As _Epius Stolo_ said, that the Muses would speake with _Plautus_ tongue, if they would speak Latin: so I say that the Muses would speak with _Shakespeares_ fine filed phrase, if they would speake English.

As _Ovid_ saith of his worke:

Iamque opus exegi, quod nec Iovis ira, nec ignis, Nec poterit ferrum, nec edax abolere vetustas.

[Page Heading: Extracts from Meres]

And as _Horace_ saith of his; _Exegi monumentum aere perennius; Regalique; situ pyramidum altius; Quod non imber edax; Non Aquilo impotens possit diruere; aut innumerabilis annorum feries &c fuga temporum_: so say I severally of sir _Philip Sidneys_, _Spencers_, _Daniels_, _Draytons_, _Shakespeares_, and _Warners workes_;

As _Pindarus_, _Anacreon_ and _Callimachus_ among the Greekes; and _Horace_ and _Catullus_ among the Latines are the best Lyrick Poets: so in this faculty the best among our Poets are _Spencer_ (who excelleth in all kinds) _Daniel_, _Drayton_, _Shakespeare_, _Bretton_.

As ... so these are our best for Tragedie, the Lorde _Buckhurst_, Doctor _Leg_ of Cambridge, Doctor _Edes_ of Oxforde, maister _Edward Ferris_, the Authour of the _Mirrour for Magistrates_, _Marlow_, _Peele_, _Watson_, _Kid_, _Shakespeare_, _Drayton_, _Chapman_, _Decker_, and _Benjamin Johnson_.

... so the best for Comedy amongst us bee, _Edward_ Earle of Oxforde, Doctor _Gager_ of Oxforde, Maister _Rowley_ once a rare Scholler of learned Pembroke Hall in Cambridge, Maister _Edwardes_ one of her Maiesties Chappell, eloquent and wittie _John Lilly_, _Lodge_, _Gascoyne_, _Greene_, _Shakespeare_, _Thomas Nash_, _Thomas Heywood_, _Anthony Mundye_ our best plotter, _Chapman_, _Porter_, _Wilson_, _Hathway_, and _Henry Chettle._

... so these are the most pa.s.sionate among us to bewaile and bemoane the perplexities of Love, _Henrie Howard_ Earle of Surrey, sir _Thomas Wyat_ the elder, sir _Francis Brian_, sir _Philip Sidney_, sir _Walter Rawley_, sir _Edward Dyer_, _Spencer_, _Daniel_, _Drayton_, _Shakespeare_, _Whetstone_, _Gascoyne_, _Samuell Page_ sometimes fellowe of _Corpus Christi_ Colledge in Oxford, _Churchyard, Bretton_.

14. THE INSCRIPTION ON SHAKESPEARE'S MONUMENT IN THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY TRINITY, STRATFORD-ON-AVON

Judicio Pylium, genio Socratem, arte Maronem Terra tegit, populus maeret, Olympus habet.

Stay, pa.s.senger, why goest thou by so fast?

Read, if thou canst, whom envious death hath plast Within this monument: Shakespeare with whome Quick nature dide; whose name doth deck ys tombe Far more than cost; sith all yt he hath writt Leaves living art but page to serve his witt.

Obiit ano. doi 1616. aetatis 53. Die 23 Ap.

[Page Heading: The First Folio]

15. THE INTRODUCTORY MATTER IN THE FIRST FOLIO

TO THE MOST n.o.bLE AND INCOMPARABLE PAIRE OF BRETHREN.

WILLIAM Earle of Pembroke, &c. Lord Chamberlaine to the _Kings most Excellent Maiesty_.

AND PHILIP Earle of Montgomery, &c. Gentleman of his Maiesties Bed-Chamber.

Both Knights of the most n.o.ble Order of the Garter, and our singular good LORDS.

Right Honourable,

Whilst we studie to be thankful in our particular, for the many fauors we haue receiued from your L. L. we are falne vpon the ill fortune, to mingle two the most diuerse things that can bee, feare, and rashnesse; rashnesse in the enterprize, and feare of the successe. For, when we valew the places your H. H. sustaine, we cannot but know their dignity greater, then to descend to the reading of these trifles: and, while we name them trifles, we haue depriu'd our selues of the defence of our Dedication. But since your L. L. haue beene pleas'd to thinke these trifles some-thing, heeretofore; and haue prosequuted both them, and their Authour liuing, with so much fauour: we hope, that (they out-liuing him, and he not hauing the fate, common with some, to be exequutor to his owne writings) you will vse the like indulgence toward them, you haue done vnto their parent. There is a great difference, whether any Booke choose his Patrones, or finde them: This hath done both. For, so much were your L. L. likings of the seuerall parts, when they were acted, as before they were published, the Volume ask'd to be yours. We haue but collected them, and done an office to the dead, to procure his Orphanes, Guardians: without ambition either of selfe-profit, or fame: onely to keepe the memory of so worthy a Friend, & Fellow aliue, as was our SHAKESPEARE, by humble offer of his playes, to your most n.o.ble patronage. Wherein, as we haue iustly obserued, no man to come neere your L. L. but with a kind of religious addresse; it hath bin the height of our care, who are the Presenters, to make the present worthy of your H. H. by the perfection. But, there we must also craue our abilities to be considerd, my Lords. We cannot go beyond our owne powers. Country hands reach foorth milke, creame, fruites, or what they haue: and many Nations (we haue heard) that had not gummes & incense, obtained their requests with a leauened Cake. It was no fault to approch their G.o.ds, by what meanes they could: And the most, though meanest, of things are made more precious, when they are dedicated to Temples. In that name therefore, we most humbly consecrate to your H. H.

these remaines of your seruant SHAKESPEARE; that what delight is in them, may be euer your L. L. the reputation his, & the faults ours, if any be committed, by a payre so carefull to shew their grat.i.tude both to the liuing, and the dead, as is

Your Lordshippes most bounden, IOHN HEMINGE.

HENRY CONDELL.

_To the Great Variety of Readers._--From the most able to him that can but spell;--there you are number'd. We had rather you were weighd, especially when the fate of all bookes depends upon your capacities, and not of your heads alone, but of your purses. Well! It is now publique, and you will stand for your privileges wee know; to read and censure. Do so, but buy it first. That doth best commend a booke, the stationer saies. Then, how odde soever your braines be, or your wisedomes, make your licence the same and spare not. Judge your sixe-pen'orth, your shillings worth, your five shillings worth at a time, or higher, so you rise to the just rates, and welcome. But, whatever you do, buy. Censure will not drive a trade or make the jacke go. And though you be a magistrate of wit, and sit on the stage at Black-Friers or the c.o.c.k-pit to arraigne playes dailie, know, these playes have had their triall alreadie, and stood out all appeales, and do now come forth quitted rather by a Decree of Court than any purchas'd letters of commendation.

It had bene a thing, we confesse, worthie to have bene wished, that the author himselfe had liv'd to have set forth and overseen his owne writings; but since it hath bin ordain'd otherwise, and he by death departed from that right, we pray you do not envie his friends the office of their care and paine to have collected and publish'd them; and so to have publish'd them, as where (before) you were abus'd with diverse stolne and surrept.i.tious copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds and stealthes of injurious impostors that expos'd them; even those are now offer'd to your view cur'd and perfect of their limbes, and all the rest absolute in their numbers as he conceived them; who, as he was a happie imitator of Nature, was a most gentle expresser of it.

His mind and hand went together; and what he thought, he uttered with that easinesse that wee have sca.r.s.e received from him a blot in his papers. But it is not our province, who onely gather his works and give them you, to praise him. It is yours that reade him. And there we hope, to your divers capacities, you will finde enough both to draw and hold you; for his wit can no more lie hid then it could be lost. Reade him, therefore; and againe and againe; and if then you doe not like him, surely you are in some manifest danger not to understand him. And so we leave you to other of his friends, whom, if you need, can bee your guides. If you neede them not, you can leade yourselves and others; and such readers we wish him.--_Iohn Heminge._--_Henrie Condell._

[Page Heading: Ben Jonson's Eulogy]

TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOUED,

THE AVTHOR

MR. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE: AND what he hath left vs.

To draw no enuy (_Shakespeare_) on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy Booke, and Fame: While I confesse thy writings to be such, As neither _Man_, nor _Muse_, can praise too much.

'Tis true, and all mens suffrage. But these wayes Were not the paths I meant vnto thy praise: For seeliest Ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but eccho's right; Or blinde Affection, which doth ne're aduance The truth, but gropes, and vrgeth all by chance; Or crafty Malice, might pretend this praise, And thinke to ruine, where it seem'd to raise.

These are, as some infamous Baud, or Wh.o.r.e, Should praise a Matron. What could hurt her more?

But thou art proofe against them, and indeed Aboue th' ill fortune of them, or the need.

I, therefore will begin. Soule of the Age!

The applause! delight! the wonder of our Stage!

My _Shakespeare_, rise; I will not lodge thee by _Chaucer_, or _Spenser_, or bid _Beaumont_ lye A little further, to make thee a roome: Thou art a Moniment, without a tombe, And art aliue still, while thy Booke doth liue, And we haue wits to read, and praise to giue.

That I not mixe thee so, my braine excuses; I meane with great, but disproportion'd _Muses_: For, if I thought my iudgement were of yeeres, I should commit thee surely with thy peeres, And tell, how farre thou didstst our _Lily_ out-shine, Or sporting _Kid_, or _Marlowes_ mighty line.

And though thou hadst small _Latine_, and lesse _Greeke_, From thence to honour thee, I would not seeke For names; but call forth thund'ring _aeschilus_, _Euripides_, and _Sophocles_ to vs, _Paccuuius_, _Accius_, him of _Cordoua_ dead, To life againe, to heare thy Buskin tread, And shake a Stage: Or, when thy Sockes were on, Leaue thee alone, for the comparison Of all, that insolent _Greece_, or haughtie _Rome_ Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.

Triumph, my _Britaine_, thou hast one to showe, To whom all Scenes of _Europe_ homage owe.

He was not of an age, but for all time!

And all the _Muses_ still were in their prime, When like _Apollo_ he came forth to warme Our eares, or like a _Mercury_ to charme!

Nature her selfe was proud of his designes, And ioy'd to weare the dressing of his lines!

Which were so richly spun, and wouen so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other Wit.

The merry _Greeke_, tart _Aristophanes_, Neat _Terence_, witty _Plautus_, now not please; But antiquated, and deserted lye As they were not of Natures family.

Yet must I not giue Nature all: Thy Art, My gentle _Shakespeare_, must enioy a part.

For though the _Poets_ matter, Nature be, His Art doth giue the fashion. And, that he, Who casts to write a liuing line, must sweat, (Such as thine are) and strike the second heat Vpon the _Muses_ anuile: turne the same, (And himselfe with it) that he thinkes to frame; Or for the lawrell, he may gaine a scorne, For a good _Poet's_ made, as well as borne.

And such wert thou. Looke how the fathers face Liues in his issue, euen so, the race Of _Shakespeares_ minde, and manners brightly shines In his well torned, and true-filed lines: In each of which, he seemes to shake a Lance, As brandish't at the eyes of Ignorance.

Sweet Swan of _Auon_! what a sight it were To see thee in our waters yet appeare, And make those flights vpon the bankes of _Thames_, That so did take _Eliza_, and our _Iames_!

But stay, I see thee in the _Hemisphere_ Aduanc'd, and made a Constellation there!

Shine forth, thou Starre of _Poets_, and with rage, Or influence, chide, or cheere the drooping Stage; Which, since thy flight fro hence, hath mourn'd like night, And despaires day, but for thy Volumes light.

BEN: IONSON.

VPON THE LINES AND LIFE OF THE FAMOUS

Scenicke Poet, Master WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

Those hands, which you so clapt, go now, and wring You _Britaines_ braue; for done are _Shakespeares_ dayes: His dayes are done, that made the dainty Playes, Which made the Globe of heau'n and earth to ring.

Dry'de is that veine, dry'd is the _Thespian_ Spring, Turn'd all to teares, and _Phbus_ clouds his rayes: That corp's, that coffin now besticke those bayes, Which crown'd him _Poet_ first, then _Poets_ King.

If _Tragedies_ might any _Prologue_ haue, All those he made, would sca.r.s.e make one to this: Where _Fame_, now that he gone is to the graue (Deaths publique tyring-house) the _Nuncius_ is.

For though his line of life went soone about, The life yet of his lines shall neuer out.

HVGH HOLLAND.

[Page Heading: The First Folio]