THE SECRET LOVE STORY IN SHAKESPEARE’S SONNETS

Second Edition
© 2008 By Helen Heightsman Gordon helenhgordon@gmail.com

Contents Note: Page numbers are from the paperback book; they may not correspond to an
electronic version.

Chapter 1 - A Child of Love 3

Chapter 2 - Anagrams and Ciphers in the Dedication 8

Image of the Dedication to the 1609 Edition 9
Orthodox tradition: William Shakspere of Stratford 9
Baconian theory: Sir Francis Bacon 10
Oxfordian theory: Edward De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford 11
Puzzling form and wording of the Dedication riddle 12

Enciphered name of E. De Vere 13

Enciphered name of Henry Wriothesley 14
Enciphered name of Elisabeth Regina 15
Three Mottos Enciphered 16
Significance of ciphers for Twelfth Night 17-19
How could Elizabeth Keep Her Secret? 20
How could a Changeling Child become the Earl of Southampton? 21
“Thou art thy mother’s glass” 23

Chapter 3 - What the Sonnets Themselves Tell Us 24

Sonnet 3 Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest 24
Other Sonnets from Father to Son 25
Sonnet 33 Full many a glorious morning have I seen 26
The need to Conceal the Father-son Relationship 27
Sonnet 81 Or shall I live your epitaph to make 27
Why Couldn’t Oxford Acknowledge Henry as his Son? 28
Sonnet 36 Let me confess that we two must be twain 29
Sonnet 20 A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted 30

Chapter 4 - Elizabeth Tudor as Edward De Vere’s Great Love 31

Sonnet 18 Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day 32
Sonnet 122 Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain 34
Sonnet 151 Love is too young to know what conscience is 36
Sonnet 154 The little Love-god lying once asleep 37
Sonnet 34 Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day 37
Sonnet 57 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 38
Sonnet 58 That God forbid, that made me first your slave 39

1
Chapter 5 - Dark Lady, Dark-eyed Lady, Black-hearted Lady 40
Sonnet 127 In the old age, black was not counted fair 40
Shakespeare’s Adaptation and Spoof of Petrarchan Sonnet Form 41
Sidney’s Sonnet 9 - Queen Virtue’s Court ….Stella’s Face 41
Sonnet 130 My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun 42
Other poems in the Dark Lady Series and Oxford’s Other Women 43
Sonnet 128 How oft when thou, my Music, music play’st, 43
Sonnet 129 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame 44
Sonnet 133 Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan 45
Ambivalence Toward Queen Elizabeth 46
Sonnet 140 Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press 47
Sonnet 121 ‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed 47-48
Sonnet 29 When in Disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes 48
Sonnet 41 Those petty wrongs that liberty commits 49
Sonnet 42 That thou hast her it is not all my grief 50
Sonnet 141 In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes 51
Sonnet 110 Alas! ‘tis true I have gone here and there 52
Sonnet 138 When my love swears that she is made of truth 53

Chapter 6 - Rival Poets and Lovers 54

Sonnet 78 So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse (imitators) 54

George Chapman as Proposed Rival Poet 55
A Bunch of Rivals for the Queen’s Favor 56
Sonnet 82 I grant thou wert not married to my Muse 56 Walter Raleigh as Rival Poet 57
Sonnet 86 Was it the proud full sail of his great verse 58
Sonnet 83 I never saw that you did painting need 59
George Gascoigne as Rival Poet 60
Philip Sidney as Rival in Life of Edward De Vere 61
“Were I a king I might command content” 61
Rivalry with Sidney in Poetry 63

Chapter 7 - The Difficult Decade of the 1580’s 65

Sonnet 139 O! call not me to justify the wrong 66
Sonnet 88 When thou shalt be dispos’d to set me light 67
Sonnet 89 Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault 67
Sonnet 90 Then hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; 67
Sonnet 142 Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate 68
Sonnet 125 Were’t aught to me I bore the canopy 69
Sonnet 105 Let not my love be called idolatry 71

Chapter 8 - Sonnets of Joy and Sorrow 72

Sonnet 76 Why is my verse so barren of new pride 72
Sonnet 25 Let those who are in favor with their stars 73
Praise from poets John Lyly and Edmund Spenser 74
Sonnet 106 When in the chronicle of wasted time 75

2
Sonnet 37 As a decrepit father takes delight 76
Sonnet 22 My glass shall not persuade me I am old 77
Sonnet 104 To me, fair friend, you never can be old 78
Sonnet 30 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 80
Sonnet 39 O! how thy worth with manners may I sing 81
Sonnet 116 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 82

Chapter 9 - Disillusionment and Despair 83

Sonnet 73 That time of year thou may’st in me behold 84
Sonnet 91 Some glory in their birth, some in their skill 85
Sonnet 72 O! lest the world should task you to recite 87
Sonnet 111 O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide 88
Sonnet 40 Take all my loves, my Love, yea take them all 89
Sonnet 95 How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame 90
Sonnet 99 The forward violet thus did I chide: 91
Sonnet 146 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 92
Sonnet 94 They that have power to hurt, and will do none 93
Sonnet 55 Not marble, nor the gilded monuments 94
Sonnet 65 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea 95
Sonnet 152 In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn 96
Sonnet 150 O! from what power thou hast this powerful might 97
Sonnet 149 Canst thou, O cruel! Say I love thee not 97
Sonnet 120 That you were once unkind befriends me now 98
Sonnet 107 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 98
Sonnet 66 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry 99
Sonnet 74 But be contented when that fell arrest 101

Chapter 10 -Comparing a De Vere poem and Sonnet 87 102

De Vere poem “Farewell with a Mischief” 104
Sonnet 87 105

Appendix A More About Ciphers and Secret Codes and the

Influence of Rosicrucian and Freemason brotherhoods 108
Appendix B Edward De Vere as a Cryptographer in poem
“Shield of Love” or “The Absent Lover” 111
Works Consulted Works cited in Appendices A and B
(references to cryptography and Secret Societies) 115
Bibliography Works Consulted for Whole Book

(also Recommended for Further Reading) 116

Chapter 1
A Child of Love

3
A rumor began circulating during the reign of England’s Queen Elizabeth the First that she was
having a love affair with Edward De Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford, and that she had a child by
him who was being raised as the Third Earl of Southampton. One historian of the Elizabethan
Era who reported this rumor dismissed it as “wildly improbable”; many scholars over the past
four centuries have scoffed at it. The image of the Virgin Queen, so carefully cultivated by
Elizabeth for political reasons, still maintains a powerful grip on the imagination, even though
new evidence has come to light that she had at least three children, possibly more.

Two fine scholars specializing in the Elizabethan Era, Dorothy and Charlton Ogburn, made a
strong case for this secret love affair in their well-documented biography of Edward De Vere,
This Star of England, in 1952. One of their goals was to restore the good name of this 17th Earl of
Oxford, whose powerful father-in-law had distorted or destroyed any records that showed him in
a favorable light. Yet this father-in-law, William Cecil (Lord Burghley after 1571), retained any
records that might discredit Oxford. He kept copies of letters that his daughter Anne had written
to Oxford, her husband, but none of the letters he had written to her. William Cecil also retained
court records that sullied Oxford’s reputation, such as the false charges alleged by a pair of
traitors in retaliation for his reporting their treasonous activities to the Queen, but Cecil kept no
records that exonerated Oxford.

Although he was moody and unpredictable, Oxford was an enormously talented writer whose
plays and poetry entertained Elizabeth and her court for three decades. The queen valued
Oxford’s plays and comedies so highly that from June of 1586 until the end of her life she gave
him a yearly stipend of 1,000 pounds, a huge sum in those days. She required no accounting to
the Treasurer for this mysterious gift, and the only official duty she assigned to Oxford was to be
a member of the Privy Council. From what we have learned over the past century, however, we
can safely conclude that Oxford used it to maintain an acting company that produced two plays
each year for Elizabeth’s court. After her death, the annuity was continued by King James I, a
devoted fan of Shakespeare’s plays.

The plays also served to teach the English people, most of whom could not read, the history of
their country and the power struggles that determined its destiny. These plays were not published
during the author’s lifetime, though a few pirated copies circulated in the form of quartos. Later
they were published under the pseudonym “William Shakespeare” or “Shakespeare.” The
hyphenated name indicated that it should be pronounced with a long A in “Shake” and a long E
in “speare.” Also, the hyphen indicated that it was a pen name, not the true name of the author.

The book Shake-speares Sonnets: Never Before Imprinted was not published until 1609, five
years after Edward De Vere’s death in 1604. The collection of sonnets was found among the
papers of De Vere’s widow, the former Elizabeth Trentham, when she sold her home in 1609 to
Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke, a friend of Sir Philip Sidney and fellow poet. A man named
William Hall delivered the sonnet manuscript to Thomas Thorpe, thus leading some people to
speculate that he might be the “Mr. W. H.” mentioned in the Sonnet Dedication. Most scholars
believe, however, that the initials are an anagram for those of “Henry Wriothesley,” the Third
Earl of Southampton.

4
The sonnets are of special value to Shakespeare lovers because they reveal the author’s inner life,
his philosophical responses to experiences both good and bad, and his nobly realized humanity.
Because the sonnets were intended only for the recipient, not for publication during the poet’s
lifetime, they ring true. Fortunately they remain in highly polished form, showing the author’s
mastery of language and poetic artistry. This gives the sonnets an advantage over the plays
published in 1623, which had been assembled from pirated quartos, actors’ prompt books, and
other unreliable sources. Because the author Shakespeare did not edit the First Folio himself,
they came down to us marred with errors that required considerable emendation by editors in the
17th and 18th centuries.

But the sonnets may be more trustworthy than the plays as the authentic voice of Shakespeare.
The 1609 edition was apparently suppressed shortly after publication, so only a few copies are
still extant. Another edition in 1640 by the publisher John Benson (not to be confused with the
playwright Ben Jonson, who died two years earlier) kept the sonnets available, but Benson was
criticized for changing some of the pronouns in the sonnets from masculine to feminine. He also
combined some of the poems into longer versions. In 1780, Edmund Malone published his
edition, restoring the sonnet forms and numerical order, making emendations that have since
become accepted as the standard version. He assumed that Thomas Thorpe had written the
Dedication in the 1609 edition, but he sensed that the sonnets expressed the feelings and
experiences of the author, because, he said, only a man deeply in love with a woman could write
poems with such intensity.

Was There Any Truth to the Rumors?

What if the rumors about Elizabeth and Oxford were true? If so, those rumors would not be
easily squelched, but would resurface from time to time as scholars unearthed new evidence. If
so, they would provide clues to some of the enduring mysteries that continue to puzzle readers
and critics of the sonnets. If so, they would explain the need for secrecy, the reason why the
nobleman Edward De Vere had to use a pseudonym to protect those he loved.

If true, the rumors would offer us a key into the heart of the greatest author in all of English
literature, revealing a love story of epic dimensions. They would also explain the enigmatic
dedication to the sonnets – a puzzle that has not been decipherable until we learned more about
the life of Edward De Vere and the secrecy demanded to protect the image of the Virgin Queen.

The message is encrypted, as it would have to be, to escape the censors, the spymasters, the
enemies, and the meddlers that controlled the written word in Elizabethan England. But for the
intended dedicatee, and for those “eyes not yet created” (Sonnet 81) that can solve the riddle, this
is the message that the greatest author in all English literature conveys to his natural son in
dedicating the book of sonnets to him:

To Master W. H., or H. W. [Henry Wriothesley]:

You are a child of love – conceived in joyful celebration, begotten from the deep and enduring
love your parents felt for each other, which then became your entitlement. Your parentage has
been kept secret for your protection, but you carry the bloodline of illustrious persons who have

5
lived in the white light of honor and the blue shadows of rue. Had we been less favored by
fortune, we would have been less constrained by bonds and obligations running contrary to our
personal desires. Yet though we could never marry, we have been ever conscious of our duty to
you, always solicitous for your happiness and advancement. This little book of sonnets is your
legacy, the only legacy your true father can offer you in secret, but my poetic praise of your great
worth might attain that unique immortality that only ever-living literature can confer.

You were conceived on Twelfth Night, the last magical night of Christmas revels, when guile
and guises are allowed, when anything can happen. That clue is encrypted in the dedication of
this work to you. On that unforgettable night, your mother was a lovely, irresistible Venus in her
prime, and your father was a young, awakening, impassioned Adonis. My name, your name, and
a name by which your mother is sometimes known, all appear as imbedded ciphers in our riddle.
Also, you will see ciphers for your mother’s motto, “Ever the Same,” your own motto, “All for
one, one for all,” and my own, “Vero Nihil Verius,” which means “Nothing truer than truth,” or
“No one more faithful than a Vere.” My love for you is no less genuine for having been
suppressed. It is imperishable, like that “ever-fixed star that looks on tempests and is never
shaken.”

Your devoted father, E. O. [Edward Oxenford]

The son was raised as Henry Wriothesley, the Third Earl of Southampton. This young earl, to
whom Shakespeare’s first two published narrative poems were dedicated, is also considered by
most scholars to be the Fair Youth who is addressed in the first 17 sonnets. Knowing this, we can
understand many of the sonnets much better than tradition has thus far allowed – by applying a
fresh, far more satisfying, interpretation.

The Mysterious Dedication

We all love a mystery. Some of us cling to our cherished mysteries as if solving them would
diminish their importance. So it has been with the sonnets of William Shakespeare. Unlike his
dramatic works, which may have drawn upon material from the playwright's personal
experiences or from outside sources, the sonnets seem to express the poet's emotions in a deeply
personal, revealing way. The desire to know the person behind the name, and the conviction that
the sonnets offer biographical clues, has led to much speculation. Each Shakespeare devotee
“connects the dots” in individual fashion, clinging to his or her interpretations passionately
because there has been no way to determine them objectively. In such Shakespeare lovers,
resistance to new theories is understandable; to find a complete solution might take the fun out of
the mystery.

Game players, on the other hand, are likely to see a mystery as a knot to be untied, a puzzle to be
solved, or a scrambled picture to be reassembled from various bits and pieces. They get their
kicks from the "aha!" or "Eureka!" feeling that sets off fireworks in their heads, even as the
mystery evaporates and its challenges fade into the quaint archives of past achievements.

William Shakespeare was a lover of word games -- puns, anagrams, and ciphers, to name a few.
He has teased scholars for over four centuries with a mysterious dedication to the collection of

6
his sonnets first published in 1609. I believe that gamesters and wordplay lovers can crack the
code of the dedication more easily than scholars can, by getting into the mind of a puzzle-maker
and approaching the task in a spirit of play. Gamesters would not be likely to change the
arrangements of the lines in the dedication or alter the spelling of the original, as many well-
meaning editors have attempted to do. Here is the arrangement as it appeared in the volume
published by Thomas Thorpe in 1609:

Dedication to “Shakespeare’s Sonnets” published in 1609 by Thomas Thorpe

As a wordplay lover, I come not to diminish Shakespeare, but to decipher the message he sent to
those "eyes not yet created" in his own time – a message sent far into a future that he could only
vaguely envision. In Sonnet 81, Shakespeare promised the Fair Youth that “eyes not yet created”
and “tongues to be” would read the poems and bestow upon him the immortality of literature
“when all the breathers of this world are dead.”

As a professor of English, I have long recognized Shakespeare's genius and loved discussing his
plays and poems with students. I appreciate the hard work done by generations of scholars in
order to preserve and interpret his marvelous work. My own theories branch out from the
discoveries of scholars such as Alexander Pope, Lewis Theobald, Samuel Johnson, Thomas
Looney, and the Charlton Ogburn family, all of whom deserve more credit than they have thus
far received. Yet for all the labor poured into Shakespearean studies, scholars have not yet
answered convincingly these four fundamental questions about the sonnets:

1. Why is the dedication to the sonnets so strangely worded, so ungrammatical, and so

unconventional? Why is the dedicatee "Mr. W. H." identified only by his initials?
2. Who is the "fair youth" to whom Sonnets 1-17 are addressed?
3. Who is the "dark lady" referred to in Sonnets 127-154?
4. Who is the "rival poet" who comes between the author and his loved one in Sonnets 78
through 86?

I believe that the academic worlds of English and American literature now possess all the pieces
of the puzzle necessary to answer these questions. When we fit those pieces into a proper frame,
the big picture will emerge with astonishing clarity. When that happens, we will have opened
new ways of understanding the sonnets, the plays, and the man who wrote them -- the author
who has been justly called "Soul of the Age," the brightest luminary of the English Renaissance,
whose legacy of literary treasures also entitles him to whatever immortality that we, his
beneficiaries, can confer upon him.

First, a disclaimer: I do not propose to offer irrefutable proof that Edward De Vere was the
author who used the pseudonym “William Shakespeare.” I offer only an interesting set of
interpretations that form a coherent and plausible whole. I do not wish to enter into scholarly
disputes that merely spin our phaeton's wheels in the mire of minutiae. The amazing acrimony

7
over the authorship issue in the past century has deflected the energies of Shakespeare lovers
from what should be a mutual quest and desire to understand his work, his life, and his times.

Rather than argue, I invite other wordplay lovers and aficionados of Shakespeare to join me in
my adventure (follow in my footnotes, as it were), to entertain some suppositions, and to
conclude what they will. Perhaps they will find my suppositions too preposterous to be believed
(as admittedly I once did). Or perhaps they will discern new clues that I have missed, adding new
strength to my interpretations. Perhaps together we might uncover a remarkable love story, first
concealed out of duty, then obscured out of loyalty, and finally buried until the tools to unearth it
could become available four centuries later. Now, in this better-informed, more realistic age,
perhaps we can expand our love for the literary gifts of William Shakespeare so as to encompass
the flawed, lovable human beings who made possible the creation of these treasures.

***

As you proceed to Chapter 2, remember that encrypted clues are only one type of evidence
useful for solving the larger puzzle of the Dedication. Ciphered names alone do not prove who
wrote the sonnets or to whom they were dedicated. But together with other evidence, they may
form a credible scenario that offers new ways to interpret Shakespeare’s poetry.

Two secret societies that influenced Shakespeare were the Rosicrucians and the Freemasons.
Francis Bacon was known to be a Rosicrucian whose philosophical views were based on
Rosicrucian principles – especially the reverence for knowledge, and the hope that enlightenment
through learning could be the salvation of humankind. In the 16th Century these fraternal
movements did not keep formal records of membership, to protect each other from persecution.
They employed symbols, rituals, and allegory to pass along their beliefs. They had secret codes
and handshakes to communicate with others who had been initiated.

To learn more about secret societies and the cryptography used in Shakespeare’s time, see
Appendices A and B at the end of this book.

Chapter 2
Anagrams and Ciphers in the Dedication

Some time ago, I became convinced that the dedication to the sonnets was deliberately written in
anagrams and ciphers, and that it would paradoxically become clear only to a reader who knew
what to look for. Most scholars today think that the initials "W. H." are an anagram for "H. W.,"
or Henry Wriothesley, the third Earl of Southampton, to whom Shakespeare had dedicated two
long narrative poems published in 1593 and 1594. I agree with this interpretation. Moreover, I
am not the first person to detect the letters of Henry Wriothesley's name imbedded in the lines of
the dedication.

After several years of sporadic attempts to solve the riddle as an anagram, I decided to learn
more about ciphers as they were practiced in Elizabethan times. Cryptology, I learned, has been
practiced for a long time, at least as early as the 5th Century when the Spartans used it for military
purposes. For political purposes, Julius Caesar invented the first "substitution cipher" which

8
shifted letters of a 21-letter alphabet a predetermined number of spaces. Throughout the middle
ages, educated monks used ciphers for amusement. Geoffrey Chaucer [1340-1400] used a
substitution alphabet to encrypt passages in a scientific treatise about planets. By the 16th century,
many books had been printed on cryptology (also called steganography, or "covered writing").
Many European states employed full time cipher secretaries who were occupied with enciphering
and deciphering messages (the "secret" root in "secretary" indicates the confidential nature of
their work). Sir Francis Bacon, a contemporary of Shakespeare's, wrote an essay saying that the
best ciphers had the "vertue" that they "bee without suspition." In other words, the surface text
(called the “plaintext”) should seem to say something innocuous while masking the ciphered
message in plain sight.

At a time when plots and power struggles threatened the English monarchy and the stability of
the realm, secret messages were often sent as ciphers within innocent-appearing messages.
Queen Elizabeth's Privy Council included several experts on ciphers, most notably her Secretary
of State Sir Francis Walsingham; her Treasurer William Cecil (Lord Burghley after 1571); her
favorite courtier, Master of the Horse Robert Dudley (Earl of Leicester after 1564); and her
polymath legal adviser Sir Francis Bacon. Francis Bacon's older brother Anthony earned a fair
living as a decipherer (also as a spy) employed by Robert Dudley (Leicester). William Cecil
(Burghley), who served Elizabeth loyally for forty years, had a passion for spying and
controlling that led him into deciphering many messages himself. Cecil and his minions were not
above using torture to extract cipher keys from suspected traitors. He and Walsingham
uncovered a number of plots to assassinate Elizabeth or depose her. It was their secret service
agents who intercepted the cryptographed letters of Mary Queen of Scots, deciphered them, and
used them to convict her of treason. (These letters may have been forgeries, but that is another
story.)

In his 1992 book The Elizabethan Secret Service, Alan Haynes details the varied ways devised to
hide messages-- letters hidden in the heels of slippers, the linings of trunks, or under a woman's
petticoats; alum used for writing on paper or cloth; books in which certain pages contained the
cryptic messages. Walsingham and Cecil knew them all. England had a general mail service
using post horses (our source of the expression "post haste"), which was generally considered so
unreliable that only commoners would entrust a message to it. Ironically, it could be used to
smuggle ciphers in what appeared to be innocuous missionary letters.

Dedication to “Shakespeare’s Sonnets” published by Thomas Thorpe in 1609

Now let's test some of the rumors and theories that have arisen about the authorship of the
Shakespearean canon.

William Shakspere of Stratford

The orthodox tradition says that the author was a vagabond actor from Stratford-upon-Avon who
signed his name as "Shaxper" or "Shagsper" or "Shakspere" (but he never spelled it
"Shakespeare" as the publishers did). Spelling irregularities aside, why would Will Shakspere
need to hide his own name or the name of his dedicatee? Moreover, since the sonnets were

9
published in 1609, when Will Shakspere was living in retirement at Stratford, why did he not
claim them or collect royalties on their sales? The content of the sonnets cannot be convincingly
linked to the known biographical details of Shakspere's life, and it would have been extremely
presumptuous for a commoner to address an Earl, urging him to marry and beget children, "for
love of me" (Sonnet 10). For these reasons, we can easily rule out Will Shakspere from Stratford
as the author of the sonnets, regardless of whether or not we think he wrote the plays.

Francis Bacon

Another school of thought holds that Francis Bacon was the author who used the name
"Shakespeare" as a pseudonym. If so, we would expect to see his name ciphered into the
dedication, along with that of Henry Wriothesley. I am unable to find such a cipher. Although
the letter "C" appears twice in Bacon's name, there is no "C" in the dedication. Moreover, the
sonnets to the "fair youth" do not seem likely to have come from a childless, long-time bachelor
like Bacon. Bacon's attitude about begetting children was set forth clearly in his prose essay, "Of
Parents and Children." In the quoted passage below, he says plainly that childless men produce
more for society than family men do:

The perpetuity by generation is common to beasts, but memory, merit and noble works are
proper to men, and surely a man shall see the noblest works and foundations have proceeded
from childless men, which have sought to express the images of their minds, when those of their
body have failed. So the care of posterity is most in them that have no posterity.

Bacon was still alive in 1609 when the sonnets were published. If they had been his work, surely
he would have claimed them. Or, if they contained state secrets, he could have blocked their
publication. He also published prodigious amounts of scientific and philosophical material in his
own name, leaving little or no time for writing and producing plays and sonnets. For these
reasons, we seriously question whether Francis Bacon was the author of the poems.

Alfred Dodd, a Twentieth-century English Baconian who has written many books about
Rosicrucianism and Freemasonry, gives Bacon credit for reviving some of the Knights Templar
rituals and for adding degrees to the original three Masonic levels of entered apprentice, fellow
craft, and master craft. The 33 degrees he developed, says Dodd, related to his own numerical
signature – 33. This number was obtained by assigning a number to each letter of the alphabet,
and then adding together those that make up the name (counting I and J as one letter).
B =2, A =1, C =3, O =14, N =13. 2+1+3+14+13 = 33.

As a group, Baconians began to build a case using ciphers in the 18th century, although questions
about the authorship had existed since 1601 [Churchill, Shakespeare and his Betters, 186-188]
They claimed to have discovered ciphers of Bacon’s name imbedded in various Shakespeare
materials. Grateful as I am for the work they have done in documenting the prevalence of ciphers
in Elizabethan England, certain flaws in their assumptions have weakened their case and led to
skepticism about the whole topic of ciphers. These flaws include taking such liberties as
substituting a letter at random to make it fit a preconception, or spelling Bacon’s name as
BEKAN (or worse), or converting letters to complicated numerical translations of doubtful
utility.

10
To my knowledge, the Baconians have not been able to establish plausible connections between
the known events of Francis Bacon's life and the content of the sonnets. Therefore Baconians
provide no enlightenment that might lead to a more satisfying interpretation of Shakespeare’s
sonnets.

Edward De Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford

The most plausible theory, it seems to me, is that Edward De Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford,
disguised his identity with the pen name "William Shakespeare" because of his close connections
to Elizabeth's court. Supporters of this candidate, generally called "Oxfordians," have found
many parallels between the events in the plays and the life experiences of Edward De Vere. They
maintain a web site where the authorship controversy is briefly explained, (www.shakespeare-
oxfordfellowship.com) with links to other web sites about Shakespeare, including a similar
organization in the U.K. called "The De Vere Society" ( http://www.devere.org.uk ).

The relationship between Oxford and Southampton is still being debated among Oxfordians.
Some Oxfordians believe that Henry Wriothesley was the natural son of Edward De Vere, which
would explain the fatherly tone of the sonnets addressed to the "fair youth." We also find at least
two ciphers in the dedication that could refer to Edward De Vere: Vere and E. Ver. I had
observed that the word "adventurer" (a startlingly unusual term in a dedication) contained the
letters of "e.ver" or "vere" and that the oddly-placed "wisheth" was probably the longest single
word that could be made from the name "Henry Wriothesley." It seems probable that the poet
had started with the names he wanted to insert, and then found some words containing those
letters -- words that he could use even if by doing so he contorted the syntax. (See diagrams of
ciphers inserted below.)

John Rollett, writing in The Oxfordian in 1997, shows one way of aligning the letters of the
sonnet dedication in rows and columns to spell the name of Henry Wriothesley vertically. Using
a slightly different configuration of rows and columns, he finds the name of De Vere, whom he
would like to see confirmed as the author of the Shakespearean canon. Rollett also points out the
unusual spelling of "onlie" (I would add the unusual spelling of "insuing" which also suggests a
cipher). Rollet stresses the importance of the original layout of the dedication. He notes that
many editors and publishers have altered the spelling or rearranged the lines, thus hindering the
search for its cryptic meaning.

The dedication is also unusual for having a dot after each word, which suggests to Rollett that a
clue could be found by counting. The dots may also provide a clue that the author was familiar
with Rosicrucian and Freemason secret codes, both of which use dots for letters. (See further
explanation in Appendices A and B.)

What struck me was the odd grammatical structure following the words "promised by." It
suggests that an encoded message has dominated the author's choice of words and the order in
which they appear (“promised by our ever-living poet wisheth the well-wishing adventurer in
setting forth”).

11
The initials "T.T." at the bottom of the dedication are generally understood to stand for Thomas
Thorpe, the publisher. But it is highly improbable that Thorpe could have written the Dedication.
It is far too different from other dedications that are known to be his, several of them cited by
Rollett. Furthermore, Thorpe usually signed his initials “Th.Th.” The book’s title, Shake-speares
Sonnets, Never Before Imprinted, was obviously written by Thorpe to stimulate sales, so it would
not be in his best interest to present the dedication as a riddle. The sonnet book may well have
been suppressed by authorities or by Henry Wriothesley himself, since Thorpe didn’t issue a
second edition. But Shakspere of Stratford did not step forth to claim authorship or royalties.

Perhaps the real Shakespeare did not step forward because he was already dead. Edward De Vere
had died in 1604 (presumably of the plague, but that is not certain). Thomas Thorpe obtained the
manuscript from a William Hall, whose initials “W.H.” have led to speculation that he might be
the mysterious “Mr. W.H.” to whom the sonnet book is dedicated. Some readers who assume
that Thorpe wrote the dedication have suggested that Hall is the “onlie begetter” because he
procured the manuscript.

But there is a far more logical explanation. “Master Henry Wriothesley” was a Freemason at the
master’s level and the son of Edward De Vere, also a Freemason. The “procurer” William Hall
had obtained the manuscript privately from the possessions of Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke, after
Greville had purchased a home from Edward De Vere's widow, Elizabeth Trenton De Vere,
Countess of Oxford. Presumably the manuscript had been left behind when the Countess moved.
This fact makes a direct connection between Edward De Vere and the sonnets.

Building upon the work of Rollett, Prechter, William Ray, and other Oxfordians (called
“Oxfordians” because they believe Oxford used the pen name “Shakespeare”-- in contrast to the
theoretical camps of "Stratfordians" and "Baconians"), I can find three names of importance to
the love story encrypted in the plaintext (surface meaning) of the Dedication. The diagrams
below show the ciphers for the first initial and last name of E. De Vere (it can actually be found
twice) and the name of Henry Wriothesley (it can also be found twice, once above and once
below the midpoint “by”).

One would expect to find the name of the dedicatee, Henry Wriothesley, because he was the
person to whom Shakespeare dedicated his first two published narrative poems, “Venus and
Adonis” (1593) and “The Rape of Lucrece” (1594). It is reasonable to assume that if Edward De
Vere was using the pen name of “William Shakespeare” he would imbed his own name also. The
third name is that of “Elisabeth Regina,” (Elisabeth spelled with an “s” to avoid easy recognition
of a “z” in the encryption).

Undoubtedly Oxford /Shakespeare, like many other Renaissance writers, knew about hidden
ciphers and used them. The ones I discovered in his sonnet dedication followed these rules:
Begin at any given point in the message, move along the line toward the right, the left, or
alternating directions, so that the encoded name appears in a sequence (the number of letters
between the ciphered ones could vary). Backward or forward from top to bottom between lines
could be legitimate moves, as could upward and downward, and skipping a line would be
permissible. The pattern of letters must, however, appear in a sequence, not in scrambled order.

12
Letters could be used twice in two different names or motto words, but not twice in the same
name or word. (See the diagrams printed below.)

E. De Vere Mr. W.H. = Henry Wriothesley

E. Regina

The diagram directly above shows that the full name of “Elisabeth Regina” can be located twice,
using the rules explained above. Begin with a starred letter, follow the dotted lines in sequence
without using the same letter twice in the same name. The four starred letters begin the name
words “E” for Elisabeth (twice) and “R” for Regina (twice).
The statistical odds against all these ciphers appearing in the 28-word dedication would be
exceedingly small, arguing strongly against mere coincidence. Other investigators might find
additional names or clues that I missed, in which case the statistical odds would increase.

As further evidence of the author’s ingenuity, he imbedded the mottos of all three of the trinity of
father, mother, and son. Elizabeth’s motto was semper eadem which translates as “ever the
same”; Henry’s motto ung par tout, tour par ung translates as “one for all, all for one,” and
Edward’s motto vero nihil verius or vero nil verius can be translated as "true, nothing truer" or
"nothing truer than truth,” or in this case, perhaps “nothing truer than Vere." In this context,
"true" also connotes loyalty, a quality for which the De Vere family was noted. Their loyalty to
their kings, notably in battle and archery, had been rewarded with gifts of land, profitable
concessions, and positions of distinction at Court. Along with his title of 17th Earl of Oxford,
Edward had inherited the role of Lord Great Chamberlain, which carried with it the privilege of
bearing the royal canopy on state occasions, according to the scholar Charlton Ogburn, Jr.
Ogburn says that Edward’s father, the 16th Earl of Oxford, officiated in this manner at the
coronation of Queen Elizabeth I, and Edward De Vere bore the canopy in celebration of
England's victory over the Spanish Armada in 1588. Knowing this fact gives poignancy to the
line in Sonnet 76, "Were't aught to me I bore the canopy." Such a royal privilege, the poet says,
means nothing in comparison to the satisfaction of loving and being loved.

The mottos of Elizabeth and Henry are also featured in Sonnet 76, lines 5-9:

Why write I still all one, ever the same, [allusion to mottos]
And keep invention in a noted weed, [noted weed = recognized mourning garment] That every
word doth almost tell my name, [every word = e-vere]
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? [birth = they originated with me]

[where . . proceed = they always go toward you]

O know, Sweet Love, I always write of you
And you and love are still my argument [argument = theme, subject matter]

13
If we perceive Edward De Vere and the author Shakespeare to be the same person, other
interpretations of the sonnets become less problematic. For example, Edward De Vere liked to
make puns on his name, which appears in Latin roots meaning "true" (very, verity, verily, verify)
and "springtime" (vernal, verdant, verdure). The author Shakespeare also liked to use puns, and
we might expect him to offer some clues as to his real identity through punning. In Sonnet 75,
Shakespeare writes "that every word doth almost tell my name." Oxfordians consider that line to
be a pun on his name "E. Vere" or "E. Ver" which tells his "true" name. This version is the one
that appears in cipher in the dedication.

The word "verre" means "glass" in French, and Shakespeare always favored the word "glass"
rather than "mirror." In Sonnet 3, Shakespeare writes to the Fair Youth, "Thou art thy mother's
glass, and she in thee/ Recalls the lovely April of her prime." In other words, assuming that the
Fair Youth is Henry Wriothesley, Third Earl of Southampton, he looked so much like his mother
that he seemed to be a reflection in her looking-glass.

The Significance of “Twelfth Night”

In investigating the rumor of the love affair between Oxford and Elizabeth, I searched through
the Dedication looking for the three names of the father, mother, and son. The inclusion of the
three mottos also reinforced the idea that Oxford/Shakespeare had written his own dedication to
the sonnets. But I also made another discovery -- quite by accident -- that convinced me the love
affair was genuine.

Over the last several years I had tried making anagrams of the words in the dedication, trying to
find a message using the same letters as in the plaintext, and using each letter only once. The
ambiguity of "V" and "U" being used interchangeably posed something of a problem, but even
when I allowed for that, I could not find a satisfactory arrangement in pure anagram form.

Then I read whatever I could find about ciphers. Looking for patterns I had read about, I was
struck by the cluster of letters at the lower right hand corner which spelled "night." My
immediate reaction was, if "night" appeared in one corner, then "twelfth" might appear in

another. The upper left corner of that triangle did contain the start of "twelfth" in the words "the
well-wishing" and the end of the word could be found in "forth," the last word in that
ungrammatical sentence which seemed to have no other purpose but to complete this triangle.
Since “Night”also appears in the upper right corner, the two-word title can be seen as
ornamenting the opposite corners. (See diagrams of Ciphers)

Dedication to “Shakespeare’s Sonnets” published in 1609 by

Thomas Thorpe

Twelfth Night
14
I was familiar with Shakespeare's play, "Twelfth Night," a comedy satirizing some of the
personalities in Elizabeth's court such as Sir Christopher Hatton, a devoted admirer of the Queen,
lampooned as Malvolio. But why "Twelfth Night," of all his plays?

Perhaps the explanation was in the nature of the holiday, about which I knew little. My
encyclopedia informed me that the twelve days of Christmas were a time of revelry beginning at
Christmas and extending until January 6. Many of Shakespeare's plays were presented during
that festive period to entertain her majesty, her courtiers, and her guests. But what was so
significant about the last night of the revelry? The Twelfth Night holiday was a time of topsy-
topsy-turvy, a time of daring, when disguises and masks gave revelers a chance to be someone
else, when nothing was what it appeared to be.

Still I was not satisfied. I began to feel as if I had taken on the role of those "eyes not yet created"
that Shakespeare believed would someday read his verses and make his loved one immortal
(Sonnet 81). I turned to the biographical information about Henry Wriothesley. He was born on
October 6, 1573. That means the probable date of his conception would have been January 6, the
Twelfth Night of that year's celebrations. In that year, Edward De Vere had been considered one
of the queen's favorites. He was a handsome, well-built young courtier 23 years of age. Elizabeth
was fifteen years older, yet still in her prime at 39. They were together on Twelfth Night,
celebrating the revels. Could the Twelfth Night in 1573 have been a memorable night of love as
well as one of revelry?

That seems to be the intent of Shakespeare/Oxford – to reassure his natural son that he was a
love-child, not an unwanted child. I could picture the anguish of a father writing in verse to his
natural son, "I may not ever more acknowledge thee, lest my bewailed guilt should do thee
shame," as he did in Sonnet 36, yet when that son was under threat of execution in 1601,
Shakespeare/Oxford wanted desperately to give that son the only legacy he could offer
-immortality in literature.

In his biography The Life and Times of Elizabeth I, Neville Williams painted an unflattering
picture of Edward De Vere as one of Elizabeth's courtiers. Williams wrote:

Edward De Vere, Earl of Oxford, was feckless, thoughtless and a "heel", keeping his countess
short of money yet lavishly supporting indigent poets and actors. The Queen found him a most
unsatisfactory favourite, yet there was something appealing in his eccentric, dissolute ways, and
after anger and tears would come reconciliation. Her continued favour of this worthless
aristocrat, against her better judgment, was to set in train the wildly improbable story that they
were lovers, and the Earl of Southampton was their offspring! [Williams, p. 111]

Wildly improbable, indeed! No one would ever believe it! But suppose it were true! Then it
would explain the need for secrecy, for a pseudonym, and for a stand-in such as Will Shakspere
of Stratford-on-Avon. It would also explain a cryptic dedication by a poet-father who wanted his
son to know the secret of his birth, and the truth about his illustrious parentage, although the poet
himself declared "That I, once dead, to all the world must die” [sonnet 81].
15
This rumor has survived even to this day, known in some quarters as the "Prince Tudor" theory.
Few scholars give it much credence, although most do believe that the sonnets reveal
Shakespeare's personal feelings. Certainly the theory gives us a radically different way to
interpret the sonnets, sufficient to dismiss one recurrent notion that the male-to-male relationship
is a homosexual one. I will return to the sonnet interpretations later, but first I want to test the
theory against some external and practical considerations.

How Could Elizabeth Keep Her Secret?

The primary question, of course, is whether such a liaison would have been even remotely
possible. I have searched through history, biography, and even the fashions of the Renaissance
Period, to satisfy myself that Elizabeth could have concealed a pregnancy from all but a few
intimate friends. In fact, it may have happened before.

Ten years earlier, Elizabeth had absented herself from court for six weeks. It was reported that
the Queen had smallpox and almost died, but the circumstances were somewhat puzzling. The
pock marks had not appeared as early in the progress of the disease as they normally did
(supposedly making it a more serious matter), and her complexion seemed to be blessedly free of
scarring when she returned. Moreover, she was treated by a German doctor whom she expelled
once in anger, but she later recalled him. This occurred toward the end of 1561 or early 1562,
depending on whether we use the Old Style or the New Style dating system (the calendar year
had been changed to begin in January – new style -- rather than in March -old style).

Elizabeth’s chief lady in waiting at that time was Lady Ann Bacon, the wife of Sir Nicholas
Bacon. Some believe that Francis Bacon (whose birthdate is sometimes given as 1562 but
usually as 1561) was actually the child of Elizabeth and her long-time favorite, Robert Dudley,
the Earl of Leicester. Some others believe that Francis was the child of Elizabeth and Francis
Walsingham, her chief spymaster, because of the facial resemblance to be seen in their portraits
and the fact that an illegitimate son was often given the first name of his father. Francis was
raised among the other children in the Bacon family, but he did not share in the inheritance when
Sir Nicholas Bacon died. Instead, Francis had to make his own living as a lawyer and
cryptographer.

Many Baconians today believe that Francis Bacon was Elizabeth's unacknowledged son, who
never received the royal preferment from Elizabeth that he hoped for. (But her successor, King
James I of England, did offer Bacon some choice appointments). Although the possibility is
intriguing, it is not within the scope of this chapter to present the case for Francis Bacon. It is
mentioned only to illustrate how Elizabeth might have handled a pregnancy in 1561 and again in
1573.

If Elizabeth had conceived on Twelfth Night, January 6, 1573, she would have been able to wear
fashionably loose garments through the summer months to conceal her pregnancy. (She favored
the Farthingale design, which used hoops to project a skirt to enlarge the hip area.) Elizabeth did
find ways to keep some of her suitors away from London that autumn, and she may have
conducted the business of the crown through letters or have taken actions through her trusted
counselor, William Cecil, (who was by then titled Lord Burghley). Elizabeth's devoted courtier

16
and bodyguard Christopher Hatton was sent to a spa for his health, and he duly complied, though
he wrote that he was in agony not to be in her presence.

Elizabeth also found a reason to send Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, to Ireland for several
months, after he had fallen out of her good graces in 1572. He had been pressuring her for some
time to name him as Prince Consort, and had even approached the Spanish king Philip II to
influence Elizabeth in support of his suit. Perhaps he was emboldened by the knowledge that
Elizabeth had borne a son or two by him (Arthur Dudley, the first son, was allegedly born in
August, 1561, when Elizabeth had been said to be bloated by dropsy, and was being raised by a
humble foster family in relative obscurity.) Robert Devereux, the 2nd Earl of Essex, born
November 1566, was widely supposed to be the son of Robert Dudley and Elizabeth. If Elizabeth
had married Dudley, one of their sons might have been legitimized to become Elizabeth's heir.
But Dudley's ambition annoyed Elizabeth so much that she once snapped at him, "If you seek to
rule here, know ye that there will be only one Mistress in this court and no master!"

Dudley also infuriated the Queen by having an affair with Lady Douglass Sheffield, who bore
him a son in 1573. Lady Sheffield claimed that she and Dudley had been married secretly,
following the death of her husband, but she could not offer proof of that marriage. Dudley denied
the marriage but did not deny paternity, so Lady Sheffield named her son “Robert” after his
natural father, as was customary. Dudley's irresponsibility (or even disloyalty, as Elizabeth
probably interpreted it) may have contributed to the Queen's disenchantment with him during the
holidays of 1572-1573. Conceivably she could have sought companionship elsewhere, just as he
had done. The young Earl of Oxford appealed to her, with his muscular build, his wit, his talent
for verbal repartee, and his courtier's skill in dancing. She might have left her own bedchamber,
where she usually dined alone, and spent some time in his.

Twelfth night, the culmination of a holiday season of lavish entertaining, had an aura of magic.
In the afterglow of the wine, music, and dancing, it might not have seemed so strange for a
woman to seduce a man, or for an older woman to instruct a younger man in the arts of love, or
even for a queen to submit to one of her subjects in the spirit of amorous play.

Though these behaviors seem to reverse normal social roles, this possibility gains credibility
when we look to "Venus and Adonis," the first narrative poem published under the name of
"William Shakespeare" in 1593. It tells the story of Adonis, a shy youth, who is seduced by
Venus, a beauty who brings out latent passion in him. The erotic imagery in that poem, conveyed
by symbols of spirited horses in amorous frolic, might have been one way for the poet to say to
his son, "This is how it happened: you were conceived in love and tenderness, emotions which
have since been transformed into my love and devotion for you." The poem ”Venus and Adonis”
was openly dedicated to Henry Wriothesley, the Third Earl of Southampton, who was then
nineteen years old. He was already being considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the
kingdom.

How Could a Changeling Child Become the Earl of Southampton?

If indeed it could have been possible for Elizabeth to have a child by Edward De Vere, by what
arrangements could their son have become the Third Earl of Southampton? The Second Earl of

17
Southampton, (also named Henry Wriothesley), had been imprisoned in the Tower in 1571 for
participating in the Ridolfi Plot, specifically for "his well wishes toward the marriage of the
Duke of Norfolk and Mary Queen of Scots." Norfolk, the proposed bridegroom for Mary, was
beheaded in 1572, accused by Elizabeth's counselors of conspiring to overthrow Elizabeth and to
place a Catholic monarch on the throne. According to the family historian Charlotte C. Stopes,
the Second Earl of Southampton was permitted to move from the Tower to his father-inlaw's
house in July of 1573. On October 6, he wrote from there to a friend that his wife had been
seized (implying labor pains?) and delivered "a goodly boy." In this way the date of young
Henry's birth was established – October 6, 1573, exactly nine months after the Twelfth Night
celebrations of that year. Could Lord Burghley have released the Second Earl of Oxford from the
Tower with the condition that he and his countess accept the child as their own, and thus as the
heir to the earldom?

Certainly the circumstances were suspicious. No christening records exist for the scion of this
noble family, yet the Second Earl seems to have accepted the newborn as his heir. Nor did he
raise questions about his wife’s faithfulness, although he was imprisoned (with no conjugal visits
allowed) when the conception took place in January. Thus he could not have been the biological
father of the child born October 6, and there is no evidence that his countess, Mary Browne
Wriothesley, was pregnant with another man’s child. Although the history is clouded,
Oxfordians tend to believe that the Third Earl of Southampton was a changeling child.

Lord Burghley sent an agent to keep an eye on the Second Earl of Southampton, a lawyer who
attempted to divert the Southampton assets to his own purposes. His influence over her husband
caused the Countess to complain, but the Earl left her and took little Henry with him. The
Second Earl did not allow the boy to see his mother from 1577 to 1581, when he died. Thus the
eight-year-old boy became the Third Earl of Southampton.

Soon after the Second Earl’s death, young Southampton became a ward of the court and was
educated under the supervision of Elizabeth's chief advisor, Lord Burghley, who had also been
the guardian of Edward De Vere from the age of 12. In 1590, Lord Burghley was proposing a
match between Henry, his ward, and Elizabeth Vere, his granddaughter. Some readers have
inferred that the “procreation” sonnets express Shakespeare/Oxford’s desire to promote this
match. However, others argue that the sonnets do not advocate any particular woman as a bride
for the fair youth. Rather, for Oxford, it was very important that this beautiful young man should
marry and beget a “copy” of himself.

The sonnets urging the "fair youth" to have children take on a special poignancy if we consider
that Oxford and his Countess, Anne Cecil (Burghley's daughter), had a son who died in infancy,
leaving Oxford with no legitimate male heir. (Years later, Oxford did have a son by his second
wife, Elizabeth Trenton, whom they named "Henry De Vere," and who became the 18th Earl of
Oxford.)

If Oxford did meet Southampton for the first time in 1590, as a proposed suitor for his daughter,
he would have been delighted. He had not seen his son since his birth in 1573. Sonnet 33
particularly invites such a poignant interpretation, with its puns on "son/sun" and region/regina":
"Even so my Sunne one early morn did shine,/ With all triumphant splendor on my brow,/ But

18
out alack, he was but one hour mine,/ The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now." The
feelings expressed in Sonnet 33 could apply even more fittingly to an illegitimate son, for the
poet is separated from his sun/son by a mask, a false identity, which is imposed by a "region"
cloud, reigning over him. (See also discussion in Chapter 3.)

Did Henry Wriothesley look like his mother? And was his mother Queen Elizabeth? Certain
portraits of Elizabeth and of Southampton do show a remarkable resemblance. Compare the best-
known portraits of Wriothesley, painted when he was about 21 and about 30, to the portrait of
Elizabeth known as the "Sieve portrait" (so called because of the sieve she is holding). Both
faces are narrow, both noses long and slightly arched. And both were noted for beautiful eyes, as
had been Elizabeth’s mother, Ann Boleyn. In Sonnet 17, Shakespeare extols that feature: "If I
could write the beauty of thine eyes/ And in fresh numbers number all your graces,/ The age to
come would say this Poet lies,/ Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces. / But were
some child of yours alive that time, / You should live twice -- in it, and in my rime."

“Thou art thy mother’s glass”

•
•

In at least some of the sonnets, the Dark Lady character may have represented Elizabeth in her
darker moods, for she was known to exhibit vanity, jealousy, and cruel vengeance. For example,
when her lady-in-waiting Anne Vavasor bore a son sired by Oxford, Elizabeth had both of them
imprisoned in the Tower along with their newborn infant. When the young Earl of Southampton
secretly married another of her maids of honor (Elizabeth Vernon), thus willfully defying the
Queen’s orders, Elizabeth had him imprisoned in the Tower. In theory the maidens were under
her protection while she sought suitable marriage partners for them, but the young are less likely
to follow advice than to follow their hearts. After a short time, the Queen relented and released
her prisoners, but they were no longer in her good graces.

To make matters worse, Henry Wriothesley became a close friend and follower of Robert
Devereux, 2nd Earl of Essex, the stepson (or actually the son) of Elizabeth's deceased favorite,
Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester. The Essex Rebellion was a culmination of years of power
struggles at court, with different factions seeking access to the Queen and trying to block the
access of others. Nonetheless Essex lost his head for treason, and Southampton escaped that fate
only through the intervention of Robert Cecil, who had succeeded his father William as
Elizabeth's chief advisor. Southampton was again imprisoned in the Tower for his participation
30in the plot. These punishments involved painful decisions for Elizabeth. The heartache may
have influenced Shakespeare (Oxford) to write in his tragedy of King Lear the memorable lines,
"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is/ to have a thankless child."

Shortly after Queen Elizabeth died in 1603, Edward De Vere died in 1604. Some mysterious
circumstances surrounding his death are still being investigated, such as why no will of his has
been found, and why King James I, Elizabeth’s successor, detained the Earl of Southampton and

19
held him overnight in the tower on the day De Vere died. Perhaps King James was worried that
Oxford’s will could reveal some family secrets.

As for De Vere, he probably believed that he would never be able to reveal his identity as an
author, and thus he wrote in Sonnet 81, addressing the Fair Youth: “Your name from hence
immortal life shall have,/ Though I, once gone, to all the world must die.” Credit for his plays
would go to his "upstart crow" stand-in at the market town of Stratford-on-Avon. The mother of
his first son would go down in history as a Virgin Queen. Their love-child would be viewed only
as his patron, never as his heir. And he, the 17th Earl of Oxford, would be remembered as a
“black sheep” in the family, if anyone remembered him at all. But a little chapbook of sonnets
survived, and it may have fulfilled his prediction better than he had hoped:

“So long as men shall live and eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

****
Chapter 3
What the Sonnets Themselves Tell Us

The first seventeen sonnets in the sequence, addressed to the "Fair Youth," urge him to marry
and beget children. This theme is consistent with the theory that the poet is a father writing to his
son, as is the fatherly tone of the poems. It also reflects the attitudes of nobility for whom
begetting an heir is seen as a solemn duty. In a political climate preoccupied with matters of
succession to the crown, this question loomed like an impending storm cloud. King Henry the
VIII, Queen Elizabeth’s father, had been so obsessed with having a male heir that he broke away
from the Roman Catholic church to divorce his first wife. Queen Elizabeth was pressured
constantly to marry and provide the country with a crown prince, or at least to name an heir.
Therefore it would not be surprising for Edward De Vere to urge his handsome son to marry and
make "copies" of himself.

Sonnet 3 exemplifies the theme of preserving beauty through reproduction, and also expresses
the deep feelings the poet still has for the fair youth's mother. For modern readers who are
unaccustomed to Shakespeare’s language or unfamiliar with the tightly compressed form of the
14-line verse form, a prose paraphrase follows the sonnet. Reading the prose paraphrase first
might help with understand the poem’s message, but re-reading the sonnet will help to develop
an appreciation for the artist’s poetic skill.

Sonnet 3

Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest

Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?

20
Thou art thy mother's glass, and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime:
So thou through windows of thine age shall see
Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
Die single, and thine image dies with thee

Paraphrase of Sonnet 3
Look in your mirror, and say to yourself, now is the time to have a child that looks like you. If
you do not renew your handsome features by giving the world a fresh young likeness, some
woman will miss the blessing of becoming the mother of your child. For where could you find a
fair young woman whose womb is yet like an unplowed field, who would not want you to be the
husband who tilled that field? Or who is the man so foolish as to bury his good looks in his own
generation, selfishly stopping the line of posterity by remaining childless? You are the image of
your mother at your age, and through you, I can recall the lovely youthful “springtime” when she
was in her prime. And so will you, looking back through the windows of old age, see this
reflection as your golden time of life. But if you do not care to be remembered, stay single, and
let your image die with you.

Commentary on Sonnet 3:
The poet has given us two powerful hints in the sestet (the last 6 lines of the sonnet). For one, the
fair youth looks so much like his mother that he could be her reflection in a mirror. As
previously mentioned, portraits of Henry Wriothesley and Elizabeth Tudor do reveal an
astonishing resemblance, particularly the portrait of Wriothesley (Southampton) in the Tower
with his cat, and Elizabeth’s “Sieve Portrait” in which she holds a sieve as a symbol of virginity.
These portraits both show their subjects at a three-quarters angle, making the comparison an easy
matter.

The second hint is that the Youth’s appearance calls to mind the “lovely April” of his mother’s
prime — when she was in the full bloom of her womanhood. Elizabeth had just turned forty a
month before Henry Wriothesley was born; she certainly would have been in her prime in her
thirties. In his late teens and early twenties, Henry looked like his mother at the same age. These
lines suggest also that the young queen made a lasting impression on Edward De Vere when she
visited the De Vere family in 1560, shortly after becoming queen. She would have been about 27
years old, young Edward about 10. With her red-gold hair and fair skin, her quick wit and
personal charm, she dazzled him. He never got over his fascination with her.

Elizabeth cultivated the image of “The Virgin Queen” for several good reasons. Her subjects
associated her with the Virgin Mary, a sacred icon to both Catholics and Protestants, thus
providing a symbolic religious and national unity. Her availability for marriage kept some of the
crowned heads of Europe hoping to form an alliance with her, thus helping to keep her nation at
peace by discouraging other alliances by Catholic nations. So if she did have a child or children,
it would have had to be a closely guarded secret.

Other Sonnets From Father to Son

21
Sonnet 33 creates a powerful link between the events of Oxford’s life and the subject matter of
Shakespeare’s poems. It contains suggestions of this agonizing father-son relationship. The puns
on "sun" and "son," the metaphors of clouds and masks, seem to mix the joy of fatherhood with
the pain of enforced separation. The birth of a love-child might bring great joy to a father who
does not yet have a son for his legitimate heir. If the mother then gives up the child for adoption,
that father might grieve deeply, having no hope that the son might be legitimized. Sonnet 33
captures the emotions such a man might feel.

Sonnet 33
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace:
Even so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out, alack, he was but one hour mine,
The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now.
Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;
Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun staineth.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 33:

I have seen many a glorious morning beautify the mountaintops with the sun’s glow. I have seen
the sun’s golden face kiss the green meadows, seen the pale streams turned to gold like a base
metal transformed to a precious metal by a heavenly alchemy. But then the glorious morning
permits the ugliest cloud to deface the sun’s heavenly face, hiding his visage from an unhappy
world, letting him steal away to the west as if ashamed. Even so, my sun (son) on one early
morning did shine on my forehead with triumphant splendor, yet alas, he was mine only for an
hour. The region cloud has hidden him from me. Yet my love does not disdain him for this, not
even a little bit. Suns/sons of the world may become stained when their sovereign ruler becomes
attainted.

Commentary on Sonnet 33
In the first quatrain, Sonnet 33 presents a breathtakingly beautiful picture of early morning. The
metaphor of alchemy and the celestial imagery show a Rosicrucian influence. The sun is
personified as a celestial ruler (roi soleil, or sun king) who glorifies the earth with a magic touch.
But sometimes ugly clouds scar the sun’s face, and so he hides his visage and steals into the west
unseen. Then the sun becomes symbolic of the “son” that Oxford sired with Elizabeth, splendid
and triumphant. But alas, he saw the son for only an hour before the “region cloud” (regina, or
Elizabeth) took him away and masked his identity. Still, Oxford loves his child in a way that
cannot be diminished by absence. The last line suggests a proverb, “If gold rust, what will iron

22
do?” If the ruler of heaven becomes stained with sin, luminaries of society (suns of the world)
may also be subject to weaknesses.

Legacy of Poetry

Shakespeare's intention to leave a legacy of poetry, particularly in this sonnet collection, is stated
quite clearly in Sonnet 81. It appears to be addressed to the same person to whom the collection
is dedicated -- that is, to "Mr. W.H." or “H. W.”-- and yet indirectly it challenges future
generations to help the poet deliver on his promise to the dedicatee. The "eyes not yet created"
must keep reading his poetry over and over until the truth can safely be told. The tongues of
future beings must speak of the lives long since gone, thus making one immortal.

If we picture the poet as a man compelled to mask his true identity, a man who cannot leave his
son any legacy other than his art (and even that art obscured by a pseudonym), these lines take
on a special poignancy.

Sonnet 81
Or I shall live your epitaph to make,
Or you survive when I in earth am rotten,
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die:
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men's eyes shall lie.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o'er-read;
And tongues to be, your being shall rehearse,
When all the breathers of this world are dead;
You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen,
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 81
Whether I outlive you long enough to write your epitaph, or you survive me when I am buried,
Death cannot bury memories of you, though all my personal qualities will be long forgotten.
From this time forward, your name will live on, although my name will be lost to the world. I
can expect no memorial, (only the grave of an ordinary mortal), but your tomb will be
recognition in the eyes of men.
Your monument shall be my gentle verse, which will be read over and over by new generations
not yet born. And in the future, men's tongues will speak of you and recall who you were, after
everyone now living and breathing has died. My pen is so powerful that it will immortalize you.
Those who read my poetry aloud will be most fully alive, their mouths (where breath is most
meaningful) will speak your name and grant you a deathless fame.

Commentary on Sonnet 81:

How paradoxical it seems that the poet himself expects to be forgotten, yet he confidently

23
believes his poetry will immortalize his subject. This makes perfect sense, however, if we
consider the poem to be expressing the feelings of a father who cannot reveal his own true
identity, who cannot acknowledge a certain natural son without bringing shame upon him, yet
who wants desperately to give the only gift he can.

The Need to Conceal the Father-son Relationship

When Henry Wriothesley was born in 1573, Edward De Vere had a daughter (Elizabeth Vere),
but no son. He was estranged from his first wife, Anne Cecil, having been taunted by certain
enemies that she had been unfaithful to him while he was traveling in Italy (1575-76). Later he
reconciled with Anne and had two more daughters, but the only son she bore him died in
infancy.

Henry Wriothesley was a well-placed changeling child, accepted as their own son and heir by the
Second Earl of Southampton and his wife. Thus when the Second Earl died in 1581, young
Henry became heir to a title and an estate, assured of attendant privileges of wealth and genteel
education. If Henry’s biological father (the 17th Earl of Oxford) had suddenly appeared and
claimed paternity, those titles and privileges would have been forfeited. The shame of bastardy
would have tainted both father and son in this case.

Henry was already the Third Earl of Southampton when he came to Elizabeth’s court in 1590, at
the age of 17. From the age of 8, he had been raised in the Court of Wards, living at Cecil House
in London, and being educated by Lord Burghley, just as Oxford had been. When Lord Burghley
began trying to negotiate a marriage contract between his granddaughter Elizabeth Vere, and
Southampton, young Henry hesitated, pleading that he was too young to marry, asking for a
year’s time to make up his mind.

When Oxford learned who Henry Wriothesley was, he probably felt obligated to tell him that the
bride Burghley had picked for him might possibly be his half-sister. It is not known whether
Oxford favored the match, because there had been some question about whether Anne Cecil’s
first child was his. He had accepted Anne’s daughter as his own when he reconciled with her in
1581, but he was never certain. Some critics have suspected that William Cecil, desperate to
have a grandson securely placed in the aristocracy, impregnated his own daughter and faked her
birthdate while Oxford was away. If that had been the case, the girl would not have been
Southampton’s half-sister; they would not have had the same father. But only William Cecil
knew the whole truth, and he would never tell.

Oxford began to write the 17 sonnets urging the Fair Youth to marry and procreate, but the poet
was not trying to promote a marriage with his own daughter Elizabeth Vere. Any chosen woman
would do, according to the sonnets, for carrying on the blood line. Southampton did, in fact,
decline to marry the 15-year-old Elizabeth Vere, so Burghley exercised the right of a guardian to
punish his ward with an enormous fine of 5,000 pounds. This corrupt system of wardships
enriched Burghley by putting young Henry (and probably other wards as well) deep into debt.

Why Couldn’t Oxford Acknowledge Henry as his Son?

24
Why couldn’t De Vere have acknowledged Southampton as his son and made him heir to the
Earldom of Oxford? For one reason, he was married to Lord Burghley’s daughter, Anne Cecil,
and Burghley would have made powerful objections to having his daughter set aside for the sake
of an illegitimate heir. It would also diminish Burghley’s influence with the Queen if she chose
to legitimize Henry Wriothesley as her son and to make him a crown prince.

Sonnet 36 deals with the kinds of emotions that De Vere would have felt when forcing himself to
separate from his son (“we must be twain”). He wants to protect his innocent son from any
shame. The guilt must be borne by the father alone (and perhaps the mother), but not by the
child.

Although some readers have interpreted Sonnet 36 as dealing with the breakup of a homosexual
relationship, the sonnet expresses the thought that only one person in this relationship has sinned.
In a consensual homosexual relationship between adults, each person would be equally sinful.
The last two lines sound especially paternal – “Do not honor me in public as your father. Since
you are mine, any good report of you will be an honor for me also.” Emphasis added in lines 9-
10:

Sonnet 36
Let me confess that we two must be twain, Although our undivided loves are one:
So shall those blots that do with me remain, Without thy help, by me be borne alone. In our two
loves there is but one respect, Though in our lives a separable spite,
Which though it alter not love's sole effect, Yet doth it steal sweet hours from love's delight. I
may not evermore acknowledge thee, Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame, Nor thou
with public kindness honour me, Unless thou take that honour from thy name: But do not so; I
love thee in such sort
As, thou being mine, mine is thy good report.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 36
Let me make a confession -- that we must lead separate lives, although our love for each other
joins us as if we are one. In this way, the blots upon my honor will be borne by me alone. The
love we have for each other is grounded in mutual respect, but when other people treat me with
spite, I want to keep that meanness separated from you. That separation does not alter love's
overall effect, but it does deprive us of the delight of being together. I may not ever acknowledge
you as my son, lest my guilt over my much-regretted sins bring shame upon you. Nor can you
honor me in public as your father, because if you do, you would detract from your own
honorable name. But do not do this. Knowing that you are mine, I rejoice in any good report I
hear of you as if it were an honor paid to me.

Commentary on Sonnet 36
This deeply moving sonnet captures the pain of separation for two people who think it best not
be seen together. Adherents of the homosexuality theory interpret this separation as between
male lovers, but that seems unlikely. Homosexuality was a crime for both partners in Elizabethan
England; both partners would have been considered equally guilty, and both could lose their
heads. But the scenario in Sonnet 36 places the blame entirely on the shoulders of the poet-
narrator. The shame of fornication was that of the father, not of the innocent child born out of

25
wedlock. For the Earl of Oxford to acknowledge Henry Wriothesley as his son would deprive
Henry of his heritage in the Southampton line. Thus the father (poet) makes the sacrifice that
seems best for his son.

We may assume that Edward De Vere, from a distance, proudly watched his son Henry grow
into manhood. Using the pen name "William Shakespeare" to conceal his identity, De Vere was
able to dedicate his long narrative poem, "Venus and Adonis," to the Third Earl of Southampton
in 1593, as if the young earl were merely a patron.

Yet the poet always addresses the Earl of Southampton as a peer in the aristocracy, not as a
patron of superior rank. Sonnet 10 is often cited as evidence that the man from Stratford could
not have written the sonnets to Southampton, because a commoner would not have dared to
address a lord by scolding him for selfishness. Nor would a commoner be so presumptuous as to
say, “Make thee another self for love of me.” On the other hand, fathers often do and say exactly
that sort of thing.

Fathers also might tease their sons about their developing manhood. Sonnet 20 is a playful poem,
making light of its subject. The word “passion” in line 2 means a love-poem, not the intense
feeling we associate with love today. The “master-mistress” probably refers to the custom of
young males playing the women’s parts in Elizabethan drama; seeing a young male in costume
may have inspired the poem. If the young male was Henry Wriothesley, and the poet was
Edward De Vere, then the poet might well expect his son to love him, but not in a sexual manner.
That would be reserved for girls.

Sonnet 20
A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master-mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 20
You have a woman’s face, naturally beautiful, as if you could be both master and mistress of my
poem. You have a woman’s gentle heart, but you aren’t as fickle and changeable as false women
are. You have eyes as bright as women’s eyes, yet you don’t roll them seductively as false
women do. Your gaze transforms into gold any object upon which it fastens, as if you controlled
the colors that attract men’s attention and amaze women’s souls. Nature probably first created

26
you as a woman, but she fell in love with you as she was making you. By making one addition –
a penis that does nothing for me, but can give women great pleasure. Since Nature has thus
marked you for women’s pleasure, I’ll settle for your love, and they can have the treasure of
using your body.

Commentary on Sonnet 20: The expression “pricked thee out” has a double meaning – to mark a
name in a list with a pin-prick, or to supply a “prick,” the male sex organ. The fanciful
personification of Nature falling in love with her own creation, like Pygmalion, seems to justify
her changing her mind and making her creature into a male by “adding one thing.” Sonnet 20 has
been interpreted as a homoerotic poem, but those who disagree say the poem clearly states that
the poet will settle for non-sexual love, since Nature has made the youth heterosexual (for
women’s pleasure).

Much discussion has centered on the line “a man in hue all hues in his controlling.” In the
Renaissance period, hue could mean color, aspect, shape, appearance, or even “hubbub” as in
“hue and cry.” There could be a pun on “hew” made from “HeW” of the name Henry
Wriothesley,” but if so, the meaning of the pun is lost to us. The letter W was often written as
two V’s, and V was interchangeable with U, so the initials HVV might be read alternatively as
“HUU.” Another possibility, which I prefer, is that “hue” or “colors” could also mean “livery,”
or the colors worn by servants of a lord. Since actors were entitled to wear the livery of their
sponsoring noblemen, the young man who acts the part of a woman in a play could be a “man in
hue (livery),” who could command the attention of others.

Not all the poems in the book of Shakespeare’s sonnets were addressed to the Fair Youth. Some
of them were undoubtedly addressed to women, and some expressed personal reflections on the
meanings of life and death. In the following chapters, we will see how four women in Edward
De Vere’s life corresponded to those mentioned in Shake-speares Sonnets. Then we will explore
a number of rival poets who were contemporaries of Edward De Vere.

***
Chapter 4
Elizabeth Tudor as De Vere’s great Love

Elizabeth Tudor, it is fair to say, was the first and the last great love of Edward De Vere. When
he first saw her, he was an impressionable eleven-year-old, and she was a vibrant 29-year-old,
with red-gold hair, hazel-brown eyes, and a zest for outdoor sports. She came with her retinue of
courtiers to visit the De Vere family at Castle Hedingham, in Essex, a pleasant rural community
fifty miles northeast of London.

Edward’s father, John De Vere, the 16th Earl of Oxford, had lived a secluded life in the Essex
countryside during the oppressive reign of Queen Mary, but he rejoiced at Elizabeth’s succession
to the throne and eagerly offered to serve her. He carried the canopy at her coronation, a
privilege allotted to the Earls of Oxford in their inherited role as Lord Great Chamberlain. Her
visit in 1561, for four days in August, was filled with field-sport events that she loved: hunting,
riding, falconry, archery, and lawn-bowling. The warm summer evenings provided an
opportunity for her host to entertain her with the troupe of actors and musicians that he

27
maintained. Young Edward was already excelling in sports, music, and poetry, so he had
opportunities to impress the queen with his talents.

She was fluent in five languages, including Latin (which Edward was studying), and she
intrigued young Edward with her love of Italian culture and literature. Her enthusiasm for drama
and music was infectious; her love of word-play and repartee made every conversation a delight.

Elizabeth was equally impressed with Edward. From his earliest years, he had exhibited a keen
interest in learning and a flair for poetry. Before the age of nine he had been admitted to Queen’s
College at Cambridge. Poetry infused his family life, too. Two of his uncles had made
innovations in English poetic forms before they met with early deaths. The best known was
Henry Howard, the Earl of Surrey, who (along with his friend Sir Thomas Wyatt), was credited
for being the one who first developed the Elizabethan sonnet form. The other uncle, Edmund
Baron Sheffield, was much lauded in his day as a composer of music and sonnets, though
apparently none of them have survived.

We do not know exactly when each sonnet was written, or when it might have been revised. Yet
the beginning lines of Sonnet 18 suggest that the poem was inspired by a lovely woman.
Whenever it was written, it may have recalled those glorious summer days made magical by the
queen’s presence:

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely, and more temperate.
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date.

In this poem, Shakespeare uses a variety of images and metaphors – the summer lease, for
example, comes from legal terminology, and the celestial imagery compares the sun to an “eye
of heaven” but also to a face (“gold complexion”).

Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed.”

The poet uses the word “fair” to mean both a fair person (probably of light complexion), and a
prettiness that declines over the years, either by chance or by the rule of nature that propels us
steadily toward old age, like a vessel with untrimmed sails. So the poem has a logical argument,
supported by examples of extremes in the weather. But the sestet takes an abrupt turn:

“But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st [ownest]
Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st.”

28
The couplet then wraps up the argument. How might the person addressed triumph over old age,
declining beauty, and even death? Because a lover will always see the beloved as beautiful
(retaining the fairness that she “owns”), and literature can bestow immortality upon her,
outlasting her mortal life. This beautiful thought is echoed in Shakespeare’s play “Anthony and
Cleopatra,” when the soldier Enobarbus praises his queen by saying, “Age cannot wither her, nor
custom stale her infinite variety.” Most scholars believe that the character of Queen Cleopatra
was inspired by the personality of Queen Elizabeth.

By the 1590’s, the poet would have gained confidence in the immortality great literature can
bestow, and even in his own reputation for poetic power, enough to boast in the concluding
couplet:

“So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.”

Of course, such a poem might have been started at a youthful age but later revised and
strengthened before being included in the published collection. Placed where it is, following the
17 sonnets addressed to the Fair Youth, some critics think Sonnet 18 also addresses the young
man, the “Fair Youth.”

But whether Sonnet 18 was written to a woman (his beloved) or to a man (his son), the poet’s
prediction of immortalization rings true. The ending couplet makes good sense if we presume
that the poet was Edward De Vere, because he alone among his contemporaries had the stature to
expect his literary works to endure. Such a declaration made by a lad from a marketing town on
the River Avon, with little or no education, would have seemed preposterously arrogant and
vain.

Although this first visit solidified his loyalty to and admiration of the queen, young Edward was
content to worship her from afar. She was already in love, with a man she had known since
childhood, Robert Dudley. During the reign of Elizabeth’s half-sister, Queen Mary, the queen
had become fearful of a Protestant uprising and reacted by confining both Elizabeth and Robert
to the Tower. After Mary’s death in November,1558, when they were released, Elizabeth
immediately appointed Robert Dudley as her Master of the Horse. Dudley, a fine horseman, took
charge of buying and training horses for Her Majesty’s stables. Although he was married, he
kept his wife Amy in a small country town while he stayed close to Elizabeth’s side. Elizabeth
rewarded Dudley’s devoted service with gifts of property and eventually gave him the title of
“Earl of Leicester.”

In July of 1562, Edward’s father died suddenly, leaving the 12-year-old with the title of the 17th
Earl of Oxford. His mother remarried rather quickly, and Edward was sent to London as a ward
of the court, to finish his education at prestigious colleges. In London, Edward had many
opportunities to see the Queen and learn to love her.

While Edward was still a minor, Elizabeth appointed Robert Dudley to manage the Oxford lands
and estates. Her long-time advisor, William Cecil, had been appointed in 1561 to the lucrative
position of Master of the Court of Wards. Thus two powerful people in the Queen’s court had the

29
ability to profit from Edward’s estate, as well as to be his benefactors. Thus began a complicated
set of relationships – part affectionate, part rivalrous -- that later would fuel the plots in several
of Shakespeare’s plays.

At some time during Edward’s wardship, while he was living at Cecil House in London, Queen
Elizabeth gave him a gift of Ovid’s Metamorphoses in Latin. Under the supervision of his Latin
tutor, Arthur Golding, (who was also his uncle), Edward translated Ovid’s rollicking tales into
English. Although the translated Metamorphoses was published under Golding’s name, the
circumstances suggest that Edward did more of the translation. He did it to please the Queen, just
as he later wrote comedies to please her based on Ovid’s tales.

Elizabeth showed an interest in Oxford’s education. She attended graduation ceremonies at

Cambridge University in August, 1564, where Edward received a university degree at the age of
14 years and 4 months. Two years later, she watched as two of Cecil’s wards, Edward De Vere
and Edward Manners (the Earl of Rutland, two years older than Oxford), were awarded the
degree of Master of Arts. In 1567, Edward was admitted to the law school of Gray’s Inn. Here he
acquired the legal knowledge that a nobleman would need to manage his estates, a knowledge
that still impresses lawyers who note the imaginative and accurate use of legal terms in his plays
and poems.

While attending colleges and universities, Edward wrote comedies and poetry to entertain his
classmates. He also continued developing his athletic skills in fencing, jousting, and field sports.

In May of 1571, shortly after his 21st birthday, he won chief honors in a jousting tournament
against many competitors older and more experienced than he. His delighted monarch presented
him with a prize -- a tablet whose blank pages (tables) were bound by a diamond-studded cover.
Now at the age of 21, Edward had all the attributes of a courtier – physical strength, dancing
skill, refined manners, and a talent for witty conversation that soon made him one of Queen
Elizabeth’s favorites.

He also made some enemies who resented his growing influence with the Queen. Among these
were Christopher Hatton, captain of the queen’s bodyguard, who hoped to win the Queen’s heart
for himself, and two who opposed the Queen’s marriage to a Catholic Frenchman – Robert
Dudley and his nephew, Phillip Sidney, who resented Oxford’s tolerance of French or other
Catholic suitors and his support of the Queen’s right to choose her own husband.

The tablet given to Oxford by Elizabeth made an appearance in Sonnet 122, after the Queen had
seen her gift in the hands of another person at court. Cleverly, Edward “turned the tables” by
saying poetically, “I don’t need this gift to remind me of you; I can never forget you.” The
intensity of feeling in this poem must have pleased Elizabeth a great deal:

Sonnet 122
Thy gift, thy tables, are within my brain Full charactered with lasting memory, Which shall
above that idle rank remain, Beyond all date, even to eternity:
Or, at the least, so long as brain and heart Have faculty by nature to subsist;
Till each to razed oblivion yield his part Of thee, thy record never can be missed. That poor

30
retention could not so much hold, Nor need I tallies thy dear love to score; Therefore to give
them from me was I bold, To trust those tables that receive thee more: To keep an adjunct to
remember thee Were to import forgetfulness in me.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 122

The tablet you gave me exists as a vivid, lasting picture in my memory. It will remain there
forever, or at least, so long as my brain and heart exist. Until each of these living organs has been
obliterated by time, your record will be secure in them. Nor do I need to fill tables with tallies to
score your dear love. Therefore, I was bold enough to give them away and put a greater trust in
those tables where I keep a memory of you. If you believe I need a memento to remember you,
you must consider me forgetful. But you, I could never forget.

Another woman had entered his life by this time: Anne Cecil, the daughter of William Cecil, his
guardian. She was a sweet girl, obedient to her parents in all things, but only 14 years old when
Cecil arranged for her marriage to Edward De Vere. Though Edward eventually came to love
Anne, he felt he had been trapped into this arranged marriage. His heart was set upon traveling in
Europe, especially Italy, when he reached the age of his majority. He didn’t want marriage to
interfere with his seeing firsthand the blossoming Renaissance that was rejuvenating Italian
culture.

The wardship system in Elizabeth’s time was ripe for abuse. Theoretically, the guardian’s role
was to oversee the education and ensure the well-being of a ward. But since a guardian had the
right to choose a spouse for his ward, and wardships could be bought for this purpose, the ward
was in a vulnerable position. Any ward who refused to accept a marriage offer negotiated by his
guardian could be fined an enormous sum, all of which would go to the guardian.

Although William Cecil was a capable, loyal advisor to Elizabeth, he was greedy for power and
wealth. In February of 1571, he persuaded Elizabeth to make him a lord, so that his daughter
Anne could be called “Lady Anne” and thus have sufficient rank to marry an earl. Elizabeth
complied, naming him “Lord Burghley.” Then he demanded that Edward De Vere accept Lady
Anne for a bride.

Edward at first rebelled. The wedding was planned for December, 1571, just before Anne’s 15th
birthday, but he ran away. Later he was persuaded to return and go through with the ceremony.
We do not know what agreement Elizabeth and Edward reached, but it seems likely that the
Queen promised to give him permission to travel abroad, even though she preferred to keep him
close as an ornament to her court.

So Edward and Anne were married when he was 21 years old and she was 15. Immediately
Edward began making plans for his tour of Italy, expecting Anne to stay at home with her
parents. But Elizabeth delayed giving the license to travel until 1574, so Edward did not leave for
the Continent until January 1575. William Cecil wanted an heir that would tie his family to the
illustrious Oxford family, so he maneuvered to get Anne pregnant before Edward left the
country. In October the couple stayed at Hampton Court, where Anne became pregnant. Their
child was born in July of 1575, but rumors began to circulate that the child was not Oxford’s.
William Cecil made such vigorous denials that he stoked the fires of gossip even further, an

31
embarrassment that Edward could not forgive. When he returned from Italy in 1576, he refused
to see his wife or her family, but took an apartment at the Savoy where he could consort with
actors and other writers. Then he threw himself into the work of writing plays.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was being pressured by Parliament to marry and produce an heir, or at
least to name a successor. She was in a dilemma. To enter a union with one of her own subjects
would seem to be marrying below her rank, but no foreign princes seemed entirely suitable,
either. Her long-time lover, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, had come under suspicion in
1560 when his wife, Amy Robsart, died under mysterious circumstances with a broken neck.
Though technically free to marry Elizabeth, Dudley was disliked by large numbers of English
citizens who feared he had ambitions to be king of England, not just prince consort. Another
courtier who adored Elizabeth was the handsome captain of her ceremonial bodyguards,
Christopher Hatton, who had caught the queen’s fancy with his dancing ability. But he was not
of the nobility, and his hopes of marrying above his station in life became a joke among other
courtiers.

Several European nobles had sent ambassadors to explore the possibility of an alliance with the
English queen -- Prince Eric of Sweden, King Philip of Spain, and the Duke of Anjou (later
Alencon) in France. But since these were all Catholic, Elizabeth’s protestant subjects
understandably feared the possibility of domination by a foreign power. Indeed, her former
brother-in-law, King Phillip of Spain, had openly stated his desire to force the English people
back into the fold of the Catholic church.

Religious strife had been mounting since the Roman Pope excommunicated Elizabeth in 1570,
announcing to English Catholics that they should place loyalty to the Roman church over loyalty
to their sovereign. The pope even said or implied that assassinating Elizabeth would not be
considered a sin in the eyes of the church. Subsequent plots against Elizabeth’s life and her
throne intensified the fears of her protestant subjects. And when the French government
massacred 50,000 Huguenot Protestants in August of 1572, all Europe was outraged. Elizabeth
astutely realized that her best hope of preventing France and Spain from uniting against her and
subduing her country was to continue holding out the possibility of an alliance with her through
marriage. She began to promote the image of herself as the Virgin Queen, providing religious
ceremonies, acting as head of the Church of England and Defender of the Faith.

The years of 1572-73 saw Edward De Vere become a rising star at court, arousing jealousy and
anxiety in his rivals. He staged an elaborate entertainment for the Queen at Warwick castle, and
she visited him for 6 days at Havering-at-Bowe while on one of her famous summer progresses
into rural England.

The Christmas revels lasted from December 25, 1572, to January 6, 1573. And on that blissful
Twelfth Night, January 6, two people who were deeply in love cast off the shackles of duty,
surrendered to each other, and consummated their love.

Everything seemed right at that moment, warm with the glow of intimacy and rich with satisfied
desire. Edward was technically married to Ann, but Burghley had forced the marriage upon him,
perhaps not even legally, since Edward’s wardship was supposed to have ended when he turned

32
21 years old in April. And the queen would have the power to annul Oxford’s marriage,
especially since it had not been consummated. Later Edward might have had second thoughts,
but on Twelfth Night of 1573 he saw no conflict between love and conscience.

Sonnet 151
Love is too young to know what conscience is,
Yet who knows not conscience is born of love?
Then, gentle cheater, urge not my amiss,
Lest guilty of my faults thy sweet self prove:
For, thou betraying me, I do betray
My nobler part to my gross body's treason;
My soul doth tell my body that he may
Triumph in love; flesh stays no farther reason,
But rising at thy name doth point out thee,
As his triumphant prize. Proud of this pride,
He is contented thy poor drudge to be,
To stand in thy affairs, fall by thy side.
No want of conscience hold it that I call
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall

Paraphrase of Sonnet 151

Young lovers are not burdened by conscience, yet who knows whether or not conscience begins
with loving and knowing another person intimately. So, my gentle adulteress, don’t be too quick
to accuse me, because you may be guilty of the same faults. If, when you seduce me, I betray my
nobler instincts by yielding to my body’s lust, my soul will claim to be dominant over carnal
love. My flesh waits for no further reasoning, but being aroused by your name, rather points to
you as a prize that proves the triumphant power of love. Puffed up with vainglorious pride, he
(my flesh) is willing to settle for being your drudge, standing up for you in your affairs of state,
falling by your side in battle if need be. Don’t hold it to mean that I lack a conscience if I call my
love “love,” because for her precious love, I rise and fall.

Commentary on Sonnet 151

Beginning with a profound question about the relationship between love and conscience, Sonnet
151 ponders whether blame for the sins of the flesh accrues more to one person than another,
then slides into a playful punning about the rising and falling of the male sexual organ. The
concluding couplet declares that calling a loved one “love” does not show any lack of
conscience, but simply reveals the overpowering nature of the desire to love and be loved. Words
beginning with “con” are also suggestive of the female sex organ, and the second line suggests
“knowledge” in the Biblical sense of sexual intimacy.

Elizabeth must have wanted to marry Edward De Vere, especially after she learned she was
carrying his child. But she had become dependent upon Burghley, now her Lord Treasurer. As
Edward’s father-in-law, Burghley would surely have disapproved any thought of annulling his
daughter’s marriage to Edward De Vere. So it is likely that he persuaded Elizabeth to give her
child up for adoption, presumably for the good of the realm and to maintain her image as a single

33
woman available for marriage to a prince. Burghley made the arrangements for the Second Earl
of Southampton to be released from prison in 1573 in order to raise Elizabeth’s child as his own.

In the summer of 1574, the lovers arranged a tryst at the resort town of Bath, near Bristol, where
Elizabeth had traveled on one of her progresses. Probably this was the time when Elizabeth
delivered the bad news to Edward. She declared that she would stick fast to her purpose, to make
England a great world power, relinquishing any womanly desire she might have for marriage and
family. Deeply hurt and disappointed, Edward learned that the flame of love cannot be easily
extinguished. The last two poems in the sonnet collection, known as the Bath sonnets, speak of a
great sickness that cannot be cured by the mineral waters:

Sonnet 154 (excerpt).

…..I, my mistress’ thrall,
Came there for cure and this by that I prove,
Love’s fire heats water, water cools not love.

But the depth of Edward’s pain seems best revealed by Sonnet 34, in which he chides his
mistress for leading him on with false hopes, expresses his anguish over her betrayal, reproves
her for trying to put salve on a wound that cannot be cured, but then forgives her when he sees
her feminine tears:

Sonnet 34
Why didst thou promise such a beauteous day,
And make me travel forth without my cloak,
To let base clouds o'ertake me in my way,
Hiding thy bravery in their rotten smoke?
'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,
For no man well of such a salve can speak,
That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:
Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief;
Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss:
The offender's sorrow lends but weak relief
To him that bears the strong offence's cross.
Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds,
And they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.

However sad such an ending might be, this farewell could not be the end of their relationship, for
Edward was deeply loyal to Elizabeth as his queen, and he could not just walk away. Nor could
he criticize his sovereign’s behavior or accuse her of neglecting him. Edward, writing as
Shakespeare, explores the complexity of their relationship in Sonnets 57 and 58:

Sonnet 57
Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours, and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend;

34
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour,
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour,
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save, where you are, how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love, that in your will,
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 57
Being your slave, I must wait for your command to wait upon you. My time has no value except
when serving you, so I have nothing to do but wait patiently until you require my services. Nor
can I become bitter at your absence, once you have told me to leave you. Nor dare I feel jealousy
wondering where you are, or with whom, but like a sad slave, wait, and think of nothing except
how happy you make those who are where you are, enjoying your company. My true love and
loyalty make a fool of me, because I cannot think ill of you no matter what you do.

Commentary on Sonnet 57
Sonnet 57 has been interpreted as an extended metaphor comparing the speaker's romantic
devotion to the enthrallment of a slave. Yet how much more meaningful it becomes when we
assume it was written by Edward De Vere to his actual sovereign, whose double powers of royal
rank and romantic love made him hers to command. If writing only to a mistress, the speaker
would not need to restrain his jealousy or suppress any critical thoughts. But a loyal subject
would never find fault with his monarch; in fact, those who spoke or wrote disrespectfully of the
Queen could be -- and often were -- punished severely. When Elizabeth banished any of her
courtiers from court, they lived in idle disgrace until she permitted them to return.

Sonnet 58
That god forbid, that made me first your slave,
I should in thought control your times of pleasure,
Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,
Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!
O! let me suffer, being at your beck,
The imprison'd absence of your liberty;
And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,
Without accusing you of injury.
Be where you list, your charter is so strong
That you yourself may privilege your time
To what you will; to you it doth belong
Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.
I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,
Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.

35
Paraphrase of Sonnet 58
May that god who first made me your slave, forbid that I should even think about controlling
your times of pleasure or ask you to account for the hours you spend away from me. I am your
slave, bound to stay as long as you wish me to. Since I am at your beck and call, let me suffer the
imprisonment I feel when you are at liberty and absent from my sight. And let my patience,
accustomed to sufferance, abide each restraint upon me, without blaming you for causing me
pain. Wherever you wish to be, your role as queen is so powerful that you may plan your own
time according to your own priorities. You even have the power to pardon yourself for any
crimes you have committed. My role is merely to wait, however painful that waiting might be,
without resenting the pleasure you are having with others.

And indeed, pleasure with others was the Queen’s prerogative. Christopher Hatton, who was
always hanging around making himself available to her, again became her dancing-partner and
her bed-partner, though she never seriously considered him for a mate. Still, Edward felt
humiliated to be replaced by a man he considered much inferior to himself. Robert Dudley was
periodically out of favor and in again, but Elizabeth was furiously jealous when Dudley secretly
married Lettice Knollys, a rival she despised. In 1579 her name was linked in scandal with the
French Envoy, Count Jehan de Simier, who came to carry on the negotiations for a marriage
between Elizabeth and the Duke of Alencon. Yet despite her own infidelities, she could vent
tyrannical wrath on those men she considered her property, if they dared to prefer another
woman to her.

***
Chapter 5
Dark Lady, Dark-Eyed Lady, and Black-hearted Lady

Was the mysterious Dark Lady who appears in Shake-speare's sonnets 127-152 really a brunette?
Did she have dark skin, or merely dark eyes? Was more than one woman addressed by the
various sonnets? We begin with a close examination of the first sonnet in the division known as
the "Dark Lady" sequence, Sonnet 127.

Shakespeare's Sonnet 127

In the old age, black was not counted fair;
Or, if it were, it bore not beauty's name;
But now is black beauty's successive heir,
And beauty slandered with a bastard shame.
For since each hand hath put on nature's power,
Fairing the foul with art's false borrowed face,
Sweet beauty hath no name, no holy bower,
But is profaned, if not lives in disgrace.
Therefore, my mistress's eyes are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Sland'ring creation with a false esteem.
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.

36
Paraphrase of Shakespeare's Sonnet 127
In former times, black was not considered fair (beautiful). Even if blackness had beauty, people
did not call it beautiful. But now black has become the true heir, the successor to beauty,
whereas the old standard of beauty is slandered, shamed as if it were illegitimate. Since any
person's hand is now able to apply cosmetics that make the ugly seem fair, any face can be made
false by art. Natural beauty is no longer valued, but held in low esteem if not in outright
disgrace. Therefore, my mistress's eyes are raven-black as if dressed in black like mourners,
feeling pity for anyone who was not born fair. This is a slander of God's creations, falsely
valuing artificial beauty over natural beauty. Yet mourning makes these woeful eyes so
attractive, that everyone will say "this is how beauty should look."

Commentary on Sonnet 127

In Sonnet 127, the speaker (probably Shakespeare/Oxford speaking for himself) defends the
color black, especially in the eyes of his beloved. He also challenges contemporary fads in
standards of beauty which could lead gullible females to attempt creating an illusory beauty with
cosmetics. Probably this poem was written to Ann Vavasor, a beautiful brunette who came to
court when she was about 15 years old. Edward was attracted to her, although she was young
enough to be his daughter, and they had a love affair. Probably Edward wrote this sonnet to her,
to persuade her that he found her beautiful, even though the cultural ideal at the time was fair
skin and golden hair.

The beautiful black eyes described in Sonnet 127 and elsewhere have led some readers to
conclude that the lady addressed in this sonnet also had dark hair and skin, but that is not
necessarily the case. Some of the sonnets were undoubtedly written to Queen Elizabeth, whose
portraits sometimes show very dark eyes contrasting with red or reddish-gold hair. Sonnet __ for
example, exclaims “In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds.”

Unfortunately, some readers have taken literally (in Sonnet 130) what was undoubtedly a satire
against the standard of beauty imported along with the sonnets of the Italian poet Petrarch
(Francesco Petrarcha) as the Renaissance spirit swept from Italy through the rest of Europe and
England.

Shakespeare's Adaptation and Spoof of the Petrarchan Sonnet Form

To understand Shakespeare's departures from the Petrarchan or Italian sonnet traditions, we

should examine at least one English poem that employed Petrarchan conventions. In addition to
the rhyme scheme and organizational division into octave (first 8 lines) and sestet (last 6 lines),
these conventions included elaborate tropes to describe beauty -- lips like coral, eyes sparkling
like sun on snow, fair skin as white as snow or alabaster, and hair like the golden wires in certain
fashionable jewelry of the period. The mistress would seem to float like a Goddess when she
walked. Her voice would be sweeter than heavenly music.

The English poet Sir Philip Sidney imitated this tradition in his sonnet sequence “Astrophel and
Stella.” Writing as the fictional Astrophel, to the idealized Stella, Philip Sidney grants that his
Stella's eyes are black, but in his Sonnet 8 he refers to her "fair skin and beamy eyes." Sidney
probably based his “Stella” upon Queen Elizabeth, using the celestial imagery associated with

37
the Queen and the language of courtly love that she liked to hear from her courtiers. [Some
scholars believe that Sidney’s “Stella” was Penelope Devereux Rich, but there is some doubt
about that. More will be said about this in the chapter on Rival Poets.] A comparison of one of
Sidney’s sonnets (Sonnet 9) to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130 will illustrate the humor in
Shakespeare’s parody.

In Sidney's Sonnet 9, paraphrased below, he presents a dizzying array of metaphors, some of

which seem overwrought and difficult to visualize. For example, if Stella's facial features are
figuratively perceived as the front of a house with its windows being eyes and its mouth a door,
how can she also be a whole person who peers out of the eye-windows and walks out the mouth-
door? Obviously, since the comparisons are illogical, the reader mustn't push the analogies too
far.

Philip Sidney's Sonnet 9

Queen Virtue's Court, which some call Stella's face,
Prepar'd by Natures choicest furniture,
Hath his front built of alabaster pure;
Gold is the covering of that stately place.
The door, by which sometimes comes forth her grace,
Red porphir is, which locke of pearl makes sure,
Whose porches rich (which name of chekes indure)
Marble, mixt red and white, do interlace.
The windowes now, through which this heav'nly guest
Looks o'er the world, and can find nothing such,
Which dare claime from those lights the name of best,
Of touch they are, that without touch do touch,
Which Cupids self, from Beauties mine did draw:
Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw.

Paraphrase of Sidney's Sonnet 9

Stella's face is comparable to the court of a virtuous queen, richly decorated by Nature with
finest furniture. Her skin is like pure alabaster, covered with golden hair. The door is a gracious
entrance, made of red porphir and secured by a lock of pearl. So her mouth is red and her teeth
like pearls. Her cheeks are like the porches of this palace -- marble, mixed red and white. Her
eyes are the windows through which this divine lady looks over the world, seeing nothing equal
to her own excellence. The lights from these eyes are as valuable as gold measured by a
touchstone, as precious as that which Cupid mined from Beauty's gold mine. They can touch my
emotions without physical touching, controlling me as a wind blows a straw.

In contrast, Shakespeare's Sonnet 130 offers the antithesis of the idealized beauty. This spoof
should not be taken as a literal description of the poet’s mistress, but as a playful way of
satirizing the Petrarch imitators.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;

38
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 130

My mistress's eyes do not gleam and sparkle as much as the sun does, and her lips are not really
as red as coral. If snow-white breasts are the standard of beauty, then in comparison, my mistress
has tan-colored breasts. If you compare your mistress's hair to golden wires, I'll compare my
mistress's hair to black wires. You say your mistress has red and white roses in her cheeks, but I
have seen roses, and I don't see any in my own mistress's cheeks. Her breath is not as delightful
as perfume, and though I love to hear her speak, I can't truly say her voice sounds better than
music. I haven't actually seen a goddess treading on air, so I can't compare a goddess to my
mistress, who walks on the ground. And yet, by heaven, I think my mistress is as rare as any
woman you might falsely compare her to.

Commentary on Sonnet 130

Shakespeare's burlesque employs exaggeration in combination with understatement for
humorous effect, yet the argument is consistent and logically organized. Each idealized
characteristic is named and then contradicted; the first four lines do this with four traits (eyes,
lips, skin, hair). The next four satirized traits (cheeks, breath, voice, and walking) take two lines
each, all of which are summed up in the final couplet saying in effect, "my mistress is as
precious to me as any creature other poets might fancy, and I do not need to exaggerate her
charms to love her as she is."

Other Sonnets in the "Dark Lady" Series And Other Women in the Life of Edward De Vere

Sonnet 128 might have been written to any charming woman who plays upon the virginals, a
keyboard musical instrument of the period. Playfully, the poet says he envies the keys that she
touches, but he believes he would prefer the touch of her lips. Inasmuch as Queen Elizabeth did
play this musical instrument, Sonnet 128 may have been intended as an elaborate complement to
her during the 1570’s when Edward was her favorite courtier.

Sonnet 128
How oft when thou, my music, music play'st,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
With thy sweet fingers when thou gently sway'st
The wiry concord that mine ear confounds,

39
Do I envy those jacks that nimble leap,
To kiss the tender inward of thy hand,
Whilst my poor lips which should that harvest reap,
At the wood's boldness by thee blushing stand!
To be so tickled, they would change their state
And situation with those dancing chips,
O'er whom thy fingers walk with gentle gait,
Making dead wood more bless'd than living lips.
Since saucy jacks so happy are in this,
Give them thy fingers, me thy lips to kiss.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 128

When you, my inspiration (who is like music to me), play music upon that blessed wood (the
Virginals), the motion of your fingers controlling the keys and wires to create harmony pleasing
to my ears, I often envy those jacks that leap nimbly up to touch the inside of your hand.
Meanwhile, my poor lips stand blushing at the boldness of the wooden jacks, wishing they could
reap such a harvest. My lips, to be so lightly touched, would change places with the dancing
wooden chips over which your fingers walk gently, making the dead wood more blessed than my
living lips. Since the playful jacks seem to like this arrangement, give them your fingers to kiss,
and give me your lips.

Commentary on Sonnet 128

On the surface, this sonnet follows a convention of the lover wishing to be as close to his loved
one as some inanimate object that she touches. Yet a second layer of meaning involves teasing
sexual innuendo and bawdy word play. Jacks has the triple meaning of “knaves” (as in card
games), wooden chips made to strike a wire when a key is pressed, and the male sex organ.
Concord and confounds suggest the female sex organ (also called “cun” or “cunt” in bawdy
language). And the Virginals, which are harpsichord-like keyboards, make rather obvious puns
on virginity. Professor Stephen Booth of the University of California at Berkeley expertly
analyzes the language and the figures of speech, concluding that the image of a rigid musical
instrument does not suit the poet’s purpose very well. Admittedly the imagery is conceptually
difficult (for instance, fingers and palms used interchangeably, and lips standing by). Also, the
sentence structure is convoluted in the first 8 lines, creating a challenge for even a very
determined reader. Yet for all its flaws, the sonnet does illustrate the poet’s technique of wooing
with words, elevating the loved one to adore her, and making even vulgar terms endearing when
used in the service of Cupid.

Sonnet 129 deals with passion and remorse as a kind of irresistible madness. Lust drives men to
satisfy their sexual urges, the poet says, but as soon as they possess their prize they suffer bitter
regret and self-loathing. The ending couplet despairs of any help for this human condition: "All
this the world well knows, yet none knows well / To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell."

Sonnet 129
Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action: and till action, lust
Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame,

40
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted; and no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad.
Mad in pursuit and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have extreme;
A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe;
Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 129

Lust in action creates a waste of spirit (sexual vitality) in shameful activity. No sooner is lust
acted upon than it causes disgust and guilt that makes a man despise himself. Lust drives men to
hunt beyond all reason, and when they find their prey, it becomes an unreasonable hatred, as if a
man had swallowed some bait deliberately intended to drive him crazy. He becomes mad in
pursuit and equally mad when he gains possession. He goes to extremes in his quest to have what
he craves. Once he has proven his ability to conquer, the bliss of conquest turns into deep regret.
The joy of anticipation comes before the conquest, but only a dream remains afterward. Even
when everyone knows the consequences, we don’t know enough to avoid the heavenly
temptation that leads us into the hell of remorse.

Commentary on Sonnet 129

Commentary on Sonnet 129

1581), would have been tempted to have extramarital sexual relations. Assuming Edward to be
the speaker of the poem, we can interpret it as having been drawn from his experience. Although
he seems to be referring to more than one occasion of tasting “forbidden fruit,” certainly his
affair with Ann Vavasor in 1580-81 gave him cause for "a bliss in proof, and proved, a very
woe."

Ann became pregnant in 1580, which infuriated Queen Elizabeth. Probably the queen was
jealous of the much younger woman, seeing her as a rival for the affections of the Earl of
Oxford, who was then in his early thirties. Ann Vavasor was still in her late teens, whereas
Queen Elizabeth was in her late forties. Whatever Elizabeth’s motives might have been, Ann had
disobeyed the rules of the court by getting pregnant. As soon as Ann’s baby was born, in March
of 1581, Elizabeth had Ann and her newborn son removed to the Tower. Then she sent some
men to locate Edward De Vere and also imprisoned him. He was not released until June of that
year, after he had satisfied Queen Elizabeth that he had set aside the income from some of his
estates for the support of his son. Ann Vavasor named the boy “Edward Vere,” after his father,
and required Oxford to support her as well as her son.

Edward's imprisonment along with Ann Vavasor and their newborn son in March, 1581, might
have generated the range of emotions revealed in Sonnet 133, which begins in anger and ends in

41
a sigh of capitulation. If we assume it to be directed toward the Queen who was punishing the
adulterers, the following interpretation seems worth considering:

Sonnet 133
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan,
For that deep wound it gives my friend and me!
Is't not enough to torture me alone,
But slave to slavery my sweet'st friend must be?
Me from myself thy cruel eye hath taken,
And my next self thou harder hast engross'd:
Of him, myself, and thee I am forsaken;
A torment thrice three-fold thus to be cross'd:
Prison my heart in thy steel bosom's ward,
But then my friend's heart let my poor heart bail;
Whoe'er keeps me, let my heart be his guard;
Thou canst not then use rigour in my jail:
And yet thou wilt; for I, being pent in thee,
Perforce am thine, and all that is in me.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 133

May evil befall that person who has made me suffer so deeply. Isn't it enough to torture me
alone, without enslaving my sweetest friend [Ann Vavasor] in your tyranny? You have alienated
me from my best self, and now you would take possession of my next self (my infant son), and
you have banished me from your sight, so I have sustained three losses -- myself, my child, and
my sovereign -- a torment three times threefold to be overcome. Imprison my heart in the steel-
hard cell of your own heart, but let my friend's heart bail me out. Whoever keeps me in
confinement, let my heart be a guard for his [yours]; then you would not be as harsh a jailer as
you are now. And yet I know you will, because I am pent up in your cage and enthralled by you.
Of necessity, then, I am yours, and everything in me is also yours.

Commentary on Sonnet 133. The intensity of feeling in this sonnet suggests that it was written in
the heat of anger, made more painful by a sense of powerlessness. It fits perfectly with the
known historical facts of Oxford’s having been imprisoned along with his “sweetest friend” and
their newborn child. It would have been especially galling for Oxford to be punished by a
woman he has deeply loved, one who had taken other lovers for herself, yet who had the power
to prevent him from finding love elsewhere. He was powerless because of his oaths to serve his
sovereign with complete loyalty, and also because he could not help loving her even when she
mistreated him.

Ambivalence Toward Queen Elizabeth

The De Vere family was noted for strong loyalty to their sovereigns. For Edward, his family
motto “true, nothing truer” meant a solemn obligation to be true (loyal) to his Queen. He loved
his sovereign, just as most of her loyal subjects did, because she was a gracious monarch who
evinced genuine love for her people. Yet he also loved Elizabeth as a woman, though his feelings
for her were complicated by the master-servant nature of their aristocratic relationship.

42
Elizabeth was a fascinating woman, complex and clever, seemingly contradictory at times. She
could be quick to anger when her generals or diplomats disappointed her, but she was also
merciful and willing to forgive. She had a reputation for keeping a tight grip on the royal purse
strings, but she was generous to those who served her well. She was as strong a leader as her
father, Henry VIII, but she could feign feminine weakness when it served her purpose. She made
promises but also procrastinated in fulfilling them, thus greatly frustrating those who depended
on her.

Because Elizabeth's life was in danger throughout her reign, the loyalty of her advisors was
crucial. There were many subjects in her kingdom who believed that her mother's marriage to
Henry VIII was not legitimate, because the divorce from his first queen was not recognized by
the Roman Catholic Church. The Pope added to the strife when he excommunicated Elizabeth
from the Church of Rome in 1570, referring to her as a bastard, encouraging English Catholics
not to show allegiance to their queen or even to England. This undermining from Rome
precipitated a number of plots to remove her and place a Catholic monarch on the throne, one of
whom was Elizabeth's half-sister, Mary Queen of Scots. Even after Mary had been exiled from
Scotland and Elizabeth had given her safe harbor in London, Mary continued to plot Elizabeth's
overthrow and to proclaim herself the rightful queen of both England and Scotland.

Because Elizabeth had once been unfairly suspected of treason when her Catholic half-sister
Mary Tudor was on England's throne, and because her own mother, Ann Boleyn, had been
beheaded on trumped-up charges of infidelity, Elizabeth hated imposing a death penalty. Even
after Mary Queen of Scots had been tried and found guilty of treason, Elizabeth procrastinated so
long that William Cecil, her long-faithful adviser, tricked her into signing the death warrant.

The growing animosity between Catholics and Protestants necessitated constant vigilance,
spying, and secretiveness. By having many suitors and holding them all at bay, Elizabeth could
keep her beloved England from dissolving into warring religious factions. She became adept at
flirting and playing the games of courtship, at times projecting a passionate nature, at other times
seeming coolly distant.

It is fairly obvious that the "Dark Lady" sonnets refer to more than one woman. Several sonnets
in the series, however, refer to unequal power relationships, a condition which implies that they
either address or refer to Queen Elizabeth.

Sonnet 140 expresses the speaker's distress about being sworn to silence and thus unable to
defend himself against slander. This sonnet, if addressed to Queen Elizabeth, asks her to be more
understanding.

Sonnet 140
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain;
Lest sorrow lend me words, and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so—

43
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know;
For, if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee;
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believed be.
That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 140

Be wise at least as much as you are cruel to me. If you press your disdain upon me too much, my
sorrow might overcome my patience, leading me to break my vow of silence in order to gain
sympathy for my pain. If you permit me to give you advice, I think it would be better, even if
you don't love me, to tell me that you do. That is how a physician deals with a testy dying
patient, telling him only good news about his health. For if I have no hope of restoring your
regard for me, I would grow mad, and in my madness I might speak of your unkindness and your
faults.
This world has grown so bad about twisting falsehoods to appear true, that crazy people will
believe anything they hear from crazy slanderers. That I may not go mad, and that your words
may not be proved wrong, keep your eyes focused on the straight path, even if your pride carries
you far off the mark

Commentary on Sonnet 140

The slander mentioned in Sonnet 140 probably refers to the slander against Oxford launched by
Charles Arundel, Lord Henry Howard, and Francis Southwell. Ever loyal to his queen, Oxford
alerted her when he learned of a plot against her life by these three Catholics who had formerly
been highly regarded at court. Just before Christmas in 1580, he denounced his former friends,
who were subsequently arrested. Desperate to save their lives, the traitors responded by accusing
Oxford of a long litany of crimes, including treason, attempted murder, homosexuality, and
bragging about a certain intimacy with Queen Elizabeth. The charges were obviously false, but
they were disturbing to Elizabeth. It troubled Edward, too, to think that anyone might believe
such blatant lies about him, since his honor and good name had always meant a great deal to him.
This must have been the occasion for Sonnet 121 “Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed…”

Sonnet 121
'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed,
When not to be receives reproach of being;
And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed
Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing:
For why should others' false adulterate eyes
Give salutation to my sportive blood?
Or on my frailties why are frailer spies,
Which in their wills count bad what I think good?
No, I am that I am, and they that level
At my abuses reckon up their own:
I may be straight though they themselves be bevel;

44
By their rank thoughts, my deeds must not be shown;
Unless this general evil they maintain,
All men are bad and in their badness reign.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 121

A villain seems better off than someone he reviles, because when an innocent person is vilified,
others may presume he is guilty and reproach him for being vile. The loss of other men’s esteem
robs the innocent person of the honor he justly deserves. Such honor is determined not by our
own feelings of worth, but by the way others see us. Why should the corrupted views and false
ideas of my accusers distort the perceptions of my adventures in love? Why should spies who
have more faults than I do criticize me, when in their opinion lovemaking is bad, but I think it is
good. No, I am what I am, not what they say I am. They that accuse me of faults are actually
listing their own. I may be straight although they themselves are crooked, so my deeds must not
be judged by the immoral thoughts of dishonorable men. Such men see evil everywhere, thinking
all men are bad (as bad as they are themselves) and the worst of them will triumph over the rest
of us.

Commentary on Sonnet 121:

This sonnet expresses a familiar Shakespearean theme of the importance of honor, and the cruel
effects of slander (compare this line from Othello: “who steals my purse steals trash . . . but he
that filches from me my good name robs me of that which not enriches him, and makes me poor
indeed”). This sonnet also presents the psychological insight that psychologists later labeled
“Projection.” People often criticize other people for the very same faults they themselves
possess.

While doubts about the allegations against Oxford were clouding the atmosphere, someone
whispered to Elizabeth that Ann Vavasor was pregnant, and Oxford was the father. Elizabeth’s
wrath over this transgression assumed a particularly vengeful form, so it was difficult for Edward
to know whether she had believed some of the slander or whether she was just acting out of
jealousy and spite. In any case, she punished him severely. At this low point in his life, deeply
discouraged, he might have penned Sonnet 29, “When in disgrace of fortune and men’s eyes.”

Sonnet 29
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
I all alone beweep my outcast state,
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;

45
For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 29
When I am down on my luck and suffering disgrace in the eyes of other men, I weep alone,
feeling sorry for myself because my peers have rejected me. I bother Heaven with my hopeless
prayers, but it does not hear me. I look inward with self-blame, and curse my fate, wishing I had
been blessed like some other man with better prospects, with handsome features like his, with the
numerous friends he has. I envy this man’s artfulness, and that man’s range of abilities. I am
discontented with what I usually enjoy most. Yet while thinking self-critical thoughts, almost
despising myself, if by chance I think of you, then a marvelous change occurs. Like a lark arising
from gloomy darkness to sing at daybreak, I feel like singing hymns at Heaven’s shining gates.
For when I remember your sweet love, I feel so fortunate that I would not change places with
kings.

Commentary on Sonnet 29
This poem captures the deep feelings of loneliness and despair that a sensitive human being
would feel when everything seems to be going awry. His discontent with what he enjoys most is
probably with his writing. Yet the poet’s melancholy is deliberately countered by thinking of
someone he loves, making him wish to sing praises to Heaven rather than being angry about his
misfortunes. The loved one is probably Henry Wriothesley, the son whose love makes up for all
the unhappiness the poet has experienced.

The young Henry Wriothesley also caught the eye of Ann Vavasor. The sonnets offer some
evidence of a triangle when De Vere’s mistress captivated his 18-year-old son. One of their trysts
took place in De Vere’s country seat when he was not there. This love triangle probably provided
the impetus for Sonnet 41, in which he forgives young Henry for being tempted by Ann Vavasor,
even though he reminds the youth that he has not behaved like a gentleman:

Sonnet 41
Those petty wrongs that liberty commits,
When I am sometimes absent from thy heart,
Thy beauty, and thy years full well befits,
For still temptation follows where thou art.
Gentle thou art, and therefore to be won,
Beauteous thou art, therefore to be assail'd;
And when a woman woos, what woman's son
Will sourly leave her till he have prevail'd?
Ay me! but yet thou might'st my seat forbear,
And chide thy beauty and thy straying youth,
Who lead thee in their riot even there
Where thou art forced to break a twofold truth:-
Hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee,
Thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

46
Paraphrase of Sonnet 41
When you are at liberty, free to do whatever you choose, you may commit petty wrongs while
you aren’t thinking of me. This is to be expected because you are young and handsome, for
temptation follows a person like you. You are a gentleman, so ladies would like to win you. You
are handsome, which also attracts them to you. And when a woman woos, what man ever born
can resist making love to her, or show bad manners by leaving her until her wish to be conquered
has been fulfilled? Even so, you might have thought twice before making your assignation at a
house of mine, and you might chide your own good qualities from leading you astray. They have
led you to frolic even where you abused my hospitality, so you have broken faith with two
commitments: hers, because your beauty tempted her to desire you, and yours, because you
betrayed me by stealing my mistress from me.

In Sonnet 42, the poet forgives both of his loved ones, reasoning that their affection for each
other arises from their affection for him: “Loving offenders, thus I will excuse ye; / Thou dost
love her because thou know’st I love her.” Then he rather cleverly reasons that everyone has
gained from this triangle: his friend (young Henry), his lady love (Ann Vavasor), and
paradoxically, himself also. “If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain,/ and losing her, my friend
hath found that loss./ Both find each other, and I lose both twain,/ and both for my sake lay me
on this cross. Yet here’s the joy, my friend and I are one; /Sweet flattery! Then she loves but me
alone.” The couplet makes sense if we understand that the “friend” is De Vere’s beloved son,
who is “one” with him.

Commentary on Sonnets 41 and 42

The light touch in these sonnets reveals the generous nature of the poet – a father who is always
ready to excuse his son, and a lover who is not possessively jealous of his mistress.

Yet some of the poems show anger toward Ann Vavasor and resentment of her promiscuity (“the
bay in which all men ride”). When she came to court with her aunt, she was about fifteen years
old. For a while she was the mistress of Edmund Spenser, the fair “Rosalind” of some of his
poetry (the “rosa” being the reversed last 4 letters of “Vavasor”). The Earl of Oxford would have
been in his early thirties when Ann bore his child (whom she named Edward Vere), and young
Henry Wriothesley would have been about eighteen. Oxford accepted his paternal responsibility
to pay for Edward Vere’s upbringing and education. But later, when Ann Vavasor began living
with a married man and had another child by him, the Earl objected to the unwholesome
situation in which young Edward Vere was living, and tried to gain custody. The mother
prevailed in the custody suit, however, thus securing her own livelihood through the child
support money she received from Oxford. Knowing this, we can more clearly understand the
bitter tone of Sonnet 67, where the poet says, speaking of his son (Edward), “Why should he
live, now Nature bankrupt is/ Beggar’d of blood to blush through lively veins?/ For she hath no
exchequer now but his, / And proud of many, lives upon his gains.”

Sonnet 141 is frequently included in anthologies and subjected to various interpretations. Yet it,
too, contains a puzzle that seems more logical if we assume that Edward De Vere's experience is
reflected in the poem. Some Oxfordians think it alludes to Ann Vavasor, but it might be
addressed to Elizabeth.

47
Sonnet 141
In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who, in despite of view, is pleased to dote.
Nor are mine ears with thy tongue's tune delighted;
Nor tender feeling, to base touches prone,
Nor taste, nor smell, desire to be invited
To any sensual feast with thee alone:
But my five wits nor my five senses can
Dissuade one foolish heart from serving thee,
Who leaves unsway'd the likeness of a man,
Thy proud heart's slave and vassal wretch to be:
Only my plague thus far I count my gain,
That she that makes me sin awards me pain.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 141

In truth, I don’t love you just for your physical appearance, for my eyes can detect a thousand
flaws in your features. But my heart loves all of your features, even though my eyes might
disapprove of your flaws, so my heart is happy to adore you. Nor are my ears delighted with the
sound of your voice, nor are my tender feelings prone to groping touches. Nor would my other
senses – taste, smell – experience a sensual feast when I am alone with you. But neither my five
wits nor my five senses can dissuade my foolish heart from serving you. When my heart leaves,
to become your proud heart’s slave and menial servant, my body merely looks like a man, but is
like a hollow shell. I have learned one lesson, however. She that makes me sin gives me the pain
of disease.

Commentary on Sonnet 141

This poem is probably addressed to Elizabeth, swearing devotion to her even while
acknowledging her physical imperfections. The logical structure of the poem divides
conventionally into octave and sestet, but the couplet at the end seems curiously disjointed,
according to interpreters Steven Booth and Helen Vendler. The poem shifts from addressing a
loved one (thee), to a third person (she that makes me sin). If this sonnet was written while De
Vere was confined in the Tower, being punished for getting Ann Vavasor pregnant, the
ambiguity in the poem might express his ambivalence toward his queen. Assuming that the
sonnet is addressed to Elizabeth, we would not be troubled by the word "serving" where we
might otherwise expect to see "loving." The “proud heart” would fit Elizabeth, as would the
concept of being her “slave and vassal wretch.” Edward’s love for Elizabeth was inseparable
from his duty to serve her. However, when the couplet swerves to the “she” in the third person,
the poet is probably referring to Ann Vavasor, whose promiscuity may have helped to spread the
“plague” of venereal disease.

Certainly Ann Vavasor had considerable influence on Edward De Vere’s life and thus on
Shakespeare’s literary creations. She could be recognized as the “dark wanton” Rosaline in
Shakespeare’s play Love’s Labor’s Lost. She was, indirectly, the result of the lameness
Shakespeare mentions in some sonnets, since her uncle, Thomas Knyvet, wounded Oxford in a

48
swordfight he provoked to avenge her honor. And the deep ambivalence toward women that
appears in Shakespeare’s work – admirable and lovable creatures, but not trustworthy – can be
traced to his experiences with Ann Vavasor and Elizabeth Tudor.

Another woman who influenced Shakespeare/De Vere was his first wife, Anne Cecil, daughter
of Elizabeth’s chief counselor and treasurer, William Cecil. Anne was seven years younger than
Edward De Vere, only fourteen when her father arranged her marriage to him, the most desirable
eligible bachelor in the kingdom, in 1571. During an 8-year estrangement from his wife, Edward
fathered two sons by other women – one born in October of 1573, the other born in March, 1581.

Meanwhile, Oxford’s daughter by his first wife was growing up. At Christmastime in 1581,
some friends arranged for the young child Elizabeth to see her father, and also to convey a very
touching letter to the Earl from his countess. She pleaded for a reconciliation, saying that she
desired only to please him, assuring him of her constant love and faith. Possibly Queen Elizabeth
played a part in persuading Oxford to return to his wife and try to beget a legitimate heir. Thus
Edward De Vere and Anne Cecil De Vere were reconciled late in 1581, and they had three more
children before Anne’s death in 1588. The theme of a faithful wife being wrongfully accused
occurs in several of Shakespeare’s plays, notably Othello. Almost certainly, Sonnets 110 and 117
are addressed to Anne Cecil by her penitent husband, who pledges never again to be unfaithful.

Sonnet 110
Alas! 'tis true, I have gone here and there,
And made myself a motley to the view,
Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear,
Made old offences of affections new;
Most true it is, that I have looked on truth
Askance and strangely; but, by all above,
These blenches gave my heart another youth,
And worse essays proved thee my best of love.
Now all is done, have what shall have no end:
Mine appetite I never more will grind
On newer proof, to try an older friend,
A god in love, to whom I am confined.
Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best,
Even to thy pure and most, most loving breast.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 110

Alas, it is true that I have traveled here and there, making myself a clown in the eyes of others,
destroyed my own best ideas, devalued what I should have treasured, turned new affections into
old offences. It is especially true that I have been a stranger to truth and looked on it with
unjustified suspicion. But I swear by all above, these cowardly acts have rejuvenated my heart,
and by trying out worse loves, I proved that you are the best. Now all that is past, and I offer you
my endless faith. I will never again test my appetite on newer proof just to test an older friend,
but will be confined to the worship of that loving friend. Then give me welcome, my love who is
best of everything under Heaven, even to thy pure and most, most loving breast.

49
Commentary on Sonnet 110
Probably no woman in De Vere’s life would fit the description of steadfast love and purity, as
described in Sonnet 110, except Anne Cecil. The Ogburns noted that the female characters of
Ophelia, Hamlet’s betrothed, and Desdemona, Othello’s innocent wife, seem based on the sweet,
forgiving nature that he saw in Anne. All his life, De Vere felt deep regret for having distrusted
and abused her. After the reconciliation, Anne gave her husband two more daughters and a son,
but the son died in infancy. She expressed her grief over the loss of her son in a touching poem,
and we can well imagine the grief of a father whose hopes for a male heir seemed to be
repeatedly dashed. Anne died in 1588, while Oxford was away fighting the Spanish Armada.
After carrying the canopy over Queen Elizabeth for her victory celebration in November, De
Vere withdrew from court life to grieve quietly for three years.

But then a change of fortune brought happiness into his life. Elizabeth Trentham, one of
Elizabeth’s maids of honor, fell in love with him. De Vere was then forty-one years old, several
years older than his new love, who was probably about 30. Queen Elizabeth approved the match,
and they were married in September, 1591. Dorothy Ogburn believes that Sonnet 138 was
written during their courtship, since it is playful and fits the situation perfectly.

Sonnet 138
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutored youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although she knows my days are past the best,
Simply I credit her false-speaking tongue:
On both sides thus is simple truth suppressed:
But wherefore says she not she is unjust?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O! love's best habit is in seeming trust,
And age in love, loves not to have years told:
Therefore I lie with her, and she with me,
And in our faults by lies we flattered be.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 138

When my love swears that she is telling me the truth, I believe her, even though I know she lies,
so that she might think me uneducated and unsophisticated in the subtle deceptions of the world.
Thus I think, vainly, that she thinks I am young, even though she knows my best days are past,
so I simply assume that she is telling a little white lie. For both of us, then, the simple truth is
suppressed. But she hasn’t really said she is unjust. And I have not really said that I am old. The
best habit of lovers is to seem trusting, and no lover loves to have his age revealed. Therefore, I
“lie” with her, and she “lies” with me, and we are both flattered by these little deceptions.

Oxford’s marriage to Elizabeth Trentham seems to have been a happy one. They had a son,
named Henry De Vere, who became the 18th Earl of Oxford upon Edward’s death in 1604. His
widowed countess never remarried, but dutifully looked out for the interests of her son. The three

50
other important women in his life, the three daughters from his first marriage, grew up and
married well. Whether Edward wrote poetry for his daughters, we have no way of knowing. Yet
the daughters must have felt close to him, for two of them, along with their husbands, were the
patrons who commissioned the publication of the First Folio of Shakespeare’s plays in 1623.

***
Chapter 6
Rival Poets and Lovers

Several of Shakespeare’s sonnets refer to a rival poet or poets. Numbers 78, 82, and 85 suggest
that many poet-admirers are competing for the attention of the addressee. Many of the traditional
interpretations assume that the Rival Poet of the sonnet sequence was competing for the favors of
the Fair Youth, perhaps hoping for his patronage. But if Edward De Vere was the Fair Youth’s
father, such interpretations would not stand up under close examination.

A more likely scenario is that the addressee was Queen Elizabeth. Because Elizabeth loved
poetry and word-play, one way for her admirers to win her approval was to make her the subject
of their poems. In Sonnet 78, her courtier Edward De Vere, writing under his pen name of
Shakespeare, accuses the newcomers (“every alien pen”) of emulating or copying him, because
Elizabeth was the subject of many of his poems:

Sonnet 78
So oft have I invoked thee for my Muse,
And found such fair assistance in my verse
As every alien pen hath got my use
And under thee their poesy disperse.
Thine eyes, that taught the dumb on high to sing
And heavy ignorance aloft to fly,
Have added feathers to the learned's wing
And given grace a double majesty.
Yet be most proud of that which I compile,
Whose influence is thine, and born of thee:
In others' works thou dost but mend the style,
And arts with thy sweet graces graced be;
But thou art all my art, and dost advance
As high as learning my rude ignorance.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 78:

So often I have drawn my inspiration from you, making my verses more elegant, that now I am
copied by poets everywhere, who want to sing your praises. Your eyes are so beautiful that they
enable the speechless to sing divinely, and even the ignorant can fly aloft in your presence.
Those learned poets who have already flown high, now can soar even higher because they
benefit a second time from your grace. Yet you can be most proud of the poetry I write to you,
because my poems were born from the inspiration you provide. Other poets may superficially
adorn their work and grace your virtues with their art. But you are the sole reason for my art, and

51
you bring forth the best in me, as if you were bringing an ignorant person into the light of higher
learning.

Commentary on Sonnet 78:

The Queen was famous for her beautiful dark eyes, which the poet says could inspire even a
speechless person to sing her praises, and elevate even an unschooled person to unsuspected
heights. The image of adding feathers to the wings of a bird evokes a folk tale about a crow who
wanted to make an impression on others, so he collected colorful feathers of other birds to adorn
his wings. The graciousness of the Queen in accepting any of her subjects’ poetry, even those
efforts that were poor imitations of Petrarch or other European poets, makes her doubly majestic,
in the poet’s view.

The sestet of Sonnet 78 can be paraphrased as a plea for the Queen to recognize genuine
affection in Shakespeare/Oxford’s poems, because her personality and influence are the sole
source of his art, in contrast to the superficiality of other poets’ work. She graces their art with
her sweet graces, but she is the very essence of Shakespeare’s art. She brings out the best in him,
causing him to advance his artistry as far as the distance goes from ignorance to profound
learning.

In other words, Elizabeth has often been his inspiration, like the Muse Erato to whom poets
appeal for assistance in their creative art. But when strangers (every alien pen) began writing
verses in praise of the Queen, she was flattered. Although De Vere was annoyed with the other
poets, he persisted in his own devotion to his sovereign.

Poets often used celestial imagery or mythological figures to describe Elizabeth: she was
associated with the sun, the stars, and the moon (especially the moon goddesses Diana and
Cynthia). Edmund Spenser, for example, wrote “The Faerie Queen” with Elizabeth in mind.
Walter Raleigh penned the epic “The Ocean’s Love for Cynthia” when he was vying openly for
the Queen’s favor. Philip Sidney’s sonnet sequence “Astrophel and Stella” used the celestial
symbol of the star (Stella) and star-lover (Astrophel or Astrophil). [Note: some critics believe
that Sidney’s Stella was Penelope Devereux, who became Lady Rich, because one poem in his
posthumous publication punned on the name “rich.” But the romance between Philip and
Penelope was neither deep nor sustained. His need to get back into the good graces of his Queen
was a far greater motivation, after he had been banished from her court for two years.]

George Chapman as Proposed Rival Poet

George Chapman, a poet much admired for his translation of the Greek poet Homer, has been
mentioned as a possible rival of the Stratford resident, Will Shakspere, but no connection
between these two has been substantiated. Chapman was, however, connected to an inner circle
of poets led by Walter Raleigh, and he participated in Edward De Vere’s group known as
“Euphuists,” whose mission was to enrich the English language with borrowings from other
languages and metaphors from the classics of the European world. Chapman, regarded by many
as a pedantic poet and a smug academic, is probably the poet with the “learned’s wing” alluded
to in Sonnet 78.

52
Charlton Ogburn, Jr., writing in the 1950s, championed the cause of Edward De Vere as the true
author using the pen name “Shakespeare.” Ogburn, too, thought the “rival poet” was George
Chapman. Ogburn quotes a verse in a play by Chapman describing Oxford as "the most goodly
fashion'd man I ever saw." This compliment, he says, shows Oxford at age 26 in the eyes of one
"who was in all probability the rival poet of the sonnets."

Ogburn was following the lead of Arthur Atcheson, whose 1922 treatise claimed to have proof
that the Rival Poet was none other than George Chapman. Yet Atcheson's theory was based on
the supposition that the Stratford man Will Shakspere was the poet-playwright William
Shakespeare, and that Chapman bore some animus toward Will Shakspere. Such speculation has
led down many wrong paths, as if the readers and scholars had been climbing the wrong
mountain and, having no reliable map or compass, set themselves to classifying the flora and
fauna of the apocryphal territory.

A Bunch of Rivals for the Queen’s Favor

In Sonnet 82, addressed to Queen Elizabeth, the octave presents excuses for her apparent
fickleness, but in the sestet, Shakespeare/De Vere deplores the excesses of other poets, punning
on his own name to distinguish “truth” from mere rhetorical flourishes:

Sonnet 82
I grant thou wert not married to my Muse, And therefore may’st without attaint o'erlook The
dedicated words which writers use Of their fair subject, blessing every book. Thou art as fair in
knowledge as in hue, Finding thy worth a limit past my praise; And therefore art enforced to seek
anew Some fresher stamp of the time-bettering days. And do so, love; yet when they have
devis'd, What strained touches rhetoric can lend, Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathiz'd In true
plain words, by thy true-telling friend; And their gross painting might be better usd Where
cheeks need blood; in thee it is abusd.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 82
I admit that my Muse and I had no claim upon you or exclusive contract; therefore no one can
find fault with you for accepting the works that other writers have dedicated to you, blessing
their books with the mention of your name. You are as superior in knowledge as you are fair in
complexion. Your worth is so great that my praise cannot do it justice; therefore you are forced
to seek younger poets with fresher words. And do so, my Love, yet after the others have devised
their strained rhetorical flourishes, you will see that you who are truly fair need no
embellishments; you were truly understood in the true plain words with which I praised you. Let
other poets find subjects that need colorful cosmetics, but to paint you with such artificial means
is an abuse of the poet's art.

Commentary on Sonnet 82
Because Elizabeth was not “married” or committed to one poet only (symbolized by his Muse, or
inspiration), it is no disgrace for her to survey and approve the words with which writers dedicate
their books to her. The fifth line also bears closer examination. Elizabeth was “fair” in
complexion, with reddish-blonde hair. She was also famous for the depth and breadth of her
knowledge, having had the best tutors available in England in the 16th century, being able to read

53
and write in five languages. Because her worth was beyond any ordinary estimate of value, a
poet would be challenged to find new ways of expressing his admiration. When an older poet-
admirer has exhausted his supply of laudatory words, the Queen would understandably seek
“some fresher stamp” of the newer generation, who are still enjoying the best days of their lives.

An abrupt change of direction at the sestet grants permission – “And do so, love.” Yet it makes
the prediction that she will be disappointed when she sees the strained rhetorical touches and
“gross painting” of the neophytes. Several variations of “truth” are recognizable as puns on the
author’s name, Vere, which means “truth” (as in “verity, very, verify” ).

Thou truly fair, wert truly sympathiz’d

In true plain words, by thy true-telling friend.

Walter Raleigh as Rival Poet

Another rival poet is singled out in Sonnets 79, 80, 83, and 86. David L. Roper makes a
persuasive case that this poet is Walter Raleigh. Roper points out that Edward De Vere,
following the death of his first wife in 1588, went into semi-seclusion for three or four years
when Raleigh was in his ascendancy. But the rivalry must have come earlier, perhaps during the
early 1580’s when De Vere was being slandered by his former Catholic friends and discredited
by his fatherin-law, Lord Burghley. His imprisonment by the Queen, ostensibly for having an
illegitimate son with Ann Vavasor in 1581, seemed especially vengeful, leaving De Vere hurt
and angry. He turned his attention away from the court and concentrated on his writing, feeling
“in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes.” Later in 1581 he reconciled with his first wife and
tried to beget a legitimate heir. But even while his increasing affection for his countess was
growing into true love and respect, he still yearned for Elizabeth’s approval. A plague in London
in 1582 may also have contributed to his withdrawal from court life.

It was about that time that Raleigh swooped into the English court, offering the Queen a
generous share of treasure he had pirated from Spanish ships in 1580-81, overwhelming her with
his proud, swashbuckling manner and his deft way with words. By 1582-83, Raleigh was widely
acknowledged to be the Queen’s favorite. She gave him a house in London, called Durham
House, and she knighted him in 1585.

In Sonnet 79, Shakespeare/De Vere writes of reluctantly giving up his former place in the
Queen’s favor to another poet (presumably Raleigh). But even as he acknowledges Raleigh’s
talent, Shakespeare/De Vere cleverly plants doubts about his rival’s sincerity. The second
quatrain puts this idea forth. It is addressed to Queen Elizabeth, whose “lovely argument” means
the theme of the sonnet:

I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument

Deserves the travail of a worthier pen;
Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent
He robs thee of, and pays it thee again. [lines 5-8]

54
In other words, although the Queen deserves all the work done for her by a worthy poet, that poet
merely reflects upon the virtues and beauty that reside in her. Therefore, she need not thank him
for what he says, or feel obligated to him, “for what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay.”

Roper’s case for Raleigh as a Rival Poet seems especially strong in Sonnet 86, with its reference
to the “proud full sail” of a ship seeking treasure (the Queen), making the poet tongue-tied with
awe:

Sonnet 86
Was it the proud full sail of his great verse,
Bound for the prize of all-too-precious you,
That did my ripe thoughts in my brain inhearse,
Making their tomb the womb wherein they grew?
Was it his spirit, by spirits taught to write
Above a mortal pitch, that struck me dead?
No, neither he, nor his compeers by night
Giving him aid, my verse astonished.
He, nor that affable familiar ghost
Which nightly gulls him with intelligence,
As victors of my silence cannot boast;
I was not sick of any fear from thence:
But when your countenance filled up his line,
Then lacked I matter; that enfeebled mine.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 86
Was it a sea-captain whose poetry is like a ship under full sail, looking for treasure (the precious
love of you, his Queen), who left me speechless? Was it he that locked my mature thoughts into
my brain to die there, in the place where they were born? Was it his spirit, taught by a divine
spirit to write heavenly verses, that killed my ability to write? No, neither he nor his poet friends,
who gather at night to help him, stunned me into silence. Not he, nor the friendly spy that comes
to him at night giving him deceptive information can claim victory for rendering me silent. I had
no fear of them, but when he praised your beauty in his lines, then I seemed unable to match his
poetic powers.

Commentary on Sonnet 86
In Durham House, his London home, Raleigh convened a group of poets that were known as
“The School of Night,” which included poets George Chapman, Philip Sidney, Fulke Greville,
Christopher Marlowe, and Matthew Roydon, as well as the astrologer Thomas Harriot, among
others. Clearly, Oxford did not fear any competition from them. The spirit that was taught by
spirits to write could refer to Chapman, whose translation of Homer seemed to Oxford to be
divinely inspired. The “affable familiar ghost” may have referred to Matthew Roydon, a spy for
Walsingham’s Secret Service who kept Raleigh informed of events at court, and who was
suspected of authoring (under a pseudonym) “Willobie His Avisa,” a satire aimed at Henry
Wriothesley. But Raleigh did have poetic powers, and when he turned his talents to the praise of
Elizabeth, her countenance filled his lines, leaving Oxford feeling that he might be overmatched.
The word “countenance” has a double meaning: it can mean her face, or her approval.

55
Queen Elizabeth gave pet names to her courtiers and lovers: she called Oxford her “Turk” (for
his warrior skills); she called her French suitor, the Duke of Alencon, her “Frog,”; and Walter
Raleigh’s name she punned as “Water.” Raleigh turned this pun into the metaphor of “ocean” in
his poem “The Ocean’s Love for Cynthia,” dedicated to Queen Elizabeth. Cynthia, of course, is
the Moon Goddess, who controls the ebb and flow of ocean tides. Elizabeth was indeed
controlling, and when she discovered that Raleigh had secretly married Bessie Throckmorton,
she was furious. By 1592, when Raleigh’s son was born, he had fallen out of grace with the
Queen.

While Raleigh was the favorite, however, Oxford stayed in the background. Elizabeth had
awarded Oxford an annual grant of 1,000 pounds, beginning in 1586, for “services to the realm.”
This enabled him to maintain a company of actors who produced two plays a year for the court.
After that date Oxford did not publish poetry in his own name, and none of his plays were
published in his name. Thus he became “dumb” in another sense, which would seem to explain
the defensiveness in Sonnet 83. Other critics and scholars have thought this poem was addressed
to Henry Wriothesley or Ann Vavasor, but it becomes more meaningful if we consider it written
by Oxford to Elizabeth, explaining his “silence” during the years when another poet (or poets)
paid her elaborate compliments.

Sonnet 83
I never saw that you did painting need,
And therefore to your fair no painting set;
I found, or thought I found, you did exceed
The barren tender of a poet’s debt:
And therefore have I slept in your report,
That you yourself, being extant, well might show
How far a modern quill doth come too short,
Speaking of worth, what worth in you doth grow.
This silence for my sin you did impute
Which shall be most my glory being dumb;
For I impair not beauty being mute,
When others would give life, and bring a tomb.
There lives more life in one of your fair eyes
Than both your poets can in praise devise.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 83:

I never thought you needed to paint your face with cosmetics, and therefore I added no rhetorical
enhancements to depict your fair beauty in words. I thought your true value exceeded the
inadequate amount of tribute any poet might pay to you. And therefore I have not been as
attentive as some other poet might be, so that your living excellence might show how his quill
pen cannot do justice to the worth you have, which is still growing. You have interpreted my
silence as sinful negligence, yet I am most honorable when I say nothing. For in being mute, I do
not impair your beauty, whereas others try to enliven your portrait, but their efforts fall flat.
There is such liveliness in you, that even one of your fair eyes contains more life than both of
your poets together (myself and my rival) can devise for praising you.

56
Commentary on Sonnet 83
Shakespeare has commented many times on the futility of “painting” to simulate youthful
beauty, yet Elizabeth was well known for her vanity and her use of cosmetics to appear more
youthful. The real person, however, is so vibrant that mere words in praise of her seem hollow or
artificial. He seems to be answering some kind of accusation that he has not written any poems to
her lately, and he may indeed have been sulking quietly while his rival or rivals basked in the
limelight. In relating this poem to the life of Edward De Vere, we might conclude that when
Elizabeth granted his thousand-pound annuity in1586, he promised not to use his own name on
his work, lest the general public detect his relationship to the Queen.

Interestingly, Oxford’s retreat into anonymity corresponds almost exactly to the period known
traditionally as the “lost years” of William Shakespeare – 1586 through 1592. Since Will
Shakspere of Stratford was 14 years younger than Edward De Vere, he would have been only 16
or 17 years old when Raleigh was in the height of favor at court. And he would not have had the
number of rivals or the kind of rivals that contended with the 17th Earl of Oxford in the decades
of the 1580’s and 1590’s.

George Gascoigne and Others as Rival Poets

Poetic rivalry with a former classmate, George Gascoigne, peaked in 1576 when Queen
Elizabeth named Gascoigne as Poet Laureate of England, an honorary but unofficial post. Three
years earlier, Oxford had included some of Gascoigne’s verses, along with some of his own, in a
collection titled A Hundreth Sundrie Flowres and subtitled “Bound up in one small Poesie.” The
word poesie (also spelled posy) meant a nosegay or bouquet. Or it could mean “poetic
imagination.” Here it was a pun also meaning “a motto or brief sentiment” which was used as a
substitute for the poet’s name. Gascoigne, not being a nobleman, used his own name on his
verses, but Oxford used the posy “Meritum petere, grave,” and the verses attributed to
Christopher Hatton used the posy “Felix Infortunatus.”
Both posies were known at court, and Oxford further revealed his authorship by including in that
volume a poem containing a cipher of his name “Edward De Vere.” Oxford poked fun at Hatton
using the posy “Fortunatus Infoelix” in a collection by Richard Edwards, A Paradise of Dainty
Devices, published in 1576 following Richard’s death in 1566. Oxford lampooned Hatton for his
long-standing affair with a “high born lady” who would have been recognized by courtiers as the
Queen. In 1576, when Oxford was away, Hatton arranged for a revised edition of Hundreth
Sundrie Flowres, subtitled “The Posies of George Gascoigne.” Thus Gascoigne received credit
for all the poems in the anthology, including sixteen of the youthful poems by Oxford.

Gascoigne, in dedicating this new edition to the Queen, spoke allegorically of “two sworn
brethren which long time served Diana [moon goddess], called Deep Desire and Due Desert,
which Diana separated by turning the first one into a laurel tree. We may assume that Due
Desert referred to Oxford, who did indeed deserve the honor. Later he wrote about this betrayal
in a poem entitled “Song: The Forsaken Man,” signed with his own initials, E. O., for “Edward
Oxenford.” The poem is too long to quote here, but four lines will give a sense of the theme: “A
crown of bays shall that man wear/ That triumphs over me;/ For black and tawny will I wear,/
Which mourning colours be.” The rivalry with Gascoigne seems to have been short-lived, but the
rivalry with Hatton became bitter, prolonged, and malicious.

57
Katherine Duncan-Jones, editor of the fine critical edition The Arden Shakespeare, names several
other plausible candidates for the rival poet (John Davies of Hereford, Samuel Daniel, Ben
Jonson). She strongly advocates her own favorite, William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, a nephew
of Philip Sidney and a dedicatee of the First Folio. Yet her assumptions, like those of Atcheson,
are based on the Stratfordian time-frame of 1564-1612. Sidney himself should be considered a
rival poet, not only because his sonnet sequence was published prior to Shakespeare’s (leading
some scholars to the questionable conclusion that Sidney’s work inspired Shakespeare’s), but
because Philip Sidney was a rival of Edward De Vere all his life.

Philip Sidney as the Rival of Edward De Vere

Philip Sidney (1554-1586), four years younger than Edward De Vere, was his rival in school, at
the court of Queen Elizabeth, in the courtship of Anne Cecil, and in the writing of sonnets. Philip
was the nephew of Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, the courtier most favored by Queen
Elizabeth I in the early years of her reign. He was the son of Sir Henry Sidney, Elizabeth's
governor of Ireland, and Lady Mary Sidney, who had served the young queen as a lady in
waiting during her bout with smallpox.

After some years of private tutoring and attendance at a staunchly Protestant school in
Shrewsbury, Philip came to court as a ward of William Cecil, Elizabeth's chief counselor, to
complete his education and be trained to serve as a courtier to the queen. He was admitted to the
law school Gray's Inn in 1567, where he became a classmate of Edward De Vere. Looney reports
on a poetic duel of sorts, probably during the revels at Gray's Inn in 1568. Edward, then 17 years
old, wrote a stanza entitled "Were I a King," that showed the marks of a craftsman even at that
young age.

"Were I a king I might command content,

Were I obscure unknown would be my cares,
And were I dead no thoughts should me torment,
Nor words, nor wrongs, nor love, nor hate, nor fears.
A doubtful choice of three things one to crave,
A kingdom or a cottage or a grave."

Looney notes that Philip's rejoinder, though considered a "sensible reply," shows no originality
but simply twists the words and phrases of the original stanza into an affront:

"Wert thou a king, yet not command content,

Since empire none thy mind could yet suffice,
Wert thou obscure, still cares would thee torment,
But wert thou dead all care and sorrow dies.
An easy choice of three things one to crave,
No kingdom nor a cottage but a grave."

Later, Edmund Spenser would cast the two poets as antagonists in a rhyming-match in his
Shepheardes Calendar (1579), with the character “Perigot” representing Philip Sidney, and
"Willie" representing Edward De Vere. Edward would also have occasion to accuse Philip of

58
borrowing from other poets' works, aping Petrarchan conventions to a fault, and plagiarizing
some of his own verses. Shakespeare, too, satirized in drama and verse the affected mannerisms
and veneer of courtesy that many courtiers and critics would identify with Philip Sidney.

Edward was Philip's senior not only in years, but also in rank, a situation which rankled Philip
when he wanted to challenge Edward to a duel following a famous quarrel at a tennis court.
According to Fulke Greville, Philip's friend and biographer, Philip became indignant when the
Earl of Oxford ungraciously refused Sidney’s request to use the court where Oxford was playing.
Conscious of French visitors nearby, Philip felt it necessary to make a scene. The Earl retorted
by calling him a "puppy," and the two might have come to swords' points if the Queen had not
called Philip to her side and instructed him in the duties of a courtier and the respect due to
personages of higher rank.

During the visit of the French ambassadors, Edward and Philip found themselves in opposite
camps regarding a proposed marriage between Queen Elizabeth and the French Duke of
Alencon. Philip allied himself with his uncle, Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, who opposed
the match because he himself hoped to marry Elizabeth and become Prince Consort. Edward, on
the other hand, had been sent to France by Elizabeth, traveling under a pseudonym to gather
information about the duke's reputation and also to gauge the popular attitude of the French
citizenry toward Protestants. Edward disliked Leicester, whose power and influence over
Elizabeth had made him arrogant and manipulative. Leicester's first wife, Amy Robsart, had died
in 1560 under suspicious circumstances, commonly believed to be murder. William Cecil, the
Queen's Lord Treasurer and most trusted adviser, confided to a Spanish ambassador that he
feared for his queen and her kingdom if she were to marry Leicester, unpopular as he was among
his countrymen.

At the urging of two people that Philip "felt obliged to obey," (his uncle, the Earl of Leicester,
and Francis Walsingham, head of the Queen's Secret Service), he wrote a letter to Queen
Elizabeth stating his opposition to her marrying a "Papist and a foreigner." He pointed out that
Elizabeth's strongest supporters were the Protestants of her realm, who probably would feel
alienated if she married a Catholic. He also voiced objections to the Duke personally and to his
family, describing them as unscrupulous connivers and murderers. Furious at his impudence,
Elizabeth barred Philip from her court. He spent the time of his banishment living with his sister
Mary, Countess of Pembroke, trying to improve his poetic techniques and writing his dull work
"Arcadia," dedicated to her. Possibly during that year he also wrote some of the sonnets that later
appeared in "Astrophel and Stella." He was back in the Queen's good graces within a year or
two.

The rivals Edward and Philip had also had been in competition over Anne Cecil, the daughter of
Sir William Cecil. Anne had known them both for several years during their childhood and
probably regarded them in a sisterly way. When Anne was 13 years old (1569), her father opened
negotiations with Sir Henry Sidney for Anne's marriage to Philip, who was then 17. Philip had
slender prospects for wealth, having inherited family debts, but it appeared that he would be the
heir of his childless uncle Robert Dudley, who was becoming well connected and well rewarded
for his services to the Queen. Sir William Cecil, who was also profiting from the largesse of the
Queen, was willing to offer a substantial dowry to make a good match for his daughter Anne.

59
But in 1571 William Cecil set his sights higher. The Earl of Oxford turned 21 years old in April
of that year, presumably able to assume control of his father's estates (they had been held in trust
and managed by Leicester until Edward reached his majority). The Queen favored the match
between Edward and Anne. They were married in December, 1571, but like other aristocratic
young men, Edward wanted to take the Grand Tour of Europe to complete his education. He may
have envied Philip Sidney, who had not completed law school, but instead had traveled in
Europe for a year.

When Philip’s uncle, the Earl of Leicester, married Lettice Knollys and had a son by her in 1573,
Philip's prospects for inheritance from Leicester dimmed considerably. In 1583 Philip married
Frances Walsingham, the 14-year-old daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham, a staunch Protestant
who approved Philip’s Protestant fervor. Philip did not become "Sir" Philip Sidney until he was
in his late twenties, three years before his death from a battle wound (1586).

Rivalry with Sidney in Poetry

Thomas Looney, who first identified Oxford as the probable author of the Shakespearean canon,
was not the only person who compared the poetry of Philip Sidney to that of Shakespeare, much
to the advantage of Shakespeare. Ogburn considers Philip's poetry "a mediocrity" given to
lackluster imitation and outright plagiarism. He quotes Sir Sidney Lee as saying "Petrarch,
Ronsard and Desportes inspired the majority of Sidney's efforts, and his addresses to abstractions
like sleep, the moon, his muse, grief or lust are almost verbatim translations from the French."

Looney also quotes Dean Church as saying, "Sidney was not without his full share of that
affectation which was then thought refinement," so that Shakespeare might have had Sidney in
mind when he satirized the dandified "honey-tongued Boyet" in "Love's Labors Lost":

This fellow pecks up wit as pigeons pease,

And utters it again when God doth please. . . .
..... Why this is he
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice. . . .
-- Act V, Scene 2

Today, Philip Sidney is remembered not so much for his poetry as for his representation as an
ideal courtier -- courteous and dutiful. This image, however, was craftily devised for political
purposes.

Philip's funeral was a lavish affair, costing over 6,000 pounds, paid for primarily by his father-in-
law Francis Walsingham, who wanted to idealize Philip as a martyr for the Protestant cause.
Thus Philip became lionized as the perfect gentleman and model courtier. Stories began to
circulate about his noble conduct as a soldier, particularly about his giving his own water ration
to a dying man on the battlefield. Capitalizing upon Philip Sidney's celebrity status, Fulke
Greville and other friends assembled a collection of his sonnets and songs. They published it
posthumously in 1590 under the title "Astrophel and Stella," (star-lover and star).

60
At that time most readers considered the idealized "Stella" to represent Queen Elizabeth, who
was frequently identified with celestial imagery such as the moon and sun. She was well known
for welcoming poetical tributes and even flattery, consistent with the courtly love tradition of
admiration for the unattainable woman. As previously mentioned, some twentieth century
speculation has identified "Stella" as Penelope Devereux Rich, or "Lady Rich." Admittedly, one
of Sidney's sonnets does pun on the name "Rich" but it is unlikely that Sidney intended every
sonnet in the sequence to idealize her.

The posthumously published collection proved to be a commercial success and helped to

popularize the sonnet form. The fourteen-line Petrarchan sonnet with the rhyme scheme of abba,
abba, cde, cde had been popular in Italy, where the language provided many ways of rhyming.
An uncle of Edward De Vere, the Earl of Surrey, was said to be the first poet to adapt the sonnet
into English with the rhyme scheme of four quatrains and a couplet: abab, cdcd, efef, gg. No
doubt young Edward also experimented with poetic forms and became adept at iambic
pentameter as well as other metrical measures.

Just three years after "Astrophel and Stella" was published, appeared "Venus and Adonis
[1593]," the first long narrative poem to be published under the name of William Shakespeare. In
the dedication to Henry Wriothesley, the Third Earl of Southampton, Shakespeare referred to the
work as "the first heir of my invention," which Charlton Ogburn, Jr., interprets as the first use of
the pen name "William Shakespeare." The following year another narrative poem appeared under
the name of William Shakespeare, "Lucrece," (later retitled "The Rape of Lucrece").
Shakespeare probably composed many of his sonnets in the decade of the 1590's.

If the Oxfordians are correct, as I believe they are, Edward De Vere wrote and published these
two narrative poems, concealing his identity under a pseudonym because of his special
relationship to Queen Elizabeth's court. It would be reasonable to assume that De Vere was also
working on a sequence of sonnets in the 1590's, planning to dedicate it to Henry Wriothesley,
anagramming the young man's initials to "Mr. W. H." This sonnet manuscript, too, was
published posthumously (1609), the printer having obtained it from the estate of Elizabeth
Trentham De Vere, the widow of Edward De Vere. Although the Stratford man, Will Shakspere,
was still living, he made no claim to be the author of the sonnets, nor did he receive any royalties
from the printer. Also, if we try to interpret the rivals as two male poets competing for the favors
and patronage of a young Earl, the poems raise more questions than they resolve. We are
justified in concluding that the Stratford man did not write the sonnets.

Love and Rivalry

If we read the themes of love and rivalry in the sonnets as genuine appreciation for Elizabeth --
her vast knowledge, her graces, and her uniqueness -- as opposed to the derivative drivel of rival
poets, then Shakespeare’s songs make a great deal of sense. Knowing something of the real-life
rivals of Edward De Vere does enable us to understand the poems better and to solve enduring
mysteries surrounding the cast of characters. We can also make better guesses as to when the
sonnets were written, by linking them to historical events and events in Oxford’s life.

61
Similar readings to those in this chapter can be made for all the poems in the Rival Poet series,
generally considered as Sonnets 78-86. But there are other ways of grouping the sonnets to tell
the hidden story – a story of anguish and betrayal as well as joy and devotion.

****

Chapter 7
The Difficult Decade of the 1580’s

The decade of the 1580’s marked a turning point in Elizabethan England. The defeat of the
Spanish Armada in 1588 gave cause for celebration and for giving the English people a sense of
national pride. Admiral Charles Howard, who commanded Elizabeth’s naval forces against
Spain’s, was a Catholic, but one whose loyalty to his Protestant Queen was indisputable. And so
was her trust in him.

Quite the opposite sort of man was the Admiral’s relative Lord Henry Howard of Effington,
whose slanders had caused so much grief to the Earl of Oxford earlier in the decade. He and his
partner in calumny, Charles Arundel, had sown the seeds of distrust that resulted in Oxford’s
banishment from court for 26 months in 1581-83. Even after his release from the Tower in June
of 1581, Oxford lived under house arrest by order of the Queen. Yet he assuaged his pain by
turning his energies to the theater.

During this time Oxford had acquired the sublease for the Blackfriar’s Theater (a former
monastery), and had combined two acting groups, Oxford’s Boys and Paul’s Boys. Oxford’s
personal secretary, John Lyly, managed the theater and the acting company for him. In 1582 the
troupe of actors performed two plays later attributed to John Lyly, though some Twentieth
Century scholars believe they had been written, in whole or in part, by the Earl of Oxford.

Although the theatrical ventures were going well, Oxford’s personal life was at its nadir. In
March of 1582 he was attacked by Thomas Knyvet, an uncle of Ann Vavasor’s, supposedly to
exact revenge for Oxford’s seduction of his niece. Yet since a whole year had elapsed since the
birth of the bastard son, and since Oxford was supporting the child and his mother, the revenge
motive is questionable. It would appear that Oxford’s enemies at court may have enlisted
Knyvet’s aid in an attempt to get rid of Oxford. In any case, Knyvet wounded Oxford in the leg,
causing the lameness that hindered the Earl for the rest of his life.

In that decade Oxford was trying to make amends to his countess, Anne Cecil De Vere, for his
previous doubts about her faithfulness. Anne gave birth to a son in March of 1583, who would
have been the legitimate heir to the earldom, but the infant lived only two days. Deep sorrow
permeated the De Vere household.

Elizabeth must have been feeling some pity for Oxford and his countess for the loss of their
infant son. Walter Raleigh, too, felt compassion for his rival poet, and since he was high in the
Queen’s favor in 1583, he generously interceded to plead with Elizabeth to forgive Oxford and
permit him to return to court.

62
In a letter dated June 2, Sir Roger Manners gave Raleigh credit for facilitating a reconciliation
between Elizabeth and Oxford, also noting that Burghley was “angry for that he could not do so
much.” He was writing to his brother Edward Manners, the Earl of Rutland, who had been a
friend of Oxford’s since boyhood. Manners wrote that the Queen had come to Greenwich from
the Lord Treasurer’s house on June 1, and that the Earl of Oxford had come into her presence.
“After some bitter words and speeches, in the end all was forgiven, and he may repair to the
Court at his pleasure.” To a sensitive soul like Oxford, mutual forgiveness must have come as a
great relief, yet his pain could not be easily assuaged. Sonnet 139 expresses his agony:

Sonnet 139
O! call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye, but with thy tongue:
Use power with power, and slay me not by art,
Tell me thou lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,
Dear heart, forbear to glance thine eye aside:
What need'st thou wound with cunning, when thy might
Is more than my o'erpressed defence can bide?
Let me excuse thee: ah! my love well knows
Her pretty looks have been mine enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries:
Yet do not so; but since I am near slain,
Kill me outright with looks, and rid my pain.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 139

Do not ask me to defend myself against your unkind accusations, which have wounded my heart.
Do not wound me by expressing disapproval with your eyes, but use words. Use your power with
words against my power, and do not mince your words, but tell me outright that you love another
man. When you are with me, Dear One, resist the temptation to glance aside or to deceive me
with cunning. You have the might to slay me when my defenses are weak. I will excuse my
Love, because she well knows her pretty looks have done me harm. She has diverted the
attention of my foes so that they throw their darts elsewhere. Yet don’t bother to do that, because
I am so near to being slain that you can kill me outright with your disapproving looks, thus
ending my pain.

Commentary on Sonnet 139

The inequality of the powers between the lovers, with the woman having the power to destroy
the man, fits the relationship of courtier to queen much better than that of lovers who have equal
social standing. The poet also shifts from direct address in the second person (you) to third
person (she) when his words might seem to suggest a criticism. Among the foes alluded to in this
sonnet are some courtiers who are jealous of Oxford (Leicester, Burghley) and the manipulative
slanderers Arundel and Howard who, like Iago to Othello, had aroused Elizabeth’s suspicions
with innuendo, distortions, and outright lies. Oxford knew that Elizabeth now had a new favorite
– Walter Raleigh – but he would rather hear the blunt truth from her than endure the pretense and
guile that had begun to sully the atmosphere of the court.

63
By 1583 Oxford had come to realize that much of court behavior was based on the pretense (for
political purposes) that Elizabeth was a virgin, yet he had sworn never to reveal her secrets. She
was also considered to be above criticism, so her courtiers would have to pretend she was
perfect, even if they knew otherwise. To someone as loyal as Oxford, this would entail taking
blame upon himself so that her public image could be maintained as one of spotless virtue. Yet
he endured this charade because he really did love her.

Sonnets 88, 89, and 90 fit this occasion. In Sonnet 88, the poet offers to take her side, even to
fight against himself for her sake, and to swear she is virtuous although he knows she is forsworn
– that is, she has broken many solemn vows. The ending couplet of Sonnet 88 is quite touching
in its devotion:

“Such is my love, to thee I so belong,

That for thy right, myself will bear all wrong.”

Sonnet 89 deserves a more complete analysis, because it reveals much about the poet himself:

Sonnet 89
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault,
And I will comment upon that offence:
Speak of my lameness, and I straight will halt,
Against thy reasons making no defence.
Thou canst not, love, disgrace me half so ill,
To set a form upon desired change,
As I'll myself disgrace; knowing thy will,
I will acquaintance strangle, and look strange;
Be absent from thy walks; and in my tongue
Thy sweet beloved name no more shall dwell,
Lest I, too much profane, should do it wrong,
And haply of our old acquaintance tell.
For thee, against my self I'll vow debate,
For I must ne'er love him whom thou dost hate.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 89
Suppose you stopped loving me because I had some fault; then I would think about that fault and
try to correct it. If you find my lameness disagreeable, I will immediately stop, without
questioning your reasons or trying to defend myself. You cannot, my love, disgrace me half so
badly as I would disgrace myself, if you specify the changes you desire me to make. Knowing
that you desire it, I will end any acquaintance you disapprove of, and act like a stranger, not
accompany you on your walks, and never allow my tongue to mention your sweet beloved name,
lest I should profane it accidentally, and wrong you by letting something slip about our former
intimacy. For you, I will promise to debate against myself if need be, for I cannot love myself if
you hate me.

Commentary on Sonnet 89
The mention of his lameness as a biographical fact fits the Earl of Oxford, who was made lame

64
in a swordfight. Yet Stratfordian scholars cannot explain the reference to lameness according to
any known facts about Will Shakspere of Stratford. The poet’s promise to mend any
imperfections that his lover perceives, in the hope of regaining her approval, will even take him
so far as to pretend he doesn’t know her. The third quatrain strongly suggests the poet’s fear of
divulging “profane” or earthly evidence of a divine relationship in their past – which could very
well be the intimacy with her that Arundel and Howard falsely accused him of revealing.

Throughout the decade Oxford continued to write sonnets to Elizabeth, but not with the slavish
passion he had once felt. She, on the other hand, was conducting a scandalous affair with Count
Jehan de Simier, a French emissary who came to negotiate a marriage contract between
Elizabeth and the Duke of Alencon (formerly Duke of Anjou). Oxford then wrote about
Elizabeth’s faithlessness, and his disillusionment with her. He began to call her “Cressid,” and
when he wrote “Troilus and Cressida” he made Elizabeth the model for his promiscuous leading
character. Sonnet 142 would have characterized Oxford’s mood at that time.

Sonnet 142
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
O! but with mine compare thou thine own state,
And thou shalt find it merits not reproving;
Or, if it do, not from those lips of thine,
That have profaned their scarlet ornaments
And sealed false bonds of love as oft as mine,
Robbed others' beds' revenues of their rents.
Be it lawful I love thee, as thou lov'st those
Whom thine eyes woo as mine importune thee:
Root pity in thy heart, that, when it grows,
Thy pity may deserve to pitied be.
If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide,
By self-example may’st thou be denied!

Paraphrase of Sonnet 142

My sin is love, but your precious “virtue” is hate. You hate my sin, which is grounded in sinful
loving, but if you compare my situation with your own, you will find I don’t deserve to be
censured any more than you do. Or if I do deserve reproof, it ought not to come from you,
because you have profaned your scarlet lips by swearing false vows as often as I have. You have
robbed other wives of the marital attention due to them from their husbands. I wish it were
lawful for me to love you. I wish you could love me the way you love those men that you woo
with your eyes the way my eyes beg for your love.
Plant a seed of pity in your heart, so that when it grows, you will be deserving of pity yourself. If
you do truly seek that virtue you have hidden under a mask of piety, you set an example of
hypocrisy that would cause the world to deny you that pity.

Commentary on Sonnet 142

Although scholars Dorothy Ogburn and Charles Barrell both think Sonnet 142 was directed
toward Ann Vavasor, the “scarlet lips” make it seem more likely to be addressed to Queen

65
Elizabeth. As we know, Shakespeare often inserted a barb chiding the Queen (and other vain
women) for using cosmetics to try to appear younger. Also, the public persona of a virtuous
virgin was clearly at odds with Elizabeth’s passionate nature, and the description in the poem
(cruel treatment of former lovers) fits Elizabeth better than it does Ann Vavasor.

It was Simier, while having his own affair with Elizabeth, who informed her that her erstwhile
lover, Robert Dudley, to whom she had given the splendid estate of Kenilworth and the
illustrious title of Earl of Leicester, had secretly married Lettice Knollys, a cousin of Elizabeth’s
whom she despised. Lettice was then the widow of the first Earl of Essex, Walter Devereux.
Gossips of the day speculated that Lettice’s husband had been poisoned, since he died suddenly
of a stomach ailment while on his way home from Ireland. Rumor also had it that Lettice had
given birth to two children by Leicester when her husband was away. One of the Devereux
children, born in 1566, was named Robert. Thus upon marrying Lettice, Leicester became a
stepfather to Robert Devereux, the Second Earl of Essex, who was rumored to have been his son.
Essex would become a favorite of Elizabeth’s after the death of Leicester, and later on the source
of unfathomable grief for her and others who loved him.

Leicester’s death came in June of 1588, just before the triumph over the Armada in July.
Elizabeth mourned for most of that year, even during the national celebration of the defeat of the
Armada in November. Poisoning was suspected, but never proved. One rumor surmised that he
had, accidentally, drunk a poisoned brew he intended for someone else. Whether accurate or not,
Shakespeare used that scenario in the play of Hamlet.

Oxford, too, had undergone much sorrow in that decade. The death of his countess, Anne Cecil,
occurred in June while Oxford was away provisioning his ship, the “Edward Bonaventure” at his
own expense, in preparation for the Spanish invasion. Anne had been depressed since the death
of her infant son, so her death may have been a suicide. The guilt Oxford felt for mistreating and
misjudging Anne early in their marriage never left him.

At the November celebration of the victory over Spain, the Earl of Oxford carried the canopy
over the Queen’s head. This official act was a hereditary honor reserved for the earls of Oxford,
one of their duties as Lord Great Chamberlain of England. He mentions this honor in Sonnet 125,
as having less meaning for him than true love. He also mentions the dispatching of a “suborned
informer” – who was probably his treacherous cousin Lord Henry Howard. Lord Howard was
tried and condemned to death in 1589, with Oxford present at the trial. If Oxford had been a
vengeful person, revenge against his tormentor would have been sweet. But in Sonnet 125 he
merely seems to feel relief at being vindicated as a “true soul” who has withstood the awful
ordeal of being “vile esteemed” and emerged the stronger for it. He also includes a touchingly
humble profession of his love for Elizabeth, an “oblation poor but free.” Probably this sonnet
was written toward the end of 1589, when he and Elizabeth were both in mourning.

Sonnet 125
Were't aught to me I bore the canopy,
With my extern the outward honouring,
Or laid great bases for eternity,
Which proves more short than waste or ruining?

66
Have I not seen dwellers on form and favour
Lose all and more by paying too much rent
For compound sweet, forgoing simple savour,
Pitiful thrivers, in their gazing spent?
No; let me be obsequious in thy heart,
And take thou my oblation, poor but free,
Which is not mixed with seconds, knows no art,
But mutual render, only me for thee.
Hence, thou suborned informer! a true soul
When most impeached stands least in thy control.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 125 Of what importance was it to me that I bore the canopy, honoring the
outward show of power by wearing elegant exterior garments. Why did I think it important to lay
a great foundation for eternity [plays and poetry], which didn’t last as long as it took for others to
ruin it? Haven’t I seen those people who dwell on courtly formalities and seek royal favor lose
everything or go into debt by paying too high a price for sweet desserts, forgetting the
satisfaction of simple flavors? These upwardly-mobile people are pitiful, gazing upward [at the
sun] until they lose their sight. No, let me serve obediently in your heart, and accept my sacred
offering, poor in comparison to others’ gifts, but freely and generously given. It is pure, not
mixed with inferior substances. It is not artificial, but a genuine offering, an even exchange of
equal value – given from me to you, and from you to me. Get away from us, you paid informant!
A soul of true integrity, when most cruelly jeopardized, is least damaged by your manipulations.

Commentary on Sonnet 125

The allusion to bearing the canopy gives strong support for the Earl of Oxford’s candidacy as the
author of the Shakespearean canon. He had seen ambitious people consumed with desire for
wealth and status, lose out by trying to climb above their station in life, like Christopher Hatton,
or going deep into debt to entertain the Queen, like Robert Dudley, or hanging around hoping for
preferment, like Francis Bacon. Even Lord Burghley, who amassed great wealth as Queen
Elizabeth’s advisor and Treasurer, in the end lost his soul and his integrity. The poet also uses a
mix of Latinate language and plain English speech, contrasting the formalities of a privileged
aristocracy to the simple, straightforward expression of true love, which has no hierarchies of
power or status, but only “mutual render,” a Latin-based legal term, promptly translated into
simple English: “only me for thee.” This line gives a hint of the quality of the love these two
experienced in Twelfth Night of 1573 – complete surrender to each other, with no thought of
rank or the trappings of power, each giving freely to the other the fulfillment of their mutual
desire.

Oxford’s eldest daughter, Elizabeth Vere, was approaching marriageable age in 1589. She had
gone to live with her grandfather, Lord Burghley, after her mother died, so Burghley She had
gone to live with her grandfather, Lord Burghley, after her mother died, so Burghley year-old
youth for whom Burghley had the right to select a mate. This young man was a valuable “catch,”
being heir to an earldom with substantial income, and also well educated, well bred, and quite
attractive to the maidens of the court. Burghley offered his granddaughter as a wife for his young
ward, but the youth hesitated. He was too young to marry, he said, and requested another year to

67
decide. Burghley grudgingly agreed to wait, and he probably introduced his son-in-law to his
ward, since after all,

Oxford was the father of Elizabeth Vere. Thus Oxford became acquainted with Henry
Wriothesley, the Third Earl of Southampton, and somehow that year he became aware that this
fair youth was his son -- the son that the Queen had snatched away from him seventeen years
earlier, and who now resembled his mother as she had looked in the prime of her young
womanhood.

Oxford, who had recently suffered the loss of an infant son, and whose only other offspring were
girls, took great delight in his newly-discovered progeny, and began writing sonnets to persuade
Henry to carry on the blood-line of the Tudor and De Vere families. It may be numerically
symbolic that the first seventeen sonnets were written to a seventeen-year-old by the seventeenth
Earl of Oxford, but several other sonnets are also addressed to Henry Wriothesley. In Sonnet
105, the poet celebrates the bonds of kinship, symbolically linking “fair, kind, and true” as traits
representing Queen Elizabeth (fair), himself (true, a pun on “Vere”), and their son (kind,
suggesting kindred).

Sonnet 105
Let not my love be called idolatry,
Nor my beloved as an idol show,
Since all alike my songs and praises be
To one, of one, still such, and ever so.
Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind,
Still constant in a wondrous excellence;
Therefore my verse to constancy confined,
One thing expressing, leaves out difference.
Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,
Fair, kind, and true, varying to other words;
And in this change is my invention spent,
Three themes in one, which wondrous scope affords.
Fair, kind, and true, have often lived alone,
Which three till now, never kept seat in one.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 105

My love is not idol-worship, nor is my love an idol, since all of my songs and praises are devoted
to one person and I write only of that one. That is still true, and will ever be true. My love is kind
today and will be kind tomorrow, still constant in a wondrous excellence. Therefore my verse is
confined to that constant theme, expressing one thing, ignoring other differences. My theme is
always about fair, kind, and true, although I vary the wording. Changing the words takes all my
imagination, but the three themes in one permit me a wondrous scope. Fair, kind, and true have
often lived independently, and until now, they have not all been combined into one.

Commentary on Sonnet 105

This sonnet offers many clues about the trinity of father, mother, and son, which is the poet’s
primary and consistent theme. The line “to one, of one, still such, and ever so,” puns on the

68
motto of Henry Wriothesley “One for all, all for one,” and the motto of Elizabeth (Semper
Eadem, “ever the same”), and the name of Edward De Vere in the word “ever” (E. Ver). The
word “kind” has a double meaning: its root meaning is “kindred,” but it also suggests gentleness
or gentility. Since “Fair” represents Elizabeth (fair in coloring, and nice as in “fair weather”), and
“True” represents De Vere (whose name means “true” and whose motto Vero Nihil Verius
means “Nothing truer than truth”), then the three traits of fairness, loyalty, and kindness are
joined for the first time in one person – the son of Elizabeth Tudor and Edward De Vere.

Oxford never gave up hope that someday the Queen would acknowledge Southampton as her
son, heir to the throne of England. If she had married Oxford, as might have been possible when
both of them were unmarried in 1590, he would have become Prince Consort, and their son
would have been legitimized. But that was not to be.

Instead, something wonderful happened to the Earl of Oxford – he fell in love again.

****

Chapter 8
Sonnets of Joy and Sorrow

Queen Elizabeth knew that Oxford had been withdrawn and sad for the three years since his first
wife died, and that he was chafing under the restriction of not being able to publish his plays and
poetry under his own name. She believed she had acted in self-defense in letting Gascoigne take
credit for some of Oxford’s verses that might have revealed or hinted at court secrets, but her
naming of Gascoigne as Poet Laureate was a blow to Oxford’s pride. His name had been buried
under posies such as Ignoto, Fortunatus infoelix, and Meritum petere, grave. Even his initials
“E.O.” were not signed to poems other than his early works. Sonnet 76, addressed to the Queen,
seems to apologize for not adopting new literary fads and styles, but it also provides the poet’s
self-defense, or apologia, for his inability to change. It expresses Oxford’s frustration at having
to keep his creations (inventions) in a black mourning garment (weed). He also gives a clue to
his true identity in the line “Every word doth almost tell my name.”

Sonnet 76
Why is my verse so barren of new pride,
So far from variation or quick change?
Why with the time do I not glance aside
To new-found methods, and to compounds strange?
Why write I still all one, ever the same,
And keep invention in a noted weed,
That every word doth almost tell my name,
Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O! know sweet love I always write of you,
And you and love are still my argument;
So all my best is dressing old words new,
Spending again what is already spent:

69
For as the sun is daily new and old,
So is my love still telling what is told.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 76
Why does my poetry lack the ability to change with the times, use new forms and methods, adapt
foreign literature by compounding it with English? Why do I always write on the same subject in
the same way, and keep my poetry in a recognized mourning garment? Every word I write
almost tells my name, indicating where the words came from and what they will proceed to say.
O, Sweet Love, know that I always write of you, and our love is always my theme. So my best
work is dressing old words with new garments, or renewing past experiences by reliving them.
As the old sun is renewed each day, my love is renewed by repeatedly telling of it.

Commentary on Sonnet 76
Line seven contains a clue as to the author’s real name “E. Vere.” “Every word” almost tells his
name, but not quite. Line five alludes to the motto of Queen Elizabeth “ever the same” as well as
punning again on “E. Ver” and the word “ever.” “All one” may allude to the motto of their son,
“All for one, one for all,” and the couplet may contain a pun on “sun/son” as well as an allusion
to the Queen as the “roi soleil” meaning the royal sun that rules the heavens.

Queen Elizabeth probably helped to arrange Oxford’s second marriage, because she had to
approve any marriage to one of her maids of honor. In addition to keeping him productive as a
playwright, the Queen probably had a sincere concern for his welfare and happiness.

Oxford’s second wedding, unlike his first, was a rather quiet matter that took place in September,
1591, according to his biographer Dorothy Ogburn. Hubert Holland reports that in July of that
year Oxford sold a London house to Francis Trentham, to be used for the benefit of his sister, the
bride-to-be. Not much else is known about his second countess, Elizabeth Trentham, except that
she was one of Queen Elizabeth’s maids of honor, highly regarded as a well-bred, intelligent, and
pretty young woman. She was probably about eight or ten years younger than Oxford, but had
been with Elizabeth about ten years without having found a suitable husband.

The match was apparently quite suitable, since both groom and bride had appropriate social
credentials, and they were in love. Lady Trentham was the daughter of a Staffordshire landowner
named Sir Thomas Trentham, with enough property of her own to bring to her marriage some
financial stability, and her deep devotion to her Lord enabled him to be happy and productive.

In 1590, Oxford’s name had been omitted from the Book of Honor, although he had been listed
there for winning of tournaments in 1571 and 1581. Sonnet 25 captures his disillusionment over
that snub, as well as his happiness in being loved for himself, which probably indicates his
contentment with his new love:

Sonnet 25
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Of public honour and proud titles boast,
Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,

70
Unlook'd for, joy in that I honour most.
Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread
But as the marigold at the sun's eye,
And in themselves their pride lies buried,
For at a frown they in their glory die.
The painful warrior famoused for fight,
After a thousand victories once foiled,
Is from the book of honour razed quite,
And all the rest forgot for which he toiled:
Then happy I, that love and am beloved,
Where I may not remove nor be removed.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 25 Let those who have been born under a lucky star boast of their public
honors and proud titles, while I, who am barred from such triumph, not sought out, find joy in
that which I honor most. The favorites of great kings and queens spread their fair leaves, but as
the marigold opens with the sun’s warmth and closes at sunset, they bury their pride in
themselves, for when their great prince frowns upon them disapprovingly, their glory dies. The
painfully wounded warrior, famous for his fighting ability, may have won a thousand victories,
but once he loses or retires from battle, he is quite thoroughly erased from the Book of Honor,
and everything he has worked for is forgotten. I am happy, however, because I love and am
loved in return, in a place where I cannot displace another favorite, nor be removed [from court,
or honors’ lists, by the whim of a royal authority].

Commentary on Sonnet 25
The term “great princes” applies to monarchs both male and female. The marigold was the
flower of Queen Elizabeth, here used symbolically to represent the transient nature of glory and
the Queen’s capricious removal from court all those who displeased her. The love that
permanently remains to comfort him could be the love of his son, Henry Wriothesley, but it fits
just as well with a new wife whose steadfast love makes up for the snobbery of courtiers and the
lack of appreciation for the playwright’s labors.

Some appreciation for Oxford, however, came from fellow writers at that time. John Lyly in
1591 published Endymion, in which the title character was modeled after Oxford, and the queen
Cynthia modeled after Elizabeth. The theme was that even subjects with Catholic leanings, like
Oxford, can be staunchly loyal to their sovereigns. The poet Edmund Spenser, who published his
poem “The Faerie Queene” in 1590, managed to slip past Lord Burghley’s censors an
acknowledgement of Oxford’s talent and reputation. The subject “queene” of the poem was
symbolic of Queen Elizabeth, and Oxford was one of those to whom Spencer’s work was
dedicated. In the dedication to Oxford, Spenser wrote:

Receive, most noble Lord, in gentle gree {gree = good will]

The unripe fruit of an unready wit,
Which by thy countenance doth crave to bee [countenance = approval]
Defended from foule Envies poisonous bit, [bit = bite]
Which so to do may thee right well befit
Sith th’antique glory of thine ancestry, [sith = since]

71
Under a shady vele is therein writ, [vele = veil]
Succeeding them in true nobility . . .

The hint to Oxford from Spenser was that the glory of his own De Vere ancestry could be found
in “The Faerie Queene,” although “veiled” by symbolism that would not be readily understood
by the envious people (rivals at court) who would destroy it if they understood it. Shakespeare’s
beautiful Sonnet 106 echoes the opening stanza of “The Faerie Queene,” and it praises Spenser’s
poem as much as it compliments the addressee.

Sonnet 106
When in the chronicle of wasted time [wasted = long past]
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rhyme,
In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,
Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have express'd
Even such a beauty as you master now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our time, all you prefiguring;
And for they looked but with divining eyes,
They had not skill enough your worth to sing:
For we, which now behold these present days,
Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 106

When in the stories of long ago I see descriptions of the most admirable persons, and beauty of
poetry reviving the beauty of old rhymes in praise of ladies no longer living and lovable knights,
then in the heraldic array of sweet beauty’s best – of your hands, feet, lips, eyes, and brow – I see
the ancient rhymers wanted to describe the kind of beauty that you now possess. So all the old
praises were just prophecies of the present time, all of them prefiguring you. But though they
could divine the future, the ancients did not have skill enough to visualize all the virtues you
possess. Yet we of the present day, who can actually see you now, use our eyes only to marvel at
your magnificence, and we are dumbfounded by it.

Commentary on Sonnet 106

This poem could be addressed to the Fair Youth, as many scholars have supposed. It might,
however, be addressed to Queen Elizabeth, serving the same courtly purpose as Spenser’s
allegory in paying homage to Elizabeth. The list of praiseworthy parts in the sonnet also suggests
a woman’s features (hands, feet, lips and eyes) rather than those of a young man. By the 1590’s,
Oxford had come to see the superficiality in the adulation of the Queen by various court poets,
but he still admired her for the unique person she was. If this poem is addressed to Elizabeth, it
shows a restrained admiration in contrast with the painful emotions of romantic love, or the
anger over betrayal, that we see in other sonnets. If it was written in the 1590’s, Oxford was
happily married, but he could praise the Queen for her beautiful qualities without declaring a
personal love for her.

72
Another significant publication in 1590 was the sonnet collection “Astrophel and Stella” by
Philip Sidney, published posthumously by friends and relatives. It, too, glorified Queen
Elizabeth, and it helped to make the sonnet form popular. It may also have motivated Oxford to
begin revising his long narrative poem “Venus and Adonis,” and to start assembling his own
sonnet collection so that he might present it to his son, Henry Wriothesley.

In December of 1591, Oxford alienated his property at Castle Hedingham to Burghley to set up
in trust for his three daughters. His new wife fully concurred in the arrangement, for if a son
should be born to her and her Lord, he would inherit the earldom. Thus Oxford provided for the
daughters of his first marriage. A similar scenario appears in Shakespeare’s play “King Lear,”
when Lear (whose name is an anagram of Earl) is dividing his property among his three
daughters.

Meanwhile, Oxford was very much enjoying the son he could not acknowledge openly – Henry
Wriothesley, who at age 18 was still in the Court of Wards under Burghley, and still resisting
any marriage that Burghley might propose. Sonnet 37 captures the paternal sentiments while also
revealing much about the author.

Sonnet 37
As a decrepit father takes delight
To see his active child do deeds of youth,
So I, made lame by Fortune's dearest spite,
Take all my comfort of thy worth and truth;
For whether beauty, birth, or wealth, or wit,
Or any of these all, or all, or more,
Entitled in thy parts, do crowned sit,
I make my love engrafted to this store:
So then I am not lame, poor, nor despis'd,
Whilst that this shadow doth such substance give
That I in thy abundance am suffic'd,
And by a part of all thy glory live.
Look what is best, that best I wish in thee:
This wish I have; then ten times happy me!

Paraphrase of Sonnet 37
As a decrepit father enjoys watching his active child grow up, so I, made lame by a spiteful act
of revenge, take comfort in your worthiness and honesty. For whether you have all the
characteristics of beauty, good breeding, wealth, or intelligence, whether only some or even
more of them, I attach my love to these noble traits. So then I am not feeling lame, or poor, or
despised, because even your shadow gives enough substance for me to live vicariously through
you, and bask in the glory that comes from you. Look to what is best; that is what I would wish
for you. I already have got my wish, so I am ten times happier than I was.

Commentary on Sonnet 37: The poets references to being “decrepit” in contrast to his active
child, being made lame, being poor, feeling despised – all these circumstances indicate that
Edward De Vere was the author of the poem. “Fortune’s dearest spite” probably refers to his

73
misfortune in being wounded in an attack by Thomas Knyvet, spiteful in its alleged motive of
revenge for getting Ann Vavasor pregnant. He takes comfort, however, in seeing his beloved son
grow up well, so that he lives vicariously in the beauty, good breeding, and wealth of his
offspring. The reference to “entitled” and “crowned” suggest that the son has a royal heritage.

Walter Raleigh secretly married one of Elizabeth’s Maids of Honor, Bessie Throckmorton,
probably in 1588 or 1589, but he could not keep the marriage secret after Bessie gave birth to
their child in 1592. Furious at this betrayal by her former favorite, the Queen imprisoned him in
a fortress – and threatened to send him to the Tower. During his confinement, Raleigh began to
write poetry about a cruel mistress named “Cynthia.”

Then Elizabeth turned more of her attentions to the young auburn-haired Second Earl of Essex,
Robert Devereux, who much resembled his natural father, Robert Dudley, the now-deceased Earl
of Leicester. Gossip circulated about young Essex playing cards with the Queen late into the
night, or accompanying her on walks. But the attraction between them did not seem romantic,
because Elizabeth was old enough to be his mother. Indeed, some observed that her concern for
him seemed more maternal than amatory.

Born in 1566, the Second Earl of Essex was six years older than the Third Earl of Southampton.
The two became close friends, with Southampton looking up to Essex as he might to an older
brother. Meanwhile, Lord Burghley was growing old and somewhat fearful that one of these
young men might persuade Elizabeth to make him her heir. He began grooming his son, Robert
Cecil, to take over his role as Lord Treasurer after his death. And the two Cecils – father and son
– became locked in a power struggle against the two young earls, each pair fearing the influence
of the others upon the Queen.

Oxford, of course, had to show deference to Lord Burghley, who was not only the Queen’s most
trusted advisor, but also the grandfather of his three daughters from his first marriage. Yet he had
experienced enough undermining by the Cecils so that he tended to sympathize with young
Henry. In a touchingly paternal poem, Sonnet 22, the poet dismisses as unimportant the
difference in their ages, professing a love that is protective and unconditional.

Sonnet 22
My glass shall not persuade me I am old,
So long as youth and thou are of one date;
But when in thee time's furrows I behold,
Then look I death my days should expiate.
For all that beauty that doth cover thee,
Is but the seemly raiment of my heart,
Which in thy breast doth live, as thine in me:
How can I then be elder than thou art?
O! therefore love, be of thyself so wary
As I, not for myself, but for thee will;
Bearing thy heart, which I will keep so chary
As tender nurse her babe from faring ill.

74
Presume not on thy heart when mine is slain,
Thou gav'st me thine not to give back again.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 22
My mirror tries to show my face as old, but it cannot persuade me of that as long as you are
young and I see myself in you. But when I begin to see wrinkles in you, then I will know my
days are nearly over, and I expect death to end, and atone for, my life. For all that beauty that
covers you is just a garment that it seems my heart drapes over you. My heart resides in your
breast, as yours does in mine. How can I then be older than you are? O, therefore, Love, take
care of yourself, as I will take care of myself for you. While I am bearing your heart, I will keep
watch as a tender nurse would to keep her babe from becoming ill. Do not expect to get your
heart back when mine is dead; you gave me yours to keep.

Commentary on Sonnet 22:

The idea of lovers exchanging hearts was a convention in poetry of Shakespeare’s time, but he
makes it original by visioning the keeping of each other’s hearts to be the obligation of father
and son. Each will take care of himself so that he will be available when the other needs him. But
the love invested by each is unique and non-returnable, unlike romantic love, so it cannot ever be
given to anyone else.

The idea of growing old had begun to trouble Oxford in his forties, which would have been a
fairly mature age in his time. In 1591 he turned forty-one years old, but felt rejuvenated by his
new bride and his newfound son Henry Wriothesley. He carries these thoughts over into Sonnet
104, in which he mentions it has been three years since he met his son. That would make the date
of this poem approximately 1593.

Sonnet 104
To me, fair friend, you never can be old,
For as you were when first your eye I ey'd,
Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold,
Have from the forests shook three summers' pride,
Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd,
In process of the seasons have I seen,
Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd,
Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green.
Ah! yet doth beauty like a dial-hand,
Steal from his figure, and no pace perceiv'd;
So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand,
Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceiv'd:
For fear of which, hear this thou age unbred:
Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 104

Beloved, you can never seem old to me, for you seem just as beautiful now as you did when my
eyes first looked into yours. Three cold winters have shook the summers’ leaves from the forests;

75
three beauteous springs have turned to yellow autumn; as the seasons unfolded I have seen three
April perfumes burned dry in three hot Junes – since first I saw you freshly, and you still seem
freshly green. Ah, yet, like the hands of a clock, beauty quietly steals from his figure, with
imperceptible slowness, so your sweet color may be fading, though it looks fine to me, but my
eyes may be deceived. If that is true, I have a message for posterity: before you were born,
beauty’s finest moments had already passed away.

Commentary on Sonnet 104

The chief interest in this sonnet is the time frame of three years that father and son have known
each other. The poet emphasizes this time frame with the extended metaphor of seasons passing,
expressed in beautiful parallel phrasing. If indeed we can date this poem as the year 1593, it
shows how close the two of them had become in that short a time.

London theaters were closed for almost two years when a severe epidemic of plague gripped the
city, beginning in October of 1592, through all of 1593, and the first six months of 1594. Yet
publications continued in print. Samuel Daniel’s sonnet sequence “Delia,” which supposedly was
an influence on Shakespeare’s sonnets, was published in 1592, as was a sonnet sequence by a
friend of Southampton’s, Henry Constable, “Diana: the Praises of his Mistress, in Certain Sweet
Sonnets.” Edward De Vere could not publish the sonnets he had been writing over many years,
but he may have taken time to revise and polish some of them during the plague year. He also
chose the name “William Shakespeare” as a pseudonym under which he could publish a long
narrative poem (in 1593) and dedicate it to the son that he could not openly acknowledge.

Why did he choose the name “William Shakespeare”? For one reason, he was already known as
“Will” or “Willie” among his actor and poet friends. For another, he may have wished to honor
his guardian, William Cecil. He had also been called a “Spear-shaker” when he competed in
jousting tournaments. He had inherited at birth another title, “Lord Bulbeck,” whose crest was a
lion brandishing a broken spear. And the spear also suggested the goddess Pallas Athena,
patroness of the arts. It was a name never before associated with Edward De Vere, or any other
writer of his day. So it seemed safe enough as a mask to conceal the identity of the author.

The dedication to “Venus and Adonis” is important for two reasons: it is the first time the name
“William Shakespeare” appears in print as an author, and it shows that the author was acquainted
with the Third Earl of Southampton. In the dedication, Shakespeare calls his poem “the first heir
of my invention.” Oxfordians interpret this to mean that the name “Shakespeare” was an
invented one, and the published poem was the first work of literature to benefit from it (that is, to
be “heir” to his new name).

The germ of the story came from Ovid’s “Metamorphosis,” but Shakespeare elaborated upon it,
turning it into a poetic narrative of passionate love. Of particular interest is that the lovegoddess
Venus seduces the shy youth Adonis, using one of the arguments that Shakespeare used with the
Fair Youth in his sonnets: “make a copy of yourself, so that your beauty will not be lost to the
world.” We can easily infer that Venus represents Elizabeth, and Adonis represents Edward De
Vere in their first amorous adventures.

76
Just as “Venus” featured female lust for a naïve male, “The Rape of Lucrece,” published in the
following year, shows male lust for a naïve female in its darker aspects – aggressive, despoiling,
irrational—as if the poet wanted to reveal the whole range of human sexuality. The dedication
shows an even stronger bond between the poet and the Earl of Southampton. Here it is in full,
with significant phrases emphasized:

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE HENRY WRIOTHESLEY

Earl of Southampton and Baron of Titchfield

The love I dedicate to your lordship is without end , whereof this pamphlet, without
beginning, is but a superfluous moiety. The warrant I have of your honourable disposition, not
the worth of my untutored lines, makes it assured of acceptance. What I have done is yours;
what I have to do is yours; being part in all I have, devoted yours. Were my worth greater,
my duty would show greater; meantime, as it is, it is bound to your lordship, to whom I
wish long life, still lengthened with happiness.

Your lordship’s in all duty ….. William Shakespeare

What had happened during the year of 1593 to create such devotion between the poet and the
dedicatee? A dedication is always considered an honor, but to offer a love without end, and to
say that everything he has done and will do belongs to the dedicatee, is strong stuff indeed. It
would make no sense if we thought a commoner had sworn such loyalty to a titled nobleman,
even if any evidence existed that the nobleman had made a monetary contribution. Yet it does
make sense if we recognize that this is a father speaking to a son that he has come to love dearly.

In February of 1593, the Earl and Countess of Oxford welcomed a new son and heir, whom they
named Henry De Vere. Perhaps he was named after his half-brother, Henry Wriothesley, because
the Third Earl of Southampton came to the christening at Hackney Church, and according to one
source, stood as Godfather to the child. This event links the earls of Oxford and Southampton,
whereas no biographer has been able to establish that Southampton had been a friend or
acquaintance of Will Shakspere of Stratford.

The language of the second dedication to Southampton is reflected in Sonnet 112, “you are my
all-the-world,” although this sonnet may have been written before the birth of Oxford’s
legitimate heir. This sonnet says that the addressee’s opinion of him is the only one that matters,
and that he can throw into an abyss all care he might once have had for the words of critics and
flatterers. The ending couplet has been subject to much emendation and changes in punctuation,
but in keeping with the rest of the sonnet, this arrangement seems most logical:

You are so strongly in my purpose bred,

That all the world besides, methinks, are dead.

This couplet has been emended to read, “all the world, besides me, thinks you’re dead.” But that
doesn’t fit the rest of the poem. It does fit, however, to interpret those lines as meaning “you are
so much the center of my thoughts and deeds, that all the rest of the world seems dead to me.”
Sonnet 30 also reflects on the power of the young son to erase other sorrows.

77
Sonnet 30
When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancell'd woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 30:

When I have some quiet time to myself, I like to recall things from my past. I sigh because I
don’t have many of the things I wanted, and feel bad all over again for the time I wasted feeling
bad in the past. Then although I can usually keep my eyes dry, I can practically drown them
thinking about precious friends who died, and cry again over the sorrow of a long-dead love
affair, and moan over the costly lessons I learned, that many things did not last. Then I can
grieve over things that gave me grief long ago, and tell myself again, one sorrow after another,
the sad account of things I bemoaned before, and pay for them again as if I had not already paid.
But if while I am thinking such thoughts, I think of you, Dear Friend, then my losses are restored
and my sorrows end.

Commentary on Sonnet 30: This looking backward and regretting past mistakes over and over
again indicates that the poet is growing old, missing his departed friends, sorrowing over a dead
romance. De Vere’s lost friends included the Earl of Sussex, the poet Marlowe, his friendly rival
Philip Sidney, and even his wife Anne. But when feeling so depressed, he thinks of his friend,
who is probably his son Henry Wriothesley, the feelings of love overcome the feelings of loss
and sorrow.

The closeness had to end, however, because if Oxford and Southampton were seen together too
much, other people might begin to suspect their true relationship. We have seen in Chapter Three
an analysis of Sonnet 36, in which the poet says they must be twain, lest his “bewailed guilt”
should bring undeserved shame to his son. In Sonnet 39, the poet echoes the theme of oneness
between father and son, although they must live separately, he can bridge the distance with
thoughts of love and admiration.

Sonnet 39
O! how thy worth with manners may I sing,
When thou art all the better part of me?
What can mine own praise to mine own self bring?
And what is't but mine own when I praise thee?

78
Even for this, let us divided live,
And our dear love lose name of single one,
That by this separation I may give
That due to thee which thou deserv'st alone.
O absence! what a torment wouldst thou prove,
Were it not thy sour leisure gave sweet leave,
To entertain the time with thoughts of love,
Which time and thoughts so sweetly doth deceive,
And that thou teachest how to make one twain,
By praising him here who doth hence remain.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 39
Would it be good manners for me to sing your praises when praising you is almost the same as
praising myself? Nevertheless, let us live apart, and not flaunt the love that makes us one united
soul. Then, being separate from you, I can admire you for your own good qualities, without
seeming to be self-serving. O, absence! What a torment would you prove to be, if it were not so
that you [absence] give sweet permission to fill lonely leisure time with thoughts of love. Those
thoughts give a deceptive pleasure. Absence teaches me how to make our one love two, by
praising my loved one here, although he remains elsewhere.

Commentary on Sonnet 39
No other interpretation seems to fit this poem as logically as the presumption that the poet is
writing to his son – “all the better part of me.” That would not be appropriate for a commoner to
write to a noble patron, and it would not make sense for an adult male lover to say that praising
another man is like praising himself. The anguish in the poem is best understood as the agony of
a father who cannot acknowledge his illegitimate son without hurting the boy and dishonoring
his mother.

The divisions at Court were deepening during the 1590’s. When Southampton turned 21 years
old without having accepted Lord Burghley’s granddaughter (Elizabeth Vere) for his wife,
Burghley imposed on him a monstrous fine of five thousand pounds, which soured the
relationship. His friend Robert Devereux, the 2nd Earl of Essex, also resented Burghley’s
manipulation of the Queen, so the two earls had an enemy in common. The Queen sent Essex to
capture Cadiz in 1596, where he and Southampton destroyed 53 Spanish ships. Essex wanted to
reward Southampton for bravery at sea, but the Queen demurred. When she sent Essex to the
Azores in 1597, Southampton went along. Essex appointed Southampton his Master of the
Horse, but the Queen demanded that this unauthorized promotion be rescinded. She was also
dissatisfied with the leadership of Essex in this campaign.

Meanwhile, young Southampton had fallen in love with Elizabeth Vernon, one of the Queen’s
Maids of Honor. When he learned she was pregnant, he asked permission to marry her, but the
Queen was more inclined to punish the couple than to assist them.
When the two earls (Essex and Southampton) returned from their lackluster military mission to
the Azores, Essex arranged for the couple to be secretly married at Essex House, only about a

79
month before their child was due. As usual, the Queen was furious; she had the couple arrested
and sent to Fleet Prison.

Oxford would assuredly have been on the side of the young lovers. This event may have been the
catalyst for the lovely Sonnet 116:

Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips
and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 116

When like-minded true souls want to be joined in matrimony, let me not give any reason for
them not to be united. Love is not love if it alters whenever a change occurs, or bends to the will
of an unjust authority in being removed or removing others [from court]. O, no! It is a fixed point
like the North Star, that looks on tempests but is not disturbed by them. It is the guiding star to
every wandering ship – a star whose worth cannot be determined, although we can measure its
height. Love cannot be fooled by Time, though youthful rosy lips and cheeks will fall within the
circular sweep of Time’s bending sickle [like a scythe cutting wheat]. Love does not alter with
Time’s brief hours and weeks,
but endures as long as life itself. If I am wrong in this matter, and my error is proved, then I
never wrote, nor did any man ever love.

Commentary on Sonnet 116

The opening lines allude to the wedding ceremony in the Book of Common Prayer, where the
minister asks whether anyone knows of any reason this couple should not be joined; “if so, let
him speak now, or forever hold his peace.” The ending couplet seems at first glance to be a
tacked-on afterthought, but according to Dennis Baron, it contains not only a strong affirmation
of undeniable truth, but also holds clues as to the author’s name: “Error,” in Latin, is in errore
versare, and the root for “man” is vir (compare virile, manly). The word “writ” comes from the
root scrivere. And of course the words never and ever suggest the name “E. Ver.” The theme of
the poem – that true love will endure the ravages of time and never lose its focus – is merely a
prediction for the Earl of Southampton, but for Shakespeare, it expresses his belief in the
enduring power of love between soul-mates. Unlike the transient physical attractions like
Oxford’s affair with Ann Vavasor, the marriage of “true minds” will not fluctuate over time.
This is the kind of love Oxford felt for Queen Elizabeth, and the kind of love that he hoped
would grant immortality to their son.

80
****
Chapter 9
Disillusionment and Despair

One of the most puzzling aspects of the Shakespeare mystery is the age of the supposed author.
As we have seen, several sonnets refer to the poet as old, lame, nearing death, and obsessed with
the mortality of his loved ones and himself. Will Shakspere of Stratford was born in April 1564,
so in 1597, when he purchased “New Place,” the second-largest house in Stratford, he was only
33 years old. Supposedly he had retired from his writing career, but nothing is known of his
whereabouts or activities for the previous decade.

Many years later an actor named Thomas Betterton traveled to Stratford seeking information
about the playwright he so much admired. By that time – the early 1700’s -- Will Shakspere was
dead, but a few old-timers remembered him. No one living in Stratford at any time had
connected their local resident Will Shakspere with the theater or with any kind of writing.
However, a townsman told Betterton he had heard Shakspere had received 1,000 pounds from
the Earl of Southampton. If that money had been a form of patronage, it would have been to
support an author in his writing, not just to finance his retirement. Charlton Ogburn, Jr., feels
certain that this money was “hush money” to persuade Will Shakspere to be a “front man” or
stand-in for the playwright. This, Ogburn says, was all part of the royal scheme to disconnect the
true author from his work, to divert suspicion that the Earl of Oxford might be linked to the
plays, and the plays, in turn, might point to characters modeled after people in Queen Elizabeth’s
court. Of course, Lord Burghley did not know of the existence of the book of Sonnets, or he
would certainly have suppressed it.

The Earl of Oxford, in 1597, had written to his father-in-law that he was in poor health. He was
then 47 years old, 14 years older than his Stratford stand-in. Sonnet 73 states eloquently how it
felt to the poet to be growing older, nearing death.

Sonnet 73
That time of year thou may’st in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou see'st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed, whereon it must expire,
Consum'd with that which it was nourish'd by.
This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well, which thou must leave ere long.

81
Paraphrase of Sonnet 73
You can see in me the stage of life that corresponds to the autumn of the year, when a few
yellow leaves cling to their shaking cold branches, branches like barren church-choirs where
recently the sweet birds sang. You can see in me the twilight of the day that fades after sunset in
the west, which by and by black night will take away. Night is the second self of Death, which
seals everything up in perpetual rest. You can see in me the glowing of a fire that rests on the
ashes of its former self, ashes that form a death-bed for the flames. The flames will die on those
ashes, being consumed along with the wood that nourished them. This you can see, which
intensifies your love, to love well that which you must leave before long.

Commentary on Sonnet 73
This beautiful sonnet has been justly praised for its imagery, its lyrical language, and its brilliant
insight. Each quatrain presents one extended metaphor, in descending order of length of time: a
season, a day, and a small fire, each approaching its end as the poet seems to be. The ending
couplet can be interpreted two ways: “I will love my world more because I will be leaving it
soon,” or, using the general “you” to mean everyone, “We all can see that we love more deeply
that person or place that we must leave before long.” The theme is universal enough to speak to
all humanity, yet particular enough so that we believe the poet speaks from his own heart. We
can readily believe the ideas come from his own life experience.

As he grows older, the poet becomes more philosophical, as in Sonnet 91. He has looked around
at the superficial values and priorities of the typical courtier, and realized that they are worthless
to him. His greatest treasure and delight is the love of the addressee, yet a commitment to love
always carries with it the concomitant fear of loss:

Sonnet 91
Some glory in their birth, some in their skill,
Some in their wealth, some in their body's force,
Some in their garments though new-fangled ill;
Some in their hawks and hounds, some in their horse;
And every humour hath his adjunct pleasure,
Wherein it finds a joy above the rest:
But these particulars are not my measure,
All these I better in one general best.
Thy love is better than high birth to me,
Richer than wealth, prouder than garments' cost,
Of more delight than hawks and horses be;
And having thee, of all men's pride I boast:
Wretched in this alone, that thou may’st take
All this away, and me most wretched make.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 91
Some people take great pride in being born into a family of high social rank. Some see glory in
accumulating wealth, some in physical prowess, some in fashionable clothing (even if the
fashion is silly). Some huntsmen glory in the hawks, hounds, and horses they own. And every
individual, of whatever personality or disposition, has the additional pleasure of thinking his own

82
preferences to be the best. But these things are not what I value. I better all these particular things
by adopting a general concept of excellence. Your love means more to me than being born into a
noble family. It makes me richer than wealth would, and prouder than costly attire could make
me. You delight me more than splendid hawks and horses. And having you, I can boast of having
more than all other men have to be proud of. The only thought that discontents me is that you
could leave me, taking your love away, making me utterly miserable.

Commentary on Sonnet 91:

It is almost impossible to imagine this poem being written by a commoner from Warwickshire.
The imagery all points to the vanities of the aristocracy – wealth, breeding, possessions, fashion,
and frivolous pursuits. When the poet says that love is better than high birth, his statement
implies that he already has that good fortune but gets little satisfaction from it. When he
compares the possessions of hawks and horses to the delight he takes in his loved one, we can
infer that he has owned splendid hunting birds and horses. Since it is well known that an author
uses material from his own life to create literature larger than life, we can infer that the poet
Shakespeare had close ties to the aristocracy – as Edward De Vere definitely did. Oxfordians are
sometimes accused of snobbery for believing that Shakespeare must have been a nobleman, but
it is the evidence of the poet’s life experiences revealed in the plays and poems that leads them to
this conclusion.

As death approaches, the poet also expresses concern for what others will do when he is gone,
leading an observant reader to suspect that the poet’s gloom foreshadows his own impending
death. In Sonnets 71 and 72 the poet reverses the conventional plea to remember him, urging
instead that it would be best for his loved one to forget him. Sonnet 72 shows a tender fatherly
concern over what seems best for his son, but it also contains a famous line indicating the poet’s
sorrow over the loss of his name, “my name be buried where my body is.”

Sonnet 72
O! lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death,--dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove.
Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,
To do more for me than mine own desert,
And hang more praise upon deceased I
Than niggard truth would willingly impart:
O! lest your true love may seem false in this
That you for love speak well of me untrue,
My name be buried where my body is,
And live no more to shame nor me nor you.
For I am shamed by that which I bring forth,
And so should you, to love things nothing worth.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 72
O! In case the world should give you the task of listing whatever merits I might have that you
should remember fondly after my death, Dear Love, forget me entirely. For you can find nothing

83
of any worth to approve in me, unless you make up a well-meaning lie, to give me more praise
than I deserve, more praise when I am dead than stingy Truth would be likely to allow. O! In
case you speak well of me in a lie, thus making your true love for me seem false, let my name be
buried where my body is, and not survive to shame me or you. For I am shamed by that which I
bring forth, and you should be ashamed, too, if you love worthless people or things.

Commentary on Sonnet 72
This sonnet is addressed to Henry Wriothesley, the son that Edward De Vere cannot
acknowledge. A bastard child is the thing the author has “brought forth” that shames him, and
that could bring undeserved shame to his son. Shakespeare often uses the expression O! which
appears to be an exclamation but which also gives a clue to his true identity. The initial O stands
for Oxford [Edward De Vere signed his early poetry “E.O.” for “Edward Oxenford” and he also
signed some of his personal letters as “Edward Oxenford.”] The O can also represent a zero, or
nothing. When he was feeling discouraged or downtrodden by his powerful enemies, he felt like
a zero, or nothing. Thus the wordplay in the couplet implies “you should not love me because I
am worth nothing, and even my name has been turned into nothing.”

Oxford’s anger over having his name obliterated spills forth in Sonnet 111, in which he, the poet,
brilliantly compares his situation to that of a dyer whose hand becomes submerged to what it
works in. The hands that created marvelous works of literature are now submerged under a false
name that denies the true author credit for his immortal literary creations. Probably this anger is
directed at Queen Elizabeth, who has sacrificed Edward in order to protect her own false image.
In Shakespeare’s time, the words “dear friend” were used for a deeply loved person as well as an
acquaintance.

Sonnet 111
O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisell 'gainst my strong infection;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 111

O! Are you scolding the goddess of Fortune for my sake – that guilty goddess that did not
provide me with better luck than that which I gain from public recognition, and for which I have
had to adopt the manners of commoners? Because of this, my name becomes a brand, like the
name of a product, and my personal worth is subordinated to the value of what I work in, like the

84
dyer’s hand taking on the color of the dye. Pity me then, and wish I might be renewed, while I
act like a patient willingly drinking potions of bitter medicine to cure an infection. There is no
bitterness that I will think bitter enough to do penance or to correct my condition of being
corrected. Pity me then, Dear Friend, and I assure you that your pity alone is enough to cure me.

Commentary on Sonnet 111

The references to “public means” and “public manners” are often cited as proof that the author of
Shakespeare’s sonnets was an ordinary man who wrote for the public stage. But the tone of
complaint and the appeal to pity would not have been fitting for a commoner who could expect
nothing more than the approval of the public. He would not complain about having “public
manners” if such comportment was all he had ever known, and he would not complain about
receiving a “brand” that disguises his work, if he had not been forced to use a pseudonym. For a
nobleman, however, being reduced to producing plays for the public rather than for the Court,
and therefore being criticized for commonness, would be an affront to his pride. Oxford’s father-
in-law, Lord Burghley, deplored his keeping company with low-life actors and commercial
playwrights. And he was probably the strongest influence prevailing upon the Queen to disavow
her former lover along with the son that might have become her heir. It was in Burghley’s self-
interest to keep the Queen’s children a secret, to eliminate the influence they might have if she
named one of them as her successor.

Burghley had grown wealthy through his association with the Queen and the lucrative offices to
which she appointed him. He had grown rich by assessing fines on his wards, managing their
property to his advantage, and taking bribes from those who wished access to the Queen. He was
wily enough, and unscrupulous enough, to destroy any person who could possibly pose a threat
to his power.

Since the death of her lover Robert Dudley, the Earl of Leicester, the Queen had been treating
Robert Devereux, the Second Earl of Essex, rather like a spoiled child. She forgave him again
and again for offenses that she would have treated harshly if they had come from anyone else. At
one time when they quarreled, she had boxed him on the ear, and he had drawn his sword in her
presence, saying he would not take that insult from anyone. Although other courtiers stopped
him, he developed a reputation for being hot-headed. But his military success at the battle of
Cadiz had made him popular with the public, and he expected the Queen to continue her favored
treatment of him. When she did not renew his license to collect import fees on sweet wines, he
tried to see her but was blocked by Burghley.

This incident triggered the Essex rebellion of 1601. Essex rode his horse through London streets
with a few of his friends, crying out against a proposed Spanish marriage, hoping to rally English
citizens in his cause, and demanding to see the Queen. His friend Southampton, who had strong
grievances against Burghley and a few against the Queen for opposing his marriage, joined
Essex out of loyalty. History records this fiasco, which resulted in a trial of Essex and
Southampton, along with a few other friends involved in the plot.

Those of us who believe Oxford was the father of Southampton can imagine the horror Oxford
felt when his son was accused of treason. To make matters worse, he was one of the peers

85
assigned to judge the rebels, who were certain to be convicted when Burghley could control the
trial and Elizabeth remained out of sight.

In other sonnets, we can see the father forgiving the son for stealing his mistress and other
escapades – even excusing him more than he deserved, as shown in Sonnet 40:

Sonnet 40
Take all my loves, my love, yea take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou may’st true love call;
All mine was thine, before thou hadst this more.
Then, if for my love, thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee, for my love thou usest;
But yet be blam'd, if thou thy self deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty:
And yet, love knows it is a greater grief
To bear love's wrong, than hate's known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites, yet we must not be foes.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 40
Take all my loves, My Love – yes, take them all, and you still would not have anything more
than you already had--nothing that you might call true love, My Love. All that I had was yours,
before you had this more. But if for my love, you receive my mistress, I cannot blame you for
using her. But do not deceive yourself if you taste of her love while refusing my love. I forgive
your robbery; you have only stolen my poverty. Yet it is harder to bear a wrong from a loved one
than an injury from an enemy. Lustful prince, who makes all sin show well, kill me with petty
injustices, but we must not be foes.

Commentary on Sonnet 40
This poem shows the indulgence Oxford showed to Henry Wriothesley after he had an affair
with Oxford’s mistress. The poem expresses exquisite irony in the oxymorons “gentle thief” and
“lascivious grace,” as in the line about stealing all his poverty. There is also profound wisdom
in the lines “And yet love knows it is a greater grief/ To bear love’s wrong, than hate’s known
injury.” A small betrayal by one we love hurts more than a vicious injury from an enemy. A
sensitive soul like Oxford would have felt exactly such pangs, and also have been willing to
forgive the son in whom “all ill well shows,” another clever play on words.

But when he participated in a rebellion that might be perceived as traitorous, Henry Wriothesley
had gone too far. Using the symbolism of a rose, which Shakespeare often used to describe either
the Queen or Southampton, the poet accuses him of bad behavior tantamount to corruption.
Sonnet 95, addressed to Southampton, shows anger at the boy’s foolhardiness.

86
Sonnet 95
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose,
Doth spot the beauty of thy budding name!
O! in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose.
That tongue that tells the story of thy days,
Making lascivious comments on thy sport,
Cannot dispraise, but in a kind of praise;
Naming thy name blesses an ill report.
O! what a mansion have those vices got
Which for their habitation chose out thee,
Where beauty's veil doth cover every blot
And all things turns to fair that eyes can see!
Take heed, dear heart, of this large privilege;
The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 95
You seem to make shame sweet and lovely, but it is like a canker in the fragrant rose, that spots
your beauty and sullies your good name. O! How you cover your sins with a pleasant exterior.
Even when gossips tell of your misbehavior, they cannot dispraise you without seeming to praise
you, because mentioning your name makes a bad report seem good. O! Your vices live in a
mansion where their stains are covered with beauty’s veil, and your external beauty makes us
believe you are beautiful throughout. But take this warning, Dear Heart. You have a great
privilege, because people want to see you in the fairest light, but if you misuse it, like a sharp
knife, you can dull the edge and lose your advantage.

Commentary on Sonnet 95:

The “budding name” suggests Wriothesley, pronounced “Risley” or “Rosely.” The rose
symbolically suggests the blending of the families of York and Lancaster, whose symbols were a
white rose and a red rose, into the Tudor line. Thus Elizabeth and her father Henry were
sometimes called the “Tudor Rose,” and some people have referred to Henry Wriothesley as the
“Tudor Prince.”

The rose imagery is rather thoroughly explored in Sonnet 99, along with other flowers that
represent the various beautiful features of the Fair Youth. But looking at the situation in which
Southampton seemed doomed, although he was not a traitor, the poet deplores the abuse of
power that distorts a record in order to destroy a rival.

Sonnet 99
The forward violet thus did I chide:
Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells,
If not from my love's breath? The purple pride
Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells
In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dy'd.
The lily I condemned for thy hand,
And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair;

87
The roses fearfully on thorns did stand,
One blushing shame, another white despair;
A third, nor red nor white, had stol'n of both,
And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet, or colour it had stol'n from thee.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 99
I scolded the bold violet this way: Sweet thief, where did you get your fragrance if not from my
loved one’s breath, and the purple pride of your soft petals is like the royal purple blood in my
loved one’s veins. I condemned the lily for taking its color from your hand, and the marjoram
buds for curling like your hair. The roses stood fearfully on their thorns, one blushing red, the
other white as in despair. A third, neither red nor white, had stolen of both, and in addition to that
robbery had taken its scent from your breath. But in retaliation for his theft, and for envy of his
proud growth, a vengeful canker worm ate this bud to death. I saw other flowers, but all of them
seemed to have stolen their color and sweetness from you.

Commentary on Sonnet 99:

This sonnet uses the conventional device of comparing the loved one to various flowers and
declaring that his beauty equals or exceeds theirs. It is not as well crafted as many other sonnets,
especially because it shifts from the third person (it, they) to the second person (you, thee, thy)
quite erratically. What is of interest to us here, however, is the symbolism of the “vengeful
canker” eating the rosebud to death. This shocking image can be understood as the poet’s
bitterness at seeing his son being punished with a death sentence, a punishment that far exceeded
the alleged crime.

Oxford had seen injustices in the courts a number of times. His uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, had
been beheaded as a traitor for his involvement in the Babington Plot, but Oxford knew his uncle
was loyal to Queen Elizabeth. Similarly, Oxford witnessed the trial of Mary Queen of Scots, and
he may have been among those who suspected that her confiscated letters had been forged by
enemies who wanted her dead. Her defense was eloquent enough to have been the inspiration for
Portia’s speech regarding the “quality of mercy” in Shakespeare’s play, The Merchant of Venice.

Both Essex and Southampton testified that they had intended no harm to the Queen. They merely
wanted to confront those of Elizabeth’s advisors – Burghley and his minions -- who were
controlling her by keeping her in fear of her life. Oxford knew that Essex was headstrong and
that Southampton was naively loyal to him, but they were both loyal to Queen Elizabeth and to
England. Their enemies, however, were powerful and determined to destroy them.

Oxford could do very little to protect the foolish young rebels, but he believed Elizabeth would
show mercy to Henry, who had been only a follower, not a leader, in the rebellion. He seems to
be giving Elizabeth advice in Sonnet 146, even as he chides her for her vanity. Elizabeth was in
her late sixties, but still maintaining the appearance that she thought befitted a queen.

88
Sonnet 146
Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
[Resist ] these rebel powers that thee array, [“resist” suggested to fill blank spot]
Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? Is this thy body's end?
Then soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross;
Within be fed, without be rich no more:
So shall thou feed on Death, that feeds on men,
And Death once dead, there's no more dying then.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 146

Poor Soul, the center of my world, resist the rebel powers that surround you. Why do you pine
away and suffer from insufficient nourishment, painting your face with costly cosmetics to make
it look happy? Why spend so much on your fading mansion (body) when you have only a short
while left to live in it? Shall you permit worms to inherit the result of your excessive spending
and eat up the flesh you are trying to preserve? Is this the end you want for your body? Then,
Soul, live upon your body’s loss, and let it provide nourishment for you to store up. Buy divine
blessings in exchange for a few hours of dregs, so you will be fed spiritually rather than making
a rich external display on your body. So you shall feed on Death, that has fed on men’s bodies.
And once you have devoured Death, there will be no more dying.

Commentary on Sonnet 146

An error in the printing of Sonnet 146 leaves a blank spot to be emended by the reader.
Assuming that this sonnet was addressed to Elizabeth when her advisors were surrounding her
and keeping her dependent on them, a logical emendation (“resist”) could be read as a plea to
remain free from their evil influence. If the Queen uses her own best judgment, she will be
merciful and find herself welcome in Heaven, having defeated Death in mortal combat.

Still hoping to persuade Elizabeth to do the right thing and pardon Southampton, Oxford holds
up an ideal of a powerful person who uses slow and careful deliberation to reach a decision. One
who could do harm but restrains himself (or herself) is much to be admired. And a person who
has begun his life honorably, but ended it dishonorably, could be worse than one who was bad to
begin with.

Sonnet 94
They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;

89
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself, it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 94
Those who have the power to harm others but refrain from misusing their power, who choose not
to exercise power for a show of might, who move others to action but move themselves with
dispassionate, slow deliberation – they properly merit the graces of heaven, and prudently
manage nature’s riches without squandering them. These self-disciplined persons are masters of
themselves and their reputations, whereas others are but caretakers of their excellence. The sweet
flower enhances the summer, but if it becomes infected, even a lowly weed will prove hardier.
For sweetest things become sourest when they do wrong, like lilies that fester and smell far
worse than weeds.

Commentary on Sonnet 94
This sonnet has been interpreted as advice to the Fair Youth not to be promiscuous, and of course
that is a reasonable interpretation. But since the main theme is the proper use of power and
authority, it seems more likely to be addressed to a powerful person. Oxford’s biographer
Dorothy Ogburn believes the model for this ideal was Horatio Vere, a cousin of Edward De
Vere. The poem also offers an alternative to the advice in Niccolo Machiavelli’s book The
Prince, which advocated the cynical use of power. While Machiavelli was expounding a system
of amoral political craftiness in Italy, his contemporary Baldassare Castiglione was writing Il
Cortegiano (the Courtier), developing an idealism that blended the Medieval codes of chivalry
and the refined manners of the Renaissance. Oxford, when he was only 21 years old, had written
a preface in elegant Latin for Bartholomew Clerke’s translation of The Courtier from Italian into
classic Latin. In that preface he commended Clerke for dedicating his work to “our illustrious
and noble Queen, in whom all courtly qualities are personified.” In his youthful ardor and
adoration of the Queen, Oxford wrote, “there is no pen so skillful, no kind of speech so clear,
that is not left behind by her own surpassing virtue.” He praised the wisdom of the translator who
had sought a patroness “of surpassing virtue, of wisest mind, of soundest religion, and cultivated
in the highest degree in learning and in literary studies.” Oxford himself embodied the ideals of
Castiglione’s courtier, and he hoped to appeal to similar ideals in the Queen.

As the trial progressed, and it appeared that Essex and Southampton had no chance to escape a
death sentence, Oxford intensified his efforts to a leave a legacy of poetry for his hapless son. In
Sonnet 55, he recalls some monarchs’ efforts to build lasting monuments, but he boldly asserts
that literature will outlast them all.

90
Sonnet 55
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword, nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death, and all oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 55
The marble and gilded monuments of princes shall not outlive this powerful rhyme, but you shall
shine in this poem more brightly than unswept stone, besmeared with dirt over time. When
wasteful war overturns statues, and brawls uproot brick walls, neither the sword of Mars nor the
fires of war shall destroy the living record of your memory. You shall pace forth against death
and all uncomprehending hatred. Your praise shall be seen in the eyes of posterity until the world
wears out. So, until the Judgment Day when you yourself arise, you will live in this poetry, and
dwell in the eyes of those who love you.

Commentary on Sonnet 55: This famous poem is addressed to Henry Wriothesley, promising
him the immortality of literature when his early death seems inevitable. The craftsmanship of the
poet seems to be at its apex, creating vivid pictures of destructive forces of war—overturning
statues, rooting out the mason’s creation. The allusion to mythology in the sword of Mars
elevates the tone. The symbolism of marble and gilded monuments, make an elegant contrast to
the stone step that time has worn smooth with dirt and grinding footsteps, a common step-stone
that can gleam like a shining memorial through eternity -- or at least to the ending doom of the
world and the day of judgment.

A similar theme shapes Sonnet 65. But it seems more subdued, more ready to accept
Southampton’s vulnerability and probable death at a young age. Yet still Oxford continues to
hope for a miracle.

Sonnet 65
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o'ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O! how shall summer's honey breath hold out,
Against the wrackful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,

91
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O! none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 65
Mortality overpowers brass, stone, earth, and boundless sea. How can mere beauty, like a fragile
flower, stand a chance against this rage? How can the scent of summer hold out against a
torturous attack of battering days, when even impregnable rocks are not stout enough or gates of
steel strong enough to prevent decay? O, awful thought! Where, alas, can we hide Time’s best
jewel? What strong hand can hold back his swift foot? Who can forbid his spoiling of beauty? O,
none, unless I achieve this miracle, making my love shine bright in this black ink.

Commentary on Sonnet 65
Here the poet passionately rails against the mortality we all face, but the thought (meditation)
that a son might die before his father does seems especially doleful and ironic. Desperately, the
father casts about for a way to delay the death-sentence of “Time’s best jewel,” his handsome
son. Powerless to do so, he reaches for the miracle that the son might still “shine bright” in the
“black ink” that will preserve his memory.

Oxford had long ago forgiven Elizabeth’s romantic betrayals, but he was becoming deeply
disillusioned by what he perceived as her betrayal of their son. Contrast Sonnet 152, probably
written when he was in his fifties, with the exuberant praise he had lavished on her at age 21 in
the preface to The Courtier :

Sonnet 152
In loving thee thou know'st I am forsworn,
But thou art twice forsworn, to me love swearing;
In act thy bed-vow broke, and new faith torn,
In vowing new hate after new love bearing:
But why of two oaths' breach do I accuse thee,
When I break twenty? I am perjured most;
For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee,
And all my honest faith in thee is lost:
For I have sworn deep oaths of thy deep kindness,
Oaths of thy love, thy truth, thy constancy;
And, to enlighten thee, gave eyes to blindness,
Or made them swear against the thing they see;
For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured I,
To swear against the truth so foul a lie!

Paraphrase of Sonnet 152

In loving you, you know I am breaking my vows, but you broke twice as many, swearing to love

92
me, but breaking your bed-vow, and in tearing apart my faith by hating me when you found a
new love. But why do I accuse you of breaking two vows, when I break twenty? I am the most
blameworthy, for all my vows have been oaths to exploit you, and all my honest faith in you is
lost. For I have sworn deep oaths of your deep kindness, oaths of your love, your truth, your
constancy. To make you look brighter, I have even pretended not to see what I saw, or made my
eyes swear against what they actually saw. For I have sworn that you are fair, so I am the more at
fault, to tell such a foul lie and swear it is the truth.

Commentary on Sonnet 152

Apparently Oxford managed to see Elizabeth during the trial, perhaps going to plead with her to
show mercy toward Southampton. They both knew that Oxford had to be deceptive with his
peers to prevent them from learning the truth about his relationship to Southampton. He is torn
between his desire to be truthful and his desire to protect both the Queen and his son.

Apparently in this visit he discovered that he still loved her, and Sonnet 150 reveals his
conflicted feelings.

Sonnet 150
O! from what power hast thou this powerful might,
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill,
That in the very refuse of thy deeds
There is such strength and warrantise of skill,
That, in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds?
Who taught thee how to make me love thee more,
The more I hear and see just cause of hate?
O! though I love what others do abhor,
With others thou shouldst not abhor my state:
If thy unworthiness raised love in me,
More worthy I to be beloved of thee.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 150

O! What divine force has given you the potent power to sway my heart so easily? To make me
give the lie to what I see, and swear that the day has no brightness. How are you able to make
bad things seem attractive, so that even the crumbs from your deeds show such strength and
warranty of skill, that in my mind, the worst things about you seem to be better than the best of
any other. Who taught you how to make me love you more, the more I hear and see good reasons
for hating you? O! though I love what others hate in you, you should not put me into the enemy
camp. If your unworthiness caused me to love you, then I am more worthy of being loved by
you.

Apparently in their confrontation, Elizabeth accused Oxford of not loving her. His protest in
Sonnet 149 shows a passionate agitation.

93
Sonnet 149
Canst thou, O cruel! say I love thee not,
When I against myself with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee, when I forgot
Am of myself, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Who hateth thee that I do call my friend,
On whom frown'st thou that I do fawn upon,
Nay, if thou lour'st on me, do I not spend
Revenge upon myself with present moan?
What merit do I in my self respect,
That is so proud thy service to despise,
When all my best doth worship thy defect,
Commanded by the motion of thine eyes?
But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind,
Those that can see, thou lov'st, and I am blind.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 149

O, cruel one, how can you say I do not love you, when I side with you against myself? Am I not
thinking of you when I have forgotten to be myself, being all tyrant for your sake? Who do you
hate that I consider a friend? Who do you frown upon that I fawn upon? No, if you look
disapprovingly upon me, do I not take revenge against myself and immediately apologize? Have
I not done service to you, even at the cost of my self-respect? Haven’t I given you my best and
worshipped even your flaws? A glance from your eyes is enough to command me. But Love,
hate on, for now I know what you think. Those that can see, you love, and I am blind.

Commentary on Sonnet 149

The complexity of emotions in this sonnet shows the complexity of the man who wrote it. As an
idealist, he clearly hates dissembling (his name means “true” and he takes that seriously). Yet
loyalty to Queen and country demands that he swear the false to be true, and the true to be false.
His feelings of being unappreciated, his resentment at having his loyalty questioned, and his
frustration at still wanting the love and approval of the Queen – these lead him to a cynical
conclusion that he cannot win her approval, but he is still blind to her imperfections.

There must have been tears and recriminations, perhaps bitter accusations, and a serious attempt
to come to an understanding. Who has hurt the other most? Oxford, as the poet Shakespeare,
seems to be suggesting a mutual forgiveness in Sonnet 120.

Sonnet 120
That you were once unkind befriends me now,
And for that sorrow, which I then did feel,
Needs must I under my transgression bow,
Unless my nerves were brass or hammer'd steel.
For if you were by my unkindness shaken,
As I by yours, you've passed a hell of time;
And I, a tyrant, have no leisure taken
To weigh how once I suffered in your crime.

94
O! that our night of woe might have remembered
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,
And soon to you, as you to me, then tendered
The humble salve, which wounded bosoms fits!
But that your trespass now becomes a fee;
Mine ransoms yours, and yours must ransom me.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 120

You were cruel to me once, so now I am justified in asking you to forgive my injury to you, and
the sorrow you once caused me should cancel out any sorrow you feel on my account. My nerves
are not made of brass or hammered steel, and yours are not either, so if you felt pain equal to
mine, you’ve passed a hell of time. I am now the tyrant, and I have no time to weigh my former
suffering. O! I wish that our night of woe might have reminded me how hard true sorrow hits,
and offered to you, as you to me, the salve that might heal a wounded heart. But now we must
consider ourselves even. My trespass pays for the trespass you made against me, and yours pays
for mine against you.

Commentary on Sonnet 120

The suffering these two lovers have undergone – each feeling betrayed by the other, and both
agonizing over the fate of their child. The joy he had brought to his father – the pride he must
have brought to his mother -- now was far outweighed by the deep grief and bitter
disappointment they were feeling as he faced execution for treason.

The verdict was foreordained, and Oxford had to comply with it dutifully even though his heart
was breaking. Both Essex and Southampton were pronounced guilty by the tribunal of judges.
Essex went to his execution still professing his love for his Queen and country, but bowing to the
unassailable power of his enemies at Court. Robert Cecil, however, intervened to plead with the
Queen for the life of Southampton. As a result his sentence was commuted to life imprisonment.

Southampton was still in the Tower prison in 1603 when Queen Elizabeth died, in her 70th year,
after a 45-year reign. Most scholars agree that Sonnet 107 contains topical references to that
event. The “mortal moon” is almost certainly Queen Elizabeth, and her “eclipse” is her death.
The incertainties that “crown themselves assured,” are interpreted as the anxieties over the
succession, since Elizabeth had not named an heir to the throne, which were allayed when King
James VI of Scotland, the son of Mary Queen of Scots, ascended the throne of England as King
James the 1st. This sonnet can then quite definitely be dated at March of 1603.

Sonnet 107
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.

95
Now with the drops of this most balmy time,
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 107

Not my own fears, nor the prophets of the wide world imagining things to come, can yet manage
the release of my true love, who is confined, condemned to death, and expected to forfeit his life.
The mortal moon (Queen Elizabeth) has endured her eclipse (death), and the sad mourners who
prophesied her death pretend they had not foretold it. The uncertainty about the next monarch to
be crowned has now been replaced by assurance, and peace proclaims that olive branches will
grow endlessly. Now with the anointment in this balmy time, my Love looks fresh, and Death is
underwriting my death warrant, but in spite of Death, I’ll live in this poor rime, while he delivers
his death blows to ignorant tribes that lack a written literature. And you in this shall find your
monument, even after tyrants’ crests and brass tombs are worn out completely.

Commentary on Sonnet 107

Although the old Queen and the new King are easily identified, who are the sad augurs, and who
is the loved one who is confined and doomed? William Cecil, Lord Burghley, had died in 1598,
after grooming his son Robert Cecil to replace him in Elizabeth’s court. Robert could see the
Queen’s weakening health and could foresee her demise, and so to secure his current position
with her successor, he had been secretly negotiating with James VI of Scotland to assure a
smooth and peaceful transition. It was Robert Cecil who asked Elizabeth on her deathbed
whether she approved of her nephew James as her successor, and Robert claimed that she had
nodded her assent. So Robert Cecil was probably one of the sad augurs. The person “forfeit to a
confined doom” was Oxford’s son, the Third Earl of Southampton, who was truly loved.

Shortly after Scotland’s King James VI came to the English throne as King James I, he ordered
the release of Southampton along with the restoration of his title and property. This release was
arranged by Robert Cecil, who had transferred his services to the new king. Robert Cecil was
still the brother-in-law of Edward De Vere, and the uncle of his three daughters. He was
probably able to convince King James that Southampton would never attempt to claim the
throne. Southampton, too, would have promised never to reveal his parentage, because he hated
the power struggles of the Court. Shortly thereafter he moved his family to the countryside and
lived contentedly there as his children grew up. King James also renewed the 1,000 pounds
annuity that Elizabeth had provided for Oxford to maintain his theatrical company, for he, like
Elizabeth, was a lover of drama who especially admired Shakespeare’s plays. But Oxford was
not very well, and he sensed that he did not have long to live. Sonnet 66 reviews his life and also
shows that he is prepared to end it.

Sonnet 66
Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,

96
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And gilded honour shamefully misplac'd,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,
And strength by limping sway disabled
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tir'd with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 66
This poem summarizes the disappointments and disillusionments in the poet’s life of as the end
approaches. He has grown weary of the wrongs he sees about him – the most deserving people
seem treated like beggars, while those who have everything they need trim themselves in finery
and occupy themselves in idle frivolity. He has unhappily given up his childhood faith [of
Catholicism], and seen golden honors shamefully awarded to dishonorable people. He has seen
maiden virtue prostituted in an unrefined manner, and the attempt at becoming righteously
perfect is twisted into undeserved disgrace. His strength has been disabled by a limp, and his art
has been silenced by persons in authority. Foolishness is controlling those who have higher
skills, like doctors. Simple truth is being dismissed as simple-minded, and goodness is bound up
like a captive, whereas badness rules like a captain. Tired of all these, he would leave this world
behind, but he does not want to leave his Love alone.

Commentary on Sonnet 66
This catalog of the world’s wrongs, reminiscent of Hamlet’s soliloquy on death, corresponds
amazingly to the experiences of Edward De Vere. He has seen the shallowness of Court life
underlying all the glitter; the rewards given to scoundrels like Leicester and Burghley while
harmless lovers were being punished for disobedience; he has given up the Catholicism of his
formative years to become a loyal Protestant for the Queen. He has felt the sting of undeserved
scandal and disgrace; his strength has been weakened by a wound. The “maiden virtue rudely
strumpeted” could refer to Ann Vavasor, who came to court as a maiden but seduced many men,
sometimes for money. Or it could be a metaphor for the false image of the “virgin queen”
packaged and sold to the world as if it were unvarnished truth. Most revealing of all, however, is
the line about “art made tongue-tied by authority.” Surely this fits Edward De Vere more
accurately than it fits any other poet of his time. But who is the “love” that would be left alone if
he died? Probably not Southampton, who was a married man and a father. Certainly not
Elizabeth, who was never alone unless she chose to be. A more likely candidate would be the
second Countess of Oxford, who would have to raise her son alone if her Lord succumbed to
death.

Oxford did succumb to death in June of 1604, presumably of the plague, but there is still some
mystery surrounding the event. No will of Oxford’s has ever been found, although his Countess
left one that is still extant. (Interestingly, her will provided for an annual sum to be paid to “my
dombe man,” which may have been “hush money” paid to Will Shakspere of Stratford.)

97
Moreover, Southampton was arrested on the night of Oxford’s death but released the following
day after questioning by the King. Presumably he provided assurance that he would not reveal
his father’s identity or any connection his father had with the works of Shakespeare. Oxford’s
burial was a quiet family affair at Hackney Church, unlike that of his first wife Anne Cecil, who
was buried at Westminster Abbey. The absence of a funeral also suggests that powerful
authorities feared any orations by Oxford’s friends who might let it slip that they knew of his
work and his pseudonyms. A few, like Ben Jonson, also knew of his relationship to
Southampton, but kept the secret to themselves.

It is well known by now that it was Susan, the youngest daughter of Edward De Vere, along with
her husband and brother-in law, the earls of Montgomery and Pembroke, who instigated the
publication of the First Folio of Shakespeare’s plays in 1623. By that time, most of the persons
from Elizabeth’s court that Oxford had used as models for dramatic characters had died. Even his
stand-in had died. So it seemed safe, for the first time, to honor that genius who had done more
for the English language and the glory of England than any writer before or since. Of course, the
subterfuge was still being maintained, because Southampton and his heirs were still living. Even
then, Ben Jonson’s dedication of the First Folio was deliberately ambiguous, because “Sweet
Swan of Avon” could have referred to Oxford, who owned a house on the Avon River.

As mentioned in Chapter 1, the book of sonnets had been discovered almost by accident after
Oxford’s widow sold her home in 1608. Then it was published by Thomas Thorpe in 1609.
Southampton or King James may have learned of its publication and suppressed any further
sales, because we hear no more of the sonnet book until it was republished in 1640 by a Mr. John
Benson, not to be confused with the playwright Ben Jonson, who had died two years earlier.

Meanwhile, the Third Earl of Southampton served King James I, notably participating in saving
for the crown the American colony named “Virginia” in honor of Queen Elizabeth. But he
antagonized an ambitious courtier of King James, the Duke of Buckingham, who had succeeded
Robert Cecil upon his death in 1612. Buckingham and the Crown Prince, Charles, influenced
King James to execute Walter Raleigh in 1518, on a dubious charge of treason. Francis Bacon
had been effectively removed from parliament in 1620 with spurious charges of bribery, to die
broken-hearted in 1626 [some reports say the death date was faked]. When Southampton and his
son were fighting for the King in the Low Countries in 1624, both of them died, supposedly of a
fever. Yet a physician of the King later said Buckingham had boasted that he had them poisoned.
Thus ended any possibility of a revival of the Tudor line, and any competition Buckingham
might have had from Raleigh or Bacon or other principals from the court of Elizabeth I. He and
the crown prince then took control of the government until King James died in 1625.

Shakespeare, through the medium of the 17th Earl of Oxford, understood the workings of the
world: how mighty empires rise and fall, how the seats of power wobble precariously on the
spindly legs of chance, how wealth can corrupt as easily as it can be dissipated, how hollow a
military victory can be. He also understood the workings of the human heart: how fragile a good
name can be, how malicious slander can be, how love can ennoble the lover and hate can destroy
the hater. He learned how hard true sorrow hits, and how the salve of forgiveness heals even the
most painful wounds.

98
However deep the wounds from Elizabeth cut into his soul, she stimulated his creativity. The
sense of humor that brought laughter to her court also helped him to keep his perspective and
alleviate his spells of depression. Armed with a keen sense of the absurd, he could retaliate in
good fun against those who tried to discredit him. He flourished under her royal protection; she
blossomed under his loyal affection.

And thus it became possible for Edward De Vere to leave a greater legacy than that which he
proposed for his son. True enough, he has made the Third Earl of Southampton famous merely
by being associated with the name of William Shakespeare. But he has also immortalized his
own work and enriched the entire civilized world with the fruits of his genius. I like to think that
Sonnet 74 is addressed to all of us who have patiently rooted out the truth from the mounds of
compost and confusion, so that we, like Hamlet’s Horatio, can restore his wounded name.

Sonnet 74
But be contented when that fell arrest
Without all bail shall carry me away,
My life hath in these lines some interest,
Which for memorial still with thee shall stay.
When thou reviewest this, thou dost review
The very part was consecrate to thee:
The earth can have but earth, which is his due;
My spirit is thine, the better part of me:
So then thou hast but lost the dregs of life,
The prey of worms, my body being dead;
The coward conquest of a wretch's knife,
Too base, of thee to be remembered. [too lowly to be remembered by you]
The worth of that is that which it contains, [the worth of my spirit is what it contains]
And that is this, and this with thee remains. [you have my soul, the better part of me ]

Yes, Shakespeare was right, as he so often was. All the breathers of the Elizabethan Era are now
dead. But Shakespeare lives.

Chapter 10
Comparing a De Vere Poem and Sonnet 87

This book began with a supposition: What if the rumors about Oxford’s love affair with Queen
Elizabeth were true? And what if he had expressed his emotions in sonnets shared with a few
friends, but later published under the pen name of “William Shakespeare?” Then what could the
sonnets tell us about the author’s personal life?

As we have seen, the sonnets can tell us a great deal about the life of Edward De Vere (Oxford)
or more precisely, the life of Edward De Vere tells us a great deal about the content of the
sonnets.

99
Oxford began writing poetry at an early age and published some of it under his own initials (E.O.
for “Edward Oxenford”) or under a posy (a motto or phrase used in place of a poet’s own name,
but known by his friends to belong to him). Oxfordians believe that this youthful poetry is
typical of what we might expect to see in the early works of a great literary talent. Yet some
others think it doesn’t match closely enough. That evidence alone cannot settle the question of
authorship, but it does strengthen the case for Oxford. Will Shakspere of Stratford left no
evidence whatsoever of any early literary efforts.

We know that Oxford turned to writing poetry and plays when he was suffering, grieving, or
even euphorically happy. One poem of his, printed in the anthology A Hundredth Sundrie
Flowres is worth printing in full for the light it casts onto Sonnet 87 (“Farewell! Thou art too
dear for my possessing”), which has been subject to a great variety of interpretations.

Oxford’s poem “Farewell with a Mischief” carries an introduction explaining why the poem was
written. We may assume that it addresses Queen Elizabeth, the “dame of high calling” and that
the “playfellow of baser condition” is Christopher Hatton, a commoner who worked his way into
Elizabeth’s court as a military officer and advanced to become the captain of her bodyguard
in1572. He dressed well and danced well, became her lover, and seemed willing to wait
indefinitely in fervent hope of becoming her only favorite, perhaps even to marry her. To other
courtiers, Hatton seemed to be aspiring far above his station in life, and thus he became a comic
figure to them. Hatton is believed to have been the model for the beleaguered comic character
Malvolio in Shakespeare’s play Twelfth Night.

Oxford wrote this poem while the emotions of anger and grief were still raging, shortly after
Elizabeth broke their engagement. The introduction, in italics, is presented with its original
spelling, but the spelling has been modernized in the poem itself for easier reading. The many
commas in the middle of the lines have been left to mark the caesura, or pause, that was a
popular feature in Elizabethan poetry. The paraphrase that follows should clarify any archaic
words.

“Farewell with a Mischief”

Farewell with a mischeife, written by a lover being disdaynefullye abjected by a dame of highe
calling, Who had chosen (in his place) a playe fellow of baser condition: & therfore he
determined to step aside, and before his departure giveth hir this farwell in verse.

Thy birth, thy beauty, nor thy brave attire,

(Disdainful Dame, which doest me double wrong)
Thy high estate, which sets thy heart on fire,
Or new-found choice, which cannot serve thee long,
Shall make me dread, with pen for to rehearse,
Thy skittish deeds, in this my parting verse.

For why thou knowest, and I myself can tell,

By many vows, how thou to me wert bound:
And how for joy, thy heart did seem to swell,

100
And in delight, how thy desires were drowned.
When of thy will, the walls I did assail,
Wherein fond fancy, fought for mine avail.

And though my mind, have small delight to vaunt,

Yet must I vow, my heart to thee was true:
My hand was always able for to daunt
Thy slanderous foes, and keep their tongues in mew.
My head (though dull) was yet of such device,
As might have kept thy name always in price.

And for the rest, my body was not brave,

But able yet, of substance to allay
The raging lust, wherein thy limbs did rave,
And quench the coals, which kindled thee to play.
Such one I was, and such always will be,
For worthy Dames, but then I mean not thee.
For thou hast caught a proper paragon,
A thief, a coward, and a Peacock fool:
An Ass, a milksop, and a minion,
Which hath no oil, thy furious flames to cool,
Such one he is, a peer for thee most fit,
A wandring jest, to please thy wavering wit.

A thief I count him, for he robs us both,

Thee of thy name, and me of my delight:
A coward is he noted, where he goeth,
Since every child is match to him in might.
And for his pride no more, but mark his plumes,
The which to prink, he days and nights consumes.

The rest thy self, in secret sort can judge,

He rides not me; thou knowest his saddle best:
And though these tricks of thine, might make me grudge,
And kindle wrath, in my revenging breast
Yet [for] myself, and not to please thy mind,
I stand content, my rage in rule to bind.

And far from thee, now must I take my flight,

Where tongues may tell, (and I not see) thy fall:
Where I may drink these drugs of thy despite,
To purge my Melancholic mind withall.
n secret so, my stomach will I starve,
Wishing thee better than thou dost deserve.

101
Spræta tamen vivunt. (the disdained will survive)
The doale of disdaine written by a lover disdainfully rejected contrary to former promise.

Paraphrase of “Farewell with Mischief”

Disdainful Dame, who has done me double wrong, you should know that neither your high birth,
your beauty, nor your showy attire, nor your high social status that sets your heart on fire, nor
your new-found choice of a lover, who will soon begin to bore you – none of this shall make me
fear using my pen to recount your skittish behavior in this, my parting verse.

You know why I say this, and I myself can tell how many vows you swore that bound you to me.
You know how your heart seemed to swell with joy, and your desires were drowned in delight.
Because you wished it, I scaled the walls where my foolish, affectionate imagination fought for
the privilege of availing myself of your presence. And though my mind has little cause to brag,
my heart was always true to you, and my hands were always ready to challenge your slanderous
enemies and keep their tongues cooped up like hawks in a cage. My head, though dull, was so
devised that it would always keep your good name highly valued.

And for the rest of my body, it was not as sturdy and strong as I would like, but still able to
substantially allay the raging lust which raved in your limbs, and quench the coals that kindled
the fires of amorous play. Such a one I was, and always will be, for worthy women – but I don’t
mean you. For you have caught a real model of manhood – a thief, a coward, and a
Peacockstrutting fool, an ass, a milksop, and a lowly servant, who has no oil to cool your fiery
flames. Such a one he is, a companion most suitable for you, a walking joke, to please your
faltering mental state.

I consider him a thief, for he robs us both – you of your reputation, and me of my delight.
Wherever he goes, he is perceived as a coward, because any child would be a match for him in
might. And he is proud as a bird of his plumage, but notice his plumes, for he spends many days
and nights prinking his feathers.

You can judge for yourself privately what kind of man he is. He does not control me; you know
the feeling of his saddle on your back better than I do. And though your tricks may make me
grudge and kindle the desire for revenge in my breast, I will stay calm, and bind my rage within
the rules of law and chivalry – of my own free will, not just to please you.

But now I must go far away from you, where rumor-mongers may tell of your downfall, but
where I won’t have to see it. Your despite will be like a drug to me, which I will drink to cure my
melancholy. In secret thus I will starve my stomach, wishing you better fortune than you deserve.

Commentary on “Farewell with a Mischief”:

Oxford’s pain, sadness, and anger permeate this poem. His contempt for his rival shows a rapier-
like command of insulting words, including the ironic designation “a proper paragon” when he
means just the opposite. His clever twist in the last line, “wishing you better than you doth
deserve” seems to say, “Although you behaved badly, I know how to conduct myself with
chivalry and self-discipline.” His pride has been wounded by her infidelity and broken promises,
but he will not lower himself to retaliate in kind.

102
Sonnet 87 deals with a similar situation – a farewell by a poet-narrator to a woman who has
betrayed him – yet the tone is more restrained, as if the poet has matured and found ways to
ameliorate his sorrow. Also, the poet seems more confident in exploring variations in sentence
structure, more nuanced in word choice, and more introspective about the part he himself played
in the complex sexual relationship.

Sonnet 87

Farewell! thou art too dear for my possessing,

And like enough thou know'st thy estimate,
The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My bonds in thee are all determinate.
For how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And for that riches, where is my deserving?
The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And so my patent back again is swerving.
Thy self thou gavest, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or me to whom thou gav'st it else mistaking;
So thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes home again, on better judgment making.
Thus have I had thee, as a dream doth flatter,
In sleep a King, but waking no such matter.

Paraphrase of Sonnet 87:

Farewell! You are too dear (expensive) for me to possess. And it is quite likely you know your
own worth. You have the legal authority to release yourself from any obligations, whereas my
bonds to you are determined by your wishes. For how can I hold your affections unless you grant
them to me? And why should I think I am deserving of such riches? I lack the ability to make
you love me (cause it to happen), and so the fair gift, which I thought was mine to keep, swerves
back to you. You gave yourself to me when you were young, before you knew your own value.
Or perhaps you misjudged my worth when you gave that gift to me. So your great gift, because
of your increasing doubts and suspicions, comes back to you as you reconsider your former
opinion of me and change your mind. Thus have I had you, as if in a dream. In sleep I was a
King, but upon waking, it was a different matter.

Commentary on Sonnet 87:

This sonnet fits perfectly with the disappointment Oxford experienced when Elizabeth rejected
him and broke their engagement vows. She, as Queen, was an absolute monarch who could make
her own rules. But the bonds that tied him to her were merely vows that he took more seriously
than she did. Yet he finds some consolation in remembering that she once gave herself to him,
and that he once had her (i.e. possessed her) as in a happy dream. The tone is restrained; the poet
never says directly “you gave me a gift and then took it away from me,” nor does he blame her
because he has not been able to retain her love and loyalty. He muses that he must be unworthy
of such a precious jewel as she is, but he treasures the memory of their love.

***

103
Sonnet 87 has been included in many anthologies as an example of Shakespeare’s poetic skill.
Yet it is subject to such varying interpretations that it deserves thoughtful analysis. Most
Stratfordians and many Oxfordians believe the poet was addressing a young man. Some in both
theoretical camps think the “farewell” was written to end a homosexual relationship. A few think
the poet was a father writing to his son, as in Sonnet 36 (“Let me confess that we two must be
twain”). An even smaller number think that the poem was written by Oxford to Elizabeth when
she broke off their engagement. My person opinion is that the last interpretation best explains
how all the parts contribute to the whole, but that is only one possible interpretation among
many.

All the interpretations, different as they may be, make valuable contributions to our appreciation
of Shakespeare’s genius. Helen Vendler, in The Art of Shakespeare’s Sonnets, points out that
only two of the sonnets – this one and the master/mistress poem (Sonnet 20) – use predominantly
feminine rhymes (two-syllable rhyme words with the accent on the first syllable, such as
knowing and growing). She also notes the variations on the word “gift/give” that stress the idea
of a precious gift retracted.

Katherine Duncan-Jones in The Arden Shakespeare mentions that the word “King” is capitalized
in the 1609 sonnet publication, though most modern editions remove the capital K. Both
Duncan-Jones and Vendler call attention to the echo of “king” in such words as “waking,
making, mistaking.”

Stephen Booth of UC Berkeley, who impressively explains archaic terms and phrases, sees
sexual overtones in several words and expressions. In the first line, Booth says, possessing
implies sexual possession and submission. In line 5, the words hold thee suggest an embrace as
well as a tie or bond, and granting implies permission as well as a gift and deed of possession.
The word wanting has a double meaning (in this case “lacking,” but with connotations of
“desiring”). The fair gift means that the gift is valuable, but also that the beloved is beautiful and
that she is the gift. In line 13, had thee means “possessed you sexually,” although the ending
couplet leaves open the possibility that the possession could have been either a dream or a reality
that was like a dream. The word matter has sexual connotations, as in “country matters.” but it
also contrasts a reality (such as physical matter) with less substantial things, and it distinguishes
something important (something that matters) with something inconsequential.

These analytical details seem to indicate the femininity of the addressee and the complexity of a
relationship having both legal and emotional bonds. The beloved has greater social status than
the poet-narrator, as a queen has over her subjects. When the poet sleeps with her, he becomes a
King. She has a charter as an absolute monarch, however, so he must be loyal to her as one of
her subjects, even if she has been disloyal or faithless to him as his lover.

If we accept the premise that “William Shakespeare” was the pen name of Edward De Vere, the
17th Earl of Oxford, it follows that the sonnets reveal much more of the author’s true personality
than previously supposed. Although this book does not discuss all 154 sonnets, even the omitted
ones can be interpreted from the point of view expressed here. A good reader will form his or her
own opinions but also be open to other readers’ ideas and insights.

104
It is an impressive tribute to Shakespeare that we still care, 400-plus years after his death, about
the playwright-poet who dramatically changed the world of English literature and contributed
thousands of words to the English language. Edward De Vere wondered whether his fate would
be that “my name be buried where my body is.”

We would like to respond, “On the contrary, Lord Oxford, your body was buried long ago, but
your name is being kept alive by those of us who continue to uncover your fascinating life story
and re-interpret your ever-living literature.” From that body of work, with its intensely personal
universality, we derive meaning for our own lives, insight into the complexities of human
behavior, and wisdom for our own times, which are amazingly parallel to yours.

We, too, have our perennial power struggles, wars, conspiracies, corruption, cruelties, and
foolishness. Yet we also have better ways to detect crimes, more awareness of other sentient
beings in the natural world, more voices to speak out against injustice, and better means of
communication to resist the suppression of truth. We still have the creative forces that can be
translated into noble work, as you have taught us so well. We now understand better the ideals of
loyalty and service that kept you silent for so long. And we continue to be inspired by that
overriding truth that your own life story so well exemplifies – the healing and ennobling power
of love.

***
APPENDIX A
More about Cryptology, Ciphers, Codes, and Secret Societies The Influence of Rosicrucian and
Freemason Brotherhoods
© July, 2010

The purpose of this book is simply to tell a beautiful love story for open-minded readers, not to
engage in scholarly debates or to argue for or against a particular theory. In the first printing, I
kept the information about ciphers minimal to avoid any distraction from the main story.
However, several of my Oxfordian friends have come to distrust ciphers because they are too
closely associated with Francis Bacon and the Baconian theory of authorship. They asked for
more information about the secret codes being used in Shakespeare’s time. Accordingly, I
researched the subject of cryptography and found even more evidence to support my
conclusions. I learned that Edward De Vere was a Rosicrucian and a Freemason, knowledgeable
about their secret codes and symbols. He left clues in the Dedication that Rosicrucian or
Freemason members would recognize.

Baconian scholars have relied upon name-ciphers as evidence that Francis Bacon wrote the
works of Shakespeare. Bacon was known to have developed a bi-lateral cipher system of his
own, and to have set a standard for steganography (embedding a message or clues in a plaintext
that seems sensible on its surface). He was also a known Rosicrucian. But even if his name can
be found encrypted in many of Shakespeare’s works, that does not prove he wrote them.
Knowing Bacon’s life story does not illuminate the sonnets for us. That is exactly the same
problem we have with William Shakspere of Stratford – his life story does not mesh with the
contents of the plays and poems.
An American millionaire, George Fabian, once hired the famous cryptologists William and

105
Elizebeth Friedman to establish the validity of Bacon’s claim to authorship. The cryptologists
disappointed him, however, by concluding that after diligent study, their decryption methods had
actually disqualified Bacon. Though some think the Friedmans had disqualified all of the
evidence dealing with ciphered names, they acknowledged that many writers in Shakespeare’s
time did encrypt their names in their works. The Friedmans actually remained open to other
possibilities, but they established standards that must be met for any cipher system to be
construed as proof for other claimants. Primarily, they said such a system would have to yield
results greater than those obtainable through mere chance or coincidence; the encryption would
have to convey some meaningful message; and it would have to follow a pattern, not just use
letters picked at random [Leary, “Friedman”].

Despite this setback for Baconian scholars, they deserve credit for some important contributions.
It was they who first suggested that the presumed initials “T.T.” below the Dedication riddle
might symbolize the pillars of Hercules [Leary, “Ciphers”]. Bacon had used the Hercules pillars
symbolically in the frontispiece of his scientific work, The Novum Organum, signifying the
search into the unknown waters of scientific inquiry [Hall, Secret Teachings,551]. From that
starting point, I researched Rosicrucian societies and the highly similar brotherhood of
Freemasons. My findings have been explained in an article published in the online magazine
Rose Croix Journal (Spring 2007). The web site for this journal is www.rosecroixjournal.org .
Briefly summarized, here are those findings:

1. Secret codes and ciphers were used by Queen Elizabeth’s spy system to communicate dangers
such as plans to invade England or to overthrow her government. Secret societies known as
Freemasons and Rosicrucians, using secret codes for communicating among themselves, existed
in 16th Century England and Scotland, although only a few written records have survived dated
earlier than the 18th century [Dodd, Haynes, Hall, Johnstone].

2. Both Freemasons and Rosicrucians used symbols, rituals, and allegories to initiate members.
According to Alfred Dodd, Francis Bacon revived some rituals of the Knights Templar and
devised a system of 33 degrees to measure progress for the initiates of Freemasons and
Rosicrucians [Dodd, Francis Bacon]. Their goals were laudable ones – to take pride in one’s
craftsmanship, to build character, and to promote brotherly love and good works – but outsiders
sometimes suspected that their search for knowledge involved black magic or Satanic worship
[See Wooley’s biography of John Dee].

3. From internal evidence and precedents, we may assume that the author William Shakespeare
wrote his own dedication to the sonnets as he had done with his narrative poems “Venus and
Adonis” (1593) and “Rape of Lucrece” (1594). We assume that the dedicatee was the same
person: Henry Wriothesley, the Third Earl of Southampton, whose initials were anagrammed as
“Mr. W.H.” to prevent his being too easily identified [Ogburn, Jr.]. We are also presuming that
“William Shakespeare” was a pen name used by Edward De Vere, the 17thEarl of Oxford. We
assume that the dedication is a riddle with which the author intended to bypass the censors and
spies of his own time, in the hope that it would be solved by a future generation [Gordon, Secret
Love].

106
4. Edward De Vere was both a Rosicrucian and a Freemason [Charlton, D.] (probably at the
28thdegree, which is associated with knighthood and “Tree of the Sun”) [Wright, D.]. De Vere
performed in jousting tournaments, as several preceding earls of Oxford had done, to revive the
King Arthur legends and inspire loyalty to Queen and country. Freemason symbols appear in the
Dedication to the Sonnets (e.g. three inverted triangles, pair of gammas suggesting pillars of
Temple of Solomon.

Dedication to “Shakespeare’s Sonnets” published in 1609 by Thomas Thorpe

5. Edward De Vere was a skilled cryptographer, as demonstrated in a poem he wrote that

embedded his own name both downward and upward (in a V shape). This poem, “The Absent
Lover,” (also called “The Shield of Love”) along with its solution, are presented in B.M. Ward’s
biography Edward De Vere, The Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, [Ward, 1928] and reprinted by
Dorothy and Charlton Ogburn in their biography of Oxford, This Star of England [1952]. (See
also Appendix B of this book.)

6. De Vere used a similar method of encryption, in the Dedication to the Sonnets, to encipher the
names of Henry Wriothesley, E. Regina, E. De Vere, and all three of their mottos, as well as the
words “Twelfth Night.” [Gordon, Secret Love] The Twelfth Night holiday in 1573 was the
probable date of conception for the love-child, Henry Wriothesley (born October 6, 1573), who
was born to Elizabeth Tudor, fathered by Edward De Vere. I am indebted to John Rollett, who
found several ciphers in the Dedication using an equidistant-letter sequence method [Rollett],
and Robert Prechter, who located the name “Elisabeth” in the Dedication and presented samples
of the Queen’s signature spelled with an “S” instead of a “Z”. [Prechter] This name follows a
pattern of encryption similar to that in “The Absent Lover.”

7. The supposed “initials” of “T.T.” below the Dedication are actually Greek gamma letters,
which when paired, symbolize the pillars of Solomon’s temple. [Gordon, “Rosicrucian”] For
Freemasons, the pillars of Solomon indicate the search for enlightenment, an entrance into the
inner sanctum of Solomon’s wisdom. The sacred letter “G” in the center of the Masonic logo of
the compass above a mason’s square stands for “God” and “Geometry,” which Freemasons
believe was the science used by the Grand Architect to build the Universe. Although the sacred
Greek letter gamma was later changed to a Roman “G” in the center of the Masonic logo of the
compass and the square, the original Greek gamma was a more suitable symbol, according to
Freemason author John Cockburn, because it resembled the carpenter’s or mason’s square [┌ ].
The digamma, [┌┌] consisting of two gammas side by side, stood for pillars symbolizing
supports or entrances (for example, pillars of Hercules or entrance to Solomon’s temple).

8. The fact that Shakespeare contrived such an ungrammatical sentence structure indicates that
he was fitting the words into some restraining pattern or grid. The unusual spelling of words like
“onlie” and “insuing” suggest that these letters are part of an embedded message. The exact word
count of 28 words would explain the length restraint, possibly indicating the Masonic 28th degree
which is known as the “Knight of the Tree of the Sun.” Edward De Vere acted in this “knight”
role during a jousting tournament for the Queen in 1581 [Wright].
107
9. Other clues in the Dedication that might have alerted a “brother” to the secret message were
(a) the use of dots after each word (the Rosicrucian Code used similar dots in a grid), (b) the use
of all capital letters, suggesting an engraved headstone, (c) the peculiar shape of the Dedication
(three inverted triangles, which can also suggest the “V” in “Vere” and the “VV” or “W” in
“Wriothesley), (d) the arrangement of lines in the three triangles of the Dedication,
corresponding to the number of letters in the name “Edward De Vere” (6-2-4) [noted by Rollett],
suggest a familiarity with numerology [Gordon, “Rosicrucian”].

10. Although Shakespeare/Oxford used an unusual system of steganography, he was capable

enough and clever enough to invent his own system with a not-easily-detectable pattern. Doing
so would increase his chances that spies and censors of his own time would not suspect that the
Dedication contained an encoded message, revealing the secret of Elizabeth’s and Edward’s love
child. [Gordon, Secret Love]

Appendix B
Edward De Vere as Cryptographer in the poem “The Absent Lover” or “Shield of Love”

The Earl of Oxford’s biographer B. M. Ward included in his book a poem “The Absent Lover,”
by Edward De Vere, that Ward had seen in the first publication of Hundreth Sunday Flowres. It
was reprinted in Dorothy and Charlton Ogburn’s biography This Star of England This Star of
England 1258. Also known as “The Shield of Love,” it shows that Edward De Vere was a skilled
cryptographer.

A likely scenario is that Edward De Vere wrote this poem to Queen Elizabeth. Dorothy Ogburn
believes that De Vere loved Elizabeth all his life, though they were never free to marry [Ogburn,
This Star]. Reasonable interpretations [Gordon, Secret Love] would imply that De Vere
addressed many sonnets to Elizabeth, although they were published under the pseudonym of
“William Shakespeare” in 1609. Not all of them were to a “dark lady” as we can infer from the
line in Sonnet 131: “In nothing art thou black save in thy deeds.” Probably the poem entitled
“The Absent Lover” was addressed to Queen Elizabeth (deare dame), challenging her to decipher
his name. Here is the plaintext of the poem as it appeared in B. M. Ward’s biography: The
Absent Lover

The absent lover (in ciphers) deciphering his name, doth crave some spedie relief as followeth

L’Escu d’amour , the shield of perfect love, The shield of love, the force of steadfast faith, The
force of faith which never will remove, But standeth fast, to byde the broonts of death: That
trustie targe, hath long borne of the blowes, And broke the thrusts, which absence at me throws.

In dolefull days I lead an absent life,

And wound my will with many a weary thought:
I plead for peace, yet sterve in stormes of strife,
I find debate, where quiet rest was sought.
These panges with mo, unto my paine I prove,
Yet beare I all uppon my shield of love.
In colder cares are my conceipts consumd,

108
Than Dido felt when false Enaeas fled;
In farr more heat, than trusty Troylus fumd,
When craftie Cressyde dwelt with Diomed.
My hope such frost, my hot desire such flame,
That I both fryse, and smoulder in the same.
So that I live, and dye in one degree,
Healed by hope, and hurt againe with dread;
Fast bound by faith when fansie would be free,
Vntied by trust, through thoughts enthrall my head.
Reviv’d by joyes, when hope doth most abound,
And yet with grief, in depth of dollors drownd.
In these assaultes I feele my feebled force
Begins to faint, thus weried still in woes:
And scarcely can my thus consumed corse,
Hold up this Buckler to beare of these blowes.
So that I crave, or presence for relief,
Or some supplie, to ease mine absent grief.

L’envuoie
To you (deare Dame) this dolefull plaint I make
Whose onely sight may some redresse my smart:
Then shew your selfe, and for your servauntes sake,
Make hast post hast, to helpe a faythfull harte.
Mine owne poore shield hath me defended long,
Now lend me yours, for elles you do me wrong.
- Meritum peter, grave

Dorothy and Charlton Ogburn explain the publication history of this poem [ This Star of
England, p.1257-58]. It was first included in the collection A Hundreth Sundrie Flowres,
published in 1573. It was signed “Meritum petere, grave,” which is known to be one of Oxford’s
posies (personal mottos). Assuming that De Vere was addressing Queen Elizabeth, she would
have taken great pleasure in the word-play and in De Vere's flattering application of the courtly
love tradition, in which an inaccessible woman is being worshiped from afar.

The collection was reissued in 1576 in a substantially altered edition entitled The Poesies of
George Gascoigne. Dorothy Ogburn speculates that Queen Elizabeth had permitted Gascoigne to
plagiarize De Vere's poetry (taken from Hundreth Sundrie Flowres, 1573) in order to deflect
attention if any readers suspected that De Vere’s poems were being addressed to her.

The poet challenged the recipient (deare Dame) to discover his name, which can be deciphered
as follows: [In this pattern, only the initial letter of each significant word is used in the cipher,
affirming that the word was deliberately placed somewhere in the line as needed to form the
poet’s name.]

Read this column downward

E(scu)

109
d’(amour)
w(hich)
a(nd)
r(est)
d(ebate)
D(ido
e(nthrall)
V(ntied) e(ase) r(edress)

Read this column upward

E (scu)
r(est)
E(naeas)

V(ntied)
e(nthralled)
d(olors)
d(rownd)
r(elief)
a(bsent)
W(hose)
d(efended)
e(lles) e(lles) Adapted from Edward De Vere's biographer B. M. Ward, cited by Dorothy and
Charlton Ogburn, This Star of England, pages 1257-1258.

Dorothy Ogburn notes that a misspelling of Enaeas destroyed the cipher when A Hundreth
Sundrie Flowres was re-published in 1576 as the Poesies of George Gascoigne. Moreover, that
edition omitted the introductory challenge to the reader to find the poet's name enciphered.

Certain spelling conventions of the Elizabethan age must be considered in solving this puzzle.
Most important is that Elizabethan English had fewer letters (only 23, compared to our present
26). The U and the V were interchangeable, so the cryptographer could use the V as a U in
untied, yet employ it as a V in the name Vere.

The Embedded Patterns

The plaintext of the poem appears meaningful on its face, which is one mark of an excellent
encryption, according to the criteria published by Francis Bacon in his discourse on
cryptography. Following an unusual 6-line stanza pattern, the rhyme scheme of ababcc is
consistently maintained throughout six verses. The poet uses true rhymes, which sometimes
necessitate an inverted sentence structure to fulfill the rhyme scheme, as in “And broke the
thrusts, which absence at me throws.” So conventional and elegant is the poetry, that without the
clue in the introduction, we might never look for a secret message. Since the poet's name has 12
letters, giving himself 36 lines in the poem enables him to spread out the letters of his name, and

110
thus to meet two more challenges within the poetical framework – that is, embedding his name
twice, first reading downward and then reading upward.

Although the poet says his encryption is in “ciphers,” a more precise term would be
steganography, because the plaintext conceals the encrypted message unobtrusively. Ciphers
often substituted numbers for names, as can be seen in letters by Queen Elizabeth's spies
(Haynes, 23). Or ciphers might require a key possessed by both sender and receiver, such as a
certain pattern of equidistant letter sequencing. In such cases, the awkwardness of the plaintext
might suggest to decipherers that there is a hidden subtext. Codes, in contrast, may consist of all
numbers or all letters in nonsense arrangements, making them obvious as secret messages and
thus vulnerable to known code-breaking methods.

Edward De Vere was familiar with code-breaking strategies such as equidistant letter
sequencing, but many of his enemies also knew them and could easily decode messages by
placing them in grids. Thus he avoided such obviously numerical patterns in this poem, but he
did follow a strict pattern of encryption. Having provided the clue in the headnote that the hidden
text was his name, he began with the first line, which contained a French word beginning with E
(Escu) and another beginning with D (d'amour). The metaphor of a “shield of love” is
particularly apt, since a shield provides protection, and he was protecting the name of the
recipient (deare Dame), by hiding his own where no one but she (or someone else who was privy
to the secret) could discover it.

The Cryptographic Pattern

Although at first the hidden-text letters may seem random, the key letters are always the initial
letter of a word in a given line. They also appear in a fixed order moving top to bottom and then
bottom to top. In lines containing more than one key letter, the order may proceed either from
left to right or from right to left. In Line 10, for example the RD of Edward appears in the words
debate and rest. In Line 22, we find the V first, in Vnited, and the E later, in enthrall.

This way of embedding may have been an invention of Edward De Vere, since it does not follow
the usual acrostic pattern of beginning each line with a significant letter. The analysis, however,
is quite instructive, because it establishes a pattern that we can see in the Dedication to the
Sonnets by “William Shake-speare.” Thus it enables us to approach that riddle in a similar frame
of mind, assuming that De Vere was using the pen name of “William Shakespeare,” and wanting
to send his message to future generations. De Vere had to be clever enough to get past the
censors and enemies who wanted the name of Edward De Vere to be buried forever or stained
with a dung-heap of calumny.

For analysis of the similarly embedded messages in the Dedication to the Sonnets, see Chapter
Two, “Anagrams and Ciphers in the Dedication.”
* * * Works Consulted about Cryptology, Ciphers, and Secret Societies

Ancient Mystical Order of the Rosy Cross. “Rosicrucian History and Legends.”
http://www.rosicrucian.org/about/mastery/mastery08history.html
Anderson, Verily. The De Veres of Castle Hedingham. Lavenham Suffolk: Terrence Dalton,

111
1993.
Anonymous pamphlet. 28th Degree Grand Knight of the Sun or Prince-Adept. Whitefish,
Montana: Kessinger Publication Co.
Bacon, Francis. “Proficience and Advancement of Learning Divine and Humane.” 1640
translation from Latin.
Beresniak, Daniel. Symbols of Freemasonry. Trans. from French by Ian Monk. New York:
Barnes & Noble, 2000.
Brydon, Robert. Rosslyn – a History of the Guilds, the Masons, and the Rosy Cross. Midlothian:
Rosslyn Chapel Trust, 1994.
Bull, Peter. “Antony and Cleopatra – Masonic symbolism in one of Shakespeare’s Plays.”
http://www.masoncode.com .
Bull, Peter. Shakespeare’s Sonnets Written by Kit Marlowe. http://www.masoncode.com
Burns, Cathy. Masonic and Occult Symbols Illustrated. Mt. Carmel, PA, USA, Sharing, 2006.
Charlton, Derran K. “Edward De Vere and the Knights of the Grail.” The Spear Shaker Review,
May 1991, pp.4-10.
Churchill, R. C. Shakespeare and His Betters: A History and a Criticism of the Attempts Which
Have Been Made to Prove That Shakespeare's Works Were Written by Others. London: Max
Reinhardt, 1938. Available online though Questia Media America, Inc. www.questia.com
Cockburn, John A. “The Letter G,” Ars Quatuor Coronatorum, 1897. Reprinted by the Grand
Lodge of British Colombia and Yukon, Dec. 19, 2002, on web site
http://www.freemasonry.bcy.ca/aqc/letter_q.html
Cooper, Robert L.D. Cracking the Freemasons Code. New York: Atria Books, 2007.
Dawkins, Peter. “Shakespeare and Freemasonry.” Freemasonry Today, Winter, 1998. Reprinted
online at www.sirbacon.org/Dawkinsfrmsnry.htm .
Dodd, Alfred. Francis Bacon’s Personal Life Story. London: Rider & Co., 1938.
___________. Shakespeare: Creator of Freemasonry. London, Rider & Co., 1933
Duncan, Malcolm A. Duncan’s Ritual of Freemasonry. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 2007
Freke, Timothy and Peter Gandy. The Hermetica: The Lost Wisdom of the Pharaohs. New York:
Penguin Putnam, 1999.
Gardner, Martin. Codes, Ciphers and Secret Writing. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, 1972.
Gordon, Helen Heightsman. The Secret Love Story in Shakespeare’s Sonnets, 2nd edition.
Philadelphia: Xlibris, 2008.
__________. “Shakespeare’s Rosicrucian Revelations in the Dedication to the Sonnets.” Rose
Croix Journal, Spring 2007, p. 1-20. Printed online at www.rosecroixjournal.org .
Greer, John Michael. The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Societies. New York: Barnes and
Noble, Inc., 2006.
Guffey, Robert. “Was Shakespeare a Freemason? Masonic Symbolism in Macbeth.” Reprinted
by Rosslyn Templars, www.RosslynTemplars.org.uk , Nov. 2006.
Haynes, Alan. The Elizabethan Secret Services. Gloucestershire, UK: Sutton Publishing
Company, 2000.
Heisler, Ron. “The Impact of Freemasonry on Elizabethan Literature.” The Hermetic Journal,
1990. Reprinted with permission at www.levity.com .
Leary, Thomas ‘Penn.’ “Friedman,” in The Second Cryptographic Shakespeare. Reprinted by
Online Books Library. http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu
“Masonic Events in History.” California Freemason On-Line Magazine, Spring 2004. Available
online at www.freemason.org/cfo/spring_2004 .

112
Marrs, Jim. Rule by Secrecy: The Hidden History that Connects the Freemasons, the Trilateral
Commission, and the Great Pyramids. New York: Harper Collins, 2000.
Nozedar, Adele. The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols. New York: Barnes and
Noble, Inc., 2008.
Ogburn, Charlton, Jr. The Mysterious William Shakespeare: The Myth and the Reality. New
York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1984.
Prechter, Robert R. “The Sonnets Dedication Puzzle,” Shakespeare Matters: The Voice of the
Shakespeare Fellowship. Vol. 4, No. 3, Spring 2005, pp. 1-2.
Rollett, John. “Interpretations of the Dedication to Shakespeare’s Sonnets.” The Oxfordian, Vol.
2, October 1999, pp.60-75.
Sears, Elisabeth. Shakespeare and the Tudor Rose. Marshfield, MA: Meadowgeese Press, 2003.
Waite. Arthur E. Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross. Whitefish, Montana: Kessinger Publishing Co.
Ward, B. M. The Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, 1928. Reprinted by Shakespeare-Oxford Society,
2003.
Wooley, Benjamin. The Queen’s Conjurer: The Science and Magic of Dr. John Dee. New York:
Henry Holt and Company, 2001.
Wright, Daniel L. “Shaking the Spear at Court.” Shakespeare Oxford Newsletter, summer, 1998.
Wrixon, Fred B. Codes, Ciphers, and Other Cryptic and Clandestine Communication. New
York: Barnes & Noble, 1998.
Yates, Frances. The Rosicrucian Enlightenment. London: Routledge Classics, 2nd ed. 2004.
Zain, C.C. “The Royal Arch Passwords.” Ancient Masonry – The Spiritual Meaning of Masonic
Degrees, Rituals and Symbols. Los Angeles: The Church of Light, 1994. Pages 186-188
reprinted online at www.masoncode.com .

Bibliography for Whole Book

Works Consulted and Recommended for Further Reading Gordon, H.H. The Secret Love
Story in Shakespeare’s Sonnets

Ancient Mystical Order of the Rosy Cross. “Rosicrucian History and Legends.”
http://www.rosicrucian.org/about/mastery/mastery08history.html
Anderson, Verily. The De Veres of Castle Hedingham. Lavenham Suffolk: Terrence Dalton,
1993.
Bacon, Francis. “Proficience and Advancement of Learning Divine and Humane.” 1640
translation from Latin.
Beresniak, Daniel. Symbols of Freemasonry. Trans. from French by Ian Monk. New York:
Barnes & Noble, 2000.
Bowen, Catherine D. Francis Bacon: The Temper of a Man. Boston: Little,Brown, 1963.
Brydon, Robert. Rosslyn – a History of the Guilds, the Masons, and the Rosy Cross. Midlothian:
Rosslyn Chapel Trust, 1994.
Bull, Peter. Shakespeare’s Sonnets Written by Kit Marlowe. http://www.masoncode.com
Burns, Cathy. Masonic and Occult Symbols Illustrated. Mt. Carmel, PA, USA, Sharing, 2006.
Charlton, Derran K. “Edward de Vere and the Knights of the Grail.” The Spear Shaker Review,
May 1991, pp. 4-10.
Churchill, R. C. Shakespeare and His Betters: A History and a Criticism of the Attempts Which
Have Been Made to Prove That Shakespeare's Works Were Written by Others. London: Max
Reinhardt, 1938. Available online though Questia Media America,

113
Inc. www.questia.com
Cockburn, John A. “The Letter G.” Ars Quatuor Coronatorum, the Transactions of the Quatuor
Coronati Lodge No. 2076, Vol 10, p. 40, 1897. Reprinted by the Grand Lodge of British
Colombia and Yukon, Dec. 19, 2002, on web site
http://www.freemasonry.bcy.ca/aqc/letter_q.html
Cooper, Robert L.D. Cracking the Freemasons Code. New York: Atria Books, 2007.
Dawkins, Peter. “Ciphers of Francis Bacon.” Francis Bacon Research Trust, 1999.
http://www.fbrt.org.uk/pages/essays/frameset-essays.html
____________. “The Shakespeare Authorship Controversy.” Francis Bacon Research Trust,
1999. http://www.fbrt.org.uk/pages/essays/frameset-essays.htm .
_____________. “Shakespeare and Freemasonry” Freemasonry Today, Winter 1998. Reprinted
on web site http://www.sirbacon.org/Dawkinsfrmsnry.htm
Dodd, Alfred. Francis Bacon’s Personal Life-Story. London: Rider & Co., 1938.
___________. Shakespeare: Creator of Freemasonry. London: Rider & Co., 1933.
Erickson, Carolly. The First Elizabeth. New York: Summit Books, 1983.
Fowler, Bob. “Sir Francis Bacon, Shakespeare, William Tudor, and Freemason Symbology.”
http://www.light-of-truth.com
Friedman, William. The Shakespeare Ciphers Examined. Cambridge: University Press, 1957.
Gardner, Martin. Codes, Ciphers and Secret Writing. New York: Dover Publications, 1972.
Gordon, Helen Heightsman. The Secret Love Story in Shakespeare’s Sonnets. Second Edition.
Philadelphia: Xlibris, 2008.
______________________. “William Shakespeare’s Rosicrucian Revelations in the Dedication
to the Sonnets” in the international electronic journal Rose Croix Journal,
www.rosecroixjournal.org Spring, 2007.
Guffey, Robert. “Was Shakespeare a Freemason? Masonic Symbolism in Macbeth.” Reprinted
by Rosslyn Templars, www.RosslynTemplars.org.uk Nov. 2006.
Hall, Manly P. The Lost Keys of Freemasonry. New York: Tarcher/Penguin, 1976.
___________. The Secret Teachings of All Ages. New York: Tarcher/Penguin, 2003.
Haynes, Alan. The Elizabethan Secret Services. Gloucestershire, England: Sutton Publishing,
2004.
Heisler, Ron. “The Forgotten English Roots of Rosicrucianism” The Hermetic Journal, 1992.
Reprinted with permission http://www.levity.com/alchemy/h_fre.html
__________. “The Impact of Freemasonry on Elizabethan Literature.” The Hermetic Journal,
1990. Reprinted at http://www.levity.com/alchemy/h_fre.html

Hevlin, Clinton. So Long As Men Can Breathe:The Untold Story of Shakespeare’s Sonnets.
Holmes, Jean. “Alexander and the Lapis Lazuli.” The De Vere Society Newsletter, October

2008, 30-32.
Jennings, Hargrave. “Rosicrucianism in Strange Symbols.” Chapter 28, The Rosicrucians.
London: Chatto and Windus, 1879.
Johnstone, Michael. The Freemasons: The Illustrated Book of An Ancient Brotherhood. New
York: Grammercy Books, 2005.
Kahn, David. The Codebreakers. Macmillan, 1967.
Leary, Thomas ‘Penn’. “Are There Ciphers in Shakespeare?” Reprinted by Online Books
Library. http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu .

114
__________. “Friedman,” in The Second Cryptographic Shakespeare. Reprinted by
Online Books Library. http://onlinebooks.library.upenn.edu
Levin, Carole. “The Courtships of Elizabeth R,” Renaissance Magazine, Vol. 4, #2, Issue 14,
1999.
Looney, Thomas. “Shakespeare” Identified as the Seventeenth Earl of Oxford. London, 1920.
Reprinted online by Shakespeare-Oxford Society, www.shakespeare-oxford.com Marrs, Jim.
Rule by Secrecy: The Hidden History that Connects the Freemasons, the Trilateral
Commission, and the Great Pyramids. New York: Harper Collins, 2000. Nozedar, Adele. The
Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols. New York: Barnes and Noble, Inc., 2008.
Ogburn, Charlton, Jr. The Mysterious William Shakespeare: The Myth and the Reality. New
York: Dodd, Mead and Company, 1984.
Ogburn, Dorothy and Charlton. This Star of England. New York: Coward-McCann, Inc. 1952.
Prechter, Robert R. “The Sonnets Dedication Puzzle,” Shakespeare Matters: The Voice of the
Shakespeare Fellowship. Vol. 4, No. 3, Spring 2005, pp. 1-2.
Rollet, John. “Interpretations of the Dedication to Shakespeare’s Sonnets.” The Oxfordian, Vol.
2, October 1999, pp. 60-75. Reprinted with further commentary in Great Oxford: Essays on
the Life and Works of Edward De Vere, pp. 253-266. Tunbridge Wells: Parapress Ltd.,
2005.
Roper, David L. The Shakespeare Story. http://www.dlroper.shakespearians.com Sears,
Elisabeth. Shakespeare and the Tudor Rose. Marshfield Hills, Mass: Meadow Geese
Press, 2003.
Seiden, Ellen. “Was the Virgin Queen Really a Virgin?” Renaissance Magazine, Vol. 4, #2,
Issue 14, 1999. Reprint at www.geocities.com/queenswoman/elizaseiden.html Smith, Laurence
Dwight. Cryptography: the Science of Secret Writing. New York: Dover
Publications, 1971.
Sobran, Joseph. “ ‘Shakespeare’ Revealed in Oxford’s Poetry,” De Vere Society Newsletter,
January 1996. Available online at www.shakespeare-oxford.com
Waite, Arthur. Brotherhood of the Rosy Cross. Kessinger Publishing Rare Reprints,
www.kessinger.net 2007 edition.
__________. The New Encyclopedia of Freemasonry. New York: Wings Books, 1970. Walker,
Mather. “The Troilus and Cressida Puzzle and the Design of the First Folio.”
Part I. http://www.sirbacon.org
Ward, B. M. The Seventeenth Earl of Oxford, 1928. Reprinted by Shakespeare-Oxford Society,
2003.
Weir, Tass. Knights Templar web site. www.veling.nl/anne/templars
Williams, Neville. The Life and Times of Elizabeth I. London: Abbeville Press, 1992. Woolley,
Benjamin. The Queen’s Conjurer: The science and magic of Dr. John Dee.
New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2001.
Wright, Daniel L. “Shaking the Spear at Court.” Shakespeare Oxford Newsletter, Summer,
1998.
Wrixon, Fred B. Codes, Ciphers, and Other Cryptic and Clandestine Communication. New
York: Barnes & Noble, 1998.
Yates, Frances. The Rosicrucian Enlightenment. London: Routledge Classics, 2nd ed. 2004. Zain,
C.C. “The Royal Arch Passwords.” Ancient Masonry – The Spiritual Meaning of Masonic
Degrees, Rituals and Symbols. Los Angeles: The Church of Light, 1994. Pages 186-188
reprinted online at www.masoncode.com

115
116