Never believe, though in my nature reigned
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stained,
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good:
For nothing this wide universe I call,

Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.”

We are the more resigned to leave the Sonnets with this painfully inadequate exposition, because we hope at a future time to devote a distinct article to a consideration of their autobiographic contents and value.

Probably the earliest portrayal of friendship in the plays of Shakespeare is that of the generous and constant Valentine and the false and fickle Proteus, in the "Two Gentlemen of Verona." Valentine is about going abroad, against the arguments of his comrade :

"Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus;

Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits."

Proteus rejoins:

"Wilt thou begone? Sweet Valentine, adieu !
Think on thy Proteus when thou, haply, seest

Some rare noteworthy object in thy travel."

In his absence Proteus betrays his friend, and plays a perjurer's part against him. The Duke of Milan asks Valentine if he knows the son of Don Antonio. He answers:

“I know him as myself; for from our infancy
We have conversed, and spent our hours together;
And though myself have been an idle truant,
Omitting the sweet benefit of time,

To clothe mine age with angel-like perfection,
Yet hath Sir Proteus, for that's his name,

Made use and fair advantage of his days."

Afterwards, learning the base disservice done him by his trusted mate, he breaks out on him:

"Thou common friend, that 's without faith or love, —

For such is a friend now, treacherous man!

Thou hast beguiled my hopes; naught but mine eye
Could have persuaded me. Now I dare not say
I have one friend alive; thou wouldst disprove me.
Who should be trusted now, when one's right hand
Is perjured to the bosom? Proteus,

I am sorry I must never trust thee more,

But count the world a stranger for thy sake.

The private wound is deepest: O time most accurst!
'Mongst all foes, that a friend should be the worst!"

Proteus, struck to the heart, exclaims:

"My shame and guilt confound me.

Forgive me, Valentine: if hearty sorrow
Be a sufficient ransom for offence,
I tender it here; I do as truly suffer,

As e'er I did commit."

Valentine nobly replies:

“Then I am paid ;

And once again I do receive thee honest.

Who by repentance is not satisfied

Is nor of heaven nor earth; for these are pleased;
By penitence the Eternal's wrath's appeased.”

Next comes the pairing communion of Helena and Hermia, so inimitably described by the former, when shrinking from a threatened breach:

"Is all the counsel that we two have shared,

The sisters' vows, the hours that we have spent,
When we have chid the hasty-footed time
For parting us, – O, and is all forgot?

All school-days' friendship, childhood innocence ?
We, Hermia, like two artificial gods,

Have with our neelds created both one flower,
Both on one sampler, sitting on one cushion,
Both warbling of one song, both in one key;
As if our hands, our sides, voices, and minds,
Had been incorporate. So we grew together,
Like to a double cherry, seeming parted,
But yet a union in partition,

Two lovely berries moulded on one stem;
So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart,
Two of the first, like coats in heraldry,

Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.

And will you rend our ancient love asunder?"

A still more charming instance of female friendship "whose loves were dearer than the natural bond of sisters" is that which joins Celia and Rosalind in "As You Like It.” When Oliver asks "if Rosalind, the Duke's daughter, be banished with her father," Charles answers, "O, no; for the Duke's daughter, her cousin, so loves her, being ever from their cradles bred together, that she would have followed

her exile, or have died to stay behind her." A delicious, confidential dialogue follows between the two friends.

"Cel. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind; Cupid have mercy! - Not a word? "Ros. Not one to throw at a dog.

"Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

"Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up."

The usurper now comes in, full of anger. "Duke. Mistress, despatch you with your

safest haste,

And get you from our court.

"Ros.

Me, uncle?

"Duke.

You, cousin.

"Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak.

"Duke. Ay, Celia; we stayed her for your sake,

Else had she with her father ranged along.

"Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay;
It was your pleasure, and your own remorse.
I was too young that time to value her;
But now I know her. If she be a traitor,

Why, so am I; we still have slept together,

Rose at an instant, learned, played, ate together;
And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans,

Still we went coupled and inseparable.

"Duke. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness,

Her very silence, and her patience,

Speak to the people, and they pity her.

Thou art a fool she robs thee of thy name;

And thou wilt show more bright, and seem more virtuous,

When she is gone. Then open not thy lips."

It is beautiful to see how utterly the detestable meanness of this appeal fails of its intended effect on the noble and indignant Celia. As soon as the Duke retires, she embraces her friend, and cries:

"O my poor Rosalind! whither wilt thou go? Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. I charge thee, be not thou more grieved than I am. "Ros. I have more cause.

Prythee, be cheerful. Know'st thou not, the Duke

Hath banished me, his daughter?

"Ros. That he hath not.

"Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth me that thou and I am one :

Shall we be sundered? Shall we part, sweet girl?
No; let my father seek another heir.
Therefore, devise with me how we may fly,
Whither to go, and what to bear with us:
And do not seek to take your change upon you,
To bear your griefs yourself, and leave me out.
For, by this heaven, now at our sorrows pale,

Say what thou canst, I'll go along with thee."

In the "Merchant of Venice," the friendship of the sad, noble, good, old Antonio, and the bright, graceful, high, young Bassanio, is every way rich in beauty; but there is nothing connected with it more delightful, than the manner in which it is reflected in the bearing and remarks of those around. Although entirely unobtrusive, it is so profound, exerts such a charm, that they all unconsciously become mirrors of it. And the exhibition of their direct relation and intercourse may challenge comparison with anything else of the kind in literature. Not a word is above or below the moderation of nature and life, and every line seems to breathe the very fragrance of truth and love into the soul of the reader. How finely their first appearance and conversation, at the close of the first scene, prepare us for what is to come! Through the aid of Antonio, Bassanio gets an outfit from Shylock, and goes to Belmont. He is fortunate, and wins the hand of Portia. In the midst of his joy, Salerio brings a letter from Antonio. Bassanio eagerly cries to him:

"Ere I ope his letter,

I pray you, tell me how my good friend doth."

Gratiano converses with Salerio, and Portia watches Bassanio while he reads.

"Portia. There are some shrewd contents in yon same paper,

That steal the color from Bassanio's cheek:

Some dear friend dead; else nothing in the world

Could turn so much the constitution

Of any constant man. What, worse and worse?
With leave, Bassanio; I am half yourself,

And I must freely have the half of anything

That this same paper brings you.

Have all his ventures failed? What, not one hit ?

From Tripolis, from Mexico, and England,

From Lisbon, Barbary, and India?

And not one vessel 'scape the dreadful touch
Of merchant-marring rocks?

"Por. Is it your dear friend that is thus in trouble? "Bass. The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, The best conditioned and unwearied spirit

In doing courtesies; and one in whom

The ancient Roman honor more appears
any that draws breath in Italy.

Than

"Por. What sum owes he the Jew?

"Bass. For me, three thousand ducats.
"Por.

Pay him six thousand, and deface the bond;
Double six thousand, and then treble that,
Before a friend of this description
Should lose a hair through Bassanio's fault.

But let me hear the letter of your friend."

What, no more ?

Bassanio then reads the letter from Antonio, pathetic enough to distil tears out of stones:

"Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since, in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but see you at my death: notwithstanding, use your pleasure; if your love do not persuade you to come, let not my letter."

Well might Portia burst forth:

"O love, despatch all business, and be gone."

VOL. LXXIII. - 5TH S. VOL. XI. NO. II.

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