in this book my good
will if not good work to the threefold and thrice happy memory of the
three who have written of Shakespeare as never man wrote, nor ever man
may write again; to the everlasting praise and honour and glory of
Charles Lamb, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Walter Savage Landor;
"wishing," I hardly dare to say, "what I write may be read by their
light." The play of plays, which is _Cymbeline_, remains alone to
receive the last salute of all my love.

I think, as far as I can tell, I may say I have always loved this one
beyond all other children of Shakespeare. The too literal egoism of this
profession will not be attributed by any candid or even commonly honest
reader to the violence of vanity so much more than comical as to make me
suppose that such a record or assurance could in itself be matter of
interest to any man: but simply to the real and simple reason, that I
wish to show cause for my choice of this work to wind up with, beyond the
mere chance of its position at the close of the chaotically inconsequent
catalogue of contents affixed to the first edition. In this casualty--for
no good thing can reasonably be ascribed to design on the part of the
first editors--there would seem to be something more than usual of what
we may call, if it so please us, a happy providence. It is certain that
no studious arrangement could possibly have brought the book to a happier
end. Here is depth enough with height enough of tragic beauty and
passion, terror and love and pity, to approve the presence of the most
tragic Master's hand; subtlety enough of sweet and bitter truth to attest
the passage of the mightiest and wisest scholar or teacher in the school
of the human spirit; beauty with delight enough and glory of life and
grace of nature to proclaim the advent of the one omnipotent Maker among
all who bear that name. Here above all is the most heavenly triad of
human figures that ever even Shakespeare brought together; a diviner
three, as it were a living god-garland of the noblest earth-born brothers
and loveworthiest heaven-born sister, than the very givers of all grace
and happiness to their Grecian worshippers of old time over long before.
The passion of Posthumus is noble, and potent the poison of Iachimo;
Cymbeline has enough for Shakespeare's present purpose of "the
king-becoming graces"; but we think first and last of her who was "truest
speaker" and those who "called her brother, when she was but th