A SPRING FESTIVAL CELEBRATING

THE BIRTH OF WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

A Sermon by

The Reverend Richard Benner

April 28, 2002

". . .the only pretty ring time, the hey, ding a ding time." Springtime is a good time for falling in love with Shakespeare, either for the hundredth time or for the very first time. And once you have fallen in love, you will never fall out of love with life. For good Will Shakespeare was, above all, a celebrant of life. Oh, he did not improve upon life, as some poets do, but through his tragedies, his histories, his comedies, his sonnets and other verse, he deepens our appreciation of life, the valleys as well as the peaks, the crucifixions as well as the resurrections, all without gilding, without falsifying, without prettifying. He has proved positive that Hollywood has it dead wrong — you don't have to have a happy ending. The total body of his work to our civilization rivals a Bible, which was created by countless individuals over a long, long, long span of time. The bard's voluminous output was created by a single individual during only a part of a brief span of but 52 years. In fact, it was created during approximately half of that life span. If anything is truly worthy of being called awesome, it is this. But it is not only the quantity which is remarkable; equally awe-inspiring is the consistent quality of his work. The depth in terms of understanding the human condition is amazing, not only for his time but for any time, for all time. And its breadth is breathtaking. The best-selling author these days, Stephen King, another native of Maine, is especially good at telling a certain kind of tale. But he would readily admit he could not hold a candle to the Bard of Avon.

Shakespeare, like no one else before or since, could wring out a tragedy, he could make history live and Cupid dance. And he wasn't bad at keeping the audience in stitches, either, when it was appropriate. That song that Charlotte sang so beautifully actually was written by Shakespeare, the words. It's from a comedy, As You Like It. And in the comedy it helps to know that it was sung extremely badly by two pages who came upon Touchstone, a clown, and Audrey, a country wench, in a park. Audrey and Touchstone were talking about their joyful morrow, on which they would be wed, when they were approached by a pair of pages from the banished Duke. Touchstone asked them to sing, and they invited him to sit between them, so he got it in stereo. Introducing the song, which Charlotte omitted, the first page said, "Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting or saying we are hoarse, which are the only prologues to a bad voice?" And after they were done, Touchstone showed his appreciation, "Truly, young gentleman, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable." To which the first page retorted, "You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time." Touchstone responds, "By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices!"

Shakespeare often sang of springtime, as my colleague Clark Wells pointed out, "with lyric beauty and lustiness rarely equaled." After all, he was a spring babe, born during this very time of year, during this very last week of April. And he died during this very last week of April on the same date that he was born. There is consistency for you! He was raised and educated in Stratford-on-Avon, a busy market town, receiving only an Elizabethan grammar school education, which was based purely on Latin, including large doses of the prayer book, which we would call the book of common prayer, and the Bible. His was a merry disposition. Not only his song lyrics prove it, but his personal behavior. He referred to his own "sportive blood." At 18 he got his neighbor's daughter, Anne Hathaway, with child, and even though she was eight-and-a-half years older, he did the gentlemanly thing and married her. In springtime, May of 1583, their first child, Susanna, the clever one, was born, and 20 months later twins, Hamnet (no, not Hamlet) and Judith.

So here is good Will Shakespeare, a young lad from Stratford, 21 years old, with a wife and three small children to support. Now, what do you do? He had only a grammar school education, didn't go to University. He couldn't ask Daddy for help because his once-prosperous father was pretty much broke. What about the theater? "Ay, there's the rub." He turned to acting and became a touring actor. He was a very good actor. Then he thought about writing, and he put his hand to writing, and it turned out that he was an even better writer than he was an actor. By 26 years of age he achieved public acclaim and success with his Henry VI plays. Good for you, good Will Shakespeare! Even better for us.

He sang of spring. He celebrated spring in many ways, and in those early Henry plays he described a particular process of nature which he used to refer to something else, "Now 'tis the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden And choke the herbs for want of husbandry." He understood the processes of nature — human nature and other nature. In Antony and Cleopatra, Mark Antony spoke of "Aprils in Cleopatra's eyes," saying, "It is love's spring." In Troilus and Cressida, in three lines spoken consecutively by two different characters, he manages to squeeze in the word "spring" between the words "April" and "May." So what? Well, he used the word "spring" as a verb, and not a noun. In other settings, spring served as a context for the many hues of relationship, both happy and sad.

From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,
That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

Yet seem'd it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

Shakespeare sang of spring lustily, as well as lyrically. In Romeo and Juliet, Capulet invites a friend over for a party later that evening. This would be an offer a male would be hard put to refuse.

This night I hold an old accustom'd feast,
Whereto I have invited many a guest,
Such as I love; and you, among the store,
One more, most welcome, makes my number more.
At my poor house look to behold this night
Earth-treading stars that make dark heaven light:
Such comfort as do lusty young men feel
When well-apparell'd April on the heel
Of limping winter treads, even such delight
Among fresh female buds shall you this night
Inherit at my house. . .

And the bard sang of spring comically, as in Love's Labor Lost, a song having to do with relationships, entitled "Spring." See what you think.

When daisies pied and violets blue,

And lady-smocks all silver-white,

And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue

Do paint the meadows with delight,

The cuckoo then, on every tree,

Mocks married men; for thus sings he,

Cuckoo! Cuckoo, cuckoo!

O word of fear,

Unpleasing to a married ear!

Shakespeare could also explain relationships. When Rosalind asks Orlando, in As You Like It, (I'm not sure if she is still disguised here as a male), how long he would keep or have her after he possessed her, he says, "For ever and a day," and she responds, "Say 'a day,' without the 'ever.' No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives." And this sonnet, of which I will read but part, speaks of the seasons of relationships, as well as the seasons of aging.

To me, fair friend, you never can be old;

For as you were when first your eye I eyed,

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.

And budding friendship and more is portrayed in these lines from The Taming of the Shrew. Kate obviously had been the victim of bad press, and Petruchio begins to discover the truth about her. She says, "I chafe you, if I tarry: let me go." To which he responds:

No, not a whit: I find you passing gentle.
'Twas told me you were rough and coy and sullen,
And now I find report a very liar;
For thou are pleasant, gamesome, passing courteous,
But slow in speech, yet sweet as spring-time flowers:
Thou canst not frown, thou canst not look askance,
Nor bite the lip, as angry wenches will,
Nor hast thou pleasure to be cross in talk,
But thou with mildness entertain'st thy wooers,
With gentle conference, soft and affable.
Why does the world report that Kate doth limp?
O slanderous world! Kate like the hazel-twig
Is straight and slender and as brown in hue
As hazel nuts and sweeter than the kernels.

While it's true that we will not see his kind again, we can celebrate his immortality by singing praises to one who sang so well and true of spring. He is immortal. As his friend Ben Johnson said, "He was not of an age, but for all time." Happy birthday, good Will Shakespeare, and many happy returns — for us as well!