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+ Baptisms, Marriages, and Burials of the Shake

speare family; transcribed from the Register-book of the Parish of Stratford upon Ayon, Warwick shire,

ONE, daughter of John Shakspere, was baptized Sept. 15,

1558. Margaret, daughter of John Shakspere, was buried April 30,

1563. : WILLIAM, son of John Shakfpere, was baptized April 26,

1564 Gilbert, son of John Shakfpere, was baptized Oa. 13, 1566. 3 Jone, daughter of John Shakfpere, was baptized Apr. 15, 1569. Anne, daughter of Mr. John Shakspere, was baptized Sept. 28,

1971: Richard, son of Mr. John Shakfpere, was baptized March 11,

1573. Anne, daughter of Mr.John Shakspere, was buried April 4, 1579. Edmund, son of Mr. John Shakspere, was baptized May 3, 1580. Élizabcth, daughter of Anthony Shakípere, of Hampton, was

baptized Feb. 10, 1583. Susanna, daughter of WILLIAM SHAKSPERE, was baptized

May 26, 1583. 4 Samuel and Judith, fon and daughter of WILLIAM SHAKi' SPERE; were baptized Feb. 2, 1584. John Shakspere and Margery Roberts were married Nov. 25,

1584. Margery, wife of John Shakfpere, was buried O&. 29, 1587. Ursula, daughter of John Shakspere, was baptized March 11,

1588. Thomas Greene, alias Shakspere, was buried March 6, 1589.

+ With this extract from the register of Stratford, I was favoured by the Hon. James Weft, csq. STE E VENS.

I She married the ancestor of the Harts of Stratford.
a Born April 23, 1564.
3. This seems to be a grandaughter of the first John.
This Samuel, only son of the poet, died aged 12.

Humphrey, Baptisms, Marriages, Burials, &c. Humphrey, son of John Shakspere, was baptized May 24, 1590. Philip, son of John Shakspere, was baptized Sept. 21, 1591. Samuel, fon of WILLIAM SHAKSPERE, was buried Aug. 11, Upon the Efigies of my worthy Friend, . the Author Master WILLIAM SHAKESPEARI,

1596. Mr. John Shakfpere was buried Sept. 8, 1601. * John Hall, gent. and Susanna Shakspere were married June 5,

16o7. Mary Shakspere, widow, was buried Sept. 9, 1608. Gilbert Shakspere, adolefcens, was buried Feb. 3, 1611. Richard Shakspere was buried Feb. 4, 1612. 1 Thomas Queeny and 5 Judith Shakspere were married Feb. 10,

1616. WILLIAM SHAKŞPERE I, gentleman, was buried April 25,

1616. Mrs. Shakspere was buried Aug. 6, 1623.

This gentleman was a physician : he married the poet's eldest daughter. Ş Judith was the poet's youngest daughter.

1 As Shakespeare the poet married his wife from Shottery, a village near Stratford, posibly he might become possessor of a remarkable house there, as part of her portion; and jointly with his wife convey it as part of their daugh ter Judith's portion to Thomas Queeny. It is certain that one Quceny, an eldcrly gentleman, fold it to Harvey, efq; of Stockton, near Southam, Warwickshire, father of John Harvey Thurlby, esq; of Abington, near Northampton; and that the aforesaid Harvey fold it again to Samuel Tyler, elij; whose fitters, as his heirs, now enjoy it.

Died the 23d.
The poet's widow,

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and his Works,

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Speltater, this life's shadow is ; to fee

The truer image, and a livelier he,
Turn render : but observe his comick vein,
Lough; and proceed next to a tragick strain,
Then weep : Jo, when thou finds two contraries,
Two different passions, from thy rapt fcul rise, --
Say, (who clone eff est fuch wonders could)
Rare Shakespecre to the life tkou doft behold. k.

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To the Reader.

This figure, that thou here fechi put,
It was for gentle Shakespecii cut;
Wherein the

graver

had a frife
With nature, to out-do the life:
O, could be but have drawn bis wit
As well in brass, as be baih hit
His face; the print would then furpass
All, that was ever writ in brass :
But, fince be cannot, reader, look
Not on his piciure, but bis book,

B. J.

To the Memory of my Beloved, the Author Mr. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,

and what he hath left us.

To draw no ency, Shakespeare, on thy name,
Am I thus ample to thy book, and fame ;
While I confess tły writings to be such,
As neither man, nor muse, can praise too much ;
'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. but these ways
TV'ere not the paths I meant unto thy praise :

For

For seeliest ignorance on these may light,
Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right;
Or blind affection, which doth ne'er cdvance
The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ;
Or crafty malice might pretend this praise,
And think to ruin where it seein'd to raise :
These are as some infamous bawd, or whore,
Should praisé a matron; what could hurt her more?
But thou art proof against them; and, indeed,
Above the ill fortune of them, or the need :
I, therefore, will begin :--Soul of the age,
The applause

, delight, the wonder of our stage,
My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spencer; or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee a room :
Thou art a monument, without a tomb;
And art alive still, while thy book doth live,
And we have wits to read, and praise to give.
That I not mix thee fo, my brain excuses;
I mean, with great but disproportion'd muses :
For, if I thought my judgment were of years,
I should commit thee surely with thy peers ;
And tell— how far thou didst our Lilly outfhine,
Or sporting Kyd, or Marlow's mighty line.
And though thou badít small Latin, and less Greek,
From thence to honour thee, I would not seek
For names; but call forth thundring Æschylus,
Euripides, and Sophocles, to us,
Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova deod;
To live again, to bear thy buskin trend
And shake a stage: or, when thy socks were on,
Leave thee alone ; for the comparison
Of all, that infolent Greece, ir baughty Rome,
Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.
Triumph, my Britain ! thou heft one to show,
To wbom all scenes of Europe homoge owe.
He was not of an age, but for all time;
And all the mufes fill were in their prime,

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When like Apollo he came forth to warm
Our cars, or like a Mercury to charm.
Nature bérself was proud

of his designs,
And joy'd to wear the dresing of his lines;
Which were so richly Spun, and woven fo fit,
As, fince, she will vouchsafe no other wit:
The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,
Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please ;
But antiquated and deserted lie,
As they were not of Nature's family.
Yet must I not give nature all; thy art,
My gentle Skakispeare, must enjoy a part :-
For, though the poet's matter nature be,
His art doth give the fashion : and that be,
Who casts to write a living line, muft sweat,
(Such as tbine are) and strike a second beat
Upon the Muses' anvil ; turn the same,
( And bimself with it) that he thinks to frame ;
Or, for the laurel, he may gain a scorn,
For a good poet's made, as well as born :
And such wert tbcu: Look, how the father's face
Lives in bis issue ; even so the race
Of Shakespeare's mind, and manners, brightly shines
In his well-torned and true-filed lines;
In each of which be seeins to shake a lance,
#s brandifß'd at tbe eyes of ignorance.
Sweet swan of Avon, what a fight it were,
To see thee in our waters yet appear ;
And make those flights upon the banks of Thames,
That fo did take Eliza, and our James !
But Jizy; I see thee in the hemisphere
Advanc’d, and made a constellation there :-
Shine forth, thou star of poets; and with rage,
Or influence, chide, or cheer, the drooping stage ;
Which, since thy flight from bence, batb mourn'd like right,
And despairs day, but by thy volume's light !

Ben Jonson.

Upon

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