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Not you no fear of that； for I discern
In you a kindling of the flame that saves
The nimble element； the true phlogiston；
I see it； and was told of it； moreover；
By our discriminate friend himself； no other。
Had you been one of the sad average；
As he would have it； meaning； as I take it；
The sinew and the solvent of our Island；
You'd not be buying beer for this Terpander's
Approved and estimated friend Ben Jonson；
He'd never foist it as a part of his
Contingent entertainment of a townsman
While he goes off rehearsing； as he must；
If he shall ever be the Duke of Stratford。
And my words are no shadow on your town
Far from it； for one town's as like another
As all are unlike London。 Oh； he knows it；
And there's the Stratford in him； he denies it；
And there's the Shakespeare in him。 So； God help him！
I tell him he needs Greek； but neither God
Nor Greek will help him。 Nothing will help that man。
You see the fates have given him so much；
He must have all or perish； or look out
Of London； where he sees too many lords；
They're part of half what ails him： I suppose
There's nothing fouler down among the demons
Than what it is he feels when he remembers
The dust and sweat and ointment of his calling
With his lords looking on and laughing at him。
King as he is； he can't be king de facto；
And that's as well； because he wouldn't like it；
He'd frame a lower rating of men then
Than he has now； and after that would come
An abdication or an apoplexy。
He can't be king； not even king of Stratford；
Though half the world； if not the whole of it；
May crown him with a crown that fits no king
Save Lord Apollo's homesick emissary：
Not there on Avon； or on any stream
Where Naiads and their white arms are no more；
Shall he find home again。 It's all too bad。
But there's a comfort； for he'll have that House
The best you ever saw； and he'll be there
Anon； as you're an Alderman。 Good God！
He makes me lie awake o' nights and laugh。
And you have known him from his origin；
You tell me； and a most uncommon urchin
He must have been to the few seeing ones
A trifle terrifying； I dare say；
Discovering a world with his man's eyes；
Quite as another lad might see some finches；
If he looked hard and had an eye for nature。
But this one had his eyes and their foretelling；
And he had you to fare with； and what else？
He must have had a father and a mother
In fact I've heard him say so and a dog；
As a boy should； I venture； and the dog；
Most likely； was the only man who knew him。
A dog； for all I know； is what he needs
As much as anything right here to…day；
To counsel him about his disillusions；
Old aches； and parturitions of what's coming；
A dog of orders； an emeritus；
To wag his tail at him when he comes home；
And then to put his paws up on his knees
And say； 〃For God's sake； what's it all about？〃
I don't know whether he needs a dog or not
Or what he needs。 I tell him he needs Greek；
I'll talk of rules and Aristotle with him；
And if his tongue's at home he'll say to that；
〃I have your word that Aristotle knows；
And you mine that I don't know Aristotle。〃
He's all at odds with all the unities；
And what's yet worse； it doesn't seem to matter；
He treads along through Time's old wilderness
As if the tramp of all the centuries
Had left no roads and there are none； for him；
He doesn't see them； even with those eyes；
And that's a pity； or I say it is。
Accordingly we have him as we have him
Going his way； the way that he goes best；
A pleasant animal with no great noise
Or nonsense anywhere to set him off
Save only divers and inclement devils
Have made of late his heart their dwelling place。
A flame half ready to fly out sometimes
At some annoyance may be fanned up in him；
But soon it falls； and when it falls goes out；
He knows how little room there is in there
For crude and futile animosities；
And how much for the joy of being whole；
And how much for long sorrow and old pain。
On our side there are some who may be given
To grow old wondering what he thinks of us
And some above us； who are； in his eyes；
Above himself； and that's quite right and English。
Yet here we smile； or disappoint the gods
Who made it so： the gods have always eyes
To see men scratch； and they see one down here
Who itches； manor…bitten to the bone；
Albeit he knows himself yes； yes； he knows
The lord of more than England and of more
Than all the seas of England in all time
Shall ever wash。 D'ye wonder that I laugh？
He sees me； and he doesn't seem to care；
And why the devil should he？ I can't tell you。
I'll meet him out alone of a bright Sunday；
Trim； rather spruce； and quite the gentleman。
〃What ho； my lord！〃 say I。 He doesn't hear me；
Wherefore I have to pause and look at him。
He's not enormous； but one looks at him。
A little on the round if you insist；
For now； God save the mark； he's growing old；
He's five and forty； and to hear him talk
These days you'd call him eighty； then you'd add
More years to that。 He's old enough to be
The father of a world； and so he is。
〃Ben； you're a scholar； what's the time of day？〃
Says he； and there shines out of him again
An aged light that has no age or station
The mystery that's his a mischievous
Half…mad serenity that laughs at fame
For being won so easy； and at friends
Who laugh at him for what he wants the most；
And for his dukedom down in Warwickshire；
By which you see we're all a little jealous。 。 。 。
Poor Greene！ I fear the color of his name
Was even as that of his ascending soul；
And he was one where there are many others；
Some scrivening to the end against their fate；
Their puppets all in ink and all to die there；
And some with hands that once would shade an eye
That scanned Euripides and Aeschylus
Will reach by this time for a pot…house mop
To slush their first and last of royalties。
Poor devils！ and they all play to his hand；
For so it was in Athens and old Rome。
But that's not here or there； I've wandered off。
Greene does it； or I'm careful。 Where's that boy？
Yes； he'll go back to Stratford。 And we'll miss him？
Dear sir； there'll be no London here without him。
We'll all be riding； one of these fine days；
Down there to see him and his wife won't like us；
And then we'll think of what he never said
Of women which； if taken all in all
With what he did say； would buy many horses。
Though nowadays he's not so much for women：
〃So few of them；〃 he says； 〃are worth the guessing。〃
But there's a work at work when he says that；
And while he says it one feels in the air
A deal of circumambient hocus…pocus。
They've had him dancing till his toes were tender；
And he can feel 'em now； come chilly rains。
There's no long cry for going into it；
However； and we don't know much about it。
The Fitton thing was worst of all； I fancy；
And you in Stratford； like most here in London；