The Rune Ciphers: Six Famous Eyewitnesses who
Knew the Mystery of William Shakespeare
DAVID L. ROPER © 2016
United Kingdom
[email protected]
Abstract—For the past four and a half centuries, William Shakespeare’s fame as both poet and playwright has remained
secure, despite increasing doubt that he actually wrote the works attributed to him. Biographies abound, but all fall short of
factual evidence regarding his literary ability. What little is known for certain about this man is so commonplace, it could
apply to a great many others; even the name he used was never Shakespeare, but written with a short ‘a’ as Shakspere,
Shaxpere, Shacksper et al. As scholarship became increasingly analytical so the incompatibility between what can be inferred
from the works of Shakespeare and its total absence from what is known about the man, said to have written them, has
become very apparent. To overcome this shortfall, while remaining faithful to a tradition inherited from less sceptical
scholars, modern minds have applied the Cinderella syndrome. What is wished for is forced into that which cannot
comfortably contain it. Most noticeably, this applies to Robert Greene’s scribbled notes made shortly before his death, and
published by Henry Chettle in the form of a letter addressed to three playwrights. Everything concerning the ensuing
confusion between the separate identities of Shakespeare and Shakspere can be deduced from Chettle’s libellous letter and his
subsequent, grovelling apology. Concealed within the fracas caused by Chettle is the reason why the 17th Earl of Oxford,
Edward de Vere, was using the penname Shakespeare, and why he had hired Shakspere to act as his allonym for a poem,
Venus and Adonis, that he wished to dedicate to the nineteen-year-old 3rd Earl of Southampton, Henry Wriothesley, but
without being identified as its author. Oxford’s excessive adulation for Southampton had been seen by his peers to have
exceeded polite friendship. And, to make matters worse, he had committed his most intimate emotions to sonnet form, and
then circulated them privately among his literary friends. Lord Burghley was legally related to both earls, and he realized the
scandal that would erupt in the religiously charged atmosphere of the reign if these two earls’ identities were discovered as the
participating subjects in the sonnets. He saw his own position in peril: also that of the throne, for Queen Elizabeth relied
upon his astute, judgement in political matters. The steps Burghley took to distance Oxford from his authorship of these
poems became his goal. It was finally reached when Francis Meres’s book, Palladis Tamia, transferred Oxford’s plays and
sonnets to William Shakespeare: the secret penname Oxford had used for Venus and Adonis, and The Rape of Lucrece. Will
Shakspere had been a recent arrival in London where he became attached to the Curtain and Theatre in Shoreditch. It was
while there that he agreed to act as Oxford’s allonym for two poems the peer had written to Southampton. Their subsequent
success, and the continuing blind that they had been written by Shakespeare, aka Shakspere, eventually led to this man from
the midlands taking on the role of allonym, permanently. Among Oxford’s literary circle, the dispossession of Oxford’s
genius and its attribution to a man of no talent quickly became an open secret, governed by a censorship that, with near
certainty, led to Marlowe’s assassination in 1593, Thomas Kyd’s death in the following year, and may also have resulted in
Thomas Watson’s sudden demise in 1592. Others, close to Oxford, took warning and remained silent. The rune ciphers were
therefore seen as the only way to inform later generations of what had occurred. In 1550 Girolamo Cardano, an Italian
scholar and mathematician invented a new method for concealing secret information in an innocent cover text. This became
the vehicle for six famous eyewitnesses (Thomas Nashe, Ben Jonson, Thomas Thorpe, Leonard Digges, John Benson and
even Edward de Vere) encrypting secret statements naming de Vere as ‘Shakespeare’. To this, each one added to their
encryption the codeword ‘rune’, with its meaning, whispering in secret; it gave cohesion to the immensity of what they had
undertaken. The result of having recently deciphered these Cardano Grilles has meant that forensic evidence, missing for
more than four centuries, now exists; and with it, the certainty required to prove beyond intelligent doubt that William
Shakespeare was actually the penname of Edward de Vere, the disgraced 17th Earl of Oxford, who was forced to surrender
his immortality to another, as he openly admitted in Sonnet 81.
Copyright © 2016 David L Roper – The rights of David L Roper to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in
accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Before presenting the evidence that has recently come to light, which resolves the many mysteries involving
Shakespeare’s life and works, it is necessary to explain why his identity as a writer came under suspicion. Sir Hugh
Trevor Roper explained it this way.
During his lifetime nobody claimed to know him. Not a single tribute was paid to him at his death. As far as
records go he was uneducated, had no literary friends, possessed at his death no books, and could not write.
These conclusions were only reached, he explained, after:–
Armies of scholars, formidably equipped, have examined all the documents which could possibly contain at
least a mention of Shakespeare’s name. One hundredth of this labour applied to one of his insignificant
contemporaries would be sufficient to produce a substantial biography. And yet the greatest of all
Englishmen, after this tremendous inquisition, still remains so close to a mystery that even his identity can
still be challenged.
The response to this has been to diminish doubt by an annual flow of published material, produced by the
‘Shakespeare industry’. These editions boldly assert speculative reasons for Shakespeare’s literary life by including
the titles upon which his esteem as a writer resides. They have to be speculative because there is not an iota of
evidence that the subject of this industry ever received an education. His father, John Shaxpere, made his mark
with a cross, as did William’s daughter, Judith. Her sister, Susanna, later learned to write her name, but only after
marrying Doctor John Hall. Hamnet, Judith’s twin – named after Hamnet Sadler a neighbour – also appears to
have been uneducated. The boy died in the summer of 1596 aged eleven. At that time, the name Shakespeare had
become sufficiently famous to have guaranteed him a place at Merchant Taylors, where Edmund Spenser received
his education, or at Westminster, where Ben Jonson was educated. Either school led to the hallowed halls of
Oxford and Cambridge. Would not a successful author – keen also to obtain the family coat of arms – be
expected to give his son an education that matched this ambition?
It is because of this lack of any educational record involving Shakespeare that circular reasoning becomes the only
standpoint upon which a biography of the man is possible. The titles that emerged from the age in which he lived
were attributed to William Shakespeare; therefore, it is said, this proves he was educated. Since he was educated,
this presents no reason to doubt he was the author. But the conclusion reached is in the premise. It does indeed
prove the author was educated, but it does not identify that author as the man for whom there is no record of his
ever having received an education.
There is also another matter; the man that biographers and commentators write about always pronounced the first
syllable of his name with a short ‘a’ as in axe. We know this, because a copy of the marriage certificates belonging
to both ‘Shakespeare’ and his daughter, Susanna, each confirm the family name to have been written Shaxpere.
Without labouring this point further, publications that support Shaxpere (or Shakspere) as Shakespeare, either
avoid his education altogether, or else implicitly beg the question as to its existence. Because of this, his biography,
wherever literature is the issue, can never be other than a catalogue of speculations, based upon surmise,
assumption and conjecture. It therefore leaves open a distinct possibility that despite the factual evidence
adjoining such conjectures, that same evidence may pertain to another writer: perhaps a titled person with reason
to use the name ‘Shakespeare’ as a pseudonym.
In the absence of a factually based education, those supporting the traditional view of Shakespeare have been
compelled to resort to other means of finding evidence. Henry Chettle’s publication of Robert Greene’s
Groatsworth of Wit, in 1592, based upon scribbled notes left by the playwright before his death (3 September),
provides the first published evidence that Shakespeare was in London, and known to Greene. The relevant
passage begins: “Base minded men, all three of you, if by my miserie you be not warnd:”—and it is with this
statement that Chettle reports Greene’s dying words of warning against the man who would be Shakespeare.
Who, then, were the three playwrights referred to by Greene? Thomas Nashe admitted in his pamphlet, Strange
Newes, published in late 1592, that he was one of the three men mentioned by Greene. The other two he called
“Gracer” and “St George”. Gracer refers to Christopher Marlowe. The Privy Council had intervened on his behalf
to ensure he received his degree from Cambridge. The ‘Grace-Book’ held by Cambridge University confirms this
(Carroll, 2004); which leaves ‘St. George’ to be identified.
The Elizabethan age delighted in applying nicknames to people. The Queen seemed to find one for every person
close to her at court. Lord Burghley she called her ‘Spirit’; Leicester was her ‘Eyes’; Oxford was her ‘Turk’, and
Raleigh, she named ‘Water’. He returned the compliment by referring to her as ‘Cynthia’, the moon goddess. The
question is therefore who has best claim in Nashe’s eyes to be recognized as the playwright, St George?
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In Nashe’s earlier pamphlet, Pierce Penniless, published in the spring of 1592, an answer to this question is found.
Nashe described plays “borrowed from our English Chronicles, wherein our forefathers valiant acts (that have
lived long buried in rustic brasse and worm-eaten books) are revived.” He describes one he had recently watched.
How would it have joyed brave Talbot (the Terror of the French) to thinke that after he had lyne two
hundred yeares in his Tombe, hee should triumphe againe on the Stage, and have his bones newe
embalmed with the teares of ten thousand spectators at least (at severall times), who, in the Tragedian that
represents his person, imagine they behold him fresh bleeding.
Nashe was referring to the play 1 Henry VI, which is listed in Henslowe’s daybook as having been played many
times during 1591 and 1592. Nashe would therefore have known the author by name, and also been aware of his
repeated use of St. George in the play (refer, 2: i; 4: ii; 4: vi; 4: vii). And, if Nashe had also seen Richard III, which is
probable, the cry, ‘St George’, is heard several times in 5: iii. It is also repeated on four occasions in 3 Henry VI.
Since it is known that Shakespeare wrote these plays, with their rousing cheers of loyalty to England and St.
George, the inference is that he was Nashe’s St George. But this cannot be, for then Greene would be warning
Shakespeare to beware of himself. Fortunately, in a separate spat with Gabriel Harvey, who had recently
demeaned Greene in his pamphlet Foure Letters, Nashe responded with Strange Newes; by doing so, he deliberately
reminded Harvey of Lord Oxford’s generosity to him during their time at Cambridge. In making his defence of
Greene, Nashe remarked:–
A good fellow he was, and would have drunk with thee for more angels than the Lord thou libeldst gave
thee in Christ’s College… I and one of my fellows, Will Monox (Hast thou never heard of him and his
great dagger?) were in company with him a month before he died at that fatal banquet of Rhenish wine and
pickled herring.
The Lord from whom Harvey had received gold angels, and then later libelled in Speculum Tuscanismi was the earl
of Oxford. Nashe then continued by admitting that he and Will Monox had dined with Greene shortly before his
death. This new name, by which he identifies ‘St George’, is easier to understand. It is a simple anagram of three
familiar abbreviations: M. Will Oxon (Master William Oxford). Nashe also refers to ‘his great dagger’, to make
sure that Harvey understood who he meant: it being a satirical reference to the Sword of State: which, by tradition,
the earls of Oxford carried when parading before the reigning monarch on state occasions. But why did Nashe
refer to Oxford as Master William? And, why did Oxford host a banquet for Nashe, Greene and Marlowe?
Moreover, why did Chettle feel obliged to publish a grovelling apology to Shakespeare in Kind Harts Dreame?
In 1592, Shakespeare was unknown to the public, having written nothing that had yet appeared in print; nor was
he known as a popular actor. His station in life was no different to Chettle’s. Why, then, did Chettle go to the
extreme of publishing a fawning apology to this unknown member of his own class? The solution to these
questions occupies the content of what follows.
The earl of Oxford, to whom the history plays may be attributed under his penname, William Shakespeare, was at
the time Greene’s Groatsworth of Wit reached the public, busily preparing Venus and Adonis for publication. One may
therefore understand his annoyance at Chettle’s invasive and offensive remarks concerning ‘shake-scene’, whom
many would later recognize as Shakespeare. Oxford had important, but very private reasons for introducing
‘Shakespeare’ as a refined man of letters. By contrast, Chettle was calling him an “upstart crow, beautified with our
feathers” and “an absolute Iohannes fac totum:”—a Jack of all trades, or general servant (Merriam-Webster).
Steps had therefore to be taken by those representing ‘Shakespeare’, to repair the damage. Their success can be
measured by Chettle’s instant apology for his misunderstanding, which quickly reached the public in Kind Harts
Dreame. Chettle had come to the realization that ‘Shakespeare’ was not a member of his own class, but the
assumed name for someone titled. For, he openly confesses how “a letter written to divers play-makers, is
offensively by one or two of them taken.” The one to whom Chettle gave greatest offence was, of course, the
person he labelled “shake-scene”, who he admitted:–
I did not so much spare, as since I wish I had… I am sory, as if the originall fault had beene my fault,
because my selfe have seene his demeanor no lesse ciuill than he exelent in the qualitie he professes:
Besides, diuers of worship haue reported his vprightnes of dealing, which argues his honesty, and his
facetious grace in writting, that approves his Art.
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Chettle has now admitted as factual, that which was inferred to be impossible: namely, that Shakespeare was one
of the three playwrights in company with Greene. In which case, since Greene, Marlowe and Nashe have been
accounted for; Shakespeare must be St George, alias Will Monox: that is, Master Will Oxford.
Contrary voices may protest at this conclusion, by citing George Peele as the fourth man. But this identifies Peele
as Shakespeare, which is absurd. It also belies everything Chettle wrote, either in Greene’s Groats-worth of Wit or Kind
Harts Dreame. Peele does not match the ‘upstart crow’, or the ‘Iohannes fac totum described by Chettle. Nor does
he warrant the humble apology directed at one of the three playwrights inferred by Greene’s letter. Peele was a
well known writer at that time, and had been involved in editing and writing a number of plays during the 1580s.
He was no newcomer to the literary scene in London. Moreover, in terms of Chettle’s glowing apology given to
Shakespeare’s character, Peele was in many respects its antithesis. The governors of Christ’s Hospital had been
forced to evict him from his father’s lodging; his manner, by all accounts, was reckless; he misspent his wife’s
fortune, and he died of the pox in 1596.
In consequence, there is no one among the three who had dined with Greene to whom Chettle’s apology could
possibly apply; unless it was Lord Oxford’s pseudonymous ‘Shakespeare’. This easily explains Chettle’s muddleheaded reading of Greene’s scribble, which he later admitted was partly illegible, and had caused him to believe
Shakespeare and shake-scene were one and the same person.
In retrospect, Chettle’s offensive remarks actually did describe Shakspere shortly after his arrival in London, some
of which were noted by Greene. When, at the beginning of the 18th century, Nicholas Rowe led the search for
details concerning ‘Shakespeare’s’ early life, he unearthed the fact that upon his arrival in London, ‘Shakespeare’
first earned his living as a self-employed horse minder for gentleman arriving at the Curtain and Theatre in
Shoreditch. The Well of St Agnes was nearby, which meant he could also water the animals before their owners
returned from a performance, which helped gain him notice. According to E. K. Chambers (1930), it was only
later that ‘Shakespeare’ was employed inside one of the two playhouses as a call boy and general help.
Greene’s notes must therefore have included details about Shakspere as a ‘front’ for ‘Shakespeare’. It is quite
beyond coincidence that he could have described him in the same employment as was discovered by Rowe more
than a century later. It also provides the reason for Oxford’s invitation, received by Nashe, Greene and Marlowe,
to dine with him at the Steelyard: a German eating house in London. He needed to explain to these three leading
writers that he was using ‘Will Shakspere’ as his allonym. They were therefore told not to seek him out, for he had
simply been paid to assume a living presence to Shakespeare, for his forthcoming publications. Greene’s scribbled
notes of what he heard that evening, led Chettle into mistaking Shakspere for Oxford’s penname, Shakespeare.
This caused him to describe ‘Shakespeare’ in terms that actually portrayed Shakspere in his conceit as a poet.
[A]n upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers… [who] supposes he is as well able to bombast out a
blanke verse as the best of you: and being an absolute Iohannes fac totum is in his own conceit the onely
shake-scene in a country;
These offensive remarks, although misguided, were nevertheless accurate in every respect.
Oxford’s choice of allonym also became the cause of a false trail leading to the distant market town of Stratfordupon-Avon: a four-day journey from London, which distanced him from anyone curious about his background. It
explains why Shakspere never removed to London with his family, as John Heminge and Henry Condell had
done, and where Hamnet would have received the best education. Had Shakspere settled his family in London, his
lack of education would have soon been exposed, and the titled name, whose poetry he had been paid to assume,
would become known. Whereas, alone in London, he could be trusted to maintain a tight lip to prying questions.
There was, of course, a reason for all this subterfuge. By 1592, Oxford’s obsessive love for the teenage Henry
Wriothesley, 3rd Earl of Southampton, had resulted in more than a hundred, scandously, self-incriminating
sonnets to be written, exposing his innermost emotions for a youth less than half his age. For, that would be how
Burghley saw them in the religiously charged atmosphere of Elizabethan society. The Geneva Bible owned by
Oxford, and now preserved by the Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, is actually marked with the passage
its owner made against Corinthians 6:9, which denies God’s kingdom to fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, wantons,
buggers &c.
If Oxford’s sonnets were to become public knowledge, it was feared they would cause such outrage, amongst an
already religiously, divided community that it would reach to the very top of government and even incriminate
4
Lord Burghley. For, apart from being Elizabeth’s chief councillor, he was also Master of the Queen’s Wards. It
was therefore incumbent upon him to protect orphaned members of the nobility, such as the young 3rd earl of
Southampton, from immoral influences. But his power had been severely compromised, firstly by the seniority of
Lord Oxford’s nobility, and secondly by the delicate fact that he was Oxford’s father-in-law, therefore grandfather
to his three daughters. They were then living under his care, due to Oxford’s impoverished situation, which had
become laden with debt after the death of his wife, Anne Cecil.
Censorship of the sonnets by agreement with their author was obvious, which is why they were never published
until 1609. Only then were they surreptitiously freed from constraint, and hurriedly set to print: although just as
quickly withdrawn. Burghley’s aim was to remove them forever from public scrutiny. Censorship had only a
limited duration; they must therefore be attributed to someone far removed from the nobility; whereby, any
connection with England’s ruling class would be removed for ever. Silence, imposed by censorship in the present
generation, would provide the time needed for this deception to begin cementing itself into a tradition: it would
then become accepted by each generation thereafter: thus, forever distancing the truth from discovery.
It was something William Camden stumbled upon when Burghley provided him with free access to the State
archives for his Annales of Elizabeth I’s reign. Camden found evidence among these documents, which he noted
as: – “those who think the memory of succeeding ages may be extinguished by present power” (Kay, 1995). It is a
remarkably apt description of how future generations have come to accept Oxford’s plays and sonnets as the work
of a nondescript commoner, with no evidence of any literary ability, just a tradition inherited from the past.
Exactly how much Oxford divulged to his three companions when inviting them to dine with him remains
uncertain. Greene knew enough to note down the character of Shakspere, but it is to Thomas Nashe that we turn.
He was an eyewitness to what had taken place. Evidence, recently uncovered by Arthur Neuendorffer, indicates
that Nashe was fully aware in 1592 that Oxford had been dispossessed of his sonnets. This was during the period
of Regnum Cecilianum, which encompasses “at least 50 crucial years – until 1612… [when] England was virtually
ruled, and with remarkable consistency and effectiveness, by Sir William Cecil and Sir Robert, his son. As principal
secretaries, they had all the power necessary to preserve or destroy for posterity the materials of future history that
lay in public hands (Edwards, 1985).”
Never have books or writing or letters been as dangerous as they were between 1581 and 1606:
proclamation after proclamation forbade seditious writings; books were seized in midnight raids, and men
were questioned for copying poems. Stephen Vallenger lost his ears for printing [one work]… and
subsequently died. Writing went underground, between the lines, into the paper and into code, far from
suppressing language, the state’s actions merely put value on writing (Kilroy, 2005).
It was therefore into code that Oxford’s secret loss was entrusted. He had been born in 1550; the same year that
Girolamo Cardano (1501 – 1576) gave his name to the Cardano Grille. His invention proved to be an excellent
choice for encrypting short, secret statements, especially among men of letters. This was because the system
allowed innocent-looking documents to be written as cipher-text. But when a specially designed card was placed
over the cipher text, with holes strategically cut out to reveal specific words or letters, the secret plain-text could
then be read from what was revealed.
As with most discoveries of this nature, improvements and adaptations soon became available for its use in the
field of espionage. Grilles became “considerably more sophisticated, and varieties of the technique were used
across the spectrum for simple correspondence to high-level military and spying purposes (Lunde, 2009).” The
first detailed study of these grilles was undertaken by C. F. Hindenburg in 1796 and then taken up by M. De
Prasse in 1799. J. H. Klüber was then able to improve upon de Prasse’s calculations (Kriptographik, 1809). But the
two most outstanding contributions to the effectiveness of the grilles are considered to have been made by F. von
Wostrowitz in his Handbuch der Kryptografie (Vienna 1881), and by General Luigi Sacco in Manuale di Crittografia (2nd
ed. Rome 1936).
One particular development, which overcame the necessity for a slotted card to reveal an encrypted document’s
secret, was equidistant-letter-sequencing (ELS), which concealed the words of a message spelt by letters appearing
at regular intervals. This replaced the need for a perforated card covering the cipher-text. Instead, when the
cipher-text was rewritten in a grille with the same number of columns as the key, the plain-text would appear as
words, which when read vertically, formed a cogitable phrase or sentence that was directly related to the subject of
5
the cipher-text. Examples of this procedure are to be found in the grilles that attest to the truth of Edward de
Vere’s authorship. They also include an extra feature. The word RUNE accompanies each encryption. This testified
to a person decoding the secret that it was almost certainly genuine, since the originator of the plain-text would
have been aware of the other encryptions referring to Oxford’s secret authorship; and, in turn, had used the same
codeword for his for his own intention. “The name comes from the Germanic root run – (Gothic runa), meaning
‘whisper, talk in secret’” (Your dictionary. com/rune).
It is known that Cardano’s method of encryption reached England’s spymaster, Sir Thomas Walsingham, in the
century of its discovery. The grilles were also used by Cardinal Richelieu, in his diplomatic service to Louis XIII,
which preceded their military development in continental Europe.
Oxford had been quick to realize their potential when he penned Sonnet 76 (see 1609 text). The fourteen lines of
a sonnet, which is the key to decoding the hidden text message, produce a vertical plain-text, with DE VERE
adjoining ‘my Name’ in the cipher text—as was first noticed by Dr. James S. Ferris. In fact, LO E. DE VERE
completes the statement, and when accompanied by RUNE, with an ELS OF 8, the entire message is contained
between “my name” and “my argument”. This, when the plain-text is viewed as a single cluster of cogitable words,
is the first verification that the encryption is genuine. For a longer message, more than one cluster may be
required. Single words scattered randomly across a grille may occasionally form a grammatical sentence when
joined together, but are unlikely to comment cogently upon the cipher-text, and should be dismissed as chance.
Why is my verſe ſo barren of new pride?
So far from variation or quicke change?
Why with the time do I not glance aſide
To new found methods, and to compounds ſtrange?
Why write I ſtill all one, euer the fame,
And keepe inuention in a noted weed,
That euery word doth almoſt fel my name,
Shewing their birth, and where they did proceed?
O know ſweet loue I alwaies write of you,
And you and loue are ſtill my argument:
So all my beſt is dreſſing old words new,
Spending againe what is already ſpent:
For as the Sun is daily new and old,
So is my loue ſtill telling what is told,
A clustered plain-text statement, commenting upon the cipher-text, as seen here,
would therefore be recognized by code breakers as a genuine encryption. Added
to which, de Vere’s name appears to have drawn a complement to it, as first
noticed by Arthur Neuendorffer. Set out, at the
beginning of Strange Newes: and composed by
Thomas Nashe, an eyewitness to the change of
authorship affecting Oxford, his pamphlet
commences: – “Strange Newes of the
intercepting certaine letters and a convoy of
verses as they were going privilie to victuall the
low countries Unda Impellitur unda”. It is
particularly noteworthy that Nashe wrote this
piece of cipher-text precisely where one would expect to find it: at the very
beginning of his pamphlet. This cryptographic rule dated back to the Attic tragedies, when: – “Authors of Greek
tragedies constructed their first eight iambic lines so that they not only made sense but also provided letters to
make eight other iambic lines, the first two giving the writer’s name, the next two the Olympiad, the third a
homage to Athena, and the last couplet a warning that the show was about to begin” (Thompson, 1963). Nashe
has followed that practice by concealing a secret of his own formation in a Cardano grille. The first task is
therefore to find the key that reveals the plain-text. Again, Nashe is true to form. The key is the number of letters
6
in the name of the person to whom he has dedicated his opening address—“Master Apis lapis” (15 letters) who
happens to be Edward de Vere (12 letters). We therefore have grilles with ELSs of 15 and 12 intersecting, in
which one plain-text reads, “LO SO TEST”, and the other reads “E VERE”. Added to which is the code word
RUNE, indicating the probity of the plain-text. Its appearance in Strange Newes reaffirms what Greene had noted
down about Shakspere’s role as Oxford’s allonym. When combined with Oxford’s admission in sonnet 76, it
confirms Chettle’s confusion between Shakespeare and Shakspere.
Nashe’s endorsement of Edward De Vere also includes a command to test the truth behind this encrypted name.
He seems confident it will happen in the future; when, unencumbered by censorship, an enlightened scholarship
realizes that the literary works of Shakespeare are at total variance with the life and known abilities of the man to
whom they have been attributed. Nashe must therefore have been aware that certain details of Oxford’s past were
to be found in the plays and poems of ‘Shakespeare’, if a test was carried out.
Both Nashe and Greene were therefore alert to the literary deception that was in the making; Greene, because of
the notes he had made: and Nashe, because he had included ‘rune’ in his plain-text statement naming de Vere. It
was therefore already an open secret among a small number of writers, and bound to spread, given time.
The fact that it did spread, especially from 1598 onwards, can be ascribed to Francis Meres’s Palladis Tamia - Wit’s
Treasury, which added the unpublished sonnets to Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis, together with twelve, previously
un-authored plays. If Meres’s book had been intended to promote Shakespeare before the public eye, it had
unintended consequences. By the following year, Archbishop Whitgift was forced to take action against written
work considered to be “scurrilous and libellous”. More than a dozen titles were called in and burned. Among
them were: Sir John Hayward’s treatise concerning the First Part of the Life and Raigne of King Henry IV, which
included the deposition of Richard II (Shakespeare’s Richard II had already been published anonymously three
times in 1597 and 1598, but without the deposition scene, or the arrest of ‘Shakespeare’). Also included was
Richard Marston’s Scourge of Villainy (in which he revealed his love for the poet, “whose silent name one letter
bounds” — Edward de Vere — and whom he admitted, “I ever honour” (with its play on the word ‘ever’).
Willobie His Avisa was another that was condemned, with its cheeky reference to ‘W.S. the old player’ and ‘H.W.
the new actor’ (see infra). But it was Nashe who received special notice: “all books by Nashe... be taken and never
printed hereafter.” Those collected were publicly burnt along with the rest.
The Bishop’s Ban made clear that the vogue for topical satire was officially over: ‘No satires or epigrams’
were to ‘be printed hereafter’... ‘no English histories’ are to ‘be printed except they be allowed by some of
her Majesty’s Privy Council’... Not even London’s dramatists escaped the ban, which also decreed that ‘no
plays [were to] be printed except they be allowed by such as have authority” (Shapiro, 2005).
The censors had awoken to the realization that the satirists and epigrammatists now had a new source for their
written work: to wit, ‘Shakespeare’, with which the public were being greeted by their expressions. This new and
sudden outbreak of censorship was the direct response made at preventing it from proceeding any further. It also
provided an opportunity for taking a fresh look at written work already circulating, such as Willobie His Avisa and
the pamphlets of Nashe: both of which quickly came under the banning order.
Despite the strictness of the Bishops Ban, it did not take long for pirate publishers to realize that by printing the
plays of ‘Shakespeare’ they could not be prosecuted in court without calling upon the real author to confirm that
these were, indeed, his plays. Had the author been Will Shakspere, with his record of litigation against debtors, this
would not have presented a problem. But for one of the highest ranking noblemen in England to appear in court,
and then have to swear, on oath, that he was writing plays by which common actors and pirate publishers were
making money, would threaten to turn the social order upside down. It would never be allowed to happen. And
that is also why ‘Shakespeare’, the penname of a nobleman, was never recorded in Henslowe’s theatrical day book.
One of the first to realize this was Cutbert Burby. In 1598, without notifying the Stationers’ Register, he engaged a
new printer, William White, to hurriedly rush into print the first quarto of Love’s Labour’s Lost: describing it as
“Newly corrected and augmented / By W. Shakespere.” The version is full of misprints, the punctuation is
bizarre, and not infrequently the letters required to spell a word correctly are absent. Despite its flaws, Burby
quickly followed it with Romeo and Juliet, claiming that it, too, had been “Newly corrected and augmented,” but
leaving the reader to assume by whom. Also, in 1598 1 Henry IV was printed by P. S. for Andrew Wise, with the
title, The History of Henrie the Fovrth, and an affirmation that it was “Newly corrected by William Shake–speare”.
7
Ackroyd is thus able to confirm: – “At the end of the century there was a positive rush of Shakespeare’s plays to
the printers, which is some indication of his prevailing popularity.” But, the suddenness of that popularity cannot
be divorced from Meres’s glowing report of Oxford’s abilities, which he advertised as those belonging to the
pseudonymous Shakespeare. Before then, the public had been uninformed as to the author of the plays mentioned
by Meres, although most if not all these must have already been performed. But, under the cloak of anonymity,
information about the author was not allowed to be made public. Meres’s identification of twelve plays written by
the same man who had written Venus and Adonis and Lucrece officially released the author’s name. The result was a
“positive rush” to read more from the man whose poems had already gained a huge following among the people.
Contained within the pirated plays that appeared from 1598 onwards were some that continued to remain
anonymous: while others included various spellings of Shakespeare’s name. This was later brought to the attention
of the public in a letter signed by John Heminges and Henry Condell, which appeared at the front of the first folio
edition of Shakespeare’s Comedies, Histories and Tragedies in 1623. The letter asserts that these plays had previously
suffered, by being: “abus’d with diuerse and stolne, and surreptitious copies, maimed and deformed by the frauds
and stealthes, that expos’d them.” The letter was obviously referring to the pirated editions that were published
with near impunity, once the name of ‘Shakespeare’ was known as their author. For, it was quickly realized by
pirate publishers that no legal action could be taken against them without exposing the author’s true identity.
Nashe was among the first to have learned of Oxford’s lost title to his work. The effect it had upon him, to judge
by his subsequent use of a Cardano grille in support of Oxford, tends to imply that he had kept company with his
lordship prior to the banquet held in 1592. There is evidence for this, with Nashe possibly acting as Oxford’s
copywriter for a short period. It occurs in Strange Newes, where Nashe records his recent movements.
For the order of my life, it is as civil as a civil orange [this occurs in Much Ado About Nothing, where ‘civil
orange’ is a pun on ‘Seville orange’]. I lurk in no dark corners, but converse in a house of credit, as well
governed as any college where there be more rare qualified men and selected good scholars than in any
Nobleman’s house that I know in England.
If we compare this description with that given by John Aubrey, when referring to Lady Mary Herbert (née
Sidney), we may observe the similarity. “In her time Wilton House was like a college, there were so many learned
and ingenious persons. She was the greatest Patroness of wit and learning of any lady of her time.” To add to this,
Nashe had earlier written in Pierce Penniless: “the fear of infection detained me with my Lord in the country.” This,
too, would refer to Wilton where, several years later, Oxford met King James after both left London to avoid an
outbreak of Plague. It explains, too, why Nashe repaid the privilege of his visit to Wilton, by dedicating Strange
Newes to Oxford—‘my Lord in the country’. And then, having learned that Oxford was to relinquish the
authorship of his sonnets to a commoner, named William Shakspere, his talent for inventing nicknames led him to
unite the two as, Master William Oxford: or, as an abbreviated anagram: Will Monox, which he used as a tease
against Harvey.
For Oxford, the name ‘Will’ may have stuck: to be used when carousing with his “lewd friends” (as Burghley
called his circle of writers). Its use would have fulfilled the requirement of his class, which demanded he retain the
dignity of his position, while needing to dispense with the formality of his title and avoid any perceived familiarity
caused by using his forename, which would be reserved for members of his family and class. It is also the name by
which he chose to be called in the final line of Sonnet 136, where he exclaims: “my name is Will.”
We now need to look further into the reason why Oxford had complied with the transfer of his authorship to a
man of Shakspere’s class. Essentially, as above, it was to divert attention away from the serious misconduct of his
affection and intimate relationship with the effeminate Southampton: a youth who was less than half his age. In
future, any sin suspected in the sonnets, if they became public, would be projected onto Will Shakspere. This
would deflect attention away from the youth in the sonnets; since, at that time, it was thought absurd to suppose
that anyone could believe possible that a titled member of the Queen’s court would subject himself to an intimate,
long-term relationship with a male member of the lower classes.
In post–feudal England, every man still had a master. The class system remained a major part of the nation’s social
mores. Consequently, the decision to replace Oxford by a man of common birth was seen to be imperative, and
pressure to receive the earl’s compliance would have been exerted from the very top—from Queen Elizabeth
herself. She would have frowned upon the serious plight in which her Turk’s errant behaviour had placed her;
8
even to the extent of endangering the nation’s security. Had he not, himself, warned how, ‘uneasy lies the head
that wears the crown?
In 1593, when Venus and Adonis was published with its dedication to the 3rd Earl of Southampton, penned by the
previously unheard of ‘William Shakespeare’, the young nobleman was nineteen years of age. Four hundred years
later, a minor sensation occurred. A portrait of this youth, aged between 17 and 20, was discovered. It depicts the
young man exactly as ‘Shakespeare’ would have seen him; that is, in a feminine pose. The artist has painted him
wearing double earrings and a Venetian lace collar that was in vogue during this period. The curling tongs have
been carefully applied to his hair; a long tress dangles down the side of his left breast, and is held in place by the
delicate, slender fingers of his right hand. He is also wearing lipstick, and there is a hint of rouge colouring his
cheeks. The eyebrows have been plucked with careful precision, and the eyes are bright, as from the effect of
belladonna.
The portrait had been thought to be Lady Norton, Bishop Winton’s daughter—but not now.
Experts who have studied the facts now agree that the portrait is undoubtedly the earliest known image of
the third Earl of Southampton – Shakespeare’s patron, the ‘fair youth’ addressed in his sonnets –
somewhere between the age of 17 and 20 and painted exactly the time those first few sonnets were written
(Holden, 2002).
This portrait of Southampton casts fresh light upon lines written in ‘Shakespeare’s’ sonnets. No. 20, for example,
has the poet declaring that the youth has the face of a woman, and nature had originally intended him to be a girl.
Who can have commissioned and paid for this portrait, if not the poet who wrote so lovingly of the boy? It would
seem the Earl of Oxford wished to perpetuate the young man’s image in both paint and poetry. For his words of
adulation are written into his verse with the same emotional impact having been impressed upon his senses as that
of any man who was in love with a woman. But he was also wise enough to be aware of how this would be judged
by the censorial eyes of an outwardly puritan society, and so he disavowed that his love was of a physical nature.
Had there been only one or two sonnets upon the theme of same sex love for a youth, matters could more easily
have been concealed. But that was not the case. The tone of the poet’s voice is too sexually charged with love to
be convinced of the absence of an intimate conclusion, and the poetry describing his innermost feeling for the
youth was copious, and not confined to the privacy of its author. This was later to cause some gender pronouns to
be changed when the sonnets were reprinted in 1640. Readers of this second edition were then left with the
impression that the poet had been addressing his lady love.
Some sixty years before this publication, the effeminate appearance of the fatherless 3rd Earl of Southampton was
causing the utmost concern to his guardian, Lord Burghley. In his official capacity as Master of the Queen’s
Wards, he had reason to feel uneasy. His favourite daughter Anne, and wife to the earl of Oxford, had recently
died, and his newly, widowed son-in-law had begun attaching himself, in an overtly affectionate manner, to his
young ward. So infatuated had he become with the boy that he was writing love sonnets to him on an almost daily
basis. And these verses were having the same effect upon his charge as they would have had, were he some young
maiden receiving the courtship of her swain. To add to Burghley’s despair, his son-in-law was circulating these
verses among his ‘private friends’.
To suppose that Burghley took no action would be absurd. As the Queen’s chief minister, and councillor, he knew
that the sonnets were politically dangerous, and quite capable of spreading scandal in every direction, if they
became public knowledge. As guardian of Southampton, and responsible for his charge’s religious and moral
upbringing, his own position was also under threat. A scandal involving the sin of sodomy, especially pederasty,
would render him a target for neglecting his duty in order to protect his son-in-law.
English law at that time demanded the death sentence for those found guilty of pederasty, and Burghley was not
the man to allow this sinful conduct to enter the State archives, where it would be associated with his daughter,
Oxford’s wife. Quite apart from this, the stain inflicted upon his three granddaughters by the crime of their father
would undoubtedly injure their marriage prospects.
Oxford had already survived a previous charge of pederasty, made by Henry Howard and Charles Arundel in
1580. But the Queen thought the charge fit only for royal entertainment, and it was subsequently dismissed.
Eight years later, current evidence indicates that Elizabeth no longer held this view. In 1588, when Southampton
would celebrate his fifteenth birthday on October 6, the Queen’s official court painter, Nicholas Hilliard, was
9
commissioned to paint a miniature. The subject resembles Oxford in mourning clothes (his wife died that year). A
female’s hand (Anne Cecil’s) reaches down from heaven, piercing a cloud, to take hold of the man’s (Oxford’s)
hand. The subject is also wearing a hat (the Queen had presented Oxford with such a hat in Christmas 1581, when
he reunited with his wife after their separation). Accompanying the figure are the words, “Attici amoris ergo”
[because of Athenian love]. This is a love that “entailed a formal bond between an adult man and an adolescent
boy outside his immediate family, consisting of loving and often sexual relations.” Only the Queen could have
written such accusatory words to Oxford. Added to which, it is known that Hilliard did paint a miniature of
Edward de Vere, but which has not been otherwise identified.
Many of Hilliard’s best miniatures are in the collection of the Duke of Buccleuch.... They include portraits
of Queen Elizabeth (four), Edward Seymour, duke of Somerset, Edward Vere, earl of Oxford, Richard
Clifford, earl of Cumberland, Lady Arabella Stuart, Sir Philip Sidney, Mary Sidney, countess of Pembroke,
Sir Francis Drake, Sir Francis Walsingham, Richard Hilliard, his father; his own portrait, dated 1574, ‘ætatis
suæ 37’, and that of his wife Alice, daughter of John Brandon, chamberlain of London. (Graves, DNB).
If this miniature is that of Oxford, and there is no other subject to whom it might better apply, then it had no
immediate effect upon his ‘Athenian love’ for Southampton, which continued—as evidenced by the effeminate
portrait of the youth—at least up until 1591.
In 1590 (by then Southampton had reached the age of sixteen), a meeting took place at Oatlands, in Surrey,
between Lord Burghley and Southampton’s immediate family—his mother and grandfather, Lord Montague.
Their intention was to discuss marriage plans for the young man. A wife at his elbow would create an appearance
of sexual normality, which at present had been lost.
The bride proposed by Burghley was his fifteen-year-old granddaughter, Elizabeth. But the young earl expressed
no interest in marriage. This was put down to a lack of manliness in the youth. For, in the following year,
Burghley’s secretary, John Clapham, wrote a Latin poem, which he addressed to his employer’s young charge. Its
purpose was to open Southampton’s mind to heroic thoughts of manhood, and sway him away from the
narcissistic, self-centredness possessing him. The poem was actually called Narcissus.
The same idea was adopted by Oxford. His choice of poem was Venus and Adonis. But he also realised it would be
impossible for him to be identified as its author; nor could it come from some lesser pen without drawing
attention to the reason. It had to appear the work of a newcomer: someone who recognized Southampton’s
manliness, and had obtained patronage from him. Burghley was evidently persuaded by these reasons; because,
together with Archbishop Whitgift, censorship was lifted, and Venus and Adonis was published with a suitable
dedication: one that appeared to be written by someone from the plebeian class.
Oxford’s choice for his allonym had settled upon a young man from Warwickshire, whom he had either seen
working in Shoreditch: or, more likely, had been recommended to him. The man was William Shakspere, whose
name was sufficiently similar to William Shakespeare for the transfer of authorship to take effect.
As for the poem, doubt concerning the true author of Venus and Adonis was unintentionally sown by Professor
James Morgan. His expertise was the English dialect. It was while studying the patois of Warwickshire, which was
part of Shakspere’s formative years, that he discovered there was not one single word of this dialect in Venus and
Adonis, the so-called “first heir” of the poet’s “invention”. Morgan considered it:–
absolutely impossible that the lad Shakespeare acquired or used any other dialect than the Warwickshire he
was born to, and that his father, mother and neighbours spoke… words are detectives that never fail to
detect, and whose reports cannot be bribed, distorted or gainsaid. No man can write in a language he has
never heard, or whose written form he has never learned (Morgan, 1900).
Morgan therefore considered the poem to be an unsolved mystery—an example of the Cinderella syndrome.
As a further incentive for Southampton to take a wife, Oxford wrote his seventeen sonnet sequence, urging
Southampton to marry and procreate. Clinton Heylin found it quite incredible that:–
any self-respecting Elizabethan [would] have written a sonnet sequence around a prime number, save for a
very good reason… the number of sonnets in an Elizabethan sequence always had a mathematical
significance (Heylin 2009).
Oxford has therefore dutifully respected this custom by identifying himself through the number of his earldom.
10
The result of the immense pressure imposed upon this youth, who had yet to acquire the maturity of an adult,
finally achieved its aim. Southampton agreed to marry Elizabeth Vere. Immediately, the young man found himself
the centre of attention. In 1593, he was the invited guest at a dinner held in Oxford, attended by “four principal
patrons of the English theatre – the Earl of Essex, Lord Strange, the Earl of Pembroke, and the Lord Admiral
Howard” (Ackroyd, 2005). In the same year, an unprecedented proposal was made to him; he was invited to
accept nomination as a Knight of the Garter. This was an honour normally reserved for those related to the
sovereign, or a member of the nobility who had achieved exceptional status and honour for services to the realm.
Southampton fitted neither category. The nomination and attention he was receiving were undoubtedly his reward
for having succumbed to Burghley’s wedding plan.
This became even more evident in the following year, when he broke off his engagement, deciding against
Burghley’s granddaughter. In what seems to have been one last desperate effort, Lady Bridget Manners was
approached in the hope that her daughter would agree to become Southampton’s future wife, but the proposal
was declined. Instead, Burghley was told that Lady Manners believed the young earl was “so fantastical and would
be so carried away.”
Her description of Southampton as ‘fantastical’ is not without interest. In the same year, a satirical poem was
published, and it left little doubt that the author knew who had written Venus and Adonis. In Willobie His Avisa, the
anonymous author at first refers to Shake-speare in its hyphenated form, and then to Oxford and Southampton by
their initials, W.S. and H.W. The former is described as “the old player” and the latter as the “new actor”. The
author then narrates what he describes as a “loving comedy”, in which “H.W. being suddenly affected with the
contagion of a fantastical fit at the first sight of A. pines for a while in secret grief.” He then explains his dilemma
to W.S. who has newly arrived to join him. The familiarity between these two belies the possibility that W.S. could
be William Shakspere, the commoner, addressing an earl. “Well met friend Harry, what’s the cause / You look so
pale with Lented cheeks?” Upon learning the basis of his friend’s woe, the ‘old player’ instructs the ‘new actor’, in
rollicking verses, how to woo a maiden—witness the marriage sonnets for a more austere comparison.
Burghley did not treat Southampton’s disengagement from his granddaughter so lightly. No more is heard of
Southampton being invested as a Knight of the Garter. Instead, according to the Jesuit, Henry Garnet: – “the
young Earl of Southampton refusing the Lady Vere payeth £5,000 [≈ £1,400,000 or $2,120,000] of present
money.”
Southampton’s resolve not to marry also brought to an end the role of ‘William Shakespeare’ as editor of his own
published poetry. Thereafter, only pirated verse and plays attributed to that name would be made public. But it
was not before Oxford had already arranged publication of The Rape of Lucrece: a further, though equally failed
attempt to excite Southampton’s lacklustre libido for the fairer sex. Its dedication by ‘Shakespeare’ would also
mark the final farewell between this pseudonym and its noble patron. Marchette Chute, bewildered by this sudden
abandonment, admitted it was so baffling, it could only be considered unique. “The case of William Shakespeare,”
she wrote, “who succeeded in getting this particular earl for his patron and then abandoned the relationship is so
exceptional as to stand alone in the history of Elizabethan letters” (1954).
Burghley’s original marriage plan had been to separate Oxford and Southampton by engaging them to prospective
brides. Only with Oxford did this aim achieve success. But it first required the cold light of reason to douse the
fire of Oxford’s passion. It succeeded when he was finally made to realize the potentially, damaging effect his love
for this youth could have upon the State, and even the Queen, if the public became aware of it, and used it as a
tool to scandalize the government. Oxford’s reaction to this separation occurs in sonnet 36.
Let me confess that we two must be twain,
Although our undivided loves are one;
So shall those blots that do with me remain,
Without thy help, by me be borne alone.
...
I may not evermore acknowledge thee,
Lest my bewailed guilt should do thee shame;
Nor thou with public kindness honour me,
Unless thou take that honour from thy name.
This sonnet accurately expresses the separation from Southampton enforced upon Oxford after accepting his own
11
guilt. He therefore succumbed to the proposed separation; and, as an act of reparation, wrote the sonnet sequence
urging Southampton to marry. He also saw in it a fresh opportunity for expressing his creative talent along lines
similar to those of Clapham. In a further attempt to goad Southampton toward manliness, he tried to persuade the
young man to identify with the seductive content in Venus and Adonis and The Rape Of Lucrece.
Oxford’s ‘arranged marriage’ to Elizabeth Trentham, during the Christmas period of 1591, can only have been
one of convenience, necessitated by the perceived impropriety of his previous relationship with Southampton.
Mistress Trentham had been the Queen’s Maid of Honour for more than a decade. She came from a wealthy but
untitled family and was therefore far beneath the seniority of Oxford’s earldom. But the spinster Queen, known
for her resentment at those who left her service to marry, positively propelled this maid into marriage: bestowing
upon her a gift at the announcement of her forthcoming marriage, followed by a silver wedding present recorded
on 27 December. Both gifts are interpreted as reward for Mistress Trentham’s compliance to the Queen’s request.
As for Oxford, he was in no position to marry. And with the disaster of one marriage behind him, he was less
likely to welcome another; moreover, he was virtually penniless. After the death of his first wife, he had sold
almost all he owned, and by 1590, he was still in debt for £11,000 (≈ $4,500,000 or £2,965,000). Even seven
months before his marriage, he was pleading with Burghley for money to buy the manor of Denbigh, where he
might live with his daughters. Upon this evidence, it would seem that to persuade him into marriage, the Queen
had made promises to reward him financially, including the repossession of his family’s title to Waltham Forest
and Havering House; for he told Robert Cecil that this was promised to him. Only the Queen was in a position to
have made that promise.
It is therefore not surprising to discover that only seven months after the wedding, Oxford began applying to the
Queen for permission to import “Oylles, ffrutes (and) Woolles” into England. The Queen wavered for more than
a year before denying his request. Oxford further pleaded with the Queen for the restoration of his family’s
historic ownership of property in Waltham Forest and at Havering in Essex, which had been taken from his
forefathers by Henry VIII. But this too was denied. It was left for her successor, James I, to meet his request.
By the end of 1594, Southampton had reached the age of twenty-one. Oxford was married, with a newborn child
to carry forward his title, but his sonnets still posed a threat to Burghley. Oxford had, of course, released copies of
these to his private friends; among them were Robert Greene and Thomas Watson. But in 1592, their untimely
deaths proved more effective than censorship. This left Thomas Nashe and Christopher Marlowe: both men
having dined with Oxford at the time he was making known to them his loss of title to his sonnets, and the
censoring of his name as a public playwright. Of these two, Marlowe was viewed as the more capable of
endangering the nation’s stability. In the past, he had been employed by the state as a spy, and he may have known
too much to risk a public trial.
Marlowe was a maverick, a rebel, a whistle-blower. He was a dangerous man ‘whose mouth must be
stopped’. And in the corridors of power, men like Burghley and Cecil, Effingham and Hunsdon had all the
apparatus of government to do just that (Trow, 2001).
The fact that Marlowe was murdered before his trial began, and that his assailant, Ingram Frizer, was pardoned by
the Queen in record time, may strike the reader as something more than coincidental.
With the deaths of four of Oxford’s literary circle, if we include Thomas Kyd, who was tortured into revealing
evidence against Marlowe, and then dead within months of his release; Oxford’s marriage to Elizabeth Trentham
accomplished; the silence of Southampton assured, and Burghley’s control over censorship in England rigorously
being maintained, the Lord High Treasurer was able to obtain a breathing space before the problem re-emerged.
During the four years, between 1594 and 1598, nothing new appeared in print, written by William Shakespeare.
Yet, both Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece continued their popularity with readers eager for more. A
chance comment made by Thomas Edwards in 1595, “describes ‘Adon’—widely assumed to mean Shakespeare—
holed up, ‘I have heard say’, somewhere in London, and ‘tilting under Friaries’” (Asquith). ‘Tilting’ is to cover over
something with an awning for its protection. Edwards had apparently learned that Shakspere was being held in
hiding at one of the Friaries in London. Most likely, this was Blackfriars, where Oxford had leased the theatre
inside the former friary’s premises, including a room below, so that Lyly could perform plays by Children of the
Chapel Royal, St Paul’s and Oxford’s Boys (Smith 1964). This former friary would therefore have offered
12
Shakspere protection, as Oxford’s allonym, from the inquisitive: those who were anxious to learn more about this
previously, unknown poet who had so easily bypassed the censors by publishing two epic poems containing
decidedly sensual material, and each with a dedication to his noble patron: the youthful third earl of Southampton.
Although the reason for the composition of these two poems had ended with Southampton’s rejection of the
marriage bed, this did not stop Oxford’s creative flow. By 1598, he had written more than a dozen plays; none of
which were publicly known by their author’s name.
It scarcely can be doubted that these plays were attracting attention. Questions must have been asked, and
rumours exchanged, regarding the identity of their author. But, for Burghley, it was still the sonnets that posed the
greater threat, and one that refused to go away. Consequently, with his son-in-law’s increasing number of plays
finding their way onto the public stage, although mostly written for court entertainment, which explains their
characters’ titles, and the locations familiar to the author from his travels abroad, a new resolution was planned
that would unite the sonnets with the plays.
‘William Shakespeare’ was already known for the two epic poems against his name. His identity as a writer was
now accepted by the general public; therefore, why should he not be accepted as author of those plays that up
until then had been anonymous? The power of censoring opposition had already helped to establish Shakespeare
in the public mind. What could be more natural than this poet should have turned his talent to playwriting? It was
with this thought in mind that it became a planned reality. Its ultimate success, secured by the fact that “the reign
of Elizabeth was the period when torture was most used in England” (Guy, 1988), bears witness to how a
prosperous Warwickshire merchant and shareholder in London’s Globe theatre, without a single spark of talent
for writing, became famous as William Shakespeare, poet and playwright.
Instrumental in getting William Shakespeare established in the public mind as the author of Oxford’s plays was
Francis Meres. His book, Palladis Tamia, Wit’s Treasury, published in 1598, became the vehicle for delivering
William Shakespeare’s literary profile to the public. In the section he dedicated to poets, Meres introduced his
subject by informing readers:–“the sweet witty soul of Ovid lives in mellifluous and honey-tongued Shakespeare;
Witness his Venus and Adonis, his Lucrece, his sugared sonnets among his private friends, etc.”
This was an astute statement to have made, as its author must have known, because no member of the public had
ever been able to ‘witness his sugared sonnets’, unless we count the few among Oxford’s ‘private friends’ (four of
whom were already dead), nor were the sonnets intended to be read by the public. But, there is no hint of this in
Meres’s genial statement. Thus, his cavalier attitude in presenting the impossible to the public suggests he was
acting under some form of instruction. His task appears to have been one of confirming William Shakespeare as a
separate, living person by conferring upon him the genius of Oxford.
Meres began by identifying Shakespeare with the two epic poems already attributed to his authorship, and then
adding the sonnets to them, as though they were equally familiar to the public. Consequently, if an occasion arose
in the future, when these poems did reach the public, it would understand they were written by Shakespeare. An
important step had therefore been laid by Meres, which firmly established a separation between the poet, and both
his pseudonym and allonym: for they were to become one in the public mind. The plan also laid a false trail to
Stratford-upon-Avon, where Shakspere aka Shakespeare lived, adding geographic distance to artistic detachment.
The prior agreement made between Oxford and Shakspere, made known to Greene, Nashe and Marlowe six years
earlier, was to be prolonged indefinitely. Shakspere was to assume the mantle of playwright to add to that of poet.
To add authenticity to this new role, he was made a shareholder of the Globe, with small acting parts to play.
Meres’s task was to justify ‘Shakespeare’s’ literary output. He began by naming twelve of Oxford’s anonymously
written plays, which became newborn in the public mind as a result of their titles appearing under Oxford’s
pseudonym. Once again, this left Marchette Chute bemused: wondering why Meres had singled out Shakespeare
for this special treatment. “Meres mentions a great many playwrights in his book,” she wrote, “but Shakespeare
was the only one he singled out for extended comment.” The reason for this is now apparent. The public needed
to be made aware they had a literary giant in their midst.
Meres commences with a list of ‘Shakespeare’s’ abilities. He literally hammers home the name Shakespeare at
every opportunity: including him again and again among the literary elite of every genre of literature. Not only is
he best for comedy and tragedy, he is also named in company with the best Greek poets for his humour. Next, he
is commended for his eloquence; then for his fine phrases, which are equalled only by those of the Muses; he is
again named for works, comparable to Ovid, and then to Homer; thereafter, it is his lyric poetry that is praised;
13
then, for a second time his name appears on a new list of those best for tragedy; and for a third time he is listed
amongst those best for comedy. On this occasion, his name is listed together with Oxford. Shakespeare’s final
accolade is received when Meres praises him for his elegies.
This complimentary account of ‘Shakespeare’s’ multifarious abilities is blatant. Up until Meres’s book appeared,
‘Shakespeare’ had published absolutely nothing other than Venus and Adonis and The Rape of Lucrece, which Meres
had already praised at the first mention of his name. From where, thereafter, did his knowledge of Shakespeare’s
outstanding genius with the pen originate? Those who glorify Shakespeare on account of what Meres wrote have
no answer, except to draw upon highly imaginative and unsubstantiated scenarios.
The likelihood is that Meres obtained his information from the same source available to Gabriel Harvey. In a
memorable speech made to Queen Elizabeth in July 1578, at the home of Sir Thomas Smith at Audley End, in
Essex, Harvey outdid Meres in the praise he lavished upon Oxford’s literary skill and genius.
Thy merit doth not creep along the ground, nor can it be confined within the limits of a song. It is a
wonder which reaches as far as the heavenly orbs… thy glory will spread out in all directions beyond the
Arctic Ocean… Phoebus Apollo has cultivated thy mind in the arts. English poetical measures have been
sung by thee long enough… witness how greatly thou dost excel in letters. I have seen many Latin verses
of thine, yea, even more English verses are extant: thou hast drunk deep draughts not only of the Muses of
France and Italy, but has learned the manners of many men and the arts of foreign countries.
One of the great mysteries attached to Shakespeare having been Shakspere, apart from the lack of any proven
education, is the author’s detailed knowledge of Italy and France, where he set many of his plays. Yet, Shakspere
never left England. Here, we have the answer to that mystery, provided by Harvey. Meres’s eloquent praise retells
Oxford’s genius under the pseudonym of his alter ego, ‘William Shakespeare’.
As for Meres’s reference to Shakespeare and the earl of Oxford being named on the same page, this proves
nothing. If, as it must appear certain, Meres was creating a genuine profile for Oxford’s pseudonym, ‘William
Shakespeare’, with the proviso that he distinguish one from the other, then it accounts for both names appearing
together. Alternatively, if, in the unlikelihood, Meres was ignorant of Oxford’s use of William Shakespeare as a
pseudonym, then, in his ignorance, he would have included both names. Whichever it was, Meres’s repetitive use
of ‘Shakespeare’ succeeded in forging an impression of the man in the public consciousness. Thereafter, the
attribution of his name to plays written anonymously by Oxford, and later, to the sonnets, did the rest. William
Shakspere became identified as William Shakespeare, the poet and playwright from Stratford–upon–Avon.
The effect, which the loss of Oxford’s major compositions had had upon his mind must have been depressive.
Save for the few pieces of juvenilia he had written in his teens and early twenties, before leaving for Italy, where
his theatrical development really began, all else he had written was lost. Sonnet 81, addressed to Southampton,
reveals his heartbreak, and also the self-knowledge he had of his literary gift.
From hence your memory death cannot take,
Although in me each part will be forgotten.
Your name from hence immortal life shall have,
Though I, once gone, to all the world must die;
The earth can yield me but a common grave,
When you entombed in men’s eyes shall lie:
Your monument shall be my gentle verse,
Which eyes not yet created shall o’er-read;
And tongues to be your being shall rehearse.
...
When all the breathers of this world are dead,
You still shall live, such virtue hath my pen.
The context of this sonnet is unmistakeable in confirming the report of history. After his death, the poet has
foreseen the fate that awaited him; disassociated with his literary work, he will become forgotten, while his genius
lives on in the plays and poetry he wrote, but attributed to the name of another. And, for more than four hundred
years that is precisely what has happened. But it was far from being thought true among others at the time who
knew of his loss. Some, as it now transpires, secretly encoded his name as author into commendations that were
addressed to ‘William Shakespeare’: believing this would ensure its survival for as long as the name endured. Both
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Oxford and Thomas Nashe had already demonstrated how this could be achieved without arousing suspicion. It
was therefore left for others to continue, using the same method, and employing the same codeword.
An opportunity for this occurred in 1609, when Thomas Thorpe acquired the complete set of Oxford’s sonnets.
In preparation for their publication, a dedication was prepared consisting of just 144 letters. It is actually a ciphertext and a masterpiece in cryptography; even so, it does have a weakness. The prose in one part is asyntactic.
Because of this imperfection, it betrays to those with sufficient perspicacity, the presence of a hidden secret.
Traditionalists, lacking the awareness of Elizabethan scholars, who were always alert to the possibility of hidden,
second meanings, instead, insisted upon following the false trail leading to Stratford. Understandably, they have
been dismayed at Thorpe’s dedication, and have responded with righteous, indignity:
“preposterous”; “a few lines of gibberish”; “fantastically arranged and in odd
grammatical order;” et cetera.
It was the late Dr John Rollett who first began analysing the structure of the preface. It
is set out in three trapeziums consisting of 6, 2, and 4 lines with each word singled out
by a full stop. Rollett quickly realized that by selecting each word in this order, a phrase
appeared that read: – THESE SONNETS ALL BY EVER THE FORTH.
At the time, Rollett was unacquainted with the case being made for Edward de Vere as
Shakespeare, therefore unaware that Ver was the region from where Vere’s family had
migrated to England, and from where their name was derived. Of added interest is the
fact that up until his death in 1604, Oxford had been the fourth signatory on official
statements signed by members of King James’s Privy Council. The first three were ex
officio members; the fourth signature was always that of the most senior member of the Council. In the absence of
a duke, the privilege went to the 17th Earl of Oxford.
When Rollett later learned of de Vere’s claim to authorship, he returned to Thorpe’s cipher-text and by using what
he described as an “innocent letter code” – as used secretly by prisoners during the Second World War – he
discovered that HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, with ELSs of 15 and 18 respectively, had been encrypted into the
dedication. His discovery can now be seen as the plain-text on a 16th century Cardano Grille with a key of 33. As
Dr. Bruce Spittle pointed out, this is the exact number of letters in the subject’s name and title, ‘Henry
Wriothesley Earl of Southampton’, and it confirms the belief that he was the youth addressed in the sonnets.
Doubt, concerning the youth’s identity had been expressed before, recently by Peter Ackroyd: –
The ‘lovely boy’ and object of the poet’s passion has been identified with the earl of
Southampton. In the late sixteenth century, however, the impropriety of addressing a young
earl... would have been quite apparent: to accuse him of dissoluteness and infidelity, as
Shakespeare accuses the unnamed recipient, would have been unthinkable.
Ackroyd’s statement need not be doubted, but since the earl of Oxford was the man he
refers to as Shakespeare, his objection loses its rationale.
Until recently, the name Henry Wriothesley was thought to
be the only encryption. This is no longer the case. Entwined
between the encrypted letters of HENRY is a statement that
is particularly applicable to Southampton. It reads: – THOU
ART VISIBLE TO WISHES, VETERAN. The reason why this has
remained hidden for such a long time after the discovery of
Henry Wriothesley’s name is because the sentence is in
Latin: PRO PARE VOTIS EMERITE. The Latin had been noticed previously, but it did not
receive the consideration due to it. The credit for drawing attention to it must therefore belong to Jonathan Bond
(2009): although he preferred a free translation which largely ignores the Latin cases. The words, in their literal
meaning, can be translated as: PRO – interjection: Thou! rather than a preposition, since it is not followed by the
ablative case; PARE – 2nd person, present, active, imperative for the verb, to appear, be present; VOTIS – the plural
form of votum, either dative or ablative, meaning: ‘to vows’, or ‘to wishes’; EMERITE – the vocative case for
emeritus: a veteran, or retired soldier.
15
When Thorpe published these sonnets, the earl of Southampton was aged 36. In the past he had joined the earl of
Essex in England’s military campaign against the Irish rebels, but after his return to England, he retired from
military life. The encryption refers to his concealment from the public eye as the youth in the sonnets; but now, as
a veteran, he is made visible, by the wishes of those who wanted to see the sonnets in print.
Attention is also drawn to the presence of the codeword RUNE, as in previous grilles: and to the hidden sentence,
which is not only cogitable, it is also clustered—the sign of an intentional encryption.
Peter A. Sturrock, emeritus Professor of Applied Physics and emeritus Director of the Center for Space Science
and Astrophysics at Stanford University, subjected the name Henry Wriothesley to a statistical analysis. He
calculated “the probability of finding HENRY by chance is 21 x 8.4 x 10-5, which is approximately 0.002.”
Whereas, he estimated “the probability of finding the name WRIOTHESLEY in one of the 7 grids to be 7 10-6 ”
(Sturrock, 2013).
Subsequent to Rollett’s discovery of HENRY WRIOTHESLEY’S encrypted name, the same cipher-text was found to
have been encrypted with DE VERE – it will be observed that
the letters, DE have been aligned to sit either side of the initial
letter ‘V’ in Vere. The poet’s infatuation for Henry Wriothesley
had found release in the composition of these verses (Roper,
2011). And by using the title of Thorpe’s booklet, namely
Shake–speares Sonnets, with its 19 letters as a key, the
construction of a 19-column grille reveals a cogitable, plaintext statement that reads: – TO [DE] VERE: HIS W.S.
[EPI]GRAM.
It is excusable that HIS appears as HSI, since the reversal of I and S was necessitated by the S having been set in
place to ensure WRIOTHESLEY was spelt correctly.
The initials of William Shakespeare, too, are in reverse order: as are the M and R in GRAM, which utilise the four
remaining letters occupying the three diagonals of plain-text. But, EPI is not part of these diagonals – there being
no available space. Instead, these three letters nestle alongside the adjacent diagonal leading to the G that
commences the anagrammatic GRAM.
By combining these encryptions, found on a single grille, complete with the codeword RUNE, we have: TO DE
VERE: HIS W. S. EPIGRAM. HENRY WRIOTHESLEY, THOU ART VISIBLE TO WISHES, VETERAN! And, since the
cipher-text is a dedication to Shake–speares Sonnets, which relate the poet’s love for a youth, this previously
unnamed pair have finally been revealed as Edward de Vere and Henry Wriothesley. Added to which, the 6-2-4
hop, skip and jump across the words in the dedication, which also number the letters in each part of EDWARD DE
VERE’S NAME, has further affirmed his role as the poet of the Sonnets. There is also a mathematical consideration.
The sequence of letters above is formed, from beginning to end, by an alternating letter sequence of 9 and 10
(omitting ‘de’ and ‘epi’). The probability that these letters could occur by chance in that alignment has been
calculated as 1:429,053,237,920,767,165,959,314 (see Appendix p.24).
The false trail leading to Stratford-upon-Avon is therefore proven beyond all reasonable doubt, both scientifically
and historically.
Predictably, due to the circumstances existing at the time: the publication of Shake–speares Sonnets had a very short
print life, and “some form of suppression has to be suspected” (Wilson, 1993).
The next major opportunity to encode de Vere’s name in a lasting commendation to Shakespeare occurred with
the approach of 1623, when the first folio entitled ‘Mr William Shakespeares Comedies, Histories & Tragedies’ was
published. At about the same time: that is, six or seven years after Shakspere’s death in 1616 (which was totally
ignored by every living person that had any connection with either literature or the theatre), a memorial wall
monument, commemorating his life, was brought from London, and fixed to the north wall of the chancel in the
parish church at Stratford-upon-Avon. Those visiting the church today will see only its replacement. The original,
after suffering neglect, became the cause of a public subscription in the first half of the 19th century. £5000
(equivalent to £525,000 or $790,000 today) was raised for its restoration and for the refurbishment of the chancel.
In the monument’s renewed condition, the woolsack was replaced by a tasselled cushion, and a pen and sheet of
paper were placed in the hands of the figure. Fortunately, the inscription beneath the bust was scrupulously copied
16
from the original. This is important, because its six lines of English verse form a cipher-text. The key is denoted
by the 34 letters in the second line of the Latin inscription, in which ‘maeret’ with six letters has been written as
‘mæret’ with five letters to make the count. As Bruce Spittle observed, this is the only line among the eight that
has been deliberately inset, thereby drawing attention to it. This brought a response from Alexander Waugh, who
commented, “34 is the double of 17 and the cryptogram is about ‘Shakespeare’ Oxford’s double.” This inset line
leads directly onto the cipher-text, with its instant challenge to discover who has been placed within these words
on the monument: for it is far too small to contain a body.
Stay Passenger, Why Goest Thov By So Fast,
Read If Thov Canst, Whom Enviovs Death Hath Plast.
With In This Monvment Shakspeare: With Whome,
Qvick Natvre Dide: Whose Name Doth Deck YS Tombe
Far More Then Cost: Sieh All, YT He Hath Writt,
Leaves Living Art, But Page, To Serve His Witt.
A close inspection of the text reveals several inconsistencies by the author, who evidently found it necessary to
make minor adjustments to some of the words, in order to meet the requirement of his intended plain-text.
(1)
(2)
(3)
(4)
(5)
(6)
(7)
‘Whom’, when first spelt: becomes ‘Whome’ when it is repeated for a second time.
‘This’ is first written in full, but the next time it is required, it is abbreviated.
‘That’ is unnecessarily abbreviated to YT
The words, ‘Monvment Shakspeare’ have been reversed for no apparent reason.
‘Shakspeare’ has been spelt by omitting the letter ‘e’ between ‘k’ and ‘s’.
‘Sieh’ is not an English word at all; it is the German imperative from siehen: ‘Look’ or ‘See’.
‘Writt’ has been spelt with an additional ‘t’.
These seven anomalies affect the
alignment of the plain-text. When
occupying a grille of 34 columns,
each one becomes effective in
producing three major clusters;
when read vertically, they convey
the truth about Edward de Vere’s authorship of the Shakespeare canon:– HIM, SO TEST! HE, I VOW, IS E. DE
VERE [AS HE SHAKSPEARE]; ME, I. B. (Ben Ionson). E VERE is accompanied by the now familiar presence of the
codeword RUNE.
There exist several comments regarding this statement. Firstly, it is not unique for Jonson to have written
sentences beginning with its object. A quick glance through his plays is sufficient to locate several examples. In
The Alchemist, (Act 5 sc. v 121), Jonson wrote: – “The Doctor, he shall hear of him at Westchester.” In Every Man
In His Humour, (Act 1 sc. ii 82), he wrote – “From the bordello, it might come as well.”
Secondly, it may be objected that the phrase ‘As He Shakspeare’ includes the name horizontally. Against this, it
may be countered that the name is too long to be contained vertically. Because of this, the words, ‘As He’, in the
plain-text, have been interlaced with the letters of Shakspeare in the cipher-text, thereby compensating for this
difficulty. Essentially, however, it does not matter whether the phrase, ‘As He Shakspeare’ is included or not:
because, if it is not included, it will still readily occur within the mind of the reader by subaudition.
Thirdly, the initials B. I. (with the Latin ‘I’ in place of ‘J’) are found beneath Ben Jonson’s lines of verse opposite
the first folio’s much disputed cartoon of Shakespeare. It was also common practice at that time to confirm one’s
identity with the words ‘By Me’ or in this case ‘Me’. An obvious example of this practice can be seen on William
Shakspere’s will, where ‘By Me’ precedes his signature.
Fourthly, attention is again drawn to the presence of the word RUNE in the plain-text, where it adjoins ‘E. VERE’.
Rune also appears on the ledger stone covering Shakspere’s unnamed grave on the chancel floor nearby. The
Church Register for 1616, under burials, includes the entry: “April 25 Will Shakspere gent”. His gravestone has
more to impart. “Good Frend For Iesuvs Sake Forbeare, / To Digg The Dvst Encloased Heare: / Blest Be YE
Man YT Spares Thes Stones, / And Cvrst Be He YT Moves My Bones.”
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This doggerel piece of rhyme has both bewildered and mystified Shakespeare’s admirers ever since it was first
noticed. That is because it is also ciphertext. This was observed by Arthur
Neuendorffer who noted the frequent
appearance of RUNE, whenever the
cover text involved Shakespeare; or, more especially, when it had possible implications for Edward de Vere. By
counting the twelfth letter of each line on a Cardano Grille with 28 columns and 4 rows, the word RUNE appears
vertically. The key to the number of columns is equivalent to the 28 letters in ‘William Shakspear’s ledger stone’,
with the surname spelt exactly as it is written on the wall monument above his grave. Also, there are 12 letters in
Edward de Vere. But attention must surely be given to the word itself. Of all the four-letter words in the
English tongue that might have occurred by chance, RUNE stands alone. No other four-letter word can be seen
that was then part of the nation’s language. ‘Scam’ did not enter the vocabulary until the 20th-century (OED).
The unique appearance of RUNE tends to suggest Ben Jonson was the author of both verses that appear in the
chancel. The use of a Latin ‘I’ for the initial of Jesus; the abbreviation of ‘that’ with YT and a ‘v’ instead of ‘u’ are
all found in the inscription Jonson wrote beneath Shakspere’s bust.
The message on the gravestone is clear. Leave his body where it lies, with the added curse – made in a
superstitious age – upon the head of anyone with the temerity to do otherwise. Jonson had foreseen how the
adulation of a minority might encourage popular opinion to demand that his human remains be re-interred at
Westminster Abbey. Those who knew de Vere’s secret were aghast at this possibility; but a future generation,
ignorant of the facts, and brain-washed by traditional belief, would be composed to think differently.
In a further attempt to prevent Shakspere’s reburial, Jonson actually wrote a poetic objection to it, placing his
words at the front of the first folio, where it would remain as a constant reminder to future generations. “My
Shakespeare; rise; I will not lodge thee by / Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lye / A little further, to make
thee a roome: / Thou art a Moniment without a tombe.” The three poets mentioned were all buried inside
Westminster Abbey, in ‘Poets Corner’. Jonson would later join them, having done all he could to prevent
Oxford’s ‘ape’ from being interred alongside him.
Leonard Digges, a man of letters and descended from a well-connected Elizabethan family, had also written a
tribute to the man he named Shake–speare. This was placed alongside other poetic tributes at the front of the first
folio. But it now appears that Digges had intended a different verse to have taken its place. Jonson, acting as
editor of the tributes paid to ‘Shakespeare’, may have decided it was safer to exclude it. His concern is not difficult
to understand. Digges had encoded in plain-text, ME E DE VERE at the beginning of his poem, with the secret
codeword RUNE alongside, while the cover text praised Shakespeare’s poetical gift. The inverted ‘DE’ is treated
here in the same manner as was ‘WR’ in WRIOTHESLEY.
Poets are borne not made, when I would prove
This truth, the glad rememberance I must love
Of never dying Shakespeare, who alone
Is argument enough to make that one.
First, that he was a Poet none would doubt.
The encoded plain-text is opened by a key of 18: this being the
number of letters in ‘William Shakespeare’: to whom the ciphertext is
innocently addressing. Nashe, too, had used his addressee’s name as a key when encrypting his message; whereas
Thorpe used his subject’s name for the key. The point being that of the nine separate grilles displayed here, seven
of them are keyed by the name of a person to whom they are connected.
Had Digges’s statement, in its decoded form, been discovered in the spotlight that was focused upon the first
folio, its repercussion would have been traced back to Jonson’s involvement as editor; and his encryption on the
Stratford monument would have come under immediate suspicion: possibly even torn from him by torture.
Consequently, it was not until 1640 that Digges’s poem, with its plain-text intact, finally became printed. By then,
his death five years earlier placed him beyond the censor’s reach.
In 1640, after a gap of more than three decades, Shakespeare’s sonnets were again released to the public. But it is
apparent that a licence for their publication was made conditional upon the young man, at the centre of the poet’s
18
attention, be understood by readers as female. This was achieved by the simple strategy of changing the gender of
several pronouns and omitting sonnets 18, 19, 43, 56, 76 and 136. It would be almost a century and a half before
Edmund Malone redirected attention back in time to Thorpe’s original edition, and the realization that
Shakespeare had not been wooing some fair maid with ‘sugared sonnets’, but, it had been a boy who was receiving
his love and adulation.
The man responsible for the gender alterations was John Benson, a London publisher, who entered this revised
edition in the Stationers’ Register on 4 November 1639: describing it as POEMS: VVRITTEN BY WIL. SHAKESPEARE. Gent. Attention is drawn to the two ‘Vs’ representing ‘W’ as compared with the single letter ‘W’ in Wil.
It means that the word ‘VVritten’ consists of eight letters instead of seven. Also, the hyphenated name in capital
letters contradicts the excuses made for it appearing hyphenated, only when printed in lower case letters (Shapiro,
2010). Quite the opposite, it reinforces awareness that Shake–speare was not the author’s true name.
Benson’s edition is as contentious and enigmatic as Thorpe’s had been. The cover depicts an altered copy of
Martin Droeshout’s outrageous sketch of Shakespeare, which had appeared in the first folio of 1623. William
Marshall, the engraver who died ten years before his illustration was published, has added a nobleman’s cape to his
copy of Droeshout’s figure. Tanya Cooper, curator of 16th century portraits at the National Gallery, emphasised
the contradiction this displayed to ‘Shakespeare’s’ supposed social position in society.
In Elizabethan and Jacobean England, strict dress codes known as sumptuary laws were well known by
everyone. The penalties for violating sumptuary laws could be harsh. Heavy fines could be imposed for
dressing out of one’s class… Only men above the rank of gentlemen could wear a cape over their clothing.
Note, also, that the caped figure of ‘Shakespeare’ holds in one hand a sprig of hyssop (belvedere in French): a
word that allows its translation to reform as ‘bel de vere’, or ‘noble de Vere’—hence, the nobleman’s cape.
Beneath Marshall’s figure are eight lines of verse, with question marks against certain words and statements.
This shadow is renowned Shakespear’s ? Soule of th’age
The applause ? delight ? the wonder of the stage.
The lame excuse made for this unnatural punctuation is that they were intended as exclamation marks. A majority
view, however, would be expected to acknowledge them for what they are—question marks.
Benson then commences with his own introduction. It begins – “To the Reader / I here presume (under favour)
to present to your view some excellent and sweetely composed Poems of Master William Shakespeare…” As with
Tom Nashe’s opening words in Strange Newes, with its hidden plain-text, Benson’s opening
comment follows the rule set by the Greek tragedians, and he places his encryption at the
commencement of his introduction. His key to the required grille is denoted by the eight
letters given to the seven-letter word describing the book’s content. Thus, with an ELS of
8, and using his opening words as a cipher-text, Benson’s plain-text announces in a single
cluster of words – “ME: LO, E. VERE, RE: MARY S. OWED [i.e. indebted to] HIS ROTE.” The
word ‘ROTE’ is archaic, from ancient French; it formerly meant “companionship, or
company (of actors)”: from which we get the modern meaning of learning by rote. As
expected, the codeword RUNE has been encoded into this cluster of words.
The use of ‘owed’, which in the present case means ‘indebted to’, is the preferred choice
of synonym, because it fits more easily into the grille. It also directs attention to the years
1588 and 1603. The latter of these two years saw ‘Shakespeare’ visiting Mary Sidney at
Wilton House, and thereafter being joined by King James I and his court, which had
travelled up from Salisbury. The King’s Men (‘Shakespeare’s’ company of actors) were
then summoned from their winter retreat in Mortlake to entertain the royal party gathered there.
Mary Sidney was the owner of Wilton House, and this was remarked upon by Aubrey (supra), who commented
upon the scholars visiting the House, and its collegiate way of life. It was there that “Shakespeare wrote a number
of his works,” which makes de Vere’s presence at Wilton highly significant.
In the first folio, Ben Jonson had been scrupulously careful to ensure that any statement referring to Shakespeare
was ambiguous. But when he described the poet as ‘Sweet Swan of Avon’, attention became solely fixed upon the
town of Stratford-upon-Avon, to where the false trail had been laid. It was by mentioning Mary S. alongside E.
19
Vere, together with her indebtedness to his rote (company of actors) that Benson sought to redirect attention
toward Wilton House. In its once extensive parkland, there flowed three little rivers, of which the Avon was the
main waterway; the other two were its tributaries.
De Vere’s association with Wiltshire’s Avon, and Jonson’s reference to ‘Sweet swan of Avon’, is therefore firmly
established. In 1964, during the 400th anniversary of ‘Shakespeare’s’ birth, Wilton House played an important role
in these celebrations.
There’s history in every corner. King Charles the First spent many happy summers here. Shakespeare wrote
a number of works here. Queen Elizabeth not only slept here, she left a lock of her hair, which is still a
treasured heirloom.
Oxford’s literary connection to the Wiltshire Avon began in 1588, when he and Mary Sidney were mourning the
recent deaths of close, family members. Oxford’s wife had died in June that year. Mary’s brother, Sir Philip Sidney,
together with both their parents, had also died in quick succession two years before. Ever since then, Mary had cut
herself off from society. But after meeting Oxford at the victory celebrations in London, for the defeat of Spain’s
armada, she found in this new companionship a reason to set aside her mourning clothes, and she began
producing work of outstanding literary merit:; this included the completion of her brother Philip’s Psalms. Of
these, it was said, “The consensus of critical opinion seems to be that her part shows more literary merit than her
brother’s, especially in the skill and ingenuity of the versification.” But after this interlude with Oxford, her merit
as a writer never again rose to that same high level.
In 1603, King James and his court twice visited the home of Lady Mary Sidney. On the second occasion, de Vere
was present when the King arrived. Oxford had good reason to be there. The Plague was again rampant in
London, as it had been when Nashe accompanied him to Wilton in the previous decade. Also, plans were being
prepared for his daughter, Susan, to marry Mary’s son, Philip, Earl of Montgomery. At the same time, the King’s
Men, having retired for the winter, were recalled to perform at Wilton House. That “Shakespeare’s company
performed… at Wilton on 2 December is a matter of firm historical record (Wilson, 1993).”
More than two centuries later, when William Cory, the Victorian, scholar and poet, visited Wilton House in the
summer of 1865 as tutor to the son of Lady Elizabeth à Court – widow of Sidney Herbert, 1st Baron of Lea – an
entry, made in his diary relayed a discussion he had held with his hostess concerning James I’s visit in 1603.
That would have been an agreeable occasion, the excellent play, the author present, and the King lured
from Salisbury. To commemorate it a temple was built at Wilton, and known as Shakespeares House.
Edward Rose was another who wrote of ‘Shakespeare’s House’. In 1887, he visited Wilton House for an article,
which appeared in the Illustrated London News. He described the building with its classic pillars and feudal coats of
arms; but, even more interestingly; he reported seeing a quotation from Macbeth inside the building: presumably
chosen by Lady Mary. Its significance to the fate of Oxford’s name is quite apparent. “Life’s but a walking
shadow; a poor player, / That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, / And then is heard no more.” This
admirably paraphrased the fate of the man who wrote those lines, Edward de Vere.
Toward the end of the 20th century, the late Lord Pembroke commissioned a historical survey to be carried out on
‘Shakespeare’s House’. The result confirmed it dated back to the time of Mary Sidney. But, for those who glorify
Shakspere as Shakespeare, this is a step too far. A member of the nobility would not have rewarded a commoner
like Shakspere, with so memorable a memorial. But for the titled father of her daughter-in-law, who was also the
poet who had provided such wonderful entertainment for the King and his court at her home, Mary Sidney would
have considered its construction to be perfectly in keeping with that age.
The factual evidence produced for this article completely contradicts the oft-heard traditionalists’ assertion that
nobody doubted Shakespeare was the author of the literary work attributed to him while he lived. Moreover, this
evidence has an added interest, because each piece of decrypted plain-text is cogently commenting upon an
historical event for which Shakespeare is the subject in the cover text. Equally, it is also essential to understand
that these encrypted statements were made at a time in English history when, “It was far easier to enforce silence
on a forbidden topic in Elizabethan London than it has ever been since, even in Stalin’s Russia” (Michell). Witness
the arrests of Marston, Chapman, Jonson, Daniel, Kyd, Nashe &c for offences deemed insurrectional. As a direct
result of silencing the population with threats of imprisonment and torture, historians have recognized “Late
20
sixteenth-century England was a country that provided a ready audience for dissident code: its people were
addicted to hidden meanings. Codes, devices and punning allusions were everywhere... There were literary codes,
too, accessible only to the sophisticated elite” (Asquith, 2005).
In 1955, in response to the Folger Library having awarded William F. Friedman a prize for disproving the Bacon
ciphers, this famous wartime code breaker was persuaded to publish his reasons. It therefore becomes of major
importance to be also wholly conversant with what Freidman did not do. He did not examine the Stratford
monument, despite its opening challenge to stay and do so; nor did he examine Thomas Thorpe’s dedication,
which even Leslie Hotson, by no means a code breaker, observed was a cryptogram. Instead, Freidman focused
entirely upon the alleged ciphers that were proposing Bacon to have been the pen responsible for Shakespeare’s
work. As such, the Cardano grille was never mentioned, let alone examined. Hence, its use by Nashe, Jonson,
Thorpe, Digges, Benson and, of course, de Vere, remained untouched. What Friedman did, however, was to
provide his expert opinion on what was required for a genuine cryptogram. “The techniques of the antiShakespearean cryptologists can be divided into three categories,” he began. “First, there are those which are
invalid, by our standards, because the crypto-systems or the specific keys concerned are either not valid in
themselves or are not rigorously applied.” This particular concern can be dismissed at once. Cardano grilles are a
valid means of encryption and the keys to their usage by those mentioned above do not stretch the intellect
beyond what is reasonably evident. They have also been the subject of intensive study by the military.
“Second”, Friedman continued, “there are those which are unacceptable because the alleged plain text is so far
from plain that to the outsider it seems nonsense. At best, it does not conform to accepted standards of
significance or linguistic usage.” This concern, too, can be dismissed. Nothing contained within the decoded plaintexts of those mentioned is devoid of meaning; everything encrypted relates to the cover text.
In Friedman’s “third category the cryptologists fail on both accounts; their technique is inconsistent or faulty and
their messages do not make sense either, by any strict standard.” But far from being inconsistent, the decrypted
plain-text contained by the Cardano grilles above repeatedly inscribe de Vere’s name, concealed by cover texts that
pertain to the traditional figure of Shakespeare; moreover, each plain-text always includes the encoded word
‘rune’, with the accompanying association it has to ‘whispering in secret’. A more apt ‘codeword’ for the unity
expressed within these different plain-texts would be hard to find.
Although Friedman’s target was the alleged Bacon ciphers, his positive attitude towards genuine examples of
cryptographic material should not be overlooked. “The experienced cryptologist,” he maintained, “looks for two
things, and they are equally important. First, the plain-text makes sense, in whatever language it is supposed to
have been written; it must be grammatical... it must say something, and say it intelligibly”. Secondly, “Not only
does the answer have to obey the rules of grammar and the laws of logic; the cipher system and the specific key
also have to obey certain rules” (Friedman, 1957). This led him and his co-author wife, Elizebeth, to make the
following admission: –
We shall only ask whether the solutions are valid: that is to say, whether the plain texts make sense, and the
cryptosystem and the specific keys can be, or have been, applied without ambiguity. Provided that
independent investigation shows an answer to be unique, and to have been reached by valid means, we
shall accept it, however much we shock the learned world by doing so (ibid p.26).
There is no reason to doubt that Friedman’s criteria have been adhered to in the cipher-texts written and
published separately, by Nashe, Jonson, Thorpe, Digges, Benson and de Vere; all of whom were eyewitnesses to
their joint assertion that one of their number, i.e. Edward de Vere, was William Shakespeare.
Taken together, these six eyewitness statements, from men whose lives and integrity can be ascertained from
historical documents, amount to forensic evidence. A six-part proof that would be acceptable in law, because it is
verifiably empirical.
As for Oxford’s allonym, Will Shakspere, after 400 years since his death—a death ignored in his day by
everyone associated with literature, whether it be writing, acting or publishing—the vacant reception it received
never ceases to be filled by tributes from his Cinderella syndrome idolaters. For, it is only idolatry that has the
persistent, emotional force required to repudiate reason and replace it with belief. The nature of that belief is not
hard to discover. It consists of filling in the empty gaps that proliferate throughout Shakspere’s life story, using
quasi-logic wherever, and whenever, a piece of crucial evidence for his existence as Shakespeare is missing.
21
[All] the records that would have referred to him [as Shakespeare] have mysteriously vanished. That is why
so little is known of him. No scrap of his own letters or manuscripts has survived, nor have the records of
his school years, his theatrical tours or anything he ever said to anyone. The deeds of his Stratford
properties are missing, and so is that part of his son-in-law John Hall’s diary covering his lifetime. Time
and again, as Charlotte Stopes found when she combed the public records in London for evidence of
Shakespeare’s acting career, there are gaps in the record just where his name might be expected to appear.
The suspicion is that someone or some agency, backed by the resources of government, has at some early
period ‘weeded’ the archives and suppressed documents with any bearing on William Shakspere and his
part in the Authorship mystery (Michell).
It is therefore a logical consequence of this present situation that everything ever written about Shakespeare’s
plays and poems as work by Shakspere must have originated in some author’s imagination. Contemporary references
to Shakespeare by name are insufficient, because contrary voices have acknowledged this to have been Edward de
Vere’s penname. Consequently, when stripped of all imagination, nothing remains of Shakspere but the bare
details of a life devoid of literature, unrecognized by any writer of distinction, and with no outstanding feature to
distinguish him from those he kept company with. Equally to the point, far from there being a bar to Oxford
having written the works of Shakespeare, there now exists positive proof that he was, indeed, William
Shakespeare. This leaves one with the words of Thomas Nashe and Ben Jonson: – “So, test him.” Follow the logic
where it leads; and there, much will be discovered that exists in Shakespeare’s story lines, which coincide with
events experienced by the 17th Earl of Oxford.
To the dismay of those reluctant to abandon their traditional view of Shakespeare, by replacing it with a logical
solution to the problem of authorship, there is nothing to be found in the plays that is consistent with the life of
Will Shakspere—unless, it be the tinker from Warwickshire, Christopher Sly. He appears in the induction scene at
the beginning of Taming of the Shrew, written in 1592—the same year Oxford was seeking an allonym for his
penname. And the man he chose to replace him as the author of Venus and Adonis was Shakspere: like Sly, a
“Iohannes fac totum” from Warwickshire. The Shrew commences with Sly in a drunken state. He is then abducted by
a nobleman, intent upon changing places with him as a temporary whim. Upon recovering his wits next morning,
Sly finds that his life has been changed into that of the lord who abducted him. The comedy that follows, results
from Sly’s struggle to adapt to this new way of life—as did Shakspere, in real life, when forced to take shelter in a
Friary, after Venus and Adonis was published with his name attached to its dedication.
Does this now mean that a sea change will take place; with Edward de Vere acknowledged to be the creative pen
that wrote the plays and poems attributed to William Shakespeare aka Will Shakspere? Or will the distant voices of
Tom Nashe, Thomas Thorpe, Ben Jonson, Leonard Digges, John Benson, and of course the author himself,
Edward de Vere, be treated with the same censorship that has already caused the truth to be hidden for so long?
It is not that the professorships of all but a few educational establishments are unwilling to embrace logical
evidence when it is so very obvious—it is simply that they do not know how to accomplish this.
2016 marks the 400th anniversary of Shakspere’s death. Media outlets worldwide, obedient to their involvement
with conventional thinking, will publicly celebrate this date. How strange it is, therefore, that the media, who
vehemently complain at any hint of suppressing the truth, should be the very ones that are guilty of doing exactly
that! Consider the plaudits lavished upon Shakespeare’s genius by Francis Meres. Consider further, the many plays
he wrote that became royal entertainment for Elizabeth I and later James I: then ask – against this background –
how is it possible that not one single person anywhere in England paid the slightest notice to his death; not one
single line of tribute was written by a fellow actor, playwright or admirer at his passing. How can this possibly be
the same man described by Meres, and celebrated by the two monarchs whom he entertained? It is not credible!
Yet, presented with irrefutable facts, the media remains silent.
Acknowledgements
The author gratefully acknowledges the support he has received from those who communicated their findings to
him, thereby allowing their industry to further pave the way to restoring Shakespeare’s work to their rightful
author. Particular thanks must go to Arthur Neuendorffer, whose findings far exceed those included in this article,
to Dr. Bruce Spittle for his insightfulness and unfailing assistance when needed, to James Ferris for opening the
door to an unexpected encryption, and to the late Dr. John Rollett, with whom the author exchanged many
thoughtful communications.
22
References
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Asquith, C. (2005). Shadowplay. New York: Public Affairs, p.20.
Callery, S. (2006). Codes and Ciphers. London: Collins, p.51
Carroll, D. A. (2004). Reading the 1592 Groatsworth Attack on Shakespeare. Tennessee Law Review: Volume 72 Number 1, 277-294.
Chambers, E. (1930). William Shakespeare: A Study of Facts and Problems. Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Chute, M. (1949). Shakespeare of London. New York: Dutton
Chute, M. (1954). Ben Jonson of Westminster. London: Robert Hale.
Compton Mackenzie, F. (1950). William Cory. London: Constable.
Cooper, T. (2006). Searching for Shakespeare. London: National Portrait Gallery Publications, p.114.
Edwards, F. (1985). The Jesuits in England from 1580 to the Present Day. Tunbridge Wells: Burns & Oates.
Friedman, W. F. & E. S. (1957). The Shakespearean Ciphers Examined. Cambridge University Press, pp.20, 26, 279.
Graves, R. E. (1885). Hilliard, Nicholas. Dictionary of National Biography, (1885 – 1900), vol. 26.
Guy, J. A. (1988). Tudor England. Oxford University Press, p.318.
Henslowe’s Diary (2002). Second edition, edited by R. A. Foakes. Cambridge University Press.
Heylin, C. (2009). As Long As Men Can Breathe. Philadelphia: Da Capo Press
Holden, A. (2002). Shakespeare’s True Love. Observer Review: 21 April.
Kahn, D. (1967). The Codebreakers: The Story of Secret Writing. New York:
Kay, W. (1995). Ben Jonson A Literary Life. Basingstoke: Macmillan Press.
Kilroy, G. (2005). Edmund Campion: Memory and Transcription. Aldershot: Ashgate, p.3
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Michael, W. (1873). History of Wilton House. Westbury, Wiltshire.
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23
APPENDIX
Thomas Thorpe’s dedication is composed from 144 letters of the alphabet. These occur as follows:
A
5
B
2
D E
3 23
F
2
G H
I
5 10 14
L
6
M N O
2 13 8
P
4
R
9
S
T U/V W
10 17 3/3 4
Y
1
The 15 letters forming the plain-text – TO VERE HIS WS GRAM – occur in the following alphabetical order.
A E G H I M O R S T V W
1 2 1 1 1 1 1 2 2 1 1 1
Since the letters in the plain-text occur in an alternating sequence of 9, 10, 9, 10 ... 9 the probability that the letters
comprising the statement: TO R VERE HSI SW GMA, must occur at each of these points in the sequence.
In between these points, the remaining letters can be distributed randomly, but the result will need to allow the
15 letters required for the plain-text to occupy their designated place in the 9-10 sequence.
Given these 144 letters, as allocated above, the first 8 are chosen at random. It is then clear from the table that
these 8 selected letters can only come from 129 available letters, since 15 of them are required for the plain-text.
Hence, the number of letters available for the plain-text will be reduced retrospectively, as the selection continues.
8 choices followed by ‘I’
ଵଶଽ
8 choices followed by ‘S’
ଵଵଶ
9 choices followed by ‘O’
9 choices followed by ‘T’
8 choices followed by ‘H’
9 choices followed by ‘A’
ଵସସ
ଵଶଵ
ଵଷହ
ଵଶହ
ଵ଴ସ
ଵଵ଺
ଽହ
ଵ଴଺
଼଻
ଽ଻
8 choices followed by ‘E’
଻଼
8 choices followed by ‘R’
଺ଵ
9 choices followed by ‘M’
9 choices followed by ‘G’
଼଻
଻଴
଻଼
଺଼
ହଷ
ହଽ
8 choices followed by ‘E’
ସସ
8 choices followed by ‘V’
ଶ଻
9 choices followed by ‘W’
9 choices followed by ‘S’
8 choices followed by ‘R’
ସଽ
ଷ଺
ସ଴
ଷ଴
ଵଽ
ଶଵ
ଵ଴
ଵଵ
×
ଵଶ଼
×
ଵଵଵ
×
×
×
×
ଵସଷ
ଵଶ଴
ଵଷସ
ଵଶସ
ଵ଴ଷ
ଵଵହ
ଽସ
ଵ଴ହ
଼଺
ଽ଺
×
଻଻
×
଺଴
×
×
×
×
×
×
×
଼଺
଺ଽ
଻଻
଺଻
ହଶ
ହ଼
ସଷ
ସ଼
ଷହ
ଷଽ
ଶ଺
ଶଽ
ଵ଼
ଶ଴
ଽ
ଵ଴
×
×
×
×
×
×
×
×
×
×
×
ଵଶ଻
×
ଵଵ଴
×
×
×
ଵସଶ
ଵଵଽ
ଵଷଷ
ଵଶଷ
ଵ଴ଶ
ଵଵସ
ଽଷ
ଵ଴ସ
଼ହ
ଽହ
଻଺
଼ହ
଺଼
଻଺
ହଽ
଺଺
ହଵ
ହ଻
ସଶ
ସ଻
ଷସ
ଷ଼
ଶହ
ଶ଼
ଵ଻
ଵଽ
଼
ଽ
×
ଵଶ଺
×
ଵ଴ଽ
×
×
×
×
଼ସ
×
଺଻
ଽସ
×
଻ହ
×
ହ଼
×
×
×
×
×
×
଼ସ
଻ହ
଺ହ
ହ଴
ହ଺
ସଵ
ସ଺
ଷଷ
ଷ଻
ଶସ
ଶ଻
ଵ଺
ଵ଼
଻
଼
×
ଵସଵ
ଵଵ଼
ଵଷଶ
ଵଶଶ
ଵ଴ଵ
ଵଵଷ
ଽଶ
ଵ଴ଷ
×
ଵଶହ
×
ଵ଴଼
×
଺଺
ଽଷ
଻ସ
×
ହ଻
×
×
଺
଻
଼ଷ
଻ସ
଺ସ
ସଽ
ହହ
ସ଴
ସହ
ଷଶ
ଷ଺
ଶଷ
ଶ଺
ଵହ
ଵ଻
×
ଵଶଵ
ଵ଴଴
ଵଵଶ
ଽଵ
×
×
×
ଵଷଵ
×
଼ଷ
×
ଵଵ଻
×
×
×
ଵସ଴
×
ଵ଴ଶ
଼ଶ
ଽଶ
×
଻ଷ
×
ହ଺
଼ଶ
଺ହ
×
଻ଷ
଺ଷ
ସ଼
×
ହସ
ଷଽ
×
ସସ
ଷଵ
×
ଷହ
ଶଶ
×
×
ହ
଺
ଶହ
ଵସ
×
ଵ଺
ସ
ହ
×
ଵଶସ
×
ଵ଴଻
×
×
×
ଵଷଽ
ଵଵ଺
ଵଷ଴
ଵଶ଴
ଽଽ
ଵଵଵ
ଽ଴
ଵ଴ଵ
×
଼ଵ
×
଺ସ
ଽଵ
×
଻ଶ
×
ହହ
×
×
×
×
×
×
଼ଵ
଻ଶ
଺ଶ
ସ଻
ହଷ
ଷ଼
ସଷ
ଷ଴
ଷସ
ଶଵ
ଶସ
ଵଷ
ଵହ
ଷ
ସ
×
ଵଶଷ
×
ଵ଴଺
×
×
×
ଵଷ଼
ଵଵହ
ଵଶଽ
ଵଵଽ
ଽ଼
ଵଵ଴
଼ଽ
ଵ଴଴
×
଼଴
×
଺ଷ
ଽ଴
×
଻ଵ
×
ହସ
×
×
×
×
×
×
ଵ
ଷ
଼଴
଻ଵ
଺ଵ
ସ଺
ହଶ
ଷ଻
ସଶ
ଶଽ
ଷଷ
ଶ଴
ଶଷ
ଵଶ
ଵସ
=
×
×
×
ଵଶଶ
×
ଵ଴ହ
×
×
×
ଵଷ଻
ଵଵସ
ଵଶ଼
ଵଵ଼
ଽ଻
ଵ଴ଽ
଼଼
଻ଽ
଼ଽ
ଵଷ
଻ଽ
×
଺ଶ
×
ସହ
×
×
×
×
×
଻଴
ହ
଺଴
ହଵ
଻
ସଵ
ଶ଼
ଷଶ
ଵ
ଶଶ
ଵଵ
ଵଷ
ଽଽ
×
×
ଵଷ଺
×
ଵଵ଻
×
×
ଷ
଼଼
ଽ
ଽ଺
ଵ଴଼
଻
×
ଵ
×
ଷ
×
ଵ
×
ଵ
×
×
ହ଴
×
ଷଵ
×
ଵଶ
×
ଵଶ଻
ଽ଼
଺ଽ
×
ଵଵଷ
×
×
×
ଵସ
×
ଶ଺଴,଴ସ଼.଼଼଴
ଵସସ! ÷ ଵଶଽ!
×
=
×
଺
×
ଵଶ
×
×
ଵଶ଺
×
ଵ଴଻
×
ଵ
ସଶଽ,଴ହଷ,ଶଷ଻,ଽଶ଴,଻଺଻,ଵ଺ହ,ଽହଽ,ଷଵସ
≈ 0
The probability that the plain-text in Thorpe’s Cardano grille occurred by chance is so close to zero,
it can be considered impossible.
24