The lady of the sonnets is called

'As black as hell, as dark as night.'

This repetition in the latter sonnets from an early play is the most remarkable in all Shakspeare's writings, and it reverses his usual custom, which is to repeat in the play, from the sonnet whenever he quotes himself. The only satisfactory solution is that the description was written and repeated for the same person, and all the evidence concurs, all the points converge in the inevitable conclusion that this was Lady Rich. There was but one Lady Rich; a woman who had no living likeness, and her ladyship is the only possible 'she' of these descriptions which are not presentments of an ordinary dark complexion, but of a complexion that was the most extraordinary.

Thus we have Penelope Rich identified as the lady of the latter sonnets, by the portrait which Sidney drew and Shakspeare copied. She is identified as the cousin of Elizabeth Vernon-the 'Lascivious Grace' that intrigued for purposes amatory and political-the witch-woman who had strange cunning in quickening men's pulses-the tyrant in her capricious power of plaguing. We have her identified by the very facts of her married life, her age in contrast with Herbert's youth, her ill deeds and darkening reputation; by the mysterious union of opposites in her complexion-the 'light condition in a beauty dark,' and by the starry immortality of her strange black eyes; in short, we have the Lady Rich, in feature, and in fame; the Lady Rich by nature, and by name.

The Historian Clarendon, in his portrait of the Earl of Pembroke, makes a statement very much akin to my reading of these latter sonnets as spoken by William Herbert to Lady Rich. He remarks the Earl was immoderately given up to women. But, therein he likewise

6

puts on its scowl. In the king's eyes the black brows are repulsive, on account of the contrast implied, and he likens their colour to the scowl on the brow of Night.

CLARENDON'S DESCRIPTION OF HERBERT'S PASSION. 365

retained such a power and jurisdiction over his appetite that he was not so much transported with beauty and outward allurements as with those advantages of the mind, as manifested an extraordinary wit, and spirit, and knowledge, and administered great pleasure in the conversation. To these he sacrificed himself, his precious time, and much of his fortune; and some, who were nearest his trust and friendship, were not without apprehension that his natural vivacity and vigour of mind began to lessen and decline by those excessive indulgences.' This is the exact replica of the character and taste of Shakspeare's speaker. It is a perfect parallel to the 141st sonnet. Throughout the sonnets, the speaker keeps saying it is not the outward allurements of the lady's loveliness, that hold his foolish heart captive not her hair, nor her complexion, nor her facethese have not sufficient beauty to account for his subserviency. The eyes, of course, have their charm; they are the windows from whence looks a spirit wonderful in wit and wantoness, and in its ripest age of power; the potent spirit that by word or look can bind him fast in strong invisible toils. He protests he is not the slave of his senses, but that neither senses nor wits can dissuade him from loving her. Then, if the character of the speaker in these sonnets is true to the one portrayed by Clarendon, the character of the Earl's 'particular vanities' is precisely that of the lady here addressed and of the Lady Rich, about the year 1600. The glosses of her youth were going; the flower had shed its purest perfume; those that once kneeled to the rose-bud' might stop their noses' against the rose over-blown. But, her magic in working on the heart, and flinging a glamour over the eyes of a youth, must have attained its supremest subtlety. She had a keen wit; was sprightly in conversation, and could say things full of salt and sparkle as a wave of the sea. Her hardened feelings had taken a diamond-like point.

Her natural simplicities of the early time were now craftily turned into conscious art. Practice had made her perfect in the use of those conquering eyes when they took aim with their deadly level in the dark. She was mistress of a combination of forces most fatal to a young and fervent admirer; knew well how to feed his flame, and could turn her own years into a maturer charm for his youth. And as the Herbert of Clarendon's portrait is one in character with the speaker of these sonnets, and as the lady of the sonnets is the fittest of types for the females quoted by the Historian as being so victorious over the Earl, it is but reasonable to suppose that Lady Rich may have sat for Clarendon's description as well as for Shakspeare's. The Poet would not be the only person conversant with the Earl's passion for this lady. The knowledge would be extant, the fact would still live on in the memory of Clarendon's older friends-one or more of whom may have been the very friends of Herbert referred to when he wrote his history. It is obvious that he had in mind particular instances from which he generalised his description, and it is certain that no more perfect illustration of his meaning could have existed than in the person and character of Lady Rich.

DRAMATIC SONNETS.

1599-1600.

WILLIAM HERBERT'S PASSION FOR LADY RICH.

In the old age black was not counted fair,
Or if it were, it bore not Beauty's name;
But now is black Beauty's successive heir,
And Beauty slandered with a bastard shame:
For since each hand hath put on Nature's power,
Fairing the foul with Art's false-borrowed face,
Sweet Beauty hath no name, no holy hour,'
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace:
Therefore my Mistress' eyes are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem:

Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says, Beauty should look so!

'No holy hour. The Quarto reads 'bower.'

(127.)

Malone made the altera

tion, which is very happy. The idea is of the hour of worship: this is shown by the 'profaned' of the next line. Also see sonnet 68:

'In him those holy antique hours (of beauty) are seen.'

My mistress' eyes,' These eyes are so dwelt upon, and the lady's hair is so obviously omitted as to suggest a something quite unaccountable. Walker fancied the 'eyes' of this line might have been a misprint for 'hairs.' The editors of the 'Globe' and 'Gem' editions, acting on this hint, have taken a leap in the dark, and printed brows.' By 'her eyes so suited,' Shakspeare did not mean also, but her eyes thus dressed in black. A repetition which lays a double stress upon the eyes.

Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me,
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain,
Have put on black, and loving mourners be,
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain:
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east,
Nor that full star that ushers in the even
Doth half that glory to the sober west,

As those two mourning eyes become thy face :'

O, let it then as well beseem thy heart

To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace,
And suit thy pity like in every part:

Then will I swear Beauty herself is black,
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.

How oft when thou, my Music, music playést
Upon that blesséd wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers, when thou gently swayést
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap

To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,

Whilst my poor lips, which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more blest than living lips:

Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.2

When my Love swears that she is made of truth
I do believe her, tho' I know she lies;
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearnéd in the world's false subtleties!

1 So in the 'Taming of the Shrew :'—

'What stars do spangle heaven with such beauty

As those two eyes become that heavenly face?'

(132.)

(128.)

2 This is the only sonnet about which I have any lasting misgivings. I think it may be one of the Southampton series. To me it mirrors the face of Mistress Vernon rather than that of her cousin. But as it does not necessarily belong to any one of the stories, and as I wish to alter no more than I am compelled, I have left it with Herbert's sonnets.