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abbreviated in the manuscript, according to the custom of the time. But this species of mistake is by no means uniform. For example from the 43rd to the 48th Sonnet these errors occur with remarkable frequency; in one Sonnet, the 46th, this species of mistake happens four times. But we read on, and presently find that we may trust to the printed copy, which does not now violate the context. What can we infer from this, but that the separate poems were printed from different manuscripts in which various systems of writing were employed,-some using abbreviations, some rejecting them? If the one poem, as the first hundred and twenty-six Sonnets are called, had been printed either from the author's manuscript, or from a uniform copy of the author's manuscript, such differences of systematic error in some places, and of systematic correctness in others, would have been very unlikely to have occurred. If the poem had been printed under the author's eye, their existence would have been impossible.

The theory that the first hundred and twenty-six Sonnets were a continuous poem, or poems, addressed to one person, and that a very young man-and that the greater portion of the remaining twenty-eight Sonnets had reference to a female, with whom there was an illicit attachment on the part of the poet and the young man-involves some higher difficulties, if it is assumed that the publication was authorized by the author, or by the person to whom they are held to be addressed. Could Shakspere, in 1609, authorize or sanction their publication? He was then living at Stratford, in the enjoyment of wealth; he was forty-five years of age: he was naturally desirous to associate with himself all those circumstances which constitute respectability of character. If the Sonnets had regard to actual circumstances connected with his previous career, would he, a husband, a father of two daughters, have authorized a publication so calculated to degrade him in the eyes of his family and his associates, if the verses could bear the construction now put upon them? We think not. On the other hand, did the one person to whom they

are held to be addressed sanction their publication? Would Lord Pembroke have suffered himself to be styled "W. H., the only begetter of these ensuing Sonnets"—plain Mr. W. H.-he, a nobleman, with all the pride of birth and rank about him—and represented in these poems as a man of licentious habits, and treacherous in his licentiousness? The Earl of Pembroke, in 1609, had attained great honours in his political and learned relations. In the first year of James I. he was made a Knight of the Garter; in 1605, upon a visit of James to Oxford, he received the degree of Master of Arts; in 1607 he was appointed Governor of Portsmouth; and, more than all these honours, he was placed in the highest station by public opinion; he was, as Clarendon describes, "the most universally beloved and esteemed of any man of that age." Was this the man, in his mature years, distinctly to sanction a publication which it was understood recorded his profligacy? He was of "excellent parts, and a graceful speaker upon any subject, having a good proportion of learning, and a ready wit to apply to it," says Clarendon. Is there in the Sonnets the slightest allusion to the talents of the one person to whom they are held to be addressed? If, then, the publication was not authorized, in either of the modes assumed, we have no warrant whatever for having regard to the original order of the Sonnets, and in assuming a continuity because of that order. What then is the alternative? That the Sonnets were a collection of "Sibylline leaves" rescued from the perishableness of their written state by some person who had access to the high and brilliant circle in which Shakspere was esteemed; and that this person's scrap-book, necessarily imperfect, and pretending to no order, found its way to the hands of a bookseller, who was too happy to give to that age what its most distinguished man had written at various periods, for his own amusement, and for the gratification of his "private friends."

We subjoin, for the more ready information of those who may be disposed to ex

amine for themselves the question of the order of Shakspere's Sonnets (and it really is a question of great interest and rational curiosity), the results of the two opposite theories of their exhibiting almost perfect continuity, on the one hand; and of their being a mere collection of fragments, on the other. The one theory is illustrated with much ingenuity by Mr. Brown; the other was capriciously adopted by the editor of the collection of 1640.

MR. BROWN'S DIVISION INTO SIX POEMS. First Poem.-Stanzas i. to xxvi. To his Friend, persuading him to marry. Second Poem.-Stanzas xxvii. to lv. To his Friend, who had robbed him of his Mistress—forgiving him.

Third Poem.-Stanzas lvi. to lxxvii. To his Friend, complaining of his Coldness, and warning him of Life's Decay. Fourth Poem.-Stanzas lxxviii. to ci. To his Friend, complaining that he prefers another Poet's Praises, and reproving him for faults that may injure his character.

Fifth Poem.-Stanzas cii. to cxxvi. To his

Friend, excusing himself for having been sometimes silent, and disclaiming the charge of Inconstancy.

Sixth Poem.-Stanzas cxxvii. to clii. To his Mistress, on her Infidelity.

ARRANGEMENT OF THE EDITION OF 1640.

*

** In this arrangement the greater part of the Poems of 'The Passionate Pilgrim' are blended, and are here marked P. P. In this collection the following Sonnets are not found: -18, 19, 43, 56, 75, 76, 96, 126. The Glory of Beauty. [67, 68, 69.] Injurious Time. [60, 63, 64, 65, 66.] True Admiration. [53, 54.] The Force of Love. [57, 58.] The Beauty of Nature. [59.] Love's Cruelty. [1, 2, 3.] Youthful Glory. [13, 14, 15.] Good Admonition. [16, 17.] Quick Prevention. [7.] Magazine of Beauty. [4, 5, 6.]

An Invitation to Marriage. [8, 9, 10, 11, 12.]

False Belief. [138.]

A Temptation. [144.]
Fast and Loose. [P. P. 1.]
True Content. [21.]
A bashful Lover. [23.]
Strong Conceit. [22.]

A sweet Provocation. [P. P. 11.]
A constant Vow. [P. P. 3.]
The Exchange. [20.]

A Disconsolation. [27, 28, 29.]
Cruel Deceit. [P. P. 4.]

The Unconstant Lover. [P. P. 5.]
The Benefit of Friendship. [30, 31, 32.]
Friendly Concord. [P. P. 6.]
Inhumanity. [P. P. 7.]

A Congratulation. [38, 39, 40.]
Loss and Gain. [41, 42.]
Foolish Disdain. [P. P. 9.]
Ancient Antipathy. [P. P. 10.]
Beauty's Valuation. [P. P. 11.]
Melancholy Thoughts. [44, 45.]
Love's Loss. [P. P. 8.]
Love's Relief. [33, 34, 35.]
Unanimity. [36, 37.]

Loth to Depart. [P. P. 12, 13.]
A Masterpiece. [24.]
Happiness in Content. [25.]
A Dutiful Message. [26.]
Go and come quickly. [50, 51.]
Two Faithful Friends. [46, 47.]
Careless Neglect. [48.]
Stout Resolution. [49.]
A Duel. [P. P. 14.]
Love-sick. [P. P. 15.]

Love's Labour Lost. [P. P. 16.]
Wholesome Counsel. [P. P. 17.]
Sat fuisse. [62.]

A living Monument. [55.]
Familiarity breeds Contempt. [52.]
Patiens Armatus. [61.]

A Valediction. [71, 72, 74.]
Nil magnis Invidia. [70.]
Love-sick. [80, 81.]

The Picture of true Love. [116.]
In Praise of his Love. [82, 83, 84, 85.]
A Resignation. [86, 87.]

Sympathizing Love. [P. P. 18.]

A Request to his Scornful Love. [88, 89, 90, 91.]

A Lover's Affection, though his Love
prove Unconstant. [92, 93, 94, 95.]
Complaint for his Lover's Absence.
98, 99.]

[97,

An Invocation to his Muse. [100, 101.]
Constant Affection. [104, 105, 106.]
Amazement. [102, 103.]

"There is extant a small volume of miscellaneous poems in which Shakspere expresses his feelings in his own person. It is not difficult to conceive that the editor, George Steevens, should have been insensible to the beauties of one portion of that volume, the Sonnets; though there is not a part

A Lover's Excuse for his long Absence. of the writings of this poet where is found, [109, 110.]

in an equal compass, a greater number of exquisite feelings felicitously expressed.

A Complaint. [111, 112.] Self-flattery of her Beauty. [113, 114, But, from regard to the critic's own credit, 115.] he would not have ventured to talk of an

A Trial of Love's Constancy. [117, 118, act of parliament not being strong enough 119.] to compel the perusal of these, or any pro

A good Construction of his Love's Un- duction of Shakspere, if he had not known kindness. [120.]

Error in Opinion. [121.]

that the people of England were ignorant of the treasures contained in those little

Upon the Receipt of a Table-Book from pieces." his Mistress. [122.]

A Vow. [123.]

Love's Safety. [124.]

An Entreaty for her Acceptance. [125.] Upon her playing upon the Virginals. -[128.]

Immoderate Lust. [129.]

In praise of her Beauty, though Black. [127, 130, 131, 132.]

Unkind Abuse. [133, 134.]

Love-suit. [135, 136.]

That ignorance has been removed; and no one has contributed more to its removal, by creating a school of poetry founded upon Truth and Nature, than Wordsworth himself. The critics of the last century have passed away :

"Peor and Baälim

Forsake their temples dim."

By the operation of what great sustaining principle is it that we have come back to

His Heart wounded by her Eye. [137, the just appreciation of "the treasures con

139, 140.]

A Protestation. [141, 142.]

An Allusion. [143.]

Life and Death. [145.]

A Consideration of Death. [146.]

Immoderate Passion. [147.]

tained in those little pieces"? The poet critic will answer :

"There never has been a period, and perhaps never will be, in which vicious poetry, of some kind or other, has not excited more zealous admiration, and been far more

Love's powerful Subtilty [148, 149, 150.] generally read, than good; but this advan

Retaliation. [78, 79.]

Sunset. [73, 77.]

A Monument to Fame. [107, 108.]
Perjury. [151, 152.]

Cupid's Treachery. [153, 154.]

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tage attends the good, that the individual, as well as the species, survives from age to age whereas, of the depraved, though the species be immortal, the individual quickly perishes; the object of present admiration vanishes, being supplanted by some other as easily produced, which, though no better, brings with it at least the irritation of novelty,—with adaptation, more or less skilful, to the changing humours of the majority of those who are most at leisure to regard poetical works when they first solicit their attention. Is it the result of the whole, that, in the opinion of the writer, the judg

ment of the people is not to be respected? The thought is most injurious; and, could the charge be brought against him, he would repel it with indignation. The people have already been justified, and their eulogium pronounced by implication, when it is said above-that, of good poetry, the individual, as well as the species, survives. And how does it survive but through the people? what preserves it but their intellect and their wisdom ?

'Past and future are the wings On whose support, harmoniously conjoin'd, Moves the great spirit of human knowledge.' -MS.

The voice that issues from this spirit is that vox populi which the Deity inspires. Foolish must he be who can mistake for this a local acclamation, or a transitory outcry-transitory, though it be for years; local, though from a nation! Still more lamentable is his error who can believe that there is anything of divine infallibility in the clamour of that small though loud portion of the community, ever governed by factitious influence, which, under the name of the PUBLIC, passes itself, upon the unthinking, for the PEOPLE."

It is the perpetual mistake of the public for the people that has led to the belief that there was a period when Shakspere was neglected. He was always in the heart of the people. There, in that deep rich soil, have the Sonnets rested during two centuries; and here and there in remote places have the seeds put forth leaves and flowers. All young imaginative minds now rejoice in their hues and their fragrance. But this preference of the fresh and beautiful of poetical life to the pot-pourri of the last age must be a regulated love. Those who, seeing the admiration which now prevails for these outpourings of "exquisite feelings felicitously expressed," talk of the 'Sonnets' as equal, if not superior, to the greatest of the poet's mighty dramas, compare things that admit of no comparison. Who would speak in the same breath of the gem of Cupid and Psyche, and of the Parthenon? In the 'Sonnets,' exquisite as they are, the poet goes not out of himself (at least in the form of the composition), and he walks, therefore, in a narrow circle of art. In the 'Venus and Adonis,' and the 'Lucrece,' the circle widens. But in the Dramas, the centre is the Human Soul, the circumference the Universe.

BOOK XI.

SHAKSPERE'S CRITICS.

CHAPTER I.

MILTON.-EDWARD PHILLIPS.

“SHAKSPERE was not so much esteemed, even during his life, as we commonly suppose; and after his retirement from the stage he was all but forgotten."* So we read in an authority too mighty to enter upon evidence. The oblivion after his retirement and death is the true pendant to the alleged neglect during his life +. When did the oblivion begin? It could scarcely have existed when, in 1623, an expensive folio volume of many hundred pages was published, without regard to the risk of such an undertaking-and it was a risk, indeed, if the author had been neglected and was forgotten. But the editors of the volume do not ask timidly for support of these neglected and forgotten works. They say to the reader, "Though you be a magistrate of wit, and sit on the stage at Blackfriars or the Cockpit, to arraign plays daily, know these plays have had their trial already, and stood out all appeals." Did the oblivion continue when, in 1632, a second edition of this large work was brought out? There was one man, certainly—a young and ardent scholar-who was not amongst the oblivious. JOHN MILTON was twenty-four years of age when these verses were pub

lished::

"AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET, W. SHAKESPEARE.

Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid
Under a star-ypointing pyramid?

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,
What need'st thou such dull witness of thy
name?

Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a lasting monument.
For whilst to th' shame of slow endeavouring
art

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book
Those Delphic lines with deep impression
took,

Then thou, our fancy of herself bereaving, Dost make us marble with too much con

ceiving,

And so sepulchred in such pomp doth lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die." The author of these lines could not have known the works of the "admirable dramatic poet," while that poet was in life; but sixteen years after his death he was the dear son of memory, the great heir of fame; his bones were honoured, his relics were hallowed, his works were a lasting monument, his book was priceless, his lines were oracular, Delphic. Is this oblivion? But it may be said that Milton was a young enthusiast, one who saw farther than the million; that the public opinion of a writer (and we are not talking of his positive excellence, apart

"What need my Shakespeare for his honour'd from opinion) must be sought for in the bones

The labour of an age in piled stones,

*Life of Shakspere, in Lardner's Cyclopædia' † See Book ix. chap. iv.

voice of the people, or at any rate in that of the leaders of the people. How are we to arrive at the knowledge of this expression? We can only know, incidentally, that an

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