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diff --git a/5134-h/5134-h.htm b/5134-h/5134-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c535858 --- /dev/null +++ b/5134-h/5134-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4505 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Discoveries Made Upon Men and Matter, by Ben Jonson</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + P.gutsumm { margin-left: 5%;} + P.poetry {margin-left: 3%; } + .GutSmall { font-size: 0.7em; } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4, H5 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + table { border-collapse: collapse; } +table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto;} + td { vertical-align: top; border: 1px solid black;} + td p { margin: 0.2em; } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + + .pagenum {position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: small; + text-align: right; + font-weight: normal; + color: gray; + } + img { border: none; } + img.dc { float: left; width: 50px; height: 50px; } + p.gutindent { margin-left: 2em; } + div.gapspace { height: 0.8em; } + div.gapline { height: 0.8em; width: 100%; border-top: 1px solid;} + div.gapmediumline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + div.gapmediumdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 40%; margin-left:30%; + border-top: 1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; + margin-left: 40%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid; } + div.gapdoubleline { height: 0.3em; width: 50%; + margin-left: 25%; border-top: 1px solid; + border-bottom: 1px solid;} + div.gapshortline { height: 0.3em; width: 20%; margin-left:40%; + border-top: 1px solid; } + .citation {vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: none;} + img.floatleft { float: left; + margin-right: 1em; + margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.floatright { float: right; + margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; } + img.clearcenter {display: block; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Discoveries Made Upon Men and Matter, by Ben +Jonson, Edited by Henry Morley + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Discoveries Made Upon Men and Matter + and Some Poems + + +Author: Ben Jonson + +Editor: Henry Morley + +Release Date: August 14, 2014 [eBook #5134] +[This file was first posted on May 10, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DISCOVERIES MADE UPON MEN AND +MATTER*** +</pre> +<p>Transcribed from the 1892 Cassell & Company edition by +David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p> +<p style="text-align: center"><span +class="GutSmall">CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY.</span></p> + +<div class="gapshortline"> </div> +<h1><span class="smcap">Discoveries</span><br /> +<i>MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER</i><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AND</span><br /> +SOME POEMS</h1> +<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br +/> +BEN JOHNSON.</p> +<p style="text-align: center"> +<a href="images/tpb.jpg"> +<img alt= +"Decorative graphic" +title= +"Decorative graphic" +src="images/tps.jpg" /> +</a></p> +<p style="text-align: center">CASSELL & COMPANY, <span +class="smcap">Limited</span>:<br /> +<span class="GutSmall"><i>LONDON</i></span><span +class="GutSmall">, </span><span class="GutSmall"><i>PARIS & +MELBOURNE</i></span><span class="GutSmall">.</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">1892.</span></p> +<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p><span class="smcap">Ben Jonson’s</span> +“Discoveries” are, as he says in the few Latin words +prefixed to them, “A wood—Sylva—of things and +thoughts, in Greek ‘ὕλη’” +[which has for its first meaning material, but is also applied +peculiarly to kinds of wood, and to a wood], “from the +multiplicity and variety of the material contained in it. +For, as we are commonly used to call the infinite mixed multitude +of growing trees a wood, so the ancients gave the name of +Sylvæ—Timber Trees—to books of theirs in which +small works of various and diverse matter were promiscuously +brought together.”</p> +<p>In this little book we have some of the best thoughts of one +of the most vigorous minds that ever added to the strength of +English literature. The songs added are a part of what Ben +Jonson called his “Underwoods.”</p> +<p>Ben Jonson was of a north-country family from the Annan +district that produced Thomas Carlyle. His father was +ruined by religious persecution in the reign of Mary, became a +preacher in Elizabeth’s reign, and died a month before the +poet’s birth in 1573. Ben Jonson, therefore, was +about nine years younger than Shakespeare, and he survived +Shakespeare about twenty-one years, dying in August, 1637. +Next to Shakespeare Ben Jonson was, in his own different way, the +man of most mark in the story of the English drama. His +mother, left poor, married again. Her second husband was a +bricklayer, or small builder, and they lived for a time near +Charing Cross in Hartshorn Lane. Ben Jonson was taught at +the parish school of St. Martin’s till he was discovered by +William Camden, the historian. Camden was then second +master in Westminster School. He procured for young Ben an +admission into his school, and there laid firm foundations for +that scholarship which the poet extended afterwards by private +study until his learning grew to be sworn-brother to his wit.</p> +<p>Ben Jonson began the world poor. He worked for a very +short time in his step-father’s business. He +volunteered to the wars in the Low Countries. He came home +again, and joined the players. Before the end of +Elizabeth’s reign he had written three or four plays, in +which he showed a young and ardent zeal for setting the world to +rights, together with that high sense of the poet’s calling +which put lasting force into his work. He poured contempt +on those who frittered life away. He urged on the +poetasters and the mincing courtiers, who set their hearts on +top-knots and affected movements of their lips and +legs:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“That these vain joys in which their +wills consume<br /> +Such powers of wit and soul as are of force<br /> +To raise their beings to eternity,<br /> +May be converted on works fitting men;<br /> +And for the practice of a forcéd look,<br /> +An antic gesture, or a fustian phrase,<br /> +Study the native frame of a true heart,<br /> +An inward comeliness of bounty, knowledge,<br /> +And spirit that may conform them actually<br /> +To God’s high figures, which they have in power.”</p> +<p>Ben Jonson’s genius was producing its best work in the +earlier years of the reign of James I. His <i>Volpone</i>, +the <i>Silent Woman</i>, and the <i>Alchemist</i> first appeared +side by side with some of the ripest works of Shakespeare in the +years from 1605 to 1610. In the latter part of +James’s reign he produced masques for the Court, and turned +with distaste from the public stage. When Charles I. became +king, Ben Jonson was weakened in health by a paralytic +stroke. He returned to the stage for a short time through +necessity, but found his best friends in the best of the young +poets of the day. These looked up to him as their father +and their guide. Their own best efforts seemed best to them +when they had won Ben Jonson’s praise. They valued +above all passing honours man could give the words, “My +son,” in the old poet’s greeting, which, as they +said, “sealed them of the tribe of Ben.”</p> +<p style="text-align: right">H. M.</p> +<h2>SYLVA</h2> +<p><i>Rerum et sententiarum quasi Ὕλη dicta a +multiplici materia et varietate in iis contentá</i>. +<i>Quemadmodùm enim vulgò solemus infinitam arborum +nascentium indiscriminatim multitudinem Sylvam dicere: ità +etiam libros suos in quibus variæ et diversæ +materiæ opuscula temere congesta erant</i>, Sylvas +<i>appellabant antiqui</i>: Timber-trees.</p> +<h2>TIMBER;<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR,</span><br /> +DISCOVERIES MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">AS THEY HAVE FLOWED OUT OF HIS DAILY +READINGS,</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">OR HAD THEIR REFLUX TO HIS +PECULIAR</span><br /> +<span class="GutSmall">NOTION OF THE TIMES.</span></h2> +<blockquote><p style="text-align: center"><i>Tecum habita</i>, +<i>ut nôris quam sit tibi curta supellex</i> <a +name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11" +class="citation">[11]</a></p> +<p style="text-align: right"><span class="smcap">Pers</span>. +Sat. 4.</p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Fortuna</i>.—Ill fortune never crushed that man whom +good fortune deceived not. I therefore have counselled my +friends never to trust to her fairer side, though she seemed to +make peace with them; but to place all things she gave them, so +as she might ask them again without their trouble, she might take +them from them, not pull them: to keep always a distance between +her and themselves. He knows not his own strength that hath +not met adversity. Heaven prepares good men with crosses; +but no ill can happen to a good man. Contraries are not +mixed. Yet that which happens to any man may to every +man. But it is in his reason, what he accounts it and will +make it.</p> +<p><i>Casus</i>.—Change into extremity is very frequent and +easy. As when a beggar suddenly grows rich, he commonly +becomes a prodigal; for, to obscure his former obscurity, he puts +on riot and excess.</p> +<p><i>Consilia</i>.—No man is so foolish but may give +another good counsel sometimes; and no man is so wise but may +easily err, if he will take no others’ counsel but his +own. But very few men are wise by their own counsel, or +learned by their own teaching. For he that was only taught +by himself <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12" +class="citation">[12]</a> had a fool to his master.</p> +<p><i>Fama</i>.—A Fame that is wounded to the world would +be better cured by another’s apology than its own: for few +can apply medicines well themselves. Besides, the man that +is once hated, both his good and his evil deeds oppress +him. He is not easily emergent.</p> +<p><i>Negotia</i>.—In great affairs it is a work of +difficulty to please all. And ofttimes we lose the +occasions of carrying a business well and thoroughly by our too +much haste. For passions are spiritual rebels, and raise +sedition against the understanding.</p> +<p><i>Amor patriæ</i>.—There is a necessity all men +should love their country: he that professeth the contrary may be +delighted with his words, but his heart is there.</p> +<p><i>Ingenia</i>.—Natures that are hardened to evil you +shall sooner break than make straight; they are like poles that +are crooked and dry, there is no attempting them.</p> +<p><i>Applausus</i>.—We praise the things we hear with much +more willingness than those we see, because we envy the present +and reverence the past; thinking ourselves instructed by the one, +and overlaid by the other.</p> +<p><i>Opinio</i>.—Opinion is a light, vain, crude, and +imperfect thing; settled in the imagination, but never arriving +at the understanding, there to obtain the tincture of +reason. We labour with it more than truth. There is +much more holds us than presseth us. An ill fact is one +thing, an ill fortune is another; yet both oftentimes sway us +alike, by the error of our thinking.</p> +<p><i>Impostura</i>.—Many men believe not themselves what +they would persuade others; and less do the things which they +would impose on others; but least of all know what they +themselves most confidently boast. Only they set the sign +of the cross over their outer doors, and sacrifice to their gut +and their groin in their inner closets.</p> +<p><i>Jactura vitæ</i>.—What a deal of cold business +doth a man misspend the better part of life in! in scattering +compliments, tendering visits, gathering and venting news, +following feasts and plays, making a little winter-love in a dark +corner.</p> +<p>Hypocrita.—<i>Puritanus Hypocrita est +Hæreticus</i>, <i>quem opinio propriæ +perspicaciæ</i>, <i>quâ sibi videtur</i>, <i>cum +paucis in Ecclesiâ dogmatibus errores quosdam +animadvertisse</i>, <i>de statu mentis deturbavit: unde sacro +furore percitus</i>, <i>phrenetice pugnat contra magistratus</i>, +<i>sic ratus obedientiam præstare Deo</i>. <a +name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14" +class="citation">[14]</a></p> +<p><i>Mutua auxilia</i>.—Learning needs rest: sovereignty +gives it. Sovereignty needs counsel: learning affords +it. There is such a consociation of offices between the +prince and whom his favour breeds, that they may help to sustain +his power as he their knowledge. It is the greatest part of +his liberality, his favour; and from whom doth he hear discipline +more willingly, or the arts discoursed more gladly, than from +those whom his own bounty and benefits have made able and +faithful?</p> +<p><i>Cognit. univers</i>.—In being able to counsel others, +a man must be furnished with a universal store in himself, to the +knowledge of all nature—that is, the matter and seed-plot: +there are the seats of all argument and invention. But +especially you must be cunning in the nature of man: there is the +variety of things which are as the elements and letters, which +his art and wisdom must rank and order to the present +occasion. For we see not all letters in single words, nor +all places in particular discourses. That cause seldom +happens wherein a man will use all arguments.</p> +<p><i>Consiliarii adjunct</i>. <i>Probitas</i>, +<i>Sapientia</i>.—The two chief things that give a man +reputation in counsel are the opinion of his honesty and the +opinion of his wisdom: the authority of those two will persuade +when the same counsels uttered by other persons less qualified +are of no efficacy or working.</p> +<p><i>Vita recta</i>.—Wisdom without honesty is mere craft +and cozenage. And therefore the reputation of honesty must +first be gotten, which cannot be but by living well. A good +life is a main argument.</p> + +<p><i>Obsequentia</i>.—<i>Humanitas</i>.—<i>Solicitudo</i>.—Next +a good life, to beget love in the persons we counsel, by +dissembling our knowledge of ability in ourselves, and avoiding +all suspicion of arrogance, ascribing all to their instruction, +as an ambassador to his master, or a subject to his sovereign; +seasoning all with humanity and sweetness, only expressing care +and solicitude. And not to counsel rashly, or on the +sudden, but with advice and meditation. (<i>Dat nox +consilium</i>. <a name="citation17a"></a><a href="#footnote17a" +class="citation">[17a]</a>) For many foolish things fall +from wise men, if they speak in haste or be extemporal. It +therefore behoves the giver of counsel to be circumspect; +especially to beware of those with whom he is not thoroughly +acquainted, lest any spice of rashness, folly, or self-love +appear, which will be marked by new persons and men of experience +in affairs.</p> +<p><i>Modestia</i>.—<i>Parrhesia</i>.—And to the +prince, or his superior, to behave himself modestly and with +respect. Yet free from flattery or empire. Not with +insolence or precept; but as the prince were already furnished +with the parts he should have, especially in affairs of +state. For in other things they will more easily suffer +themselves to be taught or reprehended: they will not willingly +contend, but hear, with Alexander, the answer the musician gave +him: <i>Absit</i>, <i>o rex</i>, <i>ut tu meliùs hæc +scias</i>, <i>quàm ego</i>. <a name="citation17b"></a><a +href="#footnote17b" class="citation">[17b]</a></p> +<p><i>Perspicuitas</i>.—<i>Elegantia</i>.—A man +should so deliver himself to the nature of the subject whereof he +speaks, that his hearer may take knowledge of his discipline with +some delight; and so apparel fair and good matter, that the +studious of elegancy be not defrauded; redeem arts from their +rough and braky seats, where they lay hid and overgrown with +thorns, to a pure, open, and flowery light, where they may take +the eye and be taken by the hand.</p> +<p><i>Natura non effæta</i>.—I cannot think Nature is +so spent and decayed that she can bring forth nothing worth her +former years. She is always the same, like herself; and +when she collects her strength is abler still. Men are +decayed, and studies: she is not.</p> +<p><i>Non nimiùm credendum antiquitati</i>.—I know +nothing can conduce more to letters than to examine the writings +of the ancients, and not to rest in their sole authority, or take +all upon trust from them, provided the plagues of judging and +pronouncing against them be away; such as are envy, bitterness, +precipitation, impudence, and scurrilous scoffing. For to +all the observations of the ancients we have our own experience, +which if we will use and apply, we have better means to +pronounce. It is true they opened the gates, and made the +way that went before us, but as guides, not commanders: <i>Non +domini nostri</i>, <i>sed duces fuêre</i>. <a +name="citation19a"></a><a href="#footnote19a" +class="citation">[19a]</a> Truth lies open to all; it +is no man’s several. <i>Patet omnibus veritas</i>; +<i>nondum est occupata</i>. <i>Multum ex illâ</i>, +<i>etiam futuris relicta est</i>. <a name="citation19b"></a><a +href="#footnote19b" class="citation">[19b]</a></p> +<p><i>Dissentire licet</i>, <i>sed cum ratione</i>.—If in +some things I dissent from others, whose wit, industry, +diligence, and judgment, I look up at and admire, let me not +therefore hear presently of ingratitude and rashness. For I +thank those that have taught me, and will ever; but yet dare not +think the scope of their labour and inquiry was to envy their +posterity what they also could add and find out.</p> +<p><i>Non mihi credendum sed veritati</i>.—If I err, pardon +me: <i>Nulla ars simul et inventa est et absoluta</i>. <a +name="citation19c"></a><a href="#footnote19c" +class="citation">[19c]</a> I do not desire to be equal to +those that went before; but to have my reason examined with +theirs, and so much faith to be given them, or me, as those shall +evict. I am neither author nor fautor of any sect. I +will have no man addict himself to me; but if I have anything +right, defend it as Truth’s, not mine, save as it conduceth +to a common good. It profits not me to have any man fence +or fight for me, to flourish, or take my side. Stand for +truth, and ’tis enough.</p> +<p><i>Scientiæ liberales</i>.—Arts that respect the +mind were ever reputed nobler than those that serve the body, +though we less can be without them, as tillage, spinning, +weaving, building, &c., without which we could scarce sustain +life a day. But these were the works of every hand; the +other of the brain only, and those the most generous and exalted +wits and spirits, that cannot rest or acquiesce. The mind +of man is still fed with labour: <i>Opere pascitur</i>.</p> +<p><i>Non vulgi sunt</i>.—There is a more secret cause, and +the power of liberal studies lies more hid than that it can be +wrought out by profane wits. It is not every man’s +way to hit. There are men, I confess, that set the carat +and value upon things as they love them; but science is not every +man’s mistress. It is as great a spite to be praised +in the wrong place, and by a wrong person, as can be done to a +noble nature.</p> +<p><i>Honesta ambitio</i>.—If divers men seek fame or +honour by divers ways, so both be honest, neither is to be +blamed; but they that seek immortality are not only worthy of +love, but of praise.</p> +<p><i>Maritus improbus</i>.—He hath a delicate wife, a fair +fortune, a family to go to and be welcome; yet he had rather be +drunk with mine host and the fiddlers of such a town, than go +home.</p> +<p><i>Afflictio pia magistra</i>.—Affliction teacheth a +wicked person some time to pray: prosperity never.</p> +<p><i>Deploratis facilis descensus Averni</i>.—<i>The devil +take all</i>.—Many might go to heaven with half the labour +they go to hell, if they would venture their industry the right +way; but “The devil take all!” quoth he that was +choked in the mill-dam, with his four last words in his +mouth.</p> +<p><i>Ægidius cursu superat</i>.—A cripple in the way +out-travels a footman or a post out of the way.</p> +<p><i>Prodigo nummi nauci</i>.—Bags of money to a prodigal +person are the same that cherry-stones are with some boys, and so +thrown away.</p> +<p><i>Munda et sordida</i>.—A woman, the more curious she +is about her face is commonly the more careless about her +house.</p> +<p><i>Debitum deploratum</i>.—Of this spilt water there is +a little to be gathered up: it is a desperate debt.</p> +<p><i>Latro sesquipedalis</i>.—The thief <a +name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22" +class="citation">[22]</a> that had a longing at the gallows to +commit one robbery more before he was hanged.</p> +<p>And like the German lord, when he went out of Newgate into the +cart, took order to have his arms set up in his last herborough: +said was he taken and committed upon suspicion of treason, no +witness appearing against him; but the judges entertained him +most civilly, discoursed with him, offered him the courtesy of +the rack; but he confessed, &c.</p> +<p><i>Calumniæ fructus</i>.—I am beholden to calumny, +that she hath so endeavoured and taken pains to belie me. +It shall make me set a surer guard on myself, and keep a better +watch upon my actions.</p> +<p><i>Impertinens</i>.—A tedious person is one a man would +leap a steeple from, gallop down any steep lull to avoid him; +forsake his meat, sleep, nature itself, with all her benefits, to +shun him. A mere impertinent; one that touched neither +heaven nor earth in his discourse. He opened an entry into +a fair room, but shut it again presently. I spoke to him of +garlic, he answered asparagus; consulted him of marriage, he +tells me of hanging, as if they went by one and the same +destiny.</p> +<p><i>Bellum scribentium</i>.—What a sight it is to see +writers committed together by the ears for ceremonies, syllables, +points, colons, commas, hyphens, and the like, fighting as for +their fires and their altars; and angry that none are frighted at +their noises and loud brayings under their asses’ +skins.</p> +<p>There is hope of getting a fortune without digging in these +quarries. <i>Sed meliore (in omne) ingenio animoque +quàm fortunâ</i>, <i>sum usus</i>. <a +name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23" +class="citation">[23]</a></p> +<p>“Pingue solum lassat; sed juvat ipse labor.” <a +name="citation24a"></a><a href="#footnote24a" +class="citation">[24a]</a></p> +<p><i>Differentia inter doctos et sciolos</i>.—Wits made +out their several expeditions then for the discovery of truth, to +find out great and profitable knowledges; had their several +instruments for the disquisition of arts. Now there are +certain scioli or smatterers that are busy in the skirts and +outsides of learning, and have scarce anything of solid +literature to commend them. They may have some edging or +trimming of a scholar, a welt or so; but it is no more.</p> +<p><i>Impostorum fucus</i>.—Imposture is a specious thing, +yet never worse than when it feigns to be best, and to none +discovered sooner than the simplest. For truth and goodness +are plain and open; but imposture is ever ashamed of the +light.</p> +<p><i>Icunculorum motio</i>.—A puppet-play must be shadowed +and seen in the dark; for draw the curtain, <i>et sordet +gesticulatio</i>. <a name="citation24b"></a><a +href="#footnote24b" class="citation">[24b]</a></p> +<p><i>Principes et administri</i>.—There is a great +difference in the understanding of some princes, as in the +quality of their ministers about them. Some would dress +their masters in gold, pearl, and all true jewels of majesty; +others furnish them with feathers, bells, and ribands, and are +therefore esteemed the fitter servants. But they are ever +good men that must make good the times; if the men be naught, the +times will be such. <i>Finis exspectandus est in unoquoque +hominum</i>; <i>animali ad mutationem promptissmo</i>. <a +name="citation25a"></a><a href="#footnote25a" +class="citation">[25a]</a></p> +<p><i>Scitum Hispanicum</i>.—It is a quick saying with the +Spaniards, <i>Artes inter hæredes non dividi</i>. <a +name="citation25b"></a><a href="#footnote25b" +class="citation">[25b]</a> Yet these have inherited their +fathers’ lying, and they brag of it. He is a +narrow-minded man that affects a triumph in any glorious study; +but to triumph in a lie, and a lie themselves have forged, is +frontless. Folly often goes beyond her bounds; but +Impudence knows none.</p> +<p><i>Non nova res livor</i>.—Envy is no new thing, nor was +it born only in our times. The ages past have brought it +forth, and the coming ages will. So long as there are men +fit for it, <i>quorum odium virtute relictâ placet</i>, it +will never be wanting. It is a barbarous envy, to take from +those men’s virtues which, because thou canst not arrive +at, thou impotently despairest to imitate. Is it a crime in +me that I know that which others had not yet known but from me? +or that I am the author of many things which never would have +come in thy thought but that I taught them? It is new but a +foolish way you have found out, that whom you cannot equal or +come near in doing, you would destroy or ruin with evil speaking; +as if you had bound both your wits and natures ’prentices +to slander, and then came forth the best artificers when you +could form the foulest calumnies.</p> +<p><i>Nil gratius protervo lib</i>.—Indeed nothing is of +more credit or request now than a petulant paper, or scoffing +verses; and it is but convenient to the times and manners we live +with, to have then the worst writings and studies flourish when +the best begin to be despised. Ill arts begin where good +end.</p> +<p><i>Jam literæ sordent</i>.—<i>Pastus hodiern. +ingen</i>.—The time was when men would learn and study good +things, not envy those that had them. Then men were had in +price for learning; now letters only make men vile. He is +upbraidingly called a poet, as if it were a contemptible +nick-name: but the professors, indeed, have made the learning +cheap—railing and tinkling rhymers, whose writings the +vulgar more greedily read, as being taken with the scurrility and +petulancy of such wits. He shall not have a reader now +unless he jeer and lie. It is the food of men’s +natures; the diet of the times; gallants cannot sleep else. +The writer must lie and the gentle reader rests happy to hear the +worthiest works misinterpreted, the clearest actions obscured, +the innocentest life traduced: and in such a licence of lying, a +field so fruitful of slanders, how can there be matter wanting to +his laughter? Hence comes the epidemical infection; for how +can they escape the contagion of the writings, whom the virulency +of the calumnies hath not staved off from reading?</p> +<p><i>Sed seculi morbus</i>.—Nothing doth more invite a +greedy reader than an unlooked-for subject. And what more +unlooked-for than to see a person of an unblamed life made +ridiculous or odious by the artifice of lying? But it is +the disease of the age; and no wonder if the world, growing old, +begin to be infirm: old age itself is a disease. It is long +since the sick world began to dote and talk idly: would she had +but doted still! but her dotage is now broke forth into a +madness, and become a mere frenzy.</p> +<p><i>Alastoris malitia</i>.—This Alastor, who hath left +nothing unsearched or unassailed by his impudent and licentious +lying in his aguish writings (for he was in his cold quaking fit +all the while), what hath he done more than a troublesome base +cur? barked and made a noise afar off; had a fool or two to spit +in his mouth, and cherish him with a musty bone? But they +are rather enemies of my fame than me, these barkers.</p> +<p><i>Mali Choragi fuere</i>.—It is an art to have so much +judgment as to apparel a lie well, to give it a good dressing; +that though the nakedness would show deformed and odious, the +suiting of it might draw their readers. Some love any +strumpet, be she never so shop-like or meretricious, in good +clothes. But these, nature could not have formed them +better to destroy their own testimony and overthrow their +calumny.</p> +<p><i>Hear-say news</i>.—That an elephant, in 1630, came +hither ambassador from the Great Mogul, who could both write and +read, and was every day allowed twelve cast of bread, twenty +quarts of Canary sack, besides nuts and almonds the +citizens’ wives sent him. That he had a Spanish boy +to his interpreter, and his chief negociation was to confer or +practise with Archy, the principal fool of state, about stealing +hence Windsor Castle and carrying it away on his back if he +can.</p> +<p><i>Lingua sapientis</i>, <i>potius quâm +loquentis</i>.—A wise tongue should not be licentious and +wandering; but moved and, as it were, governed with certain reins +from the heart and bottom of the breast: and it was excellently +said of that philosopher, that there was a wall or parapet of +teeth set in our mouth, to restrain the petulancy of our words; +that the rashness of talking should not only be retarded by the +guard and watch of our heart, but be fenced in and defended by +certain strengths placed in the mouth itself, and within the +lips. But you shall see some so abound with words, without +any seasoning or taste of matter, in so profound a security, as +while they are speaking, for the most part they confess to speak +they know not what.</p> +<p>Of the two (if either were to be wished) I would rather have a +plain downright wisdom, than a foolish and affected +eloquence. For what is so furious and Bedlam like as a vain +sound of chosen and excellent words, without any subject of +sentence or science mixed?</p> +<p><i>Optanda</i>.—<i>Thersites Homeri</i>.—Whom the +disease of talking still once possesseth, he can never hold his +peace. Nay, rather than he will not discourse he will hire +men to hear him. And so heard, not hearkened unto, he comes +off most times like a mountebank, that when he hath praised his +medicines, finds none will take them, or trust him. He is +like Homer’s <i>Thersites</i>.</p> + +<p>Άμετροεπης, + +ακριτόμυθος; +speaking without judgement or measure.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Loquax magis, quàm facundus,<br +/> +Satis loquentiæ, sapientiæ parum.<a +name="citation31a"></a><a href="#footnote31a" +class="citation">[31a]</a><br /> +Γλωσσης +τοι +θησαυρος +εν +ανθρωποισιν +αριστος<br /> +φειδωλης, +πλειστη δε +χαρις κατα +μετρον +ιουσης. <a +name="citation31b"></a><a href="#footnote31b" +class="citation">[31b]</a><br /> +Optimus est homini linguæ thesaurus, et ingens<br /> +Gratia, quæ parcis mensurat singula verbis.”</p> +<p><i>Homeri Ulysses</i>.—<i>Demacatus +Plutarchi</i>.—Ulysses, in Homer, is made a long-thinking +man before he speaks; and Epaminondas is celebrated by Pindar to +be a man that, though he knew much, yet he spoke but +little. Demacatus, when on the bench he was long silent and +said nothing, one asking him if it were folly in him, or want of +language, he answered, “A fool could never hold his +peace.” <a name="citation31c"></a><a href="#footnote31c" +class="citation">[31c]</a> For too much talking is ever the +index of a fool.</p> +<p class="poetry">“Dum tacet indoctus, poterit cordatus +haberi;<br /> +Is morbos animi namque tacendo tegit.” <a +name="citation32a"></a><a href="#footnote32a" +class="citation">[32a]</a></p> +<p>Nor is that worthy speech of Zeno the philosopher to be passed +over with the note of ignorance; who being invited to a feast in +Athens, where a great prince’s ambassadors were +entertained, and was the only person that said nothing at the +table; one of them with courtesy asked him, “What shall we +return from thee, Zeno, to the prince our master, if he asks us +of thee?” “Nothing,” he replied, +“more but that you found an old man in Athens that knew to +be silent amongst his cups.” It was near a miracle to +see an old man silent, since talking is the disease of age; but +amongst cups makes it fully a wonder.</p> +<p><i>Argute dictum</i>.—It was wittily said upon one that +was taken for a great and grave man so long as he held his peace, +“This man might have been a counsellor of state, till he +spoke; but having spoken, not the beadle of the +ward.” +Εχεμυθια. <a +name="citation32b"></a><a href="#footnote32b" +class="citation">[32b]</a> Pytag. quàm +laudabilis! +γλωσσης +προ των +αλλων +κρατει, +θεοις +επομενος. +Linguam cohibe, præ aliis omnibus, ad deorum exemplum. <a +name="citation33a"></a><a href="#footnote33a" +class="citation">[33a]</a> Digito compesce labellum. <a +name="citation33b"></a><a href="#footnote33b" +class="citation">[33b]</a></p> +<p><i>Acutius cernuntur vitia quam virtutes</i>.—There is +almost no man but he sees clearlier and sharper the vices in a +speaker, than the virtues. And there are many, that with +more ease will find fault with what is spoken foolishly than can +give allowance to that wherein you are wise silently. The +treasure of a fool is always in his tongue, said the witty comic +poet; <a name="citation33c"></a><a href="#footnote33c" +class="citation">[33c]</a> and it appears not in anything more +than in that nation, whereof one, when he had got the inheritance +of an unlucky old grange, would needs sell it; <a +name="citation33d"></a><a href="#footnote33d" +class="citation">[33d]</a> and to draw buyers proclaimed the +virtues of it. Nothing ever thrived on it, saith he. +No owner of it ever died in his bed; some hung, some drowned +themselves; some were banished, some starved; the trees were all +blasted; the swine died of the measles, the cattle of the +murrain, the sheep of the rot; they that stood were ragged, bare, +and bald as your hand; nothing was ever reared there, not a +duckling, or a goose. <i>Hospitium fuerat calamitatis</i>. +<a name="citation34a"></a><a href="#footnote34a" +class="citation">[34a]</a> Was not this man like to sell +it?</p> +<p><i>Vulgi expectatio</i>.—Expectation of the vulgar is +more drawn and held with newness than goodness; we see it in +fencers, in players, in poets, in preachers, in all where fame +promiseth anything; so it be new, though never so naught and +depraved, they run to it, and are taken. Which shews, that +the only decay or hurt of the best men’s reputation with +the people is, their wits have out-lived the people’s +palates. They have been too much or too long a feast.</p> +<p><i>Claritas patriæ</i>.—Greatness of name in the +father oft-times helps not forth, but overwhelms the son; they +stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth: so +much, that we see the grandchild come more and oftener to be heir +of the first, than doth the second: he dies between; the +possession is the third’s.</p> +<p><i>Eloquentia</i>.—Eloquence is a great and diverse +thing: nor did she yet ever favour any man so much as to become +wholly his. He is happy that can arrive to any degree of +her grace. Yet there are who prove themselves masters of +her, and absolute lords; but I believe they may mistake their +evidence: for it is one thing to be eloquent in the schools, or +in the hall; another at the bar, or in the pulpit. There is +a difference between mooting and pleading; between fencing and +fighting. To make arguments in my study, and confute them, +is easy; where I answer myself, not an adversary. So I can +see whole volumes dispatched by the umbratical doctors on all +sides: but draw these forth into the just lists: let them appear +<i>sub dio</i>, and they are changed with the place, like bodies +bred in the shade; they cannot suffer the sun or a shower, nor +bear the open air; they scarce can find themselves, that they +were wont to domineer so among their auditors: but indeed I would +no more choose a rhetorician for reigning in a school, than I +would a pilot for rowing in a pond.</p> +<p><i>Amor et odium</i>.—Love that is ignorant, and hatred, +have almost the same ends: many foolish lovers wish the same to +their friends, which their enemies would: as to wish a friend +banished, that they might accompany him in exile; or some great +want, that they might relieve him; or a disease, that they might +sit by him. They make a causeway to their country by +injury, as if it were not honester to do nothing than to seek a +way to do good by a mischief.</p> +<p><i>Injuria</i>.—Injuries do not extinguish courtesies: +they only suffer them not to appear fair. For a man that +doth me an injury after a courtesy, takes not away that courtesy, +but defaces it: as he that writes other verses upon my verses, +takes not away the first letters, but hides them.</p> +<p><i>Beneficia</i>.—Nothing is a courtesy unless it be +meant us; and that friendly and lovingly. We owe no thanks +to rivers, that they carry our boats; or winds, that they be +favouring and fill our sails; or meats, that they be +nourishing. For these are what they are necessarily. +Horses carry us, trees shade us, but they know it not. It +is true, some men may receive a courtesy and not know it; but +never any man received it from him that knew it not. Many +men have been cured of diseases by accidents; but they were not +remedies. I myself have known one helped of an ague by +falling into a water; another whipped out of a fever; but no man +would ever use these for medicines. It is the mind, and not +the event, that distinguisheth the courtesy from wrong. My +adversary may offend the judge with his pride and impertinences, +and I win my cause; but he meant it not to me as a +courtesy. I scaped pirates by being shipwrecked; was the +wreck a benefit therefore? No; the doing of courtesies +aright is the mixing of the respects for his own sake and for +mine. He that doeth them merely for his own sake is like +one that feeds his cattle to sell them; he hath his horse well +dressed for Smithfield.</p> +<p><i>Valor rerum</i>.—The price of many things is far +above what they are bought and sold for. Life and health, +which are both inestimable, we have of the physician; as learning +and knowledge, the true tillage of the mind, from our +schoolmasters. But the fees of the one or the salary of the +other never answer the value of what we received, but served to +gratify their labours.</p> +<p><i>Memoria</i>.—Memory, of all the powers of the mind, +is the most delicate and frail; it is the first of our faculties +that age invades. Seneca, the father, the rhetorician, +confesseth of himself he had a miraculous one, not only to +receive but to hold. I myself could, in my youth, have +repeated all that ever I had made, and so continued till I was +past forty; since, it is much decayed in me. Yet I can +repeat whole books that I have read, and poems of some selected +friends which I have liked to charge my memory with. It was +wont to be faithful to me; but shaken with age now, and sloth, +which weakens the strongest abilities, it may perform somewhat, +but cannot promise much. By exercise it is to be made +better and serviceable. Whatsoever I pawned with it while I +was young and a boy, it offers me readily, and without stops; but +what I trust to it now, or have done of later years, it lays up +more negligently, and oftentimes loses; so that I receive mine +own (though frequently called for) as if it were new and +borrowed. Nor do I always find presently from it what I +seek; but while I am doing another thing, that I laboured for +will come; and what I sought with trouble will offer itself when +I am quiet. Now, in some men I have found it as happy as +Nature, who, whatsoever they read or pen, they can say without +book presently, as if they did then write in their mind. +And it is more a wonder in such as have a swift style, for their +memories are commonly slowest; such as torture their writings, +and go into council for every word, must needs fix somewhat, and +make it their own at last, though but through their own +vexation.</p> +<p><i>Comit. suffragia</i>.—Suffrages in Parliament are +numbered, not weighed; nor can it be otherwise in those public +councils where nothing is so unequal as the equality; for there, +how odd soever men’s brains or wisdoms are, their power is +always even and the same.</p> +<p><i>Stare à partibus</i>.—Some actions, be they +never so beautiful and generous, are often obscured by base and +vile misconstructions, either out of envy or ill-nature, that +judgeth of others as of itself. Nay, the times are so +wholly grown to be either partial or malicious, that if he be a +friend all sits well about him, his very vices shall be virtues; +if an enemy, or of the contrary faction, nothing is good or +tolerable in him; insomuch that we care not to discredit and +shame our judgments to soothe our passions.</p> +<p><i>Deus in creaturis</i>.—Man is read in his face; God +in His creatures; not as the philosopher, the creature of glory, +reads him; but as the divine, the servant of humility; yet even +he must take care not to be too curious. For to utter truth +of God but as he thinks only, may be dangerous, who is best known +by our not knowing. Some things of Him, so much as He hath +revealed or commanded, it is not only lawful but necessary for us +to know; for therein our ignorance was the first cause of our +wickedness.</p> +<p><i>Veritas proprium hominis</i>.—Truth is man’s +proper good, and the only immortal thing was given to our +mortality to use. No good Christian or ethnic, if he be +honest, can miss it; no statesman or patriot should. For +without truth all the actions of mankind are craft, malice, or +what you will, rather than wisdom. Homer says he hates him +worse than hell-mouth that utters one thing with his tongue and +keeps another in his breast. Which high expression was +grounded on divine reason; for a lying mouth is a stinking pit, +and murders with the contagion it venteth. Beside, nothing +is lasting that is feigned; it will have another face than it +had, ere long. <a name="citation41"></a><a href="#footnote41" +class="citation">[41]</a> As Euripides saith, “No lie +ever grows old.”</p> +<p><i>Nullum vitium sine patrocinio</i>.—It is strange +there should be no vice without its patronage, that when we have +no other excuse we will say, we love it, we cannot forsake +it. As if that made it not more a fault. We cannot, +because we think we cannot, and we love it because we will defend +it. We will rather excuse it than be rid of it. That +we cannot is pretended; but that we will not is the true +reason. How many have I known that would not have their +vices hid? nay, and, to be noted, live like Antipodes to others +in the same city? never see the sun rise or set in so many years, +but be as they were watching a corpse by torch-light; would not +sin the common way, but held that a kind of rusticity; they would +do it new, or contrary, for the infamy; they were ambitious of +living backward; and at last arrived at that, as they would love +nothing but the vices, not the vicious customs. It was +impossible to reform these natures; they were dried and hardened +in their ill. They may say they desired to leave it, but do +not trust them; and they may think they desire it, but they may +lie for all that; they are a little angry with their follies now +and then; marry, they come into grace with them again +quickly. They will confess they are offended with their +manner of living like enough; who is not? When they can put +me in security that they are more than offended, that they hate +it, then I will hearken to them, and perhaps believe them; but +many now-a-days love and hate their ill together.</p> +<p><i>De vere argutis</i>.—I do hear them say often some +men are not witty, because they are not everywhere witty; than +which nothing is more foolish. If an eye or a nose be an +excellent part in the face, therefore be all eye or nose! I +think the eyebrow, the forehead, the cheek, chin, lip, or any +part else are as necessary and natural in the place. But +now nothing is good that is natural; right and natural language +seems to have least of the wit in it; that which is writhed and +tortured is counted the more exquisite. Cloth of bodkin or +tissue must be embroidered; as if no face were fair that were not +powdered or painted! no beauty to be had but in wresting and +writhing our own tongue! Nothing is fashionable till it be +deformed; and this is to write like a gentleman. All must +be affected and preposterous as our gallants’ clothes, +sweet-bags, and night-dressings, in which you would think our men +lay in, like ladies, it is so curious.</p> +<p><i>Censura de poetis</i>.—Nothing in our age, I have +observed, is more preposterous than the running judgments upon +poetry and poets; when we shall hear those things commended and +cried up for the best writings which a man would scarce vouchsafe +to wrap any wholesome drug in; he would never light his tobacco +with them. And those men almost named for miracles, who yet +are so vile that if a man should go about to examine and correct +them, he must make all they have done but one blot. Their +good is so entangled with their bad as forcibly one must draw on +the other’s death with it. A sponge dipped in ink +will do all:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“—Comitetur Punica librum<br /> +Spongia.—” <a name="citation44a"></a><a +href="#footnote44a" class="citation">[44a]</a></p> +<p>Et paulò post,</p> +<p class="poetry">“Non possunt . . . multæ . . . +lituræ<br /> +. . . una litura potest.”</p> + +<p><i>Cestius</i>—<i>Cicero</i>—<i>Heath</i>—<i>Taylor</i>—<i>Spenser</i>.—Yet +their vices have not hurt them; nay, a great many they have +profited, for they have been loved for nothing else. And +this false opinion grows strong against the best men, if once it +take root with the ignorant. Cestius, in his time, was +preferred to Cicero, so far as the ignorant durst. They +learned him without book, and had him often in their mouths; but +a man cannot imagine that thing so foolish or rude but will find +and enjoy an admirer; at least a reader or spectator. The +puppets are seen now in despite of the players; Heath’s +epigrams and the Sculler’s poems have their applause. +There are never wanting that dare prefer the worst preachers, the +worst pleaders, the worst poets; not that the better have left to +write or speak better, but that they that hear them judge worse; +<i>Non illi pejus dicunt</i>, <i>sed hi corruptius +judicant</i>. Nay, if it were put to the question of the +water-rhymer’s works, against Spenser’s, I doubt not +but they would find more suffrages; because the most favour +common vices, out of a prerogative the vulgar have to lose their +judgments and like that which is naught.</p> +<p>Poetry, in this latter age, hath proved but a mean mistress to +such as have wholly addicted themselves to her, or given their +names up to her family. They who have but saluted her on +the by, and now and then tendered their visits, she hath done +much for, and advanced in the way of their own professions (both +the law and the gospel) beyond all they could have hoped or done +for themselves without her favour. Wherein she doth emulate +the judicious but preposterous bounty of the time’s +grandees, who accumulate all they can upon the parasite or +fresh-man in their friendship; but think an old client or honest +servant bound by his place to write and starve.</p> +<p>Indeed, the multitude commend writers as they do fencers or +wrestlers, who if they come in robustiously and put for it with a +deal of violence are received for the braver fellows; when many +times their own rudeness is a cause of their disgrace, and a +slight touch of their adversary gives all that boisterous force +the foil. But in these things the unskilful are naturally +deceived, and judging wholly by the bulk, think rude things +greater than polished, and scattered more numerous than composed; +nor think this only to be true in the sordid multitude, but the +neater sort of our gallants; for all are the multitude, only they +differ in clothes, not in judgment or understanding.</p> +<p><i>De Shakspeare nostrat</i>.—<i>Augustus in +Hat</i>.—I remember the players have often mentioned it as +an honour to Shakspeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he +penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, +“Would he had blotted a thousand,” which they thought +a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this but for +their ignorance who chose that circumstance to commend their +friend by wherein he most faulted; and to justify mine own +candour, for I loved the man, and do honour his memory on this +side idolatry as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and +of an open and free nature, had an excellent phantasy, brave +notions, and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that +facility that sometimes it was necessary he should be +stopped. “<i>Sufflaminandus erat</i>,” <a +name="citation47a"></a><a href="#footnote47a" +class="citation">[47a]</a> as Augustus said of Haterius. +His wit was in his own power; would the rule of it had been so, +too. Many times he fell into those things, could not escape +laughter, as when he said in the person of Cæsar, one +speaking to him, “Cæsar, thou dost me +wrong.” He replied, “Cæsar did never +wrong but with just cause;” and such like, which were +ridiculous. But he redeemed his vices with his +virtues. There was ever more in him to be praised than to +be pardoned.</p> +<p><i>Ingeniorum discrimina</i>.—<i>Not.</i> 1.—In +the difference of wits I have observed there are many notes; and +it is a little maistry to know them, to discern what every +nature, every disposition will bear; for before we sow our land +we should plough it. There are no fewer forms of minds than +of bodies amongst us. The variety is incredible, and +therefore we must search. Some are fit to make divines, +some poets, some lawyers, some physicians; some to be sent to the +plough, and trades.</p> +<p>There is no doctrine will do good where nature is +wanting. Some wits are swelling and high; others low and +still; some hot and fiery; others cold and dull; one must have a +bridle, the other a spur.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 2.—There be some that are forward and bold; +and these will do every little thing easily. I mean that is +hard by and next them, which they will utter unretarded without +any shamefastness. These never perform much, but +quickly. They are what they are on the sudden; they show +presently, like grain that, scattered on the top of the ground, +shoots up, but takes no root; has a yellow blade, but the ear +empty. They are wits of good promise at first, but there is +an <i>ingenistitium</i>; <a name="citation49a"></a><a +href="#footnote49a" class="citation">[49a]</a> they stand still +at sixteen, they get no higher.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 3.—You have others that labour only to +ostentation; and are ever more busy about the colours and surface +of a work than in the matter and foundation, for that is hid, the +other is seen.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 4.—Others that in composition are nothing +but what is rough and broken. <i>Quæ per +salebras</i>, <i>altaque saxa cadunt</i>. <a +name="citation49b"></a><a href="#footnote49b" +class="citation">[49b]</a> And if it would come gently, +they trouble it of purpose. They would not have it run +without rubs, as if that style were more strong and manly that +struck the ear with a kind of unevenness. These men err not +by chance, but knowingly and willingly; they are like men that +affect a fashion by themselves; have some singularity in a ruff +cloak, or hat-band; or their beards specially cut to provoke +beholders, and set a mark upon themselves. They would be +reprehended while they are looked on. And this vice, one +that is authority with the rest, loving, delivers over to them to +be imitated; so that ofttimes the faults which be fell into the +others seek for. This is the danger, when vice becomes a +precedent.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 5.—Others there are that have no composition +at all; but a kind of tuning and rhyming fall in what they +write. It runs and slides, and only makes a sound. +Women’s poets they are called, as you have women’s +tailors.</p> +<p class="poetry">“They write a verse as smooth, as soft as +cream,<br /> +In which there is no torrent, nor scarce stream.”</p> +<p>You may sound these wits and find the depth of them with your +middle finger. They are cream-bowl or but puddle-deep.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 6.—Some that turn over all books, and are +equally searching in all papers; that write out of what they +presently find or meet, without choice. By which means it +happens that what they have discredited and impugned in one week, +they have before or after extolled the same in another. +Such are all the essayists, even their master Montaigne. +These, in all they write, confess still what books they have read +last, and therein their own folly so much, that they bring it to +the stake raw and undigested; not that the place did need it +neither, but that they thought themselves furnished and would +vent it.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 7.—Some, again who, after they have got +authority, or, which is less, opinion, by their writings, to have +read much, dare presently to feign whole books and authors, and +lie safely. For what never was, will not easily be found, +not by the most curious.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 8.—And some, by a cunning protestation +against all reading, and false venditation of their own naturals, +think to divert the sagacity of their readers from themselves, +and cool the scent of their own fox-like thefts; when yet they +are so rank, as a man may find whole pages together usurped from +one author; their necessities compelling them to read for present +use, which could not be in many books; and so come forth more +ridiculously and palpably guilty than those who, because they +cannot trace, they yet would slander their industry.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 9.—But the wretcheder are the obstinate +contemners of all helps and arts; such as presuming on their own +naturals (which, perhaps, are excellent), dare deride all +diligence, and seem to mock at the terms when they understand not +the things; thinking that way to get off wittily with their +ignorance. These are imitated often by such as are their +peers in negligence, though they cannot be in nature; and they +utter all they can think with a kind of violence and +indisposition, unexamined, without relation either to person, +place, or any fitness else; and the more wilful and stubborn they +are in it the more learned they are esteemed of the multitude, +through their excellent vice of judgment, who think those things +the stronger that have no art; as if to break were better than to +open, or to rend asunder gentler than to loose.</p> +<p><i>Not.</i> 10.—It cannot but come to pass that these +men who commonly seek to do more than enough may sometimes happen +on something that is good and great; but very seldom: and when it +comes it doth not recompense the rest of their ill. For +their jests, and their sentences (which they only and ambitiously +seek for) stick out, and are more eminent, because all is sordid +and vile about them; as lights are more discerned in a thick +darkness than a faint shadow. Now, because they speak all +they can (however unfitly), they are thought to have the greater +copy; where the learned use ever election and a mean, they look +back to what they intended at first, and make all an even and +proportioned body. The true artificer will not run away +from Nature as he were afraid of her, or depart from life and the +likeness of truth, but speak to the capacity of his +hearers. And though his language differ from the vulgar +somewhat, it shall not fly from all humanity, with the Tamerlanes +and Tamer-chains of the late age, which had nothing in them but +the scenical strutting and furious vociferation to warrant them +to the ignorant gapers. He knows it is his only art so to +carry it, as none but artificers perceive it. In the +meantime, perhaps, he is called barren, dull, lean, a poor +writer, or by what contumelious word can come in their cheeks, by +these men who, without labour, judgment, knowledge, or almost +sense, are received or preferred before him. He gratulates +them and their fortune. Another age, or juster men, will +acknowledge the virtues of his studies, his wisdom in dividing, +his subtlety in arguing, with what strength he doth inspire his +readers, with what sweetness he strokes them; in inveighing, what +sharpness; in jest, what urbanity he uses; how he doth reign in +men’s affections; how invade and break in upon them, and +makes their minds like the thing he writes. Then in his +elocution to behold what word is proper, which hath ornaments, +which height, what is beautifully translated, where figures are +fit, which gentle, which strong, to show the composition manly; +and how he hath avoided faint, obscure, obscene, sordid, humble, +improper, or effeminate phrase; which is not only praised of the +most, but commended (which is worse), especially for that it is +naught.</p> +<p><i>Ignorantia animæ</i>.—I know no disease of the +soul but ignorance, not of the arts and sciences, but of itself; +yet relating to those it is a pernicious evil, the darkener of +man’s life, the disturber of his reason, and common +confounder of truth, with which a man goes groping in the dark, +no otherwise than if he were blind. Great understandings +are most racked and troubled with it; nay, sometimes they will +rather choose to die than not to know the things they study +for. Think, then, what an evil it is, and what good the +contrary.</p> +<p><i>Scientia</i>.—Knowledge is the action of the soul and +is perfect without the senses, as having the seeds of all science +and virtue in itself; but not without the service of the senses; +by these organs the soul works: she is a perpetual agent, prompt +and subtle; but often flexible and erring, entangling herself +like a silkworm, but her reason is a weapon with two edges, and +cuts through. In her indagations oft-times new scents put +her by, and she takes in errors into her by the same conduits she +doth truths.</p> +<p><i>Otium Studiorum</i>.—Ease and relaxation are +profitable to all studies. The mind is like a bow, the +stronger by being unbent. But the temper in spirits is all, +when to command a man’s wit, when to favour it. I +have known a man vehement on both sides, that knew no mean, +either to intermit his studies or call upon them again. +When he hath set himself to writing he would join night to day, +press upon himself without release, not minding it, till he +fainted; and when he left off, resolve himself into all sports +and looseness again, that it was almost a despair to draw him to +his book; but once got to it, he grew stronger and more earnest +by the ease. His whole powers were renewed; he would work +out of himself what he desired, but with such excess as his study +could not be ruled; he knew not how to dispose his own abilities, +or husband them; he was of that immoderate power against +himself. Nor was he only a strong, but an absolute speaker +and writer; but his subtlety did not show itself; his judgment +thought that a vice; for the ambush hurts more that is hid. +He never forced his language, nor went out of the highway of +speaking but for some great necessity or apparent profit; for he +denied figures to be invented for ornament, but for aid; and +still thought it an extreme madness to bind or wrest that which +ought to be right.</p> +<p><i>Stili +eminentia</i>.—<i>Virgil</i>.—<i>Tully</i>.—<i>Sallust</i>.—It +is no wonder men’s eminence appears but in their own +way. Virgil’s felicity left him in prose, as +Tully’s forsook him in verse. Sallust’s +orations are read in the honour of story, yet the most +eloquent. Plato’s speech, which he made for Socrates, +is neither worthy of the patron nor the person defended. +Nay, in the same kind of oratory, and where the matter is one, +you shall have him that reasons strongly, open negligently; +another that prepares well, not fit so well. And this +happens not only to brains, but to bodies. One can wrestle +well, another run well, a third leap or throw the bar, a fourth +lift or stop a cart going; each hath his way of strength. +So in other creatures—some dogs are for the deer, some for +the wild boar, some are fox-hounds, some otter-hounds. Nor +are all horses for the coach or saddle, some are for the cart and +paniers.</p> +<p><i>De Claris Oratoribus</i>.—I have known many excellent +men that would speak suddenly to the admiration of their hearers, +who upon study and premeditation have been forsaken by their own +wits, and no way answered their fame; their eloquence was greater +than their reading, and the things they uttered better than those +they knew; their fortune deserved better of them than their +care. For men of present spirits, and of greater wits than +study, do please more in the things they invent than in those +they bring. And I have heard some of them compelled to +speak, out of necessity, that have so infinitely exceeded +themselves, as it was better both for them and their auditory +that they were so surprised, not prepared. Nor was it safe +then to cross them, for their adversary, their anger made them +more eloquent. Yet these men I could not but love and +admire, that they returned to their studies. They left not +diligence (as many do) when their rashness prospered; for +diligence is a great aid, even to an indifferent wit; when we are +not contented with the examples of our own age, but would know +the face of the former. Indeed, the more we confer with the +more we profit by, if the persons be chosen.</p> +<p><i>Dominus Verulamius</i>.—One, though he be excellent +and the chief, is not to be imitated alone; for no imitator ever +grew up to his author; likeness is always on this side +truth. Yet there happened in my time one noble speaker who +was full of gravity in his speaking; his language (where he could +spare or pass by a jest) was nobly censorious. No man ever +spake more neatly, more pressly, more weightily, or suffered less +emptiness, less idleness, in what he uttered. No member of +his speech but consisted of his own graces. His hearers +could not cough, or look aside from him, without loss. He +commanded where he spoke, and had his judges angry and pleased at +his devotion. No man had their affections more in his +power. The fear of every man that heard him was lest he +should make an end.</p> +<p><i>Scriptorum catalogus</i>. <a name="citation59a"></a><a +href="#footnote59a" class="citation">[59a]</a> Cicero is +said to be the only wit that the people of Rome had equalled to +their empire. <i>Ingenium par imperio</i>. We have +had many, and in their several ages (to take in but the former +<i>seculum</i>) Sir Thomas More, the elder Wiat, Henry Earl of +Surrey, Chaloner, Smith, Eliot, B. Gardiner, were for their times +admirable; and the more, because they began eloquence with +us. Sir Nicolas Bacon was singular, and almost alone, in +the beginning of Queen Elizabeth’s time. Sir Philip +Sidney and Mr. Hooker (in different matter) grew great masters of +wit and language, and in whom all vigour of invention and +strength of judgment met. The Earl of Essex, noble and +high; and Sir Walter Raleigh, not to be contemned, either for +judgment or style. Sir Henry Savile, grave, and truly +lettered; Sir Edwin Sandys, excellent in both; Lord Egerton, the +Chancellor, a grave and great orator, and best when he was +provoked; but his learned and able (though unfortunate) successor +is he who hath filled up all numbers, and performed that in our +tongue which may be compared or preferred either to insolent +Greece or haughty Rome. In short, within his view, and +about his times, were all the wits born that could honour a +language or help study. Now things daily fall, wits grow +downward, and eloquence grows backward; so that he may be named +and stand as the mark and ακμη of our +language.</p> +<p><i>De augmentis scientiarum</i>.—<i>Julius +Cæsar</i>.—<i>Lord St. Alban</i>.—I have ever +observed it to have been the office of a wise patriot, among the +greatest affairs of the State, to take care of the commonwealth +of learning. For schools, they are the seminaries of State; +and nothing is worthier the study of a statesman than that part +of the republic which we call the advancement of letters. +Witness the care of Julius Cæsar, who, in the heat of the +civil war, writ his books of Analogy, and dedicated them to +Tully. This made the late Lord St. Alban entitle his work +<i>Novum Organum</i>; which, though by the most of superficial +men, who cannot get beyond the title of nominals, it is not +penetrated nor understood, it really openeth all defects of +learning whatsoever, and is a book</p> +<p class="poetry">“Qui longum note scriptori proroget +ævum.” <a name="citation62a"></a><a +href="#footnote62a" class="citation">[62a]</a></p> +<p>My conceit of his person was never increased toward him by his +place or honours; but I have and do reverence him for the +greatness that was only proper to himself, in that he seemed to +me ever, by his work, one of the greatest men, and most worthy of +admiration, that had been in many ages. In his adversity I +ever prayed that God would give him strength; for greatness he +could not want. Neither could I condole in a word or +syllable for him, as knowing no accident could do harm to virtue, +but rather help to make it manifest.</p> +<p><i>De corruptela morum</i>.—There cannot be one colour +of the mind, another of the wit. If the mind be staid, +grave, and composed, the wit is so; that vitiated, the other is +blown and deflowered. Do we not see, if the mind languish, +the members are dull? Look upon an effeminate person, his +very gait confesseth him. If a man be fiery, his motion is +so; if angry, it is troubled and violent. So that we may +conclude wheresoever manners and fashions are corrupted, language +is. It imitates the public riot. The excess of feasts +and apparel are the notes of a sick state, and the wantonness of +language of a sick mind.</p> +<p><i>De rebus mundanis</i>.—If we would consider what our +affairs are indeed, not what they are called, we should find more +evils belonging to us than happen to us. How often doth +that which was called a calamity prove the beginning and cause of +a man’s happiness? and, on the contrary, that which +happened or came to another with great gratulation and applause, +how it hath lifted him but a step higher to his ruin? as if he +stood before where he might fall safely.</p> +<p><i>Vulgi mores</i>.—<i>Morbus comitialis</i>.—The +vulgar are commonly ill-natured, and always grudging against +their governors: which makes that a prince has more business and +trouble with them than ever Hercules had with the bull or any +other beast; by how much they have more heads than will be reined +with one bridle. There was not that variety of beasts in +the ark, as is of beastly natures in the multitude; especially +when they come to that iniquity to censure their +sovereign’s actions. Then all the counsels are made +good or bad by the events; and it falleth out that the same facts +receive from them the names, now of diligence, now of vanity, now +of majesty, now of fury; where they ought wholly to hang on his +mouth, as he to consist of himself, and not others’ +counsels.</p> +<p><i>Princeps</i>.—After God, nothing is to be loved of +man like the prince; he violates Nature that doth it not with his +whole heart. For when he hath put on the care of the public +good and common safety, I am a wretch, and put off man, if I do +not reverence and honour him, in whose charge all things divine +and human are placed. Do but ask of Nature why all living +creatures are less delighted with meat and drink that sustains +them than with venery that wastes them? and she will tell thee, +the first respects but a private, the other a common good, +propagation.</p> +<p><i>De eodem</i>.—<i>Orpheus’ Hymn</i>.—He is +the arbiter of life and death: when he finds no other subject for +his mercy, he should spare himself. All his punishments are +rather to correct than to destroy. Why are prayers with +Orpheus said to be the daughters of Jupiter, but that princes are +thereby admonished that the petitions of the wretched ought to +have more weight with them than the laws themselves.</p> +<p><i>De opt. Rege Jacobo</i>.—It was a great accumulation +to His Majesty’s deserved praise that men might openly +visit and pity those whom his greatest prisons had at any time +received or his laws condemned.</p> +<p><i>De Princ. adjunctis</i>.—<i>Sed verè prudens +haud concipi possit Princeps</i>, <i>nisi simul et +bonus</i>.—<i>Lycurgus</i>.—<i>Sylla</i>.—<i>Lysander</i>.—<i>Cyrus</i>.—Wise +is rather the attribute of a prince than learned or good. +The learned man profits others rather than himself; the good man +rather himself than others; but the prince commands others, and +doth himself.</p> +<p>The wise Lycurgus gave no law but what himself kept. +Sylla and Lysander did not so; the one living extremely dissolute +himself, enforced frugality by the laws; the other permitted +those licenses to others which himself abstained from. But +the prince’s prudence is his chief art and safety. In +his counsels and deliberations he foresees the future times: in +the equity of his judgment he hath remembrance of the past, and +knowledge of what is to be done or avoided for the present. +Hence the Persians gave out their Cyrus to have been nursed by a +bitch, a creature to encounter it, as of sagacity to seek out +good; showing that wisdom may accompany fortitude, or it leaves +to be, and puts on the name of rashness.</p> +<p><i>De malign. studentium</i>.—There be some men are born +only to suck out the poison of books: <i>Habent venenum pro +victu</i>; <i>imô</i>, <i>pro deliciis</i>. <a +name="citation66a"></a><a href="#footnote66a" +class="citation">[66a]</a> And such are they that only +relish the obscene and foul things in poets, which makes the +profession taxed. But by whom? Men that watch for it; +and, had they not had this hint, are so unjust valuers of letters +as they think no learning good but what brings in gain. It +shows they themselves would never have been of the professions +they are but for the profits and fees. But if another +learning, well used, can instruct to good life, inform manners, +no less persuade and lead men than they threaten and compel, and +have no reward, is it therefore the worst study? I could +never think the study of wisdom confined only to the philosopher, +or of piety to the divine, or of state to the politic; but that +he which can feign a commonwealth (which is the poet) can govern +it with counsels, strengthen it with laws, correct it with +judgments, inform it with religion and morals, is all +these. We do not require in him mere elocution, or an +excellent faculty in verse, but the exact knowledge of all +virtues and their contraries, with ability to render the one +loved, the other hated, by his proper embattling them. The +philosophers did insolently, to challenge only to themselves that +which the greatest generals and gravest counsellors never +durst. For such had rather do than promise the best +things.</p> +<p><i>Controvers. scriptores</i>.—<i>More Andabatarum qui +clausis oculis pugnant</i>.—Some controverters in divinity +are like swaggerers in a tavern that catch that which stands next +them, the candlestick or pots; turn everything into a weapon: +ofttimes they fight blindfold, and both beat the air. The +one milks a he-goat, the other holds under a sieve. Their +arguments are as fluxive as liquor spilt upon a table, which with +your finger you may drain as you will. Such controversies +or disputations (carried with more labour than profit) are +odious; where most times the truth is lost in the midst or left +untouched. And the fruit of their fight is, that they spit +one upon another, and are both defiled. These fencers in +religion I like not.</p> +<p><i>Morbi</i>.—The body hath certain diseases that are +with less evil tolerated than removed. As if to cure a +leprosy a man should bathe himself with the warm blood of a +murdered child, so in the Church some errors may be dissimuled +with less inconvenience than they can be discovered.</p> +<p><i>Jactantia intempestiva</i>.—Men that talk of their +own benefits are not believed to talk of them because they have +done them; but to have done them because they might talk of +them. That which had been great, if another had reported it +of them, vanisheth, and is nothing, if he that did it speak of +it. For men, when they cannot destroy the deed, will yet be +glad to take advantage of the boasting, and lessen it.</p> +<p><i>Adulatio</i>.—I have seen that poverty makes me do +unfit things; but honest men should not do them; they should gain +otherwise. Though a man be hungry, he should not play the +parasite. That hour wherein I would repent me to be honest, +there were ways enough open for me to be rich. But flattery +is a fine pick-lock of tender ears; especially of those whom +fortune hath borne high upon their wings, that submit their +dignity and authority to it, by a soothing of themselves. +For, indeed, men could never be taken in that abundance with the +springes of others’ flattery, if they began not there; if +they did but remember how much more profitable the bitterness of +truth were, than all the honey distilling from a whorish voice, +which is not praise, but poison. But now it is come to that +extreme folly, or rather madness, with some, that he that +flatters them modestly or sparingly is thought to malign +them. If their friend consent not to their vices, though he +do not contradict them, he is nevertheless an enemy. When +they do all things the worst way, even then they look for +praise. Nay, they will hire fellows to flatter them with +suits and suppers, and to prostitute their judgments. They +have livery-friends, friends of the dish, and of the spit, that +wait their turns, as my lord has his feasts and guests.</p> +<p><i>De vitâ humanâ</i>.—I have considered our +whole life is like a play: wherein every man forgetful of +himself, is in travail with expression of another. Nay, we +so insist in imitating others, as we cannot when it is necessary +return to ourselves; like children, that imitate the vices of +stammerers so long, till at last they become such; and make the +habit to another nature, as it is never forgotten.</p> +<p><i>De piis et probis</i>.—Good men are the stars, the +planets of the ages wherein they live and illustrate the +times. God did never let them be wanting to the world: as +Abel, for an example of innocency, Enoch of purity, Noah of trust +in God’s mercies, Abraham of faith, and so of the +rest. These, sensual men thought mad because they would not +be partakers or practisers of their madness. But they, +placed high on the top of all virtue, looked down on the stage of +the world and contemned the play of fortune. For though the +most be players, some must be spectators.</p> +<p><i>Mores aulici</i>.—I have discovered that a feigned +familiarity in great ones is a note of certain usurpation on the +less. For great and popular men feign themselves to be +servants to others to make those slaves to them. So the +fisher provides bait for the trout, roach, dace, &c., that +they may be food to him.</p> +<p><i>Impiorum +querela</i>.—<i>Augusties</i>.—<i>Varus</i>.—<i>Tiberius</i>.—The +complaint of Caligula was most wicked of the condition of his +times, when he said they were not famous for any public calamity, +as the reign of Augustus was, by the defeat of Varus and the +legions; and that of Tiberius, by the falling of the theatre at +Fidenæ; whilst his oblivion was eminent through the +prosperity of his affairs. As that other voice of his was +worthier a headsman than a head when he wished the people of Rome +had but one neck. But he found when he fell they had many +hands. A tyrant, how great and mighty soever he may seem to +cowards and sluggards, is but one creature, one animal.</p> +<p><i>Nobilium ingenia</i>.—I have marked among the +nobility some are so addicted to the service of the prince and +commonwealth, as they look not for spoil; such are to be honoured +and loved. There are others which no obligation will fasten +on; and they are of two sorts. The first are such as love +their own ease; or, out of vice, of nature, or self-direction, +avoid business and care. Yet these the prince may use with +safety. The other remove themselves upon craft and design, +as the architects say, with a premeditated thought, to their own +rather than their prince’s profit. Such let the +prince take heed of, and not doubt to reckon in the list of his +open enemies.</p> +<p><i>Principum. varia</i>.—<i>Firmissima verò +omnium basis jus hæreditarium Principis</i>.—There is +a great variation between him that is raised to the sovereignty +by the favour of his peers and him that comes to it by the +suffrage of the people. The first holds with more +difficulty, because he hath to do with many that think themselves +his equals, and raised him for their own greatness and oppression +of the rest. The latter hath no upbraiders, but was raised +by them that sought to be defended from oppression: whose end is +both easier and the honester to satisfy. Beside, while he +hath the people to friend, who are a multitude, he hath the less +fear of the nobility, who are but few. Nor let the common +proverb (of he that builds on the people builds on the dirt) +discredit my opinion: for that hath only place where an ambitious +and private person, for some popular end, trusts in them against +the public justice and magistrate. There they will leave +him. But when a prince governs them, so as they have still +need of his administrations (for that is his art), he shall ever +make and hold them faithful.</p> +<p><i>Clementia</i>.—<i>Machiavell</i>.—A prince +should exercise his cruelty not by himself but by his ministers; +so he may save himself and his dignity with his people by +sacrificing those when he list, saith the great doctor of state, +Machiavell. But I say he puts off man and goes into a +beast, that is cruel. No virtue is a prince’s own, or +becomes him more, than this clemency: and no glory is greater +than to be able to save with his power. Many punishments +sometimes, and in some cases, as much discredit a prince, as many +funerals a physician. The state of things is secured by +clemency; severity represseth a few, but irritates more. <a +name="citation74a"></a><a href="#footnote74a" +class="citation">[74a]</a> The lopping of trees makes the +boughs shoot out thicker; and the taking away of some kind of +enemies increaseth the number. It is then most gracious in +a prince to pardon when many about him would make him cruel; to +think then how much he can save when others tell him how much he +can destroy; not to consider what the impotence of others hath +demolished, but what his own greatness can sustain. These +are a prince’s virtues: and they that give him other +counsels are but the hangman’s factors.</p> +<p><i>Clementia tutela optima</i>.—He that is cruel to +halves (saith the said St. Nicholas <a name="citation74b"></a><a +href="#footnote74b" class="citation">[74b]</a>) loseth no less +the opportunity of his cruelty than of his benefits: for then to +use his cruelty is too late; and to use his favours will be +interpreted fear and necessity, and so he loseth the +thanks. Still the counsel is cruelty. But princes, by +hearkening to cruel counsels, become in time obnoxious to the +authors, their flatterers, and ministers; and are brought to +that, that when they would, they dare not change them; they must +go on and defend cruelty with cruelty; they cannot alter the +habit. It is then grown necessary, they must be as ill as +those have made them: and in the end they will grow more hateful +to themselves than to their subjects. Whereas, on the +contrary, the merciful prince is safe in love, not in fear. +He needs no emissaries, spies, intelligencers to entrap true +subjects. He fears no libels, no treasons. His people +speak what they think, and talk openly what they do in +secret. They have nothing in their breasts that they need a +cypher for. He is guarded with his own benefits.</p> +<p><i>Religio</i>. <i>Palladium +Homeri</i>.—<i>Euripides</i>.—The strength of empire +is in religion. What else is the Palladium (with Homer) +that kept Troy so long from sacking? Nothing more commends +the Sovereign to the subject than it. For he that is +religious must be merciful and just necessarily: and they are two +strong ties upon mankind. Justice the virtue that innocence +rejoiceth in. Yet even that is not always so safe, but it +may love to stand in the sight of mercy. For sometimes +misfortune is made a crime, and then innocence is succoured no +less than virtue. Nay, oftentimes virtue is made capital; +and through the condition of the times it may happen that that +may be punished with our praise. Let no man therefore +murmur at the actions of the prince, who is placed so far above +him. If he offend, he hath his discoverer. God hath a +height beyond him. But where the prince is good, Euripides +saith, “God is a guest in a human body.”</p> +<p><i>Tyranni</i>.—<i>Sejanus</i>.—There is nothing +with some princes sacred above their majesty, or profane, but +what violates their sceptres. But a prince, with such a +council, is like the god Terminus, of stone, his own landmark, or +(as it is in the fable) a crowned lion. It is dangerous +offending such a one, who, being angry, knows not how to forgive; +that cares not to do anything for maintaining or enlarging of +empire; kills not men or subjects, but destroyeth whole +countries, armies, mankind, male and female, guilty or not +guilty, holy or profane; yea, some that have not seen the +light. All is under the law of their spoil and +licence. But princes that neglect their proper office thus +their fortune is oftentimes to draw a Sejanus to be near about +them, who at last affect to get above them, and put them in a +worthy fear of rooting both them out and their family. For +no men hate an evil prince more than they that helped to make him +such. And none more boastingly weep his ruin than they that +procured and practised it. The same path leads to ruin +which did to rule when men profess a licence in government. +A good king is a public servant.</p> +<p><i>Illiteratus princeps</i>.—A prince without letters is +a pilot without eyes. All his government is groping. +In sovereignty it is a most happy thing not to be compelled; but +so it is the most miserable not to be counselled. And how +can he be counselled that cannot see to read the best counsellors +(which are books), for they neither flatter us nor hide from +us? He may hear, you will say; but how shall he always be +sure to hear truth, or be counselled the best things, not the +sweetest? They say princes learn no art truly but the art +of horsemanship. The reason is the brave beast is no +flatterer. He will throw a prince as soon as his +groom. Which is an argument that the good counsellors to +princes are the best instruments of a good age. For though +the prince himself be of a most prompt inclination to all virtue, +yet the best pilots have needs of mariners besides sails, anchor, +and other tackle.</p> +<p><i>Character principis</i>.—<i>Alexander +magnus</i>.—If men did know what shining fetters, gilded +miseries, and painted happiness thrones and sceptres were there +would not be so frequent strife about the getting or holding of +them; there would be more principalities than princes; for a +prince is the pastor of the people. He ought to shear, not +to flay his sheep; to take their fleeces, not their the soul of +the commonwealth, and ought to cherish it as his own body. +Alexander the Great was wont to say, “He hated that +gardener that plucked his herbs or flowers up by the +roots.” A man may milk a beast till the blood come; +churn milk and it yieldeth butter, but wring the nose and the +blood followeth. He is an ill prince that so pulls his +subjects’ feathers as he would not have them grow again; +that makes his exchequer a receipt for the spoils of those he +governs. No, let him keep his own, not affect his +subjects’; strive rather to be called just than +powerful. Not, like the Roman tyrants, affect the surnames +that grow by human slaughters; neither to seek war in peace, nor +peace in war, but to observe faith given, though to an +enemy. Study piety toward the subject; show care to defend +him. Be slow to punish in divers cases, but be a sharp and +severe revenger of open crimes. Break no decrees or +dissolve no orders to slacken the strength of laws. Choose +neither magistrates, civil or ecclesiastical, by favour or price; +but with long disquisition and report of their worth by all +suffrages. Sell no honours, nor give them hastily, but +bestow them with counsel and for reward; if he do, acknowledge it +(though late), and mend it. For princes are easy to be +deceived; and what wisdom can escape where so many court-arts are +studied? But, above all, the prince is to remember that +when the great day of account comes, which neither magistrate nor +prince can shun, there will be required of him a reckoning for +those whom he hath trusted, as for himself, which he must +provide. And if piety be wanting in the priests, equity in +the judges, or the magistrates be found rated at a price, what +justice or religion is to be expected? which are the only two +attributes make kings akin to God, and is the Delphic sword, both +to kill sacrifices and to chastise offenders.</p> +<p><i>De gratiosis</i>.—When a virtuous man is raised, it +brings gladness to his friends, grief to his enemies, and glory +to his posterity. Nay, his honours are a great part of the +honour of the times; when by this means he is grown to active men +an example, to the slothful a spur, to the envious a +punishment.</p> +<p><i>Divites</i>.—<i>Heredes ex asse</i>. He which +is sole heir to many rich men, having (besides his father’s +and uncle’s) the estates of divers his kindred come to him +by accession, must needs be richer than father or grandfather; so +they which are left heirs <i>ex asse</i> of all their +ancestors’ vices, and by their good husbandry improve the +old and daily purchase new, must needs be wealthier in vice, and +have a greater revenue or stock of ill to spend on.</p> +<p><i>Fures publici</i>.—The great thieves of a state are +lightly the officers of the crown; they hang the less still, play +the pikes in the pond, eat whom they list. The net was +never spread for the hawk or buzzard that hurt us, but the +harmless birds; they are good meat:—</p> +<p class="poetry">“Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura +columbas.” <a name="citation81a"></a><a href="#footnote81a" +class="citation">[81a]</a><br /> +“Non rete accipitri tenditur, neque milvio.” <a +name="citation81b"></a><a href="#footnote81b" +class="citation">[81b]</a></p> +<p><i>Lewis XI</i>.—But they are not always safe though, +especially when they meet with wise masters. They can take +down all the huff and swelling of their looks, and like dexterous +auditors place the counter where he shall value nothing. +Let them but remember Lewis XI., who to a Clerk of the Exchequer +that came to be Lord Treasurer, and had (for his device) +represented himself sitting on fortune’s wheel, told him he +might do well to fasten it with a good strong nail, lest, turning +about, it might bring him where he was again. As indeed it +did.</p> +<p><i>De bonis et malis</i>.—<i>De +innocentiâ</i>.—A good man will avoid the spot of any +sin. The very aspersion is grievous, which makes him choose +his way in his life as he would in his journey. The ill man +rides through all confidently; he is coated and booted for +it. The oftener he offends, the more openly, and the +fouler, the fitter in fashion. His modesty, like a +riding-coat, the more it is worn is the less cared for. It +is good enough for the dirt still, and the ways he travels +in. An innocent man needs no eloquence, his innocence is +instead of it, else I had never come off so many times from these +precipices, whither men’s malice hath pursued me. It +is true I have been accused to the lords, to the king, and by +great ones, but it happened my accusers had not thought of the +accusation with themselves, and so were driven, for want of +crimes, to use invention, which was found slander, or too late +(being entered so fair) to seek starting-holes for their +rashness, which were not given them. And then they may +think what accusation that was like to prove, when they that were +the engineers feared to be the authors. Nor were they +content to feign things against me, but to urge things, feigned +by the ignorant, against my profession, which though, from their +hired and mercenary impudence, I might have passed by as granted +to a nation of barkers that let out their tongues to lick +others’ sores; yet I durst not leave myself undefended, +having a pair of ears unskilful to hear lies, or have those +things said of me which I could truly prove of them. They +objected making of verses to me, when I could object to most of +them, their not being able to read them, but as worthy of +scorn. Nay, they would offer to urge mine own writings +against me, but by pieces (which was an excellent way of malice), +as if any man’s context might not seem dangerous and +offensive, if that which was knit to what went before were +defrauded of his beginning; or that things by themselves uttered +might not seem subject to calumny, which read entire would appear +most free. At last they upbraided my poverty: I confess she +is my domestic; sober of diet, simple of habit, frugal, painful, +a good counseller to me, that keeps me from cruelty, pride, or +other more delicate impertinences, which are the nurse-children +of riches. But let them look over all the great and +monstrous wickednesses, they shall never find those in poor +families. They are the issue of the wealthy giants and the +mighty hunters, whereas no great work, or worthy of praise or +memory, but came out of poor cradles. It was the ancient +poverty that founded commonweals, built cities, invented arts, +made wholesome laws, armed men against vices, rewarded them with +their own virtues, and preserved the honour and state of nations, +till they betrayed themselves to riches.</p> +<p><i>Amor nummi</i>.—Money never made any man rich, but +his mind. He that can order himself to the law of Nature is +not only without the sense but the fear of poverty. O! but +to strike blind the people with our wealth and pomp is the +thing! What a wretchedness is this, to thrust all our +riches outward, and be beggars within; to contemplate nothing but +the little, vile, and sordid things of the world; not the great, +noble, and precious! We serve our avarice, and, not content +with the good of the earth that is offered us, we search and dig +for the evil that is hidden. God offered us those things, +and placed them at hand, and near us, that He knew were +profitable for us, but the hurtful He laid deep and hid. +Yet do we seek only the things whereby we may perish, and bring +them forth, when God and Nature hath buried them. We covet +superfluous things, when it were more honour for us if we would +contemn necessary. What need hath Nature of silver dishes, +multitudes of waiters, delicate pages, perfumed napkins? +She requires meat only, and hunger is not ambitious. Can we +think no wealth enough but such a state for which a man may be +brought into a premunire, begged, proscribed, or poisoned? +O! if a man could restrain the fury of his gullet and groin, and +think how many fires, how many kitchens, cooks, pastures, and +ploughed lands; what orchards, stews, ponds and parks, coops and +garners, he could spare; what velvets, tissues, embroideries, +laces, he could lack; and then how short and uncertain his life +is; he were in a better way to happiness than to live the emperor +of these delights, and be the dictator of fashions; but we make +ourselves slaves to our pleasures, and we serve fame and +ambition, which is an equal slavery. Have not I seen the +pomp of a whole kingdom, and what a foreign king could bring +hither? Also to make himself gazed and wondered +at—laid forth, as it were, to the show—and vanish all +away in a day? And shall that which could not fill the +expectation of few hours, entertain and take up our whole lives, +when even it appeared as superfluous to the possessors as to me +that was a spectator? The bravery was shown, it was not +possessed; while it boasted itself it perished. It is vile, +and a poor thing to place our happiness on these desires. +Say we wanted them all. Famine ends famine.</p> +<p><i>De mollibus et effœminatis</i>.—There is +nothing valiant or solid to be hoped for from such as are always +kempt and perfumed, and every day smell of the tailor; the +exceedingly curious that are wholly in mending such an +imperfection in the face, in taking away the morphew in the neck, +or bleaching their hands at midnight, gumming and bridling their +beards, or making the waist small, binding it with hoops, while +the mind runs at waste; too much pickedness is not manly. +Not from those that will jest at their own outward imperfections, +but hide their ulcers within, their pride, lust, envy, +ill-nature, with all the art and authority they can. These +persons are in danger, for whilst they think to justify their +ignorance by impudence, and their persons by clothes and outward +ornaments, they use but a commission to deceive themselves: +where, if we will look with our understanding, and not our +senses, we may behold virtue and beauty (though covered with +rags) in their brightness; and vice and deformity so much the +fouler, in having all the splendour of riches to gild them, or +the false light of honour and power to help them. Yet this +is that wherewith the world is taken, and runs mad to gaze +on—clothes and titles, the birdlime of fools.</p> +<p><i>De stultitiâ</i>.—What petty things they are we +wonder at, like children that esteem every trifle, and prefer a +fairing before their fathers! What difference is between us +and them but that we are dearer fools, coxcombs at a higher +rate? They are pleased with cockleshells, whistles, +hobby-horses, and such like; we with statues, marble pillars, +pictures, gilded roofs, where underneath is lath and lime, +perhaps loam. Yet we take pleasure in the lie, and are glad +we can cozen ourselves. Nor is it only in our walls and +ceilings, but all that we call happiness is mere painting and +gilt, and all for money. What a thin membrane of honour +that is! and how hath all true reputation fallen, since money +began to have any! Yet the great herd, the multitude, that +in all other things are divided, in this alone conspire and +agree—to love money. They wish for it, they embrace +it, they adore it, while yet it is possessed with greater stir +and torment than it is gotten.</p> +<p><i>De sibi molestis</i>.—Some men what losses soever +they have they make them greater, and if they have none, even all +that is not gotten is a loss. Can there be creatures of +more wretched condition than these, that continually labour under +their own misery and others’ envy? A man should study +other things, not to covet, not to fear, not to repent him; to +make his base such as no tempest shall shake him; to be secure of +all opinion, and pleasing to himself, even for that wherein he +displeaseth others; for the worst opinion gotten for doing well, +should delight us. Wouldst not thou be just but for fame, +thou oughtest to be it with infamy; he that would have his virtue +published is not the servant of virtue, but glory.</p> +<p><i>Periculosa melancholia</i>.—It is a dangerous thing +when men’s minds come to sojourn with their affections, and +their diseases eat into their strength; that when too much desire +and greediness of vice hath made the body unfit, or unprofitable, +it is yet gladded with the sight and spectacle of it in others; +and for want of ability to be an actor, is content to be a +witness. It enjoys the pleasure of sinning in beholding +others sin, as in dining, drinking, drabbing, &c. Nay, +when it cannot do all these, it is offended with his own +narrowness, that excludes it from the universal delights of +mankind, and oftentimes dies of a melancholy, that it cannot be +vicious enough.</p> +<p><i>Falsæ species fugiendæ</i>.—I am glad +when I see any man avoid the infamy of a vice; but to shun the +vice itself were better. Till he do that he is but like the +’pientice, who, being loth to be spied by his master coming +forth of Black Lucy’s, went in again; to whom his master +cried, “The more thou runnest that way to hide thyself, the +more thou art in the place.” So are those that keep a +tavern all day, that they may not be seen at night. I have +known lawyers, divines—yea, great ones—of this +heresy.</p> +<p><i>Decipimur specie</i>.—There is a greater reverence +had of things remote or strange to us than of much better if they +be nearer and fall under our sense. Men, and almost all +sorts of creatures, have their reputation by distance. +Rivers, the farther they run, and more from their spring, the +broader they are, and greater. And where our original is +known, we are less the confident; among strangers we trust +fortune. Yet a man may live as renowned at home, in his own +country, or a private village, as in the whole world. For +it is virtue that gives glory; that will endenizen a man +everywhere. It is only that can naturalise him. A +native, if he be vicious, deserves to be a stranger, and cast out +of the commonwealth as an alien.</p> +<p><i>Dejectio Aulic</i>.—A dejected countenance and mean +clothes beget often a contempt, but it is with the shallowest +creatures; courtiers commonly: look up even with them in a new +suit, you get above them straight. Nothing is more +short-lived than pride; it is but while their clothes last: stay +but while these are worn out, you cannot wish the thing more +wretched or dejected.</p> +<p><i>Poesis</i>, <i>et pictura</i>.—<i>Plutarch</i>. +Poetry and picture are arts of a like nature, and both are busy +about imitation. It was excellently said of Plutarch, +poetry was a speaking picture, and picture a mute poesy. +For they both invent, feign and devise many things, and +accommodate all they invent to the use and service of +Nature. Yet of the two, the pen is more noble than the +pencil; for that can speak to the understanding, the other but to +the sense. They both behold pleasure and profit as their +common object; but should abstain from all base pleasures, lest +they should err from their end, and, while they seek to better +men’s minds, destroy their manners. They both are +born artificers, not made. Nature is more powerful in them +than study.</p> +<p><i>De pictura</i>.—Whosoever loves not picture is +injurious to truth and all the wisdom of poetry. Picture is +the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to +Nature. It is itself a silent work, and always of one and +the same habit; yet it doth so enter and penetrate the inmost +affection (being done by an excellent artificer) as sometimes it +overcomes the power of speech and oratory. There are divers +graces in it, so are there in the artificers. One excels in +care, another in reason, a third in easiness, a fourth in nature +and grace. Some have diligence and comeliness, but they +want majesty. They can express a human form in all the +graces, sweetness, and elegancy, but, they miss the +authority. They can hit nothing but smooth cheeks; they +cannot express roughness or gravity. Others aspire to truth +so much as they are rather lovers of likeness than beauty. +Zeuxis and Parrhasius are said to be contemporaries; the first +found out the reason of lights and shadows in picture, the other +more subtlely examined the line.</p> +<p><i>De stylo</i>.—<i>Pliny</i>.—In picture light is +required no less than shadow; so in style, height as well as +humbleness. But beware they be not too humble, as Pliny +pronounced of Regulus’s writings. You would think +them written, not on a child, but by a child. Many, out of +their own obscene apprehensions, refuse proper and fit +words—as occupy, Nature, and the like; so the curious +industry in some, of having all alike good, hath come nearer a +vice than a virtue.</p> +<p><i>De progres. picturæ</i>. <a name="citation93"></a><a +href="#footnote93" class="citation">[93]</a> Picture took +her feigning from poetry; from geometry her rule, compass, lines, +proportion, and the whole symmetry. Parrhasius was the +first won reputation by adding symmetry to picture; he added +subtlety to the countenance, elegancy to the hair, love-lines to +the face, and by the public voice of all artificers, deserved +honour in the outer lines. Eupompus gave it splendour by +numbers and other elegancies. From the optics it drew +reasons, by which it considered how things placed at distance and +afar off should appear less; how above or beneath the head should +deceive the eye, &c. So from thence it took shadows, +recessor, light, and heightnings. From moral philosophy it +took the soul, the expression of senses, perturbations, manners, +when they would paint an angry person, a proud, an inconstant, an +ambitious, a brave, a magnanimous, a just, a merciful, a +compassionate, an humble, a dejected, a base, and the like; they +made all heightnings bright, all shadows dark, all swellings from +a plane, all solids from breaking. See where he complains +of their painting Chimæras <a name="citation94"></a><a +href="#footnote94" class="citation">[94]</a> (by the vulgar +unaptly called grotesque) saying that men who were born truly to +study and emulate Nature did nothing but make monsters against +Nature, which Horace so laughed at. <a name="citation95"></a><a +href="#footnote95" class="citation">[95]</a> The art plastic was +moulding in clay, or potter’s earth anciently. This +is the parent of statuary, sculpture, graving, and picture; +cutting in brass and marble, all serve under her. Socrates +taught Parrhasius and Clito (two noble statuaries) first to +express manners by their looks in imagery. Polygnotus and +Aglaophon were ancienter. After them Zeuxis, who was the +lawgiver to all painters; after, Parrhasius. They were +contemporaries, and lived both about Philip’s time, the +father of Alexander the Great. There lived in this latter +age six famous painters in Italy, who were excellent and emulous +of the ancients—Raphael de Urbino, Michael Angelo +Buonarotti, Titian, Antony of Correggio, Sebastian of Venice, +Julio Romano, and Andrea Sartorio.</p> +<p><i>Parasiti ad mensam</i>.—These are flatterers for +their bread, that praise all my oraculous lord does or says, be +it true or false; invent tales that shall please; make baits for +his lordship’s ears; and if they be not received in what +they offer at, they shift a point of the compass, and turn their +tale, presently tack about, deny what they confessed, and confess +what they denied; fit their discourse to the persons and +occasions. What they snatch up and devour at one table, +utter at another; and grow suspected of the master, hated of the +servants, while they inquire, and reprehend, and compound, and +dilate business of the house they have nothing to do with. +They praise my lord’s wine and the sauce he likes; observe +the cook and bottle-man; while they stand in my lord’s +favour, speak for a pension for them, but pound them to dust upon +my lord’s least distaste, or change of his palate.</p> +<p>How much better is it to be silent, or at least to speak +sparingly! for it is not enough to speak good, but timely +things. If a man be asked a question, to answer; but to +repeat the question before he answer is well, that he be sure to +understand it, to avoid absurdity; for it is less dishonour to +hear imperfectly than to speak imperfectly. The ears are +excused, the understanding is not. And in things unknown to +a man, not to give his opinion, lest by the affectation of +knowing too much he lose the credit he hath, by speaking or +knowing the wrong way what he utters. Nor seek to get his +patron’s favour by embarking himself in the factions of the +family, to inquire after domestic simulties, their sports or +affections. They are an odious and vile kind of creatures, +that fly about the house all day, and picking up the filth of the +house like pies or swallows, carry it to their nest (the +lord’s ears), and oftentimes report the lies they have +feigned for what they have seen and heard.</p> +<p><i>Imò serviles</i>.—These are called instruments +of grace and power with great persons, but they are indeed the +organs of their impotency, and marks of weakness. For +sufficient lords are able to make these discoveries +themselves. Neither will an honourable person inquire who +eats and drinks together, what that man plays, whom this man +loves, with whom such a one walks, what discourse they hold, who +sleeps with whom. They are base and servile natures that +busy themselves about these disquisitions. How often have I +seen (and worthily) these censors of the family undertaken by +some honest rustic and cudgelled thriftily! These are +commonly the off-scouring and dregs of men that do these things, +or calumniate others; yet I know not truly which is +worse—he that maligns all, or that praises all. There +is as a vice in praising, and as frequent, as in detracting.</p> +<p>It pleased your lordship of late to ask my opinion touching +the education of your sons, and especially to the advancement of +their studies. To which, though I returned somewhat for the +present, which rather manifested a will in me than gave any just +resolution to the thing propounded, I have upon better cogitation +called those aids about me, both of mind and memory, which shall +venture my thoughts clearer, if not fuller, to your +lordship’s demand. I confess, my lord, they will seem +but petty and minute things I shall offer to you, being writ for +children, and of them. But studies have their infancy as +well as creatures. We see in men even the strongest +compositions had their beginnings from milk and the cradle; and +the wisest tarried sometimes about apting their mouths to letters +and syllables. In their education, therefore, the care must +be the greater had of their beginnings, to know, examine, and +weigh their natures; which, though they be proner in some +children to some disciplines, yet are they naturally prompt to +taste all by degrees, and with change. For change is a kind +of refreshing in studies, and infuseth knowledge by way of +recreation. Thence the school itself is called a play or +game, and all letters are so best taught to scholars. They +should not be affrighted or deterred in their entry, but drawn on +with exercise and emulation. A youth should not be made to +hate study before he know the causes to love it, or taste the +bitterness before the sweet; but called on and allured, entreated +and praised—yea, when he deserves it not. For which +cause I wish them sent to the best school, and a public, which I +think the best. Your lordship, I fear, hardly hears of +that, as willing to breed them in your eye and at home, and +doubting their manners may be corrupted abroad. They are in +more danger in your own family, among ill servants (allowing they +be safe in their schoolmaster), than amongst a thousand boys, +however immodest. Would we did not spoil our own children, +and overthrow their manners ourselves by too much +indulgence! To breed them at home is to breed them in a +shade, whereas in a school they have the light and heat of the +sun. They are used and accustomed to things and men. +When they come forth into the common-wealth, they find nothing +new, or to seek. They have made their friendships and aids, +some to last their age. They hear what is commanded to +others as well as themselves; much approved, much corrected; all +which they bring to their own store and use, and learn as much as +they hear. Eloquence would be but a poor thing if we should +only converse with singulars, speak but man and man +together. Therefore I like no private breeding. I +would send them where their industry should be daily increased by +praise, and that kindled by emulation. It is a good thing +to inflame the mind; and though ambition itself be a vice, it is +often the cause of great virtue. Give me that wit whom +praise excites, glory puts on, or disgrace grieves; he is to be +nourished with ambition, pricked forward with honour, checked +with reprehension, and never to be suspected of sloth. +Though he be given to play, it is a sign of spirit and +liveliness, so there be a mean had of their sports and +relaxations. And from the rod or ferule I would have them +free, as from the menace of them; for it is both deformed and +servile.</p> +<p><i>De stylo</i>, <i>et optimo scribendi genere</i>.—For +a man to write well, there are required three +necessaries—to read the best authors, observe the best +speakers, and much exercise of his own style; in style to +consider what ought to be written, and after what manner. +He must first think and excogitate his matter, then choose his +words, and examine the weight of either. Then take care, in +placing and ranking both matter and words, that the composition +be comely; and to do this with diligence and often. No +matter how slow the style be at first, so it be laboured and +accurate; seek the best, and be not glad of the froward conceits, +or first words, that offer themselves to us; but judge of what we +invent, and order what we approve. Repeat often what we +have formerly written; which beside that it helps the +consequence, and makes the juncture better, it quickens the heat +of imagination, that often cools in the time of setting down, and +gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back; +as we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest that +fetch their race largest; or, as in throwing a dart or javelin, +we force back our arms to make our loose the stronger. Yet, +if we have a fair gale of wind, I forbid not the steering out of +our sail, so the favour of the gale deceive us not. For all +that we invent doth please us in conception of birth, else we +would never set it down. But the safest is to return to our +judgment, and handle over again those things the easiness of +which might make them justly suspected. So did the best +writers in their beginnings; they imposed upon themselves care +and industry; they did nothing rashly: they obtained first to +write well, and then custom made it easy and a habit. By +little and little their matter showed itself to them more +plentifully; their words answered, their composition followed; +and all, as in a well-ordered family, presented itself in the +place. So that the sum of all is, ready writing makes not +good writing, but good writing brings on ready writing yet, when +we think we have got the faculty, it is even then good to resist +it, as to give a horse a check sometimes with a bit, which doth +not so much stop his course as stir his mettle. Again, +whether a man’s genius is best able to reach thither, it +should more and more contend, lift and dilate itself, as men of +low stature raise themselves on their toes, and so ofttimes get +even, if not eminent. Besides, as it is fit for grown and +able writers to stand of themselves, and work with their own +strength, to trust and endeavour by their own faculties, so it is +fit for the beginner and learner to study others and the +best. For the mind and memory are more sharply exercised in +comprehending another man’s things than our own; and such +as accustom themselves and are familiar with the best authors +shall ever and anon find somewhat of them in themselves, and in +the expression of their minds, even when they feel it not, be +able to utter something like theirs, which hath an authority +above their own. Nay, sometimes it is the reward of a +man’s study, the praise of quoting another man fitly; and +though a man be more prone and able for one kind of writing than +another, yet he must exercise all. For as in an instrument, +so in style, there must be a harmony and consent of parts.</p> +<p><i>Præcipiendi modi</i>.—I take this labour in +teaching others, that they should not be always to be taught, and +I would bring my precepts into practice, for rules are ever of +less force and value than experiments; yet with this purpose, +rather to show the right way to those that come after, than to +detect any that have slipped before by error, and I hope it will +be more profitable. For men do more willingly listen, and +with more favour, to precept, than reprehension. Among +divers opinions of an art, and most of them contrary in +themselves, it is hard to make election; and, therefore, though a +man cannot invent new things after so many, he may do a welcome +work yet to help posterity to judge rightly of the old. But +arts and precepts avail nothing, except Nature be beneficial and +aiding. And therefore these things are no more written to a +dull disposition, than rules of husbandry to a soil. No +precepts will profit a fool, no more than beauty will the blind, +or music the deaf. As we should take care that our style in +writing be neither dry nor empty, we should look again it be not +winding, or wanton with far-fetched descriptions; either is a +vice. But that is worse which proceeds out of want, than +that which riots out of plenty. The remedy of fruitfulness +is easy, but no labour will help the contrary; I will like and +praise some things in a young writer which yet, if he continue +in, I cannot but justly hate him for the same. There is a +time to be given all things for maturity, and that even your +country husband-man can teach, who to a young plant will not put +the pruning-knife, because it seems to fear the iron, as not able +to admit the scar. No more would I tell a green writer all +his faults, lest I should make him grieve and faint, and at last +despair; for nothing doth more hurt than to make him so afraid of +all things as he can endeavour nothing. Therefore youth +ought to be instructed betimes, and in the best things; for we +hold those longest we take soonest, as the first scent of a +vessel lasts, and the tint the wool first receives; therefore a +master should temper his own powers, and descend to the +other’s infirmity. If you pour a glut of water upon a +bottle, it receives little of it; but with a funnel, and by +degrees, you shall fill many of them, and spill little of your +own; to their capacity they will all receive and be full. +And as it is fit to read the best authors to youth first, so let +them be of the openest and clearest. <a +name="citation106a"></a><a href="#footnote106a" +class="citation">[106a]</a> As Livy before Sallust, Sidney +before Donne; and beware of letting them taste Gower or Chaucer +at first, lest, falling too much in love with antiquity, and not +apprehending the weight, they grow rough and barren in language +only. When their judgments are firm, and out of danger, let +them read both the old and the new; but no less take heed that +their new flowers and sweetness do not as much corrupt as the +others’ dryness and squalor, if they choose not +carefully. Spenser, in affecting the ancients, writ no +language; yet I would have him read for his matter, but as Virgil +read Ennius. The reading of Homer and Virgil is counselled +by Quintilian as the best way of informing youth and confirming +man. For, besides that the mind is raised with the height +and sublimity of such a verse, it takes spirit from the greatness +of the matter, and is tinctured with the best things. +Tragic and lyric poetry is good, too, and comic with the best, if +the manners of the reader be once in safety. In the Greek +poets, as also in Plautus, we shall see the economy and +disposition of poems better observed than in Terence; and the +latter, who thought the sole grace and virtue of their fable the +sticking in of sentences, as ours do the forcing in of jests.</p> +<p><i>Fals. querel. fugiend. Platonis peregrinatio in +Italiam</i>.—We should not protect our sloth with the +patronage of difficulty. It is a false quarrel against +Nature, that she helps understanding but in a few, when the most +part of mankind are inclined by her thither, if they would take +the pains; no less than birds to fly, horses to run, &c., +which if they lose, it is through their own sluggishness, and by +that means become her prodigies, not her children. I +confess, Nature in children is more patient of labour in study +than in age; for the sense of the pain, the judgment of the +labour is absent; they do not measure what they have done. +And it is the thought and consideration that affects us more than +the weariness itself. Plato was not content with the +learning that Athens could give him, but sailed into Italy, for +Pythagoras’ knowledge: and yet not thinking himself +sufficiently informed, went into Egypt, to the priests, and +learned their mysteries. He laboured, so must we. +Many things may be learned together, and performed in one point +of time; as musicians exercise their memory, their voice, their +fingers, and sometimes their head and feet at once. And so +a preacher, in the invention of matter, election of words, +composition of gesture, look, pronunciation, motion, useth all +these faculties at once: and if we can express this variety +together, why should not divers studies, at divers hours, +delight, when the variety is able alone to refresh and repair +us? As, when a man is weary of writing, to read; and then +again of reading, to write. Wherein, howsoever we do many +things, yet are we (in a sort) still fresh to what we begin; we +are recreated with change, as the stomach is with meats. +But some will say this variety breeds confusion, and makes, that +either we lose all, or hold no more than the last. Why do +we not then persuade husbandmen that they should not till land, +help it with marl, lime, and compost? plant hop-gardens, prune +trees, look to bee-hives, rear sheep, and all other cattle at +once? It is easier to do many things and continue, than to +do one thing long.</p> +<p><i>Præcept. element</i>.—It is not the passing +through these learnings that hurts us, but the dwelling and +sticking about them. To descend to those extreme anxieties +and foolish cavils of grammarians, is able to break a wit in +pieces, being a work of manifold misery and vainness, to be +<i>elementarii senes</i>. Yet even letters are, as it were, +the bank of words, and restore themselves to an author as the +pawns of language: but talking and eloquence are not the same: to +speak, and to speak well, are two things. A fool may talk, +but a wise man speaks; and out of the observation, knowledge, and +the use of things, many writers perplex their readers and hearers +with mere nonsense. Their writings need sunshine. +Pure and neat language I love, yet plain and customary. A +barbarous phrase has often made me out of love with a good sense, +and doubtful writing hath wracked me beyond my patience. +The reason why a poet is said that he ought to have all +knowledges is, that he should not be ignorant of the most, +especially of those he will handle. And indeed, when the +attaining of them is possible, it were a sluggish and base thing +to despair; for frequent imitation of anything becomes a habit +quickly. If a man should prosecute as much as could be said +of everything, his work would find no end.</p> +<p><i>De orationis dignitate</i>. +’Εγκυκλοπαιδεία.—<i>Metaphora</i>. +Speech is the only benefit man hath to express his excellency of +mind above other creatures. It is the instrument of +society; therefore Mercury, who is the president of language, is +called <i>deorum hominumque interpres</i>. <a +name="citation110a"></a><a href="#footnote110a" +class="citation">[110a]</a> In all speech, words and sense +are as the body and the soul. The sense is as the life and +soul of language, without which all words are dead. Sense +is wrought out of experience, the knowledge of human life and +actions, or of the liberal arts, which the Greeks called +’Εγκυκλοπαιδείαν. +Words are the people’s, yet there is a choice of them to be +made; for <i>verborum delectus origo est eloquentiæ</i>. <a +name="citation111a"></a><a href="#footnote111a" +class="citation">[111a]</a> They are to be chosen according +to the persons we make speak, or the things we speak of. +Some are of the camp, some of the council-board, some of the +shop, some of the sheepcote, some of the pulpit, some of the Bar, +&c. And herein is seen their elegance and propriety, +when we use them fitly and draw them forth to their just strength +and nature by way of translation or metaphor. But in this +translation we must only serve necessity (<i>nam temerè +nihil transfertur à prudenti</i>) <a +name="citation111b"></a><a href="#footnote111b" +class="citation">[111b]</a> or commodity, which is a kind of +necessity: that is, when we either absolutely want a word to +express by, and that is necessity; or when we have not so fit a +word, and that is commodity; as when we avoid loss by it, and +escape obsceneness, and gain in the grace and property which +helps significance. Metaphors far-fetched hinder to be +understood; and affected, lose their grace. Or when the +person fetcheth his translations from a wrong place as if a privy +councillor should at the table take his metaphor from a +dicing-house, or ordinary, or a vintner’s vault; or a +justice of peace draw his similitudes from the mathematics, or a +divine from a bawdy house, or taverns; or a gentleman of +Northamptonshire, Warwickshire, or the Midland, should fetch all +the illustrations to his country neighbours from shipping, and +tell them of the main-sheet and the bowline. Metaphors are +thus many times deformed, as in him that said, <i>Castratam morte +Africani rempublicam</i>; and another, <i>Stercus curiæ +Glauciam</i>, and <i>Canâ nive conspuit Alpes</i>. +All attempts that are new in this kind, are dangerous, and +somewhat hard, before they be softened with use. A man +coins not a new word without some peril and less fruit; for if it +happen to be received, the praise is but moderate; if refused, +the scorn is assured. Yet we must adventure; for things at +first hard and rough are by use made tender and gentle. It +is an honest error that is committed, following great chiefs.</p> +<p><i>Consuetudo</i>.—<i>Perspicuitas</i>, +<i>Venustas</i>.—<i>Authoritas</i>.—<i>Virgil</i>.—<i>Lucretius</i>.—<i>Chaucerism</i>.—<i>Paronomasia</i>.—Custom +is the most certain mistress of language, as the public stamp +makes the current money. But we must not be too frequent +with the mint, every day coining, nor fetch words from the +extreme and utmost ages; since the chief virtue of a style is +perspicuity, and nothing so vicious in it as to need an +interpreter. Words borrowed of antiquity do lend a kind of +majesty to style, and are not without their delight sometimes; +for they have the authority of years, and out of their +intermission do win themselves a kind of grace like +newness. But the eldest of the present, and newness of the +past language, is the best. For what was the ancient +language, which some men so dote upon, but the ancient +custom? Yet when I name custom, I understand not the vulgar +custom; for that were a precept no less dangerous to language +than life, if we should speak or live after the manners of the +vulgar: but that I call custom of speech, which is the consent of +the learned; as custom of life, which is the consent of the +good. Virgil was most loving of antiquity; yet how rarely +doth he insert <i>aquai</i> and <i>pictai</i>! Lucretius is +scabrous and rough in these; he seeks them: as some do +Chaucerisms with us, which were better expunged and +banished. Some words are to be culled out for ornament and +colour, as we gather flowers to strew houses or make garlands; +but they are better when they grow to our style; as in a meadow, +where, though the mere grass and greenness delight, yet the +variety of flowers doth heighten and beautify. Marry, we +must not play or riot too much with them, as in Paronomasies; nor +use too swelling or ill-sounding words! <i>Quæ per +salebras</i>, <i>altaque saxa cadunt</i>. <a +name="citation114a"></a><a href="#footnote114a" +class="citation">[114a]</a> It is true, there is no sound +but shall find some lovers, as the bitterest confections are +grateful to some palates. Our composition must be more +accurate in the beginning and end than in the midst, and in the +end more than in the beginning; for through the midst the stream +bears us. And this is attained by custom, more than care of +diligence. We must express readily and fully, not +profusely. There is difference between a liberal and +prodigal hand. As it is a great point of art, when our +matter requires it, to enlarge and veer out all sail, so to take +it in and contract it, is of no less praise, when the argument +doth ask it. Either of them hath their fitness in the +place. A good man always profits by his endeavour, by his +help, yea, when he is absent; nay, when he is dead, by his +example and memory. So good authors in their style: a +strict and succinct style is that where you can take away nothing +without loss, and that loss to be manifest.</p> +<p><i>De Stylo</i>.—<i>Tracitus</i>.—<i>The +Laconic</i>.—<i>Suetonius</i>.—<i>Seneca and +Fabianus</i>.—The brief style is that which expresseth much +in little; the concise style, which expresseth not enough, but +leaves somewhat to be understood; the abrupt style, which hath +many breaches, and doth not seem to end, but fall. The +congruent and harmonious fitting of parts in a sentence hath +almost the fastening and force of knitting and connection; as in +stones well squared, which will rise strong a great way without +mortar.</p> +<p><i>Periodi</i>.—<i>Obscuritas offundit +tenebras</i>.—<i>Superlatio</i>.—Periods are +beautiful when they are not too long; for so they have their +strength too, as in a pike or javelin. As we must take the +care that our words and sense be clear, so if the obscurity +happen through the hearer’s or reader’s want of +understanding, I am not to answer for them, no more than for +their not listening or marking; I must neither find them ears nor +mind. But a man cannot put a word so in sense but something +about it will illustrate it, if the writer understand himself; +for order helps much to perspicuity, as confusion hurts. +(<i>Rectitudo lucem adfert</i>; <i>obliquitas et circumductio +offuscat</i>. <a name="citation116a"></a><a href="#footnote116a" +class="citation">[116a]</a>) We should therefore speak what +we can the nearest way, so as we keep our gait, not leap; for too +short may as well be not let into the memory, as too long not +kept in. Whatsoever loseth the grace and clearness, +converts into a riddle; the obscurity is marked, but not the +value. That perisheth, and is passed by, like the pearl in +the fable. Our style should be like a skein of silk, to be +carried and found by the right thread, not ravelled and +perplexed; then all is a knot, a heap. There are words that +do as much raise a style as others can depress it. +Superlation and over-muchness amplifies; it may be above faith, +but never above a mean. It was ridiculous in Cestius, when +he said of Alexander:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Fremit oceanus, quasi indignetur, +quòd terras relinquas.” <a +name="citation117a"></a><a href="#footnote117a" +class="citation">[117a]</a></p> +<p>But propitiously from Virgil:</p> +<p class="poetry">“Credas innare revulsas<br /> +Cycladas.” <a name="citation117b"></a><a +href="#footnote117b" class="citation">[117b]</a></p> +<p>He doth not say it was so, but seemed to be so. Although +it be somewhat incredible, that is excused before it be +spoken. But there are hyperboles which will become one +language, that will by no means admit another. As <i>Eos +esse</i> P. R. <i>exercitus</i>, <i>qui cælum possint +perrumpere</i>, <a name="citation118a"></a><a +href="#footnote118a" class="citation">[118a]</a> who would say +with us, but a madman? Therefore we must consider in every +tongue what is used, what received. Quintilian warns us, +that in no kind of translation, or metaphor, or allegory, we make +a turn from what we began; as if we fetch the original of our +metaphor from sea and billows, we end not in flames and ashes: it +is a most foul inconsequence. Neither must we draw out our +allegory too long, lest either we make ourselves obscure, or fall +into affectation, which is childish. But why do men depart +at all from the right and natural ways of speaking? sometimes for +necessity, when we are driven, or think it fitter, to speak that +in obscure words, or by circumstance, which uttered plainly would +offend the hearers. Or to avoid obsceneness, or sometimes +for pleasure, and variety, as travellers turn out of the highway, +drawn either by the commodity of a footpath, or the delicacy or +freshness of the fields. And all this is called +εσχηματισμενη +or figured language.</p> +<p><i>Oratio imago animi</i>.—Language most shows a man: +Speak, that I may see thee. It springs out of the most +retired and inmost parts of us, and is the image of the parent of +it, the mind. No glass renders a man’s form or +likeness so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a +man; and as we consider feature and composition in a man, so +words in language; in the greatness, aptness, sound structure, +and harmony of it.</p> +<p><i>Structura et statura</i>, <i>sublimis</i>, <i>humilis</i>, +<i>pumila</i>.—Some men are tall and big, so some language +is high and great. Then the words are chosen, their sound +ample, the composition full, the absolution plenteous, and poured +out, all grave, sinewy, and strong. Some are little and +dwarfs; so of speech, it is humble and low, the words poor and +flat, the members and periods thin and weak, without knitting or +number.</p> +<p><i>Mediocris plana et placida</i>.—The middle are of a +just stature. There the language is plain and pleasing; +even without stopping, round without swelling: all well-turned, +composed, elegant, and accurate.</p> +<p><i>Vitiosa oratio</i>, +<i>vasta</i>—<i>tumens</i>—<i>enormis</i>—<i>affectata</i>—<i>abjecta</i>.—The +vicious language is vast and gaping, swelling and irregular: when +it contends to be high, full of rock, mountain, and pointedness; +as it affects to be low, it is abject, and creeps, full of bogs +and holes. And according to their subject these styles +vary, and lose their names: for that which is high and lofty, +declaring excellent matter, becomes vast and tumorous, speaking +of petty and inferior things; so that which was even and apt in a +mean and plain subject, will appear most poor and humble in a +high argument. Would you not laugh to meet a great +councillor of State in a flat cap, with his trunk hose, and a +hobbyhorse cloak, his gloves under his girdle, and yond +haberdasher in a velvet gown, furred with sables? There is +a certain latitude in these things, by which we find the +degrees.</p> +<p><i>Figura</i>.—The next thing to the stature, is the +figure and feature in language—that is, whether it be round +and straight, which consists of short and succinct periods, +numerous and polished; or square and firm, which is to have equal +and strong parts everywhere answerable, and weighed.</p> +<p><i>Cutis sive cortex</i>. <i>Compositio</i>.—The +third is the skin and coat, which rests in the well-joining, +cementing, and coagmentation of words; whenas it is smooth, +gentle, and sweet, like a table upon which you may run your +finger without rubs, and your nail cannot find a joint; not +horrid, rough, wrinkled, gaping, or chapped: after these, the +flesh, blood, and bones come in question.</p> + +<p><i>Carnosa</i>—<i>adipata</i>—<i>redundans</i>.—We +say it is a fleshy style, when there is much periphrasis, and +circuit of words; and when with more than enough, it grows fat +and corpulent: <i>arvina orationis</i>, full of suet and +tallow. It hath blood and juice when the words are proper +and apt, their sound sweet, and the phrase neat and +picked—<i>oratio uncta</i>, <i>et benè +pasta</i>. But where there is redundancy, both the blood +and juice are faulty and vicious:—<i>Redundat sanguine</i>, +<i>quia multo plus dicit</i>, <i>quam necesse est</i>. +Juice in language is somewhat less than blood; for if the words +be but becoming and signifying, and the sense gentle, there is +juice; but where that wanteth, the language is thin, flagging, +poor, starved, scarce covering the bone, and shows like stones in +a sack.</p> +<p><i>Jejuna</i>, <i>macilenta</i>, +<i>strigosa</i>.—<i>Ossea</i>, <i>et +nervosa</i>.—Some men, to avoid redundancy, run into that; +and while they strive to have no ill blood or juice, they lose +their good. There be some styles, again, that have not less +blood, but less flesh and corpulence. These are bony and +sinewy; <i>Ossa habent</i>, <i>et nervos</i>.</p> +<p><i>Notæ domini Sti. Albani de doctrin. +intemper</i>.—<i>Dictator</i>.—<i>Aristoteles</i>.—It +was well noted by the late Lord St. Albans, that the study of +words is the first distemper of learning; vain matter the second; +and a third distemper is deceit, or the likeness of truth: +imposture held up by credulity. All these are the cobwebs +of learning, and to let them grow in us is either sluttish or +foolish. Nothing is more ridiculous than to make an author +a dictator, as the schools have done Aristotle. The damage +is infinite knowledge receives by it; for to many things a man +should owe but a temporary belief, and suspension of his own +judgment, not an absolute resignation of himself, or a perpetual +captivity. Let Aristotle and others have their dues; but if +we can make farther discoveries of truth and fitness than they, +why are we envied? Let us beware, while we strive to add, +we do not diminish or deface; we may improve, but not +augment. By discrediting falsehood, truth grows in +request. We must not go about, like men anguished and +perplexed, for vicious affectation of praise, but calmly study +the separation of opinions, find the errors have intervened, +awake antiquity, call former times into question; but make no +parties with the present, nor follow any fierce undertakers, +mingle no matter of doubtful credit with the simplicity of truth, +but gently stir the mould about the root of the question, and +avoid all digladiations, facility of credit, or superstitious +simplicity, seek the consonancy and concatenation of truth; stoop +only to point of necessity, and what leads to convenience. +Then make exact animadversion where style hath degenerated, where +flourished and thrived in choiceness of phrase, round and clean +composition of sentence, sweet falling of the clause, varying an +illustration by tropes and figures, weight of matter, worth of +subject, soundness of argument, life of invention, and depth of +judgment. This is <i>monte potiri</i>, to get the hill; for +no perfect discovery can be made upon a flat or a level.</p> +<p><i>De optimo scriptore</i>.—<i>Cicero</i>.—Now +that I have informed you in the knowing of these things, let me +lead you by the hand a little farther, in the direction of the +use, and make you an able writer by practice. The conceits +of the mind are pictures of things, and the tongue is the +interpreter of those pictures. The order of God’s +creatures in themselves is not only admirable and glorious, but +eloquent: then he who could apprehend the consequence of things +in their truth, and utter his apprehensions as truly, were the +best writer or speaker. Therefore Cicero said much, when he +said, <i>Dicere recte nemo potest</i>, <i>nisi qui prudenter +intelligit</i>. <a name="citation124a"></a><a +href="#footnote124a" class="citation">[124a]</a> The shame +of speaking unskilfully were small if the tongue only thereby +were disgraced; but as the image of a king in his seal +ill-represented is not so much a blemish to the wax, or the +signet that sealed it, as to the prince it representeth, so +disordered speech is not so much injury to the lips that give it +forth, as to the disproportion and incoherence of things in +themselves, so negligently expressed. Neither can his mind +be thought to be in tune, whose words do jar; nor his reason in +frame, whose sentence is preposterous; nor his elocution clear +and perfect, whose utterance breaks itself into fragments and +uncertainties. Were it not a dishonour to a mighty prince, +to have the majesty of his embassage spoiled by a careless +ambassador? and is it not as great an indignity, that an +excellent conceit and capacity, by the indiligence of an idle +tongue, should be disgraced? Negligent speech doth not only +discredit the person of the speaker, but it discrediteth the +opinion of his reason and judgment; it discrediteth the force and +uniformity of the matter and substance. If it be so then in +words, which fly and escape censure, and where one good phrase +begs pardon for many incongruities and faults, how shall he then +be thought wise whose penning is thin and shallow? how shall you +look for wit from him whose leisure and head, assisted with the +examination of his eyes, yield you no life or sharpness in his +writing?</p> +<p><i>De stylo epistolari</i>.—<i>Inventio</i>.—In +writing there is to be regarded the invention and the +fashion. For the invention, that ariseth upon your +business, whereof there can be no rules of more certainty, or +precepts of better direction given, than conjecture can lay down +from the several occasions of men’s particular lives and +vocations: but sometimes men make baseness of kindness: As +“I could not satisfy myself till I had discharged my +remembrance, and charged my letters with commendation to +you;” or, “My business is no other than to testify my +love to you, and to put you in mind of my willingness to do you +all kind offices;” or, “Sir, have you leisure to +descend to the remembering of that assurance you have long +possessed in your servant, and upon your next opportunity make +him happy with some commands from you?” or the like; that +go a-begging for some meaning, and labour to be delivered of the +great burden of nothing. When you have invented, and that +your business be matter, and not bare form, or mere ceremony, but +some earnest, then are you to proceed to the ordering of it, and +digesting the parts, which is had out of two circumstances. +One is the understanding of the persons to whom you are to write; +the other is the coherence of your sentence; for men’s +capacity to weigh what will be apprehended with greatest +attention or leisure; what next regarded and longed for +especially, and what last will leave satisfaction, and (as it +were) the sweetest memorial and belief of all that is passed in +his understanding whom you write to. For the consequence of +sentences, you must be sure that every clause do give the cue one +to the other, and be bespoken ere it come. So much for +invention and order.</p> +<p><i>Modus</i>.—1. <i>Brevitas</i>.—Now for +fashion: it consists in four things, which are qualities of your +style. The first is brevity; for they must not be treatises +or discourses (your letters) except it be to learned men. +And even among them there is a kind of thrift and saving of +words. Therefore you are to examine the clearest passages +of your understanding, and through them to convey the sweetest +and most significant words you can devise, that you may the +easier teach them the readiest way to another man’s +apprehension, and open their meaning fully, roundly, and +distinctly, so as the reader may not think a second view cast +away upon your letter. And though respect be a part +following this, yet now here, and still I must remember it, if +you write to a man, whose estate and sense, as senses, you are +familiar with, you may the bolder (to set a task to his brain) +venture on a knot. But if to your superior, you are bound +to measure him in three farther points: first, with interest in +him; secondly, his capacity in your letters; thirdly, his leisure +to peruse them. For your interest or favour with him, you +are to be the shorter or longer, more familiar or submiss, as he +will afford you time. For his capacity, you are to be +quicker and fuller of those reaches and glances of wit or +learning, as he is able to entertain them. For his leisure, +you are commanded to the greater briefness, as his place is of +greater discharges and cares. But with your betters, you +are not to put riddles of wit, by being too scarce of words; not +to cause the trouble of making breviates by writing too riotous +and wastingly. Brevity is attained in matter by avoiding +idle compliments, prefaces, protestations, parentheses, +superfluous circuit of figures and digressions: in the +composition, by omitting conjunctions [<i>not only</i>, <i>but +also</i>; <i>both the one and the other</i>, <i>whereby it cometh +to pass</i>] and such like idle particles, that have no great +business in a serious letter but breaking of sentences, as +oftentimes a short journey is made long by unnessary baits.</p> +<p><i>Quintilian</i>.—But, as Quintilian saith, there is a +briefness of the parts sometimes that makes the whole long: +“As I came to the stairs, I took a pair of oars, they +launched out, rowed apace, I landed at the court gate, I paid my +fare, went up to the presence, asked for my lord, I was +admitted.” All this is but, “I went to the +court and spake with my lord.” This is the fault of +some Latin writers within these last hundred years of my reading, +and perhaps Seneca may be appeached of it; I accuse him not.</p> +<p>2. <i>Perspicuitas</i>.—The next property of +epistolary style is perspicuity, and is oftentimes by affectation +of some wit ill angled for, or ostentation of some hidden terms +of art. Few words they darken speech, and so do too many; +as well too much light hurteth the eyes, as too little; and a +long bill of chancery confounds the understanding as much as the +shortest note; therefore, let not your letters be penned like +English statutes, and this is obtained. These vices are +eschewed by pondering your business well and distinctly +concerning yourself, which is much furthered by uttering your +thoughts, and letting them as well come forth to the light and +judgment of your own outward senses as to the censure of other +men’s ears; for that is the reason why many good scholars +speak but fumblingly; like a rich man, that for want of +particular note and difference can bring you no certain ware +readily out of his shop. Hence it is that talkative shallow +men do often content the hearers more than the wise. But +this may find a speedier redress in writing, where all comes +under the last examination of the eyes. First, mind it +well, then pen it, then examine it, then amend it, and you may be +in the better hope of doing reasonably well. Under this +virtue may come plainness, which is not to be curious in the +order as to answer a letter, as if you were to answer to +interrogatories. As to the first, first; and to the second, +secondly, &c. but both in method to use (as ladies do in +their attire) a diligent kind of negligence, and their sportive +freedom; though with some men you are not to jest, or practise +tricks; yet the delivery of the most important things may be +carried with such a grace, as that it may yield a pleasure to the +conceit of the reader. There must be store, though no +excess of terms; as if you are to name store, sometimes you may +call it choice, sometimes plenty, sometimes copiousness, or +variety; but ever so, that the word which comes in lieu have not +such difference of meaning as that it may put the sense of the +first in hazard to be mistaken. You are not to cast a ring +for the perfumed terms of the time, as <i>accommodation</i>, +<i>complement</i>, <i>spirit</i> &c., but use them properly +in their place, as others.</p> +<p>3. <i>Vigor</i>—There followeth life and +quickness, which is the strength and sinews, as it were, of your +penning by pretty sayings, similitudes, and conceits; allusions +from known history, or other common-place, such as are in the +<i>Courtier</i>, and the second book of Cicero <i>De +Oratore</i>.</p> +<p>4. <i>Discretio</i>.—The last is, respect to +discern what fits yourself, him to whom you write, and that which +you handle, which is a quality fit to conclude the rest, because +it doth include all. And that must proceed from ripeness of +judgment, which, as one truly saith, is gotten by four means, +God, nature, diligence, and conversation. Serve the first +well, and the rest will serve you.</p> +<p><i>De Poetica</i>.—We have spoken sufficiently of +oratory, let us now make a diversion to poetry. Poetry, in +the primogeniture, had many peccant humours, and is made to have +more now, through the levity and inconstancy of men’s +judgments. Whereas, indeed, it is the most prevailing +eloquence, and of the most exalted caract. Now the +discredits and disgraces are many it hath received through +men’s study of depravation or calumny; their practice being +to give it diminution of credit, by lessening the +professor’s estimation, and making the age afraid of their +liberty; and the age is grown so tender of her fame, as she calls +all writings aspersions.</p> +<p>That is the state word, the phrase of court (placentia +college), which some call Parasites place, the Inn of +Ignorance.</p> +<p><i>D. Hieronymus</i>.—Whilst I name no persons, but +deride follies, why should any man confess or betray himself why +doth not that of S. Hierome come into their mind, <i>Ubi +generalis est de vitiis disputatio</i>, <i>ibi nullius esse +personæ injuriam</i>? <a name="citation133a"></a><a +href="#footnote133a" class="citation">[133a]</a> Is it such +an inexpiable crime in poets to tax vices generally, and no +offence in them, who, by their exception confess they have +committed them particularly? Are we fallen into those times +that we must not—</p> +<p class="poetry">“Auriculas teneras mordaci rodere +vero.” <a name="citation133b"></a><a href="#footnote133b" +class="citation">[133b]</a></p> +<p><i>Remedii votum semper verius erat</i>, <i>quam spes</i>. <a +name="citation133c"></a><a href="#footnote133c" +class="citation">[133c]</a>—<i>Sexus +fæmin</i>.—If men may by no means write freely, or +speak truth, but when it offends not, why do physicians cure with +sharp medicines, or corrosives? is not the same equally lawful in +the cure of the mind that is in the cure of the body? Some +vices, you will say, are so foul that it is better they should be +done than spoken. But they that take offence where no name, +character, or signature doth blazon them seem to me like affected +as women, who if they hear anything ill spoken of the ill of +their sex, are presently moved, as if the contumely respected +their particular; and on the contrary, when they hear good of +good women, conclude that it belongs to them all. If I see +anything that toucheth me, shall I come forth a betrayer of +myself presently? No, if I be wise, I’ll dissemble +it; if honest, I’ll avoid it, lest I publish that on my own +forehead which I saw there noted without a title. A man +that is on the mending hand will either ingenuously confess or +wisely dissemble his disease. And the wise and virtuous +will never think anything belongs to themselves that is written, +but rejoice that the good are warned not to be such; and the ill +to leave to be such. The person offended hath no reason to +be offended with the writer, but with himself; and so to declare +that properly to belong to him which was so spoken of all men, as +it could be no man’s several, but his that would wilfully +and desperately claim it. It sufficeth I know what kind of +persons I displease, men bred in the declining and decay of +virtue, betrothed to their own vices; that have abandoned or +prostituted their good names; hungry and ambitious of infamy, +invested in all deformity, enthralled to ignorance and malice, of +a hidden and concealed malignity, and that hold a concomitancy +with all evil.</p> +<h3><i>What is a Poet</i>?</h3> +<p><i>Poeta</i>.—A poet is that which by the Greeks is +called κατ εξοχην, +ο ποιητής, a maker, +or a feigner: his art, an art of imitation or feigning; +expressing the life of man in fit measure, numbers, and harmony, +according to Aristotle; from the word +ποιειν, which signifies to make +or feign. Hence he is called a poet, not he which writeth +in measure only, but that feigneth and formeth a fable, and +writes things like the truth. For the fable and fiction is, +as it were, the form and soul of any poetical work or poem.</p> +<h3><i>What mean</i>, <i>you by a Poem</i>?</h3> +<p><i>Poema</i>.—A poem is not alone any work or +composition of the poet’s in many or few verses; but even +one verse alone sometimes makes a perfect poem. As when +Æneas hangs up and consecrates the arms of Abas with this +inscription:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Æneas hæc de Danais victoribus +arma.” <a name="citation136a"></a><a href="#footnote136a" +class="citation">[136a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>And calls it a poem or carmen. Such are those in +Martial:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Omnia, Castor, emis: sic fiet, ut omnia +vendas.” <a name="citation136b"></a><a href="#footnote136b" +class="citation">[136b]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p>And—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Pauper videri Cinna vult, et est +pauper.” <a name="citation136c"></a><a href="#footnote136c" +class="citation">[136c]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Horatius</i>.—<i>Lucretius</i>.—So were +Horace’s odes called Carmina, his lyric songs. And +Lucretius designs a whole book in his sixth:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Quod in primo quoque carmine claret.” +<a name="citation136d"></a><a href="#footnote136d" +class="citation">[136d]</a></p> +</blockquote> + +<p><i>Epicum</i>.—<i>Dramaticum</i>.—<i>Lyricum</i>.—<i>Elegiacum</i>.—<i>Epigrammat</i>.—And +anciently all the oracles were called Carmina; or whatever +sentence was expressed, were it much or little, it was called an +Epic, Dramatic, Lyric, Elegiac, or Epigrammatic poem.</p> +<h3><i>But how differs a Poem from what we call Poesy</i>?</h3> +<p><i>Poesis</i>.—<i>Artium regina</i>.—<i>Poet. +differentiæ</i>.—<i>Grammatic</i>.—<i>Logic</i>.—<i>Rhetoric</i>.—<i>Ethica</i>.—A +poem, as I have told you, is the work of the poet; the end and +fruit of his labour and study. Poesy is his skill or craft +of making; the very fiction itself, the reason or form of the +work. And these three voices differ, as the thing done, the +doing, and the doer; the thing feigned, the feigning, and the +feigner; so the poem, the poesy, and the poet. Now the +poesy is the habit or the art; nay, rather the queen of arts, +which had her original from heaven, received thence from the +Hebrews, and had in prime estimation with the Greeks transmitted +to the Latins and all nations that professed civility. The +study of it (if we will trust Aristotle) offers to mankind a +certain rule and pattern of living well and happily, disposing us +to all civil offices of society. If we will believe Tully, +it nourisheth and instructeth our youth, delights our age, adorns +our prosperity, comforts our adversity, entertains us at home, +keeps us company abroad, travels with us, watches, divides the +times of our earnest and sports, shares in our country recesses +and recreations; insomuch as the wisest and best learned have +thought her the absolute mistress of manners and nearest of kin +to virtue. And whereas they entitle philosophy to be a +rigid and austere poesy, they have, on the contrary, styled poesy +a dulcet and gentle philosophy, which leads on and guides us by +the hand to action with a ravishing delight and incredible +sweetness. But before we handle the kinds of poems, with +their special differences, or make court to the art itself, as a +mistress, I would lead you to the knowledge of our poet by a +perfect information what he is or should be by nature, by +exercise, by imitation, by study, and so bring him down through +the disciplines of grammar, logic, rhetoric, and the ethics, +adding somewhat out of all, peculiar to himself, and worthy of +your admittance or reception.</p> +<p>1. +<i>Ingenium</i>.—<i>Seneca</i>.—<i>Plato</i>.—<i>Aristotle</i>.—<i>Helicon</i>.—<i>Pegasus</i>.—<i>Parnassus</i>.—<i>Ovid</i>.—First, +we require in our poet or maker (for that title our language +affords him elegantly with the Greek) a goodness of natural +wit. For whereas all other arts consist of doctrine and +precepts, the poet must be able by nature and instinct to pour +out the treasure of his mind, and as Seneca saith, <i>Aliquando +secundum Anacreontem insanire jucundum esse</i>; by which he +understands the poetical rapture. And according to that of +Plato, <i>Frustrà poeticas fores sui compos +pulsavit</i>. And of Aristotle, <i>Nullum magnum ingenium +sine mixturâ dementiæ fuit</i>. <i>Nec potest +grande aliquid</i>, <i>et supra cæteros loqui</i>, <i>nisi +mota mens</i>. Then it riseth higher, as by a divine +instinct, when it contemns common and known conceptions. It +utters somewhat above a mortal mouth. Then it gets aloft +and flies away with his rider, whither before it was doubtful to +ascend. This the poets understood by their Helicon, +Pegasus, or Parnassus; and this made Ovid to boast,</p> +<blockquote><p>“Est deus in nobis, agitante calescimus +illo<br /> +Sedibus æthereis spiritus ille venit.” <a +name="citation139a"></a><a href="#footnote139a" +class="citation">[139a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>Lipsius</i>.—<i>Petron. in. Fragm</i>.—And +Lipsius to affirm, <i>Scio</i>, <i>poetam neminem +præstantem fuisse</i>, <i>sine parte quadam uberiore +divinæ auræ</i>. And hence it is that the +coming up of good poets (for I mind not mediocres or imos) is so +thin and rare among us. Every beggarly corporation affords +the State a mayor or two bailiffs yearly; but <i>Solus rex</i>, +<i>aut poeta</i>, <i>non quotannis nascitur</i>. To this +perfection of nature in our poet we require exercise of those +parts, and frequent.</p> +<p>2. +<i>Exercitatio</i>.—<i>Virgil</i>.—<i>Scaliger</i>.—<i>Valer. + +Maximus</i>.—<i>Euripides</i>.—<i>Alcestis</i>.—If +his wit will not arrive suddenly at the dignity of the ancients, +let him not yet fall out with it, quarrel, or be over hastily +angry; offer to turn it away from study in a humour, but come to +it again upon better cogitation; try another time with +labour. If then it succeed not, cast not away the quills +yet, nor scratch the wainscot, beat not the poor desk, but bring +all to the forge and file again; torn it anew. There is no +statute law of the kingdom bids you be a poet against your will +or the first quarter; if it comes in a year or two, it is +well. The common rhymers pour forth verses, such as they +are, <i>ex tempore</i>; but there never comes from them one sense +worth the life of a day. A rhymer and a poet are two +things. It is said of the incomparable Virgil that he +brought forth his verses like a bear, and after formed them with +licking. Scaliger the father writes it of him, that he made +a quantity of verses in the morning, which afore night he reduced +to a less number. But that which Valerius Maximus hath left +recorded of Euripides, the tragic poet, his answer to Alcestis, +another poet, is as memorable as modest; who, when it was told to +Alcestis that Euripides had in three days brought forth but three +verses, and those with some difficulty and throes, Alcestis, +glorying he could with ease have sent forth a hundred in the +space, Euripides roundly replied, “Like enough; but here is +the difference: thy verses will not last these three days, mine +will to all time.” Which was as much as to tell him +he could not write a verse. I have met many of these +rattles that made a noise and buzzed. They had their hum, +and no more. Indeed, things wrote with labour deserve to be +so read, and will last their age.</p> +<p>3. +<i>Imitatio</i>.—<i>Horatius</i>.—<i>Virgil</i>.—<i>Statius</i>.—<i>Homer</i>.—<i>Horat</i>.—<i>Archil</i>.—<i>Alcæus</i>, +&c.—The third requisite in our poet or maker is +imitation, to be able to convert the substance or riches of +another poet to his own use. To make choice of one +excellent man above the rest, and so to follow him till he grow +very he, or so like him as the copy may be mistaken for the +principal. Not as a creature that swallows what it takes in +crude, raw, or undigested, but that feeds with an appetite, and +hath a stomach to concoct, divide, and turn all into +nourishment. Not to imitate servilely, as Horace saith, and +catch at vices for virtue, but to draw forth out of the best and +choicest flowers, with the bee, and turn all into honey, work it +into one relish and savour; make our imitation sweet; observe how +the best writers have imitated, and follow them. How Virgil +and Statius have imitated Homer; how Horace, Archilochus; how +Alcæus, and the other lyrics; and so of the rest.</p> +<p>4. +<i>Lectio</i>.—<i>Parnassus</i>.—<i>Helicon</i>.—<i>Arscoron</i>.—<i>M. +T. +Cicero</i>.—<i>Simylus</i>.—<i>Stob</i>.—<i>Horat</i>.—<i>Aristot</i>.—But +that which we especially require in him is an exactness of study +and multiplicity of reading, which maketh a full man, not alone +enabling him to know the history or argument of a poem and to +report it, but so to master the matter and style, as to show he +knows how to handle, place, or dispose of either with elegancy +when need shall be. And not think he can leap forth +suddenly a poet by dreaming he hath been in Parnassus, or having +washed his lips, as they say, in Helicon. There goes more +to his making than so; for to nature, exercise, imitation, and +study art must be added to make all these perfect. And +though these challenge to themselves much in the making up of our +maker, it is Art only can lead him to perfection, and leave him +there in possession, as planted by her hand. It is the +assertion of Tully, if to an excellent nature there happen an +accession or conformation of learning and discipline, there will +then remain somewhat noble and singular. For, as Simylus +saith in Stobæus, Ουτε +φύσις ίκανη +yινεται +τεχνης ατερ, +ουτε παν +τέχνη μη +φυσιν +κεκτημένη, without art +nature can never be perfect; and without nature art can claim no +being. But our poet must beware that his study be not only +to learn of himself; for he that shall affect to do that +confesseth his ever having a fool to his master. He must +read many, but ever the best and choicest; those that can teach +him anything he must ever account his masters, and +reverence. Among whom Horace and (he that taught him) +Aristotle deserved to be the first in estimation. Aristotle +was the first accurate critic and truest judge—nay, the +greatest philosopher the world ever had—for he noted the +vices of all knowledges in all creatures, and out of many +men’s perfections in a science he formed still one +art. So he taught us two offices together, how we ought to +judge rightly of others, and what we ought to imitate specially +in ourselves. But all this in vain without a natural wit +and a poetical nature in chief. For no man, so soon as he +knows this or reads it, shall be able to write the better; but as +he is adapted to it by nature, he shall grow the perfecter +writer. He must have civil prudence and eloquence, and that +whole; not taken up by snatches or pieces in sentences or +remnants when he will handle business or carry counsels, as if he +came then out of the declaimer’s gallery, or shadow +furnished but out of the body of the State, which commonly is the +school of men.</p> +<p><i>Virorum schola +respub</i>.—<i>Lysippus</i>.—<i>Apelles</i>.—<i>Nævius</i>.—The +poet is the nearest borderer upon the orator, and expresseth all +his virtues, though he be tied more to numbers, is his equal in +ornament, and above him in his strengths. And (of the kind) +the comic comes nearest; because in moving the minds of men, and +stirring of affections (in which oratory shows, and especially +approves her eminence), he chiefly excels. What figure of a +body was Lysippus ever able to form with his graver, or Apelles +to paint with his pencil, as the comedy to life expresseth so +many and various affections of the mind? There shall the +spectator see some insulting with joy, others fretting with +melancholy, raging with anger, mad with love, boiling with +avarice, undone with riot, tortured with expectation, consumed +with fear; no perturbation in common life but the orator finds an +example of it in the scene. And then for the elegancy of +language, read but this inscription on the grave of a comic +poet:</p> +<blockquote><p>“Immortales mortales si fas esset fiere,<br +/> +Flerent divæ Camœnæ Nævium poetam;<br /> +Itaque postquam est Orcino traditus thesauro,<br /> +Obliti sunt Romæ linguâ loqui Latinâ.” <a +name="citation146a"></a><a href="#footnote146a" +class="citation">[146a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<p><i>L. Ælius Stilo</i>.—<i>Plautus</i>.—<i>M. +Varro</i>.—Or that modester testimony given by Lucius +Ælius Stilo upon Plautus, who affirmed, +“<i>Musas</i>, <i>si Latinè loqui voluissent</i>, +<i>Plautino sermone fuisse loquuturas</i>.” And that +illustrious judgment by the most learned M. Varro of him, who +pronounced him the prince of letters and elegancy in the Roman +language.</p> +<p><i>Sophocles</i>.—I am not of that opinion to conclude a +poet’s liberty within the narrow limits of laws which +either the grammarians or philosophers prescribe. For +before they found out those laws there were many excellent poets +that fulfilled them, amongst whom none more perfect than +Sophocles, who lived a little before Aristotle.</p> + +<p><i>Demosthenes</i>.—<i>Pericles</i>.—<i>Alcibiades</i>.—Which +of the Greeklings durst ever give precepts to Demosthenes? or to +Pericles, whom the age surnamed Heavenly, because he seemed to +thunder and lighten with his language? or to Alcibiades, who had +rather Nature for his guide than Art for his master?</p> +<p><i>Aristotle</i>.—But whatsoever nature at any time +dictated to the most happy, or long exercise to the most +laborious, that the wisdom and learning of Aristotle hath brought +into an art, because he understood the causes of things; and what +other men did by chance or custom he doth by reason; and not only +found out the way not to err, but the short way we should take +not to err.</p> +<p><i>Euripides</i>.—<i>Aristophanes</i>.—Many things +in Euripides hath Aristophanes wittily reprehended, not out of +art, but out of truth. For Euripides is sometimes peccant, +as he is most times perfect. But judgment when it is +greatest, if reason doth not accompany it, is not ever +absolute.</p> +<p><i>Cens. Scal. in Lil. Germ</i>.—<i>Horace</i>.—To +judge of poets is only the faculty of poets; and not of all +poets, but the best. <i>Nemo infeliciùs de poetis +judicavit</i>, <i>quàm qui de poetis scripsit</i>. <a +name="citation148a"></a><a href="#footnote148a" +class="citation">[148a]</a> But some will say critics are a +kind of tinkers, that make more faults than they mend +ordinarily. See their diseases and those of +grammarians. It is true, many bodies are the worse for the +meddling with; and the multitude of physicians hath destroyed +many sound patients with their wrong practice. But the +office of a true critic or censor is, not to throw by a letter +anywhere, or damn an innocent syllable, but lay the words +together, and amend them; judge sincerely of the author and his +matter, which is the sign of solid and perfect learning in a +man. Such was Horace, an author of much civility, and (if +any one among the heathen can be) the best master both of virtue +and wisdom; an excellent and true judge upon cause and reason, +not because he thought so, but because he knew so out of use and +experience.</p> +<p>Cato, the grammarian, a defender of Lucilius. <a +name="citation149a"></a><a href="#footnote149a" +class="citation">[149a]</a></p> +<blockquote><p>“Cato grammaticus, Latina syren,<br /> +Qui solus legit, et facit poetas.”</p> +</blockquote> +<p>Quintilian of the same heresy, but rejected. <a +name="citation149b"></a><a href="#footnote149b" +class="citation">[149b]</a></p> +<p>Horace, his judgment of Chœrillus defended against +Joseph Scaliger. <a name="citation149c"></a><a +href="#footnote149c" class="citation">[149c]</a> And of +Laberius against Julius. <a name="citation149d"></a><a +href="#footnote149d" class="citation">[149d]</a></p> +<p>But chiefly his opinion of Plautus <a +name="citation149e"></a><a href="#footnote149e" +class="citation">[149e]</a> vindicated against many that are +offended, and say it is a hard censure upon the parent of all +conceit and sharpness. And they wish it had not fallen from +so great a master and censor in the art, whose bondmen knew +better how to judge of Plautus than any that dare patronise the +family of learning in this age; who could not be ignorant of the +judgment of the times in which he lived, when poetry and the +Latin language were at the height; especially being a man so +conversant and inwardly familiar with the censures of great men +that did discourse of these things daily amongst +themselves. Again, a man so gracious and in high favour +with the Emperor, as Augustus often called him his witty manling +(for the littleness of his stature), and, if we may trust +antiquity, had designed him for a secretary of estate, and +invited him to the palace, which he modestly prayed off and +refused.</p> +<p><i>Terence</i>.—<i>Menander</i>. Horace did so +highly esteem Terence’s comedies, as he ascribes the art in +comedy to him alone among the Latins, and joins him with +Menander.</p> +<p>Now, let us see what may be said for either, to defend +Horace’s judgment to posterity and not wholly to condemn +Plautus.</p> +<p><i>The parts of a comedy and tragedy</i>.—The parts of a +comedy are the same with a tragedy, and the end is partly the +same, for they both delight and teach; the comics are called +διδάσκαλοι, +of the Greeks no less than the tragics.</p> + +<p><i>Aristotle</i>.—<i>Plato</i>.—<i>Homer</i>.—Nor +is the moving of laughter always the end of comedy; that is +rather a fowling for the people’s delight, or their +fooling. For, as Aristotle says rightly, the moving of +laughter is a fault in comedy, a kind of turpitude that depraves +some part of a man’s nature without a disease. As a +wry face without pain moves laughter, or a deformed vizard, or a +rude clown dressed in a lady’s habit and using her actions; +we dislike and scorn such representations which made the ancient +philosophers ever think laughter unfitting in a wise man. +And this induced Plato to esteem of Homer as a sacrilegious +person, because he presented the gods sometimes laughing. +As also it is divinely said of Aristotle, that to seen ridiculous +is a part of dishonesty, and foolish.</p> +<p><i>The wit of the old comedy</i>.—So that what either in +the words or sense of an author, or in the language or actions of +men, is awry or depraved does strangely stir mean affections, and +provoke for the most part to laughter. And therefore it was +clear that all insolent and obscene speeches, jests upon the best +men, injuries to particular persons, perverse and sinister +sayings (and the rather unexpected) in the old comedy did move +laughter, especially where it did imitate any dishonesty, and +scurrility came forth in the place of wit, which, who understands +the nature and genius of laughter cannot but perfectly know.</p> +<p><i>Aristophanes</i>.—<i>Plautus</i>.—Of which +Aristophanes affords an ample harvest, having not only outgone +Plautus or any other in that kind, but expressed all the moods +and figures of what is ridiculous oddly. In short, as +vinegar is not accounted good until the wine be corrupted, so +jests that are true and natural seldom raise laughter with the +beast the multitude. They love nothing that is right and +proper. The farther it runs from reason or possibility with +them the better it is.</p> +<p><i>Socrates</i>.—<i>Theatrical wit</i>.—What could +have made them laugh, like to see Socrates presented, that +example of all good life, honesty, and virtue, to have him +hoisted up with a pulley, and there play the philosopher in a +basket; measure how many foot a flea could skip geometrically, by +a just scale, and edify the people from the engine. This +was theatrical wit, right stage jesting, and relishing a +playhouse, invented for scorn and laughter; whereas, if it had +savoured of equity, truth, perspicuity, and candour, to have +tasten a wise or a learned palate,—spit it out presently! +this is bitter and profitable: this instructs and would inform +us: what need we know any thing, that are nobly born, more than a +horse-race, or a hunting-match, our day to break with citizens, +and such innate mysteries?</p> +<p><i>The cart</i>.—This is truly leaping from the stage to +the tumbril again, reducing all wit to the original +dung-cart.</p> +<h3>Of the magnitude and compass of any fable, epic or +dramatic.</h3> +<p><i>What the measure of a fable is</i>.—<i>The fable or +plot of a poem defined</i>.—<i>The epic fable</i>, +<i>differing from the dramatic</i>.—To the resolving of +this question we must first agree in the definition of the +fable. The fable is called the imitation of one entire and +perfect action, whose parts are so joined and knit together, as +nothing in the structure can be changed, or taken away, without +impairing or troubling the whole, of which there is a +proportionable magnitude in the members. As for example: if +a man would build a house, he would first appoint a place to +build it in, which he would define within certain bounds; so in +the constitution of a poem, the action is aimed at by the poet, +which answers place in a building, and that action hath his +largeness, compass, and proportion. But as a court or +king’s palace requires other dimensions than a private +house, so the epic asks a magnitude from other poems, since what +is place in the one is action in the other; the difference is an +space. So that by this definition we conclude the fable to +be the imitation of one perfect and entire action, as one perfect +and entire place is required to a building. By perfect, we +understand that to which nothing is wanting, as place to the +building that is raised, and action to the fable that is +formed. It is perfect, perhaps not for a court or +king’s palace, which requires a greater ground, but for the +structure he would raise; so the space of the action may not +prove large enough for the epic fable, yet be perfect for the +dramatic, and whole.</p> +<p><i>What we understand by whole</i>.—Whole we call that, +and perfect, which hath a beginning, a midst, and an end. +So the place of any building may be whole and entire for that +work, though too little for a palace. As to a tragedy or a +comedy, the action may be convenient and perfect that would not +fit an epic poem in magnitude. So a lion is a perfect +creature in himself, though it be less than that of a buffalo or +a rhinocerote. They differ but in specie: either in the +kind is absolute; both have their parts, and either the +whole. Therefore, as in every body so in every action, +which is the subject of a just work, there is required a certain +proportionable greatness, neither too vast nor too minute. +For that which happens to the eyes when we behold a body, the +same happens to the memory when we contemplate an action. I +look upon a monstrous giant, as Tityus, whose body covered nine +acres of land, and mine eye sticks upon every part; the whole +that consists of those parts will never be taken in at one entire +view. So in a fable, if the action be too great, we can +never comprehend the whole together in our imagination. +Again, if it be too little, there ariseth no pleasure out of the +object; it affords the view no stay; it is beheld, and vanisheth +at once. As if we should look upon an ant or pismire, the +parts fly the sight, and the whole considered is almost +nothing. The same happens in action, which is the object of +memory, as the body is of sight. Too vast oppresseth the +eyes, and exceeds the memory; too little scarce admits +either.</p> +<p><i>What is the utmost bounds of a fable</i>.—Now in +every action it behoves the poet to know which is his utmost +bound, how far with fitness and a necessary proportion he may +produce and determine it; that is, till either good fortune +change into the worse, or the worse into the better. For as +a body without proportion cannot be goodly, no more can the +action, either in comedy or tragedy, without his fit bounds: and +every bound, for the nature of the subject, is esteemed the best +that is largest, till it can increase no more; so it behoves the +action in tragedy or comedy to be let grow till the necessity ask +a conclusion; wherein two things are to be considered: first, +that it exceed not the compass of one day; next, that there be +place left for digression and art. For the episodes and +digressions in a fable are the same that household stuff and +other furniture are in a house. And so far from the measure +and extent of a fable dramatic.</p> +<p><i>What by one and entire</i>.—Now that it should be one +and entire. One is considerable two ways; either as it is +only separate, and by itself, or as being composed of many parts, +it begins to be one as those parts grow or are wrought +together. That it should be one the first away alone, and +by itself, no man that hath tasted letters ever would say, +especially having required before a just magnitude and equal +proportion of the parts in themselves. Neither of which can +possibly be, if the action be single and separate, not composed +of parts, which laid together in themselves, with an equal and +fitting proportion, tend to the same end; which thing out of +antiquity itself hath deceived many, and more this day it doth +deceive.</p> + +<p><i>Hercules</i>.—<i>Theseus</i>.—<i>Achilles</i>.—<i>Ulysses</i>.—<i>Homer +and +Virgil</i>.—<i>Æneas</i>.—<i>Venus</i>.—So +many there be of old that have thought the action of one man to +be one, as of Hercules, Theseus, Achilles, Ulysses, and other +heroes; which is both foolish and false, since by one and the +same person many things may be severally done which cannot fitly +be referred or joined to the same end: which not only the +excellent tragic poets, but the best masters of the epic, Homer +and Virgil, saw. For though the argument of an epic poem be +far more diffused and poured out than that of tragedy, yet +Virgil, writing of Æneas, hath pretermitted many +things. He neither tells how he was born, how brought up, +how he fought with Achilles, how he was snatched out of the +battle by Venus; but that one thing, how he came into Italy, he +prosecutes in twelve books. The rest of his journey, his +error by sea, the sack of Troy, are put not as the argument of +the work, but episodes of the argument. So Homer laid by +many things of Ulysses, and handled no more than he saw tended to +one and the same end.</p> + +<p><i>Theseus</i>.—<i>Hercules</i>.—<i>Juvenal</i>.—<i>Codrus</i>.—<i>Sophocles</i>.—<i>Ajax</i>.—<i>Ulysses</i>.—Contrary +to which, and foolishly, those poets did, whom the philosopher +taxeth, of whom one gathered all the actions of Theseus, another +put all the labours of Hercules in one work. So did he whom +Juvenal mentions in the beginning, “hoarse Codrus,” +that recited a volume compiled, which he called his Theseide, not +yet finished, to the great trouble both of his hearers and +himself; amongst which there were many parts had no coherence nor +kindred one with another, so far they were from being one action, +one fable. For as a house, consisting of divers materials, +becomes one structure and one dwelling, so an action, composed of +divers parts, may become one fable, epic or dramatic. For +example, in a tragedy, look upon Sophocles, his Ajax: Ajax, +deprived of Achilles’ armour, which he hoped from the +suffrage of the Greeks, disdains; and, growing impatient of the +injury, rageth, and runs mad. In that humour he doth many +senseless things, and at last falls upon the Grecian flock and +kills a great ram for Ulysses: returning to his senses, he grows +ashamed of the scorn, and kills himself; and is by the chiefs of +the Greeks forbidden burial. These things agree and hang +together, not as they were done, but as seeming to be done, which +made the action whole, entire, and absolute.</p> +<p><i>The conclusion concerning the whole</i>, <i>and the +parts</i>.—<i>Which are episodes</i>.—<i>Ajax and +Hector</i>.—<i>Homer</i>.—For the whole, as it +consisteth of parts, so without all the parts it is not the +whole; and to make it absolute is required not only the parts, +but such parts as are true. For a part of the whole was +true; which, if you take away, you either change the whole or it +is not the whole. For if it be such a part, as, being +present or absent, nothing concerns the whole, it cannot be +called a part of the whole; and such are the episodes, of which +hereafter. For the present here is one example: the single +combat of Ajax with Hector, as it is at large described in Homer, +nothing belongs to this Ajax of Sophocles.</p> +<p>You admire no poems but such as run like a brewer’s cart +upon the stones, hobbling:—</p> +<blockquote><p>“Et, quæ per salebras, altaque saxa +cadunt,<br /> + Accius et quidquid Pacuviusque vomunt.<br /> +Attonitusque legis terraï, frugiferaï.” <a +name="citation160a"></a><a href="#footnote160a" +class="citation">[160a]</a></p> +</blockquote> +<h2>SOME POEMS.</h2> +<h3>TO WILLIAM CAMDEN.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Camden</span>! most +reverend head, to whom I owe<br /> +All that I am in arts, all that I know—<br /> +How nothing’s that! to whom my country owes<br /> +The great renown, and name wherewith she goes!<br /> +Than thee the age sees not that thing more grave,<br /> +More high, more holy, that she more would crave.<br /> +What name, what skill, what faith hast thou in things!<br /> +What sight in searching the most antique springs!<br /> +What weight, and what authority in thy speech!<br /> +Men scarce can make that doubt, but thou canst teach.<br /> +Pardon free truth, and let thy modesty,<br /> +Which conquers all, be once o’ercome by thee.<br /> +Many of thine, this better could, than I;<br /> +But for their powers, accept my piety.</p> +<h3>ON MY FIRST DAUGHTER.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Here</span> lies, to each +her parents’ ruth,<br /> +Mary, the daughter of their youth;<br /> +Yet, all heaven’s gifts, being heaven’s due,<br /> +It makes the father less to rue.<br /> +At six months’ end, she parted hence,<br /> +With safety of her innocence;<br /> +Whose soul heaven’s queen, whose name she bears,<br /> +In comfort of her mother’s tears,<br /> +Hath placed amongst her virgin-train;<br /> +Where, while that severed doth remain,<br /> +This grave partakes the fleshly birth;<br /> +Which cover lightly, gentle earth!</p> +<h3>ON MY FIRST SON.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Farewell</span>, thou child +of my right hand, and joy;<br /> +My sin was too much hope of thee, loved boy;<br /> +Seven years thou wert lent to me, and I thee pay,<br /> +Exacted by thy fate, on the just day.<br /> +Oh! could I lose all father, now! for why,<br /> +Will man lament the state he should envy?<br /> +To have so soon ’scaped world’s, and flesh’s +rage,<br /> +And, if no other misery, yet age!<br /> +Rest in soft peace, and, asked, say here doth lie<br /> +Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry;<br /> +For whose sake, henceforth, all his vows be such,<br /> +As what he loves may never like too much.</p> +<h3>TO FRANCIS BEAUMONT.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">How</span> I do love thee, +Beaumont, and thy muse,<br /> +That unto me dost such religion use!<br /> +How I do fear myself, that am not worth<br /> +The least indulgent thought thy pen drops forth!<br /> +At once thou mak’st me happy, and unmak’st;<br /> +And giving largely to me, more thou takest!<br /> +What fate is mine, that so itself bereaves?<br /> +What art is thine, that so thy friend deceives?<br /> +When even there, where most thou praisest me,<br /> +For writing better, I must envy thee.</p> +<h3>OF LIFE AND DEATH.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> ports of death +are sins; of life, good deeds:<br /> +Through which our merit leads us to our meeds.<br /> +How wilful blind is he, then, that would stray,<br /> +And hath it in his powers to make his way!<br /> +This world death’s region is, the other life’s:<br /> +And here it should be one of our first strifes,<br /> +So to front death, as men might judge us past it:<br /> +For good men but see death, the wicked taste it.</p> +<h3>INVITING A FRIEND TO SUPPER.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To-night</span>, grave sir, +both my poor house and I<br /> +Do equally desire your company;<br /> +Not that we think us worthy such a guest,<br /> +But that your worth will dignify our feast,<br /> +With those that come; whose grace may make that seem<br /> +Something, which else could hope for no esteem.<br /> +It is the fair acceptance, sir, creates<br /> +The entertainment perfect, not the cates.<br /> +Yet shall you have, to rectify your palate,<br /> +An olive, capers, or some bitter salad<br /> +Ushering the mutton; with a short-legged hen,<br /> +If we can get her, full of eggs, and then,<br /> +Lemons and wine for sauce: to these, a coney<br /> +Is not to be despaired of for our money;<br /> +And though fowl now be scarce, yet there are clerks,<br /> +The sky not falling, think we may have larks.<br /> +I’ll tell you of more, and lie, so you will come:<br /> +Of partridge, pheasant, woodcock, of which some<br /> +May yet be there; and godwit if we can;<br /> +Knat, rail, and ruff, too. Howsoe’er, my man<br /> +Shall read a piece of Virgil, Tacitus,<br /> +Livy, or of some better book to us,<br /> +Of which we’ll speak our minds, amidst our meat;<br /> +And I’ll profess no verses to repeat:<br /> +To this if aught appear, which I not know of,<br /> +That will the pastry, not my paper, show of.<br /> +Digestive cheese, and fruit there sure will be;<br /> +But that which most doth take my muse and me,<br /> +Is a pure cup of rich canary wine,<br /> +Which is the Mermaid’s now, but shall be mine:<br /> +Of which had Horace, or Anacreon tasted,<br /> +Their lives, as do their lines, till now had lasted.<br /> +Tobacco, nectar, or the Thespian spring,<br /> +Are all but Luther’s beer, to this I sing.<br /> +Of this we will sup free, but moderately,<br /> +And we will have no Pooly’ or Parrot by;<br /> +Nor shall our cups make any guilty men;<br /> +But at our parting we will be as when<br /> +We innocently met. No simple word<br /> +That shall be uttered at our mirthful board,<br /> +Shall make us sad next morning; or affright<br /> +The liberty that we’ll enjoy to-night.</p> +<h3>EPITAPH ON SALATHIEL PAVY,<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH’S +CHAPEL.</span></h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Weep</span> with me all you +that read<br /> + This little story;<br /> +And know for whom a tear you shed,<br /> + Death’s self is sorry.<br /> +’Twas a child that so did thrive<br /> + In grace and feature,<br /> +As heaven and nature seemed to strive<br /> + Which owned the creature.<br /> +Years he numbered scarce thirteen<br /> + When fates turned cruel;<br /> +Yet three filled zodiacs had he been<br /> + The stage’s jewel;<br /> +And did act, what now we moan,<br /> + Old men so duly;<br /> +As, sooth, the Parcæ thought him one<br /> + He played so truly.<br /> +So, by error to his fate<br /> + They all consented;<br /> +But viewing him since, alas, too late!<br /> + They have repented;<br /> +And have sought to give new birth,<br /> + In baths to steep him;<br /> +But, being so much too good for earth,<br /> + Heaven vows to keep him.</p> +<h3>EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH, L. H.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Wouldst</span> thou hear +what man can say<br /> +In a little? Reader, stay.<br /> +Underneath this stone doth lie<br /> +As much beauty as could die<br /> +Which in life did harbour give<br /> +To more virtue than doth live.<br /> +If, at all, she had a fault<br /> +Leave it buried in this vault.<br /> +One name was Elizabeth,<br /> +The other let it sleep with death.<br /> +Fitter, where it died, to tell,<br /> +Than that it lived at all. Farewell.</p> +<h3>EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Underneath</span> this +sable hearse<br /> +Lies the subject of all verse,<br /> +Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother:<br /> +Death! ere thou hast slain another,<br /> +Learned, and fair, and good as she,<br /> +Time shall throw a dart at thee.</p> +<h3>TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, AND +WHAT HE HATH LEFT US.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">To</span> draw no envy, +Shakspeare, on thy name,<br /> +Am I thus ample to thy book and fame;<br /> +While I confess thy writings to be such,<br /> +As neither man, nor muse can praise too much.<br /> +’Tis true, and all men’s suffrage. But these +ways<br /> +Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise;<br /> +For silliest ignorance on these may light,<br /> +Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right;<br /> +Or blind affection, which doth ne’er advance<br /> +The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance;<br /> +Or crafty malice might pretend this praise,<br /> +And think to ruin, where it seemed to raise.<br /> +These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore,<br /> +Should praise a matron; what would hurt her more?<br /> +But thou art proof against them, and, indeed,<br /> +Above the ill-fortune of them, or the need.<br /> +I, therefore, will begin: Soul of the age!<br /> +The applause! delight! and wonder of our stage!<br /> +My Shakspeare rise! I will not lodge thee by<br /> +Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie<br /> +A little further off, to make thee room:<br /> +Thou art a monument without a tomb,<br /> +And art alive still, while thy book doth live<br /> +And we have wits to read, and praise to give.<br /> +That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses,<br /> +I mean with great, but disproportioned Muses;<br /> +For if I thought my judgment were of years,<br /> +I should commit thee surely with thy peers,<br /> +And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine,<br /> +Or sporting Kyd, or Marlow’s mighty line.<br /> +And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek,<br /> +From thence to honour thee, I will not seek<br /> +For names: but call forth thundering Eschylus,<br /> +Euripides, and Sophocles to us,<br /> +Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead,<br /> +To live again, to hear thy buskin tread,<br /> +And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on,<br /> +Leave thee alone for the comparison<br /> +Of all that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome<br /> +Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come.<br /> +Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show,<br /> +To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe.<br /> +He was not of an age, but for all time!<br /> +And all the Muses still were in their prime,<br /> +When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm<br /> +Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm!<br /> +Nature herself was proud of his designs,<br /> +And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines!<br /> +Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,<br /> +As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.<br /> +The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes,<br /> +Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please;<br /> +But antiquated and deserted lie,<br /> +As they were not of nature’s family.<br /> +Yet must I not give nature all; thy art,<br /> +My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part.<br /> +For though the poet’s matter nature be,<br /> +His heart doth give the fashion: and, that he<br /> +Who casts to write a living line, must sweat,<br /> +(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat<br /> +Upon the Muse’s anvil; turn the same,<br /> +And himself with it, that he thinks to frame;<br /> +Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn;<br /> +For a good poet’s made, as well as born.<br /> +And such wert thou! Look how the father’s face<br /> +Lives in his issue, even so the race<br /> +Of Shakspeare’s mind and manners brightly shines<br /> +In his well-turnèd, and true filèd lines;<br /> +In each of which he seems to shake a lance,<br /> +As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.<br /> +Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were<br /> +To see thee in our water yet appear,<br /> +And make those flights upon the banks of Thames,<br /> +That so did take Eliza, and our James!<br /> +But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere<br /> +Advanced, and made a constellation there!<br /> +Shine forth, thou star of poets, and with rage,<br /> +Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage,<br /> +Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned like night,<br +/> +And despairs day, but for thy volume’s light.</p> +<h3>TO CELIA.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Drink</span> to me only +with thine eyes,<br /> + And I will pledge with mine;<br /> +Or leave a kiss but in the cup,<br /> + And I’ll not look for wine.<br /> +The thirst that from the soul doth rise<br /> + Doth ask a drink divine:<br /> +But might I of Jove’s nectar sup,<br /> + I would not change for thine.</p> +<p class="poetry">I sent thee late a rosy wreath,<br /> + Not so much honouring thee,<br /> +As giving it a hope that there<br /> + It could not withered be.<br /> +But thou thereon didst only breathe,<br /> + And sent’st it back to me:<br /> +Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,<br /> + Not of itself, but thee.</p> +<h3>THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS.</h3> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">See</span> the chariot at hand here of Love,<br /> + Wherein my lady rideth!<br /> + Each that draws is a swan or a dove,<br /> + And well the car Love guideth.<br +/> + As she goes, all hearts do duty<br /> + Unto her +beauty;<br /> + And, enamoured, do wish, so they might<br /> + But enjoy such a +sight,<br /> + That they still were to run by her side,<br /> +Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Do but look on her eyes, they +do light<br /> + All that Love’s world +compriseth!<br /> + Do but look on her hair, it is bright<br /> + As Love’s star when it +riseth!<br /> + Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother<br /> + Than words that +soothe her!<br /> + And from her arched brows, such a grace<br /> + Sheds itself +through the face,<br /> + As alone there triumphs to the life<br /> +All the gain, all the good, of the elements’ strife.</p> +<p class="poetry"> Have you seen but a bright +lily grow<br /> + Before rude hands have touched +it?<br /> + Have you marked but the fall o’ the snow<br /> + Before the soil hath smutched +it?<br /> + Have you felt the wool of beaver?<br /> + Or swan’s +down ever?<br /> + Or have smelt o’ the bud o’ the +brier?<br /> + Or the nard in +the fire?<br /> + Or have tasted the bag of the bee?<br /> +O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!</p> +<h3>IN THE PERSON OF WOMANKIND.<br /> +<span class="GutSmall">A SONG APOLOGETIC.</span></h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Men</span>, if you love us, +play no more<br /> + The fools or tyrants with your friends,<br /> +To make us still sing o’er and o’er<br /> + Our own false praises, for your ends:<br /> + We have both wits and fancies +too,<br /> + And, if we must, let’s sing +of you.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor do we doubt but that we can,<br /> + If we would search with care and pain,<br /> +Find some one good in some one man;<br /> + So going thorough all your strain,<br /> + We shall, at last, of parcels +make<br /> + One good enough for a song’s +sake.</p> +<p class="poetry">And as a cunning painter takes,<br /> + In any curious piece you see,<br /> +More pleasure while the thing he makes,<br /> + Than when ’tis made—why so will we.<br +/> + And having pleased our art, +we’ll try<br /> + To make a new, and hang that +by.</p> +<h3>ODE</h3> +<p><i>To the Immortal Memory and Friendship of that Noble +Pair</i>, <i>Sir Lucius Cary and Sir Henry Morison</i>.</p> +<h4>I.</h4> +<h5>THE TURN.</h5> +<p class="poetry"> <span +class="smcap">Brave</span> infant of Saguntum, clear<br /> + Thy coming forth in that great year,<br /> +When the prodigious Hannibal did crown<br /> +His cage, with razing your immortal town.<br /> + Thou, looking then about,<br /> + Ere thou wert half got out,<br /> + Wise child, didst hastily return,<br /> + And mad’st thy mother’s womb thine +urn.<br /> +How summed a circle didst thou leave mankind<br /> +Of deepest lore, could we the centre find!</p> +<h5>THE COUNTER-TURN.</h5> +<p class="poetry"> Did wiser nature draw thee +back,<br /> + From out the horror of that sack,<br /> +Where shame, faith, honour, and regard of right,<br /> +Lay trampled on? the deeds of death and night,<br /> + Urged, hurried forth, and +hurled<br /> + Upon th’ affrighted +world;<br /> + Sword, fire, and famine, with fell fury met,<br /> + And all on utmost ruin set;<br /> +As, could they but life’s miseries foresee,<br /> +No doubt all infants would return like thee.</p> +<h5>THE STAND.</h5> +<p class="poetry">For what is life, if measured by the space<br +/> + Not by the act?<br /> +Or maskèd man, if valued by his face,<br /> + Above his fact?<br /> + Here’s one outlived his peers,<br /> + And told forth fourscore years;<br /> + He vexèd time, and busied the whole state;<br +/> + Troubled both foes and friends;<br +/> + But ever to no ends:<br /> + What did this stirrer but die late?<br /> +How well at twenty had he fallen or stood!<br /> +For three of his fourscore he did no good.</p> +<h4>II.</h4> +<h5>THE TURN</h5> +<p class="poetry"> He entered well, by virtuous +parts,<br /> + Got up, and thrived with honest arts;<br /> +He purchased friends, and fame, and honours then,<br /> +And had his noble name advanced with men:<br /> + But weary of that flight,<br /> + He stooped in all men’s +sight<br /> + To sordid +flatteries, acts of strife,<br /> + And sunk in that +dead sea of life,<br /> +So deep, as he did then death’s waters sup,<br /> +But that the cork of title buoyed him up.</p> +<h5>THE COUNTER-TURN</h5> +<p class="poetry"> Alas! but Morison fell +young:<br /> + He never fell,—thou fall’st, my +tongue.<br /> +He stood a soldier to the last right end,<br /> +A perfect patriot, and a noble friend;<br /> + But most, a virtuous son.<br /> + All offices were done<br /> + By him, so ample, full, and round,<br /> + In weight, in measure, number, sound,<br /> +As, though his age imperfect might appear,<br /> +His life was of humanity the sphere.</p> +<h5>THE STAND</h5> +<p class="poetry">Go now, and tell out days summed up with +fears,<br /> + And make them years;<br /> +Produce thy mass of miseries on the stage,<br /> + To swell thine age;<br /> + Repeat of things a throng,<br /> + To show thou hast been long,<br /> +Not lived: for life doth her great actions spell.<br /> + By what was done and wrought<br /> + In season, and so brought<br /> +To light: her measures are, how well<br /> +Each syllabe answered, and was formed, how fair;<br /> +These make the lines of life, and that’s her air!</p> +<h4>III.</h4> +<h5>THE TURN</h5> +<p class="poetry"> It is not growing like a +tree<br /> + In bulk, doth make men better be;<br /> +Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,<br /> +To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear:<br /> + A lily of a day,<br /> + Is fairer far in May,<br /> + Although it fall and die that night;<br /> + It was the plant, and flower of light.<br /> +In small proportions we just beauties see;<br /> +And in short measures, life may perfect be.</p> +<h5>THE COUNTER-TURN</h5> +<p class="poetry"> Call, noble Lucius, then for +wine,<br /> + And let thy looks with gladness shine:<br /> +Accept this garland, plant it on thy head<br /> +And think, nay know, thy Morison’s not dead<br /> + He leaped the present age,<br /> + Possessed with holy rage<br /> + To see that bright eternal day;<br /> + Of which we priests and poets say,<br /> +Such truths, as we expect for happy men:<br /> +And there he lives with memory and Ben.</p> +<h5>THE STAND</h5> +<p class="poetry">Jonson, who sung this of him, ere he went,<br +/> + Himself to +rest,<br /> +Or taste a part of that full joy he meant<br /> + To have +expressed,<br /> + In this bright Asterism!<br /> + Where it were friendship’s +schism,<br /> + Were not his Lucius long with us to tarry,<br /> + To separate these twi-<br /> + Lights, the Dioscouri;<br /> + And keep the one half from his Harry,<br /> +But fate doth so alternate the design<br /> +Whilst that in heaven, this light on earth must shine.</p> +<h4>IV.</h4> +<h5>THE TURN</h5> +<p class="poetry"> And shine as you exalted +are;<br /> + Two names of friendship, but one star:<br /> +Of hearts the union, and those not by chance<br /> +Made, or indenture, or leased out t’advance<br /> + The profits for a time.<br /> + No pleasures vain did chime,<br /> + Of rhymes, or riots, at your feasts,<br /> + Orgies of drink, or feigned protests:<br /> +But simple love of greatness and of good,<br /> +That knits brave minds and manners more than blood.</p> +<h5>THE COUNTER-TURN</h5> +<p class="poetry"> This made you first to know +the why<br /> + You liked, then after, to apply<br /> +That liking; and approach so one the t’other,<br /> +Till either grew a portion of the other:<br /> + Each styled by his end,<br /> + The copy of his friend.<br /> + You lived to be the great sir-names,<br /> + And titles, by which all made claims<br /> +Unto the virtue; nothing perfect done,<br /> +But as a Cary, or a Morison.</p> +<h5>THE STAND</h5> +<p class="poetry">And such a force the fair example had,<br /> + As they that +saw<br /> +The good, and durst not practise it, were glad<br /> + That such a +law<br /> + Was left yet to mankind;<br /> + Where they might read and find<br +/> + Friendship, indeed, was written not in words;<br /> + And with the heart, not pen,<br /> + Of two so early men,<br /> + Whose lines her rolls were, and records;<br /> +Who, ere the first down bloomed upon the chin,<br /> +Had sowed these fruits, and got the harvest in.</p> +<h5>PRÆLUDIUM.</h5> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">And</span> must I +sing? What subject shall I choose!<br /> +Or whose great name in poets’ heaven use,<br /> +For the more countenance to my active muse?</p> +<p class="poetry">Hercules? alas, his bones are yet sore<br /> +With his old earthly labours t’ exact more<br /> +Of his dull godhead were sin. I’ll implore</p> +<p class="poetry">Phœbus. No, tend thy cart +still. Envious day<br /> +Shall not give out that I have made thee stay,<br /> +And foundered thy hot team, to tune my lay.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor will I beg of thee, lord of the vine,<br /> +To raise my spirits with thy conjuring wine,<br /> +In the green circle of thy ivy twine.</p> +<p class="poetry">Pallas, nor thee I call on, mankind maid,<br /> +That at thy birth mad’st the poor smith afraid.<br /> +Who with his axe thy father’s midwife played.</p> +<p class="poetry">Go, cramp dull Mars, light Venus, when he +snorts,<br /> +Or with thy tribade trine invent new sports;<br /> +Thou, nor thy looseness with my making sorts.</p> +<p class="poetry">Let the old boy, your son, ply his old task,<br +/> +Turn the stale prologue to some painted mask;<br /> +His absence in my verse is all I ask.</p> +<p class="poetry">Hermes, the cheater, shall not mix with us,<br +/> +Though he would steal his sisters’ Pegasus,<br /> +And rifle him; or pawn his petasus.</p> +<p class="poetry">Nor all the ladies of the Thespian lake,<br /> +Though they were crushed into one form, could make<br /> +A beauty of that merit, that should take</p> +<p class="poetry">My muse up by commission; no, I bring<br /> +My own true fire: now my thought takes wing,<br /> +And now an epode to deep ears I sing.</p> +<h3>EPODE.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Not</span> to know vice at +all, and keep true state,<br /> + Is virtue and not fate:<br /> +Next to that virtue, is to know vice well,<br /> + And her black spite expel.<br /> +Which to effect (since no breast is so sure,<br /> + Or safe, but she’ll procure<br /> +Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard<br /> + Of thoughts to watch and ward<br /> +At th’ eye and ear, the ports unto the mind,<br /> + That no strange, or unkind<br /> +Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy,<br /> + Give knowledge instantly<br /> +To wakeful reason, our affections’ king:<br /> + Who, in th’ examining,<br /> +Will quickly taste the treason, and commit<br /> + Close, the close cause of it.<br /> +’Tis the securest policy we have,<br /> + To make our sense our slave.<br /> +But this true course is not embraced by many:<br /> + By many! scarce by any.<br /> +For either our affections do rebel,<br /> + Or else the sentinel,<br /> +That should ring ’larum to the heart, doth sleep:<br /> + Or some great thought doth keep<br /> +Back the intelligence, and falsely swears<br /> + They’re base and idle fears<br /> +Whereof the loyal conscience so complains.<br /> + Thus, by these subtle trains,<br /> +Do several passions invade the mind,<br /> + And strike our reason blind:<br /> +Of which usurping rank, some have thought love<br /> + The first: as prone to move<br /> +Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests,<br /> + In our inflamèd breasts:<br /> +But this doth from the cloud of error grow,<br /> + Which thus we over-blow.<br /> +The thing they here call love is blind desire,<br /> + Armed with bow, shafts, and fire;<br /> +Inconstant, like the sea, of whence ’tis born,<br /> + Rough, swelling, like a storm;<br /> +With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear,<br /> + And boils as if he were<br /> +In a continual tempest. Now, true love<br /> + No such effects doth prove;<br /> +That is an essence far more gentle, fine,<br /> + Pure, perfect, nay, divine;<br /> +It is a golden chain let down from heaven,<br /> + Whose links are bright and even;<br /> +That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines<br /> + The soft and sweetest minds<br /> +In equal knots: this bears no brands, nor darts,<br /> + To murder different hearts,<br /> +But, in a calm and god-like unity,<br /> + Preserves community.<br /> +O, who is he that, in this peace, enjoys<br /> + Th’ elixir of all joys?<br /> +A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers,<br /> + And lasting as her flowers;<br /> +Richer than Time and, as Times’s virtue, rare;<br /> + Sober as saddest care;<br /> +A fixèd thought, an eye untaught to glance;<br /> + Who, blest with such high chance,<br /> +Would, at suggestion of a steep desire,<br /> + Cast himself from the spire<br /> +Of all his happiness? But soft: I hear<br /> + Some vicious fool draw near,<br /> +That cries, we dream, and swears there’s no such thing,<br +/> + As this chaste love we sing.<br /> +Peace, Luxury! thou art like one of those<br /> + Who, being at sea, suppose,<br /> +Because they move, the continent doth so:<br /> + No, Vice, we let thee know<br /> +Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows’ wings do fly,<br /> + Turtles can chastely die;<br /> +And yet (in this t’ express ourselves more clear)<br /> + We do not number here<br /> +Such spirits as are only continent,<br /> + Because lust’s means are spent;<br /> +Or those who doubt the common mouth of fame,<br /> + And for their place and name,<br /> +Cannot so safely sin: their chastity<br /> + Is mere necessity;<br /> +Nor mean we those whom vows and conscience<br /> + Have filled with abstinence:<br /> +Though we acknowledge who can so abstain,<br /> + Makes a most blessèd gain;<br /> +He that for love of goodness hateth ill,<br /> + Is more crown-worthy still<br /> +Than he, which for sin’s penalty forbears:<br /> + His heart sins, though he fears.<br /> +But we propose a person like our Dove,<br /> + Graced with a Phœnix’ love;<br /> +A beauty of that clear and sparkling light,<br /> + Would make a day of night,<br /> +And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys:<br /> + Whose odorous breath destroys<br /> +All taste of bitterness, and makes the air<br /> + As sweet as she is fair.<br /> +A body so harmoniously composed,<br /> + As if natùre disclosed<br /> +All her best symmetry in that one feature!<br /> + O, so divine a creature<br /> +Who could be false to? chiefly, when he knows<br /> + How only she bestows<br /> +The wealthy treasure of her love on him;<br /> + Making his fortunes swim<br /> +In the full flood of her admired perfection?<br /> + What savage, brute affection,<br /> +Would not be fearful to offend a dame<br /> + Of this excelling frame?<br /> +Much more a noble, and right generous mind,<br /> + To virtuous moods inclined,<br /> +That knows the weight of guilt: he will refrain<br /> + From thoughts of such a strain,<br /> +And to his sense object this sentence ever,<br /> + “Man may securely sin, but safely +never.”</p> +<h3>AN ELEGY.</h3> +<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Though</span> beauty be the +mark of praise,<br /> + And yours, of whom I sing, be such<br /> + As not the world can praise too much,<br /> +Yet is ’t your virtue now I raise.</p> +<p class="poetry">A virtue, like allay, so gone<br /> + Throughout your form, as though that move,<br /> + And draw, and conquer all men’s love,<br /> +This subjects you to love of one,</p> +<p class="poetry">Wherein you triumph yet: because<br /> + ’Tis of yourself, and that you use<br /> + The noblest freedom, not to choose<br /> +Against or faith, or honour’s laws.</p> +<p class="poetry">But who could less expect from you,<br /> + In whom alone Love lives again?<br /> + By whom he is restored to men;<br /> +And kept, and bred, and brought up true?</p> +<p class="poetry">His falling temples you have reared,<br /> + The withered garlands ta’en away;<br /> + His altars kept from the decay<br /> +That envy wished, and nature feared;</p> +<p class="poetry">And on them burns so chaste a flame,<br /> + With so much loyalty’s expense,<br /> + As Love, t’ acquit such excellence,<br /> +Is gone himself into your name.</p> +<p class="poetry">And you are he: the deity<br /> + To whom all lovers are designed,<br /> + That would their better objects find;<br /> +Among which faithful troop am I;</p> +<p class="poetry">Who, as an offering at your shrine,<br /> + Have sung this hymn, and here entreat<br /> + One spark of your diviner heat<br /> +To light upon a love of mine;</p> +<p class="poetry">Which, if it kindle not, but scant<br /> + Appear, and that to shortest view,<br /> + Yet give me leave t’ adore in you<br /> +What I, in her, am grieved to want.</p> +<h2>FOOTNOTES</h2> +<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11" +class="footnote">[11]</a> “So live with yourself that +you do not know how ill yow mind is furnished.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12" +class="footnote">[12]</a> +Αυτοδίδακτος</p> +<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14" +class="footnote">[14]</a> “A Puritan is a Heretical +Hypocrite, in whom the conceit of his own perspicacity, by which +he seems to himself to have observed certain errors in a few +Church dogmas, has disturbed the balance of his mind, so that, +excited vehemently by a sacred fury, he fights frenzied against +civil authority, in the belief that he so pays obedience to +God.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote17a"></a><a href="#citation17a" +class="footnote">[17a]</a> Night gives counsel.</p> +<p><a name="footnote17b"></a><a href="#citation17b" +class="footnote">[17b]</a> Plutarch in Life of +Alexander. “Let it not be, O King, that you know +these things better than I.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote19a"></a><a href="#citation19a" +class="footnote">[19a]</a> “They were not our lords, +but our leaders.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote19b"></a><a href="#citation19b" +class="footnote">[19b]</a> “Much of it is left also +for those who shall be hereafter.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote19c"></a><a href="#citation19c" +class="footnote">[19c]</a> “No art is discovered at +once and absolutely.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22" +class="footnote">[22]</a> With a great belly. Comes +de Schortenhien.</p> +<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23" +class="footnote">[23]</a> “In all things I have a +better wit and courage than good fortune.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote24a"></a><a href="#citation24a" +class="footnote">[24a]</a> “The rich soil exhausts; +but labour itself is an aid.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote24b"></a><a href="#citation24b" +class="footnote">[24b]</a> “And the gesticulation is +vile.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote25a"></a><a href="#citation25a" +class="footnote">[25a]</a> “An end is to be looked +for in every man, an animal most prompt to change.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote25b"></a><a href="#citation25b" +class="footnote">[25b]</a> Arts are not shared among +heirs.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31a"></a><a href="#citation31a" +class="footnote">[31a]</a> “More loquacious than +eloquent; words enough, but little +wisdom.”—<i>Sallust</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31b"></a><a href="#citation31b" +class="footnote">[31b]</a> Repeated in the following +Latin. “The best treasure is in that man’s +tongue, and he has mighty thanks, who metes out each thing in a +few words.”—<i>Hesiod</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote31c"></a><a href="#citation31c" +class="footnote">[31c]</a> <i>Vid.</i> Zeuxidis pict. Serm. +ad Megabizum.—<i>Plutarch</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote32a"></a><a href="#citation32a" +class="footnote">[32a]</a> “While the unlearned is +silent he may be accounted wise, for he has covered by his +silence the diseases of his mind.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote32b"></a><a href="#citation32b" +class="footnote">[32b]</a> Taciturnity.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33a"></a><a href="#citation33a" +class="footnote">[33a]</a> “Hold your tongue above +all things, after the example of the +gods.”—<i>See</i> Apuleius.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33b"></a><a href="#citation33b" +class="footnote">[33b]</a> “Press down the lip with +the finger.”—Juvenal.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33c"></a><a href="#citation33c" +class="footnote">[33c]</a> Plautus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote33d"></a><a href="#citation33d" +class="footnote">[33d]</a> Trinummus, Act 2, Scen. 4.</p> +<p><a name="footnote34a"></a><a href="#citation34a" +class="footnote">[34a]</a> “It was the lodging of +calamity.”—Mart. lib. 1, ep. 85.</p> +<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41" +class="footnote">[41]</a> [“Ficta omnia celeriter +tanquam flosculi decidunt, nec simulatum potest quidquam esse +diuturnum.”—Cicero.]</p> +<p><a name="footnote44a"></a><a href="#citation44a" +class="footnote">[44a]</a> Let a Punic sponge go with the +book.—Mart. 1. iv. epig. 10.</p> +<p><a name="footnote47a"></a><a href="#citation47a" +class="footnote">[47a]</a> He had to be repressed.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49a"></a><a href="#citation49a" +class="footnote">[49a]</a> A wit-stand.</p> +<p><a name="footnote49b"></a><a href="#citation49b" +class="footnote">[49b]</a> Martial. lib. xi. epig. +91. That fall over the rough ways and high rocks.</p> +<p><a name="footnote59a"></a><a href="#citation59a" +class="footnote">[59a]</a> Sir Thomas More. Sir +Thomas Wiat. Henry Earl of Surrey. Sir Thomas +Chaloner. Sir Thomas Smith. Sir Thomas Eliot. +Bishop Gardiner. Sir Nicolas Bacon, L.K. Sir Philip +Sidney. Master Richard Hooker. Robert Earl of +Essex. Sir Walter Raleigh. Sir Henry Savile. +Sir Edwin Sandys. Sir Thomas Egerton, L.C. Sir +Francis Bacon, L.C.</p> +<p><a name="footnote62a"></a><a href="#citation62a" +class="footnote">[62a]</a> “Which will secure a long +age for the known writer.”—Horat. <i>de Art. +Poetica</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote66a"></a><a href="#citation66a" +class="footnote">[66a]</a> They have poison for their food, +even for their dainty.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74a"></a><a href="#citation74a" +class="footnote">[74a]</a> Haud infima ars in principe, ubi +lenitas, ubi severitas—plus polleat in commune bonum +callere.</p> +<p><a name="footnote74b"></a><a href="#citation74b" +class="footnote">[74b]</a> <i>i.e.</i>, Machiavell.</p> +<p><a name="footnote81a"></a><a href="#citation81a" +class="footnote">[81a]</a> “Censure pardons the crows +and vexes the doves.”—Juvenal.</p> +<p><a name="footnote81b"></a><a href="#citation81b" +class="footnote">[81b]</a> “Does not spread his net +for the hawk or the kite.”—Plautus.</p> +<p><a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93" +class="footnote">[93]</a> Parrhasius. Eupompus. +Socrates. Parrhasius. Clito. Polygnotus. +Aglaophon. Zeuxis. Parrhasius. Raphael de +Urbino. Mich. Angelo Buonarotti. Titian. +Antony de Correg. Sebast. de Venet. Julio +Romano. Andrea Sartorio.</p> +<p><a name="footnote94"></a><a href="#citation94" +class="footnote">[94]</a> Plin. lib. 35. c. 2, 5, 6, and +7. Vitruv. lib. 8 and 7.</p> +<p><a name="footnote95"></a><a href="#citation95" +class="footnote">[95]</a> Horat. in “Arte +Poet.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote106a"></a><a href="#citation106a" +class="footnote">[106a]</a> Livy, Sallust, Sidney, Donne, +Gower, Chaucer, Spenser, Virgil, Ennius, Homer, Quintilian, +Plautus, Terence.</p> +<p><a name="footnote110a"></a><a href="#citation110a" +class="footnote">[110a]</a> The interpreter of gods and +men.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111a"></a><a href="#citation111a" +class="footnote">[111a]</a> Julius Cæsar. Of +words, <i>see</i> Hor. “De Art. Poet.;” Quintil. 1. +8, “Ludov. Vives,” pp. 6 and 7.</p> +<p><a name="footnote111b"></a><a href="#citation111b" +class="footnote">[111b]</a> A prudent man conveys nothing +rashly.</p> +<p><a name="footnote114a"></a><a href="#citation114a" +class="footnote">[114a]</a> That jolt as they fall over the +rough places and the rocks.</p> +<p><a name="footnote116a"></a><a href="#citation116a" +class="footnote">[116a]</a> Directness enlightens, +obliquity and circumlocution darken.</p> +<p><a name="footnote117a"></a><a href="#citation117a" +class="footnote">[117a]</a> Ocean trembles as if indignant +that you quit the land.</p> +<p><a name="footnote117b"></a><a href="#citation117b" +class="footnote">[117b]</a> You might believe that the +uprooted Cyclades were floating in.</p> +<p><a name="footnote118a"></a><a href="#citation118a" +class="footnote">[118a]</a> Those armies of the people of +Rome that might break through the +heavens.—Cæsar. Comment. circa fin.</p> +<p><a name="footnote124a"></a><a href="#citation124a" +class="footnote">[124a]</a> No one can speak rightly unless +he apprehends wisely.</p> +<p><a name="footnote133a"></a><a href="#citation133a" +class="footnote">[133a]</a> “Where the discussion of +faults is general, no one is injured.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote133b"></a><a href="#citation133b" +class="footnote">[133b]</a> “Gnaw tender little ears +with biting truth.”—<i>Per Sat.</i> 1.</p> +<p><a name="footnote133c"></a><a href="#citation133c" +class="footnote">[133c]</a> “The wish for remedy is +always truer than the hope.”—<i>Livius</i>.</p> +<p><a name="footnote136a"></a><a href="#citation136a" +class="footnote">[136a]</a> “Æneas dedicates +these arms concerning the conquering +Greeks.”—<i>Virg. Æn.</i> lib. 3.</p> +<p><a name="footnote136b"></a><a href="#citation136b" +class="footnote">[136b]</a> “You buy everything, +Castor; the time will come when you will sell +everything.”—<i>Martial</i>, lib. 8, epig. 19.</p> +<p><a name="footnote136c"></a><a href="#citation136c" +class="footnote">[136c]</a> “Cinna wishes to seem +poor, and is poor.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote136d"></a><a href="#citation136d" +class="footnote">[136d]</a> “Which is evident in +every first song.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote139a"></a><a href="#citation139a" +class="footnote">[139a]</a> “There is a god within +us, and when he is stirred we grow warm; that spirit comes from +heavenly realms.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote146a"></a><a href="#citation146a" +class="footnote">[146a]</a> “If it were allowable for +immortals to weep for mortals, the Muses would weep for the poet +Nævius; since he is handed to the chamber of Orcus, they +have forgotten how to speak Latin at Rome.”</p> +<p><a name="footnote148a"></a><a href="#citation148a" +class="footnote">[148a]</a> “No one has judged poets +less happily than he who wrote about them.”—<i>Senec. +de Brev. Vit</i>, cap. 13, et epist. 88.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149a"></a><a href="#citation149a" +class="footnote">[149a]</a> Heins, de Sat. 265.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149b"></a><a href="#citation149b" +class="footnote">[149b]</a> Pag. 267.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149c"></a><a href="#citation149c" +class="footnote">[149c]</a> Pag. 270. 271.</p> +<p><a name="footnote149d"></a><a href="#citation149d" +class="footnote">[149d]</a> Pag. 273, <i>et seq.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote149e"></a><a href="#citation149e" +class="footnote">[149e]</a> Pag. in comm. 153, <i>et +seq.</i></p> +<p><a name="footnote160a"></a><a href="#citation160a" +class="footnote">[160a]</a> “And which jolt as they +fall over the rough uneven road and high +rocks.”—<i>Martial</i>, lib. xi. epig. 91.</p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DISCOVERIES MADE UPON MEN AND +MATTER***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 5134-h.htm or 5134-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/5/1/3/5134 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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