The Poet’s match was evidently a love-match:  whether the love was of that kind which forms the best pledge of wedded happiness, is another question.  It is not unlikely that the marriage may have been preceded by the ancient ceremony of troth-plight, or handfast, as it was sometimes called; like that which almost takes place between Florizel and Perdita in The Winter’s Tale, and quite takes place between Olivia and Sebastian in Twelfth Night.  The custom of troth-plight was much used in that age, and for a long time after.  In some places it had the force and effect of an actual marriage.  Serious evils, however, sometimes grew out of it; and the Church of England did wisely, no doubt, in uniting the troth-plight and the marriage in one and the same ceremony.  Whether such solemn betrothment had or had not taken place between William Shakespeare and Anne Hathaway, it is certain from the parish register that they had a daughter, Susanna, baptized on the 26th of May, 1583.

Some of the Poet’s later biographers and critics have supposed he was not happy in his marriage.  Certain passages of his plays, especially the charming dialogue between the Duke and the disguised Viola in Act ii., scene 4, of Twelfth Night, have been cited as involving some reference to the Poet’s own case, or as having been suggested by what himself had experienced of the evils resulting from the wedlock of persons “misgraffed in respect of years.”  There was never any thing but sheer conjecture for this notion.  Rowe mentions nothing of the kind; and we may be sure that his candour would not have spared the Poet, had tradition offered him any such matter.  As for the passages in question, I know no reason for excepting them from the acknowledged purity and disinterestedness of the Poet’s representations; where nothing is more remarkable, or more generally commended, than his singular aloofness of self; his perfect freedom from every thing bordering upon egotism.

Our Mr. White is especially hard upon the Poet’s wife, worrying up the matter against her, and fairly tormenting the poor woman’s memory.  Now the facts about the marriage are just precisely as I have stated them.  I confess they are not altogether such as I should wish them to have been; but I can see no good cause why prurient inference or speculation should busy itself in going behind them.  If, however, conjecture must be at work on those facts, surely it had better run in the direction of charity, especially as regards the weaker vessel.  I say weaker vessel, because in this case the man must in common fairness be supposed to have had the advantage at least as much in natural strength of understanding as the woman had in years.  And as Shakespeare was, by all accounts, a very attractive person, it is not quite clear why she had not as good a right to lose her heart in his company as he had to lose his in hers.  Probably she was as much smitten as he was; and we may well remember in her behalf, that love’s “favourite seat is feeble woman’s breast”; especially as there is not a particle of evidence that her life after marriage was ever otherwise than clear and honourable.  And indeed it will do no hurt to remember in reference to them both, how