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he, and he alone, put the seal of perfection. Here his imagination, which, in the peculiar line of comedy he cultivated, had but little scope for expansion, and was, in his tragedies, altogether repressed, by an undeviating adhesion to the letter of history, expatiated as in its native element. "No sooner," remarks Mr. Gifford, "has he taken down his lyre, no sooner touched on his lighter pieces, than all is changed as if by magic, and he seems a new person. His genius awakes at once, his imagination becomes fertile, ardent, versatile, and excursive; his taste pure and elegant; and all his faculties attuned to sprightliness and pleasure."*
No greater honour, however, has been paid to the memory of Jonson, than the proof which Mr. Godwin has brought forward of his being the favourite author of Milton, "the predecessor that he chiefly had in his eye, and whom he seems principally to resemble in his style of composition."+ Among the numerous passages by which he has substantiated this fact, none are more conspicuous than those that breathe the spirit of the lyrical portion of the Masques; for " Milton," as he observes, "will certainly be found to have studied his compositions in this kind more assiduously than those of any of his contemporaries.-It would be strange indeed, if the poet, who in early youth composed the Mask of Comus, had not diligently studied the writings of Ben Jonson." Can there be a test of merit more indisputable than this? for "Comus," though by no means faultless as a Masque, has to boast of a poetry more rich and imaginative than is to be found in any other composition, save The Tempest of Shakspeare.
"It is not, however," proceeds Mr. Godwin, "in lighter and incidental matters only, that Milton studied the great model afforded him by Jonson: we may find in him much that would almost tempt us to hold opinion with Pythagoras, and to believe that the very spirit and souls of some men became transfused into their poetical successors. The address of our earlier poet to the two universities, prefixed to his most consummate performance, the comedy of " The Fox," will strike every reader familiar with the happiest passages of Mitton's prose, with its wonderful resemblance. They were both of them emphatically poets who had sounded the depths, and formed themselves in the school, of classic lore.
"The difference between them' may perhaps best be illustrated from the topic of religion. They had neither of them one spark of libertine and latitudinarian unbelief. But Jonson was not, like Milton, penetrated with his religion. It is to him a sort of servitude-it is not the principle that actuates, but the check that controls him. But in Milton, it is the element in which he breathes, a part of his nature. He acts, as ever in his Great Task-master's eye:' and this is not his misfortune; but he rejoices in his condition, that he has so great, so wise, and so sublime a Being, to whom to render his audit.” *
The labours of Jonson closed with a species of dramatic poetry in which he had made no previous attempt, and we have only to regret that it was left in an un
Gifford's Jonson, vol. i. Memoirs, p. ccxxx. After the passage which we have inserted in [the text, follow these admirable observations :
"Such were the Masques of Jonson, in which, as Mr. Malone says, 'the wretched taste of those times found amusement.' That James and his court delighted in them cannot be doubted, and we have only to open the Memoirs of Winwood and others to discover with what interest they were followed by the nobility of both sexes. Can we wonder at this? There were few entertainments of a public kind at which they could appear, and none in which they could participate. Here all was worthy of their hours of relaxation. Mythologues of classic purity, in which, as Hurd observes, the soundest moral lessons came recommended by the charm of numbers, were set forth with all the splendour of royalty, while Jones and Lanier, and Lawes and Ferrabosco, lavished all the grace and elegance of their respective arts on the embellishment of the entertainment.
"But in what was the taste of the times wretched?" In poetry, painting, architecture, they have not since been equalled; in theology, and moral philosophy, they are not even now surpassed; and it i becomes us, who live in an age which can scarcely produce a Bartholomew Fair farce, to arraign the taste of a period which possessed a cluster of writers, of whom the meanest would now be esteemed a prodigy And why is it assumed that the followers of the court of James were deficient in what Mr. Malone is pleased to call taste? To say nothing of the men (who were trained to a high sense of decorum and intellectual discernment under Elizabeth), the Veres, the Wroths, the Bedfords, the Rutlands, the Cliffords, and the Arundels, who danced in the fairy rings, in the gay and gallant circles of these enchanting devices, of which our most splendid shows are, at best, but beggarly parodies, were fully as accomplished in fevery internal and external grace as those who, in our days, have succeeded to their names and honours."-Memoirs, p. ccxxx. Ibid. vol. i. p. ecciii-ceev.
+Gifford's Jonson, vol. i. p. cexcvii.
Ibid. vol. i. p. cecvii.
finished state; for had the "Sad Shepherd" been completed in the style of excellence in which it was commenced, it would have been superior not only to the "Faithful Shepherdess" of Fletcher, but perhaps to any thing which he himself had written.
When Jonson, in his noble and generous eulogium on Shakspeare, tells us, that
"He was not of an age, but for all time,"
he seized a characteristic of which the reverse, in some degree, applies to himself; for had he paid less attention to the minutiae of his own age, and dedicated himself more to universal habits and feelings, his popularity would have nearly equalled that of the poet whom he loved and praised. Yet his fame rests on a broad and durable foundation, and we point, with pride and triumph, to that matchless constellation of dramatic merit, where burn, with inextinguishable glory, the mighty names of SHAKSPEARE, JONSON, FLETCHER, Massinger.
The Biography of Shakspeare continued to the Close of his Residence in London.
VARIOUS particulars relative to the personal history of Shakspeare, in addition to those which terminated his biography in the country, having been detailed in the chapters that record his commencement as an actor, the composition of his poems, † and his first efforts as a dramatic writer, we have now to collect the few circumstances of his life which time has spared to us, during the most active season of its duration, resuming our narrative at a period when the capital was under considerable alarm from the prevalence of the plague, and from the numerous conspiracies which were entered into against the life of the Queen. Shakspeare had been exposed, during the year of his birth, to great risk from the plague at Stratford, and its recurrence in 1593 seems to have made so deep an impression upon him, that he has alluded to it in more than one of his plays; particularly in his Romeo and Juliet written in this very year, where he mentions the practice of sealing up the doors of houses, in which, "the infectious pestilence did reign." It is probable that the effect on his mind might have been rendered more powerful, by the recollected narrative of those who had tended his infancy, and who, no doubt, had often told him of the danger which threatened the dawn of his existence.
We have found that, on his arrival in London, his first employment was that of an actor, a profession which, we certainly know, he continued to exercise for, at least, seventeen years. That he was by no means partial, however, to this occupation, nay, that he bitterly regretted the necessity which compelled him to have recourse to it, as a mode of procuring subsistence, may be fairly deduced from the language of his ninety-first sonnet:
"O for my sake do you with fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds," &c.
It appears strongly indeed, from the best of all evidence, that of his own words, that his early progress in life was thwarted by many obstacles, and accompanied by severe struggles, by poverty, contumely, and neglect. This he has emphatically told us, not only in one, but in several places, and in terms so expressive as
§ Act v. sc. 2. See also The Two Gentlemen of Verona, act. ii. sc. I.
‡ Part II Chap. 9
to make us sympathize acutely with his sorrows. Yet we perceive him bearing up under his difficulties with a noble and independent spirit, and contrasting the world's oppression with the solace of private friendship. Thus, in that beautiful sonnet, the twenty-ninth, which has been noticed in another place, the transition from despair to hope is finely painted:
"When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,
I all alone beweep my out-cast state," &c.
and again, in sonnet the thirty-seventh,—
"As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth," &c.
That, by the salutary though severe lessons of adversity, he had learnt to conquer his misfortunes, and to despise the shafts of vulgar scandal, will be evident from the two subsequent passages:
"Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now;
Now while the world is bent my deeds to cross,
"Your love and pity doth the impression fill
Of other's voices, that my adders sense
These complaints and consolations were, no doubt, written during the first tea years of his residence in London, while his reputation, as a poet, was yet assailable, and while the patronage of Lord Southampton was his only shield against the jealousy and traduction of illiberal competitors, whether off or on the stage. But the fame arising from his poems, and from the dramas of Romeo and Juliet, and King Richard the Third, had, in 1596, most assuredly secured him from any apprehensions of permanent injury; more especially as, soon after this period. the encouragement and support of William, Earl of Pembroke, and Philip, Earl of Montgomery, who, as the players tell us, in their dedication of the first folie, "had prosecuted our poet's plays, and their author living, with so much favour," were added to the protecting influence of Southampton.
It was in this year, namely 1596, that Shakspeare's feelings as a father were put to a severe trial, by the loss of his only son Hamnet, who died in the month of August, at the age of twelve-a deprivation which, however sustained with forttude, must have been long deplored.
He was now residing, it would appear from evidence referred to by Mr. Malone," near the Bear-Garden in Southwark, and in the following year (1597) purchased of William Underhill, Esquire, one of the best houses in his native town of Stralford, which, having repaired and improved, he denominated New Place.
See his "Inquiry," p. 215.
+ Of this mansion, which Dugdale informs us was originally built by Sir Hugh Clopton in the time of Henry the Seventh, and was then "a fair-house, built of brick and timber," and continued in the Cloptos family until 1563, when it was purchased by William Bott, and resold in 1570 to William Uuderhill, Esq., Mr.Wheler has given us the following account, subsequent to the decease of our poet:- On Shakspeare's death, it came to his daughter Mrs. Hall, for her life; and then to her only child Elizabeth, afterwards Lady Barnard; after whose death New Place was sold, in 1675, to Sir Edward Walker, Kat. Garle King at Arms, who died the 20th of February, 1676-7; and under his Will, dated the 29th of June, 1676 It came to his only child, Barbara, the wife of Sir John Clopton, Kut. of Clopton, in this parish. Ther younger son, Sir Hugh Clopton, Kut. a barrister at law, and one of the heralds at arms, afterwards becam possessed of New Place, which he modernised by internal and external alterations; and in 1742, r, ter
Whether this was the purchase in which he is said to have Leen so materialiy assisted by Lord Southampton, cannot positively be aflirmed; but as he had not long emerged from his difficulties, it is highly probable that on this, as well as on subsequent occasions, he was indebted to the bounty of his patron."
To the year 1598 has been commonly assigned the commencement of the intimacy between our author and Ben Jonson. This epoch rests upon the authority of Mr. Rowe, who informs us, that
"Shakspeare's acquintance with Ben Jonson began with a remarkable piece of humanity and good-nature. Mr. Jonson, who was at that time altogether unknown to the world, had offered one of his plays to the players to have it acted; and the persons into whose hands it was put, after having turned it carelessly and superciliously over, was just upon the point of returning it to him with an ill-natured answer, that it would be of no service to their company, when Shakspeare luckily cast his eye upon it, and found something so well in it, as to engage him first to read it through, and afterwards to recommend Mr. Jonson and his writings to the public."
That this kind office was in perfect unison with the general character of Shakspeare, will readily be admitted, yet there is much reason to believe that the whole account is without foundation; for, as we have related, in the last chapter, “Every Man in his Humour," which is supposed by all the editors and commentators to be the play alluded to by Rowe, was first performed at the Rose theatre; and
"That Jonson was altogether unknown to the world,'" remarks Mr. Gifford, "is a palpable untruth. At this period," (1598) he continues, “Jonson was as well known as Shakspeare, and perhaps better. He was poor indeed, and very poor, and a mere retainer of the theatres; but he was intimately acquainted with Henslowe and Alleyn, and with all the performers at their houses. He was familiar with Drayton and Chapman, and Rowley, and Middleton, and Fletcher; he had been writing for three years, in conjunction with Marston, and Decker, and Chettle, and Porter, and Bird, and with most of the poets of the day he was celebrated by Meres as one of the principal writers of tragedy; and he had long been rising in reputation as a scholar and a poet among the most distinguished characters of the age. At this moment he was employed on "Every Man out of his Humour," which was acted in 1599, and, in the elegant dedication of that comedy to the Gentlemen of the Inns of Court,' he says, When I wrote this poem, I had friendship with divers in your Societies, who, as they were great names in learning, so were they no less examples of living. Of them and then, that I say no more, it was not despised. And yet, Jonson was,
tained Macklin, Garrick, and Dr. Delany, under Shakspeare's mulberry tree. By Sir Hugh's son-in-law and executor, Henry Talbot, Esq. brother to the Lord Chancellor Talbot, it was sold to the Rev. Francis Gastrell, vicar of Frodsham in Cheshire; who, if we may judge by his actions, felt no sort of pride or leasure in this charming retirement, no consciousness of his being possessed of the sacred ground which e muses had consecrated to the memory of their favourite poet. The celebrated mulberry-tree planted by Shakspeare's hand became first an object of his dislike, because it subjected him to answer the frequent mportunities of travellers, whose zeal might prompt them to visit it, and to hope that they might meet spiration under its shade. In an evil hour, the sacrilegious priest ordered the tree, then remarkably arge, and at its full growth, to be cut down; which was no sooner done, than it was cleft to pieces for re-wood: this took place in 1756, to the great regret and vexation, not only of the inhabitants, but of very admirer of our bard. The greater part of it was, however, soon after purchased by Mr. Thomas Sharp, watch-maker, of Stratford; who, well acquainted with the value set upon it by the world, turned it uch to his advantage, by converting every fragment into small boxes, goblets, tooth-pick cases, tobaccotoppers, and numerous other articles. Nor did New Place long escape the destructive hand of Mr. astrell; who, being compelled to pay the monthly assessments towards the maintenance of the poor ome of which he expected to avoid, because he resided part of the year at Lichfield, though his servants ontinued in the house at Stratford during his absence), in the heat of his anger declared, that house should ever be assessed again; and to give his imprecation due effect, and wishing, as it seems, to be " damned everlasting fame," the demolition of New Place soon followed; for, in 1759, he rased the building to round, disposed of the materials, and left Stratford amidst the rage and curses of its inhabitants. Thus as the town deprived of one of its principal ornaments, and most valued relics, by a man, who, had he en possessed of a true sense, and a veneration for the memory of our bard, would have rather preserved hatever particularly concerned their great and immortal owner, than ignorantly have trodden the ground hich had been cultivated by the greatest genius in the world, without feeling those emotions which aturally arise in the breast of the generous enthusiast.
The site of New Place was afterwards added to the adjoining garden, by its illiberal proprietor; under hose Will, made on the 2d of October, 1768, it came to his widow, Mrs. Jane Gastrell; who, in 1775, id it to William Hunt, Esq. late of this town; from whose family it was purchased by Messrs. Battersbee d Morris, bankers, of Stratford.”—Wheeler's History of Stratford, p. 135; and Guide to Stratford, p.45,47 It is more probable that he was assisted on various occasions by His Lordship, than that the large m, mentioned by tradition, was bestowed at once, and at a period, too, when it was less required.
at this time, 'altogether unknown to the world!' and offered a virgin comedy (which had already been three years on the stage) to a player in the humble hope that it might be accepted."
The presumption is, that our poet and Jonson were acquainted anterior to 1598, probably as early as 1595, and that the dramatic reputation of Ben was the chief motive which induced the company at the Black Friars to procure the alte rations in, and to secure the property of, Every Man in his Humour. Such even is the opinion of Mr. Malone himself, when he has once forgotten the prepos terous charge of ingratitude, on the part of Jonson, for this imaginary introduction to the stage by Shakspeare; for in a note, on an entry of Mr. Henslowe's, which runs thus: "11 of Maye 1597, at the comedy of umers (humours) 11," that is, acted eleven times since November, 1596, he observes," Perhaps Ben Jonson's Every Man in his Humour." It will appear hereafter, that he had money dealings with Mr. Henslowe, the manager of this theatre, and that he wrote for him. The play might have been afterwards purchased from this company by the Lord Chamberlain's Servants (that is, by Shakspeare, Burbage, Heminge, etc.) by whom it was acted in 1598; an inconsistency which has been keenly and justly animadverted upon by Mr. Gifford. +
Two domestic circumstances mark the next year of our author's life; for, in 1599, his father obtained from the Heralds' Office a confirmation of his Coat of Arms, and his sister Joan married Mr. William Hart, a hatter in Stratford, occurrences which, in the great dearth of events unfortunately incident to our subject, are of some importance.
If an inference, however, made by Sir John Sinclair, could be considered as legitimately drawn, this year might be esteemed one of the most important in the poet's life; for, in the twentieth volume of his Statistical Account of Scotland, when speaking of the local traditions respecting Macbeth's castle at Dunsinnan, he infers, from their coincidence with the drama, that Shakspeare," in his capacity of actor, travelled to Scotland in 1599, and collected on the spot materials for the exercise of his imagination."
"Every attempt," remarks Mr. Stoddart, who has introduced this anecdote into his interesting Tour, "to illustrate the slightest circumstance concerning such a mind, deserves our gratitude; but in this instance, conjecture seems to have gone its full length, if not to have overstepped the modesty of nature. The probability of Shakspeare's ever having been in Scotland, is very remote. It should seem, by his uniformly accenting the name of this spot Dunsinane, that he could not possibly have taken it from the mouths of the country-people, who as uniformly accent it Dunsinnan. Every one knows, with what ease local tradition is so modified, as to suit public history ; and it is probable, that what Sir John heard in 1772, was a superstructure raised upon the drama itself. Amid the blaze of Shakspeare's genius, small praise is lost; but it is, perhaps, more honourable to his intellectual energies to suppose, that so much minute information was collected from books, or from conversation, than from an actual acquaintance with the place." †
Though we by no means contend for the validity of the inference, yet we must observe, that one of the principal objections of Mr. Stoddart is unfounded; for Shakspeare certainly was familiar with both modes of pronunciation, and has given us a specimen of the popular accent in the following well-known passage:
«Macbeth shall never vanquish'd be, until
Great Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill
Neither do we think, that his genius would have suffered any deterioration, nor his drama any loss of interest, had he actually painted from local observation.§ If we be correct in attributing Much Ado about Nothing to the year 1599, it is
* Gifford's Jonson, vol. i._Memoirs, p. xliii. xliv. xlv.—Shakspeare, whose name stands at the head of the principal performers in Every Man in his Humour, is supposed to have acted the part of Knowell Gifford's Jonson, vol. i. p. cclxxix.
Remarks on Local Scenery and Manners in Scotland, 8vo. vol. ii p. 197, 198.
It is a remarkable circumstance, however, that James is said, during this very year (1599), to have solicited Queen Elizabeth to send a company of English comedians to Edinburgh.