The starting point in this chapter is the fact stated by Mr. Lee, and I think conceded or assumed by all writers on these Sonnets,--that they were written to some one intimately connected with the Shakespearean plays, either as a patron or in some other manner. Many, perhaps all, of the plays were produced, and in that way published, at the theatre where Shakespeare acted. Those of the higher class or order as well as those of the lower class were published as his. Those most strenuous in supporting the claims of authorship for Shakespeare, have, I think, generally conceded that the plays, as we now have them, reveal in various parts the work of more than one author. And from that it has been suggested that Shakespeare must have had a fellow-worker,--a collaborator. Lee's _Shakespeare_, Brandes's _Critical Study of Shakespeare_, and the Temple edition of Shakespeare's works, are practically agreed on this fact in relation to _Henry VI._, _Henry VIII._, _Titus Andronicus_, and some other plays. There must have been a very considerable degree of intercourse between the two persons who worked together even on a single one of these plays. And there are Sonnets which at least suggest a degree and kind of intercourse and communication between the poet and his friend which such a relation would require. Chiding his friend for absence in Sonnets LVII. and LVIII., the poet indicates such waiting and watching as would come to him had their relations been very intimate, and perhaps indicates that he and his friend lodged together. Those Sonnets are as follows: Being your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the _hours_ and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend, Nor _services_ to do, _till you require_. Nor dare I chide the _world-without-end hour_ Whilst I, my sovereign, _watch the clock for you_, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu; Nor dare I question with my jealous thought _Where you may be_, or your affairs suppose, But, _like a sad slave, stay_ and think of nought Save, _where you are how happy_ you make those. So true a fool is love that in your will, Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. That God forbid that made me first your slave, I should _in thought control your times of pleasure_, Or at your hand the account of _hours_ to crave, Being your vassal, _bound to stay your leisure_! O, let me suffer, being at your beck, The imprison'd absence of your liberty; And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check, Without accusing you of injury. Be where you list, your charter is so strong That _you yourself may privilege your time To what you will_; to you it doth belong Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime. I am to _wait_, though waiting so be hell, Not _blame your pleasure_, be it ill or well.