1 74 Shakspeare 



tress, the tricks and shifts that lurk in her, and 

 the foolish vanity of the doting lover, especially 

 of him who is in the afternoon of life — his waning 

 vigour fired with the force of feverish passion 

 — he could depict with excellent force and truth, 

 as also the harrowing suspicions, the tor uring 

 jealousies, the repulsive imaginings, which assail 

 and besiege when, sure that he is betrayed, he 

 clings in spite of proof to wilful self-deception.* 

 Wondrous strange it is how fatuously in such case 

 the amorous fool resents the notion of a sharer in 

 his mistress's dearest favours, even though the 

 "awful sharer be her own husband, perhaps by 

 insidious questionings actually soliciting her to 

 assert and himself to credit, when he knows she 

 lies, that she is somehow pure and chaste ; for 

 her unchastity with him counts nobly as purity 



* Provoked by his languishing appeals the lady hastily 

 mutters " I hate — " but, checking herself on seeing his woeful 

 look, alters the end of the intended sentence by adding "not 

 you," and perhaps kindly bids him "Good-night." — Sonnet. 



Good-night, good rest. Ah, neither be my share ; 

 She bade good-night that kept my rest away ; 

 And daff'd me to a cabin hanged with care 

 To descant on the doubts of my decay — 

 " Farewell," quote she, " and come again to-morrow." 

 Farewell I could not, for I supped with sorrow. — 



The Passionate Pilgrim. 



Descant on his decay was no passing lament apparently : — 



That time of year thou mayst in me behold 



When yellow leaves, or few, or none, do hang. &c. — Sonnet. 



