Neither is there any foundation for the impression that he was undervalued in his own times.  No literary man of his day had more success, more flattering attentions from the great, or reaped more of the substantial fruits of popularity, in the form of worldly goods.  While his contemporary, Ben Jonson, sick in a miserable alley, is forced to beg, and receives but a wretched pittance from Charles I., Shakspeare’s fortune steadily increases from year to year.  He buys the best place in his native town, and fits it up with great taste; he offered to lend, on proper security, a sum of money for the use of the town of Stratford; he added to his estate in Stratford a hundred and seventy acres of land; he bought half the great and small tithes of Stratford; and his annual income is estimated to have been what would at the present time be nearly four thousand dollars.

Queen Elizabeth also patronized him after her ordinary fashion of patronizing literary men,—­that is to say, she expressed her gracious pleasure that he should burn incense to her, and pay his own bills:  economy was not one of the least of the royal graces.  The Earl of Southampton patronized him in a more material fashion.

Queen Elizabeth even so far condescended to the poet as to perform certain hoidenish tricks while he was playing on the stage, to see if she could not disconcert his speaking by the majesty of her royal presence.  The poet, who was performing the part of King Henry IV., took no notice of her motions, till, in order to bring him to a crisis, she dropped her glove at his feet; whereat he picked it up, and presented it her, improvising these two lines, as if they had been a part of the play:—­

  “And though, now bent on this high embassy,
  Yet stoop we to take up our cousin’s glove.”

I think this anecdote very characteristic of them both; it seems to me it shows that the poet did not so absolutely crawl in the dust before her, as did almost all the so called men of her court; though he did certainly flatter her after a fashion in which few queens can be flattered.  His description of the belligerent old Gorgon as the “Fair Vestal throned by the West” seems like the poetry and fancy of the beautiful Fairy Queen wasted upon the half-brute clown:—­

  “Come, sit thee down upon this flowery bed,
    While I thy amiable cheeks do coy,
  And stick musk roses in thy sleek, smooth, head,
    And kiss thy fair, large ears, my gentle joy.”

Elizabeth’s understanding and appreciation of Shakspeare was much after the fashion of Nick Bottom’s of the Fairy Queen.  I cannot but believe that the men of genius who employed their powers in celebrating this most repulsive and disagreeable woman must sometimes have comforted themselves by a good laugh in private.

In order to appreciate Shakspeare’s mind from his plays, we must discriminate what expressed the gross tastes of his age, and what he wrote to please himself.  The Merry Wives of Windsor was a specimen of what he wrote for the “Fair Vestal;” a commentary on the delicacy of her maiden meditations.  The Midsummer Night’s Dream he wrote from his own inner dream world.