SEP MAY OCT 5 2005 2006 2007 8 captures 22 Mar 05 - 15 Feb 08

Close Help

This page is still "under construction."  And seems to have fallen from the mainpage. But a new E-Mail quoted at the end seems to have cracked the case, today 17 July 2005. Way to go Stewart Young!

 

Additional Proof Marlowe Wrote Shakespeare's Sonnets:

 

January 27, 2005

Ok. Many modern readers simply don’t understand how Elizabethans approached their literary studies and works. They weren’t called "works" for nothing. Unlike many modern writers, they put long hours of planning into a work before and even while they were writing it. With this in mind, I want to direct our attention to the sonnets of Thomas Watson, which had been published while Marlowe was at Cambridge, and likely, in Watson’s circle. The published record proves Watson wrote 100 sonnets, consisting of 16 lines each.  His title, the Hekatompathia, reflects that. Shakespeare, whose volume contains 154 sonnets, one of which asks not to be counted (136), would choose a different motif, but this does not mean he wasn’t keeping a close eye on Watson’s work, one that would eventually give Watson credit as his personal talisman for the art of the sonnet. 

He did this in sonnet 76 where Watson's name is cleverly encoded as an acrostic, as we shall soon see. We shall also discover there was a reason for it appearing in sonnet 76, one that links it directly to Watson's manuscript of the Hekatompathia, now safely housed at the British Library.  This debt to Watson may also be gleamed, for example, Shakespeare’s use of the word "weed," in Sonnet 76. It meant "clothing" or "apparel," but in this case "style." He wrote:

Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed,

The "weed" or style he was thinking about turns out to have been Watson’s. In fact the word "weed" appears in Watson’s sonnet 75, "in shepherds weed," or just one sonnet before Shakespeare’s.  Shepherds were often associated with poets and, of course, Marlowe's famous shepherd was Tamburlaine, given to speaking in the highest language yet to appear in English.   So he appears to have had Watson’s book open on his desk before him or, knew it by rote. The one sonnet recalling the other.  

Shakespeare has been caught at this "game" many times, frequently "plagiarizing" entire passages and in some cases conjoining on his sheet two or more writers at once, focusing their thought. For example he combined, as Dover Wilson first pointed out, a passage from Nashe and one from Spenser, to make the famous description of men at arms in Henry IV, the one that runs, "I saw young Hary with his beaver on..."  Shakespeare’s superior verbal and literary skills always resulted in the improving of his primary sources, so much so, that many scholars have likened his touch to Midas: turning dross into gold. Even if it weren’t for this word, we’d know that Shakespeare had Watson on his mind here because in this very sonnet, 76, uses Watson’s name as an acrostic.

76. Why is my verse so barren of new pride? So far from variation or quick change? Why with the time do I not glance aside To new found methods and to compounds strange? Why write I still all one, ever the same, And keep invention in a noted weed, That every word doth almost fell my name, Showing their birth, and where they did proceed? O, know, sweet love, I always write of you, And you and love are still my argument;                   So all my best is dressing old words new, Spending again what is already spent: For as the Sun is daily new and old, So is my love still telling what is told.

Can you spot it? Stratfordians have been claiming for three centuries that they can’t, but it begins with the initial "T" in line four and continues for eight more lines ending in "And." So we have this acrostic: "TWATSOAnd." Sounds just like "T. Watson, right?" The odds of this string calculate out to be 5.4 trillion to one, or 24^ 24^th power. So we can be confident it is no accident, particularly when the content of the poem is clearly calling to mind the Poet’s lost mentor. He might have turned out to have been Marlowe, who is certainly on Shakespeare’s mind more often than any one else or Ovid or the mysterious "rival poet." But the acrostic ends the debate. Shakespeare thought of Thomas Watson as his progenitor. And wrote this sonnet, along with its acrostic to remind himself and the world of it.

Now I began by remarking that Watson and other Elizabethan poets put more time and effort into their works than modern poets seem to. Let prove this by quoting Watson’s own remarks about this hidden effort and then showing his proof of it. The following author’s note appears just before sonnet 80 in Watson book:

M Y L O V E I S P A S T . All such as are but of indifferent capacity, and have some skill in Arithmetic, by viewing this Sonnet following compiled by rule and number, into the form of a pillar, may soon judge how much art and study the Author hath bestowed in the same. Wherein as there are placed many pretty observations, so these which I will set down, may be marked for the principal, if any man have such idle leisure to look it over, as the Author had, when he framed it. First therefore it is to be noted that the whole pillar (except the basis or foot thereof) is by relation of either half to the other Antithetical or Antisyllabical. Secondly, how this poesy (Amare est infanire) runneth twice throughout ye Column, if ye gather but the first letter of every whole verse orderly (excepting the two last) and then in like manner take but the last letter of every one of the said 3 verses, as they stand. Thirdly is to be observed that every verse, but the two last, doth end with the same letter it beginneth, and yet throughout the whole a true time is perfectly observed, although not after our accustomed manner. Fourthly, that the foot of the pillar is Orchematicall that is to say, founded by transilition or over-skipping of number by rule and order, as from 1 to 3, 5, 7, and 9; the secret virtue whereof may be learned in Trithemius,(1) as namely by tables of transilition to decipher anything that is written by secret transposition of letters, be it never so cunningly conveyed. And lastly, this observation is not to be neglected, that when all the foresaid particulars as performed, the whole pillar is but just 18 verses, as will appear in the page following it, Per modum expansionis. 1. Polygraphiae suae, lib. 5.

I dare say for the modern reader this will be pretty senseless. But Watson then goes to the trouble to make at least some of it apprehensible to us, for this is what we encounter next:

LXXXI. M Y   L O V E   I S   P A S T. A Pasquine Piller erected in the despite of Love. 1     At A   2   last, though 3   late,      farewell 4   old  well  a  day  :  A m   5   Mirth or mischance strike a 6   up a newe alarM, And    m 7   Cypria          la          nemica r   8     miA   Retire   to   Cyprus   Isle,     a e   9   and ceafeth thy waRR, Else must thou prove how   r E   10   Reason   can   by   charmE     Enforce   to   flight   thy   e s   11    blindfold  brat  and  thee.  So frames it with me now,    E t   12    that   I   confesS,  The   life  I   led  in  Love  deuoid   s / t I   12   of resT,  It  was  a  Hell,  where  none  felt  more  than  I,  I n/s    11      Nor   any   with   like   miseries   forlorN.      Since    n a   10     therefore   now   my   woes   are   wexed   lesS,  And   s     9    Reason       bids       me    leave    old    welladA,      a n      8      No    longer    shall     the    world    laugh    me i   7   to fcorN: I'le choose a path that   n r   6   shall not lead awrie. Rest   i    5   then with me from your  4  blind Cupids carR  r e.   3   Each one of 2   you, that 1   serve, 3   and would be 5   freE. H'is dooble thrall   e. 7   that liu's as Love thinks best, whose 9   hande still Tyrant like to hurt is prefte.(1) 1. Huius Columnae Basis, pro silla- barum numero et linearum proportione est Orchematica.. LXXXII. M Y   L O V E   I S   P A S T. Expansio Columnae praecedentis. A   At last, though late, farewell old wellada;             A m   Mirth for mischance strike up a new alarm;          m a   And Ciprya la nemica mia                                  a r   Retire to Cyprus Ile and cease thy war,                  r e   Else must thou prove how Reason can by charm   e E   Enforce to flight thy blindfold brat and thee.          E s   So frames it with me now, that I confess                s t   The life I led in Love devoid of rest                        t I   It was a Hell, where none felt more than I,             I n   Nor any with like miseries forlorn.                         n s   Since therefore now my woes are waxed less,       s a   And Reason bids me leave old wellada,                a n   No longer shall the world laugh me to scorn:         n i    I'll choose a path that shall not lead awry.              i r   Rest then with me from your blind Cupid's car        r e   Each one of you that serve and would be free.       e ,,   His double thrall that Liv's as Love thinks best (1) ,, ,,   Whose hand still Tyrant-like to hurt is press't,        ,, 1. (in Greek). Sophoe, in Aia. flagell.

Pretty impressive isn’t it? Clearly a lot of work went into it. Professor Fowler says much the same sort of effort went into Shakespeare’s sonnets. All sorts of cleverly hidden "structures." Fowler’s book on this is, Triumphal Forms: Structural Patterns in Elizabethan Poetry (1970) and it proves beyond a doubt Shakespeare was deep into numerology throughout the Sonnets. For example the number of the sonnets is a pyramid number and they can be "stacked" to form a regular triangle with a base of 17, like this:

only on both sides and then up to just one.  The numbers and the placement of various sonnets suggest that the author had some sort of hidden plan in mind, similar to Watson’s, but not just for a single sonnet, rather for the entire group or "set," as mathematicians might call it.  Remember that strange one about the poet's eye having gone blind on him?  Here it is:

113. Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind, And that which governs me to go about Doth part his function, and is partly blind, Seems seeing, but effectually is out; For it no form delivers to the heart

Some Marlovians suppose this alludes to Marlowe having lost an eye or the sight in it at Deptford.  But if we follow out the Poet's use of the word "eye" and "eyes" throughout the sonnets, we'll see he continues to speak of having two eyes, even just ahead in sonnet 119, where he writes, "How have mine eyes out of their Spheres been fitted In the distraction of this madding fever!"  Or in 137 where we find "what dost thou to mine eyes.."  Later in this same sonnet we find:

Which my heart knows the wide world's common place? Or mine eyes seeing this, say this is not, To put fair truth upon so foul a face?

So 113 is metaphoric, the Poet isn't actually blind, but blinded by his loss.  What's important to our note is that when the sonnets are arranged in the regular triangle with a base of 17, as shown partly above, this sonnet, 113, ends up in the center towards the top, much like the eye of Hors seen in the U.S. dollar bill, which was designed using the same "Masonic" numerology as the Sonnets.  An art then popular in both Scotland and England and easily tracing back to Watson and Dee.  

Just to make certain we didn’t over look it, he reminds us of it in sonnet 123, itself a special number:

123. No! Time, thou shalt not boast that I do change: Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; They are but dressings of a former sight.

Notice he’s also nudging us to pay particular attention to this skill calling it the result of a "former sight."   Let's glance at sonnet 136, the one that asked to be left out of the count:

Among a number one is reckoned none: Then in the number let me pass untold, Though in thy store's account I one must be,

That's pretty mathematical language.  He knows that "among a number one is reckoned none," and yet that in the accounting, one must be reckoned with. 

In any case we hope we’ve made our point perfectly clear. Both Watson and Shakespeare took extra pains to create a type of sonnets that were not simply incidental. They were "mathematical."  Designed to hide internal messages, some as simple as acrostics, some much more complex. And Shakespeare’s have certainly withstood the test of time.

So with this context in mind we must now pay strict attention to the middle line in Shakespeare's sonnet 76, the one nestled within the Watson acrostic. Modern authorities claim it reads "That every word doth almost tell my name."   Which is suggestive of a riddle or a hidden letter game, where the letters might "almost" tell the poet's name.

Now the context is very clear. He’s told readers, through the acrostic and the text of the poem, that Watson was his inspiration and model and now he’s going even further, telling us that his relationship is so close to Watson that it should be obvious to all, because, "every word doth almost tell my name." Now tradition has it that the Poet’s name is "William Shakespeare," so we should be able to spot this name "embedded" or "hidden" in the line. Indeed Oxfordians, who believe Edward De Vere wrote these sonnets, and the rest of Shakespeare as well, have long pointed out that "every word doth" contains an anagram, almost, for "Edward De Vere." 

E

V

E

R

Y

W

O

R

D

D

O

T

H

E

D

W

R

D

D

E

V

E

R

E

It's not perfect, but you get the idea. The peculiar thing for Stratfordians is that none of the words can be "morphed" into Shakespeare. There’s only one "s" in the original line and neither the necessary "k" or "p". So none of these letters can be changed into the name "William Shakespeare." 

On the other hand, they easily morph into "Morley" and "Marley," two then common forms of Marlowe's name.  In fact both names appear twice among the letters, since there are two m's, two o's, two r's, two l's, two e's, two y's, and two a's.  Since there is also one "w,"  the last name "Marlowe," Christopher’s formal name, the one that has come down to us on the cover of his works, can also be plucked easily out of that line:

That every word doth almost tell my name. Morley,  Morley , Marley, Marley and Marlowe

Now this proves nothing. But it is certainly interesting.  Particularly so when we remember Marlowe and Watson were friends and that Marlowe brought out a book of Watson’s amorous love poems which he dedicated to Mary Sidney Herbert the Countess of Pembroke, William Herbert’s bother and Philip Sidney’s sister in 1592, shortly after Watson's death. Indeed Shakespeare is called Watson heir in 1595, in a context suggesting him Marlowe:

All praiseworthy Lucrecia, Sweet Shake-speare.  Eloquent Gaveston, Wanton Adonis, Watson's heyre.

To avoid this Stratfordians claim "W.C." the author of Polimanteia, must have been alluding to another poet, but the fact his that Gaveston was Marlowe's character in Edward II, while  Adonis was "Shakespeare's."  Since the sonnet are supposed to have been circulating among Shakespeare's private friends about this same time (1595) one of them, W. C., may have seen this sonnet and the acrostic and simply put two and two together, thus calling Shakespeare, Watson's heir.  Shakespeare and Watson, of course, are known to have known one another, but what is negative evidence to Stratfordians?

In any case I thought to take the time to see if the line might actually anagram into something meaningful. First a few simple rules. With 32 possible combination, there are going to several "messages."  One might, for example say, "Marlowe not Shakespeare wrote this."  The other, "Shakespeare not Marlowe wrote this."  So any solution is going to be tenuous.  The big picture is, however, if the Poet, like Watson, had something hidden in the form of the sonnet, or in its letters, the fact that we might "discover" other meanings does not negate this underlying fact.  If he saw the letters recombining to form a specific phrase, something like "Marlowe wrote this not Shakespeare, Thomas Thorpe," then that was what he had in mind and we are, if suggest, being invited to try our wits against his.  To see what we can find.  That's the nature of this game and games similar to it.  

Now for those pesky rules. We cannot have left-over letters, as the Oxfordians do, when they morph "every" into "Vere."  We can, however, have a missing letter or two, which can be written with an apostrophe, but we’d rather not. Letters that mirror one another, like "d" and "b" or "m" and "w," are generally considered fair game, in such an exercise, and can be read as either one or the other or sometimes as both. But many modern readers will consider this double reading a form of cheating. So I’m making the rule we have to use all the letters and there can be no mirroring. I’m also stipulating the anagrammed phrase or message has to be sensible, prima facie.   This does not mean we can't eventually shift a word like "present" from meaning "here" to meaning "gift," a bit of word play used by Emily Dickinson.  Or "do" to "dew" or "due," as Shakespeare does in Henry IV.  Indeed, in the final analysis, the use a synonym for a word that doesn't fit the meter or sound right to modern ears, such as "wrote" for "made," or "news" for "hot" or "escaped" for "fled."  Is legal.

Our next two rules allow us to take an Elizabethan spelling and to use letters that sound alike, such as "y" for  "e" or "i," if  need be, because they were regularly interchanged in the Elizabethan age. For example we might spell "Henry" as "Henrie," as John Hayward did in his history, The Life and Raigne of King Henrie IIII, or as "Hynry," as "Dering" or Hand A did in the manuscript of Henry IV.  We can also, in the final version, expand contractions and abbreviations if it improves meaning or the sound. (I’m intentionally overlooking period printing characteristics, which, for example, printed the single "v" as a "u," as it did in "Every."  Since we all know, is spelled with a "v" and would have been written that way in the manuscript, but printed as a "u" because of preiod printing traditions. Sound-a-likes are, of course, legal. So "c" may mean "see" or "sea," as can "se," if it is not part of a foreign phrase, particularly Spanish. 

So let’s look at it again, it reads "That every word doth almost tell my name," in all modern editions. However the original text was just a bit different, rather than reading "tell" it read "fel."   So let’s see at it just as it was printed: "That eu[v]ery word doth almost fel my name." This gives us 32 letters, one of which was an "f".  Intuitively "fel" seems obviously wrong, to modern readers, who will think it must have been intended to have been "tell" or "sell" or, perhaps, "spell," so we can and should view it as a key, a sort of "invitation" to look deeper.  First it begs for us to notice it and second invites us to correct it.  Third it smacks of having a hidden meaning where the "f" might be used in the solution.  

Indeed David Crystal, in Shakespeare's Words, reminds us that "fell" was the outside of a hide.  So, if it is not a misprint, we are being told something inside is being hidden by an outside hide.  And it is a play on words. Shakespeare uses the word this way twice, once in Lear and earlier in As You Like It, referring to Touchstone, a name full of meanings to Marlovians.  By substitution what Shakespeare was saying was, "That every word doth almost hide my name."   It's a marvelous bit of word play that has been completely missed by commentators.  It's meaning, of course, is essentially the same as "every word doth almost tell my name."    The important difference is that "fell" or some form of it, my well be the clue required for the proper solution.  This use of "fell" as a verb, marks an OED first and was submitted, as such, to the Editors of the OED:

http://www.oed.com/cgi-bin/submission.cgi

To work this kind of puzzle it helps to construct a table with 32 columns and two rows, like this:

T

h

a

t

e

v

e

r

y

w

o

r

d

d

o

t

h

a

l

m

o

s

t

f

e

l

m

y

n

a

m e

This way we can match the two lines and make certain we haven’t missed anything. Since I’ve already done this I can plug in the anagram I discovered like this:

T

h

a

t

e

v

e

r

y

w

o

r

d

d

o

t

h

a

l

m

o

s

t

f

e

l

m

y

n

a

m e

H

o

t

t

M

a

r

l

o

w

e

f

l

e

d

t

o

s

e

m

a

d

e

H

y

n

r

y

V

T

a m

We can translate that into good modern English so it reads, "Hot! Marlowe fled to sea, made Henry V, Tam." Another version would read, "Hot! Marlowe fed to see [or sea], made Henry V, am T.T."    "T.T." were the initials of the publisher of the Sonnets, Thomas Thorpe, and appear as initials on the dedication page, "T. T." They reappear in the next sonnet, as an acrostic,

. 77. Thy glass will show thee how thy beauties (wear), Thy dial how thy precious minutes waste, The vacant leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, And of this book this learning mayst thou taste. The wrinkles which thy glass will truly show, Of mouthed graves will give thee memory: Thou by thy dial's shady stealth mayst know Time's thievish progress to eternity. Look what thy memory cannot contain Commit to these waste blacks, and thou shalt find Those children nursed, delivered from thy brain, To take a new acquaintance of thy mind. These offices, so oft as thou wilt look, Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy book.

Given all the words that allude to printing, i.e., "book," used twice, along with "imprint," "leaves," and "waste blacks," we can be certain the author had printing on his mind and "T.T.," whose initials are dead center in the sonnet. They are also, it turns out, dead center in the sonnets themselves, since sonnet 77 is the middle sonnet. (77 + 77 = 154; and there are 154 sonnets in the book.) On the other hand, Tamburlaine, was, of course, Marlowe’s well-known character and it was this name that had been attached to the so called "Dutch Church Libels" in May of 1593, which had resulted in Kyd’s arrest and torture and from that, Marlowe’s arrest, a week later.  So there is some reason to suspect "Tam." was what the Poet had in mind and not "Am, T. T." Against this reading "Hot" has to have two "t"s. Not impossible in that age, but not as nice for modern eyes as "Hot." 

Either version, "Hott! Marlowe fled to sea, made Henry V, Tam." or "Hot! Marlowe fled to see, made Henry V, am T.T." confirms the same message. "See" actually has two meanings, one is the province or the domain of a religious figure, such as the Pope or a Bishop. Emilia, for example, is the "see" of Ferrara, where the manuscripts of Othello’s source were kept, Cinthio’s papers. So I for one like "se" here because it is playful and has at least three meanings.  Moreover it is certainly suggestive of Marlowe's mission that Spring, which would to Scotland on the issue of the Spanish Blanks.  Later Marlowe would live in Valladolid, Spain and help Cervantes with Don Quixote, as has now been well proven (click here).  

"Hot" sounds a bit modern, but it was used in just this way in Shakespeare’s age. He never uses it himself as news, but he would certainly have understood it as "news."  So using the rule of substitution of synonyms we can now write:  "News! Marlowe fled to sea/see, wrote Henry V, Tamburlaine.  Or, if it sounds better, we can say it describes his condition, i.e., hot-blooded.  So in that case we'd have, "Hot Marlowe fled to sea, made Henry V. Tamburlaine."  Which has, if I'm not mistaken, a more Marlovian ring to it. It means, "Angry, Marlowe escaped to sea, wrote Henry V, Tamburlaine."  And there is even a third meaning for "hot," which was "close to hand," as we see in Richard II, "with horses hot to hand..."

Now Stratfordians are welcome to see what they can do to foster a match, but I point out that even the match has meaning. Notice in our table:

T

h

a

t

e

v

e

r

y

w

o

r

d

d

o

t

h

a

l

m

o

s

t

f

e

l

m

y

n

a

m e

H

o

t

M

a

r

l

o

w

e

f

l

e

d

t

o

s

e

m

a

d

e

H

y

n

r

y

V

a

m

T T

There is a double cross in the center, dead center as a matter of fact, and just before it a perfect 180 alignment. Both Thorpe and the Poet would have known this.  Just as they both knew that this line, "That every word doth almost fell my name," is the seventh line of this sonnet or the middle line.

Since Marlowe "double crossed" the Crown in faking his death and fleeing first to France (by sea) and then on to Scotland, also by sea, to be in the see of James VI, this double-cross may have an additional meaning.  Earlier I cited the larger number 5.4 trillion that binds the odds against finding the letters "TWATSOAnd" as an acrostic in sonnet 76.  The odds against finding that these letters morph into this message are 32^32, a much larger number, one larger than the number of seconds in the age of the universe. 

News! Marlowe fled to sea.  Wrote Henry V. Tamburlaine.

Stratfordians would love to discover that the line morphs into something like "I Shakespeare wrote these sonnets."  Unfortunately, for them, it doesn't.    Marlowe wrote these sonnets, after fleeing beyond the seas, first to Calais, then on to Scotland and afterwards to Valladolid and Italy.  Just as he signals us in sonnet 71, "Give warning to the world that I am fled" .  Or the same word "fel" morphed to.

Believe it or not I have saved a piece of evidence that connects Marlowe to this poem even more closely.  I began this essay by reminding us Marlowe published Watson's amorous love poems, in Latin, and dedicated them to Mary Sidney Herbert.  This happened in November 1592, shortly after Watson's death.  So there can be no doubt Marlowe had access to Watson's papers.  The British Library now has Watson's presentation copy of Hekatompathia.  It is in a lovely Italic or Italian hand very similar to that of the Timon, ms., now known Marlowe's and to the Dutch Church Libels.  According to Professor Dana Sutton, the world authority on Watson and on this manuscript, Watson had intended to end his sonnets on sonnet 76 and then, for unknown reasons, added 24 more sonnets to it (the same number of letters in the alphabet).  We proved that the author of the Sonnets was thinking of Watson when he wrote this sonnet and noted that Watson had used the word "weed" in his sonnet 75, the same word that appears in Sonnet 76.  But no reader of the printed text would have known Watson planned to end his sonnet cycle at 76, since the printed text shows nothing but continuity here....only someone who had access to Watson's papers would have known this.  Someone like Professor Sutton or Christopher Marlowe.  

The placement here thus reflects something that Marlowe, and Marlowe alone, knew about Watson's sonnets.  Indeed since Marlowe and Watson overlapped at Cambridge, Marlowe may have transcribed them for him, so these sheets, nestled securely in the British Library, may actually be in Marlowe's hand, rather than Watson's.  Whatever may prove the case about that, this line, so central to the Sonnets, morphs into solid proof that Marlowe lived on.  He escaped by sea.  He escaped to see.  He escaped to live in a see.  He went to Scotland on Spanish issues. He later lived in Spain, as a letter to the Privy Council proves. He wrote not only these Sonnets, but Henry V and the rest of the canon as well. He signaled us with the use of the word "fel", which all Stratfordians have mindlessly corrected to "tel." 

The usage in Lear is worthy of our full attention. Here’s the passage, Lear is addressing Cordelia, his ideal daughter and self:

Have I caught thee? He that parts us shall bring a brand from heaven, And fire us hence like foxes. Wipe thine eyes; The good-years shall devour them, flesh and fell.       V.iii.21-24

Yes indeed we have caught them. And we have separated them, with a fire from heaven, with a brand. Shakespeare was Marlowe and he tells us so himself.

Hot Marlowe fled to sea, made Henry V. Tamburlaine.  Or "Marlowe fled hot to sea, made Hynry V. Tam.  Since, as we have seen, "hot" may also mean "close to hand," as in Richard II, when he writes "with horses hot to hand," we could write, "Marlowe, hott to sea, fled, wrote Hynry V. Tam."  Which we could convert by synonyms to the modern message:  "Marlowe, close to sea, escaped, made Henry V. Tamburlaine."  Or "Am, T. T." for Thomas Thorpe, the publisher. 

Don't you love it?  I'll take either one.

~Return to John Baker's Home Page~