Dear Mr. Punch,
I. It is plain that the soi-disant Shakspeare was poor to the end of his days. This is proved by Milton's sonnet beginning—
"What needs my Shakspeare for his honour'd bones?"
This shows that the person in question was in the habit of selling his kitchen refuse, and more noteworthy still, that Milton was in the habit of buying it. Whether out of respect for the vendor, which would go a long way towards proving the esteem in which he was held, or because Milton was in the marine store line at this period, I leave to Mr. Donnelly to decide.
II. It is certain that there is a cypher in the Midsummer Night's Dream. Pyramus has the line, "O, dainty duck. O, dear!" Now "duck" stands with cricketers for 0, and 0 is a cypher (or is it figures that are cyphers? but, never mind). Therefore we have here the expression, "O, dainty cypher, O, dear!" which proves conclusively, that the cypher was dainty,—exquisite, elaborated; and also that Bakspeare was heartily tired of it, unless, "dear" refers to the terms he had to pay to Shakon to hold his tongue. But the fact that the supposed author used to sell bones, and inferentially rags, to Milton, rather militates against this hypothesis. And here note what a flood of light is thrown upon the disappearance of the manuscripts. They were indubitably sold, with the honoured rags and bones to Milton, who has certainly more than one suspicious coincidence of thought and phraseology, especially in his earlier poems.
III. My play, Piccoviccius, contains the clue to the whole matter. There is a picture on the title-page of a boy blowing an egg, while an elderly gentlewoman, who is remarkably like the bust of the poet in Stratford Church, looks on with every appearance of interest. Underneath is the legend, "Lyttel Francis teaching his Crypto-gra'mother." I am firmly convinced that Piccoviccius was written by both of them. The style is not the least like that of either, which proves that they didn't want everyone to know. I subjoin a specimen. The scene is the palace of the usurping Duke Jingulus, who is about to wed the Lady Rachel.
Yours,
Roderick Tweddle.
Jingulus, Rachel, Philostrate, and others.
Jing. Say, Philostrate, what abridgment have you for
This dull, three-volumed day?