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tion of the people. But the group of histories, comedies, and tragicomedies written between 1597 and 1600 exhibits that complexity of workmanship and variety of resource which is the sign of the highest art. In The Merchant of Venice three separate fabliaux are blended in one action in such a manner as to create perfectly natural situation, and to give a new complexion to the incidents of the original story. Tragedy and comedy are harmonised by combining the principle of the roman with that of the fabliau; the tales of Italy supply the framework of the play; the romances of Spain its complication and pathos.

The underplot is now so artfully connected with the main action that, whereas in The Comedy of Errors, Love's Labour's Lost, and The Two Gentlemen of Verona the euphuistic combat of wit is introduced in separate episodes too plainly for the amusement of the audience, the intervention of the characters of low life in Much Ado about Nothing serves to develop the plot; while in As You Like It and Twelfth Night the appearance of the Fool, metamorphosed from the Vice of the Morality, gives ironic point to the passages of philosophical reflection.

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Again the lyric element is now completely fused with the dramatic. In the Comedies of Illusion fancy plays with such uncontrolled freedom that we seem scarcely in touch with the world of reality. On the other hand an atmosphere of humanity and society pervades the entire action of The Merchant of Venice, Much Ado about Nothing, As You Like It, and Twelfth Night. Yet so far from there being any failure in the lyric vein that prevails in A Midsummer-Night's Dream and The Tempest, we find in the later plays passages of such transcendent beauty as the garden scene at Belmont in The Merchant of Venice; the soliloquies of King Henry V. in his capacity both of Prince of Wales and of King; the speeches of Jaques in As You Like It; and the scene between Viola and the Duke, beginning "Give me some music," in Twelfth Night.

A similar balance and complexity of thought is displayed in the representation of character. We are

placed in situations which enable us to observe with advantage the operations of contrary instincts in the souls of men. The principle of virtù is shown in its proper relation and proportion to other qualities. Egotistic resolution is, as in the case of Shylock, either opposed by the law of religion and humanity, or contrasted with unselfishness like that of Antonio. In Henry V. virtù is exalted into kingly heroism, modified only by an inclination to reflective irony. Honour works diversely in characters so differently composed as Hotspur and Falstaff. Love overcomes the mocking spirit of Benedick; philosophic reflection springs out of the libertine experience of Jaques ; the absurd disproportion in the ideas of self-love is illustrated in the persons of Dogberry and Malvolio.

Nothing is more significant of Shakespeare's advance in art than his growing skill in the portraiture of women. While he was writing in the vein of Marlowe or Lyly, it was not to be expected that his heroines should present marked features. Melodramatic creatures of lust and revenge like Tamora; viragoes like Margaret of Anjou; lay figures such as Hermia or Helena; beautiful fancies such as Miranda; shrews of the type of Adriana or Kate,— characters of this stamp scarcely serve to discriminate the feminine from the masculine sex, except when (as illustrated in The Taming of the Shrew) they exhibit the inferiority of the former in strength of will. On coming to the period of the Romantic Comedies and Tragi-Comedies all is changed. The female personages of these plays present in a highly-developed form the wit of the woman of the Italian fabliau joined to the sentiment of the woman of the Spanish romance. No longer overpowered by man, as in the earlier tragedies, or fading into shadowy outline, as in the Comedies of Illusion, woman now takes a leading part, through her mother wit and readiness of invention, in the evolution of the action, making up by the flexibility of her mind and the delicacy of her perception for her lack of physical force. To this dramatic period belong Portia, most delightful of Shakespeare's women, sound of instinct, honourable in principle, clear of

head, and warm of heart; Rosalind, skilful in disguising the depth of her passion beneath the brilliancy of her wit; Beatrice, with a temper, apparently hard and bright as a diamond, yet capable of loyal friendship, brought into subjection to love; Maria, the shrewd waiting - woman, who tricks Malvolio; Viola, most beautiful example in poetry of female self-sacrifice.

As regards language and versification, the appearance of a more figurative and metaphysical diction marks the beginning of a new dramatic manner in the plays of this period, while the frequent use of rhyme links the versification to that of the preceding group. Both features are exemplified in in Richard II., the earliest of the later histories

GAUNT. All places that the eye of heaven visits

Are to a wise man ports and happy havens.
Teach thy necessity to reason thus ;
There is no virtue like necessity.
Think not the king did banish thee,

But thou the king. Woe doth the heavier sit,
Where it perceives it is but faintly borne.
Go, say I sent thee forth to purchase honour,
And not the king exiled thee; or suppose
Devouring pestilence hangs in our air,
And thou art flying to a fresher clime :
Look, what thy soul holds dear, imagine it

To lie what way thou go'st, not whence thou comest;

Suppose the singing birds musicians,

The grass whereon thou tread'st the presence strewed,
The flowers fair ladies, and thy steps no more

Than a delightful measure or a dance;
For gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite
The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

BOLINGBROKE. O, who can hold a fire in his hand

By thinking on the frosty Caucasus ?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite
By bare imagination of a feast?
Or wallow naked in December snow
By thinking on fantastic summer's heat?
O, no! the apprehension of the good
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse:
Fell sorrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when he bites, but lanceth not the sore.1

1 Richard II., Act i. Sc. 3.

Here, it will be observed, there are comparatively few eleven-syllable lines, and the pause generally occurs at the end, and not in the middle, of the verse. But, towards the close of this middle period of history and romantic comedy and tragi-comedy, a new metrical style. comes into use, a good specimen of which—as it recalls in some respects the manner of the preceding group-is found in the following speech of Sebastian in Twelfth Night :

This is the air; that is the glorious sun;

This pearl she gave me, I do feel 't and see 't;
And though 'tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Yet 'tis not madness. Where's Antonio, then?
I could not find him at the Elephant :

Yet there he was; and there I found this credit,
That he did range the town to seek me out.
His counsel now might do me golden service;
For though my soul disputes well with my sense,
That this may be some error, but no madness,
Yet doth this accident and flood of fortune
So far exceed all instance, all discourse,
That I am ready to distrust mine eyes

And wrangle with the reason that persuades me
To any other trust but that I am mad,

Or else the lady's mad; yet, if 'twere so,

She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Take and give back affairs and their dispatch
With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
As I perceive she does: there's something in't
That is deceiveable.1

If the elaborate structure of the diction and the metrical sentences in this speech be compared with the simple rhythm of any parallel passage in The Comedy of Errors, it will at once be seen how vastly Shakespeare, by employing his genius on the development of romance, had added to his poetical resources.

Thus, in all the work of Shakespeare between 1596 and 1600, the conflicting elements of art are so blended and balanced that nothing mars the total effect of ideal nature, and the personal voice of the poet is indis

1 Twelfth Night, Act iv. Sc. 3.

tinguishable from the voice of his dramatic offspring. But after the latter date there is a great change in the spirit of his composition. Among the plays next produced are Hamlet, Othello, All's Well that Ends Well, Measure for Measure, Macbeth, King Lear, Pericles, Cymbeline, and The Winter's Tale. In all of these the tragic element vastly predominates over the comic; where comedy is introduced it is apt to be bitter, sarcastic, and sometimes even repulsive. Moreover, the tragedy lies rather in character than in action; as the titles of most of the plays show, the interest turns not so much on the evolution of a plot reflecting the general course of human affairs, as in a situation involving the misfortunes of a particular person. And lastly, in the feelings and utterances of these leading persons, we seem to hear unmistakably the voice of the poet himself. Can it be doubted that, in the philosophic speculation of Hamlet, Shakespeare is expressing his own ideas; that he has himself felt the passionate jealousy represented in Othello, Posthumus, and Leontes; that the agony of mental conflict in Angelo reflects the experience of his creator; that something more than the abstract imagination of the "hack playwright" inspires the imprecations of Lear? The tragic view of life, presented alike in the spectacle of the mad king, and in Hamlet's soliloquies, is identical with the lyrical cry of the author of the Sonnet beginning :

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry.1

Yet this intrusion of the poet's personality does not overthrow the just balance of his art or his moral judgment. As before, he continues to ground his plays on well-known tales and legends, and to choose for representation actions which will be readily apprehended by the spectators. The personal element no doubt affects the structure of the play. Soliloquies increase in number. As the interest lies more in character than in the progress of the plot, the dénouement of the play is often treated as in Measure for

1 Sonnet lxvi.

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