Letters from Shakespeare

We know of but one letter to Shakespeare in his lifetime written by his friend Richard Quiney on 25th october 1598.

1598 Oct 25 Letter from Richard Quiney asking for a L30 loan. This is the only letter that has ever been found addressed to William Shakspere of Stratford. It is addressed “H[aste] To my Loveinge good ffrend & contreymann Mr Wm. Shackespere deliver thees.” (Shakespeare Birthplace Trust Records Office, MS. ER 27/4.)

Loveinge Contreyman, I am bolde of yowe as of a ffrende, craveinge yowre helpe with xxxll vppon Mr Bushells & my securytee or Mr Myttons with me. Mr Rosswell is nott come to London as yeate & I have especiall cawse. Yowe shall ffrende me muche in helpeinge me out of all the debettes I owe in London, I thancke god, & muche quiet my mynde which wolde nott be indebeted. I am nowe towardes the Cowrte in hope of answer for the dispatche of my Buysenes. Yowe shall neither loase creddytt nor monney by me, the Lorde wyllinge, & nowe butt perswade yowre selfe soe as I hope & yowe shall nott need to feare butt with all hartie thanckefullenes I will holde my tyme & content yowre ffrende, & yf we Bargaine farther yowe shalbe the paiemaster yowre self. My tyme biddes me hasten to an ende & soe I committ thys [to] yowre care & hope of yowre helpe. I feare I shall nott be backe thys night ffrom the Cowrte. Haste. The Lorde be with yowe & with vs all Amen. ffrom the Bell in Carter Lane the 25 October 1598. Yowres in all kyndenes Ryc. Quyney.

(handwritten) (EKC II, 102; SS 180, with facs.)

11c. 1598 Nov 4 Letter from Abraham Sturley to Richard Quiney. It is addressed: “To his most lovinge brother, Mr Richard Quinej, att the Bell in Carterlane att London, geve these.” (Misc. Document 1, 136, Birthplace Museum, Stratford).

SOURCE: http://genforum.genealogy.com/quiney/messages/4.html

Abraham Sturley mentioned above wrote a letter before all of this to his brother in which he says:

1598-1-24: Letter. Abraham Sturley wrote to his brother-in-law that

“our countriman mr Shaksper is willing to disburse some monei upon some od yardeland or other Shottrei or neare about us…”

(Shakespeare Birthplace Trust Records Office, Misc. Doc. I, 135).

The Shakespeare as property buyer and money-lender had some basis in historical fact.

That Shakespeare never once wrote to his wife, as Edward Alleyne did, adds perhaps fuel to the idea that he didn’t like his wife. Ben Jonson wrote letters too and was the subject of letters.

But that Shakespeare didn’t write letters is nonsense. His plays are full of them.

All’s Well’s Helena reads letter from Bertram to the Countess:
Look on his letter, madam; here’s my passport.
[Reads]
When thou canst get the ring upon my finger which
never shall come off, and show me a child begotten
of thy body that I am father to, then call me 1460
husband: but in such a ‘then’ I write a ‘never.’
Then adds:
Till I have no wife I have nothing in France.’

Tullus Aufidius this in Coriolanus:
Is it not yours?
What ever have been thought on in this state,
That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome
Had circumvention? ‘Tis not four days gone
Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think
I have the letter here; yes, here it is.
[Reads]
‘They have press’d a power, but it is not known
Whether for east or west: the dearth is great;
The people mutinous; and it is rumour’d,
Cominius, CORIOLANUS your old enemy,
Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,
And Titus TITUS, a most valiant Roman,
These three lead on this preparation
Whither ’tis bent: most likely ’tis for you:
Consider of it.’

In Cymbeline,
Imogen reads a letter from Posthumus her husband shown by Pisanio their servant:
[Reads] ‘Thy mistress, Pisanio, hath played the
strumpet in my bed; the testimonies whereof lie
bleeding in me. I speak not out of weak surmises,
but from proof as strong as my grief and as certain
as I expect my revenge. That part thou, Pisanio,
must act for me, if thy faith be not tainted with
the breach of hers. Let thine own hands take away
her life: I shall give thee opportunity at
Milford-Haven. She hath my letter for the purpose
where, if thou fear to strike and to make me certain
it is done, thou art the pandar to her dishonour and
equally to me disloyal.’

Later in Act 5 the soothsayer reads this:

‘When as a lion’s whelp shall, to himself
unknown, without seeking find, and be embraced by a
piece of tender air; and when from a stately cedar
shall be lopped branches, which, being dead many
years, shall after revive, be jointed to the old
stock, and freshly grow; then shall Posthumus end
his miseries, Britain be fortunate and flourish in
peace and plenty.’

Thou, Leonatus, art the lion’s whelp;
The fit and apt construction of thy name,
Being Leonatus, doth import so much.
[To CYMBELINE]
The piece of tender air, thy virtuous daughter,
Which we call ‘mollis aer;’ and ‘mollis aer’
We term it ‘mulier:’ which ‘mulier’ I divine
Is this most constant wife; who, even now,
Answering the letter of the oracle,
Unknown to you, unsought, were clipp’d about
With this most tender air.

The Hamlet plot turns also on letters.
The first of which Polonius reads to the King and Queen:

‘To the celestial, and my soul’s idol, the most beautified Ophelia,’

That’s an ill phrase, a vile phrase; ‘beautified’ is a vile phrase.
But you shall hear. Thus:
[Reads.]
‘In her excellent white bosom, these, &c.’

Gertrude. Came this from Hamlet to her?

Polonius. Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful. [Reads.]

‘Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love.
‘O dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to
reckon my groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe
it. Adieu.
‘Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to
him, HAMLET.’

Later Hamlet sends letters to Horatio for the King via some pirates he befriended whilst at sea.

‘Horatio, when thou shalt have overlook’d
this, give these fellows some means to the King. They have
letters for him. Ere we were two days old at sea, a pirate of
very warlike appointment gave us chase. Finding ourselves too
slow of sail, we put on a compelled valour, and in the grapple I
boarded them. On the instant they got clear of our ship; so I
alone became their prisoner. They have dealt with me like thieves
of mercy; but they knew what they did: I am to do a good turn for
them. Let the King have the letters I have sent, and repair thou
to me with as much speed as thou wouldst fly death. I have words
to speak in thine ear will make thee dumb; yet are they much too
light for the bore of the matter. These good fellows will bring
thee where I am. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern hold their course
for England. Of them I have much to tell thee. Farewell.
‘He that thou knowest thine, HAMLET.’

And perhaps Hamlet voices Shakespeare’s own thoughts on writing letters in this exchange about the commissioned letter Rosencrantz and Guildernstern were carrying to the King of England.

Hamlet. Here’s the commission; read it at more leisure.
But wilt thou bear me how I did proceed?

Horatio. I beseech you.

Hamlet. Being thus benetted round with villanies,
Or I could make a prologue to my brains,
They had begun the play. I sat me down;
Devis’d a new commission; wrote it fair.
I once did hold it, as our statists do,
A baseness to write fair, and labour’d much
How to forget that learning; but, sir, now
It did me yeoman’s service. Wilt thou know
Th’ effect of what I wrote?

Horatio. Ay, good my lord.

Hamlet. An earnest conjuration from the King,
As England was his faithful tributary,
As love between them like the palm might flourish,
As peace should still her wheaten garland wear
And stand a comma ‘tween their amities,
And many such-like as’s of great charge,
That, on the view and knowing of these contents,
Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
Not shriving time allow’d.

Horatio. How was this seal’d?

Hamlet. Why, even in that was heaven ordinant.
I had my father’s signet in my purse,
Which was the model of that Danish seal;
Folded the writ up in the form of th’ other,
Subscrib’d it, gave’t th’ impression, plac’d it safely,
The changeling never known. Now, the next day
Was our sea-fight; and what to this was sequent
Thou know’st already.

In Henry 4 part 2, Bardolph delivers Falstaff’s letter, which Poins and Prince Hal peruse,
before deciding to play a trick on him at Gadshill:

Bardolph. Well, my lord. He heard of your Grace’s coming to
There’s a letter for you.

Edward Poins. Deliver’d with good respect. And how doth the martlemas,
your master?

Bardolph. In bodily health, sir.

Edward Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that
not him. Though that be sick, it dies not.

Henry V. I do allow this well to be as familiar with me as my
dog and he holds his place, for look you how he writes.

Edward Poins. [Reads] ‘John Falstaff, knight’—Every man must know
as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those
are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger but
say ‘There’s some of the King’s blood spilt.’ ‘How comes
says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as
ready as a borrower’s cap: ‘I am the King’s poor cousin,

Henry V. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from
Japhet. But the letter: [Reads] ‘Sir John Falstaff, knight,
the son of the King nearest his father, Harry Prince of
greeting.’

Edward Poins. Why, this is a certificate.

Henry V. Peace! [Reads] ‘I will imitate the honourable Romans
brevity.’-

Edward Poins. He sure means brevity in breath, short-winded.

Henry V. [Reads] ‘I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I
leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses
favours so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister
Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.
Thine, by yea and no—which is as much as to say as
thou usest him—JACK FALSTAFF with my familiars,
JOHN with my brothers and sisters, and SIR JOHN with
all Europe.’

In Julius Caesar a letter is delivered to Brutus:

Brutus. The exhalations whizzing in the air
Give so much light that I may read by them.
[Opens the letter and reads]
‘Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake, and see thyself.
Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!
Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake!’
Such instigations have been often dropp’d
Where I have took them up.
‘Shall Rome, &c.’ Thus must I piece it out:
Shall Rome stand under one man’s awe? What, Rome?
My ancestors did from the streets of Rome
The Tarquin drive, when he was call’d a king.
‘Speak, strike, redress!’ Am I entreated
To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise:
If the redress will follow, thou receivest
Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!

In King Lear, kent receives a letter from Cordelia:

Earl of Kent.
Good King, that must approve the common saw,
Thou out of heaven’s benediction com’st
To the warm sun!
Approach, thou beacon to this under globe,
That by thy comfortable beams I may
Peruse this letter. Nothing almost sees miracles
But misery. I know ’tis from Cordelia,
Who hath most fortunately been inform’d
Of my obscured course- and [reads]

‘shall find time
From this enormous state, seeking to give
Losses their remedies’-

All weary and o’erwatch’d,
Take vantage, heavy eyes, not to behold
This shameful lodging.
Fortune, good night; smile once more, turn thy wheel.

In another sub-plot plot turn,
Edmund the bastard tricks his father with a letter
from his legitimate son Edgar:

Edmund, how now? What news?

Edmund. So please your lordship, none.

[Puts up the letter.]

Earl of Gloucester. Why so earnestly seek you to put up that letter?

Edmund. I know no news, my lord.

Earl of Gloucester. What paper were you reading?

Edmund. Nothing, my lord.

Earl of Gloucester. No? What needed then that terrible dispatch of it into your
pocket? The quality of nothing hath not such need to hide
itself. Let’s see. Come, if it be nothing, I shall not need
spectacles.

Edmund. I beseech you, sir, pardon me. It is a letter from my brother
that I have not all o’er-read; and for so much as I have
perus’d, I find it not fit for your o’erlooking.

Earl of Gloucester. Give me the letter, sir.

Edmund. I shall offend, either to detain or give it. The contents,
in part I understand them, are to blame.

Earl of Gloucester. Let’s see, let’s see!

Edmund. I hope, for my brother’s justification, he wrote this but as
an essay or taste of my virtue.

Earl of Gloucester. [reads]
‘This policy and reverence of age makes the world
bitter to the best of our times; keeps our fortunes from us
till our oldness cannot relish them. I begin to find an idle
and fond bondage in the oppression of aged tyranny, who sways,
not as it hath power, but as it is suffer’d. Come to me, that
of this I may speak more. If our father would sleep till I
wak’d him, you should enjoy half his revenue for ever, and live
the beloved of your brother,
‘EDGAR.’

My son Edgar! Had he a hand to write this? a heart
and brain to breed it in? When came this to you? Who brought it?

Edmund. It was not brought me, my lord: there’s the cunning of it. I
found it thrown in at the casement of my closet.

Earl of Gloucester. You know the character to be your brother’s?

Edmund. If the matter were good, my lord, I durst swear it were his;
but in respect of that, I would fain think it were not.

Earl of Gloucester. It is his.

Edmund. It is his hand, my lord; but I hope his heart is not in the
contents.

A reversal of the plot turns Edgar into the one who intercepts letters meant for Edmund from Lear’s daughter Goneril. Edgar has killed her servant Oswald, who carried the letters.

Edgar. Sit you down, father; rest you.
Let’s see his pockets; these letters that he speaks of
May be my friends. He’s dead. I am only sorry
He had no other deathsman. Let us see.
Leave, gentle wax; and, manners, blame us not.
To know our enemies’ minds, we’ld rip their hearts;
Their papers, is more lawful. Reads the letter.
‘Let our reciprocal vows be rememb’red. You have many
opportunities to cut him off. If your will want not, time and
place will be fruitfully offer’d. There is nothing done, if he
return the conqueror. Then am I the prisoner, and his bed my
jail; from the loathed warmth whereof deliver me, and supply the
place for your labour.
‘Your (wife, so I would say) affectionate servant, ‘Goneril.’

Love’s Labours Lost also contains letters. This time for comic effect about the dullard Costard written by Don Armado:

Ferdinand. Will you hear this letter with attention?

Biron. As we would hear an oracle.

Costard. Such is the simplicity of man to hearken after the flesh.

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘Great deputy, the welkin’s vicegerent and
sole dominator of Navarre, my soul’s earth’s god,
and body’s fostering patron.’

Costard. Not a word of Costard yet.

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘So it is,’—

Costard. It may be so: but if he say it is so, he is, in
telling true, but so.

Ferdinand. Peace!

Costard. Be to me and every man that dares not fight!

Ferdinand. No words!

Costard. Of other men’s secrets, I beseech you.

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘So it is, besieged with sable-coloured
melancholy, I did commend the black-oppressing humour
to the most wholesome physic of thy health-giving
air; and, as I am a gentleman, betook myself to
walk. The time when. About the sixth hour; when
beasts most graze, birds best peck, and men sit down
to that nourishment which is called supper: so much
for the time when. Now for the ground which; which,
I mean, I walked upon: it is y-cleped thy park. Then
for the place where; where, I mean, I did encounter
that obscene and preposterous event, that draweth
from my snow-white pen the ebon-coloured ink, which
here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest, or seest;
but to the place where; it standeth north-north-east
and by east from the west corner of thy curious-
knotted garden: there did I see that low-spirited
swain, that base minnow of thy mirth,’—

Costard. Me?

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘that unlettered small-knowing soul,’—

Costard. Me?

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘that shallow vassal,’—

Costard. Still me?

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘which, as I remember, hight Costard,’—

Costard. O, me!

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘sorted and consorted, contrary to thy
established proclaimed edict and continent canon,
which with,—O, with—but with this I passion to say
wherewith,—

Costard. With a wench.

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘with a child of our grandmother Eve, a
female; or, for thy more sweet understanding, a
woman. Him I, as my ever-esteemed duty pricks me on,
have sent to thee, to receive the meed of
punishment, by thy sweet grace’s officer, Anthony
Dull; a man of good repute, carriage, bearing, and
estimation.’

Dull. ‘Me, an’t shall please you; I am Anthony Dull.

Ferdinand. [Reads] ‘For Jaquenetta,—so is the weaker vessel
called which I apprehended with the aforesaid
swain,—I keep her as a vessel of the law’s fury;
and shall, at the least of thy sweet notice, bring
her to trial. Thine, in all compliments of devoted
and heart-burning heat of duty.
DON ADRIANO DE ARMADO.’

In the Merchant of Venice a letter from Antonio the merchant is sent to his friend Bassanio:

Portia. But let me hear the letter of your friend.

Bassanio. [Reads] Sweet Bassanio, my ships have all
miscarried, my creditors grow cruel, my estate is
very low, my bond to the Jew is forfeit; and since
in paying it, it is impossible I should live, all
debts are cleared between you and I, if I might but
see you at my death. Notwithstanding, use your
pleasure: if your love do not persuade you to come,
let not my letter.

Later a letter of recommendation is sent from bellario to the Duke in Venice on behalf of Portia dressed as a young doctor t law:

Duke. This letter from Bellario doth commend
A young and learned doctor to our court.
Where is he?
Meantime the court shall hear Bellario’s letter.

Clerk. [Reads]
Your grace shall understand that at the receipt of
your letter I am very sick: but in the instant that
your messenger came, in loving visitation was with
me a young doctor of Rome; his name is Balthasar. I
acquainted him with the cause in controversy between
the Jew and Antonio the merchant: we turned o’er
many books together: he is furnished with my
opinion; which, bettered with his own learning, the
greatness whereof I cannot enough commend, comes
with him, at my importunity, to fill up your grace’s
request in my stead. I beseech you, let his lack of
years be no impediment to let him lack a reverend
estimation; for I never knew so young a body with so
old a head. I leave him to your gracious
acceptance, whose trial shall better publish his
commendation.

Duke. You hear the learn’d Bellario, what he writes:
And here, I take it, is the doctor come.
[Enter PORTIA, dressed like a doctor of laws]
Give me your hand. Come you from old Bellario?

Portia. I did, my lord.

The character Falstaff is a far more prodigious letter writer than the writer Shakespeare. Here he is again in the first farce The Merry Wives of Windsor writing to Mistress Page:

Mistress Page.
What, have I scaped love-letters in the holiday-
time of my beauty, and am I now a subject for them?
Let me see.

[Reads]
‘Ask me no reason why I love you; for though
Love use Reason for his physician, he admits him
not for his counsellor. You are not young, no more
am I; go to then, there’s sympathy: you are merry,
so am I; ha, ha! then there’s more sympathy: you
love sack, and so do I; would you desire better
sympathy? Let it suffice thee, Mistress Page,—at
the least, if the love of soldier can suffice,—
that I love thee. I will not say, pity me; ’tis
not a soldier-like phrase: but I say, love me. By me,
Thine own true knight,
By day or night,
Or any kind of light,
With all his might
For thee to fight, JOHN FALSTAFF’

But it seems I’m re-inventing the wheel with this post. A book dedicated to the Letters is written and available to partially peruse on Amazon:
Shakespeare’s letters by Alan Stewart.

And for a bit of fun with the festive season looming here are some letters to Santa written by Shakespeare’s characters.

We would be amiss if we neglect the most famous letter of them all from 12thNight.
A trick is being played on Malvolio, who thinks this letter is from his mistress commending his dress sense and encouraging his upward mobility:

Malvolio.
M, O, A, I; this simulation is not as the former: and
yet, to crush this a little, it would bow to me, for
every one of these letters are in my name. Soft!
here follows prose.

[Reads]
‘If this fall into thy hand, revolve. In my stars I
am above thee; but be not afraid of greatness: some
are born great, some achieve greatness, and some
have greatness thrust upon ’em. Thy Fates open
their hands; let thy blood and spirit embrace them;
and, to inure thyself to what thou art like to be,
cast thy humble slough and appear fresh. Be
opposite with a kinsman, surly with servants; let
thy tongue tang arguments of state; put thyself into
the trick of singularity: she thus advises thee
that sighs for thee. Remember who commended thy
yellow stockings, and wished to see thee ever
cross-gartered: I say, remember. Go to, thou art
made, if thou desirest to be so; if not, let me see
thee a steward still, the fellow of servants, and
not worthy to touch Fortune’s fingers. Farewell.
She that would alter services with thee,
THE FORTUNATE-UNHAPPY.’

Daylight and champaign discovers not more: this is
open. I will be proud, I will read politic authors,
I will baffle Sir Toby, I will wash off gross
acquaintance, I will be point-devise the very man.
I do not now fool myself, to let imagination jade
me; for every reason excites to this, that my lady
loves me. She did commend my yellow stockings of
late, she did praise my leg being cross-gartered;
and in this she manifests herself to my love, and
with a kind of injunction drives me to these habits
of her liking. I thank my stars I am happy. I will
be strange, stout, in yellow stockings, and
cross-gartered, even with the swiftness of putting
on. Jove and my stars be praised! Here is yet a
postscript.

[Reads]
‘Thou canst not choose but know who I am. If thou
entertainest my love, let it appear in thy smiling;
thy smiles become thee well; therefore in my
presence still smile, dear my sweet, I prithee.’
Jove, I thank thee: I will smile; I will do
everything that thou wilt have me.