The Shakespeare Code

Please Note: Part 33 – which deals with William Shakespeare’s Sonnets written on the 1595 tour of The Chamberlain’s Men – is being re-issued with the addition of 7 Sonnets.

The reason for this revision will be given in detail in a subsequent post.

It’s best to read ‘The Return of the Dark Lady’ Part 32 first.

Harry Southampton came of age on 6^th October 1594 – and took charge of his own finances.

He paid his guardian Lord Burghley a £5,000 fine because he refused to marry Burghley’s grand-daughter, Elizabeth de Vere….

 And, according to William Davenant, Shakespeare’s natural son…….

……gave Shakespeare a gift of £1,000.

Harry – impressed with the huge popular success of his mother’s commission, A Midsummer Night’s Dream….

…..and the succes d’estime of The Rape of Lucrece which Shakespeare dedicated to him…..

…….drops George Chapman as his lover and protegee…..

….and re-instates Shakespeare.

Shakespeare uses part of this money  to buy a share in the Lord Chamberlain’s Men – and on 15^th March, 1595, goes with Burbage and Kempe go to Whitehall to be paid for their Christmas performances in 1594….

….one of which was The Dream…..

There were riots in London in June, 1595. Martial law was imposed and the theatres were shut. Shakespeare was forced to tour with his new company to Ipswich and Cambridge…..

Harry gave Shakespeare a miniature of himself…..

 

……as a keepsake.

And Shakespeare resumed his affair with Harry.  But after Harry’s earlier infidelity – and flirtation with Chapman, the relationship was never to be as ecstatic as it was before.

ON TOUR. 1595.

100. (43)

When most I wink then do mine eyes best see,

For all the day they view things unrespected;

But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,

And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.

When I have my eyes shut tight, my eyes see best. All day long, on tour, they have to look at things they don’t value: but when I’m asleep and dreaming, they look at you, Harry. My eyes are both dark and bright – and they become bright in the darkness of night when they are led to the image of you.

We can see from the Chandos Portrait of Shakespeare, which Davenant possessed, that Shakespeare’s eyes were indeed ‘darkly bright’ – dark and bright.

Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,

How would thy shadow’s form form happy show,

To the clear day with thy much clearer light,

When to un-seeing eyes thy shade shines so?

You, Harry, whose image brightens the shadows of night – how would you yourself – the source of your image (‘shadow’) – create a joyous spectacle in bright daylight with your own light, clearer than day itself, when your image manages to dazzle my eyes that are blind in the dark.

How would (I say) mine eyes be blessed made

By looking on thee in the living day,

When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade

Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?

My eyes would be truly blessed by looking at you in broad daylight when in the dead of night your beautiful but not fully-formed image rests on my unseeing eyes when I am deeply asleep.

All days are nights to see till I see thee,

And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

Day is as dark as night to me till I see you at night – and then night becomes like day.

101.(44)

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,

Injurious distance should not stop my way,

For then despite of space I would be brought

From limits far remote, where thou dost stay.

If my solid flesh were thought instead, then the harmful distance between us would not stop me from coming to you: for it would not matter how far away I was, I could come to wherever you are.

No matter then although my foot did stand

Upon the farthest earth remov’d from thee,

For nimble thought can jump both sea and land,

As soon as think the place where he would be.

Even if I were in the remotest part of the earth it wouldn’t matter because quick thought can leap over sea and land and be with you as soon as I think of you.

But ah, thought kills me that I am not thought

To leap large lengths of miles when thou art gone,

But that so much of earth and water wrought,

I must attend time’s leisure with my moan.

But the thought that I am not composed of thought – which would allow me to leap over all the miles to you when you are absent –  is a thought that kills me. I am composed of the heavy elements of earth and water (as opposed to fire and air) so I am bound to the confines of time in my misery.

Receiving naught by elements so slow

But heavy tears, badges of either’s woe.

Earth and water are elements that are so weighty and slow-moving that they can only produce  tears – tokens of our joint misery at being parted from each other.

102. (45)

The other two, slight air and purging fire,

Are both with thee, wherever I abide;

The first my thought, the other my desire,

These present absent with swift motion slide.

The remaining two elements of which I am composed – weightless air and purifying fire – are always with you, wherever I am. Air is my thought about you and my fire is my sexual passion for you – they move quickly – ‘present’ with you, but ‘absent’ from me.

For when these quicker Elements are gone

In tender Embassy of love to thee,

My life being made of four, with two alone,

Sinks down to death, oppresst with melancholy,

So when the lively elements of air and fire are gone to tender my love in homage to you, I am left with heavy earth and water which make me earthbound and sad.

Until life’s composition be recurred,

By those swift messengers return’d from thee,

Who even but now come back again assured

Of thy fair health, recounting it to me.

Until I am restored to the full four elements, when fire and air are sent swiftly back to me, assuring me that all is well with you.

This told, I joy; but then no longer glad,

I send them back again and straight grow sad.

Knowing you are in good health, I am full of happiness. But I am obliged to return them to you, and immediately feel sad.

103. (46)

Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war,

How to divide the conquest of thy sight;

Mine eye, my heart thy picture’s sight would bar,

My heart, mine eye the freedom of that right.

My eye and my heart are engaged in a deadly war about how to divide the spoils of the miniature of you which you gave me.

My eye wants to stop your heart from looking at you – and my heart your eye.

My heart doth plead that thou in him dost lie,

(A closet never pierst with crystal eyes)

But the defendant doth that plea deny,

And says in him thy fair appearance lies.

My heart pleads in evidence that you, Harry, reside in my heart, a private room never broken open by the eye with its cutting crystal edge: but the defendant, my eye, refutes that argument and says that you, Harry, reside more in your reflection in his eye.

To ‘cide this title is impanelled,

A quest of thoughts, all tenants to the heart,

And by their verdict is determined

The clear eye’s moiety, and the dear heart’s part.

To judge this case a jury of thoughts are summoned, all dependent on the heart – and their judgement will determine the case for the eye – full of clarity – and the case for the heart – full of devotion.

As thus, mine eye’s due is thy outward part,

And my heart’s right, thy inward love of heart.

My eyes case rets on your appearance: my heart’s case on your inner love.

104. (47)

Betwixt mine eye and heart a league is took,

And each doth good turns now unto the other;

When that mine eye is famisht for a look,

Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother,

My eye and heart have come to an agreement – and now they are working as a team. When my eye is starved of your sight or my heart is suffocated with sighing for you….

With my love’s picture then my eye doth feast,

And to the painted banquet bids my heart;

An other time mine eye is my heart’s guest,

And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.

Then my eye feasts on the sight of your miniature and invites my heart to the banquet. At other times, my eye is the guest of my heart and shares my hearts thoughts of love for you.

So either by thy picture or my love,

Thy self away, art present still with me,

For thou not farther than my thoughts canst move,

And I am still with them, and they with thee.

So either by means of my miniature of you – or my love for you – you are with me even if you are absent from me: because you cannot move further away from me than my thoughts of you: I am with them and they are with you.

Or if they sleep, thy picture in my sight

Awakes my heart, to heart’s and eye’s delight.

And if I do stop thinking about you, your miniature acts as prompt to arouse my thoughts of you and my love for you.

105. (48)

How careful was I when I took my way,

Each trifle under truest bars to thrust,

That to my use it might un-used stay

From hands of falsehood, in sure wards of trust;

When I left to go on tour I made certain that even my least valuable possessions were safely locked away – so they might be kept for my own personal uses and not be vulnerable to people I do not trust – locked up with keys that I DO trust.

But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are,

Most worthy comfort, now my greatest grief,

Thou best of dearest, and mine only care,

Art left the prey of every vulgar thief.

But you Harry, compared to whom even my jewels are of no consequence, who in the past has been my moral comfort – but now, because of your infidelity, has become my greatest source of anxiety, who are the most valued of all those I hold dear, and the only person (1) about whom I care and (2) causes me worry – because of their propensity to be unfaithful – I have left vulnerable to be snapped up by every ‘vulgar thief’ = (1) every common thief and (2) every lower class thief – e.g. male prostitutes.

Thee have I not lockt up in any chest,

Save where thou art not, though I feel thou art,

Within the gentle closure of my breast

From whence at pleasure thou mayst come and part;

I haven’t locked you up in any chest Harry – except the chest of my bosom – where, though I know you are not literally there, it seems to me that you are metaphorically there, where you can come and go as you please.

And even thence thou wilt be stol’n I fear,

For truth proves thievish for a prize so dear.

But even in my chest you will not be safe from theft.  For you are so valuable that Truth itself would become a thief in order to obtain you.

Note: Clearly at this stage of his career, Shakespeare was rich enough to possess jewels – either a gift from Harry or bought with the £1,000 that Harry had given him.

106. (50)

How heavy do I journey on the way,

When what I seek (my weary travel’s end)

Doth teach that ease and that repose to say:

‘Thus far the miles are measur’d from thy friend.’

How slowly and sadly I ride when, the very thing I seek – rest and repose after a hard day’s travelling – reminds me how far I have travelled from my friend.

The beast that bears me, tired with my woe,

Plods dully on, to bear that weight in me,

As if by some instinct the wretch did know

His rider lov’d not speed being made from thee:

The horse, who seems to empathise with my sorrow is reduced to a dull, plodding pace, because of the weight of my sadness, as though the horse instinctively knows that I don’t like speed – at least when I’m speeding away from you.

Shakespeare is now rich enough to ride on a horse when he tours.

The bloody spur cannot provoke him on,

That some-times anger thrusts into his hide,

Which heavily he answers with a groan,

More sharp to me than spurring to his side,

Sometimes I get angry with the slowness of the horse and thrust my spurs so sharply into him that he bleeds. This sometimes causes him to give a groan – which I feel more keenly than he does my spur.

For that same groan doth put this in my mind:

My grief lies onward and my joy behind.

The reason for this is the groan of the horse echoes my own realisation that the only thing in front of me is sadness and all my joy lies (1) in the place I have left you and (2) when I engage in anal sex with you.

‘Joy’ also introduces a coded reference to Charles Blount……

…..who, on the sudden death of his brother, had become 8th Baron Mountjoy on 27th June, 1594. He was also High Steward of Portsmouth – just a few miles away from Harry Southampton’s favourite country residence, Place House in Titchfield.

This code is picked up in the next two sonnets 107 and 108 (old order numbers are 51 and 52). Sonnet 106 was originally Sonnet 50 – so Shakespeare intended them in sequence.

107. (51)

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence

Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed,

From where thou art, why should I haste me thence,

Till I return of posting is no need.

This way I can excuse the slowness of my horse: why should I travel quickly when my journey takes me away from you? There is no need of speed till I make my return journey to you.

O what excuse will my poor beast then find,

When swift extremity can seem but slow?

Then should I spur, though mounted on the wind,

In winged speed no motion shall I know;

What excuse will my horse dream up in those circumstances, when even the fastest gallop will seem slow? In returning to you I would use my spur even if I was riding on the wind: then I will be moving at such speed it will seem as if I am not moving at all.

Note: ‘Mounted’ introduces the next coded reference to Charles Blount, 8th Baron Mountjoy.

Then can no horse with my desire keep pace;

Therefore desire (of perfect’st love being made)

Shall neigh no dull flesh in his fiery race,

But love, for love, thus shall excuse my jade:

In these circumstances, no horse alive will travel as fast as I’d want him to travel – so my desire for you Harry, made up of my complete love for you, will not tolerate the physical limitations of a horse in his gallop towards you. But my love for you will make me pardon my horse.

Since from thee going, he went wilfull slow,

Towards thee I’ll run, and give him leave to go.

Since my horse purposely went slowly when he carried me away from you, I myself will run towards you – and give my horse his freedom to run at whatever rate pleases him.

108. (52)

So am I as the rich whose blessed key,

Can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure,

The which he will not every hour survey,

For blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure.

So I am similar to a man of wealth whose hallowed key can unlock the sweetness of his treasures to him.  He doesn’t look at his treasures every hour of the day because it would spoil the treat of looking at them every so often.

Note: Shakespeare here completes his coded reference to Charles Blount, 8th Lord Mountjoy. He uses the word ‘rich‘ – a reference to Penelope Rich…..

…..who played the Princess of France in Love’s Labour’s Lost, where Shakespeare plays on the word ‘rich’ six times in the final scene in the play….

Beginning with the Princess of France’s first line:

‘Dear friends, we shall be rich ere we depart…’

Penelope Rich also played Helena in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Shakespeare also uses the word ‘blunting’ to refer to Charles Blount: ‘Blount’ was – and is – pronounced ‘Blunt’.

Blount played Longaville in Love’s Labour’s Lost. Maria in the play describes him as having…

‘A sharp wit matched with too blunt a will’.

Therefore are feasts so solemn and so rare,

Since seldom coming in that long year set;

Like stones of worth they thinly placed are,

Or captain Jewels in the carcanet.

It is for this reason that religious feasts in the church are so significant and valued as they come so rarely within the church year. Like valuable jewels they are spread out over caskets – leading and setting off the less valuable stones.

So is the time that keeps you as my chest,

Or as the ward-robe which the robe doth hide,

To make some special instant special blest,

By new unfolding his imprison’d pride.

Similar to this is the time when I am separated from you by touring, when you become like a chest or a wardrobe that hides clothes from me – but which can sometimes open and give me delight.

Blessed are you whose worthiness gives scope,

Being had to triumph, being lackt to hope.

You are special and blessed by God: I triumph when I am with you – and am full of hope tom see you again when I’m not.

109. (39)

Oh how thy worth with manners may I sing,

When thou art all the better part of me?

What can mine own praise to mine own self bring,

And what is’t but mine own when I praise thee?

How can I write about your worthiness when you are all that is best in me myself? How can I praise myself – for that is what I do when I praise you.

With ‘manners’ we have another coded reference to the Southampton circle of friends: Roger Manners, the 5th Earl of Rutland….

…who was a close younger friend of Harry.

He played Dumaine in Love’s Labour’s Lost at the age of sixteen – and there are constant references to his youth and beardless state.

Dumaine himself plays upon the Rutland family name when he talks about ‘the grosser manner of the world’s delight’ – and in a three speech exchange between Costard and Berowne, the word ‘manner’ is used seven times.

Even for this, let us divided live,

And our dear love lose name of single one,

That by this separation I may give

That due to thee which thou deserv’st alone:

For this reason – that we are the same – let us live for a time apart: that way I can praise you as something separate from me.

‘Name of single one’ recalls the Southampton family motto: ‘Ung par tout’ = ‘All for one’ or ‘all is one’.

Oh absence, what a torment wouldst thou prove,

Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave

To entertain the time with thoughts of love,

Which time and thoughts so sweetly dost deceive.

Being away from you, Harry, would be torture if it didn’t also give me the free time – however distasteful I find it – to think about my love for you which sweetens both time itself and my mental pre-occupations.

And that thou teachest how to make one twain

By praising him here who doth hence remain.

Harry’s absence teaches Shakespeare how to make one thing into two by praising Harry and making him present in verse – whereas he is in fact somewhere else.

110. (75)

So are you to my thoughts as food to life,

Or as sweet season’d showers are to the ground:

And for the peace of you I hold such strife

As ‘twixt a miser and his wealth is found.

You are as essential to my thoughts as food is to living or showers of rain are to the earth. And for the ‘peace of you’ = (1) The deep tranquility I find in your presence and (2) A bit of you – with implications of Harry’s penis.

Now proud as an enjoyer, and anon

Doubting the filching age will steal his treasure;

Now counting best to be with you alone,

Then better’d that the world may see my pleasure;

Pleased to enjoy your company, but worried that you will be stolen from me by these thieving times, sometimes thinking that it’s best to be alone with you and at other times wanting to show you off to the world.

Some-time all full with feasting on your sight,

And by and by clean starved for a look,

Possessing or pursuing no delight

Save what is had, or must from you be took.

Sometimes I make such a feast of you that I am completely satiated: at other times I scarcely get a look from you. I have no joy – obtained or sought after – but I only what I possess or take from you.

Thus do I pine and surfeit day by day,

Or gluttoning on all, or all away.

In this way I either starve with hunger or make a pig of myself: I either gobble you all up – or you are completely absent from me.

111. (61)

Is it thy will thy Image should keep open

My heavy eyelids to the weary night?

Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,

While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?

Is it your ‘will’ = (1) wish or (2) penis or (3) the nature of your William Shakespeare, that keeps me awake when I am exhausted? Is it your wish to wake me up when images of you appear before my eyes?

Is it thy spirit that thou send’st from thee

So far from home into my deeds to pry,

To find out shames and idle hours in me,

The scope and tenure of thy Jealousy?

Do you send your spirit so far away from our home to spy on me – to find out about any shameful behaviour or laziness on my part – because you are jealous of me?

O no, thy love though much, is not so great;

It is my love that keeps mine eye awake,

Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,

To play the watch-man ever for thy sake.

No: you love me a lot, but not enough to make you jealous. It is my love for you that keeps me awake – my own, faithful love of you that stops me getting to sleep. I cast myself in the role of night-watchman.

For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,

From me far off, with others all too near.

I keep watch over you – awake somewhere else in the night – far off from me but close up to someone else.

To read ‘Fear of Rejection’, Part 34, click: HERE