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VILLE DE LYON Biblioth. du Palais des Arts

upward, headed, argent; and for his crest or cognisance, a falcon, or, with his wings displayed, standing on a wreathe of his colours, Supporting a spear armed beaded, or steeled filver, fixed upon an helmet with mantles and taffels, as more plainly may appear depicted in this margent; and we have likewise impaled the fame with the ancient arms of the faid Arden of Wellingcote; fignifying thereby, that it may and shall be lawful for the faid John Shakespere, gent. to bear and use the same shield of arms, fingle or impaled, as aforesaid, during his natural life; and that it shall be lawful for his children, issue, and pofterity, lawfully begotten, to bear, use, and quarter, and show forth the fame, with their due differencies, in all lawful warlike feats and civil ufe or exercises, according to the laws of arms, and custom that to gentlemen belongeth, without let or interruption of any person or perfons, for use or bearing the fame. In witness and testimony whereof we have subscribed our names, and fasten'd the feals of our offices. Given at the office of arms, London, the day of in the forty second year of the reign of our most gracious sovereign lady Elizabeth, by the grace of god, queen of England, France, and Ireland, defender of the faith, &c. 1599.

There is also a manuscript in the herald's office, marked W. 2 p. 276; where notice is taken of this coat, and that the person to whom it was granted, had born magistracy at Stratford upon

Avon.

MEMORY of my beloved the AUTHOR,

MR WILLIAM SHAKESPEAR;

T

And what he hath left us.

O draw no envy, Shakespear, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book, and fame :

While I confess thy writings to be such,
As neither man, nor muse can praise too much.
'Tis true, and all men's fuffrage. But these ways
Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise:
For feeliest ignorance on these may light,
Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right;
Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance;
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise,
And think to ruin, where it feem'd to raise.
These are, as fome infamous bawd, or whore,
Should praise a matron. What could hurt her more?
But thou art proof against them; and, indeed,
Above th' ill fortune of them, or the need:
I therefore will begin. Soul of the age!
The applause! delight! the wonder of our stage!
My Shakespear rife! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room :
Thou art a monument without a tomb,
And art alive still, while thy book doth live,
And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses ;
I mean, with great but disproportion'd muses:

For

For if I thought my judgment were of years,
I should commit thee surely with thy peers,
And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine,
Or sporting Kid, or Marlow's mighty line.
And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek,
From thence to honour thee, I would not seek
For names; but call forth thund'ring Æschylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles, to us,
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead,
To live again, to hear thy buskin tread,
And shake a stage: or, when thy focks were on,
Leave thee alone for the comparifon

Of all, that infolent Greece, or haughty Rome
Sent forth, or fince did from their afhes come.
Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show,
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 warm
Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!
Nature herself was proud of his defigns,
And joy'd to wear the dreffing of his lines !
Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,
As, fince, she will vouchsafe no other wit.
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;
But antiquated, and deferted lie,
As they were not of nature's family.
Yet must I not give nature all: thy art,
My gentle Shakespear, must enjoy a part.
For though the poet's matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion. And, that he
Who cafts to write a living line, must sweat,
(Such as thine are) and strike the fecond heat
Upon the muses' anvil; turn the fame,

(And himself with it) that he thinks to frame;

Or