Of course, it is not pretended that Shakespeare knew anything of this; but that he should have discovered the fact that the early primrose bears little or no seed, and that he should have been impressed by the truth that this is due to lack of fertilization, is wonderful. This circumstance might well lead to the suspicion that the poet was a gardener. We must not forget to notice, too, in this connection, that carnations--i. e., pinks--are remarkable for the great number of their varieties. We have, if I may so say, pinks of every color, from crimson to white, even brown it is said. This was true in Shakespeare's time, if one may trust Gerarde again; he says, "A great and large volume would not suffice to write of every one at large considering how infinite they are, and how every year the climate and country bringeth forth new sorts and such as have not heretofore been written of." Another passage in which the poet has instinctively hit upon a scientific truth is found in Sonnet IV, the last ten lines. The beauty of the passage as a whole is so remarkable that the delicate touches in particular lines are apt to be overlooked: "For never-resting time leads summer on To hideous winter and confounds him there; Sap checked with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, Beauty o'ersnowed and bareness everywhere: Then, were not summer's distillation left, A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass. Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft, Nor it nor remembrance what it was: But flowers distilled though they with winter meet, Lose but their show; their substance still lives sweet."