"Shakespeare wrote a play, brought in a number of men saying they had suffered shipwreck in Bohemia, when there is no see neer by some 100 miles." *
* Works of Ben Jonson. By William Gifford. Edited by Lt.
Col. Francis Cunningham. Vol. III., p. 470. London. I. C.
Hotten, 74 & 75 Picadilly.
These notes were first printed by Mr. David Laing, who discovered them among the manuscripts of Sir Robert Sibbald, a well-known antiquary and physician of Edinburgh. They were preserved in the form of a copy in Sibbald's handwriting. Sibbald was a friend of the Bishop Sage, who edited Drummond's works in 1711. These notes were believed by Sir Walter Scott to be genuine, and, by his advice, were printed first in the "Archaeological Scotica," in or about 1723. At any rate, they were never printed by Sibbald himself, nor used by him in any way which suggested a motive for forgery, and, internally, they agree with Ben Jonson's own "Discoveries," especially as to his (Jonson's) estimate of William Shakespeare.
And yet Ben Johnson was the beneficiary and friend of William Shakespeare—the "immortal Shakespeare"—whom Ben "honours this side idolatry," but whom we are not fearful of passing the bounds of idolatry in worshiping to-day. Ben Johnson was an overworked rhymester, and made his rhymes do double and treble duty. The first couplet of the prologue just cited
" Though need make many poets, and some such
As art and nature have not bettered much"—
needs only a little hammering over to become the
"While I confess thy writings to be such
As neither man nor muse can praise too much"—
of the mortuary verses which—as we say—made Shakespeare Shakespeare. When the rich manager's alleged works were to be collected, the poor scholar, who had borrowed money of him in his lifetime, was called upon for a tribute. But the poor scholar forbore to draw on the storehouse of his wits, though willing: to hammer over some of his old verses for the occasion. He once assured posterity, in rhyme, that they must not "give nature all," but remember his gentle Shakespeare's art, how he would "sweat and strike the second heat upon the muse's anvil" (in other words, bring by long toil the firstlings of his genius to artificial perfection). And yet he deliberately tells Drummond, long years after, and puts it down in black and white over his own. signature, that this same Shakespeare "wanted art," and that the great trouble with him was that he talked too much. Is it possible that the ideal Shakespeare, the mighty miracle-working demigod, is only the accidental creation of a man who was poking fun at a shadow? Let us not proceed to such a violent surmise, but return to a serious consideration of Mr. Ben Jonson's unimpassioned prose.