VERSES FROM THE SECOND FOLIO OF 1632
UPON THE EFFIGIES OF MY WORTHY FRIEND, THE AUTHOR
MASTER WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, AND HIS WORKS
SPECTATOR, this Life's Shadow is to see
The truer image and a livelier he
Turn Reader. But, observe his Comic vein,
Laugh, and proceed next to a Tragic strain,
Then weep; so when thou find'st two contraries,
Two different passions from thy rapt soul rise,
Say, (who alone affect such wonders could)
Rare Shakespeare to the life thou dost behold.1
AN EPITAPH ON THE ADMIRABLE DRAMATIC POET,
W. SHAKESPEARE 2
WHAT need my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,
The labour of an Age, in pilèd stones
Or that his hallow'd Reliques should be hid
Under a star-ypointing Pyramid?
Dear Son of Memory, great Heir of Fame,
What needst thou such dull witness of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thyself a lasting Monument :
1 These lines bear no signature, and there is no clue to their authorship.
* These lines are by John Milton, and were re-printed in the 1645 edition of his poems with the heading "On Shakespeare. 1630."
For whilst to the shame of slow-endeavouring Art
Thy easy numbers flow, and that each part
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued Book,
Those Delphic Lines with deep Impression took ;
Then thou our fancy of her self bereaving,
Dost make us Marble with too much conceiving,
And so Sepulchred in such pomp dost lie
That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.
ON WORTHY MASTER SHAKESPEARE AND HIS POEMS
A MIND reflecting ages past, whose clear
And equal surface can make things appear
Distant a Thousand years, and represent
Them in their lively colours' just extent:
To outrun hasty time, retrieve the fates,
Roll back the heavens, blow ope the iron gates
Of death and Lethe, where confused lie
Great heaps of ruinous mortality:
In that deep dusky dungeon to discern
A royal Ghost from Churls; by art to learn
The physiognomy of shades, and give
Them sudden birth, wond'ring how oft they live;
What story coldly tells, what Poets feign
At second hand, and picture without brain,
Senseless and soulless shows: to give a Stage
(Ample and true with life) voice, action, age,
As Plato's year and new Scene of the world
Them unto us, or us to them had hurl'd:
To raise our ancient Sovereigns from their hearse,
Make Kings his subjects; by exchanging verse,
Enlive their pale trunks; that the present age
Joys in their joy, and trembles at their rage:
Yet so to temper passion, that our ears
Take pleasure in their pain, and eyes in tears
Both weep and smile; fearful at plots so sad,
Then, laughing at our fear; abus'd and glad
To be abus'd, affected with that truth
Which we perceive is false; pleas'd in that ruth
At which we start; and by elaborate play
Tortur'd and tickled; by a crablike way
Time past made pastime, and in ugly sort
Disgorging up his ravine for our sport :
While the Plebeian Imp, from lofty throne,
Creates and rules a world, and works upon
Mankind by secret engines; now to move
A chilling pity, then a vigorous love;
To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire,
To steer th' affections; and by heavenly fire
Mould us anew. Stoln from ourselves—
This, and much more, which cannot be express'd,
But by himself, his tongue and his own breast,
Was Shakespeare's freehold; which his cunning brain
Improv'd by favour of the ninefold train.
The buskin'd Muse, the Comic Queen, the grand
And louder tone of Clio, nimble hand,
And nimbler foot of the melodious pair,
The Silver-voiced Lady; the most fair
Calliope, whose speaking silence daunts.
And she whose praise the heavenly body chants.
These jointly woo'd him, envying one another
(Obey'd by all as Spouse, but lov'd as brother)
And wrought a curious robe of sable grave,
Fresh green, and pleasant yellow, red most brave,
And constant blue, rich purple, guiltless white,
The lowly Russet, and the Scarlet bright;
Branch'd and embroider'd like the painted Spring
Each leaf match'd with a flower, and each string
Of golden wire, each line of silk; there run
Italian works whose thread the Sisters spun ;
And there did sing, or seem to sing, the choice
Birds of a foreign note and various voice.
Here hangs a mossy rock; there plays a fair
But chiding fountain purled: not the air,
Nor clouds nor thunder, but were living drawn,
Not out of common Tiffany or Lawn,
But fine materials, which the Muses know
And only know the countries where they grow.
Now, when they could no longer him enjoy
In mortal garments pent,
-death may destroy,
They say, his body, but his verse shall live
And more than nature takes, our hands shall give;
In a less volume, but more strongly bound
Shakespeare shall breathe and speak, with Laurel crown'd
Which never fades: fed with Ambrosian meat
In a well-lined vesture rich and neat.
So with this robe they clothe him, bid him wear it ;
For time shall never stain, nor envy tear it.
The friendly admirer of his Endowments. I. M. S.1
1 1 I. M. S.] These initials have not been satisfactorily explained. Coleridge, who quoted the poem in his "Lectures on Shakespeare," 1811-12 (No. IX), and declared it to have "no equal for justness and distinctness of description in reference to the powers and qualities of lofty genius," confidently assigned it to John Milton, Student. Another claimant is Jasper Mayne, Student, a well-known poet and dramatist (1604-1672). "In Memoriam Scriptoris," "John Milton, Senior," "John Marston, Student," "John Marston, Satyrist" seem to be less probable interpretations.
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