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that the unknown might be a William Hughes. This hypothesis is ingenious, but, unfortunately, if admitted, it involves the perplexing task of discovering who was William Hughes. Chalmers has laboured hard to prove that the whole of the Sonnets were addressed to Queen Elizabeth! Drake was convinced that the initials " W. H." should be transposed, and that they represent Henry Wriothesly, Earl of Southampton. Another and more plausible theory, first broached, we believe, by Mr. Boaden,* is that " Mr. W. H." is no other than William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, one of "the most Noble and Incomparable Paire of Brethren," to whom the first folio was inscribed. This opinion has been taken up with great fervour by Mr. Armitage Brown,† and is very ably sustained by him. But here again we are met by a troublesome objection. Thorpe's edition, as we have seen, was not published before 1609, while William Herbert succeeded to the title of Pembroke in 1601. Is it at all probable that, at a period when the distinctions of rank were punctiliously maintained, any bookseller would have presumed to address a nobleman of such eminence as " Mr. W. H."? Let the reader determine.

Attempts have been made to illustrate Shakespeare's character, as well as his life, from his Sonnets; but nothing satisfactory in either respect has been elicited. The truth we apprehend to be, that although these poems are written in the poet's own name, and are, apparently, grounded on actual incidents in his career, they are, for the most part, if not wholly, poetical fictions. We have the authority of Meres for the fact that these productions were scattered among the poet's "private friends;" and when we find some flatly contradicting others, it is reasonable to conclude that they were written on different occasions, and with no more adaptation of fact to fancy than is usually found in imaginary compositions.§

* "On the Sonnets of Shakespeare, identifying the Person to whom they were addressed, and elucidating several points in the Poet's History. By James Boaden." 1838.

+ Shakespeare's Autobiographical Poems, &c. 1838. One of the most elaborate and ingenious of these is contained in the work of Mr. Armitage Brown, already mentioned.

§ Mr. Brown is of a different opinion. He conceives the Sonnets to contain "a clear allusion to events in Shakespeare's life, or rather a history of them, with his own thoughts and feelings as comments on them." He maintains, indeed, that, correctly speaking, they are not Sonnets, but Stanzas, of which 152 out of the 154 are divisible into six separate poems, according to the following arrangement :

FIRST POEM, Stanzas 1 to 26.-To his friend, persuading him to marry.

SECOND POEM, Stanzas 27 to 55.-To his friend, who had robbed the poet of his mistress, forgiving him.

THIRD POEM, Stanzas 56 to 77.-To his friend, complaining of his coldness, and warning him of life's decay.

FOURTH POEM, Stanzas 78 to 101.-To his friend, complaining that he prefers another poet's praises, and reproving him for faults that may injure his character.

FIFTH POEM, Stanzas 102 to 126.-To his friend, excusing himself for having been some time silent, and disclaiming the charge of inconstancy.

SIXTH POEM, Stanzas 127 to 152.-To his mistress, on her infidelity.

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

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

II.

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
Thy youth's proud livery, so gaz'd on now,
Will be a tatter'd weed, of small worth held :
Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,
Where all the treasure of thy lusty days,-
To say within thine own deep-sunken eyes,
Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise.

a From fairest creatures we desire increase,-] As Boswell remarked, the first nineteen of these Sonnets are only an expansion of the stanza in "Venus and Adonis," beginning,

"Upon the earth's increase why shouldst thou feed,
Unless the earth with thy increase be fed?

By law of nature thou art bound to breed,

That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;"

How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use, If thou couldst answer-"This fair child of mine Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,-" Proving his beauty by succession thine!

This were to be new-made when thou art old, And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

III.

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest,
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.

But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

IV.

Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thyself thy beauty's legacy?

bmak'st waste in niggarding.] Compare, "Romeo and Juliet," Act I. Sc. 1,

"Ben. Then she hath sworn that she will still live chaste! Rom. She hath, and in that sparing makes huge waste."

c- unear'd-] Unploughed.

Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And, being frank, she lends to those are free."
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use

So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how, when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?

Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

V.

Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
Will play the tyrants to the very same,
And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
For never-resting time leads summer on

To hideous winter, and confounds him there;

Sap check'd with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
Beauty o'ersnow'd, and bareness everywhere:
Then, were not summer's distillation left,
A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:

But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,

Leeseb but their show; their substance still lives sweet.

VI.

Then let not winter's ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
Make sweet some phial; treasure thou some place
With beauty's treasure, ere it be self-kill'd.
That use is not forbidden usury,
Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
That's for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
Ten times thyself were happier than thou art,
If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
Leaving thee living in posterity?

Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
To be Death's conquest, and make worms thine
heir.

VII.

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 high-most 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.

to those are free.] To those who are likewise liberal.
Leese-] An antique form of lose.
-use-] Usance, interest of money.

VIII.

Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy.
Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not
gladly,

Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
By unions married, do offend thine ear,
They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
In singleness the parts that thou shouldst bear.
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.'

IX.

e

Is it for fear to wet a widow's eye
That thou consum'st thyself in single life?
Ah! if thou issueless shalt hap to die,
The world will wail thee, like a makeless wife;
The world will be thy widow, and still weep
That thou no form of thee hast left behind,
When every private widow well may keep,
By children's eyes, her husband's shape in mind.
Look, what an unthrift in the world doth spend
Shifts but his place, for still the world enjoys it;
But beauty's waste hath in the world an end,
And kept unus'd, the user so destroys it.

No love toward others in that bosom sits
That on himself such murderous shame commits.

X.

For shame, deny that thou bear'st love to any,
Who for thyself art so unprovident.
Grant, if thou wilt, thou art belov'd of many,
But that thou none lov'st is most evident;
For thou art so possess'd with murderous hate,
That 'gainst thyself thou stick'st not to conspire,
Seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate,
Which to repair should be thy chief desire.
O, change thy thought, that I may change my
mind!

Shall hate be fairer lodg'd than gentle love?
Be, as thy presence is, gracious and kind,
Or to thyself, at least, kind-hearted prove :
Make thee another self, for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.

XI.

As fast as thou shalt wane, so fast thou growest
In one of thine, from that which thou departest;
And that fresh blood which youngly thou bestowest,
Thou mayst call thine, when thou from youth
convertest.

Herein lives wisdom, beauty, and increase;
Without this, folly, age, and cold decay :
If all were minded so, the times should cease,
And threescore year would make the world away.
Let those whom Nature hath not made for store,
Harsh, featureless, and rude, barrenly perish:

d Music to hear, &c.] Thou to hear whom is music, why, &c. ea makeless wife;] A mateless wife. Make and mate were synonyms, the former being the elder form.

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When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer's green, all girded up in sheaves,
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,
And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

XIII.

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live:
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
So should that beauty which you hold in lease
Find no determination; then you were
Yourself again, after yourself's decease,
When your sweet issue your sweet form should
bear.

Who lets so fair a house fall to decay,
Which husbandry in honour might uphold
Against the stormy gusts of winter's day,
And barren rage of death's eternal cold?

O, none but unthrifts!-dear my love, you know
You had a father; let your son say so.

XIV.

Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;
And yet methinks I have astronomy,
But not to tell of good or evil luck,
Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality:
Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,
'Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,
Or say with princes if it shall go well,
By oft predict that I in heaven find:
But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,
And, constant stars, in them I read such art,
As truth and beauty shall together thrive,
If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert ;
Or else of thee this I prognosticate,-
Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.

a Look, whom she best endow'd, she gave thee more;] The original has, "gave the more:" Malone, who restored "thee," explains the amended line as follows:-On a survey of mankind, you will find that nature, however liberal she may have been to others, has been still more bountiful to you.

ball silver'd o'er with white;] The quarto of 1609 reads,"or silver'd ore with white;" manifestly by mistake.

e If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;] Meaning apparently.-if instead of living single thou wouldst marry, and

XV.

When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants decrease,
Cheered and check'd even by the self-same sky;
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And, all in war with Time, for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

XVI.

But wherefore do not you a mightier way
Make war upon this bloody tyrant, Time?
And fortify yourself in your decay
With means more blessed than my barren rhyme?
Now stand you on the top of happy hours;
And many maiden gardens, yet unset,
With virtuous wish would bear yourd living flowers,
Much liker than your painted counterfeit :
So should the lines of life that life repair,
Which this, Time's pencil, or my pupil pen,
Neither in inward worth nor outward fair,
Can make you live yourself in eyes of men.
To give away yourself keeps yourself still;
And you must live, drawn by your own sweet

skill.

XVII.

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts!
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your
parts.

If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, "This poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces."
So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,
Be scorn'd, like old men of less truth than tongue;
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,
And stretched metre of an antique song:

But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice ;-in it, and in my rhyme.

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Devouring Time, blunt thou the lion's paws,b
And make the earth devour her own sweet brood;
Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce's tiger's jaws,
And burn the long-liv'd phoenix in her blood;
Make glad and sorry seasons as thou fleets,"
And do whate'er thou wilt, swift-footed Time,
To the wide world and all her fading sweets;
But I forbid thee one most heinous crime:
0, carve not with thy hours my love's fair brow,
Nor draw no lines there with thine antique pen;
Him in thy course untainted do allow,
For beauty's pattern to succeeding men.

Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong,
My love shall in my verse ever live young.

XX.

A woman's face, with Nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in
rolling,

Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;

A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,d
Which steals men's eyes, and women's souls
amazeth.

And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And, by addition, me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's
pleasure,

Mine be thy love, and thy love's use their trea

sure.

XXI.

So is it not with me as with that Muse,
Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse;
Who heaven itself for ornament doth use,
And every fair with his fair doth rehearse ;
Making a couplement of proud compare,
With sun and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems,

a-of that fair thou owest;] Of that beauty thou possessest. b-blunt thou the lion's paws,-] See "Titus Andronicus," Act II. Sc. 3,

"The lion, mov'd with pity, did endure

To have his princely paws par'd all away."

as thou fleets,-] The quarto reads,-" as thou fleet'st." A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,-] In the old copy hues" is spelt Hews, whence Tyrwhitt conjectured that the mysterious individual "W. H." to whom Thorpe the bookseller dedicated these Sonnets, was a W. Hughes, or Hews. See the Introduction.

e-rondure-] This word, meaning a round or belt, occurs also in "King John," Act II. Sc. 1,—

"T is not the roundure of your old-fac'd walls
Can hide you from our messengers of war."

f I will not praise that purpose not to sell.] This line adds strength to Warburton's con'ecture that in "Troilus and Cressida,”

With April's first-born flowers, and all things rare
That heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O, let me, true in love, but truly write,
And then believe me, my love is as fair
As any mother's child, though not so bright
As those gold candles fix'd in heaven's air:
Let them say more that like of hearsay well;
I will not praise that purpose not to sell.1

XXII.

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?
O, therefore, love, be of thyself so wary,
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain;
Thou gav'st me thine, not to give back again.

XXIII.

As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put besides hiз part,h
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
Whose strength's abundance weakens his own
· heart;

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony i of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O'ercharg'd with burden of mine own love's might.
O, let my books be, then, the eloquence
And dumb presagers of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompence,
More than that tongue that more hath more ex-
press'd.

O, learn to read what silent love hath writ :
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.

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