the "brand" mentioned by Shakspere, and of this there can be little doubt.

Having enunciated these preliminary propositions, I may perhaps state the main argument of the poem, thus:About 1596 a slight estrangement took place between Shakspere and Lord Southampton: they had previously been closely connected; Shakspere had promised to dedicate all his poems to Southampton, who, in his turn, had engaged to accept the dedications. The cause of the estrangement was, that in 1593 Shakspere had apparently dissolved his connection with the stageprobably at the time when the theatres were closed on account of the plague— and had adopted what then seemed the nobler calling of narrative poet, publishing his Venus and Adonis and his Lucrece in 1593 and 1594. But either on the reopening of the theatres in December 1593 or in the following year (which is for many reasons more likely), he not only returned to his playwriting, but had appeared himself on the stage with a company of players on their "travels." He had consequently ceased to write any "poems." Southampton remonstrated with him, and reminded him of their compact, and perhaps refused to accept a dedication unless he gave up the stage. Shakspere then wrote these Sonnets (1-126) as a defence of his conduct. In this poem he sportively compares their bond of union to a marriage, and throughout writes in a sort of allegory, varying occasionally and not quite consistent (where is the allegory that is so ?), but always intelligible if we have firm hold of the central idea.

I will now give a short abstract of the contents of the Sonnets, to show their unity and consistency. If the reader can conveniently keep the poem at his elbow, to refer to in the crucial pas sages, it will conduce to a clearer understanding of it than I can possibly give in so limited a space.

"You blame me and my Muse," says Shakespere, "for producing nothing: why do you not marry and pro

better than my lifeless ones! (1-17). You would not then leave the world without any record of your perfections. You will not? Well: I will immortalize you in my poem, which is all yours: the world shall know you that way (18, 19). So shall your beauty not fade; for you are beautiful, even as a woman; though not like a woman, inconstant (20). Yet I do not praise you as being beyond human perfection : your other poet may, if he please, do that (21). Remember, however, that those who praise so, are inconstant and have no firm ground of love: but our ground is sure. You are mine 'not to give back again' (22). And I will defend myself in another way. I stammer from excess of love but my books speak plainly : take them they are more loving than all that other's flattery (23). Being then sure of each other (24, 25), I send these Sonnets privately to my patron: I may hereafter send him a better poem publicly (26). I cannot do this now. I am foredone with sore travail: and when this is over with the day, all night do I travel in thought to you so far removed (27, 28), I am separated from you therefore friendless, and others, too, look down on me. This makes me envious, yet when I think on your constant love, all hopes are restored; even my dead friends (Marlowe died in 1593): they are revived in you (29, 30, 31). Alas, friends die! If I do so, then esteem you of my poems, not for their execution, in that others may do better, but for their love towards you (32).

"So it is publicly I can send you no poem: we must be separate in public, though our loves are still undivided. For one hour, you, my Sun, shone on me : now the clouds of ill-repute and unfriendly criticism hide you from me. I trusted that your patronage would have prevented any clouds from forming, and therefore ventured to appear in public as dramatist and actor, as author of works I could not dedicate to you (travelled without my cloak). You might once more accept my dedications and give me your countenance, but that

better we should separate: it would injure your reputation to be connected with a common stroller and playwright. Yet, be not troubled on account of this. I will defend you myself for breaking our compact, for your reducing my Muse to silence, and so stealing her from me. (I can write no poems except for you; and as you have withdrawn your countenance, and my dedications must no longer be offered, I must remain silent and aloof for your sake.) I shall, notwithstanding, find solace in your good report, in your glory, for we two are still one; the separation is only external (33—37).

"Yet, why should my Muse be silent? Why should I not write of you, if not to you? No; I cannot praise myself, and you are part of me. Let us then be no more one, but two; so that I may praise you! (38, 39.) But not so; take my Muse too, I have lost all else. Take all my poverty; even take her from me whom you refuse to receive (deprive me of the power of writing while you refuse the dedication-gift of my poems.) I blame you not for taking her; she is a woman and she wooed you first, though now she plays me false in enticing my friend's heart from me (it is through our poems that our estrangement has arisen.) I will console myself as before you and I are one, you value her for my sake; she allows you to praise and love her for my sake, not her own (40-42).

During this estrangement, this absence from you, I dream of you by night and think of you by day (4347). When it began, when I set out to leave you, I was careful to place my property (poems) in safety (by dedicating them to you), but you I cannot so preserve. Vulgar hands can steal you, they may bask in that sunshine now clouded for me; you may leave me and patronize them. Nor can I say nay, for I deserve nothing better (49). Yet, as my journey proceeds, I am ever looking for the end; slowly my Pegasus bears me from you, swiftly would he return. This work for the theatre is wearisome; rather would I be writing some 'Summer's Story' for you (compare the

title Midsummer Night's Dream); and that time will some day come, and I shall find you unchanged (50—52). You are perfectly beautiful; these verses shall make you immortal (53 55). You are constant, love will revive after this separation (56). I wait your leisure, however painful waiting may be (57, 58). You excel antiquity, and to posterity I will make your worth known (59, 60).

"A little while since I used to dream of you at night, but now I wake and see you all night long. Is it your spirit that I see, sent from you as a spy on my idleness, or misdirected industry? or is it a phantom of the brain? (61.) No. It is my love for you which causes this phantom, my love for you which is love for myself; for we two are still one, though I am time-worn, as some day you will be, when only in these poems will you retain your youth (62—65), which will make you immortal. For me I had as lief die, for the world is full of wrong, were it not that so I should have to leave you for

ever.

Why do you, the true one, live among such infection? unless as a sample of the older and more perfect ages? Yet in spite of your perfection, there are tongues that blame you, and call your rose a weed; surely, you are growing 'common,' and are not select in your clientage. Remember, slander always chooses the fairest mark; be circumspect (66-70). Avoid all that is common. When I am dead, own me not, lest the world mock you; my present work is a shame to me. The glow of my poetic fire is smothered in its ashes. I can give you no more poems, but my whole soul is yet yours (71-74).

"You are my peace, yet the cause of my strife: my inconsistency is from you. At one time, I would only know you privately; at another, I would the world should know that I know you; but I am always writing of you and you only. (75, 76.) 1

1 Sonnet 77 is intercalatory, written as if sent with a set of tablets as a present: it is put in to explain 122.

the "brand" mentioned by Shakspere, and of this there can be little doubt.

Having enunciated these preliminary propositions, I may perhaps state the main argument of the poem, thus:About 1596 a slight estrangement took place between Shakspere and Lord Southampton: they had previously been closely connected; Shakspere had promised to dedicate all his poems to Southampton, who, in his turn, had engaged to accept the dedications. The cause of the estrangement was, that in 1593 Shakspere had apparently dissolved his connection with the stageprobably at the time when the theatres were closed on account of the plague and had adopted what then seemed the nobler calling of narrative poet, publishing his Venus and Adonis and his Lucrece in 1593 and 1594. But either on the reopening of the theatres in December 1593 or in the following year (which is for many reasons more likely), he not only returned to his playwriting, but had appeared himself on the stage with a company of players on their "travels." He had consequently ceased to write any "poems." Southampton remonstrated with him, and reminded him of their compact, and perhaps refused to accept a dedication unless he gave up the stage. Shakspere then wrote these Sonnets (1-126) as a defence of his conduct. In this poem he sportively compares their bond of union to a marriage, and throughout writes in a sort of allegory, varying occasionally and not quite consistent (where is the allegory that is so ?), but always intelligible if we have firm hold of the central idea.

I will now give a short abstract of the contents of the Sonnets, to show their unity and consistency. If the reader can conveniently keep the poem at his elbow, to refer to in the crucial passages, it will conduce to a clearer understanding of it than I can possibly give in so limited a space.

"You blame me and my Muse," says Shakespere, "for producing nothing: why do you not marry and pro

better than my lifeless ones! (1-17). You would not then leave the world without any record of your perfections. You will not? Well: I will immortalize you in my poem, which is all yours the world shall know you that way (18, 19). way (18, 19). So shall your beauty not fade; for you are beautiful, even as a woman; though not like a woman, inconstant (20). Yet I do not praise you as being beyond human perfection : your other poet may, if he please, do that (21). Remember, however, that those who praise so, are inconstant and have no firm ground of love: but our ground is sure. You are mine 'not to give back again' (22). And I will defend myself in another way. I stammer from excess

of love: but my books speak plainly: take them they are more loving than all that other's flattery (23). Being then sure of each other (24, 25), I send these Sonnets privately to my patron: I may hereafter send him a better poem publicly (26). I cannot do this now. I am foredone with sore travail: and when this is over with the day, all night do I travel in thought to you so far removed (27, 28), I am separated from you therefore friendless, and others, too, look down on me. This makes me envious, yet when I think on your constant love, all hopes are restored; even my dead friends (Marlowe died in 1593): they are revived in you (29, 30, 31). Alas, friends die! If I do so, then esteem you of my poems, not for their execution, in that others may do better, but for their love towards you (32).

I

"So it is publicly I can send you no poem we must be separate in public, though our loves are still undivided. For one hour, you, my Sun, shone on me : now the clouds of ill-repute and unfriendly criticism hide you from me. trusted that your patronage would have prevented any clouds from forming, and therefore ventured to appear in public as dramatist and actor, as author of works I could not dedicate to you (travelled without my cloak). You might once more accept my dedications and give me your countenance, but that

better we should separate: it would injure your reputation to be connected with a common stroller and playwright. Yet, be not troubled on account of this. I will defend you myself for breaking our compact, for your reducing my Muse to silence, and so stealing her from me. (I can write no poems except for you; and as you have withdrawn your countenance, and my dedications must no longer be offered, I must remain silent and aloof for your sake.) I shall, notwithstanding, find solace in your good report, in your glory, for we two are still one; the separation is only external (33—37).

"Yet, why should my Muse be silent? Why should I not write of you, if not to you? No; I cannot praise myself, and you are part of me. Let us then be no more one, but two; so that I may praise you! (38, 39.) But not so; take my Muse too, I have lost all else. Take all my poverty; even take her from me whom you refuse to receive (deprive me of the power of writing while you refuse the dedication-gift of my poems.) I blame you not for taking her; she is a woman and she wooed you first, though now she plays me false in enticing my friend's heart from me (it is through our poems that our estrangement has arisen.) I will console myself as before you and I are one, you value her for my sake; she allows you to praise and love her for my sake, not her own (40-42).

"During this estrangement, this absence from you, I dream of you by night and think of you by day (43(43 47). When it began, when I set out to leave you, I was careful to place my property (poems) in safety (by dedicating them to you), but you I cannot so preserve. Vulgar hands can steal you, they may bask in that sunshine now clouded for me; you may leave me and patronize them. Nor can I say nay, for I deserve nothing better (49). Yet, as my journey proceeds, I am ever looking for the end; slowly my Pegasus bears me from you, swiftly would he return. This work for the theatre is wearisome; rather would I be writing some 'Summer's Story' for you (compare the

title Midsummer Night's Dream); and that time will some day come, and I shall find you unchanged (50-52). You are perfectly beautiful; these verses shall make you immortal (53 — 55). You are constant, love will revive after this separation (56). I wait your leisure, however painful waiting may be (57, 58). You excel antiquity, and to posterity I will make your worth known (59, 60).

"A little while since I used to dream of you at night, but now I wake and see you all night long. Is it your spirit that I see, sent from you as a spy on my idleness, or misdirected industry? or is it a phantom of the brain? (61.) No. It is my love for you which causes this phantom, my love for you which is love for myself; for we two are still one, though I am time-worn, as some day you will be, when only in these poems will you retain your youth (62-65), which will make you immortal. For me I had as lief die, for the world is full of wrong, were it not that so I should have to leave you for ever. Why do you, the true one, live among such infection? unless as a sample of the older and more perfect ages? Yet in spite of your perfection, there are tongues that blame you, and call your rose a weed; surely, you are growing 'common,' and are not select in your clientage. Remember, slander always chooses the fairest mark; be circumspect (66-70). Avoid all that is common. When I am dead, own me not, lest the world mock you; my present work is a shame to me. The glow of my poetic fire is smothered in its ashes. I can give you no more poems, but my whole soul is yet yours (71-74).

"You are my peace, yet the cause of my strife: my inconsistency is from you. At one time, I would only know you privately; at another, I would the world should know that I know you; but I am always writing of you and you only. (75, 76.) 1

1 Sonnet 77 is intercalatory, written as if sent with a set of tablets as a present: it is put in to explain 122.

"Since I dedicated my poems to you, others have imitated me: one of these I own as my superior in learning (78— 80) yet shall it be my pen that shall immortalize you (81). I complain not of this: your connection with my Muse was only an amour, not a marriage: you are right in seeking another fairer and less silent; yet all her fault is that she does not impair your beauty by speaking of you in terms short of your wealth, as your other poet does it is your encouragement that gives him speech; your discouragement that makes me dumb (82-86).

"Farewell, then! I do not merit you. I am your advocate against myself: name my faults; point out where I halt, I will own it, and keep aloof. I can but hate myself, if you hate me, for I am all yours. Hate me now, then, now while the world is against me, while my fortunes are unpropitious. Loss of you will swallow up other losses, so that I shall not feel them. And yet you must love me all my life, for if you leave me I shall die straightway, unless indeed, you are false without my knowing it: then I might live like a deceived husband.' This may be so; for your beauty is such that you must show virtuous, whether you are so or not. Beware, then, sweet flower; for if you become infected you will be baser than a weed. You have with some an ill-repute already for gracing me: but you are so fair that none can blame you yet. Leave me and keep your good report: it will be mine also, for you are always mine (8796).

"How long I have been away from you! how chill it has been! Yet it was summer, I have borne much fruit; it was autumn, my Muse has produced abundant offspring; but these are all orphans, unowned by you, their adopted father. It was spring, yet I could tell no summer story. All seemed as winter; there was no fairness in the flowers, but what they stole from you (97—99). Now my Muse must be silent no longer; she will give up her idle plays, and sing of you, and make no more excuses.

silent; she wishes only not to dull you. with strains repeated till they grow vulgar. You are fairer and younger than she can show you: you seem to me as you did when I first addressed you three years ago. But Time goes on, notwithstanding, though I see it not: you will not be fair always (97-104).

"You change in form, then, not in constancy. Fair, kind and true,' is all I can say of you. He that wants more may read all the praises of beauty and valour in the olden times; they are all true of you. You are immortal yet in these rhymes; and I am too, because I am your poet. Public and private fears alike are ended now. All is peace ; and I can repeat my cuckoo-song of love, as in those earlier days when we were together (105-108). For I have been still true to you when ranging farthest away. I have returned from my travels, laid down my motley, ended my trials of your love. I will never repeat them. Yet is not my ill-repute, my branded name, acquired by my own fault: it is due to Fortune. My commonness, my vulgarity, is caused by my having to adopt a public exhibition of myself as my means of subsistence. Cure me then with your pity: I care for no other cure. Let them rave, the critics! let them applaud, the flatterers! they are all dead to me (109-112).

"While away from you, all nature brings you to my memory (113, 114), and I love you better than I did before. For I was wrong in thinking I could not love you better: love does grow. Yet love never alters: it lasts to the end. True minds are married. It is no ephemeral tie that binds them. You loved my Muse par amours; but me as a faithful spouse (115, 116). Throw on me all blame, then. Say that I, bound to you by these sacred bonds, have broken them have quitted you for strangers; and sacrified our eternal union for a temporary tie. Say that I have been urgent in haste to leave you. But remember it was all done to test your love; and that love renewed is stronger than at first (117-119). For you, too,