It is the mind that maketh good or ill,

JOHNSON.

SACKVILLE.

That makes a wretch, or happy, rich, or poor,
For some that have abundance at their will
Have not enough but want in greatest store,
Another that hath little asks for more,
But in that little is both rich and wise.

Divine Philosophy!

SPENSER.

Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools believe,
But musical as is Apollo's lute.

SHAKSPEARE.

Now must I make such amends to the courteous reader for keeping him away so long from the chiefest person in this my story as may hold him in good humour until he cometh to the end of the narration, for doubtless some may think Master Shakspeare hath not been well used of me, inasmuch as so much less hath lately been said of him than of others, but it be beyond all manner of contradiction that aught of great goodness should be used sparingly, else shall it be straight lessened in value. Things that lack rareness be seldom esteemed by any man; and Master Shakspeare being possessed of excellence of so rare a sort, methinks my thrusting him into these pages less oft than those of less note shall make him all the more liked of such who know how to prize such extreme worthiness. Albeit, though of

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this conceit, yet here must I say this much-to wit, Master Shakspeare did bring out his play called "The Merry Wives of Windsor," that was so much approved of by Queen Elizabeth and all her court upon its reading, at which time her majesty with a fine company of courtiers did honour the playhouse with her presence, and seemed to relish the acting of it marvellously; and it met with wonderful success, as its singular merit well deserved. To mark the sense the queen's majesty had of him, his vast genius, and great honesty of heart, the next day she sent him a purse of money with a commendable message. After this he sat to the writing of other plays, whereof many were relished of the town in a like manner, and these, together with what he derived from his playing, brought him in such gains, as gave him no fear of the future, and enabled him to send loving tokens to his relations very frequently, and to invite his brother Edmund from Stratford to become a player with him in London.

His reputation continuing so to increase, he was much sought after by many noblemen and persons of worship, who took huge delight in his society for the delicacy of his wit and the honourableness of his behaviour. He was held in such request of them, that no name was so oft or famously spoken of; and amongst the gay gallants of the time, not to have been in company with Master Shakspeare argued a want of distinction that was considered of all an infinite disparagement. Of those who esteemed him most was there none so true a friend as my Lord of Southampton, for he seemed not only never to tire in doing him good service, but the more he did for him in the way of friendliness, the more appeared he inclined to do. Indeed he was such a patron as a poet hath been seldom blessed with, but this also may be said, he met with such a poet as patron never had. About this time Master Shakspeare took also to the writing of poems, whereof one was of the subject of Venus and Adonis, and the other the Rape of Lucrece, and both were very movingly writ, and full of right delicate fancies. They were dedicated by him unto his excellent good friend and patron, in token of what respect he held him in, and in grateful remembrance of my lord's manifold good offices.

It so fell out that Master Shakspeare, though he had some share in the playhouse at the Blackfriars before this, as well as that of the Globe at the Bankside, had been exceeding

anxious to have greater share in them; yet lacked he the means to do it with, for it required no small sum. He had saved but little, and could scarce expect, saved he ever so, to get for some years to come as much as he needed. This told he to none, for he was not of a nature to solicit a favour, though few writers of his time stood upon much ceremony in that respect. His friend Master Burbage knew of it only, and it was like enough he should have more knowledge of his affairs than any other, because of their being such constant associates, sharers of the same property, and fellowplayers; and from its being equally the desire of one as of the other, that Master Shakspeare should have a greater interest in the playhouse than what he had. For such purpose the latter was eager to increase his gains as fast as he might that he should the sooner realise his wish, therefore brought he out as many plays as he could, together with the poems that have already been mentioned.

About this time Master Shakspeare was in a large room in the playhouse at Blackfriars, that served as a wardrobe. It had shelves and presses in it as many as it could hold, and pins against the wainscot, on which were placed a wonderful variety of different dresses, such as might be worn of the players in their different plays. There were the robes of the Ottomite and the Venetian, the swarthy Moor and the gay Italian, the ancient Greek and Roman, and others of modern date, as well foreign as English, together with divers suits of armour, weapons of sundry sorts, hats, caps, cloaks, doublets, jerkins, and boots, seemingly out of all number. The room was so crowded with such motley gear that there was scarcely a space for one to sit; yet had Master Shakspeare found himself a seat, he being in the habit of using this chamber as a dressing-room; and there sat he in a deep arm-chair, resting of himself, as if after some labour he had undergone, or considering of some matter he was intent upon. He was dressed in what appeared to be a complete suit of armour, having his vizor up, and what could be seen of his face looked exceeding pale and ghostlike, but doubtless that was from some white stuff he had put on it to make it so. He was leaning back in his seat, with his legs stretched out before him, resting upon his elbow upon an old table, upon which there was seen a rapier and a hat, some papers, with pen and ink, a silver goblet with a flask of wine at the side of it, and two or three books. There was a log blazing

on the fire-dogs nearly opposite to him, which cast a cheerful light over the room.

Whilst he was sitting as he was, there was ever and anon heard a voice shouting out famously, which beyond all manner of doubt could belong to none other than Gib the callboy; and at other times there was heard a noise like unto a great clapping of hands. Once the latter sounds were of so great a loudness, it roused Master Shakspeare from his thoughtfulness, and he jumped up of a sudden with a smile upon his face, that showed he found some satisfaction in them. Then he took off his helmet, and such portion of his armour as encased the upper part of his body and arms; and going to an ewer and basin that stood in a corner, fell to washing of his face, humming of a merry tune all the while, which was only interrupted by the splashing of his mouth with the water. As he was finishing of his lavation he broke out into the following pleasant song.

"Go, happy youth, and loudly swear
That with thy Love none can compare;
And vow to own her angel hand,
Will make the proudest of the land.

Thou hast her hand. Though that be true,

I asked not for a cudgel too;

And though mine own my angel be,

She now doth play the devil with me.'

'Alack! alack! and well-a-day!'
I heard a hapless husband say,
'Bachelors all be not too bold,

'Tis better go hang than marry a scold.'

"Go, happy youth, and swear once more,
Thy Love all Loves be far before.
'Troth I another wife have got,
Who never rateth me one jot.'
A month passed by-the honey-moon-
The doting husband changed his tune;
'O hapless wight! my wife,' cried he,
'Loves others quite as well as me!'

Alack! alack! and well-a-day!'
I heard a hapless husband say,
'Bachelors all be not betrayed,
'Tis better go hang than marry a jade.'

"Go, happy youth, and swear at last
That all thy travail now is passed.