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And he has the same thought in at least two other Sonnets. So too, in Drayton s 44th :

"And though in youth my youth untimely perish,
To keep thee from oblivion and the grave,
Ensuing ages yet my rhymes shall cherish,
Where I entomb'd my better part shall save;
And though this earthly body fade and die,
My name shall mount upon eternity."

A similar strain occurs in his 6th.

is also met with in two of Daniel's.

The same promise of eternity
Thus in his 41st:

"How many live, the glory of whose name
Shall rest in ice, when thine is grav'd in marble!
Thou may'st in after ages live esteem'd,
Unburied in these lines, reserv'd in pureness;

These shall entomb those eyes that have redeem'd
Me from the vulgar, thee from all obscureness."

In short, it was a common fashion of the time, in sonnet-writing, for authors to speak in an ideal or imaginary character as if it were their real one, and to attribute to themselves certain thoughts and feelings, merely because it suited their purpose, and was a part of their art as poets, so to do. And this, we make no doubt, is the true key to the mystery which has puzzled so many critics in the Sonnets of Shakespeare. In writing Sonnets, he naturally fell into the current style of the age; only, by how much he surpassed the others in dramatic power, by so much was he better able to express ideal sentiments as if they were his own, and to pass, as it were, out of himself into the characters he had imagined or assumed.

Knight has some remarks on this point, which are so apt and well-put that we cannot forbear quoting them. "It must not be forgotten," says he, "that in an age when the Italian models of poetry were so diligently cultivated, imaginary loves and imagi. nary jealousies were freely admitted into verses which appeared to address themselves to the reader in the personal character of the poet. Regarding a poem, whether a sonnet or an epic, essentially as a work of art, the artist was not careful to separate his own identity from the sentiments and situations which he delineated; any more than the pastoral poets of the next century were solicit. ous to tell their readers that their Corydons and Phyllises were not absolutely themselves and their mistresses. The Amoretti of Spenser, for example, consisting of eighty-eight Sonnets, is also a puzzle to all those who regard such productions as necessarily autobiographical. These poems were published in 1596; in sev eral passages a date is somewhat distinctly marked; for there are lines which refer to the completion of The Faerie Queene, and to Spenser's appointment to the laureateship. And yet they are full

of the complaints of an unrequited love, and of a disdainful mistress, at a period when Spenser was married, and settled with his family in Ireland.

"We believe that, taken as works of art, having a certain de gree of continuity, the Sonnets of Spenser, of Daniel, of Drayton, of Shakespeare, although in many instances they might shadow forth real feelings, and be outpourings of the inmost heart, were presented to the world as exercises of fancy, and were received by the world as such. The most usual form which such compositions assumed was that of love-verses. Spenser's Amoretti are entirely of this character, as their name implies: Daniel's, which are fifty-seven in number, are all addressed To Delia :' Drayton's, which he calls Ideas,' are somewhat more miscellaneous in their character. In 1593 was also published Licia, or Poems of Love, in honour of the admirable and singular virtues of his Lady. This book contains fifty-two Sonnets, all conceived in the language of passionate affection and extravagant praise. And yet the author, in his Address to the Reader, says, -If thou muse what my Lieia is, take her to be some Diana, at the least chaste, or some Minerva; no Venus, fairer far. It may be she is Learning's image, or some heavenly wonder, which the precisest may not mislike: perhaps under that name I have shadowed Discipline' This fashion of sonnet-writing upon a continuous subject prevailed, thus, about the period of the publication of the Venus and Adonis and the Lucrece, when Shakespeare had taken his rank amongst the poets of the time, independent of his dramatic rank."

Taking this view of the matter, we of course do not search after any thread or principle of continuity running through the whole series of Sonnets, or any considerable portion of them. We hold them to have been strictly fragmentary in conception and execution, written at divers times and from various motives; addressed sometimes, perhaps, to actual persons, sometimes to ideal; and, for the most part, weaving together the real and the imaginary sentiments of the author, as would best serve the end of poetical beauty and effect. In a word, we think he wrote them mainly as an artist, not as a man, though as an artist acting more or less upon the incidents and suggestions of his actual experience. Doubtless, too, in divers cases, several of them have a special unity and coherence among themselves, being run together in continuous sets or clusters, and forming separate poems. This avoids the endless mirage of conflicting theories that has gathered about them, and also clears up the perplexity and confusion which one cannot but feel while reading them under an idea or persuasion of their being a continuous whole.

We give the Sonnets, it will be seen, in the same order and ar rangement as they stand in the original edition, believing that this ought not to be interfered with, until the question shall be better settled as to the order in which they should be given. Neverthe

less, we are far from thinking this order to be the right one; on the contrary, we hold it to be in divers particulars very much dis ordered. It seems quite evident that there is a good deal of mis placement and confusion among them; sometimes those being scattered here and there, which belong together, sometimes one set being broken by the thrusting in of a detached member of another set. For instance, the three Sonnets playing upon the Poet's name clearly ought to be set together, yet they are printed as the CXXXV., CXXXVI., and CXLIII., the last of the trio being thus separated from the rest by the interposition of six jumbled together, apparently, from their proper connection in other sets. So, again, the CXXVII., CXXXI., and CXXXII. clearly ought to stand together, being continuous alike in the subject and in the manner of treating it. Numerous other cases of like dislocation might be cited, but there is no need of dwelling on the matter here, as it will be duly attended to in our notes.

We have no ground for supposing that Thorpe's edition of the Sonnets was made under the supervision or with the sanction of the Poet. The internal evidence all makes against the notion of the author having any hand in getting the work out; and as for external evidence, there is none bearing on the point. We have found, in connection with the plays, abundant proof that Shakespeare's reputation rendered many publishers very eager to grace their establishments with his workmanship. Thorpe did not pub lish any other of his writings, nor does he anywhere but in this one instance appear in connection with his name. That his issue of the Sonnets was anywise fraudulent or surreptitious, is more than we have any right to say; neither, on the other hand, is there any sign of its having been done with the author's allowance or consent. Probably, as the business was then conducted, a publisher was held justifiable, in law and honour, in catching such matter where and as he could, provided he did not directly interfere with the known interest of anybody else in the same line. And so, as regards the issue in question, perhaps the most that can be said for it is, that it was with the Poet's connivance. The Sonnets were floating about in circulation, and their excellence had becenie matter of public fame. There was cause enough why a publisher should be glad to come by a copy of them, and perhaps to reward, with compliments or cash, any one who would get together, for his use, as many of them as he could find. Mr. W. H." probably served in this capacity. And for the order and arrangement of them, there was most likely nothing better than the ignorance of caprice of the procurer or the publisher. It is nowise improbable that some may have been mistakenly included which were not really Shakespeare's, nor, again, that he may have written some which were not obtained.

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The whole question of the Sonnets has been sifted and scrutinized with much care and ability in Knight's Shakespeare, the

writer endeavouring to sort and arrange them on a principle of internal fitness and congruity. Probably his order is not in all points satisfactory; in one particular, as will be seen, we depart from it, and there are some others where we think it might be bettered but it seems, at all events, a great improvement on the old disorder; and we would not that the settling of a better arrangement should be hindered by having too many innovations adopted or proposed. While retaining them, therefore, in their old order, we have numbered them with figures, so that they can be read, except in the instance just mentioned, according to Knight's grouping; though in our numbering the several groups or sets do not occupy the same relative places which he assigns them, because we wished the figures to run, as nearly as might be, in the same order as the Sonnets are printed. Along with our figures, we also keep the numerals the same as in the old arrangement; and by following the numerals which we have placed after certain Sonnets or clusters of Sonnets, the reader will be able to take the whole series according to our numbering, and to find the several sets or groups as Knight has sorted and classed them. We know not how it may strike others; but, for ourselves, we have found the interest of them greatly heightened, by having the old confusion this disciplined out of their arrangement.

Touching the merit of the Sonnets, there need not much be said Some of them would hardly do credit to a school-boy, while many are such as it may well be held an honour even to Shakespeare to have written; there being nothing of the kind in the language at all approaching them, except a few of Milton's and a good many of Wordsworth's. That in these the Poet should have sometimes rendered his work excessively frigid with the euphuistic concerts and affectations of the time, is far less wonderful than the exquisite beauty, and often more than beauty, of sentiment and imagery that distinguishes a large portion of them. Many might be pointed out, which, with perfect clearness and compactness of thought, are resplendent with the highest glories of imagination; others are replete with the tenderest pathos; others again are compact of graceful fancy and airy elegance; while in all these styles there are specimens perfectly steeped in the melody of sounds and numbers, as if the thought were born of music, and the music interfused with its very substance. Wordsworth gives it as his opinion, that there is no part of the writings of this Poet, where is found, in an equal compass, a greater number of exquisite feelings felicitously expressed"

"A LOVER'S COMPLAINT, by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE," occupies eleven pages at the end of the volume containing the Sonnets. There is no doubt of its being the Poet's work; but on what occasion or for what purpose it was written, is not known Some parts of it are very fine, and all of it is well worth having

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FROM fairest creatures we desire increase,
That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
But as the riper should by time decease,
His tender heir might bear his memory:
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
Making a famine where abundance lies,
Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
Tha that art now the world's fresh ornament,
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak'st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,

To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

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When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field.
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held:
Then, being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
To say, within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou could'st answer, "This fair child of mine
Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse
Proving his beauty by succession thine.

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