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decease the said stock and consideration to be | five pounds; and to Francis Collins of the borough of Warwick, gent, thirteen pounds six shillings and eight-pence, to be paid within one year after my decease.

paid to her children, if she have any, and if not, to her executors or assigns, she living the said term after my decease provided that if such husband as she shall at the end of the said three years be married unto, or at any [time] after, do sufficiently assure unto her, and the issue of her body, lands answerable to the portion by this my will given unto her, and to be adjuged so by my executors and overseers, then my will is, that the said hundred and fifty pounds shall be paid to such husband as shall make such assurance, to his own use.

Item, I give and bequeath unto my said sister Joan twenty pounds, and all my wearing apparel, to be paid and delivered within one year after my decease; and I do will and devise unto her the house, with the appurtenances, in Stratford, whereing she dwelleth, for her natural life, under the yearly rent of twelvepence.

Item, I give and bequeath unto her three sons, William Hart, - Hart. and Michael Hart, five pounds a piece, to be paid within one year after my decease.

Item, I give and bequeath unto the said Elizabeth Hall all my plate (except my broad silver and gilt bowl †), that I now have at the date of this my will.

Item, I give and bequeath unto the poor of Stratford aforesaid ten pounds; to Mr. Thomas Combe my sword; to Thomas Russel, esq.

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except my broad silver and gilt bowl.] This bowl, as we afterwards find, our poet bequeathed to his daughter Judith.

Item, I give and bequeath to Hamlet [Hamnet] Sadler + twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy him a ring; to William Reynolds, gent. twenty-six shillings eight-pence, to buy him a ring; to my godson, William Walker, twenty shillings in gold; to Anthony Nash, S gent. twenty six-shillings eight-pence; and to Mr. John Nash, ** twenty-six shillings eight-pence; and to my fellows, John Heminge, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell, †† twenty-six shillings eight-pence apiece, to buy them rings.

not been able to discover. I have taken the trouble to ascertain the ages of Shakspeare's friends and relations, and the time of their deaths, because we are thus enabled to judge how far the traditions concerning him which were communicated to Mr. Rowe in the beginning of this century, are worthy of credit. MALONE.

*--to Francis Collins-] This gentleman, was, I believe, baptized at Warwick. He died ford, Sept. 27, 1617, on which day he died. MAthe year after our poet, and was buried at StratLONE, edit. 1821.

t to Hamnet Sadler,] This gentleman was godfather to Shakspeare's only son, who was called

after him. Mr. Sadler, I believe, was born about the year 1550, and died at Stratford-upon-Avon, in October, 1624. His wife, Judith Sadler, who was godmother to Shakspeare's youngest daughter, was buried there, March 23, 1613-14. Our poet probably was godfather to their son William, who was baptized at Stratford, Feb. 5, 1597-8. MA


+- to my godson, William Walker,] William, the son of Henry Walker, was baptized at Stratford, Oct. 16, 1608. I mention this circumstance,

because it ascertains that our author was at his

native town in the autumn of that year. Mr. William Walker was buried at Stratford, March 1,

1679-80. MALONE.

§ -to Anthony Nash,] He was father of Mr. Thomas Nash, who married our poet's grandWelcombe, where his estate lay; and was buried daughter, Elizabeth Hall. He lived, I believe, at

at Stratford, Nov. 18, 1622. MALONE.


- Mr. Thomas Combe.] This gentleman was baptized at Stratford, Feb. 9. 1588-9, so that he was twenty-seven years old at the time of Shakspeare's death. He died at Stratford in July, 1657, aged 68; and his elder brother William died at the same place, Jan. 30, 1666-7, aged 80. Mr. Thomas Combe by his will, made June 20, 1656, --to Mr. John Nash,] This gentleman died directed his executors to convert all his personal at Stratford, and was buried there, Nov. 10, property into money, and to lay it out in the purchase of lands, to be settled on William Combe, the eldest son of John Combe of Allchurch in the county of Worcester, gent. and his heirs-male; remainder to his two brothers successively. Where, therefore, out poet's sword has wandered, I have

1623. MALONE.

To my fellows, John Hemynge, Richard Burbage, and Henry Cundell,] These our poet's fellows did not very long survive him. Burbage died in March, 1619; Cundell in December, 1627; and Heminge in October, 1623. MALONE,

Ilem, I give, will, bequeath, and devise, unto my daughter, Susanna Hall, for better enabling of her to perform this my will, and towards the performance thereof, all that capital messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, in Stratford aforesaid, called The New Place, wherein I now dwell, and two messuages or tenements, with the appurtenances, situate, lying, and being, in Henley-street, within the borough of Stratford aforesaid; and all my barns, stables, orchards, gardens, lands, tenements, and hereditaments whatsoever, situate, lying, and being, or to be had, received, perceived, or taken, within the towns, hamlets, villages, fields, and grounds of Stratfordupon-Avon, Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe," or in any of them, in the said county of Warwick; and also all that messuage or tenement, with the appurtenances, wherein one John Robinson dwelleth, situate, lying, and being in the Blakfriars in London near the Wardrobe; and all other my lands, tenements, and hereditaments whatsoever to have and to hold all and singular the said premises, with their appurtenances, unto the said Su

-Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe.] The lands of Old Stratford, Bishopton, and Welcombe, here devised, were, in Shakspeare's time, a continuation of one large field, all in the parish of Stratford. Bishopton is two miles from Stratford, and Welcombe one. For Bishopton, Mr. Theobald erroneously printed Bushaxton, and the error has been continued in all the subsequent editions. The word in Shakspeare's original will is spelt Bushopton, the vulgar pronunciation of Bishopton.

I searched the Indexes in the Rolls Chapel from the year 1589 to 1616, with the hope of finding

an enrolment of the purchase-deed of the estate here devised by our poet, and of ascertaining its extent and value; but it was not enrolled during that period, nor could I find any inquisition taken after his death, by which its value might have been ascertained. I suppose it was conveyed by the former owner to Shakspeare, not by bargain and sale, but by a deed of feoffinent which it was not necessary to enroll. MALONE.

that messuage or tenement—in the Blackfriars in London, near the Wardrobe ;] This Was the house which was mortgaged to Henry Walker.

By the Wardrobe is meant the King's Great Wardrobe, a royal house, near Puddle-Wharf, purchased by King Edward the Third from sir John Beauchamp, who built it. King Richard III. was lodged in this house, in the second year of he reign. See Stowe's Survey, p. 693, edit. 1618. After the fire of London this office was kept in Savoy: but it is now abolished. MALONE.

sanna Hall, for and during the term of her natural life; and after her decease to the first son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the heirs-males of the body of the said first son lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to the second son of her body lawfully issuing, and to the heirs-males of the body of the said second son lawfully issuing; and for default of such heirs, to the third son of the body of the said Susanna lawfully issuing, and to the heirsmales of the body of the said third son lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, the same so to be and remain to the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons of her body, lawfully issuing one after another, and to the beirs-males of the bodies of the said fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh sons lawfully issuing, in such manner as it is before limited to be and remain to the first, second, and third sons of her body, and to their heirs-males; and for default of such issue, the said premises to be and remain to my said niece Hall, and the heirs-males of her body lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to my daughter Judith, and the heirs-males of her body lawfully issuing; and for default of such issue, to the right heirs of me the said William Shakspeare for ever.

Item, I give unto my wife my second best bed, with the furniture.*

Item, I give and bequeath to my said daughter, Judith, my broad silver gilt bowl. All the rest of my goods, chattels, leases, plate, jewels, and household stuff whatsoever, after my debts and legacies paid, and my funeral expenses discharged, I give, devise, and bequeath to my son-in-law, John Hall, gent, and my daughter, Susanna, his wife, whom I ordain

and make executors of this my last will and testament. And I do entreat and appoint the said Thomas Russell, esq. and Francis Collins, gent. to be overseers hereof.

And do revoke

my second best bed, with the furniture.] Thus Shakspeare's original will.

It appears, in the original will of Shakspeare (now in the Prerogative-office, Doctors Commons), that he had forgot his wife; the legacy to her being expressed by an interlineation, as well as those to Heminge, Burbage, and Cundell.

The will is written on three sheets of paper, the last two of which are undoubtedly subscribed with Shakspeare's own hand. The first indeed has his name in the margin, but it differs somewhat in spelling as well as manner, from the two signatures that follow.

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Commentatory Verses on Shakspeare,
By Contemporary Poets.

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On William Shakspeare, who died in April, 1616.
RENOWNED Spenser, lie a thought more nigh
To learned Chaucer; and rare Beaumont, lie
A liule nearer Spenser, to make room
For Shakspeare, in your three-fold, four-fold tomb.
To lodge all four in one bed make a shift
Tatil doomsday; for hardly will a fift
Betwixt this day and that by fate be slain,
For whom your curtains may be drawn again.
But if precedency in death doth bar

A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre,
Cader this carved marble of thine own,
Sleep, rare tragedian, Shakspeare, sleep alone.
Thy unmolested peace, unshared cave,
Possess, as lord, not tenant, of thy grave;
That unto us and others it may be
Honour hereafter to be laid by thee.


To the Memory of my Beloved the Author, Mr. William Shakspeare, and what he hath left us. To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book, and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such, As neither man, nor muse, can praise too much; Tis true, and all men's suffrage: but these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise: For seeliest ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes 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 ruin, where it seem'd to raise : These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore Should praise a matron; what could hurt her more? But thou art proof against them; and, indeed, Above the ill fortune of them, or the need: I, therefore, will begin:-Soul of the age, The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage, My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser; or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb; Ad art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give. That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses; I mean, with great but disproportion'd muses: For, if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee surely with thy peers; And tell-how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin, and less Greek, From thence to honour thee, I would not seek For names; but call forth thund'ring Æschylus, Euripides, and Sophocles, to us, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead, To life again, to hear thy buskin tread And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone; for the comparison Of all that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome, Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.

Triumph, my Britain! thou hast one to show,
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time;
And all the muses still were in their prime,
When like Apollo he came forth to warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm.
Nature herself was proud of his designs,
And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines;
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit:
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;
But antiquated and deserted lie,

As they were not of Nature's family.
Yet must I not give Nature all; thy art,
My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part:-
For though the poet's matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion: and that he,
Who casts to write a living line, must sweat,
(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat
Upon the muses' anvil; turn the same,
(And himself with it) that he thinks to frame;
Or, for the laurel, he may gain a scorn,-
For a good poet's made, as well as born:
And such wert thou. Look, how the father's face
Lives in his issue; even so the race

Of Shakspeare's mind, and manners, brightly shines
In his well-turned and true-filed lines;
In each of which he seems to shake a lance,
As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance.
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!
But stay;
see thee in the hemisphere
Advanc'd, and made a constellation there:-
Shine forth, thou star of poets; and with rage,
Or influence, chide, or cheer, the drooping stage;
Which, since thy flight from hence, hath moura'd

like night,

And despairs day, but for thy volume's light! BEN JONSON.

Upon the Lines and Life of the famous Scenic Poet, Master William Shakspeare

Those hands which you so clapp'd, go now and wring,

You Britains brave; for done are Shakspeare's days; His days are done that made the dainty plays,

Which made the globe of heaven and earth to ring: Dry'd is that vein, dry'd is the Thespian spring, Turn'd all to tears, and Phoebus clouds his rays; That corpse, that coffin, now bestic those bays, Which crown'd him poet first, then poet's king. If tragedies might any prologue have,

All those he made would scarce make one to this; Where fame, now that he gone is to the grave, (Death's public tiring-house) the Nuntius is: For, though his line of life went soon about, The life yet of his lines shall never out. HUGH HOLLAND.

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To the Memory of the deceased Author, Master
William Shakspeare.

Shakspeare, at length thy pious fellows give
The world thy works; thy works, by which outlive
Thy tomb, thy name must: when that stone is rent,
And time dissolves thy Stratford monument,
Here we alive shall view thee still; this book,
When brass and marble fade, shall make thee
Fresh to all ages, when posterity

Both weep and smile; fearful at plots so sad, Then laughing at our fear; abus'd, and glad To be abus'd; affected with that truth Which we perceive is false, pleas'd in that ruth At which we start, and, by elaborate play, Tortur'd and tickl'd; by a crab-like way Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort Disgorging up his ravin for our sport:look-While the plebeian imp, from lofty throne, Creates and rules a world, and works upon Mankind by secret engines; now to move A chilling pity, then a rigorous love; To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire; To steer the affections; and by heavenly fire Mold us anew, stoln from ourselves:

Shall loath what's new, think all is prodigy
That is not Shakspeare's, every line, each verse,
Here shall revive, redeem thee from thy herse.
Nor fire, nor cank'ring age,-as Naso said
Of his, thy wit-fraught book shall once invade:
Nor shall I e'er believe or think thee dead,
Though miss'd, until our bankrout stage be sped
(Impossible) with some new strain to out-do
Passions" of Juliet, and her Romeo;"
Or till I hear a scene more nobly take,
Than when thy half-sword parlying Romans spake:
Till these, till any of thy volume's rest,
Shall with more fire, more feeling be express'd,
Be sure, our Shakspeare, thou canst never die,
But, crown'd with faurel, live eternally.

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On worthy Master Shakspeare, and his Poems.

A mind reflecting ages past, whose clear
And equal surface can make things appear,
Distant a thousand years, and represent
Them in their lively colours, just extent:
To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates,
Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates
Of death and Lethe, where confused lie
Great heaps of ruinous mortality:
In that deep dusky dungeon, to discern
A royal ghost from churls; by art to learn
The physiognomy of shades, and give
Them sudden birth, wond'ring how oft they live;
What story coldly tells, what poets feign
At second hand, and picture without brain,
Senseless and soul-less shews: To give a stage,-
Ample, and true with life,-voice, action, age,
As Plato's year, and new scene of the world,
Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd:
To raise our ancient sovereigns from their herse,
Make kings his subjects; by exchanging verse,
Enlive their pale trunks, that the present age
Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage:
Yet so to temper passion, that our ears
Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears

This, and much more, which cannot be express'd
But by himself, his tongue, and his own breast,—
Was Shakspeare's freehold; which his cunning brain
Improv'd by favour of the nine-fold train;-
The buskin'd muse, the comick queen, the grand
And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand
And nimbler foot of the melodious pair,
The silver-voiced lady, the most fair
Calliope, whose speaking silence daunts,
And she whose praise the heavenly body chants,
These joinly woo'd him, envying one another ;-
Obey'd by all as spouse, but lov'd as brother;-
And wrought a curious robe, of sable grave,
Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave,
And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white,
The lowly russet, and the scarlet bright:
Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted spring;
Each leaf match'd with a flower, and each string
Of golden wire, each line of silk: there run
Italian works, whose thread the sisters spun ;
And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice
Birds of a foreign note and various voice:
Here hangs a mossy rock; there plays a fair
But chiding fountain, purled: not the air,
Not clouds, nor thunder, but were living drawn ;
But fine materials, which the muses know,
Nor out of common tiffany or lawn,
And only know the countries where they grow.
Now, when they could no longer him enjoy,
In mortal garments pent,-death may destroy,
They say, his body, but his verse shall live,
And more than nature takes our hands shall give :
In a less volume, but more strongly bound,
Shakspeare shall breathe and speak; with laurel

Which never fades; fed with ambrosian meat,
In a well-lined vesture, rich, and neat:
So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it;
For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it.
The friendly Admirer of his Endowments,
J. M. S.

An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatick Poet,
W. Shakspeare.

What needs my Shakspeare for his honour'd bones,
The labour of an age in piled stones;
Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
What need st thou such weak witness of thy name?
Thou, in our wonder and astonishment,
Hast built thyself a live-long monument:
For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art,
Thy easy numbers flow; and that each heart
Hath, from the leaves of thy unvalued book,
Those Delphick lines with deep impression took;
Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving,
Dost make us marble with too much conceiving;
And, so sepulcher'd, in such pomp dost lie,
That kings, for such a tomb, would wish to die.

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