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Title: Testimony of the Sonnets as to the Authorship of the Shakespearean
Plays and Poems

Author: Jesse Johnson

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Most recently updated: January 5, 2021

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TESTIMONY OF
THE SONNETS AS TO THE AUTHORSHIP OF THE
SHAKESPEAREAN PLAYS AND POEMS ***

Testimony of the Sonnets
as to the Authorship
of the Shakespearean
Plays and Poems

By Jesse Johnson

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

NEW YORK AND LONDON

The Knickerbocker Press

1899

Copyright, 1899

BY

G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS

Entered at Stationers' Hall, London

The Knickerbocker Press, New York

DEDICATED TO
ALBERT E. LAMB

PARTNER AND FRIEND FOR TWENTY YEARS
OF THE ROYAL LINE OF LOYAL GENTLEMEN

CONTENTS

PAGE

Introductory
1-5
Scope and effect of the discussion

Chapter I
The Sonnets contain a message from
their author; they portray his real
7-18
emotions,
and are to be read and interpreted
literally

Chapter II
They indicate that the friend or patron of
the poet was a young man, and of about
the age of Shakespeare; and that their 19-48
author was past middle life, and
considerably
older than Shakespeare

Chapter III
Direct statements showing that the
Sonnets were not written by their 49-58
accredited
author—were not written by Shakespeare

59-72
Chapter IV
The known facts of Shakespeare's history
reveal a character entirely inconsistent

with, and radically different from, the
revelations of the Sonnets as to the
character of their author

Chapter V
The general scope and effect of the
73-96
Sonnets inconsistent with the theory that
they were written by Shakespeare

Chapter VI
97-99
The results of the discussion summarized

Appendix 100

INTRODUCTORY
The Shakespearean Sonnets are not a single or connected work like an
ordinary play or poem. Their composition apparently extended over a
considerable time, which may be fairly estimated as not less than four
years. Read literally they seem to portray thoughts, modes or experiences
fairly assignable to such a period. Though variable and sometimes light and
airy in their movement, the greater portion appear to reveal deep and
intense emotion, the welling and tumultous floods of the inner life of their
great author. And their difficulty or mystery is, that they indicate
circumstances, surroundings, experiences and regrets that we almost
instinctively apprehend could not have been those of William Shakespeare
at the time they were written, when he must have been in the strength of
early manhood, in the warmth and glow of recent and extraordinary
advancement and success.
It is this difficulty that apparently has caused many to believe that their
literal meaning cannot be accepted, and that we must give to them, or to
many of them, a secondary meaning, founded on affectations or conceits
relating to different topics or persons, or that at least we should not allow
that in them the poet is speaking of himself. Others, like Grant White,
simply allow and state the difficulty and leave it without any suggestion of
solution.
Before conceding, however, that the splendid poetry contained in the
Sonnets must be sundered or broken, or the apparent reality of its message
doubted or denied, or that its message is mysterious or inexplicable—we
should carefully inquire whether there is not some view or theory which
will avoid the difficulties which have so baffled inquiry.
I believe that there is such a view or theory, and that view is—that the
Sonnets were not written by Shakespeare, but were written to him as the
patron or friend of the poet; that while Shakespeare may have been the
author of some plays produced in his name at the theatre where he acted, or
while he may have had a part in conceiving or framing the greater plays so

produced, there was another, a great poet, whose dreamy and transforming
genius wrought in and for them that which is imperishable, and so wrought
although he was to have no part in their fame and perhaps but a small
financial recompense; and that it is the loves, griefs, fears, forebodings and
sorrows of the student and recluse, thus circumstanced and confined, that
the Sonnets portray.
Considering that the Sonnets were so written, there is no need of any other
than a literal and natural reading or interpretation. Commencing in
expressions of gratulation and implied flattery, as they proceed, they appear
to have been written as the incidents, fears and griefs which they indicate
from time to time came; and it may well be that they were written not for
publication, but as vents or expressions of a surcharged heart. With such a
view of the situation of the poet and of his patron, we may not only
understand much that otherwise is inexplicable, but we may understand
why so much and such resplendent poetry is lavished on incidents so bare,
meagre, and commonplace, and why they present both poet and patron with
frailties and faults naked and repellant; and we can the better palliate and
forgive the weakness and subjection which the Sonnets indicate on the part
of their author. With such a reading the Sonnets become a chronicle of the
modes and feelings of their author, resembling in this respect the In
Memoriam of Tennyson; and their poetry becomes deeper and better, often
equalling, if not surpassing in pathos and intensity anything in the greater
Shakespearean plays.
Such is the result or conclusion to which the discussion which follows is
intended to lead. I shall not, however, ask the reader to accept any such
conclusion or result merely because it removes difficulties or because it
makes or rather leaves the poetry better; but I shall present—that the
Sonnets contain direct testimony, testimony not leading to surmise or
conjecture, but testimony which would authorize a judgment in a court of
law, that the Sonnets were not written by Shakespeare, and that they very
strongly indicate that Shakespeare was the friend or patron to whom so
many of them are addressed.
How such a conclusion from such testimony may be affected by arguments
drawn from other sources I shall not discuss, contenting myself if into the

main and larger controversy I have succeeded in introducing the effect and
teaching of this, certainly, very valuable and important testimony.

TESTIMONY OF THE SONNETS AS TO THE
AUTHORSHIP OF THE SHAKESPEAREAN
PLAYS AND POEMS

CHAPTER I
OF THE CHARACTER OF THE SONNETS AND THEIR
RELATION TO THE OTHER WORKS OF THE SAME
AUTHOR

In these pages I propose an examination and study of the Shakespearean
Sonnets, for the purpose of ascertaining what information may be derived
from them as to the authorship of the Shakespearean plays and poems. I am
aware that any question or discussion as to their authorship is regarded with
objection or impatience by very many. But to those not friendly to any such
inquiry I would say, let us at least proceed so far as to learn precisely what
the author of these great dramas says of himself and of his work in the only
production in which he in any manner refers to or speaks of himself.
Certainly an inquiry confined to such limits is appropriate, at least is not
disloyal. And if we study the characters of Hamlet, Juliet or Rosalind, do
we not owe it to the poet whose embodiments or creations they are, that we
should study his character in the only one of his works in which his own
surroundings and attachments, loves and fears, griefs and forebodings,
appear to be at all indicated?
From the Homeric poems, Mr. Gladstone undertook to gather what they
indicate as to the religion, morals and customs of the time; of the birthplace
of the poet, and of the ethnology and migrations of the Hellenic peoples.
Those poems were not written for any such purpose; they were for a people
who, in the main, on all those subjects knew or believed as did their author.
And it is both curious and instructive to note how much information as to
that distant period Mr. Gladstone was able to gather from the circumstances,
incidents, and implications of the Homeric poetry. The value of such
deductions no one can question. We may reject as myths the Trojan War or
the wanderings or personality of Ulysses, but from these poems we
certainly learn much of the method of warfare, navigation, agriculture, and
of the social customs of those times.

So reading these Sonnets, we may perhaps not believe that the grief or love
of the poet or the beauty of his friend was quite as great as the poetry
indicates. But we may fairly take as correct what he says of his friend or of
himself, as to their relations and companionship, the incidents and
descriptions, which were but the framework on which he wove his poetic
wreaths of affection, compliment, or regret.
But before entering on this inquiry, it is quite relevant to ascertain what
relation these Sonnets bear to the Shakespearean plays and poems. The
works of Shakespeare, as published, contain thirty-seven separate plays.
Most of them are of the highest order, and rank with the most consummate
products of poetic genius. But criticism seems to have established, and
critics seem to agree, that in the works accredited to him are plays of a
lower order, which certainly are not from the same author as the remainder,
and especially the greater plays. In this widely different and lower class,
criticism seems to be agreed in placing the greater portion of Pericles, Titus
Andronicus, Timon of Athens, two parts of Henry VI., and Henry VIII.[1] In
addition to those, there are at least ten plays not now published as
Shakespeare's, that are conceded to be of a lower order and by a different
author, but which, apart from internal evidence, can be almost as certainly
shown to be his work as many of the greater of the recognized
Shakespearean plays. In the same high class of poetry as the greater of these
dramas are the Sonnets; and they are unmistakably, and I think concededly,
the work of the author of those greater plays.
It is of our poet, as the author of these greater dramas as well as of the
Sonnets, that we would seek to learn in the study of the Sonnets. It is only
in the Sonnets that the poet speaks in the first person, or allows us any
suggestion of himself. His dramas reveal to us the characters he has
imagined and desires to portray; but they reveal nothing of the author. His
two great poems are dramatic in substance and equally fail to give us any
hint of their creator; but in the Sonnets his own is the character whose
thoughts and emotions are stated. There we come nearest to him; and there
it would seem that we should be able to learn very much of him. Perhaps
we shall find that they do not present him at his best; it may be that they
were intended only for the eye of the friend or patron to whom they are
addressed. Perhaps they reveal the raveled sleeve, the anxieties of a
straitened life and of narrow means. Certainly, while they reveal the

wonderful fertility, resource, and fancy of the poet, they do not indicate that
in outward semblance, surroundings or history their author was either
fortunate or happy; and as we read them, sometimes we may feel that we
are entering the poet's heart-home unbidden and unannounced. But if we
have come there when it is all unswept and ungarnished, may we not the
more certainly rely on what it indicates?
Before entering on the study of the Sonnets we may inquire what, if
anything, there is, distinctive of our great poet, the recognition of which
may aid us in their interpretation.
Taine says that "the creative power is the poet's greatest gift, and
communicates an extraordinary significance to his words"; and further, that
"he had the prodigious faculty of seeing in a twinkling of an eye a complete
character."[2]
The poet does not bring those characters to us by description, but he causes
them to speak in words so true and apposite to the character he conceives
that we seem to know the individuals from what they say and not from what
the poet wrote or said. But the poet goes much farther, and in all his works
presents surroundings and accessories, impalpable but certain, which fit the
characters and their moods and actions. The picture of morning in Venus
and Adonis is apposite to the rich, sensuous and brilliant colorings of the
queen of love; the reference in Romeo and Juliet to the song of the
nightingale "on yond' pomegranate tree" is but an incident to the soft, warm
and love- inviting night; Rosalind moves and talks to the quickstep of the
forest; in Macbeth the incantation of the witches is but the outward
expression of an overmastering fate, whose presence is felt throughout the
play. Let us then, in studying the Sonnets, consider that they are from the
same great master as the dramas. And we shall be thus prepared, where the
meaning seems plain and obvious, to believe that the writer meant what he
said, and to reject any interpretation which implies that when he came to
speak of himself he said what he did not mean, or filled the picture with
descriptions, situations or emotions, incongruous or inappropriate. And if in
so reading they seem clear and connected, fanciful and far-drawn
interpretations will not be adopted. We should not distort or modify their
meaning in order to infer that they are imitations of Petrarch, or that the
genius of the poet, cribbed and confined by the fashion of the time, forgot to

soar, and limped and waddled in the footsteps of the inconspicuous
sonneteers of the Elizabethan era.
I would illustrate my meaning. Sonnet CXXVI. is sometimes said to be an
invocation to Cupid.[3] That seems to me to destroy all its grace and beauty.
The first two lines of the Sonnet,
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour—
are quite appropriate, if addressed to the god of love. But the lines
succeeding are quite the reverse. In effect they say that you have not grown
old because Nature, idealized as an active personality, has temporarily
vanquished Time, but will soon obtain the full audit. If the Sonnet is
addressed to the god of love it reduces him to the limitations of mortality; if
it is addressed to his friend, it indicates that, though but for a little while,
Nature has lifted him to an attribute of immortality. The latter interpretation
makes the poet enlarge and glorify his subject; the former makes him
belittle it, and bring the god of love to the audit of age and the ravage of
wrinkles. This is the last sonnet of the first series; with the next begins the
series relating to his mistress. Reading it literally, considering it as
addressed to his friend, it is sparkling and poetic, a final word, loving,
admonitory, in perfect line and keeping with the central thought of all that
came before. From this Sonnet, interpreted as I indicate, I shall try to find
assistance in this study. But if it is a mere poetical ascription to Cupid, it, of
course, tells us nothing except that its author was a poet.
I should not, however, leave this subject without stating that the fanciful
interpretation of these Sonnets does not seem to be favored by more recent
authors. I find no indication of such an interpretation in Taine's English
Literature, or in Grant White's edition of Shakespeare. Professor Edward
Dowden, universally recognized as a fair and competent critic, says: "The
natural sense, I am convinced, is the true one."[4] Hallam says: "No one can
doubt that they express not only real but intense emotions of the heart."[5]
Professor Tyler, in a work relating to the Sonnets, says: "The impress of
reality is stamped on these Sonnets with unmistakable clearness."[6] Mr.
Lee, while regarding some of these as mere fancies, obviously finds that
many of them treated of facts.[7] Mr. Dowden, in a work devoted to the

Sonnets, states very fully the views which have been expressed by different
authors in relation to them. His quotations occupy sixty pages and, I think,
clearly show that the weight of authority is decidedly in favor of allowing
them their natural or primary meaning.
There are one hundred and fifty-four of these Sonnets. The last two are
different in theme and effect from those which go before, and may perhaps
not improperly be considered as mere exercises in poetizing. They have no
connection with the others, and I would have no contention with those who
regard them as suggested by Petrarch, or as complaisant imitations of the
vogue or fashion of that time. Those two Sonnets I leave out of this
discussion, and would have what may be here said, understood as applying
only to the one hundred and fifty-two remaining.
These one hundred and fifty-two Sonnets I will now insist have a common
theme. Most of them may be placed in groups which seem to be connected
and somewhat interdependent. Those groups may perhaps, in some cases,
be placed in different orders, without seriously affecting the whole. To that
extent they are disconnected. But in whatever order those groups are placed,
through them runs the same theme—the relations of the poet to his friend or
patron, and to his mistress, the mistress of his carnal love, who is
introduced only because the poet fears that she has transferred her
affections or favors to his friend, wounding and wronging him in his love or
desire for each.
It is easy to pick out many Sonnets which may be read as disconnected and
independent poetry. But very many more verses could be selected from In
Memoriam that can be read independently of the remainder of that poem.
And there are none of the Sonnets, however they may read standing alone,
that do not fit the mode and movement of those with which they stand
connected. There is, I submit, no more reason for sundering Sonnets of that
class from the others, than there is for taking the soliloquy of Hamlet from
the play that bears his name.
This statement of the theme and the connected character of the Sonnets is
not essential to the views I shall present. Nevertheless, if it is accepted, if
we are able to agree that they all are relevant and apposite to a common
theme, it strengthens the proposition that we should seek for them a literal

meaning and should reject any construction which would make any of their
description or movement incongruous to any other part. Of course we shall
expect to find in them the enlargement or exaggeration of poetic license.
But so doing we must recall the characteristics of their great author, who
with all exaggeration preserves harmony and symmetry of parts, and
harmony and correspondence in all settings and surroundings. With such
views of what is fair and helpful in interpretation, I propose to proceed to a
closer view of the first one hundred and fifty-two of what are known as the
Sonnets of Shakespeare.

Footnotes:
[1] Brandes's William Shakespeare, a Critical Study. Temple edition of
Shakespeare, introduction to plays above named.
[2] Taine's English Literature, pp. 83, 84.
[3] Lee's Life of Shakespeare, p. 27. The Sonnet is printed in full at p. 28.
[4] Dowden, Shakespeare: His Mind and Art, pp. 102, 103.
[5] Hallam's Literature of Europe, Vol. II., Chap. V.
[6] Tyler, Shakespeare's Sonnets, p. 10.
[7] Lee's Life of Shakespeare, pp. 97, 125, 126.

CHAPTER II
OF THE AGE OF THE WRITER OF THE SONNETS

Adopting the views which fix the later period as the date of the Sonnets, it
seems practically certain that they were written as early as 1598,—though
some of them may have been written as late as 1601,—and that a great
portion were probably written as early as 1594.[8] Shakespeare was born in
1564. Consequently they appear to have been written when he was about
thirty or thirty-four, certainly not over thirty-seven years of age.
It will be the main purpose of this chapter to call attention to portions of the
Sonnets which seem to indicate that they were written by a man well past
middle age,—perhaps fifty or sixty years old, and certainly not under forty
years of age.
But before proceeding to the inquiry as to the age of the writer, I invite
attention to what they indicate as to the age of the patron or friend to whom
the first one hundred and twenty-six seem to have been written. In poetry as
in perspective, there is much that is relative, and in the Sonnets the age of
the writer and that of his friend are so often contrasted, that if with
reasonable certainty, and within reasonable limits, we are able to state the
age of his friend, we shall be well advanced toward fixing the age of the
writer.
The first seventeen of these Sonnets are important in this connection. They
have a common theme: it is that his friend is so fair, so incomparable, that
he owes it to the world, to the poet, whose words of praise otherwise will
not be believed, that he shall marry and beget a son. The whole argument
clearly implies that the writer deems such admonition necessary, because
his friend has passed the age when marriage is most frequent, and is verging
toward the period of life when marriage is less probable. His friend appears
to the writer as making a famine where abundance lies; he tells him that he
beguiles the world, unblesses some mother; that he is his mother's glass and
calls back the April of her prime; asks him why he abuses the bounteous

largess given him to give; calls him a profitless usurer; tells him that the
hours that have made him fair will unfair him; that he should not let winter's
rugged hand deface ere he has begotten a child, though it were a greater
happiness should he beget ten. He asks if his failure to marry is because he
might wet a widow's eye, and then in successive Sonnets cries shame on his
friend for being so improvident. He tells him that when he shall wane,
change toward age, he should have a child to perpetuate his youth; and the
thought again brings to the poet the vision of winter, summer's green borne
on winter's bier, and he urges him that he should prepare against his coming
end, by transmitting his semblance to another; that he should not let so fair
a house fall to decay, but should uphold it against the stormy blasts of
winter by begetting a son; seeing in his friend so much of beauty, he
prognosticates that his friend's end is beauty's doom and date. Noting that
nothing in nature can hold its perfection long, he sees his friend, most rich
in youth, but Time debating with decay, striving to change his day to night,
and urges him to make war upon the tyrant Time by wedding a maiden who
shall bear him living flowers more like him than any painted counterfeit. He
tells him that could he adequately portray his beauty, the world would make
him a liar, and then closes this theme by saying:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice in it, and in my rhyme.

Any impression as to the age of the poet's friend which this brief synopsis
of the first seventeen Sonnets conveys, I think will be increased by reading
the Sonnets themselves. I have refrained from stating any portions of
Sonnets II. and VII., desiring to present to the reader their exact words.
Sonnet VII. reads as follows:
Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,

Attending on his golden pilgrimage;
But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
From his low tract, and look another way:
So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,
Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.

The poet sees his friend, as is the sun after it has climbed the morning steep
and is journeying on the level heaven toward the zenith. Certainly that must
indicate that his friend was advanced toward the middle arch of life.
Sonnet II. reads as follows:
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed 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.
. . . . .
This were to be new made when thou art old,
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

These lines indicate that his friend had not yet reached forty years. And
equally do they indicate that in the mind of the poet the fortieth year was
not in the ascending scale of life, but was at, or perhaps beyond, the
"highmost pitch" toward which, in the seventh Sonnet, he described his
friend as approaching.[9]
Taking these seventeen Sonnets together, reading and re-reading them, can
we suppose that they were composed by the great delineator, of or toward a
person under or much below thirty? They imply that the person addressed
was not so far below middle life that a statement of the decadence that

would come after his fortieth year presented a remote or far-off picture.
Besides, if his friend was below thirty years, while it might be well to urge
him to marry, hardly would the poet have used language implying that his
marrying days were waning. To put it roughly, there would not be so much
of the now-or-never thought running through the ornate verse in which the
poet voices his appeal.
As we read these seventeen Sonnets, we may perhaps suspect that the desire
that his friend shall marry is so strongly stated and presented, because it is a
theme around which the poet can appropriately weave so much of
compliment and expressions of admiration and affection. But if that be so,
must we not still believe that the great dramatist could not have addressed
them to his friend, unless in substance and in all their more delicate shades
of meaning and of coloring they were appropriate to him?
We may now pass from this first group to other Sonnets which convey
similar and, I submit, unmistakable intimations as to the age of the poet's
friend or patron.
Sonnet C., especially when read with the one preceding, clearly indicates
that it was written as a greeting or salutation after absence, and on the poet's
return to his friend. In it he says:
Rise, resty Muse, my love's sweet face survey,
If Time have any wrinkle graven there;
If any, be a satire to decay,
And make Time's spoils despised everywhere.
Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life;
So thou prevent'st his scythe and crooked knife.

Closely following, in Sonnet CIV., the poet says:
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,[10]
. . . . .
In process of the seasons have I seen,
. . . . .

Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived[11]:
For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred;
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

The thought is: your beauty may be passing; it may be that my eye that sees
it not, is deceived. We should carefully note the words, "Three winters
cold," "Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green." Though they
present no clear or sharp indication as to the age of his friend, yet I think
that of them this may be fairly said: the word "green" is used as opposed to
ripe or matured, and his friend's age is such that three years seem to the poet
to have carried him a step toward maturity. And so reading these words,
they harmonize with the expression of the poet's fear that his great love for
his friend may have prevented him from seeing his beauty
like a dial hand,
Steal from his figure.

In Sonnet LXX. the poet says of his friend:
And thou present'st a pure unstained prime.
Thou hast pass'd by the ambush of young days,
Either not assail'd, or victor being charged.

In Sonnet LXXVII. the poet says:
The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know
Time's thievish progress to eternity.

Sonnet CXXVI. is as follows:
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy power
Dost hold Time's fickle glass, his sickle, hour;
Who hast by waning grown, and therein show'st
Thy lovers withering as thy sweet self grow'st;
If Nature, sovereign mistress over wrack,
As thou goest onwards, still will pluck thee back,
She keeps thee to this purpose, that her skill
May time disgrace and wretched minutes kill.
Yet fear her, O thou minion of her pleasure!
She may detain, but not still keep, her treasure:
Her audit, though delay'd, answer'd must be,
And her quietus is to render thee.

This is the last Sonnet which the poet addresses to his friend. Except the last
two, all that follow are of his mistress, and are of the same theme as
Sonnets XL., XLI., and XLII., and, we may fairly infer, are of the same
date. If so, Sonnet CXXVI. is practically the very latest of the entire series,
and we may deem it a leave-taking, perhaps not of his friend, but of the
labor that had so long moved him. Perhaps for that reason its words should
be deemed more significant, and it should be read and considered more
carefully.[12] All its thoughts seem responsive to the central suggestion that
his friend appears much younger than he is. To the poet he seems still a boy
because he has so held the youth and freshness of boyhood that it is not
inappropriate to say that he holds in his power the glass of Time; Nature has
plucked him back to show her triumph over Time, but she cannot continue
to do so, but will require of him full audit for all his years.
For what age do such expressions seem natural as words of compliment;
and when first would it have pleased us to be told that we looked younger
than we were, and to one that loved us, still seemed but as a boy? Hardly
much before thirty; till then we took but little account of years and would
have preferred to be told that we seemed manlier rather than younger than
we were. But on this let us further consult our poet. He tells us that at ten
begins the age of the whining school-boy; at twenty of the lover, sighing

like a furnace, and that of the soldier, a vocation of manhood, at thirty.[13]
To me it seems very clear that the rich poetic fancy of this Sonnet would be
greatly lessened by assuming it to be addressed to a person below twenty-
five years of age, and if it came, as may hereafter appear, from a person of
fifty years or over, its caressing compliments and admonition would seem
quite appropriate for one who had reached the fourth age of life. The
indication of the last four Sonnets, to which I have referred, I submit, is in
entire accord with that of the first group of seventeen.
I would not, however, leave this branch of the discussion without indicating
what I deem is the fair inference or result from it. I do not claim that the age
of the poet's friend can be certainly stated from anything contained in the
Sonnets. It seems to me, however, that it mars the poetry and makes its
notes seem inappropriate and discordant, to suppose that the poet had in
mind a person below twenty-five years of age. To do so would make some,
at least, of his terms of description inapt, subtract from the sparkle and force
of his compliments, and cause his words of loving admonition and advice to
appear ill-timed and inappropriate. Certainly the Sonnets indicate that his
friend was on the morning side of life and below forty; and perhaps ten or
twelve years below would best fit the verse. It may be, probably it is the
fact, that a number of years, from four to seven, elapsed between the
earliest and the latest of these Sonnets; and that may explain why we are not
able to find any more specific indications as to the age of his friend.
There are also Sonnets from which it has been inferred that the poet's friend
was much younger than thirty, and possibly or probably below twenty years
of age. A careful examination of these Sonnets will, however, I think very
clearly indicate that no such inference can be fairly drawn.
In Sonnet LIV. the poet says:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distills your truth.

In Sonnet XCVI. he says:
Some say, thy fault is youth, some wantonness;
Some say, thy grace is youth and gentle sport;

Similar expressions appear in Sonnets II., XV., XXXIII., and XLI.
In Sonnet CXIV. he says:
Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble.

Sonnet CXXVI., containing the appellation, "my lovely boy," has been
already quoted.[14]
In Sonnet CVIII. he says:
What's in the brain, that ink may character,
Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit?
What's new to speak, what new to register,
That may express my love, or thy dear merit?
Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,
I must each day say o'er the very same;
Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,
Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
So that eternal love in love's fresh case
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place,
But makes antiquity for aye his page;
Finding the first conceit of love there bred,
Where time and outward form would show it dead.

Hardly could any argument for extreme youth be made from any of these
lines, except as based on the term "boy." The term "youth" obviously has a
broader significance, and by no strained construction, especially if coming
from a man of advanced years, may be applied to persons on the morning
side of life without any precise or clear reference to, or indication of, their
age. We should therefore turn to the lines containing the appellation "boy"
for whatever of force there is in the claim for the extreme youth of the
poet's friend. Doing so, the context in each case clearly indicates that no

such inference can be fairly drawn. In the Sonnet last quoted (CVIII.), the
poet, saying that there is nothing new to register of his love for his friend,
and that he counts nothing old that is so used, then says that his eternal love
Weighs not the dust and injury of age,
Nor gives to necessary wrinkles place.
Hardly could he have said plainer that his loving appellation, "sweet boy,"
is made because he can allow neither his friend, nor his love for him, nor
his own frequent recurring expressions of it, to grow old; the last two lines
of the Sonnet, referring to the indications of time and outward form, seem
to be a continuance and enlargement of the same thought.
So interpreting his verse it is fresh, sparkling, and complimentary; but
deeming that the person addressed was sixteen or twenty years old, indeed a
mere boy, at least half of the portion of the Sonnet following the term
"sweet boy" is inappropriate and useless. This Sonnet, I think, might be
cited as indicating that, except to the eye of love, that is in sober fact, the
poet's friend was no longer a boy.
Sonnet CXXVI., is quoted at page 28, and discussed, and presented as
clearly stating that his friend was termed a boy only because, as to him,
Time had been hindered and delayed.
There is, however, a further consideration which I think should effectually
dispose of any doubts that may remain on account of the use of the words
"youth" or "boy." In the succeeding portions of this chapter I shall quote
Sonnets indicating, indeed saying, that the poet was on the sunset side of
life—probably fifty years of age or older, and so at least twenty years older
than is indicated of his friend, except in the Sonnets now being considered.
If the poet was fifty years of age or more, the terms here discussed are
amply and fully satisfied without ascribing to them any definite indication
as to the age of the person addressed. To a person of the age of fifty or sixty
years, addressing a person young enough to be his son, especially if of a fair
and youthful appearance, the expressions "boy" or "youth" come quite
naturally and have no necessary significance beyond indicating the relative
age of the person so addressed.[15] And especially is this so when the
words are used in expressions of affection and of familiar or caressing
endearment.

With such aid as may be had from considering the age of his friend, we
come to the more important inquiry: What was the age of the author of
these Sonnets,—what was the age of the poet of the Shakespearean
plays? I shall present that which indicates that he was probably fifty,
perhaps sixty, certainly more than forty years of age at the time he wrote
the Sonnets.
But if our great poet was forty,—probably if he was thirty-five years of age,
when these Sonnets were composed,—he was born before 1564, before the
birth date of William Shakespeare.

The poet clearly indicates that he is older than his friend. In Sonnet XXII.
he says:
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?

In Sonnet LXXIII. he speaks directly of his own age or period of life, as
follows:
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

The latter part of Sonnet LXII. and Sonnet LXIII. are as follows:
But when my glass shows me myself indeed,
Beated and chopp'd with tann'd antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'T is thee, myself, that for myself I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.

Against my love shall be, as I am now,
With Time's injurious hand crush'd and o'erworn;
When hours have drain'd his blood and fill'd his brow
With lines and wrinkles; when his youthful morn
Hath travell'd on to age's steepy night,
And all those beauties whereof now he's king
Are vanishing or vanish'd out of sight,
Stealing away the treasure of his spring;
For such a time do I now fortify
Against confounding age's cruel knife,
That he shall never cut from memory
My sweet love's beauty, though my lover's life:
His beauty shall in these black lines be seen,
And they shall live, and he in them still green.

It should be noted that the poet is picturing no morning cloud or storm or
eclipse; but his grief is that he has had his morning and his noon and that he
is now at "age's steepy night" because his sun has travelled so far in his

life's course. The Sonnet seems to be the antithesis of Sonnet VII., quoted at
page 22. The metaphor is the same, comparing life to the daily journey of
the sun. In each, the poet views the steep of the journey, the earlier and the
later hours of the day; and while he finds that his friend's age is represented
by the sun passing from the "steep-up" hill to the zenith, with equal
clearness and certainty he indicates that his age is represented by its last and
declining course, that he has "travelled on to age's steepy night." As clearly
as words can say, the poet states that he is on the sunset side of life and
indicates that he is well advanced toward its close.
Sonnet CXXXVIII. is as follows:
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppress'd.
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O, love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.

The poet is here speaking of his mistress, the mistress of his carnal love,
who had in act her bed-vow broke (Sonnet CLII.). Having stated that when
she swears she is true he knows she lies, he adopts the conceit of asserting
that he is not old, as an equivalent to her obvious falsehood in saying that
she is not unjust. This is one of twenty-six Sonnets relating to his mistress
and her desertion of him for his friend. In Sonnets XL., XLI., and XLII. he
complains to his friend of the same wrong.
The fact that the poet found a subject for his verse in such an occurrence
has been much commented on. Poetic fancy would hardly have chosen such

a theme, and these Sonnets seem to be certainly based on an actual
occurrence. And if so, certainly we may construe them very literally; and
read literally they certainly appear to be an old man's lament at having been
superseded by a younger though much loved rival.
William Shakespeare was a prosperous, a very successful man. In twenty
years he accumulated property which made him a rich man,—yielding a
yearly income of $5000, equivalent to $25,000 dollars at the present time.
He was an actor publicly accredited as a man of amorous gallantries[16]; he
married at eighteen, apparently in haste, and less than six months before the
birth of a child.[17] We know from legal records that he and his father
before him had frequent lawsuits.[18] While a uniform tradition represents
him as comely, pleasing and attractive, equally does it represent him as a
man of ready, aggressive and caustic wit, and rebellious and bitter against
opposition.[19] The lines on the slab over his grave are less supplicatory
than mandatory against the removal of his bones to the adjacent charnel-
house.[20] His name, often written with a hyphen, indicates that he came of
English fighting stock. When the Sonnets were written he was in the full
tide of success. It is not credible that such a man at thirty or thirty-five, of
buoyant and abounding life, could have so bewailed the loss of a mistress.
Mr. Lee says that the Sonnets last quoted admit of no literal interpretation.
[21] In other words, as I understand, he concedes that a literal interpretation
is destructive of what he assumes to be the fact as to the authorship of the
Shakespearean plays. By what right or rule of construction does he refuse
them their literal reading? They indicate no hidden or double meaning, but
seem direct though poetic statements of conditions and resulting reflections
and feelings. And more than that, though appearing in separate groups, their
indications as to age all harmonize, and are not in conflict with any other
part or indication of the Sonnets. Mr. Lee urges that these Sonnets were
mere affectations, conceits common to the poets of that day. That view will
not bear investigation. He cites passages from poets of that time ascribing to
themselves in youth the ills, the miseries, the wrinkles, the white hairs of
age. But such is not the effect of what has been here quoted. The poet says
that it is his age that oppresses him, and brings him its ills and marks and
ravages; and about as clearly as poetic description is capable of, indicates
and says that he is on the sunset side of his day of life. I cannot at this
instant quote, but I am impressed that in the plays of the great poet, the

instances are frequent where sorrow or despair bring his youthful characters
to picture their lot with the deprivations, the ills or forebodings of age. But
in no such passages is language used which is at all equivalent to that here
quoted. Nowhere does he present such a travesty as to allow Juliet to
describe herself in good straight terms that would befit her grandmother;
and there is nothing that the much-lamenting Hamlet says which would lead
an actor to play the part with the accessories of age and feebleness with
which they represent Polonius.
Having now called attention to these Sonnets which give direct indications
as to the age of the poet, I ask the reader to consider again those which I
have quoted in relation to the age of his friend, and particularly Sonnets II.
and VII. (pp. 22 and 23). If those Sonnets came from a poet of the age and
infirmities which a literal reading indicates, how forceful, strong, and poetic
is their appeal. But if it is to be assumed that they were written by a man of
thirty or thirty-five, strong, vigorous, aggressive, fortunate, and successful,
the appeal seems out of harmony, and lacks that delicate adaptation of
speech to surroundings which is characteristic of the author.

I would next call attention to portions of these Sonnets which I do not
present as of themselves having any clearly determinate weight as to the
age of the poet, but which do have great significance from their
correspondence in tone and effect with what has been already quoted. The
poet repeatedly falls into meditations or fancies which seem more natural to
a person on the descending than on the ascending side of life.
In Sonnets XXX. and XXXI. he says:
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay, as if not paid before.
. . . . .
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts,
Which I by lacking have supposed dead;
And there reigns love, and all love's loving parts,
And all those friends which I thought buried.
How many a holy and obsequious tear
Hath dear, religious love stol'n from mine eye,
As interest of the dead, which now appear
But things removed that hidden in thee lie!
Thou art the grave where buried love doth live,
Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone,
Who all their parts of me to thee did give:
That due of many now is thine alone:

In Sonnet LXXI. he says:
No longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give warning to the world that I am fled
From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell:
Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If thinking on me then should make you woe.

In Sonnet CXXII. he says:
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain
. . . . .

Beyond all date, even to eternity:
Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart
Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part.

In Sonnet CXLVI. he says:
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
. . . these rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end?
Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

In Sonnets LXVI. and LXXIV. appear further similar meditations. Such
thoughts and meditations do not seem to be those of the successful and
prosperous man of thirty or thirty-five.
The persuasive force of the Sonnets which have been quoted or referred to
in this chapter is much increased by reading or considering them together.
To illustrate: four Sonnets have been quoted containing direct statements by
the poet that he was in the afternoon of life. It needs no argument to
establish that this concurrence of statements made in different groups of
Sonnets and doubtless at different times has much more than four times the
persuasive force of one such statement. And in like ratio do the other
Sonnets indicating the reflections and conditions of age, increase the weight
of the statements in these four Sonnets. Taking them all together they seem

to present the statements, conditions, and reflections of a man certainly past
the noon of life,—past forty years of age, and so older than was
Shakespeare at the time of their composition.
If this conclusion is correct, it does not aid, but about equally repels the
claim that Bacon was the author of the Sonnets, or of the plays or poems
produced by the same poet. Bacon was born in 1561, and was therefore but
three years older than Shakespeare.

Footnotes:
[8] Lee's Life of Shakespeare, p. 87; Preface to Sonnets, Temple Edition.
[9] In a note to page 30 is the poet's familiar expression or statement of the
Seven Ages of man. It clearly places the decade from forty to fifty as past
the middle arch of life, and next to the age of the slippered pantaloon and
shrunk shank; from thirty to forty he describes as the age of the soldier, and
from twenty to thirty that of the lover.
[10] It is generally considered that the first of the Shakespearean plays was
produced in 1591. If they were written by an unknown poet and brought out
or published by Shakespeare, the time between their first joint venture and
the earlier date assumed for these Sonnets, would be three years.
[11] The phrase "mine eye may be deceived," may also throw some light on
another subject discussed in this chapter,—the age of the poet. Such an
expression would seem much more natural to a person above, than to a
person below, forty years of age.
[12] See discussion of claim that this Sonnet was addressed to Cupid, pages
14, 15.
[13] As You Like It, Act II., Sc. VII.:
"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing."
[14] Page 28, supra.
[15] In Lee's Life of Shakespeare, p. 143, appear some statements so
relevant to this discussion that I cannot forbear quoting them:
"Octavius Cæsar at thirty-two is described by Mark Antony after the battle
of Actium as the 'boy Cæsar' who 'wears the rose of youth' (Antony and
Cleopatra, III., ii., 17 seq.). Spenser in his Astrophel apostrophizes Sir
Philip Sidney on his death near the close of his thirty-second year as 'oh
wretched boy' (l. 133) and 'luckless boy' (l. 142)."
I was at a public dinner given some years ago, at which General Henry W.
Slocum and Colonel Fred Grant were both speakers. In his remarks, the
General, having stated that his friend the Colonel spoke to him about being

a candidate for an office, continued, "I said to him, 'Why, Fred, you are a
mere boy,' and his answer to me was, 'Why, General, I am as old as my
father was when he took Vicksburg.'" General Grant was then forty years
old.
[16] Post., pp. 68-70.
[17] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 19-22.
[18] Post., pp. 66-68.
[19] Post., pp. 60-66.
[20] Post., p. 66.
[21] Lee's Shakespeare, p. 85.

CHAPTER III
OF THE DIRECT TESTIMONY OF THE SONNETS AS TO
WHO WAS NOT THEIR AUTHOR

Sonnets LV. and LXXXI. are as follows:
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten;
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read;
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead;

You still shall live—such virtue hath my pen—
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

In all the plays and poems of Shakespeare, including these Sonnets, there is
no mention of any man or woman then living. The only mention of a person
then living made by our poet, either in prose or verse, is in the dedication of
the two poems to the Earl of Southampton. To Shakespeare, to Shakespeare
alone, have the Shakespearean poems and plays been a monument; and for
him have they done precisely that which the poet says his "gentle verse"
was to do for his friend; and they have not done so in any degree for any
other.
An anonymous writer in Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, in August, 1852,
seems to have been one of the first to suggest the doubt as to the authorship
of the Shakespearean plays. His suggestion was that their real author was
"some pale, wasted student ... with eyes of genius gleaming through
despair" who found in Shakespeare a purchaser, a publisher, a friend, and a
patron. If that theory is correct, the man that penned those Sonnets sleeps,
as he said he would, in an unrecorded grave, while his publisher, friend and
patron, precisely as he also said, has a place in the Pantheon of the
immortals.
Very many of these Sonnets seem to be evolved from, or kindred to, the
thought so sharply presented in Sonnets LV. and LXXXI. I would refer the
reader particularly to Sonnets XXXVIII., XLIX., LXXI., LXXII, and
LXXXVIII. The last two lines of Sonnet LXXI. are as follows:
Lest the wise world should look into your moan,
And mock you with me after I am gone.

The first lines of Sonnet LXXII. are as follows:
O! lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;

Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:

Many of these Sonnets, which otherwise seem entirely inexplicable, and
which have for that reason been held to be imitations or strange and
unnatural conceits, become true and genuine and much more poetic, if we
conceive them to be written, not by the accredited author of the
Shakespearean dramas, but by the unnamed and unknown student whose
connection with them was carefully concealed. I suggest that the reader test
this statement by carefully reading the four Sonnets last mentioned.
The claim for a literal reading of Sonnet LXXXI. is greatly strengthened by
its context, by reading it with the group of Sonnets of which it forms a part.
Sonnets LXXVII. to XC. all more or less relate to another poet, who, the
author fears, has supplanted him in the affection, or it may be, in the
patronage of his friend. That particularly appears in Sonnet LXXXVI.:
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all too precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors, of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence:
But when your countenance fill'd up his line,
Then lack'd I matter; that enfeebled mine.

That what is there stated as to another poet refers to an actual transaction,
and is to be read literally, is recognized, I think, by all critics; and many
have thought that the description contained in the Sonnet quoted indicates
Chapman, who translated the Iliad about that time. It is in this group of
Sonnets, referring to another poet, that we find Sonnet LXXXI. The thought
of the entire group is complaint, perhaps jealousy, of a rival poet; and
running through them all are allusions or statements which seem to have
been intended to strengthen the ties between him and his friend,—to hold
him if he meditated going, and to bring him back if he had already strayed.
It was obviously for that purpose that Sonnet LXXXI., one of the central
Sonnets of that group, was written; and, considered as written for that
purpose, how apt and true its language appears! The poet, asserting that his
verse is immortal, says to his friend, the immortality it confers is yours;
"your name from hence immortal life shall have," but I shall have no share
in that fame; "in me each part will be forgotten," and "earth can yield me
but a common grave." Though the Sonnet is in the highest degree poetic, as
a bare statement of fact it is perfectly apt and appropriate to that which was
the obvious purpose of this group of Sonnets.
It is sometimes claimed that the author of the Shakespearean plays was a
lawyer. Certainly he was a logician and a rhetorician. The clash of minds
and of speech appearing in Julius Cæsar, in Antony and Cleopatra, in
Henry IV., and in many other plays, shows a most wonderful facility for
stating a case, for presenting an argument. Let us then assume that the poet
was simply stating his own case against a rival poet, presenting his own
appeal,—and the verse at once has added dignity and passion, and we
almost feel the poet's heart throb. Of course the final question—whether or
not the two Sonnets printed at the head of this chapter were founded on the
conditions and situations they state, and whether or not they express actual
feelings and emotions—must be answered by each from a careful reading of
the Sonnets themselves. To me, however, their message of sadness,
loneliness, and implied appeal seems as clear and certain as the portrayal of
agony in the marble of Laocoön.
That Sonnet LV., and perhaps in some degree Sonnet LXXXI., are moulded
after verses of Ovid or Horace, is often mentioned. And it is mentioned as
though that somehow detracted from their meaning or force. That fact

seems to me rather to reinforce that meaning. The words of Ovid are
translated as follows:
Now have I brought a work to an end which neither Jove's fierce
wrath,
Nor sword nor fire nor fretting age with all the force it hath,
Are able to abolish quite.[22]

The Ode of Horace has been translated as follows:
A monument on stable base,
More strong than Brass, my Name shall grace;
Than Regal Pyramids more high
Which Storms and Years unnumber'd shall defy.

My nobler Part shall swiftly rise
Above this Earth, and claim the Skies.[23]

Agreeing that the poet had in mind the words of Ovid and of Horace and
believed that his productions would outlast bronze or marble, we see that,
so far following their thoughts, by a quick transition he says that not he, but
his friend, is to have the immortality that his poetry will surely bring. While
this comparison with the Latin poems may not much aid an interpretation
that seemed clear and certain without it, at least its sudden rending from
their thought does not weaken, but strengthens the effect of the statement
that the writer was to have no part in the immortality of his own poetry.
It may be said that it is entirely improbable that the author of the greater of
the Shakespearean plays should have allowed their guerdon of fame and
immortality to pass to and remain with another. But if we accept the results
of the later criticism, we must then agree,—that there were at least three
poets who wrought in and for the Shakespearean plays, that two of the three
consented that their work should go to the world as that of another, and that
at least one of the two was a poet of distinctive excellence. At that time the
publication and sale of books was very limited and the relative rights of
publishers and authors were such that the author had but little or none of the

pecuniary results. The theatre was the most promising and hence the most
usual market for literary work, and it seems certain that poets and authors
sold their literary productions to the managers of theatres, retaining no title
or interest in them. However the poet of the Shakespearean plays may have
anticipated the verdict of posterity, the plays bear most abundant evidence
that they were written to be acted, to entertain and please, and to bring
patrons and profit to the theatres which were in the London of three
hundred years ago.
Boucicault was the publisher and accredited author of one hundred and
thirty plays. But no one would deem it improbable that in them is the work
of another, or of many other dramatists.
I submit that the argument from probabilities is without force against the
clear and unambiguous statements of the Sonnets quoted in this chapter.

Footnotes:
[22] Ovid's Metamorphoses, xv., 871-9.
[23] Horace, Book III., Ode XXX.

CHAPTER IV
OF THE CHARACTER OF SHAKESPEARE AS RELATED
TO THE CHARACTER OF THE AUTHOR OF THE
SONNETS

The Sonnets certainly reveal their author in an attitude of appeal, more or
less open and direct, for the love or favor of his friend. No fervor of
compliment or protestation of affection allows him to forget or conceal this
purpose. When, as is indicated by Sonnets LXXVII. to XC., he feared that
his friend was transferring his favor or patronage to another poet, his
anxiety became acute, and in that group he compared not only his poetry,
but his flattery and commendation with that of his rival. In Sonnets XXXII.
to XXXVII., portraying his grief at his friend's unkindness, he hastens to
forgive; and, as already stated, in Sonnets XL. to XLIII. and CXXVII. to
CLII., chiding his friend for having accepted the love of his mistress, he
crowns him with poetic garlands of compliment and adulation. Smitten on
one cheek, not only does he turn the other, but he bestows kisses and
caresses on the hand that gave the blow.
All we know of the character of Shakespeare indicates that he was neither
meek and complacent, nor quick and eager in forgiving; but that his
character in those aspects was quite the reverse of the character of the
author of the Sonnets.
Mr. Lee states the effect or result of the various traditions as to
Shakespeare's poaching experiences, and his resentment of the treatment he
had received, as follows[24]:
'And his [Shakespeare's] sporting experiences passed at times beyond
orthodox limits. A poaching adventure, according to a credible[25]
tradition, was the immediate cause of his long severance from his native
place. "He had," wrote Rowe in 1709, "by a misfortune common enough to
young fellows, fallen into ill company, and among them, some, that made a
frequent practice of deer-stealing, engaged him with them more than once

in robbing a park that belonged to Sir Thomas Lucy of Charlecote near
Stratford. For this he was prosecuted by that gentleman, as he thought,
somewhat too severely; and, in order to revenge that ill-usage, he made a
ballad upon him, and though this, probably the first essay of his poetry, be
lost, yet it is said to have been so very bitter that it redoubled the
prosecution against him to that degree that he was obliged to leave his
business and family in Warwickshire and shelter himself in London." The
independent testimony of Archdeacon Davies, who was vicar of Saperton,
Gloucestershire, late in the seventeenth century, is to the effect that
Shakespeare "was much given to all unluckiness in stealing venison and
rabbits, particularly from Sir Thomas Lucy, who had him oft whipt, and
sometimes imprisoned, and at last made him fly his native county to his
great advancement." The law of Shakespeare's day (5 Eliz., cap. 21)
punished deer-stealers with three months' imprisonment and the payment of
thrice the amount of the damage done.
The tradition has been challenged on the ground that the Charlecote deer-
park was of later date than the sixteenth century. But Sir Thomas Lucy was
an extensive game-preserver, and owned at Charlecote a warren in which a
few harts or does doubtless found an occasional home. Samuel Ireland was
informed in 1794 that Shakespeare stole the deer, not from Charlecote, but
from Fulbroke Park, a few miles off, and Ireland supplied in his Views on
the Warwickshire Avon, 1795, an engraving of an old farmhouse in the
hamlet of Fulbroke, where he asserted that Shakespeare was temporarily
imprisoned after his arrest. An adjoining hovel was locally known for some
years as Shakespeare's "deer-barn," but no portion of Fulbroke Park, which
included the site of these buildings (now removed), was Lucy's property in
Elizabeth's reign, and the amended legend, which was solemnly confided to
Sir Walter Scott in 1828 by the owner of Charlecote, seems pure invention.
The ballad which Shakespeare is reported to have fastened on the park gates
of Charlecote, does not, as Rowe acknowledged, survive. No authenticity
can be allowed the worthless lines beginning, "A parliament member, a
justice of peace," which were represented to be Shakespeare's on the
authority of an old man who lived near Stratford and died in 1703. But such
an incident as the tradition reveals has left a distinct impress on
Shakespearean drama. Justice Shallow is beyond doubt a reminiscence of
the owner of Charlecote.[26] According to Archdeacon Davies of Saperton,

Shakespeare's "revenge was so great" that he caricatured Lucy as "Justice
Clodpate," who was (Davies adds) represented on the stage as "a great man"
and as bearing, in allusion to Lucy's name, "three louses rampant for his
arms." Justice Shallow, Davies's "Justice Clodpate," came to birth in the
Second Part of Henry IV. (1598), and he is represented in the opening scene
of the Merry Wives of Windsor as having come from Gloucestershire to
Windsor to make a Star-Chamber matter of a poaching raid on his estate.
The "three luces hauriant argent" were the arms borne by the Charlecote
Lucys, and the dramatist's prolonged reference in this scene to the "dozen
white luces" on Justice Shallow's "old coat" fully establishes Shallow's
identity with Lucy.
The poaching episode is best assigned to 1585, but it may be questioned
whether Shakespeare, on fleeing from Lucy's persecution, at once sought an
asylum in London.'

Halliwell gives the following traditions of Shakespeare's sharp encounters
or exchanges of wit[27]:
Mr. Ben Jonson and Mr. Wm. Shakespeare being merry at a tavern, Mr.
Jonson having begun this for his epitaph,—
Here lies Ben Jonson, that was once one,
he gives it to Mr. Shakespeare to make up, who presently writes,
Who while he lived was a slow thing
And now being dead is nothing.

Another version is:
Here lies Jonson,
Who was one's son
He had a little hair on his chin,
His name was Benjamin!

an amusing allusion to his personal appearance, as any one may see who
will turn to Ben's portrait.
Jonson. If but stage actors all the world displays
Where shall we find spectators of their plays?

Shakespeare. Little or much of what we see we do;
We are all both actors and spectators too.
Ten in the hundred lies here ingrav'd;
'Tis a hundred to ten his soul is not saved;
If any man ask, Who lies in this tomb?
Oh! oh! quoth the devil, 'tis my John-a-Combe.
Who lies in this tomb?
Hough, quoth the devil, 'tis my son, John-Combe.

The tradition is that the subject of the last six lines having died,
Shakespeare then composed an epitaph as follows:
Howe'er he lived, judge not,
John Combe shall never be forgot,
While poor hath memory, for he did gather
To make the poor his issue; he their father,
As record of his tilth and seed,
Did crown him, in his latter need.

This is said to have been composed of a brother of John-a-Combe:
Thin in beard, and thick in purse,
Never man beloved worse,
He went to the grave with many a curse,
The devil and he had both one nurse.

A blacksmith is said to have accosted Shakespeare with,—

Now, Mr. Shakespeare, tell me, if you can,
The difference between a youth and a young man?

To which the poet immediately replied,—
Thou son of fire, with thy face like a maple,
The same difference as between a scalded and a coddled apple.

An old tradition reports that being awakened after a prolonged carouse, and
asked to renew the contest, he refused, saying, I have drunk with
Piping Pebworth, Dancing Marston,
Haunted Hillborough, and Hungry Grafton
With Dadging Exhall, Papist Wixford
Beggarly Broom, and Drunken Bidford.

The lines inscribed on the slab above his grave, preventing the removal of
his bones, according to the custom of that time, to the adjacent charnel-
house, are as follows:
Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbeare
To dig the dust enclosed heare;
Bleste be the man that spare these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.[28]

Mr. Lee gives a statement as to Shakespeare's propensity to litigation as
follows[29]:
'As early as 1598 Abraham Sturley had suggested that Shakespeare should
purchase the tithes of Stratford. Seven years later, on July 24, 1605, he
bought for £440 of Ralph Huband an unexpired term of thirty-one years of a
ninety-two years' lease of a moiety of the tithes of Stratford, Old Stratford,
Bishopton, and Welcombe. The moiety was subject to a rent of £17 to the

Corporation, who were the reversionary owners on the lease's expiration,
and of £5 to John Barker, the heir of a former proprietor. The investment
brought Shakespeare, under the most favorable circumstances, no more than
an annuity of £38; and the refusal of persons who claimed an interest in the
other moiety to acknowledge the full extent of their liability to the
Corporation led that body to demand from the poet payments justly due
from others. After 1609 he joined with two interested persons, Richard Lane
of Awston, and Thomas Greene, the town clerk of Stratford, in a suit in
Chancery to determine the exact responsibilities of all the tithe-owners, and
in 1612 they presented a bill of complaint to Lord Chancellor Ellesmere,
with what result is unknown. His acquisition of a part ownership in the
tithes was fruitful in legal embarrassments.
Shakespeare inherited his father's love of litigation, and stood rigorously by
his rights in all his business relations. In March, 1600, he recovered in
London a debt of £7 from one John Clayton. In July, 1604, in the local court
at Stratford, he sued one Philip Rogers, to whom he had supplied since the
preceding March malt to the value of £1 19s. 10d., and had on June 25th
lent 2s. in cash. Rogers paid back 6s., and Shakespeare sought the balance
of the account, £1 15s. 10d. During 1608 and 1609 he was at law with
another fellow-townsman, John Addenbroke. On February 15, 1609,
Shakespeare, who was apparently represented by his solicitor and kinsman,
Thomas Greene, obtained judgment from a jury against Addenbroke for the
payment of £6 and £1 5s. costs, but Addenbroke left the town, and the
triumph proved barren. Shakespeare avenged himself by proceeding against
one Thomas Horneby, who had acted as the absconding debtor's bail.'

The same author gives the following statement as to his reputation for
sportive adventure[30]:
'Hamlet, Othello, and Lear were rôles in which he [Burbage] gained
especial renown. But Burbage and Shakespeare were popularly credited
with co-operation in less solemn enterprises. They were reputed to be
companions in many sportive adventures. The sole anecdote of Shakespeare
that is positively known to have been recorded in his lifetime relates that
Burbage, when playing Richard III., agreed with a lady in the audience to

visit her after the performance; Shakespeare, overhearing the conversation,
anticipated the actor's visit and met Burbage on his arrival with the quip that
"William the Conqueror was before Richard the Third."
Such gossip possibly deserves little more acceptance than the later story, in
the same key, which credits Shakespeare with the paternity of Sir William
D'Avenant. The latter was baptized at Oxford, on March 3, 1605, as the son
of John D'Avenant, the landlord of the Crown Inn, where Shakespeare
lodged in his journeys to and from Stratford. The story of Shakespeare's
parental relation to D'Avenant was long current in Oxford, and was at times
complacently accepted by the reputed son. Shakespeare is known to have
been a welcome guest at John D'Avenant's house, and another son, Robert,
boasted of the kindly notice which the poet took of him as a child. It is safer
to adopt the less compromising version which makes Shakespeare the
godfather of the boy William instead of his father. But the antiquity and
persistence of the scandal belie the assumption that Shakespeare was
known to his contemporaries as a man of scrupulous virtue.'

All the extracts I have here quoted are from writers who admit no question
as to the authorship of the Shakespearean plays. And there is nothing which
they or any biography or tradition bring to us which presents any act or
characteristic at all at variance with the indications of these quotations. And
it is very remarkable how strong is the concurrence of indications, from the
slab above his grave, from old, musty, and otherwise forgotten records of
court proceedings, and from traditions, whether from the hamlet of his birth
or the city where he wrought and succeeded.
I have not quoted the lines which have been variously handed down as
those which the young Shakespeare affixed to the gate of the wealthy and
powerful Sir Thomas Lucy. Their authenticity is doubtful.[31] But that the
boy Shakespeare, weak and helpless for such a struggle, resented his
treatment and answered back with the only weapon he had, risking and
enduring being driven from his home and birthplace, and kept good the
grudge in the days of his success, I think cannot be doubted. The records of
court proceedings, the imprecation above his grave, both indicate a man of
strong will and not unaccustomed to mastery. We may reject one or another

of the retorts or sallies in verse, but we must, I think, agree, that the fact that
they are brought to us by recorded and very old traditions, indicates a
character or repute in accordance with their implication; and especially
must this be so, when we find that they agree with the indications of other
evidence not in any degree in question. These various indications support
each other like the bundle of sticks which together could not be broken.
From them I think we learn that Shakespeare, however pleasant or attractive
at times, was not a man yielding or complacent to opposition or injury; but
that he was a man of fighting blood or instincts, quick in wit and repartee,
apt and inclined for aggressive sally, ready to slash and lay about him in all
encounters,—in short, a very Mercutio in temperament, and in the lively
and constant challenges of his life.
I submit that the records we have of the life of William Shakespeare concur
in indicating a man who could not have written the Sonnets under the
circumstances and with the motives which they reveal.
It should not be overlooked that at the time these Sonnets were written,
certainly as early as 1597 or 1598, Shakespeare was above pecuniary want,
and had begun to make investments, and apparently regarded himself and
was regarded as a wealthy man.[32]

Footnotes:
[24] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 27-29.
[25] The italics in this and all the following quotations are my own.
[26] As I have said elsewhere, I do not contend that Shakespeare did not
have a part and a large part in the production of the Shakespearean plays.
My insistence is only that he was not the transcendent genius to whom we
owe their wonderful and unrivalled poetry.
[27] Halliwell's Shakespeare, pp. 186, 187, 232, 241-245.
[28] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 272, 273.
[29] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 205, 206.

[30] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 264-266.
[31] The different versions of those lines are printed in the appendix.
[32] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 193-196.

CHAPTER V
OF THE GENERAL SCOPE AND EFFECT OF THE
SONNETS AS INDICATING THEIR AUTHOR

As has been said before, the Sonnets obviously have a common theme.
They celebrate his friend, his beauty, his winning and lovable qualities,
leading the poet to forgive and to continue to love, even when his friend has
supplanted him in the favors of his mistress. They are replete with
compliment and adulation. Little side views or perspectives are introduced
with a marvellous facility of invention; and yet in them all, even in the
invocation to marry, in the jealousy of another poet, in the railing to or of
his false mistress, is the face or thought of his friend, apparently his patron.
No other poet, it seems to me, could have filled two thousand lines of
poetry with thoughts to, of, or relating to one person of his own sex. Who
that person was critics have not agreed. But that he was a person who was
somehow connected with the life-work of the poet seems beyond dispute.
Mr. Lee, speaking of the purpose of the Sonnets, at pages 125 and 126,
says:
'Twenty Sonnets, which may for purposes of exposition be entitled
"dedicatory" Sonnets, are addressed to one who is declared without
periphrasis and without disguise to be a patron of the poet's verse (Nos.
XXIII., XXVI., XXXII., XXXVII., XXXVIII., LXIX., LXXVII.-LXXXVI.,
C., CI., CIII., CVI.). In one of these,—Sonnet LXXVIII.,—Shakespeare
asserted:
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Subsequently he regretfully pointed out how his patron's readiness to accept
the homage of other poets seemed to be thrusting him from the enviable

place of pre-eminence in his patron's esteem.
Shakespeare's biographer is under an obligation to attempt an identification
of the persons whose relations with the poet are defined so explicitly. The
problem presented by the patron is simple. Shakespeare states
unequivocally that he has no patron but one.
Sing [sc. O Muse!] to the ear that doth thy lays esteem,
And gives thy pen both skill and argument (C. 7-8).
For to no other pass my verses tend
Than of your graces and your gifts to tell (CIII. 11-12).
The Earl of Southampton, the patron of his narrative poems, is the only
patron of Shakespeare that is known to biographical research. No
contemporary document or tradition gives the faintest suggestion that
Shakespeare was the friend or dependent of any other man of rank.'

This quotation has been made because it is fair and accurate, because of the
high authority of the book, but principally because it is the view of one who
has no doubt that Shakespeare was the author of the Shakespearean plays.
Research and ingenuity have been taxed to ascertain who was the unnamed
and mysterious friend at whose feet are laid so many poetic wreaths, woven
by such a master. All discussion has assumed that this friend was a patron,
who somehow greatly aided the poet, and to whom the poet felt himself
greatly indebted. And so it was at once suggested that his friend was one of
the nobility or peers of that age.
The Earl of Southampton (to whom by name Venus and Adonis and Lucrece
were dedicated) has been very generally assumed to be the person intended.
Lord Pembroke [William Herbert] has also been presented as the unnamed
friend.
I think the Sonnets contain internal evidence that they were not addressed to
either of these peers, and were not addressed to any one of their class.
It is very remarkable how narrow is the range of these Sonnets,—how little
they say, convey or indicate as to the person to whom they were addressed.
From the first seventeen Sonnets we infer that the poet understood that his

friend was unmarried; a line in Sonnet III. perhaps indicates a peculiar pride
in his mother, and that it pleased him to be told that he resembled her; from
a line in Sonnet XX., "A man in hue," etc., it has been inferred that his
friend's beard or hair was auburn, and from Sonnets CXXXV. and
CXXXVI. it has been inferred that his friend was familiarly called "Will,"
or at any rate that his name was William. Obviously he was in some way a
patron or helper to our poet, and to another poet as well[33]; he superseded
the poet in the favors of his mistress; he was beautiful, attractive, genial,
and sunny in disposition; that he was not infrequently responsive to
lascivious love is indicated.[34] We have already fully considered what the
Sonnets indicate as to his age. And now I put the inquiry: Is there anything
else as to the poet's friend that these two thousand lines of poetry state or
indicate? With diligent search I can find in all those lines no other fact
indicated or stated as to this mysterious friend or patron.
In Sonnet CXXIV. the poet says:
If my dear love were but the child of state,
It might for Fortune's bastard be unfather'd.

From that it has been argued that his friend was of the nobility, a "child of
state."
Reading those two lines, or reading the entire Sonnet, it seems clear that if
they contain any indication as to the station of his friend, the indication is
rather against than in favor of his being of the nobility, "a child of state."
I do not think, however, that the lines allow any clear or certain deduction
either way, but have called attention to them because they are often cited on
this point.
In Sonnet XIII. occurs the line,
Who lets so fair a house fall to decay.

The word "house" as there used has been interpreted as though used in the
sense of the House of York, and so made an implication that his friend was

of a lordly line. Such a far-fetched and unusual interpretation should not be
adopted unless clearly indicated. And the context clearly indicates that the
phrase "so fair a house" is used as a metaphor for the poet's fair and
beautiful body. If this inquiry were to be affected by far-drawn or even
doubtful interpretations, I might quote from Sonnet LXXXVI. There the
poet, referring to his rival, says:
But when your countenance fill'd up his line.
By merely limiting the word countenance to its primary meaning, we may
have the inference that his rival's verse was spoken or acted by his friend,
and so that his friend was an actor. I do not think, however, that either of the
two lines last cited are entitled to any weight as argument, but they illustrate
the distinction between lines or Sonnets which may be the basis of surmise
or conjecture, and those elsewhere cited, to which two different effects
cannot be given without rending their words from their natural meaning.

The Earl of Southampton was born in 1573. He bore an historic name;
fields, forests, and castles were his and had come to him from his ancestors;
all of England that was most beautiful or most attractive was in the circle in
which he moved and to which his presence contributed. In 1595 he
appeared in the lists at a tournament in honor of the Queen; in 1596 and
1597 he joined in dangerous and successful naval and military expeditions;
in 1598 he was married.[35] Is it conceivable that two thousand lines of
adulatory poetry could have been written to and of him, and no hint appear
of incidents like these? It is simply incredible. What is omitted rather than
what is said clearly indicates that the life of the poet's friend presented no
such incidents,—indeed no incidents which the poet chronicler of court and
camp would interweave in his garlands of loving compliment.
Urging his friend to marry, the poet, comparing the harmony of music to a
happy marriage, in Sonnet VIII. says:

Mark how one string, sweet husband to another,
Strikes each in each by mutual ordering;
Resembling sire and child and happy mother,
Who, all in one, one pleasing note do sing:
Whose speechless song, being many, seeming one,
Sings this to thee: "Thou single wilt prove none."

But is it not a little strange that the pen that drew Rosalind and Juliet should
have gone no farther, when by a touch he could have filled it with
suggestions of the fair, the stately and the titled maidens who were in the
court life of that day, and whose names and faces and reputed characters
must have been known to the poet, whatever his place or station in London?
How would a tracing of a mother, nobly born, or of a lordly but deceased
father, of some old castle, of some fair eminence, of some grand forest, or
of ancestral oaks shading fair waters, have lightened the picture! And could
the poet who gave us the magnificent pictures of English kings and queens,
princes and lords—could that poet, writing to and of one of the fairest of the
courtly circle of the reign of Elizabeth, so withhold his pen that it gives no
hint that his friend was in or of that circle, or any suggestion of his most
happy and fortunate surroundings? Surely, in painting so fully the beauties
of his friend, the poet would have allowed to appear some hint of the beauty
of light and color in which he moved.
I have before me in the book of Mr. Lee, a copy of the picture of the Earl of
Southampton painted in Welbeck Abbey. The dress is of the court; and the
sword, the armor, the plume and rich drapery all indicate a member of the
nobility. Could our great poet in so many lines of extreme compliment and
adulation have always omitted any reference to the insignia of rank which
were almost a part of the young Earl; and would he always have escaped all
reference to coronet or sword, to lands or halls, or to any of the
employments or sports, privileges or honors, then much more than now,
distinctive of a peer of the realm?
And all that is here said equally repels the inference that these Sonnets were
addressed to any person connected with the nobility. The claim that they
were addressed to Lord Pembroke [William Herbert] I think is exploded, if

it ever had substance.[36] Lord Pembroke did not come to London until
1598 and was then but eighteen years old. There is not a particle of
evidence that he and Shakespeare had any relations or intimacy whatever.
While I regard the view that the Sonnets were addressed to Southampton as
entirely untenable, it nevertheless has this basis,—two of the Shakespearean
poems were dedi cated to Southampton. At least we may say that, if they
were addressed to any person of that class, there is a strong probability in
his favor. And in order to consider that claim I would ask the reader to turn
back to Sonnet II., page 23. That certainly is one of the very earliest of the
Sonnets, almost certainly written when Shakespeare was not older than
thirty and Southampton not over twenty-one years of age. With these facts
in mind, the assumption that those lines were addressed to the Earl of
Southampton becomes altogether improbable. Can we imagine a man of
thirty, in the full glow of a vigorous and successful life, saying to a friend of
twenty-one,—you should marry now, because when you are forty years old
(about twice your present age and ten years above my own) your beauty
will have faded and your blood be cold?
We should not so slander the author of the Shakespearean plays.

The language of the Sonnets implies a familiarity and equality of
intercourse not consistent with the theory that they were addressed to a peer
of England by a person in Shakespeare's position.[37]
The dedication of Lucrece, which apparently was written in 1593, omits no
reference to title, and envinces no disposition or privilege to ignore the rank
or dignities of the Earl. I will quote no particular Sonnet on this point; but
the impression which the entire series seems to me to convey, is that the
poet was addressing a friend separated from him by no distinction of rank.
Sonnets XCVI. and XCVII. are instances of such familiarity of address and
communication.

On the other hand, there is not a single indication which the Sonnets contain
as to the poet's friend which in any manner disagrees with what we know of
Shakespeare. It may be said that being married the invocation to marry
could not have been addressed to him. But the test is,—how did he pass,
how was he known in London, as married or unmarried? He is supposed to
have come to London in 1586, or when he was twenty-two years of age,
and he was then married and had three children. He remained in London
about twenty-five years, and there is no indication that any member of his
family ever resided there or visited him, and the clear consensus of opinion
seems to be that they did not.[38] The indications that he had little love for
his wife are regrettably clear.[39] When the earlier Sonnets were written he
must have been living there about nine years, and must have had an income
sufficient easily to have maintained his family in the city.[40] That he led a
life notoriously free as to women cannot be questioned. Traditions
elsewhere referred to so indicate[41]; and whether the Sonnets were written
by or to him they equally so testify. Under such circumstances his friends or
acquaintances would not be led to presume that he was married, but would
assume the contrary. They would have done or considered precisely as we
do, classing our friends as married or unmarried, as their mode of life
indicates. Hence the invocation to marry is entirely consistent with the
theory that the Sonnets were addressed to Shakespeare. When Sonnet CIV.
was written, the poet had known his friend but three years[42]; the Sonnets
referring to marriage are printed first, and very probably were written much
earlier than Sonnet CIV., and perhaps when their acquaintance was first
formed. The fact that the appeal ceases with the seventeenth Sonnet, and
that after that there is not even a hint of marrying, or of female excellence
and beauty, perhaps indicates that the first seventeen Sonnets had provoked
a disclosure which restrained the poet from further reference to those
subjects.

The starting point in this chapter is the fact stated by Mr. Lee, and I think
conceded or assumed by all writers on these Sonnets,—that they were
written to some one intimately connected with the Shakespearean plays,
either as a patron or in some other manner. Many, perhaps all, of the plays
were produced, and in that way published, at the theatre where Shakespeare
acted. Those of the higher class or order as well as those of the lower class
were published as his. Those most strenuous in supporting the claims of
authorship for Shakespeare, have, I think, generally conceded that the plays,
as we now have them, reveal in various parts the work of more than one
author. And from that it has been suggested that Shakespeare must have had
a fellow-worker,—a collaborator. Lee's Shakespeare, Brandes's Critical
Study of Shakespeare, and the Temple edition of Shakespeare's works, are
practically agreed on this fact in relation to Henry VI., Henry VIII., Titus
Andronicus, and some other plays. There must have been a very
considerable degree of intercourse between the two persons who worked
together even on a single one of these plays. And there are Sonnets which at
least suggest a degree and kind of intercourse and communication between
the poet and his friend which such a relation would require.
Chiding his friend for absence in Sonnets LVII. and LVIII., the poet
indicates such waiting and watching as would come to him had their
relations been very intimate, and perhaps indicates that he and his friend
lodged together.
Those Sonnets are as follows:
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

That God forbid that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O, let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.

I am not unaware that there are other Sonnets which indicate that they lived
apart, though it is of course quite possible that they lived apart at one time
and together at another. But whether or not they at any time lodged together,
these Sonnets indicate that their lives were brought together by some
common purpose, and that hours and seasons of communication and
perhaps of kindred labor were frequent to them. Our affections or
friendships do not blossom in untilled fields; it is the comradeship of
common effort, mutually helpful and beneficial, that more than often
determines the impalpable garments and coverings of our lives. Certainly
we may believe that the two characters that fill these two thousand lines of
poetry did not live and move so far apart as were the busy actor at a theatre
and the courted and adventurous peer of England.
If the friend to whom the Sonnets were addressed was Shakespeare, and if
the author of the Sonnets and of the accredited Shakespearean plays was
some "pale, wasted," and unknown student who sold his labors and his
genius to another, we may perhaps see how they would have had frequent
interviews and hours of labor, and how Shakespeare might have had all the

relations to the poet, which the Sonnets imply of the poet's friend. But if
Shakespeare, then well advanced both to fame and fortune, was the poet it
is very difficult to imagine any one person who could have borne to him all
the relations which the Sonnets indicate—patron or benefactor and familiar
associate and companion; a rival and successor in the favors of his mistress,
and a loved or at least cherished friend.
While I present the view that some unknown student wrote, and
Shakespeare adopted and published, the Shakespearean plays, I do not deny
to Shakespeare a part, perhaps a large part, in their production. As I have
said, there are many plays attributed to Shakespeare, some or the greater
portions of which are distinctively of a lower class than the greater plays or
the Sonnets. The theory of collaboration affects at least six plays commonly
classed as Shakespearean, and perhaps others classed as doubtful plays.
Why is not the situation satisfied if we ascribe to Shakespeare a capacity
equal to the composition of Titus Andronicus? That is a play which seems to
have been attractive from its plot and the character of its incidents. In it,
however, there are but few lines that seem to be from the same author as the
Sonnets and the greater of the recognized Shakespearean plays. The
remainder of the play has no poetic merit which raises it far above the rustic
poetry which is handed down by tradition as Shakespeare's. And if we give
the unknown student all credit for authorship of the finer poetry of the
greater dramas, may we not still assume that Shakespeare labored with him,
assisting in moulding into form adapted to the stage the poetry that burst
from his friend with volcanic force; or that he perhaps sometimes suggested
the side lights and sudden transitions which appear so often,—for instance,
in the grave scene in Hamlet or the nurse's part in Romeo and Juliet?[43]
And if some great unknown was the sole author and Shakespeare was the
publisher and was to take part in the representation of these plays, may we
not still, however they lodged, find ample occasion for the waiting hours of
the poet, which would be entirely unexplained if the person addressed was
the Earl of Southampton or some other member of the nobility?
Such a view explains very much which is otherwise inexplicable. If into
that series of publications came the genius of the unknown author of the
Sonnets, touching some of the plays like stray sunbeams, and as the work
progressed absorbing and filling all their framework,—it must yet be
assumed that he did not labor without recompense. And so we may believe

that Shakespeare from friend became patron, and that this employment,
coming as the poet was passing to life's "steepy night," gave him the means
and the leisure for those dreams of lovers, of captains and of kings, so
visioned on his brain that he wrote of them as of persons real and living. So
regarding the author of the Sonnets, we appreciate his jealousy, when (as
perhaps in Henry VIII.) another and almost equal poet was employed, and
may understand how he could blame his false mistress and yet forgive his
friend. His poetry and the opportunity and leisure for its enjoyment was his
real mistress, like the love of Andromache for Hector displacing and
absorbing all other loves.

If the Sonnets were written by Shakespeare, who the friend and patron so
intimately related to the poet and his work was, is a riddle still unsolved;
but if they were written by some unknown poet, the obvious and reasonable
inference is that they were addressed to Shakespeare.[44]
It may be asked why I would leave anything as the work of Shakespeare, if
I deny to him the authorship of the greater plays. My answer is this: I
believe he did not write the Sonnets; and if the Sonnets are the work of
another, I think it fairly follows that the great dramas, considered as mere
poetry, are so clearly in the same class as the Sonnets, that we must ascribe
the authorship of the greater Shakespearean dramas to the same great
unknown.
When it is once agreed that any considerable portions of the plays credited
to Shakespeare are from different authors, almost the entire force of the
argument resting on report or tradition is destroyed; because report or
tradition is about equally satisfied and equally antagonized by ascribing to
him the authorship of either section into which the admission of dual
authorship concedes that they are divided.
That Shakespeare must have had a genius for dramatic work,—though not
necessarily for poetry,—his success as a reputed dramatist and as a
manager, all his history and traditions, very clearly indicate. And conceding

him that, why is not the situation fully satisfied by considering that he was
the lesser, or one of the lesser, rather than the greater of the collaborators;
and that his knowledge of the stage and his talent for conceiving proper
dramatic effects or situations, made his labors valuable to the greater poet,
aiding him to give to his works a dramatic form and movement which many
other great poets have entirely failed to attain. So considering, the
Shakespearean plays will in some degree still seem to us the work of the
gentle Shakespeare, although in large part the product of the older and more
mature mind, the dreaming and loving recluse and student, who could say,
—
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
And so believing, may we not still go with reverent feet to that grave upon
the Avon? For there, as I conceive, sleeps he whose sunny graces won the
undying love of the greatest of lovers and of poets, and whose assistance
and support made possible the dreaming hours and days in which were
delivered from his loving friend's overburdened brain the marvellous and
matchless creations of the Shakespearean anthology.

Footnotes:
[33] Sonnets LXXVIII., LXXIX., LXXX., LXXXV., LXXXVI.
[34] Sonnets XCV. and XCVI.
[35] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 377-380.
[36] Lee's Shakespeare, p. 406.
[37] It was not until 1596 or 1599 that a coat of arms was granted to John
Shakespeare, the father of William. That appears to have been granted on
the application of the son, and to have been allowed, in part at least,
because his wife, the mother of William, was the daughter of Robert Arden,

gentleman. The grant gave the father the title of Esquire and not of
Gentleman. Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 187-190.
[38] Lee's Shakespeare, p. 26; Halliwell's Life of Shakespeare, p. 133; Grant
White's Introductory Life of Shakespeare, pp. 25, 42.
[39] Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 22-26, 273, 274.
[40] Halliwell's Shakespeare, p. 172, Lee's Shakespeare, pp. 193-196.
[41] See pp. 68-70, supra.
[42] The portion of Sonnet CIV. relevant to this point is printed at page 26,
supra.
[43] These plays contain names of places and persons, and allusions and
references, which could hardly have been made had Shakespeare been a
stranger to their composition. In As You Like It, the forest has his mother's
family name, "Arden"; the allusion to Sir Thomas Lucy, has already been
noticed. Page 63, supra.
[44] While I speak of the poet of the Sonnets and of the greater plays as
unknown, I can but believe that the Sonnets, when carefully studied in
connection with contemporaneous history and chronicles, will yet afford an
adequate clew to his identification. It occurs to me that a promising line of
inquiry might be made on this assumption,—that the poet was born about
twenty years before Shakespeare and died soon after the production of the
plays ceased, or when about sixty-five or seventy years of age; that he had
reverses and disappointments, perhaps humiliations; that his name was
William, and that he had written other works before he wrote the
Shakespearean plays. It is also possible, although I think not probable, that
the initials, W. H., appearing in the introduction to these Sonnets may refer
to him. That he had produced earlier works, I think is shown by Sonnet
LXXVI. The first lines of that Sonnet are as follows:
"Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation of quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,

And keep inventions in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth and where they did proceed?"

CHAPTER VI
OF THE CONCLUSIONS TO BE DRAWN FROM THE
SONNETS

The result of the preceding discussion, as it appears to me, is as follows:
The Sonnets were not written by Shakespeare, but it is very probable that he
was the friend or patron around whom their poetry moves and to whom
most of them are addressed.
Reading the entire series with that theory in mind, very many difficulties of
interpretation are entirely overcome. Without this theory so many of the
Sonnets seem blind, or obviously false or inaccurate, that many have been
led to the inference of conceits, affectations, imitations, or hidden
meanings. Adopting the theory here presented, there is neither reason nor
excuse for giving to their words any other than their natural or ordinary
meaning.
I would not deny to Shakespeare great talent. His success in and with
theatres certainly forbids us to do so. That he had a bent or a talent for
rhyming or for poetry, an early and persistent tradition and the inscription
over his grave indicate. And otherwise there could hardly have been
attributed to him so many plays beside those written by the author of the
Sonnets.
Assuming that the Sonnets were not written by him, it would then seem
clear that to Shakespeare, working as an actor, adapter or perhaps author,
came a very great poet, one who outclassed all the writers of that day, in
some respects all other writers; and that it is the poetry of that great
unknown which, flowing into Shakespeare's work, comprises all, or nearly
all of it which the world treasures or cares to remember. I would not dispute
any claim made for Shakespeare for dramatic as distinguished from poetic
talent, for wit, or comely or captivating graces. The case is all with him
there,—at least there is no evidence to the contrary. But I insist that the

Sonnets reveal another poet, and reveal that those great dramas, or at least
that those portions of them which are in the same class or grade of poetry as
the Sonnets, were the work of that great unknown.

APPENDIX
The different versions of the verses which Shakespeare is alleged to have
composed on Sir Thomas Lucy are as follows:
A parliamente member, a justice of peace,
At home a poore scare-crow, at London an asse;
If lowsie is Lucy, as some volke miscalle it,
Then Lucy is lowsie, whatever befalle it:
He thinkes himselfe greate,
Yet an asse in his state
We allowe by his eares but with asses to mate.
If Lucy is lowsie, as some volke miscalle it,
Sing lowsie Lucy, whatever befalle it.

Sir Thomas was too covetous
To covet so much deer,
When horns enough upon his head
Most plainly did appear.

Had not his worship one deer left?
What then? He had a wife
Took pains enough to find him horns
Should last him during life.

Transcriber's Note: Additional spacing after some of the poetry and block
quotes is intentional to indicate both the end of a quotation and the
beginning of a new paragraph as is in the original text.

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