THE YOUTH OF SHAKSPEARE. CHAPTER I. O fortune, now my wounds redress, OLD SONG. Away with these self-loving lads, And forceth none to kiss the rod. LORD BROOKE. These strange and sudden injuries have fallen So thick upon me, that I lose all sense Of what they are. Methinks I am not wronged; I can but hide it. Reputation! Thou art a word, no more. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. ON recovering consciousness, the youthful Shakspeare found himself lying stretched on the grass, with a confused sense of pain and sickness, which prevented him from forming any distinct idea of where he was. He could just discern divers black masses of sundry shapes, moving around and about him, whilst above, myriads of stars were twinkling VOL. II. B |