"Shakespeare's Sonnets never before Imprinted," have afforded commentators material for many volumes filled with theories which to the ordinary critical mind appear to have no foundation in fact. Chapters have been written to prove that Mr. W. H., the only begetter of the Sonnets, was Henry Wriothesley, Earl of Southampton, and chapters have been written to prove that he was no such person, but that William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, was the man intended to be designated. Theories have been elaborated to identify the individuals represented by the Rival Poet and the dark Lady. Not one of these theories is supported by the vestige of a shred of testimony that would stand investigation. There has not come down any evidence that Shakspur, of Stratford, knew either the Earl of Southampton, the Earl of Pembroke or Marie Fitton. The truth is that Mr. W. H. was Shakespeare, who was the only begetter of the Sonnets, and the proof of this statement will in due time be forthcoming. It may be well to try and read some of the Sonnets as they stand and endeavour to realise what is the obvious meaning of the printed words.

The key to the Sonnets will be found in No. 62. The language in which it is written is explicit and capable of being understood by any ordinary intellect.

The writer here states definitely that he is dominated by the sin of self-love; it possesseth his eye, his soul, and every part of him. There can be found no remedy for it; it is so grounded in his heart. No face is so gracious as is his, no shape so true, no truth of such account. He defines his worth as surmounting that of all others. This is the frank expression of a man who not only believed that he was, but knew that he was superior to all his contemporaries, not only in intellectual power, but in personal appearance. Then comes an arrest in the thought, and he realises that time has been at work. He has been picturing himself as he was when a young man. He turns to his glass and sees himself beated and chopt with tanned antiquity; forty summers have passed over his brow.[48]

Francis Bacon at forty years of age, or thereabouts, unmarried, childless, sits down to his table, Hilliard's portrait before him, with pen in hand, full of self-love, full of admiration for that beautiful youth on whose counterfeit presentment he is gazing. His intellectual triumphs pass in review before him, most of them known only to himself and that youth—his companion through life. That was the Francis Bacon who controlled him in all his comings and goings—his ideal whom he worshipped. If he could have a son like that boy! His pen begins to move on the paper—

The pen stops and the writer's eye wanders to the miniature:—

And so the Sonnets flow on, without effort, without the need of reference to authorities, for the great, fixed and methodical memory needs none.

How natural are the allusions—

He realises that he no longer answers Ophelia's description:

But he cannot forget what he has been, he cannot realise that he is no longer the brilliant youth whose miniature he has before him, with the words inscribed around, "Si tabula daretur digna animum mallem"—If materials could be found worthy to paint his mind ("O could he but have drawn his wit") and then with a burst of poetic enthusiasm he exclaims:—

This is the common experience of a man as he advances in life. So long as he does not see his reflection in a glass, if he tries to visualize himself, he sees the youth or young man. Only in his most pessimistic moments does he realise his age.

There is no longer any difficulty in understanding Shakespeare's Sonnets. They were addressed by "Shakespeare," the poet, to the marvellous youth who was known under the name of Francis Bacon, and they were written, with Hilliard's portrait placed on his table before him.

In that age (please God it may be the present age), which is known only to God and to the fates when the finishing touch shall be given to Bacon's fame,[50] it will be found that the period of his life from twelve to thirty-five years of age surpassed all others, not only in brilliant intellectual achievements, but for the enduring wealth with which he endowed his countrymen. And yet it was part of his scheme of life that his connection with the great renaissance in English literature should lie hidden until posterity should recognise that work as the fruit of his brain:—"Mente Videbor"—"by the mind I shall be seen."

How lacking all his modern biographers have been in perception!

Every difficulty in those which are termed the procreation Sonnets disappears with the application of this key. Only by it can Sonnet 22 be made intelligible:—

But nearly every Sonnet might be quoted in support of this view. Especially is it of value in bringing an intelligent and allowable explanation to Sonnets 40, 41, and 42, which now no longer have an unsavoury flavour.

Sonnet No. 59 is most noteworthy, because it implies a belief in re-incarnation. Shakespeare expresses his longing to know what the ancients would have said of his marvellous intellect. If he could find his picture in some antique book over 500 years old, see an image of himself as he then was, and learn what men thought of him!

There is the same idea in Sonnet 71, which suggests that in some future re-incarnation Bacon might read Shakespeare's praises of him.

Conjectures as to who was the rival poet may be dispensed with. The following rendering of Sonnet No. 80 makes this perfectly clear:—

"O how I (the poet) faint when I of you (F.B.) do write,
Knowing a better spirit (that of the philosopher) doth use your name
And in the praise thereof spends all his might
To make me tongue tied, speaking of your fame!
(Shakespeare never refers to Bacon or vice-versa)
But since your (F.B.'s) worth wide as the ocean is,
The humble as the proudest sail doth bear,
My saucy bark (that of the poet) inferior far to his (that of the philosopher),
On your broad main doth wilfully appear.
Your shallowest help will hold me (the poet) up afloat
Whilst he (the philosopher) upon your soundless deep doth ride."