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so distinguish the earlier; though there is in both a certain incontinence of wit and fancy, which shows that impulse was at that time stronger with the Poet than art. The truth seems to be, that both are too highly seasoned with the peculiar spicery of the time to carry an abiding relish. Their shape and physiognomy express rather the literary fashion of the age, than the Poet's mental character; and what was then apt to be regarded as the crowning witchcraft of poetry, has the effect now of studied and elaborate coldness; the real glow of the work being drowned and lost to us in a profuse and redundant sparkling of conceit.

In Bell's edition of the English Poets, now publishing, the comparative merit of the two poems is discussed as follows: "Opinion is divided in the choice between Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece. Malone pronounces decidedly against the latter, — a decision which greatly surprises Boswell. The majority of readers will be likely to agree with Malone. The subject of the former piece is, at least, less painful, and its treatment is more compact and effective. In beauty of expression and passionate depth of feeling, the Venus and Adonis transcends the Lucrece, upon which more elaboration has been bestowed with less success. The in terest of Lucrece suffers from attenuation. The agony is too protracted; the horror of the main incident is exhausted by prolonged augmentation; and the close is abrupt and hurried. There is a want of symmetry in the parts; and the catastrophe is not presented with the fulness and solemnity proportionate to the expectations excited by the preparatory details. But the poem abounds in sweet and noble passages; and in both pieces we discover the germs of that unerring genius which impressed the true image of nature upon every scene and character it depicted."

A passage from Coleridge will best dismiss the subject: "No man was ever yet a great poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher. For poetry is the blossom and fragrancy of all human knowledge, human thoughts, human passions, emotions, language. In Shakespeare's poems, the creative power and the intellectual energy wrestle as in a war embrace. Each in its excess of strength seems to threaten the extinction of the other. At length, in the drama they were reconciled, and fought each with its shield before the breast of the other. The Venus and Adonis did not, perhaps, allow the display of the deeper passions. But the story of Lucretia seems to favour, and even demand their intensest workings. Yet we find in Shakespeare's management of the tale neither pathos, nor any other dramatic quality. There is the same minute and faithful imagery as in the former poem, in the same vivid colours, inspirited by the same impetuous vigour of thought, and diverging and contracting with the same activity of the assimulative and of the modifying faculties; and with a yet larger display, a yet wider range of knowledge and reflection; and, lastly, with the same perfect dominion, often domination, over the whole world of language."

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

HENRY WRIOTHESLY,

EARL OF SOUTHAMPTON, AND BARON OF TICHFIELD.

THE love I dedicate to your Lordship is without end whereof this pamphlet, without beginning, is but a superfluous moiety.' The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours, what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater, my duty would show greater: meantime, as it is, it is bound to your Lordship, to whom I wish long life, still lengthened with happiness Your Lordship's in all duty,

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

1 In Shakespeare's time, moiety was used indifferently for any part of a thing, whether the half, or more or less than half. The plays furnish several instances in point. See 1 Henry IV., Act iii sc. 1, note 6; and King Lear, Act i. sc. 1, note 1.

H

THE RAPE OF LUCRECE.

THE ARGUMENT.2

Lucius Tarquinius, (for his excessive pride surnamned Superbus,) after he had caused his own father-in-law, Servius Tullius, to be cruelly murdered, and, contrary to the Roman laws and customs, not requiring or staying for the people's suffrages, had possessed himself of the kingdom, went, accompanied with his sons and other noblemen of Rome, to besiege Ardea: during which siege, the principal men of the army meeting one evening at the tent of Sextus Tarquinius, the king's son, in their discourses after supper every one commended the virtues of his own wife; among whom, Collatinus extolled the incomparable chastity of his wife Lucretia. In that pleasant humour they all posted to Rome; and, intending by their secret and sudden arrival to make trial of that which every one had before avouched, only Collatinus finds his wife, though it were late in the night, spinning amongst her maids: the other ladies were all found dancing and revelling, or in several disports; whereupon the noblemen yielded Collatinus the victory, and his wife the fame. At that time Sextus Tarquinius, being inflamed with Lucrece' beauty, yet smothering his passions for the present, departed with the rest back to the camp; from whence he shortly after privily withdrew himself, and was, according to his estate royally entertained and lodged by Lucrece at Collatium.

2 This argument is presumed to have been written by the Poet himself, and it was prefixed to the edition of 1594. Besides that it narrates the story with clearness and simplicity, it has the further interest of being the only prose composition of Shakespeare, not dramatic, known to exist, except the two dedications to Southamp

ton.

H.

The same night, he treacherously stealeth into her chainber, violently ravished her, and early in the morning speedeth away. Lucrece, in this lamentable plight, hastily despatcheth messengers, one to Rome for her father, another to the camp for Collatine. They came, the one accompanied with Junius Brutus, the other with Publius Valerius; and, finding Lucrece attired in mourning habit, demanded the cause of her sorrow. She, first taking an oath of them for her revenge, revealed the actor, and whole manner of his dealing, and withal suddenly stabbed herself: which done, with one consent they all vowed to root out the whole hated family of the Tarquins; and, bearing the dead body to Rome, Brutus acquainted the people with the doer and manner of the vile deed, with a bitter invective against the tyranny of the king; wherewith the people were so moved, that, with one consent and a genera acclamation, the Tarquins were all exiled, and the state government changed from kings to consuls.

FROM the besieged Ardea all in post,

Borne by the trustless wings of false desire,
Lust-breathed Tarquin leaves the Roman host,
And to Collatium bears the lightless fire,
Which, in pale embers hid, lurks to aspire,
And girdle with embracing flames the waist
Of Collatine's fair love, Lucrece the chaste.

Haply, that name of chaste unhappily set
This bateless edge on his keen appetite;
When Collatine unwisely did not let'

To praise the clear unmatched red and white,
Which triumph'd in that sky of his delight;
Where mortal stars, as bright as heaven's beautics,
With pure aspects did him peculiar duties.

1 The proper meaning of let, as we have often seen in the plays, was to hinder or prevent. Here it seems to be used reflexively; that is, did not let or hinder himself; or, did not forbear.

H.

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