Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, In inditing his Sonnets, he was free at least from the slavery to public caprices, which he abhorred. He had to consult not moods of the crowd, but those of his friend, or his own. As he wove his brain into these miracles of embroidery, doubtless he felt that he possessed his soul before he died. Paying no heed what became of a Hamlet and the like, he You still shall live-such virtue hath my pen Where breathe most breaths, even in the mouths of men.27 He deceived himself both in underrating the greatness of one part, the chief, of his life's business, and in overrating the capacity of posterity at large for comparative appreciation of the other. The Sonnets owe to the Dramas, not indeed a survival of their radiance, but an infinite expansion of its range. If 'with that key' Shakespeare' has unlocked his heart',28 it is that the Plays by thousands of lightning flashes had guided after-ages through the shades in which the casket was lying all but forgotten. At the same time it may be acknowledged that, if there be still room for fresh bewilderment in the endeavour to plumb and measure the height, depth, and breadth of the powers of an eternal, inscrutable paradox, there are always the Sonnets to make darkness visible by occupying the vacant space. Students of letters, to offer a precedent for the doubled enigma, must go back as far as to Dante-and then, perhaps, in vain. Shakespeare, ed. W. G. Clark and W. Aldis Wright. Macmillan & Co. 1 A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act ii, Sc. 1. 2 Two Gentlemen of Verona, Act iv, Sc. 2. 'Much Ado About Nothing, Act ii, Sc. 3. As You Like It, Act ii, Sc. 5. 5 Measure for Measure, Act iv, Sc. 1. The Tempest, Act i, Sc. 2. Cymbeline, Act ii, Sc. 3. 9 Venus and Adonis, vv. 931-7 and 943-8. 10 The Rape of Lucrece, vv. 393–9. 12 Ibid., vv. 69–70. 7 Ibid., Act v, So. 1. 11 Ibid., vv. 717-19. 15 Nos. 18, 29, 30, 31, 33, 54, 55, 60, 71, 72, 73, 76, 81, 86, 87, 89-98, 28 Wordsworth, Miscellaneous Sonnets, Part II, No. 1. 27 No. 81. BEN JONSON 1573?-1637 L'ALLEGRO Owes amends to the memory of Ben Jonson for popularizing the legend that learning was his chief distinction. Like inferior contemporaries who referred to Jonson's learning, Milton limited the qualification to the drama. By that he intended panegyric rather than blame. Later ages have construed the criticism as general, and read into it a charge of pedantry. Far from repelling any such insinuation, Jonson himself, it must be admitted, seems in his plays to confirm it. Yet I do not know that, applicable as it may be to him, it is not equally appropriate to others. For the most part dramatists of the period were scholars, and not shy of displaying their classical attainments. To Jonson's lyrics, at all events, it is not much more relevant than to Fletcher's, certainly not more than to Shakespeare's Venus and Adonis, or the Rape of Lucrece. Consider them on their intrinsic merits; and it may be argued that they have equals; I think it would be hard to find their superiors. Simplicity is among their primary charms, as in the ideal woman : Give me a look, give me a face, Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.2 The same quality rises to perfection in the Song to Celia : Drink to me, only with thine eyes, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, But thou thereon didst only breathe, Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Nothing here is elaborate; there is scarcely a show of ingenuity. The idea is the merest thistledown. The words might be set to an infant school for a spelling exercise. They have fallen each into its own natural, necessary place, as easily as the stones into the walls of Thebes at the bidding of Amphion's lute. So with the eulogy of Truth: Truth is the trial of itself, And needs no other touch; It is the life and light of love, It is the warrant of the word, It runs as limpidly as a popular hymn; only, with depths in it. The Epitaph on 'Elizabeth' would equally befit a village tombstone and a monument in Westminster Abbey: Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die ; Doubtless art informed the fabric; but the scaffolding is gone. It is seldom indeed that, as towards the conclusion of the otherwise spontaneous lament for the Child of Queen Elizabeth's Chapel : he cares in his lyrics to parade his knowledge, astronomical or mythological-three-filled Zodiacs', and repentant 'Parcae'. Such display is exceptional. Commonly, even when he chooses to be gracefully, almost coldly, Hellenic, as in a Hymn to Diana, there is no affectation of classical tropes and phraseology: Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light, Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever |