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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Defence of Poesie and Poems, by Philip
+Sidney, Edited by Henry Morley
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: A Defence of Poesie and Poems
+
+
+Author: Philip Sidney
+
+Editor: Henry Morley
+
+Release Date: October 8, 2014  [eBook #1962]
+[This file was first posted on March 18, 1999]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DEFENCE OF POESIE AND POEMS***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+                       CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+
+                           A DEFENCE OF POESIE
+                                   AND
+                                  POEMS.
+
+
+                                    BY
+                            SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
+
+                      [Picture: Decorative graphic]
+
+                       CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
+                      _LONDON_, _PARIS & MELBOURNE_.
+                                  1891.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+PHILIP SIDNEY was born at Penshurst, in Kent, on the 29th of November,
+1554.  His father, Sir Henry Sidney, had married Mary, eldest daughter of
+John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, and Philip was the eldest of their
+family of three sons and four daughters.  Edmund Spenser and Walter
+Raleigh were of like age with Philip Sidney, differing only by about a
+year, and when Elizabeth became queen, on the 17th of November, 1558,
+they were children of four or five years old.
+
+In the year 1560 Sir Henry Sidney was made Lord President of Wales,
+representing the Queen in Wales and the four adjacent western counties,
+as a Lord Deputy represented her in Ireland.  The official residence of
+the Lord President was at Ludlow Castle, to which Philip Sidney went with
+his family when a child of six.  In the same year his father was
+installed as a Knight of the Garter.  When in his tenth year Philip
+Sidney was sent from Ludlow to Shrewsbury Grammar School, where he
+studied for three or four years, and had among his schoolfellows Fulke
+Greville, afterwards Lord Brooke, who remained until the end of Sidney’s
+life one of his closest friends.  When he himself was dying he directed
+that he should be described upon his tomb as “Fulke Greville, servant to
+Queen Elizabeth, counsellor to King James, and friend to Sir Philip
+Sidney.”  Even Dr. Thomas Thornton, Canon of Christ Church, Oxford, under
+whom Sidney was placed when he was entered to Christ Church in his
+fourteenth year, at Midsummer, in 1568, had it afterwards recorded on his
+tomb that he was “the tutor of Sir Philip Sidney.”
+
+Sidney was in his eighteenth year in May, 1572, when he left the
+University to continue his training for the service of the state, by
+travel on the Continent.  Licensed to travel with horses for himself and
+three servants, Philip Sidney left London in the train of the Earl of
+Lincoln, who was going out as ambassador to Charles IX., in Paris.  He
+was in Paris on the 24th of August in that year, which was the day of the
+Massacre of St. Bartholomew.  He was sheltered from the dangers of that
+day in the house of the English Ambassador, Sir Francis Walsingham, whose
+daughter Fanny Sidney married twelve years afterwards.
+
+From Paris Sidney travelled on by way of Heidelberg to Frankfort, where
+he lodged at a printer’s, and found a warm friend in Hubert Languet,
+whose letters to him have been published.  Sidney was eighteen and
+Languet fifty-five, a French Huguenot, learned and zealous for the
+Protestant cause, who had been Professor of Civil Law in Padua, and who
+was acting as secret minister for the Elector of Saxony when he first
+knew Sidney, and saw in him a future statesman whose character and genius
+would give him weight in the counsels of England, and make him a main
+hope of the Protestant cause in Europe.  Sidney travelled on with Hubert
+Languet from Frankfort to Vienna, visited Hungary, then passed to Italy,
+making for eight weeks Venice his head-quarters, and then giving six
+weeks to Padua.  He returned through Germany to England, and was in
+attendance it the Court of Queen Elizabeth in July, 1575.  Next month his
+father was sent to Ireland as Lord Deputy, and Sidney lived in London
+with his mother.
+
+At this time the opposition of the Mayor and Corporation of the City of
+London to the acting of plays by servants of Sidney’s uncle, the Earl of
+Leicester, who had obtained a patent for them, obliged the actors to
+cease from hiring rooms or inn yards in the City, and build themselves a
+house of their own a little way outside one of the City gates, and wholly
+outside the Lord Mayor’s jurisdiction.  Thus the first theatre came to be
+built in England in the year 1576.  Shakespeare was then but twelve years
+old, and it was ten years later that he came to London.
+
+In February, 1577, Philip Sidney, not yet twenty-three years old, was
+sent on a formal embassy of congratulation to Rudolph II. upon his
+becoming Emperor of Germany, but under the duties of the formal embassy
+was the charge of watching for opportunities of helping forward a
+Protestant League among the princes of Germany.  On his way home through
+the Netherlands he was to convey Queen Elizabeth’s congratulations to
+William of Orange on the birth of his first child, and what impression he
+made upon that leader of men is shown by a message William sent
+afterwards through Fulke Greville to Queen Elizabeth.  He said “that if
+he could judge, her Majesty had one of the ripest and greatest
+counsellors of State in Philip Sidney that then lived in Europe; to the
+trial of which he was pleased to leave his own credit engaged until her
+Majesty was pleased to employ this gentleman, either amongst her friends
+or enemies.”
+
+Sidney returned from his embassy in June, 1577.  At the time of his
+departure, in the preceding February, his sister Mary, then twenty years
+old, had become the third wife of Henry Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and
+her new home as Countess of Pembroke was in the great house at Wilton,
+about three miles from Salisbury.  She had a measure of her brother’s
+genius, and was of like noble strain.  Spenser described her as
+
+    “The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day,
+    And most resembling, both in shape and spright,
+    Her brother dear.”
+
+Ben Jonson, long after her brother had passed from earth, wrote upon her
+death the well-known epitaph:—
+
+    “Underneath this sable herse
+    Lies the subject of all verse,
+    Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother.
+    Death, ere thou hast slain another,
+    Learn’d, and fair, and good as she,
+    Time shall throw a dart at thee.”
+
+Sidney’s sister became Pembroke’s mother in 1580, while her brother
+Philip was staying with her at Wilton.  He had early in the year written
+a long argument to the Queen against the project of her marriage with the
+Duke of Anjou, which she then found it politic to seem to favour.  She
+liked Sidney well, but resented, or appeared to resent, his intrusion of
+advice; he also was discontented with what seemed to be her policy, and
+he withdrew from Court for a time.  That time of seclusion, after the end
+of March, 1580, he spent with his sister at Wilton.  They versified
+psalms together; and he began to write for her amusement when she had her
+baby first upon her hands, his romance of “Arcadia.”  It was never
+finished.  Much was written at Wilton in the summer of 1580, the rest in
+1581, written, as he said in a letter to her, “only for you, only to you
+. . . for severer eyes it is not, being but a trifle, triflingly handled.
+Your dear self can best witness the manner, being done in loose sheets of
+paper, most of it in your presence, the rest by sheets sent unto you as
+fast as they were done.”  He never meant that it should be published;
+indeed, when dying he asked that it should be destroyed; but it belonged
+to a sister who prized the lightest word of his, and after his death it
+was published in 1590 as “The Countess of Pembroke’s Arcadia.”
+
+The book reprinted in this volume was written in 1581, while sheets of
+the “Arcadia” were still being sent to Wilton.  But it differs wholly in
+style from the “Arcadia.”  Sidney’s “Arcadia” has literary interest as
+the first important example of the union of pastoral with heroic romance,
+out of which came presently, in France, a distinct school of fiction.
+But the genius of its author was at play, it followed designedly the
+fashions of the hour in verse and prose, which tended to extravagance of
+ingenuity.  The “Defence of Poesy” has higher interest as the first
+important piece of literary criticism in our literature.  Here Sidney was
+in earnest.  His style is wholly free from the euphuistic extravagance in
+which readers of his time delighted: it is clear, direct, and manly; not
+the less, but the more, thoughtful and refined for its unaffected
+simplicity.  As criticism it is of the true sort; not captious or formal,
+still less engaged, as nearly all bad criticism is, more or less, with
+indirect suggestion of the critic himself as the one owl in a world of
+mice.  Philip Sidney’s care is towards the end of good literature.  He
+looks for highest aims, and finds them in true work, and hears God’s
+angel in the poet’s song.
+
+The writing of this piece was probably suggested to him by the fact that
+an earnest young student, Stephen Gosson, who came from his university
+about the time when the first theatres were built, and wrote plays, was
+turned by the bias of his mind into agreement with the Puritan attacks
+made by the pulpit on the stage (arising chiefly from the fact that plays
+were then acted on Sundays), and in 1579 transferred his pen from service
+of the players to attack on them, in a piece which he called “The School
+of Abuse, containing a Pleasant Invective against Poets, Pipers, Players,
+Jesters, and such like Caterpillars of a Commonwealth; setting up the
+Flag of Defiance to their mischievous exercise, and overthrowing their
+Bulwarks, by Profane Writers, Natural Reason, and Common Experience: a
+Discourse as pleasant for Gentlemen that favour Learning as profitable
+for all that will follow Virtue.”  This Discourse Gosson dedicated “To
+the right noble Gentleman, Master Philip Sidney, Esquire.”  Sidney
+himself wrote verse, he was companion with the poets, and counted Edmund
+Spenser among his friends.  Gosson’s pamphlet was only one expression of
+the narrow form of Puritan opinion that had been misled into attacks on
+poetry and music as feeders of idle appetite that withdrew men from the
+life of duty.  To show the fallacy in such opinion, Philip Sidney wrote
+in 1581 this piece, which was first printed in 1595, nine years after his
+death, as a separate publication, entitled “An Apologie for Poetrie.”
+Three years afterwards it was added, with other pieces, to the third
+edition of his “Arcadia,” and then entitled “The Defence of Poesie.”  In
+sixteen subsequent editions it continued to appear as “The Defence of
+Poesie.”  The same title was used in the separate editions of 1752 and
+1810.  Professor Edward Arber re-issued in 1869 the text of the first
+edition of 1595, and restored the original title, which probably was that
+given to the piece by its author.  One name is as good as the other, but
+as the word “apology” has somewhat changed its sense in current English,
+it may be well to go on calling the work “The Defence of Poesie.”
+
+In 1583 Sidney was knighted, and soon afterwards in the same year he
+married Frances, daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham.  Sonnets written by
+him according to old fashion, and addressed to a lady in accordance with
+a form of courtesy that in the same old fashion had always been held to
+exclude personal suit—personal suit was private, and not public—have led
+to grave misapprehension among some critics.  They supposed that he
+desired marriage with Penelope Devereux, who was forced by her family in
+1580—then eighteen years old—into a hateful marriage with Lord Rich.  It
+may be enough to say that if Philip Sidney had desired her for his wife,
+he had only to ask for her and have her.  Her father, when dying, had
+desired—as any father might—that his daughter might become the wife of
+Philip Sidney.  But this is not the place for a discussion of Astrophel
+and Stella sonnets.
+
+In 1585 Sidney was planning to join Drake it sea in attack on Spain in
+the West Indies.  He was stayed by the Queen.  But when Elizabeth
+declared war on behalf of the Reformed Faith, and sent Leicester with an
+expedition to the Netherlands, Sir Philip Sidney went out, in November,
+1585, as Governor of Flushing.  His wife joined him there.  He fretted at
+inaction, and made the value of his counsels so distinct that his uncle
+Leicester said after his death that he began by “despising his youth for
+a counsellor, not without bearing a hand over him as a forward young man.
+Notwithstanding, in a short time he saw the sun so risen above his
+horizon that both he and all his stars were glad to fetch light from
+him.”  In May, 1586, Sir Philip Sidney received news of the death of his
+father.  In August his mother died.  In September he joined in the
+investment of Zutphen.  On the 22nd of September his thigh-bone was
+shattered by a musket ball from the trenches.  His horse took fright and
+galloped back, but the wounded man held to his seat.  He was then carried
+to his uncle, asked for water, and when it was given, saw a dying soldier
+carried past, who eyed it greedily.  At once he gave the water to the
+soldier, saying, “Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.”  Sidney lived
+on, patient in suffering, until the 17th of October.  When he was
+speechless before death, one who stood by asked Philip Sidney for a sign
+of his continued trust in God.  He folded his hands as in prayer over his
+breast, and so they were become fixed and chill, when the watchers placed
+them by his side; and in a few minutes the stainless representative of
+the young manhood of Elizabethan England passed away.
+
+                                                                     H. M.
+
+
+
+
+AN APOLOGIE FOR POETRIE.
+
+
+WHEN the right virtuous Edward Wotton {1} and I were at the Emperor’s
+court together, we gave ourselves to learn horsemanship of Gio. Pietro
+Pugliano; one that, with great commendation, had the place of an esquire
+in his stable; and he, according to the fertileness of the Italian wit,
+did not only afford us the demonstration of his practice, but sought to
+enrich our minds with the contemplation therein, which he thought most
+precious.  But with none, I remember, mine ears were at any time more
+laden, than when (either angered with slow payment, or moved with our
+learner-like admiration) he exercised his speech in the praise of his
+faculty.
+
+He said, soldiers were the noblest estate of mankind, and horsemen the
+noblest of soldiers.  He said, they were the masters of war and ornaments
+of peace, speedy goers, and strong abiders, triumphers both in camps and
+courts; nay, to so unbelieved a point he proceeded, as that no earthly
+thing bred such wonder to a prince, as to be a good horseman; skill of
+government was but a “pedanteria” in comparison.  Then would he add
+certain praises by telling what a peerless beast the horse was, the only
+serviceable courtier, without flattery, the beast of most beauty,
+faithfulness, courage, and such more, that if I had not been a piece of a
+logician before I came to him, I think he would have persuaded me to have
+wished myself a horse.  But thus much, at least, with his no few words,
+he drove into me, that self love is better than any gilding, to make that
+seem gorgeous wherein ourselves be parties.
+
+Wherein, if Pugliano’s strong affection and weak arguments will not
+satisfy you, I will give you a nearer example of myself, who, I know not
+by what mischance, in these my not old years and idlest times, having
+slipped into the title of a poet, am provoked to say something unto you
+in the defence of that my unelected vocation; which if I handle with more
+good will than good reasons, bear with me, since the scholar is to be
+pardoned that followeth the steps of his master.
+
+And yet I must say, that as I have more just cause to make a pitiful
+defence of poor poetry, which, from almost the highest estimation of
+learning, is fallen to be the laughing-stock of children; so have I need
+to bring some more available proofs, since the former is by no man barred
+of his deserved credit, whereas the silly latter hath had even the names
+of philosophers used to the defacing of it, with great danger of civil
+war among the Muses. {2}
+
+At first, truly, to all them that, professing learning, inveigh against
+poetry, may justly be objected, that they go very near to ungratefulness
+to seek to deface that which, in the noblest nations and languages that
+are known, hath been the first light-giver to ignorance, and first nurse,
+whose milk by little and little enabled them to feed afterwards of
+tougher knowledges.  And will you play the hedgehog, that being received
+into the den, drove out his host? {3} or rather the vipers, that with
+their birth kill their parents? {4}
+
+Let learned Greece, in any of her manifold sciences, be able to show me
+one book before Musæus, Homer, and Hesiod, all three nothing else but
+poets.  Nay, let any history he brought that can say any writers were
+there before them, if they were not men of the same skill, as Orpheus,
+Linus, and some others are named, who having been the first of that
+country that made pens deliverers of their knowledge to posterity, may
+justly challenge to be called their fathers in learning.  For not only in
+time they had this priority (although in itself antiquity be venerable)
+but went before them as causes to draw with their charming sweetness the
+wild untamed wits to an admiration of knowledge.  So as Amphion was said
+to move stones with his poetry to build Thebes, and Orpheus to be
+listened to by beasts, indeed, stony and beastly people, so among the
+Romans were Livius Andronicus, and Ennius; so in the Italian language,
+the first that made it to aspire to be a treasure-house of science, were
+the poets Dante, Boccace, and Petrarch; so in our English were Gower and
+Chaucer; after whom, encouraged and delighted with their excellent
+foregoing, others have followed to beautify our mother tongue, as well in
+the same kind as other arts.
+
+This {5} did so notably show itself that the philosophers of Greece durst
+not a long time appear to the world but under the mask of poets; so
+Thales, Empedocles, and Parmenides sang their natural philosophy in
+verses; so did Pythagoras and Phocylides their moral counsels; so did
+Tyrtæus in war matters; and Solon in matters of policy; or rather they,
+being poets, did exercise their delightful vein in those points of
+highest knowledge, which before them lay hidden to the world; for that
+wise Solon was directly a poet it is manifest, having written in verse
+the notable fable of the Atlantic Island, which was continued by Plato.
+{6}  And, truly, even Plato, whosoever well considereth shall find that
+in the body of his work, though the inside and strength were philosophy,
+the skin, as it were, and beauty depended most of poetry.  For all stands
+upon dialogues; wherein he feigns many honest burgesses of Athens
+speaking of such matters that if they had been set on the rack they would
+never have confessed them; besides, his poetical describing the
+circumstances of their meetings, as the well-ordering of a banquet, the
+delicacy of a walk, with interlacing mere tiles, as Gyges’s Ring, {7} and
+others; which, who knows not to be flowers of poetry, did never walk into
+Apollo’s garden.
+
+And {8} even historiographers, although their lips sound of things done,
+and verity be written in their foreheads, have been glad to borrow both
+fashion and, perchance, weight of the poets; so Herodotus entitled the
+books of his history by the names of the Nine Muses; and both he, and all
+the rest that followed him, either stole or usurped, of poetry, their
+passionate describing of passions, the many particularities of battles
+which no man could affirm; or, if that be denied me, long orations, put
+in the months of great kings and captains, which it is certain they never
+pronounced.
+
+So that, truly, neither philosopher nor historiographer could, at the
+first, have entered into the gates of popular judgments, if they had not
+taken a great disport of poetry; which in all nations, at this day, where
+learning flourisheth not, is plain to be seen; in all which they have
+some feeling of poetry.  In Turkey, besides their lawgiving divines they
+have no other writers but poets.  In our neighbour-country Ireland,
+where, too, learning goes very bare, yet are their poets held in a devout
+reverence.  Even among the most barbarous and simple Indians, where no
+writing is, yet have they their poets who make and sing songs, which they
+call “Arentos,” both of their ancestor’s deeds and praises of their gods.
+A sufficient probability, that if ever learning comes among them, it must
+be by having their hard dull wits softened and sharpened with the sweet
+delight of poetry; for until they find a pleasure in the exercise of the
+mind, great promises of much knowledge will little persuade them that
+know not the fruits of knowledge.  In Wales, the true remnant of the
+ancient Britons, as there are good authorities to show the long time they
+had poets, which they called bards, so through all the conquests of
+Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans, some of whom did seek to ruin all
+memory of learning from among them, yet do their poets, even to this day,
+last; so as it is not more notable in the soon beginning than in
+long-continuing.
+
+But since the authors of most of our sciences were the Romans, and before
+them the Greeks, let us, a little, stand upon their authorities; but even
+so far, as to see what names they have given unto this now scorned skill.
+{9}  Among the Romans a poet was called “vates,” which is as much as a
+diviner, foreseer, or prophet, as by his conjoined words “vaticinium,”
+and “vaticinari,” is manifest; so heavenly a title did that excellent
+people bestow upon this heart-ravishing knowledge!  And so far were they
+carried into the admiration thereof, that they thought in the changeable
+hitting upon any such verses, great foretokens of their following
+fortunes were placed.  Whereupon grew the word of sortes Virgilianæ;
+when, by sudden opening Virgil’s book, they lighted upon some verse, as
+it is reported by many, whereof the histories of the Emperors’ lives are
+full.  As of Albinus, the governor of our island, who, in his childhood,
+met with this verse—
+
+    Arma amens capio, nec sat rationis in armis
+
+and in his age performed it.  Although it were a very vain and godless
+superstition; as also it was, to think spirits were commanded by such
+verses; whereupon this word charms, derived of “carmina,” cometh, so yet
+serveth it to show the great reverence those wits were held in; and
+altogether not without ground, since both the oracles of Delphi and the
+Sibyl’s prophecies were wholly delivered in verses; for that same
+exquisite observing of number and measure in the words, and that
+high-flying liberty of conceit proper to the poet, did seem to have some
+divine force in it.
+
+And {10} may not I presume a little farther to show the reasonableness of
+this word “vates,” and say, that the holy David’s Psalms are a divine
+poem?  If I do, I shall not do it without the testimony of great learned
+men, both ancient and modern.  But even the name of Psalms will speak for
+me, which, being interpreted, is nothing but Songs; then, that is fully
+written in metre, as all learned Hebricians agree, although the rules be
+not yet fully found.  Lastly, and principally, his handling his prophecy,
+which is merely poetical.  For what else is the awaking his musical
+instruments; the often and free changing of persons; his notable
+prosopopoeias, when he maketh you, as it were, see God coming in His
+majesty; his telling of the beasts’ joyfulness, and hills leaping; but a
+heavenly poesy, wherein, almost, he sheweth himself a passionate lover of
+that unspeakable and everlasting beauty, to be seen by the eyes of the
+mind, only cleared by faith?  But truly, now, having named him, I fear I
+seem to profane that holy name, applying it to poetry, which is, among
+us, thrown down to so ridiculous an estimation.  But they that, with
+quiet judgments, will look a little deeper into it, shall find the end
+and working of it such, as, being rightly applied, deserveth not to be
+scourged out of the church of God.
+
+But {11} now let us see how the Greeks have named it, and how they deemed
+of it.  The Greeks named him ποιητὴν, which name hath, as the most
+excellent, gone through other languages; it cometh of this word ποιεὶν,
+which is _to make_; wherein, I know not whether by luck or wisdom, we
+Englishmen have met with the Greeks in calling him “a maker,” which name,
+how high and incomparable a title it is, I had rather were known by
+marking the scope of other sciences, than by any partial allegation.
+There is no art delivered unto mankind that hath not the works of nature
+for his principal object, without which they could not consist, and on
+which they so depend as they become actors and players, as it were, of
+what nature will have set forth. {12}  So doth the astronomer look upon
+the stars, and by that he seeth set down what order nature hath taken
+therein.  So doth the geometrician and arithmetician, in their diverse
+sorts of quantities.  So doth the musician, in times, tell you which by
+nature agree, which not.  The natural philosopher thereon hath his name;
+and the moral philosopher standeth upon the natural virtues, vices, or
+passions of man; and follow nature, saith he, therein, and thou shalt not
+err.  The lawyer saith what men have determined.  The historian, what men
+have done.  The grammarian speaketh only of the rules of speech; and the
+rhetorician and logician, considering what in nature will soonest prove
+and persuade, thereon give artificial rules, which still are compassed
+within the circle of a question, according to the proposed matter.  The
+physician weigheth the nature of man’s body, and the nature of things
+helpful and hurtful unto it.  And the metaphysic, though it be in the
+second and abstract notions, and therefore be counted supernatural, yet
+doth he, indeed, build upon the depth of nature.  Only the poet,
+disdaining to be tied to any such subjection, lifted up with the vigour
+of his own invention, doth grow, in effect, into another nature; in
+making things either better than nature bringeth forth, or quite anew;
+forms such as never were in nature, as the heroes, demi-gods, Cyclops,
+chimeras, furies, and such like; so as he goeth hand in hand with Nature,
+not enclosed within the narrow warrant of her gifts, but freely ranging
+within the zodiac of his own wit. {13}   Nature never set forth the earth
+in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done; neither with so pleasant
+rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flowers, nor whatsoever else may
+make the too-much-loved earth more lovely; her world is brazen, the poets
+only deliver a golden.
+
+But let those things alone, and go to man; {14} for whom as the other
+things are, so it seemeth in him her uttermost cunning is employed; and
+know, whether she have brought forth so true a lover as Theagenes; so
+constant a friend as Pylades; so valiant a man as Orlando; so right a
+prince as Xenophon’s Cyrus; and so excellent a man every way as Virgil’s
+Æneas?  Neither let this be jestingly conceived, because the works of the
+one be essential, the other in imitation or fiction; for every
+understanding knoweth the skill of each artificer standeth in that idea,
+or fore-conceit of the work, and not in the work itself.  And that the
+poet hath that idea is manifest by delivering them forth in such
+excellency as he had imagined them; which delivering forth, also, is not
+wholly imaginative, as we are wont to say by them that build castles in
+the air; but so far substantially it worketh not only to make a Cyrus,
+which had been but a particular excellency, as nature might have done;
+but to bestow a Cyrus upon the world to make many Cyruses; if they will
+learn aright, why, and how, that maker made him.  Neither let it be
+deemed too saucy a comparison to balance the highest point of man’s wit
+with the efficacy of nature; but rather give right honour to the heavenly
+Maker of that maker, who having made man to His own likeness, set him
+beyond and over all the works of that second nature; which in nothing he
+showeth so much as in poetry; when, with the force of a divine breath, he
+bringeth things forth surpassing her doings, with no small arguments to
+the incredulous of that first accursed fall of Adam; since our erected
+wit maketh us know what perfection is, and yet our infected will keepeth
+us from reaching unto it.  But these arguments will by few be understood,
+and by fewer granted; thus much I hope will be given me, that the Greeks,
+with some probability of reason, gave him the name above all names of
+learning.
+
+Now {15} let us go to a more ordinary opening of him, that the truth may
+be the more palpable; and so, I hope, though we get not so unmatched a
+praise as the etymology of his names will grant, yet his very
+description, which no man will deny, shall not justly be barred from a
+principal commendation.
+
+Poesy, {16} therefore, is an art of imitation; for so Aristotle termeth
+it in the word μίμησις; that is to say, a representing, counterfeiting,
+or figuring forth: to speak metaphorically, a speaking picture, with this
+end, to teach and delight.
+
+Of {17} this have been three general kinds: the _chief_, both in
+antiquity and excellency, which they that did imitate the inconceivable
+excellencies of God; such were David in the Psalms; Solomon in the Song
+of Songs, in his Ecclesiastes, and Proverbs; Moses and Deborah in their
+hymns; and the writer of Job; which, beside others, the learned Emanuel
+Tremellius and Fr. Junius do entitle the poetical part of the scripture;
+against these none will speak that hath the Holy Ghost in due holy
+reverence.  In this kind, though in a wrong divinity, were Orpheus,
+Amphion, Homer in his hymns, and many others, both Greeks and Romans.
+And this poesy must be used by whosoever will follow St. Paul’s counsel,
+in singing psalms when they are merry; and I know is used with the fruit
+of comfort by some, when, in sorrowful pangs of their death-bringing
+sins, they find the consolation of the never-leaving goodness.
+
+The {18} _second_ kind is of them that deal with matter philosophical;
+either moral, as Tyrtæus, Phocylides, Cato, or, natural, as Lucretius,
+Virgil’s Georgics; or astronomical, as Manilius {19} and Pontanus; or
+historical, as Lucan; which who mislike, the fault is in their judgment,
+quite out of taste, and not in the sweet food of sweetly uttered
+knowledge.
+
+But because this second sort is wrapped within the fold of the proposed
+subject, and takes not the free course of his own invention; whether they
+properly be poets or no, let grammarians dispute, and go to the _third_,
+{20} indeed right poets, of whom chiefly this question ariseth; betwixt
+whom and these second is such a kind of difference, as betwixt the meaner
+sort of painters, who counterfeit only such faces as are set before them;
+and the more excellent, who having no law but wit, bestow that in colours
+upon you which is fittest for the eye to see; as the constant, though
+lamenting look of Lucretia, when she punished in herself another’s fault;
+wherein he painteth not Lucretia, whom he never saw, but painteth the
+outward beauty of such a virtue.  For these three be they which most
+properly do imitate to teach and delight; and to imitate, borrow nothing
+of what is, hath been, or shall be; but range only, reined with learned
+discretion, into the divine consideration of what may be, and should be.
+These be they, that, as the first and most noble sort, may justly be
+termed “vates;” so these are waited on in the excellentest languages and
+best understandings, with the fore-described name of poets.  For these,
+indeed, do merely make to imitate, and imitate both to delight and teach,
+and delight to move men to take that goodness in hand, which, without
+delight they would fly as from a stranger; and teach to make them know
+that goodness whereunto they are moved; which being the noblest scope to
+which ever any learning was directed, yet want there not idle tongues to
+bark at them.
+
+These {21} be subdivided into sundry more special denominations; the most
+notable be the heroic, lyric, tragic, comic, satyric, iambic, elegiac,
+pastoral, and certain others; some of these being termed according to the
+matter they deal with; some by the sort of verse they like best to write
+in; for, indeed, the greatest part of poets have apparelled their
+poetical inventions in that numerous kind of writing which is called
+verse.  Indeed, but apparelied verse, being but an ornament, and no cause
+to poetry, since there have been many most excellent poets that never
+versified, and now swarm many versifiers that need never answer to the
+name of poets. {22}  For Xenophon, who did imitate so excellently as to
+give us _effigiem justi imperii_, the portraiture of a just of Cyrus, as
+Cicero saith of him, made therein an absolute heroical poem.  So did
+Heliodorus, {23} in his sugared invention of Theagenes and Chariclea; and
+yet both these wrote in prose; which I speak to show, that it is not
+rhyming and versing that maketh a poet (no more than a long gown maketh
+an advocate, who, though he pleaded in armour should be an advocate and
+no soldier); but it is that feigning notable images of virtues, vices, or
+what else, with that delightful teaching, which must be the right
+describing note to know a poet by.  Although, indeed, the senate of poets
+have chosen verse as their fittest raiment; meaning, as in matter they
+passed all in all, so in manner to go beyond them; not speaking
+table-talk fashion, or like men in a dream, words as they changeably fall
+from the mouth, but piecing each syllable of each word by just
+proportion, according to the dignity of the subject.
+
+Now, {24} therefore, it shall not be amiss, first, to weight this latter
+sort of poetry by his _works_, and then by his _parts_; and if in neither
+of these anatomies he be commendable, I hope we shall receive a more
+favourable sentence.  This purifying of wit, this enriching of memory,
+enabling of judgment, and enlarging of conceit, which commonly we call
+learning under what name soever it come forth, or to what immediate end
+soever it be directed; the final end is, to lead and draw us to as high a
+perfection as our degenerate souls, made worse by, their clay lodgings,
+{25} can be capable of.  This, according to the inclination of man, bred
+many formed impressions; for some that thought this felicity principally
+to be gotten by knowledge, and no knowledge to be so high or heavenly as
+to be acquainted with the stars, gave themselves to astronomy; others,
+persuading themselves to be demi-gods, if they knew the causes of things,
+became natural and supernatural philosophers.  Some an admirable delight
+drew to music, and some the certainty of demonstrations to the
+mathematics; but all, one and other, having this scope to know, and by
+knowledge to lift up the mind from the dungeon of the body to the
+enjoying his own divine essence.  But when, by the balance of experience,
+it was found that the astronomer, looking to the stars, might fall in a
+ditch; that the enquiring philosopher might be blind in himself; and the
+mathematician might draw forth a straight line with a crooked heart; then
+lo! did proof, the over-ruler of opinions, make manifest that all these
+are but serving sciences, which, as they have a private end in
+themselves, so yet are they all directed to the highest end of the
+mistress knowledge, by the Greeks called ἀρχιτεκτονικὴ, which stands, as
+I think, in the knowledge of a man’s self; in the ethic and politic
+consideration, with the end of well doing, and not of well knowing only;
+even as the saddler’s next end is to make a good saddle, but his farther
+end to serve a nobler faculty, which is horsemanship; so the horseman’s
+to soldiery; and the soldier not only to have the skill, but to perform
+the practice of a soldier.  So that the ending end of all earthly
+learning being virtuous action, those skills that most serve to bring
+forth that have a most just title to be princes over all the rest;
+wherein, if we can show it rightly, the poet is worthy to have it before
+any other competitors. {26}
+
+Among {27} whom principally to challenge it, step forth the moral
+philosophers; whom, methinks, I see coming toward me with a sullen
+gravity (as though they could not abide vice by daylight), rudely
+clothed, for to witness outwardly their contempt of outward things, with
+books in their hands against glory, whereto they set their names;
+sophistically speaking against subtlety, and angry with any man in whom
+they see the foul fault of anger.  These men, casting largesses as they
+go, of definitions, divisions, and distinctions, with a scornful
+interrogative do soberly ask: Whether it be possible to find any path so
+ready to lead a man to virtue, as that which teacheth what virtue is; and
+teacheth it not only by delivering forth his very being, his causes and
+effects; but also by making known his enemy, vice, which must be
+destroyed; and his cumbersome servant, passion, which must be mastered,
+by showing the generalities that contain it, and the specialities that
+are derived from it; lastly, by plain setting down how it extends itself
+out of the limits of a man’s own little world, to the government of
+families, and maintaining of public societies?
+
+The historian {28} scarcely gives leisure to the moralist to say so much,
+but that he (laden with old mouse-eaten records, authórizing {29}
+himself, for the most part, upon other histories, whose greatest
+authorities are built upon the notable foundation of hearsay, having much
+ado to accord differing writers, and to pick truth out of partiality;
+better acquainted with a thousand years ago than with the present age,
+and yet better knowing how this world goes than how his own wit runs;
+curious for antiquities, and inquisitive of novelties, a wonder to young
+folks, and a tyrant in table-talk) denieth, in a great chafe, that any
+man for teaching of virtue and virtuous actions, is comparable to him.  I
+am “Testis temporum, lux veritatis, vita memoriæ, magistra vitæ, nuncia
+vetustatis.” {30}  The philosopher, saith he, teacheth a disputative
+virtue, but I do an active; his virtue is excellent in the dangerless
+academy of Plato, but mine showeth forth her honourable face in the
+battles of Marathon, Pharsalia, Poictiers, and Agincourt: he teacheth
+virtue by certain abstract considerations; but I only bid you follow the
+footing of them that have gone before you: old-aged experience goeth
+beyond the fine-witted philosopher; but I give the experience of many
+ages.  Lastly, if he make the song book, I put the learner’s hand to the
+lute; and if he be the guide, I am the light.  Then would he allege you
+innumerable examples, confirming story by stories, how much the wisest
+senators and princes have been directed by the credit of history, as
+Brutus, Alphonsus of Aragon (and who not? if need be).  At length, the
+long line of their disputation makes a point in this, that the one giveth
+the precept, and the other the example.
+
+Now {31} whom shall we find, since the question standeth for the highest
+form in the school of learning, to be moderator?  Truly, as me seemeth,
+the poet; and if not a moderator, even the man that ought to carry the
+title from them both, and much more from all other serving sciences.
+Therefore compare we the poet with the historian, and with the moral
+philosopher; and if he go beyond them both, no other human skill can
+match him; for as for the Divine, with all reverence, he is ever to be
+excepted, not only for having his scope as far beyond any of these, as
+eternity exceedeth a moment, but even for passing each of these in
+themselves; and for the lawyer, though “Jus” be the daughter of Justice,
+the chief of virtues, yet because he seeks to make men good rather
+“formidine pœnæ” than “virtutis amore,” or, to say righter, doth not
+endeavour to make men good, but that their evil hurt not others, having
+no care, so he be a good citizen, how bad a man he be: therefore, as our
+wickedness maketh him necessary, and necessity maketh him honourable, so
+is he not in the deepest truth to stand in rank with these, who all
+endeavour to take naughtiness away, and plant goodness even in the
+secretest cabinet of our souls.  And these four are all that any way deal
+in the consideration of men’s manners, which being the supreme knowledge,
+they that best breed it deserve the best commendation.
+
+The philosopher, therefore, and the historian are they which would win
+the goal, the one by precept, the other by example; but both, not having
+both, do both halt.  For the philosopher, setting down with thorny
+arguments the bare rule, is so hard of utterance, and so misty to be
+conceived, that one that hath no other guide but him shall wade in him
+until he be old, before he shall find sufficient cause to be honest.  For
+his knowledge standeth so upon the abstract and general, that happy is
+that man who may understand him, and more happy that can apply what he
+doth understand.  On the other side the historian, wanting the precept,
+is so tied, not to what should be, but to what is; to the particular
+truth of things, and not to the general reason of things; that his
+example draweth no necessary consequence, and therefore a less fruitful
+doctrine.
+
+Now {32} doth the peerless poet perform both; for whatsoever the
+philosopher saith should be done, he giveth a perfect picture of it, by
+some one by whom he pre-supposeth it was done, so as he coupleth the
+general notion with the particular example.  A perfect picture, I say;
+for he yieldeth to the powers of the mind an image of that whereof the
+philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description, which doth neither
+strike, pierce, nor possess the sight of the soul, so much as that other
+doth.  For as, in outward things, to a man that had never seen an
+elephant, or a rhinoceros, who should tell him most exquisitely all their
+shape, colour, bigness, and particular marks? or of a gorgeous palace, an
+architect, who, declaring the full beauties, might well make the hearer
+able to repeat, as it were, by rote, all he had heard, yet should never
+satisfy his inward conceit, with being witness to itself of a true living
+knowledge; but the same man, as soon as he might see those beasts well
+painted, or that house well in model, should straightway grow, without
+need of any description, to a judicial comprehending of them; so, no
+doubt, the philosopher, with his learned definitions, be it of virtue or
+vices, matters of public policy or private government, replenisheth the
+memory with many infallible grounds of wisdom, which, notwithstanding,
+lie dark before the imaginative and judging power, if they be not
+illuminated or figured forth by the speaking picture of poesy.
+
+Tully taketh much pains, and many times not without poetical help, to
+make us know the force love of our country hath in us.  Let us but hear
+old Anchises, speaking in the midst of Troy’s flames, or see Ulysses, in
+the fulness of all Calypso’s delights, bewail his absence from barren and
+beggarly Ithaca.  Anger, the Stoics said, was a short madness; let but
+Sophocles bring you Ajax on a stage, killing or whipping sheep and oxen,
+thinking them the army of Greeks, with their chieftains Agamemnon and
+Menelaus; and tell me, if you have not a more familiar insight into
+anger, than finding in the schoolmen his genus and difference?  See
+whether wisdom and temperance in Ulysses and Diomedes, valour in
+Achilles, friendship in Nisus and Euryalus, even to an ignorant man,
+carry not an apparent shining; and, contrarily, the remorse of conscience
+in Œdipus; the soon-repenting pride in Agamemnon; the self-devouring
+cruelty in his father Atreus; the violence of ambition in the two Theban
+brothers; the sour sweetness of revenge in Medea; and, to fall lower, the
+Terentian Gnatho, and our Chaucer’s Pandar, so expressed, that we now use
+their names to signify their trades; and finally, all virtues, vices, and
+passions so in their own natural states laid to the view, that we seem
+not to hear of them, but clearly to see through them?
+
+But even in the most excellent determination of goodness, what
+philosopher’s counsel can so readily direct a prince as the feigned Cyrus
+in Xenophon?  Or a virtuous man in all fortunes, as Æneas in Virgil?  Or
+a whole commonwealth, as the way of Sir Thomas More’s Utopia?  I say the
+way, because where Sir Thomas More erred, it was the fault of the man,
+and not of the poet; for that way of patterning a commonwealth was most
+absolute, though he, perchance, hath not so absolutely performed it.  For
+the question is, whether the feigned image of poetry, or the regular
+instruction of philosophy, hath the more force in teaching.  Wherein, if
+the philosophers have more rightly showed themselves philosophers, than
+the poets have attained to the high top of their profession, (as in
+truth,
+
+                “Mediocribus esse poëtis
+    Non Dî, non homines, non concessere columnæ,” {33})
+
+it is, I say again, not the fault of the art, but that by few men that
+art can be accomplished.  Certainly, even our Saviour Christ could as
+well have given the moral common-places {34} of uncharitableness and
+humbleness, as the divine narration of Dives and Lazarus; or of
+disobedience and mercy, as the heavenly discourse of the lost child and
+the gracious father; but that his thorough searching wisdom knew the
+estate of Dives burning in hell, and of Lazarus in Abraham’s bosom, would
+more constantly, as it were, inhabit both the memory and judgment.
+Truly, for myself (me seems), I see before mine eyes the lost child’s
+disdainful prodigality turned to envy a swine’s dinner; which, by the
+learned divines, are thought not historical acts, but instructing
+parables.
+
+For conclusion, I say the philosopher teacheth, but he teacheth
+obscurely, so as the learned only can understand him; that is to say, he
+teacheth them that are already taught.  But the poet is the food for the
+tenderest stomachs; the poet is, indeed, the right popular philosopher.
+Whereof Æsop’s tales give good proof; whose pretty allegories, stealing
+under the formal tales of beasts, make many, more beastly than beasts,
+begin to hear the sound of virtue from those dumb speakers.
+
+But now may it be alleged, that if this managing of matters be so fit for
+the imagination, then must the historian needs surpass, who brings you
+images of true matters, such as, indeed, were done, and not such as
+fantastically or falsely may be suggested to have been done.  Truly,
+Aristotle himself, in his Discourse of Poesy, plainly determineth this
+question, saying, that poetry is φιλοσοφώτερον καὶ πσουδαιότεοον, that is
+to say, it is more philosophical and more ingenious than history.  His
+reason is, because poesy dealeth with καθολου, that is to say, with the
+universal consideration, and the history καθ ἔκαστον, the particular.
+“Now,” saith he, “the universal weighs what is fit to be said or done,
+either in likelihood or necessity; which the poesy considereth in his
+imposed names; and the particular only marks, whether Alcibiades did, or
+suffered, this or that:” thus far Aristotle. {35}  Which reason of his,
+as all his, is most full of reason.  For, indeed, if the question were,
+whether it were better to have a particular act truly or falsely set
+down? there is no doubt which is to be chosen, no more than whether you
+had rather have Vespasian’s picture right as he was, or, at the painter’s
+pleasure, nothing resembling?  But if the question be, for your own use
+and learning, whether it be better to have it set down as it should be,
+or as it was? then, certainly, is more doctrinable the feigned Cyrus in
+Xenophon, than the true Cyrus in Justin; {36} and the feigned Æneas in
+Virgil, than the right Æneas in Dares Phrygius; {37} as to a lady that
+desired to fashion her countenance to the best grace, a painter should
+more benefit her, to portrait a most sweet face, writing Canidia upon it,
+than to paint Canidia as she was, who, Horace sweareth, was full
+ill-favoured.  If the poet do his part aright, he will show you in
+Tantalus, Atreus, and such like, nothing that is not to be shunned; in
+Cyrus, Æneas, Ulysses, each thing to be followed; where the historian,
+bound to tell things as things were, cannot be liberal, without he will
+be poetical, of a perfect pattern; but, as in Alexander, or Scipio
+himself, show doings, some to be liked, some to be misliked; and then how
+will you discern what to follow, but by your own discretion, which you
+had, without reading Q. Curtius? {38}  And whereas, a man may say, though
+in universal consideration of doctrine, the poet prevaileth, yet that the
+history, in his saying such a thing was done, doth warrant a man more in
+that he shall follow; the answer is manifest: that if he stand upon that
+_was_, as if he should argue, because it rained yesterday therefore it
+should rain to-day; then, indeed, hath it some advantage to a gross
+conceit.  But if he know an example only enforms a conjectured
+likelihood, and so go by reason, the poet doth so far exceed him, as he
+is to frame his example to that which is most reasonable, be it in
+warlike, politic, or private matters; where the historian in his bare
+_was_ hath many times that which we call fortune to overrule the best
+wisdom.  Many times he must tell events whereof he can yield no cause; or
+if he do, it must be poetically.
+
+For, that a feigned example bath as much force to teach as a true example
+(for as for to move, it is clear, since the feigned may be tuned to the
+highest key of passion), let us take one example wherein an historian and
+a poet did concur.  Herodotus and Justin do both testify, that Zopyrus,
+King Darius’s faithful servant, seeing his master long resisted by the
+rebellious Babylonians, feigned himself in extreme disgrace of his King;
+for verifying of which he caused his own nose and ears to be cut off, and
+so flying to the Babylonians, was received; and, for his known valour, so
+far credited, that he did find means to deliver them over to Darius.
+Much-like matters doth Livy record of Tarquinius and his son.  Xenophon
+excellently feigned such another stratagem, performed by Abradatus in
+Cyrus’s behalf.  Now would I fain know, if occasion be presented unto you
+to serve your prince by such an honest dissimulation, why do you not as
+well learn it of Xenophon’s fiction as of the other’s verity? and, truly,
+so much the better, as you shall save your nose by the bargain; for
+Abradatus did not counterfeit so far.  So, then, the best of the
+historians is subject to the poet; for, whatsoever action or faction,
+whatsoever counsel, policy, or war stratagem the historian is bound to
+recite, that may the poet, if he list, with his imitation, make his own,
+beautifying it both for farther teaching, and more delighting, as it
+please him: having all, from Dante’s heaven to his hell, under the
+authority of his pen.  Which if I be asked, What poets have done so? as I
+might well name some, so yet, say I, and say again, I speak of the art,
+and not of the artificer.
+
+Now, to that which commonly is attributed to the praise of history, in
+respect of the notable learning which is got by marking the success, as
+though therein a man should see virtue exalted, and vice punished: truly,
+that commendation is peculiar to poetry, and far off from history; for,
+indeed, poetry ever sets virtue so out in her best colours, making
+fortune her well-waiting handmaid, that one must needs be enamoured of
+her.  Well may you see Ulysses in a storm, and in other hard plights; but
+they are but exercises of patience and magnanimity, to make them shine
+the more in the near following prosperity.  And, on the contrary part, if
+evil men come to the stage, they ever go out (as the tragedy writer
+answered to one that misliked the show of such persons) so manacled, as
+they little animate folks to follow them.  But history being captive to
+the truth of a foolish world, in many times a terror from well-doing, and
+an encouragement to unbridled wickedness.  For see we not valiant
+Miltiades rot in his fetters? the just Phocion and the accomplished
+Socrates put to death like traitors? the cruel Severus live prosperously?
+the excellent Severus miserably murdered?  Sylla and Marius dying in
+their beds?  Pompey and Cicero slain then when they would have thought
+exile a happiness?  See we not virtuous Cato driven to kill himself, and
+rebel Cæsar so advanced, that his name yet, after sixteen hundred years,
+lasteth in the highest honour?  And mark but even Cæsar’s own words of
+the forenamed Sylla, (who in that only did honestly, to put down his
+dishonest tyranny), “literas nescivit:” as if want of learning caused him
+to do well.  He meant it not by poetry, which, not content with earthly
+plagues, deviseth new punishment in hell for tyrants: nor yet by
+philosophy, which teacheth “occidentes esse:” but, no doubt, by skill in
+history; for that, indeed, can afford you Cypselus, Periander, Phalaris,
+Dionysius, and I know not how many more of the same kennel, that speed
+well enough in their abominable injustice of usurpation.
+
+I conclude, therefore, that he excelleth history, not only in furnishing
+the mind with knowledge, but in setting it forward to that which deserves
+to be called and accounted good: which setting forward, and moving to
+well-doing, indeed, setteth the laurel crowns upon the poets as
+victorious; not only of the historian, but over the philosopher,
+howsoever, in teaching, it may be questionable.  For suppose it be
+granted, that which I suppose, with great reason, may be denied, that the
+philosopher, in respect of his methodical proceeding, teach more
+perfectly than the poet, yet do I think, that no man is so much
+φιλοφιλόσοφος, as to compare the philosopher in moving with the poet.
+And that moving is of a higher degree than teaching, it may by this
+appear, that it is well nigh both the cause and effect of teaching; for
+who will be taught, if he be not moved with desire to be taught?  And
+what so much good doth that teaching bring forth (I speak still of moral
+doctrine) as that it moveth one to do that which it doth teach.  For, as
+Aristotle saith, it is not γνῶσις but πράξις {39} must be the fruit: and
+how πράξις can be, without being moved to practise, it is no hard matter
+to consider.  The philosopher showeth you the way, he informeth you of
+the particularities, as well of the tediousness of the way and of the
+pleasant lodging you shall have when your journey is ended, as of the
+many by-turnings that may divert you from your way; but this is to no
+man, but to him that will read him, and read him with attentive, studious
+painfulness; which constant desire whosoever hath in him, hath already
+passed half the hardness of the way, and therefore is beholden to the
+philosopher but for the other half.  Nay, truly, learned men have
+learnedly thought, that where once reason hath so much over-mastered
+passion, as that the mind hath a free desire to do well, the inward light
+each mind hath in itself is as good as a philosopher’s book: since in
+nature we know it is well to do well, and what is well and what is evil,
+although not in the words of art which philosophers bestow upon us; for
+out of natural conceit the philosophers drew it; but to be moved to do
+that which we know, or to be moved with desire to know, “hoc opus, hic
+labor est.”
+
+Now, {40} therein, of all sciences (I speak still of human and according
+to the human conceit), is our poet the monarch.  For he doth not only
+show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice
+any man to enter into it; nay, he doth, as if your journey should lie
+through a fair vineyard, at the very first give you a cluster of grapes,
+that full of that taste you may long to pass farther.  He beginneth not
+with obscure definitions, which must blur the margin with
+interpretations, and load the memory with doubtfulness, but he cometh to
+you with words set in delightful proportion, either accompanied with, or
+prepared for, the well-enchanting skill of music; and with a tale,
+forsooth, he cometh unto you with a tale which holdeth children from
+play, and old men from the chimney-corner; {41} and, pretending no more,
+doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue; even as
+the child is often brought to take most wholesome things, by hiding them
+in such other as have a pleasant taste; which, if one should begin to
+tell them the nature of the aloes or rhubarbarum they should receive,
+would sooner take their physic at their ears than at their mouth; so it
+is in men (most of them are childish in the best things, till they be
+cradled in their graves); glad they will be to hear the tales of
+Hercules, Achilles, Cyrus, Æneas; and hearing them, must needs hear the
+right description of wisdom, valour, and justice; which, if they had been
+barely (that is to say, philosophically) set out, they would swear they
+be brought to school again.  That imitation whereof poetry is, hath the
+most conveniency to nature of all other; insomuch that, as Aristotle
+saith, those things which in themselves are horrible, as cruel battles,
+unnatural monsters, are made, in poetical imitation, delightful.  Truly,
+I have known men, that even with reading Amadis de Gaule, which, God
+knoweth, wanteth much of a perfect poesy, have found their hearts moved
+to the exercise of courtesy, liberality, and especially courage.  Who
+readeth Æneas carrying old Anchises on his back, that wisheth not it were
+his fortune to perform so excellent an act?  Whom doth not those words of
+Turnus move (the tale of Turnus having planted his image in the
+imagination)
+
+          “—fugientem hæc terra videbit?
+    Usque adeone mori miserum est?” {42}
+
+Where the philosophers (as they think) scorn to delight, so much they be
+content little to move, saving wrangling whether “virtus” be the chief or
+the only good; whether the contemplative or the active life do excel;
+which Plato and Boetius well knew; and therefore made mistress Philosophy
+very often borrow the masking raiment of poesy.  For even those
+hard-hearted evil men, who think virtue a school-name, and know no other
+good but “indulgere genio,” and therefore despise the austere admonitions
+of the philosopher, and feel not the inward reason they stand upon; yet
+will be content to be delighted, which is all the good-fellow poet seems
+to promise; and so steal to see the form of goodness, which seen, they
+cannot but love, ere themselves be aware, as if they took a medicine of
+cherries.
+
+Infinite {43} proofs of the strange effects of this poetical invention
+might be alleged; only two shall serve, which are so often remembered,
+as, I think, all men know them.  The one of Menenius Agrippa, who, when
+the whole people of Rome had resolutely divided themselves from the
+senate, with apparent show of utter ruin, though he were, for that time,
+an excellent orator, came not among them upon trust, either of figurative
+speeches, or cunning insinuations, and much less with far-fetched maxims
+of philosophy, which, especially if they were Platonic, they must have
+learned geometry before they could have conceived; but, forsooth, he
+behaveth himself like a homely and familiar poet.  He telleth them a
+tale, that there was a time when all the parts of the body made a
+mutinous conspiracy against the belly, which they thought devoured the
+fruits of each other’s labour; they concluded they would let so
+unprofitable a spender starve.  In the end, to be short (for the tale is
+notorious, and as notorious that it was a tale), with punishing the belly
+they plagued themselves.  This, applied by him, wrought such effect in
+the people as I never read that only words brought forth; but then so
+sudden, and so good an alteration, for upon reasonable conditions a
+perfect reconcilement ensued.
+
+The other is of Nathan the prophet, who, when the holy David had so far
+forsaken God, as to confirm adultery with murder, when he was to do the
+tenderest office of a friend, in laying his own shame before his eyes,
+being sent by God to call again so chosen a servant, how doth he it? but
+by telling of a man whose beloved lamb was ungratefully taken from his
+bosom.  The application most divinely true, but the discourse itself
+feigned; which made David (I speak of the second and instrumental cause)
+as in a glass see his own filthiness, as that heavenly psalm of mercy
+well testifieth.
+
+By these, therefore, examples and reasons, I think it may be manifest
+that the poet, with that same hand of delight, doth draw the mind more
+effectually than any other art doth.  And so a conclusion not unfitly
+ensues; that as virtue is the most excellent resting-place for all
+worldly learning to make his end of, so poetry, being the most familiar
+to teach it, and most princely to move towards it, in the most excellent
+work is the most excellent workman.
+
+But I am content not only to decipher him by his works (although works in
+commendation and dispraise must ever hold a high authority), but more
+narrowly will examine his parts; so that (as in a man) though all
+together may carry a presence full of majesty and beauty perchance in
+some one defectious {44} piece we may find blemish.
+
+Now, {45} in his parts, kinds, or species, as you list to term them, it
+is to be noted that some poesies have coupled together two or three
+kinds; as the tragical and comical, whereupon is risen the tragi-comical;
+some, in the manner, have mingled prose and verse, as Sannazaro and
+Boetius; some have mingled matters heroical and pastoral; but that cometh
+all to one in this question; for, if severed they be good, the
+conjunction cannot be hurtful.  Therefore, perchance, forgetting some,
+and leaving some as needless to be remembered, it shall not be amiss, in
+a word, to cite the special kinds, to see what faults may be found in the
+right use of them.
+
+Is it, then, the pastoral poem which is misliked? {46}  For, perchance,
+where the hedge is lowest, they will soonest leap over.  Is the poor pipe
+disdained, which sometimes, out of Melibæus’s mouth, can show the misery
+of people under hard lords and ravening soldiers?  And again, by Tityrus,
+what blessedness is derived to them that lie lowest from the goodness of
+them that sit highest?  Sometimes under the pretty tales of wolves and
+sheep, can include the whole considerations of wrong doing and patience;
+sometimes show, that contentions for trifles can get but a trifling
+victory; where, perchance, a man may see that even Alexander and Darius,
+when they strove who should be cock of this world’s dunghill, the benefit
+they got was, that the after-livers may say,
+
+    “Hæc memini, et victum frustra contendere Thyrsim.
+    Ex illo Corydon, Corydon est tempore nobis.” {47}
+
+Or is it the lamenting elegiac, {48} which, in a kind heart, would move
+rather pity than blame; who bewaileth, with the great philosopher
+Heraclitus, the weakness of mankind, and the wretchedness of the world;
+who, surely, is to be praised, either for compassionately accompanying
+just causes of lamentations, or for rightly pointing out how weak be the
+passions of wofulness?
+
+Is it the bitter, but wholesome iambic, {49} who rubs the galled mind,
+making shame the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crying out
+against naughtiness?
+
+Or the satiric? who,
+
+    “Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit amico;” {50}
+
+who sportingly never leaveth, until he make a man laugh at folly, and, at
+length, ashamed to laugh at himself, which he cannot avoid without
+avoiding the folly; who, while “circum præcordia ludit,” giveth us to
+feel how many headaches a passionate life bringeth us to; who when all is
+done,
+
+    “Est Ulubris, animus si nos non deficit æquus.” {51}
+
+No, perchance, it is the comic; {52} whom naughty play-makers and
+stage-keepers have justly made odious.  To the arguments of abuse I will
+after answer; only thus much now is to be said, that the comedy is an
+imitation of the common errors of our life, which he representeth in the
+most ridiculous and scornful sort that may be; so as it is impossible
+that any beholder can be content to be such a one.  Now, as in geometry,
+the oblique must be known as well as the right, and in arithmetic, the
+odd as well as the even; so in the actions of our life, who seeth not the
+filthiness of evil, wanteth a great foil to perceive the beauty of
+virtue.  This doth the comedy handle so, in our private and domestical
+matters, as, with hearing it, we get, as it were, an experience of what
+is to be looked for, of a niggardly Demea, of a crafty Davus, of a
+flattering Gnatho, of a vain-glorious Thraso; and not only to know what
+effects are to be expected, but to know who be such, by the signifying
+badge given them by the comedian.  And little reason hath any man to say,
+that men learn the evil by seeing it so set out; since, as I said before,
+there is no man living, but by the force truth hath in nature, no sooner
+seeth these men play their parts, but wisheth them in “pistrinum;” {53}
+although, perchance, the sack of his own faults lie so behind his back,
+that he seeth not himself to dance in the same measure, whereto yet
+nothing can more open his eyes than to see his own actions contemptibly
+set forth; so that the right use of comedy will, I think, by nobody be
+blamed.
+
+And much less of the high and excellent tragedy, {54} that openeth the
+greatest wounds, and showeth forth the ulcers that are covered with
+tissue; that maketh kings fear to be tyrants, and tyrants to manifest
+their tyrannical humours; that with stirring the effects of admiration
+and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this world, and upon how
+weak foundations gilded roofs are builded; that maketh us know, “qui
+sceptra sævus duro imperio regit, timet timentes, metus in authorem
+redit.”  But how much it can move, Plutarch yielded a notable testimony
+of the abominable tyrant Alexander Pheræus; from whose eyes a tragedy,
+well made and represented, drew abundance of tears, who without all pity
+had murdered infinite numbers, and some of his own blood; so as he that
+was not ashamed to make matters for tragedies, yet could not resist the
+sweet violence of a tragedy.  And if it wrought no farther good in him,
+it was that he, in despite of himself, withdrew himself from hearkening
+to that which might mollify his hardened heart.  But it is not the
+tragedy they do dislike, for it were too absurd to cast out so excellent
+a representation of whatsoever is most worthy to be learned.
+
+Is it the lyric that most displeaseth, who with his tuned lyre and
+well-accorded voice, giveth praise, the reward of virtue, to virtuous
+acts? who giveth moral precepts and natural problems? who sometimes
+raiseth up his voice to the height of the heavens, in singing the lauds
+of the immortal God?  Certainly, I must confess mine own barbarousness; I
+never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart
+moved more than with a trumpet; {55} and yet it is sung but by some blind
+crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style; which being so evil
+apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it
+work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar?  In Hungary I have
+seen it the manner at all feasts, and all other such-like meetings, to
+have songs of their ancestors’ valour, which that right soldier-like
+nation think one of the chiefest kindlers of brave courage.  The
+incomparable Lacedæmonians did not only carry that kind of music ever
+with them to the field, but even at home, as such songs were made, so
+were they all content to be singers of them; when the lusty men were to
+tell what they did, the old men what they had done, and the young what
+they would do.  And where a man may say that Pindar many times praiseth
+highly victories of small moment, rather matters of sport than virtue; as
+it may be answered, it was the fault of the poet, and not of the poetry,
+so, indeed, the chief fault was in the time and custom of the Greeks, who
+set those toys at so high a price, that Philip of Macedon reckoned a
+horse-race won at Olympus among three fearful felicities.  But as the
+inimitable Pindar often did, so is that kind most capable, and most fit,
+to awake the thoughts from the sleep of idleness, to embrace honourable
+enterprises.
+
+There rests the heroical, {56} whose very name, I think, should daunt all
+backbiters.  For by what conceit can a tongue be directed to speak evil
+of that which draweth with him no less champions than Achilles, Cyrus,
+Æneas, Turus, Tydeus, Rinaldo? who doth not only teach and move to truth,
+but teacheth and moveth to the most high and excellent truth: who maketh
+magnanimity and justice shine through all misty fearfulness and foggy
+desires? who, if the saying of Plato and Tully be true, that who could
+see virtue, would be wonderfully ravished with the love of her beauty;
+this man setteth her out to make her more lovely, in her holiday apparel,
+to the eye of any that will deign not to disdain until they understand.
+But if any thing be already said in the defence of sweet poetry, all
+concurreth to the maintaining the heroical, which is not only a kind, but
+the best and most accomplished kind, of poetry.  For, as the image of
+each action stirreth and instructeth the mind, so the lofty image of such
+worthies most inflameth the mind with desire to be worthy, and informs
+with counsel how to be worthy.  Only let Æneas be worn in the tablet of
+your memory, how he governeth himself in the ruin of his country; in the
+preserving his old father, and carrying away his religious ceremonies; in
+obeying God’s commandments, to leave Dido, though not only passionate
+kindness, but even the human consideration of virtuous gratefulness,
+would have craved other of him; how in storms, how in sports, how in war,
+how in peace, how a fugitive, how victorious, how besieged, how
+besieging, how to strangers, how to allies, how to enemies; how to his
+own, lastly, how in his inward self, and how in his outward government;
+and I think, in a mind most prejudiced with a prejudicating humour, he
+will be found in excellency fruitful.  Yea, as Horace saith, “Melius
+Chrysippo et Crantore:” {57} but, truly, I imagine it falleth out with
+these poet-whippers as with some good women who often are sick, but in
+faith they cannot tell where.  So the name of poetry is odious to them,
+but neither his cause nor effects, neither the sum that contains him, nor
+the particularities descending from him, give any fast handle to their
+carping dispraise.
+
+Since, then, {58} poetry is of all human learnings the most ancient, and
+of most fatherly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have taken
+their beginnings; since it is so universal that no learned nation doth
+despise it, nor barbarous nation is without it; since both Roman and
+Greek gave such divine names unto it, the one of prophesying, the other
+of making, and that indeed that name of making is fit for him,
+considering, that where all other arts retain themselves within their
+subject, and receive, as it were, their being from it, the poet only,
+only bringeth his own stuff, and doth not learn a conceit out of a
+matter, but maketh matter for a conceit; since neither his description
+nor end containeth any evil, the thing described cannot be evil; since
+his effects be so good as to teach goodness, and delight the learners of
+it; since therein (namely, in moral doctrine, the chief of all
+knowledges) he doth not only far pass the historian, but, for
+instructing, is well nigh comparable to the philosopher; for moving,
+leaveth him behind him; since the Holy Scripture (wherein there is no
+uncleanness) hath whole parts in it poetical, and that even our Saviour
+Christ vouchsafed to use the flowers of it; since all his kinds are not
+only in their united forms, but in their severed dissections fully
+commendable; I think, and think I think rightly, the laurel crown
+appointed for triumphant captains, doth worthily, of all other learnings,
+honour the poet’s triumph.
+
+But {59} because we have ears as well as tongues, and that the lightest
+reasons that may be, will seem to weigh greatly, if nothing be put in the
+counterbalance, let us hear, and, as well as we can, ponder what
+objections be made against this art, which may be worthy either of
+yielding or answering.
+
+First, truly, I note, not only in these μισομούσοι, poet-haters, but in
+all that kind of people who seek a praise by dispraising others, that
+they do prodigally spend a great many wandering words in quips and
+scoffs, carping and taunting at each thing, which, by stirring the
+spleen, may stay the brain from a thorough beholding, the worthiness of
+the subject.  Those kind of objections, as they are full of a very idle
+uneasiness (since there is nothing of so sacred a majesty, but that an
+itching tongue may rub itself upon it), so deserve they no other answer,
+but, instead of laughing at the jest, to laugh at the jester.  We know a
+playing wit can praise the discretion of an ass, the comfortableness of
+being in debt, and the jolly commodities of being sick of the plague; so,
+of the contrary side, if we will turn Ovid’s verse,
+
+    “Ut lateat virtus proximitate mali.”
+
+“That good lies hid in nearness of the evil,” Agrippa will be as merry in
+the showing the Vanity of Science, as Erasmus was in the commending of
+Folly; {60} neither shall any man or matter escape some touch of these
+smiling railers.  But for Erasmus and Agrippa, they had another
+foundation than the superficial part would promise.  Marry, these other
+pleasant fault-finders, who will correct the verb before they understand
+the noun, and confute others’ knowledge before they confirm their own; I
+would have them only remember, that scoffing cometh not of wisdom; so as
+the best title in true English they get with their merriments, is to be
+called good fools; for so have our grave forefathers ever termed that
+humorous kind of jesters.
+
+But that which giveth greatest scope to their scorning humour, is rhyming
+and versing. {61}  It is already said, and, as I think, truly said, it is
+not rhyming and versing that maketh poesy; one may be a poet without
+versing, and a versifier without poetry.  But yet, presuppose it were
+inseparable, as indeed, it seemeth Scaliger judgeth truly, it were an
+inseparable commendation; for if “oratio” next to “ratio,” speech next to
+reason, be the greatest gift bestowed upon mortality, that cannot be
+praiseless which doth most polish that blessing of speech; which
+considereth each word, not only as a man may say by his forcible quality,
+but by his best measured quantity; carrying even in themselves a harmony;
+without, perchance, number, measure, order, proportion be in our time
+grown odious.
+
+But lay aside the just praise it hath, by being the only fit speech for
+music—music, I say, the most divine striker of the senses; thus much is
+undoubtedly true, that if reading be foolish without remembering, memory
+being the only treasure of knowledge, those words which are fittest for
+memory, are likewise most convenient for knowledge.  Now, that verse far
+exceedeth prose in the knitting up of the memory, the reason is manifest:
+the words, besides their delight, which hath a great affinity to memory,
+being so set as one cannot be lost, but the whole work fails: which
+accusing itself, calleth the remembrance back to itself, and so most
+strongly confirmeth it.  Besides, one word so, as it were, begetting
+another, as, be it in rhyme or measured verse, by the former a man shall
+have a near guess to the follower.  Lastly, even they that have taught
+the art of memory, have showed nothing so apt for it as a certain room
+divided into many places, well and thoroughly known; now that hath the
+verse in effect perfectly, every word having his natural seat, which seat
+must needs make the word remembered.  But what needs more in a thing so
+known to all men?  Who is it that ever was a scholar that doth not carry
+away some verses of Virgil, Horace, or Cato, which in his youth he
+learned, and even to his old age serve him for hourly lessons? as,
+
+    “Percontatorem fugito: nam garrulus idem est.
+    Dum sibi quisque placet credula turba sumus.” {62}
+
+But the fitness it hath for memory is notably proved by all delivery of
+arts, wherein, for the most part, from grammar to logic, mathematics,
+physic, and the rest, the rules chiefly necessary to be borne away are
+compiled in verses.  So that verse being in itself sweet and orderly, and
+being best for memory, the only handle of knowledge, it must be in jest
+that any man can speak against it.
+
+Now {63} then go we to the most important imputations laid to the poor
+poets; for aught I can yet learn, they are these.
+
+First, that there being many other more fruitful knowledges, a man might
+better spend his time in them than in this.
+
+Secondly, that it is the mother of lies.
+
+Thirdly, that it is the nurse of abuse, infecting us with many pestilent
+desires, with a syren sweetness, drawing the mind to the serpent’s tail
+of sinful fancies; and herein, especially, comedies give the largest
+field to ear, as Chaucer saith; how, both in other nations and ours,
+before poets did soften us, we were full of courage, given to martial
+exercises, the pillars of manlike liberty, and not lulled asleep in shady
+idleness with poets’ pastimes.
+
+And lastly and chiefly, they cry out with open mouth, as if they had
+overshot Robin Hood, that Plato banished them out of his commonwealth.
+Truly this is much, if there be much truth in it.
+
+First, {64} to the first, that a man might better spend his time, is a
+reason indeed; but it doth, as they say, but “petere principium.” {65}
+For if it be, as I affirm, that no learning is so good as that which
+teacheth and moveth to virtue, and that none can both teach and move
+thereto so much as poesy, then is the conclusion manifest, that ink and
+paper cannot be to a more profitable purpose employed.  And certainly,
+though a man should grant their first assumption, it should follow,
+methinks, very unwillingly, that good is not good because better is
+better.  But I still and utterly deny that there is sprung out of earth a
+more fruitful knowledge.
+
+To {66} the second, therefore, that they should be the principal liars, I
+answer paradoxically, but truly, I think truly, that of all writers under
+the sun, the poet is the least liar; and though he would, as a poet, can
+scarcely be a liar.  The astronomer, with his cousin the geometrician,
+can hardly escape when they take upon them to measure the height of the
+stars.  How often, think you, do the physicians lie, when they aver
+things good for sicknesses, which afterwards send Charon a great number
+of souls drowned in a potion before they come to his ferry.  And no less
+of the rest which take upon them to affirm.  Now for the poet, he nothing
+affirmeth, and therefore never lieth; for, as I take it, to lie is to
+affirm that to be true which is false: so as the other artists, and
+especially the historian, affirmeth many things, can, in the cloudy
+knowledge of mankind, hardly escape from many lies: but the poet, as I
+said before, never affirmeth; the poet never maketh any circles about
+your imagination, to conjure you to believe for true what he writeth: he
+citeth not authorities of other histories, but even for his entry calleth
+the sweet Muses to inspire into him a good invention; in troth, not
+labouring to tell you what is or is not, but what should or should not
+be.  And, therefore, though he recount things not true, yet because he
+telleth them not for true he lieth not; without we will say that Nathan
+lied in his speech, before alleged, to David; which, as a wicked man
+durst scarce say, so think I none so simple would say, that Æsop lied in
+the tales of his beasts; for who thinketh that Æsop wrote it for actually
+true, were well worthy to have his name chronicled among the beasts he
+writeth of.  What child is there that cometh to a play, and seeing Thebes
+written in great letters upon an old door, doth believe that it is
+Thebes?  If then a man can arrive to the child’s age, to know that the
+poet’s persons and doings are but pictures what should be, and not
+stories what have been, they will never give the lie to things not
+affirmatively, but allegorically and figuratively written; and therefore,
+as in history, looking for truth, they may go away full fraught with
+falsehood, so in poesy, looking but for fiction, they shall use the
+narration but as an imaginative ground-plot of a profitable invention.
+
+But hereto is replied, that the poets give names to men they write of,
+which argueth a conceit of an actual truth, and so, not being true,
+proveth a falsehood.  And doth the lawyer lie then, when, under the names
+of John of the Stile, and John of the Nokes, he putteth his case?  But
+that is easily answered, their naming of men is but to make their picture
+the more lively, and not to build any history.  Painting men, they cannot
+leave men nameless; we see we cannot play at chess but that we must give
+names to our chess-men: and yet, methinks, he were a very partial
+champion of truth that would say we lied for giving a piece of wood the
+reverend title of a bishop.  The poet nameth Cyrus and Æneas no other way
+than to show what men of their fames, fortunes, and estates should do.
+
+Their {67} third is, how much it abuseth men’s wit, training it to a
+wanton sinfulness and lustful love.  For, indeed, that is the principal
+if not only abuse I can hear alleged.  They say the comedies rather
+teach, than reprehend, amorous conceits; they say the lyric is larded
+with passionate sonnets; the elegiac weeps the want of his mistress; and
+that even to the heroical Cupid hath ambitiously climbed.  Alas! Love, I
+would thou couldst as well defend thyself, as thou canst offend others!
+I would those on whom thou dost attend, could either put thee away or
+yield good reason why they keep thee!  But grant love of beauty to be a
+beastly fault, although it be very hard, since only man, and no beast,
+hath that gift to discern beauty; grant that lovely name of love to
+deserve all hateful reproaches, although even some of my masters the
+philosophers spent a good deal of their lamp-oil in setting forth the
+excellency of it; grant, I say, what they will have granted, that not
+only love, but lust, but vanity, but, if they list, scurrility, possess
+many leaves of the poets’ books; yet, think I, when this is granted, they
+will find their sentence may, with good manners, put the last words
+foremost; and not say that poetry abuseth man’s wit, but that man’s wit
+abuseth poetry.  For I will not deny but that man’s wit may make poesy,
+which should be φραστικὴ, which some learned have defined, figuring forth
+good things, to be φανταστικὴ, which doth contrariwise infect the fancy
+with unworthy objects; as the painter, who should give to the eye either
+some excellent perspective, or some fine picture fit for building or
+fortification, or containing in it some notable example, as Abraham
+sacrificing his son Isaac, Judith killing Holofernes, David fighting with
+Goliath, may leave those, and please an ill-pleased eye with wanton shows
+of better-hidden matters.
+
+But, what! shall the abuse of a thing make the right use odious?  Nay,
+truly, though I yield that poesy may not only be abused, but that being
+abused, by the reason of his sweet charming force, it can do more hurt
+than any other army of words, yet shall it be so far from concluding,
+that the abuse shall give reproach to the abused, that, contrariwise, it
+is a good reason, that whatsoever being abused, doth most harm, being
+rightly used (and upon the right use each thing receives his title) doth
+most good.  Do we not see skill of physic, the best rampire {68} to our
+often-assaulted bodies, being abused, teach poison, the most violent
+destroyer?  Doth not knowledge of law, whose end is to even and right all
+things, being abused, grow the crooked fosterer of horrible injuries?
+Doth not (to go in the highest) God’s word abused breed heresy, and His
+name abused become blasphemy?  Truly, a needle cannot do much hurt, and
+as truly (with leave of ladies be it spoken) it cannot do much good.
+With a sword thou mayest kill thy father, and with a sword thou mayest
+defend thy prince and country; so that, as in their calling poets fathers
+of lies, they said nothing, so in this their argument of abuse, they
+prove the commendation.
+
+They allege herewith, that before poets began to be in price, our nation
+had set their heart’s delight upon action, and not imagination; rather
+doing things worthy to be written, than writing things fit to be done.
+What that before time was, I think scarcely Sphynx can tell; since no
+memory is so ancient that gives not the precedence to poetry.  And
+certain it is, that, in our plainest homeliness, yet never was the Albion
+nation without poetry.  Marry, this argument, though it be levelled
+against poetry, yet it is indeed a chain-shot against all learning or
+bookishness, as they commonly term it.  Of such mind were certain Goths,
+of whom it is written, that having in the spoil of a famous city taken a
+fair library, one hangman, belike fit to execute the fruits of their
+wits, who had murdered a great number of bodies, would have set fire in
+it.  “No,” said another, very gravely, “take heed what you do, for while
+they are busy about those toys, we shall with more leisure conquer their
+countries.”  This, indeed, is the ordinary doctrine of ignorance, and
+many words sometimes I have heard spent in it; but because this reason is
+generally against all learning as well as poetry, or rather all learning
+but poetry; because it were too large a digression to handle it, or at
+least too superfluous, since it is manifest that all government of action
+is to be gotten by knowledge, and knowledge best by gathering many
+knowledges, which is reading; I only say with Horace, to him that is of
+that opinion,
+
+    “Jubeo stultum esse libenter—” {69}
+
+for as for poetry itself, it is the freest from this, objection, for
+poetry is the companion of camps.  I dare undertake, Orlando Furioso, or
+honest King Arthur, will never displease a soldier: but the quiddity of
+“ens” and “prima materia” will hardly agree with a corslet.  And,
+therefore, as I said in the beginning, even Turks and Tartars are
+delighted with poets.  Homer, a Greek, flourished before Greece
+flourished; and if to a slight conjecture a conjecture may be opposed,
+truly it may seem, that as by him their learned men took almost their
+first light of knowledge, so their active men receive their first notions
+of courage.  Only Alexander’s example may serve, who by Plutarch is
+accounted of such virtue that fortune was not his guide but his
+footstool; whose acts speak for him, though Plutarch did not; indeed, the
+phoenix of warlike princes.  This Alexander left his schoolmaster, living
+Aristotle, behind him, but took dead Homer with him.  He put the
+philosopher Callisthenes to death, for his seeming philosophical, indeed
+mutinous, stubbornness; but the chief thing he was ever heard to wish for
+was that Homer had been alive.  He well found he received more bravery of
+mind by the pattern of Achilles, than by hearing the definition of
+fortitude.  And, therefore, if Cato misliked Fulvius for carrying Ennius
+with him to the field, it may be answered that if Cato misliked it the
+noble Fulvius liked it, or else he had not done it; for it was not the
+excellent Cato Uticensis whose authority I would much more have
+reverenced, but it was the former, in truth a bitter punisher of faults,
+but else a man that had never sacrificed to the Graces.  He misliked, and
+cried out against, all Greek learning, and yet, being fourscore years
+old, began to learn it, belike fearing that Pluto understood not Latin.
+Indeed, the Roman laws allowed no person to be carried to the wars but he
+that was in the soldiers’ roll.  And, therefore, though Cato misliked his
+unmustered person, he misliked not his work.  And if he had, Scipio
+Nasica (judged by common consent the best Roman) loved him: both the
+other Scipio brothers, who had by their virtues no less surnames than of
+Asia and Afric, so loved him that they caused his body to be buried in
+their sepulture.  So, as Cato’s authority being but against his person,
+and that answered with so far greater than himself, is herein of no
+validity.
+
+But {70} now, indeed, my burthen is great, that Plato’s name is laid upon
+me, whom, I must confess, of all philosophers I have ever esteemed most
+worthy of reverence; and with good reason, since of all philosophers he
+is the most poetical; yet if he will defile the fountain out of which his
+flowing streams have proceeded, let us boldly examine with what reason he
+did it.
+
+First, truly, a man might maliciously object that Plato, being a
+philosopher, was a natural enemy of poets.  For, indeed, after the
+philosophers had picked out of the sweet mysteries of poetry the right
+discerning of true points of knowledge, they forthwith, putting it in
+method, and making a school of art of that which the poets did only teach
+by a divine delightfulness, beginning to spurn at their guides, like
+ungrateful apprentices, were not content to set up shop for themselves,
+but sought by all means to discredit their masters; which, by the force
+of delight being barred them, the less they could overthrow them, the
+more they hated them.  For, indeed, they found for Homer seven cities
+strove who should have him for their citizen, where many cities banished
+philosophers as not fit members to live among them.  For only repeating
+certain of Euripides’ verses many Athenians had their lives saved of the
+Syracusans, where the Athenians themselves thought many of the
+philosophers unworthy to live.  Certain poets, as Simonides and Pindar,
+had so prevailed with Hiero the First, that of a tyrant they made him a
+just king; where Plato could do so little with Dionysius that he himself,
+of a philosopher, was made a slave.  But who should do thus, I confess,
+should requite the objections raised against poets with like cavillations
+against philosophers; as likewise one should do that should bid one read
+Phædrus or Symposium in Plato, or the discourse of Love in Plutarch, and
+see whether any poet do authorise abominable filthiness as they do.
+
+Again, a man might ask, out of what Commonwealth Plato doth banish them?
+In sooth, thence where he himself alloweth community of women.  So, as
+belike this banishment grew not for effeminate wantonness, since little
+should poetical sonnets be hurtful, when a man might have what woman he
+listed.  But I honour philosophical instructions, and bless the wits
+which bred them, so as they be not abused, which is likewise stretched to
+poetry.  Saint Paul himself sets a watchword upon philosophy, indeed upon
+the abuse.  So doth Plato upon the abuse, not upon poetry.  Plato found
+fault that the poets of his time filled the world with wrong opinions of
+the gods, making light tales of that unspotted essence, and therefore
+would not have the youth depraved with such opinions.  Herein may much be
+said; let this suffice: the poets did not induce such opinions, but did
+imitate those opinions already induced.  For all the Greek stories can
+well testify that the very religion of that time stood upon many and
+many-fashioned gods; not taught so by poets, but followed according to
+their nature of imitation.  Who list may read in Plutarch the discourses
+of Isis and Osiris, of the cause why oracles ceased, of the Divine
+providence, and see whether the theology of that nation stood not upon
+such dreams, which the poets indeed superstitiously observed; and truly,
+since they had not the light of Christ, did much better in it than the
+philosophers, who, shaking off superstition, brought in atheism.
+
+Plato, therefore, whose authority I had much rather justly construe than
+unjustly resist, meant not in general of poets, in those words of which
+Julius Scaliger saith, “qua authoritate, barbari quidam atque insipidi,
+abuti velint ad poetas e republicâ exigendos {71}:” but only meant to
+drive out those wrong opinions of the Deity, whereof now, without farther
+law, Christianity hath taken away all the hurtful belief, perchance as he
+thought nourished by then esteemed poets.  And a man need go no farther
+than to Plato himself to know his meaning; who, in his dialogue called
+“Ion,” {72} giveth high, and rightly, divine commendation unto poetry.
+So as Plato, banishing the abuse, not the thing, not banishing it, but
+giving due honour to it, shall be our patron, and not our adversary.
+For, indeed, I had much rather, since truly I may do it, show their
+mistaking of Plato, under whose lion’s skin they would make an ass-like
+braying against poesy, than go about to overthrow his authority; whom,
+the wiser a man is, the more just cause he shall find to have in
+admiration; especially since he attributeth unto poesy more than myself
+do, namely, to be a very inspiring of a divine force, far above man’s
+wit, as in the fore-named dialogue is apparent.
+
+Of the other side, who would show the honours have been by the best sort
+of judgments granted them, a whole sea of examples would present
+themselves; Alexanders, Cæsars, Scipios, all favourers of poets; Lælius,
+called the Roman Socrates, himself a poet; so as part of
+Heautontimeroumenos, in Terence, was supposed to be made by him.  And
+even the Greek Socrates, whom Apollo confirmed to be the only wise man,
+is said to have spent part of his old time in putting Æsop’s Fables into
+verse; and, therefore, full evil should it become his scholar Plato to
+put such words in his master’s mouth against poets. But what needs more?
+Aristotle writes the “Art of Poesy;” and why, if it should not be
+written?  Plutarch teacheth the use to be gathered of them; and how, if
+they should not be read?  And who reads Plutarch’s either history or
+philosophy, shall find he trimmeth both their garments with guards {73}
+of poesy.
+
+But I list not to defend poesy with the help of his underling
+historiographer.  Let it suffice to have showed it is a fit soil for
+praise to dwell upon; and what dispraise may be set upon it is either
+easily overcome, or transformed into just commendation.  So that since
+the excellences of it may be so easily and so justly confirmed, and the
+low creeping objections so soon trodden down {74}; it not being an art of
+lies, but of true doctrine; not of effeminateness, but of notable
+stirring of courage; not of abusing man’s wit, but of strengthening man’s
+wit; not banished, but honoured by Plato; let us rather plant more
+laurels for to ingarland the poets’ heads (which honour of being
+laureate, as besides them only triumphant captains were, is a sufficient
+authority to show the price they ought to be held in) than suffer the
+ill-favoured breath of such wrong speakers once to blow upon the clear
+springs of poesy.
+
+But {75} since I have run so long a career in this matter, methinks,
+before I give my pen a full stop, it shall be but a little more lost time
+to inquire, why England, the mother of excellent minds, should be grown
+so hard a step-mother to poets, who certainly in wit ought to pass all
+others, since all only proceeds from their wit, being, indeed, makers of
+themselves, not takers of others.  How can I but exclaim,
+
+    “Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine læso?” {76}
+
+Sweet poesy! that hath anciently had kings, emperors, senators, great
+captains, such as, besides a thousand others, David, Adrian, Sophocles,
+Germanicus, not only to favour poets, but to be poets; and of our nearer
+times can present for her patrons, a Robert, King of Sicily; the great
+King Francis of France; King James of Scotland; such cardinals as Bembus
+and Bibiena; such famous preachers and teachers as Beza and Melancthon;
+so learned philosophers as Fracastorius and Scaliger; so great orators as
+Pontanus and Muretus; so piercing wits as George Buchanan; so grave
+councillors as, besides many, but before all, that Hospital {77} of
+France, than whom, I think, that realm never brought forth a more
+accomplished judgment more firmly builded upon virtue; I say these, with
+numbers of others, not only to read others’ poesies, but to poetise for
+others’ reading: that poesy, thus embraced in all other places, should
+only find in our time a hard welcome in England, I think the very earth
+laments it, and therefore decks our soil with fewer laurels than it was
+accustomed.  For heretofore poets have in England also flourished; and,
+which is to be noted, even in those times when the trumpet of Mars did
+sound loudest.  And now that an over-faint quietness should seem to strew
+the house for poets, they are almost in as good reputation as the
+mountebanks at Venice.  Truly, even that, as of the one side it giveth
+great praise to poesy, which, like Venus (but to better purpose), had
+rather be troubled in the net with Mars, than enjoy the homely quiet of
+Vulcan; so serveth it for a piece of a reason why they are less grateful
+to idle England, which now can scarce endure the pain of a pen.  Upon
+this necessarily followeth that base men with servile wits undertake it,
+who think it enough if they can be rewarded of the printer; and so as
+Epaminondas is said, with the honour of his virtue, to have made an
+office by his exercising it, which before was contemptible, to become
+highly respected; so these men, no more but setting their names to it, by
+their own disgracefulness, disgrace the most graceful poesy.  For now, as
+if all the Muses were got with child, to bring forth bastard poets,
+without any commission, they do post over the banks of Helicon, until
+they make their readers more weary than post-horses; while, in the
+meantime, they,
+
+    “Queis meliore luto finxit præcordia Titan,” {78}
+
+are better content to suppress the outflowings of their wit, than by
+publishing them to be accounted knights of the same order.
+
+But I that, before ever I durst aspire unto the dignity, am admitted into
+the company of the paper-blurrers, do find the very true cause of our
+wanting estimation is want of desert, taking upon us to be poets in
+despite of Pallas.  Now, wherein we want desert, were a thankworthy
+labour to express.  But if I knew, I should have mended myself; but as I
+never desired the title so have I neglected the means to come by it;
+only, overmastered by some thoughts, I yielded an inky tribute unto them.
+Marry, they that delight in poesy itself, should seek to know what they
+do, and how they do, especially look themselves in an unflattering glass
+of reason, if they be inclinable unto it.
+
+For poesy must not be drawn by the ears, it must be gently led, or rather
+it must lead; which was partly the cause that made the ancient learned
+affirm it was a divine, and no human skill, since all other knowledges
+lie ready for any that have strength of wit; a poet no industry can make,
+if his own genius be not carried into it.  And therefore is an old
+proverb, “Orator fit, poeta nascitur.” {79}  Yet confess I always, that
+as the fertilest ground must be manured, so must the highest flying wit
+have a Dædalus to guide him.  That Dædalus, they say, both in this and in
+other, hath three wings to bear itself up into the air of due
+commendation; that is art, imitation, and exercise.  But these, neither
+artificial rules, nor imitative patterns, we much cumber ourselves
+withal.  Exercise, indeed, we do, but that very forebackwardly; for where
+we should exercise to know, we exercise as having known; and so is our
+brain delivered of much matter which never was begotten by knowledge.
+For there being two principal parts, matter to be expressed by words, and
+words to express the matter, in neither we use art or imitation rightly.
+Our matter is “quodlibet,” {80} indeed, although wrongly, performing
+Ovid’s verse,
+
+    “Quicquid conabor dicere, versus erit;” {81}
+
+never marshalling it into any assured rank, that almost the readers
+cannot tell where to find themselves.
+
+Chaucer, undoubtedly, did excellently in his Troilus and Cressida; of
+whom, truly, I know not whether to marvel more, either that he in that
+misty time could see so clearly, or that we in this clear age go so
+stumblingly after him.  Yet had he great wants, fit to be forgiven in so
+reverend antiquity.  I account the Mirror of Magistrates meetly furnished
+of beautiful parts.  And in the Earl of Surrey’s Lyrics, many things
+tasting of a noble birth, and worthy of a noble mind.  The “Shepherds’
+Kalendar” hath much poesy in his eclogues, indeed, worthy the reading, if
+I be not deceived.  That same framing of his {82} style to an old rustic
+language, I dare not allow; since neither Theocritus in Greek, Virgil in
+Latin, nor Sannazaro in Italian, did affect it.  Besides these, I do not
+remember to have seen but few (to speak boldly) printed that have
+poetical sinews in them.  For proof whereof, let but most of the verses
+be put in prose, and then ask the meaning, and it will be found that one
+verse did but beget another, without ordering at the first what should be
+at the last; which becomes a confused mass of words, with a tinkling
+sound of rhyme, barely accompanied with reason.
+
+Our {83} tragedies and comedies, not without cause, are cried out
+against, observing rules neither of honest civility nor skilful poetry.
+Excepting _Gorboduc_ (again I say of those that I have seen), which
+notwithstanding, as it is full of stately speeches, and well-sounding
+phrases, climbing to the height of Seneca his style, and as full of
+notable morality, which it does most delightfully teach, and so obtain
+the very end of poesy; yet, in truth, it is very defectuous in the
+circumstances, which grieves me, because it might not remain as an exact
+model of all tragedies.  For it is faulty both in place and time, the two
+necessary companions of all corporal actions.  For where the stage should
+always represent but one place; and the uttermost time presupposed in it
+should be, both by Aristotle’s precept, and common reason, but one day;
+there is both many days and many places inartificially imagined.
+
+But if it be so in Gorboduc, how much more in all the rest? where you
+shall have Asia of the one side, and Afric of the other, and so many
+other under kingdoms, that the player, when he comes in, must ever begin
+with telling where he is, {84} or else the tale will not be conceived.
+Now shall you have three ladies walk to gather flowers, and then we must
+believe the stage to be a garden.  By and by, we hear news of shipwreck
+in the same place, then we are to blame if we accept it not for a rock.
+Upon the back of that comes out a hideous monster with fire and smoke,
+and then the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave; while,
+in the meantime, two armies fly in, represented with four swords and
+bucklers, and then, what hard heart will not receive it for a pitched
+field?
+
+Now of time they are much more liberal; for ordinary it is, that two
+young princes fall in love; after many traverses she is got with child;
+delivered of a fair boy; he is lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and
+is ready to get another child; and all this in two hours’ space; which,
+how absurd it is in sense, even sense may imagine; and art hath taught
+and all ancient examples justified, and at this day the ordinary players
+in Italy will not err in.  Yet will some bring in an example of the
+Eunuch in Terence, that containeth matter of two days, yet far short of
+twenty years.  True it is, and so was it to be played in two days, and so
+fitted to the time it set forth.  And though Plautus have in one place
+done amiss, let us hit it with him, and not miss with him.  But they will
+say, How then shall we set forth a story which contains both many places
+and many times?  And do they not know, that a tragedy is tied to the laws
+of poesy, and not of history; not bound to follow the story, but having
+liberty either to feign a quite new matter, or to frame the history to
+the most tragical convenience?  Again, many things may be told, which
+cannot be showed: if they know the difference betwixt reporting and
+representing.  As for example, I may speak, though I am here, of Peru,
+and in speech digress from that to the description of Calicut; but in
+action I cannot represent it without Pacolet’s horse.  And so was the
+manner the ancients took by some “Nuntius,” {85} to recount things done
+in former time, or other place.
+
+Lastly, if they will represent an history, they must not, as Horace
+saith, begin “ab ovo,” {86} but they must come to the principal point of
+that one action which they will represent.  By example this will be best
+expressed; I have a story of young Polydorus, delivered, for safety’s
+sake, with great riches, by his father Priamus to Polymnestor, King of
+Thrace, in the Trojan war time.  He, after some years, hearing of the
+overthrow of Priamus, for to make the treasure his own, murdereth the
+child; the body of the child is taken up; Hecuba, she, the same day,
+findeth a sleight to be revenged most cruelly of the tyrant.  Where, now,
+would one of our tragedy-writers begin, but with the delivery of the
+child?  Then should he sail over into Thrace, and so spend I know not how
+many years, and travel numbers of places.  But where doth Euripides?
+Even with the finding of the body; leaving the rest to be told by the
+spirit of Polydorus.  This needs no farther to be enlarged; the dullest
+wit may conceive it.
+
+But, besides these gross absurdities, how all their plays be neither
+right tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and clowns, not
+because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in the clown by head and
+shoulders to play a part in majestical matters, with neither decency nor
+discretion; so as neither the admiration and commiseration, nor the right
+sportfulness, is by their mongrel tragi-comedy obtained.  I know Apuleius
+did somewhat so, but that is a thing recounted with space of time, not
+represented in one moment: and I know the ancients have one or two
+examples of tragi-comedies as Plautus hath Amphytrio.  But, if we mark
+them well, we shall find, that they never, or very daintily, match
+horn-pipes and funerals.  So falleth it out, that having indeed no right
+comedy in that comical part of our tragedy, we have nothing but
+scurrility, unworthy of any chaste ears; or some extreme show of
+doltishness, indeed fit to lift up a loud laughter, and nothing else;
+where the whole tract of a comedy should be full of delight; as the
+tragedy should be still maintained in a well-raised admiration.
+
+But our comedians think there is no delight without laughter, which is
+very wrong; for though laughter may come with delight, yet cometh it not
+of delight, as though delight should be the cause of laughter; but well
+may one thing breed both together.  Nay, in themselves, they have, as it
+were, a kind of contrariety.  For delight we scarcely do, but in things
+that have a conveniency to ourselves, or to the general nature.  Laughter
+almost ever cometh of things most disproportioned to ourselves and
+nature: delight hath a joy in it either permanent or present; laughter
+hath only a scornful tickling.  For example: we are ravished with delight
+to see a fair woman, and yet are far from being moved to laughter; we
+laugh at deformed creatures, wherein certainly we cannot delight; we
+delight in good chances; we laugh at mischances; we delight to hear the
+happiness of our friends and country, at which he were worthy to be
+laughed at that would laugh: we shall, contrarily, sometimes laugh to
+find a matter quite mistaken, and go down the hill against the bias, {87}
+in the mouth of some such men, as for the respect of them, one shall be
+heartily sorrow he cannot choose but laugh, and so is rather pained than
+delighted with laughter.  Yet deny I not, but that they may go well
+together; for, as in Alexander’s picture well set out, we delight without
+laughter, and in twenty mad antics we laugh without delight: so in
+Hercules, painted with his great beard and furious countenance, in a
+woman’s attire, spinning at Omphale’s commandment, it breeds both delight
+and laughter; for the representing of so strange a power in love procures
+delight, and the scornfulness of the action stirreth laughter.
+
+But I speak to this purpose, that all the end of the comical part be not
+upon such scornful matters as stir laughter only, but mix with it that
+delightful teaching which is the end of poesy.  And the great fault, even
+in that point of laughter, and forbidden plainly by Aristotle, is, that
+they stir laughter in sinful things, which are rather execrable than
+ridiculous; or in miserable, which are rather to be pitied than scorned.
+For what is it to make folks gape at a wretched beggar, and a beggarly
+clown; or against the law of hospitality, to jest at strangers, because
+they speak not English so well as we do? what do we learn, since it is
+certain,
+
+    “Nil habet infelix pauperatas durius in se,
+    Quam qnod ridiculos, homines facit.” {88}
+
+But rather a busy loving courtier, and a heartless threatening Thraso; a
+self-wise seeming school-master; a wry-transformed traveller: these, if
+we saw walk in stage names, which we play naturally, therein were
+delightful laughter, and teaching delightfulness: as in the other, the
+tragedies of Buchanan {89} do justly bring forth a divine admiration.
+
+But I have lavished out too many words of this play matter; I do it,
+because, as they are excelling parts of poesy, so is there none so much
+used in England, and none can be more pitifully abused; which, like an
+unmannerly daughter, showing a bad education, causeth her mother Poesy’s
+honesty to be called in question.
+
+Other {90} sorts of poetry, almost, have we none, but that lyrical kind
+of songs and sonnets, which, if the Lord gave us so good minds, how well
+it might be employed, and with how heavenly fruits, both private and
+public, in singing the praises of the immortal beauty, the immortal
+goodness of that God, who giveth us hands to write, and wits to conceive;
+of which we might well want words, but never matter; of which we could
+turn our eyes to nothing, but we should ever have new budding occasions.
+
+But, truly, many of such writings as come under the banner of
+unresistible love, if I were a mistress, would never persuade me they
+were in love; so coldly they apply fiery speeches, as men that had rather
+read lover’s writings, and so caught up certain swelling phrases, which
+hang together like a man that once told me, “the wind was at north-west
+and by south,” because he would be sure to name winds enough; than that,
+in truth, they feel those passions, which easily, as I think, may be
+bewrayed by the same forcibleness, or “energia” (as the Greeks call it),
+of the writer.  But let this be a sufficient, though short note, that we
+miss the right use of the material point of poesy.
+
+Now {91} for the outside of it, which is words, or (as I may term it)
+diction, it is even well worse; so is that honey-flowing matron
+eloquence, apparelled, or rather disguised, in a courtesan-like painted
+affectation.  One time with so far-fetched words, that many seem
+monsters, but most seem strangers to any poor Englishman: another time
+with coursing of a letter, as if they were bound to follow the method of
+a dictionary: another time with figures and flowers, extremely
+winter-starved.
+
+But I would this fault were only peculiar to versifiers, and had not as
+large possession among prose printers: and, which is to be marvelled,
+among many scholars, and, which is to be pitied, among some preachers.
+Truly, I could wish (if at least I might be so bold to wish, in a thing
+beyond the reach of my capacity) the diligent imitators of Tully and
+Demosthenes, most worthy to be imitated, did not so much keep Nizolian
+paper-books {92} of their figures and phrases, as by attentive
+translation, as it were, devour them whole, and make them wholly theirs.
+For now they cast sugar and spice upon every dish that is served at the
+table: like those Indians, not content to wear ear-rings at the fit and
+natural place of the ears, but they will thrust jewels through their nose
+and lips, because they will be sure to be fine.
+
+Tully, when he was to drive out Catiline, as it were with a thunderbolt
+of eloquence, often useth the figure of repetition, as “vivit et vincit,
+imo in senatum venit, imo in senatum venit,” &c. {93}  Indeed, inflamed
+with a well-grounded rage, he would have his words, as it were, double
+out of his mouth; and so do that artificially which we see men in choler
+do naturally.  And we, having noted the grace of those words, hale them
+in sometimes to a familiar epistle, when it were too much choler to be
+choleric.
+
+How well, store of “similiter cadences” doth sound with the gravity of
+the pulpit, I would but invoke Demosthenes’ soul to tell, who with a rare
+daintiness useth them.  Truly, they have made me think of the sophister,
+that with too much subtlety would prove two eggs three, and though he may
+be counted a sophister, had none for his labour.  So these men bringing
+in such a kind of eloquence, well may they obtain an opinion of a seeming
+fineness, but persuade few, which should be the end of their fineness.
+
+Now for similitudes in certain printed discourses, I think all
+herbalists, all stories of beasts, fowls, and fishes are rifled up, that
+they may come in multitudes to wait upon any of our conceits, which
+certainly is as absurd a surfeit to the ears as is possible.  For the
+force of a similitude not being to prove anything to a contrary disputer,
+but only to explain to a willing hearer: when that is done, the rest is a
+most tedious prattling, rather overswaying the memory from the purpose
+whereto they were applied, than any whit informing the judgment, already
+either satisfied, or by similitudes not to be satisfied.
+
+For my part, I do not doubt, when Antonius and Crassus, the great
+forefathers of Cicero in eloquence; the one (as Cicero testifieth of
+them) pretended not to know art, the other not to set by it, because with
+a plain sensibleness they might win credit of popular ears, which credit
+is the nearest step to persuasion (which persuasion is the chief mark of
+oratory); I do not doubt, I say, but that they used these knacks very
+sparingly; which who doth generally use, any man may see, doth dance to
+his own music; and so to be noted by the audience, more careful to speak
+curiously than truly.  Undoubtedly (at least to my opinion undoubtedly) I
+have found in divers small-learned courtiers a more sound style than in
+some professors of learning; of which I can guess no other cause, but
+that the courtier following that which by practice he findeth fittest to
+nature, therein (though he know it not) doth according to art, though not
+by art: where the other, using art to show art, and not hide art (as in
+these cases he should do), flieth from nature, and indeed abuseth art.
+
+But what! methinks I deserve to be pounded {94} for straying from poetry
+to oratory: but both have such an affinity in the wordish considerations,
+that I think this digression will make my meaning receive the fuller
+understanding: which is not to take upon me to teach poets how they
+should do, but only finding myself sick among the rest, to allow some one
+or two spots of the common infection grown among the most part of
+writers; that, acknowledging ourselves somewhat awry, we may bend to the
+right use both of matter and manner: whereto our language giveth us great
+occasion, being, indeed, capable of any excellent exercising of it. {95}
+I know some will say, it is a mingled language: and why not so much the
+better, taking the best of both the other?  Another will say, it wanteth
+grammar.  Nay, truly, it hath that praise, that it wants not grammar; for
+grammar it might have, but needs it not; being so easy in itself, and so
+void of those cumbersome differences of cases, genders, moods, and
+tenses; which, I think, was a piece of the tower of Babylon’s curse, that
+a man should be put to school to learn his mother tongue.  But for the
+uttering sweetly and properly the conceit of the mind, which is the end
+of speech, that hath it equally with any other tongue in the world, and
+is particularly happy in compositions of two or three words together,
+near the Greek, far beyond the Latin; which is one of the greatest
+beauties can be in a language.
+
+Now, {96} of versifying there are two sorts, the one ancient, the other
+modern; the ancient marked the quantity of each syllable, and according
+to that framed his verse; the modern, observing only number, with some
+regard of the accent, the chief life of it standeth in that like sounding
+of the words, which we call rhyme.  Whether of these be the more
+excellent, would bear many speeches; the ancient, no doubt more fit for
+music, both words and time observing quantity; and more fit lively to
+express divers passions, by the low or lofty sound of the well-weighed
+syllable.  The latter, likewise, with his rhyme striketh a certain music
+to the ear; and, in fine, since it doth delight, though by another way,
+it obtaineth the same purpose; there being in either, sweetness, and
+wanting in neither, majesty.  Truly the English, before any vulgar
+language I know, is fit for both sorts; for, for the ancient, the Italian
+is so full of vowels, that it must ever be cumbered with elisions.  The
+Dutch so, of the other side, with consonants, that they cannot yield the
+sweet sliding fit for a verse.  The French, in his whole language, hath
+not one word that hath his accent in the last syllable, saving two,
+called antepenultima; and little more, hath the Spanish, and therefore
+very gracelessly may they use dactiles.  The English is subject to none
+of these defects.
+
+Now for rhyme, though we do not observe quantity, we observe the accent
+very precisely, which other languages either cannot do, or will not do so
+absolutely.  That “cæsura,” or breathing-place, in the midst of the
+verse, neither Italian nor Spanish have, the French and we never almost
+fail of.  Lastly, even the very rhyme itself the Italian cannot put in
+the last syllable, by the French named the masculine rhyme, but still in
+the next to the last, which the French call the female; or the next
+before that, which the Italian calls “sdrucciola:” the example of the
+former is, “buono,” “suono;” of the sdrucciola is, “femina,” “semina.”
+The French, of the other side, hath both the male, as “bon,” “son,” and
+the female, as “plaise,” “taise;” but the “sdrucciola” he hath not; where
+the English hath all three, as “due,” “true,” “father,” “rather,”
+“motion,” “potion;” with much more which might be said, but that already
+I find the trifling of this discourse is much too much enlarged.
+
+So {97} that since the ever praiseworthy poesy is full of virtue,
+breeding delightfulness, and void of no gift that ought to be in the
+noble name of learning; since the blames laid against it are either false
+or feeble; since the cause why it is not esteemed in England is the fault
+of poet-apes, not poets; since, lastly, our tongue is most fit to honour
+poesy, and to be honoured by poesy; I conjure you all that have had the
+evil luck to read this ink-wasting toy of mine, even in the name of the
+Nine Muses, no more to scorn the sacred mysteries of poesy; no more to
+laugh at the name of poets, as though they were next inheritors to fools;
+no more to jest at the reverend title of “a rhymer;” but to believe, with
+Aristotle, that they were the ancient treasurers of the Grecian’s
+divinity; to believe, with Bembus, that they were the first bringers in
+of all civility; to believe, with Scaliger, that no philosopher’s
+precepts can sooner make you an honest man, than the reading of Virgil;
+to believe, with Clauserus, the translator of Cornutus, that it pleased
+the heavenly deity by Hesiod and Homer, under the veil of fables, to give
+us all knowledge, logic, rhetoric, philosophy natural and moral, and
+“quid non?” to believe, with me, that there are many mysteries contained
+in poetry, which of purpose were written darkly, lest by profane wits it
+should be abused; to believe, with Landin, that they are so beloved of
+the gods that whatsoever they write proceeds of a divine fury.  Lastly,
+to believe themselves, when they tell you they will make you immortal by
+their verses.
+
+Thus doing, your names shall flourish in the printers’ shops: thus doing,
+you shall be of kin to many a poetical preface: thus doing, you shall be
+most fair, most rich, most wise, most all: you shall dwell upon
+superlatives: thus doing, though you be “Libertino patre natus,” you
+shall suddenly grow “Herculea proles,”
+
+    “Si quid mea Carmina possunt:”
+
+thus doing, your soul shall be placed with Dante’s Beatrix, or Virgil’s
+Anchisis.
+
+But if (fie of such a but!) you be born so near the dull-making cataract
+of Nilus, that you cannot hear the planet-like music of poetry; if you
+have so earth-creeping a mind, that it cannot lift itself up to look to
+the sky of poetry, or rather, by a certain rustical disdain, will become
+such a Mome, as to be a Momus of poetry; then, though I will not wish
+unto you the ass’s ears of Midas, nor to be driven by a poet’s verses, as
+Bubonax was, to hang himself; nor to be rhymed to death, as is said to be
+done in Ireland; yet thus much curse I must send you in the behalf of all
+poets; that while you live, you live in love, and never get favour, for
+lacking skill of a sonnet; and when you die, your memory die from the
+earth for want of an epitaph.
+
+
+
+
+POEMS.
+
+
+TWO PASTORALS,
+
+
+_Made by Sir Philip Sidney_, _upon his meeting with his two worthy
+friends and fellow poets_, _Sir Edward Dyer and M. Fulke Greville_.
+
+   JOIN mates in mirth to me,
+      Grant pleasure to our meeting;
+   Let Pan, our good god, see
+      How grateful is our greeting.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   Ye hymns and singing skill
+      Of god Apollo’s giving,
+   Be pressed our reeds to fill
+      With sound of music living.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   Sweet Orpheus’ harp, whose sound
+      The stedfast mountains moved,
+   Let there thy skill abound,
+      To join sweet friends beloved.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   My two and I be met,
+      A happy blessed trinity,
+   As three more jointly set
+      In firmest band of unity.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   Welcome my two to me,
+      The number best beloved,
+   Within my heart you be
+      In friendship unremoved.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   Give leave your flocks to range,
+      Let us the while be playing;
+   Within the elmy grange,
+      Your flocks will not be straying.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   Cause all the mirth you can,
+      Since I am now come hither,
+   Who never joy, but when
+      I am with you together.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   Like lovers do their love,
+      So joy I in you seeing:
+   Let nothing me remove
+      From always with you being.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   And as the turtle dove
+      To mate with whom he liveth,
+   Such comfort fervent love
+      Of you to my heart giveth.
+         Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+         Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+   Now joinéd be our hands,
+      Let them be ne’er asunder,
+   But link’d in binding bands
+      By metamorphosed wonder.
+         So should our severed bodies three
+         As one for ever joinéd be.
+
+
+
+DISPRAISE OF A COURTLY LIFE.
+
+
+   WALKING in bright Phœbus’ blaze,
+   Where with heat oppressed I was,
+   I got to a shady wood,
+   Where green leaves did newly bud;
+   And of grass was plenty dwelling,
+   Decked with pied flowers sweetly smelling.
+
+   In this wood a man I met,
+   On lamenting wholly set;
+   Ruing change of wonted state,
+   Whence he was transforméd late,
+   Once to shepherds’ God retaining,
+   Now in servile court remaining.
+
+   There he wand’ring malecontent,
+   Up and down perpléxed went,
+   Daring not to tell to me,
+   Spake unto a senseless tree,
+   One among the rest electing,
+   These same words, or this affecting:
+
+   “My old mates I grieve to see
+   Void of me in field to be,
+   Where we once our lovely sheep
+   Lovingly like friends did keep;
+   Oft each other’s friendship proving,
+   Never striving, but in loving.
+
+   “But may love abiding be
+   In poor shepherds’ base degree?
+   It belongs to such alone
+   To whom art of love is known:
+   Seely shepherds are not witting
+   What in art of love is fitting.
+
+   “Nay, what need the art to those
+   To whom we our love disclose?
+   It is to be uséd then,
+   When we do but flatter men:
+   Friendship true, in heart assured,
+   Is by Nature’s gifts procured.
+
+   “Therefore shepherds, wanting skill,
+   Can Love’s duties best fulfil;
+   Since they know not how to feign,
+   Nor with love to cloak disdain,
+   Like the wiser sort, whose learning
+   Hides their inward will of harming.
+
+   “Well was I, while under shade
+   Oaten reeds me music made,
+   Striving with my mates in song;
+   Mixing mirth our songs among.
+   Greater was the shepherd’s treasure
+   Than this false, fine, courtly pleasure.
+
+   “Where how many creatures be,
+   So many puffed in mind I see;
+   Like to Juno’s birds of pride,
+   Scarce each other can abide:
+   Friends like to black swans appearing,
+   Sooner these than those in hearing.
+
+   “Therefore, Pan, if thou may’st be
+   Made to listen unto me,
+   Grant, I say, if seely man
+   May make treaty to god Pan,
+   That I, without thy denying,
+   May be still to thee relying.
+
+   “Only for my two loves’ sake,
+   In whose love I pleasure take;
+   Only two do me delight
+   With their ever-pleasing sight;
+   Of all men to thee retaining,
+   Grant me with those two remaining.
+
+   “So shall I to thee always
+   With my reeds sound mighty praise:
+   And first lamb that shall befall,
+   Yearly deck thine altar shall,
+   If it please thee to be reflected,
+   And I from thee not rejected.”
+
+   So I left him in that place,
+   Taking pity on his case;
+   Learning this among the rest,
+   That the mean estate is best;
+   Better filléd with contenting,
+   Void of wishing and repenting.
+
+
+
+DIRGE.
+
+
+   RING out your bells, let mourning shows be spread,
+   For Love is dead:
+      All Love is dead, infected
+   With plague of deep disdain:
+      Worth, as nought worth, rejected,
+   And faith fair scorn doth gain.
+      From so ungrateful fancy;
+      From such a female frenzy;
+      From them that use men thus,
+      Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+   Weep, neighbours, weep, do you not hear it said
+   That Love is dead:
+      His death-bed, peacock’s folly:
+   His winding-sheet is shame;
+      His will, false-seeming holy,
+   His sole executor, blame.
+      From so ungrateful fancy;
+      From such a female frenzy;
+      From them that use men thus,
+      Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+   Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,
+   For Love is dead:
+      Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth
+   My mistress’ marble heart;
+      Which epitaph containeth,
+   “Her eyes were once his dart.”
+      From so ungrateful fancy;
+      From such a female frenzy;
+      From them that use men thus,
+      Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+   Alas! I lie: rage hath this error bred;
+   Love is not dead,
+      Love is not dead, but sleepeth
+   In her unmatchéd mind:
+      Where she his counsel keepeth
+   Till due deserts she find.
+      Therefore from so vile fancy,
+      To call such wit a frenzy:
+      Who Love can temper thus,
+      Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+
+
+STANZAS TO LOVE.
+
+
+   AH, poor Love, why dost thou live,
+      Thus to see thy service lost;
+   If she will no comfort give,
+      Make an end, yield up the ghost!
+
+   That she may, at length, approve
+      That she hardly long believed,
+   That the heart will die for love
+      That is not in time relieved.
+
+   Oh, that ever I was born
+      Service so to be refused;
+   Faithful love to be forborn!
+      Never love was so abused.
+
+   But, sweet Love, be still awhile;
+      She that hurt thee, Love, may heal thee;
+   Sweet!  I see within her smile
+      More than reason can reveal thee.
+
+   For, though she be rich and fair,
+      Yet she is both wise and kind,
+   And, therefore, do thou not despair
+      But thy faith may fancy find.
+
+   Yet, although she be a queen
+      That may such a snake despise,
+   Yet, with silence all unseen,
+      Run, and hide thee in her eyes:
+
+   Where if she will let thee die,
+      Yet at latest gasp of breath,
+   Say that in a lady’s eye
+      Love both took his life and death.
+
+
+
+A REMEDY FOR LOVE.
+
+
+   PHILOCLEA and Pamela sweet,
+   By chance, in one great house did meet;
+   And meeting, did so join in heart,
+   That th’ one from th’ other could not part:
+   And who indeed (not made of stones)
+   Would separate such lovely ones?
+   The one is beautiful, and fair
+   As orient pearls and rubies are;
+   And sweet as, after gentle showers,
+   The breath is of some thousand flowers:
+   For due proportion, such an air
+   Circles the other, and so fair,
+   That it her brownness beautifies,
+   And doth enchant the wisest eyes.
+
+      Have you not seen, on some great day,
+   Two goodly horses, white and bay,
+   Which were so beauteous in their pride,
+   You knew not which to choose or ride?
+   Such are these two; you scarce can tell,
+   Which is the daintier bonny belle;
+   And they are such, as, by my troth,
+   I had been sick with love of both,
+   And might have sadly said, ‘Good-night
+   Discretion and good fortune quite;’
+   But that young Cupid, my old master,
+   Presented me a sovereign plaster:
+   Mopsa! ev’n Mopsa! (precious pet)
+   Whose lips of marble, teeth of jet,
+   Are spells and charms of strong defence,
+   To conjure down concupiscence.
+
+      How oft have I been reft of sense,
+   By gazing on their excellence,
+   But meeting Mopsa in my way,
+   And looking on her face of clay,
+   Been healed, and cured, and made as sound,
+   As though I ne’er had had a wound?
+   And when in tables of my heart,
+   Love wrought such things as bred my smart,
+   Mopsa would come, with face of clout,
+   And in an instant wipe them out.
+   And when their faces made me sick,
+   Mopsa would come, with face of brick,
+   A little heated in the fire,
+   And break the neck of my desire.
+   Now from their face I turn mine eyes,
+   But (cruel panthers!) they surprise
+   Me with their breath, that incense sweet,
+   Which only for the gods is meet,
+   And jointly from them doth respire,
+   Like both the Indies set on fire:
+
+      Which so o’ercomes man’s ravished sense,
+   That souls, to follow it, fly hence.
+   No such-like smell you if you range
+   To th’ Stocks, or Cornhill’s square Exchange;
+   There stood I still as any stock,
+   Till Mopsa, with her puddle dock,
+   Her compound or electuary,
+   Made of old ling and young canary,
+   Bloat-herring, cheese, and voided physic,
+   Being somewhat troubled with a phthisic,
+   Did cough, and fetch a sigh so deep,
+   As did her very bottom sweep:
+   Whereby to all she did impart,
+   How love lay rankling at her heart:
+   Which, when I smelt, desire was slain,
+   And they breathed forth perfumes in vain.
+   Their angel voice surprised me now;
+   But Mopsa, her Too-whit, Too-whoo,
+   Descending through her oboe nose,
+   Did that distemper soon compose.
+
+      And, therefore, O thou precious owl,
+   The wise Minerva’s only fowl;
+   What, at thy shrine, shall I devise
+   To offer up a sacrifice?
+   Hang Æsculapius, and Apollo,
+   And Ovid, with his precious shallow.
+   Mopsa is love’s best medicine,
+   True water to a lover’s wine.
+   Nay, she’s the yellow antidote,
+   Both bred and born to cut Love’s throat:
+   Be but my second, and stand by,
+   Mopsa, and I’ll them both defy;
+   And all else of those gallant races,
+   Who wear infection in their faces;
+   For thy face (that Medusa’s shield!)
+   Will bring me safe out of the field.
+
+
+
+VERSES.
+
+
+_To the tune of the Spanish song_, “_Si tu señora no ducles de mi_.”
+
+   O FAIR! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+      In whom all joys so well agree,
+   Heart and soul do sing in me.
+      This you hear is not my tongue,
+   Which once said what I conceived;
+   For it was of use bereaved,
+      With a cruel answer stung.
+   No! though tongue to roof be cleaved,
+      Fearing lest he chastised be,
+      Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+   O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+      In whom all joys so well agree,
+      Just accord all music makes;
+   In thee just accord excelleth,
+   Where each part in such peace dwelleth,
+      One of other beauty takes.
+   Since then truth to all minds telleth,
+      That in thee lives harmony,
+      Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+   O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+      In whom all joys so well agree,
+      They that heaven have known do say,
+   That whoso that grace obtaineth,
+   To see what fair sight there reigneth,
+      Forcéd are to sing alway:
+   So then since that heaven remaineth
+      In thy face, I plainly see,
+      Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+   O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+      In whom all joys so well agree,
+      Sweet, think not I am at ease,
+   For because my chief part singeth;
+   This song from death’s sorrow springeth:
+      As to swan in last disease:
+   For no dumbness, nor death, bringeth
+      Stay to true love’s melody:
+      Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+_From Horace_, _Book II. Ode X._, _beginning_ “_Rectius vives_,
+_Licini_,” _&c._
+
+   YOU better sure shall live, not evermore
+      Trying high seas; nor, while sea’s rage you flee,
+   Pressing too much upon ill-harboured shore.
+
+   The golden mean who loves, lives safely free
+      From filth of foreworn house, and quiet lives,
+   Released from court, where envy needs must be.
+
+   The wind most oft the hugest pine tree grieves:
+      The stately towers come down with greater fall:
+   The highest hills the bolt of thunder cleaves.
+
+   Evil haps do fill with hope, good haps appall
+      With fear of change, the courage well prepared:
+   Foul winters, as they come, away they shall.
+
+   Though present times, and past, with evils be snared,
+      They shall not last: with cithern silent Muse,
+   Apollo wakes, and bow hath sometime spared.
+
+   In hard estate, with stout shows, valour use,
+      The same man still, in whom wisdom prevails;
+   In too full wind draw in thy swelling sails.
+
+
+
+A SONNET BY SIR EDWARD DYER.
+
+
+   PROMETHEUS, when first from heaven high
+      He brought down fire, till then on earth not seen;
+   Fond of delight, a satyr, standing by,
+      Gave it a kiss, as it like sweet had been.
+
+   Feeling forthwith the other burning power,
+      Wood with the smart, with shouts and shrieking shrill,
+   He sought his ease in river, field, and bower;
+      But, for the time, his grief went with him still.
+
+   So silly I, with that unwonted sight,
+      In human shape an angel from above,
+   Feeding mine eyes, th’ impression there did light;
+      That since I run and rest as pleaseth love:
+   The difference is, the satyr’s lips, my heart,
+   He for a while, I evermore, have smart.
+
+
+
+SIR PHILIP SIDNEY’S SONNET IN REPLY.
+
+
+      A SATYR once did run away for dread,
+   With sound of horn which he himself did blow:
+      Fearing and feared, thus from himself he fled,
+   Deeming strange evil in that he did not know.
+
+      Such causeless fears when coward minds do take,
+   It makes them fly that which they fain would have;
+      As this poor beast, who did his rest forsake,
+   Thinking not why, but how, himself to save.
+
+      Ev’n thus might I, for doubts which I conceive
+   Of mine own words, my own good hap betray;
+      And thus might I, for fear of may be, leave
+   The sweet pursuit of my desiréd prey.
+      Better like I thy satyr, dearest Dyer,
+      Who burnt his lips to kiss fair shining fire.
+
+
+
+MUST LOVE LAMENT?
+
+
+   MY mistress lowers, and saith I do not love:
+      I do protest, and seek with service due,
+   In humble mind, a constant faith to prove;
+   But for all this, I cannot her remove
+      From deep vain thought that I may not be true.
+
+      If oaths might serve, ev’n by the Stygian lake,
+   Which poets say the gods themselves do fear,
+      I never did my vowéd word forsake:
+      For why should I, whom free choice slave doth make,
+   Else-what in face, than in my fancy bear?
+
+      My Muse, therefore, for only thou canst tell,
+   Tell me the cause of this my causeless woe?
+      Tell, how ill thought disgraced my doing well?
+      Tell, how my joys and hopes thus foully fell
+   To so low ebb that wonted were to flow?
+
+      O this it is, the knotted straw is found;
+   In tender hearts, small things engender hate:
+      A horse’s worth laid waste the Trojan ground;
+      A three-foot stool in Greece made trumpets sound;
+   An ass’s shade e’er now hath bred debate.
+
+      If Greeks themselves were moved with so small cause,
+   To twist those broils, which hardly would untwine:
+      Should ladies fair be tied to such hard laws,
+      As in their moods to take a ling’ring pause?
+   I would it not, their metal is too fine.
+
+      My hand doth not bear witness with my heart,
+   She saith, because I make no woeful lays,
+      To paint my living death and endless smart:
+      And so, for one that felt god Cupid’s dart,
+   She thinks I lead and live too merry days.
+
+      Are poets then the only lovers true,
+   Whose hearts are set on measuring a verse?
+      Who think themselves well blest, if they renew
+      Some good old dump that Chaucer’s mistress knew;
+   And use but you for matters to rehearse.
+
+      Then, good Apollo, do away thy bow:
+   Take harp and sing in this our versing time,
+      And in my brain some sacred humour flow,
+      That all the earth my woes, sighs, tears may know;
+   And see you not that I fall low to rhyme.
+
+      As for my mirth, how could I but be glad,
+   Whilst that methought I justly made my boast
+      That only I the only mistress had?
+      But now, if e’er my face with joy be clad,
+   Think Hannibal did laugh when Carthage lost.
+
+      Sweet lady, as for those whose sullen cheer,
+   Compared to me, made me in lightness sound;
+      Who, stoic-like, in cloudy hue appear;
+      Who silence force to make their words more dear;
+   Whose eyes seem chaste, because they look on ground:
+
+      Believe them not, for physic true doth find,
+      Choler adust is joyed in woman-kind.
+
+
+
+A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS.
+
+
+                 _Uttered in a Pastoral Show at Wilton_.
+
+   _Will_.  Dick, since we cannot dance, come, let a cheerful voice
+   Show that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoice.
+
+   _Dick_.  Ah Will, though I grudge not, I count it feeble glee,
+   With sight made dim with daily tears another’s sport to see.
+   Whoever lambkins saw, yet lambkins love to play,
+   To play when that their lovéd dams are stolen or gone astray?
+   If this in them be true, as true in men think I,
+   A lustless song forsooth thinks he that hath more lust to cry.
+
+   _Will_.  A time there is for all, my mother often says,
+   When she, with skirts tucked very high, with girls at football plays
+   When thou hast mind to weep, seek out some smoky room:
+   Now let those lightsome sights we see thy darkness overcome.
+
+   _Dick_.  What joy the joyful sun gives unto blearéd eyes;
+   That comfort in these sports you like, my mind his comfort tries.
+
+   _Will_.  What?  Is thy bagpipe broke, or are thy lambs miswent;
+   Thy wallet or thy tar-box lost; or thy new raiment-rent?
+
+   _Dick_.  I would it were but thus, for thus it were too well.
+
+   _Will_.  Thou see’st my ears do itch at it: good Dick thy sorrow tell.
+
+   _Dick_.  Hear then, and learn to sigh: a mistress I do serve,
+   Whose wages make me beg the more, who feeds me till I starve;
+   Whose livery is such, as most I freeze apparelled most,
+   And looks so near unto my cure, that I must needs be lost.
+
+   _Will_.  What?  These are riddles sure: art thou then bound to her?
+
+   _Dick_.  Bound as I neither power have, nor would have power, to stir.
+
+   _Will_.  Who bound thee?
+
+   _Dick_.  Love, my lord.
+
+   _Will_.  What witnesses thereto?
+
+   _Dick_.  Faith in myself, and Worth in her, which no proof can undo.
+
+   _Will_.  What seal?
+
+   _Dick_.  My heart deep graven.
+
+   _Will_.  Who made the band so fast?
+
+   _Dick_.  Wonder that, by two so black eyes the glitt’ring stars be
+   past.
+
+   _Will_.  What keepeth safe thy band?
+
+   _Dick_.  Remembrance is the chest
+   Lock’d fast with knowing that she is of worldly things the best.
+
+   _Will_.  Thou late of wages plain’dst: what wages may’sh thou have?
+
+   _Dick_.  Her heavenly looks, which more and more do give me cause to
+   crave.
+
+   _Will_.  If wages make you want, what food is that she gives?
+
+   _Dick_.  Tear’s drink, sorrow’s meat, wherewith not I, but in me my
+   death lives.
+
+   _Will_.  What living get you then?
+
+   _Dick_.  Disdain; but just disdain;
+   So have I cause myself to plain, but no cause to complain.
+
+   _Will_.  What care takes she for thee?
+
+   _Dick_.  Her care is to prevent
+   My freedom, with show of her beams, with virtue, my content.
+
+   _Will_.  God shield us from such dames!  If so our dames be sped,
+   The shepherds will grow lean I trow, their sheep will be ill-fed.
+   But Dick, my counsel mark: run from the place of woo:
+   The arrow being shot from far doth give the smaller blow.
+
+   _Dick_.  Good Will, I cannot take thy good advice; before
+   That foxes leave to steal, they find they die therefore.
+
+   _Will_.  Then, Dick, let us go hence lest we great folks annoy:
+   For nothing can more tedious be than plaint in time of joy.
+
+   _Dick_.  Oh hence!  O cruel word! which even dogs do hate:
+   But hence, even hence, I must needs go; such is my dogged fate.
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+             _To the tune of_ “_Wilhelmus van Nassau_,” _&c._
+
+   WHO hath his fancy pleased,
+      With fruits of happy sight,
+   Let here his eyes be raised
+      On Nature’s sweetest light;
+   A light which doth dissever,
+      And yet unite the eyes;
+   A light which, dying, never
+      Is cause the looker dies.
+
+      She never dies, but lasteth
+   In life of lover’s heart;
+      He ever dies that wasteth
+   In love his chiefest part.
+      Thus is her life still guarded,
+   In never dying faith;
+      Thus is his death rewarded,
+   Since she lives in his death.
+
+      Look then and die, the pleasure
+   Doth answer well the pain;
+      Small loss of mortal treasure,
+   Who may immortal gain.
+      Immortal be her graces,
+   Immortal is her mind;
+      They, fit for heavenly places,
+   This heaven in it doth bind.
+
+      But eyes these beauties see not,
+   Nor sense that grace descries;
+      Yet eyes deprivéd be not
+   From sight of her fair eyes:
+      Which, as of inward glory
+   They are the outward seal,
+      So may they live still sorry,
+   Which die not in that weal.
+
+      But who hath fancies pleaséd,
+   With fruits of happy sight,
+      Let here his eyes be raiséd
+   On Nature’s sweetest light.
+
+
+
+THE SMOKES OF MELANCHOLY.
+
+
+                                     I.
+
+   WHO hath e’er felt the change of love,
+   And known those pangs that losers prove,
+   May paint my face without seeing me,
+   And write the state how my fancies be,
+   The loathsome buds grown on Sorrow’s tree.
+
+   But who by hearsay speaks, and hath not fully felt
+   What kind of fires they be in which those spirits melt,
+   Shall guess, and fail, what doth displease,
+   Feeling my pulse, miss my disease.
+
+                                   II.
+
+   O no!  O no! trial only shows
+   The bitter juice of forsaken woes;
+   Where former bliss, present evils do stain;
+   Nay, former bliss adds to present pain,
+   While remembrance doth both states contain.
+   Come, learners, then to me, the model of mishap,
+   Ingulphéd in despair, slid down from Fortune’s lap;
+   And, as you like my double lot,
+   Tread in my steps, or follow not.
+
+                                   III.
+
+   For me, alas!  I am full resolved
+   Those bands, alas! shall not be dissolved;
+   Nor break my word, though reward come late;
+   Nor fail my faith in my failing fate;
+   Nor change in change, though change change my state:
+
+   But always own myself, with eagle-eyed Truth, to fly
+   Up to the sun, although the sun my wings do fry;
+   For if those flames burn my desire,
+   Yet shall I die in Phoenix’ fire.
+
+
+
+ODE.
+
+
+   WHEN, to my deadly pleasure,
+   When to my lively torment,
+   Lady, mine eyes remainéd
+   Joinéd, alas! to your beams.
+
+   With violence of heavenly
+   Beauty, tied to virtue;
+   Reason abashed retiréd;
+   Gladly my senses yielded.
+
+   Gladly my senses yielding,
+   Thus to betray my heart’s fort,
+   Left me devoid of all life.
+
+   They to the beamy suns went,
+   Where, by the death of all deaths,
+   Find to what harm they hastened.
+
+   Like to the silly Sylvan,
+   Burned by the light he best liked,
+   When with a fire he first met.
+
+   Yet, yet, a life to their death,
+   Lady you have reservéd;
+   Lady the life of all love.
+
+   For though my sense be from me,
+   And I be dead, who want sense,
+   Yet do we both live in you.
+
+   Turnéd anew, by your means,
+   Unto the flower that aye turns,
+   As you, alas! my sun bends.
+
+   Thus do I fall to rise thus;
+   Thus do I die to live thus;
+   Changed to a change, I change not.
+
+   Thus may I not be from you;
+   Thus be my senses on you;
+   Thus what I think is of you;
+   Thus what I seek is in you;
+   All what I am, it is you.
+
+
+
+
+VERSES.
+
+
+_To the tune of a Neapolitan song_, _which beginneth_, “_No_, _no_, _no_,
+                                  _no_.”
+
+   NO, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
+      Although with cruel fire,
+      First thrown on my desire,
+   She sacks my rendered sprite;
+      For so fair a flame embraces
+      All the places,
+   Where that heat of all heats springeth,
+   That it bringeth
+      To my dying heart some pleasure,
+      Since his treasure
+   Burneth bright in fairest light.  No, no, no, no.
+
+   No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
+      Although with cruel fire,
+      First thrown on my desire,
+   She sacks my rendered sprite;
+      Since our lives be not immortal,
+      But to mortal
+   Fetters tied, do wait the hour
+   Of death’s power,
+      They have no cause to be sorry
+      Who with glory
+   End the way, where all men stay.  No, no, no, no.
+
+   No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
+      Although with cruel fire,
+      First thrown on my desire,
+   She sacks my rendered sprite;
+      No man doubts, whom beauty killeth,
+      Fair death feeleth,
+   And in whom fair death proceedeth,
+   Glory breedeth:
+      So that I, in her beams dying,
+      Glory trying,
+   Though in pain, cannot complain.  No, no, no, no.
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+                 _To the tune of a Neapolitan Villanel_.
+
+   ALL my sense thy sweetness gained;
+   Thy fair hair my heart enchained;
+   My poor reason thy words moved,
+   So that thee, like heaven, I loved.
+
+   Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan:
+      Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:
+   While to my mind the outside stood,
+   For messenger of inward good.
+
+   Nor thy sweetness sour is deemed;
+   Thy hair not worth a hair esteemed;
+   Reason hath thy words removed,
+   Finding that but words they proved.
+
+   Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan,
+      Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:
+   For no fair sign can credit win,
+   If that the substance fail within.
+
+   No more in thy sweetness glory,
+   For thy knitting hair be sorry;
+   Use thy words but to bewail thee
+   That no more thy beams avail thee;
+         Dan, dan,
+         Dan, dan,
+   Lay not thy colours more to view,
+   Without the picture be found true.
+
+   Woe to me, alas, she weepeth!
+   Fool! in me what folly creepeth?
+   Was I to blaspheme enraged,
+   Where my soul I have engaged?
+         Dan, dan,
+         Dan, dan,
+   And wretched I must yield to this;
+   The fault I blame her chasteness is.
+
+   Sweetness! sweetly pardon folly;
+   Tie me, hair, your captive wholly:
+   Words!  O words of heavenly knowledge!
+   Know, my words their faults acknowledge;
+         Dan, dan,
+         Dan, dan,
+   And all my life I will confess,
+   The less I love, I live the less.
+
+
+
+TRANSLATION.
+
+
+_From_ “_La Diana de Monte-Mayor_,” _in Spanish_: _where Sireno_, _a
+shepherd_, _whose mistress Diana had utterly forsaken him_, _pulling out
+a little of her hair_, _wrapped about with green silk_, _to the hair he
+thus bewailed himself_.
+
+   WHAT changes here, O hair,
+      I see, since I saw you!
+   How ill fits you this green to wear,
+      For hope, the colour due!
+   Indeed, I well did hope,
+      Though hope were mixed with fear,
+   No other shepherd should have scope
+      Once to approach this hair.
+
+   Ah hair! how many days
+      My Dian made me show,
+   With thousand pretty childish plays,
+      If I ware you or no:
+   Alas, how oft with tears,—
+      O tears of guileful breast!—
+   She seeméd full of jealous fears,
+      Whereat I did but jest.
+
+   Tell me, O hair of gold,
+      If I then faulty be,
+   That trust those killing eyes I would,
+      Since they did warrant me?
+   Have you not seen her mood,
+      What streams of tears she spent,
+   ’Till that I sware my faith so stood,
+      As her words had it bent?
+
+   Who hath such beauty seen
+      In one that changeth so?
+   Or where one’s love so constant been,
+      Who ever saw such woe?
+   Ah, hair! are you not grieved
+      To come from whence you be,
+   Seeing how once you saw I lived,
+      To see me as you see?
+
+   On sandy bank of late,
+      I saw this woman sit;
+   Where, “Sooner die than change my state,”
+      She with her finger writ:
+   Thus my belief was staid,
+      Behold Love’s mighty hand
+   On things were by a woman said,
+      And written in the sand.
+
+_The same Sireno in_ “_Monte-Mayor_,” _holding his mistress’s glass
+before her_, _and looking upon her while she viewed herself_, _thus
+sang_:—
+
+   Of this high grace, with bliss conjoined,
+      No farther debt on me is laid,
+   Since that in self-same metal coined,
+      Sweet lady, you remain well paid;
+
+   For if my place give me great pleasure,
+   Having before my nature’s treasure,
+      In face and eyes unmatchéd being,
+      You have the same in my hands, seeing
+   What in your face mine eyes do measure.
+
+   Nor think the match unevenly made,
+      That of those beams in you do tarry,
+   The glass to you but gives a shade,
+      To me mine eyes the true shape carry;
+         For such a thought most highly prized,
+         Which ever hath Love’s yoke despised,
+      Better than one captived perceiveth,
+      Though he the lively form receiveth,
+         The other sees it but disguised.
+
+
+
+SONNETS.
+
+
+   THE dart, the beams, the sting, so strong I prove,
+      Which my chief part doth pass through, parch, and tie,
+   That of the stroke, the heat, and knot of love,
+      Wounded, inflamed, knit to the death, I die.
+
+   Hardened and cold, far from affection’s snare
+      Was once my mind, my temper, and my life;
+   While I that sight, desire, and vow forbare,
+      Which to avoid, quench, lose, nought boasted strife.
+
+   Yet will not I grief, ashes, thraldom change
+      For others’ ease, their fruit, or free estate;
+   So brave a shot, dear fire, and beauty strange,
+      Bid me pierce, burn, and bind, long time and late,
+   And in my wounds, my flames, and bonds, I find
+   A salve, fresh air, and bright contented mind.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   VIRTUE, beauty, and speech, did strike, wound, charm,
+      My heart, eyes, ears, with wonder, love, delight,
+   First, second, last, did bind, enforce, and arm,
+      His works, shows, suits, with wit, grace, and vows’ might,
+
+   Thus honour, liking, trust, much, far, and deep,
+      Held, pierced, possessed, my judgment, sense, and will,
+   Till wrongs, contempt, deceit, did grow, steal, creep,
+      Bands, favour, faith, to break, defile, and kill,
+
+   Then grief, unkindness, proof, took, kindled, taught,
+      Well-grounded, noble, due, spite, rage, disdain:
+   But ah, alas! in vain my mind, sight, thought,
+      Doth him, his face, his words, leave, shun, refrain.
+   For nothing, time, nor place, can loose, quench, ease
+   Mine own embracéd, sought, knot, fire, disease.
+
+
+
+WOOING-STUFF.
+
+
+   FAINT amorist, what, dost thou think
+   To taste Love’s honey, and not drink
+   One dram of gall? or to devour
+   A world of sweet, and taste no sour?
+   Dost thou ever think to enter
+   Th’ Elysian fields, that dar’st not venture
+   In Charon’s barge? a lover’s mind
+   Must use to sail with every wind.
+   He that loves and fears to try,
+   Learns his mistress to deny.
+   Doth she chide thee? ’tis to show it,
+   That thy coldness makes her do it:
+   Is she silent? is she mute?
+   Silence fully grants thy suit:
+   Doth she pout, and leave the room?
+   Then she goes to bid thee come:
+   Is she sick? why then be sure,
+   She invites thee to the cure:
+   Doth she cross thy suit with “No?”
+   Tush, she loves to hear thee woo:
+   Doth she call the faith of man
+   In question?  Nay, she loves thee than;
+   And if e’er she makes a blot,
+   She’s lost if that thou hit’st her not.
+   He that after ten denials,
+   Dares attempt no farther trials,
+   Hath no warrant to acquire
+   The dainties of his chaste desire.
+
+
+
+SONNETS
+
+
+   SINCE shunning pain, I ease can never find;
+      Since bashful dread seeks where he knows me harmed;
+      Since will is won, and stoppéd ears are charmed;
+   Since force doth faint, and sight doth make me blind;
+   Since loosing long, the faster still I bind;
+      Since naked sense can conquer reason armed;
+      Since heart, in chilling fear, with ice is warmed;
+   In fine, since strife of thought but mars the mind,
+      I yield, O Love, unto thy loathed yoke,
+   Yet craving law of arms, whose rule doth teach,
+      That, hardly used, who ever prison broke,
+   In justice quit, of honour made no breach:
+      Whereas, if I a grateful guardian have,
+      Thou art my lord, and I thy vowéd slave.
+
+   When Love puffed up with rage of high disdain,
+      Resolved to make me pattern of his might,
+      Like foe, whose wits inclined to deadly spite,
+   Would often kill, to breed more feeling pain;
+   He would not, armed with beauty, only reign
+      On those affects which easily yield to sight;
+      But virtue sets so high, that reason’s light,
+   For all his strife can only bondage gain:
+      So that I live to pay a mortal fee,
+   Dead palsy-sick of all my chiefest parts,
+      Like those whom dreams make ugly monsters see,
+   And can cry help with naught but groans and starts:
+      Longing to have, having no wit to wish,
+      To starving minds such is god Cupid’s dish.
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+_To the tune of_ “_Non credo gia che piu infelice amante_.”
+
+   THE nightingale, as soon as April bringeth
+      Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,
+   While late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,
+      Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making;
+      And mournfully bewailing,
+   Her throat in tunes expresseth
+   What grief her breast oppresseth,
+      For Tereus’ force on her chaste will prevailing.
+   O Philomela fair!  O take some gladness,
+   That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness:
+   Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;
+   Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.
+
+                                   II.
+
+      Alas! she hath no other cause of anguish,
+   But Tereus’ love, on her by strong hand wroken,
+      Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish,
+   Full womanlike, complains her will was broken,
+      But I, who daily craving,
+   Cannot have to content me,
+   Have more cause to lament me,
+      Since wanting is more woe than too much having.
+   O Philomela fair!  O take some gladness,
+   That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness:
+   Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;
+   Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.
+
+
+
+SONG.
+
+
+                 _To the tune of_ “_Basciami vita mia_.”
+
+   SLEEP, baby mine, Desire’s nurse, Beauty, singeth;
+      Thy cries, O baby, set mine head on aching:
+      The babe cries, “’Way, thy love doth keep me waking.”
+
+   Lully, lully, my babe, Hope cradle bringeth
+      Unto my children alway good rest taking:
+      The babe cries, “Way, thy love doth keep me waking.”
+
+   Since, baby mine, from me thy watching springeth,
+      Sleep then a little, pap Content is making;
+      The babe cries, “Nay, for that abide I waking.”
+
+                                    I.
+
+   THE scourge of life, and death’s extreme disgrace;
+      The smoke of hell, the monster calléd Pain:
+   Long shamed to be accursed in every place,
+      By them who of his rude resort complain;
+   Like crafty wretch, by time and travel taught,
+      His ugly evil in others’ good to hide;
+   Late harbours in her face, whom Nature wrought
+      As treasure-house where her best gifts do bide;
+   And so by privilege of sacred seat,
+      A seat where beauty shines and virtue reigns,
+   He hopes for some small praise, since she hath great,
+      Within her beams wrapping his cruel stains.
+   Ah, saucy Pain, let not thy terror last,
+   More loving eyes she draws, more hate thou hast.
+
+                                   II.
+
+   Woe! woe to me, on me return the smart:
+      My burning tongue hath bred my mistress pain?
+   For oft in pain, to pain my painful heart,
+      With her due praise did of my state complain.
+   I praised her eyes, whom never chance doth move;
+      Her breath, which makes a sour answer sweet;
+   Her milken breasts, the nurse of child-like love;
+      Her legs, O legs! her aye well-stepping feet:
+   Pain heard her praise, and full of inward fire,
+      (First sealing up my heart as prey of his)
+   He flies to her, and, boldened with desire,
+      Her face, this age’s praise, the thief doth kiss.
+   O Pain!  I now recant the praise I gave,
+   And swear she is not worthy thee to have.
+
+                                   III.
+
+      Thou pain, the only guest of loathed Constraint;
+   The child of Curse, man’s weakness foster-child;
+      Brother to Woe, and father of Complaint:
+   Thou Pain, thou hated Pain, from heaven exiled,
+      How hold’st thou her whose eyes constraint doth fear,
+   Whom cursed do bless; whose weakness virtues arm;
+      Who others’ woes and plaints can chastely bear:
+   In whose sweet heaven angels of high thoughts swarm?
+      What courage strange hath caught thy caitiff heart?
+   Fear’st not a face that oft whole hearts devours?
+      Or art thou from above bid play this part,
+   And so no help ’gainst envy of those powers?
+      If thus, alas, yet while those parts have woe;
+      So stay her tongue, that she no more say, “O.”
+
+                                   IV.
+
+      And have I heard her say, “O cruel pain!”
+   And doth she know what mould her beauty bears?
+      Mourns she in truth, and thinks that others feign?
+   Fears she to feel, and feels not others’ fears?
+   Or doth she think all pain the mind forbears?
+      That heavy earth, not fiery spirits, may plain?
+   That eyes weep worse than heart in bloody tears?
+      That sense feels more than what doth sense contain?
+   No, no, she is too wise, she knows her face
+      Hath not such pain as it makes others have:
+   She knows the sickness of that perfect place
+      Hath yet such health, as it my life can save.
+   But this, she thinks, our pain high cause excuseth,
+   Where her, who should rule pain, false pain abuseth.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   LIKE as the dove, which seeléd up doth fly,
+      Is neither freed, nor yet to service bound;
+   But hopes to gain some help by mounting high,
+      Till want of force do force her fall to ground:
+   Right so my mind, caught by his guiding eye,
+      And thence cast off where his sweet hurt he found,
+   Hath neither leave to live, nor doom to die;
+      Nor held in evil, nor suffered to be sound.
+   But with his wings of fancies up he goes,
+      To high conceits, whose fruits are oft but small;
+   Till wounded, blind, and wearied spirit, lose
+      Both force to fly, and knowledge where to fall:
+   O happy dove, if she no bondage tried!
+   More happy I, might I in bondage bide!
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   IN wonted walks, since wonted fancies change,
+      Some cause there is, which of strange cause doth rise:
+   For in each thing whereto mine eye doth range,
+      Part of my pain, me-seems, engravéd lies.
+   The rocks, which were of constant mind the mark,
+      In climbing steep, now hard refusal show;
+   The shading woods seem now my sun to dark,
+      And stately hills disdain to look so low.
+   The restful caves now restless visions give;
+      In dales I see each way a hard ascent:
+   Like late-mown meads, late cut from joy I live;
+      Alas, sweet brooks do in my tears augment:
+   Rocks, woods, hills, caves, dales, meads, brooks, answer me;
+   Infected minds infect each thing they see.
+   IF I could think how these my thoughts to leave,
+      Or thinking still, my thoughts might have good end;
+   If rebel sense would reason’s law receive;
+      Or reason foiled, would not in vain contend:
+   Then might I think what thoughts were best to think:
+   Then might I wisely swim, or gladly sink.
+
+   If either you would change your cruel heart,
+      Or, cruel still, time did your beauties stain:
+   If from my soul this love would once depart,
+      Or for my love some love I might obtain;
+   Then might I hope a change, or ease of mind,
+   By your good help, or in myself, to find.
+
+   But since my thoughts in thinking still are spent.
+      With reason’s strife, by senses overthrown;
+   You fairer still, and still more cruel bent,
+      I loving still a love that loveth none:
+   I yield and strive, I kiss and curse the pain,
+   Thought, reason, sense, time, You, and I, maintain.
+
+
+
+A FAREWELL.
+
+
+   OFT have I mused, but now at length I find
+      Why those that die, men say, they do depart:
+   Depart: a word so gentle to my mind,
+      Weakly did seem to paint Death’s ugly dart.
+
+   But now the stars, with their strange course, do bind
+      Me one to leave, with whom I leave my heart;
+   I hear a cry of spirits faint and blind,
+      That parting thus, my chiefest part I part.
+
+   Part of my life, the loathéd part to me,
+      Lives to impart my weary clay some breath;
+   But that good part wherein all comforts be,
+      Now dead, doth show departure is a death:
+
+   Yea, worse than death, death parts both woe and joy,
+   From joy I part, still living in annoy.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   FINDING those beams, which I must ever love,
+      To mar my mind, and with my hurt to please,
+   I deemed it best, some absence for to prove,
+      If farther place might further me to ease.
+
+   My eyes thence drawn, where livéd all their light,
+      Blinded forthwith in dark despair did lie,
+   Like to the mole, with want of guiding sight,
+      Deep plunged in earth, deprivéd of the sky.
+
+   In absence blind, and wearied with that woe,
+      To greater woes, by presence, I return;
+   Even as the fly, which to the flame doth go,
+      Pleased with the light, that his small corse doth burn:
+
+   Fair choice I have, either to live or die
+   A blinded mole, or else a burnéd fly.
+
+
+
+THE SEVEN WONDERS OF ENGLAND.
+
+
+                                    I.
+
+   NEAR Wilton sweet, huge heaps of stones are found,
+      But so confused, that neither any eye
+      Can count them just, nor Reason reason try,
+   What force brought them to so unlikely ground.
+
+   To stranger weights my mind’s waste soil is bound,
+      Of passion-hills, reaching to Reason’s sky,
+   From Fancy’s earth, passing all number’s bound,
+      Passing all guess, whence into me should fly
+   So mazed a mass; or, if in me it grows,
+   A simple soul should breed so mixéd woes.
+
+                                   II.
+
+      The Bruertons have a lake, which, when the sun
+   Approaching warms, not else, dead logs up sends
+   From hideous depth; which tribute, when it ends,
+      Sore sign it is the lord’s last thread is spun.
+
+      My lake is Sense, whose still streams never run
+   But when my sun her shining twins there bends;
+      Then from his depth with force in her begun,
+   Long drownéd hopes to watery eyes it lends;
+      But when that fails my dead hopes up to take,
+      Their master is fair warned his will to make.
+
+                                   III.
+
+      We have a fish, by strangers much admired,
+   Which caught, to cruel search yields his chief part:
+   With gall cut out, closed up again by art,
+      Yet lives until his life be new required.
+
+      A stranger fish myself, not yet expired,
+   Tho’, rapt with Beauty’s hook, I did impart
+      Myself unto th’ anatomy desired,
+   Instead of gall, leaving to her my heart:
+      Yet live with thoughts closed up, ’till that she will,
+      By conquest’s right, instead of searching, kill.
+
+                                   IV.
+
+      Peak hath a cave, whose narrow entries find
+   Large rooms within where drops distil amain:
+   Till knit with cold, though there unknown remain,
+      Deck that poor place with alabaster lined.
+
+      Mine eyes the strait, the roomy cave, my mind;
+   Whose cloudy thoughts let fall an inward rain
+      Of sorrow’s drops, till colder reason bind
+   Their running fall into a constant vein
+      Of truth, far more than alabaster pure,
+      Which, though despised, yet still doth truth endure.
+
+                                    V.
+
+      A field there is, where, if a stake oe prest
+   Deep in the earth, what hath in earth receipt,
+   Is changed to stone in hardness, cold, and weight,
+      The wood above doth soon consuming rest.
+
+      The earth her ears; the stake is my request;
+   Of which, how much may pierce to that sweet seat,
+      To honour turned, doth dwell in honour’s nest,
+   Keeping that form, though void of wonted heat;
+      But all the rest, which fear durst not apply,
+      Failing themselves, with withered conscience die.
+
+                                   VI.
+
+      Of ships by shipwreck cast on Albion’s coast,
+   Which rotting on the rocks, their death to die:
+   From wooden bones and blood of pitch doth fly
+      A bird, which gets more life than ship had lost.
+
+      My ship, Desire, with wind of Lust long tost,
+   Brake on fair cliffs of constant Chastity;
+      Where plagued for rash attempt, gives up his ghost;
+   So deep in seas of virtue, beauties lie:
+      But of this death flies up the purest love,
+      Which seeming less, yet nobler life doth move.
+
+                                   VII.
+
+      These wonders England breeds; the last remains—
+   A lady, in despite of Nature, chaste,
+   On whom all love, in whom no love is placed,
+      Where Fairness yields to Wisdom’s shortest reins.
+
+      A humble pride, a scorn that favour stains;
+   A woman’s mould, but like an angel graced;
+   An angel’s mind, but in a woman cased;
+      A heaven on earth, or earth that heaven contains:
+   Now thus this wonder to myself I frame;
+   She is the cause that all the rest I am.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+   THOU blind man’s mark; thou fool’s self-chosen snare,
+      Fond fancy’s scum, and dregs of scattered thought:
+   Band of all evils; cradle of causeless care;
+      Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought:
+
+      Desire! Desire!  I have too dearly bought,
+   With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware;
+      Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought
+   Who shouldst my mind to higher things prepare;
+
+      But yet in vain thou hast my ruin sought;
+   In vain thou mad’st me to vain things aspire;
+   In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire:
+      For Virtue hath this better lesson taught,
+   Within myself to seek my only hire,
+   Desiring nought but how to kill Desire.
+
+
+
+FROM EARTH TO HEAVEN.
+
+
+   LEAVE me, O love! which reachest but to dust;
+      And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things:
+   Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
+      Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
+
+   Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
+      To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,
+   Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light
+      That doth both shine, and give us sight to see.
+
+   O take fast hold! let that light be thy guide,
+      In this small course which birth draws out to death,
+   And think how evil becometh him to slide,
+      Who seeketh heaven, and comes from heavenly breath.
+         Then farewell, world, thy uttermost I see,
+         Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.
+
+                     SPLENDIDIS LONGUM VALEDICO NUGIS
+
+
+
+
+FOOTNOTES.
+
+
+{1}  _Edward Wotton_, elder brother of Sir Henry Wotton.  He was knighted
+by Elizabeth in 1592, and made Comptroller of her Household.  Observe the
+playfulness in Sidney’s opening and close of a treatise written
+throughout in plain, manly English without Euphuism, and strictly
+reasoned.
+
+{2}  Here the introduction ends, and the argument begins with its § 1.
+_Poetry the first Light-giver_.
+
+{3}  A fable from the “Hetamythium” of Laurentius Abstemius, Professor of
+Belles Lettres at Urbino, and Librarian to Duke Guido Ubaldo under the
+Pontificate of Alexander VI. (1492–1503).
+
+{4}  Pliny says (“Nat. Hist.,” lib. xi., cap. 62) that the young vipers,
+impatient to be born, break through the side of their mother, and so kill
+her.
+
+{5}  § 2.  _Borrowed from by Philosophers_.
+
+{6}  Timæus, the Pythagorean philosopher of Locri, and the Athenian
+Critias are represented by Plato as having listened to the discourse of
+Socrates on a Republic.  Socrates calls on them to show such a state in
+action.  Critias will tell of the rescue of Europe by the ancient
+citizens of Attica, 10,000 years before, from an inroad of countless
+invaders who came from the vast island of Atlantis, in the Western Ocean;
+a struggle of which record was preserved in the temple of Naith or Athené
+at Sais, in Egypt, and handed down, through Solon, by family tradition to
+Critias.  But first Timæus agrees to expound the structure of the
+universe; then Critias, in a piece left unfinished by Plato, proceeds to
+show an ideal society in action against pressure of a danger that seems
+irresistible.
+
+{7}  Plato’s “Republic,” book ii.
+
+{8}  § 3.  _Borrowed from by Historians_.
+
+{9}  § 4.  _Honoured by the Romans as Sacred and Prophetic_.
+
+{10}  § 5.  _And really sacred and prophetic in the Psalms of David_.
+
+{11}  § 6.  _By the Greeks_, _Poets were honoured with the name of
+Makers_.
+
+{12}  _Poetry is the one creative art_.  _Astronomers and others repeat
+what they find_.
+
+{13}  _Poets improve Nature_.
+
+{14}  _And idealize man_.
+
+{15}  _Here a Second Part of the Essay begins_.
+
+{16}  § 1.  Poetry defined.
+
+{17}  § 2.  _Its kinds_.  _a._  _Divine_.
+
+{18}  _b._  _Philosophical_, _which is perhaps too imitative_.
+
+{19}  Marcus Manilius wrote under Tiberius a metrical treatise on
+Astronomy, of which five books on the fixed stars remain.
+
+{20}  _c._  _Poetry proper_.
+
+{21}  § 3.  _Subdivisions of Poetry proper_.
+
+{22}  _Its essence is in the thought_, _not in apparelling of verse_.
+
+{23}  _Heliodorus_ was Bishop of Tricca, in Thessaly, and lived in the
+fourth century.  His story of Theagenes and Chariclea, called the
+“Æthiopica,” was a romantic tale in Greek which was, in Elizabeth’s
+reign, translated into English.
+
+{24}  _The Poet’s Work and Parts_.  § 1. WORK: _What Poetry does for us_.
+
+{25}  _Their clay lodgings_—
+
+    “Such harmony is in immortal souls;
+    But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
+    Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.”
+
+                        (Shakespeare, “Merchant of Venice,” act v., sc. 1)
+
+{26}  _Poetry best advances the end of all earthly learning_, _virtuous
+action_.
+
+{27}  _Its advantage herein over Moral Philosophy_.
+
+{28}  _Its advantage herein over History_.
+
+{29}  “All men make faults, and even I in this,
+Authórising thy trespass with compare.”
+
+                                                 Shakespeare, “Sonnet” 35.
+
+{30}  “Witness of the times, light of truth, life of memory, mistress of
+life, messenger of antiquity.”—Cicero, “De Oratore.”
+
+{31}  _In what manner the Poet goes beyond Philosopher_, _Historian_,
+_and all others_ (_bating comparison with the Divine_).
+
+{32}  _He is beyond the Philosopher_.
+
+{33}  Horace’s “Ars Poetica,” lines 372–3.  But Horace wrote “Non
+homines, non Di”—“Neither men, gods, nor lettered columns have admitted
+mediocrity in poets.”
+
+{34}  _The moral common-places_.  Common Place, “Locus communis,” was a
+term used in old rhetoric to represent testimonies or pithy sentences of
+good authors which might be used for strengthening or adorning a
+discourse; but said Keckermann, whose Rhetoric was a text-book in the
+days of James I. and Charles I., “Because it is impossible thus to read
+through all authors, there are books that give students of eloquence what
+they need in the succinct form of books of Common Places, like that
+collected by Stobæus out of Cicero, Seneca, Terence, Aristotle; but
+especially the book entitled ‘Polyanthea,’ provides short and effective
+sentences apt to any matter.”  Frequent resort to the Polyanthea caused
+many a good quotation to be hackneyed; the term of rhetoric, “a
+common-place,” came then to mean a good saying made familiar by incessant
+quoting, and then in common speech, any trite saying good or bad, but
+commonly without wit in it.
+
+{35}  _Thus far Aristotle_.  The whole passage in the “Poetics” runs: “It
+is not by writing in verse or prose that the Historian and Poet are
+distinguished.  The work of Herodotus might be versified; but it would
+still be a species of History, no less with metre than without.  They are
+distinguished by this, that the one relates what has been, the other what
+might be.  On this account Poetry is more philosophical, and a more
+excellent thing than History, for Poetry is chiefly conversant about
+general truth; History about particular.  In what manner, for example,
+any person of a certain character would speak or act, probably or
+necessarily, this is general; and this is the object of Poetry, even
+while it makes use of particular names.  But what Alcibiades did, or what
+happened to him, this is particular truth.”
+
+{36}  Justinus, who lived in the second century, made an epitome of the
+history of the Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, Macedonian, and Roman Empires,
+from Trogus Pompeius, who lived in the time of Augustus.
+
+{37}  _Dares Phrygius_ was supposed to have been a priest of Vulcan, who
+was in Troy during the siege, and the Phrygian Iliad ascribed to him as
+early as the time of Ælian, A.D. 230, was supposed, therefore, to be
+older than Homer’s.
+
+{38}  _Quintus Curtius_, a Roman historian of uncertain date, who wrote
+the history of Alexander the Great in ten books, of which two are lost
+and others defective.
+
+{39}  Not knowledge but practice.
+
+{40}  _The Poet Monarch of all Human Sciences_.
+
+{41}  In “Love’s Labour’s Lost” a resemblance has been fancied between
+this passage and Rosalind’s description of Biron, and the jest:—
+
+    “Which his fair tongue—conceit’s expositor—
+    Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
+    That agéd ears play truant at his tables,
+    And younger hearings are quite ravishéd,
+    So sweet and voluble is his discourse.”
+
+{42}  Virgil’s “Æneid,” Book xii.:—
+
+    “And shall this ground fainthearted dastard
+             Turnus flying view?
+    Is it so vile a thing to die?”
+
+                                             (Phaer’s Translation [1573].)
+
+{43}  _Instances of the power of the Poet’s work_.
+
+{44}  _Defectuous_.  This word, from the French “defectueux,” is used
+twice in the “Apologie for Poetrie.”
+
+{45}  § II.  _The_ PARTS _of Poetry_.
+
+{46}  _Can Pastoral be condemned_?
+
+{47}  The close of Virgil’s seventh Eclogue—Thyrsis was vanquished, and
+Corydon crowned with lasting glory.
+
+{48}  _Or Elegiac_?
+
+{49}  _Or Iambic_? _or Satiric_?
+
+{50}  From the first Satire of Persius, line 116, in a description of
+Homer’s satire:
+
+    “Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
+    Tangit, et admissus circum præcordia ludit,” &c.
+
+Shrewd Flaccus touches each vice in his laughing friend.  Dryden thus
+translated the whole passage:—
+
+    “Unlike in method, with concealed design
+    Did crafty Horace his low numbers join;
+    And, with a sly insinuating grace
+    Laughed at his friend, and looked him in the face:
+    Would raise a blush where secret vice he found;
+    And tickle, while he gently probed the wound;
+    With seeming innocence the crowd beguiled,
+    But made the desperate passes while he smiled.”
+
+{51}  From the end of the eleventh of Horace’s epistles (Lib. 1):
+
+    “Coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt,
+    Strenua nos exercet inertia; navibus atque
+    Quadrigis petimus bene vivere.  Quod petis, hic est,
+    Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus.”
+
+    They change their skies but not their mind who run across the seas;
+    We toil in laboured idleness, and seek to live at ease
+    With force of ships and four horse teams.  That which you seek is
+    here,
+    At Ulubræ, unless your mind fail to be calm and clear.
+
+“At Ulubræ” was equivalent to saying in the dullest corner of the world,
+or anywhere.  Ulubræ was a little town probably in Campania, a Roman
+Little Pedlington.  Thomas Carlyle may have had this passage in mind when
+he gave to the same thought a grander form in Sartor Resartus: “May we
+not say that the hour of spiritual enfranchisement is even this?  When
+your ideal world, wherein the whole man has been dimly struggling and
+inexpressibly languishing to work, becomes revealed and thrown open, and
+you discover with amazement enough, like the Lothario in Wilhelm Meister,
+that your America is here or nowhere.  The situation that has not its
+duty, its ideal, was never occupied by man.  Yes, here, in this poor,
+miserable hampered actual wherein thou even now standest, here or
+nowhere, is thy Ideal: work it out therefrom, believe, live, and be free.
+Fool! the Ideal is in thyself, the impediment too is in thyself.  Thy
+condition is but the stuff thou art to shape that same Ideal out of.
+What matter whether such stuff be of this sort or that, so the form thou
+give it be heroic, be poetic?  O thou that pinest in the imprisonment of
+the actual, and criest bitterly to the gods for a kingdom wherein to rule
+and create, know this of a truth, the thing thou seekest is already with
+thee, here or nowhere, couldest thou only see.”
+
+{52}  Or Comic?
+
+{53}  _In pistrinum_.  In the pounding-mill (usually worked by horses or
+asses).
+
+{54}  _Or Tragic_?
+
+{55}  _The old song of Percy and Douglas_, Chevy Chase in its first form.
+
+{56}  _Or the Heroic_?
+
+{57}  Epistles I. ii. 4.  Better than Chrysippus and Crantor.  They were
+both philosophers, Chrysippus a subtle stoic, Crantor the first
+commentator upon Plato.
+
+{58}  _Summary of the argument thus far_.
+
+{59}  _Objections stated and met_.
+
+{60}  Cornelius Agrippa’s book, “De Incertitudine et Vanitate Scientiarum
+et Artium,” was first published in 1532; Erasmus’s “Moriæ Encomium” was
+written in a week, in 1510, and went in a few months through seven
+editions.
+
+{61}  _The objection to rhyme and metre_.
+
+{62}  The first of these sentences is from Horace (Epistle I. xviii. 69):
+“Fly from the inquisitive man, for he is a babbler.”  The second, “While
+each pleases himself we are a credulous crowd,” seems to be varied from
+Ovid (Fasti, iv. 311):—
+
+    “Conscia mens recti famæ mendacia risit:
+    Sed nos in vitium credula turba sumus.”
+
+A mind conscious of right laughs at the falsehoods of fame but towards
+vice we are a credulous crowd.
+
+{63}  _The chief objections_.
+
+{64}  _That time might be better spent_.
+
+{65}  Beg the question.
+
+{66}  _That poetry is the mother of lies_.
+
+{67}  _That poetry is the nurse of abuse_, _infecting us with wanton and
+pestilent desires_.
+
+{68}  _Rampire_, rampart, the Old French form of “rempart,” was “rempar,”
+from “remparer,” to fortify.
+
+{69}  “I give him free leave to be foolish.”  A variation from the line
+(Sat. I. i. 63), “Quid facias illi? jubeas miserum esse libenter.”
+
+{70}  _That Plato banished poets from his ideal Republic_.
+
+{71}  Which authority certain barbarous and insipid writers would wrest
+into meaning that poets were to be thrust out of a state.
+
+{72}  Ion is a rhapsodist, in dialogue with Socrates, who cannot
+understand why it is that his thoughts flow abundantly when he talks of
+Homer.  “I can explain,” says Socrates; “your talent in expounding Homer
+is not an art acquired by system and method, otherwise it would have been
+applicable to other poets besides.  It is a special gift, imparted to you
+by Divine power and inspiration.  The like is true of the poet you
+expound.  His genius does not spring from art, system, or method: it is a
+special gift emanating from the inspiration of the Muses.  A poet is
+light, airy, holy person, who cannot compose verses at all so long as his
+reason remains within him.  The Muses take away his reason, substituting
+in place of it their own divine inspiration and special impulse . . .
+Like prophets and deliverers of oracles, these poets have their reason
+taken away, and become the servants of the gods.  It is not they who,
+bereft of their reason, speak in such sublime strains, it is the god who
+speaks to us, and speaks through them.”  George Grote, from whose volumes
+on Plato I quote this translation of the passage, placed “Ion” among the
+genuine dialogues of Plato.
+
+{73}  _Guards_, trimmings or facings.
+
+{74}  _The Second Summary_.
+
+{75}  _Causes of Defect in English Poetry_.
+
+{76}  From the invocation at the opening of Virgil’s _Æneid_ (line 12),
+“Muse, bring to my mind the causes of these things: what divinity was
+injured . . . that one famous for piety should suffer thus.”
+
+{77}  The Chancellor, Michel de l’Hôpital, born in 1505, who joined to
+his great political services (which included the keeping of the
+Inquisition out of France, and long labour to repress civil war) great
+skill in verse.  He died in 1573.
+
+{78}  Whose heart-strings the Titan (Prometheus) fastened with a better
+clay.  (Juvenal, _Sat._ xiv. 35).  Dryden translated the line, with its
+context—
+
+    “Some sons, indeed, some very few, we see
+    Who keep themselves from this infection free,
+    Whom gracious Heaven for nobler ends designed,
+    Their looks erected, and their clay refined.”
+
+{79}  The orator is made, the poet born.
+
+{80}  What you will; the first that comes.
+
+{81}  “Whatever I shall try to write will be verse.”  Sidney quotes from
+memory, and adapts to his context, Tristium IV. x. 26.
+
+    “Sponte sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos,
+    Et quod temptabam dicere, versus erat.”
+
+{82}  _His_ for “its” here as throughout; the word “its” not being yet
+introduced into English writing.
+
+{83}  _Defects in the Drama_.  It should be remembered that this was
+written when the English drama was but twenty years old, and Shakespeare,
+aged about seventeen, had not yet come to London.  The strongest of
+Shakespeare’s precursors had not yet begun to write for the stage.
+Marlowe had not yet written; and the strength that was to come of the
+freedom of the English drama had yet to be shown.
+
+{84}  There was no scenery on the Elizabethan stage.
+
+{85}  Messenger.
+
+{86}  From the egg.
+
+{87}  _Bias_, slope; French “bìais.”
+
+{88}  Juvenal, _Sat._ iii., lines 152–3.  Which Samuel Johnson finely
+paraphrased in his “London:”
+
+    “Of all the griefs that harass the distrest,
+    Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest.”
+
+{89}  George Bachanan (who died in 1582, aged seventy-six) had written in
+earlier life four Latin tragedies, when Professor of Humanities at
+Bordeaux, with Montaigne in his class.
+
+{90}  _Defects in Lyric Poetry_.
+
+{91}  _Defects in Diction_.  This being written only a year or two after
+the publication of “Euphues,” represents that style of the day which was
+not created but represented by the book from which it took the name of
+“Euphuism.”
+
+{92}  Nizolian paper-books, are commonplace books of quotable passages,
+so called because an Italian grammarian, Marius Nizolius, born at
+Bersello in the fifteenth century, and one of the scholars of the
+Renaissance in the sixteenth, was one of the first producers of such
+volumes.  His contribution was an alphabetical folio dictionary of
+phrases from Cicero: “Thesaurus Ciceronianus, sive Apparatus Linguæ
+Latinæ e scriptis Tullii Ciceronis collectus.”
+
+{93}  “He lives and wins, nay, comes to the Senate, nay, comes to the
+Senate,” &c.
+
+{94}  Pounded.  Put in the pound, when found astray.
+
+{95}  _Capacities of the English Language_.
+
+{96}  _Metre and Rhyme_.
+
+{97}  _Last Summary and playful peroration_.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DEFENCE OF POESIE AND POEMS***
+
+
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+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>A Defence of Poesie and Poems, by Philip Sidney</title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Defence of Poesie and Poems, by Philip
+Sidney, Edited by Henry Morley
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: A Defence of Poesie and Poems
+
+
+Author: Philip Sidney
+
+Editor: Henry Morley
+
+Release Date: October 8, 2014  [eBook #1962]
+[This file was first posted on March 18, 1999]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DEFENCE OF POESIE AND POEMS***
+</pre>
+<p>Transcribed from the 1891 Cassell &amp; Company edition by
+David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org</p>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span
+class="GutSmall">CASSELL&rsquo;S NATIONAL LIBRARY.</span></p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<h1>A <span class="smcap">Defence of Poesie</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">and</span><br />
+<span class="smcap">Poems</span>.</h1>
+<p style="text-align: center"><span class="GutSmall">BY</span><br
+/>
+SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.</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 &amp; COMPANY, <span
+class="smcap">Limited</span>:<br />
+<span class="GutSmall"><i>LONDON</i></span><span
+class="GutSmall">, </span><span class="GutSmall"><i>PARIS &amp;
+MELBOURNE</i></span><span class="GutSmall">.</span><br />
+<span class="GutSmall">1891.</span></p>
+<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">Philip Sidney</span> was born at
+Penshurst, in Kent, on the 29th of November, 1554.&nbsp; His
+father, Sir Henry Sidney, had married Mary, eldest daughter of
+John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, and Philip was the eldest of
+their family of three sons and four daughters.&nbsp; Edmund
+Spenser and Walter Raleigh were of like age with Philip Sidney,
+differing only by about a year, and when Elizabeth became queen,
+on the 17th of November, 1558, they were children of four or five
+years old.</p>
+<p>In the year 1560 Sir Henry Sidney was made Lord President of
+Wales, representing the Queen in Wales and the four adjacent
+western counties, as a Lord Deputy represented her in
+Ireland.&nbsp; The official residence of the Lord President was
+at Ludlow Castle, to which Philip Sidney went with his family
+when a child of six.&nbsp; In the same year his father was
+installed as a Knight of the Garter.&nbsp; When in his tenth year
+Philip Sidney was sent from Ludlow to Shrewsbury Grammar School,
+where he studied for three or four years, and had among his
+schoolfellows Fulke Greville, afterwards Lord Brooke, who
+remained until the end of Sidney&rsquo;s life one of his closest
+friends.&nbsp; When he himself was dying he directed that he
+should be described upon his tomb as &ldquo;Fulke Greville,
+servant to Queen Elizabeth, counsellor to King James, and friend
+to Sir Philip Sidney.&rdquo;&nbsp; Even Dr. Thomas Thornton,
+Canon of Christ Church, Oxford, under whom Sidney was placed when
+he was entered to Christ Church in his fourteenth year, at
+Midsummer, in 1568, had it afterwards recorded on his tomb that
+he was &ldquo;the tutor of Sir Philip Sidney.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sidney was in his eighteenth year in May, 1572, when he left
+the University to continue his training for the service of the
+state, by travel on the Continent.&nbsp; Licensed to travel with
+horses for himself and three servants, Philip Sidney left London
+in the train of the Earl of Lincoln, who was going out as
+ambassador to Charles IX., in Paris.&nbsp; He was in Paris on the
+24th of August in that year, which was the day of the Massacre of
+St. Bartholomew.&nbsp; He was sheltered from the dangers of that
+day in the house of the English Ambassador, Sir Francis
+Walsingham, whose daughter Fanny Sidney married twelve years
+afterwards.</p>
+<p>From Paris Sidney travelled on by way of Heidelberg to
+Frankfort, where he lodged at a printer&rsquo;s, and found a warm
+friend in Hubert Languet, whose letters to him have been
+published.&nbsp; Sidney was eighteen and Languet fifty-five, a
+French Huguenot, learned and zealous for the Protestant cause,
+who had been Professor of Civil Law in Padua, and who was acting
+as secret minister for the Elector of Saxony when he first knew
+Sidney, and saw in him a future statesman whose character and
+genius would give him weight in the counsels of England, and make
+him a main hope of the Protestant cause in Europe.&nbsp; Sidney
+travelled on with Hubert Languet from Frankfort to Vienna,
+visited Hungary, then passed to Italy, making for eight weeks
+Venice his head-quarters, and then giving six weeks to
+Padua.&nbsp; He returned through Germany to England, and was in
+attendance it the Court of Queen Elizabeth in July, 1575.&nbsp;
+Next month his father was sent to Ireland as Lord Deputy, and
+Sidney lived in London with his mother.</p>
+<p>At this time the opposition of the Mayor and Corporation of
+the City of London to the acting of plays by servants of
+Sidney&rsquo;s uncle, the Earl of Leicester, who had obtained a
+patent for them, obliged the actors to cease from hiring rooms or
+inn yards in the City, and build themselves a house of their own
+a little way outside one of the City gates, and wholly outside
+the Lord Mayor&rsquo;s jurisdiction.&nbsp; Thus the first theatre
+came to be built in England in the year 1576.&nbsp; Shakespeare
+was then but twelve years old, and it was ten years later that he
+came to London.</p>
+<p>In February, 1577, Philip Sidney, not yet twenty-three years
+old, was sent on a formal embassy of congratulation to Rudolph
+II. upon his becoming Emperor of Germany, but under the duties of
+the formal embassy was the charge of watching for opportunities
+of helping forward a Protestant League among the princes of
+Germany.&nbsp; On his way home through the Netherlands he was to
+convey Queen Elizabeth&rsquo;s congratulations to William of
+Orange on the birth of his first child, and what impression he
+made upon that leader of men is shown by a message William sent
+afterwards through Fulke Greville to Queen Elizabeth.&nbsp; He
+said &ldquo;that if he could judge, her Majesty had one of the
+ripest and greatest counsellors of State in Philip Sidney that
+then lived in Europe; to the trial of which he was pleased to
+leave his own credit engaged until her Majesty was pleased to
+employ this gentleman, either amongst her friends or
+enemies.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sidney returned from his embassy in June, 1577.&nbsp; At the
+time of his departure, in the preceding February, his sister
+Mary, then twenty years old, had become the third wife of Henry
+Herbert, Earl of Pembroke, and her new home as Countess of
+Pembroke was in the great house at Wilton, about three miles from
+Salisbury.&nbsp; She had a measure of her brother&rsquo;s genius,
+and was of like noble strain.&nbsp; Spenser described her as</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;The gentlest shepherdess that lives this
+day,<br />
+And most resembling, both in shape and spright,<br />
+Her brother dear.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Ben Jonson, long after her brother had passed from earth,
+wrote upon her death the well-known epitaph:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Underneath this sable herse<br />
+Lies the subject of all verse,<br />
+Sidney&rsquo;s sister, Pembroke&rsquo;s mother.<br />
+Death, ere thou hast slain another,<br />
+Learn&rsquo;d, and fair, and good as she,<br />
+Time shall throw a dart at thee.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Sidney&rsquo;s sister became Pembroke&rsquo;s mother in 1580,
+while her brother Philip was staying with her at Wilton.&nbsp; He
+had early in the year written a long argument to the Queen
+against the project of her marriage with the Duke of Anjou, which
+she then found it politic to seem to favour.&nbsp; She liked
+Sidney well, but resented, or appeared to resent, his intrusion
+of advice; he also was discontented with what seemed to be her
+policy, and he withdrew from Court for a time.&nbsp; That time of
+seclusion, after the end of March, 1580, he spent with his sister
+at Wilton.&nbsp; They versified psalms together; and he began to
+write for her amusement when she had her baby first upon her
+hands, his romance of &ldquo;Arcadia.&rdquo;&nbsp; It was never
+finished.&nbsp; Much was written at Wilton in the summer of 1580,
+the rest in 1581, written, as he said in a letter to her,
+&ldquo;only for you, only to you . . . for severer eyes it is
+not, being but a trifle, triflingly handled.&nbsp; Your dear self
+can best witness the manner, being done in loose sheets of paper,
+most of it in your presence, the rest by sheets sent unto you as
+fast as they were done.&rdquo;&nbsp; He never meant that it
+should be published; indeed, when dying he asked that it should
+be destroyed; but it belonged to a sister who prized the lightest
+word of his, and after his death it was published in 1590 as
+&ldquo;The Countess of Pembroke&rsquo;s Arcadia.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The book reprinted in this volume was written in 1581, while
+sheets of the &ldquo;Arcadia&rdquo; were still being sent to
+Wilton.&nbsp; But it differs wholly in style from the
+&ldquo;Arcadia.&rdquo;&nbsp; Sidney&rsquo;s &ldquo;Arcadia&rdquo;
+has literary interest as the first important example of the union
+of pastoral with heroic romance, out of which came presently, in
+France, a distinct school of fiction.&nbsp; But the genius of its
+author was at play, it followed designedly the fashions of the
+hour in verse and prose, which tended to extravagance of
+ingenuity.&nbsp; The &ldquo;Defence of Poesy&rdquo; has higher
+interest as the first important piece of literary criticism in
+our literature.&nbsp; Here Sidney was in earnest.&nbsp; His style
+is wholly free from the euphuistic extravagance in which readers
+of his time delighted: it is clear, direct, and manly; not the
+less, but the more, thoughtful and refined for its unaffected
+simplicity.&nbsp; As criticism it is of the true sort; not
+captious or formal, still less engaged, as nearly all bad
+criticism is, more or less, with indirect suggestion of the
+critic himself as the one owl in a world of mice.&nbsp; Philip
+Sidney&rsquo;s care is towards the end of good literature.&nbsp;
+He looks for highest aims, and finds them in true work, and hears
+God&rsquo;s angel in the poet&rsquo;s song.</p>
+<p>The writing of this piece was probably suggested to him by the
+fact that an earnest young student, Stephen Gosson, who came from
+his university about the time when the first theatres were built,
+and wrote plays, was turned by the bias of his mind into
+agreement with the Puritan attacks made by the pulpit on the
+stage (arising chiefly from the fact that plays were then acted
+on Sundays), and in 1579 transferred his pen from service of the
+players to attack on them, in a piece which he called &ldquo;The
+School of Abuse, containing a Pleasant Invective against Poets,
+Pipers, Players, Jesters, and such like Caterpillars of a
+Commonwealth; setting up the Flag of Defiance to their
+mischievous exercise, and overthrowing their Bulwarks, by Profane
+Writers, Natural Reason, and Common Experience: a Discourse as
+pleasant for Gentlemen that favour Learning as profitable for all
+that will follow Virtue.&rdquo;&nbsp; This Discourse Gosson
+dedicated &ldquo;To the right noble Gentleman, Master Philip
+Sidney, Esquire.&rdquo;&nbsp; Sidney himself wrote verse, he was
+companion with the poets, and counted Edmund Spenser among his
+friends.&nbsp; Gosson&rsquo;s pamphlet was only one expression of
+the narrow form of Puritan opinion that had been misled into
+attacks on poetry and music as feeders of idle appetite that
+withdrew men from the life of duty.&nbsp; To show the fallacy in
+such opinion, Philip Sidney wrote in 1581 this piece, which was
+first printed in 1595, nine years after his death, as a separate
+publication, entitled &ldquo;An Apologie for
+Poetrie.&rdquo;&nbsp; Three years afterwards it was added, with
+other pieces, to the third edition of his &ldquo;Arcadia,&rdquo;
+and then entitled &ldquo;The Defence of Poesie.&rdquo;&nbsp; In
+sixteen subsequent editions it continued to appear as &ldquo;The
+Defence of Poesie.&rdquo;&nbsp; The same title was used in the
+separate editions of 1752 and 1810.&nbsp; Professor Edward Arber
+re-issued in 1869 the text of the first edition of 1595, and
+restored the original title, which probably was that given to the
+piece by its author.&nbsp; One name is as good as the other, but
+as the word &ldquo;apology&rdquo; has somewhat changed its sense
+in current English, it may be well to go on calling the work
+&ldquo;The Defence of Poesie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>In 1583 Sidney was knighted, and soon afterwards in the same
+year he married Frances, daughter of Sir Francis
+Walsingham.&nbsp; Sonnets written by him according to old
+fashion, and addressed to a lady in accordance with a form of
+courtesy that in the same old fashion had always been held to
+exclude personal suit&mdash;personal suit was private, and not
+public&mdash;have led to grave misapprehension among some
+critics.&nbsp; They supposed that he desired marriage with
+Penelope Devereux, who was forced by her family in
+1580&mdash;then eighteen years old&mdash;into a hateful marriage
+with Lord Rich.&nbsp; It may be enough to say that if Philip
+Sidney had desired her for his wife, he had only to ask for her
+and have her.&nbsp; Her father, when dying, had desired&mdash;as
+any father might&mdash;that his daughter might become the wife of
+Philip Sidney.&nbsp; But this is not the place for a discussion
+of Astrophel and Stella sonnets.</p>
+<p>In 1585 Sidney was planning to join Drake it sea in attack on
+Spain in the West Indies.&nbsp; He was stayed by the Queen.&nbsp;
+But when Elizabeth declared war on behalf of the Reformed Faith,
+and sent Leicester with an expedition to the Netherlands, Sir
+Philip Sidney went out, in November, 1585, as Governor of
+Flushing.&nbsp; His wife joined him there.&nbsp; He fretted at
+inaction, and made the value of his counsels so distinct that his
+uncle Leicester said after his death that he began by
+&ldquo;despising his youth for a counsellor, not without bearing
+a hand over him as a forward young man.&nbsp; Notwithstanding, in
+a short time he saw the sun so risen above his horizon that both
+he and all his stars were glad to fetch light from
+him.&rdquo;&nbsp; In May, 1586, Sir Philip Sidney received news
+of the death of his father.&nbsp; In August his mother
+died.&nbsp; In September he joined in the investment of
+Zutphen.&nbsp; On the 22nd of September his thigh-bone was
+shattered by a musket ball from the trenches.&nbsp; His horse
+took fright and galloped back, but the wounded man held to his
+seat.&nbsp; He was then carried to his uncle, asked for water,
+and when it was given, saw a dying soldier carried past, who eyed
+it greedily.&nbsp; At once he gave the water to the soldier,
+saying, &ldquo;Thy necessity is yet greater than
+mine.&rdquo;&nbsp; Sidney lived on, patient in suffering, until
+the 17th of October.&nbsp; When he was speechless before death,
+one who stood by asked Philip Sidney for a sign of his continued
+trust in God.&nbsp; He folded his hands as in prayer over his
+breast, and so they were become fixed and chill, when the
+watchers placed them by his side; and in a few minutes the
+stainless representative of the young manhood of Elizabethan
+England passed away.</p>
+<p style="text-align: right">H. M.</p>
+<h2><span class="smcap">An Apologie For Poetrie</span>.</h2>
+<p><span class="smcap">When</span> the right virtuous Edward
+Wotton <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1"
+class="citation">[1]</a> and I were at the Emperor&rsquo;s court
+together, we gave ourselves to learn horsemanship of Gio. Pietro
+Pugliano; one that, with great commendation, had the place of an
+esquire in his stable; and he, according to the fertileness of
+the Italian wit, did not only afford us the demonstration of his
+practice, but sought to enrich our minds with the contemplation
+therein, which he thought most precious.&nbsp; But with none, I
+remember, mine ears were at any time more laden, than when
+(either angered with slow payment, or moved with our learner-like
+admiration) he exercised his speech in the praise of his
+faculty.</p>
+<p>He said, soldiers were the noblest estate of mankind, and
+horsemen the noblest of soldiers.&nbsp; He said, they were the
+masters of war and ornaments of peace, speedy goers, and strong
+abiders, triumphers both in camps and courts; nay, to so
+unbelieved a point he proceeded, as that no earthly thing bred
+such wonder to a prince, as to be a good horseman; skill of
+government was but a &ldquo;pedanteria&rdquo; in
+comparison.&nbsp; Then would he add certain praises by telling
+what a peerless beast the horse was, the only serviceable
+courtier, without flattery, the beast of most beauty,
+faithfulness, courage, and such more, that if I had not been a
+piece of a logician before I came to him, I think he would have
+persuaded me to have wished myself a horse.&nbsp; But thus much,
+at least, with his no few words, he drove into me, that self love
+is better than any gilding, to make that seem gorgeous wherein
+ourselves be parties.</p>
+<p>Wherein, if Pugliano&rsquo;s strong affection and weak
+arguments will not satisfy you, I will give you a nearer example
+of myself, who, I know not by what mischance, in these my not old
+years and idlest times, having slipped into the title of a poet,
+am provoked to say something unto you in the defence of that my
+unelected vocation; which if I handle with more good will than
+good reasons, bear with me, since the scholar is to be pardoned
+that followeth the steps of his master.</p>
+<p>And yet I must say, that as I have more just cause to make a
+pitiful defence of poor poetry, which, from almost the highest
+estimation of learning, is fallen to be the laughing-stock of
+children; so have I need to bring some more available proofs,
+since the former is by no man barred of his deserved credit,
+whereas the silly latter hath had even the names of philosophers
+used to the defacing of it, with great danger of civil war among
+the Muses. <a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2"
+class="citation">[2]</a></p>
+<p>At first, truly, to all them that, professing learning,
+inveigh against poetry, may justly be objected, that they go very
+near to ungratefulness to seek to deface that which, in the
+noblest nations and languages that are known, hath been the first
+light-giver to ignorance, and first nurse, whose milk by little
+and little enabled them to feed afterwards of tougher
+knowledges.&nbsp; And will you play the hedgehog, that being
+received into the den, drove out his host? <a
+name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3"
+class="citation">[3]</a> or rather the vipers, that with their
+birth kill their parents? <a name="citation4"></a><a
+href="#footnote4" class="citation">[4]</a></p>
+<p>Let learned Greece, in any of her manifold sciences, be able
+to show me one book before Mus&aelig;us, Homer, and Hesiod, all
+three nothing else but poets.&nbsp; Nay, let any history he
+brought that can say any writers were there before them, if they
+were not men of the same skill, as Orpheus, Linus, and some
+others are named, who having been the first of that country that
+made pens deliverers of their knowledge to posterity, may justly
+challenge to be called their fathers in learning.&nbsp; For not
+only in time they had this priority (although in itself antiquity
+be venerable) but went before them as causes to draw with their
+charming sweetness the wild untamed wits to an admiration of
+knowledge.&nbsp; So as Amphion was said to move stones with his
+poetry to build Thebes, and Orpheus to be listened to by beasts,
+indeed, stony and beastly people, so among the Romans were Livius
+Andronicus, and Ennius; so in the Italian language, the first
+that made it to aspire to be a treasure-house of science, were
+the poets Dante, Boccace, and Petrarch; so in our English were
+Gower and Chaucer; after whom, encouraged and delighted with
+their excellent foregoing, others have followed to beautify our
+mother tongue, as well in the same kind as other arts.</p>
+<p>This <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5"
+class="citation">[5]</a> did so notably show itself that the
+philosophers of Greece durst not a long time appear to the world
+but under the mask of poets; so Thales, Empedocles, and
+Parmenides sang their natural philosophy in verses; so did
+Pythagoras and Phocylides their moral counsels; so did
+Tyrt&aelig;us in war matters; and Solon in matters of policy; or
+rather they, being poets, did exercise their delightful vein in
+those points of highest knowledge, which before them lay hidden
+to the world; for that wise Solon was directly a poet it is
+manifest, having written in verse the notable fable of the
+Atlantic Island, which was continued by Plato. <a
+name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6"
+class="citation">[6]</a>&nbsp; And, truly, even Plato, whosoever
+well considereth shall find that in the body of his work, though
+the inside and strength were philosophy, the skin, as it were,
+and beauty depended most of poetry.&nbsp; For all stands upon
+dialogues; wherein he feigns many honest burgesses of Athens
+speaking of such matters that if they had been set on the rack
+they would never have confessed them; besides, his poetical
+describing the circumstances of their meetings, as the
+well-ordering of a banquet, the delicacy of a walk, with
+interlacing mere tiles, as Gyges&rsquo;s Ring, <a
+name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7"
+class="citation">[7]</a> and others; which, who knows not to be
+flowers of poetry, did never walk into Apollo&rsquo;s garden.</p>
+<p>And <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8"
+class="citation">[8]</a> even historiographers, although their
+lips sound of things done, and verity be written in their
+foreheads, have been glad to borrow both fashion and, perchance,
+weight of the poets; so Herodotus entitled the books of his
+history by the names of the Nine Muses; and both he, and all the
+rest that followed him, either stole or usurped, of poetry, their
+passionate describing of passions, the many particularities of
+battles which no man could affirm; or, if that be denied me, long
+orations, put in the months of great kings and captains, which it
+is certain they never pronounced.</p>
+<p>So that, truly, neither philosopher nor historiographer could,
+at the first, have entered into the gates of popular judgments,
+if they had not taken a great disport of poetry; which in all
+nations, at this day, where learning flourisheth not, is plain to
+be seen; in all which they have some feeling of poetry.&nbsp; In
+Turkey, besides their lawgiving divines they have no other
+writers but poets.&nbsp; In our neighbour-country Ireland, where,
+too, learning goes very bare, yet are their poets held in a
+devout reverence.&nbsp; Even among the most barbarous and simple
+Indians, where no writing is, yet have they their poets who make
+and sing songs, which they call &ldquo;Arentos,&rdquo; both of
+their ancestor&rsquo;s deeds and praises of their gods.&nbsp; A
+sufficient probability, that if ever learning comes among them,
+it must be by having their hard dull wits softened and sharpened
+with the sweet delight of poetry; for until they find a pleasure
+in the exercise of the mind, great promises of much knowledge
+will little persuade them that know not the fruits of
+knowledge.&nbsp; In Wales, the true remnant of the ancient
+Britons, as there are good authorities to show the long time they
+had poets, which they called bards, so through all the conquests
+of Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans, some of whom did seek to
+ruin all memory of learning from among them, yet do their poets,
+even to this day, last; so as it is not more notable in the soon
+beginning than in long-continuing.</p>
+<p>But since the authors of most of our sciences were the Romans,
+and before them the Greeks, let us, a little, stand upon their
+authorities; but even so far, as to see what names they have
+given unto this now scorned skill. <a name="citation9"></a><a
+href="#footnote9" class="citation">[9]</a>&nbsp; Among the Romans
+a poet was called &ldquo;vates,&rdquo; which is as much as a
+diviner, foreseer, or prophet, as by his conjoined words
+&ldquo;vaticinium,&rdquo; and &ldquo;vaticinari,&rdquo; is
+manifest; so heavenly a title did that excellent people bestow
+upon this heart-ravishing knowledge!&nbsp; And so far were they
+carried into the admiration thereof, that they thought in the
+changeable hitting upon any such verses, great foretokens of
+their following fortunes were placed.&nbsp; Whereupon grew the
+word of sortes Virgilian&aelig;; when, by sudden opening
+Virgil&rsquo;s book, they lighted upon some verse, as it is
+reported by many, whereof the histories of the Emperors&rsquo;
+lives are full.&nbsp; As of Albinus, the governor of our island,
+who, in his childhood, met with this verse&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>Arma amens capio, nec sat rationis in armis</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>and in his age performed it.&nbsp; Although it were a very
+vain and godless superstition; as also it was, to think spirits
+were commanded by such verses; whereupon this word charms,
+derived of &ldquo;carmina,&rdquo; cometh, so yet serveth it to
+show the great reverence those wits were held in; and altogether
+not without ground, since both the oracles of Delphi and the
+Sibyl&rsquo;s prophecies were wholly delivered in verses; for
+that same exquisite observing of number and measure in the words,
+and that high-flying liberty of conceit proper to the poet, did
+seem to have some divine force in it.</p>
+<p>And <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10"
+class="citation">[10]</a> may not I presume a little farther to
+show the reasonableness of this word &ldquo;vates,&rdquo; and
+say, that the holy David&rsquo;s Psalms are a divine poem?&nbsp;
+If I do, I shall not do it without the testimony of great learned
+men, both ancient and modern.&nbsp; But even the name of Psalms
+will speak for me, which, being interpreted, is nothing but
+Songs; then, that is fully written in metre, as all learned
+Hebricians agree, although the rules be not yet fully
+found.&nbsp; Lastly, and principally, his handling his prophecy,
+which is merely poetical.&nbsp; For what else is the awaking his
+musical instruments; the often and free changing of persons; his
+notable prosopopoeias, when he maketh you, as it were, see God
+coming in His majesty; his telling of the beasts&rsquo;
+joyfulness, and hills leaping; but a heavenly poesy, wherein,
+almost, he sheweth himself a passionate lover of that unspeakable
+and everlasting beauty, to be seen by the eyes of the mind, only
+cleared by faith?&nbsp; But truly, now, having named him, I fear
+I seem to profane that holy name, applying it to poetry, which
+is, among us, thrown down to so ridiculous an estimation.&nbsp;
+But they that, with quiet judgments, will look a little deeper
+into it, shall find the end and working of it such, as, being
+rightly applied, deserveth not to be scourged out of the church
+of God.</p>
+<p>But <a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11"
+class="citation">[11]</a> now let us see how the Greeks have
+named it, and how they deemed of it.&nbsp; The Greeks named him
+&pi;&omicron;&iota;&eta;&tau;&#8052;&nu;, which name hath, as the
+most excellent, gone through other languages; it cometh of this
+word &pi;&omicron;&iota;&epsilon;&#8054;&nu;, which is <i>to
+make</i>; wherein, I know not whether by luck or wisdom, we
+Englishmen have met with the Greeks in calling him &ldquo;a
+maker,&rdquo; which name, how high and incomparable a title it
+is, I had rather were known by marking the scope of other
+sciences, than by any partial allegation.&nbsp; There is no art
+delivered unto mankind that hath not the works of nature for his
+principal object, without which they could not consist, and on
+which they so depend as they become actors and players, as it
+were, of what nature will have set forth. <a
+name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12"
+class="citation">[12]</a>&nbsp; So doth the astronomer look upon
+the stars, and by that he seeth set down what order nature hath
+taken therein.&nbsp; So doth the geometrician and arithmetician,
+in their diverse sorts of quantities.&nbsp; So doth the musician,
+in times, tell you which by nature agree, which not.&nbsp; The
+natural philosopher thereon hath his name; and the moral
+philosopher standeth upon the natural virtues, vices, or passions
+of man; and follow nature, saith he, therein, and thou shalt not
+err.&nbsp; The lawyer saith what men have determined.&nbsp; The
+historian, what men have done.&nbsp; The grammarian speaketh only
+of the rules of speech; and the rhetorician and logician,
+considering what in nature will soonest prove and persuade,
+thereon give artificial rules, which still are compassed within
+the circle of a question, according to the proposed matter.&nbsp;
+The physician weigheth the nature of man&rsquo;s body, and the
+nature of things helpful and hurtful unto it.&nbsp; And the
+metaphysic, though it be in the second and abstract notions, and
+therefore be counted supernatural, yet doth he, indeed, build
+upon the depth of nature.&nbsp; Only the poet, disdaining to be
+tied to any such subjection, lifted up with the vigour of his own
+invention, doth grow, in effect, into another nature; in making
+things either better than nature bringeth forth, or quite anew;
+forms such as never were in nature, as the heroes, demi-gods,
+Cyclops, chimeras, furies, and such like; so as he goeth hand in
+hand with Nature, not enclosed within the narrow warrant of her
+gifts, but freely ranging within the zodiac of his own wit. <a
+name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13"
+class="citation">[13]</a>&nbsp;&nbsp; Nature never set forth the
+earth in so rich tapestry as divers poets have done; neither with
+so pleasant rivers, fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flowers, nor
+whatsoever else may make the too-much-loved earth more lovely;
+her world is brazen, the poets only deliver a golden.</p>
+<p>But let those things alone, and go to man; <a
+name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14"
+class="citation">[14]</a> for whom as the other things are, so it
+seemeth in him her uttermost cunning is employed; and know,
+whether she have brought forth so true a lover as Theagenes; so
+constant a friend as Pylades; so valiant a man as Orlando; so
+right a prince as Xenophon&rsquo;s Cyrus; and so excellent a man
+every way as Virgil&rsquo;s &AElig;neas?&nbsp; Neither let this
+be jestingly conceived, because the works of the one be
+essential, the other in imitation or fiction; for every
+understanding knoweth the skill of each artificer standeth in
+that idea, or fore-conceit of the work, and not in the work
+itself.&nbsp; And that the poet hath that idea is manifest by
+delivering them forth in such excellency as he had imagined them;
+which delivering forth, also, is not wholly imaginative, as we
+are wont to say by them that build castles in the air; but so far
+substantially it worketh not only to make a Cyrus, which had been
+but a particular excellency, as nature might have done; but to
+bestow a Cyrus upon the world to make many Cyruses; if they will
+learn aright, why, and how, that maker made him.&nbsp; Neither
+let it be deemed too saucy a comparison to balance the highest
+point of man&rsquo;s wit with the efficacy of nature; but rather
+give right honour to the heavenly Maker of that maker, who having
+made man to His own likeness, set him beyond and over all the
+works of that second nature; which in nothing he showeth so much
+as in poetry; when, with the force of a divine breath, he
+bringeth things forth surpassing her doings, with no small
+arguments to the incredulous of that first accursed fall of Adam;
+since our erected wit maketh us know what perfection is, and yet
+our infected will keepeth us from reaching unto it.&nbsp; But
+these arguments will by few be understood, and by fewer granted;
+thus much I hope will be given me, that the Greeks, with some
+probability of reason, gave him the name above all names of
+learning.</p>
+<p>Now <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15"
+class="citation">[15]</a> let us go to a more ordinary opening of
+him, that the truth may be the more palpable; and so, I hope,
+though we get not so unmatched a praise as the etymology of his
+names will grant, yet his very description, which no man will
+deny, shall not justly be barred from a principal
+commendation.</p>
+<p>Poesy, <a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16"
+class="citation">[16]</a> therefore, is an art of imitation; for
+so Aristotle termeth it in the word
+&mu;&#8055;&mu;&eta;&sigma;&iota;&sigmaf;; that is to say, a
+representing, counterfeiting, or figuring forth: to speak
+metaphorically, a speaking picture, with this end, to teach and
+delight.</p>
+<p>Of <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17"
+class="citation">[17]</a> this have been three general kinds: the
+<i>chief</i>, both in antiquity and excellency, which they that
+did imitate the inconceivable excellencies of God; such were
+David in the Psalms; Solomon in the Song of Songs, in his
+Ecclesiastes, and Proverbs; Moses and Deborah in their hymns; and
+the writer of Job; which, beside others, the learned Emanuel
+Tremellius and Fr. Junius do entitle the poetical part of the
+scripture; against these none will speak that hath the Holy Ghost
+in due holy reverence.&nbsp; In this kind, though in a wrong
+divinity, were Orpheus, Amphion, Homer in his hymns, and many
+others, both Greeks and Romans.&nbsp; And this poesy must be used
+by whosoever will follow St. Paul&rsquo;s counsel, in singing
+psalms when they are merry; and I know is used with the fruit of
+comfort by some, when, in sorrowful pangs of their death-bringing
+sins, they find the consolation of the never-leaving
+goodness.</p>
+<p>The <a name="citation18"></a><a href="#footnote18"
+class="citation">[18]</a> <i>second</i> kind is of them that deal
+with matter philosophical; either moral, as Tyrt&aelig;us,
+Phocylides, Cato, or, natural, as Lucretius, Virgil&rsquo;s
+Georgics; or astronomical, as Manilius <a
+name="citation19"></a><a href="#footnote19"
+class="citation">[19]</a> and Pontanus; or historical, as Lucan;
+which who mislike, the fault is in their judgment, quite out of
+taste, and not in the sweet food of sweetly uttered
+knowledge.</p>
+<p>But because this second sort is wrapped within the fold of the
+proposed subject, and takes not the free course of his own
+invention; whether they properly be poets or no, let grammarians
+dispute, and go to the <i>third</i>, <a name="citation20"></a><a
+href="#footnote20" class="citation">[20]</a> indeed right poets,
+of whom chiefly this question ariseth; betwixt whom and these
+second is such a kind of difference, as betwixt the meaner sort
+of painters, who counterfeit only such faces as are set before
+them; and the more excellent, who having no law but wit, bestow
+that in colours upon you which is fittest for the eye to see; as
+the constant, though lamenting look of Lucretia, when she
+punished in herself another&rsquo;s fault; wherein he painteth
+not Lucretia, whom he never saw, but painteth the outward beauty
+of such a virtue.&nbsp; For these three be they which most
+properly do imitate to teach and delight; and to imitate, borrow
+nothing of what is, hath been, or shall be; but range only,
+reined with learned discretion, into the divine consideration of
+what may be, and should be.&nbsp; These be they, that, as the
+first and most noble sort, may justly be termed
+&ldquo;vates;&rdquo; so these are waited on in the excellentest
+languages and best understandings, with the fore-described name
+of poets.&nbsp; For these, indeed, do merely make to imitate, and
+imitate both to delight and teach, and delight to move men to
+take that goodness in hand, which, without delight they would fly
+as from a stranger; and teach to make them know that goodness
+whereunto they are moved; which being the noblest scope to which
+ever any learning was directed, yet want there not idle tongues
+to bark at them.</p>
+<p>These <a name="citation21"></a><a href="#footnote21"
+class="citation">[21]</a> be subdivided into sundry more special
+denominations; the most notable be the heroic, lyric, tragic,
+comic, satyric, iambic, elegiac, pastoral, and certain others;
+some of these being termed according to the matter they deal
+with; some by the sort of verse they like best to write in; for,
+indeed, the greatest part of poets have apparelled their poetical
+inventions in that numerous kind of writing which is called
+verse.&nbsp; Indeed, but apparelied verse, being but an ornament,
+and no cause to poetry, since there have been many most excellent
+poets that never versified, and now swarm many versifiers that
+need never answer to the name of poets. <a
+name="citation22"></a><a href="#footnote22"
+class="citation">[22]</a>&nbsp; For Xenophon, who did imitate so
+excellently as to give us <i>effigiem justi imperii</i>, the
+portraiture of a just of Cyrus, as Cicero saith of him, made
+therein an absolute heroical poem.&nbsp; So did Heliodorus, <a
+name="citation23"></a><a href="#footnote23"
+class="citation">[23]</a> in his sugared invention of Theagenes
+and Chariclea; and yet both these wrote in prose; which I speak
+to show, that it is not rhyming and versing that maketh a poet
+(no more than a long gown maketh an advocate, who, though he
+pleaded in armour should be an advocate and no soldier); but it
+is that feigning notable images of virtues, vices, or what else,
+with that delightful teaching, which must be the right describing
+note to know a poet by.&nbsp; Although, indeed, the senate of
+poets have chosen verse as their fittest raiment; meaning, as in
+matter they passed all in all, so in manner to go beyond them;
+not speaking table-talk fashion, or like men in a dream, words as
+they changeably fall from the mouth, but piecing each syllable of
+each word by just proportion, according to the dignity of the
+subject.</p>
+<p>Now, <a name="citation24"></a><a href="#footnote24"
+class="citation">[24]</a> therefore, it shall not be amiss,
+first, to weight this latter sort of poetry by his <i>works</i>,
+and then by his <i>parts</i>; and if in neither of these
+anatomies he be commendable, I hope we shall receive a more
+favourable sentence.&nbsp; This purifying of wit, this enriching
+of memory, enabling of judgment, and enlarging of conceit, which
+commonly we call learning under what name soever it come forth,
+or to what immediate end soever it be directed; the final end is,
+to lead and draw us to as high a perfection as our degenerate
+souls, made worse by, their clay lodgings, <a
+name="citation25"></a><a href="#footnote25"
+class="citation">[25]</a> can be capable of.&nbsp; This,
+according to the inclination of man, bred many formed
+impressions; for some that thought this felicity principally to
+be gotten by knowledge, and no knowledge to be so high or
+heavenly as to be acquainted with the stars, gave themselves to
+astronomy; others, persuading themselves to be demi-gods, if they
+knew the causes of things, became natural and supernatural
+philosophers.&nbsp; Some an admirable delight drew to music, and
+some the certainty of demonstrations to the mathematics; but all,
+one and other, having this scope to know, and by knowledge to
+lift up the mind from the dungeon of the body to the enjoying his
+own divine essence.&nbsp; But when, by the balance of experience,
+it was found that the astronomer, looking to the stars, might
+fall in a ditch; that the enquiring philosopher might be blind in
+himself; and the mathematician might draw forth a straight line
+with a crooked heart; then lo! did proof, the over-ruler of
+opinions, make manifest that all these are but serving sciences,
+which, as they have a private end in themselves, so yet are they
+all directed to the highest end of the mistress knowledge, by the
+Greeks called
+&#7936;&rho;&chi;&iota;&tau;&epsilon;&kappa;&tau;&omicron;&nu;&iota;&kappa;&#8052;,
+which stands, as I think, in the knowledge of a man&rsquo;s self;
+in the ethic and politic consideration, with the end of well
+doing, and not of well knowing only; even as the saddler&rsquo;s
+next end is to make a good saddle, but his farther end to serve a
+nobler faculty, which is horsemanship; so the horseman&rsquo;s to
+soldiery; and the soldier not only to have the skill, but to
+perform the practice of a soldier.&nbsp; So that the ending end
+of all earthly learning being virtuous action, those skills that
+most serve to bring forth that have a most just title to be
+princes over all the rest; wherein, if we can show it rightly,
+the poet is worthy to have it before any other competitors. <a
+name="citation26"></a><a href="#footnote26"
+class="citation">[26]</a></p>
+<p>Among <a name="citation27"></a><a href="#footnote27"
+class="citation">[27]</a> whom principally to challenge it, step
+forth the moral philosophers; whom, methinks, I see coming toward
+me with a sullen gravity (as though they could not abide vice by
+daylight), rudely clothed, for to witness outwardly their
+contempt of outward things, with books in their hands against
+glory, whereto they set their names; sophistically speaking
+against subtlety, and angry with any man in whom they see the
+foul fault of anger.&nbsp; These men, casting largesses as they
+go, of definitions, divisions, and distinctions, with a scornful
+interrogative do soberly ask: Whether it be possible to find any
+path so ready to lead a man to virtue, as that which teacheth
+what virtue is; and teacheth it not only by delivering forth his
+very being, his causes and effects; but also by making known his
+enemy, vice, which must be destroyed; and his cumbersome servant,
+passion, which must be mastered, by showing the generalities that
+contain it, and the specialities that are derived from it;
+lastly, by plain setting down how it extends itself out of the
+limits of a man&rsquo;s own little world, to the government of
+families, and maintaining of public societies?</p>
+<p>The historian <a name="citation28"></a><a href="#footnote28"
+class="citation">[28]</a> scarcely gives leisure to the moralist
+to say so much, but that he (laden with old mouse-eaten records,
+auth&oacute;rizing <a name="citation29"></a><a href="#footnote29"
+class="citation">[29]</a> himself, for the most part, upon other
+histories, whose greatest authorities are built upon the notable
+foundation of hearsay, having much ado to accord differing
+writers, and to pick truth out of partiality; better acquainted
+with a thousand years ago than with the present age, and yet
+better knowing how this world goes than how his own wit runs;
+curious for antiquities, and inquisitive of novelties, a wonder
+to young folks, and a tyrant in table-talk) denieth, in a great
+chafe, that any man for teaching of virtue and virtuous actions,
+is comparable to him.&nbsp; I am &ldquo;Testis temporum, lux
+veritatis, vita memori&aelig;, magistra vit&aelig;, nuncia
+vetustatis.&rdquo; <a name="citation30"></a><a href="#footnote30"
+class="citation">[30]</a>&nbsp; The philosopher, saith he,
+teacheth a disputative virtue, but I do an active; his virtue is
+excellent in the dangerless academy of Plato, but mine showeth
+forth her honourable face in the battles of Marathon, Pharsalia,
+Poictiers, and Agincourt: he teacheth virtue by certain abstract
+considerations; but I only bid you follow the footing of them
+that have gone before you: old-aged experience goeth beyond the
+fine-witted philosopher; but I give the experience of many
+ages.&nbsp; Lastly, if he make the song book, I put the
+learner&rsquo;s hand to the lute; and if he be the guide, I am
+the light.&nbsp; Then would he allege you innumerable examples,
+confirming story by stories, how much the wisest senators and
+princes have been directed by the credit of history, as Brutus,
+Alphonsus of Aragon (and who not? if need be).&nbsp; At length,
+the long line of their disputation makes a point in this, that
+the one giveth the precept, and the other the example.</p>
+<p>Now <a name="citation31"></a><a href="#footnote31"
+class="citation">[31]</a> whom shall we find, since the question
+standeth for the highest form in the school of learning, to be
+moderator?&nbsp; Truly, as me seemeth, the poet; and if not a
+moderator, even the man that ought to carry the title from them
+both, and much more from all other serving sciences.&nbsp;
+Therefore compare we the poet with the historian, and with the
+moral philosopher; and if he go beyond them both, no other human
+skill can match him; for as for the Divine, with all reverence,
+he is ever to be excepted, not only for having his scope as far
+beyond any of these, as eternity exceedeth a moment, but even for
+passing each of these in themselves; and for the lawyer, though
+&ldquo;Jus&rdquo; be the daughter of Justice, the chief of
+virtues, yet because he seeks to make men good rather
+&ldquo;formidine p&oelig;n&aelig;&rdquo; than &ldquo;virtutis
+amore,&rdquo; or, to say righter, doth not endeavour to make men
+good, but that their evil hurt not others, having no care, so he
+be a good citizen, how bad a man he be: therefore, as our
+wickedness maketh him necessary, and necessity maketh him
+honourable, so is he not in the deepest truth to stand in rank
+with these, who all endeavour to take naughtiness away, and plant
+goodness even in the secretest cabinet of our souls.&nbsp; And
+these four are all that any way deal in the consideration of
+men&rsquo;s manners, which being the supreme knowledge, they that
+best breed it deserve the best commendation.</p>
+<p>The philosopher, therefore, and the historian are they which
+would win the goal, the one by precept, the other by example; but
+both, not having both, do both halt.&nbsp; For the philosopher,
+setting down with thorny arguments the bare rule, is so hard of
+utterance, and so misty to be conceived, that one that hath no
+other guide but him shall wade in him until he be old, before he
+shall find sufficient cause to be honest.&nbsp; For his knowledge
+standeth so upon the abstract and general, that happy is that man
+who may understand him, and more happy that can apply what he
+doth understand.&nbsp; On the other side the historian, wanting
+the precept, is so tied, not to what should be, but to what is;
+to the particular truth of things, and not to the general reason
+of things; that his example draweth no necessary consequence, and
+therefore a less fruitful doctrine.</p>
+<p>Now <a name="citation32"></a><a href="#footnote32"
+class="citation">[32]</a> doth the peerless poet perform both;
+for whatsoever the philosopher saith should be done, he giveth a
+perfect picture of it, by some one by whom he pre-supposeth it
+was done, so as he coupleth the general notion with the
+particular example.&nbsp; A perfect picture, I say; for he
+yieldeth to the powers of the mind an image of that whereof the
+philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description, which doth
+neither strike, pierce, nor possess the sight of the soul, so
+much as that other doth.&nbsp; For as, in outward things, to a
+man that had never seen an elephant, or a rhinoceros, who should
+tell him most exquisitely all their shape, colour, bigness, and
+particular marks? or of a gorgeous palace, an architect, who,
+declaring the full beauties, might well make the hearer able to
+repeat, as it were, by rote, all he had heard, yet should never
+satisfy his inward conceit, with being witness to itself of a
+true living knowledge; but the same man, as soon as he might see
+those beasts well painted, or that house well in model, should
+straightway grow, without need of any description, to a judicial
+comprehending of them; so, no doubt, the philosopher, with his
+learned definitions, be it of virtue or vices, matters of public
+policy or private government, replenisheth the memory with many
+infallible grounds of wisdom, which, notwithstanding, lie dark
+before the imaginative and judging power, if they be not
+illuminated or figured forth by the speaking picture of
+poesy.</p>
+<p>Tully taketh much pains, and many times not without poetical
+help, to make us know the force love of our country hath in
+us.&nbsp; Let us but hear old Anchises, speaking in the midst of
+Troy&rsquo;s flames, or see Ulysses, in the fulness of all
+Calypso&rsquo;s delights, bewail his absence from barren and
+beggarly Ithaca.&nbsp; Anger, the Stoics said, was a short
+madness; let but Sophocles bring you Ajax on a stage, killing or
+whipping sheep and oxen, thinking them the army of Greeks, with
+their chieftains Agamemnon and Menelaus; and tell me, if you have
+not a more familiar insight into anger, than finding in the
+schoolmen his genus and difference?&nbsp; See whether wisdom and
+temperance in Ulysses and Diomedes, valour in Achilles,
+friendship in Nisus and Euryalus, even to an ignorant man, carry
+not an apparent shining; and, contrarily, the remorse of
+conscience in &OElig;dipus; the soon-repenting pride in
+Agamemnon; the self-devouring cruelty in his father Atreus; the
+violence of ambition in the two Theban brothers; the sour
+sweetness of revenge in Medea; and, to fall lower, the Terentian
+Gnatho, and our Chaucer&rsquo;s Pandar, so expressed, that we now
+use their names to signify their trades; and finally, all
+virtues, vices, and passions so in their own natural states laid
+to the view, that we seem not to hear of them, but clearly to see
+through them?</p>
+<p>But even in the most excellent determination of goodness, what
+philosopher&rsquo;s counsel can so readily direct a prince as the
+feigned Cyrus in Xenophon?&nbsp; Or a virtuous man in all
+fortunes, as &AElig;neas in Virgil?&nbsp; Or a whole
+commonwealth, as the way of Sir Thomas More&rsquo;s Utopia?&nbsp;
+I say the way, because where Sir Thomas More erred, it was the
+fault of the man, and not of the poet; for that way of patterning
+a commonwealth was most absolute, though he, perchance, hath not
+so absolutely performed it.&nbsp; For the question is, whether
+the feigned image of poetry, or the regular instruction of
+philosophy, hath the more force in teaching.&nbsp; Wherein, if
+the philosophers have more rightly showed themselves
+philosophers, than the poets have attained to the high top of
+their profession, (as in truth,</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&ldquo;Mediocribus
+esse po&euml;tis<br />
+Non D&icirc;, non homines, non concessere column&aelig;,&rdquo;
+<a name="citation33"></a><a href="#footnote33"
+class="citation">[33]</a>)</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>it is, I say again, not the fault of the art, but that by few
+men that art can be accomplished.&nbsp; Certainly, even our
+Saviour Christ could as well have given the moral common-places
+<a name="citation34"></a><a href="#footnote34"
+class="citation">[34]</a> of uncharitableness and humbleness, as
+the divine narration of Dives and Lazarus; or of disobedience and
+mercy, as the heavenly discourse of the lost child and the
+gracious father; but that his thorough searching wisdom knew the
+estate of Dives burning in hell, and of Lazarus in
+Abraham&rsquo;s bosom, would more constantly, as it were, inhabit
+both the memory and judgment.&nbsp; Truly, for myself (me seems),
+I see before mine eyes the lost child&rsquo;s disdainful
+prodigality turned to envy a swine&rsquo;s dinner; which, by the
+learned divines, are thought not historical acts, but instructing
+parables.</p>
+<p>For conclusion, I say the philosopher teacheth, but he
+teacheth obscurely, so as the learned only can understand him;
+that is to say, he teacheth them that are already taught.&nbsp;
+But the poet is the food for the tenderest stomachs; the poet is,
+indeed, the right popular philosopher.&nbsp; Whereof
+&AElig;sop&rsquo;s tales give good proof; whose pretty
+allegories, stealing under the formal tales of beasts, make many,
+more beastly than beasts, begin to hear the sound of virtue from
+those dumb speakers.</p>
+<p>But now may it be alleged, that if this managing of matters be
+so fit for the imagination, then must the historian needs
+surpass, who brings you images of true matters, such as, indeed,
+were done, and not such as fantastically or falsely may be
+suggested to have been done.&nbsp; Truly, Aristotle himself, in
+his Discourse of Poesy, plainly determineth this question,
+saying, that poetry is
+&phi;&iota;&lambda;&omicron;&sigma;&omicron;&phi;&#8061;&tau;&epsilon;&rho;&omicron;&nu;
+&kappa;&alpha;&#8054;
+&pi;&sigma;&omicron;&upsilon;&delta;&alpha;&iota;&#8057;&tau;&epsilon;&omicron;&omicron;&nu;,
+that is to say, it is more philosophical and more ingenious than
+history.&nbsp; His reason is, because poesy dealeth with
+&kappa;&alpha;&theta;&omicron;&lambda;&omicron;&upsilon;, that is
+to say, with the universal consideration, and the history
+&kappa;&alpha;&theta;
+&#7956;&kappa;&alpha;&sigma;&tau;&omicron;&nu;, the
+particular.&nbsp; &ldquo;Now,&rdquo; saith he, &ldquo;the
+universal weighs what is fit to be said or done, either in
+likelihood or necessity; which the poesy considereth in his
+imposed names; and the particular only marks, whether Alcibiades
+did, or suffered, this or that:&rdquo; thus far Aristotle. <a
+name="citation35"></a><a href="#footnote35"
+class="citation">[35]</a>&nbsp; Which reason of his, as all his,
+is most full of reason.&nbsp; For, indeed, if the question were,
+whether it were better to have a particular act truly or falsely
+set down? there is no doubt which is to be chosen, no more than
+whether you had rather have Vespasian&rsquo;s picture right as he
+was, or, at the painter&rsquo;s pleasure, nothing
+resembling?&nbsp; But if the question be, for your own use and
+learning, whether it be better to have it set down as it should
+be, or as it was? then, certainly, is more doctrinable the
+feigned Cyrus in Xenophon, than the true Cyrus in Justin; <a
+name="citation36"></a><a href="#footnote36"
+class="citation">[36]</a> and the feigned &AElig;neas in Virgil,
+than the right &AElig;neas in Dares Phrygius; <a
+name="citation37"></a><a href="#footnote37"
+class="citation">[37]</a> as to a lady that desired to fashion
+her countenance to the best grace, a painter should more benefit
+her, to portrait a most sweet face, writing Canidia upon it, than
+to paint Canidia as she was, who, Horace sweareth, was full
+ill-favoured.&nbsp; If the poet do his part aright, he will show
+you in Tantalus, Atreus, and such like, nothing that is not to be
+shunned; in Cyrus, &AElig;neas, Ulysses, each thing to be
+followed; where the historian, bound to tell things as things
+were, cannot be liberal, without he will be poetical, of a
+perfect pattern; but, as in Alexander, or Scipio himself, show
+doings, some to be liked, some to be misliked; and then how will
+you discern what to follow, but by your own discretion, which you
+had, without reading Q. Curtius? <a name="citation38"></a><a
+href="#footnote38" class="citation">[38]</a>&nbsp; And whereas, a
+man may say, though in universal consideration of doctrine, the
+poet prevaileth, yet that the history, in his saying such a thing
+was done, doth warrant a man more in that he shall follow; the
+answer is manifest: that if he stand upon that <i>was</i>, as if
+he should argue, because it rained yesterday therefore it should
+rain to-day; then, indeed, hath it some advantage to a gross
+conceit.&nbsp; But if he know an example only enforms a
+conjectured likelihood, and so go by reason, the poet doth so far
+exceed him, as he is to frame his example to that which is most
+reasonable, be it in warlike, politic, or private matters; where
+the historian in his bare <i>was</i> hath many times that which
+we call fortune to overrule the best wisdom.&nbsp; Many times he
+must tell events whereof he can yield no cause; or if he do, it
+must be poetically.</p>
+<p>For, that a feigned example bath as much force to teach as a
+true example (for as for to move, it is clear, since the feigned
+may be tuned to the highest key of passion), let us take one
+example wherein an historian and a poet did concur.&nbsp;
+Herodotus and Justin do both testify, that Zopyrus, King
+Darius&rsquo;s faithful servant, seeing his master long resisted
+by the rebellious Babylonians, feigned himself in extreme
+disgrace of his King; for verifying of which he caused his own
+nose and ears to be cut off, and so flying to the Babylonians,
+was received; and, for his known valour, so far credited, that he
+did find means to deliver them over to Darius.&nbsp; Much-like
+matters doth Livy record of Tarquinius and his son.&nbsp;
+Xenophon excellently feigned such another stratagem, performed by
+Abradatus in Cyrus&rsquo;s behalf.&nbsp; Now would I fain know,
+if occasion be presented unto you to serve your prince by such an
+honest dissimulation, why do you not as well learn it of
+Xenophon&rsquo;s fiction as of the other&rsquo;s verity? and,
+truly, so much the better, as you shall save your nose by the
+bargain; for Abradatus did not counterfeit so far.&nbsp; So,
+then, the best of the historians is subject to the poet; for,
+whatsoever action or faction, whatsoever counsel, policy, or war
+stratagem the historian is bound to recite, that may the poet, if
+he list, with his imitation, make his own, beautifying it both
+for farther teaching, and more delighting, as it please him:
+having all, from Dante&rsquo;s heaven to his hell, under the
+authority of his pen.&nbsp; Which if I be asked, What poets have
+done so? as I might well name some, so yet, say I, and say again,
+I speak of the art, and not of the artificer.</p>
+<p>Now, to that which commonly is attributed to the praise of
+history, in respect of the notable learning which is got by
+marking the success, as though therein a man should see virtue
+exalted, and vice punished: truly, that commendation is peculiar
+to poetry, and far off from history; for, indeed, poetry ever
+sets virtue so out in her best colours, making fortune her
+well-waiting handmaid, that one must needs be enamoured of
+her.&nbsp; Well may you see Ulysses in a storm, and in other hard
+plights; but they are but exercises of patience and magnanimity,
+to make them shine the more in the near following
+prosperity.&nbsp; And, on the contrary part, if evil men come to
+the stage, they ever go out (as the tragedy writer answered to
+one that misliked the show of such persons) so manacled, as they
+little animate folks to follow them.&nbsp; But history being
+captive to the truth of a foolish world, in many times a terror
+from well-doing, and an encouragement to unbridled
+wickedness.&nbsp; For see we not valiant Miltiades rot in his
+fetters? the just Phocion and the accomplished Socrates put to
+death like traitors? the cruel Severus live prosperously? the
+excellent Severus miserably murdered?&nbsp; Sylla and Marius
+dying in their beds?&nbsp; Pompey and Cicero slain then when they
+would have thought exile a happiness?&nbsp; See we not virtuous
+Cato driven to kill himself, and rebel C&aelig;sar so advanced,
+that his name yet, after sixteen hundred years, lasteth in the
+highest honour?&nbsp; And mark but even C&aelig;sar&rsquo;s own
+words of the forenamed Sylla, (who in that only did honestly, to
+put down his dishonest tyranny), &ldquo;literas nescivit:&rdquo;
+as if want of learning caused him to do well.&nbsp; He meant it
+not by poetry, which, not content with earthly plagues, deviseth
+new punishment in hell for tyrants: nor yet by philosophy, which
+teacheth &ldquo;occidentes esse:&rdquo; but, no doubt, by skill
+in history; for that, indeed, can afford you Cypselus, Periander,
+Phalaris, Dionysius, and I know not how many more of the same
+kennel, that speed well enough in their abominable injustice of
+usurpation.</p>
+<p>I conclude, therefore, that he excelleth history, not only in
+furnishing the mind with knowledge, but in setting it forward to
+that which deserves to be called and accounted good: which
+setting forward, and moving to well-doing, indeed, setteth the
+laurel crowns upon the poets as victorious; not only of the
+historian, but over the philosopher, howsoever, in teaching, it
+may be questionable.&nbsp; For suppose it be granted, that which
+I suppose, with great reason, may be denied, that the
+philosopher, in respect of his methodical proceeding, teach more
+perfectly than the poet, yet do I think, that no man is so much
+&phi;&iota;&lambda;&omicron;&phi;&iota;&lambda;&#8057;&sigma;&omicron;&phi;&omicron;&sigmaf;,
+as to compare the philosopher in moving with the poet.&nbsp; And
+that moving is of a higher degree than teaching, it may by this
+appear, that it is well nigh both the cause and effect of
+teaching; for who will be taught, if he be not moved with desire
+to be taught?&nbsp; And what so much good doth that teaching
+bring forth (I speak still of moral doctrine) as that it moveth
+one to do that which it doth teach.&nbsp; For, as Aristotle
+saith, it is not &gamma;&nu;&#8182;&sigma;&iota;&sigmaf; but
+&pi;&rho;&#8049;&xi;&iota;&sigmaf; <a name="citation39"></a><a
+href="#footnote39" class="citation">[39]</a> must be the fruit:
+and how &pi;&rho;&#8049;&xi;&iota;&sigmaf; can be, without being
+moved to practise, it is no hard matter to consider.&nbsp; The
+philosopher showeth you the way, he informeth you of the
+particularities, as well of the tediousness of the way and of the
+pleasant lodging you shall have when your journey is ended, as of
+the many by-turnings that may divert you from your way; but this
+is to no man, but to him that will read him, and read him with
+attentive, studious painfulness; which constant desire whosoever
+hath in him, hath already passed half the hardness of the way,
+and therefore is beholden to the philosopher but for the other
+half.&nbsp; Nay, truly, learned men have learnedly thought, that
+where once reason hath so much over-mastered passion, as that the
+mind hath a free desire to do well, the inward light each mind
+hath in itself is as good as a philosopher&rsquo;s book: since in
+nature we know it is well to do well, and what is well and what
+is evil, although not in the words of art which philosophers
+bestow upon us; for out of natural conceit the philosophers drew
+it; but to be moved to do that which we know, or to be moved with
+desire to know, &ldquo;hoc opus, hic labor est.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now, <a name="citation40"></a><a href="#footnote40"
+class="citation">[40]</a> therein, of all sciences (I speak still
+of human and according to the human conceit), is our poet the
+monarch.&nbsp; For he doth not only show the way, but giveth so
+sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice any man to enter
+into it; nay, he doth, as if your journey should lie through a
+fair vineyard, at the very first give you a cluster of grapes,
+that full of that taste you may long to pass farther.&nbsp; He
+beginneth not with obscure definitions, which must blur the
+margin with interpretations, and load the memory with
+doubtfulness, but he cometh to you with words set in delightful
+proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the
+well-enchanting skill of music; and with a tale, forsooth, he
+cometh unto you with a tale which holdeth children from play, and
+old men from the chimney-corner; <a name="citation41"></a><a
+href="#footnote41" class="citation">[41]</a> and, pretending no
+more, doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to
+virtue; even as the child is often brought to take most wholesome
+things, by hiding them in such other as have a pleasant taste;
+which, if one should begin to tell them the nature of the aloes
+or rhubarbarum they should receive, would sooner take their
+physic at their ears than at their mouth; so it is in men (most
+of them are childish in the best things, till they be cradled in
+their graves); glad they will be to hear the tales of Hercules,
+Achilles, Cyrus, &AElig;neas; and hearing them, must needs hear
+the right description of wisdom, valour, and justice; which, if
+they had been barely (that is to say, philosophically) set out,
+they would swear they be brought to school again.&nbsp; That
+imitation whereof poetry is, hath the most conveniency to nature
+of all other; insomuch that, as Aristotle saith, those things
+which in themselves are horrible, as cruel battles, unnatural
+monsters, are made, in poetical imitation, delightful.&nbsp;
+Truly, I have known men, that even with reading Amadis de Gaule,
+which, God knoweth, wanteth much of a perfect poesy, have found
+their hearts moved to the exercise of courtesy, liberality, and
+especially courage.&nbsp; Who readeth &AElig;neas carrying old
+Anchises on his back, that wisheth not it were his fortune to
+perform so excellent an act?&nbsp; Whom doth not those words of
+Turnus move (the tale of Turnus having planted his image in the
+imagination)</p>
+
+<blockquote><p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&ldquo;&mdash;fugientem
+h&aelig;c terra videbit?<br />
+Usque adeone mori miserum est?&rdquo; <a name="citation42"></a><a
+href="#footnote42" class="citation">[42]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Where the philosophers (as they think) scorn to delight, so
+much they be content little to move, saving wrangling whether
+&ldquo;virtus&rdquo; be the chief or the only good; whether the
+contemplative or the active life do excel; which Plato and
+Boetius well knew; and therefore made mistress Philosophy very
+often borrow the masking raiment of poesy.&nbsp; For even those
+hard-hearted evil men, who think virtue a school-name, and know
+no other good but &ldquo;indulgere genio,&rdquo; and therefore
+despise the austere admonitions of the philosopher, and feel not
+the inward reason they stand upon; yet will be content to be
+delighted, which is all the good-fellow poet seems to promise;
+and so steal to see the form of goodness, which seen, they cannot
+but love, ere themselves be aware, as if they took a medicine of
+cherries.</p>
+<p>Infinite <a name="citation43"></a><a href="#footnote43"
+class="citation">[43]</a> proofs of the strange effects of this
+poetical invention might be alleged; only two shall serve, which
+are so often remembered, as, I think, all men know them.&nbsp;
+The one of Menenius Agrippa, who, when the whole people of Rome
+had resolutely divided themselves from the senate, with apparent
+show of utter ruin, though he were, for that time, an excellent
+orator, came not among them upon trust, either of figurative
+speeches, or cunning insinuations, and much less with far-fetched
+maxims of philosophy, which, especially if they were Platonic,
+they must have learned geometry before they could have conceived;
+but, forsooth, he behaveth himself like a homely and familiar
+poet.&nbsp; He telleth them a tale, that there was a time when
+all the parts of the body made a mutinous conspiracy against the
+belly, which they thought devoured the fruits of each
+other&rsquo;s labour; they concluded they would let so
+unprofitable a spender starve.&nbsp; In the end, to be short (for
+the tale is notorious, and as notorious that it was a tale), with
+punishing the belly they plagued themselves.&nbsp; This, applied
+by him, wrought such effect in the people as I never read that
+only words brought forth; but then so sudden, and so good an
+alteration, for upon reasonable conditions a perfect
+reconcilement ensued.</p>
+<p>The other is of Nathan the prophet, who, when the holy David
+had so far forsaken God, as to confirm adultery with murder, when
+he was to do the tenderest office of a friend, in laying his own
+shame before his eyes, being sent by God to call again so chosen
+a servant, how doth he it? but by telling of a man whose beloved
+lamb was ungratefully taken from his bosom.&nbsp; The application
+most divinely true, but the discourse itself feigned; which made
+David (I speak of the second and instrumental cause) as in a
+glass see his own filthiness, as that heavenly psalm of mercy
+well testifieth.</p>
+<p>By these, therefore, examples and reasons, I think it may be
+manifest that the poet, with that same hand of delight, doth draw
+the mind more effectually than any other art doth.&nbsp; And so a
+conclusion not unfitly ensues; that as virtue is the most
+excellent resting-place for all worldly learning to make his end
+of, so poetry, being the most familiar to teach it, and most
+princely to move towards it, in the most excellent work is the
+most excellent workman.</p>
+<p>But I am content not only to decipher him by his works
+(although works in commendation and dispraise must ever hold a
+high authority), but more narrowly will examine his parts; so
+that (as in a man) though all together may carry a presence full
+of majesty and beauty perchance in some one defectious <a
+name="citation44"></a><a href="#footnote44"
+class="citation">[44]</a> piece we may find blemish.</p>
+<p>Now, <a name="citation45"></a><a href="#footnote45"
+class="citation">[45]</a> in his parts, kinds, or species, as you
+list to term them, it is to be noted that some poesies have
+coupled together two or three kinds; as the tragical and comical,
+whereupon is risen the tragi-comical; some, in the manner, have
+mingled prose and verse, as Sannazaro and Boetius; some have
+mingled matters heroical and pastoral; but that cometh all to one
+in this question; for, if severed they be good, the conjunction
+cannot be hurtful.&nbsp; Therefore, perchance, forgetting some,
+and leaving some as needless to be remembered, it shall not be
+amiss, in a word, to cite the special kinds, to see what faults
+may be found in the right use of them.</p>
+<p>Is it, then, the pastoral poem which is misliked? <a
+name="citation46"></a><a href="#footnote46"
+class="citation">[46]</a>&nbsp; For, perchance, where the hedge
+is lowest, they will soonest leap over.&nbsp; Is the poor pipe
+disdained, which sometimes, out of Melib&aelig;us&rsquo;s mouth,
+can show the misery of people under hard lords and ravening
+soldiers?&nbsp; And again, by Tityrus, what blessedness is
+derived to them that lie lowest from the goodness of them that
+sit highest?&nbsp; Sometimes under the pretty tales of wolves and
+sheep, can include the whole considerations of wrong doing and
+patience; sometimes show, that contentions for trifles can get
+but a trifling victory; where, perchance, a man may see that even
+Alexander and Darius, when they strove who should be cock of this
+world&rsquo;s dunghill, the benefit they got was, that the
+after-livers may say,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;H&aelig;c memini, et victum frustra
+contendere Thyrsim.<br />
+Ex illo Corydon, Corydon est tempore nobis.&rdquo; <a
+name="citation47"></a><a href="#footnote47"
+class="citation">[47]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Or is it the lamenting elegiac, <a name="citation48"></a><a
+href="#footnote48" class="citation">[48]</a> which, in a kind
+heart, would move rather pity than blame; who bewaileth, with the
+great philosopher Heraclitus, the weakness of mankind, and the
+wretchedness of the world; who, surely, is to be praised, either
+for compassionately accompanying just causes of lamentations, or
+for rightly pointing out how weak be the passions of
+wofulness?</p>
+<p>Is it the bitter, but wholesome iambic, <a
+name="citation49"></a><a href="#footnote49"
+class="citation">[49]</a> who rubs the galled mind, making shame
+the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crying out against
+naughtiness?</p>
+<p>Or the satiric? who,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit
+amico;&rdquo; <a name="citation50"></a><a href="#footnote50"
+class="citation">[50]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>who sportingly never leaveth, until he make a man laugh at
+folly, and, at length, ashamed to laugh at himself, which he
+cannot avoid without avoiding the folly; who, while &ldquo;circum
+pr&aelig;cordia ludit,&rdquo; giveth us to feel how many
+headaches a passionate life bringeth us to; who when all is
+done,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Est Ulubris, animus si nos non deficit
+&aelig;quus.&rdquo; <a name="citation51"></a><a
+href="#footnote51" class="citation">[51]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>No, perchance, it is the comic; <a name="citation52"></a><a
+href="#footnote52" class="citation">[52]</a> whom naughty
+play-makers and stage-keepers have justly made odious.&nbsp; To
+the arguments of abuse I will after answer; only thus much now is
+to be said, that the comedy is an imitation of the common errors
+of our life, which he representeth in the most ridiculous and
+scornful sort that may be; so as it is impossible that any
+beholder can be content to be such a one.&nbsp; Now, as in
+geometry, the oblique must be known as well as the right, and in
+arithmetic, the odd as well as the even; so in the actions of our
+life, who seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a great foil
+to perceive the beauty of virtue.&nbsp; This doth the comedy
+handle so, in our private and domestical matters, as, with
+hearing it, we get, as it were, an experience of what is to be
+looked for, of a niggardly Demea, of a crafty Davus, of a
+flattering Gnatho, of a vain-glorious Thraso; and not only to
+know what effects are to be expected, but to know who be such, by
+the signifying badge given them by the comedian.&nbsp; And little
+reason hath any man to say, that men learn the evil by seeing it
+so set out; since, as I said before, there is no man living, but
+by the force truth hath in nature, no sooner seeth these men play
+their parts, but wisheth them in &ldquo;pistrinum;&rdquo; <a
+name="citation53"></a><a href="#footnote53"
+class="citation">[53]</a> although, perchance, the sack of his
+own faults lie so behind his back, that he seeth not himself to
+dance in the same measure, whereto yet nothing can more open his
+eyes than to see his own actions contemptibly set forth; so that
+the right use of comedy will, I think, by nobody be blamed.</p>
+<p>And much less of the high and excellent tragedy, <a
+name="citation54"></a><a href="#footnote54"
+class="citation">[54]</a> that openeth the greatest wounds, and
+showeth forth the ulcers that are covered with tissue; that
+maketh kings fear to be tyrants, and tyrants to manifest their
+tyrannical humours; that with stirring the effects of admiration
+and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this world, and
+upon how weak foundations gilded roofs are builded; that maketh
+us know, &ldquo;qui sceptra s&aelig;vus duro imperio regit, timet
+timentes, metus in authorem redit.&rdquo;&nbsp; But how much it
+can move, Plutarch yielded a notable testimony of the abominable
+tyrant Alexander Pher&aelig;us; from whose eyes a tragedy, well
+made and represented, drew abundance of tears, who without all
+pity had murdered infinite numbers, and some of his own blood; so
+as he that was not ashamed to make matters for tragedies, yet
+could not resist the sweet violence of a tragedy.&nbsp; And if it
+wrought no farther good in him, it was that he, in despite of
+himself, withdrew himself from hearkening to that which might
+mollify his hardened heart.&nbsp; But it is not the tragedy they
+do dislike, for it were too absurd to cast out so excellent a
+representation of whatsoever is most worthy to be learned.</p>
+<p>Is it the lyric that most displeaseth, who with his tuned lyre
+and well-accorded voice, giveth praise, the reward of virtue, to
+virtuous acts? who giveth moral precepts and natural problems?
+who sometimes raiseth up his voice to the height of the heavens,
+in singing the lauds of the immortal God?&nbsp; Certainly, I must
+confess mine own barbarousness; I never heard the old song of
+Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with
+a trumpet; <a name="citation55"></a><a href="#footnote55"
+class="citation">[55]</a> and yet it is sung but by some blind
+crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style; which being so
+evil apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what
+would it work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar?&nbsp;
+In Hungary I have seen it the manner at all feasts, and all other
+such-like meetings, to have songs of their ancestors&rsquo;
+valour, which that right soldier-like nation think one of the
+chiefest kindlers of brave courage.&nbsp; The incomparable
+Laced&aelig;monians did not only carry that kind of music ever
+with them to the field, but even at home, as such songs were
+made, so were they all content to be singers of them; when the
+lusty men were to tell what they did, the old men what they had
+done, and the young what they would do.&nbsp; And where a man may
+say that Pindar many times praiseth highly victories of small
+moment, rather matters of sport than virtue; as it may be
+answered, it was the fault of the poet, and not of the poetry,
+so, indeed, the chief fault was in the time and custom of the
+Greeks, who set those toys at so high a price, that Philip of
+Macedon reckoned a horse-race won at Olympus among three fearful
+felicities.&nbsp; But as the inimitable Pindar often did, so is
+that kind most capable, and most fit, to awake the thoughts from
+the sleep of idleness, to embrace honourable enterprises.</p>
+<p>There rests the heroical, <a name="citation56"></a><a
+href="#footnote56" class="citation">[56]</a> whose very name, I
+think, should daunt all backbiters.&nbsp; For by what conceit can
+a tongue be directed to speak evil of that which draweth with him
+no less champions than Achilles, Cyrus, &AElig;neas, Turus,
+Tydeus, Rinaldo? who doth not only teach and move to truth, but
+teacheth and moveth to the most high and excellent truth: who
+maketh magnanimity and justice shine through all misty
+fearfulness and foggy desires? who, if the saying of Plato and
+Tully be true, that who could see virtue, would be wonderfully
+ravished with the love of her beauty; this man setteth her out to
+make her more lovely, in her holiday apparel, to the eye of any
+that will deign not to disdain until they understand.&nbsp; But
+if any thing be already said in the defence of sweet poetry, all
+concurreth to the maintaining the heroical, which is not only a
+kind, but the best and most accomplished kind, of poetry.&nbsp;
+For, as the image of each action stirreth and instructeth the
+mind, so the lofty image of such worthies most inflameth the mind
+with desire to be worthy, and informs with counsel how to be
+worthy.&nbsp; Only let &AElig;neas be worn in the tablet of your
+memory, how he governeth himself in the ruin of his country; in
+the preserving his old father, and carrying away his religious
+ceremonies; in obeying God&rsquo;s commandments, to leave Dido,
+though not only passionate kindness, but even the human
+consideration of virtuous gratefulness, would have craved other
+of him; how in storms, how in sports, how in war, how in peace,
+how a fugitive, how victorious, how besieged, how besieging, how
+to strangers, how to allies, how to enemies; how to his own,
+lastly, how in his inward self, and how in his outward
+government; and I think, in a mind most prejudiced with a
+prejudicating humour, he will be found in excellency
+fruitful.&nbsp; Yea, as Horace saith, &ldquo;Melius Chrysippo et
+Crantore:&rdquo; <a name="citation57"></a><a href="#footnote57"
+class="citation">[57]</a> but, truly, I imagine it falleth out
+with these poet-whippers as with some good women who often are
+sick, but in faith they cannot tell where.&nbsp; So the name of
+poetry is odious to them, but neither his cause nor effects,
+neither the sum that contains him, nor the particularities
+descending from him, give any fast handle to their carping
+dispraise.</p>
+<p>Since, then, <a name="citation58"></a><a href="#footnote58"
+class="citation">[58]</a> poetry is of all human learnings the
+most ancient, and of most fatherly antiquity, as from whence
+other learnings have taken their beginnings; since it is so
+universal that no learned nation doth despise it, nor barbarous
+nation is without it; since both Roman and Greek gave such divine
+names unto it, the one of prophesying, the other of making, and
+that indeed that name of making is fit for him, considering, that
+where all other arts retain themselves within their subject, and
+receive, as it were, their being from it, the poet only, only
+bringeth his own stuff, and doth not learn a conceit out of a
+matter, but maketh matter for a conceit; since neither his
+description nor end containeth any evil, the thing described
+cannot be evil; since his effects be so good as to teach
+goodness, and delight the learners of it; since therein (namely,
+in moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges) he doth not only
+far pass the historian, but, for instructing, is well nigh
+comparable to the philosopher; for moving, leaveth him behind
+him; since the Holy Scripture (wherein there is no uncleanness)
+hath whole parts in it poetical, and that even our Saviour Christ
+vouchsafed to use the flowers of it; since all his kinds are not
+only in their united forms, but in their severed dissections
+fully commendable; I think, and think I think rightly, the laurel
+crown appointed for triumphant captains, doth worthily, of all
+other learnings, honour the poet&rsquo;s triumph.</p>
+<p>But <a name="citation59"></a><a href="#footnote59"
+class="citation">[59]</a> because we have ears as well as
+tongues, and that the lightest reasons that may be, will seem to
+weigh greatly, if nothing be put in the counterbalance, let us
+hear, and, as well as we can, ponder what objections be made
+against this art, which may be worthy either of yielding or
+answering.</p>
+<p>First, truly, I note, not only in these
+&mu;&iota;&sigma;&omicron;&mu;&omicron;&#8059;&sigma;&omicron;&iota;,
+poet-haters, but in all that kind of people who seek a praise by
+dispraising others, that they do prodigally spend a great many
+wandering words in quips and scoffs, carping and taunting at each
+thing, which, by stirring the spleen, may stay the brain from a
+thorough beholding, the worthiness of the subject.&nbsp; Those
+kind of objections, as they are full of a very idle uneasiness
+(since there is nothing of so sacred a majesty, but that an
+itching tongue may rub itself upon it), so deserve they no other
+answer, but, instead of laughing at the jest, to laugh at the
+jester.&nbsp; We know a playing wit can praise the discretion of
+an ass, the comfortableness of being in debt, and the jolly
+commodities of being sick of the plague; so, of the contrary
+side, if we will turn Ovid&rsquo;s verse,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Ut lateat virtus proximitate
+mali.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&ldquo;That good lies hid in nearness of the evil,&rdquo;
+Agrippa will be as merry in the showing the Vanity of Science, as
+Erasmus was in the commending of Folly; <a
+name="citation60"></a><a href="#footnote60"
+class="citation">[60]</a> neither shall any man or matter escape
+some touch of these smiling railers.&nbsp; But for Erasmus and
+Agrippa, they had another foundation than the superficial part
+would promise.&nbsp; Marry, these other pleasant fault-finders,
+who will correct the verb before they understand the noun, and
+confute others&rsquo; knowledge before they confirm their own; I
+would have them only remember, that scoffing cometh not of
+wisdom; so as the best title in true English they get with their
+merriments, is to be called good fools; for so have our grave
+forefathers ever termed that humorous kind of jesters.</p>
+<p>But that which giveth greatest scope to their scorning humour,
+is rhyming and versing. <a name="citation61"></a><a
+href="#footnote61" class="citation">[61]</a>&nbsp; It is already
+said, and, as I think, truly said, it is not rhyming and versing
+that maketh poesy; one may be a poet without versing, and a
+versifier without poetry.&nbsp; But yet, presuppose it were
+inseparable, as indeed, it seemeth Scaliger judgeth truly, it
+were an inseparable commendation; for if &ldquo;oratio&rdquo;
+next to &ldquo;ratio,&rdquo; speech next to reason, be the
+greatest gift bestowed upon mortality, that cannot be praiseless
+which doth most polish that blessing of speech; which considereth
+each word, not only as a man may say by his forcible quality, but
+by his best measured quantity; carrying even in themselves a
+harmony; without, perchance, number, measure, order, proportion
+be in our time grown odious.</p>
+<p>But lay aside the just praise it hath, by being the only fit
+speech for music&mdash;music, I say, the most divine striker of
+the senses; thus much is undoubtedly true, that if reading be
+foolish without remembering, memory being the only treasure of
+knowledge, those words which are fittest for memory, are likewise
+most convenient for knowledge.&nbsp; Now, that verse far
+exceedeth prose in the knitting up of the memory, the reason is
+manifest: the words, besides their delight, which hath a great
+affinity to memory, being so set as one cannot be lost, but the
+whole work fails: which accusing itself, calleth the remembrance
+back to itself, and so most strongly confirmeth it.&nbsp;
+Besides, one word so, as it were, begetting another, as, be it in
+rhyme or measured verse, by the former a man shall have a near
+guess to the follower.&nbsp; Lastly, even they that have taught
+the art of memory, have showed nothing so apt for it as a certain
+room divided into many places, well and thoroughly known; now
+that hath the verse in effect perfectly, every word having his
+natural seat, which seat must needs make the word
+remembered.&nbsp; But what needs more in a thing so known to all
+men?&nbsp; Who is it that ever was a scholar that doth not carry
+away some verses of Virgil, Horace, or Cato, which in his youth
+he learned, and even to his old age serve him for hourly lessons?
+as,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Percontatorem fugito: nam garrulus idem
+est.<br />
+Dum sibi quisque placet credula turba sumus.&rdquo; <a
+name="citation62"></a><a href="#footnote62"
+class="citation">[62]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>But the fitness it hath for memory is notably proved by all
+delivery of arts, wherein, for the most part, from grammar to
+logic, mathematics, physic, and the rest, the rules chiefly
+necessary to be borne away are compiled in verses.&nbsp; So that
+verse being in itself sweet and orderly, and being best for
+memory, the only handle of knowledge, it must be in jest that any
+man can speak against it.</p>
+<p>Now <a name="citation63"></a><a href="#footnote63"
+class="citation">[63]</a> then go we to the most important
+imputations laid to the poor poets; for aught I can yet learn,
+they are these.</p>
+<p>First, that there being many other more fruitful knowledges, a
+man might better spend his time in them than in this.</p>
+<p>Secondly, that it is the mother of lies.</p>
+<p>Thirdly, that it is the nurse of abuse, infecting us with many
+pestilent desires, with a syren sweetness, drawing the mind to
+the serpent&rsquo;s tail of sinful fancies; and herein,
+especially, comedies give the largest field to ear, as Chaucer
+saith; how, both in other nations and ours, before poets did
+soften us, we were full of courage, given to martial exercises,
+the pillars of manlike liberty, and not lulled asleep in shady
+idleness with poets&rsquo; pastimes.</p>
+<p>And lastly and chiefly, they cry out with open mouth, as if
+they had overshot Robin Hood, that Plato banished them out of his
+commonwealth.&nbsp; Truly this is much, if there be much truth in
+it.</p>
+<p>First, <a name="citation64"></a><a href="#footnote64"
+class="citation">[64]</a> to the first, that a man might better
+spend his time, is a reason indeed; but it doth, as they say, but
+&ldquo;petere principium.&rdquo; <a name="citation65"></a><a
+href="#footnote65" class="citation">[65]</a>&nbsp; For if it be,
+as I affirm, that no learning is so good as that which teacheth
+and moveth to virtue, and that none can both teach and move
+thereto so much as poesy, then is the conclusion manifest, that
+ink and paper cannot be to a more profitable purpose
+employed.&nbsp; And certainly, though a man should grant their
+first assumption, it should follow, methinks, very unwillingly,
+that good is not good because better is better.&nbsp; But I still
+and utterly deny that there is sprung out of earth a more
+fruitful knowledge.</p>
+<p>To <a name="citation66"></a><a href="#footnote66"
+class="citation">[66]</a> the second, therefore, that they should
+be the principal liars, I answer paradoxically, but truly, I
+think truly, that of all writers under the sun, the poet is the
+least liar; and though he would, as a poet, can scarcely be a
+liar.&nbsp; The astronomer, with his cousin the geometrician, can
+hardly escape when they take upon them to measure the height of
+the stars.&nbsp; How often, think you, do the physicians lie,
+when they aver things good for sicknesses, which afterwards send
+Charon a great number of souls drowned in a potion before they
+come to his ferry.&nbsp; And no less of the rest which take upon
+them to affirm.&nbsp; Now for the poet, he nothing affirmeth, and
+therefore never lieth; for, as I take it, to lie is to affirm
+that to be true which is false: so as the other artists, and
+especially the historian, affirmeth many things, can, in the
+cloudy knowledge of mankind, hardly escape from many lies: but
+the poet, as I said before, never affirmeth; the poet never
+maketh any circles about your imagination, to conjure you to
+believe for true what he writeth: he citeth not authorities of
+other histories, but even for his entry calleth the sweet Muses
+to inspire into him a good invention; in troth, not labouring to
+tell you what is or is not, but what should or should not
+be.&nbsp; And, therefore, though he recount things not true, yet
+because he telleth them not for true he lieth not; without we
+will say that Nathan lied in his speech, before alleged, to
+David; which, as a wicked man durst scarce say, so think I none
+so simple would say, that &AElig;sop lied in the tales of his
+beasts; for who thinketh that &AElig;sop wrote it for actually
+true, were well worthy to have his name chronicled among the
+beasts he writeth of.&nbsp; What child is there that cometh to a
+play, and seeing Thebes written in great letters upon an old
+door, doth believe that it is Thebes?&nbsp; If then a man can
+arrive to the child&rsquo;s age, to know that the poet&rsquo;s
+persons and doings are but pictures what should be, and not
+stories what have been, they will never give the lie to things
+not affirmatively, but allegorically and figuratively written;
+and therefore, as in history, looking for truth, they may go away
+full fraught with falsehood, so in poesy, looking but for
+fiction, they shall use the narration but as an imaginative
+ground-plot of a profitable invention.</p>
+<p>But hereto is replied, that the poets give names to men they
+write of, which argueth a conceit of an actual truth, and so, not
+being true, proveth a falsehood.&nbsp; And doth the lawyer lie
+then, when, under the names of John of the Stile, and John of the
+Nokes, he putteth his case?&nbsp; But that is easily answered,
+their naming of men is but to make their picture the more lively,
+and not to build any history.&nbsp; Painting men, they cannot
+leave men nameless; we see we cannot play at chess but that we
+must give names to our chess-men: and yet, methinks, he were a
+very partial champion of truth that would say we lied for giving
+a piece of wood the reverend title of a bishop.&nbsp; The poet
+nameth Cyrus and &AElig;neas no other way than to show what men
+of their fames, fortunes, and estates should do.</p>
+<p>Their <a name="citation67"></a><a href="#footnote67"
+class="citation">[67]</a> third is, how much it abuseth
+men&rsquo;s wit, training it to a wanton sinfulness and lustful
+love.&nbsp; For, indeed, that is the principal if not only abuse
+I can hear alleged.&nbsp; They say the comedies rather teach,
+than reprehend, amorous conceits; they say the lyric is larded
+with passionate sonnets; the elegiac weeps the want of his
+mistress; and that even to the heroical Cupid hath ambitiously
+climbed.&nbsp; Alas! Love, I would thou couldst as well defend
+thyself, as thou canst offend others!&nbsp; I would those on whom
+thou dost attend, could either put thee away or yield good reason
+why they keep thee!&nbsp; But grant love of beauty to be a
+beastly fault, although it be very hard, since only man, and no
+beast, hath that gift to discern beauty; grant that lovely name
+of love to deserve all hateful reproaches, although even some of
+my masters the philosophers spent a good deal of their lamp-oil
+in setting forth the excellency of it; grant, I say, what they
+will have granted, that not only love, but lust, but vanity, but,
+if they list, scurrility, possess many leaves of the poets&rsquo;
+books; yet, think I, when this is granted, they will find their
+sentence may, with good manners, put the last words foremost; and
+not say that poetry abuseth man&rsquo;s wit, but that man&rsquo;s
+wit abuseth poetry.&nbsp; For I will not deny but that
+man&rsquo;s wit may make poesy, which should be
+&phi;&rho;&alpha;&sigma;&tau;&iota;&kappa;&#8052;, which some
+learned have defined, figuring forth good things, to be
+&phi;&alpha;&nu;&tau;&alpha;&sigma;&tau;&iota;&kappa;&#8052;,
+which doth contrariwise infect the fancy with unworthy objects;
+as the painter, who should give to the eye either some excellent
+perspective, or some fine picture fit for building or
+fortification, or containing in it some notable example, as
+Abraham sacrificing his son Isaac, Judith killing Holofernes,
+David fighting with Goliath, may leave those, and please an
+ill-pleased eye with wanton shows of better-hidden matters.</p>
+<p>But, what! shall the abuse of a thing make the right use
+odious?&nbsp; Nay, truly, though I yield that poesy may not only
+be abused, but that being abused, by the reason of his sweet
+charming force, it can do more hurt than any other army of words,
+yet shall it be so far from concluding, that the abuse shall give
+reproach to the abused, that, contrariwise, it is a good reason,
+that whatsoever being abused, doth most harm, being rightly used
+(and upon the right use each thing receives his title) doth most
+good.&nbsp; Do we not see skill of physic, the best rampire <a
+name="citation68"></a><a href="#footnote68"
+class="citation">[68]</a> to our often-assaulted bodies, being
+abused, teach poison, the most violent destroyer?&nbsp; Doth not
+knowledge of law, whose end is to even and right all things,
+being abused, grow the crooked fosterer of horrible
+injuries?&nbsp; Doth not (to go in the highest) God&rsquo;s word
+abused breed heresy, and His name abused become blasphemy?&nbsp;
+Truly, a needle cannot do much hurt, and as truly (with leave of
+ladies be it spoken) it cannot do much good.&nbsp; With a sword
+thou mayest kill thy father, and with a sword thou mayest defend
+thy prince and country; so that, as in their calling poets
+fathers of lies, they said nothing, so in this their argument of
+abuse, they prove the commendation.</p>
+<p>They allege herewith, that before poets began to be in price,
+our nation had set their heart&rsquo;s delight upon action, and
+not imagination; rather doing things worthy to be written, than
+writing things fit to be done.&nbsp; What that before time was, I
+think scarcely Sphynx can tell; since no memory is so ancient
+that gives not the precedence to poetry.&nbsp; And certain it is,
+that, in our plainest homeliness, yet never was the Albion nation
+without poetry.&nbsp; Marry, this argument, though it be levelled
+against poetry, yet it is indeed a chain-shot against all
+learning or bookishness, as they commonly term it.&nbsp; Of such
+mind were certain Goths, of whom it is written, that having in
+the spoil of a famous city taken a fair library, one hangman,
+belike fit to execute the fruits of their wits, who had murdered
+a great number of bodies, would have set fire in it.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;No,&rdquo; said another, very gravely, &ldquo;take heed
+what you do, for while they are busy about those toys, we shall
+with more leisure conquer their countries.&rdquo;&nbsp; This,
+indeed, is the ordinary doctrine of ignorance, and many words
+sometimes I have heard spent in it; but because this reason is
+generally against all learning as well as poetry, or rather all
+learning but poetry; because it were too large a digression to
+handle it, or at least too superfluous, since it is manifest that
+all government of action is to be gotten by knowledge, and
+knowledge best by gathering many knowledges, which is reading; I
+only say with Horace, to him that is of that opinion,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Jubeo stultum esse libenter&mdash;&rdquo;
+<a name="citation69"></a><a href="#footnote69"
+class="citation">[69]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>for as for poetry itself, it is the freest from this,
+objection, for poetry is the companion of camps.&nbsp; I dare
+undertake, Orlando Furioso, or honest King Arthur, will never
+displease a soldier: but the quiddity of &ldquo;ens&rdquo; and
+&ldquo;prima materia&rdquo; will hardly agree with a
+corslet.&nbsp; And, therefore, as I said in the beginning, even
+Turks and Tartars are delighted with poets.&nbsp; Homer, a Greek,
+flourished before Greece flourished; and if to a slight
+conjecture a conjecture may be opposed, truly it may seem, that
+as by him their learned men took almost their first light of
+knowledge, so their active men receive their first notions of
+courage.&nbsp; Only Alexander&rsquo;s example may serve, who by
+Plutarch is accounted of such virtue that fortune was not his
+guide but his footstool; whose acts speak for him, though
+Plutarch did not; indeed, the phoenix of warlike princes.&nbsp;
+This Alexander left his schoolmaster, living Aristotle, behind
+him, but took dead Homer with him.&nbsp; He put the philosopher
+Callisthenes to death, for his seeming philosophical, indeed
+mutinous, stubbornness; but the chief thing he was ever heard to
+wish for was that Homer had been alive.&nbsp; He well found he
+received more bravery of mind by the pattern of Achilles, than by
+hearing the definition of fortitude.&nbsp; And, therefore, if
+Cato misliked Fulvius for carrying Ennius with him to the field,
+it may be answered that if Cato misliked it the noble Fulvius
+liked it, or else he had not done it; for it was not the
+excellent Cato Uticensis whose authority I would much more have
+reverenced, but it was the former, in truth a bitter punisher of
+faults, but else a man that had never sacrificed to the
+Graces.&nbsp; He misliked, and cried out against, all Greek
+learning, and yet, being fourscore years old, began to learn it,
+belike fearing that Pluto understood not Latin.&nbsp; Indeed, the
+Roman laws allowed no person to be carried to the wars but he
+that was in the soldiers&rsquo; roll.&nbsp; And, therefore,
+though Cato misliked his unmustered person, he misliked not his
+work.&nbsp; And if he had, Scipio Nasica (judged by common
+consent the best Roman) loved him: both the other Scipio
+brothers, who had by their virtues no less surnames than of Asia
+and Afric, so loved him that they caused his body to be buried in
+their sepulture.&nbsp; So, as Cato&rsquo;s authority being but
+against his person, and that answered with so far greater than
+himself, is herein of no validity.</p>
+<p>But <a name="citation70"></a><a href="#footnote70"
+class="citation">[70]</a> now, indeed, my burthen is great, that
+Plato&rsquo;s name is laid upon me, whom, I must confess, of all
+philosophers I have ever esteemed most worthy of reverence; and
+with good reason, since of all philosophers he is the most
+poetical; yet if he will defile the fountain out of which his
+flowing streams have proceeded, let us boldly examine with what
+reason he did it.</p>
+<p>First, truly, a man might maliciously object that Plato, being
+a philosopher, was a natural enemy of poets.&nbsp; For, indeed,
+after the philosophers had picked out of the sweet mysteries of
+poetry the right discerning of true points of knowledge, they
+forthwith, putting it in method, and making a school of art of
+that which the poets did only teach by a divine delightfulness,
+beginning to spurn at their guides, like ungrateful apprentices,
+were not content to set up shop for themselves, but sought by all
+means to discredit their masters; which, by the force of delight
+being barred them, the less they could overthrow them, the more
+they hated them.&nbsp; For, indeed, they found for Homer seven
+cities strove who should have him for their citizen, where many
+cities banished philosophers as not fit members to live among
+them.&nbsp; For only repeating certain of Euripides&rsquo; verses
+many Athenians had their lives saved of the Syracusans, where the
+Athenians themselves thought many of the philosophers unworthy to
+live.&nbsp; Certain poets, as Simonides and Pindar, had so
+prevailed with Hiero the First, that of a tyrant they made him a
+just king; where Plato could do so little with Dionysius that he
+himself, of a philosopher, was made a slave.&nbsp; But who should
+do thus, I confess, should requite the objections raised against
+poets with like cavillations against philosophers; as likewise
+one should do that should bid one read Ph&aelig;drus or Symposium
+in Plato, or the discourse of Love in Plutarch, and see whether
+any poet do authorise abominable filthiness as they do.</p>
+<p>Again, a man might ask, out of what Commonwealth Plato doth
+banish them?&nbsp; In sooth, thence where he himself alloweth
+community of women.&nbsp; So, as belike this banishment grew not
+for effeminate wantonness, since little should poetical sonnets
+be hurtful, when a man might have what woman he listed.&nbsp; But
+I honour philosophical instructions, and bless the wits which
+bred them, so as they be not abused, which is likewise stretched
+to poetry.&nbsp; Saint Paul himself sets a watchword upon
+philosophy, indeed upon the abuse.&nbsp; So doth Plato upon the
+abuse, not upon poetry.&nbsp; Plato found fault that the poets of
+his time filled the world with wrong opinions of the gods, making
+light tales of that unspotted essence, and therefore would not
+have the youth depraved with such opinions.&nbsp; Herein may much
+be said; let this suffice: the poets did not induce such
+opinions, but did imitate those opinions already induced.&nbsp;
+For all the Greek stories can well testify that the very religion
+of that time stood upon many and many-fashioned gods; not taught
+so by poets, but followed according to their nature of
+imitation.&nbsp; Who list may read in Plutarch the discourses of
+Isis and Osiris, of the cause why oracles ceased, of the Divine
+providence, and see whether the theology of that nation stood not
+upon such dreams, which the poets indeed superstitiously
+observed; and truly, since they had not the light of Christ, did
+much better in it than the philosophers, who, shaking off
+superstition, brought in atheism.</p>
+<p>Plato, therefore, whose authority I had much rather justly
+construe than unjustly resist, meant not in general of poets, in
+those words of which Julius Scaliger saith, &ldquo;qua
+authoritate, barbari quidam atque insipidi, abuti velint ad
+poetas e republic&acirc; exigendos <a name="citation71"></a><a
+href="#footnote71" class="citation">[71]</a>:&rdquo; but only
+meant to drive out those wrong opinions of the Deity, whereof
+now, without farther law, Christianity hath taken away all the
+hurtful belief, perchance as he thought nourished by then
+esteemed poets.&nbsp; And a man need go no farther than to Plato
+himself to know his meaning; who, in his dialogue called
+&ldquo;Ion,&rdquo; <a name="citation72"></a><a href="#footnote72"
+class="citation">[72]</a> giveth high, and rightly, divine
+commendation unto poetry.&nbsp; So as Plato, banishing the abuse,
+not the thing, not banishing it, but giving due honour to it,
+shall be our patron, and not our adversary.&nbsp; For, indeed, I
+had much rather, since truly I may do it, show their mistaking of
+Plato, under whose lion&rsquo;s skin they would make an ass-like
+braying against poesy, than go about to overthrow his authority;
+whom, the wiser a man is, the more just cause he shall find to
+have in admiration; especially since he attributeth unto poesy
+more than myself do, namely, to be a very inspiring of a divine
+force, far above man&rsquo;s wit, as in the fore-named dialogue
+is apparent.</p>
+<p>Of the other side, who would show the honours have been by the
+best sort of judgments granted them, a whole sea of examples
+would present themselves; Alexanders, C&aelig;sars, Scipios, all
+favourers of poets; L&aelig;lius, called the Roman Socrates,
+himself a poet; so as part of Heautontimeroumenos, in Terence,
+was supposed to be made by him.&nbsp; And even the Greek
+Socrates, whom Apollo confirmed to be the only wise man, is said
+to have spent part of his old time in putting &AElig;sop&rsquo;s
+Fables into verse; and, therefore, full evil should it become his
+scholar Plato to put such words in his master&rsquo;s mouth
+against poets. But what needs more?&nbsp; Aristotle writes the
+&ldquo;Art of Poesy;&rdquo; and why, if it should not be
+written?&nbsp; Plutarch teacheth the use to be gathered of them;
+and how, if they should not be read?&nbsp; And who reads
+Plutarch&rsquo;s either history or philosophy, shall find he
+trimmeth both their garments with guards <a
+name="citation73"></a><a href="#footnote73"
+class="citation">[73]</a> of poesy.</p>
+<p>But I list not to defend poesy with the help of his underling
+historiographer.&nbsp; Let it suffice to have showed it is a fit
+soil for praise to dwell upon; and what dispraise may be set upon
+it is either easily overcome, or transformed into just
+commendation.&nbsp; So that since the excellences of it may be so
+easily and so justly confirmed, and the low creeping objections
+so soon trodden down <a name="citation74"></a><a
+href="#footnote74" class="citation">[74]</a>; it not being an art
+of lies, but of true doctrine; not of effeminateness, but of
+notable stirring of courage; not of abusing man&rsquo;s wit, but
+of strengthening man&rsquo;s wit; not banished, but honoured by
+Plato; let us rather plant more laurels for to ingarland the
+poets&rsquo; heads (which honour of being laureate, as besides
+them only triumphant captains were, is a sufficient authority to
+show the price they ought to be held in) than suffer the
+ill-favoured breath of such wrong speakers once to blow upon the
+clear springs of poesy.</p>
+<p>But <a name="citation75"></a><a href="#footnote75"
+class="citation">[75]</a> since I have run so long a career in
+this matter, methinks, before I give my pen a full stop, it shall
+be but a little more lost time to inquire, why England, the
+mother of excellent minds, should be grown so hard a step-mother
+to poets, who certainly in wit ought to pass all others, since
+all only proceeds from their wit, being, indeed, makers of
+themselves, not takers of others.&nbsp; How can I but
+exclaim,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine
+l&aelig;so?&rdquo; <a name="citation76"></a><a href="#footnote76"
+class="citation">[76]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Sweet poesy! that hath anciently had kings, emperors,
+senators, great captains, such as, besides a thousand others,
+David, Adrian, Sophocles, Germanicus, not only to favour poets,
+but to be poets; and of our nearer times can present for her
+patrons, a Robert, King of Sicily; the great King Francis of
+France; King James of Scotland; such cardinals as Bembus and
+Bibiena; such famous preachers and teachers as Beza and
+Melancthon; so learned philosophers as Fracastorius and Scaliger;
+so great orators as Pontanus and Muretus; so piercing wits as
+George Buchanan; so grave councillors as, besides many, but
+before all, that Hospital <a name="citation77"></a><a
+href="#footnote77" class="citation">[77]</a> of France, than
+whom, I think, that realm never brought forth a more accomplished
+judgment more firmly builded upon virtue; I say these, with
+numbers of others, not only to read others&rsquo; poesies, but to
+poetise for others&rsquo; reading: that poesy, thus embraced in
+all other places, should only find in our time a hard welcome in
+England, I think the very earth laments it, and therefore decks
+our soil with fewer laurels than it was accustomed.&nbsp; For
+heretofore poets have in England also flourished; and, which is
+to be noted, even in those times when the trumpet of Mars did
+sound loudest.&nbsp; And now that an over-faint quietness should
+seem to strew the house for poets, they are almost in as good
+reputation as the mountebanks at Venice.&nbsp; Truly, even that,
+as of the one side it giveth great praise to poesy, which, like
+Venus (but to better purpose), had rather be troubled in the net
+with Mars, than enjoy the homely quiet of Vulcan; so serveth it
+for a piece of a reason why they are less grateful to idle
+England, which now can scarce endure the pain of a pen.&nbsp;
+Upon this necessarily followeth that base men with servile wits
+undertake it, who think it enough if they can be rewarded of the
+printer; and so as Epaminondas is said, with the honour of his
+virtue, to have made an office by his exercising it, which before
+was contemptible, to become highly respected; so these men, no
+more but setting their names to it, by their own disgracefulness,
+disgrace the most graceful poesy.&nbsp; For now, as if all the
+Muses were got with child, to bring forth bastard poets, without
+any commission, they do post over the banks of Helicon, until
+they make their readers more weary than post-horses; while, in
+the meantime, they,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Queis meliore luto finxit pr&aelig;cordia
+Titan,&rdquo; <a name="citation78"></a><a href="#footnote78"
+class="citation">[78]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>are better content to suppress the outflowings of their wit,
+than by publishing them to be accounted knights of the same
+order.</p>
+<p>But I that, before ever I durst aspire unto the dignity, am
+admitted into the company of the paper-blurrers, do find the very
+true cause of our wanting estimation is want of desert, taking
+upon us to be poets in despite of Pallas.&nbsp; Now, wherein we
+want desert, were a thankworthy labour to express.&nbsp; But if I
+knew, I should have mended myself; but as I never desired the
+title so have I neglected the means to come by it; only,
+overmastered by some thoughts, I yielded an inky tribute unto
+them.&nbsp; Marry, they that delight in poesy itself, should seek
+to know what they do, and how they do, especially look themselves
+in an unflattering glass of reason, if they be inclinable unto
+it.</p>
+<p>For poesy must not be drawn by the ears, it must be gently
+led, or rather it must lead; which was partly the cause that made
+the ancient learned affirm it was a divine, and no human skill,
+since all other knowledges lie ready for any that have strength
+of wit; a poet no industry can make, if his own genius be not
+carried into it.&nbsp; And therefore is an old proverb,
+&ldquo;Orator fit, poeta nascitur.&rdquo; <a
+name="citation79"></a><a href="#footnote79"
+class="citation">[79]</a>&nbsp; Yet confess I always, that as the
+fertilest ground must be manured, so must the highest flying wit
+have a D&aelig;dalus to guide him.&nbsp; That D&aelig;dalus, they
+say, both in this and in other, hath three wings to bear itself
+up into the air of due commendation; that is art, imitation, and
+exercise.&nbsp; But these, neither artificial rules, nor
+imitative patterns, we much cumber ourselves withal.&nbsp;
+Exercise, indeed, we do, but that very forebackwardly; for where
+we should exercise to know, we exercise as having known; and so
+is our brain delivered of much matter which never was begotten by
+knowledge.&nbsp; For there being two principal parts, matter to
+be expressed by words, and words to express the matter, in
+neither we use art or imitation rightly.&nbsp; Our matter is
+&ldquo;quodlibet,&rdquo; <a name="citation80"></a><a
+href="#footnote80" class="citation">[80]</a> indeed, although
+wrongly, performing Ovid&rsquo;s verse,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Quicquid conabor dicere, versus
+erit;&rdquo; <a name="citation81"></a><a href="#footnote81"
+class="citation">[81]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>never marshalling it into any assured rank, that almost the
+readers cannot tell where to find themselves.</p>
+<p>Chaucer, undoubtedly, did excellently in his Troilus and
+Cressida; of whom, truly, I know not whether to marvel more,
+either that he in that misty time could see so clearly, or that
+we in this clear age go so stumblingly after him.&nbsp; Yet had
+he great wants, fit to be forgiven in so reverend
+antiquity.&nbsp; I account the Mirror of Magistrates meetly
+furnished of beautiful parts.&nbsp; And in the Earl of
+Surrey&rsquo;s Lyrics, many things tasting of a noble birth, and
+worthy of a noble mind.&nbsp; The &ldquo;Shepherds&rsquo;
+Kalendar&rdquo; hath much poesy in his eclogues, indeed, worthy
+the reading, if I be not deceived.&nbsp; That same framing of his
+<a name="citation82"></a><a href="#footnote82"
+class="citation">[82]</a> style to an old rustic language, I dare
+not allow; since neither Theocritus in Greek, Virgil in Latin,
+nor Sannazaro in Italian, did affect it.&nbsp; Besides these, I
+do not remember to have seen but few (to speak boldly) printed
+that have poetical sinews in them.&nbsp; For proof whereof, let
+but most of the verses be put in prose, and then ask the meaning,
+and it will be found that one verse did but beget another,
+without ordering at the first what should be at the last; which
+becomes a confused mass of words, with a tinkling sound of rhyme,
+barely accompanied with reason.</p>
+<p>Our <a name="citation83"></a><a href="#footnote83"
+class="citation">[83]</a> tragedies and comedies, not without
+cause, are cried out against, observing rules neither of honest
+civility nor skilful poetry.&nbsp; Excepting <i>Gorboduc</i>
+(again I say of those that I have seen), which notwithstanding,
+as it is full of stately speeches, and well-sounding phrases,
+climbing to the height of Seneca his style, and as full of
+notable morality, which it does most delightfully teach, and so
+obtain the very end of poesy; yet, in truth, it is very
+defectuous in the circumstances, which grieves me, because it
+might not remain as an exact model of all tragedies.&nbsp; For it
+is faulty both in place and time, the two necessary companions of
+all corporal actions.&nbsp; For where the stage should always
+represent but one place; and the uttermost time presupposed in it
+should be, both by Aristotle&rsquo;s precept, and common reason,
+but one day; there is both many days and many places
+inartificially imagined.</p>
+<p>But if it be so in Gorboduc, how much more in all the rest?
+where you shall have Asia of the one side, and Afric of the
+other, and so many other under kingdoms, that the player, when he
+comes in, must ever begin with telling where he is, <a
+name="citation84"></a><a href="#footnote84"
+class="citation">[84]</a> or else the tale will not be
+conceived.&nbsp; Now shall you have three ladies walk to gather
+flowers, and then we must believe the stage to be a garden.&nbsp;
+By and by, we hear news of shipwreck in the same place, then we
+are to blame if we accept it not for a rock.&nbsp; Upon the back
+of that comes out a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then
+the miserable beholders are bound to take it for a cave; while,
+in the meantime, two armies fly in, represented with four swords
+and bucklers, and then, what hard heart will not receive it for a
+pitched field?</p>
+<p>Now of time they are much more liberal; for ordinary it is,
+that two young princes fall in love; after many traverses she is
+got with child; delivered of a fair boy; he is lost, groweth a
+man, falleth in love, and is ready to get another child; and all
+this in two hours&rsquo; space; which, how absurd it is in sense,
+even sense may imagine; and art hath taught and all ancient
+examples justified, and at this day the ordinary players in Italy
+will not err in.&nbsp; Yet will some bring in an example of the
+Eunuch in Terence, that containeth matter of two days, yet far
+short of twenty years.&nbsp; True it is, and so was it to be
+played in two days, and so fitted to the time it set forth.&nbsp;
+And though Plautus have in one place done amiss, let us hit it
+with him, and not miss with him.&nbsp; But they will say, How
+then shall we set forth a story which contains both many places
+and many times?&nbsp; And do they not know, that a tragedy is
+tied to the laws of poesy, and not of history; not bound to
+follow the story, but having liberty either to feign a quite new
+matter, or to frame the history to the most tragical
+convenience?&nbsp; Again, many things may be told, which cannot
+be showed: if they know the difference betwixt reporting and
+representing.&nbsp; As for example, I may speak, though I am
+here, of Peru, and in speech digress from that to the description
+of Calicut; but in action I cannot represent it without
+Pacolet&rsquo;s horse.&nbsp; And so was the manner the ancients
+took by some &ldquo;Nuntius,&rdquo; <a name="citation85"></a><a
+href="#footnote85" class="citation">[85]</a> to recount things
+done in former time, or other place.</p>
+<p>Lastly, if they will represent an history, they must not, as
+Horace saith, begin &ldquo;ab ovo,&rdquo; <a
+name="citation86"></a><a href="#footnote86"
+class="citation">[86]</a> but they must come to the principal
+point of that one action which they will represent.&nbsp; By
+example this will be best expressed; I have a story of young
+Polydorus, delivered, for safety&rsquo;s sake, with great riches,
+by his father Priamus to Polymnestor, King of Thrace, in the
+Trojan war time.&nbsp; He, after some years, hearing of the
+overthrow of Priamus, for to make the treasure his own, murdereth
+the child; the body of the child is taken up; Hecuba, she, the
+same day, findeth a sleight to be revenged most cruelly of the
+tyrant.&nbsp; Where, now, would one of our tragedy-writers begin,
+but with the delivery of the child?&nbsp; Then should he sail
+over into Thrace, and so spend I know not how many years, and
+travel numbers of places.&nbsp; But where doth Euripides?&nbsp;
+Even with the finding of the body; leaving the rest to be told by
+the spirit of Polydorus.&nbsp; This needs no farther to be
+enlarged; the dullest wit may conceive it.</p>
+<p>But, besides these gross absurdities, how all their plays be
+neither right tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and
+clowns, not because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in the
+clown by head and shoulders to play a part in majestical matters,
+with neither decency nor discretion; so as neither the admiration
+and commiseration, nor the right sportfulness, is by their
+mongrel tragi-comedy obtained.&nbsp; I know Apuleius did somewhat
+so, but that is a thing recounted with space of time, not
+represented in one moment: and I know the ancients have one or
+two examples of tragi-comedies as Plautus hath Amphytrio.&nbsp;
+But, if we mark them well, we shall find, that they never, or
+very daintily, match horn-pipes and funerals.&nbsp; So falleth it
+out, that having indeed no right comedy in that comical part of
+our tragedy, we have nothing but scurrility, unworthy of any
+chaste ears; or some extreme show of doltishness, indeed fit to
+lift up a loud laughter, and nothing else; where the whole tract
+of a comedy should be full of delight; as the tragedy should be
+still maintained in a well-raised admiration.</p>
+<p>But our comedians think there is no delight without laughter,
+which is very wrong; for though laughter may come with delight,
+yet cometh it not of delight, as though delight should be the
+cause of laughter; but well may one thing breed both
+together.&nbsp; Nay, in themselves, they have, as it were, a kind
+of contrariety.&nbsp; For delight we scarcely do, but in things
+that have a conveniency to ourselves, or to the general
+nature.&nbsp; Laughter almost ever cometh of things most
+disproportioned to ourselves and nature: delight hath a joy in it
+either permanent or present; laughter hath only a scornful
+tickling.&nbsp; For example: we are ravished with delight to see
+a fair woman, and yet are far from being moved to laughter; we
+laugh at deformed creatures, wherein certainly we cannot delight;
+we delight in good chances; we laugh at mischances; we delight to
+hear the happiness of our friends and country, at which he were
+worthy to be laughed at that would laugh: we shall, contrarily,
+sometimes laugh to find a matter quite mistaken, and go down the
+hill against the bias, <a name="citation87"></a><a
+href="#footnote87" class="citation">[87]</a> in the mouth of some
+such men, as for the respect of them, one shall be heartily
+sorrow he cannot choose but laugh, and so is rather pained than
+delighted with laughter.&nbsp; Yet deny I not, but that they may
+go well together; for, as in Alexander&rsquo;s picture well set
+out, we delight without laughter, and in twenty mad antics we
+laugh without delight: so in Hercules, painted with his great
+beard and furious countenance, in a woman&rsquo;s attire,
+spinning at Omphale&rsquo;s commandment, it breeds both delight
+and laughter; for the representing of so strange a power in love
+procures delight, and the scornfulness of the action stirreth
+laughter.</p>
+<p>But I speak to this purpose, that all the end of the comical
+part be not upon such scornful matters as stir laughter only, but
+mix with it that delightful teaching which is the end of
+poesy.&nbsp; And the great fault, even in that point of laughter,
+and forbidden plainly by Aristotle, is, that they stir laughter
+in sinful things, which are rather execrable than ridiculous; or
+in miserable, which are rather to be pitied than scorned.&nbsp;
+For what is it to make folks gape at a wretched beggar, and a
+beggarly clown; or against the law of hospitality, to jest at
+strangers, because they speak not English so well as we do? what
+do we learn, since it is certain,</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Nil habet infelix pauperatas durius in
+se,<br />
+Quam qnod ridiculos, homines facit.&rdquo; <a
+name="citation88"></a><a href="#footnote88"
+class="citation">[88]</a></p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>But rather a busy loving courtier, and a heartless threatening
+Thraso; a self-wise seeming school-master; a wry-transformed
+traveller: these, if we saw walk in stage names, which we play
+naturally, therein were delightful laughter, and teaching
+delightfulness: as in the other, the tragedies of Buchanan <a
+name="citation89"></a><a href="#footnote89"
+class="citation">[89]</a> do justly bring forth a divine
+admiration.</p>
+<p>But I have lavished out too many words of this play matter; I
+do it, because, as they are excelling parts of poesy, so is there
+none so much used in England, and none can be more pitifully
+abused; which, like an unmannerly daughter, showing a bad
+education, causeth her mother Poesy&rsquo;s honesty to be called
+in question.</p>
+<p>Other <a name="citation90"></a><a href="#footnote90"
+class="citation">[90]</a> sorts of poetry, almost, have we none,
+but that lyrical kind of songs and sonnets, which, if the Lord
+gave us so good minds, how well it might be employed, and with
+how heavenly fruits, both private and public, in singing the
+praises of the immortal beauty, the immortal goodness of that
+God, who giveth us hands to write, and wits to conceive; of which
+we might well want words, but never matter; of which we could
+turn our eyes to nothing, but we should ever have new budding
+occasions.</p>
+<p>But, truly, many of such writings as come under the banner of
+unresistible love, if I were a mistress, would never persuade me
+they were in love; so coldly they apply fiery speeches, as men
+that had rather read lover&rsquo;s writings, and so caught up
+certain swelling phrases, which hang together like a man that
+once told me, &ldquo;the wind was at north-west and by
+south,&rdquo; because he would be sure to name winds enough; than
+that, in truth, they feel those passions, which easily, as I
+think, may be bewrayed by the same forcibleness, or
+&ldquo;energia&rdquo; (as the Greeks call it), of the
+writer.&nbsp; But let this be a sufficient, though short note,
+that we miss the right use of the material point of poesy.</p>
+<p>Now <a name="citation91"></a><a href="#footnote91"
+class="citation">[91]</a> for the outside of it, which is words,
+or (as I may term it) diction, it is even well worse; so is that
+honey-flowing matron eloquence, apparelled, or rather disguised,
+in a courtesan-like painted affectation.&nbsp; One time with so
+far-fetched words, that many seem monsters, but most seem
+strangers to any poor Englishman: another time with coursing of a
+letter, as if they were bound to follow the method of a
+dictionary: another time with figures and flowers, extremely
+winter-starved.</p>
+<p>But I would this fault were only peculiar to versifiers, and
+had not as large possession among prose printers: and, which is
+to be marvelled, among many scholars, and, which is to be pitied,
+among some preachers.&nbsp; Truly, I could wish (if at least I
+might be so bold to wish, in a thing beyond the reach of my
+capacity) the diligent imitators of Tully and Demosthenes, most
+worthy to be imitated, did not so much keep Nizolian paper-books
+<a name="citation92"></a><a href="#footnote92"
+class="citation">[92]</a> of their figures and phrases, as by
+attentive translation, as it were, devour them whole, and make
+them wholly theirs.&nbsp; For now they cast sugar and spice upon
+every dish that is served at the table: like those Indians, not
+content to wear ear-rings at the fit and natural place of the
+ears, but they will thrust jewels through their nose and lips,
+because they will be sure to be fine.</p>
+<p>Tully, when he was to drive out Catiline, as it were with a
+thunderbolt of eloquence, often useth the figure of repetition,
+as &ldquo;vivit et vincit, imo in senatum venit, imo in senatum
+venit,&rdquo; &amp;c. <a name="citation93"></a><a
+href="#footnote93" class="citation">[93]</a>&nbsp; Indeed,
+inflamed with a well-grounded rage, he would have his words, as
+it were, double out of his mouth; and so do that artificially
+which we see men in choler do naturally.&nbsp; And we, having
+noted the grace of those words, hale them in sometimes to a
+familiar epistle, when it were too much choler to be
+choleric.</p>
+<p>How well, store of &ldquo;similiter cadences&rdquo; doth sound
+with the gravity of the pulpit, I would but invoke
+Demosthenes&rsquo; soul to tell, who with a rare daintiness useth
+them.&nbsp; Truly, they have made me think of the sophister, that
+with too much subtlety would prove two eggs three, and though he
+may be counted a sophister, had none for his labour.&nbsp; So
+these men bringing in such a kind of eloquence, well may they
+obtain an opinion of a seeming fineness, but persuade few, which
+should be the end of their fineness.</p>
+<p>Now for similitudes in certain printed discourses, I think all
+herbalists, all stories of beasts, fowls, and fishes are rifled
+up, that they may come in multitudes to wait upon any of our
+conceits, which certainly is as absurd a surfeit to the ears as
+is possible.&nbsp; For the force of a similitude not being to
+prove anything to a contrary disputer, but only to explain to a
+willing hearer: when that is done, the rest is a most tedious
+prattling, rather overswaying the memory from the purpose whereto
+they were applied, than any whit informing the judgment, already
+either satisfied, or by similitudes not to be satisfied.</p>
+<p>For my part, I do not doubt, when Antonius and Crassus, the
+great forefathers of Cicero in eloquence; the one (as Cicero
+testifieth of them) pretended not to know art, the other not to
+set by it, because with a plain sensibleness they might win
+credit of popular ears, which credit is the nearest step to
+persuasion (which persuasion is the chief mark of oratory); I do
+not doubt, I say, but that they used these knacks very sparingly;
+which who doth generally use, any man may see, doth dance to his
+own music; and so to be noted by the audience, more careful to
+speak curiously than truly.&nbsp; Undoubtedly (at least to my
+opinion undoubtedly) I have found in divers small-learned
+courtiers a more sound style than in some professors of learning;
+of which I can guess no other cause, but that the courtier
+following that which by practice he findeth fittest to nature,
+therein (though he know it not) doth according to art, though not
+by art: where the other, using art to show art, and not hide art
+(as in these cases he should do), flieth from nature, and indeed
+abuseth art.</p>
+<p>But what! methinks I deserve to be pounded <a
+name="citation94"></a><a href="#footnote94"
+class="citation">[94]</a> for straying from poetry to oratory:
+but both have such an affinity in the wordish considerations,
+that I think this digression will make my meaning receive the
+fuller understanding: which is not to take upon me to teach poets
+how they should do, but only finding myself sick among the rest,
+to allow some one or two spots of the common infection grown
+among the most part of writers; that, acknowledging ourselves
+somewhat awry, we may bend to the right use both of matter and
+manner: whereto our language giveth us great occasion, being,
+indeed, capable of any excellent exercising of it. <a
+name="citation95"></a><a href="#footnote95"
+class="citation">[95]</a>&nbsp; I know some will say, it is a
+mingled language: and why not so much the better, taking the best
+of both the other?&nbsp; Another will say, it wanteth
+grammar.&nbsp; Nay, truly, it hath that praise, that it wants not
+grammar; for grammar it might have, but needs it not; being so
+easy in itself, and so void of those cumbersome differences of
+cases, genders, moods, and tenses; which, I think, was a piece of
+the tower of Babylon&rsquo;s curse, that a man should be put to
+school to learn his mother tongue.&nbsp; But for the uttering
+sweetly and properly the conceit of the mind, which is the end of
+speech, that hath it equally with any other tongue in the world,
+and is particularly happy in compositions of two or three words
+together, near the Greek, far beyond the Latin; which is one of
+the greatest beauties can be in a language.</p>
+<p>Now, <a name="citation96"></a><a href="#footnote96"
+class="citation">[96]</a> of versifying there are two sorts, the
+one ancient, the other modern; the ancient marked the quantity of
+each syllable, and according to that framed his verse; the
+modern, observing only number, with some regard of the accent,
+the chief life of it standeth in that like sounding of the words,
+which we call rhyme.&nbsp; Whether of these be the more
+excellent, would bear many speeches; the ancient, no doubt more
+fit for music, both words and time observing quantity; and more
+fit lively to express divers passions, by the low or lofty sound
+of the well-weighed syllable.&nbsp; The latter, likewise, with
+his rhyme striketh a certain music to the ear; and, in fine,
+since it doth delight, though by another way, it obtaineth the
+same purpose; there being in either, sweetness, and wanting in
+neither, majesty.&nbsp; Truly the English, before any vulgar
+language I know, is fit for both sorts; for, for the ancient, the
+Italian is so full of vowels, that it must ever be cumbered with
+elisions.&nbsp; The Dutch so, of the other side, with consonants,
+that they cannot yield the sweet sliding fit for a verse.&nbsp;
+The French, in his whole language, hath not one word that hath
+his accent in the last syllable, saving two, called
+antepenultima; and little more, hath the Spanish, and therefore
+very gracelessly may they use dactiles.&nbsp; The English is
+subject to none of these defects.</p>
+<p>Now for rhyme, though we do not observe quantity, we observe
+the accent very precisely, which other languages either cannot
+do, or will not do so absolutely.&nbsp; That
+&ldquo;c&aelig;sura,&rdquo; or breathing-place, in the midst of
+the verse, neither Italian nor Spanish have, the French and we
+never almost fail of.&nbsp; Lastly, even the very rhyme itself
+the Italian cannot put in the last syllable, by the French named
+the masculine rhyme, but still in the next to the last, which the
+French call the female; or the next before that, which the
+Italian calls &ldquo;sdrucciola:&rdquo; the example of the former
+is, &ldquo;buono,&rdquo; &ldquo;suono;&rdquo; of the sdrucciola
+is, &ldquo;femina,&rdquo; &ldquo;semina.&rdquo;&nbsp; The French,
+of the other side, hath both the male, as &ldquo;bon,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;son,&rdquo; and the female, as &ldquo;plaise,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;taise;&rdquo; but the &ldquo;sdrucciola&rdquo; he hath
+not; where the English hath all three, as &ldquo;due,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;true,&rdquo; &ldquo;father,&rdquo; &ldquo;rather,&rdquo;
+&ldquo;motion,&rdquo; &ldquo;potion;&rdquo; with much more which
+might be said, but that already I find the trifling of this
+discourse is much too much enlarged.</p>
+<p>So <a name="citation97"></a><a href="#footnote97"
+class="citation">[97]</a> that since the ever praiseworthy poesy
+is full of virtue, breeding delightfulness, and void of no gift
+that ought to be in the noble name of learning; since the blames
+laid against it are either false or feeble; since the cause why
+it is not esteemed in England is the fault of poet-apes, not
+poets; since, lastly, our tongue is most fit to honour poesy, and
+to be honoured by poesy; I conjure you all that have had the evil
+luck to read this ink-wasting toy of mine, even in the name of
+the Nine Muses, no more to scorn the sacred mysteries of poesy;
+no more to laugh at the name of poets, as though they were next
+inheritors to fools; no more to jest at the reverend title of
+&ldquo;a rhymer;&rdquo; but to believe, with Aristotle, that they
+were the ancient treasurers of the Grecian&rsquo;s divinity; to
+believe, with Bembus, that they were the first bringers in of all
+civility; to believe, with Scaliger, that no philosopher&rsquo;s
+precepts can sooner make you an honest man, than the reading of
+Virgil; to believe, with Clauserus, the translator of Cornutus,
+that it pleased the heavenly deity by Hesiod and Homer, under the
+veil of fables, to give us all knowledge, logic, rhetoric,
+philosophy natural and moral, and &ldquo;quid non?&rdquo; to
+believe, with me, that there are many mysteries contained in
+poetry, which of purpose were written darkly, lest by profane
+wits it should be abused; to believe, with Landin, that they are
+so beloved of the gods that whatsoever they write proceeds of a
+divine fury.&nbsp; Lastly, to believe themselves, when they tell
+you they will make you immortal by their verses.</p>
+<p>Thus doing, your names shall flourish in the printers&rsquo;
+shops: thus doing, you shall be of kin to many a poetical
+preface: thus doing, you shall be most fair, most rich, most
+wise, most all: you shall dwell upon superlatives: thus doing,
+though you be &ldquo;Libertino patre natus,&rdquo; you shall
+suddenly grow &ldquo;Herculea proles,&rdquo;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Si quid mea Carmina possunt:&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>thus doing, your soul shall be placed with Dante&rsquo;s
+Beatrix, or Virgil&rsquo;s Anchisis.</p>
+<p>But if (fie of such a but!) you be born so near the
+dull-making cataract of Nilus, that you cannot hear the
+planet-like music of poetry; if you have so earth-creeping a
+mind, that it cannot lift itself up to look to the sky of poetry,
+or rather, by a certain rustical disdain, will become such a
+Mome, as to be a Momus of poetry; then, though I will not wish
+unto you the ass&rsquo;s ears of Midas, nor to be driven by a
+poet&rsquo;s verses, as Bubonax was, to hang himself; nor to be
+rhymed to death, as is said to be done in Ireland; yet thus much
+curse I must send you in the behalf of all poets; that while you
+live, you live in love, and never get favour, for lacking skill
+of a sonnet; and when you die, your memory die from the earth for
+want of an epitaph.</p>
+<h2>POEMS.</h2>
+<h3>TWO PASTORALS,</h3>
+<p><i>Made by Sir Philip Sidney</i>, <i>upon his meeting with his
+two worthy friends and fellow poets</i>, <i>Sir Edward Dyer and
+M. Fulke Greville</i>.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Join</span> mates in mirth
+to me,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Grant pleasure to our meeting;<br />
+Let Pan, our good god, see<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; How grateful is our greeting.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Ye hymns and singing skill<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Of god Apollo&rsquo;s giving,<br />
+Be pressed our reeds to fill<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With sound of music living.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Sweet Orpheus&rsquo; harp, whose sound<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The stedfast mountains moved,<br />
+Let there thy skill abound,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To join sweet friends beloved.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">My two and I be met,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A happy blessed trinity,<br />
+As three more jointly set<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In firmest band of unity.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Welcome my two to me,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The number best beloved,<br />
+Within my heart you be<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In friendship unremoved.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Give leave your flocks to range,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Let us the while be playing;<br />
+Within the elmy grange,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Your flocks will not be straying.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Cause all the mirth you can,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since I am now come hither,<br />
+Who never joy, but when<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I am with you together.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Like lovers do their love,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So joy I in you seeing:<br />
+Let nothing me remove<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From always with you being.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">And as the turtle dove<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To mate with whom he liveth,<br />
+Such comfort fervent love<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Of you to my heart giveth.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Join hearts and hands, so let it
+be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Make but one mind in bodies
+three.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Now join&eacute;d be our hands,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Let them be ne&rsquo;er asunder,<br />
+But link&rsquo;d in binding bands<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By metamorphosed wonder.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; So should our severed bodies
+three<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; As one for ever join&eacute;d
+be.</p>
+<h3>DISPRAISE OF A COURTLY LIFE.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Walking</span> in bright
+Ph&oelig;bus&rsquo; blaze,<br />
+Where with heat oppressed I was,<br />
+I got to a shady wood,<br />
+Where green leaves did newly bud;<br />
+And of grass was plenty dwelling,<br />
+Decked with pied flowers sweetly smelling.</p>
+<p class="poetry">In this wood a man I met,<br />
+On lamenting wholly set;<br />
+Ruing change of wonted state,<br />
+Whence he was transform&eacute;d late,<br />
+Once to shepherds&rsquo; God retaining,<br />
+Now in servile court remaining.</p>
+<p class="poetry">There he wand&rsquo;ring malecontent,<br />
+Up and down perpl&eacute;xed went,<br />
+Daring not to tell to me,<br />
+Spake unto a senseless tree,<br />
+One among the rest electing,<br />
+These same words, or this affecting:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;My old mates I grieve to see<br />
+Void of me in field to be,<br />
+Where we once our lovely sheep<br />
+Lovingly like friends did keep;<br />
+Oft each other&rsquo;s friendship proving,<br />
+Never striving, but in loving.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;But may love abiding be<br />
+In poor shepherds&rsquo; base degree?<br />
+It belongs to such alone<br />
+To whom art of love is known:<br />
+Seely shepherds are not witting<br />
+What in art of love is fitting.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Nay, what need the art to those<br />
+To whom we our love disclose?<br />
+It is to be us&eacute;d then,<br />
+When we do but flatter men:<br />
+Friendship true, in heart assured,<br />
+Is by Nature&rsquo;s gifts procured.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Therefore shepherds, wanting skill,<br
+/>
+Can Love&rsquo;s duties best fulfil;<br />
+Since they know not how to feign,<br />
+Nor with love to cloak disdain,<br />
+Like the wiser sort, whose learning<br />
+Hides their inward will of harming.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Well was I, while under shade<br />
+Oaten reeds me music made,<br />
+Striving with my mates in song;<br />
+Mixing mirth our songs among.<br />
+Greater was the shepherd&rsquo;s treasure<br />
+Than this false, fine, courtly pleasure.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Where how many creatures be,<br />
+So many puffed in mind I see;<br />
+Like to Juno&rsquo;s birds of pride,<br />
+Scarce each other can abide:<br />
+Friends like to black swans appearing,<br />
+Sooner these than those in hearing.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Therefore, Pan, if thou may&rsquo;st
+be<br />
+Made to listen unto me,<br />
+Grant, I say, if seely man<br />
+May make treaty to god Pan,<br />
+That I, without thy denying,<br />
+May be still to thee relying.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;Only for my two loves&rsquo; sake,<br />
+In whose love I pleasure take;<br />
+Only two do me delight<br />
+With their ever-pleasing sight;<br />
+Of all men to thee retaining,<br />
+Grant me with those two remaining.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&ldquo;So shall I to thee always<br />
+With my reeds sound mighty praise:<br />
+And first lamb that shall befall,<br />
+Yearly deck thine altar shall,<br />
+If it please thee to be reflected,<br />
+And I from thee not rejected.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">So I left him in that place,<br />
+Taking pity on his case;<br />
+Learning this among the rest,<br />
+That the mean estate is best;<br />
+Better fill&eacute;d with contenting,<br />
+Void of wishing and repenting.</p>
+<h3>DIRGE.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ring</span> out your bells,
+let mourning shows be spread,<br />
+For Love is dead:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; All Love is dead, infected<br />
+With plague of deep disdain:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Worth, as nought worth, rejected,<br />
+And faith fair scorn doth gain.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From so ungrateful fancy;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From such a female frenzy;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From them that use men thus,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Good Lord, deliver us.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Weep, neighbours, weep, do you not hear it
+said<br />
+That Love is dead:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; His death-bed, peacock&rsquo;s folly:<br />
+His winding-sheet is shame;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; His will, false-seeming holy,<br />
+His sole executor, blame.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From so ungrateful fancy;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From such a female frenzy;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From them that use men thus,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Good Lord, deliver us.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly
+read,<br />
+For Love is dead:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth<br />
+My mistress&rsquo; marble heart;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Which epitaph containeth,<br />
+&ldquo;Her eyes were once his dart.&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From so ungrateful fancy;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From such a female frenzy;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From them that use men thus,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Good Lord, deliver us.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Alas! I lie: rage hath this error bred;<br />
+Love is not dead,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Love is not dead, but sleepeth<br />
+In her unmatch&eacute;d mind:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Where she his counsel keepeth<br />
+Till due deserts she find.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Therefore from so vile fancy,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To call such wit a frenzy:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who Love can temper thus,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Good Lord, deliver us.</p>
+<h3>STANZAS TO LOVE.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Ah</span>, poor Love, why
+dost thou live,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Thus to see thy service lost;<br />
+If she will no comfort give,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Make an end, yield up the ghost!</p>
+<p class="poetry">That she may, at length, approve<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That she hardly long believed,<br />
+That the heart will die for love<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That is not in time relieved.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Oh, that ever I was born<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Service so to be refused;<br />
+Faithful love to be forborn!<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Never love was so abused.</p>
+<p class="poetry">But, sweet Love, be still awhile;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; She that hurt thee, Love, may heal thee;<br />
+Sweet!&nbsp; I see within her smile<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; More than reason can reveal thee.</p>
+<p class="poetry">For, though she be rich and fair,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet she is both wise and kind,<br />
+And, therefore, do thou not despair<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But thy faith may fancy find.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Yet, although she be a queen<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That may such a snake despise,<br />
+Yet, with silence all unseen,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Run, and hide thee in her eyes:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Where if she will let thee die,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet at latest gasp of breath,<br />
+Say that in a lady&rsquo;s eye<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Love both took his life and death.</p>
+<h3>A REMEDY FOR LOVE.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Philoclea</span> and Pamela
+sweet,<br />
+By chance, in one great house did meet;<br />
+And meeting, did so join in heart,<br />
+That th&rsquo; one from th&rsquo; other could not part:<br />
+And who indeed (not made of stones)<br />
+Would separate such lovely ones?<br />
+The one is beautiful, and fair<br />
+As orient pearls and rubies are;<br />
+And sweet as, after gentle showers,<br />
+The breath is of some thousand flowers:<br />
+For due proportion, such an air<br />
+Circles the other, and so fair,<br />
+That it her brownness beautifies,<br />
+And doth enchant the wisest eyes.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Have you not seen, on some
+great day,<br />
+Two goodly horses, white and bay,<br />
+Which were so beauteous in their pride,<br />
+You knew not which to choose or ride?<br />
+Such are these two; you scarce can tell,<br />
+Which is the daintier bonny belle;<br />
+And they are such, as, by my troth,<br />
+I had been sick with love of both,<br />
+And might have sadly said, &lsquo;Good-night<br />
+Discretion and good fortune quite;&rsquo;<br />
+But that young Cupid, my old master,<br />
+Presented me a sovereign plaster:<br />
+Mopsa! ev&rsquo;n Mopsa! (precious pet)<br />
+Whose lips of marble, teeth of jet,<br />
+Are spells and charms of strong defence,<br />
+To conjure down concupiscence.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;How oft have I been reft of
+sense,<br />
+By gazing on their excellence,<br />
+But meeting Mopsa in my way,<br />
+And looking on her face of clay,<br />
+Been healed, and cured, and made as sound,<br />
+As though I ne&rsquo;er had had a wound?<br />
+And when in tables of my heart,<br />
+Love wrought such things as bred my smart,<br />
+Mopsa would come, with face of clout,<br />
+And in an instant wipe them out.<br />
+And when their faces made me sick,<br />
+Mopsa would come, with face of brick,<br />
+A little heated in the fire,<br />
+And break the neck of my desire.<br />
+Now from their face I turn mine eyes,<br />
+But (cruel panthers!) they surprise<br />
+Me with their breath, that incense sweet,<br />
+Which only for the gods is meet,<br />
+And jointly from them doth respire,<br />
+Like both the Indies set on fire:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Which so o&rsquo;ercomes
+man&rsquo;s ravished sense,<br />
+That souls, to follow it, fly hence.<br />
+No such-like smell you if you range<br />
+To th&rsquo; Stocks, or Cornhill&rsquo;s square Exchange;<br />
+There stood I still as any stock,<br />
+Till Mopsa, with her puddle dock,<br />
+Her compound or electuary,<br />
+Made of old ling and young canary,<br />
+Bloat-herring, cheese, and voided physic,<br />
+Being somewhat troubled with a phthisic,<br />
+Did cough, and fetch a sigh so deep,<br />
+As did her very bottom sweep:<br />
+Whereby to all she did impart,<br />
+How love lay rankling at her heart:<br />
+Which, when I smelt, desire was slain,<br />
+And they breathed forth perfumes in vain.<br />
+Their angel voice surprised me now;<br />
+But Mopsa, her Too-whit, Too-whoo,<br />
+Descending through her oboe nose,<br />
+Did that distemper soon compose.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And, therefore, O thou
+precious owl,<br />
+The wise Minerva&rsquo;s only fowl;<br />
+What, at thy shrine, shall I devise<br />
+To offer up a sacrifice?<br />
+Hang &AElig;sculapius, and Apollo,<br />
+And Ovid, with his precious shallow.<br />
+Mopsa is love&rsquo;s best medicine,<br />
+True water to a lover&rsquo;s wine.<br />
+Nay, she&rsquo;s the yellow antidote,<br />
+Both bred and born to cut Love&rsquo;s throat:<br />
+Be but my second, and stand by,<br />
+Mopsa, and I&rsquo;ll them both defy;<br />
+And all else of those gallant races,<br />
+Who wear infection in their faces;<br />
+For thy face (that Medusa&rsquo;s shield!)<br />
+Will bring me safe out of the field.</p>
+<h3>VERSES.</h3>
+<p><i>To the tune of the Spanish song</i>, &ldquo;<i>Si tu
+se&ntilde;ora no ducles de mi</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">O <span class="smcap">fair</span>! O sweet!
+when I do look on thee,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In whom all joys so well agree,<br />
+Heart and soul do sing in me.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; This you hear is not my tongue,<br />
+Which once said what I conceived;<br />
+For it was of use bereaved,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With a cruel answer stung.<br />
+No! though tongue to roof be cleaved,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Fearing lest he chastised be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Heart and soul do sing in me.</p>
+<p class="poetry">O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In whom all joys so well agree,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Just accord all music makes;<br />
+In thee just accord excelleth,<br />
+Where each part in such peace dwelleth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; One of other beauty takes.<br />
+Since then truth to all minds telleth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That in thee lives harmony,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Heart and soul do sing in me.</p>
+<p class="poetry">O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In whom all joys so well agree,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They that heaven have known do say,<br />
+That whoso that grace obtaineth,<br />
+To see what fair sight there reigneth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Forc&eacute;d are to sing alway:<br />
+So then since that heaven remaineth<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In thy face, I plainly see,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Heart and soul do sing in me.</p>
+<p class="poetry">O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In whom all joys so well agree,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sweet, think not I am at ease,<br />
+For because my chief part singeth;<br />
+This song from death&rsquo;s sorrow springeth:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As to swan in last disease:<br />
+For no dumbness, nor death, bringeth<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Stay to true love&rsquo;s melody:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Heart and soul do sing in me.</p>
+<h3>TRANSLATION.</h3>
+<p><i>From Horace</i>, <i>Book II. Ode X.</i>, <i>beginning</i>
+&ldquo;<i>Rectius vives</i>, <i>Licini</i>,&rdquo;
+<i>&amp;c.</i></p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">You</span> better sure
+shall live, not evermore<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Trying high seas; nor, while sea&rsquo;s rage you
+flee,<br />
+Pressing too much upon ill-harboured shore.</p>
+<p class="poetry">The golden mean who loves, lives safely free<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From filth of foreworn house, and quiet lives,<br />
+Released from court, where envy needs must be.</p>
+<p class="poetry">The wind most oft the hugest pine tree
+grieves:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The stately towers come down with greater fall:<br
+/>
+The highest hills the bolt of thunder cleaves.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Evil haps do fill with hope, good haps
+appall<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With fear of change, the courage well prepared:<br
+/>
+Foul winters, as they come, away they shall.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Though present times, and past, with evils be
+snared,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They shall not last: with cithern silent Muse,<br />
+Apollo wakes, and bow hath sometime spared.</p>
+<p class="poetry">In hard estate, with stout shows, valour
+use,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The same man still, in whom wisdom prevails;<br />
+In too full wind draw in thy swelling sails.</p>
+<h3>A SONNET BY SIR EDWARD DYER.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Prometheus</span>, when
+first from heaven high<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; He brought down fire, till then on earth not
+seen;<br />
+Fond of delight, a satyr, standing by,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Gave it a kiss, as it like sweet had been.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Feeling forthwith the other burning power,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Wood with the smart, with shouts and shrieking
+shrill,<br />
+He sought his ease in river, field, and bower;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But, for the time, his grief went with him
+still.</p>
+<p class="poetry">So silly I, with that unwonted sight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In human shape an angel from above,<br />
+Feeding mine eyes, th&rsquo; impression there did light;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That since I run and rest as pleaseth love:<br />
+The difference is, the satyr&rsquo;s lips, my heart,<br />
+He for a while, I evermore, have smart.</p>
+<h3>SIR PHILIP SIDNEY&rsquo;S SONNET IN REPLY.</h3>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A <span
+class="smcap">satyr</span> once did run away for dread,<br />
+With sound of horn which he himself did blow:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Fearing and feared, thus from himself he fled,<br />
+Deeming strange evil in that he did not know.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Such causeless fears when
+coward minds do take,<br />
+It makes them fly that which they fain would have;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As this poor beast, who did his rest forsake,<br />
+Thinking not why, but how, himself to save.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Ev&rsquo;n thus might I, for
+doubts which I conceive<br />
+Of mine own words, my own good hap betray;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And thus might I, for fear of may be, leave<br />
+The sweet pursuit of my desir&eacute;d prey.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Better like I thy satyr, dearest Dyer,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who burnt his lips to kiss fair shining fire.</p>
+<h3>MUST LOVE LAMENT?</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">My</span> mistress lowers,
+and saith I do not love:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I do protest, and seek with service due,<br />
+In humble mind, a constant faith to prove;<br />
+But for all this, I cannot her remove<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; From deep vain thought that I may not be true.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If oaths might serve,
+ev&rsquo;n by the Stygian lake,<br />
+Which poets say the gods themselves do fear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I never did my vow&eacute;d word forsake:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For why should I, whom free choice slave doth
+make,<br />
+Else-what in face, than in my fancy bear?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My Muse, therefore, for only
+thou canst tell,<br />
+Tell me the cause of this my causeless woe?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Tell, how ill thought disgraced my doing well?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Tell, how my joys and hopes thus foully fell<br />
+To so low ebb that wonted were to flow?</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;O this it is, the knotted
+straw is found;<br />
+In tender hearts, small things engender hate:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A horse&rsquo;s worth laid waste the Trojan
+ground;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A three-foot stool in Greece made trumpets sound;<br
+/>
+An ass&rsquo;s shade e&rsquo;er now hath bred debate.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;If Greeks themselves were
+moved with so small cause,<br />
+To twist those broils, which hardly would untwine:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Should ladies fair be tied to such hard laws,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As in their moods to take a ling&rsquo;ring
+pause?<br />
+I would it not, their metal is too fine.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My hand doth not bear witness
+with my heart,<br />
+She saith, because I make no woeful lays,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To paint my living death and endless smart:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And so, for one that felt god Cupid&rsquo;s dart,<br
+/>
+She thinks I lead and live too merry days.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Are poets then the only
+lovers true,<br />
+Whose hearts are set on measuring a verse?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who think themselves well blest, if they renew<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Some good old dump that Chaucer&rsquo;s mistress
+knew;<br />
+And use but you for matters to rehearse.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Then, good Apollo, do away
+thy bow:<br />
+Take harp and sing in this our versing time,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And in my brain some sacred humour flow,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That all the earth my woes, sighs, tears may
+know;<br />
+And see you not that I fall low to rhyme.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;As for my mirth, how could I
+but be glad,<br />
+Whilst that methought I justly made my boast<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That only I the only mistress had?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But now, if e&rsquo;er my face with joy be clad,<br
+/>
+Think Hannibal did laugh when Carthage lost.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Sweet lady, as for those
+whose sullen cheer,<br />
+Compared to me, made me in lightness sound;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who, stoic-like, in cloudy hue appear;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who silence force to make their words more dear;<br
+/>
+Whose eyes seem chaste, because they look on ground:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Believe them not, for physic
+true doth find,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Choler adust is joyed in woman-kind.</p>
+<h3>A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS.</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>Uttered in a Pastoral Show at
+Wilton</i>.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; Dick, since we cannot dance,
+come, let a cheerful voice<br />
+Show that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoice.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Ah Will, though I grudge
+not, I count it feeble glee,<br />
+With sight made dim with daily tears another&rsquo;s sport to
+see.<br />
+Whoever lambkins saw, yet lambkins love to play,<br />
+To play when that their lov&eacute;d dams are stolen or gone
+astray?<br />
+If this in them be true, as true in men think I,<br />
+A lustless song forsooth thinks he that hath more lust to
+cry.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; A time there is for all, my
+mother often says,<br />
+When she, with skirts tucked very high, with girls at football
+plays<br />
+When thou hast mind to weep, seek out some smoky room:<br />
+Now let those lightsome sights we see thy darkness overcome.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; What joy the joyful sun
+gives unto blear&eacute;d eyes;<br />
+That comfort in these sports you like, my mind his comfort
+tries.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; What?&nbsp; Is thy bagpipe
+broke, or are thy lambs miswent;<br />
+Thy wallet or thy tar-box lost; or thy new raiment-rent?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; I would it were but thus,
+for thus it were too well.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; Thou see&rsquo;st my ears do
+itch at it: good Dick thy sorrow tell.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Hear then, and learn to
+sigh: a mistress I do serve,<br />
+Whose wages make me beg the more, who feeds me till I starve;<br
+/>
+Whose livery is such, as most I freeze apparelled most,<br />
+And looks so near unto my cure, that I must needs be lost.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; What?&nbsp; These are
+riddles sure: art thou then bound to her?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Bound as I neither power
+have, nor would have power, to stir.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; Who bound thee?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Love, my lord.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; What witnesses thereto?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Faith in myself, and Worth
+in her, which no proof can undo.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; What seal?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; My heart deep graven.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; Who made the band so
+fast?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Wonder that, by two so black
+eyes the glitt&rsquo;ring stars be past.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; What keepeth safe thy
+band?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Remembrance is the chest<br
+/>
+Lock&rsquo;d fast with knowing that she is of worldly things the
+best.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; Thou late of wages
+plain&rsquo;dst: what wages may&rsquo;sh thou have?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Her heavenly looks, which
+more and more do give me cause to crave.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; If wages make you want, what
+food is that she gives?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Tear&rsquo;s drink,
+sorrow&rsquo;s meat, wherewith not I, but in me my death
+lives.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; What living get you
+then?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Disdain; but just
+disdain;<br />
+So have I cause myself to plain, but no cause to complain.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; What care takes she for
+thee?</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Her care is to prevent<br />
+My freedom, with show of her beams, with virtue, my content.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; God shield us from such
+dames!&nbsp; If so our dames be sped,<br />
+The shepherds will grow lean I trow, their sheep will be
+ill-fed.<br />
+But Dick, my counsel mark: run from the place of woo:<br />
+The arrow being shot from far doth give the smaller blow.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Good Will, I cannot take thy
+good advice; before<br />
+That foxes leave to steal, they find they die therefore.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Will</i>.&nbsp; Then, Dick, let us go hence
+lest we great folks annoy:<br />
+For nothing can more tedious be than plaint in time of joy.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><i>Dick</i>.&nbsp; Oh hence!&nbsp; O cruel
+word! which even dogs do hate:<br />
+But hence, even hence, I must needs go; such is my dogged
+fate.</p>
+<h3>SONG.</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>To the tune of</i>
+&ldquo;<i>Wilhelmus van Nassau</i>,&rdquo; <i>&amp;c.</i></p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Who</span> hath his fancy
+pleased,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With fruits of happy sight,<br />
+Let here his eyes be raised<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; On Nature&rsquo;s sweetest light;<br />
+A light which doth dissever,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And yet unite the eyes;<br />
+A light which, dying, never<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Is cause the looker dies.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She never dies, but
+lasteth<br />
+In life of lover&rsquo;s heart;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; He ever dies that wasteth<br />
+In love his chiefest part.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Thus is her life still guarded,<br />
+In never dying faith;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Thus is his death rewarded,<br />
+Since she lives in his death.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Look then and die, the
+pleasure<br />
+Doth answer well the pain;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Small loss of mortal treasure,<br />
+Who may immortal gain.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Immortal be her graces,<br />
+Immortal is her mind;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They, fit for heavenly places,<br />
+This heaven in it doth bind.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But eyes these beauties see
+not,<br />
+Nor sense that grace descries;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet eyes depriv&eacute;d be not<br />
+From sight of her fair eyes:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Which, as of inward glory<br />
+They are the outward seal,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So may they live still sorry,<br />
+Which die not in that weal.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But who hath fancies
+pleas&eacute;d,<br />
+With fruits of happy sight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Let here his eyes be rais&eacute;d<br />
+On Nature&rsquo;s sweetest light.</p>
+<h3>THE SMOKES OF MELANCHOLY.</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center" class="poetry">I.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Who</span> hath e&rsquo;er
+felt the change of love,<br />
+And known those pangs that losers prove,<br />
+May paint my face without seeing me,<br />
+And write the state how my fancies be,<br />
+The loathsome buds grown on Sorrow&rsquo;s tree.</p>
+<p class="poetry">But who by hearsay speaks, and hath not fully
+felt<br />
+What kind of fires they be in which those spirits melt,<br />
+Shall guess, and fail, what doth displease,<br />
+Feeling my pulse, miss my disease.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">II.</p>
+<p class="poetry">O no!&nbsp; O no! trial only shows<br />
+The bitter juice of forsaken woes;<br />
+Where former bliss, present evils do stain;<br />
+Nay, former bliss adds to present pain,<br />
+While remembrance doth both states contain.<br />
+Come, learners, then to me, the model of mishap,<br />
+Ingulph&eacute;d in despair, slid down from Fortune&rsquo;s
+lap;<br />
+And, as you like my double lot,<br />
+Tread in my steps, or follow not.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">III.</p>
+<p class="poetry">For me, alas!&nbsp; I am full resolved<br />
+Those bands, alas! shall not be dissolved;<br />
+Nor break my word, though reward come late;<br />
+Nor fail my faith in my failing fate;<br />
+Nor change in change, though change change my state:</p>
+<p class="poetry">But always own myself, with eagle-eyed Truth,
+to fly<br />
+Up to the sun, although the sun my wings do fry;<br />
+For if those flames burn my desire,<br />
+Yet shall I die in Phoenix&rsquo; fire.</p>
+<h3>ODE.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">When</span>, to my deadly
+pleasure,<br />
+When to my lively torment,<br />
+Lady, mine eyes remain&eacute;d<br />
+Join&eacute;d, alas! to your beams.</p>
+<p class="poetry">With violence of heavenly<br />
+Beauty, tied to virtue;<br />
+Reason abashed retir&eacute;d;<br />
+Gladly my senses yielded.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Gladly my senses yielding,<br />
+Thus to betray my heart&rsquo;s fort,<br />
+Left me devoid of all life.</p>
+<p class="poetry">They to the beamy suns went,<br />
+Where, by the death of all deaths,<br />
+Find to what harm they hastened.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Like to the silly Sylvan,<br />
+Burned by the light he best liked,<br />
+When with a fire he first met.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Yet, yet, a life to their death,<br />
+Lady you have reserv&eacute;d;<br />
+Lady the life of all love.</p>
+<p class="poetry">For though my sense be from me,<br />
+And I be dead, who want sense,<br />
+Yet do we both live in you.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Turn&eacute;d anew, by your means,<br />
+Unto the flower that aye turns,<br />
+As you, alas! my sun bends.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Thus do I fall to rise thus;<br />
+Thus do I die to live thus;<br />
+Changed to a change, I change not.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Thus may I not be from you;<br />
+Thus be my senses on you;<br />
+Thus what I think is of you;<br />
+Thus what I seek is in you;<br />
+All what I am, it is you.</p>
+<h2>VERSES.</h2>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>To the tune of a Neapolitan
+song</i>, <i>which beginneth</i>, &ldquo;<i>No</i>, <i>no</i>,
+<i>no</i>, <i>no</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">No</span>, no, no, no, I
+cannot hate my foe,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Although with cruel fire,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; First thrown on my desire,<br />
+She sacks my rendered sprite;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For so fair a flame embraces<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; All the places,<br />
+Where that heat of all heats springeth,<br />
+That it bringeth<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To my dying heart some pleasure,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since his treasure<br />
+Burneth bright in fairest light.&nbsp; No, no, no, no.</p>
+<p class="poetry">No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Although with cruel fire,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; First thrown on my desire,<br />
+She sacks my rendered sprite;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since our lives be not immortal,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But to mortal<br />
+Fetters tied, do wait the hour<br />
+Of death&rsquo;s power,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; They have no cause to be sorry<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who with glory<br />
+End the way, where all men stay.&nbsp; No, no, no, no.</p>
+<p class="poetry">No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Although with cruel fire,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; First thrown on my desire,<br />
+She sacks my rendered sprite;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; No man doubts, whom beauty killeth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Fair death feeleth,<br />
+And in whom fair death proceedeth,<br />
+Glory breedeth:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So that I, in her beams dying,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Glory trying,<br />
+Though in pain, cannot complain.&nbsp; No, no, no, no.</p>
+<h3>SONG.</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>To the tune of a Neapolitan
+Villanel</i>.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">All</span> my sense thy
+sweetness gained;<br />
+Thy fair hair my heart enchained;<br />
+My poor reason thy words moved,<br />
+So that thee, like heaven, I loved.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan:<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:<br />
+While to my mind the outside stood,<br />
+For messenger of inward good.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Nor thy sweetness sour is deemed;<br />
+Thy hair not worth a hair esteemed;<br />
+Reason hath thy words removed,<br />
+Finding that but words they proved.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:<br />
+For no fair sign can credit win,<br />
+If that the substance fail within.</p>
+<p class="poetry">No more in thy sweetness glory,<br />
+For thy knitting hair be sorry;<br />
+Use thy words but to bewail thee<br />
+That no more thy beams avail thee;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan,<br />
+Lay not thy colours more to view,<br />
+Without the picture be found true.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Woe to me, alas, she weepeth!<br />
+Fool! in me what folly creepeth?<br />
+Was I to blaspheme enraged,<br />
+Where my soul I have engaged?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan,<br />
+And wretched I must yield to this;<br />
+The fault I blame her chasteness is.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Sweetness! sweetly pardon folly;<br />
+Tie me, hair, your captive wholly:<br />
+Words!&nbsp; O words of heavenly knowledge!<br />
+Know, my words their faults acknowledge;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Dan, dan,<br />
+And all my life I will confess,<br />
+The less I love, I live the less.</p>
+<h3>TRANSLATION.</h3>
+<p><i>From</i> &ldquo;<i>La Diana de Monte-Mayor</i>,&rdquo;
+<i>in Spanish</i>: <i>where Sireno</i>, <i>a shepherd</i>,
+<i>whose mistress Diana had utterly forsaken him</i>, <i>pulling
+out a little of her hair</i>, <i>wrapped about with green
+silk</i>, <i>to the hair he thus bewailed himself</i>.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">What</span> changes here, O
+hair,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I see, since I saw you!<br />
+How ill fits you this green to wear,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For hope, the colour due!<br />
+Indeed, I well did hope,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Though hope were mixed with fear,<br />
+No other shepherd should have scope<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Once to approach this hair.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Ah hair! how many days<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; My Dian made me show,<br />
+With thousand pretty childish plays,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; If I ware you or no:<br />
+Alas, how oft with tears,&mdash;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; O tears of guileful breast!&mdash;<br />
+She seem&eacute;d full of jealous fears,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Whereat I did but jest.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Tell me, O hair of gold,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; If I then faulty be,<br />
+That trust those killing eyes I would,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since they did warrant me?<br />
+Have you not seen her mood,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; What streams of tears she spent,<br />
+&rsquo;Till that I sware my faith so stood,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As her words had it bent?</p>
+<p class="poetry">Who hath such beauty seen<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In one that changeth so?<br />
+Or where one&rsquo;s love so constant been,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who ever saw such woe?<br />
+Ah, hair! are you not grieved<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To come from whence you be,<br />
+Seeing how once you saw I lived,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To see me as you see?</p>
+<p class="poetry">On sandy bank of late,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I saw this woman sit;<br />
+Where, &ldquo;Sooner die than change my state,&rdquo;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; She with her finger writ:<br />
+Thus my belief was staid,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Behold Love&rsquo;s mighty hand<br />
+On things were by a woman said,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And written in the sand.</p>
+<p><i>The same Sireno in</i> &ldquo;<i>Monte-Mayor</i>,&rdquo;
+<i>holding his mistress&rsquo;s glass before her</i>, <i>and
+looking upon her while she viewed herself</i>, <i>thus
+sang</i>:&mdash;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Of this high grace, with bliss conjoined,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; No farther debt on me is laid,<br />
+Since that in self-same metal coined,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sweet lady, you remain well paid;</p>
+<p class="poetry">For if my place give me great pleasure,<br />
+Having before my nature&rsquo;s treasure,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In face and eyes unmatch&eacute;d being,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; You have the same in my hands, seeing<br />
+What in your face mine eyes do measure.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Nor think the match unevenly made,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That of those beams in you do tarry,<br />
+The glass to you but gives a shade,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To me mine eyes the true shape carry;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; For such a thought most highly
+prized,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Which ever hath Love&rsquo;s yoke
+despised,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Better than one captived perceiveth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Though he the lively form receiveth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; The other sees it but
+disguised.</p>
+<h3>SONNETS.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> dart, the beams,
+the sting, so strong I prove,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Which my chief part doth pass through, parch, and
+tie,<br />
+That of the stroke, the heat, and knot of love,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Wounded, inflamed, knit to the death, I die.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Hardened and cold, far from affection&rsquo;s
+snare<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Was once my mind, my temper, and my life;<br />
+While I that sight, desire, and vow forbare,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Which to avoid, quench, lose, nought boasted
+strife.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Yet will not I grief, ashes, thraldom change<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For others&rsquo; ease, their fruit, or free
+estate;<br />
+So brave a shot, dear fire, and beauty strange,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Bid me pierce, burn, and bind, long time and
+late,<br />
+And in my wounds, my flames, and bonds, I find<br />
+A salve, fresh air, and bright contented mind.</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Virtue</span>, beauty, and
+speech, did strike, wound, charm,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; My heart, eyes, ears, with wonder, love, delight,<br
+/>
+First, second, last, did bind, enforce, and arm,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; His works, shows, suits, with wit, grace, and
+vows&rsquo; might,</p>
+<p class="poetry">Thus honour, liking, trust, much, far, and
+deep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Held, pierced, possessed, my judgment, sense, and
+will,<br />
+Till wrongs, contempt, deceit, did grow, steal, creep,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Bands, favour, faith, to break, defile, and
+kill,</p>
+<p class="poetry">Then grief, unkindness, proof, took, kindled,
+taught,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Well-grounded, noble, due, spite, rage, disdain:<br
+/>
+But ah, alas! in vain my mind, sight, thought,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Doth him, his face, his words, leave, shun,
+refrain.<br />
+For nothing, time, nor place, can loose, quench, ease<br />
+Mine own embrac&eacute;d, sought, knot, fire, disease.</p>
+<h3>WOOING-STUFF.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Faint</span> amorist, what,
+dost thou think<br />
+To taste Love&rsquo;s honey, and not drink<br />
+One dram of gall? or to devour<br />
+A world of sweet, and taste no sour?<br />
+Dost thou ever think to enter<br />
+Th&rsquo; Elysian fields, that dar&rsquo;st not venture<br />
+In Charon&rsquo;s barge? a lover&rsquo;s mind<br />
+Must use to sail with every wind.<br />
+He that loves and fears to try,<br />
+Learns his mistress to deny.<br />
+Doth she chide thee? &rsquo;tis to show it,<br />
+That thy coldness makes her do it:<br />
+Is she silent? is she mute?<br />
+Silence fully grants thy suit:<br />
+Doth she pout, and leave the room?<br />
+Then she goes to bid thee come:<br />
+Is she sick? why then be sure,<br />
+She invites thee to the cure:<br />
+Doth she cross thy suit with &ldquo;No?&rdquo;<br />
+Tush, she loves to hear thee woo:<br />
+Doth she call the faith of man<br />
+In question?&nbsp; Nay, she loves thee than;<br />
+And if e&rsquo;er she makes a blot,<br />
+She&rsquo;s lost if that thou hit&rsquo;st her not.<br />
+He that after ten denials,<br />
+Dares attempt no farther trials,<br />
+Hath no warrant to acquire<br />
+The dainties of his chaste desire.</p>
+<h3>SONNETS</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Since</span> shunning pain,
+I ease can never find;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since bashful dread seeks where he knows me
+harmed;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since will is won, and stopp&eacute;d ears are
+charmed;<br />
+Since force doth faint, and sight doth make me blind;<br />
+Since loosing long, the faster still I bind;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since naked sense can conquer reason armed;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since heart, in chilling fear, with ice is
+warmed;<br />
+In fine, since strife of thought but mars the mind,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I yield, O Love, unto thy loathed yoke,<br />
+Yet craving law of arms, whose rule doth teach,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That, hardly used, who ever prison broke,<br />
+In justice quit, of honour made no breach:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Whereas, if I a grateful guardian have,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Thou art my lord, and I thy vow&eacute;d slave.</p>
+<p class="poetry">When Love puffed up with rage of high
+disdain,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Resolved to make me pattern of his might,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Like foe, whose wits inclined to deadly spite,<br />
+Would often kill, to breed more feeling pain;<br />
+He would not, armed with beauty, only reign<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; On those affects which easily yield to sight;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But virtue sets so high, that reason&rsquo;s
+light,<br />
+For all his strife can only bondage gain:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So that I live to pay a mortal fee,<br />
+Dead palsy-sick of all my chiefest parts,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Like those whom dreams make ugly monsters see,<br />
+And can cry help with naught but groans and starts:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Longing to have, having no wit to wish,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To starving minds such is god Cupid&rsquo;s
+dish.</p>
+<h3>SONG.</h3>
+<p><i>To the tune of</i> &ldquo;<i>Non credo gia che piu infelice
+amante</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> nightingale, as
+soon as April bringeth<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,<br />
+While late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making;<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And mournfully bewailing,<br />
+Her throat in tunes expresseth<br />
+What grief her breast oppresseth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For Tereus&rsquo; force on her chaste will
+prevailing.<br />
+O Philomela fair!&nbsp; O take some gladness,<br />
+That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness:<br />
+Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;<br />
+Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">II.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Alas! she hath no other cause
+of anguish,<br />
+But Tereus&rsquo; love, on her by strong hand wroken,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish,<br
+/>
+Full womanlike, complains her will was broken,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But I, who daily craving,<br />
+Cannot have to content me,<br />
+Have more cause to lament me,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Since wanting is more woe than too much having.<br
+/>
+O Philomela fair!&nbsp; O take some gladness,<br />
+That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness:<br />
+Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;<br />
+Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.</p>
+<h3>SONG.</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center"><i>To the tune of</i>
+&ldquo;<i>Basciami vita mia</i>.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Sleep</span>, baby mine,
+Desire&rsquo;s nurse, Beauty, singeth;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Thy cries, O baby, set mine head on aching:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The babe cries, &ldquo;&rsquo;Way, thy love doth
+keep me waking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Lully, lully, my babe, Hope cradle bringeth<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Unto my children alway good rest taking:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The babe cries, &ldquo;Way, thy love doth keep me
+waking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p class="poetry">Since, baby mine, from me thy watching
+springeth,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sleep then a little, pap Content is making;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The babe cries, &ldquo;Nay, for that abide I
+waking.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">I.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">The</span> scourge of life,
+and death&rsquo;s extreme disgrace;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The smoke of hell, the monster call&eacute;d
+Pain:<br />
+Long shamed to be accursed in every place,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By them who of his rude resort complain;<br />
+Like crafty wretch, by time and travel taught,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; His ugly evil in others&rsquo; good to hide;<br />
+Late harbours in her face, whom Nature wrought<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; As treasure-house where her best gifts do bide;<br
+/>
+And so by privilege of sacred seat,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A seat where beauty shines and virtue reigns,<br />
+He hopes for some small praise, since she hath great,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Within her beams wrapping his cruel stains.<br />
+Ah, saucy Pain, let not thy terror last,<br />
+More loving eyes she draws, more hate thou hast.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">II.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Woe! woe to me, on me return the smart:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; My burning tongue hath bred my mistress pain?<br />
+For oft in pain, to pain my painful heart,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With her due praise did of my state complain.<br />
+I praised her eyes, whom never chance doth move;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Her breath, which makes a sour answer sweet;<br />
+Her milken breasts, the nurse of child-like love;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Her legs, O legs! her aye well-stepping feet:<br />
+Pain heard her praise, and full of inward fire,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; (First sealing up my heart as prey of his)<br />
+He flies to her, and, boldened with desire,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Her face, this age&rsquo;s praise, the thief doth
+kiss.<br />
+O Pain!&nbsp; I now recant the praise I gave,<br />
+And swear she is not worthy thee to have.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">III.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Thou pain, the only guest of
+loathed Constraint;<br />
+The child of Curse, man&rsquo;s weakness foster-child;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Brother to Woe, and father of Complaint:<br />
+Thou Pain, thou hated Pain, from heaven exiled,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; How hold&rsquo;st thou her whose eyes constraint
+doth fear,<br />
+Whom cursed do bless; whose weakness virtues arm;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who others&rsquo; woes and plaints can chastely
+bear:<br />
+In whose sweet heaven angels of high thoughts swarm?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; What courage strange hath caught thy caitiff
+heart?<br />
+Fear&rsquo;st not a face that oft whole hearts devours?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Or art thou from above bid play this part,<br />
+And so no help &rsquo;gainst envy of those powers?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; If thus, alas, yet while those parts have woe;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; So stay her tongue, that she no more say,
+&ldquo;O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">IV.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;And have I heard her say,
+&ldquo;O cruel pain!&rdquo;<br />
+And doth she know what mould her beauty bears?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Mourns she in truth, and thinks that others
+feign?<br />
+Fears she to feel, and feels not others&rsquo; fears?<br />
+Or doth she think all pain the mind forbears?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That heavy earth, not fiery spirits, may plain?<br
+/>
+That eyes weep worse than heart in bloody tears?<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That sense feels more than what doth sense
+contain?<br />
+No, no, she is too wise, she knows her face<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Hath not such pain as it makes others have:<br />
+She knows the sickness of that perfect place<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Hath yet such health, as it my life can save.<br />
+But this, she thinks, our pain high cause excuseth,<br />
+Where her, who should rule pain, false pain abuseth.</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Like</span> as the dove,
+which seel&eacute;d up doth fly,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Is neither freed, nor yet to service bound;<br />
+But hopes to gain some help by mounting high,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Till want of force do force her fall to ground:<br
+/>
+Right so my mind, caught by his guiding eye,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And thence cast off where his sweet hurt he
+found,<br />
+Hath neither leave to live, nor doom to die;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Nor held in evil, nor suffered to be sound.<br />
+But with his wings of fancies up he goes,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To high conceits, whose fruits are oft but small;<br
+/>
+Till wounded, blind, and wearied spirit, lose<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Both force to fly, and knowledge where to fall:<br
+/>
+O happy dove, if she no bondage tried!<br />
+More happy I, might I in bondage bide!</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">In</span> wonted walks,
+since wonted fancies change,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Some cause there is, which of strange cause doth
+rise:<br />
+For in each thing whereto mine eye doth range,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Part of my pain, me-seems, engrav&eacute;d lies.<br
+/>
+The rocks, which were of constant mind the mark,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In climbing steep, now hard refusal show;<br />
+The shading woods seem now my sun to dark,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And stately hills disdain to look so low.<br />
+The restful caves now restless visions give;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In dales I see each way a hard ascent:<br />
+Like late-mown meads, late cut from joy I live;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Alas, sweet brooks do in my tears augment:<br />
+Rocks, woods, hills, caves, dales, meads, brooks, answer me;<br
+/>
+Infected minds infect each thing they see.<br />
+<span class="smcap">If</span> I could think how these my thoughts
+to leave,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Or thinking still, my thoughts might have good
+end;<br />
+If rebel sense would reason&rsquo;s law receive;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Or reason foiled, would not in vain contend:<br />
+Then might I think what thoughts were best to think:<br />
+Then might I wisely swim, or gladly sink.</p>
+<p class="poetry">If either you would change your cruel heart,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Or, cruel still, time did your beauties stain:<br />
+If from my soul this love would once depart,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Or for my love some love I might obtain;<br />
+Then might I hope a change, or ease of mind,<br />
+By your good help, or in myself, to find.</p>
+<p class="poetry">But since my thoughts in thinking still are
+spent.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; With reason&rsquo;s strife, by senses overthrown;<br
+/>
+You fairer still, and still more cruel bent,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; I loving still a love that loveth none:<br />
+I yield and strive, I kiss and curse the pain,<br />
+Thought, reason, sense, time, You, and I, maintain.</p>
+<h3>A FAREWELL.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Oft</span> have I mused,
+but now at length I find<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Why those that die, men say, they do depart:<br />
+Depart: a word so gentle to my mind,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Weakly did seem to paint Death&rsquo;s ugly
+dart.</p>
+<p class="poetry">But now the stars, with their strange course,
+do bind<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Me one to leave, with whom I leave my heart;<br />
+I hear a cry of spirits faint and blind,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That parting thus, my chiefest part I part.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Part of my life, the loath&eacute;d part to
+me,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Lives to impart my weary clay some breath;<br />
+But that good part wherein all comforts be,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Now dead, doth show departure is a death:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Yea, worse than death, death parts both woe and
+joy,<br />
+From joy I part, still living in annoy.</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Finding</span> those beams,
+which I must ever love,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To mar my mind, and with my hurt to please,<br />
+I deemed it best, some absence for to prove,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; If farther place might further me to ease.</p>
+<p class="poetry">My eyes thence drawn, where liv&eacute;d all
+their light,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Blinded forthwith in dark despair did lie,<br />
+Like to the mole, with want of guiding sight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Deep plunged in earth, depriv&eacute;d of the
+sky.</p>
+<p class="poetry">In absence blind, and wearied with that woe,<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To greater woes, by presence, I return;<br />
+Even as the fly, which to the flame doth go,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Pleased with the light, that his small corse doth
+burn:</p>
+<p class="poetry">Fair choice I have, either to live or die<br />
+A blinded mole, or else a burn&eacute;d fly.</p>
+<h3>THE SEVEN WONDERS OF ENGLAND.</h3>
+<p style="text-align: center">I.</p>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Near</span> Wilton sweet,
+huge heaps of stones are found,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But so confused, that neither any eye<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Can count them just, nor Reason reason try,<br />
+What force brought them to so unlikely ground.</p>
+<p class="poetry">To stranger weights my mind&rsquo;s waste soil
+is bound,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Of passion-hills, reaching to Reason&rsquo;s sky,<br
+/>
+From Fancy&rsquo;s earth, passing all number&rsquo;s bound,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Passing all guess, whence into me should fly<br />
+So mazed a mass; or, if in me it grows,<br />
+A simple soul should breed so mix&eacute;d woes.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">II.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The Bruertons have a lake,
+which, when the sun<br />
+Approaching warms, not else, dead logs up sends<br />
+From hideous depth; which tribute, when it ends,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Sore sign it is the lord&rsquo;s last thread is
+spun.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My lake is Sense, whose still
+streams never run<br />
+But when my sun her shining twins there bends;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Then from his depth with force in her begun,<br />
+Long drown&eacute;d hopes to watery eyes it lends;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But when that fails my dead hopes up to take,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Their master is fair warned his will to make.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">III.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;We have a fish, by strangers
+much admired,<br />
+Which caught, to cruel search yields his chief part:<br />
+With gall cut out, closed up again by art,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet lives until his life be new required.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A stranger fish myself, not
+yet expired,<br />
+Tho&rsquo;, rapt with Beauty&rsquo;s hook, I did impart<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Myself unto th&rsquo; anatomy desired,<br />
+Instead of gall, leaving to her my heart:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Yet live with thoughts closed up, &rsquo;till that
+she will,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; By conquest&rsquo;s right, instead of searching,
+kill.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">IV.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Peak hath a cave, whose
+narrow entries find<br />
+Large rooms within where drops distil amain:<br />
+Till knit with cold, though there unknown remain,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Deck that poor place with alabaster lined.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Mine eyes the strait, the
+roomy cave, my mind;<br />
+Whose cloudy thoughts let fall an inward rain<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Of sorrow&rsquo;s drops, till colder reason bind<br
+/>
+Their running fall into a constant vein<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Of truth, far more than alabaster pure,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Which, though despised, yet still doth truth
+endure.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">V.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A field there is, where, if a
+stake oe prest<br />
+Deep in the earth, what hath in earth receipt,<br />
+Is changed to stone in hardness, cold, and weight,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; The wood above doth soon consuming rest.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;The earth her ears; the stake
+is my request;<br />
+Of which, how much may pierce to that sweet seat,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To honour turned, doth dwell in honour&rsquo;s
+nest,<br />
+Keeping that form, though void of wonted heat;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But all the rest, which fear durst not apply,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Failing themselves, with withered conscience
+die.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">VI.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Of ships by shipwreck cast on
+Albion&rsquo;s coast,<br />
+Which rotting on the rocks, their death to die:<br />
+From wooden bones and blood of pitch doth fly<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A bird, which gets more life than ship had lost.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;My ship, Desire, with wind of
+Lust long tost,<br />
+Brake on fair cliffs of constant Chastity;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Where plagued for rash attempt, gives up his
+ghost;<br />
+So deep in seas of virtue, beauties lie:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; But of this death flies up the purest love,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Which seeming less, yet nobler life doth move.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">VII.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;These wonders England breeds;
+the last remains&mdash;<br />
+A lady, in despite of Nature, chaste,<br />
+On whom all love, in whom no love is placed,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Where Fairness yields to Wisdom&rsquo;s shortest
+reins.</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A humble pride, a scorn that
+favour stains;<br />
+A woman&rsquo;s mould, but like an angel graced;<br />
+An angel&rsquo;s mind, but in a woman cased;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; A heaven on earth, or earth that heaven contains:<br
+/>
+Now thus this wonder to myself I frame;<br />
+She is the cause that all the rest I am.</p>
+
+<div class="gapshortline">&nbsp;</div>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Thou</span> blind
+man&rsquo;s mark; thou fool&rsquo;s self-chosen snare,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Fond fancy&rsquo;s scum, and dregs of scattered
+thought:<br />
+Band of all evils; cradle of causeless care;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought:</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Desire! Desire!&nbsp; I have
+too dearly bought,<br />
+With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought<br
+/>
+Who shouldst my mind to higher things prepare;</p>
+<p class="poetry">&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But yet in vain thou hast my
+ruin sought;<br />
+In vain thou mad&rsquo;st me to vain things aspire;<br />
+In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire:<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; For Virtue hath this better lesson taught,<br />
+Within myself to seek my only hire,<br />
+Desiring nought but how to kill Desire.</p>
+<h3>FROM EARTH TO HEAVEN.</h3>
+<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">Leave</span> me, O love!
+which reachest but to dust;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things:<br />
+Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.</p>
+<p class="poetry">Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might<br
+/>
+&nbsp;&nbsp; To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,<br />
+Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; That doth both shine, and give us sight to see.</p>
+<p class="poetry">O take fast hold! let that light be thy
+guide,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; In this small course which birth draws out to
+death,<br />
+And think how evil becometh him to slide,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp; Who seeketh heaven, and comes from heavenly
+breath.<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Then farewell, world, thy
+uttermost I see,<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Eternal Love, maintain thy life in
+me.</p>
+<p style="text-align: center">SPLENDIDIS LONGUM VALEDICO
+NUGIS</p>
+<h2>FOOTNOTES.</h2>
+<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1"
+class="footnote">[1]</a>&nbsp; <i>Edward Wotton</i>, elder
+brother of Sir Henry Wotton.&nbsp; He was knighted by Elizabeth
+in 1592, and made Comptroller of her Household.&nbsp; Observe the
+playfulness in Sidney&rsquo;s opening and close of a treatise
+written throughout in plain, manly English without Euphuism, and
+strictly reasoned.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2"
+class="footnote">[2]</a>&nbsp; Here the introduction ends, and
+the argument begins with its &sect; 1.&nbsp; <i>Poetry the first
+Light-giver</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3"
+class="footnote">[3]</a>&nbsp; A fable from the
+&ldquo;Hetamythium&rdquo; of Laurentius Abstemius, Professor of
+Belles Lettres at Urbino, and Librarian to Duke Guido Ubaldo
+under the Pontificate of Alexander VI. (1492&ndash;1503).</p>
+<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4"
+class="footnote">[4]</a>&nbsp; Pliny says (&ldquo;Nat.
+Hist.,&rdquo; lib. xi., cap. 62) that the young vipers, impatient
+to be born, break through the side of their mother, and so kill
+her.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5"
+class="footnote">[5]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 2.&nbsp; <i>Borrowed from
+by Philosophers</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6"
+class="footnote">[6]</a>&nbsp; Tim&aelig;us, the Pythagorean
+philosopher of Locri, and the Athenian Critias are represented by
+Plato as having listened to the discourse of Socrates on a
+Republic.&nbsp; Socrates calls on them to show such a state in
+action.&nbsp; Critias will tell of the rescue of Europe by the
+ancient citizens of Attica, 10,000 years before, from an inroad
+of countless invaders who came from the vast island of Atlantis,
+in the Western Ocean; a struggle of which record was preserved in
+the temple of Naith or Athen&eacute; at Sais, in Egypt, and
+handed down, through Solon, by family tradition to Critias.&nbsp;
+But first Tim&aelig;us agrees to expound the structure of the
+universe; then Critias, in a piece left unfinished by Plato,
+proceeds to show an ideal society in action against pressure of a
+danger that seems irresistible.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7"
+class="footnote">[7]</a>&nbsp; Plato&rsquo;s
+&ldquo;Republic,&rdquo; book ii.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8"
+class="footnote">[8]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 3.&nbsp; <i>Borrowed from
+by Historians</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9"
+class="footnote">[9]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 4.&nbsp; <i>Honoured by the
+Romans as Sacred and Prophetic</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10"
+class="footnote">[10]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 5.&nbsp; <i>And really
+sacred and prophetic in the Psalms of David</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11"
+class="footnote">[11]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 6.&nbsp; <i>By the
+Greeks</i>, <i>Poets were honoured with the name of
+Makers</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12"
+class="footnote">[12]</a>&nbsp; <i>Poetry is the one creative
+art</i>.&nbsp; <i>Astronomers and others repeat what they
+find</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13"
+class="footnote">[13]</a>&nbsp; <i>Poets improve Nature</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14"
+class="footnote">[14]</a>&nbsp; <i>And idealize man</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15"
+class="footnote">[15]</a>&nbsp; <i>Here a Second Part of the
+Essay begins</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16"
+class="footnote">[16]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 1.&nbsp; Poetry
+defined.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17"
+class="footnote">[17]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 2.&nbsp; <i>Its
+kinds</i>.&nbsp; <i>a.</i>&nbsp; <i>Divine</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote18"></a><a href="#citation18"
+class="footnote">[18]</a>&nbsp; <i>b.</i>&nbsp;
+<i>Philosophical</i>, <i>which is perhaps too imitative</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote19"></a><a href="#citation19"
+class="footnote">[19]</a>&nbsp; Marcus Manilius wrote under
+Tiberius a metrical treatise on Astronomy, of which five books on
+the fixed stars remain.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote20"></a><a href="#citation20"
+class="footnote">[20]</a>&nbsp; <i>c.</i>&nbsp; <i>Poetry
+proper</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote21"></a><a href="#citation21"
+class="footnote">[21]</a>&nbsp; &sect; 3.&nbsp; <i>Subdivisions
+of Poetry proper</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote22"></a><a href="#citation22"
+class="footnote">[22]</a>&nbsp; <i>Its essence is in the
+thought</i>, <i>not in apparelling of verse</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote23"></a><a href="#citation23"
+class="footnote">[23]</a>&nbsp; <i>Heliodorus</i> was Bishop of
+Tricca, in Thessaly, and lived in the fourth century.&nbsp; His
+story of Theagenes and Chariclea, called the
+&ldquo;&AElig;thiopica,&rdquo; was a romantic tale in Greek which
+was, in Elizabeth&rsquo;s reign, translated into English.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote24"></a><a href="#citation24"
+class="footnote">[24]</a>&nbsp; <i>The Poet&rsquo;s Work and
+Parts</i>.&nbsp; &sect; 1. <span class="smcap">Work</span>:
+<i>What Poetry does for us</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote25"></a><a href="#citation25"
+class="footnote">[25]</a>&nbsp; <i>Their clay
+lodgings</i>&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Such harmony is in immortal souls;<br />
+But whilst this muddy vesture of decay<br />
+Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: right">(Shakespeare, &ldquo;Merchant of
+Venice,&rdquo; act v., sc. 1)</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><a name="footnote26"></a><a href="#citation26"
+class="footnote">[26]</a>&nbsp; <i>Poetry best advances the end
+of all earthly learning</i>, <i>virtuous action</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote27"></a><a href="#citation27"
+class="footnote">[27]</a>&nbsp; <i>Its advantage herein over
+Moral Philosophy</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote28"></a><a href="#citation28"
+class="footnote">[28]</a>&nbsp; <i>Its advantage herein over
+History</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote29"></a><a href="#citation29"
+class="footnote">[29]</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;All men make faults, and
+even I in this,<br />
+Auth&oacute;rising thy trespass with compare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: right">Shakespeare, &ldquo;Sonnet&rdquo;
+35.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote30"></a><a href="#citation30"
+class="footnote">[30]</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Witness of the times,
+light of truth, life of memory, mistress of life, messenger of
+antiquity.&rdquo;&mdash;Cicero, &ldquo;De Oratore.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote31"></a><a href="#citation31"
+class="footnote">[31]</a>&nbsp; <i>In what manner the Poet goes
+beyond Philosopher</i>, <i>Historian</i>, <i>and all others</i>
+(<i>bating comparison with the Divine</i>).</p>
+<p><a name="footnote32"></a><a href="#citation32"
+class="footnote">[32]</a>&nbsp; <i>He is beyond the
+Philosopher</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote33"></a><a href="#citation33"
+class="footnote">[33]</a>&nbsp; Horace&rsquo;s &ldquo;Ars
+Poetica,&rdquo; lines 372&ndash;3.&nbsp; But Horace wrote
+&ldquo;Non homines, non Di&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Neither men, gods,
+nor lettered columns have admitted mediocrity in
+poets.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote34"></a><a href="#citation34"
+class="footnote">[34]</a>&nbsp; <i>The moral
+common-places</i>.&nbsp; Common Place, &ldquo;Locus
+communis,&rdquo; was a term used in old rhetoric to represent
+testimonies or pithy sentences of good authors which might be
+used for strengthening or adorning a discourse; but said
+Keckermann, whose Rhetoric was a text-book in the days of James
+I. and Charles I., &ldquo;Because it is impossible thus to read
+through all authors, there are books that give students of
+eloquence what they need in the succinct form of books of Common
+Places, like that collected by Stob&aelig;us out of Cicero,
+Seneca, Terence, Aristotle; but especially the book entitled
+&lsquo;Polyanthea,&rsquo; provides short and effective sentences
+apt to any matter.&rdquo;&nbsp; Frequent resort to the Polyanthea
+caused many a good quotation to be hackneyed; the term of
+rhetoric, &ldquo;a common-place,&rdquo; came then to mean a good
+saying made familiar by incessant quoting, and then in common
+speech, any trite saying good or bad, but commonly without wit in
+it.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote35"></a><a href="#citation35"
+class="footnote">[35]</a>&nbsp; <i>Thus far Aristotle</i>.&nbsp;
+The whole passage in the &ldquo;Poetics&rdquo; runs: &ldquo;It is
+not by writing in verse or prose that the Historian and Poet are
+distinguished.&nbsp; The work of Herodotus might be versified;
+but it would still be a species of History, no less with metre
+than without.&nbsp; They are distinguished by this, that the one
+relates what has been, the other what might be.&nbsp; On this
+account Poetry is more philosophical, and a more excellent thing
+than History, for Poetry is chiefly conversant about general
+truth; History about particular.&nbsp; In what manner, for
+example, any person of a certain character would speak or act,
+probably or necessarily, this is general; and this is the object
+of Poetry, even while it makes use of particular names.&nbsp; But
+what Alcibiades did, or what happened to him, this is particular
+truth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote36"></a><a href="#citation36"
+class="footnote">[36]</a>&nbsp; Justinus, who lived in the second
+century, made an epitome of the history of the Assyrian, Persian,
+Grecian, Macedonian, and Roman Empires, from Trogus Pompeius, who
+lived in the time of Augustus.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote37"></a><a href="#citation37"
+class="footnote">[37]</a>&nbsp; <i>Dares Phrygius</i> was
+supposed to have been a priest of Vulcan, who was in Troy during
+the siege, and the Phrygian Iliad ascribed to him as early as the
+time of &AElig;lian, A.D. 230, was supposed, therefore, to be
+older than Homer&rsquo;s.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote38"></a><a href="#citation38"
+class="footnote">[38]</a>&nbsp; <i>Quintus Curtius</i>, a Roman
+historian of uncertain date, who wrote the history of Alexander
+the Great in ten books, of which two are lost and others
+defective.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote39"></a><a href="#citation39"
+class="footnote">[39]</a>&nbsp; Not knowledge but practice.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote40"></a><a href="#citation40"
+class="footnote">[40]</a>&nbsp; <i>The Poet Monarch of all Human
+Sciences</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote41"></a><a href="#citation41"
+class="footnote">[41]</a>&nbsp; In &ldquo;Love&rsquo;s
+Labour&rsquo;s Lost&rdquo; a resemblance has been fancied between
+this passage and Rosalind&rsquo;s description of Biron, and the
+jest:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Which his fair tongue&mdash;conceit&rsquo;s
+expositor&mdash;<br />
+Delivers in such apt and gracious words,<br />
+That ag&eacute;d ears play truant at his tables,<br />
+And younger hearings are quite ravish&eacute;d,<br />
+So sweet and voluble is his discourse.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><a name="footnote42"></a><a href="#citation42"
+class="footnote">[42]</a>&nbsp; Virgil&rsquo;s
+&ldquo;&AElig;neid,&rdquo; Book xii.:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;And shall this ground fainthearted
+dastard<br />
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; Turnus flying
+view?<br />
+Is it so vile a thing to die?&rdquo;</p>
+<p style="text-align: right">(Phaer&rsquo;s Translation
+[1573].)</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><a name="footnote43"></a><a href="#citation43"
+class="footnote">[43]</a>&nbsp; <i>Instances of the power of the
+Poet&rsquo;s work</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote44"></a><a href="#citation44"
+class="footnote">[44]</a>&nbsp; <i>Defectuous</i>.&nbsp; This
+word, from the French &ldquo;defectueux,&rdquo; is used twice in
+the &ldquo;Apologie for Poetrie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote45"></a><a href="#citation45"
+class="footnote">[45]</a>&nbsp; &sect; II.&nbsp; <i>The</i> <span
+class="smcap">Parts</span> <i>of Poetry</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote46"></a><a href="#citation46"
+class="footnote">[46]</a>&nbsp; <i>Can Pastoral be
+condemned</i>?</p>
+<p><a name="footnote47"></a><a href="#citation47"
+class="footnote">[47]</a>&nbsp; The close of Virgil&rsquo;s
+seventh Eclogue&mdash;Thyrsis was vanquished, and Corydon crowned
+with lasting glory.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote48"></a><a href="#citation48"
+class="footnote">[48]</a>&nbsp; <i>Or Elegiac</i>?</p>
+<p><a name="footnote49"></a><a href="#citation49"
+class="footnote">[49]</a>&nbsp; <i>Or Iambic</i>? <i>or
+Satiric</i>?</p>
+<p><a name="footnote50"></a><a href="#citation50"
+class="footnote">[50]</a>&nbsp; From the first Satire of Persius,
+line 116, in a description of Homer&rsquo;s satire:</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico<br
+/>
+Tangit, et admissus circum pr&aelig;cordia ludit,&rdquo;
+&amp;c.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Shrewd Flaccus touches each vice in his laughing friend.&nbsp;
+Dryden thus translated the whole passage:&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Unlike in method, with concealed design<br
+/>
+Did crafty Horace his low numbers join;<br />
+And, with a sly insinuating grace<br />
+Laughed at his friend, and looked him in the face:<br />
+Would raise a blush where secret vice he found;<br />
+And tickle, while he gently probed the wound;<br />
+With seeming innocence the crowd beguiled,<br />
+But made the desperate passes while he smiled.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><a name="footnote51"></a><a href="#citation51"
+class="footnote">[51]</a>&nbsp; From the end of the eleventh of
+Horace&rsquo;s epistles (Lib. 1):</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare
+currunt,<br />
+Strenua nos exercet inertia; navibus atque<br />
+Quadrigis petimus bene vivere.&nbsp; Quod petis, hic est,<br />
+Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit &aelig;quus.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They change their skies but not their mind who run across the
+seas;<br />
+We toil in laboured idleness, and seek to live at ease<br />
+With force of ships and four horse teams.&nbsp; That which you
+seek is here,<br />
+At Ulubr&aelig;, unless your mind fail to be calm and clear.</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>&ldquo;At Ulubr&aelig;&rdquo; was equivalent to saying in the
+dullest corner of the world, or anywhere.&nbsp; Ulubr&aelig; was
+a little town probably in Campania, a Roman Little
+Pedlington.&nbsp; Thomas Carlyle may have had this passage in
+mind when he gave to the same thought a grander form in Sartor
+Resartus: &ldquo;May we not say that the hour of spiritual
+enfranchisement is even this?&nbsp; When your ideal world,
+wherein the whole man has been dimly struggling and inexpressibly
+languishing to work, becomes revealed and thrown open, and you
+discover with amazement enough, like the Lothario in Wilhelm
+Meister, that your America is here or nowhere.&nbsp; The
+situation that has not its duty, its ideal, was never occupied by
+man.&nbsp; Yes, here, in this poor, miserable hampered actual
+wherein thou even now standest, here or nowhere, is thy Ideal:
+work it out therefrom, believe, live, and be free.&nbsp; Fool!
+the Ideal is in thyself, the impediment too is in thyself.&nbsp;
+Thy condition is but the stuff thou art to shape that same Ideal
+out of.&nbsp; What matter whether such stuff be of this sort or
+that, so the form thou give it be heroic, be poetic?&nbsp; O thou
+that pinest in the imprisonment of the actual, and criest
+bitterly to the gods for a kingdom wherein to rule and create,
+know this of a truth, the thing thou seekest is already with
+thee, here or nowhere, couldest thou only see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote52"></a><a href="#citation52"
+class="footnote">[52]</a>&nbsp; Or Comic?</p>
+<p><a name="footnote53"></a><a href="#citation53"
+class="footnote">[53]</a>&nbsp; <i>In pistrinum</i>.&nbsp; In the
+pounding-mill (usually worked by horses or asses).</p>
+<p><a name="footnote54"></a><a href="#citation54"
+class="footnote">[54]</a>&nbsp; <i>Or Tragic</i>?</p>
+<p><a name="footnote55"></a><a href="#citation55"
+class="footnote">[55]</a>&nbsp; <i>The old song of Percy and
+Douglas</i>, Chevy Chase in its first form.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote56"></a><a href="#citation56"
+class="footnote">[56]</a>&nbsp; <i>Or the Heroic</i>?</p>
+<p><a name="footnote57"></a><a href="#citation57"
+class="footnote">[57]</a>&nbsp; Epistles I. ii. 4.&nbsp; Better
+than Chrysippus and Crantor.&nbsp; They were both philosophers,
+Chrysippus a subtle stoic, Crantor the first commentator upon
+Plato.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote58"></a><a href="#citation58"
+class="footnote">[58]</a>&nbsp; <i>Summary of the argument thus
+far</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote59"></a><a href="#citation59"
+class="footnote">[59]</a>&nbsp; <i>Objections stated and
+met</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote60"></a><a href="#citation60"
+class="footnote">[60]</a>&nbsp; Cornelius Agrippa&rsquo;s book,
+&ldquo;De Incertitudine et Vanitate Scientiarum et Artium,&rdquo;
+was first published in 1532; Erasmus&rsquo;s &ldquo;Mori&aelig;
+Encomium&rdquo; was written in a week, in 1510, and went in a few
+months through seven editions.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote61"></a><a href="#citation61"
+class="footnote">[61]</a>&nbsp; <i>The objection to rhyme and
+metre</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote62"></a><a href="#citation62"
+class="footnote">[62]</a>&nbsp; The first of these sentences is
+from Horace (Epistle I. xviii. 69): &ldquo;Fly from the
+inquisitive man, for he is a babbler.&rdquo;&nbsp; The second,
+&ldquo;While each pleases himself we are a credulous
+crowd,&rdquo; seems to be varied from Ovid (Fasti, iv.
+311):&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Conscia mens recti fam&aelig; mendacia
+risit:<br />
+Sed nos in vitium credula turba sumus.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>A mind conscious of right laughs at the falsehoods of fame but
+towards vice we are a credulous crowd.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote63"></a><a href="#citation63"
+class="footnote">[63]</a>&nbsp; <i>The chief objections</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote64"></a><a href="#citation64"
+class="footnote">[64]</a>&nbsp; <i>That time might be better
+spent</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote65"></a><a href="#citation65"
+class="footnote">[65]</a>&nbsp; Beg the question.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote66"></a><a href="#citation66"
+class="footnote">[66]</a>&nbsp; <i>That poetry is the mother of
+lies</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote67"></a><a href="#citation67"
+class="footnote">[67]</a>&nbsp; <i>That poetry is the nurse of
+abuse</i>, <i>infecting us with wanton and pestilent
+desires</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote68"></a><a href="#citation68"
+class="footnote">[68]</a>&nbsp; <i>Rampire</i>, rampart, the Old
+French form of &ldquo;rempart,&rdquo; was &ldquo;rempar,&rdquo;
+from &ldquo;remparer,&rdquo; to fortify.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote69"></a><a href="#citation69"
+class="footnote">[69]</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;I give him free leave to
+be foolish.&rdquo;&nbsp; A variation from the line (Sat. I. i.
+63), &ldquo;Quid facias illi? jubeas miserum esse
+libenter.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote70"></a><a href="#citation70"
+class="footnote">[70]</a>&nbsp; <i>That Plato banished poets from
+his ideal Republic</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote71"></a><a href="#citation71"
+class="footnote">[71]</a>&nbsp; Which authority certain barbarous
+and insipid writers would wrest into meaning that poets were to
+be thrust out of a state.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote72"></a><a href="#citation72"
+class="footnote">[72]</a>&nbsp; Ion is a rhapsodist, in dialogue
+with Socrates, who cannot understand why it is that his thoughts
+flow abundantly when he talks of Homer.&nbsp; &ldquo;I can
+explain,&rdquo; says Socrates; &ldquo;your talent in expounding
+Homer is not an art acquired by system and method, otherwise it
+would have been applicable to other poets besides.&nbsp; It is a
+special gift, imparted to you by Divine power and
+inspiration.&nbsp; The like is true of the poet you
+expound.&nbsp; His genius does not spring from art, system, or
+method: it is a special gift emanating from the inspiration of
+the Muses.&nbsp; A poet is light, airy, holy person, who cannot
+compose verses at all so long as his reason remains within
+him.&nbsp; The Muses take away his reason, substituting in place
+of it their own divine inspiration and special impulse . . . Like
+prophets and deliverers of oracles, these poets have their reason
+taken away, and become the servants of the gods.&nbsp; It is not
+they who, bereft of their reason, speak in such sublime strains,
+it is the god who speaks to us, and speaks through
+them.&rdquo;&nbsp; George Grote, from whose volumes on Plato I
+quote this translation of the passage, placed &ldquo;Ion&rdquo;
+among the genuine dialogues of Plato.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote73"></a><a href="#citation73"
+class="footnote">[73]</a>&nbsp; <i>Guards</i>, trimmings or
+facings.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote74"></a><a href="#citation74"
+class="footnote">[74]</a>&nbsp; <i>The Second Summary</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote75"></a><a href="#citation75"
+class="footnote">[75]</a>&nbsp; <i>Causes of Defect in English
+Poetry</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote76"></a><a href="#citation76"
+class="footnote">[76]</a>&nbsp; From the invocation at the
+opening of Virgil&rsquo;s <i>&AElig;neid</i> (line 12),
+&ldquo;Muse, bring to my mind the causes of these things: what
+divinity was injured . . . that one famous for piety should
+suffer thus.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote77"></a><a href="#citation77"
+class="footnote">[77]</a>&nbsp; The Chancellor, Michel de
+l&rsquo;H&ocirc;pital, born in 1505, who joined to his great
+political services (which included the keeping of the Inquisition
+out of France, and long labour to repress civil war) great skill
+in verse.&nbsp; He died in 1573.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote78"></a><a href="#citation78"
+class="footnote">[78]</a>&nbsp; Whose heart-strings the Titan
+(Prometheus) fastened with a better clay.&nbsp; (Juvenal,
+<i>Sat.</i> xiv. 35).&nbsp; Dryden translated the line, with its
+context&mdash;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Some sons, indeed, some very few, we see<br
+/>
+Who keep themselves from this infection free,<br />
+Whom gracious Heaven for nobler ends designed,<br />
+Their looks erected, and their clay refined.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><a name="footnote79"></a><a href="#citation79"
+class="footnote">[79]</a>&nbsp; The orator is made, the poet
+born.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote80"></a><a href="#citation80"
+class="footnote">[80]</a>&nbsp; What you will; the first that
+comes.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote81"></a><a href="#citation81"
+class="footnote">[81]</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Whatever I shall try to
+write will be verse.&rdquo;&nbsp; Sidney quotes from memory, and
+adapts to his context, Tristium IV. x. 26.</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Sponte sua carmen numeros veniebat ad
+aptos,<br />
+Et quod temptabam dicere, versus erat.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><a name="footnote82"></a><a href="#citation82"
+class="footnote">[82]</a>&nbsp; <i>His</i> for &ldquo;its&rdquo;
+here as throughout; the word &ldquo;its&rdquo; not being yet
+introduced into English writing.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote83"></a><a href="#citation83"
+class="footnote">[83]</a>&nbsp; <i>Defects in the
+Drama</i>.&nbsp; It should be remembered that this was written
+when the English drama was but twenty years old, and Shakespeare,
+aged about seventeen, had not yet come to London.&nbsp; The
+strongest of Shakespeare&rsquo;s precursors had not yet begun to
+write for the stage.&nbsp; Marlowe had not yet written; and the
+strength that was to come of the freedom of the English drama had
+yet to be shown.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote84"></a><a href="#citation84"
+class="footnote">[84]</a>&nbsp; There was no scenery on the
+Elizabethan stage.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote85"></a><a href="#citation85"
+class="footnote">[85]</a>&nbsp; Messenger.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote86"></a><a href="#citation86"
+class="footnote">[86]</a>&nbsp; From the egg.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote87"></a><a href="#citation87"
+class="footnote">[87]</a>&nbsp; <i>Bias</i>, slope; French
+&ldquo;b&igrave;ais.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote88"></a><a href="#citation88"
+class="footnote">[88]</a>&nbsp; Juvenal, <i>Sat.</i> iii., lines
+152&ndash;3.&nbsp; Which Samuel Johnson finely paraphrased in his
+&ldquo;London:&rdquo;</p>
+<blockquote><p>&ldquo;Of all the griefs that harass the
+distrest,<br />
+Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest.&rdquo;</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p><a name="footnote89"></a><a href="#citation89"
+class="footnote">[89]</a>&nbsp; George Bachanan (who died in
+1582, aged seventy-six) had written in earlier life four Latin
+tragedies, when Professor of Humanities at Bordeaux, with
+Montaigne in his class.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote90"></a><a href="#citation90"
+class="footnote">[90]</a>&nbsp; <i>Defects in Lyric
+Poetry</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote91"></a><a href="#citation91"
+class="footnote">[91]</a>&nbsp; <i>Defects in Diction</i>.&nbsp;
+This being written only a year or two after the publication of
+&ldquo;Euphues,&rdquo; represents that style of the day which was
+not created but represented by the book from which it took the
+name of &ldquo;Euphuism.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote92"></a><a href="#citation92"
+class="footnote">[92]</a>&nbsp; Nizolian paper-books, are
+commonplace books of quotable passages, so called because an
+Italian grammarian, Marius Nizolius, born at Bersello in the
+fifteenth century, and one of the scholars of the Renaissance in
+the sixteenth, was one of the first producers of such
+volumes.&nbsp; His contribution was an alphabetical folio
+dictionary of phrases from Cicero: &ldquo;Thesaurus Ciceronianus,
+sive Apparatus Lingu&aelig; Latin&aelig; e scriptis Tullii
+Ciceronis collectus.&rdquo;</p>
+<p><a name="footnote93"></a><a href="#citation93"
+class="footnote">[93]</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;He lives and wins, nay,
+comes to the Senate, nay, comes to the Senate,&rdquo; &amp;c.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote94"></a><a href="#citation94"
+class="footnote">[94]</a>&nbsp; Pounded.&nbsp; Put in the pound,
+when found astray.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote95"></a><a href="#citation95"
+class="footnote">[95]</a>&nbsp; <i>Capacities of the English
+Language</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote96"></a><a href="#citation96"
+class="footnote">[96]</a>&nbsp; <i>Metre and Rhyme</i>.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote97"></a><a href="#citation97"
+class="footnote">[97]</a>&nbsp; <i>Last Summary and playful
+peroration</i>.</p>
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A DEFENCE OF POESIE AND POEMS***</p>
+<pre>
+
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+This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+from the 1891 Cassell & Company edition.
+
+
+
+
+
+A DEFENCE OF POESIE AND POEMS
+
+
+
+
+Contents:
+
+Introduction by Henry Morley
+A Defence of Poesie
+Poems
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+
+
+Philip Sidney was born at Penshurst, in Kent, on the 29th of
+November, 1554.  His father, Sir Henry Sidney, had married Mary,
+eldest daughter of John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, and Philip
+was the eldest of their family of three sons and four daughters.
+Edmund Spenser and Walter Raleigh were of like age with Philip
+Sidney, differing only by about a year, and when Elizabeth became
+queen, on the 17th of November, 1558, they were children of four or
+five years old.
+
+In the year 1560 Sir Henry Sidney was made Lord President of Wales,
+representing the Queen in Wales and the four adjacent western
+counties, as a Lord Deputy represented her in Ireland.  The official
+residence of the Lord President was at Ludlow Castle, to which
+Philip Sidney went with his family when a child of six.  In the same
+year his father was installed as a Knight of the Garter.  When in
+his tenth year Philip Sidney was sent from Ludlow to Shrewsbury
+Grammar School, where he studied for three or four years, and had
+among his schoolfellows Fulke Greville, afterwards Lord Brooke, who
+remained until the end of Sidney's life one of his closest friends.
+When he himself was dying he directed that he should be described
+upon his tomb as "Fulke Greville, servant to Queen Elizabeth,
+counsellor to King James, and friend to Sir Philip Sidney."  Even
+Dr. Thomas Thornton, Canon of Christ Church, Oxford, under whom
+Sidney was placed when he was entered to Christ Church in his
+fourteenth year, at Midsummer, in 1568, had it afterwards recorded
+on his tomb that he was "the tutor of Sir Philip Sidney."
+
+Sidney was in his eighteenth year in May, 1572, when he left the
+University to continue his training for the service of the state, by
+travel on the Continent.  Licensed to travel with horses for himself
+and three servants, Philip Sidney left London in the train of the
+Earl of Lincoln, who was going out as ambassador to Charles IX., in
+Paris.  He was in Paris on the 24th of August in that year, which
+was the day of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew.  He was sheltered
+from the dangers of that day in the house of the English Ambassador,
+Sir Francis Walsingham, whose daughter Fanny Sidney married twelve
+years afterwards.
+
+From Paris Sidney travelled on by way of Heidelberg to Frankfort,
+where he lodged at a printer's, and found a warm friend in Hubert
+Languet, whose letters to him have been published.  Sidney was
+eighteen and Languet fifty-five, a French Huguenot, learned and
+zealous for the Protestant cause, who had been Professor of Civil
+Law in Padua, and who was acting as secret minister for the Elector
+of Saxony when he first knew Sidney, and saw in him a future
+statesman whose character and genius would give him weight in the
+counsels of England, and make him a main hope of the Protestant
+cause in Europe.  Sidney travelled on with Hubert Languet from
+Frankfort to Vienna, visited Hungary, then passed to Italy, making
+for eight weeks Venice his head-quarters, and then giving six weeks
+to Padua.  He returned through Germany to England, and was in
+attendance it the Court of Queen Elizabeth in July, 1575.  Next
+month his father was sent to Ireland as Lord Deputy, and Sidney
+lived in London with his mother.
+
+At this time the opposition of the Mayor and Corporation of the City
+of London to the acting of plays by servants of Sidney's uncle, the
+Earl of Leicester, who had obtained a patent for them, obliged the
+actors to cease from hiring rooms or inn yards in the City, and
+build themselves a house of their own a little way outside one of
+the City gates, and wholly outside the Lord Mayor's jurisdiction.
+Thus the first theatre came to be built in England in the year 1576.
+Shakespeare was then but twelve years old, and it was ten years
+later that he came to London.
+
+In February, 1577, Philip Sidney, not yet twenty-three years old,
+was sent on a formal embassy of congratulation to Rudolph II. upon
+his becoming Emperor of Germany, but under the duties of the formal
+embassy was the charge of watching for opportunities of helping
+forward a Protestant League among the princes of Germany.  On his
+way home through the Netherlands he was to convey Queen Elizabeth's
+congratulations to William of Orange on the birth of his first
+child, and what impression he made upon that leader of men is shown
+by a message William sent afterwards through Fulke Greville to Queen
+Elizabeth.  He said "that if he could judge, her Majesty had one of
+the ripest and greatest counsellors of State in Philip Sidney that
+then lived in Europe; to the trial of which he was pleased to leave
+his own credit engaged until her Majesty was pleased to employ this
+gentleman, either amongst her friends or enemies."
+
+Sidney returned from his embassy in June, 1577.  At the time of his
+departure, in the preceding February, his sister Mary, then twenty
+years old, had become the third wife of Henry Herbert, Earl of
+Pembroke, and her new home as Countess of Pembroke was in the great
+house at Wilton, about three miles from Salisbury.  She had a
+measure of her brother's genius, and was of like noble strain.
+Spenser described her as
+
+
+"The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day,
+And most resembling, both in shape and spright,
+Her brother dear."
+
+
+Ben Jonson, long after her brother had passed from earth, wrote upon
+her death the well-known epitaph:-
+
+
+"Underneath this sable herse
+Lies the subject of all verse,
+Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother.
+Death, ere thou hast slain another,
+Learn'd, and fair, and good as she,
+Time shall throw a dart at thee."
+
+
+Sidney's sister became Pembroke's mother in 1580, while her brother
+Philip was staying with her at Wilton.  He had early in the year
+written a long argument to the Queen against the project of her
+marriage with the Duke of Anjou, which she then found it politic to
+seem to favour.  She liked Sidney well, but resented, or appeared to
+resent, his intrusion of advice; he also was discontented with what
+seemed to be her policy, and he withdrew from Court for a time.
+That time of seclusion, after the end of March, 1580, he spent with
+his sister at Wilton.  They versified psalms together; and he began
+to write for her amusement when she had her baby first upon her
+hands, his romance of "Arcadia."  It was never finished.  Much was
+written at Wilton in the summer of 1580, the rest in 1581, written,
+as he said in a letter to her, "only for you, only to you . . . for
+severer eyes it is not, being but a trifle, triflingly handled.
+Your dear self can best witness the manner, being done in loose
+sheets of paper, most of it in your presence, the rest by sheets
+sent unto you as fast as they were done."  He never meant that it
+should be published; indeed, when dying he asked that it should be
+destroyed; but it belonged to a sister who prized the lightest word
+of his, and after his death it was published in 1590 as "The
+Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia."
+
+The book reprinted in this volume was written in 1581, while sheets
+of the "Arcadia" were still being sent to Wilton.  But it differs
+wholly in style from the "Arcadia."  Sidney's "Arcadia" has literary
+interest as the first important example of the union of pastoral
+with heroic romance, out of which came presently, in France, a
+distinct school of fiction.  But the genius of its author was at
+play, it followed designedly the fashions of the hour in verse and
+prose, which tended to extravagance of ingenuity.  The "Defence of
+Poesy" has higher interest as the first important piece of literary
+criticism in our literature.  Here Sidney was in earnest.  His style
+is wholly free from the euphuistic extravagance in which readers of
+his time delighted:  it is clear, direct, and manly; not the less,
+but the more, thoughtful and refined for its unaffected simplicity.
+As criticism it is of the true sort; not captious or formal, still
+less engaged, as nearly all bad criticism is, more or less, with
+indirect suggestion of the critic himself as the one owl in a world
+of mice.  Philip Sidney's care is towards the end of good
+literature.  He looks for highest aims, and finds them in true work,
+and hears God's angel in the poet's song.
+
+The writing of this piece was probably suggested to him by the fact
+that an earnest young student, Stephen Gosson, who came from his
+university about the time when the first theatres were built, and
+wrote plays, was turned by the bias of his mind into agreement with
+the Puritan attacks made by the pulpit on the stage (arising chiefly
+from the fact that plays were then acted on Sundays), and in 1579
+transferred his pen from service of the players to attack on them,
+in a piece which he called "The School of Abuse, containing a
+Pleasant Invective against Poets, Pipers, Players, Jesters, and such
+like Caterpillars of a Commonwealth; setting up the Flag of Defiance
+to their mischievous exercise, and overthrowing their Bulwarks, by
+Profane Writers, Natural Reason, and Common Experience:  a Discourse
+as pleasant for Gentlemen that favour Learning as profitable for all
+that will follow Virtue."  This Discourse Gosson dedicated "To the
+right noble Gentleman, Master Philip Sidney, Esquire."  Sidney
+himself wrote verse, he was companion with the poets, and counted
+Edmund Spenser among his friends.  Gosson's pamphlet was only one
+expression of the narrow form of Puritan opinion that had been
+misled into attacks on poetry and music as feeders of idle appetite
+that withdrew men from the life of duty.  To show the fallacy in
+such opinion, Philip Sidney wrote in 1581 this piece, which was
+first printed in 1595, nine years after his death, as a separate
+publication, entitled "An Apologie for Poetrie."  Three years
+afterwards it was added, with other pieces, to the third edition of
+his "Arcadia," and then entitled "The Defence of Poesie."  In
+sixteen subsequent editions it continued to appear as "The Defence
+of Poesie."  The same title was used in the separate editions of
+1752 and 1810.  Professor Edward Arber re-issued in 1869 the text of
+the first edition of 1595, and restored the original title, which
+probably was that given to the piece by its author.  One name is as
+good as the other, but as the word "apology" has somewhat changed
+its sense in current English, it may be well to go on calling the
+work "The Defence of Poesie."
+
+In 1583 Sidney was knighted, and soon afterwards in the same year he
+married Frances, daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham.  Sonnets
+written by him according to old fashion, and addressed to a lady in
+accordance with a form of courtesy that in the same old fashion had
+always been held to exclude personal suit--personal suit was
+private, and not public--have led to grave misapprehension among
+some critics.  They supposed that he desired marriage with Penelope
+Devereux, who was forced by her family in 1580--then eighteen years
+old--into a hateful marriage with Lord Rich.  It may be enough to
+say that if Philip Sidney had desired her for his wife, he had only
+to ask for her and have her.  Her father, when dying, had desired--
+as any father might--that his daughter might become the wife of
+Philip Sidney.  But this is not the place for a discussion of
+Astrophel and Stella sonnets.
+
+In 1585 Sidney was planning to join Drake it sea in attack on Spain
+in the West Indies.  He was stayed by the Queen.  But when Elizabeth
+declared war on behalf of the Reformed Faith, and sent Leicester
+with an expedition to the Netherlands, Sir Philip Sidney went out,
+in November, 1585, as Governor of Flushing.  His wife joined him
+there.  He fretted at inaction, and made the value of his counsels
+so distinct that his uncle Leicester said after his death that he
+began by "despising his youth for a counsellor, not without bearing
+a hand over him as a forward young man.  Notwithstanding, in a short
+time he saw the sun so risen above his horizon that both he and all
+his stars were glad to fetch light from him."  In May, 1586, Sir
+Philip Sidney received news of the death of his father.  In August
+his mother died.  In September he joined in the investment of
+Zutphen.  On the 22nd of September his thigh-bone was shattered by a
+musket ball from the trenches.  His horse took fright and galloped
+back, but the wounded man held to his seat.  He was then carried to
+his uncle, asked for water, and when it was given, saw a dying
+soldier carried past, who eyed it greedily.  At once he gave the
+water to the soldier, saying, "Thy necessity is yet greater than
+mine."  Sidney lived on, patient in suffering, until the 17th of
+October.  When he was speechless before death, one who stood by
+asked Philip Sidney for a sign of his continued trust in God.  He
+folded his hands as in prayer over his breast, and so they were
+become fixed and chill, when the watchers placed them by his side;
+and in a few minutes the stainless representative of the young
+manhood of Elizabethan England passed away.
+
+
+
+AN APOLOGIE FOR POETRIE
+
+
+
+When the right virtuous Edward Wotton {1} and I were at the
+Emperor's court together, we gave ourselves to learn horsemanship of
+Gio. Pietro Pugliano; one that, with great commendation, had the
+place of an esquire in his stable; and he, according to the
+fertileness of the Italian wit, did not only afford us the
+demonstration of his practice, but sought to enrich our minds with
+the contemplation therein, which he thought most precious.  But with
+none, I remember, mine ears were at any time more laden, than when
+(either angered with slow payment, or moved with our learner-like
+admiration) he exercised his speech in the praise of his faculty.
+
+He said, soldiers were the noblest estate of mankind, and horsemen
+the noblest of soldiers.  He said, they were the masters of war and
+ornaments of peace, speedy goers, and strong abiders, triumphers
+both in camps and courts; nay, to so unbelieved a point he
+proceeded, as that no earthly thing bred such wonder to a prince, as
+to be a good horseman; skill of government was but a "pedanteria" in
+comparison.  Then would he add certain praises by telling what a
+peerless beast the horse was, the only serviceable courtier, without
+flattery, the beast of most beauty, faithfulness, courage, and such
+more, that if I had not been a piece of a logician before I came to
+him, I think he would have persuaded me to have wished myself a
+horse.  But thus much, at least, with his no few words, he drove
+into me, that self love is better than any gilding, to make that
+seem gorgeous wherein ourselves be parties.
+
+Wherein, if Pugliano's strong affection and weak arguments will not
+satisfy you, I will give you a nearer example of myself, who, I know
+not by what mischance, in these my not old years and idlest times,
+having slipped into the title of a poet, am provoked to say
+something unto you in the defence of that my unelected vocation;
+which if I handle with more good will than good reasons, bear with
+me, since the scholar is to be pardoned that followeth the steps of
+his master.
+
+And yet I must say, that as I have more just cause to make a pitiful
+defence of poor poetry, which, from almost the highest estimation of
+learning, is fallen to be the laughing-stock of children; so have I
+need to bring some more available proofs, since the former is by no
+man barred of his deserved credit, whereas the silly latter hath had
+even the names of philosophers used to the defacing of it, with
+great danger of civil war among the Muses. {2}
+
+At first, truly, to all them that, professing learning, inveigh
+against poetry, may justly be objected, that they go very near to
+ungratefulness to seek to deface that which, in the noblest nations
+and languages that are known, hath been the first light-giver to
+ignorance, and first nurse, whose milk by little and little enabled
+them to feed afterwards of tougher knowledges.  And will you play
+the hedgehog, that being received into the den, drove out his host?
+{3} or rather the vipers, that with their birth kill their parents?
+{4}
+
+Let learned Greece, in any of her manifold sciences, be able to show
+me one book before Musaeus, Homer, and Hesiod, all three nothing
+else but poets.  Nay, let any history he brought that can say any
+writers were there before them, if they were not men of the same
+skill, as Orpheus, Linus, and some others are named, who having been
+the first of that country that made pens deliverers of their
+knowledge to posterity, may justly challenge to be called their
+fathers in learning.  For not only in time they had this priority
+(although in itself antiquity be venerable) but went before them as
+causes to draw with their charming sweetness the wild untamed wits
+to an admiration of knowledge.  So as Amphion was said to move
+stones with his poetry to build Thebes, and Orpheus to be listened
+to by beasts, indeed, stony and beastly people, so among the Romans
+were Livius Andronicus, and Ennius; so in the Italian language, the
+first that made it to aspire to be a treasure-house of science, were
+the poets Dante, Boccace, and Petrarch; so in our English were Gower
+and Chaucer; after whom, encouraged and delighted with their
+excellent foregoing, others have followed to beautify our mother
+tongue, as well in the same kind as other arts.
+
+This {5} did so notably show itself that the philosophers of Greece
+durst not a long time appear to the world but under the mask of
+poets; so Thales, Empedocles, and Parmenides sang their natural
+philosophy in verses; so did Pythagoras and Phocylides their moral
+counsels; so did Tyrtaeus in war matters; and Solon in matters of
+policy; or rather they, being poets, did exercise their delightful
+vein in those points of highest knowledge, which before them lay
+hidden to the world; for that wise Solon was directly a poet it is
+manifest, having written in verse the notable fable of the Atlantic
+Island, which was continued by Plato. {6}  And, truly, even Plato,
+whosoever well considereth shall find that in the body of his work,
+though the inside and strength were philosophy, the skin, as it
+were, and beauty depended most of poetry.  For all stands upon
+dialogues; wherein he feigns many honest burgesses of Athens
+speaking of such matters that if they had been set on the rack they
+would never have confessed them; besides, his poetical describing
+the circumstances of their meetings, as the well-ordering of a
+banquet, the delicacy of a walk, with interlacing mere tiles, as
+Gyges's Ring, {7} and others; which, who knows not to be flowers of
+poetry, did never walk into Apollo's garden.
+
+And {8} even historiographers, although their lips sound of things
+done, and verity be written in their foreheads, have been glad to
+borrow both fashion and, perchance, weight of the poets; so
+Herodotus entitled the books of his history by the names of the Nine
+Muses; and both he, and all the rest that followed him, either stole
+or usurped, of poetry, their passionate describing of passions, the
+many particularities of battles which no man could affirm; or, if
+that be denied me, long orations, put in the months of great kings
+and captains, which it is certain they never pronounced.
+
+So that, truly, neither philosopher nor historiographer could, at
+the first, have entered into the gates of popular judgments, if they
+had not taken a great disport of poetry; which in all nations, at
+this day, where learning flourisheth not, is plain to be seen; in
+all which they have some feeling of poetry.  In Turkey, besides
+their lawgiving divines they have no other writers but poets.  In
+our neighbour-country Ireland, where, too, learning goes very bare,
+yet are their poets held in a devout reverence.  Even among the most
+barbarous and simple Indians, where no writing is, yet have they
+their poets who make and sing songs, which they call "Arentos," both
+of their ancestor's deeds and praises of their gods.  A sufficient
+probability, that if ever learning comes among them, it must be by
+having their hard dull wits softened and sharpened with the sweet
+delight of poetry; for until they find a pleasure in the exercise of
+the mind, great promises of much knowledge will little persuade them
+that know not the fruits of knowledge.  In Wales, the true remnant
+of the ancient Britons, as there are good authorities to show the
+long time they had poets, which they called bards, so through all
+the conquests of Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans, some of whom
+did seek to ruin all memory of learning from among them, yet do
+their poets, even to this day, last; so as it is not more notable in
+the soon beginning than in long-continuing.
+
+But since the authors of most of our sciences were the Romans, and
+before them the Greeks, let us, a little, stand upon their
+authorities; but even so far, as to see what names they have given
+unto this now scorned skill. {9}  Among the Romans a poet was called
+"vates," which is as much as a diviner, foreseer, or prophet, as by
+his conjoined words "vaticinium," and "vaticinari," is manifest; so
+heavenly a title did that excellent people bestow upon this heart-
+ravishing knowledge!  And so far were they carried into the
+admiration thereof, that they thought in the changeable hitting upon
+any such verses, great foretokens of their following fortunes were
+placed.  Whereupon grew the word of sortes Virgilianae; when, by
+sudden opening Virgil's book, they lighted upon some verse, as it is
+reported by many, whereof the histories of the Emperors' lives are
+full.  As of Albinus, the governor of our island, who, in his
+childhood, met with this verse -
+
+
+Arma amens capio, nec sat rationis in armis
+
+
+and in his age performed it.  Although it were a very vain and
+godless superstition; as also it was, to think spirits were
+commanded by such verses; whereupon this word charms, derived of
+"carmina," cometh, so yet serveth it to show the great reverence
+those wits were held in; and altogether not without ground, since
+both the oracles of Delphi and the Sibyl's prophecies were wholly
+delivered in verses; for that same exquisite observing of number and
+measure in the words, and that high-flying liberty of conceit proper
+to the poet, did seem to have some divine force in it.
+
+And {10} may not I presume a little farther to show the
+reasonableness of this word "vates," and say, that the holy David's
+Psalms are a divine poem?  If I do, I shall not do it without the
+testimony of great learned men, both ancient and modern.  But even
+the name of Psalms will speak for me, which, being interpreted, is
+nothing but Songs; then, that is fully written in metre, as all
+learned Hebricians agree, although the rules be not yet fully found.
+Lastly, and principally, his handling his prophecy, which is merely
+poetical.  For what else is the awaking his musical instruments; the
+often and free changing of persons; his notable prosopopoeias, when
+he maketh you, as it were, see God coming in His majesty; his
+telling of the beasts' joyfulness, and hills leaping; but a heavenly
+poesy, wherein, almost, he sheweth himself a passionate lover of
+that unspeakable and everlasting beauty, to be seen by the eyes of
+the mind, only cleared by faith?  But truly, now, having named him,
+I fear I seem to profane that holy name, applying it to poetry,
+which is, among us, thrown down to so ridiculous an estimation.  But
+they that, with quiet judgments, will look a little deeper into it,
+shall find the end and working of it such, as, being rightly
+applied, deserveth not to be scourged out of the church of God.
+
+But {11} now let us see how the Greeks have named it, and how they
+deemed of it.  The Greeks named him [Greek text], which name hath,
+as the most excellent, gone through other languages; it cometh of
+this word [Greek text], which is TO MAKE; wherein, I know not
+whether by luck or wisdom, we Englishmen have met with the Greeks in
+calling him "a maker," which name, how high and incomparable a title
+it is, I had rather were known by marking the scope of other
+sciences, than by any partial allegation.  There is no art delivered
+unto mankind that hath not the works of nature for his principal
+object, without which they could not consist, and on which they so
+depend as they become actors and players, as it were, of what nature
+will have set forth. {12}  So doth the astronomer look upon the
+stars, and by that he seeth set down what order nature hath taken
+therein.  So doth the geometrician and arithmetician, in their
+diverse sorts of quantities.  So doth the musician, in times, tell
+you which by nature agree, which not.  The natural philosopher
+thereon hath his name; and the moral philosopher standeth upon the
+natural virtues, vices, or passions of man; and follow nature, saith
+he, therein, and thou shalt not err.  The lawyer saith what men have
+determined.  The historian, what men have done.  The grammarian
+speaketh only of the rules of speech; and the rhetorician and
+logician, considering what in nature will soonest prove and
+persuade, thereon give artificial rules, which still are compassed
+within the circle of a question, according to the proposed matter.
+The physician weigheth the nature of man's body, and the nature of
+things helpful and hurtful unto it.  And the metaphysic, though it
+be in the second and abstract notions, and therefore be counted
+supernatural, yet doth he, indeed, build upon the depth of nature.
+Only the poet, disdaining to be tied to any such subjection, lifted
+up with the vigour of his own invention, doth grow, in effect, into
+another nature; in making things either better than nature bringeth
+forth, or quite anew; forms such as never were in nature, as the
+heroes, demi-gods, Cyclops, chimeras, furies, and such like; so as
+he goeth hand in hand with Nature, not enclosed within the narrow
+warrant of her gifts, but freely ranging within the zodiac of his
+own wit. {13}   Nature never set forth the earth in so rich tapestry
+as divers poets have done; neither with so pleasant rivers, fruitful
+trees, sweet-smelling flowers, nor whatsoever else may make the too-
+much-loved earth more lovely; her world is brazen, the poets only
+deliver a golden.
+
+But let those things alone, and go to man; {14} for whom as the
+other things are, so it seemeth in him her uttermost cunning is
+employed; and know, whether she have brought forth so true a lover
+as Theagenes; so constant a friend as Pylades; so valiant a man as
+Orlando; so right a prince as Xenophon's Cyrus; and so excellent a
+man every way as Virgil's AEneas?  Neither let this be jestingly
+conceived, because the works of the one be essential, the other in
+imitation or fiction; for every understanding knoweth the skill of
+each artificer standeth in that idea, or fore-conceit of the work,
+and not in the work itself.  And that the poet hath that idea is
+manifest by delivering them forth in such excellency as he had
+imagined them; which delivering forth, also, is not wholly
+imaginative, as we are wont to say by them that build castles in the
+air; but so far substantially it worketh not only to make a Cyrus,
+which had been but a particular excellency, as nature might have
+done; but to bestow a Cyrus upon the world to make many Cyruses; if
+they will learn aright, why, and how, that maker made him.  Neither
+let it be deemed too saucy a comparison to balance the highest point
+of man's wit with the efficacy of nature; but rather give right
+honour to the heavenly Maker of that maker, who having made man to
+His own likeness, set him beyond and over all the works of that
+second nature; which in nothing he showeth so much as in poetry;
+when, with the force of a divine breath, he bringeth things forth
+surpassing her doings, with no small arguments to the incredulous of
+that first accursed fall of Adam; since our erected wit maketh us
+know what perfection is, and yet our infected will keepeth us from
+reaching unto it.  But these arguments will by few be understood,
+and by fewer granted; thus much I hope will be given me, that the
+Greeks, with some probability of reason, gave him the name above all
+names of learning.
+
+Now {15} let us go to a more ordinary opening of him, that the truth
+may be the more palpable; and so, I hope, though we get not so
+unmatched a praise as the etymology of his names will grant, yet his
+very description, which no man will deny, shall not justly be barred
+from a principal commendation.
+
+Poesy, {16} therefore, is an art of imitation; for so Aristotle
+termeth it in the word [Greek text]; that is to say, a representing,
+counterfeiting, or figuring forth:  to speak metaphorically, a
+speaking picture, with this end, to teach and delight.
+
+Of {17} this have been three general kinds:  the CHIEF, both in
+antiquity and excellency, which they that did imitate the
+inconceivable excellencies of God; such were David in the Psalms;
+Solomon in the Song of Songs, in his Ecclesiastes, and Proverbs;
+Moses and Deborah in their hymns; and the writer of Job; which,
+beside others, the learned Emanuel Tremellius and Fr. Junius do
+entitle the poetical part of the scripture; against these none will
+speak that hath the Holy Ghost in due holy reverence.  In this kind,
+though in a wrong divinity, were Orpheus, Amphion, Homer in his
+hymns, and many others, both Greeks and Romans.  And this poesy must
+be used by whosoever will follow St. Paul's counsel, in singing
+psalms when they are merry; and I know is used with the fruit of
+comfort by some, when, in sorrowful pangs of their death-bringing
+sins, they find the consolation of the never-leaving goodness.
+
+The {18} SECOND kind is of them that deal with matter philosophical;
+either moral, as Tyrtaeus, Phocylides, Cato, or, natural, as
+Lucretius, Virgil's Georgics; or astronomical, as Manilius {19} and
+Pontanus; or historical, as Lucan; which who mislike, the fault is
+in their judgment, quite out of taste, and not in the sweet food of
+sweetly uttered knowledge.
+
+But because this second sort is wrapped within the fold of the
+proposed subject, and takes not the free course of his own
+invention; whether they properly be poets or no, let grammarians
+dispute, and go to the THIRD, {20} indeed right poets, of whom
+chiefly this question ariseth; betwixt whom and these second is such
+a kind of difference, as betwixt the meaner sort of painters, who
+counterfeit only such faces as are set before them; and the more
+excellent, who having no law but wit, bestow that in colours upon
+you which is fittest for the eye to see; as the constant, though
+lamenting look of Lucretia, when she punished in herself another's
+fault; wherein he painteth not Lucretia, whom he never saw, but
+painteth the outward beauty of such a virtue.  For these three be
+they which most properly do imitate to teach and delight; and to
+imitate, borrow nothing of what is, hath been, or shall be; but
+range only, reined with learned discretion, into the divine
+consideration of what may be, and should be.  These be they, that,
+as the first and most noble sort, may justly be termed "vates;" so
+these are waited on in the excellentest languages and best
+understandings, with the fore-described name of poets.  For these,
+indeed, do merely make to imitate, and imitate both to delight and
+teach, and delight to move men to take that goodness in hand, which,
+without delight they would fly as from a stranger; and teach to make
+them know that goodness whereunto they are moved; which being the
+noblest scope to which ever any learning was directed, yet want
+there not idle tongues to bark at them.
+
+These {21} be subdivided into sundry more special denominations; the
+most notable be the heroic, lyric, tragic, comic, satyric, iambic,
+elegiac, pastoral, and certain others; some of these being termed
+according to the matter they deal with; some by the sort of verse
+they like best to write in; for, indeed, the greatest part of poets
+have apparelled their poetical inventions in that numerous kind of
+writing which is called verse.  Indeed, but apparelied verse, being
+but an ornament, and no cause to poetry, since there have been many
+most excellent poets that never versified, and now swarm many
+versifiers that need never answer to the name of poets. {22}  For
+Xenophon, who did imitate so excellently as to give us effigiem
+justi imperii, the portraiture of a just of Cyrus, as Cicero saith
+of him, made therein an absolute heroical poem.  So did Heliodorus,
+{23} in his sugared invention of Theagenes and Chariclea; and yet
+both these wrote in prose; which I speak to show, that it is not
+rhyming and versing that maketh a poet (no more than a long gown
+maketh an advocate, who, though he pleaded in armour should be an
+advocate and no soldier); but it is that feigning notable images of
+virtues, vices, or what else, with that delightful teaching, which
+must be the right describing note to know a poet by.  Although,
+indeed, the senate of poets have chosen verse as their fittest
+raiment; meaning, as in matter they passed all in all, so in manner
+to go beyond them; not speaking table-talk fashion, or like men in a
+dream, words as they changeably fall from the mouth, but piecing
+each syllable of each word by just proportion, according to the
+dignity of the subject.
+
+Now, {24} therefore, it shall not be amiss, first, to weight this
+latter sort of poetry by his WORKS, and then by his PARTS; and if in
+neither of these anatomies he be commendable, I hope we shall
+receive a more favourable sentence.  This purifying of wit, this
+enriching of memory, enabling of judgment, and enlarging of conceit,
+which commonly we call learning under what name soever it come
+forth, or to what immediate end soever it be directed; the final end
+is, to lead and draw us to as high a perfection as our degenerate
+souls, made worse by, their clay lodgings, {25} can be capable of.
+This, according to the inclination of man, bred many formed
+impressions; for some that thought this felicity principally to be
+gotten by knowledge, and no knowledge to be so high or heavenly as
+to be acquainted with the stars, gave themselves to astronomy;
+others, persuading themselves to be demi-gods, if they knew the
+causes of things, became natural and supernatural philosophers.
+Some an admirable delight drew to music, and some the certainty of
+demonstrations to the mathematics; but all, one and other, having
+this scope to know, and by knowledge to lift up the mind from the
+dungeon of the body to the enjoying his own divine essence.  But
+when, by the balance of experience, it was found that the
+astronomer, looking to the stars, might fall in a ditch; that the
+enquiring philosopher might be blind in himself; and the
+mathematician might draw forth a straight line with a crooked heart;
+then lo! did proof, the over-ruler of opinions, make manifest that
+all these are but serving sciences, which, as they have a private
+end in themselves, so yet are they all directed to the highest end
+of the mistress knowledge, by the Greeks called [Greek text], which
+stands, as I think, in the knowledge of a man's self; in the ethic
+and politic consideration, with the end of well doing, and not of
+well knowing only; even as the saddler's next end is to make a good
+saddle, but his farther end to serve a nobler faculty, which is
+horsemanship; so the horseman's to soldiery; and the soldier not
+only to have the skill, but to perform the practice of a soldier.
+So that the ending end of all earthly learning being virtuous
+action, those skills that most serve to bring forth that have a most
+just title to be princes over all the rest; wherein, if we can show
+it rightly, the poet is worthy to have it before any other
+competitors. {26}
+
+Among {27} whom principally to challenge it, step forth the moral
+philosophers; whom, methinks, I see coming toward me with a sullen
+gravity (as though they could not abide vice by daylight), rudely
+clothed, for to witness outwardly their contempt of outward things,
+with books in their hands against glory, whereto they set their
+names; sophistically speaking against subtlety, and angry with any
+man in whom they see the foul fault of anger.  These men, casting
+largesses as they go, of definitions, divisions, and distinctions,
+with a scornful interrogative do soberly ask:  Whether it be
+possible to find any path so ready to lead a man to virtue, as that
+which teacheth what virtue is; and teacheth it not only by
+delivering forth his very being, his causes and effects; but also by
+making known his enemy, vice, which must be destroyed; and his
+cumbersome servant, passion, which must be mastered, by showing the
+generalities that contain it, and the specialities that are derived
+from it; lastly, by plain setting down how it extends itself out of
+the limits of a man's own little world, to the government of
+families, and maintaining of public societies?
+
+The historian {28} scarcely gives leisure to the moralist to say so
+much, but that he (laden with old mouse-eaten records, authorizing
+{29} himself, for the most part, upon other histories, whose
+greatest authorities are built upon the notable foundation of
+hearsay, having much ado to accord differing writers, and to pick
+truth out of partiality; better acquainted with a thousand years ago
+than with the present age, and yet better knowing how this world
+goes than how his own wit runs; curious for antiquities, and
+inquisitive of novelties, a wonder to young folks, and a tyrant in
+table-talk) denieth, in a great chafe, that any man for teaching of
+virtue and virtuous actions, is comparable to him.  I am "Testis
+temporum, lux veritatis, vita memoriae, magistra vitae, nuncia
+vetustatis." {30}  The philosopher, saith he, teacheth a disputative
+virtue, but I do an active; his virtue is excellent in the
+dangerless academy of Plato, but mine showeth forth her honourable
+face in the battles of Marathon, Pharsalia, Poictiers, and
+Agincourt:  he teacheth virtue by certain abstract considerations;
+but I only bid you follow the footing of them that have gone before
+you:  old-aged experience goeth beyond the fine-witted philosopher;
+but I give the experience of many ages.  Lastly, if he make the song
+book, I put the learner's hand to the lute; and if he be the guide,
+I am the light.  Then would he allege you innumerable examples,
+confirming story by stories, how much the wisest senators and
+princes have been directed by the credit of history, as Brutus,
+Alphonsus of Aragon (and who not? if need be).  At length, the long
+line of their disputation makes a point in this, that the one giveth
+the precept, and the other the example.
+
+Now {31} whom shall we find, since the question standeth for the
+highest form in the school of learning, to be moderator?  Truly, as
+me seemeth, the poet; and if not a moderator, even the man that
+ought to carry the title from them both, and much more from all
+other serving sciences.  Therefore compare we the poet with the
+historian, and with the moral philosopher; and if he go beyond them
+both, no other human skill can match him; for as for the Divine,
+with all reverence, he is ever to be excepted, not only for having
+his scope as far beyond any of these, as eternity exceedeth a
+moment, but even for passing each of these in themselves; and for
+the lawyer, though "Jus" be the daughter of Justice, the chief of
+virtues, yet because he seeks to make men good rather "formidine
+poenae" than "virtutis amore," or, to say righter, doth not
+endeavour to make men good, but that their evil hurt not others,
+having no care, so he be a good citizen, how bad a man he be:
+therefore, as our wickedness maketh him necessary, and necessity
+maketh him honourable, so is he not in the deepest truth to stand in
+rank with these, who all endeavour to take naughtiness away, and
+plant goodness even in the secretest cabinet of our souls.  And
+these four are all that any way deal in the consideration of men's
+manners, which being the supreme knowledge, they that best breed it
+deserve the best commendation.
+
+The philosopher, therefore, and the historian are they which would
+win the goal, the one by precept, the other by example; but both,
+not having both, do both halt.  For the philosopher, setting down
+with thorny arguments the bare rule, is so hard of utterance, and so
+misty to be conceived, that one that hath no other guide but him
+shall wade in him until he be old, before he shall find sufficient
+cause to be honest.  For his knowledge standeth so upon the abstract
+and general, that happy is that man who may understand him, and more
+happy that can apply what he doth understand.  On the other side the
+historian, wanting the precept, is so tied, not to what should be,
+but to what is; to the particular truth of things, and not to the
+general reason of things; that his example draweth no necessary
+consequence, and therefore a less fruitful doctrine.
+
+Now {32} doth the peerless poet perform both; for whatsoever the
+philosopher saith should be done, he giveth a perfect picture of it,
+by some one by whom he pre-supposeth it was done, so as he coupleth
+the general notion with the particular example.  A perfect picture,
+I say; for he yieldeth to the powers of the mind an image of that
+whereof the philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description, which
+doth neither strike, pierce, nor possess the sight of the soul, so
+much as that other doth.  For as, in outward things, to a man that
+had never seen an elephant, or a rhinoceros, who should tell him
+most exquisitely all their shape, colour, bigness, and particular
+marks? or of a gorgeous palace, an architect, who, declaring the
+full beauties, might well make the hearer able to repeat, as it
+were, by rote, all he had heard, yet should never satisfy his inward
+conceit, with being witness to itself of a true living knowledge;
+but the same man, as soon as he might see those beasts well painted,
+or that house well in model, should straightway grow, without need
+of any description, to a judicial comprehending of them; so, no
+doubt, the philosopher, with his learned definitions, be it of
+virtue or vices, matters of public policy or private government,
+replenisheth the memory with many infallible grounds of wisdom,
+which, notwithstanding, lie dark before the imaginative and judging
+power, if they be not illuminated or figured forth by the speaking
+picture of poesy.
+
+Tully taketh much pains, and many times not without poetical help,
+to make us know the force love of our country hath in us.  Let us
+but hear old Anchises, speaking in the midst of Troy's flames, or
+see Ulysses, in the fulness of all Calypso's delights, bewail his
+absence from barren and beggarly Ithaca.  Anger, the Stoics said,
+was a short madness; let but Sophocles bring you Ajax on a stage,
+killing or whipping sheep and oxen, thinking them the army of
+Greeks, with their chieftains Agamemnon and Menelaus; and tell me,
+if you have not a more familiar insight into anger, than finding in
+the schoolmen his genus and difference?  See whether wisdom and
+temperance in Ulysses and Diomedes, valour in Achilles, friendship
+in Nisus and Euryalus, even to an ignorant man, carry not an
+apparent shining; and, contrarily, the remorse of conscience in
+OEdipus; the soon-repenting pride in Agamemnon; the self-devouring
+cruelty in his father Atreus; the violence of ambition in the two
+Theban brothers; the sour sweetness of revenge in Medea; and, to
+fall lower, the Terentian Gnatho, and our Chaucer's Pandar, so
+expressed, that we now use their names to signify their trades; and
+finally, all virtues, vices, and passions so in their own natural
+states laid to the view, that we seem not to hear of them, but
+clearly to see through them?
+
+But even in the most excellent determination of goodness, what
+philosopher's counsel can so readily direct a prince as the feigned
+Cyrus in Xenophon?  Or a virtuous man in all fortunes, as AEneas in
+Virgil?  Or a whole commonwealth, as the way of Sir Thomas More's
+Utopia?  I say the way, because where Sir Thomas More erred, it was
+the fault of the man, and not of the poet; for that way of
+patterning a commonwealth was most absolute, though he, perchance,
+hath not so absolutely performed it.  For the question is, whether
+the feigned image of poetry, or the regular instruction of
+philosophy, hath the more force in teaching.  Wherein, if the
+philosophers have more rightly showed themselves philosophers, than
+the poets have attained to the high top of their profession, (as in
+truth,
+
+
+"Mediocribus esse poetis
+Non Di, non homines, non concessere columnae," {33})
+
+
+it is, I say again, not the fault of the art, but that by few men
+that art can be accomplished.  Certainly, even our Saviour Christ
+could as well have given the moral common-places {34} of
+uncharitableness and humbleness, as the divine narration of Dives
+and Lazarus; or of disobedience and mercy, as the heavenly discourse
+of the lost child and the gracious father; but that his thorough
+searching wisdom knew the estate of Dives burning in hell, and of
+Lazarus in Abraham's bosom, would more constantly, as it were,
+inhabit both the memory and judgment.  Truly, for myself (me seems),
+I see before mine eyes the lost child's disdainful prodigality
+turned to envy a swine's dinner; which, by the learned divines, are
+thought not historical acts, but instructing parables.
+
+For conclusion, I say the philosopher teacheth, but he teacheth
+obscurely, so as the learned only can understand him; that is to
+say, he teacheth them that are already taught.  But the poet is the
+food for the tenderest stomachs; the poet is, indeed, the right
+popular philosopher.  Whereof AEsop's tales give good proof; whose
+pretty allegories, stealing under the formal tales of beasts, make
+many, more beastly than beasts, begin to hear the sound of virtue
+from those dumb speakers.
+
+But now may it be alleged, that if this managing of matters be so
+fit for the imagination, then must the historian needs surpass, who
+brings you images of true matters, such as, indeed, were done, and
+not such as fantastically or falsely may be suggested to have been
+done.  Truly, Aristotle himself, in his Discourse of Poesy, plainly
+determineth this question, saying, that poetry is [Greek text], that
+is to say, it is more philosophical and more ingenious than history.
+His reason is, because poesy dealeth with [Greek text], that is to
+say, with the universal consideration, and the history [Greek text],
+the particular.  "Now," saith he, "the universal weighs what is fit
+to be said or done, either in likelihood or necessity; which the
+poesy considereth in his imposed names; and the particular only
+marks, whether Alcibiades did, or suffered, this or that:" thus far
+Aristotle. {35}  Which reason of his, as all his, is most full of
+reason.  For, indeed, if the question were, whether it were better
+to have a particular act truly or falsely set down? there is no
+doubt which is to be chosen, no more than whether you had rather
+have Vespasian's picture right as he was, or, at the painter's
+pleasure, nothing resembling?  But if the question be, for your own
+use and learning, whether it be better to have it set down as it
+should be, or as it was? then, certainly, is more doctrinable the
+feigned Cyrus in Xenophon, than the true Cyrus in Justin; {36} and
+the feigned AEneas in Virgil, than the right AEneas in Dares
+Phrygius; {37} as to a lady that desired to fashion her countenance
+to the best grace, a painter should more benefit her, to portrait a
+most sweet face, writing Canidia upon it, than to paint Canidia as
+she was, who, Horace sweareth, was full ill-favoured.  If the poet
+do his part aright, he will show you in Tantalus, Atreus, and such
+like, nothing that is not to be shunned; in Cyrus, AEneas, Ulysses,
+each thing to be followed; where the historian, bound to tell things
+as things were, cannot be liberal, without he will be poetical, of a
+perfect pattern; but, as in Alexander, or Scipio himself, show
+doings, some to be liked, some to be misliked; and then how will you
+discern what to follow, but by your own discretion, which you had,
+without reading Q. Curtius? {38}  And whereas, a man may say, though
+in universal consideration of doctrine, the poet prevaileth, yet
+that the history, in his saying such a thing was done, doth warrant
+a man more in that he shall follow; the answer is manifest:  that if
+he stand upon that WAS, as if he should argue, because it rained
+yesterday therefore it should rain to-day; then, indeed, hath it
+some advantage to a gross conceit.  But if he know an example only
+enforms a conjectured likelihood, and so go by reason, the poet doth
+so far exceed him, as he is to frame his example to that which is
+most reasonable, be it in warlike, politic, or private matters;
+where the historian in his bare WAS hath many times that which we
+call fortune to overrule the best wisdom.  Many times he must tell
+events whereof he can yield no cause; or if he do, it must be
+poetically.
+
+For, that a feigned example bath as much force to teach as a true
+example (for as for to move, it is clear, since the feigned may be
+tuned to the highest key of passion), let us take one example
+wherein an historian and a poet did concur.  Herodotus and Justin do
+both testify, that Zopyrus, King Darius's faithful servant, seeing
+his master long resisted by the rebellious Babylonians, feigned
+himself in extreme disgrace of his King; for verifying of which he
+caused his own nose and ears to be cut off, and so flying to the
+Babylonians, was received; and, for his known valour, so far
+credited, that he did find means to deliver them over to Darius.
+Much-like matters doth Livy record of Tarquinius and his son.
+Xenophon excellently feigned such another stratagem, performed by
+Abradatus in Cyrus's behalf.  Now would I fain know, if occasion be
+presented unto you to serve your prince by such an honest
+dissimulation, why do you not as well learn it of Xenophon's fiction
+as of the other's verity? and, truly, so much the better, as you
+shall save your nose by the bargain; for Abradatus did not
+counterfeit so far.  So, then, the best of the historians is subject
+to the poet; for, whatsoever action or faction, whatsoever counsel,
+policy, or war stratagem the historian is bound to recite, that may
+the poet, if he list, with his imitation, make his own, beautifying
+it both for farther teaching, and more delighting, as it please him:
+having all, from Dante's heaven to his hell, under the authority of
+his pen.  Which if I be asked, What poets have done so? as I might
+well name some, so yet, say I, and say again, I speak of the art,
+and not of the artificer.
+
+Now, to that which commonly is attributed to the praise of history,
+in respect of the notable learning which is got by marking the
+success, as though therein a man should see virtue exalted, and vice
+punished:  truly, that commendation is peculiar to poetry, and far
+off from history; for, indeed, poetry ever sets virtue so out in her
+best colours, making fortune her well-waiting handmaid, that one
+must needs be enamoured of her.  Well may you see Ulysses in a
+storm, and in other hard plights; but they are but exercises of
+patience and magnanimity, to make them shine the more in the near
+following prosperity.  And, on the contrary part, if evil men come
+to the stage, they ever go out (as the tragedy writer answered to
+one that misliked the show of such persons) so manacled, as they
+little animate folks to follow them.  But history being captive to
+the truth of a foolish world, in many times a terror from well-
+doing, and an encouragement to unbridled wickedness.  For see we not
+valiant Miltiades rot in his fetters? the just Phocion and the
+accomplished Socrates put to death like traitors? the cruel Severus
+live prosperously? the excellent Severus miserably murdered?  Sylla
+and Marius dying in their beds?  Pompey and Cicero slain then when
+they would have thought exile a happiness?  See we not virtuous Cato
+driven to kill himself, and rebel Caesar so advanced, that his name
+yet, after sixteen hundred years, lasteth in the highest honour?
+And mark but even Caesar's own words of the forenamed Sylla, (who in
+that only did honestly, to put down his dishonest tyranny), "literas
+nescivit:" as if want of learning caused him to do well.  He meant
+it not by poetry, which, not content with earthly plagues, deviseth
+new punishment in hell for tyrants:  nor yet by philosophy, which
+teacheth "occidentes esse:" but, no doubt, by skill in history; for
+that, indeed, can afford you Cypselus, Periander, Phalaris,
+Dionysius, and I know not how many more of the same kennel, that
+speed well enough in their abominable injustice of usurpation.
+
+I conclude, therefore, that he excelleth history, not only in
+furnishing the mind with knowledge, but in setting it forward to
+that which deserves to be called and accounted good:  which setting
+forward, and moving to well-doing, indeed, setteth the laurel crowns
+upon the poets as victorious; not only of the historian, but over
+the philosopher, howsoever, in teaching, it may be questionable.
+For suppose it be granted, that which I suppose, with great reason,
+may be denied, that the philosopher, in respect of his methodical
+proceeding, teach more perfectly than the poet, yet do I think, that
+no man is so much [Greek text], as to compare the philosopher in
+moving with the poet.  And that moving is of a higher degree than
+teaching, it may by this appear, that it is well nigh both the cause
+and effect of teaching; for who will be taught, if he be not moved
+with desire to be taught?  And what so much good doth that teaching
+bring forth (I speak still of moral doctrine) as that it moveth one
+to do that which it doth teach.  For, as Aristotle saith, it is not
+[Greek text] but [Greek text] {39} must be the fruit:  and how
+[Greek text] can be, without being moved to practise, it is no hard
+matter to consider.  The philosopher showeth you the way, he
+informeth you of the particularities, as well of the tediousness of
+the way and of the pleasant lodging you shall have when your journey
+is ended, as of the many by-turnings that may divert you from your
+way; but this is to no man, but to him that will read him, and read
+him with attentive, studious painfulness; which constant desire
+whosoever hath in him, hath already passed half the hardness of the
+way, and therefore is beholden to the philosopher but for the other
+half.  Nay, truly, learned men have learnedly thought, that where
+once reason hath so much over-mastered passion, as that the mind
+hath a free desire to do well, the inward light each mind hath in
+itself is as good as a philosopher's book:  since in nature we know
+it is well to do well, and what is well and what is evil, although
+not in the words of art which philosophers bestow upon us; for out
+of natural conceit the philosophers drew it; but to be moved to do
+that which we know, or to be moved with desire to know, "hoc opus,
+hic labor est."
+
+Now, {40} therein, of all sciences (I speak still of human and
+according to the human conceit), is our poet the monarch.  For he
+doth not only show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the
+way, as will entice any man to enter into it; nay, he doth, as if
+your journey should lie through a fair vineyard, at the very first
+give you a cluster of grapes, that full of that taste you may long
+to pass farther.  He beginneth not with obscure definitions, which
+must blur the margin with interpretations, and load the memory with
+doubtfulness, but he cometh to you with words set in delightful
+proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well-
+enchanting skill of music; and with a tale, forsooth, he cometh unto
+you with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from
+the chimney-corner; {41} and, pretending no more, doth intend the
+winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue; even as the child is
+often brought to take most wholesome things, by hiding them in such
+other as have a pleasant taste; which, if one should begin to tell
+them the nature of the aloes or rhubarbarum they should receive,
+would sooner take their physic at their ears than at their mouth; so
+it is in men (most of them are childish in the best things, till
+they be cradled in their graves); glad they will be to hear the
+tales of Hercules, Achilles, Cyrus, AEneas; and hearing them, must
+needs hear the right description of wisdom, valour, and justice;
+which, if they had been barely (that is to say, philosophically) set
+out, they would swear they be brought to school again.  That
+imitation whereof poetry is, hath the most conveniency to nature of
+all other; insomuch that, as Aristotle saith, those things which in
+themselves are horrible, as cruel battles, unnatural monsters, are
+made, in poetical imitation, delightful.  Truly, I have known men,
+that even with reading Amadis de Gaule, which, God knoweth, wanteth
+much of a perfect poesy, have found their hearts moved to the
+exercise of courtesy, liberality, and especially courage.  Who
+readeth AEneas carrying old Anchises on his back, that wisheth not
+it were his fortune to perform so excellent an act?  Whom doth not
+those words of Turnus move (the tale of Turnus having planted his
+image in the imagination)
+
+
+"--fugientem haec terra videbit?
+Usque adeone mori miserum est?" {42}
+
+
+Where the philosophers (as they think) scorn to delight, so much
+they be content little to move, saving wrangling whether "virtus" be
+the chief or the only good; whether the contemplative or the active
+life do excel; which Plato and Boetius well knew; and therefore made
+mistress Philosophy very often borrow the masking raiment of poesy.
+For even those hard-hearted evil men, who think virtue a school-
+name, and know no other good but "indulgere genio," and therefore
+despise the austere admonitions of the philosopher, and feel not the
+inward reason they stand upon; yet will be content to be delighted,
+which is all the good-fellow poet seems to promise; and so steal to
+see the form of goodness, which seen, they cannot but love, ere
+themselves be aware, as if they took a medicine of cherries.
+
+Infinite {43} proofs of the strange effects of this poetical
+invention might be alleged; only two shall serve, which are so often
+remembered, as, I think, all men know them.  The one of Menenius
+Agrippa, who, when the whole people of Rome had resolutely divided
+themselves from the senate, with apparent show of utter ruin, though
+he were, for that time, an excellent orator, came not among them
+upon trust, either of figurative speeches, or cunning insinuations,
+and much less with far-fetched maxims of philosophy, which,
+especially if they were Platonic, they must have learned geometry
+before they could have conceived; but, forsooth, he behaveth himself
+like a homely and familiar poet.  He telleth them a tale, that there
+was a time when all the parts of the body made a mutinous conspiracy
+against the belly, which they thought devoured the fruits of each
+other's labour; they concluded they would let so unprofitable a
+spender starve.  In the end, to be short (for the tale is notorious,
+and as notorious that it was a tale), with punishing the belly they
+plagued themselves.  This, applied by him, wrought such effect in
+the people as I never read that only words brought forth; but then
+so sudden, and so good an alteration, for upon reasonable conditions
+a perfect reconcilement ensued.
+
+The other is of Nathan the prophet, who, when the holy David had so
+far forsaken God, as to confirm adultery with murder, when he was to
+do the tenderest office of a friend, in laying his own shame before
+his eyes, being sent by God to call again so chosen a servant, how
+doth he it? but by telling of a man whose beloved lamb was
+ungratefully taken from his bosom.  The application most divinely
+true, but the discourse itself feigned; which made David (I speak of
+the second and instrumental cause) as in a glass see his own
+filthiness, as that heavenly psalm of mercy well testifieth.
+
+By these, therefore, examples and reasons, I think it may be
+manifest that the poet, with that same hand of delight, doth draw
+the mind more effectually than any other art doth.  And so a
+conclusion not unfitly ensues; that as virtue is the most excellent
+resting-place for all worldly learning to make his end of, so
+poetry, being the most familiar to teach it, and most princely to
+move towards it, in the most excellent work is the most excellent
+workman.
+
+But I am content not only to decipher him by his works (although
+works in commendation and dispraise must ever hold a high
+authority), but more narrowly will examine his parts; so that (as in
+a man) though all together may carry a presence full of majesty and
+beauty perchance in some one defectious {44} piece we may find
+blemish.
+
+Now, {45} in his parts, kinds, or species, as you list to term them,
+it is to be noted that some poesies have coupled together two or
+three kinds; as the tragical and comical, whereupon is risen the
+tragi-comical; some, in the manner, have mingled prose and verse, as
+Sannazaro and Boetius; some have mingled matters heroical and
+pastoral; but that cometh all to one in this question; for, if
+severed they be good, the conjunction cannot be hurtful.  Therefore,
+perchance, forgetting some, and leaving some as needless to be
+remembered, it shall not be amiss, in a word, to cite the special
+kinds, to see what faults may be found in the right use of them.
+
+Is it, then, the pastoral poem which is misliked? {46}  For,
+perchance, where the hedge is lowest, they will soonest leap over.
+Is the poor pipe disdained, which sometimes, out of Melibaeus's
+mouth, can show the misery of people under hard lords and ravening
+soldiers?  And again, by Tityrus, what blessedness is derived to
+them that lie lowest from the goodness of them that sit highest?
+Sometimes under the pretty tales of wolves and sheep, can include
+the whole considerations of wrong doing and patience; sometimes
+show, that contentions for trifles can get but a trifling victory;
+where, perchance, a man may see that even Alexander and Darius, when
+they strove who should be cock of this world's dunghill, the benefit
+they got was, that the after-livers may say,
+
+
+"Haec memini, et victum frustra contendere Thyrsim.
+Ex illo Corydon, Corydon est tempore nobis." {47}
+
+
+Or is it the lamenting elegiac, {48} which, in a kind heart, would
+move rather pity than blame; who bewaileth, with the great
+philosopher Heraclitus, the weakness of mankind, and the
+wretchedness of the world; who, surely, is to be praised, either for
+compassionately accompanying just causes of lamentations, or for
+rightly pointing out how weak be the passions of wofulness?
+
+Is it the bitter, but wholesome iambic, {49} who rubs the galled
+mind, making shame the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crying
+out against naughtiness?
+
+Or the satiric? who,
+
+
+"Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit amico;" {50}
+
+
+who sportingly never leaveth, until he make a man laugh at folly,
+and, at length, ashamed to laugh at himself, which he cannot avoid
+without avoiding the folly; who, while "circum praecordia ludit,"
+giveth us to feel how many headaches a passionate life bringeth us
+to; who when all is done,
+
+
+"Est Ulubris, animus si nos non deficit aequus." {51}
+
+
+No, perchance, it is the comic; {52} whom naughty play-makers and
+stage-keepers have justly made odious.  To the arguments of abuse I
+will after answer; only thus much now is to be said, that the comedy
+is an imitation of the common errors of our life, which he
+representeth in the most ridiculous and scornful sort that may be;
+so as it is impossible that any beholder can be content to be such a
+one.  Now, as in geometry, the oblique must be known as well as the
+right, and in arithmetic, the odd as well as the even; so in the
+actions of our life, who seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a
+great foil to perceive the beauty of virtue.  This doth the comedy
+handle so, in our private and domestical matters, as, with hearing
+it, we get, as it were, an experience of what is to be looked for,
+of a niggardly Demea, of a crafty Davus, of a flattering Gnatho, of
+a vain-glorious Thraso; and not only to know what effects are to be
+expected, but to know who be such, by the signifying badge given
+them by the comedian.  And little reason hath any man to say, that
+men learn the evil by seeing it so set out; since, as I said before,
+there is no man living, but by the force truth hath in nature, no
+sooner seeth these men play their parts, but wisheth them in
+"pistrinum;" {53} although, perchance, the sack of his own faults
+lie so behind his back, that he seeth not himself to dance in the
+same measure, whereto yet nothing can more open his eyes than to see
+his own actions contemptibly set forth; so that the right use of
+comedy will, I think, by nobody be blamed.
+
+And much less of the high and excellent tragedy, {54} that openeth
+the greatest wounds, and showeth forth the ulcers that are covered
+with tissue; that maketh kings fear to be tyrants, and tyrants to
+manifest their tyrannical humours; that with stirring the effects of
+admiration and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this
+world, and upon how weak foundations gilded roofs are builded; that
+maketh us know, "qui sceptra saevos duro imperio regit, timet
+timentes, metus in authorem redit."  But how much it can move,
+Plutarch yielded a notable testimony of the abominable tyrant
+Alexander Pheraeus; from whose eyes a tragedy, well made and
+represented, drew abundance of tears, who without all pity had
+murdered infinite numbers, and some of his own blood; so as he that
+was not ashamed to make matters for tragedies, yet could not resist
+the sweet violence of a tragedy.  And if it wrought no farther good
+in him, it was that he, in despite of himself, withdrew himself from
+hearkening to that which might mollify his hardened heart.  But it
+is not the tragedy they do dislike, for it were too absurd to cast
+out so excellent a representation of whatsoever is most worthy to be
+learned.
+
+Is it the lyric that most displeaseth, who with his tuned lyre and
+well-accorded voice, giveth praise, the reward of virtue, to
+virtuous acts? who giveth moral precepts and natural problems? who
+sometimes raiseth up his voice to the height of the heavens, in
+singing the lauds of the immortal God?  Certainly, I must confess
+mine own barbarousness; I never heard the old song of Percy and
+Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet;
+{55} and yet it is sung but by some blind crowder, with no rougher
+voice than rude style; which being so evil apparelled in the dust
+and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work, trimmed in the
+gorgeous eloquence of Pindar?  In Hungary I have seen it the manner
+at all feasts, and all other such-like meetings, to have songs of
+their ancestors' valour, which that right soldier-like nation think
+one of the chiefest kindlers of brave courage.  The incomparable
+Lacedaemonians did not only carry that kind of music ever with them
+to the field, but even at home, as such songs were made, so were
+they all content to be singers of them; when the lusty men were to
+tell what they did, the old men what they had done, and the young
+what they would do.  And where a man may say that Pindar many times
+praiseth highly victories of small moment, rather matters of sport
+than virtue; as it may be answered, it was the fault of the poet,
+and not of the poetry, so, indeed, the chief fault was in the time
+and custom of the Greeks, who set those toys at so high a price,
+that Philip of Macedon reckoned a horse-race won at Olympus among
+three fearful felicities.  But as the inimitable Pindar often did,
+so is that kind most capable, and most fit, to awake the thoughts
+from the sleep of idleness, to embrace honourable enterprises.
+
+There rests the heroical, {56} whose very name, I think, should
+daunt all backbiters.  For by what conceit can a tongue be directed
+to speak evil of that which draweth with him no less champions than
+Achilles, Cyrus, AEneas, Turus, Tydeus, Rinaldo? who doth not only
+teach and move to truth, but teacheth and moveth to the most high
+and excellent truth:  who maketh magnanimity and justice shine
+through all misty fearfulness and foggy desires? who, if the saying
+of Plato and Tully be true, that who could see virtue, would be
+wonderfully ravished with the love of her beauty; this man setteth
+her out to make her more lovely, in her holiday apparel, to the eye
+of any that will deign not to disdain until they understand.  But if
+any thing be already said in the defence of sweet poetry, all
+concurreth to the maintaining the heroical, which is not only a
+kind, but the best and most accomplished kind, of poetry.  For, as
+the image of each action stirreth and instructeth the mind, so the
+lofty image of such worthies most inflameth the mind with desire to
+be worthy, and informs with counsel how to be worthy.  Only let
+AEneas be worn in the tablet of your memory, how he governeth
+himself in the ruin of his country; in the preserving his old
+father, and carrying away his religious ceremonies; in obeying God's
+commandments, to leave Dido, though not only passionate kindness,
+but even the human consideration of virtuous gratefulness, would
+have craved other of him; how in storms, how in sports, how in war,
+how in peace, how a fugitive, how victorious, how besieged, how
+besieging, how to strangers, how to allies, how to enemies; how to
+his own, lastly, how in his inward self, and how in his outward
+government; and I think, in a mind most prejudiced with a
+prejudicating humour, he will be found in excellency fruitful.  Yea,
+as Horace saith, "Melius Chrysippo et Crantore:" {57} but, truly, I
+imagine it falleth out with these poet-whippers as with some good
+women who often are sick, but in faith they cannot tell where.  So
+the name of poetry is odious to them, but neither his cause nor
+effects, neither the sum that contains him, nor the particularities
+descending from him, give any fast handle to their carping
+dispraise.
+
+Since, then, {58} poetry is of all human learnings the most ancient,
+and of most fatherly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have
+taken their beginnings; since it is so universal that no learned
+nation doth despise it, nor barbarous nation is without it; since
+both Roman and Greek gave such divine names unto it, the one of
+prophesying, the other of making, and that indeed that name of
+making is fit for him, considering, that where all other arts retain
+themselves within their subject, and receive, as it were, their
+being from it, the poet only, only bringeth his own stuff, and doth
+not learn a conceit out of a matter, but maketh matter for a
+conceit; since neither his description nor end containeth any evil,
+the thing described cannot be evil; since his effects be so good as
+to teach goodness, and delight the learners of it; since therein
+(namely, in moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges) he doth not
+only far pass the historian, but, for instructing, is well nigh
+comparable to the philosopher; for moving, leaveth him behind him;
+since the Holy Scripture (wherein there is no uncleanness) hath
+whole parts in it poetical, and that even our Saviour Christ
+vouchsafed to use the flowers of it; since all his kinds are not
+only in their united forms, but in their severed dissections fully
+commendable; I think, and think I think rightly, the laurel crown
+appointed for triumphant captains, doth worthily, of all other
+learnings, honour the poet's triumph.
+
+But {59} because we have ears as well as tongues, and that the
+lightest reasons that may be, will seem to weigh greatly, if nothing
+be put in the counterbalance, let us hear, and, as well as we can,
+ponder what objections be made against this art, which may be worthy
+either of yielding or answering.
+
+First, truly, I note, not only in these [Greek text], poet-haters,
+but in all that kind of people who seek a praise by dispraising
+others, that they do prodigally spend a great many wandering words
+in quips and scoffs, carping and taunting at each thing, which, by
+stirring the spleen, may stay the brain from a thorough beholding,
+the worthiness of the subject.  Those kind of objections, as they
+are full of a very idle uneasiness (since there is nothing of so
+sacred a majesty, but that an itching tongue may rub itself upon
+it), so deserve they no other answer, but, instead of laughing at
+the jest, to laugh at the jester.  We know a playing wit can praise
+the discretion of an ass, the comfortableness of being in debt, and
+the jolly commodities of being sick of the plague; so, of the
+contrary side, if we will turn Ovid's verse,
+
+
+"Ut lateat virtus proximitate mali."
+
+
+"That good lies hid in nearness of the evil," Agrippa will be as
+merry in the showing the Vanity of Science, as Erasmus was in the
+commending of Folly; {60} neither shall any man or matter escape
+some touch of these smiling railers.  But for Erasmus and Agrippa,
+they had another foundation than the superficial part would promise.
+Marry, these other pleasant fault-finders, who will correct the verb
+before they understand the noun, and confute others' knowledge
+before they confirm their own; I would have them only remember, that
+scoffing cometh not of wisdom; so as the best title in true English
+they get with their merriments, is to be called good fools; for so
+have our grave forefathers ever termed that humorous kind of
+jesters.
+
+But that which giveth greatest scope to their scorning humour, is
+rhyming and versing. {61}  It is already said, and, as I think,
+truly said, it is not rhyming and versing that maketh poesy; one may
+be a poet without versing, and a versifier without poetry.  But yet,
+presuppose it were inseparable, as indeed, it seemeth Scaliger
+judgeth truly, it were an inseparable commendation; for if "oratio"
+next to "ratio," speech next to reason, be the greatest gift
+bestowed upon mortality, that cannot be praiseless which doth most
+polish that blessing of speech; which considereth each word, not
+only as a man may say by his forcible quality, but by his best
+measured quantity; carrying even in themselves a harmony; without,
+perchance, number, measure, order, proportion be in our time grown
+odious.
+
+But lay aside the just praise it hath, by being the only fit speech
+for music--music, I say, the most divine striker of the senses; thus
+much is undoubtedly true, that if reading be foolish without
+remembering, memory being the only treasure of knowledge, those
+words which are fittest for memory, are likewise most convenient for
+knowledge.  Now, that verse far exceedeth prose in the knitting up
+of the memory, the reason is manifest:  the words, besides their
+delight, which hath a great affinity to memory, being so set as one
+cannot be lost, but the whole work fails:  which accusing itself,
+calleth the remembrance back to itself, and so most strongly
+confirmeth it.  Besides, one word so, as it were, begetting another,
+as, be it in rhyme or measured verse, by the former a man shall have
+a near guess to the follower.  Lastly, even they that have taught
+the art of memory, have showed nothing so apt for it as a certain
+room divided into many places, well and thoroughly known; now that
+hath the verse in effect perfectly, every word having his natural
+seat, which seat must needs make the word remembered.  But what
+needs more in a thing so known to all men?  Who is it that ever was
+a scholar that doth not carry away some verses of Virgil, Horace, or
+Cato, which in his youth he learned, and even to his old age serve
+him for hourly lessons? as,
+
+
+"Percontatorem fugito:  nam garrulus idem est.
+Dum sibi quisque placet credula turba sumus." {62}
+
+
+But the fitness it hath for memory is notably proved by all delivery
+of arts, wherein, for the most part, from grammar to logic,
+mathematics, physic, and the rest, the rules chiefly necessary to be
+borne away are compiled in verses.  So that verse being in itself
+sweet and orderly, and being best for memory, the only handle of
+knowledge, it must be in jest that any man can speak against it.
+
+Now {63} then go we to the most important imputations laid to the
+poor poets; for aught I can yet learn, they are these.
+
+First, that there being many other more fruitful knowledges, a man
+might better spend his time in them than in this.
+
+Secondly, that it is the mother of lies.
+
+Thirdly, that it is the nurse of abuse, infecting us with many
+pestilent desires, with a syren sweetness, drawing the mind to the
+serpent's tail of sinful fancies; and herein, especially, comedies
+give the largest field to ear, as Chaucer saith; how, both in other
+nations and ours, before poets did soften us, we were full of
+courage, given to martial exercises, the pillars of manlike liberty,
+and not lulled asleep in shady idleness with poets' pastimes.
+
+And lastly and chiefly, they cry out with open mouth, as if they had
+overshot Robin Hood, that Plato banished them out of his
+commonwealth.  Truly this is much, if there be much truth in it.
+
+First, {64} to the first, that a man might better spend his time, is
+a reason indeed; but it doth, as they say, but "petere principium."
+{65}  For if it be, as I affirm, that no learning is so good as that
+which teacheth and moveth to virtue, and that none can both teach
+and move thereto so much as poesy, then is the conclusion manifest,
+that ink and paper cannot be to a more profitable purpose employed.
+And certainly, though a man should grant their first assumption, it
+should follow, methinks, very unwillingly, that good is not good
+because better is better.  But I still and utterly deny that there
+is sprung out of earth a more fruitful knowledge.
+
+To {66} the second, therefore, that they should be the principal
+liars, I answer paradoxically, but truly, I think truly, that of all
+writers under the sun, the poet is the least liar; and though he
+would, as a poet, can scarcely be a liar.  The astronomer, with his
+cousin the geometrician, can hardly escape when they take upon them
+to measure the height of the stars.  How often, think you, do the
+physicians lie, when they aver things good for sicknesses, which
+afterwards send Charon a great number of souls drowned in a potion
+before they come to his ferry.  And no less of the rest which take
+upon them to affirm.  Now for the poet, he nothing affirmeth, and
+therefore never lieth; for, as I take it, to lie is to affirm that
+to be true which is false:  so as the other artists, and especially
+the historian, affirmeth many things, can, in the cloudy knowledge
+of mankind, hardly escape from many lies:  but the poet, as I said
+before, never affirmeth; the poet never maketh any circles about
+your imagination, to conjure you to believe for true what he
+writeth:  he citeth not authorities of other histories, but even for
+his entry calleth the sweet Muses to inspire into him a good
+invention; in troth, not labouring to tell you what is or is not,
+but what should or should not be.  And, therefore, though he recount
+things not true, yet because he telleth them not for true he lieth
+not; without we will say that Nathan lied in his speech, before
+alleged, to David; which, as a wicked man durst scarce say, so think
+I none so simple would say, that AEsop lied in the tales of his
+beasts; for who thinketh that AEsop wrote it for actually true, were
+well worthy to have his name chronicled among the beasts he writeth
+of.  What child is there that cometh to a play, and seeing Thebes
+written in great letters upon an old door, doth believe that it is
+Thebes?  If then a man can arrive to the child's age, to know that
+the poet's persons and doings are but pictures what should be, and
+not stories what have been, they will never give the lie to things
+not affirmatively, but allegorically and figuratively written; and
+therefore, as in history, looking for truth, they may go away full
+fraught with falsehood, so in poesy, looking but for fiction, they
+shall use the narration but as an imaginative ground-plot of a
+profitable invention.
+
+But hereto is replied, that the poets give names to men they write
+of, which argueth a conceit of an actual truth, and so, not being
+true, proveth a falsehood.  And doth the lawyer lie then, when,
+under the names of John of the Stile, and John of the Nokes, he
+putteth his case?  But that is easily answered, their naming of men
+is but to make their picture the more lively, and not to build any
+history.  Painting men, they cannot leave men nameless; we see we
+cannot play at chess but that we must give names to our chess-men:
+and yet, methinks, he were a very partial champion of truth that
+would say we lied for giving a piece of wood the reverend title of a
+bishop.  The poet nameth Cyrus and AEneas no other way than to show
+what men of their fames, fortunes, and estates should do.
+
+Their {67} third is, how much it abuseth men's wit, training it to a
+wanton sinfulness and lustful love.  For, indeed, that is the
+principal if not only abuse I can hear alleged.  They say the
+comedies rather teach, than reprehend, amorous conceits; they say
+the lyric is larded with passionate sonnets; the elegiac weeps the
+want of his mistress; and that even to the heroical Cupid hath
+ambitiously climbed.  Alas! Love, I would thou couldst as well
+defend thyself, as thou canst offend others!  I would those on whom
+thou dost attend, could either put thee away or yield good reason
+why they keep thee!  But grant love of beauty to be a beastly fault,
+although it be very hard, since only man, and no beast, hath that
+gift to discern beauty; grant that lovely name of love to deserve
+all hateful reproaches, although even some of my masters the
+philosophers spent a good deal of their lamp-oil in setting forth
+the excellency of it; grant, I say, what they will have granted,
+that not only love, but lust, but vanity, but, if they list,
+scurrility, possess many leaves of the poets' books; yet, think I,
+when this is granted, they will find their sentence may, with good
+manners, put the last words foremost; and not say that poetry
+abuseth man's wit, but that man's wit abuseth poetry.  For I will
+not deny but that man's wit may make poesy, which should be [Greek
+text], which some learned have defined, figuring forth good things,
+to be [Greek text], which doth contrariwise infect the fancy with
+unworthy objects; as the painter, who should give to the eye either
+some excellent perspective, or some fine picture fit for building or
+fortification, or containing in it some notable example, as Abraham
+sacrificing his son Isaac, Judith killing Holofernes, David fighting
+with Goliath, may leave those, and please an ill-pleased eye with
+wanton shows of better-hidden matters.
+
+But, what! shall the abuse of a thing make the right use odious?
+Nay, truly, though I yield that poesy may not only be abused, but
+that being abused, by the reason of his sweet charming force, it can
+do more hurt than any other army of words, yet shall it be so far
+from concluding, that the abuse shall give reproach to the abused,
+that, contrariwise, it is a good reason, that whatsoever being
+abused, doth most harm, being rightly used (and upon the right use
+each thing receives his title) doth most good.  Do we not see skill
+of physic, the best rampire {68} to our often-assaulted bodies,
+being abused, teach poison, the most violent destroyer?  Doth not
+knowledge of law, whose end is to even and right all things, being
+abused, grow the crooked fosterer of horrible injuries?  Doth not
+(to go in the highest) God's word abused breed heresy, and His name
+abused become blasphemy?  Truly, a needle cannot do much hurt, and
+as truly (with leave of ladies be it spoken) it cannot do much good.
+With a sword thou mayest kill thy father, and with a sword thou
+mayest defend thy prince and country; so that, as in their calling
+poets fathers of lies, they said nothing, so in this their argument
+of abuse, they prove the commendation.
+
+They allege herewith, that before poets began to be in price, our
+nation had set their heart's delight upon action, and not
+imagination; rather doing things worthy to be written, than writing
+things fit to be done.  What that before time was, I think scarcely
+Sphynx can tell; since no memory is so ancient that gives not the
+precedence to poetry.  And certain it is, that, in our plainest
+homeliness, yet never was the Albion nation without poetry.  Marry,
+this argument, though it be levelled against poetry, yet it is
+indeed a chain-shot against all learning or bookishness, as they
+commonly term it.  Of such mind were certain Goths, of whom it is
+written, that having in the spoil of a famous city taken a fair
+library, one hangman, belike fit to execute the fruits of their
+wits, who had murdered a great number of bodies, would have set fire
+in it.  "No," said another, very gravely, "take heed what you do,
+for while they are busy about those toys, we shall with more leisure
+conquer their countries."  This, indeed, is the ordinary doctrine of
+ignorance, and many words sometimes I have heard spent in it; but
+because this reason is generally against all learning as well as
+poetry, or rather all learning but poetry; because it were too large
+a digression to handle it, or at least too superfluous, since it is
+manifest that all government of action is to be gotten by knowledge,
+and knowledge best by gathering many knowledges, which is reading,;
+I only say with Horace, to him that is of that opinion,
+
+
+"Jubeo stultum esse libenter--" {69}
+
+
+for as for poetry itself, it is the freest from this, objection, for
+poetry is the companion of camps.  I dare undertake, Orlando
+Furioso, or honest King Arthur, will never displease a soldier:  but
+the quiddity of "ens" and "prima materia" will hardly agree with a
+corslet.  And, therefore, as I said in the beginning, even Turks and
+Tartars are delighted with poets.  Homer, a Greek, flourished before
+Greece flourished; and if to a slight conjecture a conjecture may be
+opposed, truly it may seem, that as by him their learned men took
+almost their first light of knowledge, so their active men receive
+their first notions of courage.  Only Alexander's example may serve,
+who by Plutarch is accounted of such virtue that fortune was not his
+guide but his footstool; whose acts speak for him, though Plutarch
+did not; indeed, the phoenix of warlike princes.  This Alexander
+left his schoolmaster, living Aristotle, behind him, but took dead
+Homer with him.  He put the philosopher Callisthenes to death, for
+his seeming philosophical, indeed mutinous, stubbornness; but the
+chief thing he was ever heard to wish for was that Homer had been
+alive.  He well found he received more bravery of mind by the
+pattern of Achilles, than by hearing the definition of fortitude.
+And, therefore, if Cato misliked Fulvius for carrying Ennius with
+him to the field, it may be answered that if Cato misliked it the
+noble Fulvius liked it, or else he had not done it; for it was not
+the excellent Cato Uticensis whose authority I would much more have
+reverenced, but it was the former, in truth a bitter punisher of
+faults, but else a man that had never sacrificed to the Graces.  He
+misliked, and cried out against, all Greek learning, and yet, being
+fourscore years old, began to learn it, belike fearing that Pluto
+understood not Latin.  Indeed, the Roman laws allowed no person to
+be carried to the wars but he that was in the soldiers' roll.  And,
+therefore, though Cato misliked his unmustered person, he misliked
+not his work.  And if he had, Scipio Nasica (judged by common
+consent the best Roman) loved him:  both the other Scipio brothers,
+who had by their virtues no less surnames than of Asia and Afric, so
+loved him that they caused his body to be buried in their sepulture.
+So, as Cato's authority being but against his person, and that
+answered with so far greater than himself, is herein of no validity.
+
+But {70} now, indeed, my burthen is great, that Plato's name is laid
+upon me, whom, I must confess, of all philosophers I have ever
+esteemed most worthy of reverence; and with good reason, since of
+all philosophers he is the most poetical; yet if he will defile the
+fountain out of which his flowing streams have proceeded, let us
+boldly examine with what reason he did it.
+
+First, truly, a man might maliciously object that Plato, being a
+philosopher, was a natural enemy of poets.  For, indeed, after the
+philosophers had picked out of the sweet mysteries of poetry the
+right discerning of true points of knowledge, they forthwith,
+putting it in method, and making a school of art of that which the
+poets did only teach by a divine delightfulness, beginning to spurn
+at their guides, like ungrateful apprentices, were not content to
+set up shop for themselves, but sought by all means to discredit
+their masters; which, by the force of delight being barred them, the
+less they could overthrow them, the more they hated them.  For,
+indeed, they found for Homer seven cities strove who should have him
+for their citizen, where many cities banished philosophers as not
+fit members to live among them.  For only repeating certain of
+Euripides' verses many Athenians had their lives saved of the
+Syracusans, where the Athenians themselves thought many of the
+philosophers unworthy to live.  Certain poets, as Simonides and
+Pindar, had so prevailed with Hiero the First, that of a tyrant they
+made him a just king; where Plato could do so little with Dionysius
+that he himself, of a philosopher, was made a slave.  But who should
+do thus, I confess, should requite the objections raised against
+poets with like cavillations against philosophers; as likewise one
+should do that should bid one read Phaedrus or Symposium in Plato,
+or the discourse of Love in Plutarch, and see whether any poet do
+authorise abominable filthiness as they do.
+
+Again, a man might ask, out of what Commonwealth Plato doth banish
+them?  In sooth, thence where he himself alloweth community of
+women.  So, as belike this banishment grew not for effeminate
+wantonness, since little should poetical sonnets be hurtful, when a
+man might have what woman he listed.  But I honour philosophical
+instructions, and bless the wits which bred them, so as they be not
+abused, which is likewise stretched to poetry.  Saint Paul himself
+sets a watchword upon philosophy, indeed upon the abuse.  So doth
+Plato upon the abuse, not upon poetry.  Plato found fault that the
+poets of his time filled the world with wrong opinions of the gods,
+making light tales of that unspotted essence, and therefore would
+not have the youth depraved with such opinions.  Herein may much be
+said; let this suffice:  the poets did not induce such opinions, but
+did imitate those opinions already induced.  For all the Greek
+stories can well testify that the very religion of that time stood
+upon many and many-fashioned gods; not taught so by poets, but
+followed according to their nature of imitation.  Who list may read
+in Plutarch the discourses of Isis and Osiris, of the cause why
+oracles ceased, of the Divine providence, and see whether the
+theology of that nation stood not upon such dreams, which the poets
+indeed superstitiously observed; and truly, since they had not the
+light of Christ, did much better in it than the philosophers, who,
+shaking off superstition, brought in atheism.
+
+Plato, therefore, whose authority I had much rather justly construe
+than unjustly resist, meant not in general of poets, in those words
+of which Julius Scaliger saith, "qua authoritate, barbari quidam
+atque insipidi, abuti velint ad poetas e republica exigendos {71}:"
+but only meant to drive out those wrong opinions of the Deity,
+whereof now, without farther law, Christianity hath taken away all
+the hurtful belief, perchance as he thought nourished by then
+esteemed poets.  And a man need go no farther than to Plato himself
+to know his meaning; who, in his dialogue called "Ion," {72} giveth
+high, and rightly, divine commendation unto poetry.  So as Plato,
+banishing the abuse, not the thing, not banishing it, but giving due
+honour to it, shall be our patron, and not our adversary.  For,
+indeed, I had much rather, since truly I may do it, show their
+mistaking of Plato, under whose lion's skin they would make an ass-
+like braying against poesy, than go about to overthrow his
+authority; whom, the wiser a man is, the more just cause he shall
+find to have in admiration; especially since he attributeth unto
+poesy more than myself do, namely, to be a very inspiring of a
+divine force, far above man's wit, as in the fore-named dialogue is
+apparent.
+
+Of the other side, who would show the honours have been by the best
+sort of judgments granted them, a whole sea of examples would
+present themselves; Alexanders, Caesars, Scipios, all favourers of
+poets; Laelius, called the Roman Socrates, himself a poet; so as
+part of Heautontimeroumenos, in Terence, was supposed to be made by
+him.  And even the Greek Socrates, whom Apollo confirmed to be the
+only wise man, is said to have spent part of his old time in putting
+AEsop's Fables into verse; and, therefore, full evil should it
+become his scholar Plato to put such words in his master's mouth
+against poets. But what needs more?  Aristotle writes the "Art of
+Poesy;" and why, if it should not be written?  Plutarch teacheth the
+use to be gathered of them; and how, if they should not be read?
+And who reads Plutarch's either history or philosophy, shall find he
+trimmeth both their garments with guards {73} of poesy.
+
+But I list not to defend poesy with the help of his underling
+historiographer.  Let it suffice to have showed it is a fit soil for
+praise to dwell upon; and what dispraise may be set upon it is
+either easily overcome, or transformed into just commendation.  So
+that since the excellences of it may be so easily and so justly
+confirmed, and the low creeping objections so soon trodden down
+{74}; it not being an art of lies, but of true doctrine; not of
+effeminateness, but of notable stirring of courage; not of abusing
+man's wit, but of strengthening man's wit; not banished, but
+honoured by Plato; let us rather plant more laurels for to ingarland
+the poets' heads (which honour of being laureate, as besides them
+only triumphant captains were, is a sufficient authority to show the
+price they ought to be held in) than suffer the ill-favoured breath
+of such wrong speakers once to blow upon the clear springs of poesy.
+
+But {75} since I have run so long a career in this matter, methinks,
+before I give my pen a full stop, it shall be but a little more lost
+time to inquire, why England, the mother of excellent minds, should
+be grown so hard a step-mother to poets, who certainly in wit ought
+to pass all others, since all only proceeds from their wit, being,
+indeed, makers of themselves, not takers of others.  How can I but
+exclaim,
+
+
+"Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso?" {76}
+
+
+Sweet poesy! that hath anciently had kings, emperors, senators,
+great captains, such as, besides a thousand others, David, Adrian,
+Sophocles, Germanicus, not only to favour poets, but to be poets;
+and of our nearer times can present for her patrons, a Robert, King
+of Sicily; the great King Francis of France; King James of Scotland;
+such cardinals as Bembus and Bibiena; such famous preachers and
+teachers as Beza and Melancthon; so learned philosophers as
+Fracastorius and Scaliger; so great orators as Pontanus and Muretus;
+so piercing wits as George Buchanan; so grave councillors as,
+besides many, but before all, that Hospital {77} of France, than
+whom, I think, that realm never brought forth a more accomplished
+judgment more firmly builded upon virtue; I say these, with numbers
+of others, not only to read others' poesies, but to poetise for
+others' reading:  that poesy, thus embraced in all other places,
+should only find in our time a hard welcome in England, I think the
+very earth laments it, and therefore decks our soil with fewer
+laurels than it was accustomed.  For heretofore poets have in
+England also flourished; and, which is to be noted, even in those
+times when the trumpet of Mars did sound loudest.  And now that an
+over-faint quietness should seem to strew the house for poets, they
+are almost in as good reputation as the mountebanks at Venice.
+Truly, even that, as of the one side it giveth great praise to
+poesy, which, like Venus (but to better purpose), had rather be
+troubled in the net with Mars, than enjoy the homely quiet of
+Vulcan; so serveth it for a piece of a reason why they are less
+grateful to idle England, which now can scarce endure the pain of a
+pen.  Upon this necessarily followeth that base men with servile
+wits undertake it, who think it enough if they can be rewarded of
+the printer; and so as Epaminondas is said, with the honour of his
+virtue, to have made an office by his exercising it, which before
+was contemptible, to become highly respected; so these men, no more
+but setting their names to it, by their own disgracefulness,
+disgrace the most graceful poesy.  For now, as if all the Muses were
+got with child, to bring forth bastard poets, without any
+commission, they do post over the banks of Helicon, until they make
+their readers more weary than post-horses; while, in the meantime,
+they,
+
+
+"Queis meliore luto finxit praecordia Titan," {78}
+
+
+are better content to suppress the outflowings of their wit, than by
+publishing them to be accounted knights of the same order.
+
+But I that, before ever I durst aspire unto the dignity, am admitted
+into the company of the paper-blurrers, do find the very true cause
+of our wanting estimation is want of desert, taking upon us to be
+poets in despite of Pallas.  Now, wherein we want desert, were a
+thankworthy labour to express.  But if I knew, I should have mended
+myself; but as I never desired the title so have I neglected the
+means to come by it; only, overmastered by some thoughts, I yielded
+an inky tribute unto them.  Marry, they that delight in poesy
+itself, should seek to know what they do, and how they do,
+especially look themselves in an unflattering glass of reason, if
+they be inclinable unto it.
+
+For poesy must not be drawn by the ears, it must be gently led, or
+rather it must lead; which was partly the cause that made the
+ancient learned affirm it was a divine, and no human skill, since
+all other knowledges lie ready for any that have strength of wit; a
+poet no industry can make, if his own genius be not carried into it.
+And therefore is an old proverb, "Orator fit, poeta nascitur." {79}
+Yet confess I always, that as the fertilest ground must be manured,
+so must the highest flying wit have a Daedalus to guide him.  That
+Daedalus, they say, both in this and in other, hath three wings to
+bear itself up into the air of due commendation; that is art,
+imitation, and exercise.  But these, neither artificial rules, nor
+imitative patterns, we much cumber ourselves withal.  Exercise,
+indeed, we do, but that very forebackwardly; for where we should
+exercise to know, we exercise as having known; and so is our brain
+delivered of much matter which never was begotten by knowledge.  For
+there being two principal parts, matter to be expressed by words,
+and words to express the matter, in neither we use art or imitation
+rightly.  Our matter is "quodlibet," {80} indeed, although wrongly,
+performing Ovid's verse,
+
+
+"Quicquid conabor dicere, versus erit;" {81}
+
+
+never marshalling it into any assured rank, that almost the readers
+cannot tell where to find themselves.
+
+Chaucer, undoubtedly, did excellently in his Troilus and Cressida;
+of whom, truly, I know not whether to marvel more, either that he in
+that misty time could see so clearly, or that we in this clear age
+go so stumblingly after him.  Yet had he great wants, fit to be
+forgiven in so reverend antiquity.  I account the Mirror of
+Magistrates meetly furnished of beautiful parts.  And in the Earl of
+Surrey's Lyrics, many things tasting of a noble birth, and worthy of
+a noble mind.  The "Shepherds' Kalendar" hath much poesy in his
+eclogues, indeed, worthy the reading, if I be not deceived.  That
+same framing of his {82} style to an old rustic language, I dare not
+allow; since neither Theocritus in Greek, Virgil in Latin, nor
+Sannazaro in Italian, did affect it.  Besides these, I do not
+remember to have seen but few (to speak boldly) printed that have
+poetical sinews in them.  For proof whereof, let but most of the
+verses be put in prose, and then ask the meaning, and it will be
+found that one verse did but beget another, without ordering at the
+first what should be at the last; which becomes a confused mass of
+words, with a tinkling sound of rhyme, barely accompanied with
+reason.
+
+Our {83} tragedies and comedies, not without cause, are cried out
+against, observing rules neither of honest civility nor skilful
+poetry.  Excepting Gorboduc (again I say of those that I have seen),
+which notwithstanding, as it is full of stately speeches, and well-
+sounding phrases, climbing to the height of Seneca his style, and as
+full of notable morality, which it does most delightfully teach, and
+so obtain the very end of poesy; yet, in truth, it is very
+defectuous in the circumstances, which grieves me, because it might
+not remain as an exact model of all tragedies.  For it is faulty
+both in place and time, the two necessary companions of all corporal
+actions.  For where the stage should always represent but one place;
+and the uttermost time presupposed in it should be, both by
+Aristotle's precept, and common reason, but one day; there is both
+many days and many places inartificially imagined.
+
+But if it be so in Gorboduc, how much more in all the rest? where
+you shall have Asia of the one side, and Afric of the other, and so
+many other under kingdoms, that the player, when he comes in, must
+ever begin with telling where he is, {84} or else the tale will not
+be conceived.  Now shall you have three ladies walk to gather
+flowers, and then we must believe the stage to be a garden.  By and
+by, we hear news of shipwreck in the same place, then we are to
+blame if we accept it not for a rock.  Upon the back of that comes
+out a hideous monster with fire and smoke, and then the miserable
+beholders are bound to take it for a cave; while, in the meantime,
+two armies fly in, represented with four swords and bucklers, and
+then, what hard heart will not receive it for a pitched field?
+
+Now of time they are much more liberal; for ordinary it is, that two
+young princes fall in love; after many traverses she is got with
+child; delivered of a fair boy; he is lost, groweth a man, falleth
+in love, and is ready to get another child; and all this in two
+hours' space; which, how absurd it is in sense, even sense may
+imagine; and art hath taught and all ancient examples justified, and
+at this day the ordinary players in Italy will not err in.  Yet will
+some bring in an example of the Eunuch in Terence, that containeth
+matter of two days, yet far short of twenty years.  True it is, and
+so was it to be played in two days, and so fitted to the time it set
+forth.  And though Plautus have in one place done amiss, let us hit
+it with him, and not miss with him.  But they will say, How then
+shall we set forth a story which contains both many places and many
+times?  And do they not know, that a tragedy is tied to the laws of
+poesy, and not of history; not bound to follow the story, but having
+liberty either to feign a quite new matter, or to frame the history
+to the most tragical convenience?  Again, many things may be told,
+which cannot be showed:  if they know the difference betwixt
+reporting and representing.  As for example, I may speak, though I
+am here, of Peru, and in speech digress from that to the description
+of Calicut; but in action I cannot represent it without Pacolet's
+horse.  And so was the manner the ancients took by some "Nuntius,"
+{85} to recount things done in former time, or other place.
+
+Lastly, if they will represent an history, they must not, as Horace
+saith, begin "ab ovo," {86} but they must come to the principal
+point of that one action which they will represent.  By example this
+will be best expressed; I have a story of young Polydorus,
+delivered, for safety's sake, with great riches, by his father
+Priamus to Polymnestor, King of Thrace, in the Trojan war time.  He,
+after some years, hearing of the overthrow of Priamus, for to make
+the treasure his own, murdereth the child; the body of the child is
+taken up; Hecuba, she, the same day, findeth a sleight to be
+revenged most cruelly of the tyrant.  Where, now, would one of our
+tragedy-writers begin, but with the delivery of the child?  Then
+should he sail over into Thrace, and so spend I know not how many
+years, and travel numbers of places.  But where doth Euripides?
+Even with the finding of the body; leaving the rest to be told by
+the spirit of Polydorus.  This needs no farther to be enlarged; the
+dullest wit may conceive it.
+
+But, besides these gross absurdities, how all their plays be neither
+right tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and clowns, not
+because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in the clown by head
+and shoulders to play a part in majestical matters, with neither
+decency nor discretion; so as neither the admiration and
+commiseration, nor the right sportfulness, is by their mongrel
+tragi-comedy obtained.  I know Apuleius did somewhat so, but that is
+a thing recounted with space of time, not represented in one moment:
+and I know the ancients have one or two examples of tragi-comedies
+as Plautus hath Amphytrio.  But, if we mark them well, we shall
+find, that they never, or very daintily, match horn-pipes and
+funerals.  So falleth it out, that having indeed no right comedy in
+that comical part of our tragedy, we have nothing but scurrility,
+unworthy of any chaste ears; or some extreme show of doltishness,
+indeed fit to lift up a loud laughter, and nothing else; where the
+whole tract of a comedy should be full of delight; as the tragedy
+should be still maintained in a well-raised admiration.
+
+But our comedians think there is no delight without laughter, which
+is very wrong; for though laughter may come with delight, yet cometh
+it not of delight, as though delight should be the cause of
+laughter; but well may one thing breed both together.  Nay, in
+themselves, they have, as it were, a kind of contrariety.  For
+delight we scarcely do, but in things that have a conveniency to
+ourselves, or to the general nature.  Laughter almost ever cometh of
+things most disproportioned to ourselves and nature:  delight hath a
+joy in it either permanent or present; laughter hath only a scornful
+tickling.  For example:  we are ravished with delight to see a fair
+woman, and yet are far from being moved to laughter; we laugh at
+deformed creatures, wherein certainly we cannot delight; we delight
+in good chances; we laugh at mischances; we delight to hear the
+happiness of our friends and country, at which he were worthy to be
+laughed at that would laugh:  we shall, contrarily, sometimes laugh
+to find a matter quite mistaken, and go down the hill against the
+bias, {87} in the mouth of some such men, as for the respect of
+them, one shall be heartily sorrow he cannot choose but laugh, and
+so is rather pained than delighted with laughter.  Yet deny I not,
+but that they may go well together; for, as in Alexander's picture
+well set out, we delight without laughter, and in twenty mad antics
+we laugh without delight:  so in Hercules, painted with his great
+beard and furious countenance, in a woman's attire, spinning at
+Omphale's commandment, it breeds both delight and laughter; for the
+representing of so strange a power in love procures delight, and the
+scornfulness of the action stirreth laughter.
+
+But I speak to this purpose, that all the end of the comical part be
+not upon such scornful matters as stir laughter only, but mix with
+it that delightful teaching which is the end of poesy.  And the
+great fault, even in that point of laughter, and forbidden plainly
+by Aristotle, is, that they stir laughter in sinful things, which
+are rather execrable than ridiculous; or in miserable, which are
+rather to be pitied than scorned.  For what is it to make folks gape
+at a wretched beggar, and a beggarly clown; or against the law of
+hospitality, to jest at strangers, because they speak not English so
+well as we do? what do we learn, since it is certain,
+
+
+"Nil habet infelix pauperatas durius in se,
+Quam qnod ridiculos, homines facit." {88}
+
+
+But rather a busy loving courtier, and a heartless threatening
+Thraso; a self-wise seeming school-master; a wry-transformed
+traveller:  these, if we saw walk in stage names, which we play
+naturally, therein were delightful laughter, and teaching
+delightfulness:  as in the other, the tragedies of Buchanan {89} do
+justly bring forth a divine admiration.
+
+But I have lavished out too many words of this play matter; I do it,
+because, as they are excelling parts of poesy, so is there none so
+much used in England, and none can be more pitifully abused; which,
+like an unmannerly daughter, showing a bad education, causeth her
+mother Poesy's honesty to be called in question.
+
+Other {90} sorts of poetry, almost, have we none, but that lyrical
+kind of songs and sonnets, which, if the Lord gave us so good minds,
+how well it might be employed, and with how heavenly fruits, both
+private and public, in singing the praises of the immortal beauty,
+the immortal goodness of that God, who giveth us hands to write, and
+wits to conceive; of which we might well want words, but never
+matter; of which we could turn our eyes to nothing, but we should
+ever have new budding occasions.
+
+But, truly, many of such writings as come under the banner of
+unresistible love, if I were a mistress, would never persuade me
+they were in love; so coldly they apply fiery speeches, as men that
+had rather read lover's writings, and so caught up certain swelling
+phrases, which hang together like a man that once told me, "the wind
+was at north-west and by south," because he would be sure to name
+winds enough; than that, in truth, they feel those passions, which
+easily, as I think, may be bewrayed by the same forcibleness, or
+"energia" (as the Greeks call it), of the writer.  But let this be a
+sufficient, though short note, that we miss the right use of the
+material point of poesy.
+
+Now {91} for the outside of it, which is words, or (as I may term
+it) diction, it is even well worse; so is that honey-flowing matron
+eloquence, apparelled, or rather disguised, in a courtesan-like
+painted affectation.  One time with so far-fetched words, that many
+seem monsters, but most seem strangers to any poor Englishman:
+another time with coursing of a letter, as if they were bound to
+follow the method of a dictionary:  another time with figures and
+flowers, extremely winter-starved.
+
+But I would this fault were only peculiar to versifiers, and had not
+as large possession among prose printers:  and, which is to be
+marvelled, among many scholars, and, which is to be pitied, among
+some preachers.  Truly, I could wish (if at least I might be so bold
+to wish, in a thing beyond the reach of my capacity) the diligent
+imitators of Tully and Demosthenes, most worthy to be imitated, did
+not so much keep Nizolian paper-books {92} of their figures and
+phrases, as by attentive translation, as it were, devour them whole,
+and make them wholly theirs.  For now they cast sugar and spice upon
+every dish that is served at the table:  like those Indians, not
+content to wear ear-rings at the fit and natural place of the ears,
+but they will thrust jewels through their nose and lips, because
+they will be sure to be fine.
+
+Tully, when he was to drive out Catiline, as it were with a
+thunderbolt of eloquence, often useth the figure of repetition, as
+"vivit et vincit, imo in senatum venit, imo in senatum venit," &c.
+{93}  Indeed, inflamed with a well-grounded rage, he would have his
+words, as it were, double out of his mouth; and so do that
+artificially which we see men in choler do naturally.  And we,
+having noted the grace of those words, hale them in sometimes to a
+familiar epistle, when it were too much choler to be choleric.
+
+How well, store of "similiter cadences" doth sound with the gravity
+of the pulpit, I would but invoke Demosthenes' soul to tell, who
+with a rare daintiness useth them.  Truly, they have made me think
+of the sophister, that with too much subtlety would prove two eggs
+three, and though he may be counted a sophister, had none for his
+labour.  So these men bringing in such a kind of eloquence, well may
+they obtain an opinion of a seeming fineness, but persuade few,
+which should be the end of their fineness.
+
+Now for similitudes in certain printed discourses, I think all
+herbalists, all stories of beasts, fowls, and fishes are rifled up,
+that they may come in multitudes to wait upon any of our conceits,
+which certainly is as absurd a surfeit to the ears as is possible.
+For the force of a similitude not being to prove anything to a
+contrary disputer, but only to explain to a willing hearer:  when
+that is done, the rest is a most tedious prattling, rather
+overswaying the memory from the purpose whereto they were applied,
+than any whit informing the judgment, already either satisfied, or
+by similitudes not to be satisfied.
+
+For my part, I do not doubt, when Antonius and Crassus, the great
+forefathers of Cicero in eloquence; the one (as Cicero testifieth of
+them) pretended not to know art, the other not to set by it, because
+with a plain sensibleness they might win credit of popular ears,
+which credit is the nearest step to persuasion (which persuasion is
+the chief mark of oratory); I do not doubt, I say, but that they
+used these knacks very sparingly; which who doth generally use, any
+man may see, doth dance to his own music; and so to he noted by the
+audience, more careful to speak curiously than truly.  Undoubtedly
+(at least to my opinion undoubtedly) I have found in divers small-
+learned courtiers a more sound style than in some professors of
+learning; of which I can guess no other cause, but that the courtier
+following that which by practice he findeth fittest to nature,
+therein (though he know it not) doth according to art, though not by
+art:  where the other, using art to show art, and not hide art (as
+in these cases he should do), flieth from nature, and indeed abuseth
+art.
+
+But what! methinks I deserve to be pounded {94} for straying from
+poetry to oratory:  but both have such an affinity in the wordish
+considerations, that I think this digression will make my meaning
+receive the fuller understanding:  which is not to take upon me to
+teach poets how they should do, but only finding myself sick among
+the rest, to allow sonic one or two spots of the common infection
+grown among the most part of writers; that, acknowledging ourselves
+somewhat awry, we may bend to the right use both of matter and
+manner:  whereto our language giveth us great occasion, being,
+indeed, capable of any excellent exercising of it. {95}  I know some
+will say, it is a mingled language:  and why not so much the better,
+taking the best of both the other?  Another will say, it wanteth
+grammar.  Nay, truly, it hath that praise, that it wants not
+grammar; for grammar it might have, but needs it not; being so easy
+in itself, and so void of those cumbersome differences of cases,
+genders, moods, and tenses; which, I think, was a piece of the tower
+of Babylon's curse, that a man should be put to school to learn his
+mother tongue.  But for the uttering sweetly and properly the
+conceit of the mind, which is the end of speech, that hath it
+equally with any other tongue in the world, and is particularly
+happy in compositions of two or three words together, near the
+Greek, far beyond the Latin; which is one of the greatest beauties
+can be in a language.
+
+Now, {96} of versifying there are two sorts, the one ancient, the
+other modern; the ancient marked the quantity of each syllable, and
+according to that framed his verse; the modern, observing only
+number, with some regard of the accent, the chief life of it
+standeth in that like sounding of the words, which we call rhyme.
+Whether of these be the more excellent, would bear many speeches;
+the ancient, no doubt more fit for music, both words and time
+observing quantity; and more fit lively to express divers passions,
+by the low or lofty sound of the well-weighed syllable.  The latter,
+likewise, with his rhyme striketh a certain music to the ear; and,
+in fine, since it doth delight, though by another way, it obtaineth
+the same purpose; there being in either, sweetness, and wanting in
+neither, majesty.  Truly the English, before any vulgar language I
+know, is fit for both sorts; for, for the ancient, the Italian is so
+full of vowels, that it must ever be cumbered with elisions.  The
+Dutch so, of the other side, with consonants, that they cannot yield
+the sweet sliding fit for a verse.  The French, in his whole
+language, hath not one word that hath his accent in the last
+syllable, saving two, called antepenultima; and little more, hath
+the Spanish, and therefore very gracelessly may they use dactiles.
+The English is subject to none of these defects.
+
+Now for rhyme, though we do not observe quantity, we observe the
+accent very precisely, which other languages either cannot do, or
+will not do so absolutely.  That "caesura," or breathing-place, in
+the midst of the verse, neither Italian nor Spanish have, the French
+and we never almost fail of.  Lastly, even the very rhyme itself the
+Italian cannot put in the last syllable, by the French named the
+masculine rhyme, but still in the next to the last, which the French
+call the female; or the next before that, which the Italian calls
+"sdrucciola:" the example of the former is, "buono," "suono;" of the
+sdrucciola is, "femina," "semina."  The French, of the other side,
+hath both the male, as "bon," "son," and the female, as "plaise,"
+"taise;" but the "sdrucciola" he hath not; where the English hath
+all three, as "due," "true," "father," "rather," "motion," "potion;"
+with much more which might be said, but that already I find the
+trifling of this discourse is much too much enlarged.
+
+So {97} that since the ever praiseworthy poesy is full of virtue,
+breeding delightfulness, and void of no gift that ought to be in the
+noble name of learning; since the blames laid against it are either
+false or feeble; since the cause why it is not esteemed in England
+is the fault of poet-apes, not poets; since, lastly, our tongue is
+most fit to honour poesy, and to be honoured by poesy; I conjure you
+all that have had the evil luck to read this ink-wasting toy of
+mine, even in the name of the Nine Muses, no more to scorn the
+sacred mysteries of poesy; no more to laugh at the name of poets, as
+though they were next inheritors to fools; no more to jest at the
+reverend title of "a rhymer;" but to believe, with Aristotle, that
+they were the ancient treasurers of the Grecian's divinity; to
+believe, with Bembus, that they were the first bringers in of all
+civility; to believe, with Scaliger, that no philosopher's precepts
+can sooner make you an honest man, than the reading of Virgil; to
+believe, with Clauserus, the translator of Cornutus, that it pleased
+the heavenly deity by Hesiod and Homer, under the veil of fables, to
+give us all knowledge, logic, rhetoric, philosophy natural and
+moral, and "quid non?" to believe, with me, that there are many
+mysteries contained in poetry, which of purpose were written darkly,
+lest by profane wits it should be abused; to believe, with Landin,
+that they are so beloved of the gods that whatsoever they write
+proceeds of a divine fury.  Lastly, to believe themselves, when they
+tell you they will make you immortal by their verses.
+
+Thus doing, your names shall flourish in the printers' shops:  thus
+doing, you shall be of kin to many a poetical preface:  thus doing,
+you shall be most fair, most rich, most wise, most all:  you shall
+dwell upon superlatives:  thus doing, though you be "Libertino patre
+natus," you shall suddenly grow "Herculea proles,"
+
+
+"Si quid mea Carmina possunt:"
+
+
+thus doing, your soul shall be placed with Dante's Beatrix, or
+Virgil's Anchisis.
+
+But if (fie of such a but!) you be born so near the dull-making
+cataract of Nilus, that you cannot hear the planet-like music of
+poetry; if you have so earth-creeping a mind, that it cannot lift
+itself up to look to the sky of poetry, or rather, by a certain
+rustical disdain, will become such a Mome, as to be a Momus of
+poetry; then, though I will not wish unto you the ass's ears of
+Midas, nor to be driven by a poet's verses, as Bubonax was, to hang
+himself; nor to be rhymed to death, as is said to be done in
+Ireland; yet thus much curse I must send you in the behalf of all
+poets; that while you live, you live in love, and never get favour,
+for lacking skill of a sonnet; and when you die, your memory die
+from the earth for want of an epitaph.
+
+
+
+
+POEMS
+
+
+
+
+POEM:  TWO PASTORALS
+
+
+
+Made by Sir Philip Sidney, upon his meeting with his two worthy
+friends and fellow poets, Sir Edward Dyer and M. Fulke Greville.
+
+Join mates in mirth to me,
+Grant pleasure to our meeting;
+Let Pan, our good god, see
+How grateful is our greeting.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+Ye hymns and singing skill
+Of god Apollo's giving,
+Be pressed our reeds to fill
+With sound of music living.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+Sweet Orpheus' harp, whose sound
+The stedfast mountains moved,
+Let there thy skill abound,
+To join sweet friends beloved.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+My two and I be met,
+A happy blessed trinity,
+As three more jointly set
+In firmest band of unity.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+Welcome my two to me,
+The number best beloved,
+Within my heart you be
+In friendship unremoved.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+Give leave your flocks to range,
+Let us the while be playing;
+Within the elmy grange,
+Your flocks will not be straying.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+Cause all the mirth you can,
+Since I am now come hither,
+Who never joy, but when
+I am with you together.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+Like lovers do their love,
+So joy I in you seeing:
+Let nothing me remove
+From always with you being.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+And as the turtle dove
+To mate with whom he liveth,
+Such comfort fervent love
+Of you to my heart giveth.
+Join hearts and hands, so let it be,
+Make but one mind in bodies three.
+
+Now joined be our hands,
+Let them be ne'er asunder,
+But link'd in binding bands
+By metamorphosed wonder.
+So should our severed bodies three
+As one for ever joined be.
+
+
+
+POEM:  DISPRAISE OF A COURTLY LIFE
+
+
+
+Walking in bright Phoebus' blaze,
+Where with heat oppressed I was,
+I got to a shady wood,
+Where green leaves did newly bud;
+And of grass was plenty dwelling,
+Decked with pied flowers sweetly smelling.
+
+In this wood a man I met,
+On lamenting wholly set;
+Ruing change of wonted state,
+Whence he was transformed late,
+Once to shepherds' God retaining,
+Now in servile court remaining.
+
+There he wand'ring malecontent,
+Up and down perplexed went,
+Daring not to tell to me,
+Spake unto a senseless tree,
+One among the rest electing,
+These same words, or this affecting:
+
+"My old mates I grieve to see
+Void of me in field to be,
+Where we once our lovely sheep
+Lovingly like friends did keep;
+Oft each other's friendship proving,
+Never striving, but in loving.
+
+"But may love abiding be
+In poor shepherds' base degree?
+It belongs to such alone
+To whom art of love is known:
+Seely shepherds are not witting
+What in art of love is fitting.
+
+"Nay, what need the art to those
+To whom we our love disclose?
+It is to be used then,
+When we do but flatter men:
+Friendship true, in heart assured,
+Is by Nature's gifts procured.
+
+"Therefore shepherds, wanting skill,
+Can Love's duties best fulfil;
+Since they know not how to feign,
+Nor with love to cloak disdain,
+Like the wiser sort, whose learning
+Hides their inward will of harming.
+
+"Well was I, while under shade
+Oaten reeds me music made,
+Striving with my mates in song;
+Mixing mirth our songs among.
+Greater was the shepherd's treasure
+Than this false, fine, courtly pleasure.
+
+"Where how many creatures be,
+So many puffed in mind I see;
+Like to Juno's birds of pride,
+Scarce each other can abide:
+Friends like to black swans appearing,
+Sooner these than those in hearing.
+
+"Therefore, Pan, if thou may'st be
+Made to listen unto me,
+Grant, I say, if seely man
+May make treaty to god Pan,
+That I, without thy denying,
+May be still to thee relying.
+
+"Only for my two loves' sake,
+In whose love I pleasure take;
+Only two do me delight
+With their ever-pleasing sight;
+Of all men to thee retaining,
+Grant me with those two remaining.
+
+"So shall I to thee always
+With my reeds sound mighty praise:
+And first lamb that shall befall,
+Yearly deck thine altar shall,
+If it please thee to be reflected,
+And I from thee not rejected."
+
+So I left him in that place,
+Taking pity on his case;
+Learning this among the rest,
+That the mean estate is best;
+Better filled with contenting,
+Void of wishing and repenting.
+
+
+
+POEM:  DIRGE
+
+
+
+Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread,
+For Love is dead:
+All Love is dead, infected
+With plague of deep disdain:
+Worth, as nought worth, rejected,
+And faith fair scorn doth gain.
+From so ungrateful fancy;
+From such a female frenzy;
+From them that use men thus,
+Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+Weep, neighbours, weep, do you not hear it said
+That Love is dead:
+His death-bed, peacock's folly:
+His winding-sheet is shame;
+His will, false-seeming holy,
+His sole executor, blame.
+From so ungrateful fancy;
+From such a female frenzy;
+From them that use men thus,
+Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read,
+For Love is dead:
+Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth
+My mistress' marble heart;
+Which epitaph containeth,
+"Her eyes were once his dart."
+From so ungrateful fancy;
+From such a female frenzy;
+From them that use men thus,
+Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+Alas! I lie:  rage hath this error bred;
+Love is not dead,
+Love is not dead, but sleepeth
+In her unmatched mind:
+Where she his counsel keepeth
+Till due deserts she find.
+Therefore from so vile fancy,
+To call such wit a frenzy:
+Who Love can temper thus,
+Good Lord, deliver us.
+
+
+
+POEM:  STANZAS TO LOVE
+
+
+
+Ah, poor Love, why dost thou live,
+Thus to see thy service lost;
+If she will no comfort give,
+Make an end, yield up the ghost!
+
+That she may, at length, approve
+That she hardly long believed,
+That the heart will die for love
+That is not in time relieved.
+
+Oh, that ever I was born
+Service so to be refused;
+Faithful love to be forborn!
+Never love was so abused.
+
+But, sweet Love, be still awhile;
+She that hurt thee, Love, may heal thee;
+Sweet!  I see within her smile
+More than reason can reveal thee.
+
+For, though she be rich and fair,
+Yet she is both wise and kind,
+And, therefore, do thou not despair
+But thy faith may fancy find.
+
+Yet, although she be a queen
+That may such a snake despise,
+Yet, with silence all unseen,
+Run, and hide thee in her eyes:
+
+Where if she will let thee die,
+Yet at latest gasp of breath,
+Say that in a lady's eye
+Love both took his life and death.
+
+
+
+POEM:  A REMEDY FOR LOVE
+
+
+
+Philoclea and Pamela sweet,
+By chance, in one great house did meet;
+And meeting, did so join in heart,
+That th' one from th' other could not part:
+And who indeed (not made of stones)
+Would separate such lovely ones?
+The one is beautiful, and fair
+As orient pearls and rubies are;
+And sweet as, after gentle showers,
+The breath is of some thousand flowers:
+For due proportion, such an air
+Circles the other, and so fair,
+That it her brownness beautifies,
+And doth enchant the wisest eyes.
+
+Have you not seen, on some great day,
+Two goodly horses, white and bay,
+Which were so beauteous in their pride,
+You knew not which to choose or ride?
+Such are these two; you scarce can tell,
+Which is the daintier bonny belle;
+And they are such, as, by my troth,
+I had been sick with love of both,
+And might have sadly said, 'Good-night
+Discretion and good fortune quite;'
+But that young Cupid, my old master,
+Presented me a sovereign plaster:
+Mopsa! ev'n Mopsa! (precious pet)
+Whose lips of marble, teeth of jet,
+Are spells and charms of strong defence,
+To conjure down concupiscence.
+
+How oft have I been reft of sense,
+By gazing on their excellence,
+But meeting Mopsa in my way,
+And looking on her face of clay,
+Been healed, and cured, and made as sound,
+As though I ne'er had had a wound?
+And when in tables of my heart,
+Love wrought such things as bred my smart,
+Mopsa would come, with face of clout,
+And in an instant wipe them out.
+And when their faces made me sick,
+Mopsa would come, with face of brick,
+A little heated in the fire,
+And break the neck of my desire.
+Now from their face I turn mine eyes,
+But (cruel panthers!) they surprise
+Me with their breath, that incense sweet,
+Which only for the gods is meet,
+And jointly from them doth respire,
+Like both the Indies set on fire:
+
+Which so o'ercomes man's ravished sense,
+That souls, to follow it, fly hence.
+No such-like smell you if you range
+To th' Stocks, or Cornhill's square Exchange;
+There stood I still as any stock,
+Till Mopsa, with her puddle dock,
+Her compound or electuary,
+Made of old ling and young canary,
+Bloat-herring, cheese, and voided physic,
+Being somewhat troubled with a phthisic,
+Did cough, and fetch a sigh so deep,
+As did her very bottom sweep:
+Whereby to all she did impart,
+How love lay rankling at her heart:
+Which, when I smelt, desire was slain,
+And they breathed forth perfumes in vain.
+Their angel voice surprised me now;
+But Mopsa, her Too-whit, Too-whoo,
+Descending through her oboe nose,
+Did that distemper soon compose.
+
+And, therefore, O thou precious owl,
+The wise Minerva's only fowl;
+What, at thy shrine, shall I devise
+To offer up a sacrifice?
+Hang AEsculapius, and Apollo,
+And Ovid, with his precious shallow.
+Mopsa is love's best medicine,
+True water to a lover's wine.
+Nay, she's the yellow antidote,
+Both bred and born to cut Love's throat:
+Be but my second, and stand by,
+Mopsa, and I'll them both defy;
+And all else of those gallant races,
+Who wear infection in their faces;
+For thy face (that Medusa's shield!)
+Will bring me safe out of the field.
+
+
+
+POEM:  VERSES
+
+
+
+To the tune of the Spanish song, "Si tu senora no ducles de mi."
+
+O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+In whom all joys so well agree,
+Heart and soul do sing in me.
+This you hear is not my tongue,
+Which once said what I conceived;
+For it was of use bereaved,
+With a cruel answer stung.
+No! though tongue to roof be cleaved,
+Fearing lest he chastised be,
+Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+In whom all joys so well agree,
+Just accord all music makes;
+In thee just accord excelleth,
+Where each part in such peace dwelleth,
+One of other beauty takes.
+Since then truth to all minds telleth,
+That in thee lives harmony,
+Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+In whom all joys so well agree,
+They that heaven have known do say,
+That whoso that grace obtaineth,
+To see what fair sight there reigneth,
+Forced are to sing alway:
+So then since that heaven remaineth
+In thy face, I plainly see,
+Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+O fair! O sweet! when I do look on thee,
+In whom all joys so well agree,
+Sweet, think not I am at ease,
+For because my chief part singeth;
+This song from death's sorrow springeth:
+As to swan in last disease:
+For no dumbness, nor death, bringeth
+Stay to true love's melody:
+Heart and soul do sing in me.
+
+
+
+POEM:  TRANSLATION
+
+
+
+From Horace, Book II. Ode X., beginning "Rectius vives, Licini," &c.
+
+You better sure shall live, not evermore
+Trying high seas; nor, while sea's rage you flee,
+Pressing too much upon ill-harboured shore.
+
+The golden mean who loves, lives safely free
+From filth of foreworn house, and quiet lives,
+Released from court, where envy needs must be.
+
+The wind most oft the hugest pine tree grieves:
+The stately towers come down with greater fall:
+The highest hills the bolt of thunder cleaves.
+
+Evil haps do fill with hope, good haps appall
+With fear of change, the courage well prepared:
+Foul winters, as they come, away they shall.
+
+Though present times, and past, with evils be snared,
+They shall not last:  with cithern silent Muse,
+Apollo wakes, and bow hath sometime spared.
+
+In hard estate, with stout shows, valour use,
+The same man still, in whom wisdom prevails;
+In too full wind draw in thy swelling sails.
+
+
+
+POEM:  A SONNET BY SIR EDWARD DYER
+
+
+
+Prometheus, when first from heaven high
+He brought down fire, till then on earth not seen;
+Fond of delight, a satyr, standing by,
+Gave it a kiss, as it like sweet had been.
+
+Feeling forthwith the other burning power,
+Wood with the smart, with shouts and shrieking shrill,
+He sought his ease in river, field, and bower;
+But, for the time, his grief went with him still.
+
+So silly I, with that unwonted sight,
+In human shape an angel from above,
+Feeding mine eyes, th' impression there did light;
+That since I run and rest as pleaseth love:
+The difference is, the satyr's lips, my heart,
+He for a while, I evermore, have smart.
+
+
+
+POEM:  SIR PHILIP SIDNEY'S SONNET IN REPLY
+
+
+
+A satyr once did run away for dread,
+With sound of horn which he himself did blow:
+Fearing and feared, thus from himself he fled,
+Deeming strange evil in that he did not know.
+
+Such causeless fears when coward minds do take,
+It makes them fly that which they fain would have;
+As this poor beast, who did his rest forsake,
+Thinking not why, but how, himself to save.
+
+Ev'n thus might I, for doubts which I conceive
+Of mine own words, my own good hap betray;
+And thus might I, for fear of may be, leave
+The sweet pursuit of my desired prey.
+Better like I thy satyr, dearest Dyer,
+Who burnt his lips to kiss fair shining fire.
+
+
+
+POEM:  MUST LOVE LAMENT?
+
+
+
+My mistress lowers, and saith I do not love:
+I do protest, and seek with service due,
+In humble mind, a constant faith to prove;
+But for all this, I cannot her remove
+From deep vain thought that I may not be true.
+
+If oaths might serve, ev'n by the Stygian lake,
+Which poets say the gods themselves do fear,
+I never did my vowed word forsake:
+For why should I, whom free choice slave doth make,
+Else-what in face, than in my fancy bear?
+
+My Muse, therefore, for only thou canst tell,
+Tell me the cause of this my causeless woe?
+Tell, how ill thought disgraced my doing well?
+Tell, how my joys and hopes thus foully fell
+To so low ebb that wonted were to flow?
+
+O this it is, the knotted straw is found;
+In tender hearts, small things engender hate:
+A horse's worth laid waste the Trojan ground;
+A three-foot stool in Greece made trumpets sound;
+An ass's shade e'er now hath bred debate.
+
+If Greeks themselves were moved with so small cause,
+To twist those broils, which hardly would untwine:
+Should ladies fair be tied to such hard laws,
+As in their moods to take a ling'ring pause?
+I would it not, their metal is too fine.
+
+My hand doth not bear witness with my heart,
+She saith, because I make no woeful lays,
+To paint my living death and endless smart:
+And so, for one that felt god Cupid's dart,
+She thinks I lead and live too merry days.
+
+Are poets then the only lovers true,
+Whose hearts are set on measuring a verse?
+Who think themselves well blest, if they renew
+Some good old dump that Chaucer's mistress knew;
+And use but you for matters to rehearse.
+
+Then, good Apollo, do away thy bow:
+Take harp and sing in this our versing time,
+And in my brain some sacred humour flow,
+That all the earth my woes, sighs, tears may know;
+And see you not that I fall low to rhyme.
+
+As for my mirth, how could I but be glad,
+Whilst that methought I justly made my boast
+That only I the only mistress had?
+But now, if e'er my face with joy be clad,
+Think Hannibal did laugh when Carthage lost.
+
+Sweet lady, as for those whose sullen cheer,
+Compared to me, made me in lightness sound;
+Who, stoic-like, in cloudy hue appear;
+Who silence force to make their words more dear;
+Whose eyes seem chaste, because they look on ground:
+
+Believe them not, for physic true doth find,
+Choler adust is joyed in woman-kind.
+
+
+
+POEM:  A DIALOGUE BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS
+
+
+
+Uttered in a Pastoral Show at Wilton.
+
+WILL.  Dick, since we cannot dance, come, let a cheerful voice
+Show that we do not grudge at all when others do rejoice.
+
+DICK.  Ah Will, though I grudge not, I count it feeble glee,
+With sight made dim with daily tears another's sport to see.
+Whoever lambkins saw, yet lambkins love to play,
+To play when that their loved dams are stolen or gone astray?
+If this in them be true, as true in men think I,
+A lustless song forsooth thinks he that hath more lust to cry.
+
+WILL.  A time there is for all, my mother often says,
+When she, with skirts tucked very high, with girls at football plays
+When thou hast mind to weep, seek out some smoky room:
+Now let those lightsome sights we see thy darkness overcome.
+
+DICK.  What joy the joyful sun gives unto bleared eyes;
+That comfort in these sports you like, my mind his comfort tries.
+
+WILL.  What?  Is thy bagpipe broke, or are thy lambs miswent;
+Thy wallet or thy tar-box lost; or thy new raiment-rent?
+
+DICK.  I would it were but thus, for thus it were too well.
+
+WILL.  Thou see'st my ears do itch at it:  good Dick thy sorrow
+tell.
+
+DICK.  Hear then, and learn to sigh:  a mistress I do serve,
+Whose wages make me beg the more, who feeds me till I starve;
+Whose livery is such, as most I freeze apparelled most,
+And looks so near unto my cure, that I must needs be lost.
+
+WILL.  What?  These are riddles sure:  art thou then bound to her?
+
+DICK.  Bound as I neither power have, nor would have power, to stir.
+
+WILL.  Who bound thee?
+
+DICK.  Love, my lord.
+
+WILL.  What witnesses thereto?
+
+DICK.  Faith in myself, and Worth in her, which no proof can undo.
+
+WILL.  What seal?
+
+DICK.  My heart deep graven.
+
+WILL.  Who made the band so fast?
+
+DICK.  Wonder that, by two so black eyes the glitt'ring stars be
+past.
+
+WILL.  What keepeth safe thy band?
+
+DICK.  Remembrance is the chest
+Lock'd fast with knowing that she is of worldly things the best.
+
+WILL.  Thou late of wages plain'dst:  what wages may'sh thou have?
+
+DICK.  Her heavenly looks, which more and more do give me cause to
+crave.
+
+WILL.  If wages make you want, what food is that she gives?
+
+DICK.  Tear's drink, sorrow's meat, wherewith not I, but in me my
+death lives.
+
+WILL.  What living get you then?
+
+DICK.  Disdain; but just disdain;
+So have I cause myself to plain, but no cause to complain.
+
+WILL.  What care takes she for thee?
+
+DICK.  Her care is to prevent
+My freedom, with show of her beams, with virtue, my content.
+
+WILL.  God shield us from such dames!  If so our dames be sped,
+The shepherds will grow lean I trow, their sheep will be ill-fed.
+But Dick, my counsel mark:  run from the place of woo:
+The arrow being shot from far doth give the smaller blow.
+
+DICK.  Good Will, I cannot take thy good advice; before
+That foxes leave to steal, they find they die therefore.
+
+WILL.  Then, Dick, let us go hence lest we great folks annoy:
+For nothing can more tedious be than plaint in time of joy.
+
+DICK.  Oh hence!  O cruel word! which even dogs do hate:
+But hence, even hence, I must needs go; such is my dogged fate.
+
+
+
+POEM:  SONG
+
+
+
+To the tune of "Wilhelmus van Nassau," &c.
+
+Who hath his fancy pleased,
+With fruits of happy sight,
+Let here his eyes be raised
+On Nature's sweetest light;
+A light which doth dissever,
+And yet unite the eyes;
+A light which, dying, never
+Is cause the looker dies.
+
+She never dies, but lasteth
+In life of lover's heart;
+He ever dies that wasteth
+In love his chiefest part.
+Thus is her life still guarded,
+In never dying faith;
+Thus is his death rewarded,
+Since she lives in his death.
+
+Look then and die, the pleasure
+Doth answer well the pain;
+Small loss of mortal treasure,
+Who may immortal gain.
+Immortal be her graces,
+Immortal is her mind;
+They, fit for heavenly places,
+This heaven in it doth bind.
+
+But eyes these beauties see not,
+Nor sense that grace descries;
+Yet eyes deprived be not
+From sight of her fair eyes:
+Which, as of inward glory
+They are the outward seal,
+So may they live still sorry,
+Which die not in that weal.
+
+But who hath fancies pleased,
+With fruits of happy sight,
+Let here his eyes be raised
+On Nature's sweetest light.
+
+
+
+POEM:  THE SMOKES OF MELANCHOLY
+
+
+
+I.
+
+Who hath e'er felt the change of love,
+And known those pangs that losers prove,
+May paint my face without seeing me,
+And write the state how my fancies be,
+The loathsome buds grown on Sorrow's tree.
+
+But who by hearsay speaks, and hath not fully felt
+What kind of fires they be in which those spirits melt,
+Shall guess, and fail, what doth displease,
+Feeling my pulse, miss my disease.
+
+II.
+
+O no!  O no! trial only shows
+The bitter juice of forsaken woes;
+Where former bliss, present evils do stain;
+Nay, former bliss adds to present pain,
+While remembrance doth both states contain.
+Come, learners, then to me, the model of mishap,
+Ingulphed in despair, slid down from Fortune's lap;
+And, as you like my double lot,
+Tread in my steps, or follow not.
+
+III.
+
+For me, alas!  I am full resolved
+Those bands, alas! shall not be dissolved;
+Nor break my word, though reward come late;
+Nor fail my faith in my failing fate;
+Nor change in change, though change change my state:
+
+But always own myself, with eagle-eyed Truth, to fly
+Up to the sun, although the sun my wings do fry;
+For if those flames burn my desire,
+Yet shall I die in Phoenix' fire.
+
+
+
+POEM:  ODE
+
+
+
+When, to my deadly pleasure,
+When to my lively torment,
+Lady, mine eyes remained
+Joined, alas! to your beams.
+
+With violence of heavenly
+Beauty, tied to virtue;
+Reason abashed retired;
+Gladly my senses yielded.
+
+Gladly my senses yielding,
+Thus to betray my heart's fort,
+Left me devoid of all life.
+
+They to the beamy suns went,
+Where, by the death of all deaths,
+Find to what harm they hastened.
+
+Like to the silly Sylvan,
+Burned by the light he best liked,
+When with a fire he first met.
+
+Yet, yet, a life to their death,
+Lady you have reserved;
+Lady the life of all love.
+
+For though my sense be from me,
+And I be dead, who want sense,
+Yet do we both live in you.
+
+Turned anew, by your means,
+Unto the flower that aye turns,
+As you, alas! my sun bends.
+
+Thus do I fall to rise thus;
+Thus do I die to live thus;
+Changed to a change, I change not.
+
+Thus may I not be from you;
+Thus be my senses on you;
+Thus what I think is of you;
+Thus what I seek is in you;
+All what I am, it is you.
+
+
+
+POEM:  VERSES
+
+
+
+To the tune of a Neapolitan song, which beginneth, "No, no, no, no."
+
+No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
+Although with cruel fire,
+First thrown on my desire,
+She sacks my rendered sprite;
+For so fair a flame embraces
+All the places,
+Where that heat of all heats springeth,
+That it bringeth
+To my dying heart some pleasure,
+Since his treasure
+Burneth bright in fairest light.  No, no, no, no.
+
+No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
+Although with cruel fire,
+First thrown on my desire,
+She sacks my rendered sprite;
+Since our lives be not immortal,
+But to mortal
+Fetters tied, do wait the hour
+Of death's power,
+They have no cause to be sorry
+Who with glory
+End the way, where all men stay.  No, no, no, no.
+
+No, no, no, no, I cannot hate my foe,
+Although with cruel fire,
+First thrown on my desire,
+She sacks my rendered sprite;
+No man doubts, whom beauty killeth,
+Fair death feeleth,
+And in whom fair death proceedeth,
+Glory breedeth:
+So that I, in her beams dying,
+Glory trying,
+Though in pain, cannot complain.  No, no, no, no.
+
+
+
+POEM:  SONG
+
+
+
+To the tune of a Neapolitan Villanel.
+
+All my sense thy sweetness gained;
+Thy fair hair my heart enchained;
+My poor reason thy words moved,
+So that thee, like heaven, I loved.
+
+Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan:
+Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:
+While to my mind the outside stood,
+For messenger of inward good.
+
+Nor thy sweetness sour is deemed;
+Thy hair not worth a hair esteemed;
+Reason hath thy words removed,
+Finding that but words they proved.
+
+Fa, la, la, leridan, dan, dan, dan, deridan,
+Dan, dan, dan, deridan, deridan, dei:
+For no fair sign can credit win,
+If that the substance fail within.
+
+No more in thy sweetness glory,
+For thy knitting hair be sorry;
+Use thy words but to bewail thee
+That no more thy beams avail thee;
+Dan, dan,
+Dan, dan,
+Lay not thy colours more to view,
+Without the picture be found true.
+
+Woe to me, alas, she weepeth!
+Fool! in me what folly creepeth?
+Was I to blaspheme enraged,
+Where my soul I have engaged?
+Dan, dan,
+Dan, dan,
+And wretched I must yield to this;
+The fault I blame her chasteness is.
+
+Sweetness! sweetly pardon folly;
+Tie me, hair, your captive wholly:
+Words!  O words of heavenly knowledge!
+Know, my words their faults acknowledge;
+Dan, dan,
+Dan, dan,
+And all my life I will confess,
+The less I love, I live the less.
+
+
+
+POEM:  TRANSLATION
+
+
+
+From "La Diana de Monte-Mayor," in Spanish:  where Sireno, a
+shepherd, whose mistress Diana had utterly forsaken him, pulling out
+a little of her hair, wrapped about with green silk, to the hair he
+thus bewailed himself.
+
+What changes here, O hair,
+I see, since I saw you!
+How ill fits you this green to wear,
+For hope, the colour due!
+Indeed, I well did hope,
+Though hope were mixed with fear,
+No other shepherd should have scope
+Once to approach this hair.
+
+Ah hair! how many days
+My Dian made me show,
+With thousand pretty childish plays,
+If I ware you or no:
+Alas, how oft with tears, -
+O tears of guileful breast! -
+She seemed full of jealous fears,
+Whereat I did but jest.
+
+Tell me, O hair of gold,
+If I then faulty be,
+That trust those killing eyes I would,
+Since they did warrant me?
+Have you not seen her mood,
+What streams of tears she spent,
+'Till that I sware my faith so stood,
+As her words had it bent?
+
+Who hath such beauty seen
+In one that changeth so?
+Or where one's love so constant been,
+Who ever saw such woe?
+Ah, hair! are you not grieved
+To come from whence you be,
+Seeing how once you saw I lived,
+To see me as you see?
+
+On sandy bank of late,
+I saw this woman sit;
+Where, "Sooner die than change my state,"
+She with her finger writ:
+Thus my belief was staid,
+Behold Love's mighty hand
+On things were by a woman said,
+And written in the sand.
+
+
+The same Sireno in "Monte-Mayor," holding his mistress's glass
+before her, and looking upon her while she viewed herself, thus
+sang:-
+
+
+Of this high grace, with bliss conjoined,
+No farther debt on me is laid,
+Since that in self-same metal coined,
+Sweet lady, you remain well paid;
+
+For if my place give me great pleasure,
+Having before my nature's treasure,
+In face and eyes unmatched being,
+You have the same in my hands, seeing
+What in your face mine eyes do measure.
+
+Nor think the match unevenly made,
+That of those beams in you do tarry,
+The glass to you but gives a shade,
+To me mine eyes the true shape carry;
+For such a thought most highly prized,
+Which ever hath Love's yoke despised,
+Better than one captived perceiveth,
+Though he the lively form receiveth,
+The other sees it but disguised.
+
+
+
+POEM:  SONNETS
+
+
+
+The dart, the beams, the sting, so strong I prove,
+Which my chief part doth pass through, parch, and tie,
+That of the stroke, the heat, and knot of love,
+Wounded, inflamed, knit to the death, I die.
+
+Hardened and cold, far from affection's snare
+Was once my mind, my temper, and my life;
+While I that sight, desire, and vow forbare,
+Which to avoid, quench, lose, nought boasted strife.
+
+Yet will not I grief, ashes, thraldom change
+For others' ease, their fruit, or free estate;
+So brave a shot, dear fire, and beauty strange,
+Bid me pierce, burn, and bind, long time and late,
+And in my wounds, my flames, and bonds, I find
+A salve, fresh air, and bright contented mind.
+
+* * *
+
+Virtue, beauty, and speech, did strike, wound, charm,
+My heart, eyes, ears, with wonder, love, delight,
+First, second, last, did bind, enforce, and arm,
+His works, shows, suits, with wit, grace, and vows' might,
+
+Thus honour, liking, trust, much, far, and deep,
+Held, pierced, possessed, my judgment, sense, and will,
+Till wrongs, contempt, deceit, did grow, steal, creep,
+Bands, favour, faith, to break, defile, and kill,
+
+Then grief, unkindness, proof, took, kindled, taught,
+Well-grounded, noble, due, spite, rage, disdain:
+But ah, alas! in vain my mind, sight, thought,
+Doth him, his face, his words, leave, shun, refrain.
+For nothing, time, nor place, can loose, quench, ease
+Mine own embraced, sought, knot, fire, disease.
+
+
+
+POEM:  WOOING-STUFF
+
+
+
+Faint amorist, what, dost thou think
+To taste Love's honey, and not drink
+One dram of gall? or to devour
+A world of sweet, and taste no sour?
+Dost thou ever think to enter
+Th' Elysian fields, that dar'st not venture
+In Charon's barge? a lover's mind
+Must use to sail with every wind.
+He that loves and fears to try,
+Learns his mistress to deny.
+Doth she chide thee? 'tis to show it,
+That thy coldness makes her do it:
+Is she silent? is she mute?
+Silence fully grants thy suit:
+Doth she pout, and leave the room?
+Then she goes to bid thee come:
+Is she sick? why then be sure,
+She invites thee to the cure:
+Doth she cross thy suit with "No?"
+Tush, she loves to hear thee woo:
+Doth she call the faith of man
+In question?  Nay, she loves thee than;
+And if e'er she makes a blot,
+She's lost if that thou hit'st her not.
+He that after ten denials,
+Dares attempt no farther trials,
+Hath no warrant to acquire
+The dainties of his chaste desire.
+
+
+
+POEM:  SONNETS
+
+
+
+Since shunning pain, I ease can never find;
+Since bashful dread seeks where he knows me harmed;
+Since will is won, and stopped ears are charmed;
+Since force doth faint, and sight doth make me blind;
+Since loosing long, the faster still I bind;
+Since naked sense can conquer reason armed;
+Since heart, in chilling fear, with ice is warmed;
+In fine, since strife of thought but mars the mind,
+I yield, O Love, unto thy loathed yoke,
+Yet craving law of arms, whose rule doth teach,
+That, hardly used, who ever prison broke,
+In justice quit, of honour made no breach:
+Whereas, if I a grateful guardian have,
+Thou art my lord, and I thy vowed slave.
+
+When Love puffed up with rage of high disdain,
+Resolved to make me pattern of his might,
+Like foe, whose wits inclined to deadly spite,
+Would often kill, to breed more feeling pain;
+He would not, armed with beauty, only reign
+On those affects which easily yield to sight;
+But virtue sets so high, that reason's light,
+For all his strife can only bondage gain:
+So that I live to pay a mortal fee,
+Dead palsy-sick of all my chiefest parts,
+Like those whom dreams make ugly monsters see,
+And can cry help with naught but groans and starts:
+Longing to have, having no wit to wish,
+To starving minds such is god Cupid's dish.
+
+
+
+POEM:  SONG
+
+
+
+To the tune of "Non credo gia che piu infelice amante."
+
+The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth
+Unto her rested sense a perfect waking,
+While late bare earth, proud of new clothing, springeth,
+Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making;
+And mournfully bewailing,
+Her throat in tunes expresseth
+What grief her breast oppresseth,
+For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing.
+O Philomela fair!  O take some gladness,
+That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness:
+Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;
+Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.
+
+II.
+
+Alas! she hath no other cause of anguish,
+But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken,
+Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish,
+Full womanlike, complains her will was broken,
+But I, who daily craving,
+Cannot have to content me,
+Have more cause to lament me,
+Since wanting is more woe than too much having.
+O Philomela fair!  O take some gladness,
+That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness:
+Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth;
+Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth.
+
+
+
+POEM:  SONG
+
+
+
+To the tune of "Basciami vita mia."
+
+Sleep, baby mine, Desire's nurse, Beauty, singeth;
+Thy cries, O baby, set mine head on aching:
+The babe cries, "'Way, thy love doth keep me waking."
+
+Lully, lully, my babe, Hope cradle bringeth
+Unto my children alway good rest taking:
+The babe cries, "Way, thy love doth keep me waking."
+
+Since, baby mine, from me thy watching springeth,
+Sleep then a little, pap Content is making;
+The babe cries, "Nay, for that abide I waking."
+
+I.
+
+The scourge of life, and death's extreme disgrace;
+The smoke of hell, the monster called Pain:
+Long shamed to be accursed in every place,
+By them who of his rude resort complain;
+Like crafty wretch, by time and travel taught,
+His ugly evil in others' good to hide;
+Late harbours in her face, whom Nature wrought
+As treasure-house where her best gifts do bide;
+And so by privilege of sacred seat,
+A seat where beauty shines and virtue reigns,
+He hopes for some small praise, since she hath great,
+Within her beams wrapping his cruel stains.
+Ah, saucy Pain, let not thy terror last,
+More loving eyes she draws, more hate thou hast.
+
+II.
+
+Woe! woe to me, on me return the smart:
+My burning tongue hath bred my mistress pain?
+For oft in pain, to pain my painful heart,
+With her due praise did of my state complain.
+I praised her eyes, whom never chance doth move;
+Her breath, which makes a sour answer sweet;
+Her milken breasts, the nurse of child-like love;
+Her legs, O legs! her aye well-stepping feet:
+Pain heard her praise, and full of inward fire,
+(First sealing up my heart as prey of his)
+He flies to her, and, boldened with desire,
+Her face, this age's praise, the thief doth kiss.
+O Pain!  I now recant the praise I gave,
+And swear she is not worthy thee to have.
+
+III.
+
+Thou pain, the only guest of loathed Constraint;
+The child of Curse, man's weakness foster-child;
+Brother to Woe, and father of Complaint:
+Thou Pain, thou hated Pain, from heaven exiled,
+How hold'st thou her whose eyes constraint doth fear,
+Whom cursed do bless; whose weakness virtues arm;
+Who others' woes and plaints can chastely bear:
+In whose sweet heaven angels of high thoughts swarm?
+What courage strange hath caught thy caitiff heart?
+Fear'st not a face that oft whole hearts devours?
+Or art thou from above bid play this part,
+And so no help 'gainst envy of those powers?
+If thus, alas, yet while those parts have woe;
+So stay her tongue, that she no more say, "O."
+
+IV.
+
+And have I heard her say, "O cruel pain!"
+And doth she know what mould her beauty bears?
+Mourns she in truth, and thinks that others feign?
+Fears she to feel, and feels not others' fears?
+Or doth she think all pain the mind forbears?
+That heavy earth, not fiery spirits, may plain?
+That eyes weep worse than heart in bloody tears?
+That sense feels more than what doth sense contain?
+No, no, she is too wise, she knows her face
+Hath not such pain as it makes others have:
+She knows the sickness of that perfect place
+Hath yet such health, as it my life can save.
+But this, she thinks, our pain high cause excuseth,
+Where her, who should rule pain, false pain abuseth.
+
+* * *
+
+Like as the dove, which seeled up doth fly,
+Is neither freed, nor yet to service bound;
+But hopes to gain some help by mounting high,
+Till want of force do force her fall to ground:
+Right so my mind, caught by his guiding eye,
+And thence cast off where his sweet hurt he found,
+Hath neither leave to live, nor doom to die;
+Nor held in evil, nor suffered to be sound.
+But with his wings of fancies up he goes,
+To high conceits, whose fruits are oft but small;
+Till wounded, blind, and wearied spirit, lose
+Both force to fly, and knowledge where to fall:
+O happy dove, if she no bondage tried!
+More happy I, might I in bondage bide!
+
+* * *
+
+In wonted walks, since wonted fancies change,
+Some cause there is, which of strange cause doth rise:
+For in each thing whereto mine eye doth range,
+Part of my pain, me-seems, engraved lies.
+The rocks, which were of constant mind the mark,
+In climbing steep, now hard refusal show;
+The shading woods seem now my sun to dark,
+And stately hills disdain to look so low.
+The restful caves now restless visions give;
+In dales I see each way a hard ascent:
+Like late-mown meads, late cut from joy I live;
+Alas, sweet brooks do in my tears augment:
+Rocks, woods, hills, caves, dales, meads, brooks, answer me;
+Infected minds infect each thing they see.
+If I could think how these my thoughts to leave,
+Or thinking still, my thoughts might have good end;
+If rebel sense would reason's law receive;
+Or reason foiled, would not in vain contend:
+Then might I think what thoughts were best to think:
+Then might I wisely swim, or gladly sink.
+
+If either you would change your cruel heart,
+Or, cruel still, time did your beauties stain:
+If from my soul this love would once depart,
+Or for my love some love I might obtain;
+Then might I hope a change, or ease of mind,
+By your good help, or in myself, to find.
+
+But since my thoughts in thinking still are spent.
+With reason's strife, by senses overthrown;
+You fairer still, and still more cruel bent,
+I loving still a love that loveth none:
+I yield and strive, I kiss and curse the pain,
+Thought, reason, sense, time, You, and I, maintain.
+
+
+
+POEM:  A FAREWELL
+
+
+
+Oft have I mused, but now at length I find
+Why those that die, men say, they do depart:
+Depart:  a word so gentle to my mind,
+Weakly did seem to paint Death's ugly dart.
+
+But now the stars, with their strange course, do bind
+Me one to leave, with whom I leave my heart;
+I hear a cry of spirits faint and blind,
+That parting thus, my chiefest part I part.
+
+Part of my life, the loathed part to me,
+Lives to impart my weary clay some breath;
+But that good part wherein all comforts be,
+Now dead, doth show departure is a death:
+
+Yea, worse than death, death parts both woe and joy,
+From joy I part, still living in annoy.
+
+* * *
+
+Finding those beams, which I must ever love,
+To mar my mind, and with my hurt to please,
+I deemed it best, some absence for to prove,
+If farther place might further me to ease.
+
+My eyes thence drawn, where lived all their light,
+Blinded forthwith in dark despair did lie,
+Like to the mole, with want of guiding sight,
+Deep plunged in earth, deprived of the sky.
+
+In absence blind, and wearied with that woe,
+To greater woes, by presence, I return;
+Even as the fly, which to the flame doth go,
+Pleased with the light, that his small corse doth burn:
+
+Fair choice I have, either to live or die
+A blinded mole, or else a burned fly.
+
+
+
+POEM:  THE SEVEN WONDERS OF ENGLAND
+
+
+
+I.
+
+Near Wilton sweet, huge heaps of stones are found,
+But so confused, that neither any eye
+Can count them just, nor Reason reason try,
+What force brought them to so unlikely ground.
+
+To stranger weights my mind's waste soil is bound,
+Of passion-hills, reaching to Reason's sky,
+From Fancy's earth, passing all number's bound,
+Passing all guess, whence into me should fly
+So mazed a mass; or, if in me it grows,
+A simple soul should breed so mixed woes.
+
+II.
+
+The Bruertons have a lake, which, when the sun
+Approaching warms, not else, dead logs up sends
+From hideous depth; which tribute, when it ends,
+Sore sign it is the lord's last thread is spun.
+
+My lake is Sense, whose still streams never run
+But when my sun her shining twins there bends;
+Then from his depth with force in her begun,
+Long drowned hopes to watery eyes it lends;
+But when that fails my dead hopes up to take,
+Their master is fair warned his will to make.
+
+III.
+
+We have a fish, by strangers much admired,
+Which caught, to cruel search yields his chief part:
+With gall cut out, closed up again by art,
+Yet lives until his life be new required.
+
+A stranger fish myself, not yet expired,
+Tho', rapt with Beauty's hook, I did impart
+Myself unto th' anatomy desired,
+Instead of gall, leaving to her my heart:
+Yet live with thoughts closed up, 'till that she will,
+By conquest's right, instead of searching, kill.
+
+IV.
+
+Peak hath a cave, whose narrow entries find
+Large rooms within where drops distil amain:
+Till knit with cold, though there unknown remain,
+Deck that poor place with alabaster lined.
+
+Mine eyes the strait, the roomy cave, my mind;
+Whose cloudy thoughts let fall an inward rain
+Of sorrow's drops, till colder reason bind
+Their running fall into a constant vein
+Of truth, far more than alabaster pure,
+Which, though despised, yet still doth truth endure.
+
+V.
+
+A field there is, where, if a stake oe prest
+Deep in the earth, what hath in earth receipt,
+Is changed to stone in hardness, cold, and weight,
+The wood above doth soon consuming rest.
+
+The earth her ears; the stake is my request;
+Of which, how much may pierce to that sweet seat,
+To honour turned, doth dwell in honour's nest,
+Keeping that form, though void of wonted heat;
+But all the rest, which fear durst not apply,
+Failing themselves, with withered conscience die.
+
+VI.
+
+Of ships by shipwreck cast on Albion's coast,
+Which rotting on the rocks, their death to die:
+From wooden bones and blood of pitch doth fly
+A bird, which gets more life than ship had lost.
+
+My ship, Desire, with wind of Lust long tost,
+Brake on fair cliffs of constant Chastity;
+Where plagued for rash attempt, gives up his ghost;
+So deep in seas of virtue, beauties lie:
+But of this death flies up the purest love,
+Which seeming less, yet nobler life doth move.
+
+VII.
+
+These wonders England breeds; the last remains -
+A lady, in despite of Nature, chaste,
+On whom all love, in whom no love is placed,
+Where Fairness yields to Wisdom's shortest reins.
+
+A humble pride, a scorn that favour stains;
+A woman's mould, but like an angel graced;
+An angel's mind, but in a woman cased;
+A heaven on earth, or earth that heaven contains:
+Now thus this wonder to myself I frame;
+She is the cause that all the rest I am.
+
+* * *
+
+Thou blind man's mark; thou fool's self-chosen snare,
+Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought:
+Band of all evils; cradle of causeless care;
+Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought:
+
+Desire! Desire!  I have too dearly bought,
+With price of mangled mind, thy worthless ware;
+Too long, too long, asleep thou hast me brought
+Who shouldst my mind to higher things prepare;
+
+But yet in vain thou hast my ruin sought;
+In vain thou mad'st me to vain things aspire;
+In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire:
+For Virtue hath this better lesson taught,
+Within myself to seek my only hire,
+Desiring nought but how to kill Desire.
+
+
+
+POEM:  FROM EARTH TO HEAVEN
+
+
+
+Leave me, O love! which reachest but to dust;
+And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things:
+Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
+Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
+
+Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
+To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,
+Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light
+That doth both shine, and give us sight to see.
+
+O take fast hold! let that light be thy guide,
+In this small course which birth draws out to death,
+And think how evil becometh him to slide,
+Who seeketh heaven, and comes from heavenly breath.
+Then farewell, world, thy uttermost I see,
+Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.
+
+SPLENDIDIS LONGUM VALEDICO NUGIS
+
+
+
+Footnote:
+
+{1}  Edward Wotton, elder brother of Sir Henry Wotton.  He was
+knighted by Elizabeth in 1592, and made Comptroller of her
+Household.  Observe the playfulness in Sidney's opening and close of
+a treatise written throughout in plain, manly English without
+Euphuism, and strictly reasoned.
+
+{2}  Here the introduction ends, and the argument begins with its
+Part 1.  Poetry the first Light-giver.
+
+{3}  A fable from the "Hetamythium" of Laurentius Abstemius,
+Professor of Belles Lettres at Urbino, and Librarian to Duke Guido
+Ubaldo under the Pontificate of Alexander VI. (1492-1503).
+
+{4}  Pliny says ("Nat. Hist.," lib. xi., cap. 62) that the young
+vipers, impatient to be born, break through the side of their
+mother, and so kill her.
+
+{5}  Part 2.  Borrowed from by Philosophers.
+
+{6}  Timaeus, the Pythagorean philosopher of Locri, and the Athenian
+Critias are represented by Plato as having listened to the discourse
+of Socrates on a Republic.  Socrates calls on them to show such a
+state in action.  Critias will tell of the rescue of Europe by the
+ancient citizens of Attica, 10,000 years before, from an inroad of
+countless invaders who came from the vast island of Atlantis, in the
+Western Ocean; a struggle of which record was preserved in the
+temple of Naith or Athene at Sais, in Egypt, and handed down,
+through Solon, by family tradition to Critias.  But first Timaeus
+agrees to expound the structure of the universe; then Critias, in a
+piece left unfinished by Plato, proceeds to show an ideal society in
+action against pressure of a danger that seems irresistible.
+
+{7}  Plato's "Republic," book ii.
+
+{8}  Part 3.  Borrowed from by Historians.
+
+{9}  Part 4.  Honoured by the Romans as Sacred and Prophetic.
+
+{10}  Part 5.  And really sacred and prophetic in the Psalms of
+David.
+
+{11}  Part 6.  By the Greeks, Poets were honoured with the name of
+Makers.
+
+{12}  Poetry is the one creative art.  Astronomers and others repeat
+what they find.
+
+{13}  Poets improve Nature.
+
+{14}  And idealize man.
+
+{15}  Here a Second Part of the Essay begins.
+
+{16}  Part 1.  Poetry defined.
+
+{17}  Part 2.  Its kinds.  a. Divine.
+
+{18} Philosophical, which is perhaps too imitative.
+
+{19} Marcus Manilius wrote under Tiberius a metrical treatise on
+Astronomy, of which five books on the fixed stars remain.
+
+{20}  Poetry proper.
+
+{21}  Part 3.  Subdivisions of Poetry proper.
+
+{22}  Its essence is in the thought, not in apparelling of verse.
+
+{23}  Heliodorus was Bishop of Tricca, in Thessaly, and lived in the
+fourth century.  His story of Theagenes and Chariclea, called the
+"AEthiopica," was a romantic tale in Greek which was, in Elizabeth's
+reign, translated into English.
+
+{24}  The Poet's Work and Parts.  Part 1. WORK:  What Poetry does
+for us.
+
+{25}  Their clay lodgings -
+
+"Such harmony is in immortal souls;
+But whilst this muddy vesture of decay
+Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it."
+(Shakespeare, "Merchant of Venice," act v., sc. 1)
+
+{26}  Poetry best advances the end of all earthly learning, virtuous
+action.
+
+{27}  Its advantage herein over Moral Philosophy.
+
+{28}  It's advantage herein over History.
+
+{29}  "All men make faults, and even I in this,
+Authorising thy trespass with compare."
+Shakespeare, "Sonnet" 35.
+
+{30}  "Witness of the times, light of truth, life of memory,
+mistress of life, messenger of antiquity."--Cicero, "De Oratore."
+
+{31}  In what manner the Poet goes beyond Philosopher, Historian,
+and all others (bating comparison with the Divine).
+
+{32}  He is beyond the Philosopher.
+
+{33}  Horace's "Ars Poetica," lines 372-3.  But Horace wrote "Non
+homines, non Di"--"Neither men, gods, nor lettered columns have
+admitted mediocrity in poets."
+
+{34}  The moral common-places.  Common Place, "Locus communis," was
+a term used in old rhetoric to represent testimonies or pithy
+sentences of good authors which might be used for strengthening or
+adorning a discourse; but said Keckermann, whose Rhetoric was a
+text-book in the days of James I. and Charles I., "Because it is
+impossible thus to read through all authors, there are books that
+give students of eloquence what they need in the succinct form of
+books of Common Places, like that collected by Stobaeus out of
+Cicero, Seneca, Terence, Aristotle; but especially the book entitled
+'Polyanthea,' provides short and effective sentences apt to any
+matter."  Frequent resort to the Polyanthea caused many a good
+quotation to be hackneyed; the term of rhetoric, "a common-place,"
+came then to mean a good saying made familiar by incessant quoting,
+and then in common speech, any trite saying good or bad, but
+commonly without wit in it.
+
+{35}  Thus far Aristotle.  The whole passage in the "Poetics" runs:
+"It is not by writing in verse or prose that the Historian and Poet
+are distinguished.  The work of Herodotus might be versified; but it
+would still be a species of History, no less with metre than
+without.  They are distinguished by this, that the one relates what
+has been, the other what might be.  On this account Poetry is more
+philosophical, and a more excellent thing than History, for Poetry
+is chiefly conversant about general truth; History about particular.
+In what manner, for example, any person of a certain character would
+speak or act, probably or necessarily, this is general; and this is
+the object of Poetry, even while it makes use of particular names.
+But what Alcibiades did, or what happened to him, this is particular
+truth."
+
+{36}  Justinus, who lived in the second century, made an epitome of
+the history of the Assyrian, Persian, Grecian, Macedonian, and Roman
+Empires, from Trogus Pompeius, who lived in the time of Augustus.
+
+{37}  Dares Phrygius was supposed to have been a priest of Vulcan,
+who was in Troy during the siege, and the Phrygian Iliad ascribed to
+him as early as the time of AElian, A.D. 230, was supposed,
+therefore, to be older than Homer's.
+
+{38}  Quintus Curtius, a Roman historian of uncertain date, who
+wrote the history of Alexander the Great in ten books, of which two
+are lost and others defective.
+
+{39}  Not knowledge but practice.
+
+{40}  The Poet Monarch of all Human Sciences.
+
+{41}  In "Love's Labour's Lost" a resemblance has been fancied
+between this passage and Rosalind's description of Biron, and the
+jest:-
+
+"Which his fair tongue--conceit's expositor -
+Delivers in such apt and gracious words,
+That aged ears play truant at his tables,
+And younger hearings are quite ravished,
+So sweet and voluble is his discourse."
+
+{42}  Virgil's "AEneid," Book xii.:-
+
+"And shall this ground fainthearted dastard
+Turnus flying view?
+Is it so vile a thing to die?"
+(Phaer's Translation [1573].)
+
+{43}  Instances of the power of the Poet's work.
+
+{44}  Defectuous.  This word, from the French "defectueux," is used
+twice in the "Apologie for Poetrie."
+
+{45}  Part II.  The PARTS of Poetry.
+
+{46}  Can Pastoral be condemned?
+
+{47}  The close of Virgil's seventh Eclogue--Thyrsis was vanquished,
+and Corydon crowned with lasting glory.
+
+{48}  Or Elegiac?
+
+{49}  Or Iambic? or Satiric?
+
+{50}  From the first Satire of Persius, line 116, in a description
+of Homer's satire:
+
+"Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico
+Tangit, et admissus circum praecordia ludit," &c.
+
+Shrewd Flaccus touches each vice in his laughing friend.  Dryden
+thus translated the whole passage:-
+
+"Unlike in method, with concealed design
+Did crafty Horace his low numbers join;
+And, with a sly insinuating grace
+Laughed at his friend, and looked him in the face:
+Would raise a blush where secret vice he found;
+And tickle, while he gently probed the wound;
+With seeming innocence the crowd beguiled,
+But made the desperate passes while he smiled."
+
+{51}  From the end of the eleventh of Horace's epistles (Lib. 1):
+
+"Coelum non animum mutant, qui trans mare currunt,
+Strenua nos exercet inertia; navibus atque
+Quadrigis petimus bene vivere.  Quod petis, hic est,
+Est Ulubris, animus si te non deficit aequus."
+
+They change their skies but not their mind who run across the seas;
+We toil in laboured idleness, and seek to live at ease
+With force of ships and four horse teams.  That which you seek is
+here,
+At Ulubrae, unless your mind fail to be calm and clear.
+
+"At Ulubrae" was equivalent to saying in the dullest corner of the
+world, or anywhere.  Ulubrae was a little town probably in Campania,
+a Roman Little Pedlington.  Thomas Carlyle may have had this passage
+in mind when he gave to the same thought a grander form in Sartor
+Resartus:  "May we not say that the hour of spiritual
+enfranchisement is even this?  When your ideal world, wherein the
+whole man has been dimly struggling and inexpressibly languishing to
+work, becomes revealed and thrown open, and you discover with
+amazement enough, like the Lothario in Wilhelm Meister, that your
+America is here or nowhere.  The situation that has not its duty,
+its ideal, was never occupied by man.  Yes, here, in this poor,
+miserable hampered actual wherein thou even now standest, here or
+nowhere, is thy Ideal:  work it out therefrom, believe, live, and be
+free.  Fool! the Ideal is in thyself, the impediment too is in
+thyself.  Thy condition is but the stuff thou art to shape that same
+Ideal out of.  What matter whether such stuff be of this sort or
+that, so the form thou give it be heroic, be poetic?  O thou that
+pinest in the imprisonment of the actual, and criest bitterly to the
+gods for a kingdom wherein to rule and create, know this of a truth,
+the thing thou seekest is already with thee, here or nowhere,
+couldest thou only see."
+
+{52}  Or Comic?
+
+{53}  In pistrinum.  In the pounding-mill (usually worked by horses
+or asses).
+
+{54}  Or Tragic?
+
+{55}  The old song of Percy and Douglas, Chevy Chase in its first
+form.
+
+{56}  Or the Heroic?
+
+{57}  Epistles I. ii. 4.  Better than Chrysippus and Crantor.  They
+were both philosophers, Chrysippus a subtle stoic, Crantor the first
+commentator upon Plato.
+
+{58}  Summary of the argument thus far.
+
+{59}  Objections stated and met.
+
+{60}  Cornelius Agrippa's book, "De Incertitudine et Vanitate
+Scientiarum et Artium," was first published in 1532; Erasmus's
+"Moriae Encomium" was written in a week, in 1510, and went in a few
+months through seven editions.
+
+{61}  The objection to rhyme and metre.
+
+{62}  The first of these sentences is from Horace (Epistle I. xviii.
+69):  "Fly from the inquisitive man, for he is a babbler."  The
+second, "While each pleases himself we are a credulous crowd," seems
+to be varied from Ovid (Fasti, iv. 311):-
+
+"Conscia mens recti famae mendacia risit:
+Sed nos in vitium credula turba sumus."
+
+A mind conscious of right laughs at the falsehoods of fame but
+towards vice we are a credulous crowd.
+
+{63}  The chief objections.
+
+{64}  That time might be better spent.
+
+{65}  Beg the question.
+
+{66}  That poetry is the mother of lies.
+
+{67}  That poetry is the nurse of abuse, infecting us with wanton
+and pestilent desires.
+
+{68}  Rampire, rampart, the Old French form of "rempart," was
+"rempar," from "remparer," to fortify.
+
+{69}  "I give him free leave to be foolish."  A variation from the
+line (Sat. I. i. 63), "Quid facias illi? jubeas miserum esse
+libenter."
+
+{70}  That Plato banished poets from his ideal Republic.
+
+{71}  Which authority certain barbarous and insipid writers would
+wrest into meaning that poets were to be thrust out of a state.
+
+{72}  Ion is a rhapsodist, in dialogue with Socrates, who cannot
+understand why it is that his thoughts flow abundantly when he talks
+of Homer.  "I can explain," says Socrates; "your talent in
+expounding Homer is not an art acquired by system and method,
+otherwise it would have been applicable to other poets besides.  It
+is a special gift, imparted to you by Divine power and inspiration.
+The like is true of the poet you expound.  His genius does not
+spring from art, system, or method:  it is a special gift emanating
+from the inspiration of the Muses.  A poet is light, airy, holy
+person, who cannot compose verses at all so long as his reason
+remains within him.  The Muses take away his reason, substituting in
+place of it their own divine inspiration and special impulse . . .
+Like prophets and deliverers of oracles, these poets have their
+reason taken away, and become the servants of the gods.  It is not
+they who, bereft of their reason, speak in such sublime strains, it
+is the god who speaks to us, and speaks through them."  George
+Grote, from whose volumes on Plato I quote this translation of the
+passage, placed "Ion" among the genuine dialogues of Plato.
+
+{73}  Guards, trimmings or facings.
+
+{74}  The Second Summary.
+
+{75}  Causes of Defect in English Poetry.
+
+{76}  From the invocation at the opening of Virgil's AEneid (line
+12), "Muse, bring to my mind the causes of these things:  what
+divinity was injured . . . that one famous for piety should suffer
+thus."
+
+{77}  The Chancellor, Michel de l'Hopital, born in 1505, who joined
+to his great political services (which included the keeping of the
+Inquisition out of France, and long labour to repress civil war)
+great skill in verse.  He died in 1573.
+
+{78}  Whose heart-strings the Titan (Prometheus) fastened with a
+better clay.  (Juvenal, Sat. xiv. 35).  Dryden translated the line,
+with its context -
+
+"Some sons, indeed, some very few, we see
+Who keep themselves from this infection free,
+Whom gracious Heaven for nobler ends designed,
+Their looks erected, and their clay refined."
+
+{79}  The orator is made, the poet born.
+
+{80}  What you will; the first that comes.
+
+{81}  "Whatever I shall try to write will be verse."  Sidney quotes
+from memory, and adapts to his context, Tristium IV. x. 26.
+
+"Sponte sua carmen numeros veniebat ad aptos,
+Et quod temptabam dicere, versus erat."
+
+{82}  HIS for "its" here as throughout; the word "its" not being yet
+introduced into English writing.
+
+{83}  Defects in the Drama.  It should be remembered that this was
+written when the English drama was but twenty years old, and
+Shakespeare, aged about seventeen, had not yet come to London.  The
+strongest of Shakespeare's precursors had not yet begun to write for
+the stage.  Marlowe had not yet written; and the strength that was
+to come of the freedom of the English drama had yet to be shown.
+
+{84}  There was no scenery on the Elizabethan stage.
+
+{85}  Messenger.
+
+{86}  From the egg.
+
+{87}  Bias, slope; French "biais."
+
+{88}  Juvenal, Sat. iii., lines 152-3.  Which Samuel Johnson finely
+paraphrased in his "London:"
+
+"Of all the griefs that harass the distrest,
+Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest."
+
+{89}  George Bachanan (who died in 1582, aged seventy-six) had
+written in earlier life four Latin tragedies, when Professor of
+Humanities at Bordeaux, with Montaigne in his class.
+
+{90}  Defects in Lyric Poetry.
+
+{91}  Defects in Diction.  This being written only a year or two
+after the publication of "Euphues," represents that style of the day
+which was not created but represented by the book from which it took
+the name of "Euphuism."
+
+{92}  Nizolian paper-books, are commonplace books of quotable
+passages, so called because an Italian grammarian, Marius Nizolius,
+born at Bersello in the fifteenth century, and one of the scholars
+of the Renaissance in the sixteenth, was one of the first producers
+of such volumes.  His contribution was an alphabetical folio
+dictionary of phrases from Cicero:  "Thesaurus Ciceronianus, sive
+Apparatus Linguae Latinae e scriptis Tullii Ciceronis collectus."
+
+{93}  "He lives and wins, nay, comes to the Senate, nay, comes to
+the Senate," &c.
+
+{94}  Pounded.  Put in the pound, when found astray.
+
+{95}  Capacities of the English Language.
+
+{96}  Metre and Rhyme.
+
+{97}  Last Summary and playful peroration
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg Etext A Defence of Poesie and Poems, by Sidney
+
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