If the reader would picture to himself Shakespeare's mood during this short space of time at the end of the old century and beginning of the new, let him recall some morning when he has awakened with the sensation of complete physical well-being, not only feeling no definite or indefinite pain or uneasiness, but with a positive consciousness of happy activity in all his organs: when he drew his breath lightly, his head was clear and free, his heart beat peacefully: when the mere act of living was a delight: when the soul dwelt on happy moments in the past and dreamed of joys to come. Recall such a moment, and then conceive it intensified an hundredfold--conceive your memory, imagination, observation, acuteness, and power of expression a hundred times multiplied--and you may divine Shakespeare's prevailing mood in those days, when the brighter and happier sides of his nature were turned to the sun. There are days when the sun seems to have put on a new and festal splendour, when the air is like a caress to the cheek, and when the glamour of the moonlight seems doubly sweet; days when men appear manlier and wittier, women fairer and more delicate than usual, and when those who are disagreeable and even odious to us appear, not formidable, but ludicrous--so that we feel ourselves exalted above the level of our daily life, emancipated and happy. Such days Shakespeare was now passing through. It is at this period, too, that he makes sport of his adversaries the Puritans without bitterness, with exquisite humour. Even in _As You Like It_ (iii. 2), we find a little allusion to them, where Rosalind says, "O most gentle Jupiter!--what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried, 'Have patience, good people!'" In his next play, the typical, solemn, and self-righteous Puritan is held up to ridicule in the Don Quixote-like personage of the moralising and pompous Malvolio, who is launched upon a billowy sea of burlesque situations. Of course the poet goes to work with the greatest circumspection. Sir Toby has made some inquiry about Malvolio, to which Maria answers (ii. 3):-- "_Maria_. Marry, sir, sometimes he is a kind of Puritan. "_Sir Andrew_. O! if I thought that, I'd beat him like a dog. "_Sir Toby_. What, for being a Puritan? thy exquisite reason, dear knight? "_Sir And_. I have no exquisite reason for't, but I have reason good enough. "_Mar_. The devil a Puritan that he is, or anything constantly but a time-pleaser; an affectioned ass, that cons state without book, and utters it by great swarths." Not otherwise does Molière expressly insist that Tartuffe is not a clergyman, and Holberg that Jacob von Tyboe is not an officer.