which kind of liberal rewarding is crowned with an unspeakable felicity. For this as it bindeth the receiver, so it makes happy the bestower; this doth not impoverish, but enrich the giver (VI. 6). O the comfort of comforts, to see your children grow up, in whom you are as it were eternifed! ... Have you seen a pure Rose-water kept in a crystal glass, how fine it looks, how sweet it smells, while that beautiful glass imprisons it! Break the prison and let the water take his own course, doth it not embrace the duft, and lose all his former sweetness and fairnefs; truly so are we, if we have not the stay, rather than the restraint of Crystalline marriage (v.); . . . And is a folitary life as good as this? then, can one string make as good mufic as a confort (VIII.)'.

...

In like manner Shakspere urges the youth to perpetuate his beauty in offspring (I-XVII.).1 But if Will refuses, then his poet will make war against Time and Decay, and confer immortality

1 In what follows, to avoid the confufion of he, and him, I call Shakspere's friend, as he is called in cxxxv., Will.

upon his beloved one by Verse (xv.-xIx.). Will is the pattern and exemplar of human beauty (XIX.), so uniting in himself the perfections of man and woman (xx.); this is no extravagant praise but fimple truth (xxI.). And fuch a being has exchanged love with Shakspere (XXII.), who muft needs be filent with excefs of paffion (XXIII.), cherishing in his heart the image of his friend's beauty (XXIV.), but holding still more dear the love from which no unkind fortune can ever separate him (xxv.). Here affairs of his own compel Shakspere to a journey which removes him from Will (XXVI., XXVII.). Sleepless at night, and toiling by day, he thinks of the absent one (XXVII. XXVIII.); grieving for his own poor estate (XXIX.), and the death of friends, but finding in the one beloved amends for all (XXX., XXXI.); and fo Shakfpere commends to his friend his poor verses as a token of affection which may furvive if he himself should die (XXXII). At this point the mood changes-in his abfence his friend has been falfe to friendship (xxxIII.); now, indeed, Will would let the

funshine of his favour beam out again, but that will not cure the disgrace; tears and penitence are fitter (XXXIV.); and for fake of fuch tears Will fhall be forgiven (xxxv.); but henceforth their lives must run apart (xxxvI.); Shakspere, separated from Will, can look on and rejoice in his friend's happiness and honour (XXXVII.), finging his praise in verse (XXXVIII.), which he could not do if they were fo united that to praise his friend were felf-praise (XXXIX.); feparated they must be, and even their loves be no longer one; Shakspere can now give his love, even her he loved, to the gentle thief; wronged though he is, he will still hold Will dear (XL.); what is he but a boy whom a woman has beguiled (XLI.)? and for both, for friend and mistress, in the midst of his pain, he will try to feign excufes (XLII.). Here there feems to be a gap of time. The Sonnets begin again in

abfence, and fome ftudents have called this, perhaps rightly, the Second Abfence (XLIII., Sqq.). His friend continues as dear as ever, but confidence is fhaken, and a deep diftrust begins

to grow (XLVIII.). What right indeed has a poor player to claim conftancy and love (XLIX.)? He is on a journey which removes him from Will (L. LI.). His friend perhaps profeffes unfhaken loyalty, for Shakspere now takes heart, and praises Will's truth (LIII. LIV.)—takes heart, and believes that his own verfe will for ever keep that truth in mind. He will endure the pain of absence, and have no jealous thoughts (LVII. LVIII.); ftriving to honour his friend in fong better than ever man was honoured before (LIX.); in song which fhall outlaft the revolutions of time (LX.). Still he cannot quite get rid of jealous fears (LXI.); and yet, what right care to claim all

has one so worn by years and

a young man's love (LXII.)?

Will, too, in his

turn must fade, but his beauty will furvive in verse (LXIII.). Alas! to think that death will take away the beloved one (LXIV.); nothing but Verse can defeat time and decay (LXV.). For his own part Shakfpere would willingly die, were it not that, dying, he would leave his friend alone in an evil world (LXVI.). Why

fhould one fo beautiful live to grace this ill world (LXVII.) except as a survival of the genuine beauty of the good old times (LXVIII.); yet beautiful as he is, he is blamed for careless living (LIX.), but furely this must be flander (LXX.). Shakspere here returns to the thought of his own death; when I leave this vile world, he fays, let me be forgotten (LXXI. LXXII.); and my death is not very far off (LXXIII.); but when I die my spirit ftill lives in my verse (LXXIV.). A new group feems to begin with LXXV. Shakfpere loves his friend as a miser loves his gold, fearing it may be stolen (fearing a rival poet?). His verfe is monotonous and old-fashioned (not like the rival's verfe?) (LXXVI.); fo he fends Will his manuscript book unfilled, which Will may fill, if he please, with verfe of his own; Shakspere chooses to fing no more of Beauty and of Time; Will's glass and dial may inform him henceforth on these topics (LXXVII.) The rival poet has now won the first place in Will's esteem (LXXVIII.-LXXXVI.). Shakspere must bid his friend farewell (LXXXVII.).

If Will should scorn