1 SHAKESPEAHE: t FE, ART, AND CHARACTERS L^ HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. THE REV. H. N. HUDSON. VOLUME I. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY GINN BROTHERS. 1872. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, BY HENRY N. HUDSON, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. f , University Press : Welch, Cigelow,' & Co., Cambridge. UNIVERSITY OF CAi^IFORMA! SANTA BARBARA MR. JOSEPH BURNETT, OF SOUTHBOROUGH, MASS. Sir: The Memories of a Friendship running, I believe, without interrup- tion through a period of more than five-and-twenty years, prompt the inscribing of these volumes to you. H. N. HUDSON. Boston, January 1, 1872. OOE^TEXTS, Page Life of Shakespeare 7 Origix and Growth of the Drama in England . , 53 Miracle-Plays 55 Moral-Plays 71 Comedy and Tragedy 84 Shakespeare's Contemporaries 97 Shakespeare's Art. Nature and Use of Art 127 Principles of Art 133 Dramatic Composition 149 Characterization 165 Humour 184 Style 189 Moral Spirit . 238 Shakespeare's Characters. A Midsummer-Night's Dream The Merchant of Venice . The Merry Wives of Windsor Much Ado about Nothing As You Like It . . , Twelfth Night . . . . All's Well that Ends Well Measure for Measure The Tempest .... The Winter's Tale 259 275 297 313 330 351 373 398 421 444 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. SHAKESPEARE,* by general suffrage, is the greatest name in literature. There can be no extravagance in saying, that to all Avho speak the English language his genius has made the world better worth living in, and life a nobler and diviner thing. And even among those who do not " speak the tongue that Shakespeare spake," large numbers ai-e studying the English language mainly for the purpose of being at home Avith him. How he came to be what he was, and to do what he did, are questions that can never cease to be interesting, wherever his works are known, and men's powers of thought in any fair measure develojjed. But Providence has left a veil, or rather a cloud, about his histoiy, so that these questions are not likely to be satisfactorily answered. The first formal attempt at an account of Shakespeare's life was made by Nicholas Rowe, and the result thereof * Much discussion has been had in our time as to the right way of spellincr the Poet's name. The few autographs of his that are extant do not enable us to decide positively how he vnrote his name; or rather they show that he had no one constant way of writing it. But the Venus and Adonis and the Lucrece were unquestionably published by his aiithority, and in the dedica- tions of both these poems the name is printed "Shakespeare." The same holds in aU the quarto issues of his plays, where the author's name is given, with the one exception of Lovers Labour's Lost, which has it " Shakespere "; as it also holds in the folio. And in very many of these cases the name is printed with a hyphen, "Shake-speare," a$ if on purpose that there might be no mistake about it. All which, surely, is or ought to be decisive as to how the Poet willed hfs name to be spelt in pi-int. Inconstancy in the spell- ing of names was very common in his time. O LIFE OF SIIAKESI'L-VliE. published in 1709, ninety-tliree years after the Poet's death. Rowe's account was avowedly made up, for the most part, from traditionary materials collected by Betterton the actor, Avho made a visit to Stratford expressly for that pnrjiosc. Betterton was born in 1635, nineteen years after the death of Sliakes])eare ; became an actor before 1660, retired from the stage about 1700, and died in 1710. At what time he visited Stratford is not known. It is to be regretted that Rowe did not give Betterton's authorities for the particulars gathered by him. It is certain, however, that very good sources of information were accessible in his time: Judith Quiney, the Poet's second daughter, lived till 160'2; Lady Barnard, his granddaughter, till 1670; and Sir William Davenant, who in his youth had known Shake- speare, was manager of the theatre in which Betterton acted. After Rowe's account, scarce any thing was added till the time of Malone, who by a learned and most industrious searching of public and pi-ivate records brought to light a considerable number of facts, some of them very important, touching the Poet and his family. And in our own day Mr. Collier has followed up the inquiry Avith very great diligence, and with no inconsiderable success ; though, un- fortunately, much of the matter sup])lied by him has been discredited as unauthentic, by those from whom there is in such cases no appeal. Lastly, Mi*. Ilalliwell has given his intelligent and indefatigable labours to the same task, and made some valuable additions to our stock. The lineage of William Shakespeare, on the paternal side, has not been traced further back than his grandflither. The name, which in its coin])osition smacks of brave old knighthood and chivalry, was frc(iueiit in Warwickshire from an early ]K'nod. The father of our Poet was Joiix Shakespeare, who is found living at Stratford-on-Avon in 1552. He was most likely a native of Snitterfield, a village three miles from Stratford ; as we find a Richard Shakespeare living LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. \) there in 1550, and occupying n house and huid owned liy Robert Arden, the maternal grandfather of our Poet. This appears from a deed executed July 17, 1550, in which Robert Arden conveyed certain lands and tenements in Snitterfield, described as being "now in the tenure of one Richard Shakespeare," to be held in trust for three daugh- ters " after the death of Robert and Agnes Arden." An entry in a Court Roll, dated Ai)ril, 1552, ascertains that John Shakespeare was living in Stratford at that time. And an entry in the Bailiff's Court, dated June, 1556, describes him as "John Shakespeare, of Stratford in the county of Warwick, [/lover.'''' In 1558, the same John Shakespeare, and four others, one of Avhom was Francis Burbadge, then at the head of the corporation, were fined four pence each " for not keeping their gutters clean." There is ample proof that at this period his affairs were in a thriving condition. In October, 1556, he became the owner of two copyhold estates, one of them consist- ing of a house with a garden and a croft attached to it, tlie other of a house and garden. As these were estates of in- heritance, the tenm-e was nearly equal to freehold ; so that he must have been pretty Avell-to-do in the world at the time. For several years after, his circumstances continued to improve. Befoi'e 1558, he became the owner, by mar- riage, of a farm at Wilmecote, consisting of fifty-six acres, besides two houses and two gardens ; moreover, he held, in right of his Avife, a considerable share in a property at Snit- terfield. Another addition to his property was made in 1575, — a freehold estate, bought for the sum of £40, and described as consisting of "two houses, two gardens, and two orchards, with their appurtenances." Several other particulars have been discovered, which go to ascertain his Avealth as compared with that of other Stratford citizens. In 1564, the year of the Poet's birth, a malignant fever, called the plague, invaded Stratford. Its hungriest jieriod was fi-om the last of June to the last of December, during which time it SAvept off two hundred and 10 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. tliirty-cigiit persons out of a pojiulation of about fourteen hundred. None of the Shakesi)eare family are found among its victims. Large draughts were made upon the charities of the town on account of this frightful visitation. In August, tlie citizens held a meeting in the open air, from fear of infection, and various sums were contributed for the relief of tlie i)oor. Tlie Iligh-Bailiff gave 3 ^. 4 d., the head- alderman 2 s. 8 c?.; John Shakespeare, being then only a burgess, gave 12 d. ; and in the list of burgesses there were but two who gave moie. Other donations were made for the same cause, he bearing a proportionable share in them. We have seen that in June, 1556, John Shakespeare was teraied a glover. In November of the same year he is found bringing an action against one of his neighbours for unjustly detaining a quantity of barley; which naturally infei-s liim to liave been more or less engaged in agricul- tural ])ursuits. It a])pears that at a later period agriculture Avns his main ]nusuit, if not his only one; for the town records show that in 1564 he was paid three shillings for a I)iece of timber; and we find him described in 1575 as a "yeoman." Rowe gives a tradition of his having been "a considerable dealer in wool." It is nowise unlikely that such may have been the case. The modern divisions of labour and trade were then little knoA^Ti and less regarded ; several kinds of business being often carried on together, Avhich are now kept distinct; and we have special proof that gloves and wool were apt to be united as articles of trade. I must next trace, briefly,' the career of John Shakespeare as a public officer in the Stratford corporation. After hold- ing several minor offices, he was in 1558, and again in 1559, chosen one of the four constables. In 1561, lie was a sec- ond time made one of the four affeerors, whose duty it was to determine the fines for such offences as had no penalties ])rescribed by statute. The same year, 1561, he was chosen one of the chaml)erhiins of the borough, a very responsible office, which lie held two years. Advancing steadily in the LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 11 public confidence, he became an alderman in 1565 ; and in 1568 was elected Bailiff", the highest honom- the corporation could bestow. He held this office a year. The series of local honours conferred upon him ended Avith his being chosen head-alderman in 1571 ; which office also he held a year. The rule being " once an alderman always an alder- man," unless positive action were taken to the contrary, he retained that office till 1586, when, for persevenng non- attendance at the meetings, he w^as deprived of his gown. After all these marks of public consequence, the reader may be suiprised to learn that John Shakespeai-e, the father of the world's greatest thinker and greatest poet, could not wiite his name ! Such was undoubtedly the fact ; and I take pleasure in noting it, as showing, what is too apt to be forgotten in these bookish days, that men may know sev- eral things, and may have witty children, without being initiated in the mysteries of pen and ink. In the borough records for 1565 is an order signed by nineteen aldermen and burgesses, calling upon John Wheler to undertake the office of Bailiff". Of these signers thirteen are markmen, and among them are the names of George Whately, then Bailiff", Roger Sadler, head-alderman, and John Shakespeare. So that thei-e Avas nothing remarkable in his not being able to Avield a pen. As Bailiff" of Stratford, he was ex officio a justice of the peace; and two wan-ants are extant, granted by him in December, 1568, for the arrest of John Bail and Richard Walcar on account of debts ; both of them bear- ing witness that "he had a mark to himself, like an honest, plain-deaHng man." Several other cases in point are met w^ith at later })eriods; some of which show that his wife stood on the same footing with him in this respect. In October, 1579, John and Mary Shakespeare executed a deed and bond for the transfer of their interest in certain property; both of which are subscribed with their several marks, and sealed with their resi)ective seals. John Sliakespeare's good fortune seems to have reached its height about the year 1575, after which time we meet 12 LIFE OF SHAKKSPEARE. with many clear tokens of his decline. It is not improb- able that his afFaii-s may have got embarrassed from liis having too many irons in the fire. The registry of the Court of Record, from 1555 to 1595, has a large number of entries respecting him, Avhich show him to have been engaged in a great Aariety of transactions, and to have had more litigation on his hands than ■\vould now be thought either creditable or safe. But, notwithstanding his decline of fortune, we have proofs as late as 1592 that he still retained the conlidence and esteem of his fellow-citizens. From that time forAvard, his aiFairs were doubtless taken care of by one who, as we shall see hereafter, was much interested not to let them suffer, and also well able to keep them in good trim. He was buried Sejitember 8, 1601; so that, supposing him to have reached his majority Avhen first heard of in 1552, he must have passed the age of threescore and ten. On the maternal side, our Poet's lineage was of a higher rank, and may be traced further back. His mother was Mary ARDE>r, a name redolent of old poetry and romance. The family of Arden was among the most ancient in War- wickshire. Their history, as given by Dugdale, spreads over six centuries. Sir John Arden was squire of the body to Henry the Seventh ; and he had a nephcAV, the son of a younger brother, who was page of the bedchamber to the same monarch. Tliese Avere at that time ])]aces of con- siderable service and responsibility ; and both the uncle and the nephcAV Avere liberally rcAvarded by their royal master. By conveyances dated in December, 1519, it ajipears that Robert Arden then became the oAvner of houses and land in Snitterfield. Other purchases by him of lands and houses are recorded from time to time. The Poet's maternal grand- father, also named Roljcrt, died in 155G. In his Avill, dated November 24th, and jtroved December 17th, of that year, lie makes special bequests to his "youngest daughter Mary," and also appoints her and another daughter, named Alice, " full executors of this my last Avill and testament." On tl)e Avhule, it is evident enough that he Avas a man of good LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 13 landed estate. Both he and Ricliard Sliakespeare a})pear to have been of that honest and substantial old English yeo- maniy, from whose better-than-royal stock and lineage the great Poet of Nature might most fitly fetch his life and being. Of the Poet's grandmother on cither side we know nothing whatever. Mary Arden was the youngest of seven children, all of them daughters. The exact time of her marriage is un- certain, no registry of it having been found. She was not married at the date of her father's will, November, 1556. Joan, the first-born of John and Mary Shakespeare, was baptized in the parish church of Stratford-on-Avon, Seji- tember 15, 1558. We have seen that at this time John Shakespeare was well established and thriving in business, and was making good headway in the confidence of the Stratfordinns, being one of the constables of the borough. On the 2d of December, 1562, Avhile he was chamberlain, his second child was christened Margaret. On the 26th of April, 1564, Avas baptized " William, son of John Shake- speare." The birth is commonly thought to have taken place on the 23d, it being then the usual custom to present inf mts at the Font the third day after their birth ; but we have no certain information Avhether it was observed on this august occasion. We have seen that throughout the following Summer the destroyer was busy in Stratford, making fearful spoil of her sons and daughters ; but it spared the babe on whose life hung the fote of English literature. Other children were added to the family, to the number of eight, several of them dying in the mean time. On the 28th of Sejitember, 1571, soon after the father be- came head-aldennan, a fourth daughter was baptized Anne. Hitherto the parish register has known him only as John Shakespeare : in this case it designates him '•'■ 3Iaster Shake- speare." Whether Master was a token of honour not ex- tended to any thing under an ex-bailiff", does not aj)pear; but in all cases after this the name is Avritten with that significant prefix. 14 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. Notliing fui-thei- is heard of Mrs. Mary Sliakcspeare till her death in 1608. On the 9th of September, that year, the parish register notes the burial of "Mary S]iakes])eare, widow," her husband having died seven years before. That she had in a special degree the confidence and affection of her father, is apparent from the treatment she received in his will. It would be very gratifying, no doubt, perhaps very instructive also, to be let into the domestic life and character of the Poet's mother. That both her nature and her discipline entered largely into his composition, and had much to do in making him what he was, can hardly be questioned. Whatsoever of woman's beauty and sweet- ness and wisdom was expressed in her life and manners could not but be cauglit and repeated in his susceptive and fertile mind. He must have grown familiar with the noblest parts of womanhood somewhere ; and I can scarce conceive how he should have learned them so well, but that the light and glory of them beamed upon him from his mother. At the time of her death, the Poet was in his forty-fifth year, and had already produced those mighty works Avhich were to fill the world with his fame. For some years she mi^st in all likeliliood liave been more or less mider his care and protection ; as her age, at the time of her death, could. not well have been less than seventy. And here I am minded to notice a point Avhich, it seems to me, has been somewhat overworked within the last few years. Gei'vinus, the German critic, thinks — and our Mr. White agrees with him — that Shakespeare acquired all his best ideas of womanhood after he went to London, and conversed with the ladies of the city. And in sujijiort of this notion they cite the fact — for such it is — that the women of his later plays are much supei'ior to those of his earlier ones. But are not tlie men of his later plays quite as much suj)erior to the men of his first? Are not his later ])lay8 as much better every way^ as in respect of the female characters? The truth seems to be, that Shakespeare saw more of great and good in both man and woman, as he be- LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 15 came older and knew them better ; 'for he was full of intel- lectual rigliteousness in this as in other things. And in this matter it may Avith something of special fitness be said that a man finds what he brings with him the faculty for finding. Shakesj^eare's mind did not stay on the surface of things. Probably there never was a man more alive to the })rescnce of humble, modest Avorth. And to his keen yet kindly eye the plain-thoughted women of his native Stratford may well have been as pnre, as sweet, as lovely, as rich in all the inward graces which he delighted to un- fold in his female characters, as any thing he afterwards found among the fine ladies of the metropolis; albeit I mean no disparagement to these latter; for the Poet was by the best of all rights a gentleman, and the ladies Avho pleased him in London doubtless had sense and womanhood enough to recognize him as such. At all events, it is reason- able to suppose that the foundations of his mind were laid before he left Stratford, and that the gatlierings of the boy's eye and heart were the germs of the man's thoughts. We have seen our Poet springing from what may be justly termed the best vein of old English Rfe. At the time of his bn-th, his parents, considering the purchases previously made by the father, and the portion inherited by the mother, must have been tolerably well off. Mai one, reckoning only the bequests specified in her f ithei-'s will, estimated Mary Shakespeare's fortune to be not less than £110, Later researches have brought to light considerable items of property that were unknown to Malone. Sup- jiosing her fortune to have been as good as £ 150 then, it would go nearly if not quite as far as $ 5000 in our time. So that the Poet passed his boyhood in just about that medium state between poverty and riches which is ac- counted most favourable to health of body and mind. At the time Avhen his fiither became High-Bailiff the Poet was in his fifth year; old enough to miderstand some- tliing of what Avould be said and done in the home of an English magistrate, and to take more or less interest in the 16 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. duties, the ho.si)italitiej<; and pevliaps the gayeties incident to the headship of tlie borough. It would seem tliat the Poet cajne lionostly by liis inclination to the Drama. Dur- ing his term of office, John Shakespeare is found acting in his public cajjacity as a patron of the stage. The chambei- lain's accounts show that twice in the course of that year money was paid to different companies of i»layers ; and these are the earliest notices we have of theatrical per- formances in that ancient town. The Bailiff and his son William were most likely present at those performances. From that time forward, all through the Poet's youth, probably no year j^assed without similar exhibitions at Stratford. In 1572, however, an act was passed for re- straining itinerant players, whereby, unless they could show a patent under the great seal, they became liable to be proceeded against as vagabonds, for performing without a license from the local authorities. Nevertheless, the cham- berlain's accounts show that between 1569 and 1587 no less than ten distinct com])anies performed at Stratford under the })atronage of the cori)oration. In 1587, five of those companies are found performing there; and witliin the period just mentioned the Earl of Leicester's men are noted on three several occasions as receiving money from the town treasury. In IMay, 1574, the Earl of Leicester obtained a ]>atent under the great seal, enabling his players, James l>urbndge and four others, to exercise their art in any part of the kingdom except London. In 1587, this com- pany became "The Lord Chamberlain's servants"; and we shall in due time find Shakes])eare belonging to it. James l>urbadge was the father of IJichard Burbadgo, the gieatest actor of that age. The family was most likely from War- wickshire, and perhai)s from Stratford, as we have already met with the name in that town. Such were the o]t])ortu- nitics our eml)ryo Poet had for catchnig the first rudinu'nts of" the art in w liicJi he allci'wards displayed such learned mastery. The forecited accounts have an entry, in 1561, of two MFK OF SHAKESPEARE. 17 shillings "paid for defacing image in the chapel." Even then the excesses generated out of the Reformation were invading such towns as Stratford, and waging a " crusade against the harmless monuments of the ancient belief; no exercise of taste being suffered to interfere with what was considered a religious duty." In these exhibitions of strol- ling players this spirit found matter, no doubt, more de- serving of its hostility. While the Poet was yet a boy, a bitter war of books and pamphlets had begun against i)lays and players ; and the Stratford recoi'ds inform us of divers attempts to suppress them in that town ; but the issue proves that the Stratfordians were not easily beaten from that sort of entertainment, in which they evidently took great delight. We have seen that both John and Mary Shakespeare, in- stead of writing their name, were so far disciples of Jack Cade as to use the more ]jrimitive way of making their mark. It nowise follows fiom this that they could not read ; neither have we any certain evidence that they could. Be this as it may, there Avas no good reason why their chil- dren should not be able to say, "I thank God, I have been so Avell brought up, that I can write my name." A Free- School had been founded at Stratford by Thomas Jolyffe in the reign of Edward the Fourth. In 1553, King Edward the Sixth granted a charter, givmg it a legal being, with legal rights and duties, under the name of " The King's New School of Stratford-u])on-Avon." What particular course or method of instruction Avas used thei*e, Ave have no cer- tain knoAvledge ; but it Avas jirobably much the same ns that used in other like schools of that period ; Avhich in- cluded the elementary branches of English, and also the rudiments of classical learning. Here it Avas, no doubt, that Shakes]>eare acquired the "small Latin and less Greek" Avhich Ben Jonson accords to him. What Avas "small" learning in the eyes of such a scholar as Jonson, may yet have been something handsome in itself; and his remark m:iy fnrly imply that the Poet B 18 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. ]i:it use of legal terms and phrases has induced many good Shakespearians leai'ned in the law to believe that he must have been for some time a student of that noble science. It is indeed difficult to ^ LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 19 understand how he could have si)oken as he often does, witliout some study in tlie law ; but, as he seems thoroughly at home in the specialties of many callings, it is possible his knowledge in the law may have grown from the large part his fither had, either as magistrate or as litigant, in legal transactions. I am sure he either studied divinity or else had a strange gift of knowing it Avithout studying it; and his ripeness in the knowledge of disease and of the healing art is a standing marvel to the mcdiciil faculty. Knight has speculated rather copiously and romantically upon the idea of Shakespeare's having been a spectator of the more-than-royal pomp and pageantry with which the Queen was entertained by Leicester at Kenilworth in 1575. Stratford was tburteen miles from Kenilworth, and the Poet Avas then eleven years old. That his eai's were assailed and his imagination excited by the fame of that magnificent dis- ])lay cannot be doubted, for all that part of the kingdom Avas laid under contribution to supply it, and was resounding with the noise of it; but his fuher Avas not of a rank to be sum- moned or invited thither, nor Avas he of an age to go thither Avithout his fxther. Positive evidence either Avay on the point there is none ; nor can I discover any thing in his plays that Avould fairly infer him to have drunk in the splendour of that occasion, hoAvever the fierce attractions thereof may have kindled a mind so brimful of poetry and life. The Avhole matter is an apt theme for speculation, and for nothing else. The gleanings of tradition apart, the first knowledge that has reached us of the Poet, after his baptism, has ref- erence to his marriage. Rowe tells us that "he thought fit to marry Avhile he was very young," and that "his wife Avas the daughter of one Hathaway, said to haA'e been a substan- tial yeoman in the neighbourhood of Stratford." These statements are borne out by 'later disclosures. The mar- riage took place in the ¥all of 1582, Avhen the Poet Avas in his nineteenth year. On the 28th of November, that year P'lilk Sandels and John Richardson subscribed a bond 20 LIFE OF SIIAKESPEARK. "\vliorol)y they became liable in the sura of £ 40, to be for- feited to the Bishop of Worcester in case there should be found any lawful impediment to the marriage of William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway, of Stratford; the object being to procure such a dispensation from the Bishop as would authorize the ceremony after once publishing the banns. The original bond is preserved at Worcester, with the marks and seals of the two bondsmen aHixed, and also bearing a seal Avith the initials R. H., as if to show that some legal rei)rcsentative of the bride's fither, Richard Hathaway, was present and consenting to the act. There was nothing peculiar in the transaction ; the bond is just the same as was usually given in such cases, and several others like it are to be seen at the office of the Worcester registry. The parish books all about Stratford and Worcester have been ransacked, but no record of the marriage has been dis- covered. The probability is, that the ceremony took place in some one of the neighbouring parishes where the registers of that period have not been pi-eserved. Anne Hathaway was of Shottery, a pleasant village situ- ate Avithin an easy walk of Stratford, and belonging to the same ])arish. No record of her baptism has come to light, but the baptismal register of Stratford did not begin till 1558. She died on the 6th of August, IG'23, and the in- scription on her monument gives her age as sixty-seven years. Her birth, therefore, must have been in 1556, eight years before that of her husband. From certain prece])ts, dated in 1566, and lately found among the papers of the Stratford Court of Record, it ap- pears that the relations between John Shakespeare and Richard Hathaway were of a A'cry friendly sort. Hafha- way's will was made Sejitember 1, 15S1, and proved July 19, 1582, wdiich shows him to have died a few months be- fore the marriage of his daughter Anne. The will makes good what Rowc says of his being "a substantial yeoman." He appoints Fulk Sandels one of the supervisors of his LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 21 will, and among the witnesses to it is the name of William Gilbert, then em'ate of Stratford. One item of the will is: " I owe unto Thomas Whittington, my shepherd, £ 4 6 s. 8 r?." Whittington died in 1601 ; and in his will he gives and be- queaths " unto the poor people of Stratford 40 s. that is in the hand of Anne Shakespeare, wife unto Mr. William Shakespeare." The careful old shepherd had doubtless ]»laced the money in Anne Shakespeare's hand for safe keeping, she being a person in whom he had confidence. The Poet's match was evidently a love-match : whether the love was of that kind which forms the best pledge of wedded happiness, is another question. It is not unlikely that the marriage may have been preceded by the ancient ceremony of troth-plight, or hanclfast, as it was sometimes called; like that which almost takes place between Flori- zel and Perdita in The Winter's Tale, and quite takes place between Olivia and Sebastian in Tioelfth Night. The custom of troth-plight was much used in that age, and for a long time after. In some ])laces it had the force and effect of an actual marriage. Serious evils, however, some- times gi'ew out of it ; and the Church of England did wisely, no doubt, in uniting the troth-plight and the marriage in one and the same ceremony. Whether such solemn be- trothment had or had not taken place between William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway, it is certain from the parish register that they had a daughtei', Susanna, baptized on the26tli of May, 1583. Some of the Poet's later biograi)hers and critics have su])posed he was not hapjiy in his marriage. Certain ])as- sages of his ]days, especially the charming dialogue be- tween the Duke and the disguised Viola in Act ii., scene 4, of Twelfth Night, have been cited as invoh'ing some refer- ence to the Poet's own case, or as having been suggested by what himself had experienced of the evils resulting from the wedlock of persons "misgraffed in respect of years." There was never any thing but sheer conjecture for this notion. Rowe mentions nothing of the kind ; and we may be siu-e 22 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. that his candour would not have spared the Poet, had tradi- tion oifcred him any such matter. As for the passages in question, I know no reason for excepting them from the acknowledged purity and disinterestedness of the Poet's representations; where nothing is more remarkable, or more generally commended, than his singular alooftiess of sclfj his perfect freedom from every thing bordering upon egotism. Our Mr. White is especially hard ui)on the Poet's wife, worrying up the matter against her, and fairly tormenting the poor woman's memory. Now the facts about the mar- riage are just precisely as I have stated them. I confess they are not altogether such as I should Avisli them to have been ; but I can see no good cause Avhy prurient inference or speculation should busy itself in going behind them. If" however, conjecture must be at Avork on those facts, surely it had better run in the direction of charity, especially as regards the weaker A'essel. I say weaker ves- sel, because hi this case the man must in common fairness be supposed to have had the advantage at least as much in natural strength of imderstanding as the woman had in years. And as Shakespeare was, by all accounts, a very attractive person, it is not quite clear why she had not as good a right to lose her heart in his com})any as he had to lose his in hers. Probably she was as much smitten as he was; and we may well remember in her behalf, that love's " favourite seat is feeble woman's breast " ; especially as there is not a particle of evidence that her life after maniage was ever otherwise than clear and honourable. And indeed it will do no hurt to remember in reference to them both, how " 'Tis affirmed By poets skilled in Niiture's secret wnys, That Love will not submit to be controlled By mastery." In support of his view, Mr. White urges, among other things, that most foul and wicked fling which Leontes, in his mad rapture of jealousy, makes against his wife, in Act ■ LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 23 i. scene 2, of The Winter''s Tale. lie thinks the Poet could not have Avntten that and other strains of like im- port, but that he was stung into doing so by his own bitter experience of "soitow and shame"; and the argument is that, suj)posing him to have had such a root of bitterness in his life, he must have been thinking of that while AViiting those jiassages. The obvious answer is, To be sure, he must have been thinking of that ; but then he must have known that others would think of it too ; and a reasonable delicacy on his part would have counselled the withholding of any thing that he was conscious might be applied to his own domestic affairs. Sensible men do not write in their public pages such things as would be almost sure to breed or foster scandal about their own names or their own liomes. The man that has a secret cancer on his person Avill natu- rally be the last to S])eak of cancers in reference to others. I can hardly think Shakespeare was so wanting in a sense of propriety as to have written the passages in question, but that he knew no man could say he was exposing the foulness of his own nest. So that my inferences in the matter are just the reverse of Mr. White's. As for the alleged need of personal experience in order to the writing of such things, why should not this hold just as well in regard, for instance, to Lady Macbeth's pangs of guilt? Shakespeare's prime characteristic was, that he knew the truth of Nature in all such things without the help of .per- sonal experience. Mr. White presumes, moreover, that Anne Shakespeare was a coarse, low, vulgar creature, such as, the fiscination of the honeymoon once worn off, the Poet could not choose but loath and detest ; and that his betakmg himself to London was j)artly to escape from her hated society. This, too, is all sheer conjecture, and rather lame at that. Tluit Shakespeare was more or less se])arated from his wife for a number of years, cannot indeed be questioned ; but that he ever found or ever sought relief or comfort in such separa- tion, is what we have no warrant for believing. It was 24 LIFE or SHAKESPEARE. simjily forced n])on liiiii hy the necessities of his condition. Tlie (h^.i-linc: ohject of liis London life evidently was, that he niiglit return to his native town, with a handsome com- petence, and dwell in the bosom of his family ; and the yearly visits, which tradition reports him to have made to Stratford, look like any thing but a wish to forget them or be forgotten by them. From what is known of his snb- sequent life, it is certain that he had, in large measure, that honourable ambition, so natural to an English gentleman, of being the founder of a family; and as soon as he had readied the hope of doing so, he retired to his old home, and there set np his rest, as if his best sunshine of life still waited on the presence of her from whose society he is alleged to have fled away in disa]>])ointmcnt and disgust. To Anne Hathaway, I have little doubt, were addressed, in his early morn of love, tliree sonnets playing on the au- thor's name, which are hardly good enough to have been his work at any time; certainly none too good to have been the work of liis boyhood. And I have met with no conjecture on the jwint tliat bears greater likelihoods of truth, than that another three, far different in merit, were addressed, much later in life, to tlie same object. The pre- vailing tone and imagery of them are such as he would hardly have used but with a woman in his thoughts ; they are full-fraught with deep personal feeling, as distinguished fi-ora exercises of fancy ; and they s}>eak, with unsurpassable tenderness, of frequent absences, such as, before the Son- nets were printed, the Poet had experienced fi-om his wife. I ieel morally certain that she was the insi>irer of them. I can quote but a part of them : " How like a Winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasffre of tlie fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, wliat dark daj's seen, What old December's baroness everywhere ! For Summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute. " From yoii I have hoon absent in the Spring, When proud-pied April, dressM in all his trim, LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 25 Hiitli put a spirit of youth in every thing, That heavy Saturn laugh' d and leap'd with him: Yet nor the hiys of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any Summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew: Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you ; you pattern of all those. Yet seem'd it Winter still, and, you away. As with j'our shadow I with these did play." And I am scarcely less persuaded that a third cluster, of nme, had the same source. These, too, are clearly con- cerned Avith the deeper interests and regards of private life ; they carry a homefelt energy and pathos, such as argue them to have had a far other origin than in trials of art ; they speak of compelled absences from the object that inspired them, and are charged with regrets and con- fessions, such as could only have sjjrung from the Poet's own breast : " Alas ! 'tis true I have gone here and there, And made myself a motley to the view ; Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new : Most true it is, that I have look'd on truth Askance and strangely. " 0, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds. That did not better for my life provide, ■ Than public means, which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. '' Accuse me thus: That I have scflnted all Wherein I should j'our great deserts repay; Forgot upon your dearest love to call. Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day; That I have frequent been with unknown minds. And given, to time your own dear-purchas' d right." It will take more than has yet appeared, to convince me, that when the Poet wrote these and other similar lines his 2 26 LIFE OF SUAKKSPKARE. thoughts Avere travelling anywliore but home to tlie Liidc of his youth and mother of liis children. I have run ahead of my theme ; but it may as well be added, here, that Francis Meres, writing in 1598, speaks of the Poet's " sugared Sonnets among his private friends"; which indicates the purpose for which they were written. Xone of them had been printed when this was said of them. They were first collected and published in 1600; the col- lection being arranged, I think, in "most admirable disor- der," so that it is scar(?b possible to make head or tail to them. On the t2d of February, 15y., as was com- mon at that time. So it seems that Shakes]H'aie already liad friends in London, some of them " worshii)ful," too, Avho were strongly comnu'iuling him as a poet, and who Avere ])rom})t to remonstrate with Chettle against the mean slur cast upon him. This naturally starts the inquiry, Avhat dramas the Poet liad then Avritten, to earn such jiraise. Greene s]>eaks of him as "beautified Avith oiu- feathers." Probably there Avas at least some j)lausible colour of truth in this charge. The charge, I have no doubt, refers mainly to the Second and Third Parts of King Henry the Sixth. Tlie tAVO plays on Avhich tliese Averc founded Avore ])ublishe(l, respectively, in 1504 and 1595, their titles being, The First Fart of the Cofitejition betwixt the tico famous Houses of York and LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 33 Lancaster^ and The True Tragedy of Elchard, Duke of York. In the form there given, the phvys have, as IVIr. White has clearly shown, along with much of Shakespeare's work, many unquestionable marks of Greene's hand. All those marks, however, Avere disciplined out of them, as they have come down to us in Sliakespeare's works. There can be no doubt, then, that Greene, and perhaps Marlowe also, had a part in them as they were printed in 1594 and 1595, though no author's name was then given. Now it was much the custom at that time for several playwrights to Avork together. Of this avc have many Avell-authenticated instances. The most likely conclusion, therefore, is, that these two plays in their original form were the joint Avork- manship of Shakesjieare, Greene, and MarloAve. Perhaps, however, there Avas a still older fonn of the plays, Avritten entirely by MarloAve and Greene ; Avhich older fonn Shake- speare, some time before Greene's death, may liaA'e taken in hand, and recast, retaining more or less of their matter, and Avorking it in Avith his oaahi nobler stuff; for this avss often done also. Or, again, it may be that, before the time in question, Shakespeare, not satisfied to be joint author with them, had rcAA'ritten the plays, and pm-ged them of nearly all matter but Avhat he might justly claim as his OAvn ; thus making them as we noAV have them. As regards the occasion of Greene's assault, it matters little Avhich of these views we take, as in either case his charge would have some apparent ground of truth. It is further probable that the same course of remark would ap- ply more or less to The Taming of the Shreio, and perhaps also to Titus Andronicus, and the original form of Derides. At all events, I have no doubt that these five inlays, together Avith the First Part of Jiitng Henry the Sixth., The Comedy of Errors, The Two Gentlemen of Verona., and Lovers Labour'' s Lost., in its first form, Avere all written before the time of Greene's death. Perhaps the first shape, also, of Romeo and Jidiet should be added to this list. My reasons for this opinion are too long to be stated 2* c 34 LIFE OF SnAKESPEARE. licrc : I can hut observe that in these phays, as might be expected from one avIio was modest and Avished to learn, vrc liave much of imitation as distinguished from cliaracter, though of imitation surpassing its models. And it seems to me that no fair view can be had of the Poet's mind, no justice done to liis art, but by carefully discriminating in liis work Avhat grew from imitation, and what from charac- ter. For he evidently ^^Tote very much like others of his time, before he learned to -write like himself; that is, it was some time before he found, by practice and experience, his own strength ; and meanwhile he relied more or less on the strength of custom and example. Nor was it till he had surpassed others in their way, that he hit upon that more excellent way in which none could walk biit he. It has been quite too common to sj^eak of Shakespeare as a miracle of spontaneous genius, who did his best things by force of instinct, not of art ; and that, consequently, he was no^Wse indebted to time and experience for the reach and poAver which his dramas display. This is an "old fond paradox " Avhich seems to have originated with those who could not conceive how any man could acquire intellectual skill without scholastic advantages ; forgetting, apparently, that several things, if not more, may be learned in the school of Nature, provided one have an eye to read her " open secrets " without " the siiectacles of books." This notion has vitiated a good deal of Shakespearian criticism. RoAve had something of it. "Art," says he, "had so little, and Nature so large a share in what Shakespeare did, that, for aught I know, the performances of his youth were the best." I think decidedly otherwise ; and have grounds for doing so Avhich Rowe had not, in what has since been done towards ascertaining the chronology of the Poet's plays. It would seem from Chettle's a])ology, that Shakespeare was already beginning to attract liberal notice fi'om that circle of brave and acconi])lished gentlemen which adorned llie state of Queen Elisabeth. Among the " divers of wor- ship," first and foremost stood, no doubt, the high-souled, LIFE OP SHAKESPEARE. 35 the generous Southampton, then in his twentieth yeai\ Henry Wriothesley, the third Earl of Southampton, Avas but eight years old when his father died : the Southamp- ton estates were large ; during the young Earl's minority his interests were in good hands, and the revenues accumu- lated ; so tliat on coming of age he had means answerable to his dispositions. Moreover, he was a young man of good parts, of studious habits, of cultivated tastes, and withal of a highly chivalrous and romantic sjHrit : to all M'hich he added the honour of being the early and munificent patron of Shakespeare. In 1593, the Poet published his Venus and Adonis, with a modest and manly dedication to this nobleman, very different from the usual high-flown style of literary adulation tlien in vogue ; telling him, " If your Honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised, and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour." In the dedication,' he calls the j^oem " the first heir of my invention." Whether he dated its birth from the Avriting or the publishing, does not appear : probably it had been written some time ; pos- sibly before he left Stratford. This was followed, the next year, by his Lucrece., dedicated to the same nobleman in a strain of more open and assured friendship: "The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is j^ours, what I have to do is yours." It Avas probably about this time that the event took place Avhich RoAve heard of through Sir William Davenant, that Southampton at one time gave the Poet a thousand pounds, to enable him to go through Avith a purchase Avhich he kneiv him to be desirous of making. Roavc niight Avell scruple, as he did, the story of so large a gift, — equal to nearly $30,000 in our time; but the fact of his scruples being overruled shoAvs that he had strong grounds for the state- ment. The sum may indeed have been exaggerated ; but all Ave knoAV of the Earl assures us that he could not but Avish to make a handsome return for the Venus and OD LIFE OF SIIAKESPEAKE. Adonis / and that Avlintcver of the kind lie did was bonnd to be something rich and rare; Avhile it was Init of a piece with liis aj^proved nobleness of character, to feel more the honour he was receiving than that he was conferring by such an act of generosity. Might not this be what Shakespeare meant by " the warrant I have of your honourable disposi- tion " ? That the Earl was both able and disposed to the amount alleged, need not be scrupled : the only doubt has reference to the Poet's occasions. Let us see, then, what these may have been. In December, 1593, Richard Burbadge, who, his father having died or retired, Avas then the leader of the Black- friars company, signed a contract for the building of the Globe theatre, in which Shakespeare is knoAvn to have been a large owner. The Blackfriars Avas not accommo- dation enough for the company's uses, but Avas entirely novered-in, and furnished suitably for the AVinter. The Globe, made larger, and designed for Summer use, Avas a round Avooden building, open to the sky, Avith the stage protected by an overhanging roof All things considered, then, it is not incredible that the munificent Earl may have bestoAved even as large a sum as a thousand pounds, to enable the Poet to do Avhat he Avished towards the new enterprise. The next authentic notice Ave have of Shakespeare is a public tribute of admii-ation from the highest source that could have yielded any thing of the sort at that time. In 1594, Edmund Spenser published his Colin Cloufs Come Home again, AAdiich has these lines : "And there, though last not least, is .Etion: A gentler Sheplieril may nowhere be found ; Whose Muse, full of hij;h thought's invention, Doth, like iiiinsclf, heroically sound." This Avas Spenser's delicate Avay of suggesting the Poet's name. Ben Jonson has a like allusion in his lines, — "To the Memory of my beloved Mr. William Shakespeare": " In each of which he seems to shake a lance As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance." LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 37 There can be little doubt, though Ave have no certain knoAvledge on the point, that by this time the Poet's genius had sweetened itself into the good graces of Queen Elis- abeth ; as the irresistible compliment paid her in a ^ 3lid- su7mn€r-N^ight''s Dream could hardly liaA^e been of a later date. It would be gratifying to know by what ]>lay he made his first conquest of the Queen. That he did capti- vate her, is told us in Ben Jonson's poem just quoted: " Sweet swan of Avon, what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appear; And make those flights upon the banks of Thames That so did take Eliza and our James I " King John, King Michard the Second, King Hichard the Third, A Midsummer-Kight'' s Dream, and the original form of AlVs Well that Ends Well, were, no doubt, all written before the Spring of 1596. So that these five plays, and perhaps one or two others, in addition to the ten men- tioned before, may by that time have been performed in her Majesty's hearing, "as well for the recreation of our loving subjects as for our solace and pleasnre." Aubrey tells us that Shakespeare " was wont to go to his native country once a year." We now have better author- ity than Aubrey for believing that the Poet's heart was in " his native country " all the while. No sooner is he well established at London, and in receipt of funds to spare fi-om the demands of business, than we find him making liberal investments amidst the scenes of his youth. Some years ago, Mr. Halliwell discovered in the Chaj^ter-PIouse, West- minster, a document which ascertains that in the Spring of 1597 Shakespeare bought of William Underhill, for the sum of £60, the establishment called "New Place," described as consisting of " one messuage, two barns, and two gardens, with their appurtenances." This was one of the best dwell- ing-houses in Stratford, and was situate in one of the best parts of the town. Early in the sixteenth century it was owned by the Cloptons, and called " the great house." It was in one of the gardens belonging to this house that the 38 LIKE OF SIIAKESPEAKK. Poot was bc'llovctl to h:\YQ j)l;;iitt';l a mulborry-treo. Now Place remained in the hands of Shakespeare ;aid his lieirs till the Restoration, when it was repnrehased by the Clop- ton family. In the Spring of 1742, Garrick, Mackliii, and Delane were entertained there by Sir Hugh Clopton, luider the Poet's mulberry-tree. About 1752, the ]:)laee was sold to the Rev. Francis Gastrell, Avho, falling out Avith the Stratford authorities in some matter of rates, demolished the house, and cut down the tree; for which his memory has been visited with exemplary retribution. "We have other tokens of the Poet's thrift about this time. One of these is a curious letter, dated January 24, lt)9S, and Avritten by Abraham Sturley, an alderman of Stratford, to his brother-in-law, Richard Quiney, who was then in London on business for himself and others. Stur- ley, it seems, had learned that " our countryman, Mr. Shake- sj^eare," had money to invest, and so was for having liim urged to bviy up certain tithes at Stratford, on the ground that such a purchase "would advance him indeed, and would do us much good"; the meaning of which is, that the Stratford peojjle were in want of money, and Avere look- ing to Shakespeare for a su])ply. Another token of like iinj)()rt is a letter Avritten by the same Richard Quiney, whose son Thomas afterwards married the Poet's youngest daugliter. The letter was dated, " From the Bell, in Cai-ter-lane, the 25tli October, 1598," and ad- dressed, "To my loving good fiend and countryman, Mr. Wm. Shakespeare." The ])urpose of the letter was to solicit a loan of £30 from the Poet on good security. No private letter wiitten by Shakespeare has been found ; and this is the only one Avrittcn to him that has come to light. How the Avriter's request Avas ansAvered Ave have no certain information ; but Ave may fairly conclude the ansAver to ha\c been satisfactory, because on the same day Quiney wrote to Stui'ley, and in Sturley's rejdy, dated November 4, 1598, Avhich is also extant, the Avriter ex])resses himself much comforted at learning that "our countryman, ^Ir. "VVm. Shnk., would jirocurc us money." LIFE OP SIIAKESPKARE. 39 Tlio cnvlicst printed cojiies of Shakespeare's plays, known in our time, are Borneo and Juliet^ K^>m Richard the l^cc- ond, and King Jxichard the T/icVc^, uliich Avere published separately in 1597. Three years latei» there Avas another edition of Momeo and Juliet^ "newly corrected, augmented, and amended." In 1598, two more, tlie First Part oi King Henry the Fourth and Lovers Labour'' s JLost^ came fi-om the press. Tlie authoi-'s name was not giAcn in any of these issues except Love's Lahour''s Lost^ Avhich Avas said to be " ncAvly corrected and augmented." King Richard the Sec- ond and King Richard the Third were issued again in 1598, and the First Part oi King Henry the Fourth in 1599; and in all these cases the author's name Avas printed in the title- page. The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth Avas most likely Avritten before 1598, but Ave hear of no edition of it till 1600. Francis Meres has the honour of being the first critic of Shakespeare that appeared in jn-iiit. In 1598, lie put fortli a book entitled Palladis Tamia, Wit''s Treasury^ avIucIi has the foiloAving: "As Plautus and Seneca are accounted the best for comedy and tragedy among the Latins ; so Shakespeare among the English is the most excellent in both kinds for the stage." The Avriter then instances tAA'elve of the Poet's dramas by title, in proof of liis point. His list, however, contains none but Avliat, I haA'e already mentioned, except The Merchant of Venice. Taking all our sources of information together, Ave find at least eigli- teen of the plays Avritten before 1598, Avhen the Poet Avas tliirty-four years of age, and had probably "been in tlie tlieatre about tAvelve years. Shakespeare Avas noAV decidedly at the head of the Eng- lish Drama ; moreoA'er, he liad found it a Ioav, foul, dis- rej^utable thing, chiefly in the hands of profligate adven- turers, and he had lifted it out of the mire, breathed strength and SAveetness into it, and made it clean, fair, and honour- able, a structure all alive Avith beauty and honest delecta- tion. Such being the case, his standing Avas naturally firm 40 LIFE OF SIIAKESPEAUEv and secure ; he had little cause to fear rivalry ; he could •well afford to be generous ; and any play that had his ap- proval would be likely to pass. Ben Jonson, whose name has a peculiar right-to be coupled with his, was ten years younger than he, and was working with that learned and sinewy diligence which marked his character. We have it on tlie sound autliority of Rowc, that Shakespeare lent a helping hand to honest Ben, and on an occasion that does credit to them botli. " Mr. Jonson," says he, "who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the players, in order to have it acted ; and the persons into Avhose hands it Mas put, afler having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, were just upon returning it to him, with an ill-natured answer that it would be of no service to their company, when Shake- speare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something in it so well, as to engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public." Some attem])ts have been made to impugn this account, but the result of them all has been rather to confirm it. How nobly the Poet's gentle and judicious act of kindness was remembered, is shown by Jonson^s sni^erb verses, some of which I have quoted, prefixed to the folio of 1623 ; enough of themselves to confer an immortality both on the writer and on the subject of them. In 1599, we find a coat of arms granted to John Shake- speare, by the Herald's College, in London. The grant was made, no doubt, at the instance of his son William. The matter is involved in a good deal of per})lexity ; the claims of the son being confounded with those of the father, in order, apparently, that out of the two together might be made a good, or at least a i)lausible, case. Our Poet, the son of a glover, or a yeoman, liad evidently set his heart on being heralded into a gentleman ; and, as his profession of actor stootl in the way, the a])])lication was made in liis father's name. The lliiiig was started as early as 1596, be.t LIFK OF SHAKESPEAKli. -11 SO much question w;is liad, so mnny difficulties riiised, con- cerning it, tliat the Poet Avas tliree years in working it tlirough. To be sure, such heraldic gentry was of little worth in itself, and tlie Poet knew this well enough; but then it assured a certain A'ery desirable social standing, and therefore, as an aspiring member of society, he was right in seeking it. In the year IGOO, five more of his plays were published in as many quarto pamphlets. These Avere, A Midsitmmer- N^ighfs Dream, The Merchant of Venice^ 3ficch Ado about Kothing, the Second Part of King Henry the Fourth, and King Henry the Fifth. It appeal's, also, that As You Like It Avas then Avritten ; for it Avas entered at the Stationers' for publication, but was locked np from the jjress under a " stay." The 3Ierry Wives of Windsor was probably then in being also, thougli not printed till 1602. And a recent discoA'ery ascertains that Ticclfth Night Avas played in Feb- ruary, 1602. The original form of Hatnlet, too, is knoAvn to have been Avritten before 1603. Adding, then, the six ])lays noAV heard of for the first time, to the eighteen men- tioned before, Ave have tAventy-four plays Avritten before the Poet had finished his thirty-eighth year. The great Queen died on the 24th of March, 1603. We have abundant proof that she was, both by her presence and her ])urse, a frequent and steady patron of the Drama, esi)ecially as its interests Avere represented by "the Lord Chambei-lain's servants." Everybody, no doubt, has heard the tradition of her having been so taken Avith Falstaff in King Henry the Fourth, that she requested the Poet to continue the character through another play, and to repi'e- sent him in love ; Avhereupon he Avrote Tlie Merry Wives of Windsor. Whatever embellishments may have been added, there is nothing incredible in the substance of the tradition ; Avhile the ajiproved taste and judgment of this female king, in matters of literature and art, give it strong likelihoods of truth. Elizabeth kncAV how to unbend in such noble delecta- 42 JAVK OF SIlAKESrjCAIJK. lions without abiding Ikt dignity ns a quoen, or forgettincj lier duty as the motiier of her pcojile. If the patronage of King James fell below hers in wisdom, it was certainly not lacking in warmtli. One of his first acts, after reacliing London, was to order out a warrant from the Privy Seal for the issuing of a jiatent under the Great Seal, Avhereby the Lord Chamberlain's players w^ere taken into his imme- diate patronage under the title of " The King's Servants." The instrument names nine players, and Shakespeare stands second in the list. Nor did the King's patent prove a mere barren honour : many instances of the comjjany's playing at the Court, and being w^ell paid for it, ai-e on record. The Poet evidently was, as indeed from the nature of his position he could not but be, very desirous of withdraAving from the stage ; and had long cherished, apparently, a de- sign of doing so. In several passages of his Sonnets, two of Avhich I ha\'e already quoted, he expresses, in very strong and even ])athetic language, his intense dislike of the busi- ness, and his grief at being compelled to pursue it. At what time he carried into effect his purpose of retirement is not precisely known ; nor can I stay to trace out the argument on tliat point. The ])robabi]ity is, that he ceased to be an actor in the Smumer of 1604. The preceding year, 1603, Ben Jonson's Sganus was brought out at the Black- friars, and one of the parts was sustained by Shakespeare. After this Ave have no note of his appearance on the stage ; and there are certain traditions inferring the contrary. In 1603, an edition of I/conlet Avas ])ublished, though A'cry different from the ])resent form of the ])lay. The next year, 1604, the finished Hamlet Avas published ; the title-page containing the Avords, "enlarged to almost as mucli again as it Avas." Of ]\f'i(/fiU7'e for Measure Ave have no Avell-au- thenticatcd notice during the Poet's life; though there is a record, \\ hich has been received as autlientic, of its haAdng been acted at Court on the 26th of December, 1604. That record, hoAvever, lias lately been discredited. Of Thtwn of AtJiens and J-ulhcs Cwsur Ave liave no express contemporary LIFK OF SHAKESPEARE. 43 notice at all, authentic or otlienvise. Nor have we any of , Troilus and Cressida till 1609, in which year a stolen edi- tion of it was published. Xevertheless, I have no doubt ;that these plays wei-e all written, though perhaps not all in their present shape, before the close of 1604. Reckoning, then, the four last named, Ave have twenty-eight of the ])lays -wiittcn when tlie Poet was forty years of age, and had probably been at the work about eighteen years. Time has indeed left few traces of the process ; but what a mag- nificent treasure of results ! If Shakespeare had done no more, he Avould have stood the greatest intellect of the world. How all alive must those eighteen years have been with intense and varied ex,ertion ! His quick discernment, his masterly tact, his gi-ace of manners, his practical judg- ment, and his fertility of expedients, would needs make him the sold of the establishment; doul)tless the light of his eye and the life of liis hand were in all its movements and plans. Besides, the compass and accuracy of information disjjlayed in his writings prove him to have been, for that age, a care- ful and voluminous student of books. Portions of classical and of continental literature were accessible to him in trans- lations. Nor are we without strong reasons for believing that, in addition to his " small Latin and less Greek," he foimd or made time to fonn a tolerable reading acquaint- ance Avith Italian and French. Chaiicer, too, " the da}'-star," and Si)enser, "the sunrise," of English poetry, were pouring their beauty round his walks. From all these, and from the growing richness and abundance of contemi)orary liter- ature, his all-gifted and all-grasping mind no doubt greedily took in and quickly digested whatever was adapted to i)lcase his taste, or enrich his intellect, or assist his art. I have mentioned the Poet's purchase of New Place at Stratford in 1597. Thenceforward he kept making other investments from time to time, some of them pretty large, the records of Avhich have lately come to light. It appears by a subsidy roll of 1598, that he Avas assessed on property valued at £ 5 13 5. 4 f?., in the parish of St. Helen's, Bishops- 44 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. gate, London. In May, 1602, was executed a deed of con- veyance Avherehy he became tlic owner of a liundred and seven acres of arable land in the town of Old Stratford, bought of William and John Combe for the sum of £ 320. In September following, a coi)yhold house in Walker-street, near New Place, Avas surrendered to him by Walter Gctley. This property Avas held under the manor of Rowington : the transfer took place at the court-baron of the manor ; and it appears that the Poet was not present at the time ; there being a proviso, that the property should remain in the hands of the Lady of the manor till the purchaser had done suit and service in the court. One Philip Rogers, it seems, had several times l)ouglit malt of Shakespeare to the amount of £ 1 15 s. 10 c?.; and in 1604 the Poet, not being able to get payment, filed in the Stratford Court of Record a declaration of suit against him ; Avhich probably had the desired effect, as nothing more is heard of it. This item is interesting, as it shoAvs the Poet engaged in other pursuits than those relating to the stage. We have seen Iioaa^, in 1598, Alderman Sturly was for "moving him to deal in the matter of our tithes." This Avas a matter Avherein much depended on good management ; and, as the tOAvn had a yearly rent from the tithes, it Avas for the public interest to have them managed Avell ; and the moving of Shakespeare to deal in the matter si)rang most likely from confidence in his ])ractical judgment and skill. The tithes of" corn, grain, blade, and hay," and also those of " avooI, lamb, hem]i, flax, and other small and privy tithes," in Stratford, Old Strat- ford, Welcombe, and Bishopton, had been leased in 1544 for the term of ninety-tAvo years. In July, 1605, the unex- jiired term of the lease, thirty-one years, Avas bought in by Shakespeare for the sum of £440. In the indenture of conveyance, he is styled " William Shakespeare, of Strat- ford-upon-Avon, GentlemanP These notices enal)le us to form some tolerable conjec- ture as to how the Poet Avas getting on at the age of forty. Such details of business may not seem very ajij)ropriate in LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 45 a L^fe of the greatest of poets; but we have clear evidence -that he took a lively interest in them, and was a good hand at managing them. He had learned by experience, no -doubt, tliat " money is a good soldier, and will on " ; and that, " if money go before, all ways do lie ojjen." And the thing carries this benefit, if no other, that it tells us a man may be something of a poet without being either above or below the common affairs of life. A pretty careful investigation of the matter has brought good judges to the conclusion, that in 1608 the Poet's in- come could not have been less than £400 a year. This, for all practical purposes, would be equivalent to some 112,000 in our time. The Rev. John Ward, who became vicar of Stratford in 1662, noted in his Dlary^ that Shakes])eare, after his retirement, " had an allowance so large that he spent at the rate of £ 1,000 a year, as I have heard." The honest and cautious man did Avell to add, " as I have heard." That the Poet ke[)t up a liberal establishment, and was fond of entertaining his neighbours, and still more his old associates, we can well believe ; but that he had £ 1,000 a year to spend, or would have spent it if he had, is not credible. Some question has been made M'hether Shakespeare Avas a member of the celebrated convivial club established by Sir Walter Raleigh, and which held its meetings at the Mermaid tavern. We have nothing that directly certifies his membership of that choice institution; but there are several things inferring it so strongly as to leaA^e no reasonable douljt on the sul)ject. His conversations cer- tainly ran in that circle of wits some of whom are directly knoAvn to have belonged to it ; and among them all thci-e is not one whose then acknowledged merits gave him a better title to its privileges. It does not indeed necessarily follow from his facility and plenipotence of wit in writing, that he could shine at those extempore " flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar." But, besides the natural inference that way, we have the statement of 46 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. honest old Aubrey, that '' hv was very good company, and of a very ready and ])lensant smooth Avit." Francis Beau- mont, Avho Avas a ]>rominent meniher of tliat jovial senate, and to whom Shirley applies the fine hyperbolism that " he talked a comedy," Avas born in 1586, and died in 1615. I cannot doubt that he had our Poet, among others, in his eye, when he wrote those celebrated lines to Ben Jonson : " Ikletliiuks the little wit I had is lost Since I saw you ; for wit is like a rest Held up at tennis, which men do the best With the best gamesters. What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid ! heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtile flame. As if that every one from Avhence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest. And had resolv'd to live a fool the rest Of his dull life." In further token of Sliakespeare's having belonged to this merry parliament of genius, I must quote from Dr. Thomas Fuller, who, though not born till 1608, Avas ac- quainted with some of the old Mermaid Avits. In his ITor- thies of Wciricickshire, he Avinds up his account of the Poet thus : " Many Avere tlie Avit-combats betAvixt him and Ben Jonson ; AAdiich tAvo I behold like a Spanish great galleon and an English man-ol-\var. Master Jonson, like tlie fonner, Avas built far higher in learning; solid, but sIoav, in his per- formances : Shakespeare, with the English man-of-war, lesser in bulk, but lighter in sailing, could turn Avith all tides, tack about, and take advantage of all Avinds, by the quickness of his Avit aad invention," The Poet kept u]» his interest in the affairs of the com- pany, and S|)ent more or less of his time in London, after ceasing to be an actor. AVe liave several subsequent notices of his being in the metroi)u]is on liusiness, one of Avhich is a deed of conveyance, executcil in Marcli, 1613, and trans- fen-ing to him and three olliei's a house Avith a sniall piece of land for £140; £80 being ])aid down, and the rest left LIFE OF SUAKESPEARE. 47 on bond and mortgage. The deed bears the Poet's signa- ^ture, which shows him to have been in London at the time, , The vicar, from wliose Diary I have ah-eady quoted, notes ..iiirther that Shakespeare "frequented the phiys all his younger time, but in his elder days he lived at Strat- ford, and suj)plied the stage with two ]:)lays every year." That the writer's information was in all points literally corrfect, is not likely ; but thei-e is no doubt that the Poet continued to write for tlie stage after liis retirenient from it. Of the nine plays still to be accounted for, Macbetli Avas played at the Globe in 1610, though probably written some time before ; King Lear was acted at Whitehall in De- cember, 1606, and three editions of it were issued, in 1608; Antony and Cleopatra was entered at the Stationers' in 1608 ; Cymbeline was performed some time in the Spring of 1611, and The Winter''' s Tale in May the same year; King Henry the Eighth is not heard of till the burning of the Globe theatre in 1613, when it is described as "a new play." Of Coriolanus^^e have no notice whatever till after the Poet's death ; while of Othello and The Tempest we liave no well-authenticated notices during his life ; though there is a record, which has generally passed for authentic, noting them to liaA'e been acted at Court, the former on the 1st of November, 1604, and the latter on the 1st of Novem- ber, 1611 : but that i-ecord, as in the case of Measure for Measure^ lias lately been pronounced sj^urious by the high- est authority. It would seem that after the year 1609, or thereabouts, the Poet's reputation did not mount any higher during his life. A new generation of dramatists was then rising into favour, who, with some excellences derived from him, united gross vices of their own, which however were Avell adapted to captivate the popular mind. Moreover, King James him- self, notwithstanding his liberality of patronage, was essen- tially a man of loose morals and low tastes; and his taking to Sliakespeare at first probably grew more from the ])ublio 48 Ln'E OF SIlAKESPEAnK. A'oice, or perliaps from Southaiiijttoirs iiitlucnco, tlian from his own ])rc'fcren('0. Before tlie Pocl'.s de.itli, -we may trace tlie beginnings of that corrnjition Avliicli, ratlicr stimu- lated than discouraged by Puritan bigotry and fanaticism, reached its height some seventy years later; though its course was for a wliile retarded by King Cliarles the First, Avlio, wliatever else may be said of him, was unquestionably a man of as high and elegant tastes in literature and art as England could boast of in his time. Shakespeare, however, was by no means so little appre- ciated in his tiine as later generations have mainly sup- posed. No man of that age was held in higher regard for his intellectual gifts; none cb-ew forth more or stronger tributes of applaxise. Kings, jirinces, lords, gentlemen, and, what is probably still better, common peojjle, all imited in l)aying homage to his transcendent genius. The iu>ble lines, already referred to, of TJeu Jonson, — than whom few men, perha2)S none, ever knew better how to judge and hoAV to Avritc on such a theme, — indicate how he struck the scholar- ship of the age. And from the scattered notices of his con- temporaries we get, withal, a Aery complete and very ex- alted idea of his personal character as a man ; although, to be sure, they yield us fcAV facts in regard to his ])ersonal liistory or his actual course of life. Hoav dearly he was lield by those who kncAV liim best, is well shown by a pas- sage of Ben Jonson, written long after the Poet's death, and }i()t published till 1040. Honest I>en had been charged Avith innlcvolence toAvards him, and he rej)elled the charge thus : "I lov'd the man, and do honom- liis memory, on this side idolatry, as much as any. He Avas indeed honest, and of an open and free nature ; had an excellent jfhantasy, brave notions, and gentle expressions." I cannot dAvell much on ihc ])articulars of the Poet's lattier years ; a fcAv, ]i()\\ fviiv, must be added touching his family. Oji the 5111 of June, 1007, his eldest daughter, Susanna, tlien in her twenty-fifth year, was mamed to Mr. John LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. 49 Hall, of Stratford, styled "gentleman" in the parish regis- , ter, rmd afterwards a jiractising physician of good standing. The February following, Shakespeare became a grandfather; Elizabeth, the first and only child of John and Susanna Hall, being baptized the 17th of that month. It is sup- posed, and apparently with good reason, that Dr. Hall and his Avife lived in the same house with the Poet ; she was eA'idently deep in her flither's heart ; she is said to have had something of his mind and temper ; the house was large enough for them all ; nor are there wanting signs of entire affection between Mrs. Hall and her mother. Add to all this the Poet's manifest fondness for children, and his gen- tle and affiible disposition, and we have the elements of a happy family and a cheerful home, such as might well ren- der a good-natured man impatient of the stage. Of the moral and religious tenour of domestic hfe at New Place we are not permitted to know : at a later period the Shake- speares seem to have been not a little distmguished for works of piety and charity. On the 10th of Februar}^, 1616, the Poet saw his young- est daughter, Judith, married to Thomas Quiney, of Strat- ford, vintner and wine-merchant, whose father had been High-Bailiff of the town. From the way Shakespeare men- tions this daughter's marriage portion in his will, which was made the 25th of March following, it is evident that he gave his sanction to the match. Which may be cited as argument that he had not himself experienced any such evils, as some have alleged, fi-om the woman being older than the man ; for his daughter had four years the start of her husband ; she being at the time of her marriage thirty- one, and he twenty-seven. Shakespeare was still in the meridian of life. There was no special cause, that we knoAV of, why he might not live many years longer. It were vain to conjecture what he would have done, had more years been given him; possibly, instead of augmenting his legacy to us, he would have re- called and suppressed more or less of what he had written 3 D 50 LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE. as our inheritance. For tlie last t\To or tliree years, at least, he seems to haA-e left his pen unused ; as if, his own ends once achieved, he set no value on that mighty sceptre iWth which he since sways so large a portion of mankind. That the motives and ambitions of authorship had little to do in the generation of his works, is evident from the serene carelessness with which he left them to shift for themselves ; tossing these wonderful treasures from him as if he thought them good for nothing but to serve the hour. Still, to us, in our ignorance, his life cannot but seem too short. For aught we know. Providence, in its wisdom, may have ruled not to allow the examjile of a man so gifted living to hunself. Be that as it may, Williaisi Siiakespeake departed this life on the 23d of April, 1616. Two days after, his remains were buried beneath the chancel of Trinity Church, in Stratford. The burial took place on the day before the anniversary of his baptism ; and it has been commonly be- lieved that his death fell on the anniversary of his biith. If so, he had just entered his fifty-third year. The Poet's will bears date March 25, 1616. I must notice one item of it : "I give unto my wife the second- best bed, with the furniture." As this is the only mention made of her, the circumstance was for a long time regarded as betraying a strange indifference, or something worse, on the testator's part, towards his wife. And on this has hung the main argument that the union Avas not a happy one. We owe to Mr. Knight an explanation of the matter; which is so simple and decisive, that we can but wonder it Avas not hit u])on before. Shakespeare's property was mostly freehold ; and in all this the widow had A\hat is called the right of doAver fully secured to her by the ordinary opera^ tion of English laAv. The Poet was laAvyer enough to know this. As for " the second-best bed," this was doubt- less the very thing AA'hich a loving and beloved Avife Avould naturally prize above any other article of furniture in the establishment. LIFE OF SHAIvESPEARE. 51 From the foregoing sketch it appears that the materials for a biography of Shakespeare are scanty indeed, and, withal, rather dry. Nevertheless, there is enough, I think, to show, that in all the common deaUngs of life he was eminently gentle, candid, upright, and judicious ; open- hearted, genial, and sweet, in his social intercourses ; among his companions and friends, full of playful wit and sprightly grace ; kind to the faults of others, severe to his own ; quick to discern and acknowledge merit in another, modest and slow of finding it in himself : while, in the smooth and happy marriage, which he seems to have realized, of the liighest poetry and art with systematic and successful pru- dence in business aflairs, we have an examjile of compact and well-rounded practical manhood, such as may justly engage our admiration and respect. I have spoken somewhat as to the motive and purpose of his intellectual labour. It was in and for the theatre that his multitudinous genius was developed, and his works produced ; there Fortune, or rather Providence, had cast his lot. Doubtless it was his nature, in whatever he under- took, to do his best. As an honest and true man, he would, if possible, make the temple of the Drama a noble, a beau- tiful, and glorious place ; and it was while working quietly and unobtrusively in furtherance of this end, — building better than he knew, — that he approved himself the great- est, wisest, sweetest of men. ORIGIN AND GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. THE English Drama, as we have it in Shakespeare, was the slow growth of several centuries. Nor is it clearly traceable to any foreign source : it was an original and independent growth, the native and fi-ee product of the soil. This position is very material in reference to the sul)- ject of structure and form ; as inferring that the Drama in question is not amenable to any ancient or foreign jurisdic- tion ; that it has a life and spirit of its own, is to be viewed as a thing by itself, and judged according to the peculiar laws under which it grew and took its shape ; in brief, that it had just as good a right to differ from any other Drama as any other had from it. The ancient Drama, that which grew to perfection, and, so far as is known, had its origin, in Greece, is universally styled the Classic Drama. By what term to distinguish tlie modern Drama of Euroj)e, writers are not fully agreed. Within a someAvhat recent period, it has received from high authorities the title of the Romantic Drama. A more aj)- propriate title, as it seems to me, suggested by its Gothic original, and used by earlier authorities, is that of the Gothic Drama. Such, accordingly, is the term by M^hich it will be distinguished in these pages. The fitness of the name, I think, will readily be seen from the fict that the thing was an indigenous and self-determined outgrowth from the Gothic mind under Christian culture. And the term naturally carries the idea, that the Drama in question stands on much the same ground relatively to the Classic Drama 54 ORIGIN OF THK DRAMA IN KNGLAND. as is commonly recognized in tlie case of Gotliic and Classic architecture ; which may help us to realize how each Drama foniis a distinct species, and lives free of the other, so that any argument or criticism from the ancient against the modern is wholly irrelevant. The Gothic Drama, as it fashioned itself in different nations of modern Europe, especially in England and Spain, where it grew up indej^endently, has certain diversities. Upon the nature and reason of these I cannot enlarge. Suffice it to say that they do not reach beyond points of de- tail ; their effect thus being to approve the strength of the common jirinciples that underlie and support them. These princij)les cover the whole ground of difference from the Classic Drama. The several varieties, therefore, of the Gothic Drama may be justly regarded as bearing concurrent testimony to a common right of freedom from the jurisdic- tion of ancient rules. Of the rise and progress of the Drama in England, my limits will permit only a brief sketch, not more than enough to give a general idea on the subject. In England, as in the other Christian nations where it had any thing of originality, the Drama was of ecclesiastical origin, and for a long time was used only as a means of diffusing a knowledge of the leading facts and doctrines of Christianity as then understood and received. Of course, therefore, it was in sul)stance and character religious, or was meant to be so, and had the Clergy for its authors and founders. But 1 cannot admit the justice of Coleridge's remark on the subject. " The Drama," says he, " recom- menced in England, as it first began in Greece, in religion. The peo])le wel-e unable to read ; the Priesthood were un- willing that they should read ; and yet their OAvn interest compelled them not to leave the people wholly ignorant of the great events of sacred history." Surely, it is of consequence to be:u- in mind that at that time " the peoi)le " had never been able to read ; printing MIRACLE-PLAYS. 55 had not been heard of in Europe ; books were multiplied Avith great diffifulty, and could not be had but at great ex- pense.: so that it Avas impossible the people should be able to read ; and while there was an impossibility in the way, it is not necessary to impute an unwillhigness. Nor is there any good reason for supposing that the Priesthood, in their simplicity of faith, were then at all apprehensive or aware of any danger in the people being able to read. Probably they worked as honest men with the best means they could devise ; endeavouring to clothe the most needful of all in- struction in such forms, and mould it up with such arts of recreation and pleasure, as might render it interesting and attractive to the popular mind. In all Avhich they seem to have merited any thing but an impeachment of their mo- tives. HoAvever, the point best Avorth noting here is tlie large share those early dramatic representations had in shaping the culture of Old England, and in giving to the national mind its character and form. And perhaps later ages, and ourselves as the children of a later age, are more indebted to those rude labours of the Clergy in the cause of religion than we are aAvare, or might be Avilling to ac- knoAvledge. MIRACLE -PLAYS. In its course through several ages the Drama took differ- ent fonns from time to time, as culture advanced. The earliest form Avas in Avhat are called Plays of Miracles, or Miracle-Plays, These were mostly founded on events of Scripture, though the apocryphal gospels and legends of saints and martyrs Avere sometimes draAvn upon for subjects or for embellishments. In these jjerformances no regard Avas paid to the rules of natural j^robability ; for, as the operation of supernatural poAver Avas assumed, this Avas held a sufficient ground or principle of credibility in itself Hence, indeed, the name Marvels, ]\Iiracles, or Miracle-Plays, by Avhich they were commonly knoAvn, Our earliest instance of a Miracle-Play in England Avas 56 ORIGIX OF THE DUAMA IN EXCJI.AXD. near tlie beginning of the twelfth century. Matthew Paris, in his Lives of the Abbots, writien as early as 1240, informs us that Geoftrey, Abbot of St. Albans, while yet a secular person brought out tlie Miracle-Play of /St. Catharine at Dunstaple ; and that for the needed decorations he obtained certain articles "from the Sacristy of St. Albans." Geoffrey, who Avas from the Univei-sity of Paris, was then teaching a school at Dunstaple, and the jilay was perfomied by liis scholars. Warton thinks this was about 1110: but we learn from Bulojus that Geoffrey became Abbot of St. Albans in 1119 ; and all that can with certainty be affirmed is, that the performance "svas before he assumed a religious liabit. Bukieus also informs us that the thing was not then a novelty, but that it was customary for teachers and scholars to get up such exhibitions. Our next information on the subject is from Fitzstephen's Life of Tliornas a Bechet, as quoted*by Stowe. Becket died in 1170, and the Life was probably W'ritten about twelve years later. After referring to the public amuse- ments of ancient Rome, Fitzstcphen says: "In lieu of such theatrical shows and performances, London has plays of a more sacred kind, representing the miracles which saints have wrought, or the sufferings and constancy of martyrs." It appears that about the middle of the next century itinerant actors were Avell known ; for one of the regula- tions found in the Burton Annals has the following, under date 1258: "Actors maybe entertained, not because they are actors, but because of their ]ioverty ; and let not their plays be seen nor heard, nor the performance of them al- lowed in the presence of the Abbot or the monks." The Clergy differed in oj)inion as to the lawfulness of such exhi- bitions ; and in an Anglo-French jioem Avritten about this time they are shar])ly censured, and the using of them is restricted to certain ])laces and ])ersons. An English para- ])hrase of this jiocm was made by Robert Brunne in 1303; who specifies what pastimes are allowed to " a clerk of order," declaring it lawful for liiin to perform Miracle-Plays MIKACLE-PLAYS. 57 of tlin l)iilh and rosurvection of Christ in churches, but a sin to Mitness them " on the liighways or greens." He also reproves tlie practice, then not uncommon, of aiding in such j)ei-formances by lending horses or harness from the monasteries, and especially declares it sacrilege if a priest or clerk lend the hallowed vestments for that puipose. The dogma of transubstantiation was particularly fruitful of such exhibitions. The festival of Corpus Christi, de- signed for the furthering of this dogma, was instituted by Pope Urban IV. in 1'2G4. Within a few years from that date, Miracle-Plays Avere annually pei'formed at Chester during Whitsuntide : they Avere also introduced at Coven- try, York, Durham, Lancaster, Bristol, Cambridge, and other towns; so that the thing became a sort of established usage throughout the kingdom. A considerable variety of sub- jects, especially such as relate to the Incarnation, the Pas- sion, and the Resurrection, was embraced in the plan of these exhibitions ; the purpose being to extend an orthodox belief in those fundamentals of the faith. A \cvj curious speciiiien of the plays that grew out of the Corpus- Christi festival Avas lately discovered in the library of Trinity College, Dublin, the manuscript being, it is said, as old as the reign of Edward IV., who died in 1483. It is called The Play of the Blessed Sacrament^ and is founded on a miracle alleged to have been wrought in the forest of Arragon, in 14G1. In form it closely resembles the Miracle-Plays founded on Scripture, the Saviour being one of the characters, tlie others being five Jews, a bishop, a i>riest, a merchant, and a ])hysician and his servant. The merchant, having the key of the church, steals the Host, and sells it to the Jews, Avho promise to turn Christians in case they find its miraculous powers verified. They put the Host to various tests. Being stabbed with their daggers, it bleeds, and one of the Jews goes mad at the sight. They next attempt nailing it to a post, when one of them has his hand torn off; whereupon the physician and his man come in to dress the wound, but after a long comic scene are 58 GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAXH. driven out as quacks. Tlie Jews tlicn proceed to boil the Host, but the water forthwith turns blood-red. Finally, they cast it into a heated oven, which jiresently bursts asunder, and an image of the Saviour rises and addresses the Jews, who make good their ])romise on the spot. The merchant confesses his theft, declares his penitence, and is forgiven, under a strict charge never again to buy or sell. The Avhole winds up Avitli an ejiilogue fi'om the bishop, en- forcing the moral of the play, which turns on the dogma of tran substantiation . There are three sets of Miracle-Plays extant, severally known as tlie Towneley, Coventry, and Cliestcr Collections ; the first including thirty plays, the second forty-two, and the third twenty-four. Some of the manuscripts are thought to be as old as the time of Henry VI., who died in 1471. The three sets have all been recently printed by the Shake- speare Society. The Towneley set most likely belonged to Widkirk Abbey : at what time they grew into use theie and at Coventry is not certainly known. At Chester the plays were probably first acted in 1268 ; after wliich time they were repeated yearly, with some interruptions, till 1577. And Ave have conclusive cAidence that such exhibitions formed a regular part of English life in the reign of Ed- Avard HI., Avhich began in 1327. For Chaucer alludes to " plays of miracles " as things of common occurrence; and in The Miller''s Tale he makes it a proininent feature of the parish clerk, "that jolly Avas and gay," that he per- formed in them. And in 1378, Avhich Avas the first year of Richard II., the choristers of St. Paul's, London, petitioned the King to prohibit some ignoi-ant persons from acting plays founded on Scripture, as conflicting Avith the interest of the Clergy, who had incurred expense in getting up a set of i)lays on similar subjects. StoAve informs us, also, that in 1409 there Avas a great play in London, " Avhich lasted eight days, and Avas of matter from the creation of the world." As to the general character of the plays, this Avill best MIRACLE-PLAYS. 59 appear by brief :ma]yses of some of them. The Towneley set being the most riiicient, my first specimens will be from that. The first play of the series includes the creation, the revolt of Lucifer and his adherents, and their expulsion from Heaven. It opens with a short address fi-om the Deity, who then begins the creation, and, after a song by the cher- riibim, descends from the throne, and retires ; Lucifer usurps it, and asks his fellows how he appears. The good and bad angels have difierent opinions about that ; but the Deity soon returns, and ends the dispute by casting the rebels with their leader out of Heaven. Adam and Eve are then created, and Satan winds up the piece with a speech vent- ing his envy of their haj^piness in Eden. The second play i-elates to the killing of Abel, and is opened by Cain's ploughboy with a sort of prologue in which he warns the spectators to be silent. Cain then enters with a plough and team, and quarrels with the boy for refusing to drive the team. Presently Abel comes in, and wishes Cain good-speed, who meets his kind word with an unmentionable request. The murder then proceeds, and is followed by the cursing of Cain ; after Avhicli he calls the boy, and gives him a beating, Cain oAvns the murder, and the boy counsels flight, lest the bailiffs catch him. Xext y^e have a course of buffoonery : Cain makes a mock proclamation in the King's name, the boy repeats it blunderingly after him, and is then sent off with the team ; and the piece closes with a speech by Cain to the spectators, bidding them farewell. The third of the series is occupied with the Deluge. Afte? a lamentation by Noah on the sinfulness of the world, God is introduced repenting that he made man, telling Noah how to build the Ark, and blessing him and his. Noah's wife is an arrant shrew, and they fall at odds in the outset, both of them swearing by the Virgin Mary, Noah begins and finishes the Ark on the spot ; then tells his spouse what is coming, and invites her on board : she stout- 60 GKOAVTH OF THE DKAMA IX EXGLAXD. ly refuses to embark, whicli brings on another flare-up ; he persuades lier -with a whip ; she wishes lierself a widoAv, and the same to all the wives in the audience ; he exhorts all the husbands to break in then- wives betimes : at length harmony is restored by the intervention of the sons ; all go aboard, and pass three hundred and fifty days talking about the weather ; a raven is sent out, then a dove, and they debark. Two plays of the set are taken up Avith the adoration of the shepherds ; and the twelfth is worthy of special notice as being a piece of broad comedy approaching to downright farce, with dashes of rude Avit and humour. The three shep- herds, after talking awhile about their shrewish mves, are on the point of striking up a song, when an old acquaint- ance of theirs named Mak, Avhose character is none of the best, comes among them. They suspect him of meditating some sly trick ; so, on going to bed, they take care to have him lie between them, lest he play the wolf among their woolly subjects. While they are snoring, he steals out, helps himself to a fat sheep, and makes off. His wife, fear- ing he may be snatched up and hanged, suggests a scheme, which is i^resently agreed upon, that she shall make as if she had just been adding a member to the family, and that the sheep shall be snugly wrapped \;p in the cradle. This done, Mak hastens back, and resumes his sleeping-place. In the morning the shepherds wake much refreshed, biit Mak feigns a crick in the neck ; and, while they are Avalldng to the fold, he whips aAvay home. They soon miss the sheep, suspect Mak, and go to his cottage : he lets them in, tells them Avhat liis wife has been doing, and begs them not to disturb lier ; and, as the least noise seems to pain* her, they are at first deceived. They ask to see the child ; he tells them the child is asleej"), and Avill cry badly if Avaked ; still they insist ; yiuW up the covering of the cradle, and knoAV their sheep by the ear-mark ; but the wife assures them it is a child, and that evil spirits have transformed it into Avhat they see. They are not to be duped again ; beat MIRACLE-PLAYS. CI Mak till tliey are tired, tlien lie down to rest ; the star in y the 'East appears, and tlie angel sings the Gloria in JExcel- sis / Avhereupon they proceed to Bethlehem, find the infant ^r^ Saviour, and give him, the first " a bob of cherries," the second a bird, the third a tennis-ball. Tlie Chester and Coventry plays, for the most part, closely resemble the Towneley series, both in the subjects and the manner of treating them. A portion, however, of the Coventry set, from the eighth to the fifteenth, inclusive, deserve special notice, as they show the first beginnings or buddings of a higher dramatic growth, Avhich afterAvards re- sulted in what are called Moral-Plays. For instance, Con- templation, Avho serves as speaker of prologues, and moral- izes the events, is evidently an allegorical personage, that is, an abstract idea pei-sonified, such as afterwards grew into general use, and gaA^e character to stage pei-formances. And we have other like personages, Verity, Justice, Mercy, and Peace. The eighth play represents Joachim giieving that he has no child, and praying that the cause of his grief may be removed : Anna, his wife, heartily joins with him, taking all the blame of their childlessness to herself In answer to their prayers, an angel announces to them the birth of a daughter who shall be called Mary. Then follows the pres- entation of Mary, and, after an interview betw^een her and the bishop. Contemplation informs the audience that four- teen years will elapse before her next appearance, and promises that they shall soon see " the Parliament of Heav- en." Next we have Mary's betrothment. The bishop sum- mons the males of David's House to a])pear in the temple, each bringing a white rod ; he being divinely assured that the man whose rod should bud and bloom was to be the husband of Mary. Josepn, after a deal of urging, oflers up his rod, and the miracle is at once apparent. When asked if he will be married to the maiden, he deprecates such an event with all his might, and pleads his old age in bar of it ; nevertheless the marriage proceeds. Some while after, 62 GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. Joseph informs the Yh-giu that lie has liired " a pretty Httle house " for her to live in, and that he will " go labouring in far country " to maintain her. Then comes the Parliament of Heaven. The Virtues plead for pity and grace to man ; Verity objects, urging that there can be no peace made be- tween sin and the law ; this calls forth an earnest prayer from Mercy in man's behalf ; Justice takes up the argument on the other side; Peace answers in a strain that brings them all to accord. The Son then raises the question how the thing shall be done. Verity, Justice, Mercy, and Peace having tried their wit, and found it unequal to the cause, a council of the Trinity is held, when the Son offers to under- take the work by assuming the form of a man ; the Father consents, and the Holy Ghost agrees to co-oi)erate. Gabriel is then sent to salute Mary and make known to her the decree of the Incarnation. Joseph is absent some months. On his return he is in great affliction, and reproaches Mary, but, an angel explain- ing the matter to him, he makes amends. The bishop holds a court, and his officer summons to it a large number of people, all having English names, and tells the audience to " ring well in their purse " ; which shows that money was collected for the performance. Mary is bi'ought before the court, to be tried for naughtiness, and Joseph also for tamely bearing it. His innocence is proved by his drinking, Avith- out harm, a liquid Avliich, were he guilty, would cause spots on his face. Mary also drinking of the same, unhurt, one of the accusers affirms that the bisho]) has changed the draught, but is cured of his unbelief by being forced to drink what is left. The fifteenth play relates to the na- tivity. Joseph, it seems, is not yet satisfied of Mary's inno- cence, and his doubts are all removed in this manner : Mary, seeing a tall tree full of ripe cherries, asks him to gather some for her ; he re])lies that the father of her child may help her to them ; and the tree forthwith boM'S down its top to her hand. This is soon followed by the Saviour's birth. MIRACLE-PLAYS. 63 Besides the three sets of Miracle-Plays in question, there are' other specimens, some of which seem to require notice. Among these are three, known as the Bigby Miracle-Plays, on the Conversion of St. Paul. One of the persons is Belial, whose appearance and behaviour are indicated by the stage-direction, "Enter a Devil with thunder and fire." lie makes a soliloquy in self-glorification, and then com- ])Iains of the dearth of news : after which we have the stage-direction, "Enter another Devil called Mercury, com- ing in haste, crying and roaring." He tells Belial of St. Paul's conversion, and declares his belief that the Devil's reign is aboi;t to end; whereat Belial is in stark dismay. They then plot to stir up the " Jewish Bishops " in the cause, and soon after " vanish away with a fiery flame and a tempest." A Miracle-Play relating to Mary Magdalen is remarkable as having required four scaffolds for the exhibition ; Tiberius, Herod, Pilate, and the Devil having each their several sta- tions ; and one of the directions being, "Enter the Prince of Devils on a stage, and Hell underneath the stage." Mary lives in a castle inherited from her father, who figures in the opening of the play as King Cyi'us. A ship owned by St. Peter is brought into the space between the scaffolds, and Mary and some others make a long voyage in it. Of course St. Peter's ship represents the Catholic Church. The heroine's castle is besieged by the Devil with the Seven Deadly Sins, and carried ; Luxury takes her to a tavern where a gallant named Curiosity treats her to " sops and wine." The process of Mary's repentance and amend- ment is carried through in due order. Tiberius makes a long speech glorifying himself; a parasite named Serybil flatters him on his good looks, and he in return blesses Serybil's face, which was probably carbuncled as richly as Coqjoral Bardolph's. Herod makes his, boast in similar style, and afterwards goes to bed. The devils, headed by Satan, perform a mock pagan mass to Mahound, which is the old name for Mohammed. The three Kings of the 64 GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. "NVoi'ld, the Flesh, and the Devil figure in the play, but not ])roniiiiently. A Priest winds up the performance, request- ing the spectatoi's not to charge its faults on the poet. Here, again, we liave allegorical personages, as Lechery, Luxury, and Curiosity, introduced along with concrete par- ticular characters of Scrij^ture. This is carried still further in another play of a later date, called the Life and Repent- ance of Mary Magdalen^ where we have divers personifica- tions of abstract ideas, such as Law, Faith, Pride, Cupidity, and Infidelity ; the latter being much the same as the Vice or Iniquity who figured so Lirgcly in Moral-Plays. Infidel- ity acts as the heroine's paramour, and assumes many dis- guises, to seduce her into all sorts of vice, wherein he is aided by Pride, Cupidity, and Carnal-concu])iscence. "\Yhen she has reached the climax of sin, he advises her " not to make two hells instead of one," but to live merrily in this world, since she is sure of perdition in the next ; and his advice succeeds for a while. On the other hand, Law, Faith, Kepentance, Justification, and Love strive to recover her, and the latter half of the play is taken up with this work of benevolence. At last, Christ expels the seven devils, who " roar terribly " ; whereupon Infidelity and his com- panions give her up. The piece closes with a dialogue be- tween Mary, Justification, and Love, the latter two rejoicing over the salvation of a sinner. This play Avas printed in 1567, and is described in the title-jiage, as "not only godly, leained, and fi-uitful, but also Avell furnished with pleasant mirth and pastime, very delectable for those Avhich shall hoar or read the same : Made by the learned clerk, Lewis Wager." It bears clear internal evidence of having been written after theRcfoiTaa- tion ; and the ])rologue shows tliat it was acted by itinerant players, and had been performed " at the university." Four Miracle-Plays have come down to us, which were written by Bishop Bale, and printed on the Continent in 1538. The most notable point concerning them is their being the first known attempt to use the stage in fur- MIRACLE-PLAYS. 6;') therniice of the Reformation. One of them is entitled Chruit's Ttmptation. It opens with Christ in the wihler- ncss, faint tlirough hmiger ; and His first speech is meant to refute the Romish doctrine of the efficacy of fisting. Satan joins Ilim in the disguise of a hermit, and the whole temptation proceeds according to Scripture, In one of his arguments, Satan vents his sj)ite against "false priests and bislwps," but plumes himself that " the Vicar of Rome " v.-jll worshijt and serve him. Bale wrote several plays in a different line, of one of which I have given some account in another place.* The Miracle-Play of King Darius is scarce worth notice, save that Iniquity with his wooden dagger has a leading part in the action. He, 'together with Importunity and Partiality, has several contests with Equity, Charity, and Constancy : for a while he has the better of them ; but at last they catch him alone, each in turn threatens him with sore visitings, and then follows the direction, " Here some- body must cast fire to Iniquity " ; who probably had some fireworks about his person, to explode for the amusement of the audience, as he went out. Hitherto we have met with nothing that can be regarded as portraiture of individual character, unless somewhat of the sort be alleged in the case of Mak the sheep-stealing rogue. The truth is, character and action, in the proper sense of the terms, were hardly thought of in the making of Miracle-Plays ; the work aiming at notliing higher than a literal or mechanical reflection of facts and events ; some- times relieved indeed Avith certain generalities of popular humour and satire, but without any contexture of individual traits. The piece next to be noticed deserves remark, as indicating how, nnder the pressure of general dramatic improvement, Miracle-Plays tried to rise above their i)roper sphere, and still retain their pro])er form. The History of Jacob and Esau, probably Avritten as early as 1557, and printed in 1568, is of very regular con- * See Introduction to King John, in the author's edition of the Poet's works. 6G GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. struction, having five Acts, which are duly subdivided into scenes. Besides the Scripture characters, are Ragau, Esau^s servant ; Mido, a boy who leads blind Isaac ; Hanan and Zethar, two of his neighbours ; Abra, a girl who assists Rebecca ; and Debora, an old nurse. Esau and his servant Ragau set forth together on a hunt. While they are gone, Rebecca urges Jacob to secure his bi-other's birthright. Esau returns with a raging appetite, and Jacob demands his birthright as the condition of relieving him with a mess of rice pottage ; he consents, and Ragau laughs at his stu- pidity, while Jacob, Rebecca, and Abra sing a psalm of thanksgi\'ing. These things occupy the first two Acts ; in the third, Esau and his man take another hunt. The bless- ing of Jacob takes place in the fourth Act ; Rebecca task- ing her cookery to the utmost in dressing a kid, and suc- ceeding in her scheme. In the last Act, Esau comes back, and learns from his father what has occurred in his absence. The plot and incidents are managed with considerable pro- priety ; the characters are discriminated with some art ; the comic portions show some neatness of wit and humour. In the Interlude of Godly Queen Esther^ printed in 1561, we have a Miracle-Play going still further out of itself. One of the characters is named Hardy-dardy, who, with some qualities of the Vice, foreshadows the Jester, or pro- fessional Fool, of the later Drama ; w^earing motley, and feigning weakness or disorder of intellect, to the end that his wit may run more at large, and strike with the better effect. Hardy-dardy offers himself as a servant to Haman ; and after Ilaman has urged him with sundry re- marks in dispraise of fools, he sagely replies, that " some wise man must be fain sometime to do on a fool's coat." Besides the Scripture characters, the play has several alle- gorical ]iersonagcs, as Pride, Ambition, and Adulation, who make their wills, bequeatliing all their bad qualities to Haman, and thereby ruin him. Of all the persons who figured in the Miracle-Plays, Ilerod, the slayer of the Innocents, appears to have been the great- inKACLE-PLAYS. (')7 est po))uUir favourite. We hear of liim as early as the time of Chaucer, wlio says of the parish clerk, Absolon, " Sometime, to show his lightness and maistrie, He plaieth Herode on a scaffold hie." From that time onwards, and we know not how long be- fore, he was a sort of staple character, no set of Miracle- Plays being regarded as complete without him. And he was always represented as an immense swearer and brag- gart and swaggerer, evermore ranting and raving up and down the stage, and cudgelling the spectators' ears with the most furious bombast and profanity. Thus, in one of the Chester series : " For I am king of all mankind ; I bid, I beat, 1 loose, I bind : I master the Moon : Take this in mind, That I am most of might. I am the greatest above degree, That is, that was, or ever shall be : The Sun it dare not shine on me, An I bid him go down." Thus, too, in one of the Coventry series : " Of beauty and of boldness I bear evermore the bell ; Of main and of might 1 master every man ; I ding with my doughtiness the Devil down to Hell ; For both of Heaven and of Earth I am king certain." Termagant, the supposed god of the Saracens, was an- other staple character in the Miracle-Plays ; who is desciibed by John Florio as " a great boaster, quarreller, killer, tamer or ruler of the universe, the child of the earthquake and of the thunder, the brother of death." That Shakespeare him- self had suffered under the monstrous din of these " strut- ting and bellowing " stage-thumpers is shown by Hamlet's remonstrance with the players : " O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a ])ns- sion to rags, to very tatters, to split the ears of the ground- lings : I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant ; it out-herods Herod : pray you, avoid it." 68 GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAXD. Thus iniicli must suffice by way of indicating, in a general sort, the character of those primitive sprouts and upshoots of the Gothic Di-ama in England. Their rudeness of con- struction, their ingrained coarseness of style,their puerility, their obscenity, and indecency, according to our stand- ard, are indescribable. Their quality in these respects could only be shown by specimens, and these I have not room to produce, nor would it be right or decent to do so, if I had. But what strikes us, perhaps, still more oiFensively in those old religious plays, is the irreverent and shocking familiarity everywhere used with the sacredest persons and things of the Christian Faith. The awfullest and most moving scenes and incidents of the Gospel history, such as the Last Supper and the Crucifixion, were treated with what cannot but seem to us the most shameless and most disgusting profanity : the poor invention of the time was racked to the uttermost, to harrow the audience with dra- matic violence and stress ; and it seems to us impossible but that all the solemnity of the matter must have been de- feated by such coarseness of handling. But, indeed, we can hardly do justice either to the authors or the audiences of those religious comedies ; there being an almost impassable gulf fixed between their modes of thought and ours. The people were then just emerging fi-om the thick darkness of Gothic barbarism into what may be termed the border-land of civilization. As such, their minds were so dominated by the senses, that they could scarce conceive of any beings much more than one grade above themselves. A sort of infantile unconsciousness, in- deed, had possession of them ; so that they were really quite innocent of the evils which we see and feel in Avhat was so entertaining to them. Hence, as Michelet remarks, " the ancient Church did not scruple to connect whimsical dramatic rites M'ith the most sacred doctrines and objects." So that the state of mind from which and for which those old plays were produced goes far to exi)lain and justify MIRACLE-PLAYS. 09 \vh:;t we are apt to regard as a shocking contradiction be- tween, the suhject-matter and tl>e treatment. Tlie truth is, such rehgious farces, with all their coarse trumperies and ' comicalities and sensuous extravagances, were in perfect iceeping with the genius of an age when, for instance, a transfer of land was not held binding without the delivery of a clod. And so, what Mr. John Stuart Mill describes as " the. childlike character of the religious sentiment of a rude people, who know terror, but not awe, and are often on the most intimate terms of familiarity with the objects of their adoration," makes it conceivable how that which seems to us the most irreverent handling of sacred things, may not- withstanding have been, to the authors and audiences in question, but the natural issue of such religious thoughts and feelings as they had or were capable of having. At all events, those exhibitions, so revolting to modern taste and decorum, were no doubt in most cases full of religion and honest delectation to the simj^le minds who witnessed them. Moreover, rude and ignorant as the Miracle-Plays were in form, coarse and foul as they were in language and incident, they nevertheless contained the germ of that splendid dra- matic gi'owth with which the literature and life of England w^ere afterwards enriched and adorned. Before leaving this branch of the subject, perhaps I ought to add something further as to the part which Avas taken by the Clergy in those old stage exhibitions. The register of the Guild of Corpus Christi at York, which was a relig- ious fraternity, mentions, in 1408, books of plays, various banners and flags, beards, vizards, crowns, diadems, and scaffolds, belonging to the society; which shows that its members were at that time concerned in the representation of Miracle-Plays. It appears that a few years afterwards these performances, because of certain abuses attending them, were discontinued : but in 1426 William Melton, a friar who is called " a professor of lioly pageantry," preached several sermons in flivour of them ; and the result was, that they were then made annual, suitable measures being taken 70 GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. for preventing tlie former disorders. But the best evidence as to the share the Clergy had in the representations is furnislied by the account-book of Thetford Priory from 14G1 to 1540 ; which contains numerous entries of pay- ments to players ; and in divers cases expressly states that members of the convent assisted in the performances. These were commonly held twice or tin-ee times a year; in 1531 there were five rej^etitions of them ; after which time there are but three entries of plays wherein the mem- bers participated with the common actors ; the old custom being broken up most likely by the progress of the Ref- ormation. The practice in question, however, was by no means uni- versal. We learn from Stowe that in 1391 and 1409, plays were acted in London by the i)arish clerks. In cities and large towns, these performances Avere generally in the hands of the trade fi-aternities or guilds. Our information touch- ing the Corjnis Christi ])lays at Coventry extends from 141G to 1590; during which period there is no sign of the Clergy having any i>art in them. The records of Chester also show that the whole business was there managed by laymen. And in 1487 a Miracle-Play on the descent of Christ into Hell was acted before Henry the Seventh by the charity boys of Hyde Abbey and St. Swithin's Priory. Long before this date, acting was taken up as a distinct ]»rofession, and regular companies of actors were formed. That churches and chapels of monasteries were at first, .ind for a long time after, used as theatres, is very certain. The Anglo-French poem already referred to informs us that Miracle-Plays were sometimes ])erformed in churches and cemeteries, the Clergy getting them up and acting in them. And Burnet tells us that Bishop Bonner as late as 1542 issued an order to his clergy, forbidding " all manner of common l>lays, games, or interludes to be played, set forth, or declared within their churches and chapels." Nor was the custom wholly discontinued till some time after that ; for in 1572 was printed a tract which has a passage infer- MORAL-PLAYS. 71 rinenalty being imprisonment without bail, and fine at the King's pleasure. Soon after the accession of Mary, in 1553, was set forth a })roclamation against "busy meddlers in matter of re- ligion, and for redress of preachers, printers, and jjlayers " ; the intent of which was to jJrevent the printing or playing of any thing adapted to further the Reformation. The thing seems to have been effectual for more than two years, after which further measures were found necessary. But all would not do ; the restraints kej)t giving way. In 1557, "certain naughty plays" broke loose even in London', and the Lord Mayor Avas called ui)on by the Court to dis- cover and arrest the j)layers, and " to take order that no play be made henceforth within the city, except the same MORAT-ri.AYS. 81 be first seen, and the players authorized." Nevertheless Mary was far fi-om discouraging plays and players : on the contrary, she kept up the theatrical establishment of her father to the full. The old Miracle-Plays, being generally of the right Roman Catholic stamp, Avere revived under the patronage of the Court. In 1556, the i»lay of Chrisfs Pas- sion Avas j)resented at the Greyfriars in London, before the Lord Mayor, the Privy Council, and many of the nobility. The next year it was repeated at the same place ; and also, on the feast of St. Olave, the miraculous life of that Saint was performed as a stage-jilay in the church dedicated to him. Elizabeth succeeded to the crown, November 17, 1558 • and in 3Iay following she issued a proclamation forbiddiiv any plays or interludes to be performed in the kingdom without special license from the local magistrates ; and also ordering that none should be so licensed, Avherein either matters of religion or of State were handled. This was prob- ably deemed necessary in consequence of the strong meas- ures Avhich had lately been used for putting down all plays that smacked of the Reformation. The Moral-Play of Lusty Jiiventiis^ printed some time after 1551, is full of shots against Avliat are called the super- stitions of Rome. Its arguments and positions are exceed- ingly scriptural, chapter and verse being quoted or referred to with all the exactness of a theological treatise. And the tenets of the ncAV "gospellers" are as openly maintained as those of Rome are impugned. Juventus, the hero, who is bent on going it while he is young, starts out in quest of his companions, to have a merry dance: Good Counsel meets him, warns him of the evil of his Avays, and engages him on the spot in a prayer for grace to aid him in his pur- pose of amendment. Just at this moment KnoAvledge comes up, and prevails on him to spend his time chiefly in hearing sermons and reading the Scni)tures. This puts the Devil in great alarm; he has a soliloquy on the subject, then calls in Hypocrisy, :uid sets him to Avork in the cause. 82 GROAVTH OF THE DRAMA IN EXGLAKD, While Juvcntus is on liis way to "hear a preaching," Hy- pocrisy encounters him, argues with him against foi-saking the traditions of his fothers, and diverts him from liis pur- pose. Some while after, Good Counsel finds him in the lowest state of debauchery, and reclaims him ; and God's Merciful Promises undertakes to procure his pardon. The Longer Thou Livest the More Fool Thou Art is the title of a piece jn-obahly Avritten early in Elizabeth's reign. Moros, the hero, is rei)resented as an ignorant and vicious fool, thinking of nothing but ballads and songs, and constantly singing scraps of them. Discipline finds him venting this humour, and reproves him ; Piety and Exercise {idd their efforts to reform him, but discover him to be as much knave as fool. The tAvo latter hold him while Dis- cipline lays on the whip, till he aflects contrition ; but he is soon wheedled into a relapse by Idleness, Incontinence, and Wrath, who, hoAvever, profess to hold him in contemi:)t. Wrath gives him the Vice's sword and dagger, and they all promise him the society of Nell, Nan, Meg, and Bess. Fortune then endows him with wealth ; he takes Impiety, Cruelty, and Ignorance into his service ; Impiety stirs him up against " these new felloAvs," that is, the Protestants, and he vows to "hang, burn, and kill" them without remorse. When they are gone, Peo]ile enters, complaining of the hero's cruelty and oppression, but runs off in a fright as soon as he returns. God's Judgment then comes and strikes him down ; Confusion follows ; they strip off his " goodly gear," and put on him a fool's coat. Being required by Confusion to go with him he rej^lies, — " If it please the Devil me to have, Let him cany me away on his batk." We are left to infer that Confusion, who is the Devil of the piece, takes him at his word. The MarricKje of Wit and Science is the earliest known instance of a Moral-Play regularly distributed into five Acts, and these again into scenes. The allegory is quite elaborate and wire-drawn ; and the piece has something of MORAL-PLAYS. 83 humour in the matter, and of melody in tlie versification. Like Will to Like, Quoth the Devil to the Collier, printed in 1568, has some rude approaches to individual character; which is my reason for noticing it. Nichol Newfmgle, though in fact the hero, enacts the Vice, and is armed with the wooden dagger; among his friends are Ralph Royster, Tom Tosspot, Philip Fleming, Pierce Pickpurse, and Cuth- bert Cutpui'se, who have some lines of individual peculiar- ity. To these are added several allegorical personages, as Good Fame, Severity, Virtuous Life, and Honour. Lucifer also figures in the piece ; Newfangle claims him as god- father, and is at last carried ofi;' by him. The Conflict of Conscience is worthy of notice as being one of the earliest germinations of the Historical Drama. The hero, though called Philologus, is avowedly meant for Francis Speira, an Italian lawyer, who, it is said, "forsook the truth of God's Gospel, for fear of the loss of life and worldly goods." The characters of the piece are partly historical, partly allegorical. If The Conflict of Conscience deserves mention as an approach to Tragedy, Tom Tiler and his Wife equally de- serves it as an early s])rout of Comedy. It contains a mix- ture of allegorical and individual persons, the latter, how- ever, taking the chief part of the action. Tom Tiler has a spouse named Strife, who is not only a great scold, but hugely given to drinking with Sturdy and Tip])le. Tiler meets his fi-iend Tom Tailor, an artificer of shreds and patches, and relates his sufierings. Tailor changes clothes with him ; in this disguise goes to Strife as her husband, and gives her such a drubbing that she submits. Tiler then re- sumes his own clothes, goes home, and pities his Avife, who, ignorant of the trick, voavs she will never love him again : to appease her, he unwarily oaatis nj) ; whereii]:>on she snatches a stick, and belabours him till he cries out for life ; and she declares that Tailor liad better eaten her than beaten her. Tiler flies to his fi-iend Tailor, and tells him what has ha])pened ; Tailor then falls to beating him; and 84 GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN EXGLAXD. the lady, coming up just at the time, goes to playing her batteries on them both, until Patience arrives and restores harmony all round, charming the discontent out of Tiler, and the fury out of Strife. Jack Juggler, " a new interlude for children to play," is somewhat remarkable, not only in that it carries still higher the effort at individual character, but as being one of the oldest pieces founded on a classic original ; the author claim- ing, in his prologue, to have taken "Plautus' first comedy" as his model. Master Bongrace sends his lacquey Jcnkin to Dame Coy, his lady-love ; but Jenkin loiters to play at dice and steal apples. Jack Juggler, who enacts the Vice, watches him, gets on some clothes just like his, and undertakes to persuade him " that he is not himself^ but another man." The task ])roves too much, till he brings fist-arguments to bear; when Jenkin gives up the point, and makes a comical address to the audience, alleging certain reasons for believing that he is not himself. The humour of the piece turns mainly on this doubt of his identity. We have many other specimens in the class of Moral- Plays ; but, as they are all cast in much the same mould, any further dwelling upon them would accomplish little towards illustrating the progress of the Drama. COMEDY AND TRAGEDY. We have seen liow the old Miracle-Plays gradually gave way to Moral-Plays, first borrowing some of their materials, then thrown into the background, and finally quite dis- ])laced by them. Yet both these forms of the Drama were radically different from Comedy and Tragedy in the proper sense of these terms : there was very little of character or of human blood in them ; and even that little was rather forced in by external causes than a free outgi-owth from the genius of the thing. The first, in their ]iroj)er idea and original })l;ui, were but a mechanical collocation of the COMEDY AND TRAGEDY. 85 events of Scripture and old legend, carried on by a sort of ]»ersonal rcj)resentatives; the second, a mere procession of abstract ideas rudely and inartificially })ersonified, with something of fantastical drapery thrown around them. So that both alike stood apart from the vitalities of nature and the abiding interests of thought, being indeed quite inno- cent of the knowledge of them. Of course it was impossible that such things, themselves the oftspring of darkness, should stand the light. None but children in mind could mistake them for truth, or keep u\) any real sympathy with such iinvital motions. Precluded from the endless variety of individual nature and character, they could not but run into great monotony: in fact, the whole thing was at best little more than a repetition of one fundamental aii- under certain arbitrary variations. As the matter shown was always much the same, the interest had to depend chiefly on the manner of showing it ; and this naturally generated a cumbrous and clumsy excess of manner ; unless indeed the thing drew beyond itself; while in doing this it could scarce fail to create a taste that would sooner or later force it to withdraw from the scene. Accordingly, Moral-Plays, as Ave have seen, began, early in their course, to deviate into veins foreign to their origi- nal design : points of native humour and wit, and lines of personal interest were taken in to diversify and relieve the allegorical sameness ; and these grew more and more into the main texture of the workmanship. As the new elements gained strength, much of the old treasure proved to be mere refuse and dross ; as such it was discarded ; while so much of sterling wealth as had been accumulated was sucked in, retained, and carried up into the sui)erA-ening gi'owth. The beginnings, then, of English Comedy and Tragedy were made long before these appeared in distinct forma- tion. And the first known hand that drew off the elements of Comedy, and moulded them uj) by themselves, Mas John IleyAvood, Avho belonged to the theatncal and musical establishment of Henry the Eighth. Ilis pieces, however. 86 GROAVTII OF TIIK DUAMA IX ICNGLAXD. have not the i'onu ol' rcguhir comedies. He called them Interludes, a name in use many years before, and probably adopted by him as indicating the purpose to which he de- signed them, ot" tilling the gaps or intervals of banquets and other entertainments. They are short, not taking much more time than a single act in an ordinary comedy. Yet they have the substance of comedy, in that they give pic- tures of real life and manners, containing much sprightli- ness of dialogue, and not a little of humour and charactei-, and varied Avith amusing incident and allusion drawn fresh from the Avriter's observation, with the dews of nature ujion them. Heywood's earliest ])icce, ]u-inted in 1533, is entitled A merry Play between the Pardoner and the jFrierr, the Curate and JSTeighbour Pratt. A Pardoner and a Friar have each got leave of the Curate to use his church, the one to exhibit his relics, the other to preach a sermon. The Friar comes fii'st, and is al)out to begin his preachment, when the other enters and disturbs him : each wants to be heard first ; and, after a long trial which has the stronger lungs, they foil into a regular performance of mutual kicking and cuffing. The Curate, aroused to the spot by the noise, endeavours to part them ; failing of this, he calls in Neighbour Pratt, and then seizes the Friar, leaving Pratt to manage the other, the purpose being to put them both in the stocks. But they get the worst of it altogether ; so that they gladly come to terms, allowing the Pardoner and Friar quietly to depart. As a sam])le of the incidents, I may add that the Friar, while his whole sermon is against covetousness, harjis much on the voluntary poverty of Ids order, and then gives, notice of his intention to take u]) a collection. In a like satirical humour, the Pardoner is made to exhibit some laughable relics, such as " the great toe of the Holy Trin- ity," and the "blessed jaw-bone" of all the saints in the Calendar. Of course liis purj)ose also is to bless money into his purse. Another of Heywood's pieces, also printed in 1533, is COMEDY AND TRAGEDY. 87 c:;llecl A merry Play between John the Ilushcmd, Tib tlie ir//c', and Sir John tlie Priest. Here the comic vein runs out even more freely than in the former piece, and has quite as mucli relisli of home-made observation. Still another of Heywood's pieces, also full of broad fun, and equally smacking of real life, is called The Four Ps / while a fourth, called 27)e Play of the Weather, has something the character of a Moral-l*lay, the Vice figuring in it under thx? name of Merry Report. — Thus much nnist suffice for indicating the steps taken by Heywood in the direction of genuine Comedy. An anonymous interlude called Thersites, and Avritten in 1537, deserves mention as the oldest dramatic ])iece in Eng- lish, with characters pur})orting to be borrowed from secular history. The piece, however, has nothing of historical matter but the names : it is merely a piece of broad comedy in the vein of English life and manners. The oldest known specimen of a regular English comedy is Halph Roister Doister, written as early as 1551. It was the work of Nicholas Udall, a name distinguished in the early literature of the Reformation ; Avho, in 1534, was a]v pointed Head-Master of Eton, then famous for teaching the classics, became Prebendary of Windsor in 1551, was after- wards made Head-Master of Westminster School, and died in 1556. In his prologue the author refers to Plautus and Terence as his models. The ])lay is in five Acts, which are sub- divided into scenes ; the scene is in London, the persons and manners all English. The hero and heroine are Ralph Roister Doister and Dame Custance, a widow ; in the train of the former are IMatthew IMerrygrcck and Harpax ; of the latter, Truepenny her man, Madge Mumblecrust her narse, Tibet Talkapace, and Annot Alyfice. The play is opened by INFatthew, who enters singing, and ex])ounds his mind in a soliloquy, dilating on his patron's qualities and his own. Presently Ral]>h comes in talking to himself, and calls on Matthew for counsel and hel]>, as he is dying for love of a 88 GROAVTII OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. lady whose name he does not at first remember, and who, he hears, is engaged to a merchant named Goodhick. Mat- thew stufls him witli tlie assurance that his figure is sudi as no woman can resist, and that tlie people go into raptures over him as he passes in the streets ; all which he greedily swallows. Next, we have a scene of Madge, Tibet, and Annot at their work, praising their good fare, rallying each other, and singing snatches of song : Ralph overhears them, and takes joy to tlunk how happy he shall live Avith a wife who keeps such servants ; strikes up an acquaintance with them, and, after divers comic passages, leaves with Madge a letter for her mistress. The next day Dobinet Doughty comes fi"om Goodluck with a ring and token, Avhich Madge refuses to deliver, she having been scolded for taking Ralph's letter. He tells the servants he is a messenger from their lady's intended husband, but does not mention his name : they are delighted at the prospect of such a change in the family, and almost fall at strife for the honour of carrying the presents to their mistress, who, hoAvever, sharjdy re- proves them for taking such thhigs Avithout knoAving whence they come. In the third Act MatthcAV is sent to reconnoitre, when he leanis that the lady's hand is already engaged, and that she has not even read Ralph's letter. -Returning, he tells Raljih she Avill have nothing to do Avith him, and hoAV she abuses him Avith opprobrious terms; Avhich puts him to dying for love right on the spot ; and Matthew, to help on the joke, calls in the parish clerk and others to sing a mock requiem. As Ralph does not succeed in dying, MattheAV counsels him to ])ut on a bold fiice, and claim the lady's hand in person, after treating her to a serenade. lie agrees to this, and Avhile the serenade is in ])rogrcss the lady enters; he declares his ])nssion ; she rejects him Avitli sci rn, and returns his letter unread; wliereujton ]M:;tthe\v re.'ids it in her hearing, but so v:n'ies the ])oiiiting as to turn the sense all upside doAvn ; and Ralph denies it to be his. As soon as she has left them, Matthew goes to refreshing him COMEDY AND TRAGEDY. 89 again Avith extravagant praise of his person, Avishing him- self a woman for his sake, and advising him to hold off awhile, as this will soon bring her to terms. Ralph con- sents to try this course, and swears vengeance against the scrivener who copied his letter ; but in the scrivener's read- ing it is found all right, and Matthew is seen to be the true culprit. In the fourth Act Sim Suresby comes fi'om Goodluck to salute the lady on his master's return fi'om a voyage ; while they are talking, Ralph arrives with Matthew, and addresses her as his spouse ; Avhereupon Sim, thinking them married, goes to inform his master Avhat seems to have happened in his absence. The lady, full of grief and anger at this stain- ing of her good name, calls on her man and maids to drive out Ralph and Matthew, who quickly retreat, but threaten to return. Matthew now contrives to let the lady know that he has joined with Ralph only to make fun of him. In due time, Ralph comes back armed with kitchen utensils and a popgun, and attended by Matthew and Harpax. The issue of the scrape is, that the lady and her maids beat off the assailants witli mop and broom ; Matthew managing to have all his blows light on Ralph. The fifth Act opens with the arrival of Goodluck and his man Sim, both persuaded of the lady's infidelity. She pro- ceeds to welcome him with much afiection, but he draws back, and calls for an explanation : she protests her inno- cence, and refers him to her friend Tristram Trusty. This brings about the conclusion, the Avedding of Goodluck and Custance being appointed, and Ralph and MattheAV being invited to it. The ])iece, its date considered, is certainly one of no little merit : it has considerable AVit and humour, in Avhich there is nothing coarse or vulgar; the dialogue abounds in variety and spirit, and the characters are Avell discriminated and life-like. The idea of Merrygreek Avas evidently caught from the old Vice ; but his love of s]>ort and mischief is Avithout malignity, and the interest of his part is in the 90 GKOWni OF THE drama in ENGLAND. character, not in the trimmings. The play is written in lines of nnequal length, and with nothing to mark them as verse hut the i-hymes. Misogo7ms^ a piece which has lately come to light, ap- pears from internal evidence to have been Avritten about 1560. The scene is laid in Italy, but the manners and allusions are English, while the persons have Greek and Koman names significant of their tempers or positions. Here, again, the characterization is diversified and sus- tained with no little skill, while many of the incidents and situations are highly diverting. Perhaps the most note- worthy feature of the play is Cacurgus, a specimen of the professional domestic Fool that succeeded the old Vice. And he is one of the most remarkable instances of his class that have survived ; there being no other ])lay of so early a date wherein the part is used with so much skill. Before his master, who is the hero, Cacurgus commonly affects the simpleton, but at other times is full of versatile shrcAvdness and waggish mischief He is usually called, both by himself and others, Will Summer; as though he were understood to model his action after the celebrated court Fool of Henry the Eighth. An analysis of the plot would occu])y too much space ; besides, the piece, Avith all its merit, does not really offer much towards illustrating the matter of dramatic pi'Ogress : it only shows that the spirit of improvement was alive in more minds than one. Perha))s I ought to add, that the events of tlie play extend over a considerable ])criod of time; yet the unity of action is so Avell maintained, that the diversities of time do not ])ress upon the thoughts. On the Avhole, it is clear that even at that date tlie ])rincij)les of the Gothic Drama were vigorously at work, })reparing that magnificent fruit.lge of art Avhich came to full liarvest, ere she Avho then sat on the English throne was taken to licr rest. Hitherto we have met witli no instance of regular tragedy^ Avhich Avas in England of later groAvth than comedy ; though COMKDY AND TKAGKDY. 91 we liave seen that some l)eginnings of tragedy were made in the older species of drama. The Tragedy of Gorboditc, or, as it is sometimes called, Of Ferrex and Porrex^ is on several accounts deserving of s])ecial attention. It was acted before the Queen at Whitehall, by gentlemen of the Inner Temple, in Janixary, 1562; and was printed in 1565, the title-])age informing us that three Acts were written by Thomas Norton, and the last two by Thomas Sackville. Norton made and published a translation of Calvin's Insti- tutes^ which went through five editions during his lifetime. Sackville, afterwards Earl of Dorset, succeeded Burghley as Lord Treasurer in 1599, which office he held till his death, in 1608 ; and was eidogized by divers pens. Lord Bacon's being one, for his eloquence, his learning, his charity, and integiity. Warton's statement of the plot is brief and accurate, as follows: "Gorboduc, a king of Britain about six hundred years before Christ, made in his lifetime a division of his kingdom to his two sons Ferrex and Porrex. The two young princes within five years quarrelled for universal sovereignty. A ciA'il war ensued, and Porrex slew his elder brother Ferrex. Their mother, Videna, who loved Ferrex best, revenged his death by entering Porrex's chamber in the night, and murdering him in his sleep. The people, exasperated at the cruelty and treachery of this murder, rose in rebellion, and killed both Gorboduc and Videna, The nobility then assembled, collected an army, and de- stroyed the rebels. An intestine war commenced between the chief lords ; the succession of the crown became uncer- tain and arbitrary, for want of a lineal royal issue ; and the country, destitute of a king, and wasted by domestic slaughter, was reduced to a state of the most miserable desolation." Each Act of the tragedy is preceded by a dumb-show significant of what is forthcoming, and the first four are followed by clioruses, moralizing the events. But the most notable fact about it is, that all exce])t the choruses is in 92 GROWTH OF THE DRAMA IN ENGLAND. blank-verse ; in which respect it was a great and noble in- novation. And the versification runs abundantly smooth ; beyond which little can be said in its favour ; though that was a good deal for the time. With considerable force of thought and language, the speeches are excessively formal, st.ately, and didactic; every thing is told, nothing repre- sented ; the dialogue is but a series of studied declamation, without any pulses of life, or any relish of individual traits ; in brief, all is mere State rhetoric speaking in the same vein, now from one mouth, now from another. From the sub- ject-matter, the unities of time and place are necessarily disregarded, while there is no continuity of action or char- acter to lift it above the circumscriptions of sense. The Acts and scenes follow one another Avithout any innate prin- ciple of succession : there is nothing like an organic com- position of the parts, no weaving of them together by any law of dramatic sequence and development. Still, the piece marks an era in the English Drama. In the single article of blank-verse, though having all the monotony of the most regular rhyming versifier, it did more for dramatic improvement than, perhaps, could have been done in a cen- tury without that step being taken. The Supposes^ translated from the Italian of Ariosto by George Gnscoigne, and acted at Gray's Inn in 1566, is chiefly remarkable as being the oldest extant jday in Eng- lish prose. Jocasta^ also acted at Gray's Inn the same year, is the second known play in blank-verse. It was avowedly taken from Euripides, but can liardly be called a translation, since it makes " many omissions, retrenchments, and transpositions"; though the main substance of the original is retained. The example of making English plays out of Italian novels ap2)ears to have been first set, unless tlie lost ])lay of Romeo and Juliet should be excepted, in 1568, when tlie tragedy of Tancred and Gismimda was performed before Elizabeth at the Inner Temple. It was the Avork of five persons, eacli contributing an Act, and one of them COMEDY AND TRAGEDY. 93 beino- Christopher ITatton, afterwards known as Elizabeth's " dancing Chancellor." Except in the article of blank- verse, the Avriters seem to have taken Gorbodtic as their model ; each Act beginning with a dumb-show, and ending "wath a chorus. The play was founded on one of Boccaccio's tales, an English version of which had recently appeared in The Palace of Pleasure. The accounts of the revels from 1568 to 1580 furnish the titles of fifty-two dramas iDcrformed at Court, none of which have survived. Of these fifty-two pieces, judging by the titles, eighteen M'cre on classical subjects ; twenty-one on subjects from modern history, romance, and other tales; while seven may be classed as comedies, and six as Moral- Plays. It is to be noted, also, that at this time the Master of the Revels was wont to have diflerent sets of players rehearse their pieces before him, and then to choose such of them as he judged fit for royal ears; which infers that the Court rather followed than led the popular taste. This may probably be taken as a fair indication how far the older species of drama still kept its place on the stage. Moral-Plays lingered in occasional use till long after this period ; and Ave even hear of Miracle-Plays performed now and then till after the death of Elizabeth. And this was much more the case, no doubt, in the country towns and villages than in the metropolis, as the growing life of thought could not l)ut beat lustiest at the heart ; and of course all the rest of the nation could not bridle Innova- tion, spurred as she Avas by the fierce competition of Avit in London. Certain parts, hoAvever, of the Moral-Plays had A'igour enough, it appears, to propagate themselves into the drama of comedy and tragedy after the main body of them had been A\dthdraAvn. An apt instance of this is furnished in A Knack to know a Knave, entered at the Stationers' in 1593, but Avritten several years before. It Avas printed in 159-1, the title-page stating that it had been "acted sundry 94 GROWTH OP THE DRAMA IX ENGLAND. times by Edward Alloyn and his company," and that it contained " Kcmpe's api)hiuded nierriments of the men of Gotham." * The pLay is made uj) partly of allegorical personages, partly of historical ; the chief of the latter being King Ed- gar, St. Dnnstan, Ethenwald, Osrick, and his daughter Al- frida. From reports of Alfrida's beauty, Edgar gets so enamoured of her, that he sends Ethenwald, Earl of Corn- wall, to court her for him. The Earl, being already m love with the lady, Avants to court her for himself Introduced by her father, his passion gets the better of his commission ; he woos and Mins her, and has her father's consent. On his return, he tells Edgar she will do very well for an earl, but not for a king : Edgar distrusts his report, and goes to see for himself, when Ethenwald tries to pass off the kitchen- maid as Alfrida: the trick is detected, Dunstan counsels forgiveness, and Edgar generously renounces his claim. There is but one scene of " Kempe's applauded merriments," and this consists merely of a blundering dispute, whether a mock petition touching the consumption of ale shall be pre- sented to the King by a cobbler or a smith. As to the allegorical persons, it is worth noting that sev- eral of these have individual designations, as if the author had some vague ideas of representative character, — that is, persons standing for classes, yet clothed Avith individuality, — but lacked the skill to work them out. Such is the 1) lilift' of Hexham, Avho represents the iniquities of local magistrates. He has four sons, — Walter, representing the frauds of farmers; Priest, the sins of the clergy; Coney- catcher, the tricks of cheats; and Perin, the vices of cour- tiers. Besides these, we have Honesty, whose business it is to expose crimes and vices. The Devil makes his appear- ance several times, and, when the ohl Bailitf dies, carries * Alloyn, the founder of Dnlwich Colloije, was the leadiiip actor of the Lord Admiral's company; and, after the death of Tarlton in 1588, Kempe, who at a later period was of the same company witli Shakespeare, bore the palm as an actor of comic parts. COMEDY AXD TRAGEDV. 95 him off. At last, Honesty exposes the crimes of all classes to the King, who has justice done on their representatives. — The piece is in blank-verse, and in respect of versification shows considerable improvement on the specimens hitherto noticed. SHAKESPEARE'S CONTEMPORARIES. rTlOUCHIXG the general state of the Drama a few years JL before Shakespeare took hokl of it, our information is full and clear, not only in the sj^ecimens that have survived, but in the criticisms of contemporary writers. A good deal of the criticism, however, is so mixed up with personal and polemical invective, as to be unworthy of much credit. George Whetstone, in the dedication of his JPromos and Cassandra, published in 1578, tells us: "The Englishman in this quality is most A'ain, indiscreet, and out of order. He first grounds his work on impossibilities ; then in three hours he runs through the world, marries, makes children men, men to conquer kingdoms, murder monsters, and bringeth gods from Heaven, and fetcheth devils from Hell. And, that which is worst, many times, to make mirth, they make a clown companion with a king ; in their grave coun- sels they allow the advice of Fools ; yea, they use one order of speech for all persons, — a gross indecorum." — In 1581, Stephen Gosson published a tract in which he says : " Sometimes you shall see nothing but the adventures of an amorous knight, passing from country to country for the love of his lady, encountering many a terrible monster made of brown jiaper ; and at his return so Avondei-fully changed, that he cannot be known but by some posy in his tablet, or by a broken ring, or a handkerchief, or a piece of cockle-shell." And in another part of the same tract he tells us that " The Palace of Pleasure, The Ethiopian History, Amadis of France, and The Round Table, comedies in Latin, French, Italian, and Spanish, have been thoroughly 98 shakespeake's contemporaries. ransacked, to funii^li the play-liouscs in London." Which shows A'eiy clearly what direction the public tnste was then taking. The jnatter and method of the old dramas, and all "such musty fopperies of antiquity," would no longer do : there Avas an eager though ignorant demand for some- thing wherein the people might find or fancy themselves touched by the real currents of nature. And, as prescrip- tion was thus set aside, and art still ungrown, the materials of history and romance, foreign tales and plays, any thing that could furnish incidents and a plot, were blindly j^ressed into the service. Whatever discredit may attach to the foregoing extracts on the score of prejudice or passion, nothing of the sort can hold in the case of Sir Philip Sidney, whose Defence of Poesy, though not printed till 1595, must have been written before 1586, in which year the author died. " Our tragedies and comedies," says he, " are not without cause cried out against, observing rules neither of honest civility nor skilful poetry. You shall have Asia of the one side, and AfHc of the other, and so many other under-kingdoms, that the player, when he comes in, must ever begin with telling where he is, or else the tale will not be conceived. Now you shall have three ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must l)elieve the stage to be a garden : by-and-by we hear ncAvs of a shipwreck in the same place ; then Ave are to blame if we accept it not for a rock. Upon the back of that, comes out a hideous monster Avith fire and smoke, and then the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave ; Avhile in the mean time tAVO armies fly in, represented Avith four swords and bucklers, and then Avhat hard heart Avill not receive it for a pitched field? Noav, of time they are much more liberal ; for ordinary it is, that two young princes fall in love ; after many traA^erses she is delivered of a fair boy ; he is lost, groAveth a man, falleth in love, and all this in two hours' space : Avhich how absurd it is in sense, even sense mny inmgine, and art hath taught, and all ancient examples justified. But, besides these gross ab- CONDITION OF THE DRx\.MA. 99 surdities, all their plays be neither right tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and clowns, not because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in the clown by head and shoulders, to play a ])art in majestical matters with neither decency nor discretion." From all which it is evident enough that very little if any heed Avas then ]iaid to dramatic propriety and decorum. It was not mcrelij that the unities of place and time were set at nouglit, but that events and persons were thrown to- gether without any order or law ; ixnconnected Avith each other save to the senses, while at the same time according to sense they were far asunder. It is also manifest that the principles of the Gothic Drama in respect of general structure and composition, in disregard of the minor unities, and in the free blending and interchange of the comic and tragic elements, w^ere thoroughly established; though not yet moulded up with sufficient art to shield them from the just censure and ridicule of sober judgment and good taste. Here Avas a great work to be done ; greater than any art then known Avas sufficient for. Without this, any thing like an original or national drama Avas impossible. Sir Philip saAV the chaos about him ; but he did not see, and none could foresee, the creation that was to issue from it. He Avould have spoken Acry diffi?rently, no doubt, had he lived to see the intrinsic relations of character and pas- sion, the vital sequence of mental and moral development, set forth in such clearness and strength, the whole fabric resting on such solid groundsj of ])hilosopliy, and charged with such cunning efficacies of poetry, that breaches of local and chronological succession either pass Avithout notice, or are noticed only for the gain of truth and nature that is made through them. For the laws of sense hold only as the thoughts are absorbed in Avhat is sensuous and definite; and the very point Avas, to lift the mind above this by working on its imaginative forces, and penetrating it Avith the light of relations more iuAvard and essential. At all events, it Avas by going ahead, and not by retreat- lUO Shakespeare's contempokaries. ing, that niudorn tliought was to find its proper dramatic expression. The foundation of principles Avas settled, and stood ready to 1)C built upon whenever the right Avorkman shoiild come. oMoreover pid)lic taste was sharp for some- thing Avarm Avith life, so much so indeed as to keep run- ning hither and thither after the shabbiest semblances of it, but still luuible to rest Avith them. The national mind, in discarding, or rather outgrowing the older species of drama, had AA'orked itself into contact Avith Nature. And it Avas the uncritical, popular, liAing, practical mind that Avas to give the laAV in this business : nothing Avas to be achicA^ed either by the Avord or the AA'ork of those learned folk Avho would not be ])leased unless they could parse their ])leasure by the rules of ancient grammar. But to reproduce nature in men- tal forms re