Chapter 7

———————————— "My best of love,Now all is done,save what shall have no end:Mine appetite I never more will grindOn newer proof, to try anolder friend,A God in love, to whom I am confin'd."

———————————— "My best of love,

Now all is done,save what shall have no end:

Mine appetite I never more will grind

On newer proof, to try anolder friend,

A God in love, to whom I am confin'd."

Before we proceed any further, however, it may be necessary to obviate an objection to our hypothesis which must immediately suggest itself. It will be said, that the firstseventeensonnets are written for the sole purpose of persuading their object to marry, and how could this exhortation be applicable to Lord Southampton, who, from the year 1594 to the year 1599 was the devoted admirer ofthe faire Mrs. Varnon?

To remove this apparent incongruity, we have only to recollect, that His Lordship's attachment to his mistress met with the mostdecided and relentless oppositionfrom the Queen; and there is every reason to infer, from thevoluntaryabsences of the Earl in the years 1597 and 1598, and theextreme distressof his mistresson these occasions, that the connection had been twice given up, on his part, in deference to the will of his capricious sovereign.

Shakspeare, when his friend at the age of twenty-one was first smitten with the charms of Elizabeth Vernon, was high in His Lordship's confidence and favour, as the dedication of hisLucrece, at this period, fully evinces. We also know, that the Earl was very indignantat the interference of the Queen; that he very reluctantly submitted, for some years, to her cruel restrictions in this affair; and if, in conformity with his constitutional irritability of temper, and the natural impulse of passion on such a subject, we merely admit, his having declared what every lover would be tempted to utter on the occasion,that if he could not marry the object of his choice, he would die single, a complete key will be given to what has hitherto proved inexplicable.

It immediately, indeed, and most satisfactorily accounts for four circumstances, not to be explained on any other plan. It affords, in thefirstplace, an easy and natural clue to the poet's expostulatory language, who, being ardently attached to his patron, wished, of course, to see him happy either in the possession of his first choice or in the arms of a second, and, therefore, reprobates, in strong terms, such a premature vow of celibacy: it gives in thesecondplace, an adequate solution of the question, why so few as only seventeen sonnets, and these the earliest in the collection, are employed to enforce the argument? for when His Lordship, on his return to London from the continent in 1598, embraced the resolution of marrying his mistress, notwithstanding the continued opposition of the Queen, all ground for further expostulation was instantly withdrawn. These seventeen sonnets, therefore, were written between the years 1594 and 1598, and were consequently among those noticed by Meres in 1598, as in private circulation: in thethirdplace, it assigns a sufficient motive for withholding from public view, until after the death of the Queen, a collection of which part was written to counteract her known wishes, by exciting the Earl to form an early and independent choice: and in thefourthplace it furnishes a cogent reason why Jaggard, in his surreptitious edition of thePassionate Pilgrimin 1599, did not dare to publish any of these sonnets, at a time when Southampton and his lady were imprisoned by the enraged Elizabeth, as a punishment for their clandestine union.

Having thus, satisfactorily as we think, not only removed the objection but strikingly corroborated the argument through the medium of our defence, we shall select a few passages from these initiatorysonnets in order still further to show themasculinenature of their object, and to give a specimen of the poet's expostulatory freedom:—

"—— Where isshe so fair, whoseun-ear'd wombDisdains thetillage of thy husbandry?Or who isheso fond, will be the tombOfhisself-love, to stop posterity."

"—— Where isshe so fair, whoseun-ear'd womb

Disdains thetillage of thy husbandry?

Or who isheso fond, will be the tomb

Ofhisself-love, to stop posterity."

Sonnet 3.

"—— thou — — — —Unlook'd on diest, unless thouget a son."

"—— thou — — — —

Unlook'd on diest, unless thouget a son."

Son. 7.

"The world will bethy widowand still weep—No love toward others in that bosom sits,That onhimselfsuch murderous shame commits."

"The world will bethy widowand still weep—

No love toward others in that bosom sits,

That onhimselfsuch murderous shame commits."

Son. 9.

"—— —— —— —— Dear my love, you know,You had afather;let your son say so."

"—— —— —— —— Dear my love, you know,

You had afather;let your son say so."

Son. 13.

"Now stand you on the top of happy hours;And manymaidengarlands yet unset,With virtuous wishwould bear you living flowers."

"Now stand you on the top of happy hours;

And manymaidengarlands yet unset,

With virtuous wishwould bear you living flowers."

Son. 16.

If more instances were wanting to prove that Shakspeare's object was amalefriend, a multitude might be quoted from the remaining sonnets; we shall content ourselves, however, with adding a few to those already given from the first seventeen:—

"O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;Himin thy course untainted do allow,For beauty'spattern to succeeding men."

"O carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,

Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;

Himin thy course untainted do allow,

For beauty'spattern to succeeding men."

Son. 19.

"Hisbeauty shall in these black lines be seen,And they shall live, andhein them still green."

"Hisbeauty shall in these black lines be seen,

And they shall live, andhein them still green."

Son. 63.

The transcription of one entire sonnet will spare further quotation, as it must prove, against all the efforts of sophistry, the sex for which we contend:

"Ah!wherefore with infection shouldHEliveAnd withHISpresence grace impiety.That sin byHIMadvantage should atchieve,And lace itself withHISsociety.Why should false painting imitateHIScheek,And steal dead seeing ofHISliving hue?Why should poor beauty indirectly seekRoses of shadow, sinceHISrose is true?Why shouldHElive now Nature bankrupt is,Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?For she hath no exchequer now butHIS,And proud of many, lives uponHISgains.O,HIMshe stores, to show what wealth she had,In days long since, before these last so bad."

"Ah!wherefore with infection shouldHElive

And withHISpresence grace impiety.

That sin byHIMadvantage should atchieve,

And lace itself withHISsociety.

Why should false painting imitateHIScheek,

And steal dead seeing ofHISliving hue?

Why should poor beauty indirectly seek

Roses of shadow, sinceHISrose is true?

Why shouldHElive now Nature bankrupt is,

Beggar'd of blood to blush through lively veins?

For she hath no exchequer now butHIS,

And proud of many, lives uponHISgains.

O,HIMshe stores, to show what wealth she had,

In days long since, before these last so bad."

Son. 67.

The subsequent sonnets, likewise, as far as the hundred and twenty-seventh, which appear to have been written at various periods anterior to 1609, not only bear the strongest additional testimony to the mascularity of the person addressed, but in several instances clearly evince the nature of the affection borne to him, which without any doubt consisted solely of ardent friendship and intellectual adoration. Two entire sonnets, indeed, are dedicated to the expression of these sentiments, in the first of which he tells his noble patron, that he had absorbed in his own person all the friendship which he (Shakspeare) had ever borne to the living or the dead, and he finely terms this attachment "religious love." In thy bosom he exclaims—

"—— there reigns love and all love's loving parts,And all those friends which I thought buried.How many a holy and obsequious tearHath dear religious love stolen from mine eye,As interest of the dead, which now appearBut things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie!Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,Hung with the trophies of my lovers[67:A]gone;Who all their parts of me to thee did give;That due of many now is thine alone:"

"—— there reigns love and all love's loving parts,

And all those friends which I thought buried.

How many a holy and obsequious tear

Hath dear religious love stolen from mine eye,

As interest of the dead, which now appear

But things remov'd, that hidden in thee lie!

Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,

Hung with the trophies of my lovers[67:A]gone;

Who all their parts of me to thee did give;

That due of many now is thine alone:"

Son. 31.

and in the second he says, addressing the same friend, that when Death arrests him, his verse

"—— for memorial still with thee shall stay.When thou reviewest this, thou dost reviewThe very part was consecrate to thee."

"—— for memorial still with thee shall stay.

When thou reviewest this, thou dost review

The very part was consecrate to thee."

Son. 74.

That Shakspeare looked up to his friend not only with admiration and gratitude, but with reverence and homage, and, consequently, that neither William Harte nor William Hughes, nor any person of his own rank in society could be the subject of his verse, must be evident from the passages already adduced, and will be still more so when we weigh the import of the following extracts.

We are told, in the seventy-eighth sonnet, what, indeed, we might have supposed from the Earl's well-known munificence to literary men, that he was the theme of every muse; and it is added, that his patronage gave dignity to learning and majesty to grace:—

"So oft have I invoked thee for my muse,And found such fair assistance in my verse,As every alien pen hath got my use,And under thee their poesy disperse.Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing,And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,Have added feathers to the learned's wing,And given grace a double majesty.Yet be most proud of that which I compile,Whose influence is thine, and born of thee."

"So oft have I invoked thee for my muse,

And found such fair assistance in my verse,

As every alien pen hath got my use,

And under thee their poesy disperse.

Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing,

And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,

Have added feathers to the learned's wing,

And given grace a double majesty.

Yet be most proud of that which I compile,

Whose influence is thine, and born of thee."

In his ninety-first sonnet the poet informs us, that he values the affection of his friend more than riches, birth, or splendour, finishing his eulogium by asserting that he was nothis peculiarboast, but thepride of all men:—

"Thy love is better than high birth to me,Richer than wealth, prouder than garment's cost,Of more delight than hawks or horses be,And having thee, of all men's pride I boast."

"Thy love is better than high birth to me,

Richer than wealth, prouder than garment's cost,

Of more delight than hawks or horses be,

And having thee, of all men's pride I boast."

But in terms the most emphatic and explicit does he point to his object, in the sonnet which we are about to quote entire, distinctly marking thesex, thedignity, therank, andmoral virtueof his friend:—

"O truantMuse, what shall be thy amends,For thy neglect ofTRUTH IN BEAUTY DY'D?Both truth and beauty on my love depends;So dost thou too, and therein dignify'd.Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say,'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd,Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay:But best is best, if never intermix'd?—'BecauseHEneeds no praise, wilt thou be dumb?Excuse not silence so; for it lies in theeTo makeHIMmuch out-live aGILDED TOMB,And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee howTo makeHIMseem long hence asHEshows now."

"O truantMuse, what shall be thy amends,

For thy neglect ofTRUTH IN BEAUTY DY'D?

Both truth and beauty on my love depends;

So dost thou too, and therein dignify'd.

Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say,

'Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix'd,

Beauty no pencil, beauty's truth to lay:

But best is best, if never intermix'd?—'

BecauseHEneeds no praise, wilt thou be dumb?

Excuse not silence so; for it lies in thee

To makeHIMmuch out-live aGILDED TOMB,

And to be prais'd of ages yet to be.

Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how

To makeHIMseem long hence asHEshows now."

Son. 101.

To whom can this sonnet, or indeed all the passages which we have quoted apply, if not to Lord Southampton, the bosom-friend, the munificent patron of Shakspeare, the noble, the elegant, the brave, the protector of literature and the theme of many a song. And let it be remembered, that if the hundreth and first sonnet be justly ascribed to Lord Southampton, or if any one of the passages which we have adduced, be fairly applicable to him, the whole of the hundred and twenty-six sonnets must necessarily apply to the same individual, for the poet has more than once affirmed this to have been his plan and object:

"Why write I stillall one, ever the same—That every word doth almost tell my name."

"Why write I stillall one, ever the same—

That every word doth almost tell my name."

Son. 76.

—— "all alike my songs, and praises beToone, ofone, still such and ever so."

—— "all alike my songs, and praises be

Toone, ofone, still such and ever so."

Son. 105.

It may be objected, that the opening and closing sonnet of the collection which we conceive to be exclusively devoted to Lord Southampton, admit neither of reconcilement with each other, nor with the hypothesis which we wish to establish. This discrepancy,however, will altogether vanish, if we compare the import of these sonnets with that of two others of the same series.

It will be allowed that the expressions, "the world's fresh ornament," the "only herald to the gaudy spring," and the epithets "tender churl," in the first sonnet, may with great propriety be applied to a young nobleman of twenty-one, just entering on a public and splendid career; but, if it be true, that these sonnets were written at various times, between the years 1594 and 1609, how comes it, that in the hundred and twenty-sixth, the last addressed to his patron, he still uses an equally youthful designation, and terms him "my lovely boy," an appellation certainly not then adapted to His Lordship, who, in 1609, was in his thirty-sixth year?

That the sonnetswerewritten at different periods, he tells us in an apology to his noble friend for not addressing him so frequently as he used to do at the commencement of their intimacy, assigning as a reason, that as he was now the theme of various other poets, such addresses must have lost their zest:

"Our love was new, and then but in the spring,When I was wont to greet it with my lays;As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,And stops his pipe in growth of riper days:Not that the summer is less pleasant nowThan when her mournful hymns did hush the night,But that wild musick burdens every bough,And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue,Because I would not dull you with my song."

"Our love was new, and then but in the spring,

When I was wont to greet it with my lays;

As Philomel in summer's front doth sing,

And stops his pipe in growth of riper days:

Not that the summer is less pleasant now

Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night,

But that wild musick burdens every bough,

And sweets grown common lose their dear delight.

Therefore, like her, I sometime hold my tongue,

Because I would not dull you with my song."

Son. 102.

The mystery arising from the use of the juvenile epithets, he completely clears up in his hundred and eighth sonnet, where he says, that having exhausted every figure to express his patron's merit and his own affection, he is compelled to say the same things over again; that he is determined to consider him as young as whenhe first hallowed his fair name; that friendship, in fact, weighs not the advance of life, but adheres to its first conception, when youth and beauty clothed the object of its regard. In pursuance of thisdetermination, he calls him, in this very sonnet, "sweet boy;" but it will be more satisfactory to copy the entire poem, in order to show, that our interpretation is not, in the smallest degree, strained:—

"What'sin the brain that ink may character,Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit?What's new to speak, what new to register,That may express my love, or thy dear merit?Nothing,sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,I must each day say o'er the very same;Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.So that eternal love in love's fresh caseWeighs not the dust and injury of age,Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,But makes antiquity for aye his page;Finding the first conceit of love there bred,Where time and outward form would show it dead."

"What'sin the brain that ink may character,

Which hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit?

What's new to speak, what new to register,

That may express my love, or thy dear merit?

Nothing,sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,

I must each day say o'er the very same;

Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,

Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.

So that eternal love in love's fresh case

Weighs not the dust and injury of age,

Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,

But makes antiquity for aye his page;

Finding the first conceit of love there bred,

Where time and outward form would show it dead."

In conformity with this resolution of considering his friend as endowed whilst he lives with perpetual youth, he closes his sonnets to him, not only with the repetition of the juvenile epithet "boy," but he positively assures him that he hastime in his power, thathe grows by waning, and thatnature, as he goes onward, still plucks him back, in order to disgrace time. The conceit is somewhat puerile, though clearly explanatory of the systematic intention of the poet:

"O thou,my lovely boy, who in thy powerDost hold time's fickle glass, his fickle hour;Who hastby waning grown, and therein show'stThy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st;Ifnature, sovereign mistress over wrack,As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skillMay time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill."

"O thou,my lovely boy, who in thy power

Dost hold time's fickle glass, his fickle hour;

Who hastby waning grown, and therein show'st

Thy lovers withering, as thy sweet self grow'st;

Ifnature, sovereign mistress over wrack,

As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,

She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill

May time disgrace, and wretched minutes kill."

He terminates this sonnet, however, and his series of poetical addresses to Lord Southampton, with a powerful corrective of all flattery, in reminding him that although nature "may detain," she cannot "keep her treasure," and that he must ultimately yield to death.

We must also observe, that the poet has marked the termination of these sonnets to his friend, not only by the solemn nature of the concluding sentiment, but by a striking deviation from the customary form of his composition in these pieces; the closing poem not being constructed with alternate rhimes, but consisting of six couplets!

After thus attempting, at considerable length, and we trust with some success, to solve a mystery hitherto deemed inexplicable, we shall offer but a few observations on the object of the remaining twenty-eight sonnets.

In the first place, it is not true, as Mr. Malone has asserted, that they arealladdressed to a female. Two, at least, have not the slightest reference to any individual; the hundred and twenty-ninth sonnet being a general and moral declamation on the misery resulting from sensual love, and the hundred and forty-sixth, an address to his own soul of a somewhat severe and religious cast.

Of the residue, four have no very determinate application, and to whom the twenty-two are dedicated, is not now to be ascertained, and, if it were, not worth the enquiry; for, a more worthless character, or described as such in stronger terms, no poet ever drew. We much wish, indeed, these sonnets had never been published, or that their subject could be proved to have been perfectly ideal. We are the more willing to consider them in this light, since, if we dismiss these confessional sonnets, not the slightest moral stain can rest on the character of Shakspeare; as the frolic in Sir Thomas Lucy's park, from his youth, and the circumstances attending it, must be deemed altogether venial. It is very improbable, also, that any poet should publish such an open confession of his own culpability.

Of the grossly meretricious conduct of his mistress, of whose personal charms and accomplishments we know nothing more than that she had black eyes, black hair, and could play on the virginal, Sonnets 137. 142. and 144. bear the most indubitable evidence. Well, therefore, might the poet term her his "false plague," his"worser spirit," his "female evil," and his "bad angel;" well might he tell her, notwithstanding the colour of her eyes and hair,

"Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place;In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds."

"Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place;

In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds."

Son. 131.

"For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,Who art as black as hell, as dark as night."

"For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night."

Son. 147.

Well might he blame his pliability of temper, his insufficiency of judgment and resolution, well might he call himself "past cure," and "frantick-mad," when, addressing this profligate woman, he exclaims,

"Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,That in the very refuse of thy deedsThere is such strength and warrantise of skill,That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?Who taught thee howto make me love thee more,The more I hear and see just cause of hate?O,though I love what others do abhor,With others thou should'st not abhor my state;If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,More worthy I to be belov'd by thee."[73:A]

"Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,

That in the very refuse of thy deeds

There is such strength and warrantise of skill,

That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?

Who taught thee howto make me love thee more,

The more I hear and see just cause of hate?

O,though I love what others do abhor,

With others thou should'st not abhor my state;

If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me,

More worthy I to be belov'd by thee."[73:A]

Son. 150.

Now, weighing, what almost every other personal event in our author's life establishes, the general moral beauty of his character, and reflecting, at the same time, that he was at this period a husband, and the father of a family, we cannot but feelthe most entire conviction, that these sonnets were never directed to arealobject: but that, notwithstanding they appear written in his own person, and two of them, indeed, (Sonnets 135. and 136.) a perpetual pun on his Christian name, they were solely intended to express, aloof from all individual application, the contrarieties, the inconsistencies, and the miseries of illicit love. Credulity itself, we think, cannot supposeotherwise, and, at the same time, believe that the poet was privy to their publication.

To this discussion of a subject clogged with so many difficulties, we shall now subjoin some remarks on thepoeticalmerits and demerits of our author's sonnets; and here, we are irresistibly induced to notice the absurd charge against, and the inadequate defence of, sonnet-writing, brought forward by Messrs. Steevens and Malone, in the Supplement of the latter gentleman.[74:A]

The antipathy of Mr. Steevens to this species of lyric poetry, seems to have amounted to the highest pitch of extravagance. In a note on the fifty-fourth sonnet, he asks, "What has truth or nature to do with sonnets?" as if truth and nature were confined to any particular metre or mode of composition; and, in a subsequent page, he informs us that the sonnet is "a species of composition which has reduced the most exalted poets to a level with the meanest rhimers; has almost cut down Milton and Shakspeare to the standards of Pomfret and——but the name of Pomfret is perhaps the lowest in the scale of English versifiers."[74:B]Nothing can exceed the futility and bad taste of this remark, and yet Mr. Malone has advanced no other defence of the "exalted poets" of Italy than that, "he is slow to believe that Petrarch is without merit;" and for Milton he offers this strange apology,—"that he generally failed when he attempted rhime, whether his verses assumed the shape of a sonnet, or any other form."[74:C]

When we recollect, that the noblest poets of Italy, from Dante to Alfieri, have employed their talents in the construction of the sonnet, and that many of their most popular and beautiful passages have been derived through this medium; when we recollect, that the first bards of our own country, from Surrey to Southey, have followed their example with an emulation which has conferred immortality on their efforts; when we further call to mind the exquisite specimens of rhimed poetry which Milton has given us in his L'Allegro andIl Penseroso; and when, above all, we retrace the dignity, the simplicity, the moral sublimity of many of his sonnets, perhaps not surpassed by any other part of his works, we stand amazed at the unqualified censure on the one hand, and at the impotency of the defence on the other.

If such be the fate, then, between these commentators, of the general question, and of the one more peculiarly relative to Milton, it cannot be expected that Shakspeare should meet with milder treatment. In fact, Mr. Steevens has asserted, that his sonnets are "composed in the highest strain of affectation, pedantry, circumlocution, and nonsense[75:A];" a picture which Mr. Malone endeavours to soften, by telling us that "it appears to him overcharged:" that similar defects occur in his dramas, and that the sonnets, "if they have no other merit, are entitled to our attention, as often illustrating obscure passages in his plays."[75:B]

It is true that in the next paragraph he ventures to declare, that he cannot perceive that their versification is less smooth than that of Shakspeare's other compositions, and that he can perceive perspicuity and energy in some of them; but well might Mr. Steevens reply, that "the case of these sonnets is certainly bad, when so little can be advanced in support of them."[75:C]

Let us try, therefore, ifwecannot, and that also with great ease, prove that these sonnets have been not only miserably criticised, but unmercifully abused; and that, in point of poetical merit, they are superior to all those which preceded the era of Drummond.

In the first place, then, we altogether deny that either affectation or pedantry can, in the proper sense of the terms, be applied to the sonnets of Shakspeare. Were any modern, indeed, of the nineteenth century to adopt their language and style, he might justly be taxed with both; but in Sidney and Shakspeare it was habit, indissoluble habit, and not affectation; it was the diction in which they had beenpractised from early youth to clothe their sentiments and feelings; it was identified with all their associations and intellectual operations; it was the language, in fact, the mode of expression, in a greater or less degree, of all their contemporaries; and to have stripped their thoughts of a dress, which to us appears quaint and artificial, would have been to them a painful and more elaborate task. When once, indeed, we can attribute this artificial, though often emphatic style, as we ought to do, to the universally defective taste of the age in which it sprang, and not to individual usage, we shall be prepared to do justice to injured genius, and to confess, that frequently beneath this laboured phraseology are to be found sentiments simple, natural, and touching. We may also very safely affirm of Shakspeare's sonnets, that, if their style be compared with that of his predecessors and contemporaries, in the same department of poetry, a manifest superiority must often be awarded him, on the score of force, dignity, and simplicity of expression; qualities of which we shall very soon afford the reader some striking instances.

To a certain extent, we must admit the charge ofcircumlocution, not as applied to individual sonnets, but to the subject on which the whole series is written. The obscurities of this species of poem have almost uniformly arisen from density and compression of style, nor are the compositions of Shakspeare more than usually free from this source of defect; but when it is considered that our author has written one hundred and twenty-six sonnets for the sole purpose of expressing his attachment to his patron, it must necessarily follow, that a subject so continually reiterated, would display no small share of circumlocution. Great ingenuity has been exhibited by the poet in varying his phraseology and ideas; but no effort could possibly obviate the monotony, as the result of such a task.

We shall not condescend to a refutation of thefourthepithet, which, if at all applicable to any portion of Shakspeare's minor poems, can alone apply to Sonnets 135. and 136., which are a continued pun upon his Christian name, a species of trifling which was the peculiar vice of our author's age.

That an attempt to exhaust the subject of friendship; to say all that could be collected on the topic, would almost certainly lead, in the days of Shakspeare, to abstractions too subtile and metaphysical, and to a cast of diction sometimes too artificial and scholastic for modern taste, no person well acquainted with the progress of our literature can deny; but candour will, at the same time, admit, that the expression and versification of his sonnets are often natural, spirited, and harmonious, and that where the surface has been rendered hard and repulsive by the peculiarities of the period of their production, we have only to search beneath, in order to discover a rich ore of thought, imagery, and sentiment.

It has been stated that Shakspeare's sonnets, consisting of three elegiac quatrains and a couplet, are constructed on the plan of Daniel's; a mode of arrangement which, though bearing no similitude to the elaborate involution of the Petrarchan sonnet, may be praised for the simplicity of its form, and the easy flow of its verse; and that these technical beauties have often been preserved by our bard, and are frequently the medium through which he displays the treasures of a fervent fancy and a feeling heart, we shall now attempt, by a series of extracts, to prove.

The description of the sun in his course, his rising, meridian altitude, and setting, and his influence over the human mind, are enlivened by imagery peculiarly vivid and rich; the seventh and eighth lines especially, contain a picture of a great beauty:—

"Lo in the orient when the gracious lightLifts up his burning head, each under eyeDoth homage to his new-appearing sight,Serving with looks his sacred majesty;And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,Resembling strong youth in his middle age,Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,Attending on his golden pilgrimage;But when from high-most pitch, with weary car,Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted areFrom his low tract, and look another way:So thou," &c.

"Lo in the orient when the gracious light

Lifts up his burning head, each under eye

Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,

Serving with looks his sacred majesty;

And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,

Resembling strong youth in his middle age,

Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

Attending on his golden pilgrimage;

But when from high-most pitch, with weary car,

Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,

The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are

From his low tract, and look another way:

So thou," &c.

Son. 7.

The inevitable effects of time over every object in physical nature, reminding the poet of the disastrous changes incident to human life, he exclaims in a style highly figurative and picturesque:—

"When I do count the clock that tells the time,And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;When I behold the violet past prime,And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white;When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;Then of thy beauty do I question make."

"When I do count the clock that tells the time,

And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;

When I behold the violet past prime,

And sable curls, all silver'd o'er with white;

When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,

Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,

And summer's green all girded up in sheaves,

Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;

Then of thy beauty do I question make."

Son. 12.

A still more lovely sketch, illustrative of the uneasiness which he felt in consequence of absence from his friend, is given us in the following passage, of which the third and fourth lines are pre-eminent for the poetry of their diction:—

"From you have I been absent in the Spring,When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing;That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smellOf 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."

"From you have I been absent in the Spring,

When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,

Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing;

That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.

Yet nor the lays 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."

Son. 98.

To the melody, perspicuity, and spirit of the versification of the next specimen, and to the exquisite turn upon the words, too much praise cannot be given. It is one amongst the numerous evidences of Lord Southampton being the subject of the great bulk of our author's sonnets; for he assures us, that he not only esteemed his lays, but gave argument and skill to his pen:—

"Where art thou, Muse, that thouforget'stso longTo speak of that which gives thee all thy might?Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,Dark'ning thy power, to lend base subjects light?Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeemIn gentle numbers time so idly spent;Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem,And gives thy pen both skill and argument."

"Where art thou, Muse, that thouforget'stso long

To speak of that which gives thee all thy might?

Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,

Dark'ning thy power, to lend base subjects light?

Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem

In gentle numbers time so idly spent;

Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteem,

And gives thy pen both skill and argument."

Son. 100.

From the expressions "old rhyme," and "antique pen," in the extract which we are about to quote, it is highly probable that our bard alluded to Chaucer, certainly before his own appearance the greatest poet that England had produced. The chivalric picture in the first quatrain, is peculiarly interesting, and the cadence of the metre is harmony itself:—

"When, in the chronicle of wasted time,I see descriptions of the fairest wights,And beauty making beautiful old rhime,In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights;Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,I see their antique pen would have express'dEven such a beauty as you master now."

"When, in the chronicle of wasted time,

I see descriptions of the fairest wights,

And beauty making beautiful old rhime,

In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights;

Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,

Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,

I see their antique pen would have express'd

Even such a beauty as you master now."

Son. 106.

It is a striking proof of the poetical inferiority of the few sonnets which Shakspeare has addressed to his mistress, that we find it difficult to select more than one passage from them which does honour to his memory. Of this, however, it will be allowed, that the comparison is happy, the rhythm pleasing, and the expression clear:—

"And truly not the morning sun of heavenBetter becomes the grey cheeks of the east,Nor that full star that ushers in the even,Doth half that glory to the sober west,As those two mourning eyes become thy face."

"And truly not the morning sun of heaven

Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,

Nor that full star that ushers in the even,

Doth half that glory to the sober west,

As those two mourning eyes become thy face."

Son. 132.

In order, however, to judge satisfactorily of the merit of these poems, it will, no doubt, be deemed necessary by the reader, that a fewentiresonnets be presented to his notice; for, though the passages just quoted, as well as numerous others which might be given, have a decided claim upon our approbation, yet, the sonnet being avery brief composition, it will, of course, be required, that all its parts be perfect, and of equal value. That this is not always the case with these productions of our author, will be inferred from the short extracts which we have selected; but that it is so in very many instances may truly be affirmed, and will, indeed, be proved by the subsequent specimens.

So far from affectation and pedantry being the general characteristic of these pieces, impartial criticism must declare, that more frequent examples of simple, clear, and nervous diction are to be culled from them, than can be found among the sonnets of any of his contemporaries. The following, indeed, is given, not as a solitary proof, but as the exemplar of a numerous class of Shakspearean sonnets; and with the remark, that neither in this instance, nor in many others, is there, either in versification, language, or thought, the smallest deviation into the regions of affectation or conceit:—

"Nolonger mourn for me when I am dead,Than you shall hear the surly sullen bellGive warning to the world that I am fledFrom this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:Nay, if you read this line, remember notThe hand that writ it; for I love you so,That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,If thinking on me then should make you woe.O if, I say, you look upon this verse,When I perhaps compounded am with clay,Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;But let your love even with my life decay:Lest the wise world should look into your moan,And mock you with me after I am gone."

"Nolonger mourn for me when I am dead,

Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell

Give warning to the world that I am fled

From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:

Nay, if you read this line, remember not

The hand that writ it; for I love you so,

That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,

If thinking on me then should make you woe.

O if, I say, you look upon this verse,

When I perhaps compounded am with clay,

Do not so much as my poor name rehearse;

But let your love even with my life decay:

Lest the wise world should look into your moan,

And mock you with me after I am gone."

Son. 71.

Simplicity of style, and tenderness of sentiment, form the sole features of this sonnet; but in the next, with an equal chastity of diction, are combined more energy and dignity, together with the infusion of some noble and appropriate imagery. It must also be added, that the flow and structure of the verse are singularly pleasing:—

"Letme not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:O no! it is an ever-fixed mark,That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandering bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.If this be error, and upon me prov'd,I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd."

"Letme not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments. Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

O no! it is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me prov'd,

I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd."

Son. 116.

Of a lighter though more glowing cast of poetry, both in expression and imagination, but with a slight blemish, arising from the pharmaceutical allusion in the last line, is the sonnet which we are about to quote. A trifling inaccuracy with respect to the colour of the cynorhodon, or canker-rose, afforded Mr. Steevens a pretext for the splenetic interrogation which has been recorded by us with due censure. It is somewhat strange that the beauties of the poem could not disarm the prejudices of the critic:

"O howmuch more doth beauty beauteous seem,By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deemFor that sweet odour which doth in it live.The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye,As the perfumed tincture of the roses,Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonlyWhen summer's breath their masked buds discloses:But, for their virtue only is their show,They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth."

"O howmuch more doth beauty beauteous seem,

By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem

For that sweet odour which doth in it live.

The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye,

As the perfumed tincture of the roses,

Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly

When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:

But, for their virtue only is their show,

They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;

Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:

And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth."

Son. 54.

In spirit, however, in elegance, in the skill and texture of its modulation, and beyond all, in the dignified and highly poeticalclose of the third quatrain, no one of our author's sonnets excels the twenty-ninth. The ascent of the lark was a favourite subject of contemplation with the poet:—

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