And art alive still, while thy book doth live, I mean, with great but disproportion'd Muses; And, though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova, dead, To life again, to hear thy buskin tread And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on, Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Betwixt this day and that, by fate be slain, A fourth place in your sacred sepulchre, Sleep, rare tragedian, Shakespeare, sleep alone: Thy unmolested peace, unshared cave, That unto us and others it may be Honour hereafter to be laid by thee. Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; As they were not of Nature's family. - Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same, For a good poet's made, as well as born: And such wert thou. Look how the father's face Lives in his issue; even so the race Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. - To see thee in our waters yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames But stay; I see thee in the hemisphere Advanced, and made a constellation there : Shine forth, thou star of poets, and with rage Or influence chide or cheer the drooping stage; Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourn'd like night, And despairs day, but for thy volume's light.* BEN JONSON. *Upon these superb lines Dyce makes the following just comment: "That a sincere friendship existed between Shakespeare and Jonson will never again be doubted after the excellent memoir of the latter by Gifford; and, indeed, it is surprising that the alleged enmity of Jonson towards Shakespeare should not have had an earlier refutation, especially as Jonson's writings exhibit the most unequivocal testimony of his affectionate admiration of Shakespeare. A more glowing eulogy than the verses 'To the Memory of MY BELOVED, the Author, MR. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,' was never penned." To the Memory of the deceased Author, Master W. SHAKESPEARE, at length thy pious fellows give Shall loathe what's new, think all is prodigy Of his, thy wit-fraught book shall once invade : Or till I hear a scene more nobly take Than when thy half-sword-parleying Romans spake : Shall with more fire, more feeling be express'd, LEONARD DIGGES.* * Leonard Digges, born in London, was educated at University College, Oxford; to which college, after travelling" into several countries," he retired; and died there in 1635. Though a very poor poet, he was a person of considerable accomplishments, as is shown by his translation of Claudian's Rape of Proserpine, and of Gonçalo de Cespides's Gerardo, the unfortunate Spaniard. He has another and much longer eulogy on Shakespeare, prefixed to the edition of our author's Poems, 1640. — DYCE. To the Memory of Master W. SHAKESPEARE. WE Wonder'd, Shakespeare, that thou went'st so soon This a re-entrance to a plaudite. J. M.* Upon the Lines and Life of the Famous Scenic Poet, Master THOSE hands which you so clapp'd, go now and wring, All those he made would scarce make one to this; HUGH HOLLAND.† * Mr. Bolton Corney, in Notes and Queries, leaves hardly any doubt that these are the initials of James Mabbe, who is described by Wood as “a learned man, good orator, and a facetious conceited wit." He became prebendary of Wells, and died about the year 1642. † Hugh Holland was a Welshman, who became fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge; travelled to Jerusalem, "to do his devotions to the holy sepulchre"; afterwards spent some years at Oxford "for the sake of the public library" there, and "died within the city of Westminster in 1633."— DYCE. COMMENDATORY VERSES PREFIXED TO THE 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 Turn reader. But observe his comic vein, An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatic Poet, W. SHAKESPEARE. WHAT needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones The labour of an age in pilèd stones, Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Hast built thyself a live-long monument: For whilst, to th' shame of slow-endeavouring art, Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Those Delphic lines with deep impression took; * The second folio prints the following pieces in addition to those that precede. |