"A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage…
A skylark wounded on the wing
Doth make a cherub cease to sing."
—And, simple as the thought is, at once you feel it to lie outside the range of Shakespeare's philosophy. Shakespeare's men are fine, brave, companionable fellows, full of passionate love, jealousy, ambition; of humour, gravity, strength of mind; of laughter and rage, of the joy and stress of living. But self-sacrifice scarcely enters into their notion of the scheme of things, and they are by no means men to go to death for an idea. We remember what figure Shakespeare made of Sir John Oldcastle, and I wish we could forget what figure he made of Joan of Arc. Within the bounds of his philosophy—the philosophy, gloriously stated, of ordinary brave, full-blooded men— he is a great encourager of virtue; and so such lines as—
"The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action…"
"The expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action…"
Are thoroughly Shakespearean, while such lines as—
"A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage…"
"A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage…"
Are as little Shakespearean in thought as in phrasing. He can tell us that:
"We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."
"We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep."