FINAL APPEAL TO THE LOVER'S MANHOOD. 379 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth,— Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on Men, (146.) The first two lines of this sonnet in the Quarto read— 'Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, My sinful earth these rebel powers that thee array.' There being two syllables too many in the second line, Malone thought the printers had inadvertently repeated 'my sinful earth,' and proposed to read, 'Fooled by these rebel powers that thee array.' It has been sug Steevens would read, Starved by the rebel powers.' gested that we should read, 'Foiled by these rebel powers.' Also, Slave to these rebel powers, &c.' I have simply taken out two superfluous words, which the printers stuck in, and the result is perfect sense, without losing the added touch of solemnity that is given, and obviously intended, by the repetition of my sinful earth.' The sonnet is in Shakspeare's largest, simplest style, and he would not have cramped his second line by such an expression as 'that thee array.' Not only would not, he could not, for there is no 'thee' to address in this line. These 'rebel powers' do not array the soul; they are of the flesh; they array his sinful earth. 'Array,' here, does not only mean dress, I think it also signifies that in the flesh these rebel powers set their battle in array against the soul. LADY PENELOPE RICH. PENELOPE Devereux was a daughter of one of those proud old English houses, whose descendants love to dwell on the fact that they came in with the Norman Conquest. The progenitor of the English branch of the Devereux' bore high rank in Normandy before he carved out a larger space for himself on English soil at the battle of Hastings as one of Duke William's fighting men. He became the founder of an illustrious House that was destined to match four times with the royal Plantagenets, and to be enriched with the blood and inherit the honours of the Bohuns and Fitzpierces, Mandevilles and Bouchiers. On the father's side, Penelope Devereux descended from Edward III., and her mother, Lettice Knollys, was cousin, once removed, to Queen Elizabeth. Thus a dash of blood doubly-royal ran in her veins, and in her own personal beauty this noble sap of the family tree appears by all report to have put forth a worthy blossom. Her father was that good Earl Walter whom Elizabeth called ' a rare jewel of her realm and an ornament of her nobility,' whose character was altogether of a loftier kind than that of his more famous son Robert, the royal Favourite. His story is one of the most touching-he having, as it was suspected, had to change worlds in order that Leicester might change women. Penelope was four years older than her brother Robert. DEATH OF THE GOOD EARL WALTER. 381 She was born at Chartley in 1563. Very little is known of her childhood. She was but thirteen years of age, the oldest of five children, at the time of her father's early death, and the bitterest pang felt by the brave and gentle Earl was caused at his parting from the little ones that were being left so young when they so much needed his fatherly forethought and protecting care. There are few stories more pathetic than that told of this Earl's bearing on his death-bed, by the faithful pen of some affectionate soul, said to have been one of his two chaplains, Thomas Knell by name. He suffered terribly and was grievously tormented, says the narrator, for the space of twenty-two days. He was dying far from his poor children, who were about to be left fatherless, with almost worse than no mother. He may have had a dark thought that he had been sent away by one of his enemy's cunning Court-tricks to be stricken and to die-nothing was omitted,' says Camden, whereby to break his mild spirit with continual crosses one in the neck of another'-that Leicester was secretly taking his life preliminary to the taking of his wife; but he bore his affliction with a most valiant mind, and, although he felt intolerable pain, yet he had so cheerful and noble a countenance that he seemed to suffer none at all, or very little,' nor did he murmur through all the time and all the torture. He is described as speaking more like a divine preacher and heavenly prophet' than a mortal man, lying or kneeling with a light soft as the light of a mother's blessing, smiling down from her place in heaven, on his fine face, which was moulded by Nature in her noblest mood, and finished by suffering with its keenest chisel. 'What he spoke,' says the narrator, brake our very hearts, and forced out abundant tears, partly for joy of his godly mind, partly for the doctrine and comfort we had of his words. But, chiefly I blurred the paper with tears as I writ.' His only care in worldly matters was for his children, to whom often he commended his love and blessing, and yielded many times, even with great sighs, most devout prayers to God that he would bless them and give them his grace to fear him. For his daughters also he prayed, lamenting the time, which is so vain and ungodly, as he said, considering the frailness of women, lest they should learn of the vile world. He never seemed to sorrow but for his children. Oh, my poor children,' often would he say, 'God bless you, and give you his grace.' Many times begging mercy at the hands of God, and forgiveness of his sins, he cried out unto God, 'Lord forgive me, and forgive all the world, Lord, from the bottom of my heart, from the bottom of my heart, even all the injuries and wrongs, Lord, that any have done unto me. Lord, forgive them, as I forgive them from the bottom of my heart.' He was anxious that Philip Sidney should marry his daughter Penelope, and in feeling he bequeathed her to him. Speaking of Sidney, two nights before he died he said, 'Oh, that good gentleman! have me commended unto him, and tell him I send him nothing, but I wish him well, and so well that if God so move both their hearts, I wish that he might match with my daughter. I call him son. He is wise, virtuous and godly; and if he go on in the course he hath begun, he will be as famous and worthy a gentleman as England ever bred.' days before his death he wrote his last letter to the Queen, in which he humbly commits his poor children to her Majesty, and her Majesty to the keeping of God. My humble suit must yet extend itself further into many branches, for the behoof of my poor children, that since God doth now make them fatherless, yet it will please your Majesty to be a mother unto them, at the least by your gracious countenance and care of their education, and their matches.' The night before he died 'he called William Hewes, which was his musician, to play upon the virginals and to sing. Play, said he, my song, Will Hewes, Two SIDNEY'S LOVE FOR PENELOPE DEVEREUX. 383 and I will sing it myself. So he did it most joyfully, not as the howling swan, which, still looking down, waileth her end, but as a sweet lark, lifting up his hands and casting up his eyes to his God, with this mounted the crystal skies and reached with his unwearied tongue the top of the highest heavens. Who could have heard and seen this violent conflict, having not a stonied heart, without innumerable tears and watery plaints?' Unhappily, the dying father's wish on the subject of his daughter's marriage was not to be fulfilled. Waterhouse, in his letter to Sir H. Sidney,' unconsciously uttered a prophecy when he said, 'Truly, my lord, I must say to your lordship, as I have said to my Lord of Leicester and Mr. Philip, the breaking off from this match will turn to more dishonour than can be repaired with any other marriage in England!' The marriage did not take place, and in many ways the predicted dishonour came. It has been conjectured that Sidney alluded to Lady Penelope in a letter to his friend, Languet, who, in the course of their correspondence, had exhorted him to marry. He says, 'Respecting her of whom I readily acknowledge how unworthy I am, I have written you my reasons long since, briefly indeed, but yet as well as I was able.'2 If Sidney spoke of Lady Penelope Devereux in this letter, his reasons for not marrying just then may have been that he thought her too young at that time, for she was but fifteen years old, the date of his letter being March 1578. In his 33rd sonnet he reproaches himself for not being able to see by the rising moon' what a fair day' was about to unfold. It is not probable that the two lovers were already apart three years before the lady's marriage with Lord Rich. The time came, however, when, from some fatal cause or other, they were sundered, although there 1 Sydney Memoirs, i. 147. 2 Correspondence of Sidney and Languet, translated by S. A. Pears, 1845: p. 144. |