Death

Undoubtedly Shakespeare's son-in-law, Dr. Hall, attended him, but the nature of his final illness is unknown. A legend has grown up, based on an entry in John Ward, a Stratford vicar's, diary. Ward wrote that "Shakspear Drayton and Ben Jhonson had a merry meeting and it seems drank too hard for Shakespear died of a feavour there contracted." The problem is that the report came from a diary half a century after Shakespeare's death, and cannot be confirmed otherwise. Undoubtedly Ward was privy to local gossip and knew Judith Shakespeare in her later years, but we cannot know if this story amounts to anything more than gossip.

Shakespeare's Will. Whatever the cause of Shakespeare's death, we find him calling for his attorney to revise his will on March 25 (new years day, old style) of 1616. The marriage of his daughter Judith to the unsavory Thomas Quiney made need of amendments. The will is, as G. E. Bentley says, "a characteristic will of a man of property in the reign of James I." (Shakespeare: A Biographical Handbook, 1961). Its provisions are numerous and complicated, but in sum:

It is often wondered that no books or play scripts are mentioned in the will, but of course Shakespeare would have owned no play scripts, since they were the property of the King's Men. Any books would not have been itemized in the will but would have been part of his "goodes."

Shakespeare died on April 23, 1616 and was buried in the chancel of Holy Trinity Church April 25. On the slab over his grave appear the words:

His wishes have been honored, at least by men, though the grave is near the Avon and work of the river underground may have had no respect for the curse. A painted funerary bust was also erected in the church early in the seventeenth century that has lasted to today.

The First Folio. Seven years after his death, Shakespeare's fellows Heminges and Condell brought forth the First Folio: Mr. William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories & Tragedies. It published 36 plays, 18 of which were published therein for the first time. The volume was probably inspired by the 1616 folio edition of Ben Jonson's Workes. It takes time to compile and edit such a large volume, and Heminges and Condell were otherwise busy men.

In the prefatory material to the First Folio was printed the Martin Droeshout engraving of Shakespeare, one of only two likenesses we have of the dramatist that can make claim to any sort of authenticity.

To the Reader.
This Figure, that thou here seest put,
It was for gentle Shakespeare cut,
Wherein the Graver had a strife
with Nature, to out-doo the life :
O, could he but have drawne his wit
As well in brasse, as he hath hit
His face ; the Print would then surpasse
All, that was ever writ in brasse.
But, since he cannot, Reader, looke
Not on his Picture, but his Booke.

Ben Jonson's
Commendation of the
Droeshout engraving
First published 1623.

Martin Droeshout, the engraver, was 15 when Shakespeare died and never knew him. He must have worked from a sketch, for Ben Jonson, in his fine dedicatory poem, says that the engraving caught the likeness of the man exactly. The other likeness with a claim to authenticity is from the funerary bust in Holy Trinity Church, produced by Gheerhart Janssen who was a stonemason who had a shop in Southwark near the Globe. The Shakespeare Monument, as it is known, shows a man similar in appearance to the Droeshout engraving, yet older and heavier. The following link will take you to a view and discussion of the funerary bust. Use the BACK button on your browser to return to this page after veiwing.

The First Folio prefatory material contains Ben Jonson's encomium to Shakespeare, a fine poem in itself:

To the memory of my beloved,
The Author
MR. W I L L I A M S H A K E S P E A R E :
A N D
what he hath left us.

To draw no envy (Shakespeare) on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy Booke, and Fame;
While I confesse thy writings to be such,
As neither Man, nor Muse, can praise too much.
'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these wayes
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise;
For seeliest Ignorance on these may light,
Which, when it sounds at best, but eccho's right;
Or blinde Affection, which doth ne're advance
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance;
Or crafty Malice, might pretend this praise,
And thine to ruine, where it seem'd to raise.
These are, as some infamous Baud, or Whore,
Should praise a Matron. What could hurt her more?
But thou art proofe against them, and indeed
Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need.
I, therefore will begin. Soule of the Age !
The applause ! delight ! the wonder of our Stage !
My Shakespeare, rise; I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lye
A little further, to make thee a roome :
Thou art a Moniment, without a tombe,
And art alive still, while thy Booke doth live,
And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
That I not mixe thee so, my braine excuses ;
I meane with great, but disproportion'd Muses :
For, if I thought my judgement were of yeeres,
I should commit thee surely with thy peeres,
And tell, how farre thou dist our Lily out-shine,
Or sporting Kid or Marlowes mighty line.
And though thou hadst small Latine, and lesse Greeke,
From thence to honour thee, I would not seeke
For names; but call forth thund'ring Ćschilus,
Euripides, and Sophocles to us,
Paccuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,
To life againe, to heare thy Buskin tread,
And shake a stage : Or, when thy sockes were on,
Leave thee alone, for the comparison
Of all, that insolent Greece, or haughtie Rome
Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Triumph, my Britaine, thou hast one to showe,
To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time !
And all the Muses still were in their prime,
When like Apollo he came forth to warme
Our eares, or like a Mercury to charme !
Nature her selfe was proud of his designes,
And joy'd to weare the dressing of his lines !
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As, since, she will vouchsafe no other Wit.
The merry Greeke, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;
But antiquated, and deserted lye
As they were not of Natures family.
Yet must I not give Nature all: Thy Art,
My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part;
For though the Poets matter, Nature be,
His Art doth give the fashion. And, that he,
Who casts to write a living line, must sweat,
(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat
Upon the Muses anvile : turne the same,
(And himselfe with it) that he thinkes to frame;
Or for the lawrell, he may gaine a scorne,
For a good Poet's made, as well as borne.
And such wert thou. Looke how the fathers face
Lives in his issue, even so, the race
Of Shakespeares minde, and manners brightly shines
In his well toned, and true-filed lines :
In each of which, he seemes to shake a Lance,
As brandish't at the eyes of Ignorance.
Sweet swan of Avon! what a fight it were
To see thee in our waters yet appeare,
And make those flights upon the bankes of Thames,
That so did take Eliza, and our James !
But stay, I see thee in the Hemisphere
Advanc'd, and made a Constellation there !
Shine forth, thou Starre of Poets, and with rage,
Or influence, chide, or cheere the drooping Stage;
Which, since thy flight fro' hence, hath mourn'd like night,
And despaires day, but for thy Volumes light.

Historical Perspective. Aside from the commissioned opinions in the First Folio, we get a more personal look at Shakespeare from Ben Jonson's notebooks, called Timber, or Discoveries by Ben Jonson (1640):

De Shakespeare nostrat.

I remember, the Players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakespeare, that in his writing, (whatsoever he penn'd) hee never blotted out line. My answer hath beene, would he had blotted a thousand. Which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this, but for their ignorance, who choose that circumstance to commend their friend by, wherein he most faulted. And to justifie mine owne candor, (for I lov'd the man, and doe honour his memory (on this side Idolatry) as much as any.) Hee was (indeed) honest, and of an open, and free nature: had an excellent Phantsie; brave notions, and gentle expressions: wherein hee flow'd with that facility, that sometime it was necessary he should be stop'd: Sufflaminandus erat; as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his owne power; would the rule of it had beene so too. Many times hee fell into those things, could not escape laughter: As when hee said in the person of Cćsar, one speaking to him; Cćsar thou dost me wrong. Hee replyed: Cćsar did never wrong, but with just cause: and such like; which were ridiculous. But hee redeemed his vices, with his vertues. There was ever more in him to be praysed, then to be pardoned.

Coming from the never self-effacing Jonson, this is high praise indeed. This passage seems to sum up the consensus on the man Shakespeare. No one, it seems (except the jealous Robert Greene in 1592) had anything bad to say about him. He is always described as honest, easy, pleasant, gentle, sweet, and the like.

As the seventeenth century wore on and Shakespeare the man became further removed from living memory John Dryden (Of Dramatic Poesie by John Dryden - 1668) summarized the literary view:

To begin then with Shakespeare; he was the man who of all Modern, and perhaps Ancient Poets, had the largest and most comprehensive soul. All the Images of Nature were still present to him, and he drew them not laboriously, but luckily : when he describes any thing, you more than see it, you feel it too. Those who accuse him to have wanted learning, give him the greater commendation: he was naturally learn'd; he needed not the spectacles of Books to read Nature; he look'd inwards, and found her there.

From such stuff Shakespeare's reputation rightfully has grown. Today he is certainly the world's most read and studied author and most performed dramatist. The works are such that the fascination continues.

Š1995-1998 Terry A. Gray
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