unto whom fuch Blazon of Arms and Atchievements of Inheritance from their faid Mother, by the ancient Custom and Laws of Arms, may lawfully defcend; We the faid Garter and Clarencieulx have affigned, granted, and confirmed, and by these Presents exemplified unto the faid John Shakefpere, and to his Pofterity, that Shield and Coat of Arms, viz. In a Field of Gold upon a Bend Sables a Spear of the firft, the Point upward, beaded, Argent; and for his Creft or Cognifance, A Falcon, Or, with his Wings difplayed, ftanding on a Wreathe of his Colours, fupporting a Spear armed beaded, or feeled Silver, fixed upon an Helmet with Mantles and Taffels, as more plainly may appear depicted in this Margent; And we have likewife impaled the fame with the ancient Arms of the faid Arden of Wellingcote; fignifying thereby, that it may and fhall be lawful for the faid John Shakefpere, Gent. to bear and ufe the fame Shield of Arms, fingle or impaled, as aforefaid, during his natural Life; and that it fhall be lawful for his Children, Iffue, and Pofterity, lawfully begotten, to bear, ufe, and quarter, and fhew forth the fame, with their due Differences, in all lawful warlike Feats and civil Use or Exercifes, according to the Laws of Arms, and Custom that to Gentlemen belongeth, without Let or Interruption of any Perfon or Perfons, for ufe or bearing the fame. In Witness and Testimony whereof we have fubfcribed our Names, and faftned the Seals of our offices. Given at the Office of in the Forty Second

Arms, London, the Day of
Year of the Reign of our moft Gracious Sovereign Lady
Elizabeth, by the Grace of God, Queen of England, France
and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, &c. 1599.

TO THE

MEMORY of my beloved the AUTHOR,

Mr. WILLIAM SHAKESPEAR;

T

And what he hath left us.

O draw no envy (Shakespear) on thy Name,
Am I thus ample to thy Book, and Fame:
While I confefs thy writings to be fuch,

As neither Man, nor Mufe can praise too much.
'Tis true, and all mens fuffrage. But thefe wayes
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praife:
For feelieft Ignorance on thefe may light,
Which, when it founds at beft, but ecchoes right;
Or blind Affection, which doth ne'er advance
The Truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance;
Or crafty Malice might pretend this praise,
And think to ruine, where it feem'd to raife.
Thefe are, as fome infamous Baud, or Whore,
Should praife a Matron. What could hurt ber more?
But thou art proof against them, and indeed
Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need.
I therefore will begin. Soul of the Age!
The applaufe! delight! the wonder of our Stage!
My Shakespear rife; I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lye
A little further, to make thee a room:
Thou art a Monument without a Tomb,
And art alive ftill, while thy Book doth live,
And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
That I not mix thee fo, my brain excufes;
I mean with great, but disproportion'd Muses:

For

For if I thought my judgment were of years,
Ifhould commit thee furely with thy Peers,
And tell bow far thou didst our Lily out-fbine,
Or Sporting Kid, or Marlow's mighty Line.
And though thou hadft fmall Latin and lefs Greek,
From thence to honour thee, I would not feek
For names; but call forth thund'ring Æschylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles to us,

Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,
To live again, to bear thy Bufkin tread,

And fake a Stage: Or, when thy Socks were on,
Leave thee alone for the comparison

Of all, that infolent Greece, or haughty Rome
Sent forth, or fince did from their afhes come.
Triumph, my Britain, thou haft one to show,
To cubom all Scenes of Europe bomage ore.
He was not of an age, but for all time!
And all the Mufes, fill were in their prime,
When like Apollo be came forth to warm
Qur ears, or like a Mercury to charm!
Nature her felf was proud of bis defignes,
And joy'd to wear the dreffing of bis Lines!
Which were fo richly fpun, and woven fo fit,
As, fince, he will vouchsafe no other wit.
The merry Greek, tart Ariftophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ;
But antiquated, and deferted lye,

As they were not of Nature's family.
Yet muft I not give Nature all: Thy Art,
My gentle Shakespear, must enjoy a part.
For though the Poet's matter Nature be,
His Art doth give the Fashion. And, that be
Who caft to write a living line, muft fweat,
(Such as thine are) and ftrike the fecond heat
Upon the Mufes Anvile; turn the fame,
(And himself with it) that he thinks to frame;
Or for the Laurel, be may gain a fcorn,
For a good Poet's made, as well as born.
And fuch wert thou. Look how the Father's face
Lives in bis Ifue, even so the race

of

Of Shakespear's mind and manners brightly fhines
In his well torned, and true filed lines:
In each of which be feems to shake a Lance,
As brandifb'd at the eyes of Ignorance.
Sweet Swan of Avon! what a fight it were
To fee thee in our water yet appear,

And make thofe flights upon the Banks of Thames,
That fo did take Eliza, and our James!
But ftay, I fee thee in the Hemisphere

Advanc'd, and made a Conftellation there!
Shine forth, thou Starre of Poets, and with rage,
Or influerce, chide, or chear the drooping Stage,

Which, fince thy flight from hence, bath mourn'd like night,
And defpairs day, but for thy Volume's light.

BEN. JOHNSON,