William, on our way to Oxford, in one of his original flights taken from an ode of Horace, impulsively exclaimed:
_Laugh and the world laughs with you; Weep and you weep alone, This grand old earth must borrow its mirth, It has troubles enough of its own. Sing and the hills will answer, Sigh, it is lost on the air, The echoes bound to a joyful sound, But shrink from voicing care._
_Be glad and your friends are many; Be sad and you lose them all; There are none to decline your nectared wine, But alone we must drink life's gall. There's room in the halls of pleasure, For a long and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on; Through the narrow aisles of pain._
_Feast, and your halls are crowded, Fast, and the world goes by, Succeed and give, 'twill help you live; But no one can help you die! Rejoice, and men will seek you, Grieve, and they turn and go, They want full measure of all your pleasure But they do not want your woe!_
These lines impressed me very much at the time and from that day to this I have never ceased to act on the philosophy of the poem.
It has been part of my nature, and during my wanderings for the past three hundred and twenty years I have never failed to carry in my train of thought and action--sunshine, beauty, song, love and laughter--advance agents to secure welcome in all hearts and homes throughout the world.
We were beautifully entertained by Mrs. Daisy Davenant at the Crown Tavern in Oxford, and many of the college "boys," who heard of our arrival in the city, hurried to pay their classic friendship to the "Divine" William.
We arrived in London on the 20th of September, and found that our old maid landlady had died of the plague, but had kindly sent all our literary and wardrobe effects to Florio, who was still alive and well at the Red Lion.
In a couple of days William was up to his head and ears in theatrical composition and stage structure.
A few years before the Bard had "dashed off" a love tragedy entitled "Romeo and Juliet," taken from an Italian novel of the thirteenth century, and a translation of the old family feud in poetry, by Walter Brooke, who had but recently delighted London with the story.
Shakspere never hesitated to take crude ore and rough ashler from any quarry of thought; and out of the dull, leaden material of others, produced characters in living form to walk the stage of life forever, teaching the lesson of virtue triumphant over vice.