, and true. 
 The larger and more sacred group of those serene and 
 abiding influences flowing from well-centred affections 
 was naturally identified with family ties, and it is clear 
 that the unity and continuity of family life possessed 
 Shakespeare's imagination with the strength of a domi- 
 nant passion and largely determined the scope and 
 direction of his practical activities. As we have seen, 
 he displayed from the first the utmost prudence and 
 foresight in securing a comfortable home for his family, 
 and providing for the future welfare of his children. 
 The desire of his heart evidently was to take a good 
 position and found a family in his native place. And if 
 this was a weakness he shares it with other eminent 
 names in the republic of letters. In Shakespeare's case 
 the desire may have been inherited, not only from his 
 father, who had pride, energy, and ambition, but especi- 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 141 
 
 ally from his gently descended mother, Mary Arden 
 of the Asbies. But, whatever its source, the evidence 
 in favour of this cherished desire is unusually full, clear, 
 and decisive. While the poet had no doubt previously 
 assisted his father to retrieve his position in the world, 
 the first important step in building up the family name 
 was the grant of arms or armorial bearings to John 
 Shakespeare in the year 1596. The father, it may be 
 assumed, had applied to the Heralds' College for the 
 grant at the instance and by the help of his son. In 
 this document, the draft of which is still preserved, the 
 grounds on which the arms are given are stated as two : 
 (1) because John Shakespeare's ancestors had rendered 
 valuable services to Henry VII. ; and (2) that he had 
 married Mary, daughter and one of the heirs of Eobert 
 Arden of Wilmcote, in the said county, gentleman. 
 In the legal conveyances of property to Shakespeare 
 himself after the grant of arms he is uniformly described 
 as " William Shakespeare of Stratford-upon-Avon, 
 gentleman". He is so described in the midst of his 
 London career, and this sufficiently indicates that 
 Stratford was even then regarded as his permanent 
 residence or home. In the following year another im- 
 portant step was taken towards establishing the position 
 of the family. This was an application by John and 
 Mary Shakespeare to the Court of Chancery for the re- 
 covery of the estate of the Asbies, which, under the 
 pressure of family difficulties, had been mortgaged in 
 1578 to Edmund Lambert. The issue of the suit is not 
 known, but, as we have seen, the pleadings on either 
 side occupy a considerable space and show how resolutely 
 John Shakespeare was bent on recovering his wife's 
 family estate. 
 
142 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 Turning to the poet himself, we have the significant 
 fact that during the next ten years he continued, with 
 steady persistency, to build up the family fortunes by 
 investing all his savings in real property, in houses 
 and land at Stratford. While many of his associates 
 and partners in the Blackfriars company remained on 
 in London, living and dying there, Shakespeare seems 
 to have early realised his theatrical property for the 
 sake of increasing the acreage of his arable and pasture 
 land in the neighbourhood of Stratford. In 1598, 
 the year after the purchase of New Place, his family 
 are not only settled there, but he is publicly ranked 
 among the most prosperous and well-to-do citizens of 
 Stratford. In that year, there being some anticipation 
 of a scarcity of corn, an official statement was drawn up 
 as to the amount of wheat in the town. From the list 
 contained in this document of the chief householders 
 in Chapel Ward, where New Place was situated, we 
 find that out of twenty holders of corn enumerated only 
 two have more in stock than William Shakespeare. 
 Other facts belonging to the same year, such as the 
 successful appeal of a fellow-townsman for important 
 pecuniary help, and the suggestions from an alderman 
 of the borough that, for the sake of securing certain 
 private and public benefits, he should be encouraged 
 to complete a contemplated purchase of land at 
 Shottery, show that Shakespeare was now recognised 
 as a local proprietor of wealth and influence, and that 
 he had so far realised his early desire of taking a good 
 position in the town and neighbourhood. It will be 
 noted, too, that all the leading provisions of Shake- 
 speare's will embody the same cherished family purpose. 
 Instead of dividing his property between his two 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 143 
 
 daughters, he left, as we have seen, the whole of his 
 estate, the whole of his real property indeed, to his 
 eldest daughter Mrs. Susanna Hall, with a strict entail 
 to the heirs of her body. This indicates in the strong- 
 est manner the fixed desire of his heart to take a 
 permanent position in the locality, and, if possible, 
 strike the family roots deeply into their native 
 soil. That this purpose was realised in his own case 
 seems clear from the special respect paid to his memory. 
 He was buried, as we have seen, in the chancel of 
 the parish church, where as a rule only persons of 
 family and position could be interred. His monument, 
 one of the most considerable in the church, holds a 
 place of honour on the north wall of the chancel, just 
 above the altar railing. While this tribute of marked 
 official respect may be due in part, as the epitaph 
 intimates, to his eminence as a poet, it was no doubt, 
 in a country district like Stratford, due still more to 
 his local importance as a landed proprietor of wealth 
 and position. Indeed, as a holder of the great tithes 
 he was by custom and courtesy entitled to burial in 
 the chancel. 
 
 If there is truth in the early tradition that Shake- 
 speare originally left Stratford in consequence of the 
 sharp prosecution of Sir Thomas Lucy, who resented 
 with narrow bitterness and pride the presumption and 
 audacity of the high-spirited youth found trespassing on 
 his grounds, the victim of his petty wrath was in the end 
 amply avenged. After a career of unexampled success 
 in London Shakespeare returned to his native town 
 crowned with wealth and honours, and, having spent 
 the last years of his life in cordial intercourse with his 
 old friends and fellow-townsmen, was followed to the 
 
144 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 grave with the affectionate respect and regret of the 
 whole Stratford community. This feeling was indeed, 
 we may justly assume, fully shared by all who had ever 
 known the great poet. His contemporaries and associ- 
 ates unanimously bear witness to Shakespeare's frank, 
 honourable, loving nature. Perhaps the most striking 
 expression of this common feeling comes from one who 
 in character, disposition, and culture was so different 
 from Shakespeare as his friend and fellow-dramatist Ben 
 Jonson. Even his rough and cynical temper could not 
 resist the charm of Shakespeare's genial character and 
 gracious ways. " I loved the man," he says, " and do 
 honour his memory on this side idolatry as much as any. 
 He was indeed honest, and of an open and free nature, 
 had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and gentle 
 expressions." As the genius of Shakespeare united the 
 most opposite gifts, so amongst his friends are found the 
 widest diversity of character, endowment, and disposi- 
 tion. This is only another way of indicating the breadth 
 of his sympathies, the variety of his interests, the large- 
 ness and exuberant vitality of his whole nature. He 
 touched life at so many points, and responded so in- 
 stinctively to every movement in the complex web of its 
 throbbing activities, that nothing affecting humanity was 
 alien either to his heart or brain. To one so gifted with 
 the power of looking below the surface of custom and con- 
 vention, and perceiving, not only the deeper elements of 
 rapture and anguish to which ordinary eyes are blind, 
 but the picturesque, humorous, or pathetic varieties of 
 the common lot, every form of human experience, every 
 type of character, would have an attraction of its own. 
 In the view of such a mind nothing would be common 
 or unclean. To Shakespeare all aspects of life, even the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 145 
 
 humblest, had points of contact with his own. He could 
 talk simply and naturally without a touch of patronage 
 or condescension to a hodman on his ladder, a coster- 
 monger at his stall, the tailor on his board, the cobbler 
 in his combe, the hen-wife in her poultry-yard, the 
 ploughman in his furrow, or the base mechanicals at the 
 wayside country inn. He could watch with full and 
 humorous appreciation the various forms of brief 
 authority and petty officialism, the bovine stolidity and 
 empty consequence of the local Dogberries and Shallows, 
 the strange oaths and martial swagger of a Pistol, a Bar- 
 dolph, or a Parolles, the pedantic talk of a Holofernes, the 
 pragmatical saws of a Polonius, or the solemn absurdities 
 of a self-conceited Malvolio. On the other hand, he 
 could seize from the inner side by links of vital affinity 
 every form of higher character, passionate, reflective, or 
 executive, lover and prince, duke and captain, legislator 
 and judge, counsellor and king, and portray with 
 almost equal ease and with vivid truthfulness men and 
 women of distant ages, of different races, and widely 
 sundered nationalities. 
 
 As in his dramatic world he embraces the widest 
 variety of human experience, so in his personal char- 
 acter he may be said to have combined in harmonious 
 union the widest range of qualities, including some 
 apparently the most opposed. He was a vigilant and 
 acute man of business, of great executive ability, with 
 a power of looking .into affairs which included a 
 thorough mastery of tedious legal details. But with 
 all his worldly prudence and foresight he was at the 
 same time the most generous and affectionate of men, 
 honoured and loved by all who knew him, with the 
 irresistible charm that belongs to simplicity and direct- 
 
 10 
 
146 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ness of character, combined with thoughtful sympathy 
 and real kindness of heart. And, while displaying 
 unrivalled skill, sagacity, and firmness in business 
 transactions and practical affairs he could promptly 
 throw the whole burden aside, and in the exercise of 
 his noble art pierce with an eagle's wing the very^ 
 highest heaven of invention. That indeed was his 
 native air, his true home, his permanent sphere, where 
 he still rules with undisputed sway. He occupies a 
 throne apart in the ideal and immortal kingdom of 
 supreme creative art, poetical genius, and dramatic 
 truth. 
 
WHAT SHAKESPEAKE LEAKNT AT SCHOOL. 1 
 
 MANY students of Shakespeare on reading the above 
 heading may be disposed to turn away, partly from the 
 feeling expressed by Mr. Ward in his History of English 
 Dramatic Literature, " that the vexed question as to 
 Shakespeare's classical attainments is in reality not 
 worth discussing," and partly from the conviction that 
 whether of special interest or not the subject has been 
 worked out. This feeling is certainly natural, and I 
 must confess to having a good deal of sympathy with 
 it myself. Those who are familiar with the treatment 
 of Shakespeare's scholarship by Whalley and Upton, 
 or even at times in the useful notes of the Variorum 
 edition, may be pardoned for feeling only a languid 
 interest in the question. Upton's cloud of references 
 to Greek and Koman authors has often no real connec- 
 tion with Shakespeare at all : his favourite plan being 
 to make an arbitrary change in the text by substituting 
 some word or phrase, on which he can hang a string of 
 classical quotations. And short of this extreme, the 
 subject was often treated by the last century editors in 
 a somewhat unfruitful and tedious way. The vague 
 verbal coincidences and far-fetched allusions on the 
 strength of which passages were often pronounced 
 parallel, the minute but scrappy and irrelevant learning 
 of the notes and annotations, are enough to inspire 
 distaste of the whole subject. And it would not^ be 
 
 1 Fraser's Magazine, Nov., 1879, Jan. and May, 1880. 
 
148 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 surprising if ardent readers in an access of impatience 
 at the critics and zeal for the poet should resolve to 
 confine themselves to the text without note or comment 
 of any kind. Indeed, this result has already been 
 reached by at least one earnest student of Shakespeare. 
 Mr. Harold Littledale, in his introduction to the Shake- 
 speare Society's edition of the " Two Noble Kinsmen," 
 expresses this feeling as follows : " Let us have various 
 readings to any extent, and a carefully prepared text, 
 but why must the wretched student of modern Shak- 
 spere go wading through a vast quagmire of critical 
 opinion and confutation, before he is allowed to catch 
 a glimpse of the pure Shakspere stream, as it gleams 
 faintly and far out over the tangled mazes of this dis- 
 mal editorial swamp ? " However natural this feeling 
 may be, it would not be easy to act on it just now, 
 when, amidst the multiplication of Shakespeare Societies 
 and the revival of different schools of Shakespearian 
 criticism, most of the old questions are being recon- 
 sidered with a thoroughness that half atones for the 
 almost inevitable minuteness and prolixity of such 
 discussions. The question of Shakespeare's learning 
 may, I think, fairly be reconsidered with the rest. For, 
 although this particular sheaf of the great harvest has 
 been, like so many others, pretty fully thrashed out, there 
 are still a few golden grains remaining which it may be 
 worth while to collect and preserve. This is the object 
 of the present paper. I purpose gathering together some 
 indirect points of evidence bearing on the subject that 
 have hitherto been overlooked. The question of Shake- 
 speare's classical quotations is a larger one, and in dealing 
 with it I hope to throw some further light on the sources 
 he employed as well as on his method of using them. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 149 
 
 The materials for a trustworthy estimate of Shake- 
 speare's attainments are to be looked for in various 
 quarters which may be indicated at the outset. We 
 have the indirect evidence supplied by the learned allu- 
 sions scattered through his dramas, and the more direct 
 evidence furnished by his earliest tragedy, " Titus 
 Andronicus," and especially by his earliest comedy, 
 "Love's Labour's Lost". One main object of the 
 comedy being to satirise pedantry, to expose the taste- 
 less display of learning, the mere parade of scholastic 
 technicalities, the writer must obviously have had some 
 personal knowledge of the thing paraded in order that 
 the satire may be relevant and effective. So far the 
 evidence here is more vital and direct than that afforded 
 by incidental allusions to the mythology and legendary 
 history of Greece and Kome. Shakespeare's genius 
 seems first, as Coleridge suggests, to have dealt with 
 the familiar elements of his own recent experience 
 before going further afield to find in the wider world of 
 home and foreign literature fitting subjects for its more 
 arduous, mature and complex efforts. 
 
 In connection with this comes another important 
 source whence materials for judgment may be derived 
 the probable course of instruction in Stratford 
 Grammar School during the years when Shakespeare 
 was a pupil there. I will deal with this point first, as 
 its exposition may help to connect and illustrate the 
 scattered arid fragmentary evidence derived from an 
 examination of his writings. Whatever differences of 
 opinion may exist as to the actual extent of Shake- 
 speare's classical knowledge, there can be no doubt that 
 he had a very fair education ; and it is almost equally 
 certain that he must have obtained it in the grammar 
 
150 SHAKESPEAKE. 
 
 school of his native town. About the date at which, 
 according to the custom of the time, he would naturally 
 be sent to school, his father, Master John Shakespeare, 
 was not only a prosperous burgess, but the chief magis- 
 trate of Stratford ; and we may be sure that he, as well 
 as Shakespeare's gently descended mother, Mary Arden 
 of the Asbies, would be most anxious that their eldest 
 son should have the best education to be obtained in 
 the locality. According to an authority I shall pre- 
 sently quote, children were often sent to the petty 
 school, or English side of the grammar school, about 
 the age of five, and after remaining there two years 
 entered the grammar school proper, and began the 
 study of Latin at seven. If they completed the full 
 course of instruction, they remained till their fifteenth 
 or sixteenth year, when they left, prepared for commer- 
 cial or professional life, or, in special cases, for a course 
 of university study. We know that, in consequence 
 of the altered state of his father's circumstances, Shake- 
 speare was withdrawn from school before he had com- 
 pleted the full term, and it is usually assumed on 
 tolerably good grounds that he left in 1578, when he 
 had just completed his fourteenth year. The question 
 is : What did Shakespeare probably learn during the six 
 or seven years he was a pupil in the grammar school 
 of his native town ? In other words : What was the 
 course of instruction in a provincial grammar school like 
 that of Stratford-upon-Avon in the second half of the 
 sixteenth century? This question has recently been 
 raised by Mr. Furnivall in his zeal to find out all that 
 can be known about Shakespeare. 1 Mr. Lupton's reply 
 to Mr. Furnivall's inquiry as to what Shakespeare pro- 
 1 In the Athenaeum for Oct. 7, 1876. 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 151 
 
 bably learnt at school contains some valuable notes 
 of the old grammar school curriculum, derived from 
 charters and foundation deeds, and some useful hints as 
 to the directions in which further information might in 
 all likelihood be obtained. These hints will probably 
 be turned to good account by some of the many en- 
 thusiastic volunteers who are now happily engaged in 
 exploring the obscure and difficult questions connected 
 with Shakespeare's history and work. 
 
 Meanwhile, as a help towards the further elucida- 
 tion of the subject, I may put together some notes of 
 my own, made before the New Shakespearian Society 
 had started into existence. It is perhaps appropriate 
 that the question should be rediscussed in these pages, 
 as by far the best things ever said 011 the learning of 
 Shakespeare appeared in Fraser's Magazine forty years 
 ago. In three papers, marked by his well-known learn- 
 ing and literary power, Dr. Maginn pierced the pedantic 
 and inflated " Essay " of Farmer into hopeless collapse. 
 In his own day it is true this once celebrated essay did 
 some good by abating the extravagant claims on behalf 
 of Shakespeare's scholarship made by Upton, Whalley 
 and others. They tried to show that Shakespeare was, 
 like Ben Jonson, a regularly built scholar, as familiar 
 with the Greek dramatists, and as well read in the chief 
 monuments of classical literature, as though he had 
 gone through a distinguished university course. Their 
 ingenious labours were indeed an amusing but desperate 
 attempt on the part of academic critics to appropriate 
 Shakespeare, to annex him as it were to the academic 
 interest. The real, though perhaps hardly conscious 
 aim was to show that Shakespeare, instead of being as 
 some supposed an illiterate comedian and playwright, 
 
152 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 was a scholarly and respectable person, who might have 
 been admitted to dine in the hall of a college, and take 
 part in the conversation of its learned members. In 
 short, they claim for Shakespeare that he was worthy 
 of academic recognition, and they do this on the narrow 
 and technical grounds which in their day were almost 
 the only ones that would have been generally recog- 
 nised as relevant and valid. Upton, who was Prebend- 
 ary of Rochester, virtually confesses this in the motto 
 prefixed to his Critical Observations : 
 
 " Ne forte pudori 
 Sit tibi Musa lyrae solers, et cantor Apollo ". 
 
 But the zeal of these academic apologists completely 
 outran all critical discretion. Their method of proof 
 was simply that of assuming that wherever Shakespeare 
 referred to the incidents of mythological fable or heroic 
 story, he must have gained his knowledge of them, at 
 first hand, from classical sources. Allusions to the 
 hunting expedition of Dido and tineas, or to the deser- 
 tion of the queen by the pious hero, were held to prove 
 Shakespeare's familiarity with Virgil. If he speaks of 
 " Jove in a thatched house," he must have read the fable 
 of Baucis and Philemon, in the -"Metamorphoses" of 
 Ovid ; while an allusion to " Circe's cup " was supposed 
 to show his acquaintance with the "Odyssey". The re- 
 futation of these extreme positions was comparatively 
 easy ; but Farmer, not satisfied with showing how base- 
 less they were, went much further. He virtually 
 maintained that, as Shakespeare might have obtained 
 his classical knowledge from English sources, and in 
 many cases really did so, he must have been ignorant 
 of the originals and incapable of making any use of 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 153 
 
 them. "He remembered," says Farmer, "perhaps 
 enough of his school-boy learning to put the hig, hag, 
 hog into the mouth of Sir Hugh Evans, and might pick 
 up, in the writers of the time or the course of his 
 conversation, a familiar phrase or two of French and 
 Italian, but his studies were most demonstratively con- 
 fined to nature and his own language." Dr. Maginn 
 has abundantly exposed the illogical character and false 
 conclusions of Farmer's reasoning on the subject. His 
 position is indeed as extreme on one side as that of the 
 critics he attacked is on the other. As we shall pre- 
 sently see, the truth probably lies between the rival 
 contentions. Shakespeare was neither so learned as 
 the early critics assumed, nor so ignorant as the later 
 tried to demonstrate. As an acute writer humorously 
 expresses it: "Although the alleged imitation of the 
 Greek tragedians is mere nonsense, yet there is clear 
 evidence that Shakespeare received the ordinary 
 grammar-school education of his time, and that he 
 had derived from the pain and suffering of several years, 
 not exactly an acquaintance with Greek or Latin, but, 
 like Eton boys, a firm conviction that there are such 
 languages ". 
 
 This settlement of the question, though delightfully 
 brief and pointed, and perhaps not very far from the 
 truth, is nevertheless somewhat too summary for the 
 purpose in hand. We must try to ascertain, if possible, 
 what the ordinary grammar-school education of Shake- 
 speare's time actually was, so as to answer, in some 
 detail, the question as to what he would be likely to 
 learn during the six or seven years' training in his 
 native town. For this purpose, Carlisle's Descrip- 
 tion of the Endowed Grammar Schools of England and 
 
154 SHAKE SPEAKE. 
 
 Wales is no doubt useful, though after some examination, 
 I may say, not so useful as might have been expected. 
 It supplies, as Mr. Lupton says, materials for answer- 
 ing the question ; but these are hardly the best available, 
 being for the most part too vague and general to be of 
 special value. The deeds of founders, the school statutes 
 and ordinances, while describing, in general terms, the 
 kind of education to be given, rarely descend to par- 
 ticulars as to the actual curriculum of school teaching. 
 They do not enable us to realise with sufficient distinct- 
 ness the different grades of progress, the forms into 
 which the schools were commonly divided, and the 
 books that a boy w r ould usually read in making his way 
 from the lowest to the highest. I shall endeavour to 
 throw some light on these points, by means of two 
 works, once widely known, but now forgotten. The 
 older of these is the Ludus Liter drim, or Grammar Schoole, 
 of John Brinsley, published in the year 1612. The 
 expanded title " Shewing how to proceede from the 
 first entrance into learning, to the highest perfection 
 required in the grammar schooles, with ease, certainty, 
 and delight both to masters and schollars : only accord- 
 ing to our common grammar and ordinary classical 
 authours " sufficiently illustrates the main design of 
 the treatise. The Ludus Literarius is an acute and in- 
 teresting work, full of illustrations of the actual teach- 
 ing in the grammar schools of the time, as well as of 
 fruitful suggestions for its improvement. Brinsley was 
 not only an accomplished scholar and critic, but a born 
 teacher, with genuine enthusiasm for the work and hav- 
 ing ideas as to more simple and efficient methods of 
 teaching far in advance of his own day, if not of ours. 
 He belonged to a band of educational reformers, includ- 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 155 
 
 ing, among others, Mulcaster, Drury, Coote, and 
 Farnaby, who, against the dominant influence of 
 usage and tradition, strove to give more directness, 
 vitality, and power to the school teaching of their day. 
 Their zeal, as represented by Brinsley, was thoroughly 
 patriotic, if not imperial in its scope and aim. In 
 dedicating his translation of Ovid to Lord Denny, he 
 says that he intended it 
 
 "chiefly for the poore ignorant Countries of Ireland and Wales, of the 
 good whereof we ought to be carefull as well as of our oune : unto 
 which I have principally bent my thoughts in all my grammatical 
 translations of our inferior classical Schoole authors. For that as 
 in all such places [English schools before referred to] so especially 
 in those barbarous countries, the hope of the Church of God is to 
 come primarily out of the Grammar Schoole s, by reducing them 
 first into civility through the means of schooles of good learning 
 planted among them in every quarter ; whereby their savage and 
 wilde conditions may be changed into true learning, according to 
 the right judgment of our poet, which the experience of all ages 
 hath confirmed." 
 
 Though it may be doubted whether the benefit of 
 Brinsley 's labours extended so far, the very excellent 
 school-books he produced were fully appreciated, and 
 did good service in England. These, in common with 
 his more general work on teaching, have long since 
 fallen out of knowledge. 1 How completely Brinsley is 
 forgotten, indeed, is shown by the fact that in such 
 standard works as Watt's BiUiotheca and Allibone's 
 Critical Dictionary of English Literature the father is 
 confounded with the son, a learned Presbyterian divine 
 who, after having attained distinction in the Church, 
 
 1 Mr. Furnivall gives some extracts from Brinsley in his intro- 
 duction to The Babees Book, published by the Early English Text 
 Society, in 1868. 
 
156 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 was ejected from it by the Act of Uniformity in 1662. 
 Both Watt and Allibone say that John Brinsley was 
 born in 1600, and published his Lucius Literarius in 
 1612. One might have supposed that the mere jux- 
 taposition of the dates would have excited suspicion 
 and led to inquiry ; but in many cases the perpetuation 
 of a tolerably obvious error seems much easier than its 
 correction. 1 As a matter of fact, about the date of his 
 alleged birth (1601) Brinsley was appointed master of 
 the grammar school of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, where he 
 remained teaching with eminent success for sixteen 
 years. Before his appointment, he had married a 
 sister of the well-known Dr. Joseph Hall, afterwards 
 Bishop successively of Exeter and Norwich. Hall was 
 a native of Ashby, his father being local factor for 
 the Earl of Huntingdon, whose chief seat was in the 
 neighbourhood. As Brinsley had married before his 
 appointment to the head-mastership, it seems probable 
 that he had some previous connection with the school, 
 possibly while it was under the management of Hall 
 himself, who seems to have acted as master for a year 
 or two in the last decade of the century. However this 
 may be, the future bishop took an active interest in his 
 brother-in-law's affairs. He writes a commendatory pre- 
 face to his Lucius Literarius, in which he says that the new 
 methods of teaching recommended in the work are not 
 " meere speculation, whose promises are commonly as 
 
 1 This confusion extends to Wood, if indeed it did not originate 
 with him. In the Athence Oxonienses, Wood speaks of "that noted 
 grammarian John Brinsley, sometime a schoolmaster, and minister 
 in Great Yarmouth in Norfolk an. 1636 ". It need scarcely be said, 
 however, that it was the son and not the father who was minister 
 at Great Yarmouth. The mistake remains uncorrected in Bliss's 
 critical edition of Wood. Indeed, the editor adds to the confusion 
 by attributing some of the son's theological writings to the father. 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 157 
 
 large as the performance defective ; but such as to 
 the knowledge of my selfe nianie abler judges, have 
 been, and are daily answered in his experience, and 
 practice with more than usual successe ". Hall also sent 
 his nephew, young Brinsley, to Cambridge ; and at the 
 end of his college course took him abroad as private 
 secretary, when, in 1618, he attended the Synod of 
 Dort on behalf of the English Church. The elder 
 Brinsley appears to have been fortunate in gaining the 
 friendship of several gentlemen of local eminence, in- 
 cluding Sir George Hastings, brother of the Earl of 
 Huntingdon, to whom his translation of Virgil's 
 Eclogues is dedicated, and Lord Denny, to whom in 
 the same way he dedicated his version of Ovid. 
 
 From the dates given above it will be seen that 
 Brinsley was a contemporary of Shakespeare, and that 
 his most active years as head-master run parallel with 
 the most important and productive period of Shake- 
 speare's dramatic career. His account, therefore, of the 
 grammar-school teaching of the time is of the nature 
 of contemporary evidence. The second volume, whose 
 contents bear on the inquiry, is of somewhat later date, 
 although, as we shall presently see, it supplies indirectly 
 valuable evidence as to the state of school teaching in 
 Shakespeare's day. This work is " A New Discovery 
 of the old Art of Teaching Schoole : in four small 
 Treatises ; concerning, A Petty School, The Usher's 
 Duty, The Master's Method, and Scholastick Discipline : 
 Shewing how Children in their playing years may 
 Grammatically attain to a firm groundedness in an ex- 
 ercise of the Latine and Greek Tongues ". The author, 
 Charles Hoole, was a successful and celebrated school- 
 master in the first half of the seventeenth century. He 
 
158 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 was born at Wakefield in 1610, and educated in the 
 grammar school of his native town. Like Brinsley, 
 Hoole was connected with an eminent churchman and 
 divine who subsequently rose to the episcopal bench 
 Dr. Robert Sanderson, the well-known casuist and 
 logician. The bishop's guiding and helping hand was 
 of great service to Hoole at the outset of life as well as 
 in his subsequent career. We are told that, "by the 
 advice of his kinsman, Dr. Robert Sanderson, afterwards 
 Bishop of Lincoln, he was sent to Lincoln College, 
 Oxford, where he became proficient in languages and 
 philosophy ". The bishop was a native of Rotherham, 
 educated in the grammar school of the town ; and it seems 
 to have been through his influence that young Hoole, 
 soon after leaving Oxford, was appointed head-master 
 of the school. Here he commenced his reforms, 
 and drew up his first sketch of the " Improved 
 Scheme of Teaching ". The grammar school of Rother- 
 ham is of special interest from its close resemblance 
 in history and general features to the grammar school 
 of Stratford-upon-Avon. Both were pre-Reformation 
 schools, founded and endowed about the same time by 
 churchmen who were natives of the respective towns, 
 and whose local patriotism and zeal for learning looked 
 beyond the mere ecclesiastical horizon. Both schools 
 were, however, connected with ecclesiastical founda- 
 tions, that of Rotherham with the Collegiate Charge 
 in the town, and that of Stratford with the Guild of 
 the Holy Cross. In each case this ecclesiastical con- 
 nection was the cause of their temporary ruin, the 
 schools having fallen at the Reformation with the 
 religious houses to which they were attached. The 
 case of Rotherham was peculiarly hard, as it seems to 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 159 
 
 have been suppressed by sheer violence without even 
 the usual pretexts of royal mandate or legal authority 
 of some kind. Its hard fate, and indeed all distinct 
 knowledge of the pre-Reformation school, have appar- 
 ently fallen into oblivion. At least Carlisle, the highest 
 authority on the history of our grammar schools, seems 
 to know nothing of the earlier foundation, and gives 
 the date of its restoration in the second half of the 
 sixteenth century as that of the establishment of the 
 school. It may be worth while, therefore, to extract 
 Hoole's pathetic lament over its violent suppression, 
 as the facts ought certainly to find a place in any 
 new edition of Carlisle's valuable work. In a chapter 
 devoted to the establishment and multiplication of 
 good grammar schools, Hoole refers to the matter 
 as follows : 
 
 " I might here bewayle the unhappy divertment of Jesus Colledge 
 in Kotherham, in which Town, one Thomas Scot, alias Rotherham 
 (a poor boy in Ecclesfield Parish), having had his education, and 
 being advanced to the Archbishoprick of York, in the time of 
 Edward the fourth, did out of love to his country and gratitude to 
 the Town, erect a Colledge as a Schoole for a Provost who was to 
 be a Divine, and to preach at Ecclesfield, Laxton and other places 
 where the Colledge demeans lay, and three Fellows, whereof one 
 was to teach Grammar, another Musiclc, and the third Writing, be- 
 sides a number of Scholars, for some of whom he also provided 
 Fellowships in Lincolne Colledge in Oxford. But in the time of 
 Henry the eighth, the Earle of Showesbury (who, as I have heard, 
 was the first Lord that gave his vote for demolishing of Abbies), 
 having obtained Eoughford Abbey in Nottinghamshire, to the 
 Prior whereof the Lordship of the Town of Rotherham belonged, 
 took advantage also to sweep away the revenues of Rotherham 
 Colledge (which, according to a rentall that I have seen, amounted 
 to abcmt 2000 per annum). And after a while having engratiated 
 himself with some Townsmen and Gentlemen there about by erect- 
 
160 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 ing a Cock-pit, he removed the Schoole out of the Colledge into a 
 sorry house before the gate, leaving it destitute of any allowance, 
 till Mr. West (that writ the Presidents) in the time of Queen Eliza- 
 beth, and when Mr. Snell was Schoolmaster, obtained a yearly 
 salary of ten pounds per annum, which is since paid out of the 
 Exchequer by the auditor of accounts. I remember how often, and 
 how earnestly Mr. Francis West, who had been Clerk to his 
 Uncle, would declaime against the injury done to that Schoole, 
 which indeed (as he said) ought still to have been kept in the 
 Colledge, and how, when I was a Schoolemaster there, he gave me 
 a copy of the Foundation, and showed me some rentalls of Lands, 
 and told me where many Deeds and Evidences belonging thereto 
 were then concealed, and other remarkable passages, which he was 
 loth to have buried in silence." 
 
 The main points in this account are confirmed by 
 Camden, who, in his brief reference to the town, 
 
 says : 
 
 " From thence [Sheffield] Don, clad with alders and other trees, 
 goeth to Eotheram, which glorieth in Thomas Kotheram some- 
 time Archbishop of Yorke, a wise man, bearing the name of the 
 towne, beeing borne therein, and a singular benefactor thereunto, 
 who founded and endowed there a Colledge with three schooles in 
 it to teach children Writing, Grammar, and Musicke, which the 
 greedy iniquity of these our times hath already swallowed." l 
 
 It is perhaps hardly yet too late for those who are 
 locally interested in the school to inquire into the early 
 and persistent misappropriation of its property and 
 funds. 
 
 The grammar school at Stratford was suppressed in 
 the usual way by royal mandate, but after being in 
 .abeyance for a few years it was restored by Edward 
 VI., in the last year of his reign (1553). That of 
 
 1 Thomas Kotherham, Archbishop of York, appears, it will be re- 
 membered, in "Kichard III.," and in the crisis of their fate attempts 
 to shelter the unhappy Queen and princes from the coming storm. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 161 
 
 Kotherham was restored some years later, mainly, it 
 would seem, through local effort. They were restored, 
 of course, as Protestant foundations, and in their con- 
 stitution and management followed the lines laid down 
 for the numerous grammar schools established in the 
 second half of the great Keformation century. What 
 these lines were, so far as the course of instruction is 
 concerned, we know perfectly in the case of Eotherham, 
 as Hoole gives in detail the forms into which the school 
 was divided, and the books that were used in each up 
 to the time when he became head-master. And the 
 schools of Eotherham and Stratford being alike in their 
 general character, we may conclude with tolerable cer- 
 tainty that what was true of the one, in this respect, 
 would also be true of the other. Hoole's New Discovery, 
 it is true, was not published till 1659, but, as the title- 
 page states, it was written twenty-three years earlier, 
 and had been in private use, and become tolerably well 
 known before it was given to the public through the 
 press. It abounds, too, with references to the course 
 of instruction in the Wakefield grammar school when 
 the author was a pupil there under a master who 
 presided over the school for upwards of fifty years. 
 Hoole gives, at the beginning of the work, a list of 
 the books generally used in the grammar schools of 
 the country, and towards the end, as I have said, the 
 course of instruction established in Rotherham School 
 before he became head-master. These valuable details 
 carry us back to Shakespeare's time ; and as they 
 agree, where comparison is possible, with the state- 
 ments of Brinsley, as well as with the scraps of infor- 
 mation to be derived from the early school charters 
 
 and ordinances, we may accept them as a guide to the 
 
 11 
 
162 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 course of instruction at Stratford. Even apart from 
 this, we may be sure that whatever was generally true 
 of country grammar schools in the early decades of the 
 seventeenth century would be true of them in the later 
 decades of the sixteenth. Public schools, as a rule, are 
 about the most conservative of human institutions so 
 much so that, except at distant and revolutionary inter- 
 vals, the introduction even of a new class-book is a work 
 of extreme difficulty. The Public School Commis- 
 sioners who sat in 1862 found that the lines of instruc- 
 tion laid down in the sixteenth century remained prac- 
 tically unchanged till within the memory of the present 
 generation. The only considerable change that took 
 place between Shakespeare's school days and those of 
 Hoole was in the more general teaching of Greek, as a 
 regular branch of school instruction. Leaving, how- 
 ever, his " less Greek," I shall confine myself to the 
 " little Latin " which, according to his friend and fellow- 
 dramatist, Shakespeare possessed. And on this head 
 we may confidently assume that the course of instruc- 
 tion established at Ashby, at Wakefield, and at Eother- 
 ham would also be found established at Stratford-upon- 
 Avon. 
 
 Brinsley and Hoole were educational reformers 
 carrying on the work already begun by Ascham and 
 Mulcaster. They write on the subject as Englishmen 
 and Protestants, animated by the largest motives of 
 patriotism and piety. They both urge that the diffu- 
 sion of education, the multiplication of good schools, 
 and the adoption of better methods of teaching are 
 essential alike to the welfare of the Church and Common- 
 wealth. The Reformation had, indeed, introduced ele- 
 ments of religious zeal and ecclesiastical rivalry into the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 163 
 
 educational schemes of most European countries, the 
 results of which were very marked in the second half 
 of the sixteenth century. The organisation of Protestant 
 instruction by Melancthoii and Sturm roused in turn 
 the activity of the Jesuits, and under their admirable 
 management secondary education made enormous 
 strides in most Catholic countries. Liberal and 
 patriotic thinkers, it is true, felt the inherent defects 
 of the Jesuit movement in relation to the higher ends 
 of education. While their practical aims were far- 
 sighted, the moral and intellectual horizon of these 
 ecclesiastical experts was, it must be admitted, fatally 
 narrowed by party and sectional barriers. And not- 
 withstanding their rare professional aptitude and ad- 
 ministrative skill, the hide-bound views and dogmatic 
 aims of the Jesuits soon converted their system of 
 secondary instruction into a hindrance rather than a 
 help of real educational progress. But at the outset 
 their thorough study of the subject led to the discovery 
 and adoption of methods of teaching so skilful and 
 efficient as to revolutionise the schools under their 
 control and make them a dominant educational power 
 in Catholic Europe. Brinsley shows a keen conscious- 
 ness of this, and his Protestant zeal finds expression in 
 the dedication of his work to the Princes of the Koyal 
 House. ''Why," he asks, "should wee the liege 
 subjects of Jesus Christ, and of his renowned kingdome, 
 be overgone herein, by the servants of Anti-Christ, 
 many of whom bend all their wittes and joine their 
 studies, for the greatest advantage of their learning, 
 even in the grammar schooles, only to the advancement 
 of Babylon, with the overthrow of this glorious nation, 
 and of all parts of the Church of Christ?" Hall, in 
 
164 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 his commendatory preface, expresses the same feeling : 
 " The Jesuits have won much of their reputation, and 
 stollen many hearts with their diligence in this 
 kinde. How happie shall it be for the Church and us 
 if we excite ourselves at least to imitate this their for- 
 wardness ? We may outstrip them if wee want not to 
 ourselves : Behold here, not feete but wings offered to 
 us." Hoole again reflects the later impulse given to 
 Protestant education by the labours of Comenius. He 
 is thus more decidedly a realist in education than 
 Brinsley, who, influenced mainly by Sturm and Ascham, 
 sympathises with the general views and aims of the 
 humanists. 
 
 As reformers, however, both Brinsley and Hoole 
 insist on substantially the same changes in the existing 
 methods of instruction. It would be out of place to 
 give these in any detail, and I shall notice them only 
 as they throw light on the traditional methods of teach- 
 ing, in the disadvantages of which Shakespeare, no 
 doubt, fully shared. The great majority of the improve- 
 ments suggested may be summed up in the compre- 
 hensive maxim: "Follow nature". "It is," says 
 Hoole 
 
 " Tully' s observation of old, and Erasmus his assertion of later years, 
 that it is as natural for a childe to learn as it is for a beast to go, a 
 bird to fly, or a fish to swim, and I verily beleeve it, for the nature 
 of man is restlessly desirous to know things, and were discourage- 
 ments taken out of the way, and meet helps afforded young 
 learners, they would doubtless go on with a great deal more chere- 
 fulness, and make more proficiency at their books than usually 
 they do : And could the Master have the discretion to make their 
 lessons familiar to them, children would as much delight in being 
 busied about them, as in any other sport, if too long continuance 
 at them might not make them tedious." 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 165 
 
 But in order to give free play to this natural love of 
 learning, the teacher must excite the interest and develop 
 the intelligence of the pupil. The interest of young minds 
 is roused by appealing to their senses and imagination. 
 In learning a language the true plan, therefore, is to 
 begin with what is best known arid most obvious, the 
 names of common objects, familiar words and phrases, 
 and the simplest grammatical elements in the mother- 
 tongue. The knowledge of things must always go hand- 
 in-hand with the knowledge of words, and in enforcing 
 this Brinsley quotes of the acquisition of knowledge the 
 philosophical aphorism so often employed in discussing 
 its origin, " Nihil est in intellectu quod nonpriusfuerat 
 in sensu ". Hoole quotes the same maxim on the title- 
 page of his translation of Comenius' Orbis Pidus, and 
 devotes the preface to a detailed exposition of its mean- 
 ing and application. Without interpreting the use of 
 this maxim too absolutely, its adoption by each re- 
 former sufficiently indicates that the main principle of 
 the new methods recommended is that of proceeding 
 from the concrete and particular -to the abstract and 
 general. What is taught in this way, that of advanc- 
 ing by easy steps from the known to the unknown, is 
 easily learned. In opposition to this, Brinsley and 
 Hoole complain of the time usually wasted in the 
 senseless grinding of mere grammatical husks. They 
 maintain that nothing can be more unnatural or 
 repellent than the traditional plan of forcing a child 
 to learn by heart a crude mass of abstractions and 
 technicalities it cannot comprehend, and compelling 
 it to repeat, in a dull mechanical routine, definitions 
 and rules of which it understands neither the mean- 
 ing nor the application. In efficient teaching the 
 
166 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 intelligence of the learner must be excited and carried 
 forward at every stage, by simplifying technicalities, 
 explaining definitions, giving the reason of the rules, 
 and illustrating their meaning and range by apt and 
 copious examples. 
 
 Imitation is another natural principle which ought 
 to be largely employed in the work of instruction. A 
 boy should learn a new language as he learns his 
 mother-tongue, by hearing it spoken and picking it up 
 from colloquial use. Hence the value of using in the 
 lower forms of a school familiar dialogues, vocabularies 
 and phrase-books. The dialogues and phrases when 
 thoroughly mastered should be committed to memory, 
 and repeated in various forms and new combinations. 
 For the same reason, the saving of time and needless 
 labour, translations should, specially at first, be 
 employed. On this point both Brinsley and Hoole 
 strongly support Ascham ; and the great majority of 
 the numerous school-books they each produced are 
 intended to popularise his plan and facilitate its 
 adoption. Nearly all of these books are versions 
 with explanatory notes of the authors usually read in 
 the lower forms of the existing schools. In school 
 discipline, again, the reformers rely on the natural 
 principle of emulation and the love of praise, instead 
 of on the old methods of terror and force. Sympathy 
 and encouragement are to take the place of stripes and 
 penalties. In cases of hesitation and mistake, the 
 teacher should patiently try to understand and remove 
 the pupil's difficulty, instead of resorting to the rougher 
 and readier plan of a word and a blow. On this point 
 I may give an extract from Brinsley that helps to 
 explain the title of his work : 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 167 
 
 " A sixth general observation, and of no less worth than any 
 of the former, is this That there be most needful care chiefly 
 amongst all the youngest, that no one of them be any way dis- 
 couraged, eyther by bitternesse of speech, or by taunting disgrace : 
 or else by seuerity of correction, to cause them to hate the Schoole 
 before they knowe it : or to distast good learning before they have 
 felt the sweetnesse of it : but instead heerof, that all things in 
 Schooles be done by emulation, and honest contention, through a 
 wise commending in them every thing which any way deserveth 
 praise and by giving preeminence in place, or such like rewards. 
 For that adage is not so ancient as true ; Laus excitat ingenium. 
 There is no such a Whet- stone, to set an edge upon a good wit, 
 or to encourage an ingenious nature to learning as praise is, as our 
 learned Master Askam doth most rightly affirme. . . . ' Besides 
 this also, this same strife for these Masteries, and for rewards of 
 learning, is the most commendable play, and the very highway to 
 make the Schoole-house to be Ludus literarius, indeed, a Schoole 
 of play and pleasure (as was said), and not of feare and bondage ; 
 although there must bee alwaies a nieete and loving feare, furthered 
 by a wise severitie, to maintaine authority, and to make it also 
 Ludus a non ludendo, a place voyd of al fruitless play and loytering, 
 the better to be able to effect al this good which we desire.' " 
 
 This extract points to the main object of both re- 
 formers. All their suggested improvements refer to 
 methods of teaching and the details of school manage- 
 ment, rather than to the course of instruction. They 
 do not urge the introduction of new books, but simply 
 a more efficient arid intelligent use of those already 
 established in the grammar-school curriculum. They 
 show in detail how in the earlier classes a knowledge of 
 grammatical elements, of the accidence and rules of 
 construing, may be thoroughly acquired in half the time 
 usually spent upon them ; how, as the pupil advances, 
 the process of construing may, with proper helps and 
 exercises, be enormously facilitated ; and how, in the 
 higher forms, the reading of standard authors and the 
 
168 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 writing of Latin prose and verse may be made not only 
 a comparatively easy, but an attractive and invigorating 
 discipline. 
 
 In order to give full effect to the improved methods, 
 they both recommend a rearrangement of the classes, 
 which in many existing schools seem to have been 
 rather loose and straggling. Instead of a number of 
 thin and irregularly sized classes, they urge the careful 
 distribution of the pupils into compact and co-ordinate 
 forms, and they show how a well-arranged system of 
 classes and class-work will help to concentrate, econo- 
 mise and turn to the best account the teaching power 
 of the school. Hoole goes into minute details as to the 
 number of forms, and the work done in each. Brinsley 
 often speaks of the lower and upper schools, and the 
 authors read in them : and when the school was divided 
 into six forms, each of these sections would contain 
 three. Sometimes he speaks of the lower, the middle, 
 and the upper school, and these sections would contain 
 two or three classes each, according as the school was 
 divided into six or nine forms. But whatever the 
 number of forms, there is no difference whatever in the 
 books used, and the authors read, at each stage of the 
 pupil's progress. On this point both reformers are 
 highly conservative. They even maintain that a book 
 so unfitted in many ways for elementary use as Lily's 
 Grammar must still be retained and taught in its 
 integrity. This feature makes their list of school-books 
 and authors not only instructive, but directly available, 
 in the way of evidence, for the purpose in hand. They 
 describe an established curriculum in which, as I have 
 said, there would be hardly any change of importance 
 since the days of Shakespeare's youth. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 169 
 
 Brinsley gives a less detailed and co-ordinate enu- 
 meration of school-books ; but his list is valuable, not 
 only from its earlier date, but as an introduction to the 
 fuller account supplied by Hoole. The difference be- 
 tween them arises from the fact that Brinsley nowhere 
 attempts a full or formal enumeration of the books in 
 use, but simply refers to them incidentally in connection 
 with his own labours, and the improved methods of 
 teaching he expounds and enforces. Hoole, on the 
 other hand, gives, as I have said, two lists : one of the 
 books used in the classes of Eotherham Grammar 
 School early in the beginning of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury, the other of the works used in the different 
 grammar schools throughout the country. In the 
 lower school the first class was of course engaged for 
 a time in mastering the accidence and the rules of 
 Lilys Grammar, and the bitterest complaints are made 
 of the time usually wasted in the process. When the 
 pupils had acquired some command over the gram- 
 matical elements, and advanced towards construing, 
 Brinsley gives the following, as the list of authors 
 read in the lower school : " Pueriles Confabulatiun- 
 culae, Sententiae Pueriles, Cato, Corderius' Dialogues, 
 Esop's Fables, Tully's Epistles gathered by Sturmius, 
 Tully's Offices, with the books adjoined to them, the 
 De Amicitia, De Senectute, and the Paradoxes, Ovid's 
 de Tristibus, Ovid's Metamorphoses, and Virgil ". He 
 also mentions, as helps at this stage, Drax's " Manual 
 of Phrases," the " Flores Poetarum," and Cicero's 
 " De Natura Deorum ". In the upper school, while 
 Ovid and Virgil are still read, he mentions among the 
 more difficult authors taken up, Plautus, Horace, Persius 
 and Juvenal. In reading these he recommends all 
 
170 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 the helps which can be had, and enumerates the 
 critical texts and commentaries that are likely to 
 prove of the greatest service. In the higher forms, 
 however, the boys are largely occupied in writing 
 Latin epistles, Latin themes and verses, and in the 
 rhetorical as well as the grammatical study of the 
 Latin poets and prose writers. Hoole's first list is of 
 books and authors commonly used in the grammar 
 schools of the country. But, side by side with this, he 
 gives another list, headed " Subsidiary Books," those 
 which may be valuable for use and reference at each 
 stage of the progress. Of this double list he speaks as 
 follows : 
 
 " The Authors which I prescribe to be used are partly classical, 
 which every scholar should provide for himselfe, and because these 
 are constantly learnt in most Grammar Schools I appoint them to be 
 read at such times as are usually spent in Lessons. The Subsi- 
 diary Books are those which are helpful to children in performing 
 their tasks with more ease and benefit; and, because all the 
 scholars will not have like need of them, and they are more than 
 any one wih 1 desire to buy, these should be laid up in the Schoole 
 Library, for every Form to make use on as they shall have 
 occasion." 
 
 To save space, I shall give only the list of books 
 and authors commonly read in the grammar schools. 
 The first form is occupied with the accidence and the 
 " Sententise Pueriles " ; the books in use in the second 
 form were "Lily's Grammar," Cato's "Maxims," 
 " Pueriles Confabulatiunculse," and the Colloquies of 
 Corderius ; in the third form, in addition to the grammar 
 and Latin Testament, .SCsop's Fables, the Dialogues 
 of Castelio, the Eclogues of Mantuanus, and the Collo- 
 quies of Helvicus ; in the fourth form, in addition to 
 the Testament and grammar, the " Elements of Rhetoric," 
 
SHAKESPEABE. 171 
 
 Terence, " The Selected Epistles of Cicero," Ovid's " De 
 Tristibus," and " Metamorphoses," and Buchanan's 
 Psalms ; in the fifth form, in addition to the " Elements 
 of Ehetoric," Livy's Orations, Justin, Caesar, Florus, 
 the Colloquies of Erasmus, and Virgil ; in the sixth 
 form, Horace, Juvenal, Persius, Lucan, Plautus, Martial, 
 Cicero's Oations, and Seneca's Tragedies. The list of 
 authors in the sixth form is rather a long one ; but it 
 would seem that while Horace, Juvenal, and Persius were 
 thoroughly read, the others were only read in selected por- 
 tions. On this point Hoole says, in his own detailed 
 account of the work in this form : "As for Lucan, Seneca's 
 Tragedies, Martiall, and the rest of the finest Latin 
 poets, you may do well to give them a taste of each, 
 and show them how and wherein they may imitate 
 them, and borrow something out of them. Mr. Farnbie's 
 notes upon them will be helpful ; and Pareus or Taub- 
 man upon Plautus will make that some merry comedies 
 of his may be easily read over ". 
 
 To complete the evidence supplied by Hoole, I will 
 give in his own words his account of the books and 
 authors used in the Eotherham Grammar School 
 before he became head-master. This second list is 
 indeed of far higher interest and value for the purpose 
 of this paper than the first, as it gives a vivid picture of 
 the work actually done in the various forms of a country 
 grammar school while Shakespeare was still alive. As 
 will be seen, Hoole gives these details mainly for the 
 purpose of showing that he had proposed no change in 
 the course of instruction, but simply in the methods of 
 teaching and school management : 
 
 " That none may censure this Discovery which I have made to 
 be an uncouth way of Teaching, or contrary to what had been afore- 
 
172 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 time observed by my Predecessors of Kotherham School (which is 
 the same that most Schole-Masters yet use), I have hereto annexed 
 their method, just as I received it from the mouth of some Scholars 
 who had been trained up therein all their time at that Schoole and 
 hence sent to the University ; before I came hither to be master. 
 
 " The custom was to enter boyes to the Schoole one by one, as 
 they were fit for the Accidents and to let them proceed therein 
 severally, till so many others came to them, as were fit to be ranked 
 with them in a form. These were first put to read the Accidents, 
 and afterwards made to commit it to memory ; which when they 
 had done, they were exercised in construing and parsing the ex- 
 amples in the English Rules, and this was called the first form : of 
 which it was required to say four Lessons a day : but of the other 
 forms, a part and a Lesson in the fore-noons, and a Lesson onely 
 in the after. 
 
 " The second form was to repeat the Accidents for Parts ; to 
 say fore-noons Lessons in Propria quae maribus, Quae genus, and 
 As in praesenti, which they repeated memoriter, construed and 
 parsed ; to say an after-noon's lessone in Sententiae Pueriles, 
 which they repeated by hart, and construed and parsed ; they 
 repeated their tasks every Friday memoriter, and parsed their 
 Sentences out of the English. 
 
 " The third form was enjoyned first to repeat two parts together 
 every morning, one out of the Accidents and the other out of that 
 forementioiied part of the Grahmiar, and together with their parts, 
 each one was made to form one person of a verb Active in any of 
 the four Conjugations : their fore-noons Lessons were in Syntaxis, 
 which they used to say memoriter, then to construe it, and parse 
 onely the words which contain the force of the Rule ; their fore- 
 noons lessons were two dayes in Aesop's Fables, and other two 
 dayes in Cato ; both which they construed and parsed, and said Cato 
 memoriter ; these Lessons they translated into English, and re- 
 peated all on Fridayes, construing out of the Translations into 
 Latine. 
 
 " The fourth form having ended Syntaxis, first repeated it, and 
 Propria quae maribus, etc., together for parts, and formed a person 
 of a verb Passive, as they did the Active before ; for Lessons they 
 proceeded to the by-rules, and so to Figura and Prosodia ; for after- 
 noon lessons they read Terence two dayes, and Maiituan two dayes? 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 173 
 
 which they translated into English, and repeated on Fridayes, as 
 before. 
 
 " The fifth form said one part in the Latine, and another in the 
 Greek Grammar together ; their fore-noons Lessons was in Butler's 
 Ehetorick, which they said memoriter, and then construed, and 
 apply ed the example to the definition ; their after-noons Lessons 
 were two days in Ovid's Metamorphosis, and two days Tullie's 
 Offices, both which they translated into English ; they learned to 
 scan and prove verses in Flores Poetarum, and repeated their 
 week's works on Fridays, as before. 
 
 " The sixth form continued their parts in the Greek Grammar, 
 and formed a verb Active at every part ; they read the Greek 
 Testament for fore-noons Lessons, beginning with Saint John's 
 Gospel ; their after-noons Lessons were two dayes in Virgil, and two 
 dayes in Tullie's Orations. They construed the Greek Testament 
 into Latine, and the rest into English. 
 
 " The seventh form went on with the Greek Grammar, forming 
 at every part a verb Passive or Medium ; they had their fore-noons 
 Lessons in Isocrates, which they translated into Latine ; their 
 after-noon lessons were two days in Horace, and two days in 
 Seneca's Tragedies ; both which they translated into English. 
 
 " In the eighth form Hesiod was read in the morning, while 
 Juvenal and Persius were construed in the after-noon." 
 
 [The ninth form was wholly occupied with Greek books.] 
 
 The evidence of these lists, given by eminent head- 
 masters writing somewhat later than Shakespeare's 
 school days, may be compared with the fragments of 
 contemporary evidence contained in the earlier school 
 charters and ordinances. The result would, I venture 
 to think, be a strong confirmation of their substantial 
 validity for the purpose in hand. As an illustration, I 
 give below 1 from the early school statutes one that 
 
 1 " These books/' says the statute, " shall only be read in the 
 said School, except it shall be otherwise appointed hereafter, by 
 those that have authority : 
 
 The A B C in English. 
 
 The Catechism in English, set forth by public authority. 
 
 I 
 
174 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 contains perhaps the most detailed list of books and 
 authors to be found in Carlisle's collection that of the 
 Free Grammar School of St. Bees in Cumberland, 
 drawn up in 1583. This list, having been prepared on 
 authority within five or six years after Shakespeare left 
 school, may be accepted as representing fairly enough 
 the books and authors usually read in the country 
 grammar schools. It will be seen that in this list the 
 modern Latin poets used in the schools are enumerated 
 separately, Mantuanus coming first. The second name 
 is printed by Carlisle as Pallurgenius, but this is evi- 
 dently a mistake for Palingenius, whose Zodiac of 
 Life was a very popular book in the sixteenth century. 
 For the rest, the authors enumerated both in prose and 
 verse correspond substantially with the lists already 
 given. 
 
 From these various sources, contemporary and quasi- 
 
 The Psalter and Book of Common Prayer^ . v r -, 
 The New Testament / in 
 
 The Queen's Grammar, with the Accidence. 
 The Small Catechism in Latin, publicly authorised. 
 Confabulationes Pueriles. 
 Aesoppi Fabulae. 
 
 fEpistolae Minores Selectae. 
 I Officiorum. 
 M. T. I De Amicitia. 
 Ciceronis 1 De Senectute. 
 Prose \ Tusculanarum Questionum. 
 
 I Orations, or any other of his works. 
 Salustius. 
 Justinus. 
 
 Commentarii Caesaris. 
 VQ. Curtius. 
 /Distica Catonis. 
 Terentius. 
 
 tr I Virgilius. 
 
 Verse lHoratius. 
 
 Ovidii Metamorphoses. 
 VOvid : ' de Tristibus '. 
 
 B. Mantuanus. 
 Palingenius. 
 Buchanani Scripta. 
 Sedulius. 
 Prudentius," 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 175 
 
 contemporary, we may form a trustworthy general 
 estimate of Shakespeare's course of instruction during 
 his school days. At that time, as we have seen, boys 
 usually went to the grammar school about six or at 
 latest seven years of age, and entered at once upon the 
 accidence. In his first year, therefore, Shakespeare 
 would be occupied with the accidence and grammar. 
 In his second year, with the elements of grammar, he 
 would read some manual of short phrases and familiar 
 dialogues, and these committed to memory would be 
 colloquially employed in the work of the school ; in his 
 third year, if not before, he would take up Cato's 
 Maxims and ^Esop's Fables ; in his fourth, while con- 
 tinuing the Fables, he would read the Eclogues of 
 Mantuanus, parts of Ovid, some of Cicero's Epistles, 
 and probably one of his shorter treatises ; in his fifth 
 year he would continue the reading of Ovid's " Metamor- 
 phoses," with parts of Virgil and Terence ; and in the 
 sixth, Horace, Plautus, and probably part of Juvenal 
 and Persius, with some of Cicero's Orations and 
 Seneca's Tragedies. . In going through such a course, 
 unless the teaching at Stratford was exceptionally in- 
 efficient, the boy must have made some progress in 
 several of these authors, and acquired sufficient know- 
 ledge of the language to read fairly well at sight the 
 more popular poets and prose writers, such as Ovid and 
 Cicero. The masters of the school during the time 
 Shakespeare attended it would seem, however, to have 
 been at least of average attainments and ability, as they 
 rapidly gained promotion. No fewer than three held 
 the post during the decade from 1570 to 1580. In the 
 first two years Walter Roche, for the next five, the 
 most important in Shakespeare's school history, Thomas 
 
176 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 Hunt, and during the last three years Thomas Jenkins 
 were head-masters in the school. 
 
 About the time that Shakespeare's parents would 
 be thinking of sending their eldest boy to school there 
 seems, moreover, to have been a good deal of local 
 activity in relation to the building, the old school-house 
 having been put into thorough repair, and changes made 
 in the internal arrangements for the purpose of render- 
 ing it more airy and healthful. In the chamberlain's 
 accounts for the year 1568 mention is made of sums 
 expended for " repairing the scole," " dressing and 
 sweeping the scole-house," " ground-sellynge the old 
 scole, and taking down the sollar over the school," 
 expressions which warrant the conclusion that there 
 was not only a school-house existing in the early 
 years of our poet, but that it had even then consider- 
 able preteDsions to antiquity. We may reasonably 
 infer that as it had been put into repair in the 
 year 1568, it continued in a state available for use 
 until it was repaired again about the year 1594 or 
 1595, J when the chapel of the guild was temporarily 
 used, as it probably had been more than once before, 
 instead of the school-house. The " sollar" referred to 
 in this extract was a small story, in many cases a loft 
 or garret ; and taking away the sollar over the school- 
 house would, I suppose, indicate that it was heightened 
 and possibly newly roofed, as well as partially refloored. 
 Shakespeare's father had been chosen town bailiff 
 during the year in which these improvements were 
 made, and it would be part of his official duty to inspect 
 
 1 Stratford-upon-Avon Grammar School by King Edward VI. 
 Report of the Proceedings at the Tercentenary Meeting, June 30, 
 1853, pp. 39-40. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 177 
 
 them during their progress and see that the work was 
 well done. As a prosperous burgess and magistrate, 
 he would be proud of the resuscitated foundation con- 
 nected with the Ancient Guild of the Holy Cross, and 
 now known as the " King's New School," and would 
 naturally regard with special interest the renovated 
 building where his son was soon to feel the magical 
 touch of that lettered awakening which in a thousand 
 diversified forms was everywhere quickening the latent 
 seeds of genius -into fruitful life. The new school in 
 the old school-house was, indeed, at once the symbol 
 and meeting-place not only of the two civilisations, the 
 Classical and the Christian, which have determined the 
 character of modern Europe, but of the two main 
 currents of the latter, the Catholic and the Protestant, 
 which are found united in the most brilliant and pro- 
 ductive period of English literature. Associations 
 connected with these great streams of influence were 
 concentrated in the chapel and school-house of the 
 guild, and reflected from the most familiar objects and 
 occupations of both, from the ancient doorway through 
 which the boy passed out of the sunlight into the 
 shadows and subdued hum of the school, from the rude 
 oak forms and desks at which he sat, from the pater 
 noster he pattered, and the catechism which by royal 
 authority he was obliged to learn, from the well-thumbed 
 books of his weather-stained satchel over which he 
 pored, from the milder or more severe exhortations and 
 "lectures" of Thomas Hunt, " artsman " and head- 
 master, and, perhaps most vividly of all, from the fine 
 series of paintings on the chapel walls, depicting with 
 archaic faith and power the " Invention " of the Holy 
 Cross, some of them already half-defaced by the pious 
 
 12 
 
178 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 vandalism of unsparing religious zeal. The whole round 
 of school influences and associations from the simple 
 piety of the cris-cross row and the elementary difficulties 
 of the primer, to the harsh constructions of Persius and 
 the pagan horrors of Seneca's " Medea " and " Thyestes '' 
 must have melted as years went by, almost uncon- 
 sciously perhaps, into the capacious and retentive mind 
 of the marvellous boy, and helped with the life of nature 
 in the fields and woods, and the civic stir and social 
 movements of the town, to prepare and qualify him for 
 his future work. 
 
 II. 
 
 HAVING now gained a general idea of Shakespeare's 
 course of school instruction, we have next to inquire 
 whether his writings supply any evidence of his having 
 passed through such a course. With regard to its first 
 or elementary stage, even Farmer admits that Shake- 
 speare must have been well drilled in the accidence, 
 and that he recollected it vividly enough to use his 
 knowledge with dramatic propriety and effect. Sir Hugh 
 Evans's examination of Mrs. Page's boy in the "Merry 
 Wives of Windsor" accurately represents, indeed, the 
 kind of cumbrous catechetical exercise in the accidence 
 which prevailed at the time in all the grammar schools. 
 Sir Hugh's explanation of the holiday that "Master 
 Slender is let the boys leave to play," and Mrs. Page's 
 complaint, "Sir Hugh, my husband says my son profits 
 nothing in this world at his book. I pray you, ask him 
 some questions in the accidence," are vivid touches 
 illustrating the relation between masters, pupils and 
 parents common enough in Shakespeare's day, and 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 179 
 
 pathetically lamented both by Brinsley and Hoole, but 
 as true probably now as then. Shakespeare's familiarity 
 with Lily's Grammar is shown in many ways ; amongst 
 others by his quotation of some of its more striking 
 examples, such as " Vir sapit qui pauca loquitur ". 
 
 The next stage to the accidence and grammar is 
 that of vocabularies, phrase-books and familiar 
 dialogues ; and this stage is amply illustrated in the 
 scenes between Sir Nathaniel and Holofernes in "Love's 
 Labour's Lost". The schoolmaster's display of Latin 
 words and phrases in the following dialogue are frag- 
 ments from the school vocabularies and phrase-books 
 with which his " ventricle of memory " is stuffed : 
 
 " Hoi. The deer was, as you know, in scinguis, blood ; ripe as a 
 pome-water, who now hangeth like a jewel in the ear of ccelum, the 
 sky, the welkin, the heaven ; and anon falleth like a crab on the 
 face of terra, the soil, the land, the earth. 
 
 " Nath. Truly, Master Holofernes,the epithets are sweetly varied, 
 like a scholar at the least : but, sir, I assure ye, it was a buck of the 
 first head. 
 
 "Hoi. Sir Nathaniel, haud credo. 
 
 "Dull. 'Twas not a haud credo; 'twas a pricket. 
 
 "Hoi. Most barbarous intimation ! yet a kind of insinuation, as 
 it were, in via, in way, of explication ; facere, as it were, replication, 
 or, rather, ostentare, to show, as it were, his inclination, after his 
 undressed, unpolished, uneducated, unpruned, untrained, or, rather, 
 unlettered, or, ratherest, unconfirmed fashion, to insert again my 
 haud credo for a deer. 
 
 " Dull. I said the deer was not a haud credo ; 'twas a pricket. 
 
 " Hoi. Twice-sod simplicity, bis coctus ! 
 thou monster Ignorance, how deformed dost thou look I " 
 
 In the synonyms for ccdum and terra the pedantic 
 master literally parades the school method by which 
 boys were required to note down Latin words and 
 phrases and give as many English equivalents for them 
 
180 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 as possible. The next scene between the curate and 
 the pedant recalls and exemplifies the familiar Latin 
 dialogues which, as we have seen, formed at this stage 
 an important part of the regular school work. It will 
 be remembered that these learned men were walking in 
 the park after having dined with the father of one of 
 the school pupils, where it had been previously ar- 
 ranged that, if the curate would gratify the table with 
 a grace, the pedant would undertake to prove that 
 Biron's love verses, which they had read together, were 
 "very unlearned, neither savouring of poetry, wit, nor 
 invention ". 
 
 " Hoi. Satis quod sufficit. 
 
 " Nath. I praise God for you, sir : your reasons at dinner have 
 been sharp and sententious ; pleasant without scurrility, witty 
 without affection, audacious without impudency, learned without 
 opinion, and strange without heresy. I did converse this quondam 
 day with a companion of the king's who is intituled, nominated or 
 called, Don Adriano de Armado. 
 
 " Hoi. Novi hominem tanquam te : his humour is lofty, his dis- 
 course peremptory, his tongue filed, his eye ambitious, his gait 
 majestical, and his general behaviour vain, ridiculous and thraso- 
 nical. He is too picked, too spruce, too affected, too odd, as it 
 were, too peregrinate, as I may call it. 
 
 "Nath. A most singular and choice epithet. [Takes out his table- 
 
 " Hoi. He draweth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the 
 staple of his argument. I abhor such fanatical phantasms, such 
 insociable and point-devise companions ; such rackers of ortho- 
 graphy, as to speak 'dout,' fine, when he should say 'doubt'; 
 'det,' when he should pronounce 'debt,' d,e,b,t, not d,e,t ; he 
 clepeth a 'calf,' ' cauf ' ; 'half,' 'hauf; 'neighbour' vocatur 
 'nebour'; 'neigh' abbreviated 'ne'. This is abhominable, 
 which he would call abominable ; it insinuateth one of insanire ; ne 
 intelliyis, domine ? to wax frantic, lunatic. 
 
 " Nath. Laus Deo, bone intelligo. 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 181 
 
 " Hoi. Bone ! bone for bene : Priscian a little scratched ; 'twill 
 serve. 
 
 " Nath. Videsne quis venit ? 
 " Hoi. Video , et gaudeo. 
 
 Enter ARMADO. 
 " Arm. Chirrah ! [To MOTH. 
 " Hoi. Quare ' chirrah,' not ' sirrah '." 
 
 These scraps of Latin dialogue exemplify the tech- 
 nical Latin intercourse between master and pupils in 
 the school work, as well as the formal colloquies the 
 latter were required to prepare as exercises in the second 
 stage of their course. In one of the manuals of the 
 latter, entitled " Familiar es Colloquendi Formulae in 
 Usum Scholarum Concinnatse," I find under the first 
 section, headed, " Scholastics Belonging to the School," 
 the following: "Who comes to meet us? Quis obvia.ru 
 venit ? He speaks improperly, Hie inconyrue loquitur ; 
 He speaks false Latin, Diminuit Prisciani capitt ; 'Tis 
 barbarous Latin, Olet barbariem." In the scene just 
 quoted from it will be remembered Holofernes, in reply 
 to Costard's " Ad dunghill at the fingers' ends, as they 
 say," says, "01 smell false Latin, 'dunghill' for un- 
 guem ". 
 
 In relation to the next stage, that of Cato's Maxims 
 and ^sop's Fables, the proofs of Shakespeare's 
 familiarity with these school-books, if somewhat 
 scattered and allusive, are nevertheless various and 
 abundant. But it is the less necessary to go minutely 
 into the evidence on this head as Mr. Henry Green, in 
 his work on Shakespeare and the Emblem Writers, 
 has detailed the illustrations with almost exhaustive 
 minuteness. In the wider meaning and more general 
 application of the term almost all the school-books used 
 
182 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 at this stage may be summed up under the head of 
 emblems. An emblem is not unfrequently at once an 
 illustrated maxim and a condensed fable. The same 
 epigrammatic or proverbial truth is often found ex- 
 pressed in the three forms of maxim, emblem, and 
 fable. Cato's Maxims and ^Esop's Fables were 
 accordingly often published as school-books with 
 illustrated cuts, engravings, or emblems. The fly-leaf 
 of the school colloquies just referred to contains an ad- 
 vertisement of "^Esop's Fables with their morals in 
 prose and verse, illustrated with a great number of 
 pictures and emblems ". There is a passage in Hoole 
 also which suggests that Shakespeare in reading .5Csop 
 may have acquired some knowledge of the " Gesta 
 Romanorum " during his school days. Speaking of the 
 third form he says : 
 
 " Their forenoone lessons may be in ^E sop's Fables, which is 
 indeed a book of great antiquity and of more solid learning than 
 most men think. For in it many good lectures in morality which 
 would not (perhaps) have been listened to, if they had been de- 
 livered in a plain and naked manner, being handsomely made up 
 and vented in an Apologue, do insinuate themselves into every 
 mans ininde. And for this reason perhaps it is that I finde it, 
 and Gesta Komanorum (which is so generally pleasing to our Countrey 
 people) to have been printed and bound up together in Latine, even 
 when the Latine was yet in its drosse." 
 
 Alciat-s was the most popular of the emblem books 
 so common in the sixteenth century, and Mr. Green 
 has shown how familiar Shakespeare was with his 
 work. Now Hoole enumerates Alciat's emblems in 
 his list of subsidiary books, and refers to it more than 
 once as a manual used in the schools. Thus, in dealing 
 with the work of the fourth form, he says ; 
 
SHAKESPEARE. . 183 
 
 " After they have become acquainted with a variety of metre 
 you may cause them to turn a fable of ^Esop into what kind of 
 verse you please to appoint them, and sometimes you may let them 
 translate some select Epigrams out of those collected by Mr. 
 Farnaby, or some emblems out of Alciat or the like nourishes of 
 wit which you think will more delight them and help their 
 fancies ". 
 
 Elsewhere he recommends that, as a help to making 
 themes and verses, the boys of the fifth form should 
 have a commonplace book in which they should write 
 the heads set down by Farnaby in his Index Rhetoricus, 
 and busy themselves on Tuesdays and Thursdays after- 
 noons in collecting short histories out of Florus, Caesar, 
 Livy, and others, Apologues and Fables out of ^Esop, 
 Phsedrus, and Ovid, and Emblems and Symbols out of 
 Alciat and Beza. 
 
 In the next stage of his school career, Shakespeare 
 would begin the reading of Ovid, parts of the " De 
 Tristibus " and the " Metamorphoses," and with Ovid 
 he would take up the selected Epistles of Cicero, and 
 the Eclogues of Baptista Mantuanus. The evidence 
 as to the last point is supplied by the well-known 
 quotation from the Eclogues in " Love's Labour's 
 Lost ". But how imperfectly the subject of Shakespeare's 
 scholarship has hitherto been worked out is, I think, 
 shown by the fact that no critic or commentator seems 
 to have ascertained with any certainty whether the 
 Eclogues were in common use as a school-book or not. 
 Malone, indeed, says that from a passage in Nash's 
 Apology, "the Eclogues of Mantuanus appear to have 
 been a school-book in our author's time". And War- 
 burton gives at second hand a quotation from Farnaby's 
 introduction to Martial, which certainly illustrates the 
 absurdly high estimation in which the Mantuan was 
 
184 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 held. So popular was Mantuanus in the sixteenth 
 century that, according to Farnaby, the pedants had no 
 hesitation in preferring the " Fauste, piecor, gelida" to 
 the " Arma virumque cano " ; in other words, the 
 Eclogues of Mantuanus to the JEneid of Virgil. Several 
 editions of the Eclogues in the original, and more than 
 one translation, had been published in England before 
 Shakespeare's school days, and it would seem, from 
 numerous and laudatory references in contemporary 
 literature, that the author w^as, for a time at least, as 
 much in vogue here -as on the Continent. Almost the 
 only exception to the general eulogy is found in the 
 pages of D.rayton, Shakespeare's friend and fellow- 
 countryman. In his " Heroic Epistles " he makes one 
 of the heroines stigmatise the Mantuan as " foul- 
 mouthed " on the strength of an Eclogue (the fourth), 
 in which, the monk getting the better of the poet, he 
 " bitterly inveigheth against womankind ". In the notes, 
 however, Drayton himself justifies the favourite author, 
 maintaining that the invective, though severe, is well 
 deserved. 
 
 Why Mantuanus should have become so popular as 
 to acquire the reputation of a classic, and become es- 
 tablished as a text-book in the secondary schools, it is 
 not very easy to understand. Much of his voluminous 
 Latin poetry is of little value ; and although his Ec- 
 logues show considerable facility both of conception and 
 execution, they want the rustic feeling and picturesque 
 touch, as well as the unity and finish, of the true 
 Bucolic. That they were among the earliest modern 
 Eclogues was no doubt a point in their favour. And 
 the birthplace of the writer would count for something 
 in the comparison of his work with that of Virgil. But 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 185 
 
 that on these, or indeed on any conceivable grounds, 
 the Carmelite monk should have been seriously com- 
 pared to the great Augustan poet, and ranked as not 
 inferior, seems almost incredible. There is no doubt, 
 however, about the fact. Barklay, the author of the 
 " Ship of Fools," who wrote the earliest English Ec- 
 logues, says in his prologue : 
 
 " And in like manner, no we lately in our dayes 
 Hath other poets attempted the same wayes 
 As the most famous Baptist Mantuan, 
 The best of that sort since poets first began ". 
 
 The poems of Mantuanus were publicly read in 
 Paris early in the sixteenth century, while the Eclogues, 
 established as a text-book in the schools of almost every 
 country in Europe, were lauded and lectured upon ad 
 nauseam. Farnaby's sarcastic reference was, indeed, 
 the instinctive revolt of a genuine scholar and critic 
 from the tasteless eulogies which had become a schol- 
 astic tradition. But Shakespeare's satire on the "bisson 
 conspectuities " of the pedants is earlier and even more 
 incisive. Those who are familiar with "Love's Labour's 
 Lost" will remember that while the curate, Sir Na- 
 thaniel, is reading Biron's epistle, which "accidentally 
 or by way of progression had miscarried," Holofernes, 
 full of pedagogic self-importance, cannot resist airing 
 at large his professional accomplishments. He accord- 
 ingly breaks forth with a sounding line from the school 
 author so dear to the pedantic mind : 
 
 " Fauste, precor, gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra liuminat 
 and so forth. Ah, good old Mantuan ! I may speak of thee as 
 the traveller doth of Venice : 
 
 ' Venegia, Venegia, 
 Chi non te vede, ei non te pregia \ 
 
186 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 Old Mantuan, old Mantuan ! who imderstandeth thee not, loves 
 thee not." 
 
 Both poet and critic were, however, as usual, com- 
 paratively powerless against the pedants ; or rather, 
 perhaps, it would be more correct to say that the vis 
 inertice of use and wont still kept the old Mantuan in 
 his place as a favourite school author. As we have 
 seen, he is enumerated in the year 1585 amongst the 
 school-books to be used at St. Bees, and half a century 
 earlier Mantuanus was prescribed amongst the authors 
 to be read in the newly-established grammar school 
 of St. Paul's. The Eclogues are also contained in each 
 of the lists of forms and school-books given by Hoole. 
 And in the body of his work Hoole not only states that 
 Mantuanus was usually read in the grammar schools, 
 but he selects the very lines quoted by Shakespeare to 
 illustrate one of the ordinary school exercises known 
 technically as metaphrase. The lines are as follows: 
 
 "For Afternoon lessons on Mondayes and Wednesdayes let 
 them make use of Mantuanus, which is a Poet, both for style and 
 matter, very familiar and gratefull to children, and therefore read 
 in most Schooles. They may read over some of the Eclogues that 
 are less offensive than the rest, takeing six lines at a lesson, which 
 they should first commit to memory, as they are able. Secondly, 
 construe. Thirdly, parse. Then help them to pick out the phrases 
 and sentences, which they may commit to a paper book; and after- 
 wards resolve the matter of their lessons into an English period or 
 two, which they may turn into proper and elegant Latine, observ- 
 ing the placing of words, according to prose. Thus out of the five 
 first verses in the first Eclogue : 
 
 ' Fauste, precor, gelida quando pecus omne sub umbra 
 Ruminat, antiques paulum recitemus am ores, 
 Ne si forte sopor nos occupet ulla ferarum, 
 Quae modo per segetes tacite insidiantur adultas, 
 Sseviat in pecudes, melior vigilantia somno/ 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 187 
 
 one may take such a period as this : Shepherds are wont some- 
 times to talke of their old loves, whilest the cattel chew the cud 
 under the shade ; for fear, if they should fall asleep, some Fox or 
 Wolf, or such like beast of prey, which either lurk in the thick 
 woods, or lay wait in the grown corn, should fall upon the cattel. 
 And indeed, watching is farre more commendable for a Prince, or 
 Magistrate, than immoderate, or unseasonable sleep. 'Pastores 
 aliquando, dum pecus sub umbra ruminat, antiquos suos amores 
 recitare soleiit ; ne, si sopor ipsos occupet, vulpes, aut lupus, aut 
 aliqua ejus generis fera praedabunda, quse vel in densis sylvis lati- 
 tant, vel per adultas segetes insidiatur, in pecude sseviat ; imo 
 enimvero Principi vel Magistratui vigilantia somno immodico ac 
 intempestivo multo laudabilior est.' And this will help to pre- 
 pare their invention for future exercises, by teaching them to suck 
 the marrow both of words and matter out of all their Authors." 
 
 Were there still any doubt on the subject, this 
 passage is decisive as to the general use of the Eclogues 
 in the grammar schools. It also shows that, notwith- 
 standing the occasional protests of more cultured 
 critics, they kept their place in the established cur- 
 riculum down at least to the second half of the seven- 
 teenth century. 
 
 With regard to Shakespeare's further stages of pro- 
 gress in the upper school, the illustrations to be derived 
 from his writings are perhaps neither so numerous nor 
 decisive as those relating to the lower school. He re- 
 fers, indeed, more than once to several of the authors 
 read in the higher forms, and gives apt quotations from 
 some of the more significant, such as Virgil and Horace, 
 Terence and Seneca. But it is difficult, on the strength 
 of such allusions and quotations, to estimate the pro- 
 gress made in these authors, as they would necessarily 
 be read under the drawbacks insisted on by the re- 
 formers and without any of the helps they specify and 
 recommend. It would seem, however, that Shake- 
 
188 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 speare must have had some experience of the special 
 exercises belonging to the higher forms, amongst others 
 those of making Latin, of writing Latin epistles, 
 themes, and verses. At least he represents Holof er- 
 nes as criticising Biron's love sonnet according to the 
 established stages and elements of progress in this 
 department of school work. Two of the more impor- 
 tant of these stages were technically known as imita- 
 tion and invention, the lower exercise, or imitation, 
 being preparatory to the higher and more independent 
 effort required for invention. Imitation consisted in 
 taking a passage from some author read in the class, 
 and, while retaining the substance, altering the form. 
 An example of this process has already been given 
 in the passage just quoted from Hoole. Both Brinsley 
 and Hoole carefully describe the exercise, and give 
 directions for its efficient performance in prose and 
 verse. Each takes, among other illustrations, an 
 Epistle from Cicero, giving first the original and then 
 the imitated form. To call out the higher energies of 
 invention a subject was prescribed on which the more 
 advanced pupils had to write a short Latin theme or 
 a certain number of verses in an appointed metre. In 
 doing this they were at full liberty to use the contents 
 of their notes and commonplace books. Indeed, these 
 books were kept and filled very much for the sake of 
 these higher uses ; the chief heads of invention or 
 classified sources, whence reasons and illustrations to 
 be used in the exercises might be derived, being entered 
 in the blank book at the outset, and filled in from the 
 reading and lectures of the class. The " invention " of 
 the school exercises was in this way connected with 
 the wider and more technical treatment of " invention" 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 189 
 
 or the finding of arguments in the old logics and 
 rhetorics. The kind of exercise involved in invention 
 tested the pupils' powers of thought as well as of ex- 
 pression, their promptness and flexibility of mind as 
 well as their command of apt phrases, epithets, and 
 turns of speech. Keeping these different elements of 
 the upper-school exercises in view, we can better under- 
 stand the exact force and bearing of the criticism Holo- 
 fernes volunteers on Biron's love verses. The pedant, 
 it will be remembered, after airing his knowledge of 
 the Eclogues, and giving forth the Italian proverb about 
 Venice, had been impatiently humming to himself 
 while the curate read the letter just delivered by 
 Jaquenetta. At length, his patience being exhausted, 
 he addresses himself directly to the reader : " Under 
 pardon, sir, what are the contents? or, rather, as 
 
 Horace says in his ? " Then, catching sight of the 
 
 manuscript, he exclaims : 
 
 " What, my soul, verses? 
 " Natli. Ay, sir, and very learned. 
 " Hoi. Let me hear a staff, a stanza, a verse, Lege, domine." 
 
 The curate having read the verses, the pedagogic habit 
 is so inveterate with Holofernes that he cannot help 
 coming the schoolmaster over even his mild-mannered 
 and deferential companion. He complains that he has 
 missed the necessary elisions, and not given the proper 
 accent. "You find not the apostrophes, and so miss 
 the accent: let me supervise the canzonet." Then 
 taking the paper into his hands he proceeds, with a 
 frown of critical concentration and the outstretching 
 of a didactic forefinger towards the offending document, 
 to deliver his authoritative judgment : 
 
190 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 " Here are only numbers ratified ; but, for the elegancy, facility, 
 and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius Naso was the man : 
 and why, indeed, Naso ; but for smelling out the odoriferous 
 flowers of fancy, the jerks of invention ! Imitari is nothing : so 
 doth the hound his master, the ape his keeper, the tired horse his 
 rider." 
 
 We can fancy Master Thomas Hunt in the ancient 
 Stratford school-house reading amongst the exercises 
 of the higher forms one signed W. Shakespeare, but, 
 unless he were exceptionally mole-eyed, hardly with the 
 same result. The numbers might not indeed be per- 
 fectly ratified, as the boy's mastery over longs and 
 shorts might be still defective. But the exercise, if 
 marked by blemishes in the details of scholarship, could 
 hardly be wholly wanting in facility, in flowers of fancy, 
 and jerks of invention. However this may be, it seems 
 clear from the extract that Shakespeare was familiar 
 with the kind of exercise, as well as with the cut and 
 dried scholastic principles according to which it was 
 usually criticised. 
 
 In addition to Latin composition, another distinc- 
 tive branch of study in the upper school was rhetoric. 
 In all the accounts of the work done in this section, 
 rhetoric plays an important part. In the higher forms 
 of the Protestant schools, indeed, as well as in those of 
 the Jesuits, the chief subjects of study were "quod ad 
 rhetoricam, poesim et historian! pertinet ". Thus 
 Brinsley, in describing the work of the upper school, 
 after dealing with the making of themes, verses, and 
 orations, has a short chapter devoted to rhetoric, in 
 which he says : 
 
 " For answering the questions of Rhetoricke, you may, if you 
 please, make them perfect in Talaeus' Bhetorick, which I take to 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 191 
 
 be most used in the best schooles ; onely to give each definition 
 and distribution, and some one example, or two at most, in each 
 chapter ; and those of the shortest sentences out of the poets : so 
 that they can give the word or words, wherein the force of the rule 
 is". 
 
 In Hoole the elements of rhetoric are prescribed for 
 the fourth, fifth, and sixth forms. In his account of 
 the Eotherham classes he says of the fifth : 
 
 "Their forenoons Lessons were in Butler's Rhetorick, which 
 they said memoriter, and then construed, and applyed the example 
 to the definition " ; 
 
 and in the master's method he says of the sixth : 
 
 " Let them repeat parts as they did before out of the Elementa 
 Rhetoricis every Thursday morning, and give account what gram- 
 matical or rhetorical notes they have collected and writ fair in 
 their commonplace books for those arts ". 
 
 He gives similar directions for the special study of 
 oratory and rhetoric in the fifth form. We may fairly 
 assume that Shakespeare remained long enough at 
 school to reach the fifth form, and "Love's Labour's 
 Lost" supplies a curious piece of evidence tending to 
 show that he had gone through a course of technical 
 training in the elements of rhetoric. This valuable 
 bit of evidence having been, I believe, hitherto over- 
 looked by the critics and commentators, it may be 
 worth while to give it in detail. It consists of a rare, 
 and in many ways a remarkable, technicality occurring 
 in the speech of Holofernes about the writer of the 
 letter : 
 
 " HoL I will overglance the superscript : ' To the snow-white 
 hand of the most beauteous Lady Rosaline '. I will look again 
 upon the intellect of the letter, for the nomination of the party 
 writing to the person written unto : * Your Ladyship's in all desired 
 
192 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 employment, Biron '. Sir Nathaniel, this Biron is one of the 
 votaries with the king; and here he hath framed a letter to a 
 sequent of the stranger queen's which accidentally, or by the way 
 of progression, hath miscarried." 
 
 I had often been puzzled by the peculiar use of the term 
 " intellect " in this passage, before I made the discovery 
 that it was simply another stroke, helping to bring out 
 still more vividly the character of the school pedant. 
 In the unfamiliar use of this familiar term Holofernes 
 is simply parading his knowledge of rhetorical techni- 
 calities. As a rhetorical exercise the boys of the upper 
 school were required, in reading the poets, to pick out 
 the figures of speech, enter them in a note-book, and 
 give to each its technical name or names. In the classi- 
 fication of the figures common to the older manuals of 
 rhetoric synecdoche usually follows metaphor, and the 
 Latin equivalent of synecdoche is intellectio. Being 
 given in the school manuals, this technical use of the 
 term intellectio would be familiar to most who had re- 
 ceived a training in the elements of rhetoric. But its 
 precise meaning and range of application in this con- 
 nection will be made clear by an extract from Wilson's 
 English Arte of Ehetorique, published before Shake- 
 speare was born. Wilson, following a tendency common 
 in his day, endeavoured to Anglicise the technical terms 
 of his art ; and, where this could not conveniently be 
 done, he often selected the better known Latin equi- 
 valent instead of the original Greek word. Thus he 
 translates synecdoche by intellection, of which he gives 
 the following account : 
 
 " Intellection, called of the Grecians synecdoche, is a Trope, 
 where we gather, or judge, the whole by the part, or part by the 
 whole. As thus : The king is come to London, meaning therby 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 193 
 
 that other also be come with him. The Frenche manne is good to 
 kepe a fort, or to skirrnishe on horsbacke, whereby we declare the 
 Frenchmen generally. By the whole, the part, thus : All Cam- 
 bridge sorrowed for the death of Bucer, meanying for the moste 
 parte. All England rejoiceth that pilgrimage is banished, and 
 Idolatrie for ever abolished : and yet al England is not gladde but 
 the moste parte." 
 
 Intellection, Wilson also points out, is used in relation 
 to signs and their significance for the mental act of 
 realising by means of the sign the thing signified. He 
 illustrates this meaning as follows : 
 
 " By the signe we understande the thing signified, as by an Ivie 
 garland we judge there is wine to sell. By the signe of a Bear, 
 Bull, Lion, or any soche, we take any hous to be an Inne. By 
 eating bread at the Communion,, we remember Christes death, 
 and by fath receive him spirituallie." 
 
 The precise signification of intellect in Holofernes' 
 speech will now be apparent. It really means the sign- 
 manual or signature of the letter. The signature is the 
 sign reflecting and revealing the thing signified, which 
 is of course the writer of the letter. Intellect, in this 
 sense, is the object, the sign, and its significance, of 
 which intellection is the act, the perception of the related 
 terms. As a name for the signature of a letter it is 
 fchus strictly analogous to superscript, as a name for its 
 address. As superscription is properly the act of writing 
 an address, and superscript the address written, so 
 intellection is the act of interpreting or understanding a 
 sign, and intellect the sign interpreted or understood. I 
 may add that the use of the verb in this sense was not 
 unknown in the literature of Shakespeare's day. The 
 following extract from a rare and curious book, The 
 Fountaine of Ancient Fiction, by Bichard Linche 
 
 13 
 
194 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 (1599), will illustrate Shakespeare's peculiar use of the 
 noun : 
 
 t " Because the description of the Spring, the Summer, Autumn, 
 and Winter are with everie one very familiar, I will cease to 
 proceed therein, commemorating that onely of Ovid, when he 
 speaketh of the regale seat of Phoebus : 
 ' Before divine Apolloes regall seat 
 
 The beauteous Spring sits crown'd with curious flowers, 
 Next whom (with eares of corne about her head) 
 The Summer sits in her all-parching heat, 
 And Autumne (dyde with juice of grapes) downepoures 
 A world of new-made wine of purest red, 
 Next whom (as placed all in due arow) 
 Sits grim-faced Winter covered all with snow '. 
 " These stations are many times thus intellected : by the Spring 
 is meant Venus : the Summer signifies Ceres : Autumne challengeth 
 Bacchus : and for the Winter we oftentimes understand Vulcan ; 
 and sometimes the winds with ^Eolus the commander, because 
 from these proceed those .tempestuous storms which are commonly 
 predominant in that season." 
 
 Here it will be seen that the verb to intellect is used 
 in the strict technical sense of interpreting a sign, just 
 as Shakespeare uses the noun for the sign interpreted. 
 But although the word had this special meaning, none 
 but a dominie bent on displaying his knowledge of 
 scholastic technicalities would have designated the 
 signature of a letter in this high-flown and pedantic 
 style. The most strained and far-fetched terms are, 
 however, quite natural in the mouth of Holofernes. 
 But it may be safely asserted that only one trained in 
 the elements of rhetoric could have added this char- 
 acteristic touch in drawing the portrait of the school 
 pedant. Other incidental illustrations of a technical 
 knowledge of rhetoric occur in the scenes with Holo- 
 fernes, especially in the smart dialogue with Moth about 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 195 
 
 the " figure," but the one I have dwelt upon is the most 
 significant and important. 
 
 But although there is in this way some evidence to 
 show that Shakespeare reached the higher forms of the 
 school, and shared in their routine work, it is not likely 
 that he made much progress in the more difficult 
 authors read, or advanced beyond an average perform- 
 ance of its special exercises. It is difficult to imagine 
 the future poet struggling persistently with the intri- 
 cacies of verbal scholarship, or working with obstinate 
 industry against the grain. His keenly sensitive nature 
 and exuberant vitality would revolt from the minute 
 and exhausting labour. But if any author read in the 
 school course happened to touch his fancy, to excite his 
 imagination, and respond to the varied moods of his 
 quick poetic feeling, we may be sure that he would con- 
 centrate all the knowledge he had acquired on the 
 voluntary perusal of such an author, and would continue 
 his studies, in this direction at least, with ardour and 
 delight. The question is : Do Shakespeare's writings 
 contain any evidence in favour of such a supposition ? 
 I think they do ; and as the evidence on this point has 
 never been adequately detailed, I shall devote the re- 
 mainder of this paper to its fuller exhibition. 
 
 More than a century ago Whalley remarked in his 
 Enquiry that Ovid appeared to have been a favourite 
 author with Shakespeare. 1 The remark has been riot 
 unfrequently repeated since, and probably most critical 
 
 1 The association of Shakespeare's name with that of Ovid began, 
 however, much earlier. Thus Meres, in 1598, says : " As the soule 
 of Euphorbus was thought to live in Pythagoras, so the witty soule 
 of Ovid lives in mellifluous and honey -tongued Shakespeare, witness 
 his * Venus and Adonis,' his * Lucrece,' his sugared ' Sonnets ' 
 among his private friends, etc.". 
 
196 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 readers of the poet have arrived for themselves at a 
 similar conclusion. Many must have felt, at least in 
 a vague and general way, that Ovid is more frequently 
 referred to than any other classic author, and that 
 Shakespeare had derived more vivid pictures and apt 
 illustrations from his writings than from those of any 
 other Roman poet. Nor is this in the least surprising. 
 The qualities that combine to render Ovid almost 
 irresistibly attractive to poetical natures are not only 
 numerous, but in their union, amongst Roman poets 
 at least, rare if not unique. In the first place Ovid is 
 the most modern of all the ancients. His love of 
 nature and sympathy with human life, not only in its 
 stately and heroic, but in its humblest forms, are 
 essentially modern. His pictures of rural scenery and 
 details of rustic life are elaborated with loving care, 
 and, unlike Virgil in the " Georgics," he never paints an 
 empty background with no moving object or incident 
 to relieve and animate the scene. In his pictures there 
 is always some stir of life, some elements of human 
 experience familiar or heroic, passionate or pathetic. 
 Again, the prominence which he gives to the passion of 
 love, not only on its sensuous side in fervid elegiacs, 
 but on its sentimental or romantic side, as it touches 
 the imagination and the heart, anticipates one of the 
 most characteristic features of modern literature. The 
 same holds true of his intimate knowledge of female 
 character, his insight into the subtle and powerful 
 workings of the female heart. Ovid is unrivalled, 
 amongst Roman poets, in his power of delineating the 
 perplexing, but, in the strictest sense, fatal logic of 
 female passion, its sudden moods and contradictory 
 impulses, its wild vehemence or self-consuming reserve, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 197 
 
 its pathetic tenderness, unsuspected strength, and 
 absolute devotion. From his limitations of genius and 
 temperament he cannot, indeed, touch the highest 
 notes of female character, but he includes a much 
 wider range than any of his Koman predecessors or 
 contemporaries, and this is one of the points in which 
 he becomes a vital link between ancient and modern 
 art. 
 
 Ovid's defects no less than his excellences are 
 curiously modern. Those most insisted on by hostile 
 critics are the over-elaboration of details, the indulgence 
 in discursive episodes, the accumulation of trivial 
 conceits, strained metaphors, and far-fetched illustra- 
 tions. In a word, he is charged with an unrestrained 
 exuberance of fancy, feeling, and expression. But this 
 very exuberance helps to make him the most picturesque 
 and interesting, if not the most poetical, of Koman 
 poets. Niebuhr's opinion, that, excepting Catullus, 
 Ovid is the most poetical of the Komans, is well known, 
 and there is a good deal to be said in its support. Of 
 course, Ovid has not the severe beauty and concentrated 
 epical art of Virgil. Even his best work wants the 
 perfect unity and proportion, the dignity and grace, the 
 mingled reserve and finish of the " Georgics " and the 
 " Mneid ". But in Virgil you feel everywhere the limce 
 labor. He works as a conscientious artist, impressed 
 with the magnitude of his task, and ever striving with 
 a noble perseverance after a lofty ideal, which he spares 
 no pains to reach. And as a work of art the result is 
 almost perfect, although you never lose the sense of 
 effort, of cumulative and painful effort, involved in its 
 production. Ovid, on the other hand, seems to sing 
 from an irresistible impulse of nature. The moment 
 
198 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 he strikes his lyre, the numbers appear not only to 
 come, but to control in their melodious course the most 
 intractable materials of his art, as the fabled harp of 
 Orpheus did the stocks and stones of nature. There is 
 a dash, sparkle, and spontaneity in his writing, which 
 indicates the most genuine native inspiration, and the 
 fullest enjoyment of the work. With his temperament 
 and position, indeed, nothing but a love of poetry, 
 amounting to a passion, could have induced him to 
 devote his life to its production. He had a joyous 
 pleasure-loving nature, which his circumstances and 
 surroundings enabled him to gratify to the full. His 
 rank and independent position introduced him to the 
 society of the capital, while his social qualities, his genius 
 and accomplishments, made him heartily welcomed by 
 its highest circles. He was the child of his age, and 
 thoroughly enjoyed the brilliant society, the multiplied 
 luxuries and refinements, of Imperial Kome. But it is 
 clear from the result that he had a still keener delight 
 in his chosen work. He could sacrifice personal and 
 social gratifications for the sake of giving form and sub- 
 stance to the visions inspired by his ardent poetical 
 feeling. And his enthusiasm for the poetical art was 
 supported by the rarest literary gifts. Foremost amongst 
 these must be ranked his power of vivid conception. 
 In his productive moods, the pictures that come within 
 the eye and prospect of his soul seem as full of life " as 
 though they lived indeed". The visions that fill his 
 imagination have the colour, movement, and complex 
 detail of the breathing world. Next to his vigorous and 
 prolific fancy comes his unrivalled mastery over the 
 vehicle of his art, musical and expressive diction. His 
 facility of expression has been the subject of critical 
 
SHAKE SPE ARE. 199 
 
 eulogy from his own time to ours. His unfailing ease 
 and grace of language, his exquisitely musical versifica- 
 tion, indicate the union of consummate literary skill 
 with inborn lyrical genius. Every thought, feeling, and 
 image, as it arises, is perfectly reflected in the magical 
 mirror of his harmonious verse. Language, music, and 
 imagery seem as plastic to his touch as Nature herself 
 in the hands of his transforming deities. This power 
 of vivid conception, mastery of expressive speech, and 
 command over descriptive detail give to his separate 
 pictures a concrete reality and completeness that 
 fascinate the mind, and produce almost irresistibly a 
 momentary belief in the truth even of his wildest 
 fictions. There is a grave and artless, or intense and 
 passionate, circumstantiality about his narrative that 
 carries conviction captive, and forces you to believe that 
 what you so vividly see and feel must be the reflex of 
 an actual experience. There can hardly, for example, 
 be a wilder fiction than the story of Phaeton ; but the 
 narrative is so full of life and reality that after the 
 glowing lines have once impressed it on the mind, it 
 becomes almost impossible to think of the zodiac with- 
 out a vision of the splendid chariot with its fiery steeds 
 breaking impetuously away from the unsteady driver, 
 and carrying ruin, conflagration, and eclipse down the 
 western steep of heaven. 
 
 Stories and episodes almost equally impressive and 
 memorable might be selected from each of the mar- 
 vellous fifteen books. The best qualities of Ovid's 
 muse are, indeed, concentrated in the " Metamor- 
 phoses," and they have conspired to make it one of the 
 most attractive and entertaining books ever written. 
 The actual popularity of the poem, too, has been 
 
200 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 immense. Ovid is almost the one classical author 
 whose light was never extinguished even in the darkest 
 ages of ignorance and barbarism. By a curious fate 
 the brilliant compendium of heathen mythology was 
 often the only monument of antiquity to be found in 
 monastic libraries, and it seems to have been thoroughly 
 enjoyed by monkish scholars. At least it was often 
 copied with zealous industry in the scriptorium, and 
 moralised with pious ingenuity in the cell, when a pro- 
 foundly serious and even religious author like Virgil 
 was uncared for or unknown. In the middle ages the 
 poem supplied a perfect storehouse of materials for the 
 pictorial uses of the fine and decorative arts. Half the 
 looms of Europe were busy working stories from Ovid 
 into webs destined to brighten with life and colour the 
 gloom of many a baronial and civic hall, as well as to 
 protect and adorn many a noble lady's bower. After 
 the revival of letters Ovid was read in all the schools 
 and colleges of Christendom, and at the rise of verna- 
 cular literatures the " Metamorphoses " was amongst 
 the earliest translations made from the classics into the 
 mother-tongues of Europe. I need hardly refer to the 
 high estimation in which Ovid was held by many of 
 the greatest modern poets, and especially amongst our- 
 selves by Chaucer, Spenser, and perhaps most of all by 
 Milton. In his youth, at all events, Milton preferred 
 Ovid to Virgil, and maintained that but for his exile 
 the poet of the " Metamorphoses " might have been as 
 great as Homer. The lines from the well-known Latin 
 elegy, in which this opinion is expressed, may be quoted 
 from Cowper's version : 
 
 "If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent 
 Beneath my father's roof, be banishment, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 201 
 
 Then call me banisli'd, I will ne'er refuse 
 
 A name expressive of the lot I chuse. 
 
 I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore, 
 
 Rome's hapless bard had suffer'd nothing more ; 
 
 He then had equall'd even Homer's lays, 
 
 And, Virgil ! thou hadst won but second praise." 
 
 To the list of -appreciative poets Shakespeare must 
 certainly be added. The higher qualities of Ovid's 
 genius and work were indeed precisely of the kind to 
 attract and fascinate the youthful author of " Venus 
 and Adonis". The life and colour, the passion and 
 pathos, the endless variety of magical changes in the 
 " Metamorphoses," with their exquisite verbal combina- 
 tions and metrical harmonies, would have an irresistible 
 charm for his opening fancy and a'rdent poetic feeling. 
 
 But there is still another quality of Ovid's genius 
 which, perhaps, affected Shakespeare at the outset of 
 his career more than all the rest. Ovid is, I venture 
 to think, the most dramatic of Roman poets. This is, 
 perhaps, a more disputable claim than any already 
 made on his behalf. At least, it is one which many 
 critics would be indisposed to allow. They often speak 
 of his tender and passionate scenes as though they were 
 rhetorical exercises rather than outbursts of genuine 
 feeling ; but, although many artificial and rhetorical 
 passages are to be found in Ovid's writings, the remark- 
 able fact about the more important appears to me to be 
 the wonderful freshness, variety, and even depth of real 
 feeling they display. In the appreciation of his char- 
 acteristics, Ovid has fared better at the hands of the 
 poets than of the' critics, and I cannot but think Dryden 
 right, both as poet and critic, in the judgment he pro- 
 nounces : " Though I see many excellent thoughts in 
 
202 SHAKE SPEAKE. 
 
 Seneca, yet he, of them [the Koman poets] , who had a 
 genius most proper for the stage, was Ovid ; he had a 
 way of writing so fit to stir up a pleasing admiration 
 and concernment, which are the objects of tragedy, and 
 to show the various movements of a soul combating 
 betwixt two different passions, that, had he lived in our 
 age, or in his own could have writ with our advantages, 
 no man but must have yielded to him ". It is true that 
 we are deprived of the best and more direct means of 
 estimating Ovid's dramatic faculty in the loss of his 
 one great tragedy, the " Medea ". But from the favourable 
 judgment of not too friendly contemporary critics we 
 may fairly conclude that it was a work of real and even 
 remarkable dramatic power. In the most considerable 
 of his extant works, the "Fasti" and "Metamorphoses," 
 both the subject and form chosen are less fitted, and 
 but for the result one might have said least fitted, for 
 the display of Ovid's peculiar genius. Nothing at first 
 sight would seem less suitable to become the subject 
 of a serious epic than the national mythology, as it had 
 already lost, or was fast losing, all real hold on the 
 cultivated intelligence of the Roman world. In Ovid's 
 day it had reached the stage of sceptical criticism, and 
 was at many points exposed to popular ridicule and con- 
 tempt. With regard to form, the natural bent of Ovid's 
 mind was, as I have said, towards lyrical and dramatic 
 poetry. In the earliest period of his career the poet 
 himself had the clearest perception of this. At the 
 beginning of the third book of his " Elegies " he says 
 that, when meditating his future work, he was visited 
 by the rival muses of the buskin and the lyre, and that 
 the former upbraided him with wasting his poetic gifts 
 on trivial love ditties instead of concentrating them on 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 208 
 
 the nobler task of depicting imperial woes in tragic 
 verse. In reply to this appeal he pleads for a slightly 
 extended indulgence of the lyric mood, intimating that 
 when he had completed his " Elegies " he would betake 
 himself to tragedy, for which, as he elsewhere tells us, 
 he felt he had a special turn. 
 
 This early promise was not, however, redeemed. In 
 after years, when he resolved to undertake more serious 
 work, instead of devoting himself to the drama, he was 
 led by the courtly and literary influences of his time to 
 attempt an epic. The emperor, in his desire to restore 
 the older and more robust conditions of national life, 
 favoured this more solid form of the poetical art, and 
 Virgil's recent success had given it a temporary supre- 
 macy. With Virgil, however, the choice of the epic 
 form was perfectly natural. It was in thorough harmony 
 with the seriousness of his disposition and aims. But 
 Ovid had little of Virgil's profound and absorbing 
 interest in the conditions and continuity of national 
 greatness, in the past and future of Kome as the instru- 
 ment and representative of law, order, and progress in 
 the world. He had still less of that brooding and 
 almost oppressive sense of the mystery and burden of 
 life which solemnised Virgil's mind, and becomes 
 audible at times in the touching minor key of his verse. 
 He is separated from Virgil, too, by position, as well as 
 by temperament. During the interval between them 
 the Koman world had passed from the deep shadows 
 and destructive violence of the Republican conflict to 
 the sunlight and repose of the imperial day. Ovid lived 
 in the sunlight and rejoiced in its warmth and brilliance 
 till the sudden winter of his exile came. The ease and 
 gaiety of this congenial urban life are well reflected in 
 
204 SHAKESPEABE. 
 
 his minor writings. But alike in the subject and form 
 chosen for his greatest works, there can be little doubt 
 that he had originally a serious purpose in view. Among 
 his other reforms Augustus was anxious to restore the old 
 reverence for the national deities, and Ovid was evidently 
 desirous of giving the emperor's policy that kind of liter- 
 ary support of which the " ^Eneid " is the most brilliant 
 example. He wished to do for the ritual and mythology 
 what Virgil had done for the legendary history and an- 
 tiquities of Rome. In other words, his aim was to 
 revive popular interest in the deities and ceremonial of 
 the national religion. He states at the beginning of 
 the " Fasti" that this was his design in dealing poetic- 
 ally with the national calendar. And the " Metamor- 
 phoses " opens with the gravity and earnestness befitting 
 a religious poem. But if he ever seriously thought 
 himself capable of producing a sacred epic, he certainly 
 formed an erroneous estimate of his literary aptitudes 
 and poetical gifts. In any case his joyous temper and 
 dramatic genius soon triumphed over the original design, 
 and instead of bringing the gods down from heaven and 
 exhibiting them as objects of awe and reverence to 
 men, he simply carried his contemporaries to Olympus, 
 and filled the august seats with lively representatives 
 of the morals and manners of the Augustan age. This 
 has sometimes been urged as a fatal objection to the 
 poem. It is said that in its treatment of the national 
 mythology, instead of maintaining their antique majesty, 
 Ovid had not only modernised the gods, but represented 
 them in the most literal, if not in the lowest, sense as 
 being of like passions with ourselves. The reply of 
 course is, that after warming to his work, the poet 
 treated the subject naturally, under the inspiration and 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 205 
 
 according to the impulses of his own genius. He could 
 not help vitalising the stories, and he filled them with 
 the only life he knew, that of human passion and mun- 
 dane activities. Instead of a sacred epic, we have 
 accordingly a series of brilliant stories and vivid dra- 
 matic sketches, often pathetic enough in their tender- 
 ness and tragical in their intensity. Although not 
 dramatic in form, most of his longer and most im- 
 portant works are, in this way, thoroughly dramatic in 
 substance. This is true not only of the "Fasti" and 
 " Metamorphoses," but of the " Heroic Epistles," in 
 which Ovid's dramatic genius is often displayed with 
 singular vividness and power. The objections some- 
 times urged against them on the ground of anachronisms 
 and external incongruities, such as, in the case of 
 Ariadne, the want of any means of communication with 
 Theseus, the absence of writing materials, and possibly 
 her ignorance of the art, are ludicrously wide of the 
 mark. The real question is whether, realising in 
 essentials the character and circumstances of the 
 heroines, the poet expresses with vividness and truth 
 the poignant internal conflict of grief arid hope, of 
 tumultuous passion, agonising dread, and tender desire. 
 It will hardly be denied that this is strikingly true with 
 regard to many of the Epistles, and especially the best. 
 On this ground they might well be described in the 
 phrase of a modern poet as " Dramatic Lyrics ". But 
 the "Metamorphoses" contains a number of powerful 
 sketches that might appropriately come under the same 
 heading. Dry den, with his usual critical sagacity and 
 poetical insight, has noted this. Eeferring to a theory, 
 since disproved, about the " Medea" of Seneca, that it 
 might possibly be the lost tragedy of Ovid, he says : 
 
206 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 " I am confident the ' Medea ' is none of his : for though I 
 esteem it for the gravity and sententiousness of it, which he himself 
 concludes to be suitable to a tragedy, ' Omne genus scripti gravi- 
 tate tragoedia vincit,' yet it moves not my soul enough to judge 
 that he, who in the epick way wrote things so near the drama, as 
 the story of Myrrha, of Caunis, and Biblis, and the rest, should stir 
 up no more concernment where he most endeavoured it ". 
 
 But it is clear, I think, from internal evidence that 
 Shakespeare had been struck with the dramatic power 
 of many of the narratives of the "Metamorphoses" 
 long before Dryden noted the fact. The stories of 
 Phaeton, of Medea, of Pyramus and Thisbe, of Midas, 
 of Progne and Philomela, of Baucis and Philemon, 
 amongst others, had evidently impressed themselves on 
 his youthful imagination in a way never to be forgotten. 
 But these points and others connected with Shake- 
 speare's acquaintance with Ovid will come more fully 
 out in the special illustrations which are to follow. 
 
 Probably no critic would deny that Shakespeare 
 was familiar with Ovid, but many maintain, as Farmer 
 did, that his knowledge was derived solely from trans- 
 lations, and especially from Golding's translation of the 
 " Metamorphoses ". That Shakespeare well knew this 
 vigorous and picturesque version is certain ; but I feel 
 equally confident, from what has already been said, that 
 his study of Ovid in the original was begun at Stratford 
 School, and had been voluntarily extended to his chief 
 poems before he became acquainted with any transla- 
 tion. There are some points of evidence which tend 
 directly to support this view. In the first place it is a 
 striking fact that the keynote as it were of Shake- 
 speare's public career as a poet should have been struck 
 by a quotation from a section of Ovid's poems not yet 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 207 
 
 translated into English. So far as we know, Shake- 
 speare himself published in his own name only three 
 poems the " Venus and Adonis," the " Lucrece," and 
 the " Sonnets". Of these, the "Venus and Adonis" 
 was not only the first published, but apparently the 
 earliest considerable poem the author had written. " The 
 first heir of my invention," he calls it in the dedication 
 to the Earl of Southampton. The poem, though not 
 published till 1593, must, in this case, have been written 
 some years earlier, probably before Shakespeare left 
 Stratford for London. On the title-page are the follow- 
 ing lines from Ovid's " Elegies " : 
 
 " Villa miretur vulgus : mihi flavus Apollo 
 Pocula Castalia plena ministret aqua ". 
 
 These lines are taken from a poem of which, as I 
 have said, there existed at the time no English version. 
 The earliest translation of the " Elegies " is that usually 
 attributed to Marlowe, and published by his friends 
 some years after his death. The exact date of the first 
 edition cannot be decided with certainty, but Kit son 
 fixes it in 1596, and Gifford, on apparently good grounds, 
 a year or two later. The second edition, which probably 
 followed within a year of the first, contains two versions 
 of the ' Elegy," from which Shakespeare quotes the 
 second, signed B. J., being the work of Ben Jonson. 
 This is established, not only by the initials, but by the 
 fact that it is printed in full by Jonson as his own in 
 the "Poetaster," which appeared in 1601. Gifford is 
 probably right in his conjecture that both versions are 
 by Jonson, the first being a rough sketch of the second. 
 In any case, the earlier version was not published till 
 some years after the " Venus and Adonis ". But what, 
 perhaps, is even more to the point, the quotation is one 
 
208 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 which, from the circumstances of the case, could hardly 
 have been chosen by any but a scholar, or at least by 
 one who knew the original well. From their setting 
 in the " Elegy," the lines would fail to attract special 
 attention and be relatively unimportant in a translation. 
 On the other hand, in the original poem, they have a 
 distinctive emphasis and are full of concentrated mean- 
 ing and power. The " Elegy " is a spirited vindication 
 of poetry from the envious criticism of those who re- 
 presented the poet as an idler, ignobly shirking the 
 public duties which, as a reputable citizen, he ought to 
 discharge. In reply, Ovid proudly asserts that the 
 position of the true poet is higher than any to be gained 
 by wealth or rank or public honours, that in his works 
 he leaves an immortal heritage to men through which 
 his nobler essence not only survives, but outlasts all 
 the symbols and monuments of earthly greatness. In 
 illustration of this, he commemorates some of the 
 greatest poets of the past, including Homer, Hesiod, 
 Sophocles, Menander, Eniiius, Lucretius, Virgil, Tibul- 
 lus, Gallus ; and after going through the inspiring 
 roll, he virtually says : " With these I take my part, 
 their labours and rewards are the only objects of my 
 ambition, their life the only life I care to live ". It is 
 a characteristic utterance on the part of Ovid, and ex- 
 presses the fixed resolve of his nobler nature. But it 
 is perhaps still more characteristic in the mouth of 
 Shakespeare, when, conscious of great powers, and 
 resolved to find, or create, an ample field for their 
 exercise, he set out on his life's journey, with no help 
 from fortune or friends, and no ultimate hope or desire 
 beyond the poet's crown. In these lines he avows 
 himself the child of Apollo, and declares that henceforth 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 209 
 
 his elixir mice will be full draughts from the Castalian 
 spring. The same proud note of confidence in himself 
 and devotion to his art reappears again and again in 
 the " Sonnets," and here too, as we shall see, he echoes 
 the confident predictions of the future fame in which 
 Ovid indulges at the close of his greatest work. But 
 the earlier quotation shows that Shakespeare had ex- 
 tended his studies in Ovid, not only beyond the books 
 usually read in the schools, the " De Tristibus" and 
 the " Metamorphoses," but beyond the utmost limits 
 where the help of a translation was available. 
 
 I may next take another point of evidence, which, 
 though comparatively small and indirect, appears to 
 tell with some force in the same direction. It is well 
 known that Shakespeare derived several of the names 
 occurring in his dramas, such as Autolycus, directly 
 from Ovid. Some of these have curious points of in- 
 terest connected with them. But there is one, about 
 which little has been said, that is perhaps more re- 
 markable and interesting than any besides the name 
 of the fairy queen, Titania. Of this name so accom- 
 plished a student of Shakespeare as Mr. Ward says, 
 singularly enough : " The figure of the elf-queen 
 Shakspere might have found in the ' Wife of Bath's 
 Tale ' in Chaucer. Her name Titania was, so far as 
 we know, Shakspere's invention, and may have been 
 suggested by Diana, who, as King James I. informs 
 us, ' amongst us was called the Phairee,' though 
 Simrock (ii. 34) derives the same from Titti (children), 
 the stealing of whom is a favourite pursuit of the elfin 
 spirits." Both the German critic and the English his- 
 torian had apparently forgotten that the name is traceable 
 to Ovid, and that as used by him it has a very distinctive 
 
 14 
 
210 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 significance. So far as I know, however, Mr. Keightley 
 is the only critic who has connected the name with 
 Ovid ; and he does so very generally, without bringing 
 out in any detail the meaning and value of the fact. 
 His statement is that Titania occurs once in the 
 "Metamorphoses" as a designation of Diana. But in 
 reality the name occurs not once only, but several 
 times, not as the designation of a single goddess, but 
 of several female deities, supreme or subordinate, de- 
 scended from the Titans. On this ground it is applied to 
 Diana, to Latona, to Circe, to Pyrrha, and Hecate. As 
 Juno is called by the poets Saturnia, on account of her 
 descent from Saturn, and Minerva, on less obvious or 
 more disputed grounds, is termed Tritonia, so Diana, 
 Latona, and Circe are each styled by Ovid Titania. 
 This designation illustrates, indeed, Ovid's marked 
 power of so employing names as to increase both the 
 musical flow and imaginative effect of his verse. The 
 name Titania, as thus used, embodies rich and complex 
 associations connected with the silver bow, the magic 
 cup, and the triple crown. It may be said, indeed, to 
 embrace in one comprehensive symbol the whole female 
 empire of mystery and night belonging to classical 
 mythology. Diana, Latona, Hecate are all goddesses 
 of night, queens of the shadowy world, ruling over its 
 mystic elements and spectral powers. The common 
 name thus awakens recollections of gleaming huntresses 
 in dim and dewy woods, of dark rites and potent in- 
 cantations under moonlit skies, of strange aerial voyages, 
 and ghostly apparitions from the under- world. It was, 
 therefore, of all possible names the one best fitted to 
 designate the queen of the same shadowy empire, with 
 its phantom troops and activities, in the northern my- 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 211 
 
 thology. And since Shakespeare, with prescient in- 
 spiration, selected it for this purpose, it has naturally 
 come to represent the whole world of fair beauty, elfin 
 adventure, and goblin sport connected with lunar in- 
 fluences, with enchanted herbs, and muttered spells. 
 The Titania of Shakespeare's fairy mythology may 
 thus be regarded as the successor of Diana and other 
 regents of the night belonging to the Greek Pantheon. 
 Shakespeare himself appears to support this view in a 
 line over which a good deal of critical ink has been 
 shed. It occurs in the invocation to the fairies in the 
 " Merry Wives of Windsor '' : 
 
 " Fairies, black, grey, green, and white, 
 You moonshine revellers, and shades of night, 
 You orphan heirs of fixed destiny, 
 Attend your office, and your quality ". 
 
 The deities of the Greek mythology were instru- 
 ments of destiny or fate, in other words, of the ultimate 
 powers of the universe. In the current belief of the 
 middle ages, still firmly held in Shakespeare's day, the 
 beings of the northern mythology were the represen- 
 tatives and successors of the old Greek divinities. 
 Shakespeare indirectly favours this relation not only by 
 the selection of the name Titania for the fairy queen, 
 but in giving to Oberon the designation consecrated by 
 Ovid to Pluto. " Umbrarum dominus," " umbrarum 
 rex," are Ovid's phrases for the monarch of the lower 
 world, and Oberon is by Shakespeare styled "King of 
 Shadows ". But the great Pan was long since dead, 
 and with him the Titanic brood and Olympian circle of 
 pagan deities. In this point of view, as offshoots of 
 the Greek mythology, and in relation to their tradition- 
 ary parents and predecessors, the fairies might well be 
 
212 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 called orphan, while, as still representing the dark 
 powers and primary forces known as Fate, they might 
 be appropriately styled " heirs of fixed destiny". Ariel, 
 in the " Tempest," it will be remembered, says ex- 
 plicitly : " I and my fellows are ministers of Fate ". 
 
 Eeverting to the name Titania, however, the im- 
 portant point to be noted is that Shakespeare clearly 
 derived it from his study of Ovid in the original. It 
 must have struck him in reading the text of the 
 "Metamorphoses," as it is not to be found in the only 
 translation which existed in his day. Golding, instead 
 of transferring the term Titania, always translates it, 
 in the case of Diana, by the phrase "Titan's daughter," 
 and in the case of Circe by the line 
 
 " Of Circe, who by long descent of Titans' stocke am borne ". 
 
 Shakespeare could not therefore have been indebted to 
 Golding for the happy selection. On the other hand, 
 in the next translation of the " Metamorphoses " by 
 Sandys, first published ten years after Shakespeare's 
 death, Titania is freely used. Sandys not only uniformly 
 transfers the name where it occurs in the original, but 
 sometimes employs it where Ovid does not. In Medea's 
 grand invocations to the powers of night, for example, 
 he translates " Luna " by " Titania ". But this use of 
 the name is undoubtedly due to Shakespeare's original 
 choice, and to the fact that through its employment in 
 the "Midsummer Night's Dream" it had become a 
 familiar English word. Dekker, indeed, had used it in 
 Shakespeare's lifetime as an established designation for 
 the queen of the fairies. It is clear, therefore, I think, 
 that Shakespeare not only studied the " Metamor- 
 phoses " in the original, but that he read the different 
 

 SHAKESPEARE. 213 
 
 stories with a quick and open eye for any name, in- 
 cident, or allusion that might be available for use in 
 his own dramatic labours. The names, incidents, and 
 allusions which he derived from his study of Ovid being, 
 however, numerous, will require some space, and their 
 detailed illustration must therefore be left over for a 
 separate paper. 
 
 III. 
 
 IN tracing more in detail the proofs of Shakespeare's 
 familiarity with Ovid, his general literary methpd must 
 be kept in view. While there is the clearest evidence 
 that his mind was richly stored with knowledge of all 
 kinds, he is far too great an artist to make any section 
 of it prominent in his writings. This applies with 
 special force to the kind of knowledge which academic 
 poets and scholarly wits are apt to display the know- 
 ledge of books. Many of the writers for the stage, who 
 were Shakespeare's immediate predecessors or early 
 contemporaries, had spent some years at the univer- 
 sities, and their dramas not only abound with literary 
 references and allusions, but contain at intervals long 
 quotations from foreign sources, and especially from 
 the Roman poets and prose writers. The unspent 
 force of the powerful Renaissance wave swayed se- 
 condary and imitative minds in the same direction. 
 And at the outset of his career, Shakespeare was so 
 far affected by the prevailing tendencies that his early 
 plays have, as a rule, more numerous learned allusions 
 than the later. This is not, however, as is sometimes 
 assumed, an invariable mark or test of early work. 
 The " Comedy of Errors," though constructed on the 
 
214 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 well-known lines of Plautus and Terence, contains, 
 perhaps for this very reason, far fewer classical allusions 
 than many, indeed than most, of the later plays. But 
 in "Titus Andronicus," "Love's Labour's Lost," 
 the " Taming of the Shrew," and the parts of "Henry 
 VI.," the bookish element, though much less than in 
 many contemporary plays, is still a distinctive feature. 
 Even in these earliest efforts, however, Shakespeare 
 yields only a passing and temporary homage to the 
 custom of copious allusion and quotation so common 
 in his day. His intellectual power was too exuberant, 
 his creative imagination too fertile, his dramatic feeling 
 too vivid and intense, to allow of scholastic display, 
 or merely external decoration of any kind. Classical 
 and learned allusions, if employed at all, are usually 
 wrought by the dominant feeling into the very substance 
 of the work. But, as I have said, in his more mature 
 and characteristic writings such allusions are rare. It 
 is the more significant, therefore, that direct references 
 to Ovid, and quotations from his poems, are compara- 
 tively numerous, although, as might be expected, they 
 occur for the most part in early plays. Apart from 
 direct evidence, indeed, it might be safely assumed that 
 the influence of Ovid over Shakespeare would be 
 stronger in the earlier stages of his career, before his 
 own dramatic style was fully formed, than in the later, 
 when his powers were developed, and he had acquired 
 complete command over the conditions and resources 
 of his art. 
 
 In dealing with the direct references to Ovid, " Titus 
 Andronicus " may be taken first in order of time. At 
 least, I may say in passing that, after a careful ex- 
 amination of the question, I feel convinced that the 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 215 
 
 play is Shakespeare's, and if so, it is obvious it must 
 be early work, his very first tragedy, if not his first 
 drama. The marks of youthful effort are everywhere 
 apparent, not only in the acceptance of the coarse type 
 of tragedy that occupied the London stage when 
 Shakespeare first became acquainted with it, but in the 
 crude handling of character and motive, and the want 
 of harmony in working out the details of the concep- 
 tion. All through, the ardent love of beauty and keen 
 delight in nature struggle with the physical horrors 
 and moral gloom of the tragedy. In relation to the 
 point in hand, the immaturity is seen in the extent to 
 which the smell of the lamp mingles with the freshness 
 and vigour of poetic feeling. The wide circle of refer- 
 ences to Greek fable and Eoman story suggests that 
 the writer had come recently from his books, and was 
 not unwilling to display his acquaintance with them. 
 Some of the books and authors from whose pages inci- 
 dents and allusions have been derived are, as in the 
 case of Ovid, mentioned by name. 
 
 The earliest direct reference to Ovid occurs in the 
 first scene of the fourth act, where, in the garden of 
 Titus's house, the terribly mutilated Lavinia is seen 
 eagerly turning over the books her nephew Lucius had 
 let fall on her hasty approach. Titus and Marcus, to 
 whom the boy had appealed, after watching her for a 
 time, observe that she had fixed on one of the books, 
 and is rapidly turning over the leaves as though in 
 search of some reference or passage that might tell 
 what she cannot utter : 
 
 " Tit. Lucius, what book is that she tosseth so ? 
 
 " Young Luc. Grandsire, 'tis Ovid's * Metamorphoses' ; 
 
 My mother gave it me. 
 
216 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 " Marc. For love of her that's gone, 
 
 Perhaps she cull'd it from among the rest. 
 
 " Tit. .Soft! see how busily she turns the le.aves! [Helping her. 
 
 What would she find ? Lavinia, shall I read ? 
 
 This is the tragic tale of Philomel, 
 
 And treats of Tereus's treason. ..." 
 
 The tale of Tereus having hinted at her woe, the plan 
 devised by her uncle for revealing the names of the 
 murderous ruffians who had so cruelly wronged her 
 that of writing in the sand with the staff seems also 
 to have been suggested by Ovid. At least, it naturally 
 recalls the vivid dramatic sketch in which he describes 
 the lingered-out parting on the shore between Calypso 
 and Ulysses. Urged to tell once more the tale of Troy, 
 the wide-wandering hero draws with his stick on the 
 sand a map of the city, with the friendly and hostile 
 encampments around it. 
 
 " Ille levi virga (virgarn nam forte tenebat), 
 Quod rogat, in spisso litore pingit opus, 
 Haec, inquit, Troja est (muros in litore fecit) : 
 
 Hie tibi sit Simois : hrec mea castra puta. 
 Campus erat (campumque facit) quern ceede Dolonis 
 Sparsimus, Hsemonios dum vigil optat equos." 
 
 The third scene of the same act contains a quota- 
 tion from Ovid, a hemistich from the fine passage in 
 the first book of the "Metamorphoses," in which he 
 describes the flight of Justice from the polluted earth. 
 The venerable Titus, in his ecstasy of grief and loss, 
 despairing of justice on the earth, commands those 
 about him to scour the seas and search the under- 
 world to find her : 
 
 " Terras Astrcea reliquit : 
 
 Be you remember'd, Marcus, she's gone, she's fled. 
 Sirs, take you to your tools. You, cousins, shall 
 

 SHAKESPEARE. 217 
 
 Go sound the ocean, and cast your nets 
 Happily you may catch her in the sea ; 
 Yet there's as little justice as at land." 
 
 The numerous indirect allusions to Ovid's writings in 
 the play will be noticed further on. But before leaving 
 it here another line from the scene already referred to 
 may perhaps be fairly interpreted as a direct allusion 
 to the favourite author. When Lucius runs to his 
 grandfather perplexed and alarmed at his aunt's hurried 
 approach arid excited manner, Titus replies : 
 
 "Fear her not, Lucius ; somewhat doth she mean ; 
 See, Lucius, see how much she makes of thee : 
 Somewhither would she have thee go with her. 
 Ah, boy, Cornelia never with more care 
 Bead to her sons than she hath read to thee 
 Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator." 
 
 Now, as the " Metamorphoses " had been given to the 
 boy by his mother, and his Aunt Lavinia shows im- 
 mediately after her intimate knowledge of the book, it 
 seems reasonable to conclude that Ovid's delightful 
 stories were the sweet poetry she had read to the boy. 
 In support of this it will be remembered that in the 
 grammar schools of Shakespeare's youth the pupils 
 usually read Ovid and Cicero for a year or two before 
 they advanced to Horace and Juvenal, and that the 
 epithet " sweet " is not only peculiarly suitable, but 
 specially applied to Ovid in the literature of the time. 
 From his smooth versification, felicitous turns of speech, 
 and fulness of tender sentiment, he was appropriately 
 designated by an epithet that would hardly apply to the 
 poets read in the more advanced stages of the school 
 course. We may therefore, I think, fairly interpret 
 the line, " Sweet poetry and Tully's Orator," as refer- 
 ring to the school association of Ovid and Cicero. 
 
218 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 The next play in which Shakespeare refers to Ovid 
 by name is "Love's Labour's Lost". The pedantic 
 Holofernes, though destitute of true taste or cultured 
 judgment, knows well enough the technical merits of 
 the chief school authors. In criticising Biron's verses 
 he takes the opportunity of displaying his familiarity 
 with Ovid, and although, under the impulse of the 
 "foolish extravagant spirit" that possesses him, he 
 cannot help playing with the name, the substance of 
 his general statement is not very wide of the mark : 
 11 Here are only numbers ratified : but, for the elegancy, 
 facility, and golden cadence of poesy, caret. Ovidius 
 Naso was the man : and why, indeed, Naso, but for 
 smelling out the odoriferous flowers of fancy, the 
 jerks of invention?" Here the main characteristics 
 of Ovid's muse, his ease, elegance, fertility of invention 
 and musical sweetness, are clearly indicated, though 
 in a characteristically fantastic way. 
 
 The " Taming of the Shrew " is another early play, 
 comparatively rich in direct references to Ovid. Indeed, 
 though not amongst the very earliest of Shakespeare's 
 works, it abounds with classical allusions in common 
 with the older drama on which it is founded. The re- 
 ferences to Ovid are, however, from Shakespeare's own 
 pen, as they do not appear in the " Pleasant conceited 
 Historic called the 'Taming of the Shrew'". The 
 earliest reference is in the first scene of the first act, in 
 the dialogue between Lucentio and Tranio on their ar- 
 rival at Padua, " the nursery of arts," in order to enter 
 on a " course of learning and ingenious studies ". After 
 having been brought up at Florence, Lucentio, the son 
 of a wealthy merchant, returns to Padua, the place of 
 his birth, to complete his education by the study of 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 219 
 
 philosophy. This determination he explains in his 
 opening speech : 
 
 " And therefore, Tranio, for the time I study 
 Virtue, and that part of philosophy 
 Will I apply, that treats of happiness 
 By virtue especially to be achiev'd. 
 " Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
 I am in all affected as yourself ; 
 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 This virtue and this moral discipline, 
 Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray ; 
 Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd." 
 
 This line not improbably reflects a personal experience. 
 It suggests that Shakespeare had found Ovid's refresh- 
 ing tales a welcome relief from his professional labours, 
 a stimulating relaxation for leisure hours. The next 
 reference to Ovid in the ".Taming of the Shrew" shows 
 that Lucentio had not only taken Tranio's advice, but 
 promptly turned it to practical account. Having fallen 
 in love with Bianca, the beautiful and gentle sister of 
 the shrewish Kate, Lucentio gains access to her in the 
 disguise of a tutor, and pleads his passion under the 
 mask of a lesson in Latin construing, Ovid being the 
 instrument employed in this lover's stratagem : 
 
 " Bian. Where left we last ? 
 
 " Luc. Here, madam : 
 
 ' Hac ibat Simois ; hie est Sigeia tellus ; 
 Hie steterat Pria.mi regia celsa senis '. 
 
 " Bian. Construe them. 
 
 " Luc. Hac ibat, as I told you before, Simois, I am Lucentio, hie 
 est, son unto Vincentio of Pisa, Sigeia tellus, disguised thus to get 
 your love ; Hie steterat, and that Lucentio that comes a- wooing, 
 Priami, is my man Triano, regia, bearing my port, celsa senis, that 
 we might beguile the old pantaloon." 
 
220 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 These lines are from the first of the " Heroic Epistles," 
 that from Penelope to Ulysses. After recalling how 
 often her loving heart had been wrung with anxiety 
 during his absence at the Trojan war, Penelope reminds 
 her wandering lord that the war was now happily over ; 
 that the Argive heroes had returned, and were offering 
 in the local temples thanksgivings for their success ; 
 that many long-betrothed maidens were at length 
 married ; and that, at their festive gatherings, the 
 warrior bridegrooms, in fighting their battles over again, 
 often sketched with a little wine on the table an outline 
 of the city walls and of the chief positions connected 
 with the conflict. They were thus doing at home for 
 their wedding guests what Ulysses himself was doing 
 for Calypso on the shores of her wonderful island. The 
 graphic touch in either case illustrates the devices which 
 Ovid's dramatic instinct prompted him to adopt, in 
 order to give vividness and interest to his narrative. 
 This particular device seems indeed to have struck 
 Shakespeare's fancy, as he not unfrequently employs it 
 for descriptive effect in his own work. The following 
 from " Lucrece " is one amongst other instances of its 
 use that might be given : 
 
 " While with a joyless smile she turns away 
 The face, the map which deep impression bears 
 Of hard misfortune, carv'd in it with tears ". 
 
 Another quotation from the "Heroic Epistles" 
 occurs in the last part of "Henry VI." among the 
 closing lines of the third scene of the first act. It is a 
 line put into the mouth of the ill-fated prince, the Earl 
 of Rutland, a mere boy and utterly defenceless, at the 
 moment when he is cruelly stabbed to the heart by 
 Clifford, " the deadly bloodsupper," as he is appropriately 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 221 
 
 termed in the prose chronicles of the time. After 
 pleading for his life in vain, Rutland with his last breath 
 prays that he alone may suffer at Clifford's hands, that 
 his ruthless lust of blood and vengeance may find no 
 other victims : 
 
 " Rut. O, let me pray before I take my death ! 
 To thee I pray : sweet Clifford, pity me ! 
 
 " Glif. Such pity as my rapier's point affords. 
 
 " Rut. I never did thee harm : why wilt thou slay me ? 
 
 " Glif. Thy father hath. 
 
 " But. But 'twas ere I was born. 
 
 Thou hast one son, for his sake pity me ; 
 Lest in revenge thereof, sith God is just, 
 He be as miserably slain as I. 
 Ah, let me live in prison all my days ; 
 And when I give occasion of offence, 
 Then let me die, for now thou hast no cause. 
 
 " Glif. No cause ! 
 Thy father slew my father ; therefore, die. [Stabs him. 
 
 " Rut. Diifaciant, laudis summa sit ista tuce! [Dies. 
 
 " Glif. Plantagenet ! I come, Plantagenet ! 
 
 And this thy son's blood, cleaving to my blade, 
 
 Shall rust upon my weapon, till thy blood, 
 
 Congeal'd with this, do make me wipe off both." [Exit. 
 
 It is worth noting that this line from Ovid was added 
 by Shakespeare himself to a scene in which his altera- 
 tions of the original are few and slight. In the " True 
 Tragedie of Richard Duke of Yorke," Rutland's longer 
 speech appealing for pity is his last, and the six lines of 
 Clifford's undivided reply close the scene. The line is 
 thus given to Rutland by Shakespeare, and there is 
 perhaps a certain propriety in this, as the poor boy had 
 appeared on the field not as a combatant but as a spec- 
 tator; and when intercepted by Clifford, was hastening 
 to a place of safety with his tutor, a priest named Sir 
 
222 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 Robert Aspall. The line is taken from the second of 
 the "Heroic Epistles," that from Phyllis to Demo- 
 phoon, and as Shakespeare was probably working at 
 the " Taming of the Shrew" and the parts of " Henry 
 VI." about the same time, the two quotations from the 
 first and second of the " Heroic Epistles " would seem 
 to show that he had recently been studying these 
 celebrated dramatic lyrics. 
 
 The last direct reference to Ovid occurs in " As You 
 Like It," and it is in many respects the most curious 
 of all. The reference is not only a minutely learned 
 one, but it comes from the lips of a stage clown or pro- 
 fessional fool, the humorous jester Touchstone, and it 
 is addressed to the simple-souled Audrey, whose dense 
 rustical ignorance barely comprehends the ordinary 
 dialect even of borrel men. The third scene of the 
 third act opens as follows : 
 
 " Touch. Come apace, good Audrey : I will fetch up your goats, 
 Audrey. And how, Audrey ? ana I the man yet ? doth my simple 
 feature content you ? 
 
 " And. Your features ! Lord warrant us ! what features ? 
 
 " Touch. I am here,with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious 
 poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.'" 
 
 Well may the nielancholy Jaques, on overhearing this 
 speech, exclaim : " knowledge ill-inhabited, worse 
 than Jove in a thatched house ! " Touchstone himself 
 seems to feel that his knowledge is equally ill-be- 
 stowed. 
 
 "Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's 
 good wit seconded with the forward child, Understanding, it strikes 
 a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room. Truly, 
 I would the gods had made thee poetical. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 223 
 
 " And. I do not know what "poetical" is : is it honest in deed 
 and word ? is it a true thing ? 
 
 " Touch. No, truly ; for the truest poetry is the most feigning ; 
 and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry may 
 be said as lovers they do feign." 
 
 In explanation of Touchstone's "good wit," as exempli- 
 fied in his learned comparison, it must be remembered 
 that he was a courtly jester who could rail at Lady 
 Fortune in good set terms, and hold his own in wit 
 combats with his social superiors, whose brain had 
 strange places crammed with odds and ends of bookish 
 knowledge, as well as with observation, " the which he 
 vents in mangled forms ". But that such a reference 
 should with any semblance of dramatic propriety be 
 put into the mouth, even of a duke's jester, illustrates 
 the familiarity with Ovid and his writings which must 
 have prevailed in urban and courtly circles. The 
 epithet " capricious " in Touchstone's speech is a good 
 example of the subtle playing with words, the skilful 
 suggestion of double meanings, of which Shakespeare 
 in common with Ovid is so fond. 
 
 In passing to the indirect proofs of Shakespeare's 
 acquaintance with Ovid I will take first the minor 
 poems, leaving the points of evidence scattered through 
 the dramas to be collected into groups rather than dealt 
 with in the order of the actual occurrence in the several 
 plays. Though now little read, these minor poems, 
 and especially the " Venus and Adonis " and the 
 " Lucrece," were once famous, and in the early part 
 of his career probably did more even than his dramas 
 to make Shakespeare well and widely known. At that 
 time indeed plays, being produced for the stage, not for 
 the press, and usually published only through the actors' 
 
224 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 mouths, were hardly ranked as literature at all. For 
 what is simply spoken ' ' cannot outrun the range of the 
 speaker's voice, and perishes in the uttering ". In the 
 same way, though usually written in verse, plays were 
 not, as a rule, classified as poetry, this title being re- 
 served for the various forms of the lyric, songs and 
 ballads, for elegies and sonnets, for epics and allegories, 
 for pastoral, descriptive and historical pieces. And 
 writers for the stage who also aspired to the character 
 of poets usually attempted one of these more permanent 
 and recognised varieties. Shakespeare himself is no 
 exception. On becoming firmly established in his new 
 career as playwright and dramatic proprietor, he seems 
 to have felt that, like others around him, he could now 
 select a patron, and indulge in the luxury of more 
 orthodox or literary verse. He accordingly recalled 
 and prepared for the press his early poetical studies, 
 ' ' Venus and Adonis," the first heir of his invention, 
 and the companion 'picture of " Lucrece," which 
 followed immediately after. They are wonderful poems 
 to have been produced by an English youth writing in 
 the country between the years 1580 and 1586-7. The 
 " Lucrece " was indeed written somewhat later than the 
 " Venus and Adonis," but they are so connected in 
 subject and treatment, so obviously early studies having 
 common characteristics, that for the purpose in hand 
 they may be considered together. The marvel is that 
 poems so unlike anything in contemporary literature, 
 yet with so marked an individuality of form, colouring 
 and poetical treatment, should have been produced by a 
 " 'prentice hand " in a small provincial town. So far 
 as the finer essence, the vital substance of his work, is 
 concerned, the poet is, we know, born not made, and 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 225 
 
 Shakespeare is the supreme example of this truth. But 
 like every other artist the poet must study the elements 
 of his craft, must learn to master the materials he has 
 to use so as to handle them with freedom and power 
 in attempting new combinations. In the fundamental 
 points of poetic form and treatment, this can only be 
 effected by the careful study of the best available models. 
 What models, it may be asked, were there for classical 
 poems of this peculiar type at the time when Shake- 
 speare was engaged in embodying his earlier poetical 
 conceptions ? In reply to this question, Mr. Collier says 
 of "Venus and Adonis": "It was quite new in its 
 class, being founded upon no model, either ancient or 
 modern ; nothing like it had been attempted before, 
 and nothing comparable to it was produced after- 
 wards ". On the other hand, Mr. Minto suggests that 
 the tale of "Glaucus and Sylla," by Lodge, is the 
 probable model of Shakespeare's earlier poem, and, but 
 for the chronological difficulty, I should certainly be 
 disposed to attach great weight to this suggestion . All 
 the facts and probabilities of the case seem however to 
 indicate that the" Venus and Adonis," as Shakespeare's 
 earliest considerable effort, must have been produced at 
 Stratford some years before the appearance of Lodge's 
 poem. With regard to the internal evidence in support 
 of this view, Mr. Collier says : "A young man so gifted 
 would not, and could not, wait until he was five or six 
 and twenty before he made considerable and most 
 successful attempts at poetical composition ; and we 
 feel morally certain that ' Venus and Adonis ' was in 
 being anterior to Shakespeare's quitting Stratford. It 
 bears all the marks of youthful vigour, of strong passion, 
 of luxuriant imagination, together with a force and 
 
 U 
 
226 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 originality of expression which betoken the first efforts 
 of a great mind, not always well regulated in its taste. 
 It seems to have been written in the open air of a fine 
 country like Warwickshire, possessing all the freshness 
 of the recent impression of natural objects ; and we will 
 go so far as to say that we do not think even Shake- 
 speare himself could have produced it, in the form it 
 bears, after he had reached the age of forty." In rela- 
 tion to the last point I should be disposed to go further 
 still, and say that it is very unlikely that Shakespeare 
 either could or would have produced such a poem after 
 he had found in the drama the free use of both his 
 hands the means of dealing effectively with action as 
 well as passion. We must, therefore, look for Shake- 
 speare's early models as to style and treatment amongst 
 his youthful studies at Stratford, and especially amongst 
 the poets read during his school course. 
 
 Adopting this view, many critics have traced in 
 Shakespeare's two descriptive poems the influence of 
 Ovid and Virgil respectively, of which from natural 
 affinity that of Ovid would be the stronger. Virgil, for 
 tolerably obvious reasons, seems to have had but little 
 influence. He lacks the unstudied descriptive charm, 
 the elegiac sweetness, the emotional and picturesque 
 variety, as well as the vivid dramatic touches which in 
 his early days so powerfully attracted Shakespeare 
 towards Ovid. Apart from a few striking episodes and 
 the unfailing literary beauty and finish of the work, it 
 maybe questioned, indeed, whether the " Georgics " or 
 even the " ^Eneid " would appeal with any special power 
 to Shakespeare's more intimate sympathies. Alike in 
 motive, substance, and treatment, these poems are 
 somewhat alien to the natural movement of Shake- 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 227 
 
 speare's mind. Virgil's absorption of feeling in a limited, 
 though impressive range of objects and associations, has 
 little in common with Shakespeare's vivid and intense 
 interest in all the varieties of individual character, and 
 all the vicissitudes of actual life. The glorification of a 
 person or an institution, a city or even an empire, would 
 have been a comparatively narrow theme to one whose 
 attention was already fixed on the boundless moral 
 interests and infinite vital complexities belonging to the 
 wide circle of human experience. And the didactic and 
 rhetorical expedients required for the elaboration of 
 the narrower theme are foreign to the firm and flexible, 
 yet delicate and subtle, handling of character and 
 motive belonging to the larger world. The genius of 
 the two poets is thus essentially different, the one 
 illustrating the combination of qualities which go to the 
 making of a great epic and didactic, the other those of 
 a peerless elegiac and dramatic artist. 
 
 Virgil is indeed far nearer to Milton than to Shake- 
 speare. Like Milton, he could brood over a great subject 
 which touched his intellect and imagination through 
 his affections, could slowly accumulate materials for its 
 illustration, mould them into form with all the skill of 
 a tuneful, artistic and richly cultivated nature, and give 
 the work a massive unity of feeling and purpose. On 
 the other hand, Shakespeare's imagination was from the 
 first stimulated and swayed by purely poetical rather 
 than by personal influences, by the beauty, interest, and 
 vital unity of the object contemplated, rather than by a 
 ruling individual sentiment determining alike the choice 
 of subject and method of treatment. His poetical genius 
 is thus more of the Greek than of the Roman type, and 
 in its earlier exercises he would naturally be drawn 
 
228 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 towards those of the Koman poets who in their central 
 characteristics come nearest to the Greeks. It need 
 hardly be said that the Greek imagination had a 
 strongly objective bent, a pervading love of form which 
 gives firmness of outline, harmony of proportion, and 
 unity of structure and effect to their poetry as well as 
 to their decorative and plastic art. The severer taste 
 of the more eminent Greek artists would, it is true, 
 have hardly tolerated the luxuriance of imagination, 
 variety of elements, and laxity of structure found at 
 times in the work of their representatives both in 
 Roman and English literature. But they agree in the 
 central characteristic of dealing directly with the object, 
 and so grouping the accessories as to present the picture 
 as a whole to the mental view. 
 
 Now there are two, and only two, Latin poets who 
 display in a marked degree the objective imagination of 
 their Ionic predecessors. Catullus and Ovid have the 
 distinctive Greek power of vividly conceiving an im- 
 pressive or pathetic scene and presenting it pictorially 
 to the reader's mind in its concrete fulness as a living 
 whole. It is in relation to this power that Niebuhr 
 speaks of Catullus and Ovid as the most poetical of the 
 Roman poets. And Professor Sellar in his admirable 
 study of Virgil, while differing widely from the German 
 historian in many points of criticism, agrees with him 
 in recognising the peculiar type of genius belonging to 
 the earliest and latest elegiac poets of the great period 
 of Roman literature. Referring to Ovid and Catullus, 
 he says that they above all other Latin poets " can 
 bring a picture from human life or from outward nature 
 before the inward eye, and this power is much more 
 than Virgil's power of suggesting deep and delicate 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 229 
 
 shades of inward feeling appropriated to the more 
 limited compass of the idyl ". And of Catullus in parti- 
 cular he says, "he had in his genius more than any 
 Koman writer the disinterested delight in art irrespective 
 of any personal associations characteristic of the Greek 
 imagination ". The supreme example of this power in 
 Roman literature is of course the Epithalamium of 
 Peleus and Thetis. But the Attys perhaps even more 
 strikingly illustrates the distinctively Greek power of 
 developing with dramatic intensity and truth some 
 passion foreign to the writer's own experience. 
 
 Ovid, however, no less than Catullus, is endowed 
 with a creative pictorial imagination. Some of his 
 finished studies, and several of his separate sketches, 
 approach the masterpieces of Catullus in descriptive 
 vividness and pathetic interest, if not in passionate 
 intensity and concentrated imaginative power. In 
 splendour of glowing imagery the story of Phaeton is 
 unrivalled, while the tragical tales of Pyramus and 
 Thisbe, of Ceyx and Halcyone, the touching pictures 
 of Baucis and Philemon, of Ceres in the house of Celeus 
 and Metanira, are equally noteworthy for truth of 
 natural colouring, delicacy of finish, and picturesque 
 effect. 
 
 Shakespeare was pre-eminently endowed with this 
 power of bodying pictorially forth the form of things 
 unknown, and the supreme examples of its exercise are 
 found in his earliest published poems. They are the 
 most brilliant verbal pictures in the language. We 
 have DO evidence to show whether Shakespeare was 
 well acquainted with Catullus or not. But we know 
 that he was a diligent student of Ovid. And as his 
 earliest work has so much in common with the distinc- 
 
230 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 tive features of the " Metamorphoses," it may be safely 
 inferred that he was largely influenced by Ovid's method 
 of dealing with mythological fable and heroic story. 
 The full sensuous pictorial treatment of his theme in 
 the "Venus and Adonis" and the " Lucrece " is 
 thoroughly Ovidian. Indeed, the parallel with Ovid 
 might be traced through most of the points which 
 Coleridge, in his criticism of these poems, has signalised 
 as strong proofs of original poetic genius. There is the 
 same sweetness of versification, the evident enjoyment 
 of melodious sounds, the sense of musical delight and 
 the power of producing it which is so distinctively a 
 gift of nature. There is the same choice of subjects 
 remote from the private interests and circumstances 
 of the writer, the same latent dramatic instinct working 
 by a series of vivid images, which gives the highest 
 effect of the picturesque in words, and constitutes a 
 kind of substitute for the visual language of the stage. 
 And, finally, there is the same modification of the 
 thoughts, images and incidents by the pervading influ- 
 ence of a dominant passion or sentiment helping to 
 connect the details and give unity of effect to the 
 picture. 
 
 Not only his early studies, but the Eenaissance 
 enthusiasm, which reached its highest point in England 
 during the latter half of the sixteenth century, would 
 naturally lead Shakespeare to select classical subjects 
 for his first efforts. And in Ovid he would find a perfect 
 storehouse of such subjects treated in a manner con- 
 genial to his vivid fancy and ardent feeling. To that 
 storehouse he accordingly betook himself. At least it 
 is, I think, clear from internal evidence that the germ 
 of both the descriptive poems was derived from Ovid, 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 231 
 
 that of " Venus and Adonis" from the brief account of 
 the same story at the end of the tenth book of the 
 "Metamorphoses," and that of "Lucrece" from the 
 vivid dramatic sketch of the tragedy which closes the 
 second book of the " Fasti ". In each case the exube- 
 rant growth into which the original seed rapidly ex- 
 panded sufficiently shows the extraordinary richness 
 and fertility of the soil. For brilliancy of imaginative 
 detail, depth of colouring, and exquisite pictorial finish, 
 the "Venus and Adonis" surpasses every descriptive 
 poem of antiquity, except perhaps the Proserpine of 
 Claudian. And even here the vernal freshness and 
 vigorous beauty of Shakespeare's picture are in striking 
 contrast to the borrowed tints and mellowed autumnal 
 tone of Claudian's canvas, while the light that falls upon 
 the pictures respectively is that of the opening dawn 
 and the fading sunset glow. In other words, the re- 
 vival of classical subjects in the sixteenth century, the 
 new birth of what was beautiful, heroic, and picturesque 
 in pagan art, had characteristics of its own which 
 reveal the important intellectual and moral changes 
 the intervening period had produced. 
 
 Shakespeare's obligations to Ovid in the "Venus 
 and Adonis," while fewer, less direct and more scattered 
 perhaps than in the "Lucrece," are still considerable 
 and noteworthy. In his narrative he has borrowed not 
 only from Ovid's account of the same story, but from 
 other fables, especially from those of Salmacis in the 
 fourth book, and from the graphic picture of the hunt- 
 ing in Calydon, contained in the eighth book of the 
 " Metamorphoses ". The opening situation of the poem 
 is given in the following lines from Ovid's " Venus and 
 Adonis " : 
 
232 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 " Sed labor insolitus jam me lassavit ; et ecce 
 Opportuna sua blanditur populus umbra ; 
 Datque torum cespes. Libet hac requiescere tecum 
 (Et requievit) humo : pressitque et gramen, et ipsu'm. 
 Inque sinu juvenis, posita cervice, reclinis 
 Sic ait : ac mediis interserit oscula verbis." 
 
 While thus resting in the shade with Adonis, Venus 
 tells him the celebrated story of Hippomanes and 
 Atalanta, illustrating lover-like the beauty of Atalanta 
 by a reference to that of Adonis and herself. 
 
 There is a clear recollection of this passage in the 
 two genuine sonnets of the " Passionate Pilgrim," 
 which seem to have been written originally as trial 
 sketches or tentative lines for the opening of the con- 
 templated poem prelusive notes, as it were, before 
 striking into the sustained music of the story : 
 
 " Sweet Cytherea, sitting by a brook 
 With young Adonis, lovely, fresh, and green, 
 Did court the lad with many a lovely look, 
 Such looks as none could look but beauty's queen. 
 She told him stories to delight his ear " ; etc. 
 
 And in the opening of the poem itself Venus, like a 
 bold-faced suitor, says to Adonis : 
 
 " Here, come and sit, where never serpent hisses, 
 And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses. 
 
 " Still she entreats, and prettily entreats, 
 And to a pretty ear she tunes her tale ; 
 Still is he sullen, still he lours and frets, 
 'Twixt crimson shame and anger ashy-pale ; 
 
 " Look how he can, she cannot choose but love ; 
 Ajid by her fair immortal hand she swears, 
 From his soft bosom never to remove, 
 Till he take truce with her contending tears." 
 
 The central conflict of the story, that of ardent 
 desire and passionate entreaty on the one hand, with 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 233 
 
 indignant surprise and cold disdain on the other, is 
 reflected in the lines given below, l variations of which 
 are found in many stanzas of the " Venus and Adonis ". 
 What follows in Ovid's narrative is transferred by 
 Shakespeare to Cytherea, and described in the second 
 sonnet of the " Passionate Pilgrim". Again, the 
 powerful description of the boar in the " Venus and 
 Adonis " is derived from Ovid's account of the hunting 
 in Calydon, and the best way, perhaps, to bring this 
 fully out is to give the passages together. Ovid's lines 
 quoted below 2 may be compared with Shakespeare's 
 
 1 Tune sic orsa loqui : " Puer o dignissime credi 
 Esse Dens : seu tu Deus es, potes esse Cupido : 
 Sive es mortalis, qui te genuere, beati ; 
 Et frater f elix, et fortunata profecto, 
 Si qua tibi soror est, et quae dedit ubera nutrix. 
 Sed longe cunctis, longeque potentior illis, 
 Si qua tibi sponsa est, si quani dignabere taeda. 
 Haec tibi sive aliqua est, mea sit furtiva voluptas ; 
 
 Seu null a est, ego sim : thalamumque ineamus eumdem." 
 Nais ab his tacuit. Pueri rubor ora notavit, 
 Nescia quid sit amor ; sed et erubuisse decebat. 
 Hie color aprica pendentibus arbore pomis, 
 Aut ebori tincto est, aut sub candore rubenti, 
 Quum frustra resonant aera auxiliaria, Lunae. 
 Poscenti Nymphae sine fine sororia saltern 
 Oscula, jamque manus ad eburnea colla ferenti, 
 "Desine, vel fugio, tecumque, ait, ista relinquo ". 
 
 (Metam., bk. iv.) 
 
 2 Sanguine et igne micant oculi, riget ardua cervix : 
 Et setae densis similes hastilibus horrent ; 
 [Stantque velut vallum, velut alta hastilia setae]. 
 Fervida cum rauco, latos stridore per armos 
 Spurna fluit ; dentes aequantur dentibus Indis ; 
 Fulmen ab ore venit ; frondes adfiatibus ardent. 
 Is modo crescenti segetes proculcat in herba ; 
 
 Sternitur incursu nemus, et propulsa fragorem 
 
 Silva dat 
 
 Ille ruit, spargitque canes, ut quisque ruenti 
 Obstat, et obliquo latrantes dissipat ictu. 
 
 (Metam., bk. viii.) 
 
234 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 stanzas, which follow parts of the description with 
 almost literal fidelity. On hearing that Adonis intends 
 to hunt the boar, Venus gives the following account of 
 the ruthless monster : 
 
 " On his bow-back he hath a battle set 
 
 Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes ; 
 
 His eyes like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret ; 
 
 His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes ; 
 Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way, 
 And whom he strikes his crooked tushes slay. 
 
 " His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd, 
 Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter ; 
 His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd : 
 Being ireful, on the lion he will venture : 
 
 The thorny brambles and embracing bushes, 
 
 As fearful of him, part ; through whom he rushes. 
 
 "Alas, he naught esteems that face of thine. 
 To whom Love's eyes pay tributary gazes ; 
 Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips, and crystal eyne, 
 Whose full perfection all the world amazes ; 
 
 But having thee at vantage, wondrous dread ! 
 Would root these beauties as he roots the mead. 
 
 " 0, let him keep his loathsome cabin stih 1 ; 
 Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends : 
 Come not within his danger by thy will ; 
 They that thrive well take counsel of their friends. 
 
 " But if thou needs wilt hunt, be rul'd by me ; 
 
 Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, 
 
 Or at the fox which lives by subtlety, 
 
 Or at the roe which no encounter dare : 
 
 Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, 
 
 And on thy well-breath'd horse keep with thy hounds." 
 
 The warning contained in the last stanzas, the 
 earnest appeal to Adonis to avoid the furious boar, 
 and other savage beasts, but echoes the equally earnest 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 235 
 
 entreaty of Venus in Ovid's version of the story. 1 The 
 lines in italics, which many may have thought a 
 peculiarly Shakespearian touch, are, it will be seen, but 
 a poetical version of the lines in Ovid. 
 
 Again, when after daybreak she listens eagerly for 
 the hounds and the horn that may bring tidings of her 
 love, and hearing the former " coasteth to the cry," she 
 soon discovers by their deep baying that Adonis in his 
 passionate love for exciting sport has disregarded her 
 injunctions : 
 
 " For now she knows it is no gentle chase, 
 But the blunt boar, rough bear, or lion proud, 
 Because the cry remaineth in one place, 
 Where fearfully the dogs exclaim aloud : 
 Finding their enemy to be so curst, 
 They all strain courtesy who shall cope him first ". 
 
 In the "Lucrece" Shakespeare follows faithfully 
 the main lines of Ovid's story. Indeed, he may be 
 said to have incorporated the whole of it with his own 
 work. But he has developed the original sketch into 
 a completed picture, suggested by his vivid realisation 
 of the scene in all the fulness of its tragic and pathetic 
 detail. The development is carried much further 
 
 1 A fortibus abstinet apris : 
 Kaptoresque lupos, armatosque unguibus ursos 
 Vitat, et armenti sertaratos caede leones. 
 Te quoque, ut hos timeas (si quid prodesse monendo 
 Possit), Adoni, monet : " Fortisque fugacibus esto," 
 Inquit ; "in audaces non est audacia tuta. 
 Parce meo, juvenis, temerarius esse periclo : 
 Neve feras, quibus arnia dedit Natura, lacesse, 
 Stet mihi ne magno tua gloria ; non movet aetas, 
 Nee fades, nee quae Venerem movere, leones, 
 tietigerosque sues, oculosque, animosque ferarum. 
 Fuknen habent acres in aduncis dentibus apri ; 
 Impetus est fulvis et vasta leonibus ira ; 
 Invisumque mihi genus est." (Metam., bk. x.) 
 
236 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 than in the "Venus arid Adonis," and the "Lucrece" 
 is thus proportionately a considerably longer poem. 
 But through the whole of the marvellous development 
 it is still possible to trace the outline supplied by Ovid's 
 comparatively brief but striking narrative. And the con- 
 trast at various points in the fuller evolution of the story 
 brings into prominent relief the exuberance and vital 
 force of Shakespeare's youthful imagination. A single 
 example of this power will suffice. When at midnight, 
 after striding noiselessly through the dark and silent 
 corridors, Tarquin reaches the secret chamber of Luc- 
 rece, and rouses her with his rude assault, Ovid says : 
 
 " Instat amans hostis precibns, pretioque, miiiisque : 
 Nee prece, nee pretio, nee movet ille minis ". 
 
 Shakespeare expands these lines into ten stanzas, 
 unfolding in order each class of villainous motive, the 
 entreaties, the promises, and the threats, as they are 
 urged with cruel force on the affrighted Lmcrece's ear. 
 Not only, however, in the full expansion of what is only 
 suggested in the original is Shakespeare's imaginative 
 and dramatic power displayed. It comes out in the 
 rapid appropriation and skilful use of the slighter 
 realistic touches which help to bring the picture vividly 
 before the inward eye. No prose chronicler, for 
 instance, would be likely to specify in his narrative the 
 colour of Lucrece's hair. Ovid does this, however, in 
 his description of her beauty, and Shakespeare repeats 
 it in his exquisite picture of the sleeping Lucrece, when 
 Tarquin' s ruthless hand had "drawn the cloud that 
 hides the silver moon ". 
 
 " Her eyes, like marigolds, had sheath'd their light, 
 And canopied in darkness sweetly lay. 
 Till they might open to adorn the day. 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 237 
 
 " Her hair, like golden threads, play'd with her breath ; 
 
 O modest wantons ! wanton modesty ! 
 
 Showing life's triumph in the map of death, 
 
 And death's dim look in life's mortality : 
 
 Each in her sleep themselves so beautify, 
 As if between them twain there were no strife, 
 But that life lived in death, and death in life." 
 
 But without going further into such minute points, 
 I proceed to give the broader parallels between the 
 "Lucrece" of Ovid and of Shakespeare. And first of 
 the causes at work in rousing the hellish passion in 
 Tarquin's breast, Ovid specially refers to the beauty 
 and chastity of Lucrece. l And Shakespeare, beginning, 
 with the last line of the extract quoted below, goes 
 back over Ovid's description, embracing as he goes its 
 central points : 
 
 " From the besieged Ardea all in post, 
 Borne by the trustless wings of false desire, 
 Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host 
 And to Collatium bears the lightless fire 
 "Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire 
 And girdle with embracing flames the waist 
 Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste. 
 " Haply that name of ' chaste ' unhappily set 
 This bateless edge on his keen appetite ; 
 
 1 Interea juvenis furiatos regius ignes 
 
 Concipit, et caeco raptus amore furit. 
 Forma placet, niveusque color, flavique capilli, 
 
 Quique aderat nulla factus ab arte decor. 
 Verba placent, et vox, et quod corrumpere non est ; 
 Qiioque minor spes est, hoc magis ille cupit. 
 
 Ardet ; et injusti stimulis agitatus amoris, 
 Comparat indigno vimque dolumque toro. 
 
 Exitus in dubio est ; audebimus ultima, dixit. 
 Viderit, audentes Forsne Deusne juvet. 
 
 Cepimus audendo Gabios quoque. Talia fatus, 
 Ense latus cingit, tergaque pressit equi. 
 
238 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 When Collatine unwisely did not let 
 
 To praise the clear unmatched red and white 
 
 Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight. 
 
 " But some untimely thought did instigate 
 His all too timeless speed, if none of those : 
 His honour, his affairs, his friends, his state, 
 Neglected all, with swift intent he goes 
 To quench the coal which in his liver glows. 
 rash false heat, wrapp'd in repentant cold, 
 Thy hasty spring still blasts, and ne'er grows old ! " 
 
 Next with regard to the gracious reception he met 
 with under Collatine's hospitable roof, and at the hands 
 of his unsuspecting wife, we have in Ovid as follows : 
 
 " Accipit aerata juvenem Collatia porta, 
 
 Condere jam vultus sole parante suos. 
 Hostis, ut hospes, init penetralia Collatina ; 
 Comiter excipitur : sanguine junctus erat. 
 Quantum animis erroris inest ! parat inscia rerum 
 
 Infelix epulas hostibus ilia suis. 
 Functus erat dapibus : poscunt sua tempora somni." 
 
 Shakespeare expands these lines into the following 
 somewhat more detailed account : 
 
 " When at Collatium this false lord arriv'd, 
 Well was he welcomed by the Roman dame, 
 Within whose face beauty and virtue striv'd 
 Which of them both should underprop her fame : 
 When virtue bragg'd, beauty would blush for shame. 
 
 " This heraldry in Lucrece' face was seen, 
 Argued by beauty's red and virtue's white : 
 Of cither's colour was the other queen, 
 Proving from world's minority their right. 
 
 " This earthly saint, ador'd by this devil, 
 Little suspecteth the false worshipper : 
 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 239 
 
 For unstain'd thoughts do seldom dream on evil ; 
 
 Birds never lim'd no secret bushes fear : 
 
 So guiltless she securely gives good cheer 
 And reverent welcome to her princely guest, 
 Whose inward ill no outward harm express'd : 
 
 " For that he colour 'd with his high estate, 
 Hiding base sin in plaits of majesty : 
 That nothing in him seem'd inordinate, 
 Save sometime too much wonder of his eye. 
 
 " For then is Tarquin brought into his bed, 
 Intending weariness with heavy spright ; 
 For after supper long he questioned 
 With modest Lucrece, and wore out the night : 
 Now leaden slumber with life's strength doth fight." 
 
 Then with regard to the fatal midnight scene, 
 Shakespeare, while following Ovid's outline point by 
 point, realises so fully every thought and movement of 
 the guilty Tarquin, in the execution of his ghastly 
 purpose, that he not only expands the description, but 
 repeats more than once some of its central features. 
 Thus Tarquin's most terrible threat was given at the 
 outset of the awful colloquy with Lucrece, repeated as 
 the colloquy draws to a close, and again towards the 
 end of the poem in the account of the outrage which 
 Lucrece gives to her husband, her father, and her 
 assembled friends. The last, as the more condensed 
 summary, may be compared with Ovid's description. 1 
 
 1 Nox erat, et tota lurnina nulla domo. 
 Surgit, et auratum vagina liberat ensem, 
 
 Et venit in thalamos, nupta pudica, tuos. 
 Utque torum pressit ; Ferrum, Lucretia, mecum est ; 
 
 Natus, ait, Kegis, Tarquiniusque vocor. 
 Ilia nihil : neque enim vocem viresque loquendi, 
 
 Aut aliquid toto pectore mentis habet. 
 Sed tremit, ut quondam stabulis deprensa relictis 
 
 Parva sub infesto quum jacet agna lupo. 
 
240 SHAKE SPE AEE . 
 
 While, as I have said, all the points of the description 
 are embraced and expanded in the earlier part of the 
 narrative, they are briefly summed up in the following 
 account from Lucrece's own lips : 
 
 " For in the dreadful dead of dark midnight, 
 With shining falchion in my chamber came 
 A creeping creature, with a naming light, 
 And softly cried : ' Awake thou, Roman dame, 
 And entertain my love ; else lasting shame 
 
 On thee and thine this night I will inflict, 
 
 If thou my love's desire do contradict. 
 
 " * For some hard-favour'd groom of thine,' quoth he, 
 ' Unless thou yoke thy liking to my will, 
 I'll murder straight, and then I'll slaughter thee, 
 And swear I found you where you did fulfil 
 The loathsome act of lust, and so did kill 
 
 The lechers in their deed : this act will be 
 
 My fame, and thy perpetual infamy.' 
 
 " With this, I did begin to start and cry ; 
 And then against my heart he set his sword, 
 Swearing, unless I took all patiently, 
 I should not live to speak another word ; 
 So should my shame still rest upon record, 
 And never be forgot in mighty Rome, 
 Th' adulterate death of Lucrece and her groom. 
 
 Quid faciat ? pugnet ? vincetur femina pugna. 
 
 Clamet ? at in dextra, qui necet, ensis adest. 
 Effugiat ? positis urgetur pectora palmis ; 
 
 Nunc primum externa pectora tacta manu. 
 Instat amans hostis precibus, pretioque, minisque ; 
 
 Nee prece, nee pretio, nee movet ille minis. 
 Nil agis ; eripiam, dixit, pro crimine vitam ; 
 
 Falsus adulterii testis adulter erit. 
 Interimam famulum, cum quo deprensa fereris. 
 
 Succubuit famae victa puella metu. 
 Quid, victor, gaudes ? haec te victoria perdet. 
 
 Heu 1 quanto regnis nox stetit una tuis J 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 241 
 
 " Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak, 
 And far the weaker with so strong a fear : 
 My bloody judge forbade my tongue to speak ; 
 No rightful plea might plead for justice there." 
 
 In the earlier details of the description Shakespeare 
 appropriates Ovid's simile of the wolf and the lamb, 
 and adds others of a like kind which the situation 
 naturally suggests, such as those of the grim lion 
 fawning over his prey, the foul night-waking cat dally- 
 ing with the weak and panting mouse in his hold-fast 
 foot, the white hind under the gripe's sharp claws. 
 He repeats, too, in various forms, Ovid's statement that 
 the victory was a defeat, and would inevitably issue in 
 Tarquin's destruction. Another parallel with minute 
 verbal coincidences is the affecting scene with Lucrece, 
 when, in the early morning, her husband and father 
 arrive in answer to her hasty and urgent summons. 1 
 
 There is a final and striking parallel between the 
 closing lines of Ovid's " Lucrece " and the concluding 
 stanzas of Shakespeare's poem. Both describe the 
 spirited conduct of Brutus in throwing off his long 
 disguise, and coming forward to avenge the death of 
 Lucrece. In this closing scene the agreement between 
 the two poems, even in minute points, is almost as close 
 as the genius of the different languages will admit of, 
 but I must leave those who are specially interested in 
 the subject to make this comparison for themselves. 2 
 
 These parallels show, I think, that Shakespeare had 
 Ovid before him in his earlier work, that he studied 
 him carefully, and derived from his pages many hints 
 
 1 " Fasti," ii. 813-32. " Lucrece," 1583-1610 (Globe edition). 
 2 Fasti," ii. 835-52. "Lucrece," 1807-20, and 1849-55 (Globe 
 edition). 
 
 16 
 
242 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 and suggestions for each of his descriptive poems, and 
 especially for the second. Of course in any account of 
 so striking a story as that of "Lucrece" the facts would 
 be substantially the same. But it is in the poetical 
 treatment of these facts that Shakespeare's obligations 
 to Ovid are most apparent. Having dealt with the 
 story in his vivid, dramatic manner, Ovid would natur- 
 ally be a kind of model for Shakespeare when he 
 selected it for his own poetical use. Warton, indeed 
 (followed by other critics), having discovered that an 
 English ballad on Lucrece existed in Shakespeare's 
 time, suggested that this was the source whence 
 Shakespeare derived his knowledge of the subject. The 
 ballad, which I have not seen, may have been versified 
 from the well-known prose version of the story in 
 Painter's " Palace of Pleasure ". This version has also 
 been assumed by many commentators as the immediate 
 source of Shakespeare's " Lucrece ". But a comparison of 
 the two poems with the prose story will show that Ovid 
 and Shakespeare have a number of significant points 
 in common not to be found in Painter's version, which 
 is indeed little more than a paraphrase of Livy's brief 
 account of the tragedy. The suggestions as to the 
 purely English sources of Shakespeare's knowledge of 
 the subject belong to an earlier era of criticism, when, 
 under the influence of Farmer's essay, it was assumed 
 that Shakespeare's literary materials were absolutely 
 restricted to his own language, his knowledge of Latin 
 extending no further than the earliest pages of the 
 accidence. Hence, if any English account of a subject 
 taken up by Shakespeare could be discovered, however 
 meagre in substance or wretched in form, whether in 
 chap-book prose or doggerel verse, it was at once brought 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 243 
 
 forward as a sufficient explanation of his work. But 
 after the proofs I have given it will hardly, I think, be 
 denied that Shakespeare was quite capable of studying 
 the celebrated Koman story in the original sources, and 
 that he certainly did so in relation to Ovid's version of it. 
 The "Lucrece" also contains, as the critics have 
 pointed out, evident marks of indebtedness to Virgil. 
 The elaborate details in the pictured " Fall of Troy," 
 which helps to beguile the sad interval before the arrival 
 of Collatine and his friend, seem clearly derived from 
 the second book of the " .ZEneid ". There is an obvious 
 connection between the general cause or ground motive 
 of the more famous tragedy and Lucrece's own dark 
 fate. But by a skilful stroke the immediate agent in 
 the ruin of cloud-kissing Ilion is associated as a kind of 
 prototype with the destroyer of Lucrece's peace. The 
 most prominent figure in the pictured tragedy as de- 
 scribed by Lucrece is Sinon, and Sinon represents the 
 same union of outward truth and inward guile, of saintly 
 seeming and diabolical purpose, which had secured for 
 Tarquin his fatal triumph. As Lucrece moralises on 
 the figure, this tragic resemblance suddenly breaks upon 
 her, arresting the soliloquy : 
 
 " This picture she advisedly perus'd, 
 
 And chid the painter for his wondrous skill ; 
 
 Saying, some shape in Sinon 's was abus'd, 
 
 So fair a form lodg'd not a mind so ill ; 
 
 And still on him she gaz'd, and gazing still, 
 Such signs of truth in his plain face she spied, 
 That she concludes the picture was belied. 
 
 " ' It cannot be,' quoth she, ' that so much guile ' 
 (She would have said) ' can lu'rk in such a look : ' 
 But Tarquin's shape came in her mind the while, 
 
244 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 And from her tongue can lurk ' from ' cannot ' took ; 
 
 ' It cannot be ' she in that sense forsook, 
 And turned it thus : ' It cannot be,' I find, 
 But such a face should bear a wicked mind : 
 
 " ' For even as subtle Sinon. here is painted, 
 
 So sober-sad, so weary and so mild 
 
 (As if with grief or travail he had fainted), 
 
 To me came Tarquin armed ; so beguil'd 
 
 With outward honesty, but yet defiled 
 
 With inward vice : as Priam him did cherish, 
 So did I Tarquin ; so my Troy did perish '." 
 
 This ominous resemblance acquires all the greater 
 significance from the fact that Tarquin himself had 
 recently acted the part of Sinon in relation to the be- 
 sieged inhabitants of Gabii. By his crafty fraud and 
 spotted treachery (unusual among the Eomans, as Livy 
 carefully notes) he had, in fact, brought about the ruin 
 of their city after it had been assaulted in vain. Like 
 Sinon, having gone to the citizens of Gabii as a sup- 
 pliant outcast, with a forged tale of woe, and displaying 
 in his person the marks of cruel usage, Tarquin had 
 roused their sympathy, and secured a welcome which 
 he turned to account by conspiring against his friends 
 and benefactors, and compassing their speedy destruc- 
 tion. Lucrece must have been well acquainted with 
 this sinister exploit, and it would almost inevitably 
 recur to her mind while gazing on the innocent-looking 
 figure of perjured Sinon. In thus weaving Virgil's 
 narrative of the fall of Troy into Ovid's story of 
 " Lucrece," Shakespeare utilised his early studies, and 
 produced in his own modest words a " pamphlet " 
 of " untutored lines," which remains a unique example 
 of pictured sorrow. 
 
 It need hardly be said that this free use of the 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 245 
 
 materials gathered from his early reading in the Roman 
 poets does not in the least detract from the perfect 
 originality, to say nothing of the beauty and power, of 
 Shakespeare's work. In a mind of such vital force the 
 best materials are, as I have said, little more than seeds 
 hardly to be recognised in the developed fulness of the 
 plant and beauty of the flower. The secret of poetical 
 life cannot, indeed, be discovered by any examination 
 of the soil in which it grew, or of the elements by 
 which it was nurtured. In other words, no analysis of 
 influences and conditions, however complete, can pierce 
 the great mystery of creative genius. By a subtle 
 alchemy it transmutes all inferior elements into its 
 own pure and lustrous gold. None the less it is a 
 problem of criticism to trace as far as possible the 
 nature and uses of these elements. This is what I have 
 endeavoured to do with regard to one section of the 
 manifold materials that contributed to the growth and 
 development of Shakespeare's unrivalled genius. And 
 though I must defer for the present the wider evidence 
 of his Roman studies, and especially of his familiarity 
 with Ovid, which I have collected from a careful ex- 
 amination of the dramas, enough perhaps has been 
 already adduced to illustrate the main position of these 
 papers, that Shakespeare was a fair Latin scholar, and 
 in his earlier life a diligent student of Ovid. 
 
 Before leaving the poems, it seems almost a duty 
 to glance for a moment at their profounder ethical and 
 reflective aspects. Mr. Swinburne has described them 
 as narrative, or rather semi-narrative, and semi-reflective 
 poems, and this expresses their true character. And it 
 may justly be said that if Shakespeare follows Ovid in 
 the narrative and descriptive part of his work, in the 
 
246 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 vivid picturing of sensuous passion, he is as decisively 
 separated from him in the reflective part, the higher 
 purpose and ethical significance of the poems/ The 
 underlying subject in both is the same, the debasing 
 nature and destructive results of the violent sensuous 
 impulses, which in antiquity so often usurped the name 
 of love, although in truth they have little in common 
 with the nobler passion. The influence of fierce inor- 
 dinate desire is dealt with by Shakespeare in these 
 poems in all its breadth as affecting both sexes, and in 
 all its intensity as blasting the most sacred interests 
 and relationships of life. In working out the subject, 
 Shakespeare shows his thorough knowledge of its 
 seductive outward charm, of the arts and artifices, the 
 persuasions and assaults, the raptures and languors of 
 stimulated sensual passion. In this he is quite a match 
 for the erotic and elegiac poets of classic times, and 
 especially of Roman literature. He is not likely there- 
 fore in any way to undervalue the .attraction or the 
 power of what they celebrate in strains so fervid and 
 rapturous. But, while contemplating the lower passion 
 steadily in all its force and charm, he has at the same 
 time the higher vision which enables him to see through 
 and beyond it, the reflective insight to measure its 
 results, and to estimate with remorseless accuracy its 
 true worth. It is in this higher power of reflective 
 insight, in depth and vigour of thought as well as feeling, 
 that Shakespeare's earliest efforts are marked off even 
 from the better works of those whom he took, if not as 
 his masters, at least as his models and guides. He was 
 himself full of rich and vigorous life, deepened by sensi- 
 bilities of the rarest strength and delicacy ; and in early 
 youth had realised, in his own experience, the impetuous 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 247 
 
 force of passionate impulses. But his intellectual power 
 no less than the essential depth and purity of his nobler 
 emotional nature would effectually prevent his ever 
 becoming " soft fancy's slave ". A temporary access of 
 passion would but rouse to fresh activity the large 
 discourse looking before and after with which he was 
 pre-eminently endowed. As such passionate moods 
 subsided, he would meditate profoundly on the working 
 and ultimate issues of these fierce explosive elements, if 
 unrestrained by the higher influences of intellectual and 
 rnqral life. A spirit so richly gifted, capable of soaring 
 with unwearied wing into the highest heaven of thought 
 and emotion, must have early felt not only that violent 
 delights have violent ends, but that voluntary self- 
 abandoriment to the blind and imperious calls of 
 appetite and passion is the most awful form of moral 
 and social suicide. 
 
 These searching youthful experiences seem to have 
 determined, almost unconsciously perhaps, Shake- 
 speare's earliest choice of subjects. In any case, the 
 brilliant deification of lawless passion in the " Venus 
 and Adonis," but emphasises the social ruin produced 
 by the destruction of female purity and truth it exem- 
 plifies. In the " Lucrece," the wider effects of unbridled 
 lust are shown in the sacrifice of a noble life, the de- 
 solation of a faithful and united household, and the 
 dethronement of a kingly dynasty. In working out the 
 latter subject, Shakespeare has, as we have seen, 
 skilfully interwoven, with the ruin of Tarquin's house, 
 the destruction of Priam and his realm from similar 
 causes. This theme he recurred to again at a later 
 period, in the wonderful and perplexing drama of 
 " Troilus and Cressida," one main purpose of which 
 
248 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 appears to be that of criticising, under skilfully disguised 
 forms, the early Greek conception of heroic motive, if 
 not of heroic character. Shakespeare appears to have 
 regarded the tale of Troy divine as at bottom little 
 better than an idealised version of the savage custom 
 of marriage by capture, a kind of poetical gloss 
 on the barbarous tribal wars waged in early times about 
 women. He seems at once to have exhibited and con- 
 demned with dramatic force and intensity the motive 
 of the whole conflict in the character of Cressida. But 
 it must be remembered that in the very earliest poem 
 we have from Shakespeare's pen this higher note of the 
 modern world is clearly sounded the note that " Love 
 is Lord of all," and that love is something infinitely 
 higher and more divine than the lawless vagrant 
 passion which in pagan times passed under that name. 
 To the modern mind, while the latter is blind, selfish, 
 and often brutal in proportion fco its strength,, the 
 former is full of sympathy and self-abnegation, of an 
 almost sacred ardour and gentleness, humility and 
 devotion, the very heart and crown of life. While the 
 lower passion cares only for the gratification of an 
 intensely egoistic appetite, the nobler is ever supremely 
 concerned for the highest good of its object. This con- 
 trast is expressed with reflective emphasis in the 
 following stanzas towards the close of the " Venus and 
 Adonis " : 
 
 "Call it not Love, for Love to heaven is fled, 
 Since sweating Lust on earth usurp'd his name ; 
 Under whose simple semblance he hath fed 
 Upon fresh beauty, blotting it with blame ; 
 
 Which the hot tyrant stains and soon bereaves, 
 
 As caterpillars do the tender leaves. 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 249 
 
 " Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, 
 But Lust's effect is tempest after sun ; 
 Love's gentle spring doth- always fresh remain, 
 Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done ; 
 
 Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies ; 
 
 Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies." 
 
 In this reproof of the pagan goddess of love, the higher 
 note of the modern world is, as I have said, struck fully 
 and clearly. It is repeated with tragic emphasis in the 
 " Lucrece," deepened in the sonnets, and developed 
 through all the gracious range of higher female char- 
 acter in the dramas. 
 
 Nowhere indeed is the vital difference in the social 
 axes of the ancient and modern world more vividly 
 seen, than in the contrast between the Lesbias, Delias, 
 and Corinnas of Koman poetry, and the Mirandas, 
 Portias, and Imogens of Shakespeare's dramas. In the 
 one we have the monotonous ardours and disdains, the 
 gusts and glooms, the tricks and artifices belonging to 
 the stunted life of lower impulse ; in the other, the 
 fadeless beauty and grace, the vivacity and intelligence, 
 the gentleness and truth of perfect womanhood. I 
 hope, hereafter, to say something more on this tempt- 
 ing theme. Meanwhile, as I have had to emphasise 
 Shakespeare's relation to the poet laureate of wander- 
 ing love, it seemed right in passing to point out the 
 higher features by which he is separated from Ovid, 
 even in the early poems which owe most to his in- 
 fluence. 
 
SHAKESPEAREAN GLOSSARIES. 1 
 
 IT is to us a matter of sincere regret that the observa- 
 tions we have now to make on this important edition 
 of the works of Shakespeare should have been unavoid- 
 ably postponed until death has removed the amiable and 
 accomplished editor, Mr. Dyce, beyond the reach of 
 human applause or criticism. We have been engaged 
 for some time in a careful examination of his work, and 
 we had hoped to pay him on this occasion the tribute 
 due to so much learning, candour, and ingenuity. That 
 tribute can now only be offered to his memory ; but few 
 names are more honourably connected with our older 
 literature, and especially with Shakespearian criticism, 
 than that of Alexander Dyce. In his second edition of 
 the plays of our great dramatist, the corruptions which 
 infest the earlier folios are to a great extent purged 
 away, and though in some passages what Shakespeare 
 actually wrote still remains an unsolved, if not an in- 
 soluble problem, his dramas are vindicated in the main 
 
 1 1. The Works of William Shakespeare. The Text Revised by the 
 Rev. Alexander Dyce. In9vols. Second Edition. 1865. 
 
 2. The Works of William Shakespeare. Edited by Howard 
 Staunton. With copious Notes, Glossary, Life, etc. In 8 vols. 
 1869. 
 
 3. The Works of William Shakespeare. Edited by William George 
 Clarke, M.A., Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, Cambridge ; and 
 William Aldis Wright, M.A., Librarian of Trinity College. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, July, 1869. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 251 
 
 from the reproaches which careless stage-transcribers 
 and blundering player-editors had brought upon them. 
 Mr. Dyce has given in the best form the best results of 
 three great schools of critics and commentators, and he 
 has made many valuable additions to their labours which 
 will be discovered by diligent students on a careful 
 examination of the text. He was a master of all the 
 learning essential to the correction and illustration of 
 Shakespeare, and combined with this wide and exact 
 knowledge what is at least as important to an editor, 
 sound judgment and rare critical sagacity. The text of 
 the new edition illustrates the editor's fine discrimina- 
 tive sense, while the notes and glossary, to which we 
 shall presently refer, bear ample testimony to his varied 
 and accurate learning. In all these respects, the new 
 work is a great advance on Mr. Dyce's earlier edition of 
 Shakespeare. In that edition, as Mr. Dyce himself felt, 
 he dealt far too timidly with the text, admitting only a 
 very few even of the best conjectural emendations, and 
 retaining readings that were obviously doubtful and in 
 many instances corrupt. In the last edition he followed 
 the wiser plan of exercising his own judgment freely, 
 and giving in every doubtful passage the best emendation 
 criticism has suggested. In some of the more difficult 
 passages his own knowledge of Shakespeare's language 
 and the literature of the Elizabethan age enabled him 
 to supply a better reading than any previous critic had 
 proposed. The result is the best text of Shakespeare 
 yet produced. 
 
 The only recent editions that challenge attention 
 with Mr. Dyce's are those of Mr. Staunton and Messrs. 
 Clarke and Wright, the Cambridge editors. So far as 
 excellence of text is concerned, there is, however, hardly 
 
252 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 any comparison between these editions and that of Mr. 
 Dyce. Mr. Staunton avowedly retains a number of 
 doubtful readings, many of the better conjectural 
 emendations being relegated to the notes. But his 
 wide reading in the literature of Shakespeare's time has 
 enabled him to throw some light on doubtful passages 
 and to assist in clearing up some obscure allusions. 
 With regard to the Cambridge text, Mr. Dyce's is so 
 incomparably superior that it is hardly fair to compare 
 them. Considering the circumstances of its publication 
 and the learning and critical accomplishments of the 
 editors, it is a kind of literary problem indeed how it 
 comes to pass that the text of this edition is so extremely 
 defective. It may perhaps be that the business of con- 
 tinually collecting and arranging what may be called the 
 raw materials of criticism has the unhappy effect of 
 confusing and temporarily paralysing the critical faculty. 
 Whatever the cause may be, however, the result is un- 
 fortunate, the edition being in many important respects 
 a scholarly and useful one. The prefaces are written 
 with great care, and the collection and orderly exhibition 
 of the various readings so exhaustive and complete as 
 to render the work almost indispensable to critical 
 students of Shakespeare. But the text in many passages 
 is either disfigured by the blunders of the early folios or 
 weakened by the selection of comparatively worthless 
 emendations. W T e should like to show this by a detailed 
 examination of various passages, but space forbids. All 
 we can do is to give an illustration or two in passing. In 
 Sir Bichard Vernon's spirited description of Prince Hal 
 and his martial comrades setting out on the campaign 
 against Hotspur and Douglas, Mr. Dyce reads, according 
 to the best emendation of a corrupt line, as follows : 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 253 
 
 " All furnish'd, all in arms ; 
 All plum'd like estridges that wing the wind ; 
 Bated like eagles having lately bath'd ; 
 Glittering in golden coats, like images ; 
 As full of spirit as the month of May, 
 And gorgeous as the sun at midsummer". 
 
 The reading of the folio is : 
 
 "All plum'd like estridges, that with the wind," 
 
 which makes no sense at all. The Cambridge editors, 
 however, retain this manifest corruption of the passage, 
 rejecting Rowe's emendation of wing, and Mr. Dyce's 
 justification of it, on the following grounds : " The 
 phrase ' wing the wind ' seems to apply to ostriches 
 (for such is unquestionably the meaning of * estridges ') 
 less than to any other birds. Mr. Dyce quotes a pass- 
 age from Claudian (' In Eutropium,' ii. 310-313), to 
 justify it : 
 
 ' Vasta velut Libyse venantum vocibus ales 
 Cum premitur, calidas cursu transmittit arenas, 
 Inque modum veli, sinuatis flainine pennis, 
 Pulverulenta volat.' 
 
 But this means that the bird spreads its wings like a 
 sail bellying with the wind a different thing from 
 1 winging the wind '." To this weak reasoning Mr. 
 Dyce replies : 
 
 " The Cambridge editors, in expounding the lines of Claudian, 
 take no notice of the important word ' volat,' by which he means, 
 of course, that the ostrich, when once her wings are filled with the 
 wind, flies along the ground (though she does not mount into the 
 air) ; and I still continue to think that the whole description 
 answers very sufficiently to that of her ' winging the wind '. Let 
 me add, that the late Samuel Rogers (' a name ' to me ' for ever 
 dear ') has applied the verb ' wing ' to the flight of the ostrich ; and 
 it must be allowed that, whatever the deficiencies of his poetry in 
 
254 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 some respects, he justly prided himself on never violating propriety 
 of expression : 
 
 4 Such to their grateful ear the gush of springs, 
 Who course the ostrich, as away she wings ; 
 Sons of the desert, who delight to dwell 
 'Mid kneeling camels round the sacred well '. 
 
 Columbus, canto viii." 
 
 Mr. Dyce's reply is more than sufficient to meet the 
 slender objection of the Cambridge editors. But that 
 they should have deliberately rejected an emendation 
 so happy as to be almost certainly a restoration of the 
 text on such trivial and merely pedantic grounds, 
 throws some discredit on their critical judgment. The 
 truth is that in almost any description of the ostrich 
 Shakespeare might have read, two facts would be speci- 
 ally emphasised its extreme swiftness and the motion 
 of the wings in running. Every account would explain 
 that the wings, while unable to lift the bird into the 
 air, were always used in its flight, and the volant motion 
 combined with the extreme pedestrian rapidity would 
 make the ruffled plumes of the scudding bird a suf- 
 ficiently apt simile for crested and nodding helms. 
 This is indeed the ground of the comparison of the 
 moving ostrich wings to the sails of a ship, which is a 
 common one not only with the poets but with the 
 writers on civil and natural history. Thus Herodian, 
 in his Life of the Emperor Com/modus, says that he 
 was so admirable a marksman that, using crescent- 
 headed arrows, he would repeatedly at the height of 
 their speed cut off the heads of Mauritanian ostriches, 
 which were extremely swift of foot, their plumage 
 bellying out like sails in their flight. And ^Elian to 
 quote Gesner's version gives the same general descrip- 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 255 
 
 tion in greater detail. " Avis est densa pemiis, sed in 
 altum volare non potest : currit tamen celerrime, et 
 utrinque in alas ingraens ventus, taiiquam vela eas 
 extendit et sinuat." No doubt it is still open to the 
 Cambridge editors to reply that in this case it is the 
 wind that wings the ostrich, not the ostrich that wings 
 the wind ; but, as a serious criticism, this is about on 
 a level with the celebrated question, why the dog wags 
 his tail, as a serious problem in natural history. 
 
 We can only notice one other passage which will 
 enable us to bring the three recent editions together 
 the conclusion of Hamlet's speech referring to the 
 Danish custom of carousal more honoured in the breach 
 than in the observance : 
 
 " So, oft it chances in particular men, 
 That for some vicious mole of nature in them, 
 As, in their birth (wherein they are not guilty, 
 Since nature cannot choose his origin), 
 By their o'ergrowth of some complexion, 
 Oft breaking down the pales and forts of reason ; 
 Or by some habit, that too much o'er-leavens 
 The form of plausive manners ; that these men, 
 Carrying, I say, the stamp of one defect ; 
 Being nature's livery, or fortune's star, 
 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 eale 
 Doth all the noble substance of a dout, 
 To his own scandal ". 
 
 This, the folio reading of the last three lines, is evi- 
 dently corrupt, as it conveys no sense at all. But, 
 unmeaning as it is, the passage is retained both by 
 Mr. Staunton and the Cambridge editors, although 
 
256 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 more than one plausible emendation has been sug- 
 gested. Knight and Collier read : 
 
 "The dram of ill 
 
 Doth all the noble substance often dout 
 To his own scandal ". 
 
 The objection to dout is obvious, for, if that were the 
 reading, the concluding clause, to his own scandal, would 
 be altogether superfluous. Mr. Dyce, on the natural 
 supposition that the original reference was to the little 
 leaven leavening the whole lump, reads : 
 
 " The dram of evil 
 
 Doth all the noble substance oft debase 
 
 To his own scandal," 
 
 which appears to us the best emendation of this doubt- 
 ful and corrupt passage jet suggested. 
 
 The ample glossary which fills the last volume of 
 the work is, next to the superior character of the text, 
 the most important and origin al feature of Mr. Dyce's 
 new edition. For ordinary readers indeed, as well as 
 for critical students, it is a most welcome novelty. 
 Not that a Shakespearian glossary is in itself anything 
 new. Almost every edition of any mark has a glossary 
 more or less extensive. But these glossaries are at 
 best little more than lists of archaic and unusual terms 
 with a single meaning attached, but without literary 
 examples or philological illustration of any kind. They 
 just enable the reader to attach some meaning to an 
 unknown word without throwing any light on its form, 
 origin, shades of meaning or contemporary use. This 
 might be a satisfactory plan enough in dealing with a 
 minor poet, or with a writer of only secondary interest 
 and value belonging to the same period. But it is 
 hardly sufficient when Shakespeare's characteristic die- 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 257 
 
 tion, his niceties of language, the rarer elements of his 
 vocabulary, and his finer shades of meaning are the 
 subject of illustration. In most critical editions many 
 of the rarer and more expressive archaic terms and 
 phrases are explained in the notes, and this does away 
 with the necessity of detailed illustration in the glos- 
 sary. But making due allowance for the partial and 
 scattered interpretation of critical words and phrases, 
 it must be confessed that, excepting Mr. Dyce's, all 
 the Shakespearian glossaries hitherto published are 
 singularly meagre and imperfect. Most of them are 
 seriously defective even as lists of words, many are 
 vague and even inaccurate in the exhibition of mean- 
 ings, and none attempt anything like literary or philo- 
 logical illustration. As a mere list the " Glossarial 
 Index " of the Variorum edition is one of the fullest, 
 but it is at once much more and much less than a 
 glossary proper. It is an index to the notes which 
 contain references to phrases, persons, places, and 
 customs, as well as to the obscurer archaic, provincial, 
 and technical words to be found in Shakespeare. 
 
 Of recent glossaries those of Mr. Staunton and the 
 Globe edition are tolerably full and accurate as far as 
 they go, but they are formed on the narrow type of 
 their predecessors, and share their manifold imperfec- 
 tions. Even Mr. Dyce's ample glossary, as we shall 
 presently see, is by no means perfect. Both in plan 
 and execution, however, it comes far nearer to what 
 a complete Shakespearian glossary ought to be than 
 anything previously attempted. In range and com- 
 prehensiveness, indeed, the plan is all that could be 
 desired. Mr. Dyce includes the explanation, not only 
 of all unusual words, but of common words used in 
 
 17 
 
258 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 unusual senses, or with shades of meaning at all dif- 
 ferent from their present signification. His plan also 
 includes the explanation of phrases as well as words, 
 of proverbial sayings, of obsolete customs and obscure 
 allusions, the latter almost always, however, embody- 
 ing some word that requires special elucidation. Some 
 critics may perhaps be disposed to regard the plan as 
 too extensive, but this is an error in the right direction. 
 The Shakespearian glossarist can hardly take too wide 
 a view of his duty, or be too careful and minute in its 
 execution, so that he keeps himself to the work in 
 hand. The English of Shakespeare and his time in 
 other words, what is known as the Elizabethan era 
 pre-eminently deserves to be carefully studied and 
 thoroughly known. At present, however, this is very 
 far from being the case. There are still difficulties 
 connected with Shakespeare's phraseology which require 
 to be explained, and after a century and a half of criti- 
 cal research the language of the Elizabethan era as a 
 whole is even yet only very imperfectly known. This 
 fact is in itself a striking testimony to the importance 
 of the period in a philological point of view the almost 
 inexhaustible wealth of its linguistic resources. It is, 
 as every critical student of the language knows, by far 
 the most important period in its history, the era of its 
 fullest spontaneous development, when its hidden stores 
 of vigorous diction were brought into general use, and 
 its latent powers of reflective, emotional, and imagina- 
 tive expressiveness were for the first time called freely 
 into play. It is moreover the organ of the noblest 
 literature of any age or country, of the profoundest 
 feelings, most pregnant thoughts, tenderest fancies, 
 and richest imaginative conceptions ever clothed in 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 259 
 
 human language. On both grounds therefore, as the 
 well-head of our mother-tongue, and the instrument 
 of its noblest literature, the language of this period 
 ought still to engage the attention of English critics, 
 and if farther stimulus were needed there are other 
 reasons of a more practical kind in favour of the study. 
 It has a direct connection with the living wants and 
 growing requirements of our widely diffused English 
 tongue. We are every day borrowing, or rather re- 
 claiming, nervous, apt, and picturesque expressions 
 from the poets and thinkers of that early period ; and 
 if this process is to go on the only one by which the 
 language can be permanently purified and enriched 
 it is of the first importance that we should know the 
 Elizabethan speech as intimately as possible. To help 
 in its elucidation is, in fact, for the present the most 
 important philological task to which the English critic 
 can devote himself. 
 
 We are far, therefore, from thinking Mr. Dyce has 
 exceeded his duty as an expositor in devoting a volume 
 of five hundred pages to the explanation of Shakespeare's 
 language to the words and phrases, meanings and 
 allusions, that require or admit illustrative notes and 
 comments. Indeed, considering the mass of varied 
 material at his disposal for this purpose, he must have 
 exercised an amount of self-control somewhat rare in 
 a Shakespearian commentator, to have brought his ex- 
 pository learning within so comparatively moderate 
 a compass. These materials, including the critical 
 labours of the long line of editors from Eowe in 1709 
 to Staunton in 1859, and the numerous volumes of 
 illustrative comments published by the miscellaneous 
 critics who were not also editors, constitute a vast 
 
260 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 library of Shakespearian literature. Mr. Dyce has 
 the contents of this library at his finger-ends, and 
 that he should have used them so sparingly is an 
 additional proof of his sound judgment and critical 
 self-control. With few exceptions he gives what may 
 be called the necessaries of exposition, the most useful 
 and essential points in the explanation of words and 
 phrases, without indulging in the luxury of multiplied 
 literary examples and extended critical comment. In 
 some places, indeed, he seems to us to have carried this 
 abstinence too far, as, for instance, in not appending to 
 the more important archaic words at least one example 
 of their actual use. The execution of Mr. Dyce's plan 
 is indeed open to criticism on one or two other points ; 
 and we propose devoting the rest of our space to a some- 
 what detailed examination of the slight imperfections 
 still attaching to his valuable glossary. 
 
 The vocabulary is the first point, and from what 
 we have already said it will be seen that as a mere list 
 of words Mr. Dyce's glossary is a great advance on any 
 previous attempt of the kind. This advance may be 
 farther estimated by comparing it with the two fullest 
 recent glossaries formed on the old type those of Mr. 
 Staunton and the Globe Shakespeare. On a rough 
 calculation the Globe glossary contains about two 
 thousand words ; Mr. Staunton's about two thousand 
 five hundred ; while Mr. Dyce's largely exceeds double 
 this number. The large increase is due in part to the 
 explanation of doubtful passages and obscure phrases 
 and allusions, and in part to the large number of 
 common words used with shades of meaning slightly 
 different from their ordinary signification, which Mr. 
 Dyce has for the first time collected and inserted, His 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 261 
 
 aim is not only to give a full account of every un- 
 common word, but to include every term used by 
 Shakespeare with the slightest shade of special mean- 
 ing. This department of the work is indeed carried to 
 some excess, as we have such entries as dumps, low 
 spirited ; crab, a wild apple ; close, secret ; bold, con- 
 fident ; fearful, timid ; farrow, a litter of pigs ; leech, a 
 physician ; merit, reward ; unprised, not valued ; unrecon- 
 cilable, irreconcilable ; trenchant, cutting, sharp ; and a 
 number more of the same kind. Nevertheless, Mr. 
 Dyce has overlooked several unusual words, and omitted 
 or given very imperfectly a considerable number of 
 special significations. In attempting to supply some of 
 these omissions we hope to contribute something 
 towards the more perfect interpretation of Shake- 
 speare's language. 
 
 We may begin the list of omitted words by an ex- 
 ample or two from " Hamlet ". In the first scene of 
 the second act towards the close of the very char- 
 acteristic conversation Polonius has with his servant 
 Eeynaldo as to the finding out what Laertes is doing 
 in Paris by cautious and distant questioning among 
 his acquaintance, Polonius says : 
 
 " See you now ; 
 
 Your bait of falsehood take this carp of truth : 
 And thus do we of wisdom and of reach, 
 With windlaces, and with assays of bias, 
 By indirections find deductions out ". 
 
 The word windlace used in this passage is a somewhat 
 rare and curious one, requiring special illustration far 
 more than numbers Mr. Dyce has included in his list. 
 But, so far as we are aware, it has never yet been 
 
262 SHAKESPEAKE. 
 
 noticed by any Shakespearian critic or commentator. 
 The only way of accounting for this strange omission 
 is by supposing that, if noticed at all, it must have 
 been taken for windlass in the modern sense as de- 
 signating a wheel and axle for raising weights, the only 
 form and meaning in which the word is now known. 
 But it is difficult to imagine this, as it is at variance with 
 the context, and destroys the special meaning of the 
 passage. No doubt the word in both cases is radically 
 the same, but we have retained it only in the secondary 
 signification of a mechanical instrument. In Shake- 
 speare's day, however, windlace, literally a winding, was 
 used to express taking a circuitous course, fetching a 
 compass, making an indirect advance, or more colloqui- 
 ally beating about the bush instead of going directly to 
 a place or object, and in this sense it exactly harmonises 
 with the other phrase used by Polonius to express the 
 same thing "assays of bias" attempts in which, 
 instead of going straight to the object, -we seek to 
 reach it by a curved or winding course, the bias 
 gradually bringing the ball round to the jack. It was 
 the more necessary and important for the Shakespeare 
 critics to bring this meaning fully out, as both word 
 and meaning have been overlooked or misunderstood 
 even by our best lexicographers. Todd mistakes the 
 meaning altogether, and quoting this very example 
 from Shakespeare, defines it " a handle by which any- 
 thing is turned," although he had close at hand in- 
 stances of the verb formed from the noun to guide him 
 aright. Eichardson, again, is ignorant of the special 
 noun, and amidst a multitude of literary illustrations 
 of its cognates has only one example of its use. It 
 occurs, however, not unfrequently in books with which 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 263 
 
 Shakespeare was familiar. Thus, in Golding's Ovid, 
 we have the following : 
 
 " By chance the very selfe same day the virgins of the towne, 
 Of old and ancient custom, bear in baskets on their crowne, 
 Beset with garlands fresh and gay, and stowde with flowers sweete, 
 To Pallas tower such sacrifice as which was of custom meet. 
 The winged God beholding them returning in a troupe, 
 Continued not directly forth but gan me down to stoupe, 
 And fetched a windlasse round about. And as the hungry kite, 
 Beholding unto sacrifice a bullock ready dight, 
 Doth soar about his wished prey desirous for to snatch, 
 But that he dareth not for such as stand about and watch ; 
 So Mercury with nimble wings doth keep a lower gate 
 About Minerva's lofty towers in round and wheeling rate." 
 
 The original of which the sixth and seventh lines are 
 the translation is : 
 
 "Inde revertentes Deus adspicit ales : iterque 
 Non agit in rectum, sed in orbem curvat eundem ". 
 
 The seventh book supplies us with another example 
 as follows : 
 
 " There was not farre fro thence, 
 
 About the middle of the lannd, a rising ground, from whence 
 A man might overlook the fields. I gat me to the knap 
 Of this same hill, and there beheld of this strange course the hap, 
 In which the beast seems one while caught, and ere a man would 
 
 think 
 
 Doth quickly give the grewnd the slip, and from his biting shrink. 
 And like a wiley fox he runs not forth directly out, 
 Nor makes a windlas overall the champion fields about ; 
 But doubling and indenting still avoids his enemies lips, 
 And turning short, as swift about as spinning wheel he whips 
 To disappoint the snatch." 
 
 These examples make the meaning of the word as used 
 by Shakespeare quite clear, and they help to bring fully 
 out the sense of a very significant line which must 
 
264 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 hitherto have perplexed most readers who have thought 
 at all about it. 
 
 Another word overlooked by Mr. Dyce occurs in the 
 fifth scene of the fourth act, at the meeting between 
 the wildered Ophelia and Laertes on his return to 
 Elsinore : 
 
 " Oph. There's rosemary, that's for remembrance ; pray you, 
 love, remember ; and there is pansies, that's for thoughts. 
 
 " Laertes. A document in madness, thoughts and remembrance 
 fitted." 
 
 The word document is here used in its earlier and 
 etymological sense of instruction, lesson, teaching. 
 This early signification is well illustrated in the fol- 
 lowing stanzas from the " Faery Queene " : 
 
 " Now when their wearie limbes with kindly rest, 
 And bodies were refresht with due repast, 
 Faire Una gan Fidelia faire request, 
 To have her knight into her schoolehouse plaste 
 That of her heavenly learning he might taste, 
 And heare the wisdom of her words divine. 
 She graunted, and that knight so much agraste 
 That she him taught celestiall discipline, 
 And opened his dull eyes, that light mote in them shine. 
 
 " And that her sacred booke, with blood ywrit, 
 That none could read, except she did them teach, 
 She unto him disclosed every whit, 
 And heavenly documents thereout did preach, 
 That weaker wit of man could never reach ; 
 Of God, of grace, of justice, of free will ; 
 That wonder was to heare her goodly speach : 
 For she was able with her words to kill, 
 And raise againe to life the hart that she did thrill." 
 
 The word was habitually used in this sense in Shake- 
 speare's day and for about a century later, but has now 
 wholly lost its primitive signification, being restricted 
 
SHAKESPEAKE. 265 
 
 to the secondary sense of written precepts, instructions, 
 and evidences. It ought therefore to have found a place 
 in Mr. Dyce's glossary, but we believe, as in the case 
 of windlass, it has never yet been noticed by any critic 
 or commentator. 
 
 In Ophelia's next speech also occurs a phrase which 
 has not been explained by the commentators, and on 
 which Mr. Dyce throws no light. In distributing her 
 sprigs and flowers Ophelia, according to the common 
 interpretation, gives to the king fennel and columbines 
 as emblems of cajolery and ingratitude, and to the 
 queen rue, of which she also takes some herself, add- 
 ing: " You may wear your rue with a difference ". The 
 phrase " bearing a difference " is a well-known one in 
 heraldry ; but what the difference in this case is has 
 not been indicated beyond a suggestion, that with 
 Ophelia rue means simply sorrow, but that as worn by 
 the queen it should denote contrition as well as sorrow. 
 But this at best is a cold and abstract fancy out of 
 harmony with the " document " of Ophelia's other gifts. 
 There is an obvious method in her madness, her 
 nothings being, as Laertes says, "more than matter" 
 in their direct and pathetic significance. The differ- 
 ence in the queen's case ought, moreover, to be some 
 quality of rue emblematic of her character as shown 
 in her conduct, and portrayed in Hamlet's bitter de- 
 nunciations. This quality or difference may probably 
 be found indicated in the following extract from Cogan's 
 Haven of Health : " The second property is that 
 rue abateth carnal lust, which is also confirmed by 
 Galen. . . . Yet schola Sahrni in this point maketh a 
 difference between men and women, for they say : 
 ' Euta viris coituin minuit, mulieribus auget '. 
 
266 SHAKE SPEAKE. 
 
 Because the nature of the woman is waterish and cold, 
 rue heateth and drieth, therefore (they say) it stirreth 
 them more to carnal lust ; but it diminisheth the 
 nature of men, which is of temperature like unto the 
 air hot and moist." In this case the difference would 
 be emblematic of the queen's hasty return to the 
 nuptial state, and a severe reflection on her indecent 
 marriage. Each of Ophelia's gifts would then be 
 " documentary " : thoughts and remembrance to the 
 faithful lover, ingratitude and guile to the faithless 
 king, and eager sensual pleasure to the luxurious 
 queen. 
 
 Mr. Dyce of course notices the word crants occur- 
 ring in the priest's speech to Laertes at Ophelia's 
 burial, but he does not illustrate in any detail the 
 history of the word, or the custom it represents. He 
 says, "crants, a crown, a chaplet, a garland"; and 
 after giving a short etymological quotation from Jamie- 
 son's dictionary, he refers the reader to a note on the 
 word at the end of the drama. The substance of the 
 note is a quotation from one of the latest critics, Mr. 
 W. N. Lettsom, and that such an extract should con- 
 tain a summary and expansion of previous com- 
 mentaries on the passage shows how little, in some 
 cases, has been done to illustrate the special form and 
 meaning of many of Shakespeare's characteristic terms 
 and allusions. Mr. Lettsom says: "Most of the editors 
 explain crants by garlands ; but the German kranz is 
 singular, and the singular seems indispensable here. 
 From a note to Prior's Danish ballads it would seem 
 that young unmarried Danish ladies wear, or wore, 
 chaplets of pearls ; at least, fair Elsy is described as 
 wearing one ; and the translator says that this is the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 267 
 
 same as the virgin crant (sic) of Ophelia." That wants 
 should have been considered plural in Johnson's day is 
 perhaps natural enough, as the good doctor himself was 
 dependent on an anonymous correspondent for the in- 
 accurate information that " kranz is the German word 
 for garlands ". But that any modern editor should 
 have fallen into such a mistake is, to say the least, 
 surprising. Grants is singular not only in German, but 
 in the Scandinavian and Teutonic dialects generally, 
 including Lowland Scotch. Thus Killian gives "krants, 
 corona, corolla, sertum," and Haldorson " krans, sertum, 
 corona," while in Lowland Scotch the singular is 
 crance and the plural crancis. 
 
 With regard to the custom of maidens wearing a 
 virgin crants or garland, and having it laid on their 
 bier at interment, all that Shakespearian critics know 
 of the matter appears to be summed up in Mr. 
 Lettsom's cautious statement that "it would seem 
 that young unmarried Danish maidens wear, or wore, 
 chaplets of pearl ". But this custom, which was at one 
 time almost universal in Europe, still prevails through- 
 out the North, and is fully explained by Weber in his 
 introduction and notes to the ballad of Child Axel- 
 void : 
 
 "As one of the most affecting passages (where Child Axelvold's 
 mother takes off her coronet) derives its beauty entirely from 
 fashions and usages little thought of in this country, it may not be 
 improper here to subjoin some such account of them as may tend 
 to illustrate the text. 
 
 " The maiden coronet, or tire for the head, although of various 
 forms and qualities, according to the taste or condition of the 
 wearer, was uniformly put at the top; and no one covered her 
 head till she had forfeited her right to wear the coronet, chaplet, 
 garland, or bandeau. This was the case in many parts of Scotland, 
 
268 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 till within the last twenty or thirty years. The ballads and songs 
 of the northern nations, as will be seen by the specimen we have 
 produced, abound with allusions to this very ancient usage ; and 
 everybody in Scotland knows 
 
 1 The lassie lost her silken snood 
 A-puing o' the bracken '. 
 
 " Of the coronets worn by the peasant girls in Livonia, Cour- 
 land, Esthonia, Lithuania, etc., a curious assortment has been sent 
 me by my learned friend, the Eeverend Gustar von Bergmann, 
 pastor of Ruieii, in Livonia ; and some of them are very picturesque 
 and elegant. The older ones, worn by brides on their wedding- 
 day, are simple bandeaus of dyed horse-hair, curiously plaited, 
 diversified, and figured, which will be referred to elsewhere. The 
 others are cloth, silk, velvet, etc., tastefully ornamented with beads, 
 spangles, gold and silver embroidery, precious stones, artificial 
 emblematic flowers, etc., and some raised before in form of a re- 
 troverted crescent, and tyed with a ribbon behind." 
 
 Then after noticing the prevalence of the custom 
 both in ancient and modern times, especially amongst 
 the pagan Gothic tribes of the North, he adds : 
 
 "Among Christians, our Lady the Queen of Heaven was the 
 successor of the Gothic Freija, and to our Lady the maidens con- 
 tinued to dedicate their virgin garlands as they had formerly done 
 to her predecessor. This has in a great measure been done away 
 with by the zeal, whether discreet or otherwise, of the clergy. 
 But a usage of so long standing had too fast a hold on the preju- 
 dices of the people to be easily abolished, and the walls of the 
 country churches in Livonia and Courland still display multitudes 
 of garlands, and white chaplets of flowers, evergreens, and aro- 
 matic herbs, which, after having been carried to the grave on the 
 coffin of the deceased, have been nailed up there by the parents, 
 relatives, or lovers of maidens who have died in the parish." 
 
 It will be seen from this extract that the burial of 
 a northern maiden is still appropriately marked, as in 
 the case of Ophelia, by the presence of her "virgin 
 crants, and maiden strewments ". 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 269 
 
 We may next select a more general example or two 
 from " Macbeth ". In the soliloquy in the beginning of 
 the third act, in which the motives for the murder of 
 Banquo are reviewed, Macbeth says : 
 
 " There is none but he 
 Whose being I do fear ; and, under him, 
 My genius is rebuk'd ; as it is said 
 Mark Antony's was by Caesar ". 
 
 Again, in the closing scene of the play, Macduff says: 
 
 " Despair thy charm ; 
 
 And let the angel whom thou still hast serv'd 
 Tell thee, Macduff was from his mother's womb 
 Untimely ripp'd ". 
 
 And in the passage from " Antony and Cleopatra " 
 parallel with the first : 
 
 " Ant. Say to me, 
 Whose fortunes shall rise higher, Caesar's or mine ? 
 
 "Sooth. Caesar's. 
 
 Therefore, Antony, stay not by his side : 
 Thy demon (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 o'erpower'd ; therefore 
 Make space enough between you." 
 
 Mr. Dyce makes no reference to the special sense in 
 which Shakespeare uses the term "genius" and " angel," 
 in these arid other similar passages. He ought, surely, 
 to have explained that these terms refer to the spirit, 
 the ruling intellectual power, the higher psychical 
 energy, the rational soul as opposed to the irascible 
 nature. According to the physiology and psychology 
 of the time, the soul was regarded as essentially a 
 spiritual nature temporarily united with mortal faculties 
 and a mortal frame which it wields as instruments. 
 
270 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 While perfectly distinct from these instruments and 
 sometimes at war with them, the rational soul during 
 the earthly life is still moved by their perturbations, 
 and shares to a certain extent in their vicissitudes. But 
 at all times it has an existence of its own apart from 
 the body which it leaves naturally at death, and may do 
 so exceptionally during life, appearing for a moment in 
 a visible shape as a wraith or shadow, the spectral 
 counterpart of the living man. In mediaeval theology, 
 indeed, the rational soul is an angel, the lowest in the 
 hierarchy for being clothed for a time in the perishing 
 vesture of the body. But it is not necessarily an angel 
 of light. It may be a good or evil genius, a guardian 
 angel or a fallen spirit, a demon of light or darkness. 
 But whatever its nature, it rules, guards, keeps and 
 controls the man, wielding the lower powers as instru- 
 ments to its own issues. The poetical representations 
 of this common view approach at times the more objec- 
 tive conception of the Greek or Socratic demon and the 
 Roman genius, as well as the theological notion of 
 distinct guardian or ruling spirits. And in the second 
 passage from " Macbeth " the term may probably have, 
 with the ordinary meaning, an objective reference of 
 this kind. In Shakespeare, however, the terms angel 
 and genius are usually employed to denote the higher- 
 nature of man, the rational guiding soul or spirit, which 
 in connection with the" mortal instruments determines 
 his character and fate. In Macbeth this spirit is that 
 of insatiable and guilty ambition. It is this aspiring 
 lawless genius that Banquo's innate loyalty of heart 
 and rectitude of purpose silently rebuked. This was 
 the angel he still had served, whose evil whisperings 
 had prepared him tor the dark suggestions of the weird 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 271 
 
 sisters, and inclined him to trust their fatal incanta- 
 tions. But this may be easily misunderstood without 
 some definite knowledge of the sense in which the term 
 angel is used. Even so intelligent a student of Shake- 
 speare as Mrs. Fanny Kemble is led away by associations 
 connected with the word into a somewhat irrelevant and 
 erroneous panegyric. In a paper on the character of 
 Macbeth recently contributed to one of the monthly 
 periodicals, she exclaims, referring to Macduff's speech 
 already quoted : " Noteworthy, in no small degree, is 
 this word ' angel ' here used by Macduff. Who but 
 Shakespeare would not have written ' devil ' ? But 
 what a tremendous vision of terrible splendour the 
 word evokes ! What a visible presence of gloomy 
 glory (even as of the great prince of pride, ambition, 
 and rebellion) seems to rise in lurid majesty, and over- 
 shadow the figure of the baffled votary of evil ! " 
 
 Mr. Dyce makes no attempt to explain either of 
 these words except by quoting a sentence from the 
 late Professor Craik on the well-known speech of 
 Brutus : 
 
 " Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar 
 I have not slept. 
 
 Between the acting of a dreadful thing 
 And the first motion, all the interim is 
 Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream : 
 The genius and the mortal instruments 
 Are then in council ; and the state of a man, 
 Like to a little kingdom, suffers then 
 The nature of an insurrection." 
 
 In reference to this Professor Craik, as quoted by Mr. 
 Dyce, remarks : " Apparently by the genius we are to 
 understand the contriving and immortal mind, and most 
 
272 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 probably the mortal instruments are the earthly pas- 
 sions ". But to any one familiar with the physics and 
 psychology of the time it would be at once evident that 
 the genius is the reasonable soul or angel, and the mortal 
 instruments the bodily powers through which it works, 
 in particular the vital and animal spirits which are the 
 medium of sensation and motion, and the physical 
 organs of memory, imagination and discourse, which 
 according to the current physiology were three several 
 chambers in the brain-. The acute Spanish physician 
 Huarte, in his Examination of Men's Wits, an Eng- 
 lish translation of which was published in 1594, gives 
 a full account of the whole theory of the genius or soul 
 and its mortal instruments. The following extract will 
 show that Shakespeare's allusions to the connection of 
 body and soul, and the very language in which they 
 are couched, represent the common doctrine on the 
 subject : 
 
 " The reasonable soul making abode in the body, it is im- 
 possible that the same can performe contrary and different opera- 
 tions, if for each of them it use not a particular instrument. This 
 is plainly seen in the power of the soule, which performeth divers 
 operations in the outward senses, for every one hath his particular 
 composition : the eyes have one, the ears have another, the smell- 
 ing another, and the feeling another ; and if it were not so, there 
 should be no more but one sort of operations, and that should all 
 be seeing, tasting or feeling, for the instrument determines and 
 rules the power for one action, and for no more. 
 
 " By this so plain and manifest a matter which passeth through 
 the outward senses, we may gather what that is in the inward. 
 With this selfe power of the soule we understand, imagine, and 
 remember. But if it be true, that every worke requires a parti- 
 cular instrument, it behooveth of necessitie, that within the braine 
 there be one instrument for the understanding, one for the imagina- 
 tion, and another different from them for the memorie, For if 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 273 
 
 all the brain were instrumentalised after one selfe manner, either 
 the whole should be rnemorie, or the whole understanding, or the 
 whole imagination. But we see that these are very different opera- 
 tions, and therefore it is of force that there be also a varietie in 
 the instruments." 
 
 Being physically conditioned, the soul, though immortal, 
 is disturbed by the perturbations of the lower facul- 
 ties, especially of the senses and imagination. The 
 purer energies of the soul are for a time paralysed, as 
 it were, by any strong and sudden shock, sensuous or 
 imaginative, " function being smothered in surmise," 
 and the whole internal kingdom thrown into a state of 
 commotion until the disturbed and scattered powers 
 are rallied and united for action. The same drama 
 affords other examples of angel used in much the same 
 sense. Mark Antony in his address to the Koman 
 crowd says : 
 
 " For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel ". 
 
 That is to say, the two were knit so close in friendship, 
 were so identified in mutual regard, that Brutus was, as 
 it were, Caesar's soul, his alter ego. And when this 
 close relationship is darkened by the assassination, the 
 soul of Brutus is troubled, and the unbodied Caesar 
 naturally becomes, according to the midnight visit in 
 the tent, his evil spirit : 
 
 " How ill this taper burns ! Ha ! who comes here ? 
 I think it is the weakness of mine eyes 
 That shapes this monstrous apparition. 
 It comes upon me : Art thou anything? 
 Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil, 
 That mak'st my blood cold, and my hair to stare ? 
 Speak to me what thou art. 
 " Ghost. Thy evil spirit, Brutus." 
 18 
 
274 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 There is another passage in " Macbeth " which has 
 given the commentators considerable trouble, which 
 has proved, in fact, an insoluble problem, where the 
 right interpretation of a single verb removes all difficulty. 
 It is the speech of Lennox referring to the rumour 
 Macbeth diligently circulated that Duncan had been 
 murdered by his sons : 
 
 " Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
 It was for Malcolm and Donalbain 
 To kill their gracious father ? " 
 
 Mr. Dyce's note on this is : " The sense requires, Who 
 can want the thought, etc. Yet I believe the text is 
 not corrupt. Shakespeare is sometimes incorrect in 
 these minutiae." Malone's is " Who cannot but think ? " 
 Collier Mr. Knightley (Notes and Queries for August 
 15, 1863, p. 122) proposes to read, -"We cannot," etc., 
 putting a period instead of an interrogation point at 
 the end of the sentence. Mr. Staunton simply points 
 out the difficulty with Malone's attempted explanation 
 of it. Mr. Grant White, who in his Shakespeare 
 Scholar has discussed the passage at considerable 
 length, proposes to get over the difficulty as follows : 
 " May we not remove the point after the last ' late ' 
 and read thus, making the passage declarative instead 
 of interrogative ? 
 
 ' The right valiant Banquo walked too late ; 
 Whom you may say, if 't please you, Fleance killed ; 
 For Fleance fled. Men must not walk too late 
 Who cannot want the thought, how monstrous 
 It was for Malcolm and for Donalbain 
 To kill their gracious father.' " 
 
 That is, men, who will think that the alleged murder 
 of Duncan by his sons is a crime too monstrous for 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 275 
 
 belief, must be careful not to walk too late. But no 
 alteration whatever is needed. The passage as it stands 
 is perfectly good sense and perfectly good English of 
 Shakespeare's day, as it still remains perfectly good 
 Northern English or Lowland Scotch of our own day. 
 In these dialects the verb want, especially when con- 
 strued with negative particles, has precisely the mean- 
 ing which the critics insist the sense requires. If a 
 farmer in the North of England or the Scotch Lowlands 
 sent to borrow a neighbour's horse and received a nega- 
 tive reply, it would probably be conveyed in some such 
 form as "he says he cannot want the horse to-day," i.e., 
 he cannot do without the horse ; he must have the 
 horse for his own use. In the same way if an Edin- 
 burgh porter said to his comrade, " I'll no want a gill 
 of whisky the morn," he would express in a strong 
 form his determination to have one. This use of the 
 verb was not uncommon amongst English writers in 
 Shakespeare's day. Thus in the Country Farm, a 
 work translated from the French and published in 1600, 
 we have in reference to a section insisting on the neces- 
 sity of a country householder or farmer being practically 
 acquainted with agricultural work " Ploughing, an 
 art that a householder cannot want". And Markham, 
 speaking of the herb purslane, says : " They are apt to 
 shed their seed, whence it comes that a ground once 
 possessed by them will seldom want them ". Many 
 words and phrases now peculiar to the Scotch Low- 
 lands were common to both countries in Shakespeare's 
 day, and every one of the so-called Scotticisms to be 
 found in his dramas is used by contemporary English 
 writers. As a mere English writer, therefore, Shake- 
 speare was entitled to use this verb in what is now the 
 
276 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 Northern signification of it ; and he appears to have 
 done so in other passages besides the present one. 
 Though used in literature it might, however, then as 
 now be characteristic of the North, where alone it has 
 survived, and it would thus naturally find a place in 
 " Macbeth," the only one of Shakespeare's plays 
 founded on a Scotch subject, and which contains other 
 Scotticisms, such as loon for example. This meaning 
 gives to the passage exactly the sense required, and 
 ought therefore to be discriminated under the verb 
 want in a Shakespearian glossary. 
 
 Again, there is a much controverted passage in 
 " Troilus and Cressida," where, as it seems to us, the 
 difficulty may be considerably relieved by assigning to 
 a single word a sense it habitually had in Shakespeare's 
 day, but of the very existence of which neither the 
 critics nor the lexicographers seem to be in the least 
 aware. It is the speech of Calchas asking a reward from 
 the Grecian chiefs for his sacrifice on their behalf: 
 
 " CaL Now, princes, for the service I have done you, 
 The advantage of the time prompts me aloud 
 To call for recompense. Appear it to your mind, 
 That, through the sight I bear in things to Jove, 
 I have abandon'd Troy, left my possession, 
 Incurr'd a traitor's name ; exposed myself, 
 From certain and possess'd conveniences, 
 To doubtful fortunes ; sequest'ring from me all 
 That time, acquaintance, custom, and condition, 
 Made tame and most familiar to my nature ; 
 And here, to do you service, am become 
 As new into the world, strange, unacquainted ; 
 I do beseech you, as in way of taste, 
 To give me now a little benefit, 
 Out of those many register'd in promise, 
 Which you say live to come in my behalf." 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 277 
 
 With regard to the fourth line, where the difficulty 
 chiefly lies, there is a real ambiguity in the folio, as it 
 is impossible to say whether the reading is " in things 
 to love," or " in things to Jove," but the sense decides 
 in favour of the latter reading, which Mr. Dyce adopts. 
 The main difficulty is one of interpretation. Taking sight 
 in the sense of foresight, Calchas seems to say that 
 through his certain knowledge the Greeks would prove 
 victorious he had deserted the Trojans, and deserved 
 special recompense for his timely ratting. Some 
 shadow of this difficulty will probably attach to any 
 explanation of the passage that may be given. But it 
 is certainly softened by taking sight not in the usual 
 and special sense of prescience, but in the general sense 
 of acquaintance, skill, technical knowledge, professional 
 conversancy, a meaning by no means unusual in Shake- 
 peare's day. Both the noun sight and the verb see were 
 constantly used to express professional skill and pro- 
 ficiency, the verb by Shakespeare himself in the " Tam- 
 ing of the Shrew " : 
 
 " Now shall my friend Petruchio do me grace ; 
 And offer me, disguised in sober robes, 
 To old Baptista as a schoolmaster 
 Well seen in music, to instruct Bianca ". 
 
 A dozen examples both of verb and noun might 
 easily be given from contemporary authors with whose 
 writings Shakespeare was familiar ; but a few examples 
 of the noun, as it is unnoticed by our best lexicographers, 
 must suffice. In a popular manual of conversation and 
 polite behaviour, which from internal evidence Shake- 
 speare must have well known, we have, with regard to 
 the quality and accomplishments of a gentlewoman, the 
 question " what the many things be she ought to have 
 
278 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 a sight in " ; and after recounting in detail the accom- 
 plishments of a gentleman, " neither is it possible for 
 him that must have a sight in so many things to be 
 very young ". In another work of the same character, 
 referring to the qualifications of a prince, and the 
 necessity of his having a general knowledge of many 
 things, we have: "That is a most commendable course 
 for a prince to take, whom perchance it better becometh 
 to have superficial sight in divers languages and sciences, 
 than to be deeply seen in one only". Udal again, in 
 illustrating the point that general directions ought not 
 to be carried to extremes, says: "As for example, if 
 one being advertised that it is a thing not unprofit- 
 able to take a taste and have a little sight in logic, do 
 bestow all the days of his life on that study". Again : 
 "Philip, when it was come to his ear that his son 
 Alexander had in a certain place showed himself to be 
 a cunning musician, graciously and courteously chid 
 him for it, saying, ' Art thou not ashamed of thyself 
 to have so good sight in music ? ' signifying that other 
 arts than music were more meet and seemly for a king ". 
 Taking sight in this sense, the speech of Calchas would 
 mean, "through the general skill I have in things per- 
 taining to Jove, in the exercise of my higher functions, 
 in my character as a priest, I have left Troy, abandoned 
 my house, possessions, and friends, and cast in my lot 
 with you, to do you what service I can ". The higher 
 powers of Olympus were notoriously divided in their 
 sympathies with the rival combatants ; but Calchas as 
 their priest and representative had decided on the whole 
 to join the Greeks even at considerable self-sacrifice. 
 With this explanation, the construction, though still 
 harsh, is not harsher than many to be found in Shake- 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 279 
 
 speare, and it yields, we think, a much better meaning 
 than the common interpretation. 
 
 Amongst other omissions, Mr. Dyce has overlooked , 
 the verb cheapen, used by Benedick in " Much Ado 
 about Nothing ". While including in his glossary a 
 number of words whose meaning is perfectly well 
 known and obvious such as don, to put on ; doff, to 
 put off ; tell, to count ; inherit, to possess ; kindle, to 
 incite ; impawn, to pawn or pledge ; and a multitude of 
 others used by Shakespeare in the sense they still bear, 
 Mr. Dyce ought surely to have noticed the verb to 
 cheapen, which, in Shakespeare's sense, is now virtually 
 obsolete ; or if still occasionally used in its older sense 
 by a modern writer, the meaning can only be gathered 
 from the context by the majority of ordinary readers. 
 To cheapen at present means to reduce in value, to 
 make cheap. But in Shakespeare's day, and indeed 
 down to a recent period, it meant, as it still does pro- 
 vincially, to look at or examine a thing with a view to 
 buying it ; to inquire the price, think of purchasing, 
 attempt to purchase or bargain for. This is the sense 
 in which it is used by Benedick in his soliloquy against 
 love and lovers : 
 
 " May I be so converted, and see with these eyes ? I cannot 
 tell ; I think not : I will not be sworn but love may transform me 
 to an oyster ; but I'll take my oath on it, till he have made an 
 oyster of me, he shall never make me such a fool. One womafia 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. Eich she shall be, that's 
 certain ; wise, or I'll none ; virtuous, or I'll never cheapen her ; 
 fair, or I'll never look on her ; mild, or come not near me ; noble, 
 or not I for an angel ; of good discourse, an excellent musician, and 
 her hair shall be of what colour it please God," 
 
280 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Benedick's meaning of course is that the lady must 
 be virtuous, or he will not think of her will not make 
 any inquiries about her, become a suitor for her hand, 
 or attempt in any way to try his chances of success as 
 a lover. The word was used in the same sense down 
 at least to the middle of the last century, as the 
 following extract from a letter in the Rambler, on the 
 changes produced by loss of fortune, will show: "I 
 have always thought the clamours of women unreason- 
 able, who imagine themselves injured because the men 
 who followed them upon the supposition of a greater 
 fortune, reject them when they are discovered to have 
 less. I have never known any lady who did not think 
 wealth a title to stipulations in her favour, and surely 
 what is claimed by the possession of money is justly 
 forfeited by its loss. She that has once demanded a 
 settlement has allowed the importance of fortune ; and 
 when she cannot show pecuniary merit, why should 
 she think her cheapener obliged to purchase? " 
 
 We may next give some examples of words noticed 
 by Mr. Dyce, but of which his explanations are either 
 imperfect or altogether erroneous. The first, from 
 "Lear," is one of the most delicate, significant, and 
 original compound epithets to be found in Shakespeare. 
 The poor old king, after having been dismissed with a 
 frown by Goneril, comes, in hope of comfort, sympathy, 
 and tender care, to Began, and in reply to her exclama- 
 tion at his vehement curses of Goneril that in his rash 
 moods he would curse her as well, says : 
 " No, Began, thou shalt never have my curse : 
 Thy tender-hefted nature shall not give 
 Thee o'er to harshness : her eyes are fierce ; but thine 
 Do comfort, and not burn. 'Tis not in thee 
 To grudge my pleasures, to cut off my train, 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 281 
 
 To bandy hasty words, to scant my sises, 
 And, in conclusion, to oppose the bolt 
 Against my coming in : thou better knowst 
 The offices of nature, bond of childhood, 
 Effects of courtesy, dues of gratitude." 
 
 Nothing could more pathetically express the clinging, 
 passionate desire of the old man for loving reverential 
 tendance than the epithet tender-hefted. The sym- 
 pathetic nature, the tenderness of heart, he yearned for 
 and hoped to find, is expressed in a homely sensuous 
 image founded on the universally accepted law that 
 mind and body harmonise, that the delicate soul is 
 delicately housed, and the finer organisation the index 
 of the gentler mind. Heft is a well-known older 
 English word for handle, that which holds or contains, 
 and tender-hefted is simply delicately-housed, daintily- 
 bodied, finely-sheathed. Heft was in this way applied 
 proverbially to the body, and Howel has a phrase 
 quoted by Halliwell, which is a good example of its 
 graphic use "loose in the heft," to designate an ill 
 habit of body, a person of dissipated ways. In this 
 case, instead of upholding the body and guiding it with 
 a firm hand, the mind abandons all control and allows 
 it to become the instrument of sensual gratification, 
 and sink into a slack and rickety condition. Shake- 
 speare's compound is quite in harmony with this 
 popular use of the word heft, as well as with current 
 notions of the relation between mind and body, and 
 their radical harmony of nature and function. In the 
 work already quoted from as belonging to Shakespeare's 
 library, one of the interlocutors in the dialogue says : 
 " Do you not know that this principle is held in philo- 
 sophy, Whoso is tender of flesh is apt of mind? There- 
 
282 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 fore, there is no doubt, that women being tenderer of 
 flesh are also apter of mind, and of a more inclined wit 
 to musings and speculations than men." Tender-hefted 
 is therefore simply tender-bodied, delicately-organised, 
 or, more literally, finely-fleshed. But Mr. Dyce, in 
 common with his predecessors, is ignorant of this 
 meaning. He follows the ruck of commentators in 
 adopting Stevens's far-fetched conjecture: "Hefted 
 seems to mean the same as heaved. Tender-hefted, 'i.e., 
 whose bosom is agitated by tender passions." 
 
 The words in Mr. Dyce's glossary of which the ex- 
 planation is imperfect are naturally more numerous 
 than those whose explanations are altogether erroneous. 
 From a number of insufficient and unsatisfactory ex- 
 planations that might be instanced, we may select as 
 illustrations of the class the words besonian, balk, lurch, 
 hilding, and zany. On besonian Mr. Dyce has a long 
 and learned dissertation, tracing the origin and use of 
 the term in Italian and Spanish, but after all he makes 
 hardly any approach to the special meaning of the word 
 as used by Shakespeare. The meanings that Mr. Dyce 
 gives are in order, a beggar, a raw or needy soldier, and 
 more generally a knave or scoundrel ; but the drift of 
 the explanation as a whole is to fix attention on the 
 second meaning, that of a needy and disbanded soldier, 
 as the central conception of the word. He quotes with 
 approval from Mr. Bolton Corney an account of the 
 history and etymology of besonian supporting this view. 
 Mr. Corney and his authorities are evidently altogether 
 wrong as to the etymology of the word. But however 
 this may be, both Mr. Dyce and Mr. Corney insist on 
 giving the word a sense the very opposite of that in 
 which it is commonly used by Shakespeare and his 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 283 
 
 contemporaries. Instead of designating a soldier by 
 the term besonian the Elizabethan writers generally use 
 it for a peasant, a rustic, for the low-born and rudely- 
 nurtured as sharply contrasted with the gentle and 
 noble with all that is cultured, spirited, and generous, 
 and especially with the conditions of courtly and 
 military life. It denotes essentially the clown or churl 
 as opposed to the noble, the courtier, and the soldier. 
 Thus to take the more distinctive of the two instances 
 in which Shakespeare uses the term the scene in 
 which the swaggering Pistol suddenly appears at 
 Justice Shallow's gate, big with the glorious news that 
 Henry IV. was dead and Prince Hal king : 
 
 " Davy. If it please your worship, there's one Pistol come from 
 the court with 'news. 
 
 " Fal. From the court ? let him come in. 
 
 Enter PISTOL. 
 How now, Pistol ? 
 
 " Pist. Sir John ! save you, sir. 
 
 " Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol ? 
 
 " Pist. Not the ill wind which blows none to good. Sweet knight, 
 thou art now one of the greatest men in the realm. 
 
 Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend, 
 And helter-skelter have I rode to thee ; 
 And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys, 
 And golden times, and happy news of price. 
 
 " Fal. I prithee now, deliver them like a man of this world. 
 
 " Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base ! 
 I speak of Africa and golden joys. 
 
 " Fal. base Assyrian knight, what is thy news ? 
 Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. 
 
 "Sil. [Sings.] 
 
 And Eobin Hood, Scarlet, and John. 
 
 " Pist. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons ? 
 
284 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 And shall good news be baffled ? 
 
 Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. 
 
 " Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. 
 
 " Pist. Why, then, lament, therefore. 
 
 "Shal. Give me pardon, sir; If, sir, you come with news from 
 the court, I take it there is but two ways : either to utter them, or 
 to conceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some authority. 
 
 " Pist. Under which king, besonian ? speak or die. 
 
 " Shal. Under King Harry. 
 
 " Pist. Harry the fourth ? or fifth ? 
 
 " Shal. Harry the fourth. 
 
 " Pist. A foutra for thine office ! 
 
 Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king ; 
 Harry the fifth's the man. I speak the truth." 
 
 Here the term besonian is obviously used by Pistol 
 to emphasise Shallow's rustic ignorance, to contrast 
 the humdrum country justice plunged in provincial 
 obscurity, and vegetating on his paternal acres, with the 
 dashing big-worded marshalist fresh from town, with 
 the latest intelligence from the court. Clearly none of 
 the meanings to which Mr. Dyce gives prominence 
 suit the context. Pistol could not mean to suggest 
 that Shallow was either a beggar, a needy soldier, a 
 knave, or a scoundrel. He uses besonian simply as a 
 thrasonical phrase of martial contempt for the bucolic 
 mind, an intimation that Shallow, justice of the peace 
 though he may be, and "under the king in some author- 
 ity," is after all no better than a peasant. The word 
 is used by Nash, and other contemporary poets and 
 dramatists, in exactly the same sense, to designate 
 the lower class of labourers, boors and rustics. And 
 Markham, a contemporary writer, and a good author- 
 ity on such a question, gives peasant as the generic 
 meaning of the word. At the outset of his work on 
 the " English Husbandmen," he says: "First, there- 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 285 
 
 fore, let every man understand, that this title of 
 Husbandman is not tyed onely to the ordinarie tillers 
 of the earth, such as we cal husbandmen ; in France, 
 peasants ; in Spaine, Besonyans, and generall the clout- 
 shoo : no they are creatures of a better creation, for as 
 Adam was the first husbandman, so all the sonnes of 
 Adam (even from the crown to the collage ; how excel- 
 lent so ever if they be excellent indeed) cannot assume 
 a greater, a better, or richer title, than to be a good 
 husband." As an habitual designation of the lowest 
 class of churls and labourers, the term no doubt carried 
 with it a shade of contemptuous meaning, and it was 
 at times not unnaturally applied to those who were low 
 in character as well as those who were low in social 
 position, the abandoned and the criminal, the idler, 
 the thief, and the vagabond, as well as to the hind and 
 the clown. This meaning attaches to the second case 
 in which Shakespeare uses the word, where Suffolk, 
 on the eve of his violent death, says that noble, brave, 
 and illustrious men have often met their death at the 
 hands of the base-born, the ill-conditioned, and the 
 obscure, the term besonian being applied to these 
 classes. The primitive meaning of the term, however, 
 is that of peasant, and it is etymologically (besoin, bisogno) 
 connected with the hard condition, the chronic poverty 
 and oppression of the agricultural labourer's lot in 
 every country of Europe. That the term should have 
 been applied to raw and needy recruits hastily pressed 
 into the ranks in time of war and as hastily disbanded 
 is natural enough, since having little opportunity for 
 regular training they would be little better than peasants 
 and rustics in spite of their martial uniform and name. 
 Mr. Dyce can hardly be blamed for not having ex- 
 
286 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 plained the verb balk in the peculiar phrase " balk 
 logic," which has perplexed the commentators so much 
 in the <{ Taming of the Shrew ". He could scarcely 
 have succeeded in such an attempt without devoting 
 more attention to the inquiry than can well be given 
 to single words in the compilation of a voluminous 
 glossary. The verb balk is one of the great difficulties 
 of Shakespearian critics, and it has not hitherto, so 
 far as we are aware, received the smallest elucidation 
 beyond a vague and unsupported conjecture as to its 
 probable meaning. Mr. Dyce in fact sums up the net 
 result of all previous criticism in the brief entry : " Balk 
 logic, according to some, chop logic, wrangle logically ; 
 according to others, give the go-by to logic ". The phrase 
 occurs in the beginning of the play, in the dialogue 
 between Lucentio and Tranio, where the young student, 
 having newly arrived at Padua to pursue " a course of 
 learning and ingenious studies," asks his servant Tranio 
 to tell him his mind on the subject : 
 
 " Tra. Mi perdonate, gentle master mine, 
 I am in all affected as yourself ; 
 Glad that you thus continue your resolve, 
 To suck the sweets of sweet philosophy. 
 Only, good master, while we do admire 
 This virtue, and this moral discipline, 
 Let's be no stoics, nor no stocks, I pray : 
 Or so devote to Aristotle's checks, 
 As Ovid be an outcast quite abjur'd : 
 Balk logic with acquaintance that you have, 
 And practise rhetoric in your common talk : 
 Music and poesy 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 brief, sir, study what you most affect." 
 
SHAKESPEAKE. 287 
 
 This phrase " balk logic " has so puzzled the editors 
 that several even of the most critical, being unable to 
 assign any appropriate sense to the verb, have proposed 
 various conjectural emendations, such as talk, hack, chop. 
 But the ordinary text is undoubtedly correct. No 
 change whatever is needed, as Shakespeare simply 
 uses a well-established English verb in its primitive, 
 literal, and appropriate sense. The primary meaning 
 of the noun balk is separation, from Anglo-Saxon balca, 
 a division ridge or furrow, rafter or beam. The word 
 was habitually used in this general sense in Shake- 
 speare's day. In North's Plutarch it is said of 
 Solon for example : ' ' He glorieth and breaketh forth 
 in his verses that he had taken away all bawkes and 
 marks that separated men's lands through the county 
 of Attica, and that now he had set at liberty that 
 which before was in bondage". Again, in the Book 
 of Homilies we have, " marks which of ancient time 
 were laid for the division of meres, and balks in the 
 fields to bring the owners to their right ". In Golding's 
 Ovid the term is applied in a similar sense to the 
 Isthmus of Corinth : 
 
 " And now was Thesey pressed, 
 
 Unknowne unto his father yet, who by his knightly force 
 Had set from robbers cleare the balke that makes the streight 
 
 divorce 
 Betweene the seas Ionian and Aegean ". 
 
 And Cotgrave, following the earlier definition of Pals- 
 grave, gives separaison " a balk or division between two 
 lands ". In early times land would usually be divided 
 either by a ditch or mound, either by a dyke or divid- 
 ing line cut below the surface, or by a ridge heaped 
 above it, and balk accordingly was used to designate 
 
288 SHAKE SPE ABE . 
 
 both kinds of division ; just as dyke is still used in 
 different senses in different parts of the country in 
 the midland and southern counties of England for a 
 dividing trench or gutter, while in the north it is applied 
 to any kind of boundary or enclosure, including hedges 
 and stone walls, " stone dykes," as they are called, being 
 common in almost every part of Scotland. Thus Barret, 
 after describing balk as a " ridge of land between two 
 furrows, a bank of earth raised or standing up," gives 
 as the French equivalent un seillon, which Cotgrave 
 interprets " a ridge or a high furrow, also the gutter 
 or hollow furrow made by the plough in turning it up ". 
 In this way balk is sometimes used by early writers for 
 the deep rut made by a cart-wheel in passing through 
 miry ways. More usually, however, it denotes the 
 ridge of earth between two furrows. In this sense it 
 is used by Chaucer and Langland, by Spenser and the 
 Elizabethan writers, by descriptive poets of a later date 
 down to a comparatively recent period, and it still 
 exists provincially over a considerable area. Again, in 
 large open fields held by different proprietors balk was 
 very naturally applied to the broad strip of sward left 
 in ploughing to divide the separate holdings. On 
 coming to these green balks, as they were sometimes 
 called, the plough instead of going straight on would 
 have to turn aside, or be lifted over them, and hence 
 the secondary meaning of balk, both noun and verb, as 
 a check or obstacle, something that arrests your course 
 and makes you swerve aside. This secondary significa- 
 tion would, however, in any case, naturally follow from 
 the primitive meaning of the word. 
 
 Again, in houses, especially in early times, when 
 they were mainly built of wood, beams and rafters 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 289 
 
 would constitute the chief divisions, and they are ac- 
 cordingly called balks. Thus Fletcher, in the "Purple 
 Island," says : 
 
 " This third the merry Diazome we call, 
 A border city these two coasts removing, 
 Which like a balk with his cross -builded wall 
 Disparts the terms of anger and of loving ". 
 
 In cottages, and also in farm-houses, the lower rooms 
 were frequently not ceiled, and the balks, or open beams, 
 were extensively used as cupboards by means of shelves 
 and pegs. And even when ceiled the larger balks, or 
 separating beams, were allowed to project below the 
 ceiling for purposes both of strength and convenience. 
 Numerous references to balk in this sense occur in our 
 early writers, and indeed in almost every period of our 
 literature. From never having seized the radical 
 meaning of the word, our lexicographers are, however, 
 all at sea with regard to the two meanings of balk as 
 a ridge or furrow, and as a rafter or beam. For the 
 most part they regard them as distinct words, place 
 them under separate heads, and refer them to different 
 roots. In a few cases they attempt to derive the one 
 from the other, and these attempts are sometimes 
 amusing enough. Mr. Wedgewood, after Junius, says, 
 for example : " From the resemblance in shape of a balk 
 in a ploughed field the term is applied to a hewn beam ". 
 He might almost as pertinently have said from its re- 
 semblance to a gutter or broad path of green sward, for 
 as we have seen balk applies to these as well as to a 
 ridge. The truth is of course that in both cases the 
 word is exactly the same, and carries with it the same 
 notion, expressing respectively a common purpose or 
 end in different and widely dissimilar objects. 
 
 19 
 
290 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 From the noun comes the verb to balk, to divide, to 
 separate into ridges and furrows. Minshew gives the 
 verb in a sense of making ridges or divisions in the 
 ploughing of land, and in a secondary application it 
 would be used generally for raising into moulds or 
 heaps, as by Shakespeare himself in the first part of 
 "Henry IV.". Halliwell again gives an example of the 
 verb employed in its generic and primitive meaning, 
 " balk the way," as equivalent to divide the crowd, 
 make a path or lane, in a word, clear or open the road. 
 Balk logic is therefore exactly equivalent to chop logic, 
 meaning divide, separate, distinguish with your com- 
 panions in a logical manner, according to the forms 
 and rules of logic. Both words, chop and balk, signalise 
 the processes of definition and division, of sharp analytic 
 distinction, in which the essence of logic consists, and 
 the mental value 6i which is represented in the saying 
 of Socrates, that if he could find a man able skilfully 
 to divide he would follow his steps and admire him as 
 a god. It may be noted that Spenser uses the verb 
 balk twice at least in a sense similar to that of Shake- 
 speare, and the passages in which it occurs have 
 naturally proved a source of considerable trouble and 
 perplexity to the editors. Todd gets over the difficulty 
 by stigmatising the meanings as arbitrary, while other 
 critics attempt to explain them away. It need scarcely 
 be said, however, that there is no real difficulty in the 
 passages, their meaning being clear enough, when the 
 primitive and central signification of the verb is under- 
 stood. 
 
 The verb lurch in the peculiar sense it bears in 
 " Coriolanus " is not of very common occurrence, and 
 well deserves a little special illustration. Mr. Dyce, 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 291 
 
 however, simply quotes from Malone a short account 
 of its meaning and use which seems to us both im- 
 perfect and erroneous. The verb occurs in the speech 
 of Cominius in the Capitol, celebrating the valiant deeds 
 of Coriolanus : 
 
 " He prov'd best man i' the field, and for his meed 
 Was brow -bound with the oak. His pupil age 
 Man- enter 'd thus, he waxed like a sea ; 
 And, in the brunt of seventeen battles since, 
 He lurched all swords o' the garland. For this last, 
 Before and in Corioli, let me say 
 I cannot speak him home : He stopp'd the fliers ; 
 And by his rare example made the coward 
 Turn terror into sport : as weeds before 
 A vessel under sail, so men obey'd, 
 And fell below his stem." 
 
 Here Malone, after giving from Cotgrave an example 
 of lurch in the sense of purloin, adds, " But in Shake- 
 speare's time to lurch meant to win a maiden set at 
 cards," and he accordingly interprets Shakespeare's 
 employment of the word in the light of this usage, Mr. 
 Dyce approving of the interpretation. But although 
 the noun is found in this technical sense in most Euro- 
 pean languages, there is no proof that the word existed 
 in English, nor, if it did, would it suit the context. 
 Shakespeare evidently uses the English verb lurch, 
 literally to devour eagerly, " ravin up," gulp down, and 
 in the secondary sense to seize violently upon, rob, en- 
 gross, absorb. Both noun and verb were in use among 
 the Elizabethan writers in the sense of seizure, robbery, 
 and it is the more important to illustrate this meaning 
 as the noun is wholly unknown to our lexicographers. 
 An example of its use occurs, however, in the poems 
 prefixed to " Coryat's Crudities," where one of the 
 
292 SHAKESPEAKE. 
 
 author's friends commemorates his achievements abroad, 
 and amongst others the robbery of a waxen image from 
 the Virgin's shrine in a church at Brixia. 
 
 " Briefly for trial of a religious lurch 
 Thou nimbd'st an image out of Brixia's church." 
 
 Again, the verb is used more than once, in precisely the 
 same sense, by Warner ; and an example or two will 
 sufficiently bring out its special meaning. In reference 
 to the rage of the vulgar wealthy for titles and terri- 
 torial distinction, he says : 
 
 " Hence citizens with courtiers do so vayne-it for the time, 
 That with their paper ladders they even stately castles climb, 
 Then proudly prick the mounted sirs, the heralds are to blame. 
 Will they, nill they, urging fees to gentilise their name. 
 Hence country louts land-lurch their lords, and courtiers prize the 
 same." 
 
 And again, referring to the grasping ambition of Spain 
 as the nominal champion of the Romish Church : 
 
 " For these, elsewhere, and ever Spayne when Spayne would 
 
 sceptres lurch, 
 
 Concludes for Spayne, though ever Spayne begins for Holy 
 Church ". 
 
 Ill the sense of engrossing, of seizing and carrying off 
 with a high hand, lurch is also used amongst others by 
 Bacon and Milton. To lurch all swords of the garland, 
 means therefore not only to rob all swords of the gar- 
 land, but to carry it away from them with an easy and 
 victorious swoop. 
 
 Mr. Dyce throws no fresh light on the word hilding 
 left by his predecessors in a state of the most uncritical 
 vagueness and obscurity. In dealing with it indeed he 
 falls into much the same kind of mistake as in dealing 
 with besonian. As besonian is described generally a knave, 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 293 
 
 a scoundrel, so the whole explanation of hilding is " a 
 low degenerate wretch, a term applied to both sexes". 
 This, though brief and extreme enough, is in the high- 
 est degree unsatisfactory, giving no explanation of the 
 word that might not be hastily gathered from the con- 
 text by the most careless reader. Instead of a picture 
 of the word's real meaning it is a blot or blur, at most 
 a silhouette, the rude and darkened outline of the word's 
 worst meaning without any of its characteristic features 
 or expression. The term is in common use with the 
 Elizabethan writers, and it is no doubt employed with 
 considerable latitude of meaning. But it has neverthe- 
 less two leading significations which are closely con- 
 nected with each other and with the root. Hilding 
 conies from the Saxon healdan, semi- Saxon haelden, to 
 hold, keep, rule, thus meaning originally one who is 
 held or kept, like hireling from hire, starveling from 
 starve, and many others, the earlier form of the word 
 being hilderling or hilding. The central idea of the 
 word is thus one of subjection, the hilding being essen- 
 tially one in a state of servitude, a thrall or slave, and 
 this explains the emphasis of degradation and contempt 
 attached to the word. But as there are two contrasted 
 forms or conditions of servitude, so there are two kinds 
 of hildings. The hilding may be a rustic or a menial, 
 may as a dependant subserve the pleasures and minister 
 to the personal gratification, or be engaged on the estate 
 of the superior, may be, that is, in Shakespeare's lan- 
 guage, a " hilding for a livery " or a hind, a churl, 
 
 " Some hilding fellow that had stole 
 The horse he rode on ". 
 
 The hilding may thus lead a life of more or less profli- 
 gate, insolent and pampered idleness, or pass his days in 
 
294 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 an abject slough of extreme and hopeless toil. As Mr. 
 Dyce says, the term is used of both sexes, but it is in the 
 former sense that it is commonly applied to women, thus 
 carrying with it a sense not only of degradation but 
 disgrace. An illustration of its use in this sense occurs 
 in Mercutio's jesting at Romeo's love-sickness : 
 
 " Now is he for the numbers that Petrarch flowed in ; Laura, to 
 his lady, was but a kitchen-wench ; marry, she had a better love 
 to be-rhyme her ; Dido, a dowdy ; Cleopatra, a gipsy ; Helen and 
 Hero, hildings and harlots ; Thisbe, a grey eye or so, but not to the 
 purpose ". 
 
 And further on in the play old Capulet in his rage at 
 Juliet's obstinacy applies the opprobrious term to her. 
 Again, in the " Two Noble Kinsmen," the word is ap- 
 plied in angry depreciation to a proud village maiden 
 who flaunted abroad dressed more gaily than her com- 
 panions, and had virtually disdained them by failing 
 to appear at a rustic gathering. The word was used 
 in the same sense for at least a century later. In 
 Rowe's tragedy of "Jane Shore," Gloster at the close 
 of an interview with the unhappy woman, in which he 
 applies other and coarser epithets to her position and 
 past way of life, says to Ratcliff : 
 
 " This idle toy, this hilding, scorns my power 
 And sets us all at nought ". 
 
 When applied to men, on the other hand, it usually 
 emphasises the sordid characteristics and degrading 
 associations connected with the servile state. As 
 everything generous, spirited, and noble is identified 
 with freedom, so all that is abject, mean, and base is 
 associated with slavery. The term hilding thus sharply 
 contrasts the churl and churlish ways with the opposite 
 state of gentle-birth training and way of life. The 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 295 
 
 term, moreover, not unfrequently expresses low moral 
 qualities as well as hard material conditions. The ser- 
 vile state naturally tends to produce brutish manners, 
 and the slavish mind, and becomes associated with 
 them. In this way we reach Mr. Dyce's solitary de- 
 scription, a " low degenerate wretch ". A serf or rustic 
 slave is thus stigmatised as base, perfidious, cowardly, 
 cold-blooded, and the like. This natural association 
 of qualities is seen in Hamlet's celebrated soliloquy, 
 beginning 
 
 "0 1 what a rogue and peasant slave am I," 
 
 as well as in a number of other passages. The term 
 hilding is in fact a compendious embodiment of all that 
 is contained in Hamlet's epithets of self-reproach. The 
 word was not only applied to men but to domestic 
 animals, especially to horses, as, from the different con- 
 ditions of blood and training, they are almost as sharply 
 contrasted as their owners. The sleek and high-mettled 
 barb, the swift and fiery courser, differ as widely from 
 the overwrought drudge of the glebe and mill as the 
 noble from the peasant. The term hilding is also 
 applied to animals left to run at large for a time, to 
 colts unbroken and steers not yet fit for the yoke. In 
 this case the idle life and coarse conditions of the 
 animal, his want of care and tendance, training, and 
 regular occupation, explain and justify the application 
 of the term. 
 
 Mr. Dyce's explanation of zany is "a buffoon, a 
 merry-andrew, a mimic ". This, while true as far as it 
 goes, is, like many of his descriptions, so vague and 
 general as to miss altogether the distinctive meaning 
 of an expressive word used habitually in a precise and 
 
296 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 technical sense by some of our greatest writers, especi- 
 ally of the Elizabethan age. But in this he is not 
 singular. In spite of all that has been written by the 
 commentators on Shakespeare's fools and clowns, in- 
 cluding Mr. Douce's special dissertation on the subject, 
 no critic has yet explained what zany really means, or 
 pointed out the special relevancy of Shakespeare's 
 allusions to the character. The zany in Shakespeare's 
 day was not so much a buffoon and mimic as the ob- 
 sequious follower of a buffoon, and the attenuated mime 
 of a mimic. He was the vice, servant, or attendant 
 of the professional clown or fool, who, dressed like his 
 master, accompanied him on the stage or in the ring, 
 following his movements, attempting to imitate his 
 tricks, and adding to the general merriment by his 
 ludicrous failures and comic imbecility. It is this 
 characteristic not merely of mimicry, but of weak and 
 abortive mimicry, that gives its distinctive meaning to 
 the word, and colours it with a special tinge of con- 
 tempt. The professional clown or fool might be clever 
 and accomplished in his business, a skilful tumbler and 
 mountebank, doing what he undertook to do thoroughly 
 and well. But this was never the case with the zany. 
 He was always slight and thin, well-meaning, but com- 
 paratively helpless, full of readiness, grimace, and 
 alacrity, but also of incompetence, eagerly trying to 
 imitate his superior, but ending in failure and absurdity. 
 This feature of the early stage has descended to our 
 own times, and may still occasionally be found in all 
 its vigour in the performances of the circus. We have 
 ourselves seen the clown and the zany in the ring to- 
 gether, the clown doing clever tricks, the zany provok- 
 ing immense laughter by his ludicrous failures in 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 297 
 
 attempting to imitate them. Where there is only a 
 single clown, he often combines both characters, doing 
 skilful tumbling on his own account, and playing the 
 zany to the riders. 
 
 The Elizabethan dramatists usually refer to the zany 
 in connection with the clown or fool as Shakespeare 
 -himself does. In " Twelfth Night," Malvolio, the real 
 fool, envious of the notice the domestic clown attracted, 
 says that he regards those, wise men who delight in and 
 encourage fools, as " no better than the fool's zanies," 
 that is no better than their foils and vices, their im- 
 becile admirers and imitators. From the apish vanity, 
 officiousness, and imbecility attaching to the character 
 of the zany the term is often applied in a secondary 
 and metaphoric sense to the whole tribe of superservice- 
 able toilers, parasites, and fribblers that infest society, 
 and seek to attach themselves to the wealthy and the 
 great by affecting their tastes and ministering to their 
 less worthy amusements. Thus Biron in "Love's 
 Labour's Lost," when their plan is discovered and 
 frustrated, says : 
 
 " I see the trick on't : Here was a consent, 
 Knowing aforehand of our merriment, 
 To dash it like a Christmas comedy : 
 Some carry-tale, some please-man, some slight zany, 
 Some mumble-news, some trencher-knight, some Dick, 
 That smiles his cheek in years ; and knows the trick 
 To make my lady laugh, when she's dispos'd 
 Told our intents before ". 
 
 And Ben Jonson, in "Every Man out of his Humour," 
 draws an elaborate picture of the social zany : 
 
 " Mad. Alas, the poor fantastic ! he's scarce known 
 To my lady there ; and those that know him, 
 Know him the simplest man of all they know ; 
 
298 SHAKE SPE AEE . 
 
 Deride and play upon his amorous humours, 
 
 Though he but apishly doth imitate 
 
 The gallant' st courtiers, kissing ladies' pumps, 
 
 Holding the cloth for them, praising their wits, 
 
 And servilely observing every one 
 
 May do them pleasure ; fearful to be seen 
 
 With any man, though he be ne'er so worthy, 
 
 That's not in grace with some that are the greatest. 
 
 Thus courtiers do, and these he counterfeits ; 
 
 But sets no such a sightly carriage 
 
 Upon their vanities, as they themselves ; 
 
 And therefore they despise him : for indeed 
 
 He's like the Kany to a tumbler, 
 
 That tries tricks after him, to make men laugh." 
 
 Often, however, the term zany is used by itself with- 
 out any direct reference to the clown or fool. But in 
 these cases it still retains its distinctive meaning, carry- 
 ing with it the notion not only of mimicry, but of apish 
 and abortive mimicry. This usage both of noun and 
 verb might be easily illustrated from the literature of 
 at least two centuries, from Milton, Dryden, and their 
 contemporaries, as well as from the pages of the Eliza- 
 bethan poets and prose writers. 
 
 These examples might easily be multiplied. In 
 going through Mr. Dyce's glossary we have marked a 
 considerable number of imperfect explanations, and 
 some few defective references. But any notice of these 
 must be left for the present, our space being already 
 exhausted. Some sections of the glossary are more- 
 over altogether weak, such as the explanation of Shake- 
 speare's references to plants and flowers. But for these 
 Mr. Dyce relies for the most part on Mr. Beisly, who 
 has written a special work on the subject, but who, 
 judging from the extracts, cannot be a very safe guide. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 299 
 
 Mr. Dyce also carries to some excess the questionable 
 plan of illustrating the meaning of important archaic 
 words from later dictionaries instead of from the litera- 
 ture of the time. Apart from these slight drawbacks, 
 the glossary as a whole is exceedingly well executed, 
 and will prove most useful to students of Shakespeare. 
 Good as it is, however, what we have said will serve to 
 show that something better may still be produced. 
 Notwithstanding the prolonged and industrious labours 
 of the critics in the wide field of Shakespearian litera- 
 ture, there is still a scantling of valuable grain for 
 gleaners following in the wake of the early reapers who 
 have gathered in the main harvest. 
 
NEW SHAKESPEAKIAN INTEKPKETATIONS. 1 
 
 ME. GLADSTONE, in his " Essay on the Place of Horner 
 in Education," notices the tradition of a certain Doro- 
 theas, who spent the whole of his life in endeavouring 
 to elucidate the meaning of a single word in Homer, 
 and seems to suggest that the time thus occupied was 
 not altogether wasted. Without going quite so far as 
 this, most critics will probably agree in his general con- 
 clusion, "that no exertion spent upon any of the great 
 classics of the world, and attended with any amount 
 of real result, is thrown away". Unfortunately, the 
 greatest classic in the literatures of the world affords 
 as much scope for this kind of labour as any of his 
 reputed peers, not excepting the object of Mr. Glad- 
 stone's -critical devotion. The oldest and most authori- 
 tative editions of Shakespeare are, it is well known, 
 crowded with verbal errors, textual corruptions, and 
 metrical obscurities. They include, indeed, almost 
 every species of literary and typographical confusion 
 which haste, ignorance, and carelessness in the multi- 
 plication and fortuitous printing of manuscript copies 
 could produce. After a century and a half of critical 
 labour embracing three great schools of editors and 
 
 1 Shakespeare : The First Collected Edition of the Dramatic Works 
 of William Shakespeare. A Reproduction in Exact Fac-Simile of the 
 Famous First Folio, 1623, by the newly discovered Process of 
 Photo-Lithography. Under the superintendence of H. Staunton. 
 London, 1866. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, Oct., 1872. 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 301 
 
 commentators, the text of these dramas is only now 
 partially purged from the obvious blots and stains that 
 disfigure the earliest editions. And it is only within the 
 last ten years that the results of this prolonged critical 
 labour have been condensed, and exhibited in a thor- 
 oughly scientific shape, by the acute and learned editors 
 of the Cambridge Shakespeare. 
 
 By means of this most useful and scholarlike edition, 
 any cultivated and intelligent reader may form some 
 estimate of the net result and general value of Shake- 
 spearian criticism. A comparison of the best modern 
 readings with those of the Quartos and Folios will show 
 in what numberless instances the text has been cor- 
 rected, amended, and even restored. Those who have 
 never made such a comparison would be surprised to 
 find how many familiar phrases and passages, some 
 too regarded as peculiarly Shakespearian, are due to the 
 happy conjectures of successive textual scholars. Kowe 
 and Pope, the first critical editors, being themselves 
 poets, are peculiarly felicitous in their suggested emen- 
 dations. But even the more prosaic Theobald's single- 
 minded and persistent devotion was surprisingly suc- 
 cessful in the same direction. His labours were, how- 
 ever, still more fruitful in restoring neglected readings 
 from the First Folio which neither of his predecessors 
 had consulted with any care. The first school of critics, 
 indeed, brought native sagacity rather than minute or 
 accurate learning to the task of clearing up the diffi- 
 culties of Shakespeare's text. They satisfied themselves 
 with correcting the more obvious misprints of the 
 Folios, and endeavouring to relieve, by conjectural em- 
 endations, some of their corruptest passages. 
 
 The second school of editors, represented by Capell, 
 
302 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 Stevens, and Malone, were diligent students of the 
 Elizabethan literature, and found no difficulty therefore 
 in explaining many words and phrases that had per- 
 plexed and baffled their predecessors. For elucidating 
 the obscurities of the text, they relied more on illustra- 
 tion than on conjectured emendation. Many passages 
 which the early editors, through ignorance of Eliza- 
 bethan manners, usages, and allusions, had regarded 
 as corrupt, were amply vindicated from the charge by 
 the more exact and minute knowledge of the later. 
 The third, and more recent schools of editors and critics, 
 represented by Knight and Collier, Dyce and Staunton, 
 while combining the distinctive excellences of the 
 previous schools, have specially developed what may 
 be regarded as the most fruitful branch of Shake- 
 spearian criticism that of apt and illuminating illustra- 
 tions from contemporary literature. The researches of 
 Knight, Dyce, and Staunton in particular have satis- 
 factorily explained many phrases and allusions regarded 
 by previous editors as hopelessly ambiguous and obscure, 
 if not altogether unintelligible. While thus working 
 in the right direction, the modern school has, however, 
 exemplified afresh the conflict between authority and 
 criticism which must always prevail with regard to an 
 original text, at once so important and so defective as 
 that of Shakespeare's dramas. Mr. Knight, in his ad- 
 miration of the First Folio, yielded a somewhat exclu- 
 sive deference to authority. Mr. Collier, again, partly 
 no doubt from the accident of possessing the Perkin's 
 Folio, went to the other extreme, becoming the 
 champion of conjectural emendation in its most licen- 
 tious forms. Mr. Dyce and Mr. Staunton hold the 
 balance comparatively even, but in the hands of the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 303 
 
 Cambridge editors it again inclines more decisively to- 
 wards the side of authority. On the whole, the result 
 of recent criticism and research has been to strengthen 
 the position of the First Folio, and check the recurrent 
 tendency to get rid of textual difficulties by ingenious, 
 but often rash and ignorant, conjecture. 
 
 This result is in all respects a satisfactory one. 
 Conjectural emendation is at best a double-edged in- 
 strument, to be wielded in safety only on rare occasions 
 and by the most skilful hands. The eager Shake- 
 spearian student is, however, continually tempted to 
 cut the Gordian knot of a difficulty by its summary 
 use. The temptation should be steadfastly resisted, on 
 pain, for the most part, of reading into the poet's lines 
 a foreign and prosaic sense, instead of bringing fully out 
 their real but latent meaning. In the majority of cases 
 the practice of substituting his own language for the 
 poet's simply depraves the text, and injures the finer 
 sensibilities of the critic. Those who indulge in it too 
 freely, however naturally gifted, soon lose that respect 
 for the poet's words, and scrupulous care for his 
 meaning, which is the foundation of all sound and 
 illuminating criticism. 
 
 There is little danger of any excess in the other 
 main department of critical labour, that of illustrating 
 from appropriate sources the obscurer terms and allu- 
 sions of Shakespeare's text. In this direction there is 
 still ample scope, " room and verge enough," for the 
 labours of Shakespearian students. The fact is in itself 
 one of the most striking proofs of Shakespeare's mar- 
 vellous universality. That anything should remain to 
 be elucidated after the life-long devotion of so many 
 learned and acute commentators is surprising enough. 
 
304 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 But Shakespeare's vision of life is so wide, his moral 
 insight so profound, his knowledge and sympathies so 
 vitalised and universal, and his command of language 
 so absolute, that every part in the wide circle of con- 
 temporary learning and experience may throw some 
 light on his pages. In particular, his birthright of 
 pregnant speech is so imperial that he seems to ap- 
 propriate by a kind of royal prerogative the more ex- 
 pressive elements of diction in every .department of 
 human attainment and activity. No section of life or 
 thought is too humble for his regard; none too lofty 
 for his sympathetic appreciation. The day-spring of 
 his serene and glorious intellect illuminates and vivifies 
 the whole. The more prominent features of that great 
 world are familiar to all cultivated English readers. 
 The order and organisation of the several parts have 
 been diligently studied and eloquently expounded by 
 the critics. But there are still hidden nooks and 
 obscure recesses which even the most curious and 
 painstaking observers have failed to explore. On 
 these, special investigation and persistent research 
 may yet throw some light. Such researches are, 
 moreover, within the reach of students who could 
 hardly be considered Shakespearian scholars in the 
 higher and technical sense of the term. The complete 
 Shakespearian scholar ought to have a minute and ex- 
 haustive, but at the same time vital acquaintance with 
 the whole Elizabethan period, its entire universe of 
 knowledge and experience. This can only be gained 
 by the thorough and prolonged study of its history and 
 literature, including the most fugitive and evanescent 
 productions, such as songs, ballads, and chap-books, 
 squibs and letters, pamphlets and broadsides. Few 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 305 
 
 even of the more devoted Shakespearian critics have 
 reached this ideal standard. Many hands, however, 
 make light work, and much may be done in the way of 
 Shakespearian interpretation by the separate contri- 
 butions of students who have been able to cultivate 
 only a small portion of the wide field. The humblest 
 labourer may add his mite to the constantly-accumu- 
 lating stores of sterling commentary and illustration. 
 
 Many of the sources whence elucidations of Shake- 
 speare's obscure passages may be drawn lie on the 
 surface, and are well known. His writings abound, for 
 example, with terms and phrases, similes, metaphors, 
 and allusions derived from field sports, such as hunting 
 and hawking ; from games of chance and skill, such as 
 cards and dice, bowls and tennis ; from the military 
 and self-defensive arts, such as archery and fencing; 
 from fashionable pastimes, such as music and dancing ; 
 and from popular natural history the whole folk-flora 
 and folk-fauna of the time. The more obvious, and 
 many of the more obscure allusions connected with 
 these branches of popular knowledge and practice, have 
 been amply explained by successive editors. Some, 
 however, have been overlooked, and in the present 
 paper we purpose giving a few .illustrations of these 
 neglected allusions. We shall offer an explanation of 
 some passages in Shakespeare, either given up by critics 
 and commentators as hopelessly unintelligible, or only 
 very imperfectly and erroneously explained. So far at 
 least as we are acquainted with Shakespearian criticism, 
 most of the explanations now proposed of obscure terms, 
 phrases, and allusions are new, have not been in any 
 way anticipated by previous writers on the subject. 
 Even a very partial acquaintance with the wide field of 
 
 20 
 
306 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Shakespearian criticism suggests, however, the propriety 
 of some hesitation and reserve in announcing novelties 
 of interpretation. Every persistent student of Shake- 
 speare must have found, again and again, that what he 
 at first imagined to be discoveries had been anticipated 
 by previous writers, illustrious or obscure. In general, 
 however, the best modern editions represent in a con- 
 densed form, either in notes or glossary, the main 
 results of previous criticism. If they leave a difficulty 
 unnoticed, or give only a vague and conjectural explana- 
 tion, it may be assumed with tolerable certainty that 
 no better solution has yet been offered. In the same 
 way the Variorum edition gives the main results of 
 Shakespearian criticism up to the date of its publication. 
 In offering the following elucidations as novelties, it is 
 meant therefore that they solve difficulties left unex- 
 plained by the Variorum edition, by modern editors, by 
 the ablest independent critics, such as Douce, Hunter, 
 Walker, and White, and, so far as the writer is aware, 
 by all previous commentators on Shakespeare. 
 
 We may begin with a few illustrations from popular 
 field sports, which in Shakespeare's day meant very 
 much hawking and hunting. These furnish the poet 
 with almost inexhaustible materials of imagery and 
 allusion. In particular, the sportive warfare in the 
 fields and woods with the nobler kinds of chase and 
 game afforded the aptest phrases, similes, and meta- 
 phors for picturing vividly the sterner realities of mar- 
 tial conflict, "the pride, pomp, and circumstance of 
 glorious war ". Such references occur again and again, 
 and many of them are even now only partially explained. 
 In " Coriolanus," for example, in the wonderful scene 
 between the servants in the house of Aufidius, such an 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 307 
 
 allusion occurs. While the servants who had resisted 
 the intruder are talking together in the hall about the 
 sudden arrival and ceremonious entertainment of their 
 master's great enemy, a third hastily approached from 
 the banqueting-room with the news that it has been 
 just determined, at the suggestion of Coriolanus, to 
 march against Koine. 
 
 " Sec. Serv. Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. 
 This peace is nothing, but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed 
 ballad-makers. 
 
 " First Serv. Let me have war, say I ; it exceeds peace as far 
 as day does night ; it's spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. 
 Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy, mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible ; 
 a getter of more bastard children than war's a destroyer of men." 
 
 Here the phrase " full of vent," the reading of the 
 Folios, has so perplexed the critics that more than one 
 has proposed to substitute for it " full of vaunt". The 
 Folio text is, however, perfectly accurate, and pecu- 
 liarly expressive, although it has never yet been cor- 
 rectly explained. The only explanation attempted 
 is that of Johnson, repeated by subsequent editors, 
 that "full of vent" means "full of rumour, full of 
 materials of discourse". This, however, is a mere 
 conjecture, and not a happy one, as it altogether 
 misses the distinctive meaning of the phrase. Vent 
 is a technical term in hunting to express the scent- 
 ing of the game by the hounds employed in the 
 chase. Both noun and verb are habitually used in 
 this sense. Their exact meaning and use will be made 
 clear by an extract or two from Turbervile's translation 
 of Du Fouilloux, the popular manual of hunting in 
 Shakespeare's day. The first extract refers to the 
 wiles and subtleties of the hart when keenly pressed 
 
308 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 in the chase : " When a hart feeles that the hounds 
 hold in after him, he fleeth and seeketh to beguile them 
 with change in sundry sortes, for he will seeke other 
 harts and deare at lare, and rowseth them before the 
 houndes to make them hunt change ; therewithall he 
 will lie flat down upon his belly in some of their layres, 
 and so let the houndes overshoot him, and because they 
 should have no sent of him, nor vent him, he will trusse 
 all his four feet under his belly, and will blow and 
 breath upon the ground in some moist place, in such 
 sort that I have seen the houndes passe by such an hart 
 within a yard of him and never vent him". Further on, 
 the author, speaking of the hart, says again expressly : 
 "When he smelleth or venteth anything, we say he hath 
 this or that in the wind ". In the same way, when the 
 hound vents anything, he pauses to verify the scent, 
 and then, full of eager excitement, strains in the leash 
 to be after the game that is thus perceived to be a-foot. 
 The following extract from the rhyming report of a 
 huntsman upon sight of a hart in pride of grease illus- 
 trates this : 
 
 " Then if the Prince demand what head he beare, 
 I answer thus with sober words and cheare : 
 My Liege, I went this morning on my quest ; 
 My hound did sticke, and seemd to vent some beast. 
 I held him short, and drawing after him, 
 I might behold the hart was feeding trym> 
 His head was high, and large in each degree, 
 Well palmed eke, and seemd full sound to be. 
 Of colour browiie, he beareth eight and tenne, 
 Of stately height, and long he seemed then. 
 His beanie seemd great, in good proportion led, 
 Well burred and round, well pearled neare his head, 
 He seemed fayre, tweene black and berrie brounde, 
 He seemes well fed, by all the signes I found," 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 309 
 
 The use of the noun is exemplified in another hunt- 
 ing rhyme, or huntsman's soliloquy, entitled " The 
 Blazon of the Hart," which is of special interest from 
 the vividness of the picture it brings before us : 
 
 "I am the hunt, which rathe and early rise, 
 My bottell filled with wine in any wise, 
 Two draughts I drinke, to stay my steps withall, 
 For each foote one, because I would not fall. 
 Then take my hound, in liam me behind, 
 The stately hart in fryth or fell to find. 
 And while I seeke his slott where he hath fedde, 
 The sweet byrdes sing, to cheare my drowsie head. 
 And when my hound doth straine upon good vent 
 I must confesse, the same doth me content. 
 But when I have my coverts walkt about, 
 And harbred fast, the hart for comming out, 
 Then I returne, to make a grave report." 
 
 The technical meaning and use of the word in these 
 passages is sufficiently clear, and it will be seen how 
 happily Shakespeare employs it. To strain at the 
 lyam or leash "upon good vent" is in Shakespeare's 
 phrase to be "full of vent," or in other words keenly 
 excited, full of pluck and courage, of throbbing energy 
 and impetuous desire, in a word, full of all the kindling 
 stir and commotion of anticipated conflict. This is 
 not only in harmony with the meaning of the passage, 
 but gives point and force to the whole description. 
 War is naturally personified as a trained hound roused 
 to animated motion by the scent of game, giving tongue, 
 and straining in the slips at the near prospect of the 
 exciting chase. This explanation justifies the reading 
 of the Folios, "sprightly walking, audible, full of vent," 
 or at least affords a better explanation of it than has 
 yet been offered. With a single exception the early 
 
310 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 reading has been rejected by all modern editors, includ- 
 ing, strangely enough, Mr. Knight and the Cambridge 
 editors. The exception is Mr. Staunton, who, how- 
 ever, while retaining the older reading, fails to under- 
 stand it, and misinterprets the passage. He explains 
 "sprightly walking" as "quick moving or marching," 
 with evident reference to military movements, and 
 with regard to the special phrase under review, he says 
 boldly "vent is voice, utterance". But the previous 
 epithet, audible, gives this feature of the description, 
 vent referring not to sound at all, but to the quick per- 
 ception of the game, and the signs of eagerness, such 
 as kindled eye, dilated nostril, and muscular impatience, 
 which keen relish for the sport produces. In such a 
 connection "sprightly walking" would refer to the more 
 lively and definite advance arising from the discovery 
 of good vent as compared with the dissatisfied snumngs 
 and uncertain progress when nothing is in view. The 
 description thus includes quickened motion, eager 
 tongue, and intense physical excitement. The passage 
 finds an exact parallel in Henry V.'s spirited address 
 to his soldiers before Harfleur : 
 
 " And you, good yeomen, 
 
 Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
 The mettle of your pasture ; let us swear 
 That you are worth your breeding : which I doubt not ; 
 For there is none of you so mean and base, 
 That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. 
 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 
 Straining upon the start. The game's a-foot : 
 Follow your spirit ; and, upon this charge, 
 Cry ' God for Harry, England, and Saint George ! ' ' 
 
 The same general allusion is contained in the well- 
 
SHAKESPEAEE. 311 
 
 known line from "Julius Caesar," " Cry havock, and 
 let slip the dogs of war," as well as in several 
 passages in other plays. In the lines just quoted, the 
 reference to " the mettle of your pasture " is also 
 derived from the Noble Art of Venerie. The colour 
 of the stag, the size and texture of his antlers, his 
 strength of wind and limb, and powers of endurance, 
 depended very much upon the country in which he was 
 reared, and especially upon the kind of pasture on 
 which he browsed. Thus Du Fouilloux concludes a 
 discourse on the different colours of the stag's coat, and 
 the different descriptions of head, as follows : 
 
 " There is another forrest about four leagues from thence called 
 Chissay, in the which the harts beare heads cleane contrary, for 
 they are great, red, and full of marrow, and are very light when 
 they are dry. All these things I have thought good heere to 
 alleadge, to let you know that harts beare their heads according to 
 the pasture and feede of the country where they are bred ; for the 
 forrest of Merevant is altogether in mountaines, vales, and caves, 
 whereas their feed is dry, leane, and of small substance. On that 
 other side, the forrest of Chissay is a plaine country, environed with 
 all good pasture and corne grounds, as wheat, peason, and such, 
 whereupon they take good nouriture : which is the cause that their 
 heads become so faire and well spredde." 
 
 Before leaving the subject, we may notice that the 
 word " vent " in its technical sense is used by Shake- 
 speare's contemporaries, especially the poets, such as 
 Spenser and Drayton. The following extract from the 
 graphic account of stag-hunting in the fourteenth song 
 of the " Polyolbion " illustrates this : 
 
 " Now when the hart doth heare 
 The oft-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leyre, 
 He rouzing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive, 
 As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive, 
 
312 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 And through the cumbrous thicks, as fearefully he makes, 
 Hee with his branched head, the tender saplings shakes, 
 That sprinkling their moyst pearle doe seerne to him to weepe ; 
 When after goes the cry with yellings loud and deepe ". 
 
 It need hardly be added that vent in this sense is, like 
 so many of the terms of venery, taken directly from 
 the French, to vent the game being simply to wind, or 
 have wind of the game. Shakespeare's very expression, 
 indeed, exists as a French phrase, and is given to illus- 
 trate the special meaning of the noun as a hunting 
 term. 
 
 Again, Shakespeare uses the word train more than 
 once in its technical hunting sense, the most striking 
 instance of this special use being found in " Macbeth ". 
 When Malcolm, in order to test the sincerity of Mac- 
 duff's devotion, heaps vices on himself, until Macduff, 
 in a burst of noble sorrow and indignation, renounces his 
 enterprise in despair, Malcolm, satisfied with the result, 
 explains the motive of his conduct as follows :- 
 
 " Mai. Macduff, this noble passion, 
 
 Child of integrity, hath from my soul 
 Wip'd the black scruples, reconciled my thoughts 
 To thy good truth and honour. Devilish Macbeth 
 By many of these trains hath sought to win me 
 Into his power ; and modest wisdom plucks me 
 From over-credulous haste." 
 
 It has not been noticed that trains, in this extract is 
 a technical term both in hawking and hunting ; in 
 hawking for the lure, thrown out to reclaim a falcon 
 given to ramble, or " rake out " as it is called, and thus 
 in danger of escaping from the fowler ; and in hunting 
 for the bait trailed along the ground, and left exposed 
 to tempt the animal from his lair or covert, and bring 
 him fairly within the power of the lurking huntsman. 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 313 
 
 An extract or two from Turbervile will sufficiently 
 exemplify this usage. The following is from a long and 
 curious account of hunting the wolf, a common sport in 
 France, and which in Shakespeare's day seems also to 
 have prevailed to some extent in Ireland : 
 
 " When a huntsman would hunt the wolfe, he must trayne them 
 by these means. First, let him looke out some fayre place a mile 
 or more from the greate woodes where there be some close standing 
 to place a brace of good greyhounds in, if needs be, the which should 
 be close environed, and some ponde or water by it : there shall he 
 kill a horse or some other great beast, and take the foure legges 
 thereof and carye them into the woods and forests adjoyning. Then 
 let foure goode fellows take every man a legge of the beast, and 
 drawe it at his horse tayle all alongst the pathes and wayes in the 
 woods until they come backe againe unto the place where the dead 
 beast lieth: there lette them lay downe their traynes. And when 
 the wolves go out in the night to prey and to feede, they wil crosse 
 upon the trayne and follow it untill they come at the dead carrion : 
 there they will feede their fill. And then let the huntsman about 
 the breake of day go thither, and leave his horse a good way off 
 underneath the wind, and come faire and softly to the place to 
 espie if there be any wolves feeding." 
 
 Again : 
 
 " And when the huntsman shall by these meanes have been 
 assured of their feeding twoo nights together, then may he make 
 preparation to hunt them on the third day ; or if they fayle to come 
 unto the trayne the first or second day, then let him send out 
 varlettes to trayne from about all the coverts adjoyning unto the 
 same place : and so doing he cannot m'isse but draw wolves thither 
 once within two or three nights ". 
 
 The play of " Hamlet " supplies another illustration 
 of hunting terms only partially explained. In the con- 
 versation about the players between Hamlet, Kosen- 
 crantz and Guildenstern a technical term occuf s, which, 
 though sometimes rightly understood, is often errone- 
 
314 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 ously interpreted, and has never been traced or eluci- 
 dated in its primary meaning and use : 
 
 "Ham man delights not me; no, nor woman neither, 
 
 though by your smiling you seem to say so. 
 
 " Eos. My lord, there was no such stuff in my thoughts. 
 
 " Ham. Why did you laugh, then, when I said, man delights not 
 me? 
 
 " Ros. To think, my lord, if you delight not in man, what lenten 
 entertainment the players shall receive from you : we coted them 
 on the way, and hither are they coming to offer you service." 
 
 Here cote, in the older spelling coat, is usually ex- 
 plained, even by modern editors, according to its ety- 
 mology rather than according to its actual use, while 
 none seem to be aware of its special technical meaning. 
 Thus Mr. Collier interprets the phrase "we coted them " 
 to mean "we overtook them," or, strictly, "came side 
 by side with them," and Mr. Staunton boldly gives the 
 latter part of this explanation as the full meaning of 
 the term " coted them" " came alongside of them ". 
 Nares, again, while stating that the term is employed 
 in coursing, gives the same erroneous interpretation, 
 " coted," i.e., " went side by side," and seems to have no 
 real knowledge of its technical use. Mr. Dyce quotes 
 from Caldecott a pertinent example of its use in con- 
 temporary literature, but he appears undecided as to 
 the exact signification of the word, and unacquainted 
 with its special secondary meaning. Both verb and 
 noun are, however, sporting terms used in coursing 
 of every kind, whether of the stag, the fox, or the hare. 
 Cote in this technical sense is applied to a brace of 
 greyhounds slipped together at the stag or hare, and 
 means that one of the dogs outstrips the other and 
 reaches the game first. In coursing the stag, it was 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 315 
 
 sufficient if the foremost dog reached and pinched ; 
 in coursing the fallow deer, he was required to pinch 
 and hold ; while in coursing the hare, he had to out- 
 strip his fellow and give the hare a turn, in order to 
 secure the advantage of the cote. This will be made 
 clear by the following extracts from Turbervile's short 
 treatise on coursing : 
 
 " In coursing at a Deare, if one Greyhound go endwayes by 
 [that is beyond] another, it is accoumpted a Cote, so that he which 
 doth so do by his fellow do reach the Deare and pinch : and in 
 coursing of a redde Deare, that Greyhound which doth first pinch, 
 shall winne the wager : but in coursing of a fallow Deare, your 
 Greyhound must pinche and hold, or else he winneth not the 
 wager ". 
 
 Again, from the same treatise : 
 
 " In coursing at the Hare, it is not materiall which dog kylleth 
 her (which hunters call bearing of an Hare), but he that giveth 
 most Cotes, or most turnes, winneth the wager. A Cote is when 
 a Greyhound goeth endwayes by his fellow and giveth the Hare 
 a turn (which is called setting a Hare about), but if he coast and 
 so come by his fellow, that is no Cote. Likewise, if one Grey- 
 hound doe go by another, and then be not able to reach the Hare 
 himselfe and turne her, this is but stripping and no Cote." 
 
 The definition of cote in the Duke of Norfolk's celebrated 
 coursing rules, first published in Shakespeare's own day, 
 is identical with Turbervile's ; and Mr. Thacker, the 
 best modern authority on the subject, in expounding 
 the definition, says: "A cote is the first performance 
 which takes place, or can be expected to take place, 
 after the dogs are slipped at the hare. One dog out- 
 runs the other, and turns the hare, and with a good 
 hare, and with one dog more speedy than the other, 
 this is repeated many times in some courses." To cote 
 
316 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 is thus not simply to overtake, but to overpass, to out- 
 strip, this being the distinctive meaning of the term. 
 If one dog were originally behind the other, the cote 
 would of course involve overtaking as its condition, but 
 overtaking simply is not coting. Going beyond is the 
 essential point, the term being usually applied under 
 circumstances where overtaking is impossible to dogs 
 who start together and run abreast until the cote takes 
 place. So Bosencrantz and Guildenstern, having coted 
 the players in their way, reach the palace first, and 
 have been for some time in conversation with Hamlet 
 before the strolling company arrive. In its secondary 
 or metaphorical use, the word uniformly retains the 
 same distinctive meaning. In the literature of the 
 time, to cote others in wealth, beauty, or worth, is to 
 excel them in these respects. Thus Drant, in his trans- 
 lation, or rather paraphrase of Horace, published within 
 a year or two of Shakespeare's birth, applies it to the 
 passion of avarice, the insatiable desire to surpass all 
 others in gain. The lines in which the verb occurs 
 are, in fact, an expansion of the hemistich, Hunc atgue 
 hunc superare laboret : 
 
 "How happenethit, his owne estate 
 
 That no man lyketh beste ? 
 But teenes, if that his neyghbour's goate 
 
 A bygger bagge doth beare 
 Than his, or yeelds her mylke sum deale 
 
 More flowyng and more cleare : 
 Nor ever will compare him selfe 
 
 Unto the greater sorte, 
 Whose state is base, and bad as his, 
 
 Who lyves in meane apporte : 
 But roves, and shoots at further marks, 
 
 Now him he doth coiitende 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 317 
 
 To passe in coyne ; now him again, 
 
 And so there is no ende. 
 For he that thincks to coate all men 
 
 And all to overgoe, 
 In runnyng shall some ritcher f ynde 
 
 Who still will bid him hoe." 
 
 In its earlier use cote may, indeed, as the etymology 
 suggests, have primarily referred to the hound's reach- 
 ing the game rather than to his outstripping his fellow 
 in the chase. But as outstripping his fellow was the 
 necessary condition of reaching the game first, this 
 element of meaning gradually became more prominent, 
 until at length, as we have seen, the term, both in its 
 technical and secondary uses, came to mean not simply 
 to overtake but to outgo, to advance beyond, and 
 generally to surpass or excel. 
 
 In connection with coursing, we may note the dis- 
 cussion that has arisen among the commentators on 
 the meaning of lym or lyam, and leash, as applied to 
 hounds. In the well-known rhyming list of dogs given 
 by Edgar in his assumed character of Poor Tom in 
 11 King Lear," one of the kinds specified is lym, or, in 
 other words, lym-hound ; and in the first part of 
 " Henry IV.," leash is used for three, in the phrase "a 
 leash of drawers," immediately afterwards enumerated 
 as Tom, Dick, and Francis. There has been some 
 hesitation amongst the editors as to the exact technical 
 meaning and use of these terms. But a single extract 
 from the old Art of Venerie settles the question: 
 
 "We finde some difference of teraies between hounds and grey- 
 hounds. As of greyhounds two make a brase, and of hounds a 
 couple. Of greyhounds three make a lease, and of hounds a couple 
 and a halfe. We let slippe a greyhound, and we cast off a hound. 
 The string wherewith we leade a greyhound is called a leqse, and 
 
318 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 for a hound a lyame. The greyhound hath his collor, and the 
 hound hath his couples. Many other differences there be, but 
 these are most usual." 
 
 It has been conjectured with much probability that 
 another word, uncape, used in the " Merry Wives of 
 Windsor," must have been a technical term in fox- 
 hunting. It occurs in the humorous scene where the 
 jealous Ford, accompanied by a posse of his friends and 
 neighbours, arrives at his own house, resolved to hunt 
 for the disturber of his peace, whom he declares to be 
 harboured there by the guilty connivance of his wife. 
 On entering the house, he meets the servants going 
 out with the buck-basket in which Falstaff is almost 
 smothered beneath the soiled linen : 
 
 " Ford. Pray you, come near : if I suspect without cause, 
 why then make sport at me ; then let me be your jest ; I deserve 
 it. How now ! whither bear you this ? 
 
 " Serv. To the laundress, forsooth. 
 
 " Mrs. Ford. Why, what have you to do whither they bear it ? 
 You were best meddle with buck -washing. 
 
 " Ford. Buck ! I would I could wash myself of the buck ! 
 Buck, buck, buck ! Ay buck ; I warrant you, buck ; and of the 
 season too, it shall appear. [Exeunt Servants with the basket.] Gentle- 
 men, I have dreamed to-night ; I'll tell you my dream. Here, 
 here, here, be my keys : ascend my chambers ; search, seek, find 
 out : I'll warrant we'll unkennel the fox. Let me stop this way 
 first. [Locks the door.] So now uncape." 
 
 Here it seems clear from the context that uncape must 
 be a term connected with fox-hunting, but no instance of 
 its technical use has been discovered, and hardly any 
 two editors agree as to its exact meaning. Warburton 
 asserts, with his usual confidence, that it means "to dig 
 out the fox when earthed " ; while Stevens maintains 
 that the term refers to a bag-fox. "The allusion is," 
 he says, " to the stopping every hole at which a fox 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 319 
 
 could enter before they uncape or turn him out of the 
 bag in which he was brought." Hamner substituted 
 the reading uncouple ; and Nares, in support of this in- 
 terpretation, and with a special eye to Stevens' note, 
 says that u Falstaff is the fox, and he is supposed to be 
 hidden, or kenneled, somewhere in the house ; no ex- 
 pression therefore relative to a bag-fox can be applicable, 
 because such a fox would be already in the hands of 
 the hunters. The uncaping is decidedly to begin the 
 hunt after him ; when the holes for escape had been 
 stopped." This seems from the context to be the real 
 meaning of the word. It must indicate the commence- 
 ment of the hunt, or, in other words, the uncoupling 
 of the hounds. But the text need not be altered to 
 bring out this signification. Though no example of its 
 technical use has yet been found, there can be little 
 doubt that uncape was a sporting term locally or col- 
 loquially employed instead of uncouple. Nor, after all, 
 is it very difficult to explain its origin and use in this 
 sense. Turbervile, after stating that amongst other 
 differences " the greyhound hath his collar and the 
 hound his couples," intimates the existence of many 
 more technical terms, of which those he gives are 
 simply the most usual. Cape might very well have 
 been one of the terms for collar or couple, as it un- 
 doubtedly had this meaning in Shakespeare's day. In 
 the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, while cape 
 meant, as it still does, the top or upper part of a- 
 garment, it was usually restricted to a much smaller 
 portion than the word designates now a part en- 
 circling the neck rather than covering the shoulders. 
 It meant, in fact, a neck-band, most commonly of the 
 kind termed a falling-band ; in other words, a collar, 
 
320 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 the larger tippet, covering the shoulders, being termed 
 in contradistinction to the smaller cape or collar, "a 
 Spanish cape ". Thus Minshew and Howel give us 
 synonyms for "the cape of a garment," French, collet, 
 explained as " the collar of a jerkin, the neck-piece 
 of any garment" ; Spanish, cabepon, explained as "the 
 neck-band of a shirt, the neck of a doublet, the collar 
 of a garment"; Latin, collare, "neck-band, or collar". 
 The Latin dictionaries of Wase and Coles give the 
 same explanation of cape as part of a dress. Shake- 
 speare himself uses it in the same sense as another 
 word for neck-band or collar. In the " Taming of the 
 Shrew," amongst the directions given to the tailor by 
 Grumio for the making of Katharina's robe or dress, 
 are specified, " a loose-bodied gown with a small com- 
 passed cape ". Here the epithet compassed means 
 circular, so that the item is equivalent to a small 
 circular collar, or falling band around the throat. 
 Whether cape is a technical term in fox-hunting or not, 
 Shakespeare was therefore perfectly entitled to use it, 
 as he evidently does, in the " Merry Wives of Windsor," 
 as a synonym for couple or collar. As given in the old 
 pictures, the broad, loose, indented leather bands or 
 collars to which the lyam or leash was attached, com- 
 pletely realise the contemporary notion of a cape, and 
 no mistake could possibly arise from the use of the 
 term in this sense. The words uncape, uncollar, or 
 uncouple would each mean the same thing, while all 
 would be easily, if not equally intelligible. 
 
 We may conclude the allusions to hunting by an 
 illustration or two of the beautiful passage in the 
 " Midsummer Night's Dream," where Theseus celebrates 
 the music of his hounds in full cry : 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 321 
 
 " The. Go, one of you, find out the forester : 
 For now our observation is perform'd : 
 And since we have the vaward of the day, 
 My love shall hear the music of my hounds. 
 Uncouple in the western valley : let them go ! 
 Despatch, I say, and find the forester. 
 We will, fair queen, up to the mountain's top 
 And mark the musical confusion 
 Of hounds and echo in conjunction. 
 
 " Hip. 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 
 Seem'd all one mutual cry. I never heard 
 So musical a discord, such sweet thunder. 
 
 " The. My hounds are bred out of the Spartan kind, 
 So flewed, so sanded ; and their heads are hung 
 With ears that sweep away the morning dew ; 
 Crook-kneed, and dew-lap'd like Thessalian bulls ; 
 Slow in pursuit, but matched in mouth like bells, 
 Each under each. A cry more tuneable 
 Was never halloo'd to, nor cheer'd with horn, 
 In Crete, in Sparta, nor in Thessaly : 
 Judge, when you hear." 
 
 Shakespeare might probably enough, as the commen- 
 tators suggest, have derived his knowledge of Cretan 
 and Spartan hounds from Golding's translation of Ovid, 
 where they are commemorated in the description of 
 Actaeon's tragical chase and death. But in enumerat- 
 ing the points of the slow, sure, deep-mouthed hound, 
 it can hardly be doubted he had in view the celebrated 
 Talbot breed nearer home. A contemporary writer 
 celebrates the virtues of these hounds in terms that 
 recall Shakespeare's own description : 
 
 " For the shape of your hound, it must be according to the 
 climate where he is bred, and according to the natural composition 
 
 21 
 
322 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 of his body, as thus, if you would choose a large, heavy, slow, true 
 Talbot-like hound, you must choose him which hath a round, big, 
 thick head, with a short nose uprising, and large open nostrels, 
 which shows that he is of a good and quick scent, his ears exceed- 
 ing large, thin, and down-hanging, much lower than his chaps, and 
 the flews of his upper lips almost two inches lower than his nether 
 chaps ; which shows a merry deep mouth and a loud ringer, his 
 back strong and straight, yet rather rising, than inwardly yield- 
 ing, which shows much toughness and endurance ". 
 
 With regard to the other point of the hounds being 
 "matched in mouth like bells," it is clear that in 
 Shakespeare's day the greatest attention was paid to the 
 musical quality of the cry. It was a ruling considera- 
 tion in the formation of a pack that it should possess 
 the musical fulness and strength of a perfect canine 
 quire. And hounds of good voice were selected and 
 arranged in the hunting chorus on the same general 
 principles that govern the formation of a cathedral or 
 any other more articulate choir. The writer already 
 quoted brings this curious feature fully out ; and as the 
 subject has not been illustrated by the commentators, 
 and is in itself of considerable interest, we may venture 
 on a tolerably long extract : 
 
 " For sweetnesse of cry. 
 
 " If you would have your kennell for sweetness of cry, then 
 you must compound it of some large dogges, that have deepe 
 solemne rnouthes, and are swift in spending, which must, as it 
 were, beare the base in the consort, then a double number of 
 roaring, and loud ringing mouthes, which must beare the counter 
 tenor, then some hollow, plaine, sweete mouthes, which must 
 beare the meane or middle part ; and soe with these three parts of 
 musicke you shall make your cry perfect ; and heerein you shall 
 observe that these hounds thus mixt, doe run just and even to- 
 gether, and not hang off loose one from another, which is the 
 wildest sight that may be, and you shall understand that this 
 
SHAKESPEAKE. 323 
 
 composition is" best to be made of the swiftest and largest deep 
 mouthed dog, the slowest middle siz'd dog, and the shortest leg'd 
 slender dog, amongst these you cast in a couple or two of small 
 singing beagles, which as small trebles may warble amongst them ; 
 the cry will be a great deal the more sweeter. 
 
 " For lowdnesse of cry. 
 
 "If you would have your kennell for lowdnes of mouth, you 
 shall not then choose the hollow deepe mouth, but the loud 
 clanging mouth, which spendeth freely and sharpely, and, as it 
 were, redoubleth in the utterance : and if you mix with them the 
 mouth that roareth and the mouth that whineth, the crye will bee 
 both the louder and smarter ; and these hounds are for the most 
 part of the middle size, neither extreame tail, nor extreame deepe 
 flewed, such as for the most part your Shropshire and pure 
 Worcestershire dogs are ; and the more equally you compound 
 these mouthes, having as many roarers as spenders, and as many 
 whiners as of either of the other, the louder and pleasanter your 
 crye will be, especially if it be in sounding tall woods, or under 
 
 the echo of rocks. 
 
 " For deepnesse of cry. 
 
 u If you would have your kennell for depth of mouth, then you 
 shall compound it of the largest dogges, which have the greatest 
 mouthes, the deepest flews, such as your West Countrie, Cheshire, 
 and Lancashire dogges are; and to five or six couple of base 
 mouthes, you shall not adde above two couple of counter tenors, 
 as many meanes, and not above one couple of roarers, which being 
 heard but now and then, as at the opening or hitting of a sent, 
 will give much sweetnesse to the solemnes and gravenesse of the 
 crye, and the musick thereof will bee much more delightfull to the 
 eares of every beholder." 
 
 Next to hunting, hawking was perhaps the most 
 popular field sport in Shakespeare's day. In many 
 parts of the country, indeed, it was more in vogue, or, 
 at least, more habitually pursued, than hunting itself. 
 Before the land was generally drained, the midland 
 and eastern counties afforded peculiar facilities for the 
 aquatic branch of hawking, which w r as the more exciting 
 
324 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 kind of sport. The flags of their marshy levels, their 
 reedy hollows, the wooded banks and quiet pools of 
 their winding streams, abounded with aquatic birds, 
 and especially with the crane and the heron, the 
 favourite objects of this princely recreation. The 
 neighbourhood of Stratford itself was peculiarly favour- 
 able for aquatic falconry, the broad sweep of the tranquil 
 Avon with its bosky margins and reedy shallows afford- 
 ing abundant food and inviting shelter for the larger 
 and more important species of waterfowl. And there 
 can be little doubt that Shakespeare in boyhood and 
 youth had often accompanied a brilliant hawking-party, 
 or at a little distance marked the progress of the sport, 
 had seen the falconer spring the kingly heron from his 
 sedgy nest, and followed with eager gaze the fortunes of 
 the nearly-balanced conflict that ensued, had watched 
 in narrowing circles far up the sky the well-trained 
 falcon stoop on her noble quarry until the final swoop 
 put an end to the airy battle. However this may be, 
 Shakespeare is perfectly familiar with the technical 
 terms used in hawking, and his dramas abound with 
 phrases and allusions derived from this source. We 
 shall attempt a few illustrations of these allusions in 
 special reference to words and phrases not as yet clearly 
 understood or accurately explained. The first is one 
 of the many much-disputed passages in " Measure for 
 Measure ". It occurs in the dialogue between Claudio 
 and Isabella, where the latter reveals the true character 
 
 of Angelo : 
 
 "This out ward- sainted deputy, 
 Whose settled visage and deliberate word 
 Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew 
 As falcon doth the fowl, is yet a devil ; 
 His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell ". 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 325 
 
 Here emmew is a term well known in falconry, the mew 
 being the place where the hawks were kept and tended 
 during the critical period of moulting. So long as 
 this process lasted, while the birds were casting their 
 feathers, they were kept close, mewed up, or emmewed. 
 But in the passage just quoted this sense hardly seems 
 to suit the context. Isabella is obviously describing 
 an active policy of repression on the part of Angelo. 
 During the lax administration of the duke, youthful 
 vices, being virtually winked at, had been freely indulged 
 in ; and follies, fearing no check, had made head in the 
 city until it became needful to awake the slumbering 
 powers of the law, and carry into effect its sterner 
 enactments. The duke dwells on this necessity in 
 explaining the motives of his conduct : 
 
 " Duke. We have strict statutes and most biting laws, 
 The needful bits and curbs to headstrong steeds, 
 Which for this fourteen years we have let sleep, 
 Even like an o'ergrown lion in a cave, 
 That goes not out to prey. Now, as fond fathers, 
 Having bound up the threatening twigs of birch, 
 Only to stick it in their children's sight 
 For terror, not to use, in time the rod 
 Becomes more rnock'd than fear'd ; so our decrees, 
 Dead to infliction, to themselves are dead ; 
 And liberty plucks justice by the nose ; 
 The baby beats the nurse, and quite athwart 
 Goes all decorum." 
 
 Angelo was to strike home, and we know from the 
 earlier scenes of the play that he had at once magnified 
 his temporary office and ridden the body politic with a 
 tight curb and sharpened spur, putting into extreme 
 force the more rigorous penal acts. No doubt his ad- 
 ministration of the law would soon strike the evil-doers 
 
326 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 with terror, and make them for a time quiet enough. 
 But in these early days he was inflicting severe penalties 
 on convicted offenders, and it is to this feature of his 
 policy that Isabella especially refers. Youth must 
 have made some head before it could be nipped ; and 
 in the same way it is natural to suppose that follies 
 must have manifested themselves before they could be 
 actually known, or publicly dealt with by the deputy. 
 The word emmew does not express this meaning, and 
 Johnson's explanation of the phrase, " forces follies to 
 lie in cover, without daring to show themselves," seems 
 comparatively weak and inapplicable. From some feel- 
 ing of this difficulty, probably, Mr. Keightley, in his 
 Shakespeare Expositor, proposes to read enew, instead 
 of emmew. He does this avowedly on the strength of 
 a single passage which he quotes from Nash's Qua- 
 ternio. This exemplifies what we have already said 
 about fancied discoveries being often anticipated. Long 
 before we knew of Mr. Keightley 's suggestion we had 
 ourselves marked the passage in Nash for the same 
 purpose. After all, however, Mr. Keightley does not 
 really anticipate what we have to say on the subject, 
 as he gives no reason for the proposed change, and 
 does not understand the origin, meaning, and technical 
 use of the verb he substitutes for emmew. The passage 
 in Nash forms part of a glowing description of field 
 sports, and is as follows : 
 
 " And to heare an Accipitrary relate againe how he went forth 
 in a cleare, calme, and sun-shine evening, about an houre before the 
 bunne did usually maske hiniselfe, unto the river, where finding of 
 a mallard, he whistled pff his faulcon, and how shee flew from him 
 as if shee would never have turned head againe, yet presently upon 
 a shoote came in, how then by degrees, by little and little, by flying 
 about and about, shee mounted so high, untill shee had lessened 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 327 
 
 herselfe to the view of the beholder, to the shape of a pigeon or 
 partridge, and had made the height of the moone the place of her 
 flight, how presently upon the landing of the fowle, shee came down 
 like a stone and enewedit, and suddenly got up againe, and suddenly 
 upon a second landing came downe againe, and missing of it, in the 
 downcome recovered it beyond expectation, to the admiration of 
 the beholder, at a long flight ". 
 
 The chief difficulty in the passage is as to the 
 meaning of the verb enew, and this was for some time 
 a considerable puzzle. Though freely used as a 
 technical term in the older manuals of hawking, none 
 of them, so far as our examination went, afforded any 
 explanation of the word. Thus Turbervile says : 
 " When your falcon is accustomed to flee for it, and 
 will lye upon you at a great gate, or at a reasonable 
 pitch, and will come and holde in the head at your 
 voyce, and luring, then may you goe to the river where 
 you shall finde any fowle, and there shall it behove you 
 to use such policie that you may cover the fowle, and 
 get your hawke to a good gate above the fowle. And 
 when her head is in, then lay out the fowle, and cry hey 
 gar, gar, gar. And if your falcon doe stoope them, and 
 enew them once or twice, then quickly thrust your hand 
 in your hawking bagge, and make her a traine with a 
 ducke seeled." And in the same connection, in a short 
 chapter on " How to doe when your river hawke will 
 take stand in a tree," the word occurs again : " If you 
 have a falcon which (as sone as hee hath once or twice 
 stooped and enewed a fowle) will take stand on a tree, 
 you must as much as may be, eschue to flee in places 
 where trees be". Again, Markham, in his treatise on 
 hawking, says : " To make your hawke fly at fowle, 
 which is called the flight at the river, you shall first 
 
328 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 whistle off an approved well quarried hawke that is a 
 sure killer, and let her enew the fowle so long till she 
 bring it to the plunge ; then take her down and reward 
 her ". But while thus using the term neither Turbervile 
 nor Markham explains its meaning. From the examples 
 of its use, however, it soon became apparent that enew 
 was restricted to aquatic falconry "the flight at the 
 river," as it was called while the probable etymology 
 connected it directly with water. When a flight at 
 water-fowl was determined on, the falconer, advancing 
 towards the river, whistled off his hawk up the wind at 
 some little distance from the spot where the duck or 
 mallard, the heron or crane, was known to be. When 
 the hawk had attained to her gate, or, in other words, 
 reached a tolerable. pitch in her flight, the falconer, with 
 his dogs and assistants, "made in" upon the fowl, 
 compelling it to rise, and forcing the flight, if possible, 
 in the direction of the land. This was technically termed 
 "landing" the fowl, a very vital point in aquatic 
 falconry. Then, after some preliminary wheeling on 
 the wing, offensive and defensive, the falcon would 
 swiftly stoop on her prey, while the fowl, to avoid the 
 fatal stroke, would instinctively make for the water 
 again, where it would be for the moment comparatively 
 safe. For in order that the falcon might stoop and 
 strike with effect, it was necessary to have solid ground 
 immediately below. If the fowl succeeded in swerving 
 towards the water, she escaped with comparative 
 impunity. In this case the hawk might stoop, and 
 sometimes apparently even strike, without doing much 
 damage as the blow could not be followed up, the fowl 
 taking refuge in diving. In this case the fowl was said 
 to be enewed the hawk eneived the fowl ; that is, forced 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 329 
 
 J it back to the water again, from which it had to be 
 driven afresh by the falconer and landed before the 
 hawk could stoop and seize, or strike and truss her 
 quarry. The fowl was often enewed once or twice 
 before it was landed effectively enough for the final 
 swoop. From this explanation of its meaning the 
 etymology of enew will be apparent ; and in support of 
 it we have, in Kelham's Norman Dictionary, " Enewance 
 de draps, watering of cloth " ; while Cotgrave gives 
 eneamr, "to turn into wa.ter," and "eneaue, watered, turned 
 into water ". All these points are confirmed and verified 
 by Drayton's vivid description of the sport, where, 
 fortunately, the word occurs accompanied by an ex- 
 planatory note. In his twentieth song the poet gives 
 a detailed account of the flight at the brook, from which 
 we extract the closing lines : 
 
 "Then making to the flood, to force the fowls to rise, 
 The fierce and eager hawks, down thrilling from the skies, 
 Make sundry cancellers ere they the fowl can reach, 
 Which then to save their lives their wings do lively stretch, 
 But when the whizzing bells the silent air do cleave, 
 And that their greatest speed, them vainly do deceive ; 
 And the sharp cruel hawks, they at their backs do view, 
 Themselves for very fear they instantly ineaw. 
 
 " The hawks get up again into their former place, 
 And ranging here and there, in that their airy race ; 
 Still as the fearful fowl attempt to 'scape away, 
 With many a stouping brave, them in again they lay. 
 But when the falconers take their hawking-poles in hand, 
 And crossing of the brook, do put it over land ; 
 The hawk gives it a souse, that makes it to rebound, 
 Well near the height of man, sometimes above the ground." 
 
 Here the word enew, which the poet spells in his 
 own way, has the marginal explanation, " lay the fowls 
 
330 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 again in the water". The verb occurs in the same 
 connection, in describing the flight at the brook, in 
 Turbervile's own curious poem " In Commendation 
 of Hawking " : 
 
 " No fellow to the flight at brooke, that game is full of glee, 
 It is a sport the stouping of a roysting Hawke to see. 
 And if she misse, to marke her how she then gets up amaine, 
 For best advantage, to eneaw the springing fowle againe, 
 Who if be landed as it ought, then is it sure to die, 
 Or if she slippe, a joy to see, the Hawke at randon flie." 
 
 There can be no doubt, therefore, as to the origin and 
 technical meaning of the term. From this primary 
 sense it seems to have acquired the secondary significa- 
 tion of "to check," " to drive back," and " relentlessly 
 pursue ". It would thus be naturally applied to a policy 
 of extreme and vindictive severity, and we can have 
 little doubt that in Isabella's speech enew, as the more 
 expressive word, and the one which in all respects best 
 harmonises with the context, should be substituted for 
 emmew. The imagery is that of the penal law, or 
 rather perhaps of despotic power in the person of the 
 "outward-sainted deputy" pursuing its victims with 
 reiterated strokes, and allowing them little chance of 
 ultimate escape. 
 
 The closing lines of the passage contain another 
 allusion to hawking, the explanation of which will 
 throw some light on a doubtful word in " Hamlet " : 
 
 " His filth within being cast, he would appear 
 A pond as deep as hell ". 
 
 The reference is to the hawk when first taken out of 
 the mew, and the result which gross feeding combined 
 with long confinement and inaction produces. The 
 hawk was then fat, glutted, full of grease, wholly unfit 
 
 ' ***** 
 
SHAKE SPEAKE. 331 
 
 for active use, and in order to be thoroughly purged 
 from internal filth, was subjected to a course of scouring 
 diet. The technical name for such diet was casting, 
 and as the result the hawk was said to have cast her 
 filth. Again, the technical name for the whole process 
 of cleansing the hawk from internal defilement was 
 cnseam. The use of this term will be made clear by an ' 
 extract from Turbervile's chapter on " How you shall 
 enseame a hawke or give her castings and scourings " : 
 
 " Some falcons be harder to enseame than some others are, for 
 the longer that a falcon hath been in the hand, the harder she is 
 to be enseamed : and an old mewed falcon of the wood which hath 
 mewed but one cote in the falconer's handes is much easier to be 
 enseamed than a yonger falcon which hath been longer in the 
 falconer's handes : the reason is, because a hawk that preyeth for 
 her selfe doth feede cleaner and better according to her nature, and 
 upon more wholesome meates, than she doth when she is in man's 
 handes ; so that it is no marvaile though she bee not so fowle 
 within when she is at her own dyet, as when another man feedeth 
 her. For a hawke which is in our keeping doth feed greedily both 
 on skinne, feathers, and all that comes to hand. Neyther is she 
 mewed with so cleane and holesome feeding, nor doth endue her 
 meate so well, nor hath such open ayre at times convenient as a 
 hawke which is at large to prey for her selfe." 
 
 He goes on to describe the marks by which it may be 
 known when you draw the hawk out of the mew 
 whether she be greasy : " by the thies if they be round 
 and fat, and also by the body if she be full in hand, and 
 her flesh be round as high as the breast-bone ". If so, 
 she needs a course of castings. While the hawk was 
 being enseamed it was necessary to keep the space 
 beneath the perch clear, in order to ascertain by the 
 result her actual state and decide when the castings 
 had done their work. The whole process afforded 
 striking analogies for depicting figuratively the moral 
 
332 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 and physical results of sloth, sensuality, and self- 
 indulgence ; and Shakespeare has employed these 
 materials, not only in the passage under review, but 
 in the closet-scene between Hamlet and his mother : 
 
 " Queen. O Hamlet, speak no more ; 
 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul ; 
 And there I see such black and grained spots 
 As will not leave their tinct. 
 
 " Ham. Nay, but to live 
 
 In the rank sweat of an enseamed bed, 
 Stew'd in corruption, honeying and making love 
 Over the nasty sty. 
 
 " Queen. 0, speak to me no more ; 
 
 These words, like daggers, enter in mine ears ; 
 No more, sweet Hamlet ! " 
 
 There has been some discussion among the commen- 
 tators as to the exact signification of enseamed in this 
 passage, but Dyce follows his predecessors in explaining 
 it to mean "greasy". This, no doubt, is one meaning 
 of the word, and it gives a sense intelligible enough. 
 Seam or same is a word for lard, used locally in various 
 parts of England, but especially in Lincolnshire. A 
 story told of a country woman in Lincoln market 
 illustrates this meaning of the term. Butter was often, 
 then as now, adulterated by being mixed with lard, 
 and a lady coming to purchase of the woman asked, 
 "Is the butter quite pure?" to which the seller 
 confidently but ambiguously replied, " Yes, it is the 
 very best butter at both ends and same in the middle ". 
 Seam is moreover used by Shakespeare himself for lard 
 in " Troilus and Cressida ". The hawking term enseam 
 is traceable to this source, lard having been originally 
 a principal ingredient in the castings or scouring diet 
 given to the glutted falcon. Thus Turbervile says : 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 333 
 
 " Within a few days after the falcon is drawn out of 
 the mew ye must scour her and enseain her with the 
 foresaid medicine of lard, sugar, mace, and saffron, 
 with very little aloes, for if ye confect it with too much 
 aloes you shall bring her over low ". Though the term 
 thus originally meant enlarding, or, on homeopathic 
 principles, cleansing a hawk from grease by means of 
 grease, it naturally acquired a much stronger sense, 
 and came to mean the stirring up and casting forth of 
 filthy matter. In this sense it is applied by Hamlet to 
 the moral pollution of his mother's incestuous marriage, 
 the bridal bed itself being defiled by such a union. 
 
 Again, there has been a good deal of discussion 
 about the word gouts occurring in the dagger- scene in 
 " Macbeth ". The results of this discussion are well 
 summed up in the note on the word by the Cambridge 
 editors in their Clarendon Press edition of the play : 
 
 " Gouts, drops, from the French, goutte, and, according to stage- 
 tradition, so pronounced. Stevens quotes from ' The Art of Good 
 Lyving,' 1503, ' All herbys shall sweyt read goutys of water as 
 blood'. And 'gowtyth' for 'droppeth' occurs in an Old English 
 MS. (Halliwell, 'Archaic and Prov. Diet.,' s. v.). 'Gutty,' from the 
 same root, is also used in English heraldry." 
 
 It has not been noticed, however, that the word is a 
 technical term in falconry, and that its special sense in 
 this art applies with peculiar force to its use in the 
 dagger-scene soliloquy. Gouts is the term applied to 
 the little knob-like swellings or indurated drops which 
 appear at times on the legs and feet of the hawk. 
 This will be clear by an extract from Turbervile's 
 chapter on " The swelling in the hawk's feet we term 
 the pin or pin-gout " : 
 
 " Diverse times there rise up knobs upon the feet of hawks as 
 upon the feet of capons, which some call j|galles, and some gouts. 
 
334 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 They come sometimes of the swelling of the legs and thighes, which 
 I have spoken of before, or of other diseases that breed of the 
 abundance of humours within the hawke, which must first be 
 scoured with the last mentioned pilles three or foure days together." 
 
 The term as thus used has peculiar force when applied* 
 as Macbeth applies it, to the rapidly coagulating drops 
 of blood on the blade and dudgeon of the fatal dagger. 
 
 The references to hawking may be closed by a brief 
 illustration of a passage in the first part of " Henry VI." 
 that has never as yet been very satisfactorily explained. 
 It occurs in the angry scene between the protector, 
 Gloucester, and his rival, the Bishop of Winchester, 
 before the Tower gates. The bishop having forbidden 
 the warders to admit the protector, fierce taunts, men- 
 aces, and recriminations prelude the actual conflict 
 between their followers that ensues : 
 
 " Win. How now, ambitious Humphrey ! what means this ? 
 
 " Glo. Peel'd priest, dost thou command me be shut out ? 
 
 " Win. I do, thou most usurping proditor, 
 And not protector of the king or realm. 
 
 " Glo. Stand back, thou manifest conspirator, 
 Thou that contriv'dst to murder our dear lord ; 
 Thou that givest whores indulgences to sin : 
 I'll canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat, 
 If thou proceed in this thy insolence. 
 
 " Win. Nay, stand thou back ; I will not budge a foot : 
 This be Damascus, be thou cursed Cain, 
 To slay thy brother Abel, if thou wilt. 
 
 " Glo. I will not slay thee, but I'll drive thee back : 
 Thy scarlet robes as a child's bearing-cloth 
 I'll use to carry thee out of this place." 
 
 In this passage the phrase, " I'll canvass thee," has 
 been variously explained. Stevens interprets it to mean, 
 " I'll tumble thee into thy great hat, and shake thee as 
 bran and meal are shaken in a sieve " ; while Malone 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 335 
 
 says : " Gloucester probably means that he will toss the 
 cardinal in a sheet, even while he was invested with the 
 peculiar badge of his ecclesiastical dignity ". But neither 
 of these explanations, adopted in the main by later 
 editors, hits the distinctive allusion of the phrase, or 
 brings out its real significance. Canvass was a techni- 
 cal name for the peculiarly constructed net with which 
 wild hawks were snared by the falconer, in order to be 
 made and manned for the fist, the flight, and the lure. 
 At least, it was a term technically applied to catching 
 wild hawks in this way, and to be canvassed in this 
 sense was to be taken, trapped, or netted. The follow- 
 ing passage from Pettie's Palace of Pleasure, referring 
 to one who had been jilted in love, brings out this 
 meaning : 
 
 " For ever after, he fled all occasions of women's company, 
 perswading himselfe that as hee which toucheth pitch shal be 
 defiled therewith : so he that useth women's company shal be 
 beguiled therewith. And as the mouse having escaped out of the 
 trap, wil hardly be allured againe with the intising baite, or as the 
 hawke having bin once canvassed in the nettes, wil make it daungerous 
 to strike againe at the stale : so he having bin caught in the snares 
 of crafty counterfeyting, and now having unwound himself there- 
 out, and wonne the fields of freedome, avoided all occasions which 
 might bring him eftsoones in bondage." 
 
 Nares gives another example, from the " Mirror for 
 Magistrates" : 
 
 " That restlesse I, much like the hunted hare, 
 Or as the canvist kite doth fear the snare ". 
 
 Of the word, however, Nares frankly says : " It seems 
 to mean entrapped ; but I can give no further account 
 of it". Canvass in this sense may, however, be con- 
 nected with the Italian cannevo and cannevaccio, given 
 as alternative forms of canapa and canapa^cia, and ex- 
 
336 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 plained as "all manner of hemp, hempen halters, 
 thread, coarse hemp and canvass, coarse hards ". It 
 could thus very naturally have the general meaning of 
 coarse hempen netting. Or it may possibly be con- 
 nected with the canebis or chanvre, against which the 
 experienced swallow warned the small birds : 
 
 " II arriva qu'au temps que le chanvre se seme, 
 Elle vit un manant en couvrir maints sillons. 
 ' Ceci ne me plait pas,' dit-elle aux oisillons : 
 ' Je vous plains ; car, pour moi, dans ce peril extreme, 
 Je saurai iu'eloigner, ou vivre en que] que coin. 
 Voyez-vous cette main qui par les airs chemine ? 
 
 Un jour viendra, qui n'est pas loin, 
 Que ce qu'elle repand sera votre ruine. 
 De la naitront engins a vous envelopper, 
 Et lacets pour vous attraper, 
 Enfin mainte et mainte machine 
 Qui causera dans la saison 
 Votre mort ou votre prison. 3 " 
 
 Whatever may be its origin, there can, however, be 
 no doubt as to the special meaning and use of the term 
 in connection with hawking, and it is, we think, clearly 
 in this sense that Gloucester employs it in the passage 
 quoted. The phrase has, indeed, peculiar expressive- 
 ness when applied to the broad-brimmed cardinal's hat, 
 with its long strings knotted into net-like meshes on 
 either side. The felicity of the phrase becomes even 
 more apparent when the shape and working ^of the net 
 in which hawks were snared are known. The appar- 
 atus for catching wild hawks consisted of a strong 
 semi-circular bow of wood or iron, with a net attached, 
 and fixed in the ground on either side, so as to move 
 freely backwards and forwards. When baited for the 
 hawk the bow was in an upright position, both the 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 337 
 
 bow itself and the net attached to it being partially 
 hidden by green 'twigs. The bait, stale, or lure was 
 usually a live bird, such as a pigeon, fixed and fluttering 
 within the sweep of the descending bow. Strings were 
 attached to the bow on either side, and held by the 
 falconer, concealed at a distance. By this means, 
 when the hawk swooped on the prey the falling bow 
 covered her with the encircling net. If the meshes 
 happened to be too large,, or the machinery were un- 
 skilfully worked, the hawk sometimes managed to 
 escape, and hence the allusions in the passages quoted. 
 Now, the circular sweep of the cardinal's hat with its 
 knotted strings had a not unapt resemblance to the 
 hawk-net machinery ; and Gloucester, in saying, " I'll 
 canvass thee in thy broad cardinal's hat," expressed 
 his determination to trap and seize the arrogant church- 
 man, if he persisted in his violent courses. That he 
 really meant to abridge the cardinal's liberty by seizing 
 his person is apparent from the context in which he says 
 he will use the scarlet robe as a child's bearing-cloth 
 to carry him away, the colour of the robe having re- 
 minded him of the scarlet mantle in which the children 
 of wealthy parents were carried to the font for baptism. 
 Even in this there is, however, an obscure reference to 
 the imagery already employed, for the hawk when 
 Caught was carefully wrapped up, often placed in a bag, 
 to prevent any injury to the feathers from bating. 
 Gloucester thus expresses his determination to catch 
 the grasping cardinal in his own trap, and mew him up 
 where he would have no power to carry out his treason- 
 able designs. 
 
 We shall next attempt to clear up some points still 
 pbscure connected with the natural history, rural bot- 
 
 22 
 
338 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 any, and social usages of Shakespeare's time. The first 
 is a passage in " Hamlet," which the critics and com- 
 mentators agree, with singular unanimity, must be 
 corrupt. It occurs in the play-scene, after the perform- 
 ance has been suddenly stopped by order of the king, 
 and the listening court circle broken up " with most 
 admired disorder," by the abrupt and excited exit of 
 the royal party. Hamlet is left alone with Horatio, 
 exulting in the success of his project. The play has 
 caught effectually the conscience of the king, and in 
 Hamlet's view he stands self-convicted of the unnatural 
 crime. In the strange excitement produced by this 
 complete confirmation of his worst fears, Hamlet, with 
 a sort of assumed gaiety, indulges in snatches of verse, 
 fragments of well-known ballads, that express in a fit- 
 ful, disjointed way the feelings of the moment : 
 
 "Ham. For thou dost know, O Damon dear, 
 
 This realm dismantled was 
 Of Jove himself ; and now reigns here 
 A very, very Peacock ". 
 
 The readings of the Quartos and Folios are variously 
 pctjock, pajocke, and paiock, paiocke ; but all agree that 
 these are only various spellings of the same word, that 
 word being peacock. Here, however, the real difficulty 
 commences. The majority of critics maintain that the 
 word, in such a connection, has no meaning, and makes 
 nonsense of the verse. Some of the earlier editors, it 
 is true, attempted to explain it ; but the explanations 
 were feeble, if not wholly irrelevant, and have not been 
 generally accepted. Thus, Pope says the allusion is to 
 the fable of the birds choosing the peacock instead of 
 the eagle as their king. Collier, while admitting the 
 difficulty, suggests that the fable alluded to may be 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 339 
 
 that of the crow adorning itself with peacocks' feathers. 
 Theobald rejected the word altogether, substituting 
 for it paddock, or toad. Other suggested emendations 
 are hedgehog, podge-hawk, polack, and, amongst the latest 
 and strangest, that by Dr. Leo, of hiccups, as a stage 
 direction. But these suggestions are only so much 
 wasted ingenuity. The Folio word is not only the 
 right one, but peculiarly emphatic and expressive. In 
 discussing the passage the critics have forgotten the 
 character assigned to the peacock in the natural history 
 of the time, as well as in popular opinion and belief. 
 Looked at from this point of view, the word peacock 
 expresses in a concentrated form the odious qualities 
 of the guilty king, the bird being, in fact, the accredited 
 representative of inordinate pride and envy, as well as 
 of unnatural cruelty and lust. The most popular 
 manual of natural history in Shakespeare's day, for 
 example, gives the following account : 
 
 " And the pecocke is a bird that loveth not his young, for the 
 male searcheth out the female, and seeketh out her egges for to 
 break them, that he may so occupy him the more in his lecherie. 
 And the female dreadeth that, and hideth busily her egges, lest the 
 pecocke might soone find them. And Aristotle sayth that the pe- 
 cocke hath an unsteadfast and evill shapen head, as it were the head 
 of a serpent, and with a crest. And he hath a simple pace, and a 
 small necke, and areared, and a blew breast, and a taile ful of bewty, 
 distinguished on high of wonderfulle fairness : and he hath the 
 foulest feet and riveled. And he wondereth at the fairnesse of 
 his fethers, and areareth them up as it were a circle about his head, 
 and then he looketh to his feet, and seeth the foulenesse of his feet, 
 and lyke as he wer ashamed he leteth his fethers fall sodeinlye : 
 and all the taile downward, as though he tooke no heed of the fair- 
 nesse of his fethers : and he hath an horrible voice. And as one 
 sayth, he hath a voice of a feend, the head of a serpent, and the 
 pace of a theefe. And Plinius sayth that the pecocke hath envie 
 
340 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 to man's profit, and swalloweth his ovvne durt : for it is full medi- 
 cinable, but it is seldom found". 
 
 This last is a curiously dark touch of malevolence 
 added to the generally repulsive character of the bird. 
 In the whole fauna of the time, therefore, Hamlet 
 could not have selected the name of bird or beast that 
 expressed with greater emphasis the hateful union of 
 corrupted passion and evil life that now usurped the 
 throne and bed of the buried majesty of Denmark. 
 
 We turn for a moment from the popular fauna to 
 the wild and provincial flora of Shakespeare's day. It 
 is needless to say a word about the poet's love of 
 flowers, and his intimate acquaintance with the richer 
 garden varieties, as separate works have been published 
 to illustrate this feature of his writings. But Shake- 
 speare's fondness for wild flowers, and subtle appre- 
 ciation of their place and influence as elements of 
 natural scenery, are equally noteworthy. He had the 
 keenest enjoyment of outdoor life, and in his long 
 country rambles in the neighbourhood of Stratford the 
 sweet w T ayside "nurselings of the vernal skies" had 
 touched his imagination and his heart, and left an im- 
 pression never to be effaced. Nor does he scruple at 
 times to describe his humble favourites of the meadows, 
 the hedgerows, and the water-courses, by the local 
 names through which he first became familiar with 
 them. This has been a source of some confusion and 
 perplexity in the interpretation of his allusions. We 
 may illustrate this point in relation to a line on 
 which perhaps more ink has been spilt than on any 
 other line of Shakespeare's dramas. It occurs on the 
 invocation of Iris to Ceres in the Masque of the 
 " Tempest " : 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 341 
 
 " Iris. Ceres, most bounteous lady, thy rich leas 
 Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and pease ; 
 Thy turfy mountains, where live nibbling sheep, 
 And flat meads thatch'd with stover, them to keep ; 
 Thy banks with pioned and twilled brims, 
 Which spongy April at thy hest betrims, 
 
 To make cold nymphs chaste crowns ; and thy broom-groves, 
 Whose shadow the dismissed bachelor loves ". 
 
 Here the chief difficulties are the words italicised in the 
 fifth line, especially the first. What pioned means, or 
 can mean, has been the great crux with the commen- 
 tators. An early suggested emendation was peonied ; 
 but the objections to this are that the peony is not a 
 wild-flower, does not grow in marshy grounds, has, in 
 fact, no connection with river brims, and does not bloom 
 in April. Other emendations have, from time to time, 
 been suggested, but, curiously enough, the one which 
 has found as much acceptance as any, is what may 
 be called the hedging and ditching explanation that 
 pioned means dug down, and twilled, ridged, or staked 
 up, as though the river brims were rural dykes or 
 suburban drains. Even supposing the meaning here 
 assigned to the disputed terms were legitimate or even 
 possible, the explanation certainly savours far more of 
 the commentator's prose than of Shakespeare's poetry. 
 Without noticing any of the other explanations and 
 emendations that have been attempted, we proceed to 
 offer an interpretation that, while preserving the Folio 
 text, gives it a consistent and poetical meaning. The 
 chief difficulty, as we have seen, lies in the word pioned, 
 and we had long felt that the solution must be looked 
 for in the local use of the term. We could not but 
 believe that there must be some flower, most probably 
 a water-flower, or one living in marshy ground, that 
 
342 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 was provincially known as a peony. In confirmation 
 of this view, we were informed some time since by a 
 clergyman who was for many years incuiribent of a 
 parish in the northern part of the county, that peony 
 is the name given in Warwickshire to the marsh mary- 
 gold. Knowing that he had long resided in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Stratford, taking an active interest in 
 country life, we asked if there was any wild-flower that 
 the country people called a peony, and he promptly 
 answered there was, and it soon appeared from the 
 description that it must be the marsh marygold. Here 
 was at last a ray of light. And on a little reflection it 
 was not difficult to see why the name of the peony 
 should have been transferred to the marsh marygold. 
 The flowers, though differing in colour, have a remark- 
 able similarity in general growth and shape, especially 
 in the early stage, when the fully-formed bud is ripe 
 for blowing. The buds of both present the unusual 
 appearance of perfectly rounded globes or spheres at 
 the extremity of a thick leafless stalk, the sepals being 
 firmly locked or folded together over the substance of 
 the flower into a bud as round as a marble. Indeed, 
 the helibore, which belongs to the same class, having 
 its sepals tipped with red, might easily be mistaken for 
 a wild peony. In their early stages, moreover, when 
 the peculiar state of the bud naturally attracts atten- 
 tion, the peony and marsh marygold are alike, not only 
 in growth and form, but in colour also. The main 
 point of agreement, however, the globular buds, is so 
 distinctive in the marsh marygold that it has been 
 seized on as a ground of naming the flower, and is 
 embodied in many of its more popular designations. 
 The garden variety, for example, differing hardly at all 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 343 
 
 from its sister of the marsh, is called the globe flower. 
 In many parts of England, again, marsh marygolds are 
 called blobs, or, from the size of the flower, horse-blobs, 
 blob being an archaic word for rounded knob ; only 
 another form, in fact, of bleb, an older term for foam- 
 bell or water-bubble. Thus, water-blobs is a local 
 name for water-lilies, on account of the rounded cup- 
 like shape of the bud. In the same way, the marsh 
 marygold is locally the horse-blob. Clare, the North- 
 ampton poet, for example, says : 
 
 " Beneath the shelving banks' retreat 
 The horse-blob swells its golden ball ". 
 
 The same peculiarity of shape is embodied in the 
 French' bassinet, from the likeness of the flower to a 
 small bowl or basin. Cotgrave makes bassinet a generic 
 term for the buttercup tribe, including under it the 
 " crow-foot, king-cob, gold-crap, yellow-craw, butter- 
 flower ". He adds : " There be many kinds, that which 
 we call bachelor-buttons being one, the double one of 
 them ". Bassinet de Marais is the special term for the 
 marsh marygold ; but even in England, from the 
 splendid appearance of the flower, it was sometimes 
 called the brave bassinet. Thus Lyte, in his Herbal, 
 says : " The brave bassinet or marsh marygold doth 
 grow in most places upon the banks and borders of 
 ditches ". 
 
 From its dark green leaves and crowded discs of 
 burnished gold the brave bassinet is one of the most 
 striking and brilliant flowers of early spring, and as 
 such it has been a favourite with the poets, who are 
 minute observers of nature, from Chaucer to Tennyson. 
 Mrs. Loudon, in describing the marsh marygold, says : 
 " This is one of the most showy of the British plants, 
 
344 SHAKESPEAEE. 
 
 and it is also one of the most common, as there are 
 few ponds or slow rivers in Great Britain that have not 
 some of these plants growing on their banks in April 
 and May". And Gerarde, a much more venerable 
 authority, waxes almost eloquent in descanting on its 
 size and beauty: "Marsh marigold hath great broad 
 leaves, somewhat round, smooth, of a gallant greene 
 colour, sleightly indented or purld about the edges, 
 among which rise up thicke fat stalkes, likewise greene, 
 whereupon doe grow goodly yellow flowres, glittering 
 like golde, and like to those of crow-foot, but greater ". 
 Parkinson, in his voluminous Herbal, says that 
 another name for these flowers is goulds ; and under 
 this name the flower is used by Chaucer as an emblem 
 
 of jealousy : 
 
 " And jelousy, 
 
 That wered of yolo guides a garland, 
 And a cukkow sittyng on hire hand ". 
 
 And Gower, probably because the flower expands only 
 in bright sunshine, and is closed or locked in cloudy 
 weather, represents Leucothoe as turned into it by the 
 god of day : 
 
 "But Phebus, for the reverence 
 Of that she hadde be his love, 
 Hath wrought through his power above, 
 That she sprong up out of the molde 
 Into a flour was named golde, 
 Which stant governed of the sonne ". 
 
 Of modern poets, Mrs. Loudon quotes one who, in de- 
 scribing a marsh, celebrates its brightest flower under 
 the less familiar classical name : 
 
 " Caltha, in green and gold refulgent towers, 
 And isles of splendour shine, whose radiance pours 
 A glory o'er the scene ", 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 345 
 
 Tennyson's line in the " May Queen" is quite familiar: 
 
 "And the wild marsh-marigold shines like fire in swamps and 
 hollows gray ". 
 
 Again, the marsh marygold is the Lucken Go wan, the 
 locked or folded daisy, of Scotch poetry, celebrated for 
 its beauty by northern writers from Allan Ramsay to 
 Alexander Smith by the former in the " Gentle Shep- 
 herd," and by the latter in one of the most pathetic of 
 his shorter lyrics. 
 
 We may be sure, therefore, that the marsh marygold 
 had often caught Shakespeare's eye, and it is exactly 
 the flower which the line we have quoted, viewed in 
 relation to the whole context, requires in order to make 
 the meaning complete. It haunts the watery margins 
 as the constant associate of reeds and rushes, blooms in 
 " spongy April," and, in common with other water- 
 flowers, is twined with sedge " to make cold nymphs 
 chaste crowns". With regard to the form of the 
 word, as found in the First Folio, Shakespeare simply 
 writes it as it was universally pronounced among those 
 who used it. In the midland and western counties, 
 the peony is a great favourite in rustic gardens, and is 
 looked upon as an important element of floral decora- 
 tion in all rural festivities, especially at Whitsuntide, 
 school-feasts, and club -walkings. And we can certify 
 from personal experience that in these districts the 
 word is pronounced as Shakespeare spells it, pi-o-ny, 
 with a strong emphasis oh the first syllable and the full 
 English sound of the vowel, as though it were spelt 
 pye-o-ny. 
 
 The other obscure and disputed word of the line, 
 twilled, may be disposed of more rapidly. Twills is 
 
346 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 given by Halliwell as an older provincial word for reeds, 
 and it was applied like quills to the serried rustling 
 sedges of river reaches and marshy levels. The word 
 is, indeed, still retained in its secondary application, 
 being commercially used to denote the fluted or rib-like 
 effect produced on various fabrics by a kind of ridged or 
 corded weaving. Twilled cloth might equally be de- 
 scribed as reeded cloth cloth channelled or furrowed 
 in a reed-like manner. Twilled is, therefore, the very 
 word to describe the crowded sedges in the shallower 
 reaches of the Avon as it winds round Stratford. It 
 was, indeed, while watching the masses of waving sedge 
 cutting the water-line of the Avon, not far from Strat- 
 ford Church, that we first felt the peculiar force and 
 significance of the epithet. And, although the season 
 was too far advanced for the reeds to be brightened by 
 the flowers of the marsh marygold, the plant was abun- 
 dant enough to glorify the banks in the early spring. 
 The whole line, therefore, gives a vivid and truthful 
 picture of what is most characteristic of watery margins 
 at that period of the year. 
 
 The next head of illustration is of a miscellaneous 
 kind, including words and phrases left unexplained, or 
 erroneously explained, connected with the manners and 
 customs, the social usages and appliances, of Shake- 
 speare's day. Of these we have collected a considerable 
 number upwards of thirty indeed. But waning space 
 warns us not to multiply examples, and we must be 
 satisfied with one or two specimens at most. The first 
 is a word that often puzzled us in the earlier days of 
 our acquaintance with Shakespeare, but which, so far 
 as we are aware, the commentators have not noticed. 
 It is the word tun occurring in the celebrated scene 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 347 
 
 between the king and the French ambassadors in 
 "Henry V.," where the latter delivers the "merry 
 message" and the mocking present of the dauphin : 
 
 " First Amb. In answer of which claim, the prince our master 
 Says, that you savour too much of your youth ; 
 And bids you be advis'd, there's naugh# in France 
 That can be with a nimble galliard won ; 
 You cannot revel into dukedoms there. 
 He therefore sends you, rneeter for your spirit, 
 This tun of treasure ; and, in lieu of this, 
 Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim 
 Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks. 
 
 " K. Hen. What treasure, uncle ? 
 
 " Exe. Tennis-balls, my liege. 
 
 " K. Hen. We're glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us ; 
 His present and your pains we thank you for : 
 When we have match'd our rackets to these balls, 
 We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set 
 Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard." 
 
 Here the " tun of treasure " is evidently brought in 
 and delivered by the ambassador, and the puzzle always 
 was how this could be conveniently or gracefully 
 effected, if tun is to be taken in its ordinary sense. 
 The only meaning of tun known to our lexicographers 
 is that of a large cask ; and how a large cask filled with 
 tennis-balls could be brought by the ambassador and 
 delivered in the king's presence, it is not very easy to 
 see. The difficulty is, however, removed by remember- 
 ing that tun, or in the older spelling tunne, had in 
 Shakespeare's day two widely different meanings. 
 While the generic sense in harmony with the etymology 
 is that which holds or contains, still the tun denoted 
 vessels of very different sizes and uses. In addition to 
 a large cask containing a certain measure of liquids or 
 
348 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 solids, it was applied to a goblet, chalice, or drinking- 
 cup, more commonly a silver-gilt goblet. Thus Minshew, 
 on the English side of his Spanish Dictionary, gives 
 " a tunne, or nut to drink in, ciibttete" which is ex- 
 plained, " a drinking-cup of silver, or such a cup as 
 juglers use to show divers tricks by ". In illustration 
 of this we may mention that in an old country town 
 we remember an inn formerly known as " The Three 
 Tuns," which had as its ancient painted- sign three gilt 
 goblets exactly like those used by street jugglers. l 
 From a passage given by Halliwell, it would seem that 
 nut or nutte was used like tun for a drinking-cup or 
 goblet, which in wealthy houses was commonly of 
 silver or silver-gilt. This sense of the word tun is 
 further illustrated by a letter in Hakluyt's Voyages, 
 describing an interview which the representatives of 
 an English mercantile company had with the Emperor 
 of Russia in the year 1555 : 
 
 " We came before him the tenth day ; and, before we came to 
 his presence, we went throw a great chamber, where stood many 
 small tunnes, pailes, bowles, and pots of silver, I mean, like washing 
 bowles, all parsel gilt ; and within that another chamber, wherein 
 sate (I thinke) neere a hundred in cloth of gold ; and then into 
 the chamber where his grace sate, and there, I thinke, were more 
 then in the other chamber, also in cloth of gold ; and we did our 
 duty, and showed his grace our queene's grace's letters ". 
 
 The silver tunnes here described were evidently vessels 
 of the same kind as "the parcel-gilt goblet" on which 
 the faithless Falstaff swore, " sitting in the Dolphin- 
 chamber, at the round-table, by a sea-coal fire, upon 
 Wednesday in Wheeson-week," to make Mistress 
 
 1 See also Cardenis Comforte, p. 8 ; and Shirley's Dramatic Works 
 (Dyce), vol. v. p. 49. 
 
SHAKE SPE ABE. 349 
 
 Quickly " my lady " his wife. This distinctive mean- 
 ing of the word tun is, however, so completely forgotten 
 that it does not occur in any of the English dictionaries, 
 old or new, or in any Shakespearian glossary. The 
 only exception we are aware of is that of Mr. Halliwell, 
 who, in his Provincial Dictionary, gives, on the 
 authority of Kennett, " a little cup," as one meaning of 
 tun. The word does not, however, occur in the bishop's 
 published Glossary, and we presume, therefore, it must 
 be contained in some manuscript additions that have 
 not yet seen the light. That this is the meaning to be 
 attached to the word as used in " Henry V." is abun- 
 dantly evident from the older play on which Shake- 
 speare founded his drama, and from which the incident of 
 the tennis-balls is derived. The parallel passage in the 
 " Famous Victories of Henry the Fifth " is as follows : 
 
 " Archbyshop. And it please your Majesty, 
 My Lord Prince Dolphin greetes you well, 
 With this present. 
 
 [He delivereth a tunne of tennis-balles.] 
 
 " Henry V. What a yuilded tunne ! 
 I pray you, my Lord of Yorke, looke what is in it. 
 
 " Yorke. And it please your Grace, 
 Here is a carpet and a tunne of tennis-balles. 
 
 " Henry V. A tunne of tennis-balles ? 
 I pray you, good my Lord Archbishop, 
 What might the meaning thereof be ? 
 
 " Archbyshop. And it please you, my Lord, 
 A messenger you know ought to keepe close his message, 
 And specially an embassador. 
 
 " Henry V. But I know that you may declare your message 
 To a king, the law of armes allowes no lesse. 
 
 " Archbyshop. My Lord, hearing of your wildnesse before your 
 Father's death, sent you this, my good Lord, 
 Meaning that you are more fitter for a tennis-court 
 Than a field, and more fitter for a carpet than the campe." 
 
350 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Here the archbishop evidently enters the king's 
 presence, bearing in his hand the gilded tun or chalice 
 filled' with tennis-balls, to the number probably of eight 
 or ten, the balls being covered with a square of carpet, 
 and at the royal direction delivers both to the Duke of 
 York. In " Henry V." the ambassadors who take the 
 place of the archbishop deliver the present in the same 
 way to the Duke of Exeter. 
 
 The last illustration we have space for is that of the 
 phrase "unbarbed sconce," which occurs in " Coriolanus". 
 Those who are familiar with the drama will remember 
 the scene in which Volumnia, Menenius, and Cominius 
 unite in urging Coriolanus to return and speak the 
 angry populace fair, in order to avert the impending 
 mischief. His mother entreats him to yield for the 
 moment, to curb his pride so far as to address the 
 mutinous crowd, cap in hand, and with bended knee 
 crave pardon for his previous harshness and ask their 
 
 gentle loves : 
 
 "Enter COMINIUS. 
 
 " Com. I've been i' the market-place ; and, sir, 'tis fit 
 You make strong party, or defend yourself 
 By calmness or by absence : all's in anger. 
 
 "Men. Only fair speech. 
 
 " Com. I think 'twill serve, if he 
 
 Can thereto frame his spirit. 
 
 " Vol. He must, and will. 
 
 Prithee now, say you will, and go about it. 
 
 " Cor. Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce ? must I 
 With my base tongue give to my noble heart 
 A lie that it must bear ? Well, I'll do't : 
 Yet were there but this single plot to lose, 
 This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, 
 And throw't against the wind. To the market-place ! 
 You've put me now to such a part, which never 
 I shall discharge to the life." 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 351 
 
 Two main explanations of " unbarb'd sconce" have 
 been given : one by Stevens, to the effect that unbarbed 
 means untrimmed, unshaven, to barb a man being a 
 common expression for shaving him ; the other by 
 Hawkins, that unbarbed means bare-headed. In sup- 
 port of this, he says pertinently, but vaguely, that " in 
 the times of chivalry, when a horse was fully armed 
 and accoutred for the encounter he was said to be 
 barbed". Curiously enough, of these explanations the 
 latter, and more correct, has been almost unanimously 
 rejected by modern editors and critics. Thus, Mr. 
 Dyce explains unbarbed, "unshorn, untrimmed"; the 
 Cambridge editors give the same meaning, in the Globe 
 edition ; while Todd, in his edition of Johnson, 
 Kichardson in his Dictionary, and Nares in his Glossary, 
 give unbarbed as unshorn, each quoting the passage in 
 " Coriolanus" as the example. Mr. Staunton, it is true, 
 adopts Hawkins' more correct interpretation, but he 
 does this without a word of explanation or defence. 
 Now, with an erroneous rendering in almost undisputed 
 possession of the ground, this is hardly sufficient. It is 
 necessary to indicate at least the reasons that make 
 the one interpretation right, and the other wrong. It 
 may be stated at the outset that the words "barbed" and 
 " unbarbed " are used both literally and figuratively for 
 shaven and unshorn. But in this speech of Coriolanus 
 the term cannot be interpreted in this sense, as it 
 would then have no real meaning or relevancy at all. 
 So far as mere personal appearance is concerned, 
 Coriolanus had just presented himself in the most 
 public and official manner, both in the Capitol and the 
 Forum, before the senate and the citizens, with the 
 confidence of a proud nature, and the indifference to 
 
352 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 mere pouncet-boxes and curling-irons proper to a 
 soldier and a hero. There could thus be no possible 
 reason against his returning on the ground of mere 
 personal appearance. If he really were somewhat 
 rough and unkempt, he would surely, under the cir- 
 cumstances, be the better pleased. Least of all would 
 he think of calling in the barber before presenting 
 himself again to the greasy multitude. The speech 
 obviously refers, not to mere personal appearance, but 
 to the accustomed and accredited signs of deference, 
 humility, and respect. One of these and that the 
 most eloquently submissive was uncovering, standing 
 bare-headed, and bowing in a lowly manner to the 
 assembled citizens. This the proud spirit of Coriolanus 
 could not stomach, and he had the greatest difficulty 
 in forcing his stubborn will into even momentary and 
 simulated acquiescence. This was the bitterest ele- 
 ment in the partial and mocking ceremony of sub- 
 mission to the citizens he had just gone through. 
 When urged by his friends to speak to the citizens and 
 ajsk their suffrages, according to established usage, he 
 replies : 
 
 "I do beseech you, 
 
 Let me o'erleap that custom ; for I cannot 
 Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them, 
 For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage ; please you 
 That I may pass this doing ". 
 
 Here " stand naked " cannot, of course, be literally 
 taken, though it might be supposed to refer indirectly 
 to showing his wounds. This, however, Coriolanus 
 did not do, and the phrase must be understood as re- 
 ferring primarily to the fact that he was obliged to 
 stand uncovered, bare-headed, before the "bisson mul- 
 
SHAKE SPEAEE. 353 
 
 titude ". But his gall so rises at the degradation, that 
 while going through the form he cannot help flouting 
 the citizens to their face : 
 
 " Third Git. You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have 
 been a rod to her friends ; you have not, indeed, loved the common 
 people. 
 
 " Cor. You should account me the more virtuous, that I have 
 not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother, 
 the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them ; 'tis a condition 
 they account gentle : and since the wisdom of their choice is 
 rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating 
 nod." 
 
 Again, Volumnia, well knowing what the chief 
 difficulty was, addresses herself most earnestly to 
 this point, detailing to her son in eager gestures the 
 submissive actions by which he must at once seek to 
 regain tjie popular favour : 
 
 " Vol. I prithee now, my son, 
 Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand ; 
 And thus far having stretch'd it, here be with them, 
 Thy. knee bussing the stones, for in such business 
 Action is eloquence, and th' eyes of th' ignorant 
 More learned than their ears, waving thy head, 
 Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart, 
 Now humble as the ripest mulberry 
 That will not hold the handling, say to them 
 Thou art their soldier, and, being bred in broils, 
 Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess, 
 Were fit for thee to use, as they to claim, 
 In asking their good loves ; but thou wilt frame 
 Thyself forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far 
 As thou hast power and person." 
 
 In this excited and intensely dramatic address we 
 see Volurnnia pointing to her son's bonnet, and show- 
 ing by her own action the way in which he should use 
 
 23 
 
354 SHAKE SPE ABE. 
 
 it in addressing the citizens. At last, in reply to the 
 reiterated and united entreaties of mother and friends, 
 Coriolanus impatiently exclaims : 
 
 " Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce ? " 
 
 It may be easily shown that unbarbed has the 
 meaning which the context thus requires. A war-horse 
 protected by head and chest-pieces of defensive armour 
 was technically said to be barbed, barded, or bard, these 
 being all different forms of the same word derived from 
 the French barde, which Cotgrave renders " barbed or 
 trapped as a great horse ". Thus Holland, in his trans- 
 lation of Xenophon's Cyropcedia, says : " Now were 
 they all that attended upon Cyrus armed as he was, 
 to wit, in purple tabards, corslets, and head-pieces of 
 brasse, with white crests and with swords : every man 
 also with a javelin of corneil wood. Their horses were 
 bard, with frontlets, poictrels, and side-pieces of brasse." 
 In other words, the horses were protected by head- 
 pieces, breast-pieces, or plates, and side-pieces of de- 
 fensive armour. The terms barb and barbed, used in 
 the same way for horse armour, occur continually in 
 Harrington's translation of Ariosto, in Spenser, and 
 generally in the chivalrous poetry of Shakespeare's 
 time, as well as occasionally in his own dramas. But 
 as the war-horse was rarely in this sense fully barbed, 
 the metallic armour largely increasing the weight to be 
 carried, the term barb came to be specially associated 
 with the frontlet, or head-piece, which few war-steeds 
 were without. In this way it was also applied, in a 
 secondary sense, to any covering or protection for the 
 head, to a cap or hood, a helmet or bonnet of almost 
 any description. Thus Chaucer uses barbe for a 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 355 
 
 whimple, or a hood and cape covering the head and 
 shoulders; while Skelton applies the same term to a 
 nun's hood, and also to the cap which covered the 
 hawk's head when carried on the fist to the fields be- 
 fore being unhooded at the game. It is, however, more 
 to our present purpose to note that a special form of 
 the word was a well-known term in mediaeval times 
 for a military cap, or defensive covering for the head. 
 Thus Ducange gives " Barbitia," " Tegminis species 
 qua caput tegebant milites seu equites in proeliis ". 
 And Sir 8. K. Meyrick quotes in illustration of barbuta 
 in this sense from Hoscemius, " eraut omnes armati 
 cum barbwtis in capite " ; and from Villani, " I tutti 
 armati di corazze e barbute, come cavalieri ". After 
 giving these examples Sir S. B. Meyrick adds a sen- 
 tence which is tolerably decisive as to the real meaning 
 of the term in Shakespeare's phrase : " The French call 
 knights thus armed barbues, and the English barbed ". 
 To show an unbarbed sconce is thus to show an un- 
 covered, unprotected sconce ; in other words, to appear 
 bare-headed. 
 
 That the word in this connection cannot possibly 
 refer to shaving is evident from the fact that sconce 
 means head, and is never applied to the face by Shake- 
 speare or his contemporaries. Of the seven places in 
 which the word occurs in his dramas four are in the 
 " Comedy of Errors," where sconce is played upon in a 
 humorous scene between Antipholus and Dromio of 
 Syracuse. In the second scene of the first act it is 
 synonymous with " pate " ; while in the second scene 
 of the second act it is freely punned upon by Dromio 
 after the manner so common with Shakespeare's fools, 
 servants, and clowns ; 
 
356 SHAKE SPEAEE. 
 
 " Ant. S. If you will jest with me, know my aspect, 
 And fashion your demeanour to my looks, 
 Or I will beat this method on your sconce. 
 
 " Dro. S. Sconce call you it ? so you would leave battering, I 
 had rather have it a head : and you use these blows long, I must 
 get a sconce for my head, and ensconce it too ; or else I shall seek 
 my wit in my shoulders. But, I pray, sir, why am I beaten ? " 
 
 If our interpretation is correct, the word sconce is 
 here used in three different senses : first, for head ; 
 second, for a rounded fort or blockhouse ; and third, 
 for what protects or covers the head, a cap or hood. 
 This last sense has not been recognised by the com- 
 mentators, who have interpreted "I must get me a 
 sconce for my head " in the sense of fortification. But 
 sconce having also the meaning of covering for the 
 head, it is more likely that in playing on the word 
 Dromio would use it in a different sense than that he 
 would repeat it immediately in the same signification. 
 The glossarists do not seem to be aware that sconce 
 has this secondary meaning of covering for the head. 
 But that it was really so used is apparent from the 
 following entry in Florio's Dictionary: " Capuccio, a 
 little round hood, or skonce, a cap, also a hood or a 
 cowl, a friar's bonnet". The various significations of 
 sconce are thus all connected with the central notion 
 of head. It is never applied to the face ; and, apart 
 from the necessities of the context, the shaving 
 or unshorn interpretation of the phrase is inadmis- 
 sible. 
 
 Here we must close, having only partially accom- 
 plished the task proposed at the outset. Something, 
 however, has been done. Several of the explanations 
 we have offered vindicate on grounds of definite evidence 
 
SHAKESPEARE. 357 
 
 the text of the First Folio, and we are confident there is 
 still a good deal more to be done in the same direction. 
 We shall hope, therefore, to find some other opportunity 
 of returning to a subject of inexhaustible interest to 
 the genuine lovers -of literature. 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAKIES. 1 
 
 DR. JOHNSON'S Dictionary was the first attempt at a 
 critical review of the English language, and he is justly 
 considered as the father of English lexicography. The 
 substantial truth of this statement is not affected by 
 the existence in the previous century of such learned 
 works as those of Junius and Skinner. These works 
 are in many respects excellent, showing industry, 
 knowledge, and research, and, considering the state 
 of philology at the time, often surprisingly successful 
 in their main object, that of elucidating the derivation 
 of English words. But they are not, either in form or 
 substance, English dictionaries in the proper meaning 
 of the term. In their general aspect they are rather 
 contributions to European, or at least Teutonic ety- 
 mology, derived from the special study of one of the 
 Teutonic tongues, and in this respect may be fairly 
 ranked with the works of Wachter, Schilter, and Kilian. 
 
 1 1. A Dictionary of the English Language. By ROBERT GORDON 
 LATHAM, M.A., M.D., F.E.S., etc. Founded on that of Dr. Samuel 
 Johnson, as edited by the Rev. H. J. Todd, M.A. With numerous 
 Emendations and Additions. Parts I. to XXIV. London : 1868. 
 
 2. A Dictionary of English Etymology. By HENSLEIGH WEDGWOOD, 
 M.A., late Fellow of Chr. Coll., Cambridge. 3 vols. London : 
 1859. 
 
 3. A Glossarial Index to the Printed English Literature of the Thirteenth 
 Century. By HERBERT COLERIDGE. London : 1858. 
 
 4. A Select Glossary of English Words used formerly in Senses different 
 from the Present. By RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH, D.D. Second 
 Edition, revised and improved. London : 1856. 
 
 Edinburgh Review, July, 1868. 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 359 
 
 The mere fact of their being written in Latin suf- 
 ficiently illustrates their general position as learned 
 works addressed to scholars at large, rather than 
 designed for national or popular use. They are both, 
 moreover, as their titles indicate, occupied exclusively 
 with etymology, and etymology is only one means of 
 illustrating the signification of words, and that not the 
 most authoritative or direct. They no doubt supplied 
 valuable materials to the English lexicographer ; and 
 Johnson turned them to good account, having relied, 
 as he tells- us, mainly on Skinner for his etymologies. 
 But they are not English dictionaries. The other 
 works claiming this title produced during the former 
 half of the eighteenth century are in reality glossaries 
 of foreign, archaic, and technical terms, or mere 
 vocabularies, lists of words without any definite or 
 detailed illustration of their meaning. This is true not 
 only of Blount and Phillips, Coles and Kersey, but 
 of Bailey, whose well-known Universal Etymological 
 Dictionary is, however, a considerable advance on its 
 predecessors, and was avowedly the foundation of 
 Johnson's own work. Though he added largely to the 
 previous vocabularies, almost the only original feature 
 of Bailey's dictionary is the number of proverbs and 
 proverbial sayings scattered through the work, and his 
 explanations of these are not only detailed, but often 
 quaint, ingenious, and amusing. Neither the learned 
 works 011 etymology, the miscellaneous glossaries of 
 " hard words," nor the popular vocabularies for the 
 use of schools, met the primary requirements of an 
 English lexicon. 
 
 Johnson's work is the first dictionary of the language 
 worthy of the name, because he first attempted to make 
 
360 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 a complete list of English words sanctioned by literary 
 use, and to explain their meaning, not only by brief 
 definitions, but by copious literary illustrations, by 
 examples of their actual use taken from authors of 
 authority and repute. .This last is in fact the cardinal 
 requisite of a good dictionary. Unless it fully illustrates 
 the meaning of words by apt and significant examples 
 of their use, no such work can pretend to any original 
 value or permanent authority as a lexicon of the 
 language. It is in this respect mainly that Johnson's 
 work constitutes an era in the scientific exposition of 
 English words. His etymologies are often unsatis- 
 factory, and almost always second-hand, derived, as he 
 tells us, mainly from Junius and Skinner, eked out by 
 suggestions from scattered and casual correspondents. 
 Many of his definitions are, it is true, excellent, because, 
 though disliking the drudgery of verbal exposition, he 
 applied his mind honestly to the task, and constantly 
 endeavoured, by generalising examples of their use, to 
 exhibit the meaning of the more important words in 
 the shape of a critical description or summary of their 
 contents. But at best this kind of exposition must be 
 imperfect, in many cases only partially developing the 
 central conception of a significant word without attempt- 
 ing to seize or fix its finer shades of meaning. And 
 Johnson confessedly fell short of what might be easily 
 attained in this direction, some of his definitions being 
 gratuitously, obscure and almost ludicrously involved, 
 irrelevant, and perplexing. But his literary illustra- 
 tions are copious and interesting, and this new and 
 invaluable feature, combined with the general current 
 of good sense and critical insight running through his 
 verbal explanations, justly gave to his elaborate review 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 361 
 
 of the language the value and authority of a standard 
 work. 
 
 But a century having elapsed since this really great 
 work appeared, had its execution been even more 
 perfect, it must by this time be in many respects out 
 of date. The mere changes in a living tongue during 
 such an interval would be sufficient to produce this 
 result apart from any special increase in the materials 
 for its scientific elucidation. The last half-century 
 has, however, been a period of extraordinary activity 
 in every department of philological inquiry, and es- 
 pecially in those languages that help to throw most 
 light on the origin and history of our own. The 
 Germans are before us in this as in most other branches 
 of special scholarship. They may almost be said indeed 
 to have elaborated during the interval the new science 
 of comparative philology, and to have exhausted the 
 scientific exposition of those branches of it most directly 
 connected with their own tongue. But the results of 
 their labours after all are not, in our view, so valuable 
 to the English lexicographer as they are generally 
 supposed to be. The abundant materials these foreign 
 scholars have accumulated and arranged for the ready 
 comparison of kindred words in a multitude of cognate 
 tongues, may indeed easily become a hindrance and a 
 snare rather than a help to the English lexicographer. 
 His main business is to elucidate fully the meaning of 
 English words ; and the cardinal condition of success 
 in this respect is a thorough and detailed knowledge 
 of the vernacular literature, especially at the critical 
 period when the language attained its majority and 
 assumed its present shape. Apart from this special 
 knowledge, even minute and exact philological scholar- 
 
362 ENGLISH DICTIONABIES. 
 
 ship is quite as likely to lead the English critic astray 
 as to guide him aright ; and this injurious effect is, as 
 it seems to us, apparent in one of the works at the 
 head of our article, Mr. Wedgwood's " Dictionary of 
 English Etymology". A too exclusive reliance on the 
 suggestions and analogies of comparative philology, 
 combined with a limited knowledge of the native litera- 
 ture, has not unfrequently vitiated his painstaking and 
 in many respects successful attempt to elucidate more 
 fully the sources of our English speech. To one 
 thoroughly conversant with English literature in its 
 rise and progress, as well as during its best periods, 
 comparative philology is of course a valuable help ; 
 but, after all, it is in the fuller critical study of our 
 own literature, especially in its early stages, rather 
 than in the labours of foreign scholars, that the true 
 materials for a more scientific and complete exposition 
 of the language are to be found. 
 
 Happily these invaluable materials have largely 
 accumulated during the last few years. To say nothing 
 of the accomplished Anglo-Saxon scholars our own 
 country has recently produced, and the light their 
 critical labours have thrown on the earliest forms of 
 our mother tongue, the more useful book societies such 
 as the Parker, the Camden, and the Percy have 
 published for the first time, and placed within the reach 
 of students, many extremely rare, valuable, and in- 
 teresting monuments of our early literature. The 
 Eecord Commission has done the same, while the most 
 recent organisation for issuing rare and archaic literary 
 works that have hitherto been virtually inacces- 
 sible either as manuscripts or books of luxury the 
 Early English Text Society is actively at work, and 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 363 
 
 promises to become more generally useful than any of 
 the older literary clubs or associations. The Saxon 
 and semi-Saxon texts, such as those of Csedmon, the 
 Exeter Book and Layamon's Brut, issued by the 
 Society of Antiquaries, and valuable early works 
 published independently of any society, such as the 
 Ormulum, Wycliffe's Bible, and Tyndale's Testament, 
 have all added to the rich literary stores now accumu- 
 lated for illustrating the growth and progress of the 
 language. In the presence of these new and multiplied 
 sources of illustration, Johnson's review of the language 
 is philologically far more behind the time than the 
 mere date of its publication would suggest. 
 
 These ample materials, accumulated during the last 
 half-century, have hardly yet been turned to any 
 account. Richardson's Dictionary is almost the only 
 original contribution of any special value made to the 
 lexicography of the language since Johnson's day, and 
 it is marked by defects quite as striking as its excel-- 
 lences. The chief merit of the work lies in its full 
 literary illustrations, which were collected by the 
 author with great industry, and arranged with care and 
 intelligence, for the most part in chronological order. 
 Under many of the more important vernacular terms 
 the number and various dates of the illustrative examples 
 constitute something like a. complete history of the term 
 both in form and meaning, and in this respect Eichard- 
 son's Dictionary is a storehouse of valuable materials to 
 the scientific students of the language and literature. 
 But in most other respects, in its vocabulary, deriva- 
 tions, and explanations, the dictionary is conspicuously 
 meagre, imperfect, and erroneous. Even the historical 
 illustrations might now be largely augmented from the 
 
364 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 archaic literary stores that have been opened up, as 
 well as from the standard works both in prose and 
 poetry that have appeared during the last quarter of a 
 century. Todd in his edition of Johnson added largely 
 to the vocabulary and illustrations of the original work, 
 but the additions are often curious rather than useful, 
 and the supplementary labour, though abundant, is 
 wanting in method, order, and scientific insight. 
 
 This brings us to the volumes at the head of our 
 article. Of these, the two first, the works of Mr. 
 Wedgwood and Dr. Latham, are not only the most 
 recent contributions towards an improved English 
 lexicography, but in all respects the most valuable. 
 Mr. Wedgwood's is not indeed an English dictionary 
 in the proper sense of the term, but simply, like the 
 works of Junius and Skinner, an- etymologicon or 
 dictionary of English etymology. We have already 
 intimated what seems to us a general defect of the 
 work, the relative disproportion between the author's 
 philological and literary knowledge, his much greater 
 familiarity with what may be called the comparative 
 philology of English words than with the various and 
 finer shades of their actual meaning and use. No doubt 
 it may be said in reply that for the professed etymologist 
 philological acquirements are all-important, while a 
 minute arid critical acquaintance with the literature is 
 of less account. There is a certain amount of truth in 
 this. But even in tracing the derivation of English* 
 words a fine and discriminating knowledge of their use 
 and meaning is essential in order to keep in check the 
 seductive suggestions of comparative philology, as well 
 as to give sobriety, moderation, and fixed limits to 
 etymological research. * 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 365 
 
 When, for example, Mr. Wedgwood refers the 
 common English word " dormouse" to a problematical 
 French "dormeuse," it is impossible not to feel that 
 the superficial analogies of sound and form have 
 triumphed over the fundamental laws of sound etymo- 
 logical inquiry. 
 
 " Dormouse. The termination mouse is probably an instance of 
 false etymology, the real origin being a Fr. dormeuse, which cannot, 
 it is true, be cited from the dictionaries, but is rendered probable by 
 the name by which the animal is known in Languedoc, radourmeire. 
 In the same dialect, dourmeire, a slumberer, sleepy head, equivalent 
 to dormeuse (souris, a mouse, is feminine) in ordinary French " (vol. 
 i. p. 474). 
 
 In the first place, the word does not exist in the 
 French language in the sense attributed to it. Mr. 
 Wedgwood appears to be utterly unconscious that the 
 French name for a dormouse is un loir. But apart from 
 this difficulty, the name is of rural origin and use, a 
 household word in the mouths of more than half the 
 rustics of England, and as such is almost certain to be 
 of vernacular origin. It is, in fact, a thoroughly native 
 compound, the first syllable being a generic word in the 
 language to express what is lazy, drowsy, torpid, or 
 inert, from the Anglo-Saxon dor a, a drone, and giving 
 rise to a verb in two forms, to dor or dare, to reduce to 
 a torpid or inert state, used especially to denote the 
 effect which bright colours and dazzling spots of light 
 have on certain birds such as larks, and also the numb- 
 ing power which birds and beasts of prey exert over 
 their victims through the fascination of extreme fear. 
 Mr. Wedgwood has himself pointed out this meaning 
 in his article on the word " dare " (vol. i. p. 437), where 
 he says ; " To dare birds, to catch them by frightening 
 
366 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 with a hawk, mirror, or other means ; to dor, to frighten, 
 stupefy; dor, a fool ; so in German thor". The funda- 
 mental signification of dare, as of the parallel form daze, 
 is to stun with a loud noise, to stupefy. In actual use, 
 however, dor and dare are certainly confounded by early 
 writers. Nor is this surprising, as, whatever may be 
 true of their origin, they are undoubtedly closely con- 
 nected in meaning. Without going fully into this point 
 here, it should be noted that just as dor is used both for 
 the cause and the effect, for the humming continuous noise 
 that makes one drowsy as well as for the drowsy state, 
 so the verb dare is used intransitively as well as transi- 
 tively. In the earliest version of Livy, 1 for example, is 
 the following passage referring to the treachery of 
 Philemenus by which the city of Tarentum was taken : 
 " When he came thither [to the gate of the town] he 
 awaked the porter, saying that he had brought a greate 
 boore that he had slayn. At the fyrst call the porter 
 opened the gates ; and fyrst let in two young men of 
 his company ; then entred he, and other his servantes 
 pluckyng in the great boore. At whose greatnesse 
 whjde the keeper was daryng and musi/nge, Philemenus 
 sodenly slew hym with his boore speare or hunting 
 staffe." (Inferentes aprum duos juvenes secutus ipse 
 cum expedite venatore, vigilem, incautius miraculo 
 magnitudinis in eos, qui ferebant, versum, venabulo 
 trajicit.) In this passage " daring and musing " mean 
 gazing with fixed look and astonishment of mind, 
 extreme wonder and admiration producing the same 
 physical effect as extreme fear, and the same word 
 therefore being so far appropriately employed to express 
 both. This explains the phrase "daring larks," which, 
 1 That of Philemon Holland, Fol. 1600, 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 367 
 
 as well as " dared larks," is used by Elizabethan writers 
 in the sense of lying still and gazing fixedly on an object 
 either in wonder or fear. In the same way the hare is 
 said to dare or to lie daring in her form. 
 
 With regard to the noun, half a dozen of our older 
 glossaries, including Kersey and Bailey, give as the 
 meaning of dor the drone bee. In composition it is 
 found throughout the south and west of England in the 
 form of dumbledor, the name given to the humble bee, 
 but which literally translated into more familiar terms 
 is simply the humming drone. From the drone bee 
 the term was extended to the chafer and beetle tribe, 
 who have a drowsy, humming, droning flight, and lob 
 against the twilight pedestrian in an aimless, lumbering, 
 stupid way ; and also in a secondary and metaphorical 
 sense to the lazy and sluggish drones of the social hive. 
 The word is used familiarly by the Elizabethan drama- 
 tists in these senses, and earlier still by Sir Thomas 
 More amongst others. One form of the verb occurs in 
 Shakespeare, in Surrey's indignant protest against 
 Wolsey's arrogance : 
 
 " My lords, 
 
 Can ye endure to hear this arrogance ? 
 And from this fellow ? If we live thus tamely, 
 To be thus jaded by a piece of scarlet, 
 Farewell nobility ; let his grace go forward, 
 And dare us with his cap like larks." 
 
 On this passage Stevens justly observes: "It is 
 well known that the hat of a cardinal is scarlet ; and 
 that one of the methods of daring larks was by small 
 mirrors fastened on scarlet cloth, which engaged the 
 attention of these birds while the fowler drew his net 
 over them ". An illustration of the other form of daring 
 
368 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 by birds of prey, such as the hawk tribe, over their 
 victims, occurs in " Henry V." in a speech of a French 
 constable on the eve of the battle : 
 
 " Then let the trumpet sound 
 The tucket-sonance and the note to mount : 
 For our Approach shall so much dare the field, 
 That England shall couch down in fear, and yield ". 
 
 Of the verb in the other form an example is given 
 by Todd from Hales's Golden Remains : " When we 
 are so easily dorred and amated with every sophism, 
 it is a certain argument of great defect of inward furni- 
 ture and worth ". The verb " to dor " is explained in 
 some of our old dictionaries " to make dull, stupid, "and 
 is used habitually in the sense of "to stupefy". Dor- 
 mouse therefore is simply drone-mouse, the inert, torpid, 
 or sleeping mouse, and the wanting link to illustrate 
 the form of the compound is supplied by Howell and 
 Cotgrave. Howell gives the dor-bee as a synonym for 
 the drone-bee, and Cotgrave has under baradon, a drone 
 or dor-bee. As a dor-bee is a drone-bee, so dor-mouse 
 is simply a drone-mouse, all that is further needed to 
 complete the analogy being supplied by Holland, who 
 in his translation of Pliny invariably gives the word 
 " dormouse " in the same way, with a hyphen between 
 the two parts of the compound. Before leaving the 
 word, we may add that Mr. Wedgwood's explanation 
 of dor, both noun and verb, is conspicuously meagre and 
 insufficient, and well illustrates our general criticism. 
 While we are taken far afield to Norse, Gaelic, Danish, 
 and Erse for the etymology, the more direct and char- 
 acteristic sense of the verb, that in which it is used in 
 the above extract, is not given at all. Curiously enough 
 too, in the etymology he has not even mentioned the 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 369 
 
 Anglo-Saxon word through which undoubtedly it has 
 come to us, whatever may be true with regard to its 
 primitive relationship to cognate forms in other 
 tongues. 
 
 Did space allow, other examples of the same defec- 
 tive treatment might easily be given. It would be 
 ungenerous, however, not to recognise the merits of 
 Mr. Wedgwood's learned and most laborious work. 
 It shows throughout a wide range of exact philological 
 knowledge, an easy command of the general principles 
 established in this department of inquiry, together with 
 persevering industry and a considerable amount of 
 successful research into the relationships and affinities 
 of language. The author has, moreover, not only a 
 fine cultivated perception of linguistic affinities, a quick 
 eye and ear for related forms, but a philosophical in- 
 sight into the various gradations of meaning, the whole 
 process of mental change by which the primitive sense 
 of words gradually passes into their secondary and 
 metaphorical significations. This ready power of 
 following the subtle associations of thought and feeling 
 by which material objects and activities become signi- 
 ficant of purely mental states and processes, and the 
 language of sense is transformed into the language of 
 reflection, is of immense service in etymological in- 
 quiries, when kept in due check by a constant reference 
 to the facts to be explained. There is, however, a 
 danger in such researches lest generalisation should 
 outrun the materials on which it builds, especially if 
 it is employed in the interest of a theory, and Mr. 
 Wedgwood has not wholly escaped this form of peril. 
 He not only has a theory on the disputed question as 
 to the origin of language, but advocates its claims with 
 
 24 
 
370 ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 
 
 a kind of crusading energy and perseverance. He 
 strongly supports what Professor Max Muller rather 
 irreverently calls the bow-wow theory, his book being 
 avowedly intended as a voluminous illustration of its 
 truth. This zeal on behalf of his favourite theory, if 
 sometimes a help, is quite as often a source of weakness 
 and error. If it sometimes illuminates a group of re- 
 lated words, it quite as often carries its author away 
 from the immediate facts across the whole field of 
 comparative philology, and ends by substituting a con- 
 jectured analogy with remote tongues for a plain and 
 straightforward derivation of the word in hand. Illus- 
 trations of this, as well as of other slight defects in Mr. 
 Wedgwood's really valuable work, will be given in- 
 cidentally in the more detailed notice of Dr. Latham's 
 labours. On the whole, while Mr. Wedgwood's work 
 must undoubtedly occupy a high place in scientific 
 etymology, it seems to us more valuable as a contribu- 
 tion to comparative philology based on the study of a 
 particular tongue than as an etymological dictionary of 
 the English language. 
 
 Dr. Latham's work is not only an English dictionary 
 in the strict meaning of the term, but in many impor- 
 tant respects a very valuable addition to our national 
 lexicography. Though nominally based on Johnson's 
 dictionary, so much of the original text is discarded as 
 imperfect or erroneous, and the additions in every 
 department are so numerous and extensive, that it may 
 be regarded as virtually a new book. Still while thus 
 amplifying and improving the original work until its 
 form can no longer be recognised, Dr. Latham remains 
 faithful in the main to its general spirit and plan, and 
 his new dictionary may fairly be said to possess many 
 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 371 
 
 of the characteristic excellences and defects of the old. 
 Where he has occasionally departed from Johnson's 
 plan, as in the capricious introduction of long philo- 
 logical digressions on disputed points of origin, deriva- 
 tion, and meaning, the innovation cannot be regarded 
 as an improvement. But before descending to parti- 
 cular criticism it will be right to notice the general 
 plan of his labours. The vocabulary, or list of words, 
 naturally comes first, and here the new work is an 
 enormous improvement on the old, which was no- 
 toriously defective in this important respect. Dr. 
 Johnson's list of words erred both by excess and defect, 
 his columns being crowded with "terms of art," as he 
 calls them technical terms that had no place in 
 English literature or in the language of ordinary life 
 while numbers of idiomatic terms and phrases employed 
 by good writers, and having an established historical 
 position, are altogether excluded. It will always, no 
 doubt, be a difficult and disputed point in the lexico- 
 graphy of a living tongue where the exact line should be 
 drawn between admission and exclusion, and if a choice 
 is to be made, what principle of selection should be 
 adopted. Without going to the extreme length of 
 Archbishop Trench and the Philological Society, we 
 should be disposed to take a liberal view on this point. 
 Archbishop Trench and the society he represents would 
 include every word to be found in the literature of the 
 language, the base utterances of notorious word-coiners, 
 as well as the rarer and partially obsolete but sterling 
 issues of the national mint. They would adopt into 
 an English dictionary such words, for example, as the 
 following, all of which, with many more of a like kind, 
 are used by Dr. Henry More in his philosophical 
 
372 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 poems : ain, nothing ; ananke, necessity ; dizoia, double- 
 lived ; apterie, unwinged ; phrenition, anger, fury ; penia, 
 want ; monocordia, singleheartedness ; lamproproncea, the 
 bright side of Providence; melamproncea, the dark side 
 of Providence; hattove, the chief good; tagaihon; the 
 good, the excellent ; psychania, the land of souls ; and 
 p&ittacttsa, land of parrots. This is, we cannot help 
 thinking, a reductio ad absurdum of the Philological 
 Society's principle, and indicates the necessity of lay- 
 ing down some rule of selection, however general. In 
 our judgment a dictionary should include all words 
 sanctioned by literary use, and all words that can be 
 proved in any way to exist, whether sanctioned by 
 known literary use or not, belonging to the root ele- 
 ments of the language. With regard to words of 
 foreign origin, literary use would be established by 
 instances of their employment from more than one 
 writer, or even by a single instance from the works of 
 authors of repute not given to verbal eccentricities and 
 innovations. With regard to the vernacular terms, the 
 Saxon and Angle words still living in the provinces, 
 but of which perhaps no instance of actual literary use 
 can at present be given, these are in the strictest sense 
 national property, and ought therefore, in our view, to 
 be gathered into the national storehouse of words, not 
 only as being entitled to a place in the complete in- 
 ventory of our vernacular wealth, but also for possible 
 future use. Under the designation Angle are included 
 all local words of Scandinavian origin, and several of 
 these during recent years have passed into our current 
 speech. Mr. Tennyson, for example, being a native 
 of Lincolnshire, an Anglian district, has through his 
 writings given currency to several provincial words of 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAKIES. 373 
 
 Scandinavian origin. The rule we have laid down will 
 include such a word as jannock, the epithet of hearty 
 approval applied to Mr. Gladstone the other day by his 
 Lancashire audience. This appears to be an old Norse 
 word meaning fair, straightforward, downright, pre- 
 served for centuries among the rustics and artisans of 
 Lancashire, with scarcely any alteration of form or 
 meaning. From the south and west of England ex- 
 pressive Saxon terms might be collected which have 
 never yet been registered in any glossary, helping 
 directly to clear up difficulties in the vocabulary of our 
 early literature. The truth is, archaic and provincial 
 English mean very much the same thing, most of the 
 vernacular and expressive terms still living in the 
 provinces having at one time or other found a place in 
 the literature. And the process of recovery and return 
 is continually going on v archaic words being recalled 
 and provincial terms promoted to meet the growing 
 exigencies of our expanding literature and varied public 
 life. It is not too much to say that hundreds of words 
 that were obsolete or provincial a century ago are now 
 in current literary and colloquial use. With regard to 
 these provincial terms, sufficient proof of their exist- 
 ence would perhaps be supplied by the fact of their 
 past registration by competent inquirers, or by satis- 
 factory evidence of their actual use at the present time. 
 We may notice in passing that the want of any pro- 
 vision for collecting and properly sifting words of this 
 class is a marked defect in the plan of a national 
 dictionary laid down by the Philological Society. 
 There must be some limit, however, with regard to 
 date, as well as with regard to the nature and origin of 
 the words to be admitted. We should be disposed to 
 
374 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 take a somewhat earlier period than the commence- 
 ment of the sixteenth century, the time usually fixed 
 upon as that in which the language assumed its present 
 form. Much of Lydgate's writing, for example, is 
 comparatively modern in structure, and may be easily 
 understood without a glossary ; and Chaucer is perhaps 
 more generally read now than at any former period, 
 except in his own day and during the sixteenth century. 
 Allowing, however, the greatest latitude in this respect, 
 it would be impossible to go farther back than about 
 the middle of the fourteenth century, though writers 
 of a much earlier date might of course be usefully 
 quoted to illustrate the more archaic signification of 
 words. 
 
 Dr. Latham has not drawn any very sharp chrono- 
 logical line, or laid down any very definite principle as 
 to the admission or exclusion of words. But in practice 
 he gives the widest interpretation to the phrase "English 
 language," his own vocabulary being, in conception at 
 all events, most comprehensive and complete. If he 
 errs at all in this respect, the error is one of excess 
 rather than of defect, as he includes not only the 
 majority of archaic and a large body of provincial terms, 
 but a multitude of cant, slang, and purely colloquial 
 epithets and phrases. To archaic words in particular 
 he allows the widest latitude, some being given, such 
 as bise, north wind, a pure French word, supported in 
 English by only a single illustration, dating from the 
 thirteenth century. If any words of this class are 
 omitted, and many of course are, it is not on prin- 
 ciple, but simply from oversight or ignorance of their 
 existence. On the whole, however, Dr. Latham has 
 executed this part of his task with commendable 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 375 
 
 diligence and success. He is, moreover, as friendly to 
 the new as to the old, taking special credit for the 
 introduction of words sanctioned by modern usage, and 
 his list of neologisms is tolerably full. He gives a 
 number of comparatively modern words, such as 
 linguistics, liber ticide, monocracy, bureaucracy, monocracy, 
 absolutism, as well as a number of provincial and revived 
 words and new compounds, such as flunkey, cantankerous, 
 kettledrum, garotte, bosh, and even knuckleduster. Still, 
 as must always be the case, numbers of this class quite 
 as well entitled to a place as those inserted are omitted, 
 such, for example, as fetish and fetichism, conative and 
 conation, the former used by Cudworth and the latter 
 habitually by Sir William Hamilton ; astrolatry and 
 moralize as a verb to elevate and purify, opposed to 
 demoralize, both used by Mr. J. S. Mill ; centoist, a 
 compiler, derived from cento; and others of compara- 
 tively recent introduction, quite as likely to stand 
 their ground as some Dr. Latham has given. He 
 has collected also a considerable number of modern 
 scientific words, such as homology, homologue, paletiology, 
 and kinematics, but others equally well entitled to notice, 
 such as cadastre and cadastral, kinetic, deontology, and 
 singularly enough analogue, are omitted. The omission 
 of analogue is a strange oversight, the word being not 
 only habitually used by the best authors, but employed 
 by Dr. Latham himself in his long dissertation on con- 
 temporary (p. 544). Other terms belonging to the class 
 of old or revived words with special modern significa- 
 tions, such as crochet, ladies' fancy-work, and croquet, 
 the out-door game, are in like manner overlooked. 
 There is also a special class of modern words formed 
 from existing words by analogy, or by analogy and 
 
376 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 contrast, and constituting in some cases a pair of terms 
 with opposite meanings, that seem to have escaped Dr. 
 Latham's notice. As examples of this class, we may 
 specify falsism, used by recent writers, oldster, used by 
 Thackeray ; Jiymnody, on the analogy of psalmody, used 
 by Dean Stanley ; midnoon, used by Tennyson ; moonset, 
 used by Browning ; p&insworthy, on the model of praise- 
 worthy, used by Mr. Marsh ; and colloquialism, on the 
 model of provincialism. Another class exemplified by 
 the words organon, eirenicon, etymologicon, not specially 
 modern or English in form, but now thoroughly adopted 
 into the language, and used by good writers, is very 
 imperfectly represented, the examples we have given 
 being omitted, while a number of purely foreign and 
 special terms, like libretto and curioso, are inserted. The 
 omission of these examples is the more surprising as 
 Dr. Latham gives gnomon, catliolicon, and enchiridion, 
 Anglicised Greek forms of the same type, but in less 
 general use. In addition to the classes of modern or 
 special words imperfectly represented, or altogether 
 omitted, there are, as w r e shall presently see, several im- 
 portant archaic or provincial words either overlooked, 
 or imperfectly and even erroneously explained. 
 
 On the other hand, there are two classes of words 
 the one learned and the other lewd, in the earlier 
 meaning of the term in which, as it appears to us, Dr. 
 Latham errs by excess, his entries being far more 
 numerous than they ought to be in a general dictionary 
 of English. These are technical terms, those restricted 
 to special branches of natural science, such as chemistry, 
 botany, anatomy, and never used in general literature ; 
 and those belonging to the vocabulary of low, and what 
 is called fast life, cant terms, the dialect of thieves and 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 377 
 
 cadgers, and purely slang terms, the dialect of sporting 
 life. No doubt words from both these prolific sources 
 occasionally pass into literature, like the word snob, for 
 example, as well as into the better language of ordinary 
 life, and in these cases, having risen into respectable 
 society, it is right they should find a place in a directory 
 of the language. There are also peculiar slang meanings 
 of words in established use such.as fast, slow, green, and 
 muff, which may fairly be noticed, and Dr. Latham has 
 accordingly included their slang senses in his enumera- 
 tion of their various significations. But why should pal 
 in the slang sense of companion, and lushy in the sense 
 of being drunk, be honoured with special notice ? Why 
 again should header and heeltaps in their slang significa- 
 tions be raised to the dignity of separate entries ? And 
 if these are admitted, why should words like mooning, 
 in the phrase " mooning about," and duffer, both of 
 which have recently come into current and even literary 
 use, be excluded ? The word duffer in particular has a 
 special claim to notice, as it occupies a prominent place, 
 not only in the language of ordinary London life, but 
 in the more recondite and mysterious vocabulary of 
 the turf. A few months ago, " a respectable-looking 
 elderly man, known to the police as a ' duffer,' was 
 brought before the Lord Mayor for final examination 
 on the charge of attempting to dispose of spurious 
 articles of jewellery by representing them to be made 
 of gold ". This gives us the primary meaning of the 
 word, but there is a secondary or metaphorical sense 
 in which it becomes an epithet of the direst omen and 
 application in sporting circles. This darker and more 
 solemn signification is fully explained by the Earl of 
 Glasgow in a letter to a provincial newspaper, rebutting 
 
378 ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 
 
 some charges that had been brought against him. He 
 
 says : 
 
 " That part of your correspondent's letter which mentions that 
 I lost five matches in one day at Newcastle, and the statement I 
 am said to have made respecting my income, although both totally 
 untrue, might have been merely laughed at ; but when a person is 
 accused of having what is called a ' duffer ' in his stable, it is 
 more serious. In turf language a duffer means a horse which is by 
 some means made a great favourite by his owner or party, in order 
 that he or they may be enabled to bet against it, and thereby 
 defraud the public, it never being intended that such horse shall 
 be allowed to win. I have thought this explanation necessary. I 
 am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 "GLASGOW. 
 
 " Kelburne, August 9." 
 
 The most serious mistake in the vocabulary of the 
 new dictionary after all is the admission of so many 
 terms of a purely technical character, words wholly re- 
 stricted to special branches of natural science. With- 
 out pausing to enumerate special examples of this class, 
 which may be collected in sufficient abundance from 
 almost any part of the work, we may indicate a general 
 test by which they may be known. This is the absence 
 of any literary illustration in the proper meaning of the 
 term, its place being supplied by an extract from a 
 technical manual of the science to which the word 
 belongs. Now, while an extract from a technical work 
 in support of a technical word may be very proper in a 
 technological dictionary, it is out of place in a general 
 lexicon of the language. If the word belongs to a science 
 with a special and artificial vocabulary like botany and 
 chemistry, and no instance can be given of its use 
 beyond the technicalities of its own science, it has no 
 right to a place in a dictionary of English. It must, 
 however, in fairness be admitted that Dr. Latham's 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 379 
 
 offences in this respect are not nearly so numerous, or 
 so serious in relation to the vocabulary at large, as those 
 of his predecessor Johnson. 
 
 Next to the list of words in a dictionary comes the 
 elucidation of their meaning, and this in general consists 
 of three branches derivation, definition, and example. 
 In reference to the first, to the etymologies, Dr. Latham, 
 in describing the course he has followed, lays down the 
 true principle of procedure in this important part of a 
 lexicographer's duty. After stating that all conjectural 
 derivations had been swept away, he adds : 
 
 " The editor has refrained from speculation, not only where 
 the origin of the word is unknown, but also where it is un- 
 certain. . . . The first object in ascertaining the derivation of 
 words is to elucidate the history of language, the second is to 
 deduce their meaning from their origin. For both these purposes 
 it is clear that a doubtful etymology is a source of error and con- 
 fusion." 
 
 Nothing can be sounder in principle than this proscrip- 
 tion of conjectural, speculative, and uncertain etymo- 
 logies. But considering the temptations of the subject, 
 it would perhaps be too much to expect even the most 
 virtuous lexicographer to adhere strictly to his own 
 rule. The columns of a dictionary are not the place 
 for prolix dissertations on doubtful or disputed points 
 of philological inquiry, or for exhibiting in any detail 
 the analytical processes of etymological research. The 
 results of such processes alone should be given in as 
 simple a form as possible. As a work of general guid- 
 ance and instruction, it should exhibit ascertained and 
 established etymologies in a condensed and intelligible 
 shape, without perplexing the minds of those who refer 
 to it for definite information by vague conjecture and 
 
380 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 irrelevant discussion. For this purpose it would, in 
 most cases, be sufficient to refer the English word to 
 the language from which it is immediately derived, and 
 give the form through which it has come, or at most, in 
 cases of doubt and difficulty, the related forms in cognate 
 tongues. This is the course Dr. Latham usually 
 pursues. Rather than encumber his pages with mere 
 conjecture, he has left a considerable number of words 
 without any etymology at all, though some of these 
 might, perhaps, without much difficulty, be referred to 
 well-known roots. For a large proportion of what may 
 be called new and revised derivations he relies on Mr. 
 Wedgwood's labours, either silently adopting his con- 
 clusions, or quoting directly from his pages, the quota- 
 tions often running to a considerable length. This 
 process is indeed carried to excess, the large blocks of 
 miscellaneous philological discussion transferred bodily 
 from Mr. Wedgwood's volumes being often a good deal 
 in the way, and for the general purposes of the dictionary 
 rather an encumbrance than a help. But Mr. Wedg- 
 wood is the Skinner of the new work, and, singularly 
 enough, Dr. Latham relies on him so implicitly as to 
 attempt little in the way of original etymological sug- 
 gestion on his own account. Indeed, considering how 
 well he is equipped by special acquirements for this 
 work, and that he has a decided taste for philological 
 speculation, if not a tendency towards philological 
 caprice, Dr. Latham has contributed surprisingly few 
 etymologies to the main body of the work. But, as if 
 to make amends for his moderation and self-restraint 
 in this respect, he gives the reins to his philological 
 fancies, and airs his favourite linguistic conceits in 
 occasional dissertations, which are, in our view, the 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 381 
 
 chief blemish of the work. Many of these dissertations 
 are on points of no particular interest mere crotchets 
 in fact and the great majority, whether in themselves 
 interesting or not, are altogether out of place in a 
 dictionary. Some of the longest are devoted to minute 
 questions of accent, spelling, and pronunciation, such 
 as the discussions under connascence, contemporary, 
 checkers, cirrhopod, and lamb. Others are purely gram- 
 matical, such as that under gifted, or partly grammatical 
 and partly logical, as the long disquisition on objective 
 in its grammatical use, and the still longer one on am 
 as an active verb, or " copula of present time," as 
 Dr. Latham calls it, discriminated from am the neuter 
 verb to be or exist. Some again give a detailed history 
 of a favourite word, with a good deal of conjectural 
 etymology, such as those under bolted, brentgoose, and 
 brooklet, while others are occupied with minute questions 
 of ethnological philology, such as the dissertation on 
 bogy. Some of these, such as the last, raise points of 
 curiosity and interest, but their proper place is the 
 journal of a special society, not the columns of a 
 dictionary. The dissertations on particles, pronouns, 
 prepositions, and adverbs often run to inordinate 
 length, and come under the same general condemnation. 
 It is right, of course, that a succinct and discriminating 
 account of the various senses in which particles are 
 used should be given ; but to devote eight columns to 
 not, and five to but, shows a defective sense of proportion 
 that must seriously mar the execution of the work. In 
 some cases, indeed, it would seem as though the length 
 of the dissertation were in a kind of inverse ratio to the 
 importance of the question discussed. Upwards of two 
 columns, for example, are devoted to the words braid 
 
382 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 and bolter, each used once by Shakespeare, and not 
 found in the same form and meaning in any other 
 author. This would be almost unpardonable even in a 
 Shakespearian glossary, and it is preposterous in a 
 general dictionary of the language. No doubt the 
 temptation to extended discussion in these cases is 
 great, braid in particular being perhaps the most vexed 
 epithet in the whole Shakespearian vocabulary. But it 
 is the business of a lexicographer to resist such a 
 temptation, and to hold himself resolutely to the work 
 in hand. The worst of it is, Dr. Latham sins in this 
 respect with his eyes open. He says under one of the 
 words we have referred to : " What, however, is here 
 written is written more to stimulate and to suggest an 
 etymology than to trace the subject in a purely lexico- 
 graphical manner ". Still, if this kind of miscellaneous 
 and irrelevant discussion must have a place in the work, 
 it is much better that it should be concentrated in 
 special dissertations that may easily be skipped, rather 
 than diffused through the body of the dictionary. It is 
 right, however, to add that, apart from this special 
 feature, the etymologies are, as a rule, given in a simple, 
 direct, and easily intelligible form. 
 
 The definition of the meaning of words, the descrip- 
 tion and explanation of their various significations, is 
 perhaps the least satisfactory part of Dr. Latham's 
 work. Nor is this surprising. Definition is the most 
 delicate and perplexing part of a lexicographer's task, 
 requiring for its successful execution a rare union of 
 varied mental power and special literary acquirements. 
 It is always difficult in a living language to exhibit the 
 different shades of meaning that attach to an expressive 
 word, and the difficulty is of course increased in dealing 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 383 
 
 with a language so copious as our own. English is 
 peculiarly rich, if not in synonyms which afford no true 
 index of verbal wealth, at least in related terms express- 
 ing shades of thought and feeling, evanescent phases 
 of perception and emotion that would escape the notice 
 or elude the grasp of any but the most accomplished 
 and refined verbal interpreter. These remarks apply 
 with special force to the language of imagination and 
 feeling, and it is in this department that the inadequacy 
 of Dr. Latham's explanations is perhaps most apparent. 
 To deal effectively with words of this class requires not 
 only a wide and accurate knowledge of the literature in 
 its highest forms, but some degree of poetical insight 
 and imaginative sympathy, as well as of cultivated 
 literary taste and feeling. Dr. Latham's mind, on the 
 other hand, is of the hard, logical type, prone rather 
 towards dealing with the abstract and formal side of 
 thought and language than with their living relationships 
 and results. He accordingly succeeds best in the inter- 
 pretation of scientific terms, his definitions and examples 
 in this department being as a rule extremely good. He 
 is less happy in dealing with the language of reflection 
 proper, some of his explanations of philosophical terms 
 being conspicuously meagre, and even inaccurate. With- 
 out pausing to give in detail the criticism which would 
 suggest itself to those familiar with such inquiries, we 
 may refer to the words instinct, imagination, idea, and 
 immanent, as examples of this defective treatment. The 
 definition of immanent, indeed, as " intrinsic, inherent, 
 internal," besides being altogether vague and equally 
 applicable to a score of other words, misses the real and 
 distinctive meaning of the term. It is specially em- 
 ployed to denote mental activities that terminate in the 
 
384 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 mind itself without producing any physical or external 
 result ; volitions, for example, that guide the train of 
 thought, or restrain a current of feeling, without passing 
 into any overt or locomotive act, and in this sense the 
 immanent are contrasted with the transitive activities of 
 the mind. It would, however, be unfair to complain of 
 the philosophical explanations as a whole, as Dr. Latham 
 has given special attention to them, and in most cases, 
 where the definition is imperfect, the apt and numerous 
 examples make up for the defect. 
 
 In the instance just given, the definition is defective 
 through its vagueness and generality ; but, in dealing 
 with ordinary terms, Dr. Latham more frequently 
 perhaps errs on the other side, in giving a too narrow 
 or specific sense to words having a wide application, 
 and used in a generic latitude of meaning, which he 
 has altogether overlooked. Often, indeed, especially in 
 the less common class of words, being evidently ignorant 
 of their real signification, he simply describes what he 
 takes to be their meaning in the particular examples 
 with which he is familiar. He retains, for example, 
 Johnson's erroneous explanation of the word lush, " of 
 a dark, deep, full colour," 1 evidently on the strength 
 of a well-known passage in Shakespeare, in which it is 
 associated with the colour green : 
 
 " How lush and living the grass looks, how green ! " 
 
 But the word has nothing to do with colour except 
 accidentally, its real meaning being juicy, full of sap or 
 
 1 Johnson's definition is taken verbatim from Sir T. Hanmer's 
 edition of Shakespeare, and perpetuates a blunder natural enough 
 in the middle of the last century, but which ought to be impossible 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 385 
 
 moisture ; and in this sense it is one of the poetical 
 epithets to describe the vigorous and succulent shoots 
 of the early spring. This might easily have been learnt 
 from the use of the epithet by modern poets, and es- 
 pecially by Keats, who is fond of it, and whose intimate 
 acquaintance with the Elizabethan writers makes him 
 a perfect interpreter of their language. A single instance 
 from Keats will suffice to bring out the real meaning of 
 the word : 
 
 "And as the year 
 
 Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer 
 My little boat, for many quiet hours, 
 With streams that deepen freshly into bowers ". 
 
 Provincially the word is applied to ground moistened by 
 recent rain, and thus easily turned ; and its primitive 
 poetical meaning is, of course, the basis of the secondary 
 slang applications lush and lushy to states in which the 
 vital clay is moistened and the body filled with vinous 
 or fermented sap. 
 
 Or to take, another Shakespearian word in w T hich 
 Dr. Latham claims to have made a special improvement, 
 bottle, a bunch or bundle, as in the phrase " bottle of 
 hay". In dealing with this word, Dr. Latham places it 
 under a separate heading and gives it a new spelling, 
 bottel, partly, as he says, to mark the difference of mean- 
 ing from bottle, a hollow vessel for holding liquor, and 
 partly for the sake of indicating the derivation. The 
 new form, though scarcely an improvement, may per- 
 haps be defended on the ground of ancient usage, of 
 which, however, Dr. Latham himself is ignorant. But 
 the main point is that, after taking so much pains with 
 the word, he still defines it " a bundle of grass, hay, or 
 straw," according to its special use in the " Midsummer 
 
 25 
 
386 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 Night's Dream ". In reality the word has no special 
 connection with hay or straw, though we happen to 
 have retained it, and thus to be most familiar with it, in 
 a phrase which suggests this. It means bundle, bunch, 
 or lump of any kind, from the Norman-French hot, 
 which Cotgrave defines as "a luncheon or ill-favoured 
 big piece, ill-favouredly round, whence^m^ lot, a stumpe 
 or club foot " ; the old meaning of luncheon, like that of 
 the kindred terms lunch, nunch, hunch, being simply a 
 big piece, a collop, or lump. So the French still say 
 a botte de foin, meaning a truss or bottle of hay. The 
 English word bottle, a diminutive in form only, had 
 precisely the same meaning, and was freely used in this 
 generic latitude in Shakespeare's day, as it continues to 
 be provincially, as well as in epithets and phrases still 
 common. This wider meaning is illustrated in the 
 special epithet applied by Shakespeare to Richard III., 
 and explains its peculiar force, which seems hitherto to 
 have escaped the penetration of commentators. Queen 
 Margaret says to Elizabeth : 
 
 " Poor painted queen, vain flourish of my fortune ! 
 Why strew'st thou sugar on that bottled spider, 
 Whose deadly web ensnareth thee about ? 
 Fool, fool ! thou whett'st a knife to kill thyself. 
 The day will come that thou shalt wish for me 
 To help thee curse that poisonous bunch-back' d toad." 
 
 And at a later period, the prediction being verified, 
 Queen Elizabeth repeats the bitterly descriptive 
 phrase : 
 
 " O thou didst prophesy the time would come 
 That I should wish for thee to help me curse 
 That bottled spider, that foul bunch-back'd toad". 
 
 The epithet puzzled the early commentators, one 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 387 
 
 gravely suggesting that " a bottled spider is evidently a 
 spider kept in a bottle, long fasting, and of consequence 
 the more spiteful and venomous " ; and even the best 
 and latest commentator, Mr. Dyce, in his recent 
 glossary, simply repeats Kitson's explanation, "a large, 
 bloated, glossy spider, supposed to contain venom pro- 
 portionate to its size ". But this explanation misses 
 the peculiar force of the epithet bottled, which is exactly 
 equivalent to bunch-backed, and like it emphasises 
 Richard's deformity. " That bottled spider," therefore, 
 literally means that humped or hunched venomous 
 creature. 1 The term bottled is still provincially applied 
 to the big, large-bodied, round-backed spider, that in 
 the summer and autumn spreads its web across open 
 spaces in the hedges, "obvious to vagrant flies". What 
 also has escaped the commentators, the word bottle was 
 used with this precise signification for a hunch or hump 
 in Shakespeare's own day. In a popular work published 
 
 1 In Shakespeare's day the very word spider connoted poison, 
 the venom of the spider being almost as proverbial as the provid- 
 ence of the ant. The poisonous nature of the insect is indeed not 
 only taken for granted in all the earlier works on natural history 
 from Aristotle to Pliny, and from Pliny to Gesner and Aldrovandus, 
 but embodied in its older English name attercop, the last syllable of 
 which is still represented in cobweb. Attercop literally means poison- 
 head, bunch or bag, from the Anglo-Saxon attor or atter, poison 
 (found also in adder), and cop, a head or knob applied generically 
 to roundish bunchy things animate and inanimate. The following 
 passage from a chapter on venomous creatures in the oldest work 
 on natural history in the language will illustrate both the word and 
 the quality it expresses : " Some venim is hote and drye as the 
 venim of the adder, and some venim is colde and drye as the 
 venim of scorpions, and some venim is colde and moyst as the 
 venim of attercopes". The word spider, it need scarcely be said, is a 
 slightly abbreviated form of spinder or spinner. Of the two names 
 for the insect, one therefore designates its supposed qualities, the 
 other its known operations. It should be noted that cop in the 
 older name expresses the same physical characteristic as bottled 
 the round or bunchy shape of the spider's body. 
 
388 ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 
 
 a few years before he came to London, and with which 
 he was familiar, we find " bottles of flesh " given as a 
 synonym for great wens in the throat the Italian word 
 yozzuti being glossed in the margin as follows : " men 
 in the mountaynes with great bottels of flesh under their 
 chin through the drinking of snow water ". We still 
 retain this meaning of the word in a number of phrases 
 and epithets, such as bottlenose, a big or bunchy nose ; 
 bottlehead, provincial for great, thick, or blockhead; 
 and, not to multiply examples, in the bluebottle fly, 
 which is literally the bunchy or unwieldy blue fly. 
 
 Other examples of defective explanations occur under 
 the words deer, dare, brat, faggot, kex, convent, and kink, 
 the last having indeed no explanation at all beyond a 
 short extract, which gives the more limited and tech- 
 nical meaning of the word. Deer is restricted to its 
 modern sense to the class of animals, that is, yielding 
 venison ; while in its earlier use in the literature it is 
 a generic term for wild animals of every description. 
 Caxton, for example, makes Bruin, after Reynard's 
 trick had cost him his ears and forepaws, speak of the 
 fox as "that fell dere," or, in other words, that cruel 
 beast. And this generic sense, which lasted at least 
 for a century longer, is represented by the fragment of 
 an old song quoted by Shakespeare in " Lear " : 
 
 " For rats and mice, and such small deer, 
 Have been Tom's food for many a year ". 
 
 The generic meaning of dare has already been ex- 
 plained, and may be compared with the narrow inter- 
 pretation of Johnson, which Dr. Latham retains. Under 
 ~brat he only gives the secondary and contemptuous 
 sense of child, referring to the primitive meaning only 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 389 
 
 to question its existence. He says : "According to Mr. 
 Wedgwood, the original meaning of the word was rag, 
 bundle of rags; the Anglo-Saxon brat, and Welsh and 
 Gaelic brat, having that meaning. On the other hand, 
 it may be connected with breed.'' Hag or clout is, how- 
 ever, not only the primitive meaning, but the sense in 
 which it is used by Elizabethan writers. Thus Church- 
 yard, eulogising the merits of Cardan's Treatise on 
 Consolation, says : 
 
 " The beggar that bedeckt in brats and patched rotten rags 
 In budget if he bear this book would scorn the roysterous brags ". 
 
 Faggot, again, is defined " a bundle of sticks " ; but 
 though usually applied to sticks, it means simply a 
 bundle, and Udall accordingly speaks of " golde alreadie 
 fyned and made in fagottes or plate ". With regard to 
 the word kex, Dr. Latham, after especially discussing its 
 etymology and speculating as to what particular plant 
 it denotes, concludes by defining it " umbelliferous plant 
 so called ". This is worse than no definition at all, as 
 it not only suggests what is false, but suppresses the 
 true and distinctive meaning of an expressive word in 
 common use with many of our best poets. In the first 
 place, kex does not designate any peculiar plant, but is a 
 generic name for the whole class of tall umbelliferous 
 annuals with hollow reed-like stalks, such as angelica 
 and hemlock. And, in the second place, it designates 
 these plants not in their green and summer beauty, but 
 in their winter state as bleached and withered stems in 
 the leafless hedges, fit only to feed the crackling blaze 
 of a rustic ingle. Hence the common proverb " as dry 
 as a kex," and the use of the term amongst the Eliza- 
 bethan dramatists to designate what is withered, sapless, 
 
390 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 and old. Though it constantly carries with it this 
 notion of what is dry and fit for fuel, the generic mean- 
 ing of the term is that of hollow stalks. Thus Holland 
 in his translation of Pliny, referring to the silkworm's 
 cocoon, says : " It is spun into a small thread with a 
 spindle made of some light kex or reed ". In this sense it 
 is applied not only to the larger umbelliferous plants, 
 but also to the elder tree from the hollowness of its 
 stem. Thus Cotgrave gives canon de suls, a kex or 
 elder stick ; and, though the use is comparatively rare, 
 it must be in this sense that the word is employed by 
 Tennyson in the " Princess " : 
 
 " Let the past be past : let be 
 
 Their cancell'd Babels ; though the rough kex break 
 The starred mosaic, and the wild goat hang 
 Upon the shaft, and the wild fig-tree split 
 Their monstrous idols, care not while we hear 
 A trumpet in the distance pealing news 
 Of better, and Hope, a poising eagle, burns 
 Above the unrisen morrow ". 
 
 The word convent, again, is restricted to its later 
 and secondary meaning, being defined " assembly of 
 religious persons, body of monks or nuns". But in 
 Shakespeare's day the word was used generically for 
 an assembly of any kind. Thus in the early version of 
 ^Elian the translator, rendering the author's glowing 
 description of the Vale of Tempe, and referring 
 especially to the shaded banks of the Peneus, says: 
 " The people bordering and inhabiting thereabouts 
 make their accustomable convents, their usual assemblies, 
 and sumptuous bankets in those pleasant places ". And 
 again in the seventh book, referring to Demosthenes, 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 391 
 
 we have : " He consumed the whole night season in 
 meditating and committing to the tables of remem- 
 brance such matters as he was to publish in the common 
 convent, and assembly of the Athenians ". This early 
 meaning of the word escaped the industry and research 
 of Kichardson, and has not as yet been noticed we believe 
 by any English lexicographer. It is, however, of some 
 importance in connection with the verb convent, to sum- 
 mon before a court or judge, to call together, to assemble, 
 in common use amongst the Elizabethan writers, and 
 employed four or five times by Shakespeare himself. 
 The verb is used intransitively as well as transitively, 
 though only in the latter sense by Shakespeare. In the 
 passage in " King John," where alone it has an intransi- 
 tive meaning 
 
 " So by a roaring tempest on the flood, 
 A whole armado of consented sail 
 Is scatter'd and disjoined from fellowship," 
 
 convented is a conjectural emendation of Mason in place 
 of convicted, the reading of the Eirst Folio, which had 
 been changed by Pope less happily perhaps into collected. 
 Dr. Latham indeed illustrates the intransitive verb by 
 a quotation from the "Noble Kinsmen," which if a 
 real example would conflict with the statement as to 
 Shakespeare's use of the active or transitive form only, 
 at least if we agree with the best critics, such as Cole- 
 ridge and Dyce, in attributing to Shakespeare a con- 
 siderable portion of the play, including the first act, 
 from which the passage is taken. But the quotation 
 is a mistake, as any one who reads the whole speech 
 and the context will at once perceive, convent being 
 
392 ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 
 
 used there, as uniformly by Shakespeare, 1 in the active 
 and not in the neuter sense as Dr. Latham imagines. 
 Beaumont and Fletcher, however, use the verb intran- 
 sitively, and the fact that in the first act of the " Noble 
 Kinsmen," where it occurs twice, it is used in the 
 transitive sense, which is habitual with Shakespeare, 
 is a slight incident confirming the view that this part 
 of the play is really his work. The English noun con- 
 vent, in its classical sense of a meeting or assembly, 
 festive or judicial, which Dr. Latham in common with 
 his predecessors has overlooked, is, it need scarcely be 
 said, connected with both forms of the verb, and ex- 
 plains this use of it by writers of the Elizabethan 
 period. 
 
 The only meaning assigned to the word kink, in the 
 extract Dr. Latham gives, is that of a twist in a rope ; 
 but the noun exists in the generic sense of a twist, 
 bend, knot, or curl of any kind, in a rope or in a gnarled 
 stump ; and the verb is of equal latitude, " to kink the 
 hair" being locally used, for example, instead of to 
 curl or wave the hair. 
 
 Before leaving the general head of defective explana- 
 tion or description, we may notice in passing Dr. 
 Latham's reference of the less common words to parti- 
 cular classes, as obsolete, provincial, rare, or colloquial. 
 From a limited knowledge of our early literature, as 
 
 1 The passage in " Coriolanus " 
 
 " We are convented 
 
 Upon a pleasing treaty ; and have hearts 
 Inclinable to honour and advance 
 The theme of our assembly," 
 
 is ambiguous, admitting of either interpretation, we are summoned, 
 called together, or we are assembled, but Mr. Dyce is most pro- 
 bably right in giving the verb here as usual the active meaning. 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 393 
 
 well as a defective acquaintance with modern poets, 
 these references are often inaccurate. Nonce, for ex- 
 ample, in the phrase " for the nonce," is described as 
 obsolete, though it is constantly employed by living 
 writers, and has in fact never fallen out of literary use. 
 The verb counter change, again, is described as rare, only 
 one instance of its use being given, and that more than 
 200 years old. But the verb is familiarly employed 
 by Tennyson in picturing the living play of sunlight 
 through a screen of leaves. In "In Memoriam " we 
 have, for example : 
 
 " Witch-elms that counterchange the floor 
 Of this flat lawn with dusk and bright ". 
 
 And-againin the"Kecollections of the ArabianNights" : 
 
 " A sudden splendour from behind 
 Flush'd all the leaves with rich gold-green, 
 And, flowing rapidly between 
 Their interspaces, counterchanged 
 The level lake with diamond-plots ". 
 
 In the same way frequence in the sense of a crowd, 
 entered as rare with only a single example of its use 
 from Bishop Hall, is also to be found in Tennyson. 
 Again, the verb daff, to throw off or baffle, the adjective 
 daedal, and the nouns genitor and libber, described as 
 rare, and illustrated exclusively from old writers, are all 
 used by Keats. Far stranger than any of these, how- 
 ever, is the entry of the word lush as obsolete. We 
 have already given one instance of its use from Keats, 
 but it occurs no less than six times in his poems, and 
 is to be found still more frequently in the Songs and 
 Ballads of Gerald Massey, to say nothing of its use 
 by other poets and prose writers of the present day. 
 
394 ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 
 
 But perhaps the most singular mistake is that which 
 Dr. Latham falls into in dealing with the verb gar, to 
 do or make, still habitually used in Lowland Scotch. 
 While copying from Todd a single example of its use 
 in Spenser's " Shepherd's Calender," he goes on to 
 suggest, not that it is obsolete or rare or local, but that 
 the example is probably unique that in fact the word 
 does not exist in English, even provincially. The truth 
 is that the verb, though of Scandinavian origin, is 
 common to the literature of the two countries for 
 centuries, and is found in English writers from Chaucer 
 to Skelton, from Skelton to Golding and Warner, and 
 down at least to the close of the Elizabethan era. 
 
 In advancing from the meaning of words to the 
 examples of their use, we pass at once from the least 
 to the most satisfactory part of Dr. Latham's work. 
 Johnson's Dictionary gained its high reputation mainly 
 from the apt and varied quotations from writers of 
 repute that illuminated the vocabulary, and in this 
 respect the new work is worthy of the original. Dr. 
 Latham has evidently read with care and diligence a 
 large proportion of the best modern authors, and his 
 new 7 literary illustrations embrace almost every name 
 of any eminence in letters for the last half-century. 
 He has read moreover with a special eye to his lexico- 
 graphical labours, and the quotations are thus in many 
 cases peculiarly happy. Dr. Johnson, describing his 
 own plan, lays down an important principle on this 
 head, which his new editor has endeavoured, to some 
 extent at least, to carry into practice. Johnson says : 
 " When first I collected these authorities, I was de- 
 sirous that every quotation should be useful to some 
 other end than the illustration of a word : I therefore 
 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 395 
 
 extracted from philosophers principles of science ; from 
 historians remarkable facts ; from chymists complete 
 processes ; from divines striking exhortations ; and from 
 poets beautiful descriptions ". Dr. Latham has carried 
 out this excellent plan in the parts of his work relating 
 especially to science and history, to political and mental 
 philosophy. With the modern poets he is less familiar, 
 and does not seem to have read them with any atten- 
 tion, if indeed he has read them at all. The novelists 
 have fared better at his hands, and he quotes freely 
 from the best and most popular, such as Scott and 
 Bulwer, Thackeray and George Eliot, Dickens and 
 Trollope, as well as from several of by no means equal 
 name or standing. Some of these last, instead of being 
 any authority on questions affecting the purity of the 
 English language, have, indeed, actively contributed to 
 its degradation ; and the fact of their having used a 
 barbarous or new-fangled word gives it no claim what- 
 ever to be considered as English. Dr. Latham also 
 quotes from a number of our recent essayists and mis- 
 cellaneous writers, such as Lamb, Coleridge and 
 Southey, Mackintosh and Sydney Smith, Whately, 
 Carlyle, and J. H. Newman. Our best modern 
 historians, such as Hallam, Macaulay, Milman, and 
 Thirlwall, are also turned to good account. Under 
 important terms connected with constitutional history 
 the quotations from Hallam, for example, are numerous 
 and instructive. The same may be said of the more 
 important terms in science and philosophy illustrated 
 from the writings of Bentham and Dugald Stewart, 
 Hamilton and Mill, Herschel and Whewell, Owen and 
 Herbert Spencer, Lyell and Darwin. This makes the 
 dictionary a book not only of words but of ideas, not 
 
396 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 only of names but of things, not only of verbal informa- 
 tion but of real knowledge. It is almost impossible to 
 consult it with any care or constancy without gaining 
 instruction of some sort, often of an interesting and 
 valuable kind. A story is told of a patient student 
 who steadily read through Johnson's Dictionary in the 
 folio form, and being asked at the close how he liked 
 it, replied that he found the work extremely interesting, 
 but rather unconnected. The judgment of being very 
 interesting may fairly be pronounced on much of Dr. 
 Latham's illustrative matter many of his extracts 
 throwing light on recent discoveries and inventions as 
 well as on the progress of science and the general 
 movement of scientific thought in our day. The extent 
 to which a dictionary accomplishes this doable end of 
 unfolding thoughts as well as words is indeed a very 
 fair index of its real merit and permanent value. For 
 there cannot be a greater mistake than to suppose that 
 a mere knowledge of language or languages makes an 
 educated man, apart from a living interest in the whole 
 organisation of knowledge and the progress of enlarged 
 intellectual or moral conceptions which it is the main 
 office of language to embody and reveal. The dictum 
 of Milton on this head is not only true, but especially 
 to be kept in mind in connection with linguistic in- 
 quiries, lest they should degenerate into a mere study 
 of words and forms and rules apart from their vitalising 
 relation to the realities of thought and life. " Though 
 a linguist," says Milton, " should pride himself to have 
 all the tongues that Babel cleft the world into, yet if 
 he had not studied the solid things in them, as well 
 as the words and lexicons, he were nothing so much 
 to be esteemed a learned man as any yeoman or 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 397 
 
 tradesman competently wise in his mother dialect 
 only." 
 
 To have in a dictionary examples embodying " re- 
 markable facts " and " principles of science " is therefore 
 in itself a great advantage. But it is accompanied by 
 an incidental drawback, which ought to be noticed, as 
 it is directly connected with the chief and most striking 
 defect in this portion of Dr. Latham's work. He is at 
 times so interested in the subject of the extract that he 
 allows it to run to inordinate length, and in these cases, 
 while the illustrative matter may occupy a considerable 
 space, the examples of the word's actual use are ex- 
 tremely few. The great defect in this part of the 
 dictionary is indeed that the literary illustrations are 
 too few, and that they are not arranged in chronological 
 order. In very few cases are the examples sufficiently 
 numerous or sufficiently well arranged to give anything 
 like a history of the word, which is after all the main 
 thing to be aimed at in a connected series of literary 
 examples. We are aware that to have done this even 
 partially must have largely increased the bulk of the 
 work. But it is impossible not to feel that in Dr. 
 Latham's case there are other and more serious diffi- 
 culties in the way of its accomplishment. It is clear 
 from internal evidence that he lacks the wide and 
 minute acquaintance with the early literature which is 
 the essential condition of success in undertaking such 
 a task. While he has obviously read some curious 
 books connected with the Elizabethan period, it is 
 equally clear that his general knowledge of the literature 
 belonging to that great and important period is ex- 
 tremely partial and imperfect. But remembering the 
 extent of that literature, and that after all it is only 
 
398 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 one of several periods whose productions the ideally 
 perfect lexicographer ought to have at his finger-ends, 
 we may well ask, who is sufficient for these things ? 
 What Dr. Latham has failed to effect, has indeed not 
 even ventured to attempt, no single labourer could 
 accomplish. It could only be thoroughly done by an 
 organisation of skilled labour such as that proposed by 
 the Philological Society. But an extensive plan of that 
 kind requires an extended time for its execution, and 
 years must still elapse before it can be successfully carried 
 into effect. Meanwhile it is matter of congratulation that 
 we have already so far advanced, and now approaching 
 completion, a dictionary with so many undoubted 
 merits, and on the whole so good and useful, as that 
 of Dr. Latham. 
 
 Having now briefly noticed the general plan and 
 execution of Dr. Latham's work, we may conclude with 
 a special analysis of a few of the words either over- 
 looked or imperfectly explained both by Mr. Wedgwood 
 and Dr. Latham. Amongst a number of examples 
 that might be given, we select two or three whose 
 fuller exposition will be a contribution, however slight, 
 to the lexicography of the language. We begin with 
 a specimen of words in common use, that have been 
 actually or virtually overlooked by all our standard 
 lexicographers, including the most recent. Dr. Latham 
 may perhaps be surprised to hear that there are at 
 least a dozen words in Mr. Tennyson's poems that 
 find no place in his dictionary ; but this is the case ; 
 and if modern poets generally were taken, we believe 
 the number might be multiplied tenfold. Take for 
 example the first verse of Mr. Tennyson's recent poem 
 the "Victim": 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 399 
 
 " A plague upon the people fell. 
 
 A famine after laid them low, 
 Then thorpe and byre arose in fire, 
 
 For on them brake the sudden foe ; 
 So thick they died the people cried 
 
 * The gods are moved against the land,' 
 The priest in horror about his altar 
 
 To Thor and Odin lifted a hand." 
 
 Neither Dr. Latham nor Mr. Wedgwood has the 
 word lyre, though it is not only in common use both 
 in prose and poetry, but a particularly interesting word 
 to the etymologist. It is used in Scotland and the 
 north of England for the outbuildings of a farmhouse 
 where the cattle are kept, and especially for a cow- 
 house. Its use in this sense is seen in the northern 
 proverb " drive a cow to the hall, and she will run to 
 the byre ' ' . The word with the same signification has also 
 a place in oar early literature, and is given in several 
 of the older dictionaries, such as those of Kersey, 
 Philips, and Ash, the last, being latest in date, entering 
 it as obsolete. The word itself, there can be little 
 doubt, is the Scandinavian byr, a village or town, from 
 the verb by, to settle down, dwell in the country, till 
 the soil. The word appears in the Swedish and Danish 
 by, a hamlet, village, or town, and in the English by, 
 as a final syllable in the names of places throughout 
 Lincolnshire and the adjacent counties, specially sub- 
 jected to Scandinavian occupation and influence. 
 Grimsfo/, for example, is simply Grim's town, and the 
 name so far supports the notion that the wonderful 
 romance of " Havelok the Dane" has a real historical 
 basis, Grim according to the story being the foster- 
 father of the castaway prince Havelok. Though of 
 Scandinavian origin, byre is, however, connected with 
 
400 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 the Anglo-Saxon bye, a dwelling or homestead, from 
 by an or buan, to inhabit, cultivate, till, and reappears 
 as an English compound in by-law, local or town law, 
 and probably also in by -word, local scandal or town talk. 
 That the Scottish byre, though now locally designating 
 simply a cattle-shed, originally meant a dwelling, and 
 is thus really the same word in origin and meaning as 
 the English by, is apparent from the Scottish byr-law, 
 a local or private law, made by agreement between 
 neighbours, which, though slightly differing in mean- 
 ing, is the answering northern term to the English 
 by-law. Before leaving the word it is worth noticing 
 that the Anglican by, in names of places, exactly corre- 
 sponds to the Saxon ton, or town, from tynan, to enclose; 
 and that the word town, or toon (as it is pronounced), is 
 still habitually used in the North for a country home- 
 stead, the circle or enclosure of the farm buildings, in- 
 cluding house and yard. We have thus in the terms 
 byre and town the primitive unit, the central element 
 as it were, of the most complex and expanded borough 
 and town. 
 
 We may take another illustration of a neglected 
 word from Mr. Tennyson. The following lines occur in 
 his delightful poem of the " Brook " : 
 
 " But Philip chattered more than brook or bird ; 
 Old Philip ; all about the field you caught 
 His weary day-long chirping, like the dry 
 High-elbow'd grigs that leap in summer grass ". 
 
 Dr. Latham has not given the word grig used in these 
 lines at all, and Mr. Wedgwood missed it in the text of 
 his work, but, struck apparently by its use in the poem, 
 found a place for it in the supplement, without, however, 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 401 
 
 giving any very accurate information as to its origin 
 and use. With regard to use he says that " the word 
 is only known in ordinary speech in the proverb ' merry 
 as a grig ' " ; but the fact is that it is widely known 
 throughout the country in the precise sense of cricket 
 or grasshopper, but especially the former. We tested 
 this orally some years ago, and found that in a number 
 of counties the word is popularly known in this sense. 
 But it has also the same signification in literature not 
 only in Tennyson's lines, which Mr. Wedgwood appears 
 to regard as unique in this respect, but in the pages of 
 other authors. The early editions of Mr. Tennyson's 
 poems, for example, contained a short poem on the 
 grasshopper, which was withdrawn from the later 
 editions ; and Professor Wilson, in a lively review of 
 Tennyson, characterises the poem as follows: "As for 
 the grasshopper, Alfred, in that green grig, is for a while 
 merry as a cricket, and chirps and chirrups, though 
 with less meaning and more monotony than that 
 hearth-loving insect, who is never so happy, you know, 
 as when in the neighbourhood of a baker's oven ". 
 
 Bat the remarkable fact is that although thus widely 
 known and used in a specific sense, both colloquially and 
 in literature, the word has never yet found its way into 
 any English dictionary. The word grig appears indeed 
 in our dictionaries, but only in the sense of " a small 
 eel," which is, however, an extremely limited and local 
 meaning compared with the wide and general preval- 
 ence of the " high-elbowed " interpretation. In the 
 proverb "merry as a grig," where it obviously means 
 cricket, the word is usually referred to the eel, or ex- 
 plained as meaning Greek, and Dr. Latham supports 
 these venerable traditions. So much for the use of the 
 
 26 
 
402 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 word. Mr. Wedgwood's account of its origin is still 
 less satisfactory. He says, " Grig, like the first syllable 
 of cricket, represents the creaking sound of the chirp," 
 which simply shows how conveniently a favourite theory 
 may supply the place of special investigation and accu- 
 rate knowledge. The word has really nothing to do 
 with the sound the cricket makes, but is derived from 
 the colour of its coat. It is of Anglo-Saxon origin, and 
 occurs in one of the earliest and most vigorous frag- 
 ments of Anglo-Saxon poetry we possess, the " Fight 
 at Finnesburg," which begins as follows with " a speech 
 of Fin, a Frisian prince, on seeing a glare of light in his 
 palace, which had been fired by the Danish invaders in 
 a night attack " : 
 
 " Hleothrode tha " Cried aloud then 
 
 Heatho-geong cyning : The warlike young king : 
 
 Ne this ne dagath eastan, This dawns not from the east, 
 
 Neher draca ne fleogeth, Nor flies a dragon here, 
 
 Ne herthisse healle Nor of this hall here 
 
 Horn naes ne byrnath Are the cressets burning ; 
 
 Ac. her forth bernth ; But here it burns forth ; 
 
 Fugelas singath, The birds sing, 
 
 Gylleth grceg-hama The cricket chirps, 
 
 Guthw-udu hlynneth, The war-wood resounds, 
 
 Scyld scefte oncwyth ". Shield to shafts responds ". 
 
 Here we have the early form of the word grceg-hama, 
 the grey-skin or grey-coated one, the final g having been 
 retained instead of being changed into ?/, as in dceg, day ; 
 hceg, hay; and the great majority of similar cases. The 
 second part of the compound hama, a coat or skin, 
 which has fallen out of use, may probably still be found 
 in hammer-cloih, formerly a skin thrown over a coach- 
 box ; and in yellow-hammer, a yellow-coated bird, It 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 403 
 
 will be seen that the word originally applied to the 
 cricket : the grey-coated one in the extract, roused by 
 the sudden warmth and blaze, chirps in the accustomed 
 hall newly fired by the Danish invaders. But it would 
 very naturally come to be applied to the grasshopper as 
 well as to the cricket. Colour, it need scarcely be said, 
 was, in early times, a constant ground of naming not 
 only insects, but birds, beasts, and fishes, and this parti- 
 cular colour affords examples of each in the grey or 
 badger, the grey linnet, the grayling, also celebrated in 
 the " Brook," the " grey fly " of Milton, and the " grey- 
 coated gnat " in Shakespeare's wonderful description 
 of Queen Mab's equipage. Shakespeare's epithet is 
 indeed an exact translation of the old Anglo-Saxon 
 name for the cricket. 
 
 Before leaving Tennyson, we may notice in passing 
 one or two of the many remaining words and compounds 
 in his poems not to be found in Dr. Latham's Dictionary. 
 In the " Princess," the hero, describing his journey, 
 says : 
 
 " Then we crost 
 
 To a livelier land ; and so by tilth and grange, 
 And vines, and blowing bosks of wilderness, 
 We gained the mother-city thick with towers ". 
 
 And in the " Dream of Fair Women " it is said of 
 Jephthah's daughter, that after her impassioned 
 speech : 
 
 " She lock'd her lips ; she left me where I stood : 
 
 ' Glory to God ' she sang, and past afar, 
 Thridding the sombre boskage of the wood, 
 Towards the morning star". 
 
 Dr. Latham has bosky the adjective, but not the noun 
 bosk and boscage, meaning respectively wood and under- 
 
404 ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 
 
 wood, occurring in these extracts. Again, in the descrip- 
 tion of the Ladies' College and its course of lectures we 
 have : 
 
 " followed then 
 
 A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, 
 
 With scraps of thundrous epic lilted out 
 
 By violet- hooded doctors ; elegies 
 
 And quoted odes, and jewels five words long, 
 
 That on the stretch' d forefinger of all time 
 
 Sparkle for ever ". 
 
 But lilt, though a most expressive word, and in common 
 use amongst recent writers of high reputation, is not 
 given by Dr. Latham. 
 
 We now turn to a word which, though long known 
 to professional men in its technical application, has 
 only recently come into general use. It is at present, 
 however, so habitually employed both in speech and 
 writing that it could hardly be dispensed with. This 
 is the word gist, of whose origin and precise meaning 
 we should naturally expect Mr. Wedgwood to give 
 some account, especially as Archbishop Trench had 
 pointedly asked for information on the subject. Dr. 
 Trench says of the word : " This is the old French ' gite,' 
 from the old ' gesir,' and meant, as does the French 
 word still, the place where one lodges for the night. 
 But where is the point of contact and connection 
 between ' gist ' in this sense, and ' gist ' as we use it 
 now ? " We might fairly look to Dr. Latham and Mr. 
 Wedgwood for an answer to this question, but neither 
 of them has anything to say on the matter. Mr. 
 Wedgwood does not notice the word at all, and 
 curiously enough the only example of its use in the 
 modern sense given by Dr. Latham is from Mr. 
 
ENGLISH DICTION ABIES. 405 
 
 Wedgwood's own writings. Archbishop Trench's ques- 
 tion may, however, soon be answered, the link he asks 
 for being supplied by the technical meaning of the 
 term. Gist is one of the old Norman French law terms 
 which has passed by a very natural process from its 
 legal use into the language of common life. In its legal 
 sense it means foundation, gist of action in legal 
 phraseology being simply ground of action ; or in the 
 words of the old definition, "the cause for which an 
 action lieth, the ground and foundation thereof, with- 
 out which it is not maintainable". It is used habitually 
 in this sense by professional writers, and in the standard 
 law reports. Thus Burrow, in his report of a case 
 arising out of the seizure and sale of a bankrupt's goods 
 by the sheriff, says, " The gist of an action of trover is 
 the conversion, the finding is not the material part," 
 where gist is a synonym for material part ; and further, 
 in the same case, " The gist of this action is the wrong- 
 ful conversion by the sale ". And again in a nuisance 
 case of special interest to the lexicographer, as it turns 
 very much on the exact meaning of the words noxious 
 and noisome, we have " Hurtfulness is the gist of this in- 
 dictment ". From its more limited technical employment 
 the word was brought into general use by great lawyers 
 and writers on the philosophy of law such as Burke and 
 Mackintosh. In its legal meaning, therefore, gist is 
 simply the ground on which an argument rests, the 
 basis that supports it, the point on which it turns : and 
 this is precisely the signification in which it is now 
 generally employed. There is no difficulty whatever 
 therefore in tracing " the point of contact and con- 
 nection " between gist in its old sense of a lodging-place, 
 and gist in its modern sense as the material ground and 
 
406 ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 
 
 basis of an argument. Dr. Latham misses the exact 
 meaning of the word altogether. After giving the old 
 sense of lodging-place, he adds " point to arrive at, 
 object, this being the only current meaning at present ". 
 In place of being "the only current meaning at present," 
 this is, however, a meaning the word never had at any 
 time, early or late. Instead of being the "point to 
 arrive at, object," it is, as we have seen, the ground on 
 which you rest, the real basis of fact or argument that 
 supports a reasoning or proves a case. In his account 
 of the word, Dr. Trench overlooked the old French 
 form giste, nearest to our own, and through which it 
 has come to us, as well as the older English words agist 
 and agistment derived from it. Giste was, however, in 
 common use in French not only as a legal but as a 
 general term, and Cotgrave explains it " a bed, couch, 
 lodging, place to lie in, or to rest in " ; droict de giste 
 being the king's right of lodging at the house of any 
 vassal or subject. Agist and agistment, again, applied 
 originally to the open places where the deer congregate 
 and lie in the spring, meant, "in our common law, 
 to take in and feed the cattle of strangers in the king's 
 forest, and to guard the money due for the same to the 
 king's use " ; and Cotgrave gives under glandage " mast, 
 the feeding of hogs by mast in woods ; the agistment, or 
 laying of swine into mastie woods " ; and also under 
 glandager " to agist, or lay swine in mastie woods ". 
 Archbishop Trench has also overlooked the older form 
 of the French verb which explains that of the noun. 
 Kichelet gives as an archaic third person of the verb 
 gesir or gir, the form gist, pronounced git, which gradu- 
 ally took its place, it git being used instead of il gist for 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 407 
 
 he rests or lies. l Ci git had thus exactly the same 
 meaning as hicjacet, and is habitually used in this sense 
 in the older French epitaphs. The epitaph on Kiche- 
 lieu, by the poet Benserade, who lost his pension by 
 the cardinal's death, illustrates this use on its humorous 
 
 side : 
 
 " Ci git, oui git, par la morbleu, 
 Le Cardinal de Richelieu, 
 Et ce qui cause mon ennui, 
 Ma pension git avec lui ". 
 
 Git was, however, used as an impersonal verb in the 
 sense of consistit, it consists in, depends or rests upon, 
 il consiste (tout git en cela), and this use of the French 
 verb exactly harmonises with the current meaning of 
 the English noun. 
 
 Amongst the more archaic but expressive terms Dr. 
 Latham has omitted to explain, is the good old English 
 word charm or chirm, meaning murmuring voices, mixed 
 and multiplied sounds, confused but animated cries or 
 noises of any kind. The word is used amongst others 
 by Peele in his Arraignment of Paris "A charm of 
 birds, and more than ordinary ; " and also by Milton 
 in the same sense : 
 
 " Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet 
 With charm of earliest birds ". 
 
 In Scotch poetry ancient and modern, as well as in the 
 North generally, the word is habitually used in the 
 same sense to express the various notes of congregated 
 birds, and especially in its earlier use notes of a plain- 
 tive, mournful, wailing strain. Jamieson says, referring 
 
 1 As might naturally be expected, the early form is found in 
 our Anglo-Norman records and law books, and Kelham in his 
 dictionary accordingly gives " qi gist, who is buried, who lies ", 
 
408 ENGLISH DICTIONAEIES. 
 
 to its early use : " As applied to birds it denotes the 
 mournful sound emitted by them, especially when 
 collected together before a storm ". But he also gives 
 examples of its use in a more general sense, without 
 any suggestion of a plaintive note or tone. In England 
 the word exists locally over a very considerable area, 
 to express associated vital sounds, cries, voices, songs, 
 or notes of any kind. " In some of the midland coun- 
 ties," says Mr. Keightly , " charm signifies a loud confused 
 sound made by a number of birds, cattle, or children; " 
 and in the South and West of England it is used gener- 
 ically to express a murmuring or confused noise, loud 
 or low. Last summer, for example, in conversation 
 with a gentleman from the West of England we heard 
 the word used in this sense, precisely the sense it 
 bears in our early literature. Being at Westminster, 
 in the neighbourhood of the Broadway, he had strolled 
 out one Saturday evening to see the busy market of 
 that crowded thoroughfare, and in describing the scene 
 he said : " What a place that Broadway is, such a moving 
 crowd of people, and what a charm they keep up ! " 
 But this really expresses the exact literary use of the 
 word amongst the Elizabethan writers. In the volume 
 already referred to as one of Shakespeare's library, the 
 following example of its use occurs : " He himself 
 began to speake; and then was there heard a great 
 scraping of feet in the floore, with a cherme of loud 
 speaking, and upon that, every man turning himself 
 about, saw at the chamber-doore appeare a light of 
 torches, and by and by [immediately, that is] after 
 entered in the Lorde Generall with a greate and noble 
 traine". With regard to the origin of the word, it has 
 no direct connection with carmen, to which it is usually 
 
ENGLISH DICTIONARIES. 409 
 
 referred, but is simply the Anglo-Saxon cirm or ceorm, 
 a noise, shout, cry, or uproar, connected directly with 
 ceorian, to murmur, and indirectly, through the tendency 
 of multiplied and continuous sounds to assume a kind 
 of rhythmical cadence when heard at a little distance, 
 with ctjrran, to turn, and cernan, to churn. 
 
 But these examples of imperfect treatment might 
 be multiplied to thrice the length of the present article, 
 as we have collected upwards of a hundred words used 
 by good writers, and thoroughly English, which Dr. 
 Latham has overlooked. But we must hold our hand. 
 The publication of the remaining parts of the diction- 
 ary may, however, give us an opportunity of returning 
 to a work which deserves to be studied by every one 
 interested in the language, and as a book of reference 
 is admirably fitted for general usefulness. 
 
 ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY PRESS. 
 
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