After thus attempting, at considerable length, and we trust with some success, to solve a mystery hitherto deemed inexplicable, we shall offer but a few observations on the object of the remaining twenty-eight sonnets. In the first place, it is not true, as Mr. Malone has asserted, that they are _all_ addressed to a female. Two, at least, have not the slightest reference to any individual; the hundred and twenty-ninth sonnet being a general and moral declamation on the misery resulting from sensual love, and the hundred and forty-sixth, an address to his own soul of a somewhat severe and religious cast. Of the residue, four have no very determinate application, and to whom the twenty-two are dedicated, is not now to be ascertained, and, if it were, not worth the enquiry; for, a more worthless character, or described as such in stronger terms, no poet ever drew. We much wish, indeed, these sonnets had never been published, or that their subject could be proved to have been perfectly ideal. We are the more willing to consider them in this light, since, if we dismiss these confessional sonnets, not the slightest moral stain can rest on the character of Shakspeare; as the frolic in Sir Thomas Lucy's park, from his youth, and the circumstances attending it, must be deemed altogether venial. It is very improbable, also, that any poet should publish such an open confession of his own culpability. Of the grossly meretricious conduct of his mistress, of whose personal charms and accomplishments we know nothing more than that she had black eyes, black hair, and could play on the virginal, Sonnets 137. 142. and 144. bear the most indubitable evidence. Well, therefore, might the poet term her his "_false plague_," his "_worser spirit_," his "_female evil_," and his "_bad angel_;" well might he tell her, notwithstanding the colour of her eyes and hair, "Thy black is fairest in my judgment's place; _In nothing art thou black, save in thy deeds_." Son. 131. "For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright, _Who art as black as hell, as dark as night_." Son. 147. Well might he blame his pliability of temper, his insufficiency of judgment and resolution, well might he call himself "_past cure_," and "_frantick-mad_," when, addressing this profligate woman, he exclaims, "Whence hast thou this becoming of things ill, That in the very refuse of thy deeds There is such strength and warrantise of skill, That in my mind, thy worst all best exceeds? Who taught thee how _to make me love thee more, The more I hear and see just cause of hate_? O, _though I love what others do abhor_, With others thou should'st not abhor my state; If thy unworthiness rais'd love in me, More worthy I to be belov'd by thee."[73:A] Son. 150.