PR) TV Class _P.ftl Book rA : Copyright N°_____ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT: ENGLISH PROSE (i 137-1890) SELECTED BY JOHN MATTHEWS MANLY, Ph.D. Professor and Head of the Department of English in the University of Chicago GINN AND COMPANY BOSTON • NEW YORK • CHICAGO • LONDON 7Tt »* 8-T Copyright, 1909, by JOHN MATTHEWS MANLY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 99.4 LIBRARY of CONGRESS Two Cooies Received APR 30 W03 Ma* -it ,1*101 CUSS A- KXc, No. Che atfttnatum jgreett GINN AND COMPANY- PRO- PRIETORS ■ BOSTON • U.S.A. PREFACE This volume and its companion, English Poetry, i 170-1892, were suggested some twelve years ago by the experience of Professors Bronson, Dodge, and myself witli an introductory course in English Literature in Brown University. Our plan was to have the students read Knglish classics in the same manner and spirit in which they would read interesting contemporary poems, novels, speeches, essays, etc., and then to discuss with them what they had read. No attention was given to linguistic puzzles, unessential allu- sions, or any other minutiae. Such things are of course a legitimate and indispensable part of the study of literature, but it seemed well not to confuse and defeat our principal aim by dealing with them in this course. Literary history, however, was not neglected, and care was taken to supply such information in regard to the setting of each piece in life or literature as seemed necessary for the interpretation of its subject, purpose, and method. The greatest difficulty we had to contend with was the lack of cheap texts. No single volume on the market contained what we needed, and separate texts, even when accessible at very low prices, cost in the aggregate more than students could afford to pay. I there- fore attempted to bring together in the volume of English Poetry such a collection of poems, important either historically or for their intrinsic merits, as would permit every teacher to make his own selection in accordance with his tastes and the needs of his class. The present volume is, in like manner, intended to be used by teachers as a storehouse or treas- ury of prose. In the Preface of the volume of poetry, I tried to make it clear that I did not suppose that any teacher would require his pupils to read all the poems contained in it. This would indeed be absurd. That volume contains between fifty-five and sixty thousand lines, and, as there are in the ordinary school year only about thirty weeks of three recita- tions each, the pupil would have to read more than six hundred lines — between fifteen and twenty pages of an ordinary book' — for each recitation. Yet some teachers have attempted this and have been surprised to find the attempt unsuccessful. It will be well to bear in mind that this prose book, also, contains much more than at first sight it may seem to contain. Each page, it may be noted, contains about as much as three ordinary octavo pages of medium size. As to the manner in which the choice shall be made for the use of a class, the teacher may of course confine the work to as few authors as he chooses, or may require only the most interesting parts of the long selections, or may in both ways reduce to reasonable limits the amount of reading required. Some teachers will wish a large number of short passages illustrating the characteristics of as many authors as possible; others will prefer to study a smaller number of authors in selections long enough to show, not merely what heights of excellence each writer could occasionally attain, but also what qualities and what degree of sustained power each possessed. This volume, it is believed, provides materials for both kinds of study. LV PREFACE It need hardly be said that, after leaving the earlier periods of English Literature, in which unknown words and forms confront the reader in every sentence, the main diffi- culties that a student meets in reading the English classics arise not so much from internal as from external causes. And these can easily be removed. Simple and clear presenta- tion by the teacher of the theme of the writer, of his attitude toward his theme, of the relations of writer and theme to contemporaneous life and art, and of other matters neces- sary to intelligent reading, should precede the student's reading of each piece, whether of prose or verse. Great literature is usually great no less because of its content than be- cause of its form, and it will generally be found that students are prepared to appreciate fine thoughts before they are able to understand grace or beauty of form in literature. And certainly, if, as Spenser tells us, Soul is form and doth the body make, we must understand the soul, the content, and aim, of a piece of literature before we can judge whether or not it has created for itself an appropriate and beautiful body or form. To expect a student who has not the knowledge implied or assumed in a bit of prose or verse to read it sympathetically is as grave an error as that ancient one — now happily abandoned — of causing students of English composition to spin out of their entrails vast webs of speculation upon subjects lying far beyond their knowledge or experience. If the teacher will attempt to make every selection as real and vital to his students as if it were concerned with some subject of the life of to-day, the study of English Literature will be- come a new and interesting thing for himself as well as for his pupils. And although this is theoretically a counsel of perfection not easily fulfilled, it will be found in practice not difficult to secure a large measure of success. In this volume, as in its predecessor, the remarks in the Introduction are not intended to take the place of a history of English Literature. Here and there they furnish informa- tion not usually found in elementary text-books; here and there they have not even that excuse for existence, being often merely hints or suggestions or explanations which the editor wished to make; in a few instances it may be thought that their proper place is the Preface rather than the Introduction. In printing the earlier texts — that is, all before Sidney's Arcadia — the old spelling is preserved, except that/, />, 3, i, j, u, v, have been reduced to modern forms and usage. Such inconsistencies as appear are due to variations in the texts themselves or to variant editorial methods in the standard editions. The punctuation of the earlier texts has been modernized, sometimes by me, sometimes by the editor whom I follow. In the later texts, the spelling and punctuation of standard editions has usually been retained, even where they differ from modern usage; but in a few instances, where the older punctuation was not only faulty but seriously misleading, I have not scrupled to change it. In no such instance, however, was there any doubt as to the author's meaning. The division of the book into periods is of course not altogether satisfactory. Not to mention general difficulties, Ben Jonson's relations with Shakspere and Bacon induced me to put him in the same period with Bacon, though it would doubtless have been better to put both him and Dekker in the following period. Again, in the Nineteenth Century, it seems hardly justifiable to put Stevenson in the same period with Newman, Borrow, Thackeray, and Dickens; but I found that I had room for him and him only among the departed masters of his generation, and it seemed undesirable to put him alone in a sepa- rate division. No attempt has been made to apportion the space given to a writer in close accordance with his importance. My plan originally was that every piece, whether essay, letter, speech, or chapter of a book, should be given as a whole composition, in its entirety. But lack of PREFACE v space made it necessary to make many cuts, — though none, I hope, that affect the essen- tial qualities of any selection or interfere with its intelligibility. The attempt to present whole selections rather than brilliant scraps of course made proportional representation impossible, and the cuts that were made did not better the adjustment, as they were made where they would cause the least loss of formal and material excellences. In spite of careful calculations, far too large an amount of copy was sent to the printer. Nor did such cutting as is mentioned above suffice to reduce it to the necessary limits. It became necessary, while the book was going through the press, to omit several writers altogether, — some of them, no doubt, writers whom I shall be criticised for omitting. I can only say that my regret is perhaps greater than that which will be felt by any one else. I now feel that, as I was obliged to omit Henley and some other recent writers, it might have been well to omit Stevenson also and let the book end with Walter Pater. The selection from the so-called Mabinogion in the Appendix was added at the sug- gestion of Professor Cunliffe of the University of Wisconsin. Many teachers will no doubt wish to use it in connection with the study of mediaeval romances, and will join me in thanks to Professor Cunliffe. For aid in collating the copy for the printer and in reading proofs I am indebted to my sister, Annie Manly. J. M. M. CONTENTS EARLY MIDDLE ENGLISH Introduction xi The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (extract from An. 1137) (by a Monk of Peterborough) 1 An Old English Homily (extract) (by an unknown author) 1 Richard Poore (?), Bishop of Chichester, Salisbury, and Durham The Ancren Riwle (Speech; Nuns May Keep No Beast but a Cat) 2 English Proclamation of Henry III 4 Richard Rolle (of Hampole) Epistle III: The Commandment of Love to God 5 Sir John Mandeville The Voiage and Travaile of Sir John Maundevile, Kt., Capp. IV, XVII, XXVII 6 John Wiclif The Gospel of Mathevv (Both versions) ... 9 John de Trevisa Higden's Polychronicon, Bk. I, Cap. LIX 11 Geoffrey Chaucer A Treatise on the Astrolabe; Prologus. . . . 12 Translation of Boethius, Bk. Ill, Prose IX, and Metre IX 13 Reginald Pecock, Bishop of St. Asaph, and Chichester The Repressor of Over Much Blaming of the Clergy, Pt. I, Cap. XIII 16 THE END OF THE MIDDLE AGES Sir Thomas Malory Le Morte Darthur, Bk. XXI, Capp. IV- VI 18 Whliam Caxton Preface to the Booke of Eneydos 21 Sir John Bourchier, Lord Berners The Cronvcle of Svr John Froissart, Capp. CCCLXXXlil, CCCLXXXIIII 22 THE TRANSITION TO MODERN TIMES Sir Thomas More A Dialogue of Svr Thomas More, Kt., Bk. Ill, Cap. XVI 29 William Tyndale The Gospell of S. Mathew, Cap. V 34 Hugh Latimer The First Sermon before King Edward VI 36 Roger Ascham The Scholemaster : The First Booke for the Youth 38 John Foxe Acts and Monuments of these Latter and Perillous Dayes: The Behaviour of Dr. Ridley and Master Latimer at the Time of their Death 41 THE AGE OF ELIZABETH Sir Philip Sidney Arcadia (from Bk. I) 45 Richard Hooker Of the Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity (ex- tract from Bk. I) 54 John Lyly Euphues and his England (extract) 57 Thomas Lodge Rosalynde : Euphues' Golden Legacy (ex- tract) 60 Robert Greene A Groat's Worth of Wit, bought with a Million of Repentance (extract) 64 The Art of Cony-Catching (extract) 67 Greene's Never Too Late; The Palmer's Tale (extract) 69 Francis Bacon, Viscount St. Albans Essays (I, Of Truth, p. 74; II, Of Death, p. 75; IV, Of Revenge, 75; V, Of Adversity, p. 76; VIII, Of Marriage and Single Life, p. 76; X, Of Love, p. 77; XI, Of Great Place, p. 78; XVI, Of Atheism, p. 79; XXIII, Of Wisdom for a Man's Self, p. 80 ; XXV, Of Dispatch, p. 81; XXVII, Of Friendship, p. 82; XLII, Of Youth and Age, p. 85; XLIII, Of Beauty, P- 85) 74 Thomas Nashe The Unfortunate Traveller (or Jack Wil- ton) (extract) 86 Thomas Dekker The Gull's Hornbook, Capp. VI-VIII. ... 89 Ben Jonson Timber: or Discoveries made upon Men and Matter (LXIV, De Shakespeare Nostrati, p. 94; LXXI, Dominus Verulamius, p. 94; C, De Bonis et Malis; De Innocentia, p. 95; CXV, De Stilo, et Optimo Scribendi Genere, P- 95) 94 \ 111 CONTENTS THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY Robert Burton TheAnatomy of Melancholy, I't. [II, Sec. 1 1, Mem. 1, Subs. 1 97 Thomas I [obbes Leviathan, n. I, Cap. Mil (< )f the Natural Condition <>f Mankind) 102 1/AAK W*A] ION The Complete Angler (extract) 104 Sib Thomas Browne Religio Medic i: ( lharity in Hydriotaphia: I'm Burial, Chap. V 115 Thou \s Fui i br The Holy State, Bk. II. Chap. XXII: The 1 .iir of Sir Francis l >rake 117 John M 11 ton ( )f Education 120 Areopagitica : A Speech for tin- Liberty of Unlicensed Printing (extract) 1 16 J I U'IMV I' \M OB The Rule and Exercises of Holy Dying, Chap. I, Sec. II 136 John Ucnyan Tin- Pilgrim's Progress: The Fight with Apollyon (p. [39); Vanity Fair (l»- 'lO 139 Sib We 1 1 \m Timi'i !■■ Observations upon the United Provinces of tin- Netherlands, Chap. VI 1 1 143 John DRYDEN An Essay of Dramatic Poesy (extract).... 146 John LOCKE Of tin- Conduct of tin' Understanding (extract) 163 Samuel Pepys His Diary (extract) 168 Robert South A Sermon: Of the Fatal [mposture and Force of Words (extract) 1 73 THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY n wiii 1 M 1 ,m The Life, Adventures, and Piracies of the Famous Captain Singleton (extract) . 176 Jon mm \\ Swot The Talr of a Tub: The Preface and Sections [I and IX 184 A Modest Proposal 193 \nihony \siimv Cootkk, Kail of Shaftes- bury Characteristics of Men, Manners, Opin- ions, Times, etc., I't. Ill, Sec. III... 107 Joseph Addison TheSpectatoi ^ No. to, Aims of the Spec- tator, p. 198; 26, Thoughts in west minster Abbey, p. 300; 08, The Head Dress, aoi; 150, The Vision of Mil a, p. B03; 584, Hilpa and Slia lum, p. 205; 585, The Same, con- tinued, p. 20(>) I98 Sir Rich \ki> Steei e The Tatler (Nos. 82, 95, 167,264) 207 Sik Richard Steele (Continued) The Spectator (No. 11) 214 c.KOKc.K Berkeley, Bishop of Cloy ne A Proposal lor a College to be erected in the Summer Islands 216 S VMXJE1 Rich IRDSON The History of Clarissa Harlowe, Letter XVI... 221 HENRt Fielding Tom Jones, Bk. I, Chap. I; Bk. II, Chap, l; Bk. V, Chap. I; Hk. VIII, Chap. I; Bk. X, Chap. 1 226 Samuel Johnson Congreve 234 The Rambler (Nos. 6S, 69) 239 David Hume An Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, Sec Y, I't. II 243 Laurence Sterne Tristram Shandy, Vol. VIII, Chaps. Will XXX 247 TOIU as Smoi LETT Humphry Clinker (Letter to Sir Watkin Phillips) 251 Oliver c-oldsmith Letters from a Citizen of the World to his Friends in the East, XXI, XXVI- XXX 255 Edmund Burke Speech on the Nabob of Arcot's Debts (extract) 267 Reflections on the Revolution in France (extract) 270 James Macpherson (?) The Foems of Ossian: Cath-Loda, Duan III 275 James Boswell The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., Chap. XIII 277 Junius [? Sir Philip Francis] Fetters XI 1 and XV, to the Duke of i '■ rafton, 292 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, I William Wordsworth Preface to the "Lyrical Ballads" 29S Sir Wal rER Scott Wandering Willie's Talc (from Redgaunt- let).. 308 Samuel Taylor Coleridge Biographia Literaria, Chap. XIV 317 Francis Jeffrey, Lord Jeffrey The White 1 toe of Rylstone 320 Robert Sou rani The Life of Nelson, Chap. Y (extract), the Battle of the Nile 321 J VNE Austen Pride and Prejudice, Chaps. I-VI 328 Charles Lamb The Two Races of Men 337 Mrs. Battle's Opinions on Whist 340 \ Chapter on Ears 343 CONTENTS IX Walter Savage Landor Imaginary Conversations: ^Esop and Rhodope 345 William Hazlitt Mr. Coleridge 349 Leigh Hunt The Daughter of Hippocrates 354 Thomas De Quincey The Confessions of an English Opium- Eater (extract) 357 Thomas Carlyle Sartor Resartus, Chaps. VI-IX 366 Thomas Bahington Macaulay, Baron Ma- caulay The History of England, Vol. I, Chap. Ill (extract) 382 THE NINETEENTH CENTURY, II John Henry Newman, Cardinal The Idea of a University, Discourse VI (extract) 4°9 George Borrow Lavengro, Chaps. LXX, LXXI 417 William Makepeace Thackeray The English Humourists: Sterne 425 Vanity Fair, Chaps. XII, XIII 43° Charles Dickens A Child's Dream of a Star 440 Charles Dickens {Continued) Our Mutual Friend : Chap. V, Boffin's Bower 44 1 James Anthony Froude Caesar, Chap. XIII 45° "George Eliot," Mary Ann Evans (Cross) The Mill on the Floss, Bk. VII, Chap. V, The Last Conflict 45< s John Ruskin The Stones of Venice, Vol. II, Chaps. I, IV, V (extracts) 4»3 The Crown of Wild Olive, Preface 473 Matthew Arnold Culture and Anarchy: Sweetness and Light 47 8 Sir Leslie Stephen Newman's Theory of Belief (extract). . . . 489 Walter Pater Style 492 The Child in the House 502 Robert Louis Stevenson Francois Villon, Student, Poet, and Housebreaker 509 APPENDIX The Mabinogion: Percdur the Son of Ev- rawc (translated by Lady Charlotte Guest) 5 21 INTRODUCTION The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (p. i) belongs for the most part, of course, to the history of English literature before the Norman Conquest; but the later records, especially those of the Peterborough version, from which our selection is taken, are of great im- portance for the study of modern English prose. The Chronicle seems to have been begun in the reign of Alfred the Great, perhaps in consequence of his efforts for the edu- cation of his people. It exists in six versions, differing more or less from one another both as to the events recorded and the period of time covered, but together forming, in a man- ner, a single work. The early entries, beginning with 60 B.C., were compiled from various sources and are, for the most part, very meager and uninteresting. Here are the complete records for two years: "An. DCCLXXII. Here (that is, in this year) Bishop Milred died;" "An. DCCLXXIII. Here a red cross appeared in the sky after sunset; and in this year the Mercians and the men of Kent fought at Otford; and wondrous serpents were seen in the land of the South-Saxons." For long, weary stretches of years, there are, with the notable exception of the vivid account of the death of Cynewulf, few more excit- ing entries than these. Even when great events are recorded, no effort is made to tell how or why they occurred, no attempt to produce an interesting narrative. In the time of King Alfred, however, a change appears, and, though the records still have the character of annals rather than of history, the narrative is often very detailed and interesting, espe- cially in regard to the long and fierce contest with the Danes. After the Norman Con- quest, one version of the Chronicle, that kept by the monks of Peterborough, contains entries of the greatest importance both for the history of the times and for the state of the English language then. The latest of these entries is for the year 11 54, when the turbu- lent reign of the weak Stephen was followed by the strong and peaceful administration of Henry II. The selection we have chosen is from the entry for 1137, and gives a startling picture of the terrors of the time. It is almost astounding to recall that it was just at this time that Geoffrey of Monmouth started the story of King Arthur on its long and brilliant career in literature. The most notable things about the passage, considered as English prose, are its simplicity and straightforwardness and its strong resemblance to modern English in sentence structure and word order. These features are probably to be ac- counted for by the fact that, though the writer doubtless understood Latin, he did not feel that he was producing literature, but only making a plain record of facts, and conse- quently did not attempt the clumsy artificialities so often produced by those who tried to imitate Latin prose in English. The Old English Homily (p. 1) may serve to illustrate the kind of sermons preached in the twelfth century. The homilies that have come down to us show scarcely any originality of conception or expression. All are reproductions of older English homilies or are based upon similar compositions in Latin by such writers as St. Anselm of Canter- bury, St. Bernard of Clairvaux, Hugo of St. Victor, and Radulphus Ardens. In both matter and manner they follow closely their chosen models. The short extract here given has been selected principally because of the curious and amusing anecdote of the young crab and the old, which is its sole touch of freshness or originality. Very noticeable in all of these homilies is the allegorical interpretation of Scripture, which was in vogue for so many centuries; and, in some of them, the mysticism which was rapidly developing rii INTRODUCTION under the influence of the ideals and sentiments of chivalry. The style is determined largely by the fact that they were intended to be read aloud to a congregation. The symbol U here and in other early texts is to be pronounced like French u, German ii, or, less accurately, like Latin i. The Ancren Riwle (p. 2), as its name indicates, is a treatise for the guidance and instruction of some nuns. We learn from the book itself that it was written, at their special request, for three young ladies of gentle birth, — "daughters of one father and one mother," who had forsaken the world for the life of religious contemplation and medi- tation. There has been some discussion as to the author, but he is generally believed to have been Richard Poore, or Le Poor, bishop successively of Chichester, Salisbury, and Durham, who was born at Tarrent, where these nuns probably had their retreat, and whose heart was buried there after his death in 1237. At any rate, the author was evi- dently a man in whom learning and no little knowledge of the world were combined with a singularly sweet simplicity, which has often been taken for naivete. His learning appears abundantly from his familiarity with the writings of the great Church Fathers and the classical Latin authors who were known in his day; his knowledge of the world appears partly in his sagacious counsels as to the more serious temptations of a nun's life, and partly in his adaptation of courtly romantic motives to spiritual themes; while the sweet simplicity of his character is constantly and lovably revealed in the tone of all that he says — even in its sly and charming humor — and in his solicitude about infinite petty details, which are individually insignificant, to be sure, but mean much for the delicacy and peace of life. Of the eight parts or books into which the work is divided only two are devoted to external, material matters, the other six to the inner life; and this proportion is a true indication of the comparative values which the good counselor sets upon these things. The style, for all the learning displayed, is simple and direct, with few traces of Latin sentence structure or word order — a fact due perhaps to the nature and destination of the book no less than to the character of the author. The English Proclamation of Henry III (p. 4) has, of course, no place in the history of literature, though it has in the history of prose style. As the first royal procla- mation in the English language after the Conquest its importance is great, but may be easily misunderstood or exaggerated. It does not mark the real beginning of the use of the English language for such purposes; that did not come until many years later. It was issued in English as a political measure, to secure for the king support against his enemies from the large portion of the commonwealth who understood no Latin or French, and as such it is an important evidence of the power of the English-speaking people and the value of their support. In view of its peculiar nature its spelling has been retained without modification. The only features worthy of special notice are the sign )>, which means ///, the sign 3, which represents a spirant g that has become in modern English either g, gh, y, or w, and the use of v for // and 11 for v. Richard Rolle (p. 5), the greatest of the English mystics, was both a poet and a writer of Latin and English prose. His favorite theme of meditation was the love of Christ, a subject which so exalted him that he heard in his meditations music of unearthly sweetness and felt that he had tasted food of heavenly savor. It is in the descriptions of these mystical experiences that he is most interesting and most poetical, but unfortu- nately for us they are written in Latin. His English prose is, however, more remarkable than his verse. The note of mysticism is unmistakable in the extract here given from one of his epistles. His importance in the history of English religious thought is very great, especially in emphasizing the significance of the inner life in contrast to the mere externals of religious observance — a tendency which we have already noted in English literature in connection with The Ancren Riwle. The Voiage and Travaile of Sir John Maundevile, Kt. (p. 6), is one of the INTRODUCTION xiii greatest and most successful literary impostures ever perpetrated. It seems first to have been issued about 137 1 in French, from which it was very soon translated into Latin, English, and many other languages. Its popularity was enormous, as is attested by the immense number of Mss. which have come down to us, and by the frequency with which it has been reprinted ever since 1475, the date of the first printed edition. Incredible as are many of the stories it contains, the apparent simplicity and candor of the author, his careful distinction between what he himself had seen and what he reported only on hear- say, his effort to avoid all exaggeration even in his most absurd statements, gained ready belief for his preposterous fabrications, and this was confirmed by the fact that some of the statements which at first seemed most incredible — such as the roundness of the earth — were actually true and were proved to be so by the discoveries of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The book was really compiled from many sources, principally the travels of William of Boldensele, a German traveler of the previous century, and Friar Odoric of Pordenone, an Italian who visited Asia in 1316-1320, the Speculum Historiale of Vincent of Beauvais, a great mediaeval compilation of history and legend, and Pliny's Natural History, that great storehouse of the marvelous. As to the identity of the author, he is now believed to have been one Jean de Bourgogne, an Englishman who fled from England after the execution of his lord, John baron de Mowbray, in 1322, but it is not certainly known whether Mandeville or Bourgogne was his real name. Two witnesses of the sixteenth century record having seen at Liege a tomb to the memory of Dominus Johannes de Mandeville, on which was an epitaph giving the date of his death as Nov. 17, 137 1, and some verses declaring him to have been the English Ulysses. In any event, the book is one of the most fascinating books of marvels ever written, and the English version, although a translation, is of the highest importance for the history of English prose. Of John Wiclif (p. 9) no account is necessary here. Whatever may have been his own part in the translations of the Bible which go under his name, these translations are of great importance for the history of English prose style. The same selection (the fifth chapter of St. Matthew) has therefore been given from both the earlier and the later ver- sion. The differences between. them are very striking and instructive. In order to afford opportunity for further study of the gradual development of the matchless style of the Authorized Version of the English Bible, the same chapter is given from Tyndale's ver- sion (p. 34, below). Both the Authorized and the Revised versions are so easily accessible that it seems unnecessary to print the same chapter from them, but they should not be neglected in the comparison. John de Trevisa (p. 11) translated into English in 1387 the Polychronicon of Ranulph Higden, a sort of universal history and geography written about half a century earlier. Higden's work is largely a compilation from other authors, whose names he often gives, — sometimes wrongly, to be sure, — but he added a good deal from his own personal knowl- edge. Trevisa, in his turn, made some additions in his translation. The chapter here given is interesting as a specimen of fourteenth-century English prose, but still more so for the glimpses it affords as to the state of the language in the time of Higden and the changes that took place between then and the time when Trevisa wrote. Geoffrey Chaucer (p. 12) is also too well known to require an additional note. It may, however, be remarked that the simplicity of the Prologue to the Astrolabe and the skill shown in the translation of Bocthius indicate that, had prose been regarded as a proper medium for literary art in his day, Chaucer could have told his tales in a prose as simple, as musical, and as flexible as his verse, for he obviously could have wrought out such a prose had there been the incentive to do so. The Repressor of Over Much Blaming of the Clergy (p. 16) is the most im- portant monument of English prose in the first two thirds of the fifteenth century. It is xiv INTRODUCTION clear and vigorous in style, and well organized and arranged as a discussion. It was intended as a defense of the practices of the Church of England against the criticisms of the Lollards, and is distinguished by great ingenuity and subtlety. Its author, Reginald Pecock, bishop successively of St. Asaph and Chichester, was very proud of his skill as a logician and delighted to undertake a difficult discussion. In this book he alienated some of the officials of the Church by the arguments used to defend it, and completed this alienation by the publication of heretical doctrines, such as his denial of the authenticity of the Apostles' Creed. He was seized and compelled to recant his opinions and to see his books burnt as heretical. He died a disappointed and broken man. The Morte Darthur of Sir Thomas Malory (p. 18) has long been famous, not only as the source of most of the modern poems about King Arthur and his Knights, but also as one of the most interesting books in any language. It has recently been shown by Professor Kittredge that Sir Thomas was not, as some have supposed, a priest, but, as the colophon of his book tells us, a soldier, with just such a career as one would wish for the compiler of such a volume. He was attached to the train of the famous Richard Beau- champ, Earl of Warwick, and perhaps was brought up in his service. As Professor Kit- tredge says, " No better school for the future author of the Morte Darthur can be imagined than a personal acquaintance with that Englishman whom all Europe recognized as em- bodying the knightly ideal of the age." The Emperor Sigismund, we are informed on excellent authority, said to Henry V, "that no prince Cristen for wisdom, norture, and manhode, hadde such another knyght as he had of therle Warrewyk; addyng therto that if al curtesye were lost, yet myght hit be founde ageyn in hym; and so ever after by the emperours auctorite he was called the 'Fadre of Curteisy.' " Sir Thomas derived his materials from old romances, principally in French, which he attempted to condense and reduce to order. His style, though it may have been affected to some extent by his originals, is essentially his own. Its most striking excellence is its diction, which is invariably picturesque and fresh, and this undoubtedly must be ascribed to him. The syntax, though sometimes faulty, has almost always a certain naive charm. On the whole, re- garding both matter and manner, one can hardly refuse assent to Caxton when he says, "But thystorye (i.e. the history) of the sayd Arthur is so gloryous and shynyng, that he is stalled in the fyrst place of the moost noble, beste, and worthyest of the Cristen men." William Caxton (p. 21) of course rendered his greatest services to English literature as a printer and publisher, but the charming garrulity of his prefaces, as well as their intrinsic interest, richly entitles him to be represented here. The passage chosen is, in its way, a classic in the history of the English language. I have tried to make it easier to read by breaking up into shorter lengths his rambling statements, — they can hardly be called sentences, — but I somewhat fear that, in so doing, a part, at least, of their quaint charm may have been sacrificed. The Cronycle of Syr John Froissart (p. 22), written in French in the fourteenth century, is as charming in manner and almost as romantic in material as Le Morte Darthur itself. Sir John was intimately acquainted with men who were actors or eyewitnesses of nearly all the chivalric deeds performed in his day in England and France, and indeed in the whole of western Europe, and his chronicle has all the interest of a personal narrative combined with the charm of his shrewd simplicity and his fine enthusiasm for noble deeds. The age in which he lived was one of the most picturesque in history. Chivalry had reached the height of its splendid development, and, though doomed by the new forces that had come into the world, — gunpowder, cannon, and the growing importance of commerce, — its ideals were cherished with perhaps a greater intensity of devotion than ever before. It was the age of Chaucer and the author of Gawain and the Green Knight in literature, and of Edward III and the Black Prince with their brilliant train of follow- ers in tourney and battle. Froissart wrote professedly "to the intent that the honourable INTRODUCTION xv and noble adventures of feats of arms, done and achieved by the wars of France and England, should notably be enregistered and put in perpetual memory, whereby the prewe (noble) and hardy may have ensample to encourage them in their well-doing." His accounts of events are sometimes colored by this pious intention, as well as by the prejudices of his informants; and that is the case with the selection here given. It appears from other sources that the young king did not act as nobly and bravely at Mile-end Green as Froissart represents him, but no doubt his friends persuaded themselves and Froissart that he did, and it seemed a fine example to record for the encouragement of high-spirited young men. The interest and importance of the passage may excuse its length; it has been quoted or paraphrased by every historian who has written about the famous Revolt of 138 1. The style of the translator, Lord Berners, is admirable in its simple dignity and its wonderful freshness and vividness of diction. Sir Thomas More (p. 29) is one of the most striking and charming figures in the brilliant court of Henry VIII, and is known to all students of literature as the author of Utopia. Unfortunately for our purposes that interesting book was written in Latin and, though soon translated into English, cannot represent to us the author's English style. I have chosen a selection from his Dialogues rather than from the History of Richard III, partly because the style seems to me more touched with the author's emotion, and partly because the passage presents the attitude of the writer on a question which may interest many modern readers. It is characteristic in its mixture of dignity, good sense, prejudice, enlightenment, spiritual earnestness, and playfulness of temper. The Sermon by Hugh Latimer, an extract from which is here given (p. 36), represents English pulpit oratory of the middle of the sixteenth century at its very best. Latimer was famous for his sound learning, his sturdy common sense, his pithy colloquial style, and his intellectual and spiritual fearlessness. A very fair conception of the man may be obtained from this sermon and Foxe's account of his death (p. 41, below). Roger Ascham, tutor to Queen Elizabeth and one of the most learned men of his time, declared that he could more easily have written his Scholemaster (p. 38) in Latin than in English, and no doubt he could; but, fortunately, other considerations than ease induced him to write in English. The book is intensely interesting, because of the thor- oughly wholesome attitude towards learning, not as of value for its own sake, but as a means for the cultivation of mind and spirit and an aid toward the development of the perfect man, perfect in body, in mind, and in soul, in agility and strength, in intellectual power and knowledge, in courtesy and honor and religion, which was the finest ideal of the leaders of that great intellectual and spiritual awakeningwhichwecall the Renaissance. The same attitude is displayed in his other interesting book, the Toxophilus, which is also well worth reading, especially by all who care both for learning and for outdoor sports. The methods of training children and of teaching Latin outlined in the Scholemaster are so humane and sane and effective, that it is hard to believe that, having once been practiced or even suggested, they could have been forgotten and neglected, and needed to be redis- covered within our own time, — indeed have not yet been discovered in their entirety by all teachers. In spite of Ascham's facility in Latin, his English is simple, clear, and idio- matic, and is permeated by the attractiveness of his nature. Foxe's Acts and Monuments of these latter and perillous Dayes (p. 41), better known as Foxe's Book of Martyrs, was for many years one of the most popular books in the Eng- lish language and was reprinted many times. It is, of course, in many respects a barba- rous book, the product of an age when scarcely any one, Catholic or Protestant, doubted that cruel torture was a proper means of inculcating the true faith, and death a proper penalty for refusing to accept it. The book long kept alive the bitter and distorted memo- ries of that time. The style is usually plain and a trifle stiff, but occasionally rises to eloquence. xvi INTRODUCTION Sir Philip Sidney's famous book, The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia (p. 45), is too leisurely in movement and too complicated in structure to be well illustrated by a con- tinuous selection, except as to its style, but the passage here presented seems better suited than any other of similar length to convey an idea of the nature of the story and the sources of its charm for Sidney's contemporaries. The selection from John Lyly's Euphues and his England (p. 57) may seem to some teachers shorter than is warranted by Lyly's reputation and his indubitable services to English prose. But the characteristics of his style are such as can be exhibited in com- paratively small compass; and its excessive ornamentation soon becomes monotonous and unendurable. Moreover, it is not by its ornamental but by its structural features that it rendered its services to English prose, and the most significant of these, as Pro- fessor Morsbach has recently shown, is exact balance of accents in correlative phrases and clauses. This very important feature can easily and quickly be worked out by teacher or pupils; and the process, if applied to several authors, cannot fail to be profitable. Robert Greene (p. 64) is fully discussed in all histories of English Literature. I wish here only to explain that I have given three selections from works attributed to him, not because I regard him as more important for the history of English prose than some others less generously represented, but for other reasons. In the first place, if all three are really by Greene, they deserve attention as presenting three different styles and kinds of writing; in the second place, at least two of them are of special interest to historians of literature and are often quoted for the illustration of Elizabethan life. I confess that, in my opinion, the most famous of the three, the Groat's Worth of Wit, is, as some of Greene's friends declared when it was published (after his death), not the product of Greene's pen, but the work of Henry Chettle. Professor Vetter's arguments against Greene's authorship ! seem to me conclusive, and it would not be difficult to add to them. The length of the extract from Dekker's GulVs Hornbook (p. 89) will no doubt be excused, even by the student, for the sake of its vivid picture of the way in which the " young bloods " of Shakspere's day and those who wished to be thought such conducted themselves. The advice is of course ironical throughout, but, like many another humor- ist who has poked fun at men with a grave face, Dekker has been supposed by some readers to have written a serious guide for frivolous men. Robert Burton (p. 97) will doubtless be little to the taste of the ordinary modern reader, not only because of his love for Latin phrases and quotations with uncouth refer- ences, but also because of the quaint style and fantastic humor which have endeared him to so many of the greatest lovers of literature. His book is, as might be expected, the product of an uneventful life of studious leisure, passed in the quiet shades of the Uni- versity of Oxford. The best way to learn to love it is to read it in the same circum- stances in which it was produced; the leisure of a long and lazy summer day or a quiet winter night is almost indispensable for a full appreciation of its shrewd sense and whimsical humor. The passage here given contains not only the brief anecdote from which Keats developed his beautiful poem Lamia, but also, if not the sources, at least analogues, of Balzac's remarkable story, A Passion in the Desert, and F. Anstey's A Tinted Venus. The notes not in brackets are those of the author himself. They have been retained in their original form because, not only in their range, but even in their occasional vagueness, they are characteristic of the author. Leviathan (p. 102) is the strange title given by Thomas Hobbes to his book on govern- ment, or, as he calls it, "the matter, form, and power of a commonwealth." The most distinguishing features of Hobbes are his entire freedom from mysticism, his conviction that all error and all ignorance are the results of a failure to reason clearly and sensibly, 1 Abhandl. d. 44ten Sammlung d. deut. Schulmanner (Teubner, 1897). INTRODUCTION xvii and his thoroughgoing application of his principle that "there is no conception in a man's mind which hath not, totally or by parts, been begotten upon the organs of sense." His own thought is always clear and simple ; all that he could see in the world he could under- stand, and all that he could understand he could express in its entirety. He conceived of all men (and of God) as made in his own image, differing from himself only in that some are very foolish and none so clear and consistent in reasoning as he. His style is very charac- teristic, clear, vigorous, rapid, and full of phrases that stick in the memory. Thomas Fuller (p. 117) is famous as antiquary, biographer, historian, pulpit orator, and wit. His wit — the quality which has most effectively kept his work alive for modern lovers of literature — is displayed at its best, not in the limning of a picture or the develop- ment of a theme, but by flashes, in quaint and impressive phrases or in glances at unnoted aspects of a subject. It therefore does not appear so strikingly in a continuous extract as in such a collection of brief paragraphs as Charles Lamb made for the delectation of him- self and spirits akin to his. The short biographical sketch of Sir Francis Drake here given does not, indeed, illustrate the versatility of his genius, but it presents a good speci- men of his sustained power as a writer of English prose. Jeremy Taylor (p. 136) was a master of elaborate and involved prose rhythms and as such will always retain his place in the history of English literature. Whether his fondness for themes of decay and death was due to a morbid liking for the subjects them- selves, or to the value which religious teachers in general at that time attached to the contemplation of physical corruption, or whether such themes offered a specially favor- able opportunity for lyrical movements in prose ending in minor cadences, may admit of discussion. Certainly one hears even in the most soaring strains of his eloquence the ground tone of the futility and vanity of life. Sir William Temple (p. 143) was not a great writer, but his prose is so good in technique that it may serve to call attention to the fact that the secrets of prose style had been mastered and a flexible and effective instrument of expression had been created by the long line of writers who had wrought at the problem. Henceforth, while great writing was, as always, possible only to that special temperamental organization which we call genius, clear and graceful prose was within the scope of any intelligent man of good taste and good train- ing, as is distinctly shown by the high level maintained in the eighteenth century even by writers of mediocre ability. The Diary of Samuel Pepys (p. 168) is probably the most honest and unsophisticated self-revelation ever given to the world. This is due partly to the fact that Pepys did not suppose that it would ever be read by any one but himself, and partly to an intellectual clearness and candor which enabled him to describe his actions and feelings without self- deception. Other autobiographies — even the most famous — have, without exception, been written with half an eye on the public; either the author has, consciously or half- consciously, posed to excite admiration for his cleverness or to shock by his unconven- tionalities, or he has become secretive at the very moment when he was beginning to be most interesting. But the reader would judge unjustly who estimated Pepys's character solely on the basis of the diary. He was in his own day regarded as a model of propriety and respectability and a man of unusual business capacity. He may be said, indeed, with little exaggeration, to have created the English navy; when he became Secretary to the Generals of the Fleet, the Admiralty Office was practically without organization, before the close of his career he had organized it and, as a recent Lord of the Admiralty says, provided it with "the principal rules and establishments in present use." That he was not altogether averse to what we now call "graft," is true; but in an age of universal bribery he was a notably honest and honorable official, and he never allowed his private interests to cause injury or loss to the service. No document of any sort gives us so full and varied and vivid an account of the social life and pursuits of the Restoration period; xviii INTRODUCTION Pepys is often ungrammatical, but he is never dull in manner or unprovided with interest- ing material. The carelessness of his style is due in no small measure to the nature of his book. He wrote for his own eye alone, using a system of shorthand which was not deciphered until 1825. That he was a man of cultivation is proved by the society in which he moved, by his interest in music and the drama, by the valuable library of books and prints which he accumulated and bequeathed to Magdalene College, Cambridge, by his interest in the Royal Society, and by the academic honors conferred upon him by the universities. Shaftesbury's Characteristics (p. 197) is another notable example of the high develop- ment which English prose style had obtained at the beginning of the eighteenth century. His philosophy, like most of the philosophy of the time, seems to us of the present day to be singularly lacking in breadth, depth, and solidity of content, but there can be no question of the clearness and grace of his presentation of it. Occasionally, to be sure, Shaftesbury's style becomes florid and acquires a movement inappropriate to prose, but such occasions are rare and in the main his prose will bear comparison with the best of its time. In such a volume as this it is, of course, impossible to illustrate the work of the novel- ists as novelists; and considerations of space have made necessary the omission of all but a few of the most notable. In some cases it has been necessary to choose an extract from a novel in order to present the writer at his best ; but wherever it is possible a selection has been chosen with a view to presenting the writer only as a writer of prose, leaving the more important aspect of his work to be presented in some other way. Thus from Fielding chapters have been chosen which give his theory of narrative art. Whatever may have been the real basis for Macpherson's so-called translation of the Poems of Ossian (p. 275), the work exercised a great, and, indeed, almost immeasurable, influence upon English and other literatures. Some persons may be disposed to criticise the inclusion of an extract from this translation in this volume rather than in the volume of poetry, but the translation itself is rhythmical prose, and it would not be difficult to show that it has exercised an equal or even greater influence upon prose than upon poetry. The question as to Macpherson's responsibility for the poems will probably never be entirely resolved. Celtic poems bearing considerable resemblance to his translations undoubtedly existed in considerable number, but it seems certain that his work was in no case merely that of a translator. The long chapter from Boswell's Life of Johnson is full of the prejudice and injus- tice of the author toward Oliver Goldsmith, whose ideas were often too advanced for such stanch worshipers of the established order as both Bosvvell and his master, John- son, were, and whose personal sensitiveness made him, despite his intellectual independ- ence, constantly the victim of the great dictator's methods of argument. That this chapter has had no little influence in the formation of false opinion about Goldsmith and even in promoting misunderstanding of his work, there can be little doubt; but it illustrates Boswell's method so well and presents Johnson so interestingly that I have not hesitated to print it. The Letters of Junius (p. 292) produced in their day a very great sensation, and their fame has been heightened by the mystery surrounding their authorship. Many of the prominent men of the time were accused of writing them and not a few either shyly admitted or boldly claimed the credit and the infamy. The reason why the real author did not appear and establish his claims was, as De Quincey long ago pointed out, that he could not assert his right to the literary fame without at the same time convicting himself of having made improper use of his official position under the government to obtain the information which made his attacks so effective. Historians of English literature have long accustomed us to believe that these letters depended for their success solely upon their literary style, their bitterness of invective, and their sardonic irony; but, although they INTRODUCTION xix are remarkable as literature, the special feature which aroused the fears of the govern- ment was the fact that no state secret seemed safe from the author and that he might at any moment reveal matters which it was important to keep unknown. Recent researches have made it practically certain that Junius was Sir Philip Francis, who was a clerk in the war office during the period of the publication of the letters. If Francis Jeffrey (p. 320) was unjust in his reviews of Wordsworth, lovers of Words- worth — and who is not ? — have been at least equally unjust in their treatment of Jeffrey. Sentences have been quoted, often in garbled form and always without the context, to illustrate the unfairness and stupidity and poetic insensibility of Jeffrey. Most sane critics of the present day differ from Jeffrey mainly in emphasis, they recognize that Words- worth really had the defects which Jeffrey pointed out, and that they are grave. But in literature only the successes count, the failures fall away and should be forgotten. The selection here printed presents Jeffrey in his most truculent mood; another selection, the review of the Excursion, was planned for this volume, but the limitation of our space necessitated its omission. Leigh Hunt (p. 354) hardly deserves to be retained in a book from which it has been necessary, on account of lack of space, to exclude so many of his betters, but the interest of comparing his version of the Daughter of Hippocrates with Sir John Mande- ville's prose (p. 6) and William Morris's poem (English Poetry, p. 551) was too great for my powers of resistance. Mandeville's version is a masterpiece of simple vivid narration, Morris's a wonder of visualized color and form and action, while Hunt's is a bit of clever but feeble prettiness, the work of a man totally deficient in distinction and power. These versions may help the student to understand when borrowing is not plagiarism — a task apparently too difficult for many who are sincerely interested in the problem. The long selection from Macaulay's famous chapter on the state of England at the time of the Revolution of 1688 (p. 382) is of course out of proportion to his importance among writers of English prose ; but teachers who are tired of reading over and over again his biographical sketches will doubtless welcome it as a change, and both teachers and pupils will surely find it valuable for the vivid picture it gives of the physical and social background against which so large a part of English literature must be seen if it is to be seen truly. Moreover, in style it presents Macaulay at his best. The title Mabinogion (p. 521) was given by Lady Charlotte Guest to the Welsh tales which she translated from the Red Book of Hergest, a collection of bardic materials. The Red Book was apparently written in the fourteenth century, but all of the stories probably took their present form earlier, and some of them are, in some form, of great antiquity. The term Mabinogion, though it has been generally accepted, does not properly include the tale here given. A young man who aspired to become a bard was called a Mabinog and was expected to learn from his master certain traditional lore called Mabi- nogi. Four of the tales included in the Red Book are called "branches of the Mabinogi." Lady Charlotte Guest treated Mabinogi as a singular, meaning a traditional Welsh tale, and from it formed the plural Mabinogion, which has since been widely used as she used it. Her translation was published in 1838-1849, and has been greatly admired for its preservation of the simplicity and charm of the originals. The story here printed is riot purely Welsh, but has been affected in greater or less degree by the form and ideas of Arthurian romance as developed in France and England under the influence of chivalry. ENGLISH PROSE EARLY MIDDLE ENGLISH THE ANGLO-SAXON CHRONICLE (c. i i 54) A MONK OF PETERBOROUGH (From the Record for 1137) This gaere * for 2 the king Stephne ofer sae 3 to Normandi, and ther wes 4 underfangen, 5 forthithat 6 hi 7 uuenden 8 that he sculde 9 ben 10 alsuic u alse 12 the eom 13 wes, and for 8 he hadde get his tresor; M ac 15 he to-deld 16 it and scatered sotlice. 17 Micel 18 hadde Henri king gadered gold and sylver, and na 19 god 20 ne dide me 21 for his saule 22 tharof. 23 Tha 24 the king Stephne to Englalande com, 25 tha 28 macod 27 he his gadering 28 aet Oxeneford; and thar he nam 29 the biscop Roger of Sere- beri 30 and Alexander biscop of Lincol and te 31 Canceler Roger his neves, 32 and dide 33 eelle in prisun til hi 7 iafen 34 up here 35 castles. Tha 24 the suikes 36 undergaeton 37 that he milde man was and softe and god 20 and na l9 justise 38 ne dide, tha 2e diden hi 7 alle wunder. 39 Hi 7 had- den him 40 manred 41 maked 27 and athes 42 suoren, 43 ac 15 hi nan l9 treuthe ne heolden. 44 Alle he 7 waeron 45 forsworen and here 35 treothes forloren ; 46 for aevric 47 rice 48 man his castles makede, 49 and agaenes 60 him heolden, 51 and fylden 52 the land ful of castles. Hi suencten 53 suythe 54 the uurecce 55 men of the land mid 66 castel weorces. 57 Tha 24 the castles uuaren 45 1 year 2 went 3 sea 4 was 6 received 8 because 7 they 8 weened, thought 9 should 10 be "just such 12 as 13 uncle u treasure 16 but :e dispersed 17 foolishly 18 much 19 no 2° good 21 anyone 22 soul 23 on account of it 24 when 26 came 26 then ^ made 28 assembly 29 seized 30 Salisbury 31 the 32 nephews (i.e. the son and nephew of Roger of Salisbury) 3a p U (. 34 g ave 36 their 3B traitors 37 perceived 38 justice, punishment 39 strange things, evils 40 to him ""homage 42 oaths 43 sworn 44 kept 46 were 46 entirely abandoned 47 every 48 powerful 49 fortified 60 against 81 held 62 filled 63 oppressed 64 greatly 65 wretched 68 with 67 works maked, tha ' fylden hi mid deovles and yvele 2 men. Tha ' namen 3 hi tha 4 men the s hi wenden 6 that ani god 7 hefden, 8 bathe 9 be 10 nihtes and be daeies, carlmen " and wimmen, and diden 12 heom 13 in prisun efter 14 gold and sylver, and pined 15 heom untellendlice 16 pining, 17 for ne uuaeren 18 naevre 19 nan martyrs swa 20 pined alse 21 hi wasron. Me 22 henged 23 up bi the fet 24 and smoked heom mid ful 2B smoke. Me henged bi the thumbes, other 26 bi the hefed, 27 and hengen 28 bryniges 29 on her 30 fet. Me dide 12 cnotted strenges 31 abuton 32 here 30 haeved 27 and uurythen 33 to 34 that it gaede 35 to the haernes. 38 Hi dyden heom in quarterne 37 thar 38 nadres 39 and snakes and pades 40 waeron inne, and drapen 41 heom swa. 20 . . . I ne can ne I ne mai 42 tellen alle the wun- der 43 ne alle the pines 44 that hi diden wrecce 45 men on 46 this land ; and that lastede tha .xix. wintre 47 wile 48 Stephne was king, and asvre 49 it was uuerse 50 and uuerse. From AN OLD ENGLISH HOMILY (before 1200) (Unknown Author) Missus est Jeremias in puteum et stetit ibi usque ad os, etc. (See Jeremiah 38 : 6-13) Leofemen, 51 we vindeth 52 in Halie Boc 53 thet Jeremie the prophete stod in ane 54 piitte 5B and thet 56 in the venne 57 up to his muthe; 58 and 1 then 2 evil 3 seized 4 those 6 who 6 weened, thought 7 property 8 had 9 both 10 by " men 12 put 13 them 14 after (i.e. to obtain) 1S tortured 16 unspeakable 17 torture 18 were 19 never 20 so 21 as 22 one (i.e., they indefinite) 23 hanged 24 feet 25 foul « or 27 head 28 hung 2B corselets (as weights) 30 their 31 cords 32 about 33 twisted 34 till 38 went, penetrated 38 brains 37 prison 38 where 3fl adders 40 toads 41 killed 42 may 43 evils 44 tortures 45 wretched 40 in 47 years 48 while 49 ever 50 worse 61 beloved 62 find 63 holy book = the Bible * 4 a M pit 68 that (emphatic) bl fen, mire 68 mouth RICHARD I'OORK tha ' he hefede' ther ane 8 hwile istonde, 8 tha ■ bicom ' his licome 7 swithe ' feble, and me u nom '° rapes " and caste in to him for to draghen '■' hine ,:l ul of thissr pUtte. Ah " his licome ' wes se ll swithe ' feble thel he ae mihte nohl '" itholie " the herdnesse 1S of the rapes. Tha ' sende me ' clathes 1U ut of thes ,0 lunges huse for to bi winden '■'• the rapes, thet his licome, 1 the" feble wes, ae sceolde" nohl 1 " wursien." Leofemen," theos M ilke" weord" the" ic 18 habbe 80 her i-seid" hab- beth muchele M bi-tacnunge," and god M ha M beoth" to heren and muchele betere u> et-halden." . . . Bi feremie the prophete we aghen :,s to understonden Ulcne 88 mon sttnfulle" thel lith in hevie sim no and thurh sothe " scrifl " his stlnbendes I:I nttle " slakien." Funiculi amari tudines penetencie significant. The rapes the- 3 weren i east to him l>i tacneth '" the herdnesse of SCrifte '•'; for nis ,? nan IS of US so 16 strong the 48 hefde idon" thre hefed" sttnnen tlu ; t his licome nere M swithe feble er M he hefde i-dreghen" thet" scrifl the" t her to bi- limpeth." Thas kinges hus bi-tacneth llali Chirche. Tha clathes thel weren i sende ul of thes kinges huse for to binden the rapes mid" bi-tacnet" the halie 88 ureisuns 80 the" me" singeth in halie chirche and the halie sacra mens the 81 me" aacreth" in" a lesnesse" of alia silnfulle. Leofemen, nu ye" habbeth i herd of this piitte the bi tacningc the ic habbe embc " ; i speken 88 and the bi tacningo of the prophete and thel " the rapes bi tacneth. and liw it " tha clathes bi-tacneth the 411 the rapes weren mide 8 ' bi wunden. t-hereth 70 nuthe" whtilche" thinges wunieth ;:I in thisse piitte. Ther wunieth fower ; ' ctlnnes ' 8 wUrmes ™ inne," thet for-doth" nnthc " al theos midelard." Ther 1 when '-' h.nl :i a * stood • then n became 7 body 'very • one, they (indefinite) "took u ropes 'Mi.nv 1:1 him M lmt l 'so "not "endure "hardness "cloths "the (gtn. s.) "wind about "which "should "grow worse, suffer a * bclovo^^**these "same "words -» 1 30 have ***' srdH. spoken "much " meaning, significance "good "they "arj 37 keep "ought "each "sinful "true "confes- sion, penance "sin-bonds "will not "loosen "signify "there is not "none '"that "done M head; chief "were not, would not become "ere, "endured, performed "the "belongs "with "signifies "holy " orisons, prayers "that "one, they (indefinite) " celebrate(s) "for "re- lease "ye "about "spoken "what "hear 71 now ■•-' what sort of "dwell "four "kinds n reptiles 77 in yto bt taken with Ther) "destroy "world wunieth inne 1 faghe 1 neddren, 8 and beoreth 8 atter 1 under heore " tunge; blako tadden, 7 and habbeth atter np(x>n heore lieortc; ycluwe 8 froggen, and crabben. Crabbe is an manere • of hssce l0 in there u sea. This fis l0 is of swi'ilc '•' ci'mdc i:i thet ever Be w he mare ' 5 strenglheth him to swimminde mid 1 " the waterc, se ,7 he mare swimmeth abac 18 And the aide crabbe seide to the yunge, 18 " Hwi ne Bwimmest thu forthward in there" sea alse " other tisses doth?" And heo '•'" seide, " Leofe ;i moiler, swim thu foren" me and tech me hu " ic seal 2i swimmen forth- ward." And heo'-'° bigon to swimmen forth- ward mid the streme, and swam hire" ther- a yen.'-'" Thas ?; faghe neddre 3 bi-tacneth this faghe'- folc* 8 the*'" wuneth in thisse weorlde, [etc] RICHARD POORE? (i>. 1237) From THE ANCREN RIWLE 30 Speech On aire crest,' 11 hwon 32 ye schulen " to ourc " parlures" thttrle," iwiteth '' el "ower" meiden* 8 hwo hit '" beo " thet is icumen, 11 VOr" SWllch " hit mci ft beon '" thet ye schulen 47 aschunicn " OUj" and hwon ye alios 60 moton 61 VOrth," creoiseth" ful yeome" our" muth," earen, and eien," and te" breoste ekej .and goth 88 forth mid Godes drede to preoste. 88 On eifesl 88 siggeth "' confiteor,** and ther efter benedicite* Thet"' he ouh" to siggen," hercneth his wordes, and sitteth al stille, thet," 7 hwon" he parteth vrom ou, 88 thel he ne cunne" ower god 70 ne ower iivel ;i nouthcr; ne he ne cunne OU nouthcr ''■ blamcn ne prcisen. Sum 7S is so 'in (to /'c taken with Ther) 'spotted 'adders 'bear "poison "their r toads "yellow "kind !UCh 13 nature ll as u more " fish the '• with l7 so "aback "young "she "dear "before "how "shall "her (reflexive) "against it "these "folk "that "The Nuns' Rule 81 first Of all " when 83 shall [go] " your ** parlor's "* winilow * 7 know, learn 3S from " maid *" it tl is " come * 3 for " such 4J may *' be "shall, ought to "shun, avoid "you (re- flexive, not to be translated) "by all means or necessarily n must [go] M forth, i.e. out of your dwelling "cross, i.e. bless with the sign of the cross 4) zealously "mouth "eyes " the, ».•. your "go (Imper.) "the priest "first M say (Imperative, as art- some of the other verbs in -ethl " the formula of confession "a canticle or hymn: " Bless ye the lord:" "what "ought ""say * 7 that, in order that "you "''know "good 71 evil n neither 7S one THE ANCREN RIWLE wcl ilered ' other 2 se 3 wis-iworded, thct heo * woldc 5 thet he " wttste 7 hit; 8 the " sit l0 and speketh touward him, and yell " him word ayein 12 word, and bicumcth meister, 18 Uie schulde beon ancre; and leaieth u him thet is icumen ' 5 to leren '" hire: 17 woldc" 1 hi hire tale sone 1U beon mit ,0 te wise iclid " and icnowen. 22 Icnowen heo' 1 is wel, vor 2:| thurh thet Like w thet heo 1 weneth 28 to beon 2 " wis iholden, 27 he understont 28 thet heo is sot. 20 Vor heo hunteth cfter pris, 80 and keccheth lastunge. 8 ^ Vor et M tc 33 lastc, hwon M he is iwend * a-wei, "Thcos 38 ancre," he wiile 37 siggen, 38 "is of muchelc 39 speche." Eve heold ine parai's 40 longc tale " mid ao tc neddre, 42 and tolde hire 17 al lliet lescun 43 thet God hire hefde " ilered B and Adam of then 88 epple; and so the vcond m thurh hire word understod an-on-riht " hire \v, VA|«.tl.> UC 27 held 28 understands * foolish 30 praise 31 blame 32 at 33 the 34 when 3B turned 30 this 37 will 88 sa y jg muc h 40 paradise 41 talk 42 adder, ser- pent 43 lesson 44 had 48 taught 40 fiend " at once 48 weakness 4U found " perdition 8l Our "Lady "did "all, entirely "angel "but 87 briefly 58 knew 8U dear 00 follow 01 not 82 chattering n3 therefore M what-so, i.e. whosoever w he, may be "° as "can fl8 herself m have not (hortative Subj.) 70 hen's 71 nature 72 hath 73 cackle 74 ob- tains 78 comcth 7B chough 77 takes from n eggs 711 ,..,( S no which hi ijy^ Jiving H2 young birds k;i so 84 wicked 86 the devil 80 bears 87 cackling 8H swal lows up 8tl good "produced ul has u2 as "bear »' them ward heovene, yif hit ncrc ' icakeled. The wrecche peoddarc 2 more noise he maketh to yeicn 3 his sope 4 then 5 a riche mercer al his dcorewurthe ° ware. To summe 7 gostlichc 8 monne ' thet ye beoth trusti uppen, ase 10 ye muwen " beon of Hit, 12 god 13 is thet ye asken red 14 and salve, 16 thet he teche ou toyeines 10 fondunges, 17 and ine schrifte 18 schcaweth 19 him, yif he wulc ihercn, 20 ower 21 grestc 22 and ower lodliikeste 23 siinnen, 24 vor-thi-thet him arcowe ou; 26 and thurh the bireounesse 26 crie Crist inwardliche 27 merci vor ou, and habbe 2S ou ine miinde 29 and in his boncn. 30 Scd mulli veniunt ad vos in vcslimenlis ovium; intrin- secus autem sunt lupi ra paces. "Auh 31 witeth 32 ou, and beoth 88 iwarre," M he seith, ure 85 Loverd, "vor monie M cumcth to ou ischrud 37 mid lombes lleose, 38 and beoth ™ wode 40 wulvcs." Worldlichc men ileveth u liil; 42 rcligiuse yet lessc. Ne wilnie 43 ye nout to muchel hore 44 kuthlcchunge. 45 Eve withute drede spec 40 mit tc neddre. Ure 3S Lefdi 47 was ofdred 48 of Gabrieles speche. ■p 1* 1* t* 'K ^r* ^ Ure dcorewurthe a Lefdi, Seinte Marie, thet ouh 49 to alle wiimmen beon vorbisne, 60 was of so liitc 42 speche thet nouhware 61 ine I loli Write ne ivinde 62 we thct heo spec 4 "bute vor 53 sithen ;" auh 31 for 65 the seldspeche " hire wordes wcrcn hevie, 67 and hefden 68 muche mihte. Hire vorme S9 wordes thct we redeth of wcrcn tho °° heo onswerede then" 1 engle Gabriel, and thco 82 wcrcn so mihtie thet mid tet " 3 thet ° 4 heo scide, Ecce ancilla Domini; fiat mihi secundum ver- bum tuum, et tissc ° 5 worde Godes sune and soth " God bicom 87 mon ; and the Loverd, thet al the world ne muhtc 88 nout bivon, 89 bi- tiinde 70 him 71 withinnen the mcidencs 72 worn be Marie. Hire othre 73 wordes weren thoa °° heo com and grette 74 Elizabeth hire mowe; 75 and hwat mihte, wenest-tu, 78 was iciid 77 ine theos 82 1 were not 2 peddler 3 cry 4 soap 8 than • precious 7 some 8 sjjiritual "man 1U as "may 12 few 13 good 14 counsel w remedy ia against 17 tcmptations 18 confes- sion 19 show *° hear 21 your 22 greatest 23 most hateful 24 sins 28 in order that he may pity you (areowe is impersonal) ^ pity 27 sincerely 28 have 20 mind, memory 30 prayers 3l but 32 guard 33 be 34 cautious 38 our 3« man y 37 c l thed 38 fleece 3B arc 40 wild 41 believe (Imperative) 42 little 43 desire 44 their 48 acquaintance 48 spoke 47 Lady 48 afraid 4B ought 80 example 81 nowhere 82 find 83 four 84 times "because of 80 seldom-speaking 87 weighty 88 had "first ""when B1 the 62 these 83 that ° 4 which 88 at this •" true 87 became ° 8 might ou encompass 70 enclosed 71 himself 72 maiden's 7a second 7 * greeted 75 kinswoman 70 thiukest thou 77 manifested RICHARD POO RE wonlcs? Ilwat,' tint ;i child bigon VOI to pleien ' toyeines' ham* thet was Seixi [ohan -in his moder wombel The thridde time thel heo spec,' thet was e1 te neoces, 9 and ther, thurh hire bone, 1 was water iwend s to wine. The veorthe time was thoa a heo hefde 10 imist 11 hire sune, u and eft u nine 14 ivond. 15 And hu nmehel wnnder vohiwede* 1 " theos wordesl Thet God almihti beih " him 1S to one IU monne, 90 to one " Bmithe, and to am' '" wUmmone," and foluwude '" ham/ ase* 1 bore,* 8 hw aider so '■'' heo 98 evei wolden. 98 Nimeth" nn " her " yeme, 80 and leorneth yeome : " her bi lui ■'■' seldcene "speche haveth muche stiencthe. Nuns May Riir No Hkast hit a Cat ye, mine leove !1 stistren, 88 ne schulen :I " hab- ben M no best, 88 bute kat one. 1 ' Ancre 40 thel haveth eihte 41 thilncheth d bel ,:I husewif, 44 ase Marthe was, then ancre; '" ne none weis 48 ne nu-i heo M beon " Marie mid grithfulnesse ,s of heorte. Vor theonne '• mol c ' 1 ' heo thenchen 61 of the kues u foddre, and of heordemonne 88 buire, 94 oluhnen 88 thene 88 heiward, 81 warien 88 hwon ; '" me "" ptlnl "' hire, and yelden, 81 thauh,? 8 the hermes. 94 Wat 88 Crist, this is lodlich 88 thing hwon 89 me 80 maketh mone*' in tune 98 of ancre 99 eihte. 41 Thauh, 98 yif" eni mot 90 nede habben " km, loke n thel heo 49 none monne ne eilie, ; - ! ne ne hermie; ; ' ne thel hire thouht ne beo "nout ther-on ivestned.™ Ancre neouh TT nout to habben" no thing thel drawe t9 utward hire heorte. None cheffare ; " ne drive ye. Ancre thet is cheapild, 80 heo cheapeth M hire soule the chepmon ■ of helle. Ne wite s;1 ye noul in oure M huse " of other monnes thinges, ne eihte, 41 ne clothes; ne nout ne undervo 88 ye the chirche vestimenz, ne thene 91 1 behold * play ' against, al the sound of * tlu-in "spoke • marriage T prayer, request 'turned v ' when '" bad " missed " son '- ; again u bin 1S fomul "followed lT bowed, humbled l8 himself ll 'a " man M woman "as "theirs "whitherso "they -"would " take (Imptratiw) » now "here "heed "well "how "rare "dear "sisters 3,1 >h. ill "have "beast "only "'a mm "property "seems "rather "housewife "no-ways "she 47 be " peacefulness " then " must M think. "cow's "herdsmen's "hire "flatter M the " heyward, bailiff "curse "when eo onc 01 impounds " pay " nevertheless <14 damages " knows " hateful " complaint tVS town, farm "a nun's "if "have "look "disturb 74 harm 7S be " fastened 77 ought 7S may draw "bargain M bargainer M sells "tradesman * keep, take e.ue of "your sJ house "receive s7 the cali/, 1 bute-yif 1 strencthe 8 hit makie, 4 other 8 mucnel eie; " vor of swtiche 1 witunge 8 is iku- inen" tmiehel iivel '" ot'te sithen." ENGLISH PROCLAMATION OF HENRY III (1258) TIenr', Kirs 12 godes fultume IS king on 14 Engleneloande, Lhoauerd on Yrloand, Duk on Norm', on Aquitain', and eorl on Aniovv, Send l5 igretinge '" to alle hise holde," Ilaerde ,s and ileawede 10 on lluntendon'schir'. h;t*t " witen-' 3e 18 wel alle, bset we willen and vnnen : ' ;l bet bet 94 vie" ra-desmen M alle, ober 9 )>e " moare ,8 del "" of heom 80 bet beob 3I ichosen bUT3 u VS and bUT3 bet 91 loandes M folk on vre kuneriche, 88 habbeb M idon M and schullen M don s7 in he worbnesse 3S of gode 39 and on vre treowbe 40 for he freme 41 of he loande l>ur3 he besi^te '-' of han •' to-foreniseide " redesmen," beo stedefesl and Qestinde M in alle hinge a ,; ' buten "'' Bende. 41 And we hoaten 48 alle vre treowe, 49 in l1 be treowbe "' bel heo 60 us 03en, 81 bet heo stedefestliche healden 91 and sweren to healden and to werien " bo M iselnesses " hat beon 31 imakede and beon to makien 68 hurs u ' han 81 to foren iseide ,;i raalesmen ober 9 burs w moare 88 del ,8 of heom, 30 alswo M alse "' hit r " s is biforen iseid. 89 And bel ehc e0 Obex U1 helpe bel for to done :,; hi han 81 ilehe " Obe M a^enes "' alle men Ri3l for, to done 81 and to foangen. 98 And noan ** ne nime ' 7 of loande ne " of e^te " wherhnr^ his beside 4 - mu^e " \\\m ilet ;i ober iwersed n on onie 7S wise. And 3U u oni ;i obex 6 onie 7 " cumen her on^enes, ;7 we willen and hoaten '* hat alle vre treowe " heom healden deadliehe ifoan. 78 And for bet we willen bset his heo stedefsest and lestinde," we sended 79 sew 80 |>is writ 'chalice -unless 'strength, necessity 4 make, e.uise ■ or " fear 7 such ' guarding v come l0 evil " oft-times 12 by '•' aid 14 in '• sends lB greeting l7 faithful 1S learned "unlearned "that ■ know "ye "grant 24 what "our "counselors J7 the "greater "part "them "are "land's "kingdom "have M done 88 shall S7 do 3S honor »» God «° loyalty 41 benefit 4J provision * 3 aforesaid 44 lasting 45 ever "without "end "command "loyal "they "owe "hold "defend "laws " to make, to be made "iust "as >s it "said "each "the other "same "oath "towards "receive M none "take (sul'j.of command) 08 nor 6 * property 70 may 7l hindered 7 - injured "any 74 if 7 * any one 78 any (/>/.") "here against, /.<•. against this proclamation 7S toes 7tf send EPISTLE III 5 open, iseincd ' wi|> vrc seel to halden 2 amanges sow ine hord. 8 Witnesse vs-seluen 4 aet Lunden' hane 5 E3tctenbe n day on be Monbe of Oclobr' In be Two and fowerti3be 7 3eare of vre cruningc. 8 RICHARD ROLLE (i2Qo?-i349) From EPISTLE III THE COMMANDMENT OF LOVE TO GOD The lufc of Jhesu Criste es 9 ful dere 10 tresure, ful delytabyl " joy, and ful sykcr I2 to trayst 13 man on. For-thi," he wil not gyf it to folys, 15 that k:m noght hald I0 it and kepe il tenderly; hot 17 til 18 thaim he gese 10 it the whilk 2U nowther 21 for welc ne for wa 22 wil lat 23 it passe fra tham, hot are 21 thai wil dye or 25 thai wolde wrath Jhesu Criste. And na 20 wyse man dose 27 precyous lycor in a stynkand ves- sell, hot in a clene. Als 28 Criste dose 27 noght his lufe in a foule hert in syn and bownden in vile lust of flesche, bot in a hert that es fayre and clene in vertues. Noght-for-thi, 20 a fowle vessel may be made sa clene that a ful dere thyng savely :)0 may be done 3l tharin. 32 And Jhesu Criste ofl-sythes 33 purges many synfull mans sawle M and makes it abyl 35 thurgh his grace to receyve the delitabel " swetnes of hys iuf, and to be his wonnyng-stede 30 in halynes; 37 and ay 3H the clennar it waxes, the mare- 39 joy and solace of heven Criste settes thar-in. For- thi, 14 at the fyrst tyme when a man es 9 turned to God, he may not felc 10 that swete lycor til he have bene wele used in Goddes servys 41 and his hert be purged thorow l2 prayers and penance and gode thoghtes in God. For he that es slaw |:1 in Goddes scrvyce may noght be byrnand " in lufe, bot-if 45 he do al his myght and travell l0 nyght and day to fulfill Goddes will. And when that blysscd lufe es in a mans hert, it will not suffer hym be ydel, 47 bot ay it st i ires hym to do som gode that myght be lykand 48 til God, as in praying, or in wirkyng 'signed 2 hold 'safe-keeping 4 ourselves 8 the ■eighteenth 'fortieth "crowning 9 is 10 precious 11 delightful "secure "trust "therefore 18 fools '•hold 17 but 18 to "gives 20 which "neither 22 woe 23 let 2i sooner 28 ere »no v puts 28 so 20 nevertheless •'"'safely 31 put 32 therein "oft-times "soul "able, "dwelling-place "holiness 88 ever 89 more "feel * l service a through 43 slow 44 burning *" unless 40 labor 47 idle 48 pleasing profitabel thynges, or in spekyng of Cristes passyon ; ' and principally in thoght, that the mynde 2 of Jhesu Criste passe noght fra his thoght. For if thou lufe hym trewly, thou wil 3 glad the in hym and noght in other thyng; and thou wil thynk on hym, kastand 4 away al other thoghtes. Bot if thou be fals, and take other than hym, and delyte the in erthly thyng agaynes his wille, wit B thou welc he will forsake the ° as thou hase 7 done hyme, and dampne the for thi synne. Wharfore, that thou may lufe hym trewly, understand that his lufe es proved in thre thynges; in thynkyng, in spekyng, in wirkyng. Chaunge thi thoght fra the worldc, and kast it haly 8 on hym, and he sail norysche the. 8 Chaunge thi mowth fra unnayte 9 and warldes l0 speche, and speke of hym, and he sail " com- forth " the. Chaunge thi hend 13 fra the warkes 14 of vanilese, and lyft tham 15 in his name, and wyrke anly 10 for hys lufe, and he sail" receyve the. Do thus, and than lufes 17 thou trewly and gase 1S in the way of perfitencs. Delyte the sa 10 in hym that thi hert receyve nowther 80 worldes joy ne worldes sorow, and drcde no anguys 21 ne noy 22 that may befallc bodyly on the* or on any of thi frendes; bot betake n all in-til Goddes will and thank hym ay of all hys sandes, 24 swa 19 that thou may have rest and savowre in hys lufe. For if thi hert owther 25 be ledde with worldes drede or worldes solace, thou ert 20 full fer 2 ' fra the swetnes of Cristes lufe. . . . Wasche thi thoght clene wyth lufe-teres 28 and brennand 29 yernyng, 30 that he fynd na 31 thyng fowle in the, for his joy es that thou be fayre and lufsom 32 in his eghen. 88 Fayrehede 31 of thi sawle, that he covaytes, es that thou be chaste and meke, mylde and sufferand, never irk 35 to do his wille, ay hatand all wykkedncs. In al that thou dose, 36 thynk ay to com to the syght of his fairehede, 34 and sett al thine entent 37 thar-in, that thou may com thar-til 38 at thine endyng; for that aght 38 to be the ende of al oure traveyle, that we evermare, whils we lyve here, desyre that syght, in all oure hert, and 1 passion, suffering 2 memory s wilt 4 casting 8 know 9 thee 7 hast "wholly 9 vain 10 worjd's, worldly "shall "comfort "hands 14 works 18 thcm 18 only I7 lovest 18 gocst I0 so 20 neither 81 anguish 22 annoy, injury 23 commit 24 sendings, dispensations u either 20 art 27 far ta lave-tears 29 burning 80 yearning, desire 81 no 32 lovable 3:1 eyes •* f airness. 30 weary 80 dost 37 intent eyes 31 fairness. thereto 89 ought SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE that we thynk ay lang thar-till. 1 Als sa 2 festen 3 in thi hert the mynd 4 of his passyon and of his woundes: grete delyte and swetnes sal thou fele if thou halde thi thoght in mynde 4 of the pyne 6 that Cryst sufferd for the. . . . I wate 6 na thyng that swa 7 inwardly sal take thi hert to covayte Goddes lufe and to desyre the joy of heven and to despyse the vanitees of this worlde, as stedfast thynkyng of the myscheves and grevous woundes and of the dede 8 of Jhesu Criste. It wil rayse thi thoght aboven erthly lykyng, 9 and make thi hert brennand 10 in Cristes lufe, and purches in thi sawle delitabelte " and savoure of heven. Bot per-aunter 12 thou will say: "I may noght despyse the worlde, I may not fynd it in my hert to pyne 5 my body, and me behoves 13 lufe my fleschly frendes and take ese when it comes." If thou be temped 14 with swilk 1S thoghtes, I pray the that thou umbethynk ie the, 17 fra the begynnyng of this worlde, whare 18 the worldes lovers er l9 now, and whare the lovers er of God. Certes thai war 20 men and wymen as we er, and ete and drank and logh; 2l and the wreches that lofed 22 this worlde toke ese til 23 thair body and lyved as tham lyst, 24 in likyng of thair wikked will, and led thair dayes in lust and delyces; 25 and in a poynt 2a thai fel intil hell. Now may thou see that thai wer 20 foles and fowle glotons, that in a few yeres 27 wasted endles joy that was ordand 28 for tham if thai walde 29 have done penance for thair synnes. Thou sese 30 that al the ryches of this world and delytes vanys 31 away and commes til noght. Sothely, 32 swa dose 3S al the lofers 34 thar-of ; for nathyng may stande stabely on a fals gronde. Thair bodys er gyn 35 til wormes in erth, and thair sawles til the devels of hell. Bot all that forsoke the pompe and the vanite of this lyfe and stode stalworthly 3e agaynes all temptacions and ended in the lufe of God, thai ar now in joy and hase 37 the erytage 38 of heven, thar to won 39 with-owten end, restand 40 in the delyces 41 of Goddes syght. . . . 1 thereto 2 also 8 fasten 4 memory 8 torture 6 know 7 so 8 death 9 liking, desire 10 burning "delight 12 peradventure 18 behooves (impersonal) l * tempted 16 such l6 consider 17 Reflexive, not to be translated. 18 where 19 are 20 were - 21 laughed 22 loyed 23 to 24 pleased (impersonal) 28 pleasures * moment 27 years 28 ordained 29 would 30 seest 31 vanish 82 truly 83 do 34 lovers 3S given M steadfastly 87 have 88 heritage 39 dwell 40 resting 41 joys SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE? (d. 137 i) THE VOIAGE AND TRAVAILE OF SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILE, KT. From CHAP. IV And from Ephesim Men gon ' throghe many lies in the See, unto the Cytee of Paterane, where Seynt Nicholas was born, and so to Martha, where he was chosen to ben 2 Bis- schoppe; and there growethe right gode Wyn and strong; and that Men callen Wyn of Martha. And from thens 3 gon Men to the He of Crete, that the Emperour yaf 4 somtyme 6 to Janeweys. 8 And thanne passen Men thorghe the Isles of Colos and of Lango; of the whiche lies Ypocras was Lord offe. And some Men seyn, 7 that in the He of Lango is yit 8 the Doughtre of Ypocras, in forme and lykeness of a gret Dragoun, that is a hundred Fadme 9 of lengthe, as Men seyn : For I have not seen hire. And thei of the Isles callen hire, Lady of the Lond. 10 And sche lyethe in an olde castelle, in a Cave, and schewethe " twyes or thryes in the Yeer. And sche dothe none harm to no Man, but-yif 12 Men don hire harm. And sche was thus chaunged and trans- formed, from a fair Damysele, in -to lyknesse of a Dragoun, be 13 a Goddesse, that was clept M Deane. 15 And Men seyn, that sche schalle so endure in that forme of a Dragoun, unto the tyme that a Knyghte come, that is so hardy, that dar come to hire and kiss hire on the Mouthe: And then schalle sche turne ayen 16 to hire owne Kynde, 17 and ben a Woman ayen: But aftre that sche schalle not liven longe. And it is not long siththen, 18 that a Knyghte of the Rodes, that was hardy and doughty in Armes, seyde that he wolde kyssen hire. And whan he was upon his Coursere, and wente to the Castelle, and entred into the Cave, the Dragoun lifte up hire Hed ayenst ie him. And whan the Knyghte saw hire in that Forme so hidous and so horrible, he fleyghe 20 awey. And the Dragoun bare 21 the Knyghte upon a Roche, 22 mawgre his Hede; 23 and from that Roche, sche caste him in-to the See: and so was lost bothe Hors and Man. And also a yonge 24 Man, that wiste 26 not of the Dragoun, 1 go 2 be 3 thence 4 gave 5 formerly, once upon a time 6 the Genoese 7 say 8 yet fl fathom 10 land 11 appears 12 unless I3 by 14 called 15 Diana 1B again, back l7 nature 18 since I9 against 20 fled 2I bore 22 rock 23 despite his head ( = despite all he could do) 24 young 2S knew THE VOIAGE AND TRAVAILE OF SIR JOHN MAUNDEVILE wente out of a Schipp, and wente thorghe the He, til that he come to the Castelle, and cam in to the Cave; and wente so longe, til that he fond a Chambre, and there he saughe ' a Damysele, that kembed 2 hire Hede, and lokede in a Myrour; and sche hadde meche 3 Tresoure abouten hire: and he trowed, 4 that sche hadde ben a comoun Woman, that dwelled there to receyve Men to Folye. And he abode, tille the Damysele saughe the Schadewe of him in the Myrour. And sche turned hire toward him, and asked hym, what he wolde. And he seyde, he wolde ben hire Limman 5 or Paramour. And sche asked him, yif 8 that he were a Knyghte. And he seyde, nay. And than sche seyde, that he myghte not ben hire Lemman: 5 But sche bad him gon ayen 7 unto his Felowes, and make him Knyghte, and come ayen upon the Morwe, and sche scholde come out of the Cave before him ; and thanne come and kysse hire on the mowthe, and have no Drede; "for I schalle do the no maner harm, alle be it that thou see me in Lyknesse of a Dragoun. For thoughe thou see me hidouse and horrible to loken onne, I do 8 the to wytene, 9 that it is made be En- chauntement. For withouten doute, I am non other than thou seest now, a Woman; and therfore drede the noughte. And yif thou kysse me, thou schalt have alle this Tresoure, and be my Lord, and Lord also of alle that He." And he departed fro hire and wente to his Felowes to Schippe, and leet 10 make him Knyghte, and cam ayen upon the Morwe, for to kysse this Damysele. And whan he saughe hire comen u out of the Cave, in forme of a Dragoun, so hidouse and so horrible, he hadde so grete drede, that he fleyghe n ayen to the Schippe; and sche folewed him. And whan sche saughe, that he turned not ayen, sche began to crye, as a thing that hadde meche 3 Sorwe: and thanne sche turned ayen, in-to hire Cave; and anon the Knyghte dyede. And siththen 13 hidrewards, 14 myghte no Knyghte se hire, but that he dyede anon. But whan a Knyghte comethe, that is so hardy to kisse hire, he schalle not dye; but he schalle turne the Damysele in-to hire righte Forme and kyndely 15 Schapp, and he schal be Lord of alle the Contreyes and lies aboveseyd. 1 saw 6 lover 10 let 16 natural 2 combed s much * believed, thought 6 if 7 back 8 cause 8 know come 12 fled 18 since u till now From CHAP. XVII Also yee have herd me seye that Jerusalem is in the myddes ' of the World ; and that may men preven 2 and schewen there be a Spere that is pighte 3 in-to the Erthe, upon the hour of mydday, whan it is Equenoxium, that schew- ethe no schadwe on no syde. And that it scholde ben in the myddes 1 of the World, David wytnessethe it in the Psautre, where he seythe, Deus operatus est salute[m] in medio Terre. 4 Thanne thei that parten 6 , fro the parties 6 of the West for to go toward Jeru- salem, als many jorneyes 7 as thei gon upward for to go thidre, in als many jorneyes may thei gon fro Jerusalem, unto other Confynes of the Superficialtie of the Erthe beyonde. And whan men gon beyonde tho 8 journeyes toward Ynde and to the foreyn Yles, alle is envyronynge the- roundnesse of, the Erthe and of the See, undre oure Contrees on this half. 9 And ther- fore hathe it befallen many tymes of o 1 * thing that I have herd cownted " whan I was yong: how a worthi man departed somtyme from oure Contrees for to go serche the World. And so he passed Ynde and the Yles beyonde Ynde, where ben mo " than 5000 Yles; and so longe he wente be I3 See and Lond and so enviround the World be many seysons, that he fond an Yle where he herde speke his owne Langage, callynge on Oxen in the Plowghe, suche Wordes as men speken to Bestes in his owne Contree; whereof he hadde gret Mervayle, 14 for he knewe not how it myghte be. But I seye, that he had gon so longe be Londe and be See that he had envyround alle ^he Erthe, that he was comen ayen l5 envirounynge, that is to seye, goynge aboute, unto his owne Marches, 16 yif he wolde have passed forthe til he had founden his Contree and his owne knouleche. 17 But he turned ayen from thens, from whens he was come fro; and so he loste moche peynefulle labour, as him-self seyde a gret while aftre that he was comen hom. For it befelle aftre, that he wente in to Norweye; and there Tem- pest of the See toke him ; and he arryved in an Yle; and whan he was in that Yle, he knew wel that it was the Yle where he had herd speke his owne Langage before and the callynge of the Oxen at the Plowghe; and that was possible thinge. But how it semethe to symple 1 middle 2 prove 3 stuck * God has wrought sal- vation in the middle of the earth. 6 depart 6 parts 7 journeys (i.e. days' travel) 8 those 9 side 10 one 11 recounted, told 12 more 13 by 14 wonder 18 back 16 boundaries, borders 17 acquaintances SIR JOHN MANDEVILLE men unlerned thai men nc mowc ' not go undre the Erthe, and also that men scholde falle toward the Hevene from undre I But that may not be, upon lesse than wee mowc falle toward Hevene fro the Erthe where wee ben. 8 For fro what partie of the Erthe that men duelle, 8 outher 4 aboven or benethen, it semethe alweys to hem 6 that duellen that thei gon more righte than onv other folk. And righte as it semethe to us that thei ben undre us, righte so it semethe hem thai wee ben undre hem. For vif a- man myghte falle fro the Erthe unto the Firmament, be grettere resoun, the Erthe and the See, that ben so grete and so hevy, scholde fallen to the Firmament: but that may not be; and therefore seithe oure Lord God, Non Hmeas me, qui suspend* Terra[m] ex nickilof u And alio be it that it be possible thing that men may so envyronne alle the World, natheles 7 of a icoo persones on 8 ne myghte not hap- pen to returnen in-to his Contree. For 1 the gretnesse of the Erthe and of the See, men may go be a tooo and a 1000 other weyes, that no man eowde reilye l0 him perfitcly toward the parties that he earn fro, DUt-yif " it were be aventure and happ or be the grace of God. For the Erthe is fulle large and fulle gret, and holt 12 in roundnesse and aboute envyroun, he aboven and be benethen, 30435 Myles, aftre the opynyoun of the olde wise Astronomeres. And here Seyenges 1 repreve i: ' noughte. But aftre my lytylle wytt, it semethe me, savynge here 14 reverence, that it is more. From CHAR XXVII In the Lond of Prestre John ben many dyverse thinges and many precious Stones, so grete and so large that men maken of hem & vesselle; 18 as Plateres, Dissches, and Cuppes. And many other marveyllcs hen there; that it were to " combrous and to 10 long to puttcn it in scripture 17 of Bokes. Hut of the princypalle Vies and of his Estate and of his l.awe 1 schalle telle you som partye. 18 This Emperour Prestre John is Cristene; and a gret partie of his Contree also: hut yit thei have not alle the Articles of oure Feythe, as wee have. Thei beleven wel in the 1 may -arc 'dwell, inhabit 'either "them 8 Dosl thou not fear me who have suspended the earth upon nothing? 'nevertheless 'one 'because of '"direct u unless " holds, contains "reprove, criticise "their "vessels ,9 too 17 writing " part Fadre, in the Sone, and in the Holy Gost: and thei hen fulle devoute ami righte trewe on ' to another. And thei sette not be 2 no Barettes, 8 ne be Cawtelcs, 1 ne of no Disceytes. 5 And he hathe undre him 72 Provynces; and in every Provynce is a Kyng. Ami thcise Kynges han B kynges undre hem; and alle hen tributaries to Prestre John. And he hathe in his Lordschipes many grete marvcyles. For in his Contree is the See that men clepen ' the Gravely" See, that is alle Gravelle and Sond* with-outen ony drope of Watre; and it ebbethe and flowethe in grete Wawes l0 as other Sees don; and it is never stille ne in pes n in no maner 12 ccsoun. 13 And no man may passe that See beNavve" ne be no maner of craft : 15 and therfore may no man knowe what Lond is beyond that See. And alle he it that it have no Watre, yit men fynden "' there in and on the Bankes fulle gode Fissche of other maner of kynde and sehappe thanne men fynden in onv other See; and thei ben of right goode tast and delycious tomannes mete. And a 3 journeys long fro that See, hen grit Mountaynes; out of the whiche gothe i; out a gret Flood, 18 that comethe out of Paradys;and it is fulle of precious Stones, withouten ony drope of Water; and it rennethe 10 thorghe the Desert, on that ,0 o J syde, so that it makethe tin- See gravely; and it hercthe ,; in-to that See, and there it endcthe. And that Home IS ren- nethe also 3 ilayes in the Woke,-' arid hryngelhe with him grete Stones and the Roches "also therewith, and that gret plentee. Ami anon as thei ben entred in-to the gravely See, thei ben seyn 23 no more, but lost for evere more. Ami in tho 3 dayes that that Ryvere rennethe no man dar-' entren in-to it: but in the other dayes men dar entren wel ynow.'-' 5 Also beyonde that Flome, 18 more upward to the Oesertes, is a gret Plcyn alle gravelly betwene the Mountaynes; ami in that Playn every day at the Sonne risynge begynnen to growe smale Trees; and thei growen til mydd.ay, herynge Frute; but no man dar taken of that brute, for it is a thing of Fayrye. 2a And aftre mydday thei discrecen 27 and entren aven - s in-to the Erthe; SO that at the goynge doun of the Sonne thei apperen no more; ami so thei don every day : and that is a gret marvaylle. > . tinu 111 til 10 a j^iti mai * a \ 1 1*. by (= do not practice") s fraud: •have 'call 'gravelly 'san< '"waves "peace "kind of "season "shij "device "find "goes, Bows »° the M wrik ■ rocks - ,;i soon 18 magic w decrease ** again 1 one 8 set not 1 . 4 tricks 'deceits 'have 'call 10 waves " peace "kind of "season "ship 18 find "goes, flows "river "runs nough 18 river 24 dare ** enc JOHN WICLIF JOHN WICLIF (d. 1384) THE GOSPEL OF MATHEU THE GOSPEL OF MATHEW (first version) CHAP. V Jhcsus forsothc, 1 seyngc 2 cumpanyes, wente up in-to an hill; and when he hadde sete, 8 his disciplis camen nighe to hym. And he, openynge his mouthe, taughte to hem, sayinge, "Blessid be the pore in spirit, for the kingdam in hevenes is heren.' 1 Blessid be myldc men, for thei shuln 6 welde ° the eerthe. Blessid be thei that mournen, for thei shuln 5 be comfortid. Blessid be thei that hungren and thristen right- wisnessc, 7 for thei shuln ben fulfillid. Blessid be mercyful men, for thei shuln gete mercye. Blessid be thei that ben 8 of clene herte, for thei shuln see God. Blessid be pesible men, for thei shuln be clepid 9 the sonys of God. Blessid be thei that suffren pcrsecucioun for rightwisnesse, 7 for the kyngdam of hevenes is hcrun. 4 Yee shulen 5 be blessid, when men shulen curse you, and shulen pursue you, and shulen say al yvel 10 ayeins u you lcezing, 12 for me. Joye 13 yee with-yn-forth, H and glade yee with-out-forth, for youre meede 1B is plente- vouse 10 in hevenes; forsothe so thei han 17 pursued and 18 prophetis that wercn before you. Yee ben 8 salt of the erthe; that yif " the salt shal vanyshc awey, wherynne shal it be saltid? To no thing it is worth over, 20 no 21 bot 22 that it be sent out, and defoulid of men. Ye ben 8 light of the world; a citee putt on an hill may nat be hid; nether men tendyn 2S a lantcrne, and putten it undir a busshel, but on a candilstike, that it yeve 24 light to alle that ben in the hous. So shyyne 25 youre light before men, that thei see youre good werkis, and glorifie youre Fadir that is in hevens. Nyle 26 ye gesse, or deme, 27 that Y came to undo, or distruye, the lawe, or the prophetis; I came not to undo the lawe, but to fulfille. Forsothe 28 I say to you trewlhe, til hcven and erthe passe, oon 2B i, that is leste 30 lettre, or titil, shal nat passe fro the lawe, til alle thingis be don. Therfore he that undoth, or breketh, oon of these leste 30 maundementis, 31 and techith thus men, shal be clepid 32 the leste in the rewmc 33 of hevenes; forsothe, this 34 that doth, and techith, shal be clepid grete in the kyng- dame of hevenes. Forsothe Y say to you, no-but-yif 35 youre rightwisnesse shal be more 1 indeed 2 seeing 3 sat 4 theirs 8 shall ° rule 7 righteousness 8 are "railed 10 evil "against 12 lying 13 rejoice H with-yn-forth = inwardly 16 rc- (SECOND VERSION) CAP. V And Jhesus, seynge 2 the puple, wente up in- to an hil; and whanne he was set, hise disciplis camen to hym. And he openyde his mouth, and taughte hem, and seide, " Blessed ben pore men in spirit, for the kyngdom of hevenes is heme.' 1 Blessid ben mylde men, for thei schulen 5 welde the erthe. Blessid ben thei that mornen, for thei schulen be coumfortid. Blessid ben thei that hungren and thristen rightwisnesse, for thei schulen be fulfillid. Blessid ben merciful men, for thei schulen gete merci. Blessid ben thei that ben of clene herte, for thei schulen se God. Blessid ben pesible men, for thei schulen be clepid 9 Goddis chil- dren. Blessid ben thei that suffren pcrsecu- sioun for rightfulnesse, for the kingdam of hevenes is heme.' 1 Ye schulen be blessid, whanne men schulen curse you, and schulen pursue you, and shulen seie al yvel 10 ayens " you liynge, for me. Joie 13 ye, and be ye glad for youre meede I5 is plcntevouse l0 in hevenes; for so thei han n pursued also profetis that weren bifor you. Ye ben salt of the erthe; that if the salt vanysche awey, whereynne schal it be saltid? To no thing it is worth overe, 20 no 2I but 22 that it be cast out, and be defoulid of men. Ye ben light of the world; a citee set on an hil may not be hid; ne me tcendith 23 not a lanterne, and puttith it undur a busschel, but on a candilstike, that it yyve light to alle that ben in the hous. So schyne youre light be for men, that thei se youre goode werkis, and glorifie youre Fadir that is in hevenes. Nil 20 ye deme, 27 that Y cam to undo the lawe, or the profetis; Y cam not to undo the lawe, but to fulfille. Forsothe Y seie to you, til hevene and erthe passe, o 29 lettir or o 29 titel shal not passe fro the lawe, til alle thingis be doon. Therfor he that brekith oon of these leeste 30 maundementis, 31 and techith thus men, schal be clepid 32 the leste in the rewme 33 of hevenes; but he that doith, and techith, schal be clepid greet in the kyngdom of hevenes. And Y seie to you, that but your rightfulnesse be more plcntevouse than of scribis and of Farisees, ye ward ie plenteous 17 have I8 also 10 if ^ besides 21 not 22 but 23 light 24 give 26 Subj. of command. 28 do not, literally, wish not (Lat. nolite) w think 2K verily 29 one 30 least 3I commandments 32 called 33 king- dom 34 he 36 unless IO JOHN WICLIF plentevouse than of scribis and Pharisees, yee shulen not entre in -to kyngdam of hevenes. Yee han l herde that it is said to olde men, Thou shal nat slea; forsothe he that sleeth, shal be gylty of dome. 2 But I say to you, that evereche 3 that is wrothe to his brother, shal be gylty of dome; forsothe he that shal say to his brother, Racha, that is, a word of scorn, shal be gylty of counseile ; 4 sothly he that shal say, Fool, that is, a word of dispisynge, shal be gylti of the fijr 6 of helle. Therfore yif thou offrist tin yift 6 at the auter, 7 and there shalt bythenke, 8 that thi brother hath sum-what ayeins 9 thee, leeve there thi yift before the auter, and go first for to be recounseilid, or acordid, to thi brother, and thanne thou cum- mynge shalt offre thi yifte. Be thou consent- ynge to thin adversarie soon, the whijle thou art in the way with hym, lest peraventure thin adversarie take thee to the domesman, 10 and the domesman take thee to the mynystre, 11 and thou be sente in -to prisoun. Trewely I say to thee, Thou shalt not go thennes, til thou yelde 12 the last ferthing. Ye han herd for it was said to olde men, Thou shalt nat do lecherye. For- sothe Y say to you, for-why 13 every man that seeth a womman for to coveite hire, now he hath do lecherie by hire in his herte. That yif thi right eiye sclaundre M thee, pulle it out, and cast it fro thee; for it speedith 15 to thee, that oon 16 of thi membris perishe, than al thi body go in -to helle. And yif thi right hond sclaundre thee, kitt 17 it awey, and cast it fro thee; for it spedith to thee, that oon of thi membris perishe, than that al thi body go in-to helle. Forsothe it is said, Who-evere shal leeve his wyf, yeve 18 he to hir a libel, that is, a litil boke, of forsakyng. Sothely Y say to you, that every man that shal leeve his wyf, outaken I9 cause of fornicacioun, he makith hire do lecherie and he that weddith the forsaken wijf, doth avoutrie. 20 Efte-soonys 21 yee han herd, that it was said to olde men, Thou shalt not forswere, sothely 22 to the Lord thou shalt yeeld 23 thin cethis. 24 Forsothe Y say to you, to nat swere on al manere; neither by hevene, for it is the trone of God; nether by the erthe, for it is the stole of his feet; neither by Jerusalem, for it is the citee of a greet kyng; neither thou shalt swere by thin heved, 26 for thou maist not make oon heer whyt or blak; but be youre word yea, yea; Nay, nay; forsothe that that is more 1 have council 8 against 2 judgment 5 fire 8 gift 7 £ 10 judge "officer 3 every one 4 the 7 altar 8 remember ! pay 13 that schulen not entre into the kyngdom of hevenes. Ye han 1 herd that it was seid to elde men, Thou schalt not slee; and he that sleeth, schal be gilti to doom. 2 But Y seie to you, that ech man that is wrooth to his brothir, schal be gilti to doom ; and he that seith to his brother, Fy ! schal be gilti to the counseil ; 4 but he that seith, Fool, schal be gilti to the fier of helle. Therfor if thou offrist thi yifte 6 at the auter, 7 and ther thou bithenkist, that thi brothir hath sum-what ayens 9 thee, leeve there thi yifte bifor the auter, and go first to be recounselid to thi brothir, and thanne thou schalt come, and schalt offre thi yifte. Be thou consentynge to thin adversarie soone, while thou art in the weie with hym, lest peraventure thin adver- sarie take thee to the domesman, 10 and the domesman take thee to the mynystre, 11 and thou be sent in-to prisoun. Treuli Y seie to thee, thou shalt not go out fro thennus, til thou yelde 12 the last ferthing. Ye han herd that it was seid to elde men, Thou schalt do no letcherie. But Y seie to you, that every man that seeth a womman for to coveite hir, hath now do letcherie bi hir in his herte. That if thi right iye sclaundre 14 thee, pulle hym out, and caste fro thee ; for it spedith 15 to thee, that oon 16 of thi membris perische, than that al thi bodi go in-to helle. And if thi right hond sclaundre thee, kitte 17 hym aweye, and caste fro thee ; for it spedith to thee that oon 18 of thi membris perische, than that al thi bodi go in-to helle. And it hath be seyd, Who-evere leeveth his wiif, yyve he to hir a libel of for- sakyng. But Y seie to you, that every man that leeveth his wiif, outtakun cause of forny- cacioun, makith hir to do letcherie, and he that weddith the forsakun wiif, doith avowtrye. Eftsoone ye han herd, that it was seid to elde men, Thou schalt not forswere, but thou schalt yelde thin othis to the Lord. But Y seie to you, that ye swere not for ony thing; nethir bi hevene, for it is the trone of God ; nether bi the erthe, for it is the stole of his feet; nether bi Jerusalem, for it is the citee of a greet kyng; nether thou shalt not swere bi thin heed, for thou maist not make oon heere white ne blacke ; but be youre word, yhe, yhe; Nay, nay; and that that is more than these, is of yvel. Ye han herd that it hath be seid, Iye for iye, and tothe for tothe. But Y seie to you, that ye ayenstonde 26 not an yvel man ; but if ony 14 slander 15 profiteth 16 one ,7 cut 18 give (subj. of "except 20 adultery 21 again 22 truly oaths 2S head x resist 11 slander 10 prot command) 10 e.\ 23 pay 24 oaths JOHN DE TREVISA ii than this, is of yvel. Yee han herde that it is said, Eiye ' for eiye, 1 toth for toth. But Y say to you, to nat ayein-stonde 2 yvel; but yif any shal smyte thee in the right cheeke, yeve to hym and 3 the tother; and to hym that wole stryve with thee in dome, 4 and take awey thi coote, leeve thou to hym and 3 thin over-clothe ; and who-evere constrayneth thee a thousand pacis, go thou with hym other tweyne. Forsothe yif 6 to hym that axith of thee, and turne thou nat awey fro hym that wol borwe 8 of thee. Yee han herd that it is said, Thou shalt love thin neighbore, and hate thin enmy. But Y say to you, love yee youre enmyes, do yee wel to hem 7 that haten 8 you, and preye yee for men pursuynge, and falsly chalengynge 9 you; that yee be the sonys of youre Fadir that is in hevenes, that makith his sune to springe up upon good and yvel men, and rayneth upon juste men and unjuste men. For yif ye loven hem that loven you, what meed 10 shul n yee have ? whether and 3 puplicans don nat this thing? And yif yee greten, or saluten, youre bretheren oonly, what more over 12 shul yee don ? whether and 3 paynymmys 13 don nat •this thing? Therfore be yee parfit, 14 as and 3 youre hevenly Fadir is parfit. Take yee hede, lest ye don your rightwisnesse before men, that yee be seen of hem, ellis 15 ye shule nat han meed at youre Fadir that is in hevenes. Ther- fore when thou dost almesse, 16 nyle u thou synge byfore thee in a trumpe, as ypocritis don in synagogis and streetis, that thei ben maad worshipful of men; forsothe Y saye to you, thei han resceyved her 18 meede. But thee doynge almesse, 18 knowe nat the left hond what thi right hond doth, that thi almes be in hidlis, 19 and thi Fadir that seeth in hidlis, shal yelde 20 to thee." smyte thee in the right cheke, schewe to him also the tothir; and to hym that wole stryve with thee in doom, 4 and take awey thi coote, leeve thou to him also thi mantil ; and who-ever constreyneth thee a thousynde pacis, go thou with hym othir tweyne. Yyve 5 thou to hym that axith of thee, and turne not awey fro hym that wole borewe 6 of thee. Ye han herd that it was seid, Thou shalt love thi neighbore, and hate thin enemye. But Y seie to you, love ye youre enemyes, do ye wel to hem that hatiden you, and preye ye for hem 7 that pursuen, and sclaundren you; that ye be the sones of your Fadir that is in hevenes, that makith his sunne to rise upon goode and yvele men, and reyneth on just men and unjuste. For if ye loven hem 7 that loven you, what mede 10 schulen ye han? whether pupplicans doon not this? And if ye greten youre britheren oonlj, what schulen ye do more? ne doon not hethene men this? Therfore be ye parfit, as youre hevenli Fadir is parfit." [77 will be observed that the Second Version agrees with the Authorized Version in the division into chapters, while the First Version con- tains a few verses usually assigned to Chapter VL] 1 eye 2 resist 3 also * a lawsuit " give 6 borrow 7 them 8 hate 9 accusing 10 reward 11 shall 12 besides 13 heathen u perfect 18 else 10 alms 17 do not 18 their 19 secret 20 pay JOHN DE TREVISA (1326-1412) HIGDEN'S POLYCHRONICON BOOK I. CHAPTER LIX As it is i-knowe ' how meny manere peple beeth 2 in this ilond, 3 there beeth also so many dyvers longages 4 and tonges ; notheles 5 Walsche men and Scottes, that beeth nought i-medled ° with other naciouns, holdeth wel nyh hir 7 firste longage and speche ; but-yif 8 1 known 2 are 3 island 4 languages 6 nevertheless 6 mixed 7 their 8 except the Scottes that were somtyme confederat and wonede ' with the Pictes drawe 2 somwhat after hir speche ; but the Flemmynges that woneth 3 in the weste side of Wales haveth i-left her 4 straunge speche and speketh Saxonliche i-now. 6 Also Englische men, they 6 thei hadde from the bygynnynge thre manere speche, northerne, 1 dwelt 2 incline 8 dwell 4 their * enough a though 12 GEOFFREY CHAUCER sowtherne, and middel speche in the myddel of the lond, as they come of thre manere peple of Germania, notheles ' by comyxtioun and mell- ynge 2 firste with Danes and afterward with Normans, in meny the contray 3 longage is apayred, 4 and som useth straunge wlafferynge, 5 chiterynge, 6 harrynge, 7 and garrynge 8 gris- bayting. 9 This apayrynge of the burthe of the tunge is bycause of tweie thinges; oon is for children in scole ayenst the usage and man- ere of alle othere naciouns beeth compelled for to leve 10 hire " owne langage, and for to con- strue hir " lessouns and here " thynges in Frensche, and so they haveth 12 seth 13 the Normans come 14 first in-to Engelond. Also gentil-men children beeth i-taught to speke Frensche from the tyme that they beeth i-rokked in here cradel, and kunneth 15 speke and playe with a childes broche ; 16 and uplond- isshe 17 men wil likne hym-self to gentil-men, and fondeth 18 with greet besynesse for to speke Frensce, for to be i-tolde 19 of. Trevisa. 20 This manere was moche i-used to-for 21 [the] Firste Deth 22 and is siththe 13 sumdel 23 i-chaunged; for John Cornwaile, a maister of grammer, chaunged the lore in gramer scole and construccioun of 24 Frensche in-to Englische; and Richard Pencriche lerned the manere 25 techynge of hym and othere men of Pencrich; so that now, the yere of oure Lorde a thowsand thre hundred and foure score and fyve, and of the secounde kyng Richard after the conquest nyne, in alle the gramere scoles of Engelond, children leveth Frensche and construeth and lerneth an 2e Englische, and haveth 12 therby avauntage in oon side and dis- avauntage in another side ; here " avauntage is, that they lerneth her " gramer in lasse 27 tyme than children were i-woned 28 to doo; dis- avauntage is that now children of gramer scole conneth 29 na more Frensche than can 30 hir " lift 3l heele, and that is harme for hem 32 and 33 they schulle passe the see and travaille in straunge landes and in many other places. Also gentil-men haveth now moche i-left 34 for to teche here " children Frensche. fy. 3i Hit semeth a greet wonder how Englische, that 1 nevertheless 2 mixing 3 country, native 4 corrupted s stammering a chattering 7 snarling 8 howling 9 gnash- ing of teeth 10 leave, give up u their 12 have 13 since 14 came l5 can 18 brooch (ornament in general) 17 coun- try 18 attempt 19 accounted 20 What follows, to 1$., is Trevisa' s addition. 2I before 22 the First Plague, 1 348-1 349 23 somewhat 24 from 26 kind of M in 27 less 28 accustomed 29 know 30 knows 31 left 32 them 33 if 84 ceased 88 What follows, to Trevisa, is from Higden. is the burthe tonge of Englisshe men and her ' owne langage and tonge, is so dyverse of sown 2 in this oon 3 ilond, and the langage of Nor- mandie is comlynge 4 of another londe, and hath oon 3 manere 5 soun 2 among alle men that speketh hit aright in Engelond. Trevisa. 6 Nevertheles there is as many dyvers manere 7 Frensche in the reem 8 of Fraunce as is dyvers manere Englische in the reem of Engelond. tft. a Also of the forsaide Saxon tonge that is i-deled 10 athre ll and is abide 12 scarsliche 13 with fewe uplondisshe 14 men is greet wonder; for men of the est with men of the west, as it were undir the same partie 15 of hevene, acord- eth more in sownynge 16 of speche than men of the north with men of the south ; therfore it is that Mercii, that beeth men of myddel Engelond, as it were parteners of the endes, understond- eth bettre the side langages, northerne and southerne, than northerne and southerne un- derstondeth either other. Willehnus de Pon- tificibus, libro tertio} 1 Al the longage 18 of the Northhumbres, and specialliche at York, is so scharp, slitting, and frotynge 19 and unschape, that we southerne men may that longage unnethe 20 understonde. I trowe 21 that that is bycause that they beeth nyh 22 to straunge men and naciouns that speketh strongliche, 23 and also bycause that the kynges of Engelond woneth 24 alweyfer from that cuntrey; for they beeth more i-torned 25 to the south contray, and yif they gooth to the north countray they gooth with greet help and strengthe. 26 #." The cause why they beeth more in the south contrey than in the north, is for 28 hit may be better come londe, 29 more peple, more noble citees, and more profitable havenes. 30 GEOFFREY CHAUCER (i34o?-i4oo) A TREATISE ON THE ASTROLABE 31 PROLOGUS Litell Lowis 32 my sone, I have perceived wel by certeyne evidences thyn abilite to lerne 1 their 2 sound 8 one 4 comer, immigrant 8 kind of 6 Trevisa adds a very intelligent observation. 7 kinds of 8 realm 8 What follows is from Higden. 10 divided lI in three (dialects) l2 has remained ,3 scarcely 14 country ,8 part 16 sounding, pronouncing xl The historian, William of Malmesbury, is Higden' s authority for what follows 18 language x9 chafing, harsh 20 scarcely 21 believe 22 nigh 23 harshly, or (perhaps) strangely 24 live 25 turned x i.e. with a large army 27 Higden adds a remark of his own to his quotation. 28 because 29 land 30 havens, harbors 31 an astronomical instrument ; consult the dictionary 32 Lewis TRANSLATION OF BOETHIUS J 3 sciencez touchinge noumbres and proporciouns; and as wel considere I thy bisy ' preyere 2 in special to lerne the Tretis of the Astrolabie. Than, 3 for as mechel 4 as a philosofre seith, "he wrappeth him in his frend, that condescend- eth to the rightful preyers of his frend," therfor have I yeven 5 thee a suffisaunt Astrolabie as for oure orizonte, 6 compowned 7 after the latitude of Oxenford; upon which, by mediacion 8 of this litel tretis, I purpose to teche thee a cer- tein nombre of conclusions 9 apertening 10 to the same instrument. I seye a certein of con- clusiouns, for three causes. The furste cause is this: truste wel that alle the conclusiouns that han u ben founde, or elles n possibly mighten be founde in so noble an instrument as an Astrolabie, ben 13 unknowe perfitly to any mortal man in this regioun, as I suppose. Another cause is this: that sothly, 14 in any tretis of the Astrolabie that I have seyn, 15 there ben 13 some conclusions that wole le nat in alle thinges performen hir 17 bihestes; 18 and some of hem ben I3 to 19 harde to thy tendre age of ten yeer to conseyve. 20 This tretis, divided in fyve parties, 21 wole 16 1 shewe thee under ful lighte 22 rewles 23 and naked wordes in English ; for Latin ne canstow 24 yit but smal, my lyte 25 sone. But natheles, 26 suffyse to thee thise trewe conclusiouns in English, as wel as suffyseth to thise noble clerkes Grekes thise same conclusiouns in Greek, and to Arabiens in Arabik, and to Jewes in Ebrew, and to the Latin folk in Latin; whiche Latin folk han 11 hem 27 furst out of othre diverse langages, and writen in hir 17 owne tonge, that is to sein, 28 in Latin. And God wot, 29 that in alle thise langages, and in many mo, 30 han 11 thise con- clusiouns ben 31 suffisantly lerned and taught, and yit by diverse rewles, 23 right as diverse pathes leden diverse folk the righte wey to Rome. Now wol I prey meekly every discret persone that redeth or hereth this litel tretis, to have my rewde 32 endyting 33 for excused, and my superfluite of wordes, for two causes. The firste cause is, for-that 34 curious 35 en- dyting 33 and hard sentence 3a is ful hevy 37 atones 38 for swich 39 a child to lerne. And 1 eager 2 prayer, request 3 then 4 much 6 given 6 horizon 7 composed 8 means 9 problems and their solutions I0 pertaining n have 12 else 13 are 14 truly 15 seen 16 will I7 their 18 promises 19 too 20 un- derstand 21 parts 22 easy 23 rules 24 knowest thou 26 little 26 nevertheless w them 28 say 29 knows 30 more 31 been 32 rude 33 composition 34 because 36 elaborate 36 meaning, sense 37 difEcult 38 at once 39 such the seconde cause is this, that sothly l me- semeth 2 betre to wryten unto a child twyes 3 a good sentence, than he forgete it ones. 4 And, Lowis, yif 5 so be that I shewe thee in my lighte 6 English as trewe conclusiouns touching this matere, and naught 7 only as trewe but as many and as subtil conclusiouns as ben 8 shewed in Latin in any commune tretis of the Astrolabie, con me the more thank; 9 and preye God save the king, that is lord of this langage, and alle that him feyth bereth 10 and obeyeth, everech " in his degree, the more 12 and the lasse. 3 But considere wel, that I ne usurpe nat to have founde this werk of my labour or of myn engin. 14 I nam 15 but a lewd 16 compila- tour 17 of the labour of olde Astrologiens, and have hit translated in myn English only for thy doctrine; and with this swerd 18 shal I sleen 19 envye. BOETHIUS : DE CONSOLATIONE PHILOSOPHIAE BOOK III Prose IX "It suffyseth that I have shewed hider-to the forme of false welefulnesse, 20 so that, yif 5 thou loke now cleerly, the order of myn entencioun requireth from hennes-forth 21 to shewen thee the verray 22 welefulnesse." "For-sothe," ' quod I, "I see wel now that suffisaunce 23 may nat comen by richesses, ne power by reames, 24 ne reverence by dignitees, ne gentilesse 25 by glorie, ne joye by delices." 2B "And hast thou wel knowen the causes," quod she, "why it is?" "Certes, 27 me-semeth," quod I, "that I see hem right as though it were thorugh a litel clifte; 28 but me were levere 29 knowen hem 30 more openly of thee." "Certes," quod she, "the resoun is al redy. For thilke 3l thing that simply is o 32 thing, with-outen any devisioun, the errour and folye of mankinde departeth and devydeth it, and misledeth it and transporteth from verray 22 1 truly 2 it seems to me 3 twice 4 once 5 if 6 easy 7 not 8 are 9 con thank means thank, be grateful 10 bear n every one 12 greater 13 less "ingenuity 15 am not 16 ignorant 17 compiler 18 sword 19 slay 20 happiness 21 henceforth 22 true 23 sufficiency 24 kingdoms 26 good breeding 2S pleasures 27 cer- tainly 28 cleft, crack 29 liefer, preferable 30 them 31 that 32 one ' I GEOFFREY CHAUCER and parfil good to goodes that ben ' falsi- and unparfit. 1 Bui sey me this. Wenesl ; ' thou that he, thai hath nede of power, thai him ' ne lakketh no thing .'" " Nay," quoa 1. "Certes, quod she, "thou seysl a-right. For vil r ' so be thai ther is a thing, thai in any partye ' be febler of power, certes, as in that, ii mol ; nedes ben aedy of foreine s help." " Righl so is it," quod 1. "Suffisaunce and power ben thanne of <>" kinde?" '" "So semeth it," quod I. "And demest 1 thou," quod she, "thai a thing thai is of this manere, thai is to seyn," sufhsaunl and mighty, oughte ben '•' despysed, or elles thai ii be righl digne l, of reverence aboven alle thing "Certes, quod I, "it nis no doute, thai it is righl worthy to ben reverenced." " l ,.u " us," quod she, "adden thanne rever- ence io sufnsaunce ami to power, so that we demen ,: ' thai thise three thinges ben al o " thing." "Certes," quod 1, "la1 us adden it, yif we wolen " graunten the sothe." " "What demest' thou thanne.'" quod she; "is thai a derk thing am! rial noble, that is suffisaunt, reverent, ami mighty, or elles that it is righl noble and righl deer by celebritee of renoun? Consider thanne," quod she, "as we ban ls graunted her bifom," that he that ne hath nede of no thing, ami is most mighty ami most digne 1 ' of honour, yif him nedeth any deemesse of renoun, which deernesse he mighte nai graunten oi him self, SO that, for lakkc of thilke -'" deernesse, he mighte seme the febeler on any syde or the more out > Glose:*' This is to seyn, nay; for w thai is suffisaunt, mighty, and reverent, deer- nesse of renoun folweth of the forseyde 111 thinges; he hath it al rely of his suffisaunce, Boece, "1 may nat," quod l, "denye it; hut 1 mot ' graunte, as it is, that this thing he right celebrable by deernesse of renoun and no- blesse." "Thanne folweth it," quod she, "that we adden deemesse of renoun to the three for- seyde thinges, so that ther ne l»e amonges hem no difference .'" "This is a consequence," <.\\\od 1. 1 ,\u- 'imperfect 'thinkest * to him * if 'part ' must 'foreign, external "one "nature " s.,\ "to be " worth] "lei "consider "'will h "have "heretofore "thai u an explanation " aforesaid "This thing thanne," quod she, "that ne hath nede oi no foreine ' thing, ami that mav don alle thinges by hise strengthes, and that is noble ami honourable, nis nat that a mery 1 thing and a joyful . J " "Bui whennes," ' quod l, "that anysorwe 4 mighte comen to this thing that is swiche,' certes, 1 mav nat t Iiinkr." "Thanne moten " we graunte," quod she, "that this thing he ful of gladnessc, yif 7 the forseyde ' thinges hen sothe; " and certes, also mote " we graunten that sulVisaunce, power, noblesse, reverence, ami gladnesse ben only dyverse by names, hut hir 10 substaunce hath no diversitee." "It mot ' needlv " been so," quod I. "Thilke u thing thanne," |: ' quod she, "that is oon " and simple in his '■'' nature, the wikked- nesse of men departeth it and devydeth it; and whan thev enforcen hem " to geten " partye ls of a thing that ne hath no part, they ne geten hem neither thilke ll partye that nis mm, 1 " ne the thing al hool ,Q that they ne desire nat." " In which manere?" quod 1. "Thilke man," quod she, "that secheth ;i richesses to Been povertee, he ne travaileth B him nat for lo gcte 17 power; for he hath levere " hen derk and vvl ; and cck u with- draweth from him self many naturel delyts, for he nolde" lese •'" the mouoye that lie hath assembled. Hut certes, in this manere he ne geteth him nat suffisaunce that power for leteth," and that moleslie : ' s prikketh, and that fill he maketh out cast, and that derkenesse hydeth. Ami certes, he that desireth only power, he wasteth ami scatereth richesse, and despyseth delyts, ami eek M honour that is withoute power, ne lie ne preyseth *• glorie no thing. :; " Certes, thus seest thou wel, that manye thinges faylen to him; for he hath som- tvme defaute of many ncccssitces, and many anguisshes byten" him; and whan he ne may nat don '' tho M defautes a wev, he forleteth •'' to hen mighty, and that is the thing that In- most desireth. And right thus mav I maken senihlahle : " rcsouns :i5 of honours, and of glorie, ami of delyts. For so as every of thise forseyde ' thinges is the same that thise other 'external -pleasant 'whence 'sorrow 'such 'must ; if 'aforesaid 'true "their "necessarily "that "then "one "its "them ,T ge1 "part "none "whole "seeks "labors " lief er, rather "also "would not '-'" lose "forsakes "annoyance "praises, esteems »°no1 at all "bite "put "those "similar "arguments TRANSLATION OF BoKTIIIUS 15 thinges ben, thai is to seyn, ;il oon thing, who so thai ever sckeih to geten thai ' '"in of thise, and rial thai ' other, he ne geteth rial that 8 he desire th." Boece. "Whal seysl thou thanne, yif that a man coveiteth to geten alle thise thinges to- gider?" Philosophic, "('cries, " (|iio(l she, "I wolde seye, thai he wolde geten him sovereyn :| blis- fulnesse; but thai shal he nal finde in tho thinges thai I have shewed, thai ne tnowen 4 nai yeven r ' thai ' they beheten." " "('(TICS, nO," <|U()(I 1. "Thanne," * 1 x t < >< 1 she, "ne sholden men nat by no wey seken 7 blisfulnesse in swiche thinges as men wene 8 thai they ne mowen '' yeven '' but " thing senglely "' 01 alle thai men seken." "1 graunte wel," quod I; "ne" nosother 18 tiling ne may ben sayd." "Now liasi thou thanne," quod she, "the forme and the causes of false welcfulnesse. Now tome l:i and llitle " the even of thy thought ; for ther shall thou sen Ir ' anon '" Ihilke verrav " blisfulnesse that 1 liave bihight 18 thee." "('cries, " quod I, "it is elecr and open, thogh it were to a Minde man; and thai shew- edest thou me fill wel a lilel her biforn, whan thou enforcedesl thee to shewe me the causes of the falsi- blisfulnesse. For bul yif 1 " I be bigyled, thanne is ihilke- the vcrray blisful- nesse parfit, 81 thai parfitly maketh a man suffisaunt, mighty, honourable, noble, and ful of gladnesse. And, for thou shalt wel knowe thai I have wel understonden thise thinges with-in my herte, I knowe wel thai ihilke blis- fulnesse, that may verrayly yeven r ' oon of the forseyde thinges, sin a they ben al oon, I knowe, douteles, thai ihilke thing is the fullc blisfulnesse." Philosophic. "() my none," 88 quod she, "by this opinioun 1 seye "" that thou art blisful, yif thou putte this ther-to that I shal seyn."' 2 ' 1 "What is that?" quod I. "Trowest 88 thou that ther he any tiling in thise erthely mortal toumhling thinges* that may hringen this eslat ?" "('cries, " quod I, "I Irowe it naught;-'" and thou hast shewed me wel that over 27 Ihilke good ther nis no-thing more to Inn desired." • may " singly give nor 1 the 2 what ' supreme 'promise 'seek 'think "one "truer "turn "flit, move "see l 'a1 "true "promised '"unless "that, thai si 1 "perfect M since " nursling 2 * say "believest • not " beyond "Thise thinges thanne," quod she, "thai is to Sey, erthely suflisaunce and power and swiche ' thinges, either they semen 8 lykenesses of vcrray ' good, or cllcs il scinclh thai they yeve to mortal folk a maner of g les thai ne ben nat parfit; but ihilke good thai is vcrray and parfit,' thai may they nal yeven." " I a< orde me wel," quod I. "Thanne," quod she, "for as mochel 8 as thou has) knowen which is Ihilke vcrray blisful- nesse, and eek " whichc 7 ihilke thinges ben thai lyen H falsly blisfulnesse, thai is to seyn, thai by deceite semen 8 verray goodes, now behoveth thee to knowe whennes " and where thou mowe "' seke thilke verray blisfulnesse." "Certes," quod I, "thai desire I grcelly, and have abiden " longe lyme to herknen it." " Hut for as nioche," quod she, "as il lykelh t8 to my disciple Plato, in his book of 'in Tiweo,' thai in right litel thinges men sholden bisechen " the help of God, whal jugesl thou thai be now to done," so thai we may deserve lo finde the Sete ir ' of Ihilke verrav good?" "Certes," quod I, " I deme '" that we shollcn clepen 17 the Fader of alle goodes; for with outcn him nis ther no thing founden a right." "Thou Seyst a right," quod she; and bigan anon to singen right thus: — METRE IX "O thou Fader, creator of hevene and of erlhes, that governesl ihis world by perdur- able l8 resoun, thai comaundesl the tymes to gon ■• from 80 sin 81 thai age 88 hadde beginninge; thou thai dwellesl thy self ay stedefasl and stable, and yevesl '"'' alle olhre ihingcs to ben moeved; 84 ne foreine 88 causes necesseden ; '" thee never lo compounc 27 werk of lloleringe 2M matere, bul only the forme of soverein 89 good y set with in Ihce with oule envve, thai niocvcde thee freely. Thou that arl alder favrrst,'"' bcringc : " the faire world in thy thought, forincdesl : '~ this world to the lykenesse semblable of thai faire world in thy thought. 'I'hou drawest al thing of thy soverein 89 ensaumpler, 88 and comaundesl that this world, parfitlicne : " y-maked, 88 have 'such 'seem 'true 'perfect 'much "also 7 of what sort 'lie, impersonate 'whence 10 mayst ll abided, waited "pleases "beseech 14 do '"scat, dwelling-place "judge "call upon,prayto "everlasting "go '"forward 'i since "finitetime "givesl "moved "external "compelled ' 7 compose " fluid "supreme '"fairest oi all '-bearing "didstform "model "perfectly aa made, formed 16 REGINALD PECOCK freely and absolul his parfil parlies.' Thou bindesl the elements by noumbres propor- cionables, that the colde thinges mowen ' acorden with the hote thinges, and the diye thinges with the moiste thinges; that the fyr, that is purest, ne flee' nat over hye, ne that the hevinesse ne drawe nal adoun over lowe tlu- erthes that ben plounged in the wateres. Thou knittest to gider the mene ' sowle of treble kinde, moevinge 8 alle thinges, and devydesl it by membres acordinge; and whan it is thus devyded, it hath asembled a moe- vinge 8 in to two roundes; 8 it goth to tome ; ayein 8 to him self, and envirouneth a ful deep thought, and torneth " the lievene by sem- blable 10 image. Thou by evene lyke " causes enhansest the SOWleS and the lasso'-' Ivves, and, ablinge 18 hem heye M by lighte cartes, 18 thou SOWesI '" hem in to hevene and in to erthe; and whan they hen eon verted i; to thee by thy benigne lawe, thou makesl hem retome ayein 1S to thee by ayein ledinge '" fyr. "O Fader, jdve '-'" thou to the thought to styen '•' up in to thy streite" sete, M and graunte him to enviroune the welle of good; and, the lighte v founde, graunte him to lulien u the clere sightes of his corage *' r ' in thee. And sealer lliou and tO-breke ™ thou the weightes and the cloudes of eithely hevinesse, and shyne thou by thy brightnesse. For thou art deernesse; thou art peysible '•' reste to debo naire - s folk; thou tliv self art biginninge, berer, leder, path, and terme;" to loke on thee, thai is our endc." so REGINALD PECOCK (i3 9 5?-i 4 6o?) THE REPRESSOR OF OVER MUCH BLAMING OF THE CLERGY PART l. CHAP, Mil A greet cause win thei of the lay parti which han ;i usid the hool :!: ' Bible or oonh the Newe Testamenl in her modris :l:1 langage han :u holde 8 * the seid " opinioun was this, that the 1 parts •' may 8 ily 4 mean, middle * mov- ing 'orbs r turn 'back ''turns l0 similar "like '-'lesser " abling, raisin;; " high l * vehi- cles (for the souls) "plantesl lT turned l8 again "reductive, leading back "give, granl "mount "narrow "seat "fij "heart "break t<> pieces "peaceful " right thoughted "end "purpose » have " whole M mothers' •" hehl " said reeding in the Bible, namelich ' in the bis- torial parties of the Oold Testament and of the Newe, is miche ' delectable and sweete, and drawith the reders into a devocioun and a love to God and fro love and deinte :i of the world; as y ' have had her of experience upon suche reders and upon her'' now seid " disposicioun. And thanne bi cause that the seid reeding was to hem so graceful, and SO delectable, and into the seid" eende so profitable, it til into her 5 conceit ; fortO trowe 8 ful soone, enformyng and tising " ther to unsufrlcient[l]i leerned clerkis, thai God had mad or purveied the Bible to mennis bihove 10 after" as it were or hi the utterist i: ' degre of his power and kun- nyng i:i for to so ordeyne, and therfore al the hoole " Bible (or, as summen trowiden, 18 the Newe Testament) schulde conteyne al that is to be doon in the lawe and service to God bi Cristen men, withoute nede to have ther-with eny doctrine. 1 " Yhe," and if y '' schal seie 1S what hath be "' seid to myn owne heering, sotheli •" it hath be seid to me thus, "that nevere man errid bi reding or studiyng in the Bible, neither env man mvghte erre i)i reeding in the Bible, and that for such cause as is now seid:" notwithstanding that ther is no book writen in the world hi which a man schal rather take an occasioun fortO erre, and that for ful gode and open trewe causis, whiche hen spoken and expressid in the ij. parti •'' of the hook clepid '• The Just Apprising of llofi Scripture}* But certis thei tooken her 5 mark amys: for thei puttiden M al her motyve"in heraffeccioun or wil fortO SO trowe; v and not in her 5 intel- leccioun of resoun; and in lijk maner doon wommen, for thei reulen hem silf as it were in alle her governauncis aflir her atTeccioun and not aflir resoun, or more aflir atTeccioun than after doom '" of resoun; hicause that alTeccioun in hem is ful strong and resoun in hem is litle, as for the more parti Of wommen. And therfore even right as a man jugid amys and were foule begilid and took his mark amys, if he schulde trowe that in honv were ;tl the cheer, al the comfort, al the thrift which is in al other mete, bi-cause that honv is sweltist to him of alle othere metis; so he is begilid and takith his mark amys, if he therfore 'especially 'much, very 'delight 4 I * their "s.iiil 'imagination 'believe 'enticing 10 behoof "according "uttermost "ability 11 whole "believed "teaching "yea ,B say "been '°truly -'part "called "a book by Pecock -'put "motive "decision Till-: REPRESSOR OF OVKR MUCH BLAMING OK THE CLERGY 17 trowe thai in llnli Scripture is al the doctrine necessarie l<> man lor lo serve <'.o the bidding of Scinl Poul, Romans xij°. c. soone after the higynnyng." And whanne thou attendist forto leeme Holi Scripture, and attendisl not (her with forto have eny other leernyng of philsophie or of divynile, Iii thin owne studie in bookis ther-of maad 7 or hi teching and informacioun of sum sad clerk s yovun " to thee, thaime thou etist hony a loon and feedist thee with hony oonli. And this feding schal turne into thin 10 unhoolsunines," right as if thou schuldist etc in bodili maner noon other mete than hony, it schulde nol he to thee hoolsum. 'knowledge 2 Chap. 25 8 again * intelligence 8 against 8 Romans 12:3-6 7 made 8 trustworth 7 scholar v given lu thine " ill health THE END OF THE MIDDLE AGES SIR THOMAS MALORY (i 4 oo?-i 4 7o) LE MORTE DARTHUR BOOK XXI. CAPITULUM IIIJ Than were they condesended ' that kyng Arthure and Syr Morel red shold mete betwyxte bothe thcyr hoostes, and everyche of them shold bryngc fourtene persones; and they came wyth thys word unto Arthure. Than sayd he, "I am glad that thys is done." And so he wente in to the felde. And whan Arthure shold departe, he warned al hys hoost that, and 2 they see ony swerde drawen, "Look ye come on fyersly, 3 and slee that traytour Syr Mordred, for I in noo wyse truste hym." In lyke wyse Syr Mordred warned his hoost that, "And 2 ye see ony swerde drawen, look that ye come on fyersly, 3 and soo slee * alle that ever before you stondcth, for in no wyse I wyl not truste for thys treatyse ; 5 for I knowe wel my fader wyl be avenged on me." And soo they mette as theyr poyntemente " was, and so they were agreyd and accorded thorouly; and wyn was fette 7 and they dranke. Rvght soo came an adder oute of a lvtel hethe s busshe, and hyt stonge a knyght on the foot; and whan the knyght felte hym stongen, he looked doun and sawe the adder, and than he drewe his swerde to slee the adder, and thought of none other hanue. And whan the hoost on bothe partyes l0 saw that swerde drawen, than they blewe beamous," trumpettes, and horneSj ami shouted grymly. 8 And so bothe hoostes dressyd '-' hem '' to gyders." And kyng Arthur took his hors ami sayd, "Alias! thys unhappy day," and so rode to his part ye; and Svr Mordred in like wyse. And never was there seen a more doolfuller bataylle in no Crysten ■agreed -if 8 fiercely 4 slay B treaty "appoint- nu-nt 'fetched 8 heather ''himself '"sides " trum- pets or horns "arranged, arrayed "themselves 14 together londe; for there was but russhyng and rydyng, iVwnyng ' and strykyng, and many a grymme worde was there spoken cyder 2 to other, and many a dedely stroke. But ever kyng Arthur rode thorugh-oute the bataylle of Syr Mordred many tymes, and dyd ful nobly as a noble kyng shold, and at al tymes he faynted never, and Svr Mordred that day put hym in devoyr 3 and in grete perylle. And thus they faughtc alle the longe day, and never stynted ' tyl the noble knyghtes were laved to the eolde erthe; and ever they faught stylle tyl it was nere nyghte, and by that tynie was there an hondred thousand layed deed 5 upon the down. Thenne was Arthure wode 6 wrothe oute of mesure, whan he sawe his peple so slayn from hym. Thenne the kyng loked aboute hym, and thenne was he ware, 7 of al hys hoost and of al his good knyghtes were lefte no moo on lyve 8 but two knyghtes, that one was Syr Lucan de Butlcre, and his broder Syr Bedwere; and they were ful sore wounded. "Jhesu, mercy," sayd the kyng,' "where are al my noble knyghtes becomen? Alas! that ever I shold see thys dolcfull day, for now," sayd Arthur, "I am come to myn ende. But wolde to God that I wystc 9 where were that traytour Syr Mordred that hath caused alle thys meschyef." Thenne was kyng Arthure ware where Svr Mordred lenyd l0 upon his swerde emonge a grete hepe of deed men. " Now gyve me my spere," sayd Arthur unto Syr Lucan, "for yonder I have espyed the traytour that alle thys woo hath wrought." "Syr, late 11 hym be," sayd Syr Lucan, "for he is unhappv; and yf ye passe thys unhappy dav, ye shalle be rvght wel revengyd upon hym. Good lord, remembre ye of your nyghtes dreme, and what the spyrytc of Syr Gauwayn tolde you this nyght, yet God of his grete goodnes hath preserved you hyderto; therfore for Goddcs sake, my lord, leye of u by thys, 13 for blessyd by M God, ye have wonnethe felde; * f oining, thrusting 2 either 8 duty 'ceased "dead B crazj 'aware B alive "knew 10 leaned " let '- leave off 13 at this point " be 18 LE MORTE D ARTHUR 19 for here we ben thre on lyve, 1 and wyth Syr Mordred is none on lyvc. And yf ye leve of 2 now, thys wycked day of desteynye is paste." "Tyde me deth, betyde me lyf," sayth the kyng, "now I see hym yonder allonc, he shal never escape myn handes; for at a better avaylle 3 shal I never have hym." "God spede you wel," sayd Syr Bedwere. Thenne the kyng gate hys spere in bothe his handes, and ranne toward Syr Mordred cryeng, "Tratour, now is thy deth day come." And whan Syr Mor- (lii'd herde Syr Arthur, he ranne untyl 4 hym with his swerde drawen in his hande. And there kyng Arthur smote Syr Mordred under the shelde wyth a foyne 5 of his spere thorugh- oute the body more than a fadom." And whan Syr Mordred felte that he had hys dethes wounde, he thryst 5 hym self wyth the myght that he had up to the bur 7 of kynge Arthurs spere. And right so he smote his fader Arthur wyth his swerde holden in bothe his handes, on the syde of the heed, that the swerde persyd 8 the helmet and the brayne panne, and ther- wylhall Syr Mordred fyl 10 starke deed to the erthe. And the nobyl Arthur fyl in a swoune to the erthe, and there he swouned ofte tymes. And Syr Lucan de Butlere and Syr Bedwere oftymes heve n hym up; and soo waykely '- they ledde hym betwyxte them bothe to a lytcl chapel not ferre 13 from the see syde. And whan the kyng was there, he thought hym wel eased. Thenne herde they people cryc in the felde. "Now goo thou, Syr Lucan," sayd the kyng, "and do " me to wyte 15 what bytokencs that noyse in the felde." So Syr Lucan departed, for he was grevously wounded in many places. And so as he yede, 10 he sawe and herkened by the mone lyght, how that pyllars and robbers were comen in to the felde to pylle and robbe many a ful noble knyghte of brochys and bedys, of many a good rynge, and of many a ryche jewel; and who that were not deed al oute, 1 7 there they slewe theym for theyr harneys 18 and theyr rychesse. Whan Syr Lucan under- stode thys wcrke, he came to the kyng assone as he myght, and tolde hym al what he had herde and seen. "Thcrfore, be my rede," 19 sayd Syr Lucan, "it is beste that we brynge you to somme towne." "I wolde it were soo," sayd the kyng. ■alive 2 off 3 opportunity 4 unto s thrust •fathom 'handle 8 pierced "skull "Tell 11 raised '-weakly, weak i:i far l * cause I6 know 18 went 17 entirely 18 armor ly by my advice CAPITULUM V "But I may not stonde, myn hede werches ' soo. A, Syr Launcelot," sayd kyng Arthur, "thys day have I sore myst the. Alas! that ever I was ayenst 2 the, for now have I my dethe, wherof Syr Gauwayn me warned in my dreme." Than Syr Lucan took up the kyng the one parte, and Syr Bedwere the other parte, and in the lyftyng the kyng sowned, 3 and Syr Lucan fyl in a sowne 4 wyth the lyfte, that the parte of his guttes fyl oute of his bodye. And therwyth the noble knyghtes hcrte braste. 5 And whan the kyng awake, he behelde Syr Lucan how he laye foomyng at the mowth, and parte of his guttes laye at his feet. "Alas!" sayd the kyng, "thys is to me a ful hevy syght to see thys noble duke so deye for my sake, for he wold have holpen me that had more nede of helpe than I. Alas! he wold not com- playne hym, hys herte was so sette to helpe me. Now Jhesu have mercy upon hys soule." Than Syr Bedwere wepte for the deth of his brother. "Leve thys mornyng and wepyng," sayd the kyng, "for al this wyl not avaylle me; for wyte 6 thou wel, and 7 I myght lyve my self, the deth of Syr Lucan wolde greve me ever more, but my tyme hyeth 8 fast," sayd the kyng. "Therfore," sayd Arthur unto Syr Bedwere, "take thou Excalybur, my good swerde, and goo with it to yonder water syde, and whan thou comest there, I charge the 9 thro we my swerde in that water, and come ageyn and telle me what thou there seest." "My lord," sayd Bedwere, "your commaunde- ment shal be doon, and lyghtly brynge you worde ageyn." So Syr Bedwere departed, and by the waye he behelde that noble swerde, that the pomel and the hafte was al of precyous stones; and thenne he sayd to hym self, "Yf I throwe this ryche swerde in the water, therof shal never come good, but harme and losse." And thenne Syr Bedwere hydde Excalybur under a tree. And so as sone as he myght he came ageyn unto the kyng, and sayd he had ben at the water, and had throwen the swerde in to the water. "What sawe thou there?" sayd the kyng. "Syr," he sayd, "I sawe no thygne but wawes 10 and wyndes." "That isuntrewly sayd of the," B sayd the kynge. "Therfore goo thou lyghtelye 11 ageyn, and do my com- 1 aches 2 against 3 swooned 4 swoon 6 burst 6 know 7 if 8 hastens B thee 10 waves 11 quickly 20 SIR THOMAS MALORY maundemente; as thou arte to me leef 1 and dere, spare ool but throwe it in." 'Than Syr Bedwere retomed ageyn, and took the swerde in hys hande, and than liym thought synne and shame to throwe awaye that nobyl swerde; and so efte ' he hydde the swerde, and retomed ageyn and tolde to the kyng that he had ben at tin- water, and done Ins commaundemente. "What sawe thou there?" sayd the kyng. "Syr," he sayd, "1 sawe no thynge but the waters wappe :i and wawes wanne." ' "A, traytour, untrewe," sayd kyng Arthur, "now hast thou betrayed me twyse. Who wold have wente 5 that thou that hast been to me so leef ' and dere, and thou arte named a noble knyghte, and wold bet rave me for the riehesse of the swerde? Hut now goo ageyn lyghtly, for thy longe taryeng putteth me in grete jeopardye of my lyf, for 1 have taken eolde; and but-vf " thou i\o now as 1 byd the, yf ever 1 may see the 1 shal slee ; tin- s myn owne handes, for thou woldest for my ryehe swerde see me dede." * Thenne Syr Bedwere departed, and wente to the swerde, and lyghtly took hit up, and wente to the water syde, and there he bounde tin- gyrdyl aboute the hyltes, and thenne he threwe the swerde as farre in to the water as he myght. And there earn an arme and an hande above the water and mette it, and caughl it, and so shoke it thryse and braundysshed; and than vanysshed awaye the hande wvth the swerde in the water. So Syr Bedwere came ageyn to the kyng ami tolde hym what he sawe. " Mis'. '" sayd the kyng, "helpe me hens,' for I drede " me I have taryed over longe." Than Syr bedwere loke the kyng upon his backe, and so wente wvth hvm to that water syde, and whan they were at the water syde, evyn fast " by the banke hoved ' :! a lytyl barge wvth many fayr ladyes in hit, and emonge hem al was a queue, and al they had blaeke hoodes, and al they we|ite and shryked " whan they sawe kyng Arthur. "Now put me in to the barge," sayd the kyng; and so he dyd softelve. And there reeeyved hvm thre queues wvth grete mornyng, and soo they sette hem doun, and in one of their lappes kyng Arthur laved hys heed, and than that queue savd, "A, dere broder, why have ye taryed so longe from me? Alas! this wounde on your heed hath caught overmoche colde." And soo than they rowed 'beloved 'again 8 lap, beal 'grow dark 'thoughl "unless 7 slay 'thee 'dead l0 hence 11 fear « dose l * hovered, Boated M shrieked from the londe, and Syr Bedwere bchelde all tho ' ladyes goo from hvm.- Than Syr Bed- were cryed, "A, my lord Arthur, what shal become of me, now ye goo from me and leve me here allone emonge myn enemves?" "Comfort thy self," sayd the kyng, "and doo as wel as thou mayst, for in me is no truste for to truste in. For 1 wyl in to the vale of Awlvon, to hele me of my grevous wounde. And yf thou here never more of me, praye for my soule." But ever the qucnes and ladyes wepte and shryched, 3 that hit was pyte ' to here. And assone as Syr Bedwere had loste the syght of the baarge, be wepte and waylled, and so took the foreste; 6 and so he wente al that nvght, and in the mornyng he was ware 8 betwyxte two holtes hore ' of a chapel and an ermytage. 8 CAPITULUM VJ Than was Syr Bedwere glad, and thyder he wente; and whan he came in to the chapel, he sawe where lave an heremyte grovelyng on al foure, there fast by a tombe was newe graven. Whan the eremyte sawe Syr Bedwere, he knewe hym wel, for he was but lytel tofore bysshop of Caunterburye thai Syr Mordred denied. " "Syr," sayd Syr Bedwere, "what man is there entred that ye praye so fast fore?" 10 "Fayr sone," sayd the heremyte, "I wote " not verayly but by my demyvng. 1 - But thys nvght, at mydnyght, here came a nombre of laches and broughte hyder a deed core, 18 and prayed me to berye hym, and here they offeryd an hondred tapers, and they gaf me an hondred besauntes." " "Alas," savd Svr bedwere, "that was my lord kyng Arthur that here lveth buryed in thys chapel." Than Syr bedwere swowned, and whan he awoke he prayed the heremyte he myght abyde wvth hym stylle IS there, to lyve wvth fastyng and prayers: "For from hens 18 wyl I never goo," sayd Syr bedwere, "by my wylle, but al the dayes of my lyf here to praye for my lord Arthur." "Ye are welcome to me," sayd the heremyte, "for I knowe you better than ye wene" that I doo. Ye are the bolde bedwere, and the fill noble duke Syr Luean de butlere was your broder." Thenne Syr Bedwere tolde the heremyte alio as ye have herde to 1 those 2 :'.(•. Bedwere 'shrieked 'pity 'forest he perceived 7 hoary forests ' hermitage ' put to Bight l0 for "know "supposition ''corpse "gold coins "always w hence 17 think WILLIAM CAXTON I fore. So there bode ' Syr Bedwere with the hermyte thai was tofore bysshop of Caunter- burye, and there Syr Bedwere pul upon hym poure ■' clothes, and servyd the bermyte ful lowly in fastyne and in prayers. Thus of Arthur I fynde never more wryton in boookes thai ben auctorysed,' nor more of the veray certente ' of Ins deth herde 1 never redde, bu1 thus was he ledde aweye in a shyppe wlierin were line queiics: llial one was kyng Arthurs sysier quene Morgan !<■ Fay, the other was the quene of North Galys, the thyrd was the quene of the Waste Londes. Also there was Nynyve the chyef Lady of the Lake, that had wedded I'elleas the good knyght, and this lady had doon moehe for kyng Arthur, for she wold never snlTre Syr I'elleas to l>e in tlOO place where he shold be in daunger of his lyf, and so he lyved to the utlermesl of his dayes wyth hyr in grctc rcstc. More of the deth of kyng Arthur COUde 1 never fynde, Imt that la dyes brought hym to his burvcllys, 5 and suehe one was DUryed there thai the hermyte hare wyt- nesse, thai somtyme was bysshop of Caunter- buiye, bu1 yet the heremyle knewe not in ccr layn that he was verayly the body of kyng Arthur, for thys tale Syr Bedwere, knyght of the Table Kounde, made it to be wryton. WILLIAM CAXTON (i422?-t 49 i) PREFACE TO THE BOOKE OF KNKYDOS After dyverse werkes made, translated, and achieved, havyng noo " werke in hande, I sittyng in my studye, where as 7 laye many dyverse paunflettis 8 and bookys, happened that to my hande cam a lytyl booke in I'renshe, whiche late" was translated OUte of Lalyn by some noble elerke of Fraunce; whiche booke is named Lncydos, made in Lalyn by that no- ble poele and grctc clcrke Vyrgylc. Whiche booke I sawe over and redde therin how, after the general! destruccyon of the grctc Troye, Lucas departed, berynge his olde fader An chises upon his sholdrcs, his lilyl son Volus on 10 his honde, 11 his wyfc wyth moche other people folowyngc; and how he shypped and departed; wyth all thystOiye lJ of his adventures that he had <>r i:i he cam to the achievement of his conquest of Ylalye, as all a longc shall be shewed in this present boke. In whiche booke 1 abode 2 poor 'authorized * certainty 'tomb "no 7 where 'pamphlets "lately "'in " hand 1 - 1 1 u ■ history ''before I had grete playsyr by cause of the fayr and honest lennes and wordes in brenshe; whvchc 1 never sawe to fore lyke, ne none so plavsaunl lie so wel ordred. Whiche booke, as me scmed, sholde lie moche ' rctpiysytc '■' to noble nun tO sec, as wel for the eloquence as the hystoryes; how wel that, many hondcrd ycrys passed, was the sayd booke of Eneydos wvlh olhcr werkes made and Icrncd dayly in SCOhs, 8 spccyally in Ylalye and other places; whiche hislorye the sayd Vyrgylc made in metre. And whan I had advyscd me in this sayd boke, I delybered ' and concluded to translate it in to Englysshe, and lorlhwvlh toke a penne and ynke and wrote a leef or tweync, whychc I ovcrsawc agayn to COreCte it; and whan I sawe the fayr and straunge termeS therin, I doubted r ' thai it sholde not please some gentylmen whiche late blamed me, sayeng that in my translacyons I had over curyous ' termes, which coude not be under Stande 7 of COmyn peple, and desired me to use olde and homely termes in my translacyons. And fayn woldc I satysfyc every man; and, so tO doo, toke an olde boke and redde therin; and certaynly the Englysshe was so rude and brood" that I coude nol wele understande it; and also my lordc abbot of Wcslmvnsler >\(^\ so shewe to me late certayn evydences 9 wryton in olde Lnglysshe for to reduce it in to our Englysshe now used, and certaynly it was wreton in SUChe wyse that it was more lyke to Dutche than Lnglysshe; I coude not reduce ne bryngc it to be undcrstonden. And certaynly our langage now used varyeth ferre 10 from that whiche was used and spoken whan I was borne. For we Englysshe men ben borne under the domynacyon of the mone, whiche is never Stedfaste but ever wavcryngc, wexynge one season and waneth and dyscreaseth u anothei season. And that comyn lJ Englysshe that is spoken in one sh\rc varyeth from a nolher, in so moche that in my dayes happened thai certayn marchauntes were in a ship in Tamyse for to have saylcd over the sec into Zclande, and, for lacke of wynde, thci taryed alle " Forlond, and wente to lande for to refreshe them. And one of ihcym named Shcffclde, a mercer, cam in to an hows and a\cd for mete and spccyally he awd after eggys, and the goode wyf answerde that she could speke no I'renshe. And the marchaunt was angry, for 'very • requisite, desirable 'schools *di liberated 'feared ' curious, ornate 'understood • broad 'legal documents '" i.i i ''decreases " iiiiiin ia at the SIR JOHN BOURCHIER, LORD BERNERS he also coude speke no Frenshc, but wolde haw hadde egges; and she understode hym not. And thenne at laste a-nother sayd that he wolde have eyren. 1 Then the good wvf sayd that she understod hym wel. Loo, 2 what sholde a man in thyse dayes now wryte, egges, or eyren ? Certaynly it is hard to playse every man, by-cause of dyversite and chaunge of langage; for in these dayes every man that is in ony reputacyon in his countre wyll utter his commynycacyon and maters in suche maners and termes that fewe men shall understonde theym. And som honest and grete clerkes have ben wyth me and desired me to wryte the moste curyous 3 termes that I coude fynde. And thus, betwene playn, rude, and curyous, I stande abasshed. But in my judgemente the comyn termes that be dayly used ben lyghter to be understonde than the olde and auncyent Englysshe. And, foras-moche as this present booke is not for a rude uplondyssh ' man to laboure therein ne rede it, but onely for a clerke and a noble gentylman that feleth and under- stondeth in faytes 5 of armes, in love, and in noble chyvalrye, therfor in a meane bytwene bothe 1 have reduced and translated this sayd booke in our Englysshe, not over rude ne curyous, but in suche termes as shall be under- Standen, by Goddys grace accordynge to my copye. And yf ony man wyll entermete'in redyng of hit and fyndeth suche termes that he can not understande, late hym goo rede and lerne Vyrgyll or the Pystles of Ovyde, and ther he shall see and understonde lyghtly 7 all, if he have a good redar and enformer. For this booke is not for every rude and unconnynge 8 man to see, but to clerkys and very 9 gentyl- men, that understande gentylnes and scyence. Thenne 1 praye all theym that shall rede in this lvtyl treatys to holde me for excused for the translatynge of hit, for I knowlcche my- selfe ignorant of conynge 10 to enpryse" on me so hie '-' and noble a werke. But I praye mayster John Skelton, late created poete laureate in the unvversite of Oxenford, to oversee and correcte this sayd booke and taddresse ia and expowne whereas 11 shalle he founde faulte to theym that shall requyre it, for hym I knowe for suffveyent to expowne and englysshe every dyffyeulte that is therin, for he hath late translated the Epystlys of Tulle and the boke of Dyodorus Syculus and diverse other werkes oute of Latyn in -to Englysshe, not in rude and olde langage, but in polysshed and ornate termes, craftely, 1 as he that hath redde Vyrgyle, Ovyde, Tullye, and all the other noble poctes and oratours to me unknowen; and also he hath redde the IX muses and understande thcyr musicalle scyences and to whom of theym eche scyence is appropred,- I suppose he hath dronken of Elycons well. Then I praye hym and suche other to correcte, adde or mynysshe, 3 where-as he or they shall fynde faulte, for I have but folowed my copye in Frenshe as nygh as me is possyble. And yf ony worde be sayd therin well, I am glad; and yf otherwyse, I submytte my sayde boke to thevr correctyon. Whiche boke I presente unto the hye born my tocomynge * naturell and soverayn lord Arthur, by the grace of God Prynce of Walys, Due of Cornewayll, and Erie of Chester, fyrst bygoten sone and hever 5 unto our most dradde ,; naturall and soverayn lorde and most Crysten Kynge, Henry the VII, by the grace of God Kynge of Englonde and of Fraunce and lorde of Irelondc, byseching his noble grace to receyve it in thanke of me, his moste humble subget and servaunt; and I shall praye unto almyghty God for his pros- perous encreasyng in vertue, wysedom, and humanyte, that he may be egal 7 wyth the most renommed 8 of alle his noble progenytours, and so to lvve in this present lyf that after this transitorye lyfe he and we alle rrray come to everlastynge lyf in heaven. Amen! SIR JOHN BOURCHIER, LORD BERNERS (1467-1533) THE CRONYCLE OF SYR JOHN FRO I SS ART CAP. CCCLXXXm How the commons of Englande entred into Lon- don, and of the irrc.it yvell 8 that they dyde, and of the detheof the bysshoppe of Caunterbury and dy- vers other. In the mornyng on Corpus Christy day kynge Rycharde herde masse in the towre of London, and all his lordes, and than he toke his barge, with therle l0 of Salisbury, therle of Warwyke, the erle of Suffolke, and certayn 1 eggs 2 lo 8 ornate, artificial * country 'deeds 6 participate 7 easily B ignorant '•' true, real 10 ability 11 take 1J high 13 to arrange "wherever 1 skillfully - assigned 6 heir 6 dread " equal 111 the earl 3 diminish 4 future 8 renowned '■' i\ il THE CRONYCLE OF SYR JOHN FROISSART 2 3 knightes, and so rowed downe alonge Thames to Redcreth, 1 where as was discended downe the hyll a x.M. 2 men to se the kyng and to speke with him. And whan they sawe the kynges barge comyng, they beganne to showt, and made suche a crye, as though all the devylles of hell had ben amonge them. And they had brought with them sir Johan Moton, to the entent that if the kynge had nat come, they wolde have stryken hym all to peces, and so they had promysed hym. And whan the kynge and his lordes sawe the demeanour of the people, the best assured of them were in drede. And so the kynge was counsayled by his bar- ownes nat to take any landynge there, but so rowed up and downe the ryver. And the kyng demaunded of them what they wolde, and sayd, howe he was come thyder to speke with them ; and they said all with one voyce, "We wolde that ye shulde come a lande, and than we shall shewe y'ou what we lacke." Than the erle of Salisbury aunswered for the kyng and sayd, " Sirs, ye be nat in suche order nor array that the kynge ought to speke with you;" and so with those wordes, no more sayd. And than the kyng was counsayled to returne agayne to the towre of London, and so he dyde. And whan these people sawe that, they were en- flamed with yre, and retourned to the hyll where the great bande was, and ther shewed them what answere they had, and howe the kynge was retourned to the towre of London. Than they cryed all with one voyce, "Let us go to London;" and so they toke their way thyder. And in their goyng they beate downe abbeyes and houses of advocates, and of men of the courte, and so came into the subbarbes of London, whiche were great and fayre, and ther bete downe dyvers fayre houses. And specially they brake up the kynges prisones, as the Marshalse and other, and delyvered out all the prisoners that were within, and there they dyde moche hurt; and at the bridge fote they thret 3 them of London, bycause the gates of the bridge were closed, sayenge, howe they wolde brenne 4 all the subarbes, and so conquere London by force, and to slee 5 and brenne all the commons of the cytie. There were many within the cytie of their accorde, 6 and so they drewe toguyder, and sayde, "Why do we nat let these good people entre into the cyte? They are our felowes, and that that they do is for us." So therwith the gates were opyned, and than these people entred into the cytie, and went into houses, and satte downe to eate and drinke: they desyred nothynge but it was incontynent ' brought to them, for every manne was redy to make them good chere, and to gyve them meate and drinke to apease them. Than the capitayns, as John Ball, Jacke Strawe, and Watte Tyler wente throughout London, and a twentie thousande with them, and so came to the Savoy, in the way to West- mynster, whiche was a goodlye house, and it parteyned 2 to the duke of Lancastre. And whan they entred, they slewe the kepars therof, and robbed and pylled 3 the house, and whan they had so done, than they sette fyre on it, and clene distroyed and brent 4 it. And whan they had done that outrage, they left 5 nat therwith, but went streight to the fayre hospytalle of the Rodes, called saynt Johans, and there they brent house, hospytall, mynster and all. Than they went fro strete to strete, and slewe all the Flemmynges that they coulde fynde, in churche or in any other place ; ther was none respyted fro dethe. And they brake up dyvers houses of the Lombardes and robbed theym, and toke their goodes at their pleasur, for there was none that durst saye them nay. And they slewe in the cytie a riche marchaunt, called Richarde Lyon, to whome before that tyme Watte Tyler had done servyce in Fraunce; and on a tyme this Rycharde Lyon had beaten hym whyle he was his varlet; the whiche Watte Tyler than remembred, and so came to his house and strake of 6 his heed, and caused it to be borne on a spere poynt before him all about the cyte. Thus these ungracyous people demeaned themselfe, lyke people enraged and wode, 7 and so that day they dyde 8 moche sorowe in London. And so agaynst 9 night they wente to lodge at saynt Katherins, before the towre of London, sayenge howe they wolde never depart thens tyll they hadde the kynge at their pleasure, and tyll he had accorded to them all that they wolde aske, acomptes 10 of the chauncellour of Englande, to knowe where all the good was become that he had levyed through the realme; and without he made a good acompte to them therof, it shulde nat be for his profyte. And so whan they had done all these yvels to the straungers all the day, at night they lodged before the towre. Ye may well knowe and beleve that it was 1 Rotherhithe 2 ten thousand 3 threatened * immediately 2 belonged 3 pillaged 4 burnt burn 6 slay 8 assent, way of thinking s ceased 6 off 7 crazy 8 caused 9 towards 10 accounts 24 SIR JOHN BOURCHIER, LORD BERNERS great pytie, for the daunger that the kyng and suche as were with him were in. For some tyme these unhappy people showted and cryed so loude, as thoughe all the devylles of hell had bene among them. In this evennynge the kynge was counsayled by his bretherne and lordes, and by sir Nycholas Walworthe, mayre of London, and dyvers other notable and riche burgesses, that in the night tyme they shulde issue out of the towre and entre into the cyte, and so to slee ' all these unhappy people whyle they were at their rest and aslepe; for it was thought that many of them were dronken, wherby they shulde be slayne lyke flees; 2 also of twentie of them thcr was scant one in names. 3 And surely the good men of London might well have done this at their ease, for they had in their houses sccretely their frendes and servauntes redy in harnesse ; and also sir Robert Canolle was in his lodgyng, kepyng his treasure, with a sixscore redy at his commaundement ; in likewise was sir Perducas Dalbret, who was as than in London ; insomoche that ther myght well [be] assembled togyder an eyght thousande men, redy in harnesse. Ilowebeit, ther was nothyng done, for the resydue of the commons of the cytie were sore douted, 4 leest they shulde ryse also, and the commons before were a threscore thousande or mo. 6 Than 6 the erle of Salisbury and the wyse men about the kynge sayd, "Sir, if ye can apese 7 them with fayr- nesse, 8 it were best and moost profytable, and to graunt theym every thyngc that they desyre; for if we shulde begyn a thynge the whiche we coulde nat acheve, we shulde never recover it agayne, but we and oure heyres ever to be dis- heyrited." So this counsaile was taken, and the mayre countcrmaunded, and so commaunded that he shulde nat styrre; and he dyde as he was commaunded, as reason was. And in the cytie with the mayre there were xii. aldermen, wherof nyne of them helde with the kynge, and the other thre toke parte with these ungraycous people, as it was after well knowen, the whiche they full derely bought. And on the Friday in the mornynge, the people beyng at saynt Katheryns, nere to the towre, began to apparell themselfe, and to crye and shoute, and sayd, without the kyng wolde come out and speke with them, they wolde assayle the towre and take it by force, and slee ' all them that were within. Than the kyng douted * these wordes, and so was coun- sailcd that he shulde issue out to speke with them; and than 2 the knyge sende 3 to them, that they shulde all drawe to a fayre playne place, called Myle-ende, wher-as 4 the people of the cytie dyde sport them in the somer sea- son, and there the kyng to graunt them that 5 they desyred. And there it was cryed in the kynges name, that whosoever wolde speke with the kyng, let hym go to the sayd place, and ther he shulde nat fayle to fynde the king. Than the people began to departe, specially the commons of the vyllages, and went to the same place, but all went nat thyder, for they were nat all of one condycion : e for ther were some that desyred nothynge but richesse and the utter distruction of the noble men, and to have London robbed and pylled. That was the princypall mater of their begynnynge, the whiche they well shewed; for assoone as the towre gate opyned, and that the kynge was yssued out with his two bretherne, and the erle of Salisbury, the erle of Warwike, the erle of Oxenforthe, sir Robert of Namure, the lorde of Bretaygne, the lorde Gomegynes, and dyvers other, than 2 Watte Tyler, Jacke Strawe, and Johan Ball, and more than foure hundred enlred into the towre, and brake up chambre after chambre, and at last founde the arche- bysshoppe of Caunterbury, called Symon, a valyant man and a wyse, and chefe chaun- celler of Englande; and a lyteli before he hadde sayde masse before the kynge. These glottons toke hym and strake of 7 his heed, and also they beheded the lorde of saynt Jo- hans, and a Frere Mynour, maister in medicyn parteyning 8 to the duke of Lancastre: they slewe hym in dispyte of his maister, and a sergeant at armes, called John Laige. And these four heedes were set on foure long speares, and they made them to be borne before them through the stretes of London, and at last set them a highe 9 on London bridge, as though they had ben traytours to the kyng and to the realme. Also these glottons entred into the princes 10 chambre and brake her bed, wherby she was so sore afrayed that she sowned, 11 and ther she was taken up and borne to the water syde, and put into a barge and covered, and so conveyed to a place called the qucnes Warderobe. And there she was all that daye and night, lyke a woman halfe deed, tyll 1 slay 2 flics 8 harness, armor * frightened 'feared 2 then 3 sent 4 where 6 what 6 state of * more 8 then 7 appease, quiet 8 pleasant treat- mind 7 off 8 belonging ° on high 10 Princess ment Joan, the king's mother u swooned THE CRONYCLE OF SYR JOHN FROISSART 25 she was contorted with ' the kyng her sonnc, as ye shall here after. CAP. CCCLXXXIIII How the nobles of England were in great paryll 2 to have ben dystroyed, and howe these rebels were punissbed and sende' home to thcyr uwnc houses. Whan the kyng came to the sayd place of Mylc-endc without London, he put out of his company his two bretherne, the erle of Kent and sir Johan Holande, and the lorde of Gomcgynes, for they durst nat apere before the people. And whan the kynge and- his other lordes were ther, he founde there a thre- score thousande men, of dyvers vyllages, and of sondrie counlreis ' in Englande. So the kynge entrcd in amonge them, and sayd to them swetely, "A! ye good people, I am your kyng; what lacke ye? what wyll ye say?" Than suche as understodc him sayd, "We wyll that ye make us free for ever, our selfe, our heyres, and our landes, and that we be called no more bonde, nor so reputed." "Sirs," sayd the king, "I am well agreed thcrto; with- drawn you home into your owne houses, and into suche villages as ye came fro, and leave behynde you of every vyllagc ii. or thre, and I shall cause writynges to be made, and seale theym with my seale, the whiche they shall have with them, conteyning every thynge that ye demaundc; and to thentent that ye shal be the better assured, I shall cause my bancrs to be delyvered into every bayliwyke, shyre, and countreis." These wordes apeased well the common people, suche as were symple and good playne men, that were come thyder and wyste 6 nat why: they sayd, "It was well said ; We desyre no belter." Thus these people beganne to be apeased, and began to withdrawe them into the cyte of London. And the kyng also said a worde, the whiche greatlye contented them. He sayde, "Sirs, amonge you good men of Kent, ye shall have one of my banners with you, and ye of Essexe another; and ye of Sussexe, of Bcdforde, of Cambridge, of Germeney, of Stafforde, and of Lyn, eche of you one; and also I pardon every thinge that ye have done hyderto, so that ye folowe my baners and retoumc home to your houses." They all answered how they woldc so do: thus these people departed and went into London. Than the kynge ordayned mo than xxx. clerkes the same Fridaye, to write with all 1 by 2 danger 3 sent 4 districts 8 knew dilygence letters patentes, and sayled l with the kynges scale, and delyvered them to these people. And whan they had receyved the writynge, they departed and retoumed into their owne countreis; but the great venym 2 remayned styll behynde. For Watte Tyler, Jacke Strawe, and John Ball sayd, fur all that these people were thus apesed, yet they wolde nat departe so, and they had of their acorde 3 mo than xxx. thousande: so they abode styll, and made no prese 4 to have the kynges writyng nor seale; for all their ententes was to putte the cytie to trouble, in suche wyse as to slec all the riche and honest persons, and to robbe and pylle 5 their houses. They of London were in great fearc of this, wherfore they kepte 8 their houses prcvily 7 with their frendes, and suche servauntes as they had, every man accordynge to his puyssaunce. And whane these sayde people were this Fridaye thus somewhat apeased, and that they shulde departe assoone as they hadde their writynges, everye manne home into his owne countrey, than kynge Rycharde came into the Royall, where the quene his mother was, right sore afrayed; so he conforted her as well as he coulde, and taryed there with her all that night. The Saturday the kynge departed fro the Warderobe in the Royall, and went to West- mynster and harde 8 masse in the churche there, and all his lordes with hym; and besyde the churche there was a lytic chapell, with an image of Our Lady, whiche dyd great myracles, and in whom the kynges of Englande had ever great truste and confydencc. The kynge made his orisons before this image, and dyde there his offryng; and than he lepte on his horse and all his lordes, and so the kynge rode towarde London; and whan he had ryden a lytic way on the lyft hande, there was a way to passe without London. The same propre mornynge Watte Tyler, Jacke Strawe, and John Ball had assembled their company to comon 9 together, in a place called Smythfelde, where-as 10 every Fryday there is a markette of horses. And there were together all of afhnite mo than xx. thousande, and yet there were many styll in the towne, drynkynge and makyngc mery in the tavernes, and payed nothyng, for they were happy that made them 1 sealed 2 poison 3 assent, way of thinking * press, urgent effort * pillage ° defended 7 privately 8 heard ° commune 10 where 26 SIR JOHN BOURCHIER, LORD BERNERS beste chere. And these people in Smythfelde had with theym the kynges baners, the whiche were delyvered theym the daye before. And all these glottons were in mynde to overrenne ' and to robbe London the same daye, for theyr capitaynes sayde bowe they had done nothynge as yet; "These lyberties that the kynge hath gyven us, is to us but a small profitte ; therfore lette us be all of one accorde, and lette us over- renne this riche and puyssaunt citie or 2 they of Essex, of Sussex, of Cambrydge, of Bed- forde, of Arundell, of Warwyke, of Reedynge, of Oxen fon le, of Guylforde, of Linne, of Stafforde, of Germeney, of Lyncolne, of Yorke, and of Duram, do come hyther; for all these wyll come hyther, Wallyor and Lyster wyll bringe them hyther; ami if we be fyrst lordes of London, and have the possession of the ryches that is thcrin, we shall nat repent us; for if we leave it, they that come after wyll have it fro us." To thys counsayle they all agreed: and therwith the kynge came the same waye unware of theym, for he had thought to have passed that wave withoute London, and with hym a xl. horse; and whan he came before the abbaye of saynt Bartilmeus, and bchclde all these people, than 3 the kynge rested and sayde, howe he wolde go no farther, tyll he knewe what these people ayled, sayenge, if they were in any trouble, howe he wold re- pease ' them agayne. The lordes that were with hym taried also, as reason was whan they sawe the kynge tarye. And whan Watte Tyler sawe the kynge tary, he sayd to his people," Syrs, yonder is the kynge, I wyll go and speke with hym; styrre nat fro hens without I make you a signe, and whan I make you that sygne, come on, and slee all theym, excepte the kynge. But do the kynge no hurte; he is yonge, we shall do with hym as we lyst, and shall leade hym with us all about Englande, and so shall we be lordes of all the royalme 5 without doubt." And there was a dowblette maker of London, called John Tycle, and he hadde brought to these glotons a lx. doublettes, the whiche they ware; 8 than he demaunded of these capitaynes who shulde pave hym for his doublettes; he demaunded xxx. marke. Watte Tyler answered hym and sayd, "Frende, ap- pease yourselfe, thou shalte be well paved or this day lie ended; kepe the nere me, 1 shall be thy credytour." 7 And therwith he spurred his horse and departed fro his company, and came to the kynge, so nere hym that his horse heed touched the crope ! of the kynges horse. And the first worde that he sayd was this: "Syr kynge, seest thou all yonder people?" "Ye, truly," sayd the kynge: "wherfore sayest thou?" "Bycause," sayd he, "they be all at my commaundement, and have sworne to me fayth and trouth to do all that I wyll have theym." "In a good tyme," sayd the kyng, "I wyll well it be so." Than Watte Tyler sayde, as he that nothynge demaunded but ryot, "What belevest thou, kynge, that these people, and as many mo as be in London at my com- maundement, that they wyll departe frome the thus, without havynge thy letters?" "No," sayde the kyng, "ye shall have theym, they be ordeyned for you, and shal be delyvered every one eche after other; wherfore, good felowes, withdrawe fayre and easely to your people, and cause them to departe out of London, for it is our entent that eche of you by villages and towneshippes shall have letters patentes, as I have promysed you." With those wordes Watte Tyler caste his eyen 2 on a squyer that was there with the kynge, bearynge the kynges swerde; and Wat Tyler hated greatlye the same squver, for the same squier had displeased hym before for wordes bytwene theym. "What," sayde Tyler, "arte thou there? gyve me thy dagger!" "Nay," sayde the squier, "that wyll I nat do; wherfore shulde I gyve it thee?" The kynge behelde the squyer, and sayd, "Gyve it hym, lette hym have it." And so the squyer toke 3 it hym sore agaynst his wyll. And whan this Watte Tyler had it, he began to play therwith, and tourned it in his hande, and sayde agayne to the squyer, "Gyve me also that swerde." " Naye," sayde the squyer, "it is the kynges swerde; thou arte nat worthy to have it, for thou arte but a knave; and if there were no moo here but thou and I, thou durste nat speke those wordes for as moche golde in quantite as all yonder abbaye." "By my favthe," sayd Wat Tyler, "I shall never eate meate tyll I have thy heed." And with those wordes the mayre of London came to the kynge with a xii. horses, well armed under theyr cootes, 4 and so he brake the prease, 6 and sawe and harde 8 howe Watte Tyler demeaned 7 hymselfe, anil sayde to hym, " 1 la ! thou knave, howe arte thou so hardy in the kynges presence to speke suche wordes? It is to moche for the so to do." Than the ■se ;e. 1 overrun ■ before • then ' quiet '"' kingdom "wore 7 This seems to be a mistake for debtor. 1 croup, rump ■ eyes :! delivered 4 coats throng 6 heard 7 conducted 1 press, THE CRONYCLE OF SYR JOHN FROISSART 27 kyngc began to chafe, and sayd to the mayre, "Sette handes on hvm." And while the kynge sayde so, Tyler sayd to the mayre, "A Goddes name, 1 what have I sayde to displease the?" "Yes, truely," quod the mayre, "thou false stynkyngc knave, shalt thou spckc thus in the presence of the kynge my naturall lorde? I commytte 2 never to lyve without thou shalte derely abye it." And with those wordes the mayre drewe oute his swerdc and strake Tyler so great a stroke on the heed, that he fell downe at the feete of his horse; and as soone as he was fallen, they environed hym all aboute, whcrby he was nat sene of his company. Than a squyer of the kynges alyghted, called John Standysshe, and he drewe out his sworde and put it into Watte Tylers belye, and so he dyed. Than the ungracious people there assembled, perceyvynge theyr capytayne slayne, beganne to mourmure amonge themselfe and sayde, "A! our capitayne is slayne; lette us go and slee them all!" And therwith they araynged themselfe on the place in maner of batayle, and theyr bowes before theym. Thus the kynge beganne a great outrage ; 3 howebeit, all turned to the beste, for as soone as Tyler was on the erthe, the kynge departed from all his company, and all alone he rode to these people, and sayde to his owne men, "Syrs, none of you folowe me, let me alone." And so whan he came before these ungracious people, who put themselfe in ordinaunce 4 to revenge theyr capitayne, than the kynge sayde to theym, "Syrs, what ayleth you, ye shall have no capitayne but me: I am your kynge, be all in rest and peace." And so the moost parte of the people that harde 6 the kynge speke, and sawe hym amonge them, were shamefast, 6 and beganne to waxe peasable, and to departe; but some, suche as were mali- cious and evyll, wolde nat departe, but made semblant as though they wolde do somwhat. Than the kynge returned to his owne company and demaunded of theym what was best to be done. Than he was counsailed to drawe into the fekl, for to flye awaye was no boote. 7 Than sayd the mayre, " It is good that we do so, for I thynke surely we shall have shortely some comforte of them of London, and of suche good men as be of our parte, who are pourveyed, 8 and have theyr frendes and men redy armed in theyr houses." And in this meane tyme voyce and bruyte 9 ranne through London, howe these unhappy people were lykely to sle ' the kynge and the maire in Smythfelde; through the whiche noyse, all maner of good men of the kynges partye issued out of theyr houses and lodgynges, well armed, and so came all to Smythfelde, and to the felde where the kynge was; and they were anone 2 to the nombre of vii. or viii. thousande men well armed. And fyrste thyther came sir Robert Canoll, and sir Perducas Dalbret, well accompanyed, and dyvers of the aldermen of London, and with theym a vi. hundred men in harneys; and a pusant man of the citie, who was the kynges draper, called Nicholas Membre, and he brought with hym a great company. And ever as they came, they raynged them afoote in ordre of bataylle; and on the other parte these unhappy people were redy raynged, makynge semblaunce to gyve batayle; and they had with theym dyvers of the kynges baners. There the kynge made iii. knyghtes; the one the mayre of London sir Nycholas Walworthe, syr Johan Standysshe, and syr Nycholas Braule. Than the lordes sayde amonge theymselfe, "What shall we do? We se here our ennemyes, who wolde gladly slee us, if they myght have the better hande of us." Sir Robert Canoll counsayled to go and fight with them, and slee them all; yet the kyng wolde nat consent therto, but sayd, "Nay, I wyll nat so; I wyll sende to theym, com- maundynge them to sende me agayne my baners, and therby we shall se what they wyll do: howbeit, outlier 3 by fayrnesse 4 or other- wise, I wyll have them." "That is well sayd, sir," quod therle of Salysbury. Than these newe knightes were sent to them, and these knightes made token to them nat to shote at them; and whan they came so nere them that their speche might be herde, they sayd, "Sirs, the kyng commaundeth you to sende to him agayne his baners, and we thynke he wyll have mercy of you." And incontinent they delyv- ered agayne the baners, and sent them to the kyng: also they were commaunded, on payne of their heedes, that all suche as had letters of the king to bring them forthe, and to sende them agayne to the kynge. And so many of them delyvered their letters, but nat all. Than the kyng made them to be all to-torne 5 in their presence: and as soone as the kynges baners were delyvered agayne, these unhappy people kept none array, but the moost parte of them 1 in God's name - pledge 3 disturbance 4 array 6 heard 6 ashamed 7 remedy 8 provided 9 rumor 1 slay 2 immediately 8 torn to pieces 3 either 4 pleasant means 28 SIR JOHN BOURCHIER, LORD BERNERS dyde caste downe their bowes, and so brake their array, and retourned into London. Sir Robert Canoll was sore dyspleased in that he myght nat go to slee them all; but the kyng wolde nat consent therto, but sayd he wolde be revenged of them well ynough, and so he was after. Thus these folysshe people departed, some one way and some another; and the kyng and his lordes and all his company ryght ordynately cntred into London with great jove. And the firste journey that the kynge made, he wente to the lady princesse his mother, who was in a castell in the Rovall, called the queues ward- robe; and there she hadde tarved two dayes and two nightes right sore ahasshed, as she had good reasone. And whan she sawe the kyng her sonne she was greatly rejoysed, and sayde, "A! fayre sonne, what payne and great SOIOwe that I have suffred for you this day!" Than the kvnge answered and sayd, "(Yrtavnly, madame, I knowe it well ; but aowe rejoyse your- selfe and thanke God, for nowe it is tyme. I have this day recovered myne herytage and the realme of Englande, the whiche I hadde nere lost." Thus the kvng tarved that day with his mother, and every lorde went peaseably to their owne lodgynges. Than there was a crye made in every strete in the kynges name, that all maner of men, nat beyng of the cytie of Lon- don, and have nat dwelt there the space of one yere, to departe; and if any suche be founde there the Sonday by the sonne risyng, that they shuld be taken as traytours to the kyng, and to lose their heedes. This crye thus made, there was none that durste breke it ; and so all maner of people departed, and sparcled ' abrode every man to their owne places. Johan Balle and Jaques Strawe were founde in an olde house hydden, thinkyng to have stollen away, but they coulde nat, for they were accused by their owne men. Of the takvng of them the kyng and his lordes were gladde, and thanne strake of their heedes, and Watte Tylers also, and they were set on London bridge; and the valyaunt mennes heedes taken downe that they had sette on the Thursday before. These tidynges anone spredde abrode, so that the people of the strange eountreis,- whiche were comyng towardes London, retourned backe agayne to their owne houses, and durst come no farther. 1 scattered 2 distant districts THE TRANSITION TO MODERN TIMES SIR THOMAS MORE (1478-1535) A DIALOGUE OF SYR THOMAS MORE, kWT.llTE THE THIRDE BOKE. THE 16. CHAPITER The messenger rehearseth some causes which he hath herd laid ' by sunn- of the clergie: wherfore the Scripture should not be suffred in Englishe. And the author sheweth his mind, that it wer convenient to haw the Byble in Englishe. "Syr," quod your frende, "yel for a I this, can 1 sec do cause why the cleargie shoulde kepe the Byble out of ley tnennes handes, thai can '-' do more bul theyr mother tong." "I had wont," ■'' quod I, "that I had proved you playnely that they kepe it Dot from them. For I haw shewed you that they kepe none from them, but such translation as be cither Dot yet ap- proved for good, or such as be alredi reproved for naught, as WikliffeS was and Tindals. For as for oilier olde ones, 1 that wer before Wickliffes daies, remain lawful, and be in some folkes handes had and read." "Ye saye well," quod he. "But yet as weomen saye, 'somewhat it was alway that the cat winked whan her eye was oule.' Surelye so is it not for nought that the English Byble is in so few mens handes, whan so many woulde so fayne have it. That is very trouth," quod I; "for I thinke that though the favourers of a secte of heretikes be so fervent in the setting furth of their secte, that they let ' not to lay their money together and make a purse among them, for the printvng of an cvill made, or evil translated booke: which though it happe to be forboden " and burned, yet some be sold ere they be spved, and eche of them lese 7 but theyr part : yet I thinke ther will no printer lightly s be so hote 9 to put anye Byble in prynte at hys own charge, whereof the losse shoulde lye hole in his owne necke, and than "' hang 1 alleged -' know :i weened, thought * This word is the subject of remain, as well as a pari of the phrase in which it stands; the construction is curious but common. '' hesitate 8 forbidden 7 lose s easily ° hot, ready "' then upon a doutful tryal, whether the first copy of hys translation, was made before Wickliffes dayes or since. For if it were made synce, it must be approved before the prynting. "And surelye howe it hathe happed that in all this whyle God hath cylhcr not suffered, or not provided that any good verteous man hath hadde the mynde in faithful wise to translate it, and therupon ether the clergie or, at the least wise, sonic one bishop to approve it, thys can 1 nothing tell. But howesoever it be, I have heardeand heare so muche spoken in the matter, and so muche doute made thcrin, that peradventure it would let and withdrawe any one bishop from the admitting therof, without the assent of the remenant. And whereas many thinges be laid against it: yet is ther in my mind not one thynge that more putteth good men of the clergie in doubte to suffer it, than thys: that they see sometime much of the worse sort more fervent in the calling for it, than them whom we find farre better. Which maketh them to feare lest such men desyre it for no good, and lest if it wer hadde in every mannes hand, there would great peril arise, and that seditious people should doc more harmc therwith than good and honest folke should take fruite thereby. Whiche feare I promise you nothyng feareth me, but that whosoever woulde of theyr malice or folye take harmc of that thing that is of it selfe ordeyned to doe al men good, I would never for the avoyding of their harme, take from other the profit, which they might take, and nothing deserve to lese. 1 Forellcs'-' if the abuse of a good thing should cause the taking away therof from other that would use it well, Christ should hymself never have been borne, nor brought hys favth into the world, nor God should never have made it mat her, if he should, for the losse of those, that would lie damned wretches, have kept away the occasion of reward from them that would with helpe of his grace endevor them to deserve it." "I am sure," quod your frend, "ye doubte not bul that I am full and hole of youre mynde lose 2 else 29 3° SIR THOMAS MORE in this matter, thai the Byble shoulde be in oure Englishe tong, Bui ye1 thai the clergie is of the contrary, and would no1 have it so, ihat appearetfa well, in thai they suffer ii nol to be so. And over 1 that, I heare in everye place almost where 1 find any learned man of them, their mindes all sel theron to ke|x- the Scripture from us. And they seke out for that parte every rotten reason that they can find, and sel them furth solemnely to the shew, though fyve of those reasons bee not WOOrth a figge. For they begynne as farre as our first father Adam, and shew US that his wyfc and he fell out of paradise with desyre of knowledge and cunning. Nowe if thys woulde serve, it must from the knowledge and sludie of Scrip lure dryve every man, priest and other, lest it drive all out of paradise. Than save they that Cod taught his diseiples many ihynges apart, because the people should not heare it. \nd then-fore they woulde the people should not now In- suffered to reade all. Yet they say further that it is hard to translate the Scripture out of one long into an other, and specially they Say into ours, which they call a long vulgare and barbarous. Hut of all thing specially they say that Scripture is the foode of the soule. And that the eomen people he as infantes that must he fedde hut with milke and pappe. And if we have anye stronger meate, it must he chammed ' afore by the nurse, and so pulte into the babes mouthe. Hut me think though they make us al infantes, they shall fynde many a shrewde brayn among us, that can perceive chalke fro chese well ynough, and if they woulde Once take :1 us our meate in our own hand, we be nol so evil todied ' hut that within a while they shall see US Cham it our self as well as they. For let them eall us vong babes and ' they wil, yet, bv God, they shal for al thai well fynde in Some of us that an olde knave is no divide." "Surely," quod 1, "suche thinges as ye Speake, is the thyng that, as 1 somewhat savd before, putteth good folke in featv to suffer the Scripture in our Englishe tong. Not for the reading and receiving: but for the busy chamming' therof, and for much medling with SUCh partes thereof, as least will agree with their eapaeities. For undoutedlve as ve spake of our mother I've: inordinate appetite of knowledge is a meane to drive any man out of paradise. And inordinate is the appetite, whan men unlerned, though thev reade it in 1 besides ' masticated ' deliver • ill toothed * if B chewing theyr language, will be busv to enserehe and dyspute the great secret mysteries of Scripture, whiche thoughe they heare, they be not hable 1 to perceve. "Tins thing is playnely forbode 1 us that be not appoynted nor instructed therto. And therfore hob' saint Gregory Naziazenus, that great solenme doCtOUT, sore loueheth and re proveth al sueh bolde, busv medlers in the Scripture, ami sheweth that it is in Exodie by Mo\ses ascending up upon the hill where he Spake with Clod, and the people tarving be- neath, signified that the people bee forhoden ' to presume to medle with the hygh mysteries of Holy Scripture, but ought to be contente to tarv beneath, and medle none higher than is meete for them, but, receivyng fro the height of the hill by Moyses that that is delivered them, that is to witte, the lawes ami prcccptcs that they must kepe, ami the poyntes they must beleve, loke well therupon, and often, and medle wel therwith: not to dispute it, but to fulfille it. And as for the high seerete mys- teries of God, and hard textes of hys I lobe Scripture: let us knowe that we be so unable to ascende up so high on that hill, that it shall become us to save to the preachers appoynted therto as the people sayd unto Moises: 'Heare you ('>od, and let us heare you.' And surely the blessed holy doctour saynl Hierpme greatelye complayneth and rebuketh that lewde homely manor, that the 'CDiiimiin lev peple, men and weomen, wer in his daies so bold in the medling, disputing, and expowning of Hob' Scripture. And sheweth playnlve that they shall have evill prefe ' therein, that will reken themself to understand it bv them selfe without a reader. For it is a thing that re- quireth good help, and long time, and an whole mynde geven greatelye thereto. And su reive, syth,' as the holve Apostle Saynl Pottle in divers of hvs epistles savlh, God hath by his llolv Spirite so institute and ordeyned his churche, that he will have some readers, and some hearers, some teachers, and some learn- ers, we do plainly pervert and tourne up so down the right order of Christes ehureh, whan the one pari medleth with the others office. "Plato the great phylosopher specially for- biddeth SUChe as be not admitted therunto, nor men mete therefore, to medle much and em- busie themself in reasoning and dysputyng upon the temporal] lawes of the eitie, which would not be reasoned upon but by folke mete 1 able 'forbidden 'experience 'since A DIALOGUE OF SYR THOMAS MORE, KNYGHTE 3 1 thcrfore and in place convenient. For dies they that cannot very wel attain to perceive them, begin to mislikc, disprayse, and con- temne them. Whereof so foloweth the breche of the lawes, and dysorder of the people. For ivll a [awe bee chaunged by authoritie, it rather ought to be observed than contemned. Or elles the exaumple of one lawe boldly broken and setle at naughte, waxcth a prccidenl for the remenaunte to be used lyke. And com- mon lye, the best lawes shall woorste lyke ' muche of the common people, which moste longc (if they myght be heard and folowed) to live al at liberlie under none at all. Nowe if Plato, so wyse a man, so thought good in temporal] lawes, thynges of mennes makyng, howe muche is it lesse meete for everye manne boldelye to meddle with the exposicion of Ilolye Scry])turc, so devysed and endyted by the hyghe wisedome of God, that it farre ex- cedeth in many places the capacitie and per- ceiving of man. It was also provided by the Emperour in the law civile, that the common people shoulde never be so bolde to kepe dispicions 2 upon the fayth or Holy Scripture, nor that anye such thing shoulde be used among them or before them. And therefore, as I said before, the special feare in this matter is, lest \\r would be to busy in chammyng 3 of the Scripture our self, whichc ye saye we were liable' ynoughe to dooe. Whiche undoubt- ed! \v, the wysest, and the best learned, and he that therein hathe by manye ycres bestowed hys whole minde, is yet unable to dooe. And than '' farre more unliable muste he nedes be, that boldly will upon the fyrst reading, because he knoweth the wordes, take upon him ther- fore to teche other men the sentence ° with peril of his own soule and other mennes too, by the bringyng men into mad wayes, sectes, ami heresies, suche as heretikes have of olde brought up and the church hath condemned. And thus in these matters if the commen peple might be bold to cham it as ye say, and to dis- pute it, than 5 should ye have, the more blind the more bold: the more ignoraunl the more busie: the lesse witte the more inquisitife: the more foole the more talkatife of great doutes and hygh questions of Holy Scripture and of Goddes great and secret misteries, and this not sobrely of any good affection, but pre- sumpleouslye and unrevercntlye at meate and at meale. And there, whan the wyne wer in and the witte out, woulde they take upon them with foolish wordes and blasphemie to handle Holie Scripture in more homely maner than a song of Robin Mode. And some would, as 1 said, solemnely take upon them like as thei wer ordinary readers to interprete the text at lluir plesure, and therwith fall themself and draw doun other with them into sedicious sectes and heresies, whereby the Scripture of God should lese' his honour and reverence, and be by such unreverente and unsytting 2 demeanour, among muche people, quite and cleane abused, :| unto the contrary of that holye purpose that God ordayned it for. Where as, if we woulde no further meddle therewith, but well and de- voutelye reade it: and in that that is playne and evident as Gods commaundcmcnles ami his holy counsayls endevour our self to folow with helpe of his grace asked therunto, arrfl in his greate and merveilous miracles consider his God-head: and in his lowly birth, his godly life, and his bitter passion, exercise our selfe in suche meditacions, prayer, and vertues, as the matter shall minister us occasion, know Ledgeing 4 our owne ignoraunce where we fynd a dout, and therin leaning to the faythe of the churche, wrestle with no such text as might bring us in a double and werestye 5 of anye of those articles wherein every good christen man is clere: by thys maner of reading can no man nor woman take hurt in Holy Scripture. "Nowe than, the thinges on the other syde that unlearned people can never by themself attayne, as in the Psalmes and the Prophetes and divers partes of the Gospel!, where the wordes bee some time spoken as in the parsone " of the Prophete himselfe, sometyme as in the parsone of God, sometime of some other, as angels, devils, or men, and sometime of our Savior Christ, not alway of one fashion, but sometime as God, sometime as man, somtime as head of this mistical body his church mili- tant here in earth, sometime as head of his churche triumphant in heaven, somtime as in the persone of his sensuall parties of his own body, otherwhile in the person of some par- ticular part of his body mystical, and these thinges with many other oftentimes inter changed and sodeinly sundrye thinges of divers matters diverslye mingled together, al these thinges which is not possible for unlearned nun to attayn unto, it wer more than madnes for them to medle withal, but leave al these thinges 1 please 11 meaning disputes 3 chewing then 1 lose 2 unbecoming 3 misused * acknowledging 6 uncertainty 8 person 32 SIR THOMAS MORE to them whose hole study is beset ' therupon, and to the preachers appointed therunto, whiche may shew them such t hinges in time and place convenient with reverence and au- thoritie, the sermon so tempered, as may bee mete and convenient alwaye for the present audience. Wherunto it appereth that oure Saviour himself, and his apostles after him, had ever speciall respect: and therfore, as I say forsoth, I can in no wise agree with you that it wer mete for men unlearned to be busy with the chamming of Holy Scripture, but to have it chammed unto them. For that is the preachers part and theirs that after longe studve arc admytted to reade and expown it. And to this entent waye 2 al the wordes, as farre as I perceve, of al holy doctours that any thing have writen in this matter. "But never merit they, as I suppose, the forbydding of the Byble to be readde in any vulgare tong. Nor I never yet heard any reason layd, why it were not convenient to have the Byble translated into the Englishe tong, but al those reasons, semed they never so gay and glorious at the first sight : yet, when they were well examined, they myght in effect, for ought that I can see, as wel be layde against the holy writers that wrote the Scripture in the Hebrue tongue, and against the blessed evan- gelistes that wrote the Scripture in Greke, and against all those in likewise that translated it oute of every of those tonges into Latine, as to their charge that would well and faithfully translate it oute of Latine into our Englishe tong. For as for that our tong is called bar- barous, is but a fantasye. For so is, as every lerned man knoweth, every stfaunge language to other. And if they would call it barayn of wordes, there is no doubte but it is plenteous enough to expresse our myndes in anve thing wherof one man hath used to speke with another. Nowe as touchynge the difficultie which a translatour fyndeth in expressing well and lively the sentence of his author, whiche is hard alwaye to doe so surely but that he shall sometime minyshe 3 eyther of the sentence 1 or of the grace that it bereth in the formal tong: that poynt hath lyen 5 in their lyght that have translated the Scrypture alreadye eyther out of Greke into Latine, or out of Hebrue into any of them both, as, by many translacions which we rede already, to them that be learned appereth. "Now as touching the harme that may growe by suche blynde bayardes as will, whan they reade the Byble in Englishe, be more busy than will become them : They that touche that poynt harpe upon the right string, and touche truely the great harme that wer likely to growe to some folke : howe be it not by the occasion yet of the English translacion, but by the occasion of thevr own lewdnes and foly, whiche yet were not in my mynde a sufficiente cause to exclude the translacion, and to put other folke from the benefite therof : but rather to make provision agaynste such abuse, and let a good thing goe furth. No wise marine wer there that woulde put al weapons away be- cause manquellers ' misuse them. "Nor this letted 2 not, as I sayd, the Scrip- ture to be first writen in a vulgare tong. For Scripture, as I said before, was not writen but in a vulgare tonge, suche as the whole people understode, nor in no secrete cyphers but such common letters as almost every man could rede. For neither was the Hebrue nor the Greke tong, nor the Latcn, neither any other speche than such as all the peple spake. And therfore if we shold lay 3 that it wer evil done to translate the Scripture into our tong, because it is vul- gare and comen to every Englishe man, than 4 had it been as cvill done to translate it into Greke or into Latin, or to wryte the New Testament first in Greke, or the Old Testa- ment in Hebrew, because both those tonges wer as verye vulgare as ours. And yet should there by this reason also, not onely the Scripture be kepte out of oure tong, but, over 5 that, shoulde the reading therof be forboden, both al such ley people and all suche priestes too, as can no more than thcyr grammer, and verye scantly that. All which companye though they can understande the wordes, be yet as farre from the perceiving of the sentence in harde and doubtefull textes, as were our wcomen if the Scripture were translated to oure own language. How be it, of trouth, seldome hath it been seen that any secte of heretikes hath begonne of suche unlearned folke as nothynge coulde 6 elles 7 but the language wherein they read the Scripture: but there bathe alway comonly these sectes sprongen of the pryde of such folke as had, with the know- ledge of that tong, some high persuasion in themselfe of their owne lerning beside. To whose authoritie some other folke have soone 1 applied 2 weigh, tend •lain 1 diminish * meaning ■ murderers 2 hindered 8 besides 6 knew 7 else 3 declare 4 then A DIALOGUE OF SYR THOMAS MORE, KNYGHTE 33 after, parte of malice, parte of symplenesse, and muche parte of pleasure and delighte in new fanglenesse fallen in, and encreased the faecion. But the head hath ever comonly been eyther some prowde learned man, or, at the least, beside the language, some proude smat- erer in learning. So that, if we should, for feare of heretikes that might hap to growe thereby, kepe the Scripture out of any tong, or out of unlerned mens handes, we should for like feare be fayne to kepe it out of al tonges, and out of lerned mens handes to, 1 and wot not whom we mighte trust therwith. Wher- fore ther is, as me thinketh, no remedie but, if any good thing shall goe foreward, some- what must nedes be adventured. And some folke will not fayle to be naughte. Agaynst which thinges provision must bee made, that as muche good maye growe, and as litle harme come as canne bee devysed, and not to kepe the whole commoditie 2 from any hole people, because of harme that by their owne foly and faulte may come to some part, as thoughe a lewde 3 surgion woulde cutte of 4 the legge by the knee to kepe the toe from the goute, or cut of a mans head by the shoulders to kepe him from the toothe ache. "There is no treatice of Scripture so hard but that a good vertuous man or woman eyther shal somewhat find therin that shall delyte and encreace their devocion, besydes this that everye preachinge shall be the more pleasant and fruitfull unto them, whan they have in their mind the place of Scrypture that they shall there heare expowned. For though it bee, as it is in dede, great wisedome for a preacher to use discrecion in hys preachyng and to have a respecte unto the qualities and capacities of his audience, yet letteth 5 that nothinge, but that the whole audience maye without harme have read and have readye the Scrypture in mynde, that he shall in hys preachyng declare and expowne. For no doute is there, but that God and his Holye Spirite hath so prudentlye tempered theyr spechc thorowe the whole corps of Scripture that every man may take good therby, and no man harme but he that wil in the study therof leane proudly to the foly of hys own wit. " For albeit that Chryst did speake to the people in parables, and expowned them secretly to hys especiall disciples, and some- time forbare to tell some thynges to them also, because they were not as yet hable to 1 too 2 benefit 3 ignorant * off 8 hinders beare them: and the apostles in lykewyse didde sometyme spare to speake to some people the thinges that they dydde not let l playnly to speake to some other, yet letteth 2 all thys nothing the translacion of the Scrip- ture into our own tong no more than in the Latine. Nor it is no cause to kepe the corps 3 of Scripture out of the handes of anye Christen people so many yeres fastly confyrmed in fayth, because Christ and hys apostles used suche provision in their utterance of so strange and unherd misteries, either unto Jewes, Paynims, 4 or newly christened folk, except we would say that all the exposicions which Chryst made himself upon hys owne parables unto hys secret servauntes and disciples withdrawen from the people, shoulde nowe at thys day be kept in lykewyse from the comons, and no man suffred to reade or heare them, but those that in hys churche represent the state and office of hys apostles, whiche ther will, I wote well, no wyse manne say, consideryng that those thinges which were than comonly most kept from the people, be now most necessary for the people to knowe. As it well appeareth by al such things in effect as our Saviour at that tyme taught his apostles a part. Wherof I would not, for my mynde, witholde the profite that one good devoute unlerned ley man might take by the reading, not for the harme that an hundred heretikes would fall in by theyr own wilful abusion, no more than oure Saviour letted, 5 for the weale of suche as woulde bee with hys grace of hys little chosen flock, to come into thys world and be lapis qffcnsionis et petra scandali, the stone of stumbling and the stone of falling and ruine, to all the wilful wretches in the world beside. " Finally me thynketh that the constitucion provincial of whiche we spake right now, hath determined thys question alreadye. For whan the cleargie therein agreed that the Englyshe Bybles should remayne whiche were translated afore Wickliffes dayes, they consequentlye dydde agree that to have the Byble in Englishe was none hurte. And in that they forbade any new translacion to be read till it wer approved by the bishoppes: it appeareth well therby that theyr intent was that the byshop should approve it if he found it faultlesse, and also of reason amend it where it wer faultye, but if 6 the manne wer an heretike that made it, or the faultes such and so many, as it were 1 hesitate 2 hinders 3 body 4 pagans 8 unless 8 hesitated 34 WILLIAM TYNDALE more eth ' to make it all newe than mend it. As it happed forbothe poyntesinthetranslacion of Tyndall. " Now if it so be that it woulde happely be thought not a thyng motel y to be adventured to sel all on a flushe at ones, 1 and dashe rashclve out Holye Scrypture in everye lewde felowes teeth: yet, thynketh me, ther might such a moderacion be taken therein, as neither good verteous lev folke shoulde lacke it, nor rude and rashe braynes abuse 3 it. For it might be with diligence well and tritely translated by some good catholike and well learned man, or by ilvvers dividing the labour among them, and after conferring theyr several parties together eche with other. Ami after that might the worke he alowed and approved by the ordi- naries, and by theyr authorities so put unto prent, as all the copies should come whole unto the bysshoppes hande. Which he may after his discretion ami wisedom deliver to such as he perceiveth honest, sad, and verteous, with a good monition and fatherly counsel! to use it reverently with humble heart and lowly mind, rather sekyng therin occasion of devotion than of despicion.' 1 And providing as much as may he, that the boke be after the decease of the partie brought again and reverently re- stored unto the ordinarye. So that as nere as niave he devised, no man have it but of the ordinaries hande, and by hym thought and re- puted for such as shall >e likly to use it to Gods honor and merite of his own soule. Among whom if any he proved after to have abused it, than 5 the use therof to he forboden him, eyther for ever, or till he he waxen wyser." "By Our Lady," quod your frend, "this way misliketh not me. But who should sette the price of the hooke?" "Forsoth," quod I, "i hat reken I a thing of litle force. lor mil her wer it a great matter for any man in maner " to give a grote or twain above the mene 7 price for a boke of so greate profite, nor for the bysshope to geve them all free, wherin he myght serve his dyoces with the cost of x. li., 8 I tliynke, or xx. markes. Which summe, I dare save there is no bishop hut he wold he glad to bestow l0 about a thing that might do his hole dyoces so special a pleasure with such a spiri- tuall profit." "By my trouth," quod he, "vet wene " I that the peple would grudge to have it on this wise delivered them at the bishops 1 easy 2 once * misuse * dispute * then 'practically "ordinary B ten pounds •twenty marks (, := £13 6s. Bd.) 10 spend " ween, think hande, and had lever ' pay for it to the printer than have it of the byshop free." "It might so happen with some," quod I. "But yet, in myne opinion, ther wer in that maner more wilfulness than wisedom or any good mind in suche as would not be content so to receive them. And therfore I wold think in good faith that it wold so fortune in few. But, for God, the more dout would be, lest they would grudge and hold themsclf sore greved that wold require it and wer happely denied it : which I suppose would not often happen unto any honest housholder to be by his discretion rever- ently red in his house. But though it wer not taken '-' to every lewde lad in his own handes to rede a litle rudely whan he list, and than cast the boke at his heles, or among other such as himselfe to kepe a quotlihet 3 ami a pot parlament 4 upon, I trow there wil no wise man find a faulte therin. "Ye spake right now of the Tewes, among whom the hole peple have, ye say, the Scripture in their hands. And ye thought it no reason that we shold reken Christen men lesse worthy therto than them. Wherin I am as ye see of your own opinion. But yet wold God, we had the like reverence to the Scripture of God that they have. For I assure you I have heard very worshipful] folke say which have been in their houses, that a man could not hyre a Jewe to sit down upon his Byhle of the Okie Testament, but he taketh it with grot reverence in hand whan he wil rede, and reverently layeth it up agayn whan he hath doone. Wheras we, God forgeve us ! take a litle regarde to sit down on our Byhle with the Old Testament and the New too. Which homely handeling, as it procedeth of litle reverence, so doth it more and more engrendre in the mind a negligence and contempt of Gods holi words. . . ." WILLIAM TYNDALE (d. 1536) THE GOSPELL OF S. MATHEYV. THE FYFTH CHAPTER When he sawe the people, he went up into a mountaine, and wen lie was sett, hvs disciples cam unto him, and he opened his mouth, ami taught them sayinge: "Blessed are the poure in sprete: for thers is the kyngdom of heven. Blessed are they that mourne: for they shalhe comforted. Blessed are the meke: for they 1 liefer, rather 2 deliver s debate * drunken dis- cussion THE GOSPEU, OF S. MATHEW 35 shall inhcrct the erthe. Blessed are they which hunger and thurst for rightewesnes: for they shalbe fylled. Blessed are the mercyfull: for they shall obteyne mercy. Blessed are the pure in hert: for they shall se God. Blessed are the maynteyners of peace: for they shalbe called the chyldren of God. Blessed are they which suffre persecucion for rightewesnes sake: for thers is the kyngdom of heven. Blessed are ye when men shall revyle you, and persecute you, and shal falsly saye all manner of evle sayinges agaynst you for my sake. Rejoyce and be gladde, for greate is youre rewarde in heven. For so persecuted they the prophettes which were before youre dayes. "Ye are the salt of the erthe, but ah ! yf the saltc be once unsavery, what can be salted there with? it is thence forthe good for noth- ynge, but to be cast out at the dores, and that men treade it under fete. Ye are the light of the worlde. A cite that is sett on an hill cannot be hyd, nether do men light a candle and put it under a busshell, but on a candel- stycke, and it lightcth all those which are in the housse. Se that youre light so schyne before men, that they maye se youre good werkes, and gloryfie youre Father, which is in heven. "Ye shall not thynke, that y am come to disanull the lawe other 1 the prophettes: no, y am not come to dysanull them, but to fulfyll them. For truely y say unto you, tyll heven and erthe perysshe, one jott, or one tytle of the lawe shall not scape, tyll all be fulfylled. "Whosoever breaketh one of these leest commaundmentes, and shall teche men so, he shalbe called the leest in the kyngdom of heven. But whosoever shall observe and teache them, that persone shalbe called greate in the kyng- dom of heven. "For I say unto you, except youre rightewes- nes excede the rightewesnes of the scrybes and pharyses, ye cannot entre into the kyngdom of heven. "Ye have herde howe it was sayd unto them of the olde tyme. Thou shalt not kyll. Who- soever shall kyll, shalbe in daunger of judge- ment. But I say unto you, whosoever ys angre with hys brother, shalbe in daunger of judgement. Whosoever shall say unto his brother, Racha! shalbe in daunger of a counseill. But whosoever shall say unto his brother, Thou fole! shalbe in daunger of hell fyre. Therfore when thou offerest thy gyfte 'or att the altre, and there remembrest that thy brother hath cny thynge agaynst the: leve there thyne offrynge before the altre, and go thy waye fyrst and reconcyle thy silff to thy brother, and then come and offre thy gyfte. "Agre with thine adversary at once, whyles thou arte in the waye with hym, lest thine adversary delivre the to the judge, and the judge delyvrc the to the minister, 1 and then thou be cast into preson. I say unto the verely: thou shalt not come out thence tyll thou have payed the utmoost forthyngc. 2 "Ye have herde howe yt was sayde to them of olde tyme, thou shalt not commytt advoutrie. 3 But I say unto you, that whosoever eyeth a wyfe, lustynge after her, hathe commytted advoutrie with her alredy in his hert. " Wherfore yf thy right eye offende the, plucke hym out and caste him from the, Better hit is for the, that one of thy membres perysshe then that thy whole body shuld be caste in to hell. Also yf thy right honde offend the, cutt hym of and caste hym from the. Better hit is that one of thy membres perisshe, then that all thy body shulde be caste in to hell. "Hit ys sayd, whosoever put 4 awaye his wyfe, let hym geve her a testymonyall of her divorcement. But I say unto you: whosoever put 4 awaye hys wyfe (except hit be for fornica- cion) causeth her to breake matrimony, And who soever maryeth her that is divorsed, break- eth wedlocke. "Agayne ye have herde, howe it was said to them of olde tyme, thou shalt not forswere thysilfe, but shalt performe thine othe to God. But I saye unto you swere not at all: nether by heven, for hit ys Goddes seate : nor yet by the erth, For it is hys fote stole: Nether by Jerusalem, for it is the cite of the greate kynge: Nether shalt thou swere by thy heed, because thou canst not make one heer whyte, or blacke : But youre communication shalbe, ye, ye: nay, nay. For whatsoever is more then that, com- meth of evle. "Ye have herde howe it is sayd, an eye for an eye: a tothe for a tothe. But I say unto you, that ye withstand, 5 not wronge: But yf a man geve the a blowe on thy right cheke, turne to hym the othre. And yf eny man wyll sue the at the lawe, and take thi coote from the, lett hym have thi clooke also. And whosoever wyll compell the to goo a myle, goo wyth him twayne. Geve to him that axeth: and from him that wolde borowe turne not away. 1 officer 2 farthing 3 adultery * puts 5 resist 36 HUGH LATIMER "Ye have herde howe it is saide: thou shalt love thyne neghbour, and hate thyne enemy. But y saye unto you, love youre enemies. Blesse them that cursse you. Doo good to them that hate you, Praye for them which doo you wronge, and persecute you, that ye maye be the chyldren of youre hevenly Father: for he maketh his sunne to aryse on the evle and on the good, and sendeth his reyne on the juste and on the onjuste. For if ye shall love them, which love you: what rewarde shall ye have? Doo not the publicans even so? And if ye be frendly to youre brethren only: what sin- guler thynge doo ye? Doo nott the publicans lyke wyse? Ye shall therfore be perfecte, even as youre hevenly Father is perfecte." HUGH LATIMER (i 4 8s?-iS55) From THE FIRST SERMON BEFORE KING EDWARD VI And necessary it is that a kyng have a treas- ure all wayeys in a redines, for that, and such other affayres, as be dayly in hys handes. The which treasure, if it be not sufficiente, he maye lawfully and wyth a salve ' conscience take taxis of hys subjectes. For it were not mete 2 the treasure shoulde be in the subjectes purses whan the money shoulde be occupied, 3 nor it were not best for themselves, for the lacke there of, it myght cause both it and all the rest that they have shold not long be theirs, And so for a necessarye and expedyent occacion, it is warranted by Goddes word to take of the sub- jectes. But if there be sufhcyente treasures, and the burdenynge of subjectes be for a vayne thyng, so that he wyl require thus much, or so much, of his subjects, whyche perchaunce are in great necessitie and penurye, then this covet- ous intent, and the request thereof, is to muche, whych God forbiddeth the king her in this place of scripture to have. But who shal se this "to much," or tell the king of this "to much"? Thinke you anye of the Kynges prevye cham- ber? No. For feare of losse of faver. Shall any of his sworne chapelins ? No. Thei bee of the clausset 4 and kepe close such matters. But the Kynge him selfe must se this "to much," and that shal he do by no meanes with the corporal eyes. Wherfore he must have a paler of spectacles, whiche shall have two cleaxe syghtes in them, that is, the one is fayth, not a seasonable fayeth, which shall laste but a whyle, but a fayeth whiche is continuynge in God. The seconde cleare sighte is charitie, whych is fervente towardes hys Chrysten brother. By them two must the Kynge se ever whan he hath to muche. But fewe therbe that useth these spectacles, the more is theyr dampnacion. Not wythoute cause Chrisostome wyth admira- cion 1 sayeth, "Miror si aliquis rectorum potest salvari. I marvell if anye ruler can be saved." Whyche wordes he speaketh not of an impos- sibilitie, but of a great difncultie; for that their charge is marvelous great, and that none aboute them dare shew them the truth of the thing how it goth. Wei then, if God wyl not alowe a king to much, whither 2 wyl he alowe a sub- ject to much? No, that he wil not. Whether have any man here in England to much? I doubte most riche men have to muche, for wythout to muche, we can get nothynge. As for example, the Phisicion. If the pore man be dyseased, he can have no helpe without to much; and of the lawyer the pore man can get no counsell, expedicion, nor helpe in his matter, except he geve him to much. At mar- chandes handes no kynd of wares can be had, except we geve for it to muche. You lande- lordes, you rent -reisers, I maye saye you steplordes, you unnaturall lordes, you have for your possessions yerely to much. For that 3 herebefore went for .xx. or .xl. pound by yere, (which is an honest porcion to be had gratis in one Lordeshyp, of a nother mannes sweat and laboure) now is it let for .1. (fifty) dr a .C. (hun- dred) pound by yeare. Of thys "to muche" commeth thys monsterous and portentious dearthis made by man. Not with standynge God doeth sende us plentifullye the fruites of the earth, mercyfullye, contrarve unto oure desertes, not wythstandynge " to muche," whyche these riche menne have, causeth suche dearth, that poore menne (whyche live of theyr laboure) can not wyth the sweate of their face haw a livinge, all kinde of victales is so deare, pigges, gese, capons, chickens, egges, etc. These thinges with other are so unresonably enhansed. And I thinke verelv that if it this 4 continewe, we shal at length be const ray ned to pave for a pygge a pounde. I wyl t el you, my lordes and maysters, thys is not for the kynges honoure. Yet some wyl save, knowest thou what belongeth unto the kinges honoure better then we? I answere, that the true honoure of a Kinge, is moost perfectly men- cioned and painted furth in the scriptures, of which, if ye be ignoraunt, for lacke of tyme, 1 safe 2 proper * made use of * closet 1 wonder - whether 8 what thus THE FIRST SERMON BEFORE KING EDWARD VI 37 that ye cannot reade it, albeit, that your coun- saile be never so politike, yet is it not for the kynges honoure. What his honoure meaneth ye canot tel. It is the kynges honoure that his subjectes bee led in the true religion. That all hys prelates and Cleargie be set about their worcke in preching and studieng, and not to be interrupted from their charge. Also it is the Kinges honour that the commen wealth be avaunsed, that the dearth of these forsaied thynges be provided for, and the commodities of thys Realme so emploied, as it may be to the setting his subjectes on worke, and kepyng them from idlenes. And herin resteth the kinges honour and hys office. So doynge, his accompte before God shalbe alowed, and re- warded. Furder ' more, if the kinges honour (as sum men say) standeth in the great multi- tude of people, then these grasiers, inclosers, and rente-rearers, are hinderers of the kings honour. For wher as have bene a great meany 2 of householders and inhabitauntes, ther is nowe but a shepherd and his dogge, so thei hynder the kinges honour most of al. My lordes and maisters, I say also that all suche procedynges which are agaynste the Kynges honoure (as I have a part declared before) and as far as I can perceive, do intend plainly, to make the yomanry slavery and the Cleargye shavery. For suche worckes are al syngular, 3 private welth and commoditye. We of the cleargye had to much, but that is taken away; and nowe we have to little. But for myne owne part, I have no cause to complaine, for, I thanke God and the kyng, I have sufficient, and God is my judge I came not to crave of anye man any thyng; but I knowe theim that have to litle. There lyeth a greate matter by these appropriacions, greate reformacions is to be had in them. I knowe wher is a great market Towne with divers hamelets and in- habitauntes, wher do rise yereli of their labours to the value of .1. (fifty) pounde, and the vicar that serveth (being so great a cure) hath but .xii. or .xiiii. markes by yere, so that of thys pension he is not able to by him bokes, nor geve hys neyghboure dryncke, al the great gaine goeth another way. My father was a Yoman, and had no landes of his owne, onlye he had a farme of .hi. or .iiii. pound by yere at the uttermost, and here upon he tilled so much as kepte halfe a dosen men. He had walke 4 for a hundred shepe, and my mother mylked 1 further 2 company 3 for the benefit of an indi- vidual 4 pasture .xxx. kyne. He was able and did find the king a harnesse, wyth hym selfe, and hys horsse, whyle he came to the place that he should receyve the kynges wages. I can remembre that I buckled hys harnes when he went unto Blacke-heeath felde. He kept me to schole, or elles I had not bene able to have preached before the kinges majestie nowe. He maryed my systers with v. pounde or .xx. nobles a pece, so that he broughte them up in godlines, and feare of God. He kept hospitalitie for his pore neighbours. And sum almess ' he gave to the poore, and all thys did he of the sayd farme. Wher he that now hath it, paieth .xvi. pounde by yere or more, and is not able to do any thing for his Prynce, for himselfe, nor for his children, or geve a cup of drincke to the pore. Thus al the enhansinge and rearing goth to your private commoditie and wealth. So that where ye had a single "to much," you have that: and syns the same, ye have enhansed the rente, and so have encreased an other "to much." So now ye have doble to muche, whyche is to to much. But let the preacher preach til his tong be worne to the stompes, nothing is amended. We have good statutes made for the commen welth as touching comeners, en- closers, many metinges and Sessions, but in the end of the matter their 2 commeth nothing forth. Wei, well, thys is one thynge I wyll saye unto you, from whens it commeth I knowe, even, from the devill. I knowe his intent in it. For if ye bryng it to passe, that the yomanry be not able to put their sonnes to schole (as in dede universities do wonderously decaye all redy) and that they be not able to mary their daugh- ters to the avoidyng of whoredome, I say ye plucke salvation from the people and utterly distroy the realme. For by yomans sonnes the fayth of Christ is and hath bene mayntained chefely. Is this realme taught by rich mens sonnes? No, no! Reade the Cronicles; ye shall fynde sumtime noble mennes sonnes which have bene unpreaching byshoppes and prelates, but ye shall finde none of them learned men. But verilye, they that shoulde loke to the redresse of these thinges, be the greatest against them. In thyse realm are a great meany 3 of folkes, and amongest many I knowe but one of tender zeale, at the mocion of his poore tennauntes, hath let downe his landes to the olde rentes for their reliefe. For Goddes love, let not him be a Phenix, let him not be 1 alms 2 there 3 company 38 ROGER ASCHAM alone, let hym not be an Hermite closed in a wall, sum good man follow him and do as he geveth example ! Surveiers ' there be, that gredyly gorge up their covetouse guttes, hande- makers 2 I meane (honest men I touch not but al suche as survei 3 ) ; thei make up 4 their mouthes but the commens s be utterlye undone by them. Whose ° bitter cry ascendyng up to the eares of the God of Sabaoth, the gredy pyt of hel burning fire (without great repent- aunce) do tary and loke for them. 7 A redresse God graunt ! For suerly, suerly, but that .ii. thynges do comfort me, I wold despaire of the redresse in these maters. One is, that the kinges majestie whan he commeth to age wyll se a redresse of these thinges so out of frame, geving example by letting doune his owne landes first and then enjoyne hys subjectes to folowe him. The second hope I have, is, I beleve that the general accomptyng 8 daye is at hande, the dreadfull day of judgement I meane, whiche shall make an end of al these calamities and miseries. For as the scryptures be, Cum dixerint, pax pax, "When they shal say, Peace, peace," Omnia tuta, "All thynges are sure," then is the day at hand, a mery day, I saye, for al such as do in this world studye to serve and please god and continue in his fayth, feare and love: and a dreadful, horrible day for them that decline from God, walking in ther owne waves, to whom as it is wrytten in the xxv of Mathew is sayd: lie maledicti in ignem eternum, "Go ye curssed into ever- lastynge punyshment, wher shalbe waylinge and gnashing of teeth." But unto the other he shal save: Venite benedicti, "come ye blessed chyldren of my father, possesse ye the kyng- dome prepared for you from the beginninge of the worlde." Of the which God make us al partakers! Amen. ROGER ASCHAM (1515-1568) THE SCHOLEMASTER From THE FIRST BOOKE FOR THE YOUTH After the childe hath learned perfitlie the eight partes of speach, let him then learne the right joyning togither of substantives with adjectives, the nowne with the verbe, the rela- tive with the antecedent. And in learninge farther hys Syntaxis, by mine advice, he shall 1 government officials 2 grafters 3 serve as overseers * fill 6 commons, common people ° i.e. the commons 7 i.e. the surveyors 8 accounting not use the common order in common scholes for making of Latines: wherby the childe commonlie learneth, first, an evill choice of wordes, (and right choice of wordes, saith Caesar, is the foundation of eloquence) than, 1 a wrong placing of wordes: and lastlie, an ill framing of the sentence, with a perverse judge- ment, both of wordes and sentences. These faultes, taking once roote in yougthe, be never, or hardlie, pluckt away in age. Moreover, there is no one thing, that hath more, either dulled the wittes, or taken awaye the will of children from learning, than the care they have, to satisfie their masters, in making of Latines. For the scholer is commonlie beat for the mak- ing, when the master were more worthie to be beat for the mending, or rather, marring of the same : The master many times being as igno- rant as the childe what to saie propcrlie and fitlie to the matter. Two scholemasters have set forth in print, either of them a booke, of soch kindeof Latines, Horman and Whittington. A childe shall learne of the better of them, that, which an other daie, if he be wise, and cum to judgement, he must be faine to unleame againe. There is a waie, touched in the first booke of Cicero Dc Oratore, which, wiselie brought into scholes, truely taught, and constantly used, would not onely take wholly away this butcherlie feare in making of Latines, but would also, with ease and pleasure, and in short tinte, as I know by good experience, worke a true choice and placing of wordes, a right ordering of sentences, an easie understandyng of the tonge, a readines to speake, a facultie to write, a true judgement, both of his owne, and other mens doinges, what tonge so ever he doth use. The waie is this. After the three concord- ances 2 learned, as I touched before, let the master read unto hym the Epistles of Cicero, gathered togither and chosen out by Sturmius for the capacitie of children. First, let him teach the childe, cherefullie and plain lie, the cause, and matter of the letter: then, let him construe it into Englishe, so oft, as the childe may easilie carie awaie the understanding of it: Lastlie, parse it over perfitlie. This done thus, let the childe, by and by, 3 both construe and parse it over againe; so that it may appeare that the childe douteth 4 in nothing that his master taught him before. After this, the childe must take a paper booke, and sitting 1 then 2 See the first sentence of this selection. 3 immediately 4 is at a loss , THE SCHOLEMASTER 39 in some place where no man shall prompe him, by him self, let him translate into Englishe his former lesson. Then shewing it to his master, let the master take from him his Latin booke, and pausing an houre, at the least, than 1 let the childe translate his owne Englishe into Latin againe, in an other paper booke. When the childe bringeth it, turned into Latin, the master must compare it with Tullies 2 booke, and laie them both togither: and where the childe doth well, either in chosing, or true placing of Tullies wordes, let the master praise him, and saie, " Here ye do well." For I assure you, there is no such whetstone to sharpen a good witte and encourage a will to learninge as is praise. But if the childe misse, either in forgetting a worde, or in chaunging a good with a worse, or misordering the sentence, I would not have the master, either froune, or chide with him, if the childe have done his diligence, and used no trewandship 3 therin. For I know by good experience, that a childe shall take more profit of two fautes 4 jentlie warned of then of foure thinges rightly liitt. For than 5 the master shall have good occasion to saie unto him, "iV., 6 Tullie would have used such a worde, not this: Tullie would have placed this word here, not there: would have used this case, this number, this person, this degree, this gender: he would have used this moode, this tens, this simple, rather than this compound: this adverbe here, not there: he would have ended the sentence with this verbe, not with that nowne or participle," etc. In these fewe lines, I have wrapped up the most tedious part of Grammer: and also the ground of almost all the Rewles, that are so busilie taught by the Master, and so hardlie learned by the Scholer, in all common Scholes: which after this sort, the master shall teach without all error, and the scholer shall learne without great paine: the master being led by so sure a guide, and the scholer being brought into so plaine and easie a waie. And therefore, we do not contemne Rewles, but we gladlie teach Rewles: and teach them, more plainlie, sensiblie, and orderlie, than they be commonlie taught in common Scholes. For whan the Master shall compare Tullies booke with his Scholers translation, let the Master, at the first, lead and teach his Scholer to joyne the Rewles of his Grammer booke, with the examples of 1 then z Cicero's 8 negligence 6 iV stands for the name of the child. 4 faults 6 then his present lesson, untill the Scholer, by him selfe, be hable to fetch out of his Grammer everie Rewle for everie Example: So as the Grammer booke be ever in the Scholers hand, and also used of him, as a Dictionarie, for everie present use. This is a lively and perfite waie of teaching of Rewles : where the common waie, used in common Scholes, to read the Grammer alone by it selfe, is tedious for the Master, hard for the Scholer, colde and uncumfortable for them bothe. Let your Scholer be never afraide to aske you any dout, but use discretlie the best allurements ye can to encorage him to the same : lest his overmoch fearinge of you drive him to seeke some misorderlie shifte: as, to seeke to be helped by some other booke, or to be prompted by some other Scholer, and so goe aboute to begile you moch, and him selfe more. With this waie, of good understanding the mater, plaine construinge, diligent parsinge, dailie translatinge, cherefull admonishinge, and heedefull amendinge of faultes: never leavinge behinde juste praise for well doinge, I would have the Scholer brought up withall, till he had red, and translated over the first booke of Epistles chosen out by Sturmius, with a good peece of a Comedie of Terence also. All this while, by mine advise, the childe shall use to speake no Latine: For, as Cicero saith in like mater, with like wordes, loquendo, male loqui discunt. And, that excellent learned man, G. Budaeus, in his Greeke Com- mentaries, sore complaineth, that whan he be- gan to learne the Latin tonge, use of speaking Latin at the table, and elsewhere, unadvisedlie, did bring him to soch an evill choice of wordes, to soch a crooked framing of sentences, that no one thing did hurt or hinder him more, all the daies of his life afterward, both for redinesse in speaking, and also good judgement in writinge. In very deede, if children were brought up, in soch a house, or soch a Schole, where the Latin tonge were pro perlie and pcrfitlie spoken, as Tib. and Ca. Gracci were brought up, in their mother Cornelias house, surelie than ' the dailie use of speaking were the best and readiest waie to learne the Latin tong. But, now, commonlie, in the best Scholes in England, for wordes, right choice is smallie regarded, true proprietie whollie neglected, confusion is brought in, barbariousnesse is bred up so in yong wittes, as afterward they be, not onelie marde for speaking, but also corrupted in 1 then 40 ROGER ASCIIAM judgement : as with moch adoc, or never at all they be brought to right frame againe. Yd all iiuii covet to have their children speake Latin: ami so do I verie earnestlie too. We hot he have one purpose: we agree in desire, we wish one end : hut we differ somewhat in order and waie, that leadeth rightlie to that end. Other would have them speake at all adventures: ami, SO they he speakinge, to speake, the Master careth not, the Scholer knoweth not, what. This is to seeme and not to bee: except it he to he hoKle without shame, rashe without skill, full of wordes without witte. I wish to have them speake so as it may well appeare that the braine doth goveme the tonge, and that reason leadeth forth the taulke. Socrates doctrine is true in Plato, and well marked, and truelv uttered by Horace in Arte Poetica, that, where so ever knowledge doth aCCOmpanie the witte, there best utterance doth alwaies awaite upon the tonge: For good understanding must first he bred in the childe, which, being nurished with skill, and use of writing (as 1 will teach more largelie hereafter) is the onelie waie to bring him to judgement and readinesse in speakinge : ami that infarre shorter time (if he followe constantlie the trade ' of this litle lesson) than he shall do, by common teachinge of the common scholes in England. But, to go forward, as you perceive your scholer to goe belter and better on awaie, first, with understanding his lesson more quick- lie, with parsing more readelie, with translating more spedelie and perlitlie then he was wonte, after, give him longer lessons to translate: and withall, begin to teach him, both in nownes, and verbes, what is Proprium, and what is Translatum, what Synonymum, what Diversion, which be Contraria, and which be most notable Phrases in all his lecture: As, Proprium, Rex Sepultw est magnified; Translatum, Cum Mo prineipe, Sepulta est &» gloria et Solus Rei- publicae; Synonyma, Ensis,Gladius; Laudare, praedieare; Diversa, Diligere, A mare; Colore, Exardescere; Iuimieus, Ilostis; Contraria, Acerbum £r~ luctuosum helium, Dulcis 6 s lotto Pax; Phrases, Pare verba, abjieere obeilientiam. Your scholer then, must have the third paper booke; in the which, after he hath done his double translation, let him write, after this sort foure of diese forenamed sixe, diligentlie marked out of everie lesson. Or else, three, or two, if there be no moe: and if there be none of these at all in some lecture, yet not omitte the 1 practice. order, but write these: Diversa, nulla; Contra- ria, nulla ; ele. This diligent translating, joyncd with this heedeful marking, in the foresaid Epistles, and afterwarde in some plaine Oration of Tullie, as pro lege Monti: pro Archie Poeta, or in those three ail C. Caes: shall worke soch a right choise of wordes, so streight a framing of sentences, soch a true judgement, both to write skilfullie, and speake wittielie, as wise men shall both praise and marvcll at. If your scholer do misse sometimes, in marking rightlie these foresaid sixe thinges, chide not hastelie: for that shall, both dull his witte, and discorage his diligence: but monish him gentelie: which shall make him, both will- ing to amende, and glad to go forward in love ami hope of learning. I have now wished, twise or thrise, this gentle nature, to be in a Scholemaster: And, that I have done so, neither by chance, nor without some reason, I will now declare at large, wliv, in mine opin- ion, love is fitter then feare, gentlenes better than beating, to bring up a childe rightlie in learninge. With the common use of teaching and beating in common scholes of England, I will not great- lie contend: which if I did, it were but a small grammatical] controversie, neither belonging to heresie nor treason, 1 nor greatly touching (.hid nor the Prince: although in very deede, in the end, the good or ill bringing up of children, doth as much serve to the good or ill service, of (hid, our Prince, and our whole countrie, as any one thing doth beside. I do gladlie agree with all good Scholemasters in these pointes: to have children brought to a good perfitnes in learning: to all honestie in maners: to have all fautcs : rightlie amended: to have everie vice severelie corrected: but for the order and waie that leadeth rightlie to these pointes, we somewhat differ. For commonlie, many scholemasters, some, as I have seen, moe, a as I have heard tell, be of so crooked a nature, as, when they meete with a hard wittcd scholer, they rather breake him than bowe him, rather marre him then mend him. For whan the scholemaster is angrie with some other matter, then will he sonest faul to beate his scholer: and though he him selfe should be punished for his folic, yet must he beate some Scholer for his pleasure: though there be no cause for him to do so, nor yet fault in the Scholer to deserve so. These, ye will say, be 1 This is a proverbial expression. 2 faults s more THE SCHOLEMASTER 4i fond ' scholemasters, and fewe they be that be found to be soch. They be fond in deede, but surelie overmany soch be found everie where. But this will I say, that even the wisest of your great beaters, do as oft punishe nature as they do correcte faultes. Yea, many times, the better nature is sorer punished : For, if one, by quicknes of witte, take his lesson readelie, an other, by hardncs of with', taketh it not so speedelie: the first is alwaies commended, the other is commonlie punished: whan a wise scholemaster should rather discretelie consider the right disposition of both their natures, and not so moch wey 2 what either of them is able to do now, as what either of them is likelie to do hereafter. For this I know, not onclie by reading of bookes in my studie, but also by experience of life, abrode in the world, that those which be commonlie the wisest, the best learned, and best men also, when they be olde, were never commonlie the quickest of witte, when they were yonge. The causes why, amongest other, which be many, that move me thus to thinke, be these fewe, which I will rccken. Quicke wittes, commonlie, be apte to take, unapte to keepe: soone hote and desirous of this and that : as colde and sone wery of the same againe : more quicke to enter spedelie, than hable 3 to pearse 4 farre : even like over sharpe tooles, whose edges be verie soone turned. Soch wittes delite them selves in easie and pleasant studies, and never passe farre forward in hie and hard sciences. And therefore the quickest wittes commonlie may prove the best Poetes, but not the wisest Orators: readie of tonge to speake boldlie, not deepe of judgement, either for good counsell or wise writing. Also, for maners and life, quicke wittes, commonlie, be, in desire, new- fangle, 5 in purpose unconstant, light to promise any thing, readie to forget every thing: both benefite and injurie : and thcrby neither fast to frend, nor fearefull to foe: inquisitive of every trifle, not secret in greatest affaires: bolde, with any person: busic, in every matter: sothing ° soch as be present : nipping any that is absent: of nature also, alwaies, flattering their betters, envying their equals, despising their inferiors: and, by quicknes of witte, verie quicke and readie, to like none so well as them selves. Moreover commonlie, men, very quicke of witte, be also, verie light of conditions: 7 and thereby, very readie of disposition, to be 1 foolish 2 weigh 3 able 4 pierce 6 fond of novelty ° agreeing with 7 character caried over quicklie, by any light cumpanie, to any riot and unthriftiness, when they be yonge: and therfore seldome, either honest of life, or riche in living, when they be olde. For, quicke in witte and light in maners, be, either seldome troubled, or verie sone wery, in carying a verie hevie purse. Quicke wittes also be, in most part of all their doinges, over- quicke, hastie, rashe, headie, and brainsicke. These two last wordes, Headie, and Brain- sicke, be fitte and proper wordes, rising natural- lie of the matter, and tearmed aptlie by the condition, of over moch quickenes of witte. In yougthe also they be readie scoffers, privie mockers, and ever over light and mery. In aige, sone testie, very waspishe, and alwaies over miserable : and yet fewe of them cum to any great aige, by reason of their misordered life when they were yong: but a great deale fewer of them cum to shewe any great counte- nance, or beare any great authoritie abrode in the world, but either live obscurelie, men know not how, or dye obscurelie, men marke not whan. They be like trees, that shewe forth faire blossoms and broad leaves in spring time, but bring out small and not long lasting fruite in harvest time: and that, onelie soch as fall and rotte before they be ripe, and so, never, or seldome, cum to any good at all. For this ye shall finde most true by experience, that amongest a number of quicke wittes in youthe, fewe be found, in the end, either verie fortunate for them selves, or verie profitable to serve the common wealth, but decay and vanish, men know not which way: except a very fewe, to whom peradventure blood and happie par- entage may perchance purchace a long standing upon the stage. The which felicitie, because it commeth by others procuring, not by their owne deservinge, and stand by other mens feete, and not by their own, what owtward brag so ever is borne by them, is in deed, of it selfe, and in wise mens eyes, of no great estimation. JOHN FOXE (1516-1587) ACTS AND MONUMENTS OF THESE LATTER AND PERILLOUS DAYES THE BEHAVIOUR OF DR. RIDLEY AND MASTER LATIMER AT THE TIME OF THEIR DEATH Upon the north-side of the towne, in the ditch over against Baily ' Colledge, the place of 1 Balliol I-' JOHN FOXE execution was appointed; and for feare of any tumuli that might arise, to lei ' the burning of them, the Lord Williams was commanded by the Queenes letters and the householders of the city, to be there assistant, sufficientlie ap- pointed. And when every thing was in a readiness, the prisoners were brought forth by the maior and the baylilTes. Master Ridley had a taire blackc gowne furred, and faced with foines,' SUCh as he was wont to weare luring bishop, and a tippet of velvet, furred likewise, aboul his neck, a velvet night cap upon his head, and a corner cap upon the same, going in a paire of slippers to the stake, and going between the maior and an alderman, ete. After him came Master Latimer in a poor BristOW freeze 8 frock all worne, with his buttoned cap, and a kerchiefe on his head all readie to the fire, a newe long shrowdc hanging o\er his host- ' downe to the feet ; which at the first sight stirred mens hearts to rue upon them, beholding on the one side the honour they sometime had, and on the other, the calamitie whereunto thev were fallen. Master DoctOUr Ridley, as he passed toward Bocardo,' looked up where Master Cranmcr did lie, hoping In-like to have scene him at the glass windowe, and to have spoken unto him. Hut then Master Cranmcr was husie with Frier Soto and his fellow es, disputing together, SO that he could not see him through that occasion. Then Master Ridley, looking backe, espied Master Latimer comming after, unto whom he said, "Oh, he ye there?" " Yea," said Master Latimer, "have after as fast as 1 can follow." So he following a prettic wav off, at length they came both to the stake, the one after the other, where first IV. Ridley eiitring the place, mar vellous earnestly holding up both his hands, looked towards heaven, d'hen shortlie after espying Master Latimer, with a wondrous cheereful looke he ran to him, imbraced and kissed him; and, as they that stood neere re- ported, comforted him saying, " lie of good heart, brother, for (\o<.\ will either asswage the furie of the flame, or else strengthen us to abide it." With that went he to the stake, kneeled downe by it, kissed it, and most effect uoiislie praied, and behind him Master Latimer kneeled, as earnestlie calling upon God as he. After they arose, the one talked with the other a little while, till they which were appointed to see ' hinder * trimmings of beech-martin fur 3 ;i woolen cloth made at Bristol ' breeches 'tin- old north gate at Oxford, used as a prison the execution, remooved themselves out of the sun. What thev said 1 can learn of no man. Then Dr. Smith, of whose recantation in King Edwards time ye heard before, beganne his sermon to them upon this text of St. Paul in the [3 chap, of the first epistle to the Corin- thians: Si corpus meum tradam igni, chari- tatem autem non habeam, nihil inde uHlitaiis COpio, that is, "If 1 yeehle my body to the lire to he burnt, and have not charity, 1 shall gaine nothing thereby." Wherein he alledged that the goodnesse of the cause, and not the order of death, maketh the holines of the person; which he confirmed by the examples of Judas, and of a woman in Oxford that of late hanged her selfe, for that they, and such like as he recited, might then be adjudged righteous, which desperatelie sundered their lives from their bodies, as hee feared that those men that stood before him would doe. But he cried stil ' to the people to beware of them, for the) were heretikes, and died out of the church. And on the other side, he declared their diversi- ties in opinions, as Lutherians, U'.colampadians, Zuinglians, of which sect they were, he said, and that was the worst: but the old church of Christ and the catholikc faith hclecved far otherwise. At which place they- Lifted uppe both their hands and eies to heaven, as it were calling God to witnes of the truth: the which countenance they made in many other places of his sermon, whereas they thought he spake amisse. Hee ended with a veric short ex Imitation to them to recant, and come home again to the church, and save their lives and soules, which else wen- condemned. His ser- mon was scant in all a quarter of an houre. Doctor Ridley said to Master Latimer, "Will you begin to answer the sermon, or shall 1."' Master Latimer said: "Begin you first, I pray you." "1 will," said Master Ridley. Then the wicked sermon being ended, Dr. Ridley and Master Latimer kneeled downe Uppon their knees towards my Lord Williams of Tame, the vice chancellour of Oxford, and divers other commissioners appointed for that purpose, which sate upon a forme ■ thereby. Unto whom Master Ridley said: "1 beseech you, my lord, even for Christs sake, that 1 may Speake but two or three wordes." And whilest my lord bent his head to the maior and vice- chancellor, to know (as it appeared) whether lie might give him leave to speake, the bailiffes ami Dr. Marshall, vice-chancellor, ran hastily 1 constantly - Ridley and Latimer 3 bench ACTS AND MONUMENTS OF THESE PERILLOUS DAYES 43 unto him, and with their hands stopped his mouth, and said: "Master Ridley, if you will revoke your erroneous opinions, and recant the same, you shall not onely have liberty so to doe, but also the benefite of a subject; that is, have your life." "Not otherwise?" said Maister Ridley. "No," quoth Dr. Marshall. "Therefore if you will not so doe, then there is no remedy but you must suffer for your deserts." "Well," quoth Master Ridley, "so long as the breath is in my bodie, I will never deny my Lord Christ, and his knowne truth: Gods will be done in me!" And with that he rose up and said with a loud voice: "Well then, I commit our cause to almightie God, which shall indifferently l judge all." To whose saying, Maister Latimer added his old posie, 2 "Well! there is nothing hid but it shall be opened." And he said, he could answer Smith well enough, if hee might be suffered. Incontinently 3 they were commanded to make them readie, which they with all meek- nesse obeyed. Master Ridley tooke his gowne and his tippet, and gave it to his brother-in-lawe Master Shepside, who all his time of imprison- ment, although he might not be suffered to come to him, lay there at his owne charges to provide him necessaries, which from time to time he sent him by the sergeant that kept him. Some other of his apparel that was little worth, hee gave away; other the bailiff es took. He gave away besides divers other small things to gentle- men standing by, and divers of them pitifullie weeping, as to Sir Henry Lea he gave a new groat; and to divers of my Lord Williams gentlemen some napkins, some nutmegges, and races 4 of ginger; his diall, and such other things as he had about him, to every one that stood next him.' Some plucked the pointes of his hose. Happie was he that might get any ragge of him. Master Latimer gave nothing, but very quickly suffered his keeper to pull off his hose, and his other array, which to look unto was very simple : and being stripped into his shrowd, 5 hee seemed as comly a person to them that were there present as one should lightly see; and whereas in his clothes hee appeared a withered and crooked sillie olde man, he now stood bolt upright, as comely a father as one might lightly behold. Then Master Ridley, standing as yet in his trusse, 6 said to his brother: "It were best for me to go in my trusse still." "No," quoth his brother, "it will put you to more paine: and 1 impartially 2 motto 3 immediately 4 roots 6 shirt 6 a padded jacket the trusse will do a poore man good." Where- unto Master Ridley said: "Be it, in the name of God;" and so unlaced himselfe. Then beeing in his shirt, he stood upon the foresaid stone, and held up his hande and said: "O heavenly Father, I give unto thee most heartie thanks, for that thou hast called mee to be a professour of thee, even unto death. I be- seech thee, Lord God, take mercie upon this realme of England, and deliver the same from all her enemies." Then the smith took a chaine of iron, and brought the same about both Dr. Ridleyes and Maister Latimers middles; and as he was knocking in a staple, Dr. Ridley tooke the chaine in his hand, and shaked the same, for it did girde in his belly, and looking aside to the smith, said: "Good fellow, knocke it in hard, for the flesh will have his course." Then his brother did bringe him gunnepowder in a bag, and would have tied the same about his necke. Master Ridley asked what it was. His brother said, "Gunnepowder." "Then," sayd he, "I take it to be sent of God; therefore I will receive it as sent of him. And have you any," sayd he, "for my brother?" meaning Master Latimer. "Yea, sir, that I have," quoth his brother. "Then give it unto him," sayd hee, "betime; 1 least ye come too late." So his brother went, and caried of the same gunne- powder unto Maister Latimer. In the mean time Dr. Ridley spake unto my Lord Williams, and saide: "My lord, I must be a suter unto your lordshippe in the behalfe of divers poore men, and speciallie in the cause of my poor sister; I have made a supplication to the Queenes Majestie in their behalves. I beseech your lordship for Christs sake, to be a mean to her Grace for them. My brother here hath the supplication, and will resort to your lordshippe to certifie you herof. There is nothing in all the world that troubleth my conscience, I praise God, this only excepted. Whiles I was in the see of London divers poore men tooke leases of me, and agreed with me for the same. Now I heare say the bishop that now occupieth the same roome will not allow my grants unto them made, but contxarie unto all lawe and conscience hath taken from them their livings, and will not surfer them to injoy the same. I beseech you, my lord, be a meane for them; you shall do a good deed, and God will reward you." Then they brought a faggotte, kindled with 1 early 44 JOHN FOXE fire, and laid the same downe at Dr. Ridleys feete. To whome Master Latimer spake in this manner: "Bee of good comfort, Master Ridley, and play the man. Wee shall this day light such a candle, by Gods grace, in England, as I trust shall never bee putte out." And so the lire being given unto them, when Dr. Ridley saw the fire flaming up towards him, he cried with a wonderful lowd voice: "In manus tuas, nomine, commendo spiritum meum: Domine, recipe spiritum meum." And after, repeated this latter part often in English, "Lord, Lord, receive my spirit;" Master Latimer crying as vchementlie on the other side, "O Lather of heaven, receive my soule!" who received the flame as it were imbracing of it. After that he had stroaked his face with his hands, and as it were bathed them a little in the fire, he soone died (as it appeared) with verie little painc or none. And thus much concerning the end of this olde and blessed servant of God, Master Latimer, for whose laborious travailes, 1 fruitful] life, and constant death the whole realme hath cause to give great thanks to almightie God. Bui Master Ridley, by reason of the evill making of the fire unto him, because the wooden faggots were laide about the gosse - and over high built, the lire burned first be- neath, being kept downe by the wood; which when he felt, hee desired them for Christes sake to let the lire come unto him. Which when his brother in law heard, but not well understood, intending to rid him out of his paine (for the which cause lice gave attendance), as one in such sorrow not well advised what hee did, heaped faggots upon him, so that he cleane covered hini, which made the tire tnore vehement beneath, that it burned cleane all his neather parts, before it once touched the upper; and that made him leape up ami down under the faggots, and often desire them to let the lire come unto him, saying, "I cannot bume." Which indeed appeared well; for, after his legges were consumed by reason of his st rug- ling through the paine (whereof hee had no release, but onelie his contentation in God), he showed that side toward us cleane, shirt ami all untouched with flame. Vet in all this torment he forgate not to call unto God still, 1 labors 2 gorsc, furze having in his mouth, "Lord have mercy upon me," intermedling ' this cry, "Let the fire come unto me, I cannot burne." In which paines he laboured till one of the standers by with his bill • pulled off the faggots above, ami where he saw the tire flame up, he wrested himself unto that side. And when the flame touched the gunpowder, he was seen to stirre no more, but burned on the other side, falling downe at Master Latimers feete. Which some said happened by reason that the chain loosed; other said that he fel over the chain by reason of the poise of his body, and the weakness of the neather lims. Some saiil that before he was like to fall from the stake, hee desired them to hold him to it with their billes. However it was, surelie it mooved hundreds to teares, in beholding the horrible sight; for I thinke there was none that had not cleane exiled all humanitie and mercie, which would not have lamented to beholde the furie of the lire so to rage upon their bodies. Signes there were of sorrow on evcrie side. Some tooke it greevouslie to see their deathes, whose lives they held full deare: some pitticd their persons, that thought their soules had no need thereof. His brother mooved many men, seeing his miserable case, seeing (I say) him compelled to such infelicitie, that he thought then to doc him best service when he hastned his end. Some cried out of the lucke, to see his indevor (who most dearelie loved him, and sought his release) turne to his greater vexation and increase of paine. But whoso considered their preferments in time past, the places of honour that they some time occupied in this common wealth, the favour they were in with their princes, ami the opinion of learning they had in the university where they studied, could nol chuse but sorrow with teares to see so great dignity, honour, and estimation, so necessary members sometime accounted, so many godly vertues, the study oi *o manic yeres, such ex- cellent learning, to be put into the tire anil consumed in one moment. Well I dead they are, anil the reward of this world they have alreadie. What reward remaineth for them in heaven, the day of the Lords glorie, when hee commeth with his saints, shall shortlie, I trust, declare. 1 intermingling - a kind of weapon consisting of a curved blade fixed at the end of a pole THE AGE OF ELIZABETH SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-1586) ARCADIA BOOK I. CHAP. I And now they were already come upon the stays, 1 when one of the sailors descried a galley which came with sails and oars directly in the chase of them, and straight perceived it was a well-known pirate, who hunted, not only for goods, but for bodies of men, which he employed either to be his galley-slaves or to sell at the best market. Which when the master understood, he commanded forthwith to set on all the canvas they could and fly homeward, leaving in that sort poor Pyrocles, so near to be rescued. But what did not Musidorus say? what did he not offer to persuade them to venture the tight? But fear, standing at the gates of their ears, put back all persuasions; so that he had nothing to accompany Pyrocles but his eyes, nor to suc- cour him but his wishes. Therefore praying for him, and casting a long look that way, he saw the galley leave the pursuit of them and turn to take up the spoils of the other wreck; and, lastly, he might well see them lift up the young man; and, "Alas!" said he to himself, "dear Pyrocles, shall that body of thine be enchained? Shall those victorious hands of thine be commanded to base offices? Shall virtue become a slave to those that he slaves to viciousness? Alas, better had it been thou hadst ended nobly thy noble days. What death is so evil as unworthy servitude?" But that opinion soon ceased when he saw the galley setting upon another ship, which held long and strong fight with her; for then he began afresh to fear the life of his friend, and to wish well to the pirates, whom before he hated, lest in their ruin he might perish. But the fishermen made such speed into the haven that they absented his eyes from beholding the issue; 1 come upon the stays = go about from one tack to another where being entered, he could procure neither them nor any other as then 1 to put themselves into the sea; so that, being as full of sorrow for being unable to do anything as void of counsel how to do anything, besides that sick- ness grew something upon him, the honest shepherds Strephon and Claius (who, being themselves true friends, did the more perfectly judge the justness of his sorrow) advise him that he should mitigate somewhat of his woe, since he had gotten an amendment in fortune, being come from assured persuasion of his death to have no cause to despair of his life, as one that had lamented the death of his sheep should after know they were but strayed, would receive pleasure, though readily he knew not where to find them. CHAP. II "Now, sir," said they, "thus for ourselves it is. We are, in profession, but shepherds, and, in this country of Laconia, little better than strangers, and, therefore, neither in skill nor ability of power greatly to stead you. But what we can present unto you is this: Arcadia, of which country we are, is but a little way hence, and even upon the next confines. There dwelleth a gentleman, by name Kalan- der, who vouchsafed) much favour unto us; a man who for his hospitality is so much haunted 2 that no news stir but come to his ears; for his upright dealing so beloved of his neighbours that he hath many ever ready to do him their uttermost service, and, by the great goodwill our Prince bears him, may soon obtain the use of his name and credit, which hath a principal sway, not only in his own Arcadia, but in all these countries of Pelopon- nesus; and, which is worth all, all these things give him not so much power as his nature gives him will to benefit , so that it seems no music is so sweet to his ear as deserved thanks. To him we will bring you, and there you may 1 as then = at the time 2 visited •15 46 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY recover again your health, without which you cannot be able to make any diligent search for your friend, and, therefore but in that respect, you must labour for it. Besides, we are sure the comfort of courtesy and ease of wise counsel shall not be wanting." Musidorus (who, besides he was merely ' unacquainted in the country, had his wits astonished 2 with sorrow) gave easy consent to that from which he saw no reason to disagree; and therefore, defraying 3 the mariners with a ring bestowed upon them, they took their journey together through Laconia, Claius and Strephon by course carrying his chest for him, Musidorus only bearing in his counte- nance evident marks of a sorrowful mind sup- ported with a weak body; which they per- ceiving, and knowing that the violence of sor- row is not, at the first, to be striven withal (being like a mighty beast, sooner tamed with following than overthrown by withstanding) they gave way unto it for that day and the next, never troubling him, either with asking ques- tions or finding fault with his melancholy, but rather fitting to his dolour dolorous dis- courses of their own and other folk's misfor- tunes. Which speeches, though they had not a lively entrance to his senses, shut up in sor- row, yet, like one half asleep, he took hold of much of the matters spoken unto him, so as a man may say, ere sorrow was aware, they made his thoughts bear away something else beside his own sorrow, which wrought so in him that at length he grew content to mark their speeches, then to marvel at such wit in shepherds, after to like their company, and lastly to vouchsafe conference; so that the third day after, in the time that the morning did strow roses and violets in the heavenly floor against the coming of the sun, the nightin- gales, striving one with the other which could in most dainty variety recount their wrong- caused sorrow, made them put off their sleep; and, rising from under a tree, which that night had been their pavilion, they went on their journey, which by and by welcomed Musi- dorus' eyes, wearied with the wasted soil of Laconia, with delightful prospects. There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately trees; humble valleys whose base estate seemed comforted with refreshing of silver rivers; meadows enamelled with all sorts of eye-pleasing flowers; thickets which, being lined with most pleasant shade, were witnessed so to by the cheerful disposition of many well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober security, while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the dams' comfort: here a shepherd's boy piping, as though he should never be old; there a young shepherdess knitting, and withal singing, and it seemed that her voice com- forted her hands to work, and her hands kept time to her voice's music. As for the houses of the country (for many houses came under their eye) they were all scattered, no two being one by the other, and yet not so far off as that it barred mutual succour: a show, as it were, of an accompanable ' solitariness, and of a civil 2 wildness. "I pray you," said Musi- dorus, then first unsealing his long-silent lips, "what countries be these we pass through, which are so diverse in show, the one wanting no store, 3 the other having no store but of want?" "The country," answered Claius, "where you were cast ashore, and now are passed through, is Laconia, not so poor by the barren- ness of the soil (though in itself not passing fertile) as by a civil war, which, being these two years within the bowels of that estate, between the gentlemen and the peasants (by them named helots) hath in this sort, as it were, disfigured the face of nature and made it so unhospitall as now you have found it; the towns neither of the one sidevnor the other willingly opening their gates to strangers, nor strangers willingly entering, for fear of being mistaken. "But this country, where now you set your foot, is Arcadia ; and even hard by is the house of Kalander, whither we lead you. This country being thus decked with peace and (the child of peace) good husbandry. These houses you see so scattered are of men, as we two are, that live upon the commodity of their sheep, and therefore, in the division of the Arcadian estate, are termed shepherds; a happy people, wanting 4 little, because they desire not much." "What cause, then," said Musidorus, "made you venture to leave this sweet life and put yourself in yonder unpleasant and dangerous realm?" "Guarded with poverty," answered Strephon, "and guided with love." "But now," said Claius, "since it hath pleased you to ask anything of us, whose baseness is such as the very knowledge is darkness, give us leave to know something of you and of the young 1 entirely 2 stricken 3 paying 1 companionable 2 civilized 3 plenty * lacking ARCADIA 47 man you so much lament, that at least we may be the better instructed to inform Kalander, and he the better know how to proportion his entertainment." Musidorus, according to the agreement between Pyrocles and him to alter their names, answered that he called himself Palladius, and his friend Dai'phantus. "But, till I have him again," said he, " I am indeed nothing, and therefore my story is of nothing. His entertainment, since so good a man he is, cannot be so low as I account my estate; and, in sum, the sum of all his courtesy may be to help me by some means to seek my friend." They perceived he was not willing to open himself further, and therefore, without further questioning, brought him to the house; about which they might see (with fit consideration both of the air, the prospect, and the nature of the ground) all such necessary additions to a great house as might well show Kalander knew that provision is the foundation of hospitality, and thrift the fuel of magnificence. The house itself was built of fair and strong stone, not affecting so much any extraordinary kind of fineness as an honourable representing of a firm stateliness; the lights, doors, and stairs rather directed to the use of the guest than to the eye of the artificer, and yet as the one chiefly heeded, so the other not neglected; each place hand- some without curiosity, and homely without loathsomeness; not so dainty as not to be trod on, nor yet slubbered up 1 with good-fellowship ; 2 all more lasting than beautiful, but that the consideration of the exceeding lastingness made the eye believe it was exceeding beautiful; the servants, not so many in number as cleanly in apparel and serviceable in behaviour, testi- fying even in their countenances that their master took as well care to be served as of them that did serve. One of them was forthwith ready to welcome the shepherds, as men who, though they were poor, their master greatly fa- voured; and understanding by them that the young man with them was to be much ac- counted of, for that they had seen tokens of more than common greatness, howsoever now eclipsed with fortune, he ran to his master, who came presently forth, and pleasantly welcoming the shepherds, but especially applying him to Musidorus, Strephon privately told him all what he knew of him, and particularly that he found this stranger was loth to be known. "No," said Kalander, speaking aloud, "I am no herald to inquire of men's pedigrees; it sufficeth me if I know their virtues; which, if this young man's face be not a false witness, do better apparel his mind than you have done his body." While he was speaking, there came a boy, in show like a merchant's prentice, who, taking Strephon by the sleeve, delivered him a letter, written jointly both to him and Claius from Urania ; which they no sooner had read, but that with short leave-taking of Kalander, who quickly guessed and smiled at the matter, and once again, though hastily, recommend- ing the young man unto him, they went away, leaving Musidorus even loth to part with them, for the good conversation he had of them, and obligation he accounted himself tied in unto them; and therefore, they delivering his chest unto him, he opened it, and would have pre- sented them with two very rich jewels, but they absolutely refused them, telling him they were more than enough rewarded in the know- ing of him, and without hearkening unto a reply, like men whose hearts disdained all desires but one, gat speedily away, as if the letter had brought wings to make them fly. But by that sight Kalander soon judged that his guest was of no mean calling; ' and there- fore the more respectfully entertaining him, Musidorus found his sickness, which the fight, the sea, and late travel had laid upon him, grow greatly, so that fearing some sudden accident, he delivered the chest to Kalander, which was full of most precious stones, gorgeously and cunningly set in divers manners, desiring him he would keep those trifles, and if he died, he would bestow so much of it as was needful to find out and redeem a young man naming himself Dai'phantus, as then in the hands of Laconian pirates. But Kalander seeing him faint more and more, with careful speed conveyed him to the most commodious lodging in his house; where, being possessed with an extreme burning fever, he continued some while with no great hope of life; but youth at length got the victory of sickness, so that in six weeks the excellency of his returned beauty was a credible ambas- sador of his health, to the great joy of Kalander, who, as in this time he had by certain friends of his, that dwelt near the sea in Messenia, set forth a ship and a galley to seek and succour Dai'phantus, so at home did he omit nothing which he thought might either profit or gratify Palladius. For, having found in him (besides his bodily 1 made slovenly 2 revelry 1 rank 48 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY gifts, beyond the degree of admiration) by daily discourses, which he delighted himself to have with him, a mind of most excellent composition (a piercing wit, quite void of ostentation, high-erected thoughts seated in a heart of courtesy, an eloquence as sweet in the uttering as slow to come to the uttering, a behaviour so noble as gave a majesty to adversity, and all in a man whose age could not be above one-and-twenty years), the good old man was even enamoured with a fatherly love towards him, or rather became his servant by the bonds such virtue laid upon him; once, he acknowledged himself so to be, by the badge of diligent attendance. CHAP. Ill But Palladius having gotten his health, and only staying there to be in place where he might hear answer of the ships set forth, Kalander one afternoon led him abroad to a well-arrayed ground he had behind his house, which he thought to show him before his going, as the place himself more than in any other delighted. The backside of the house was neither field, garden, nor orchard ; or rather it was both field, garden, and orchard: for as soon as the de- scending of the stairs had delivered them down, they came into a place cunningly set with trees of the most taste-pleasing fruits; but scarcely they had taken that into their consideration, but that they were suddenly stepped into a delicate green; of each side of the green a thicket bend, 1 behind the thickets again new beds of flowers, which being under the trees, the trees were to them a pavilion, and they to the trees a mosaical floor, so that it seemed that Art therein would needs be delightful, by counterfeiting his enemy Error, and making order in confusion. In the midst of all the place was a fair pond, whose shaking crystal was a perfect mirror to all the other beauties, so that it bare show of two gardens, — one in deed, the other in shadows; and in one of the thickets was a fine fountain, made thus: a naked Venus, of white marble, wherein the graver had used such cunning that the natural blue veins of the marble were framed in fit places to set forth the beautiful veins of her body; at her breast she had her babe ^Eneas, who seemed, having begun to suck, to leave that to look upon her fair eyes, which smiled at the babe's folly, the mean while the breast running. Hard by was a house of pleasure, built for a summer retiring-place, whither Kalander leading him, he found a square room, full of delightful pic- tures, made by the most excellent workman of Greece. There was Diana when Acteon saw her bathing, in whose cheeks the painter had set such a colour, as was mixed between shame and disdain : and one of her foolish Nymphs, who weeping, and withal louring, one might see the workman meant to set forth tears of anger. In another table x was Atalanta ; the posture of whose limbs was so lively expressed, that if the eyes were the only judges, as they be the only seers, one would have sworn the very picture had run. Besides many more, as of Helena, Omphale, Iole: but in none of them all beauty seemed to speak so much as in a large table, 1 which contained a comely old man, with a lady of middle age, but of excellent beauty; and more excellent would have been deemed, but that there stood between them a young maid, whose wonderfulness took away all beauty from her, but that, which it might seem she gave her back again by her very shadow. And such difference, being known that it did indeed counterfeit a person living, was there between her and all the other, though God- desses, that it seemed the skill of the painter bestowed on the other new beauty, but that the beauty of her bestowed new skill of the painter. Though he thought inquisitiveness an un- comely guest, he could not choose, but ask who she was, that bearing show of one being in deed, 2 could with natural gifts go beyond the reach of invention. Kalander answered, that it was made by 3 Philoclea, the younger daughter of his prince, who also with his wife were contained in that table: the painter mean- ing to represent the present condition of the young lady, who stood watched by an over- curious eye of her parents: and that he would also have drawn her eldest sister, esteemed her match for beauty, in her shepherdish attire; but that the rude clown her guardian would not suffer it: neither durst he ask leave of the Prince for fear of suspicion. Palladius per- ceived that the matter was wrapped up in some secrecy, and therefore would for modesty demand no further: but yet his countenance could not but with dumb eloquence desire it : which Kalander perceiving, "Well," said he, "my dear guest, I know your mind, and I will satisfy it: neither will I do it like a niggardly answerer, going no further than the bounds 1 field of grass 1 picture 2 existing in reality 3 of ARCADIA 49 of the question, but I will discover unto you, as well that wherein my knowledge is common with others, as that which by extraordinary means is delivered unto me : knowing so much in you, though not long acquainted, that I shall find your ears faithful treasurers." So then sitting down in two chairs; and sometimes casting his eye to the picture, he thus spake: — "This country Arcadia, among all the provinces of Greece, hath ever been had in singular .reputation, partly for the sweetness of the air, and other natural benefits, but principally for the well-tempered minds of the people, who (finding that the shining title of glory, so much affected by other nations, doth indeed help little to the happiness of life) are the only people which, as by their justice and providence, give neither cause nor hope to their neighbours to annoy them, so are they not stirred with false praise to trouble others' quiet, thinking it a small reward for the wasting of their own lives in ravening that their posterity should long after say they had done so. Even the Muses seem to approve their good determination by choosing this country for their chief repairing place, and by bestowing their perfections so largely here, that the very shepherds have their fancies lifted to so high conceits as the learned of other nations are content both to borrow their names and imitate their cunning. " Here dwelleth and reigneth this prince whose picture you see, by name Basilius; a prince of sufficient skill to govern so quiet a country, where the good minds of the former princes had set down good laws, and the well bringing up of the people doth serve as a most sure bond to hold them. But to be plain with you, he excels in nothing so much, as in the zealous love of his people, wherein he doth not only pass all his own foregoers, but as I think all the princes living. Whereof the cause is, that though he exceed not in the virtues which get admiration, as depth of wisdom, height of courage and largeness of magnifi- cence, yet is he notable in those which stir affection, as truth of word, meekness, courtesy, mercifulness, and liberality. "He, being already well stricken in years, married a young princess, named Gynecia, daughter to the king of Cyprus, of notable beauty, as by her picture you see ; a woman of great wit, and in truth of more princely virtues than her husband ; of most unspotted chastity, but of so working a mind, and so vehement spirits, as a man may say it was happy she took a good course, for otherwise it would have been terrible. "Of these two are brought to the world two daughters, so beyond measure excellent in all the gifts allotted to reasonable creatures, that we may think they were born to show that Nature is no stepmother to that sex, how much soever some men, sharp-witted only in evil speaking, have sought to disgrace them. The elder is named Pamela, by many men not deemed inferior to her sister. For my part, when I marked them both, methought there was (if at least such perfections may receive the word of more) more sweetness in Philo- clea, but more majesty in Pamela: methought love played in Philoclea's eyes and threatened in Pamela's: methought Philoclea's beauty only persuaded, but so persuaded as all hearts must yield; Pamela's beauty used violence, and such violence as no heart could resist. And it seems that such proportion is between their minds: Philoclea so bashful as though her excellencies had stolen into her before she was aware, so humble that she will put all pride out of countenance, — in sum, such proceeding as will stir hope, but teach hope good manners; Pamela of high thoughts, who avoids not pride with not knowing her excellencies, but by making that one of her excellencies to be void of pride, — her mother's wisdom, greatness, nobility, but (if I can guess aright) knit with a more constant temper. "Now, then, our Basilius being so publicly happy as to be a prince, and so happy in that happiness as to be a beloved prince, and so in his private blessed as to have so excellent a wife, and so over-excellent children, hath of late taken a course which yet makes him more spoken of than all these blessings. For, hav- ing made a journey to Delphos, and safely re- turned, within short space he brake up his court and retired himself, his wife, and children, into a certain forest hereby, which he calleth his desert; wherein (besides a house appointed for stables, and lodgings for certain persons of mean calling, who do all household services) he hath builded two fine lodges ; in the one of them himself remains with his younger daughter Philoclea (which was the cause they three were matched together in this picture), without hav- ing any other creature living in that lodge with him. Which, though it be strange, yet not so strange as the course he hath taken with the princess Pamela, whom he hath placed in the other lodge : but how think you accompanied ? truly with none other but one Dametas, the So SIR PHILIP SIDNEY most arrant, doltish down that 1 think ever was without the privilege of a bauble, with his wife Miso and daughter Mopsa, in whom no wit can devise anything wherein they -may pleasure her, but to exercise ber patience and to serve for a foil of her perfections. This loutish clown is such that you never saw so ill favoured a vizard; ' his behaviour such that he is beyond the degree of ridiculous; and for his apparel, even as 1 would wish him : Miso his wife, so handsome a beldame : that only her face and her splay fool have made her accused for a witch; only one good point she hath, that she observes decorum, 8 having a froward mind in a wretched body. Between these two per- sonages (who never agreed in any humour hut in disagreeing) is issued forth Mistress Mopsa, a t'lt woman to participate of both their per- fections; but because a pleasant fellow of my acquaintance set forth her praises in wise, 1 will only repeat them, and spare mine own tongue, since she goes for a woman. These verses are these, which I have so often caused to be sung, that 1 have them without book. "What length of verse can serve brave Mopsa's good to show .' Whose virtues strange, and beauties such, as no man them may know? Thus shrewdly burdened then, how can my Muse escape .' The gods must help, and precious things must Serve to show her shape. Like great god Saturn fair, and like fair Venus chaste: As smooth as Tan, as Juno mild, like goddess Iris faced.' With Cupid she foresees, and goes god Vulcan's pace: And for a taste of all these gifts, she steals god Momus' grace. Her forehead jacinth like, her cheeks of opal hue, Her twinkling eves bedecked with pearl, her lips as sapphire blue : Her hair like era pal stone; ; ' her mouth O heavenly wide; Her skin like burnished gold, her hands like silver ore untried. As for her parts unknown, which hidden sure are best: Happy be they which well believe, and never seek the rest. 'mask, face •crone 'harmony *Irii identified with Eris (Strife) by the older mytkoiogists. ■ toad stone "Now truly having made these descriptions unto you, methinks you should imagine that I rather feign some pleasant device, than recount a truth, that a prince (not banished from his own wits) could possibly make so unworthy a choice. Hut truly (dear guest) so it is, that princes (whose doings have been often sooihed ' with good success) think nothing so absurd, which they cannot make honourable. The beginning of his credit was by the prince's straying out of the way, one time he hunted, where meeting this fellow, and asking him the way; and so falling into other questions, he found some of his answers (as a dog sure if he could speak, had wit enough to describe his kennel) not insensible, and all uttered with such rudeness, which he interpreted plainness (though there be great difference between them) that Basilius conceiving a sudden delight, took him to his Court, with apparent show of his good opinion: where the flattering courtier had no sooner taken the prince's mind, but that there were straight reasons to confirm the prince's doing, and shadows of virtues found for Dametas. His silence grew wit, his blunt- ness integrity, his beastly ignorance virtuous simplicity: and the prince (according to the nature oi great persons, in love with that he had done himself) fancied, that his weakness with his presence would much be mended. And so like a creature of his own making, he liked him more and more, and thus having first given him the office of principal hcrdman, lastly, since he took this strange determination, he hath in a manner put the life of himself and his children into his hands. Which authority (like too great a sail for so small a boat'* doth so oversway ix>or Dametas, that if before he were a good fool in a chamber, he might be allowed it now in a comedy: so as 1 doubt me (1 fear me indeed) my master will in the end (with his cost) find, that his office is not to make men, but to use men as men are; no more than a horse will be taught to hunt, or an ass to manage. Hut in sooth I am afraid 1 have given your ears too great a surfeit, with the gross discourses of that heavy piece of tlesh. Hut the zealous grief 1 conceive to see so great an error in my Lord, hath made me bestow more words, than 1 confess so base a subject deserveth. CHAP. IV "Thus much now that 1 have told you is nothing more than in effect any Arcadian knows. 1 made good, verified ARCADIA 5i But what moved him to ihis strange solitariness hath been imparted, as I think, hut to one per- son living. Myself ran conjecture, and indeed more than conjecture, by this accidenl thai I will tell you. I have an only son, by name Clitophon, who is now absent, preparing for his own marriage, which I mean shortly shall be here celebrated. This son of mine, while the prince kept his court, was of his bed- chamber; now, since the breaking up thereof, returned home; and showed me, among other things he had gathered, the copy which he had taken of a letter, which, when the prince had nad, he had laid in a window, presuming no- body durst look in his writings; but my son not only took a time to read it, hut to copy it In truth I blamed Clitophon for the curiosity which made him break his duty in such a kind, whereby kings' secrets are subject to be re Vealed; but, since il was done, I was content to lake SO much profil as to know it. Now here is the letter, that 1 ever since for my good liking, have (allied ahoul me; which before I read unto you, I must tell you from whom it came. It is a nobleman of this country, named Philanax, appointed by the prince regent in this time of his retiring, and most worthy so to he; for there lives no man whose excellent wit more simply einhraceth integrity, besides his unfeigned love to his master, wherein never vet any could make question, saving whether lie loved Basilius or the prince heller; a rare temper, while most men either servilely yield to all appetites, or with an obstinate austerity, Looking to that they fancy good, in effect neglect the prince's person. This, then, being the man, whom of all other, and most worthy, the prince chiefly loves, it should seem (for more than the letter I have not to guess by) that (he prince, upon his return from Delphos (Philanax then lying sick), had written unto him his determination, rising, as evidently appears, upon some oracle he had there re- ceived, whereunto he wrote this answer. Philanax mis Letteb to Basilius "'Most redouted and beloved prince, if as well il had pleased you at vour going to I )clphos as now, to have used my humble service, both I should in heller season, and to heller purpose have spoken: and you (if my speech had pre vailed) should have been at this time, as no way more in danger, so much more in quiet- ness; I would then have said, thai wisdom and virtue he the only destinies appointed to man to follow, whence we ought to seek all our knowledge, since they he such guides as cannol fail; which, besides their inward comfort, do lead so direct a way of proceeding, as either prosperity must ensue; or, if the wickedness of I he world should oppress il, il can never be said, that evil happeiiclh to him, who falls accompanied with virtue. I would then have said, (he heavenly powers to be reverenced, and not searched into ; and their mercies rather by prayers to be sought, than their hidden counsels by curiosily; these kind of sooth- sayers (since they ' have left us in ourselves sufficient guides) to be nothing but fancy, wherein there must either be vanity, or infalli- bleneSS, and so, either not to be respected, or not lo be prevented. But since il is weakness too much to remember what should have been done, and that your commandmenl stretcheth to know what is to be done, I do (most dear Lord) with humble boldness say, that the man mi of your determination doth in no sort better please me, than the cause of your going. These thirty years you have so governed this region, thai neither your subjects have wanted justice in you, nor you obedience in them; and your neighbours have found you so hurtlcssly - strong, that they thought it heller lo rest in your friendship, than make new trial of your enmity, [f this then have proceeded out of the good constitution of your slate, and out of a wise providence, generally to prevent all those things, which might encumber your happiness: why should you now seek new courses, since your own ensamplc comforts you to continue, and that it is lo me most certain (though il please you not to tell me the very words of the Oracle) thai vet no destiny, nor inlluencc whatsoever, can bring man's wil lo a higher point, than wisdom and goodness? Why should you deprive yourself of government, for fear of losing your government (like one thai should kill himself for fear of death)? Nay rather, if this Oracle be lo be accounted of, arm up your courage the more againsl it; for who will slick to him that abandons himself? Lei your subjects have you in their eyes; let them see the benefits of your justice daily more and more; and so must they needs rather like of present sureties than uncertain changes. Lastly, whether your time call you to live or die, do both like a prince.' Now for your second resolution ; which is, to suffer no worthy others the heavenly powers 2 not doing injury to 5 a SIR PHILIP SIDNEY prince to be ;i suitor to cither df your daughters, but while you live to keep them both unmar- ried; and, as it were, to kill the joy of pos- terity, which iu your time you may enjoy: moved perchance by a misunderstood Oracle: what shall 1 say, if the affection of a father to his own children, cannot plead sufficiently against such fancies? Once,' certain it is, the Cod which is Clod of nature doth never teach unnaturalness: and even the same mind hold 1 touching your banishing them from company, lest 1 know not what strange loves should fol- low. Certainly, Sir, in my ladies, your daugh- ters, nature promiseth nothing hut goodness, and their education by your fatherly care hath keen hitherto such as hath keen most fit to restrain all evil: giving their minds virtuous delights, and not grieving them for want of well ruled liberty. Now to fall to a sudden straitening them, what can it <\o hut argue suspicion, a tiling no more unpleasant than unsure for the preserving of virtue? Leave women's minds the most untamed that way of any: see whether any cage can please a bird! or whether a dog grow not fiercer with tying! What doeth jealousy, but stir up the mind to think, what it is from which they are restrained? For they are treasures, or things of great de- light, which men use to hide, for the aptness they have to catch men's fancies: and the thoughts once awaked to that, harder sure it is to keep those thoughts from accomplishment, than it had keen before to have kept the mind (which being the chief part, by this means is defiled) from thinking. Lastly, for the recom- mending so principal a charge of the Princess Pamela, (whose mind goes heyond the govern- ing of many thousands such) to such a person as Pamctas is (besides that the thing in itself is strange) it comes of a very evil ground, that ignorance should be the mother of faithfulness. Oh, no; he cannot be good, that knows not why he is good, but stands so far good as his fortune may keep him unassayed: but coming once to that, his rude simplicity is either easily changed, or easily deceived: and so grows that to be the last excuse of his fault, which seemed to have been the first foundation of his faith. Thus far hath your commandment and my e.d drawn me; which 1, like a man in a valley that may discern hills, or like a poor passenger that may spy a rock, so humbly submit to your gra- cious consideration, beseeching you again, to stand wholly upon your own virtue, as the surest way to maintain you in that you are, and to avoid any evil which may be imagined.' "By the contents of this letter you may per- ceive, that the cause of all, hath been the van- ity which possessed! many, who (making a perpetual mansion of this poor baiting place of man's life) are desirous to know the certainty of things to come; wherein there is nothing so certain, as our continual uncertainty. But what in particular points the oracle was, in faith I know not: neither (as you may see by one place of Lhilanax's Utter) he himself dis- tinctly knew. But this experience shows us, that Basilius' judgment, corrupted with a prince's fortune, hath rather heard than fol- lowed the wise (as 1 take it) counsel of Phila- nax. Lor, having lost the stern ' of his gov- ernment, with much amazement to the people, among whom many strange bruits'-' are re- ceived for current, and with some appearance of danger in respect of the valiant Amphalus his nephew, and much envy in the ambitious number of the nobility against Philanax, to see Philana.x so advanced, though (to speak sim- ply) he deserve more than as many of us as there be in Arcadia: the prince himself hath hidden his head in such sort as I told you, not sticking' plainly to confess that he means not (while he breathes) that his daughters shall have any husband, but keep them thus solitary with him: where he gives no other body leave to visit him at any time, but a certain priest, who being excellent in poetry, he makes him write out such things as he best likes, he being no less delightful in conversation, than needful for devotion, and about twenty specified shepherds, in whom (some for exercises, and some for eclogues) he taketh greater recreation. '"And now you know as much as myself: wherein if 1 have held you over long, lay hardly 4 the fault upon my old age, which in the very disposition of it is talkative: whether it be (said he smiling) that nature loves to exercise that part most, which is least decayed, and that is our tongue: or, that knowledge being the only thing whereof we poor old men can brag, we cannot make it known but by utterance; or, that mankind by all means seeking to eternise himself so much the more, as he is near his end, doeth it not only by the children that come of him, but by speeches and writings recommended to the memory of hearers and readers. And yet thus much I will say for 1 in short 1 rudder - rumors 3 hesitating * hardily ARCADIA 53 myself, thai I have not laid these matters, either so openly, or largely to any as yourself: so much (if I much fail not) do I see in you, which makes me both love and trust you." "Never may he lie old," answered Palladius, "that doeth noi reverence that age, whose heaviness, if it weigh down the frail and fleshly balance, it as much lifts up the noble and spiritual part: and well might you have alleged another reason, that their wisdom makes them willing to profit others. And that have I re- ceived of you, never to be forgotten, but with ungratefulness. Hut among many strange conceits you told me, which have showed effects in your prince, truly even the last, that he should conceive such pleasure in shepherds' discourses, would not seem the least unto me, saving that you told me at the first, that this country is notable in those wits, and that in- deed my self having been brought not only to this place, but to my life, by Strcphon and Claius, in their conference found wits as might better become such shepherds as Homer speaks of, that be governors of peoples, than such sena- tors who hold their council in a sheepcote." "for them two (said kakmder) especially Claius, they are beyond the rest by so much, as learning commonly doth add to nature: for, having neglected their wealth in respect of their knowledge, they have not so much impaired the meaner, as they bettered the better. Which all notwithstanding, it is a sport to hear how they impute to love, which hath indued their thoughts (say they) with such a strength. " but certainly, all the people of this country from high to low, is given to those sports of the wit, so as you would wonder to hear how soon even children will begin to versify. Once, 1 or- dinary it is among the meanest sort, to make songs and dialogues in meter, either love whet ting their brain, or long peace having begun it, example and emulation amending it. Not so much, but the clown Damelas will stumble sometimes upon some songs that might become a better brain: hut no sort of people so excel- lent in that kind as the pastors; for their living standing 1 ' but upon the looking to their beasts, liny have ease, the nurse of poetry. Neither are our shepherds such, as (I hear) they be in other countries; but they are the very owners of the sheep, to which either themselves look, or their children give daily attendance. And 1 in short a depending then truly, it would delight you under some tree, or by some river's side (when two or three of them meet together) to hear their rural muse, how prettily it will deliver out, sometimes joys, sometimes lamentations, sometimes dial lengings one of the other, sometimes under hidden forms uttering such matters, as other- wise they durst not deal with. Then they have .most commonly one, who judgeth tin- prize to the best doer, of which they arc no less glad, than great princes are of triumphs: and his pari is to set down in writing all that is said, save that it may be, his pen with more leisure doth polish the rudeness of an unthought-on song. Now the choice of all (as you may well think) either for goodness of voice, or pleasant- ness of wit, the prince hath: among whom also there are two or three strangers, whom inward melancholies having made weary of the world's eyes, have come to spend their lives among the country people of Arcadia; and their conversation being well approved, the prince vouchsafeth them his presence, and not only by looking on, but by great courtesy and liberality, animates the shepherds the more exquisitely to labour for his good liking. So that there is no cause to blame the prince for sometimes hearing them; the blameworthiness is, that to hear them, he rather goes to solita- riness than makes them come to company. Neither do I accuse my master for advancing a countryman, as Dametas is, since God for- bid, but where worthiness is (as, truly, it is among divers of that fellowship) any outward lowness should hinder the highest raising; but that he would needs make election of one, the baseness of whose mind is such, that it sinks a thousand degrees lower than the basest body could carry the most base fortune: which although it might be answered for the prince, that it is rather a trust he hath in his simple plainness, than any great advancement, being but chief herdman; yet all honest hearts feel, that the trust of their lord goes beyond all advancement. But I am ever too long upon him, when he crosseth the way of my speech, and by the shadow of yonder tower, I see it is a fitter time, with our supper to pay the duties we owe to our stomachs, than to break the air with my idle discourses: and more wit I might have learned of Homer (whom even now you mentioned) who never entertained either guests or hosts with long speeches, till the mouth of hunger be thoroughly stopped." So withal he rose, leading Palladius through the garden again to the parlour, where they used to 54 RICHARD HOOKER sup; Palladius assuring him, that he had already been more fed to his liking, than he could be by the skilfullest trencher-men of Media. RICHARD HOOKER (i5S4?-i6oo) OF THE LAWS OF ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY From BOOK I Thus far therefore we have endeavoured in part to open, of what nature and force laws are, according unto their several kinds; the law which God with himself hath eternally set down to follow in his own works; the law which he hath made for his creatures to keep; the law of natural and necessary agents; the law which Angels in heaven obey; the law whereunto by the light of reason men find themselves bound in that they are men; the law which they make by composition for mul- titudes and politic societies of men to be guided by; the law which belongeth unto each nation ; the law that concerneth the fellowship of all; and lastly the law which God himself hath supernaturally revealed. It might peradven- ture have been more popular and more plaus- ible to vulgar ears, if this first discourse had been spent in extolling the force of laws, in showing the great necessity of them when they are good, and in aggravating their offence by whom public laws are injuriously traduced. But forasmuch as with such kind of matter the passions of men are rather stirred one way or other, than their knowledge any way set forward unto the trial of that whereof there is doubt made; I have therefore turned aside from that beaten path, and chosen though a less easy yet a more profitable way in regard of the end we propose. Lest therefore any man should marvel whereunto all these things tend, the drift and purpose of all is this, even to show in what manner, as every good and perfect gift, so this very gift of good and per- fect laws is derived from the Father of lights; to teach men a reason why just and reasonable laws are of so great force, of so great use in the world; and to inform their minds with some method of reducing the laws whereof there is present controversy unto their first original causes, that so it may be in every particular ordinance thereby the better discerned, whether the same be reasonable, just, and righteous, or no. Is there anything which can either be thoroughly understood or soundly judged of, till the very first causes and principles from which originally it springeth be made mani- fest? If all parts of knowledge have been thought by wise men to be then most orderly delivered and proceeded in, when they are drawn to their first original; seeing that our whole question concerneth the quality of eccle- siastical laws, let it not seem a labour super- fluous that in the entrance thereunto all these several kinds of laws have been considered, inasmuch as they all concur as principles, they all have their forcible operations therein, al- though not all in like apparent and manifest manner. By means whereof it cometh to pass that the force which they have is not observed of many. Easier a great deal it is for men by law to be taught what they ought to do, than instructed how to judge as they should do of law: the one being a thing which belongeth generally unto all, the other such as none but the wiser and more judicious sort can perform. Yea, the wisest are always, touching this point, the readiest to acknowledge that soundly to judge of a law is the weightiest thing which any man can take upon him. But if we will give judg- ment of the laws under which we live, first let that law eternal be always before our eyes, as' being of principal force and moment to breed in religious minds a dutiful estimation of all laws, the use and benefit whereof we see; because there can be no doubt but that laws apparently good are (as it were) things copied out of the very tables of that high everlasting law; even as the book of that law hath said concerning itself, "By me Kings reign, and by me Princes decree justice." Not as if men did behold that book and accordingly frame their laws; but because it worketh in them, because it discovereth and (as it were) readcth itself to the world by them, when the laws which they make are righteous. Furthermore, al- though we perceive not the goodness of laws made, nevertheless sith ' things in themselves may have that which we peradventure discern not, should not this breed a fear in our hearts, how we speak or judge in the worse part con- cerning that, the unadvised disgrace whereof may be no mean dishonour to Him, towards whom we profess all submission and awe? Surely there must be very manifest iniquity in laws, against which we shall be able to justify our contumelious invectives. The chief- OF THE LAWS OF ECCLESIASTICAL POLITY 55 est root whereof, when we use them without cause, is ignorance how laws inferior are de- rived from that supreme or highest law. The first that receive impression from thence are natural agents. The law of whose opera- tions might be haply thought less pertinent, when the question is about laws for human actions, but that in those very actions which most spiritually and supernaturally concern men the rules and axioms of natural operations have their force. What can be more immedi- ate to our salvation than our persuasion con- cerning the law of Christ towards his Church? What greater assurance of love towards his Church than the knowledge of that mystical union whereby the Church is become as near unto Christ as any one part of his flesh is unto other? That the Church being in such sort his he must needs protect it, what proof more strong than if a manifest law so require, which law it is not possible for Christ to violate? And what other law doth the Apostle for this allege, but such as is both common unto Christ with us, and unto us with other things natural? "No man hateth his own flesh, but doth love and cherish it." The axioms of that law there- fore, whereby natural agents are guided, have their use in the moral, yea, even in the spiritual actions of men, and consequently in all laws belonging unto men howsoever. Neither are the Angels themselves so far severed from us in their kind and manner of working, but that between the law of their heavenly operations and the actions of men in this our state of mortality such correspond- ence there is, as maketh it expedient to know in some sort the one for the other's more per- fect direction. Would Angels acknowledge themselves fellow-servants with the sons of men, but that, both having one Lord, there must be some kind of law which is one and the same to both, whereunto their obedience being perfecter is to our weaker both a pattern and a spur? Or would the Apostles, speaking of that which belongeth unto saints as they are linked together in the bond of spiritual society, so often make mention how Angels therewith are delighted, if in things publicly done by the Church we are not somewhat to respect what the Angels of heaven do ? Yea, so far hath the Apostle Saint Paul proceeded, as to signify that even about the outward orders of the Church which serve but for comeliness, some regard is to be had of Angels; who best like us when we are most like unto them in all parts of decent demeanour. So that the law of Angels we cannot judge altogether imper- tinent unto the affairs of the Church of God. Our largeness of speech how men do find out what things reason bindeth them of neces- sity to observe, and what it guideth them to choose in things which are left as arbitrary; the care we have had to declare the different nature of laws which severally concern all men, from such as belong unto men either civ- illy or spiritually associated, such as pertain to the fellowship which nations, or which Christian nations have amongst themselves, and in the last place such as concerning every or any of these God himself hath revealed by his holy word: all serveth but to make manifest, that as the actions of men are of sundry dis- tinct kinds, so the laws thereof must accord- ingly be distinguished. There are in men operations, some natural, some rational, some supernatural, some politic, some finally eccle- siastical: which if we measure not each by his own proper law, whereas the things them- selves are so different, there will be in our under- standing and judgment of them confusion. As that first error showeth, whereon our opposites in this cause have grounded them- selves. For as they rightly maintain that God must be glorified in all things, and that the actions of men cannot tend unto his glory un- less they be framed after his law; so it is their error to think that the only law which God hath appointed unto men in that behalf is the sacred scripture. By that which we work naturally, as when we breathe, sleep, move, we set forth the glory of God as natural agents do, albeit we have no express purpose to make that our end, nor any advised determination therein to follow a law, but do that we do (for the most part) not as much as thinking thereon. In reasonable and moral actions another law taketh place; law by the observation whereof we glorify God in such sort, as no creature else under man is able to do; because other crea- tures have not judgment to examine the quality of that which is done by them, and therefore in that they do they neither can accuse nor approve themselves. Men do both, as the Apostle teacheth; yea, those men which have no written law of God to show what is good or evil, carry written in their hearts the universal law of mankind, the law of reason, whereby they judge as by a rule which God hath given unto all men for that purpose. The law of reason doth somewhat direct men how to honour God as their creator; but how to glo- rify God in such sort as is required, to the 56 RICHARD HOOKER end he may be an everlasting saviour, this we are taught by divine law, which law both ascer- tained the truth and supplieth unto us the want of that other law. So that in moral ac- tions, divine law helpeth exceedingly the law of reason to guide man's life; but in supernat- ural it alone guideth. Proceed we further; let us place man in some public society with others, whether civil or spiritual; and in this case there is no remedy but we must add yet a further law. For al- though even here likewise the laws of nature and reason be of necessary use, yet somewhat over and besides them is necessary, namely, human and positive law, together with that law which is of commerce between grand societies, the law of nations, and of nations Christian. For which cause the law of God hath likewise said, "Let every soul be subject to the higher powers." The public power of all societies is above every soul contained in the same socie- ties. And the principal use of that power is to give laws unto all that are under it; which laws in such case we must obey, unless there be reason showed which may necessarily enforce that the law of reason or of God doth enjoin the contrary. Because except our own private and but probable resolutions be by the law of public determinations overruled, we take away all possibility of sociable life in the world. A plainer example whereof than ourselves we cannot have. How cometh it to pass that we are at this present day so rent with mutual contentions, and that the Church is so much troubled about the polity of the Church? No doubt if men had been willing to learn how many laws their actions in this life are subject unto, and what the true force of each law is, all these controversies might have died the very day they were first brought forth. It is both commonly said, and truly, that the best men otherwise are not always the best in regard of society. The reason whereof is, for that the law of men's actions is one, if they be respected only as men ; and another, when they are considered as parts of a politic body. Many men there are, than whom nothing is more commendable when they are singled; and yet in society with others none less fit to answer the duties which are looked for at their hands. Yea, I am persuaded, that of them with whom in this cause we strive, there are whose betters amongst men would be hardly found, if they did not live amongst men, but in some wilderness by themselves. The cause of which their disposition, so unframable unto societies wherein they live, is, for that they discern not aright what place and force these several kinds of laws ought to have in all their actions. Is their question either concerning the regiment ' of the Church in general, or about conformity between one church and another, or of ceremonies, offices, powers, jurisdictions in our own church? Of all these things they judge by that rule which they frame to themselves with some show of probability, and what seemeth in that sort convenient, the same they think themselves bound to practise; the same by all means fhey labour mightily to uphold; whatsoever any law of man to the contrary hath determined they weigh it not. Thus by following the law of private reason, where the law of public should take place, they breed disturbance. For the better inuring therefore of men's minds with the true distinction of laws, and of their several force according to the different kind and quality of our actions, it shall not per- adventure be amiss to show in some one exam- ple how they all take place. To seek no further, let but that be considered, than which there is not anything more familiar unto us, our food. What things are food and what are not we judge naturally by sense ; neither need we any other law to be our director in that behalf than the selfsame which is common unto us with beasts. But when we come to consider of food, as of a benefit which God of his bounteous goodness hath provided for all things living; the law of reason doth here require the duty of thankful- ness at our hands, towards him at whose hands we have it. And lest appetite in the use of food should lead us beyond that which is meet, we owe in this case obedience to that law of reason, which teacheth mediocrity in meats and drinks. The same things divine law teach- eth also, as at large we have showed it doth all parts of moral duty, whereunto we all of necessity stand bound, in regard of the life to come. But of certain kinds of food the Jews some- time had, and we ourselves likewise have, a mystical, religious, and supernatural use, they of their Paschal lamb and oblations, we of our bread and wine in the Eucharist; which use none but divine law could institute. Now as we live in civil society, the state of the commonwealth wherein we live both may and doth require certain laws concerning food; which laws, saving only that we are members of the commonwealth where they are of force, 1 organization and government JOHN LYLY 57 we should not need to respect as rules of action, whereas now in their place and kind they must be respected and obeyed. Yea, the selfsame matter is also a subject wherein sometime ecclesiastical laws have place; so that unless we will be authors of confusion in the Church, our private discre- tion, which otherwise might guide us a con- trary way, must here submit itself to be that way guided, which the public judgment of the Church hath thought better. In which case that of Zonaras concerning fasts may be remembered, "Fastings are good, but let good things be done in good and convenient manner. He that transgresseth in his fasting the orders of the holy fathers, the positive laws of the Church of Christ, must be plainly told, that good things do lose the grace of their goodness, when in good sort they are not performed." And as here men's private fancies must give place to the higher judgment of that church which is in authority a mother over them; so the very actions of whole churches have, in regard of commerce and fellowship with other churches, been subject to laws concerning food, the contrary unto which laws had else been thought more convenient for them to observe; as by that order of abstinence from strangled and blood may appear; an order grounded upon that fellowship which the churches of the Gentiles had with the Jews. Thus we see how even one and the selfsame thing is under divers considerations conveyed through many laws; and that to measure by any one kind of law all the actions of men were to confound the admirable order wherein God hath disposed all laws, each as in nature, so in degree, distinct from other. Wherefore that here we may briefly end: of Law there can be no less acknowledged, than that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice the harmony. of the world; all things in heaven and earth do her homage, the very least as feel- ing her care, and the greatest as not exempted from her power; both Angels and men and creatures of what condition soever, though each in different sort and manner, yet all with uni- form consent, admiring her as the mother of their peace and joy. JOHN LYLY (1554-1606) From EUPHUES AND HIS ENGLAND "I perceive, Camilla, that be your cloth never so bad it will take some colour, and your cause never so false, it will bear some show of probability, wherein you manifest the right nature of a woman, who having no way to win, thinketh to overcome with words. This I gather by your answer, that beauty may have fair leaves, and foul fruit, that all that are ami- able are not honest, that love proceedeth of the woman's perfection, and the man's follies, that the trial looked for, is to perform whatsoever they promise, that in mind he be virtuous, in body comely, such a husband in my opinion is to be wished for, but not looked for. Take heed, Camilla, that seeking all the wood for a straight stick you choose not at the last a crooked staff, or prescribing a good counsel to others, thou thyself follow the worst : much like to Chius, who selling the best wine to others, drank himself of the lees." "Truly," quoth Camilla, "my wool was black, and therefore it could take no other colour, and my cause good, and therefore admitteth no cavil : as for the rules I set down of love, they were not coined of me, but learned, and, being so true, believed. If my fortune be so ill that, search- ing for a wand, I gather a cammock, 1 or, selling wine to other, I drink vinegar myself, I must be content, that of the worst, poor help, pa- tience, 2 which by so much the more is to be borne, by how much the more it is perforce." As Surius was speaking, the Lady Flavia prevented him, saying, "It is time that you break off your speech, lest we have nothing to speak, for should you wade any farther, you would both waste the night and leave us no time, and take our reasons, and leave us no matter; that every one therefore may say somewhat, we command you to cease ; that you have both said so well, we give you thanks." Thus letting Surius and Camilla to whisper by themselves (whose talk we will not hear) the lady began in this manner to greet Martius. "We see, Martius, that where young folks are, they treat of love, when soldiers meet, they confer of war, painters of their colours, musicians of their crochets, and every one talketh of that most he liketh best. Which seeing it is so, it behooveth us that have more years, to have more wisdom, not to measure our talk by the affections we have had, but by those we should have. "In this therefore I would know thy mind whether it be convenient for women to haunt such places where gentlemen are, or for men 1 crooked stick 2 = with the only contentment possible at the worst, the poor help patience 58 JOHN LYLY to have access to gentlewomen, which me- thinketh in reason cannot he tolerable, knowing that there IS nothing more pernicious to either, than love, and that love breedeth by nothing sooner than looks. They that fear water, will come near no wells, they that stand in dread of 1 turning, fly from the tire: and ought not they that would not he entangled with desire to refrain company? If love have the pangs which the passionate set down, why do they not abstain from the cause? If it be pleasant why di^ they dispraise it ? "We shun the place of pestilence for fear of infection, the eves of Catoblepas 1 because of diseases, the sight of the basilisk for dread of death, and shall we not eschew tin- company of them that may entrap us in love, which is more hitter than any destruction? "If we fly thieves that steal our goods, shall we follow murderers that cut our throats? If we he heedy • to come where wasps he, lest we he stung, shall we hazard to run where Cupid is, where we shall be stilled? Truly, Martins, in my opinion there is nothing either more repugnant to reason, or abhorring from nature, than to seek that we should shun, leaving the clear stream to drink of the muddy ditch, or in the extremity of heat to lie in the parching sun, when he may sleep in the cold shadow, or, being free from fancy, to seek after love, which is as much as to cool a hot liver with strong wine, or to cure a weak stomach with raw flesh. In this 1 would hear thy sentence, induced the rather to this discourse, for that Surius and Camilla have begun it, than that 1 like it : love in me hath neither power to command, nor persuasion to entreat. Which how idle a thing it is, and how pestilent to youth, 1 partly know, and you I am sure can guess." Martins not very young to discourse of these matters, vet desirous to utter his mind, whether it were to flatter Surius in his will, or to make trial of the lady's wit: began thus to frame his answer: "Madam, there is in Chio the Image of Diana, which to those that enter seemeth sharp and sour, but returning after their suits made, looketh with a merry and pleasant countenance. And it may be that at the entrance of my dis- course ye will bend your brows as one dis- pleased, but hearing my proof, be delighted and satisfied. "The question you move, is whether it be requisite, that gentlemen and gentlewomen 1 a fabulous animal ■ hcadful should meet. Truly among lovers it is con- venient to augment desire, amongst those that are firm, necessary to maintain society. For to take away all meeting for fear of love, were to kindle amongst all, the fire of hate. There is greater danger, Madam, by absence, which breedeth melancholy, than by presence, which engendereth affection. "If the sight be so perilous, that the com- pany should be barred, why then admit you those to see banquets that may thereby surfeit, or suffer them to eat their meat by a candle that have sore eyes? To be separated from one I love, would make me more constant, and to keep company with her I love not, would not kindle desire. Love cometh as well in at the ears, by the report of good conditions, as in at the eyes by the amiable countenance, which is the cause, that divers have loved those they never saw, and seen those they never loved. "You allege that those that fear drowning, come near no wells, nor they that dread burn- ing, near no fire. Why then, let them stand in doubt also to wash their hands in a shallow- brook, for that Serapus falling into a channel was drowned: and let him that is cold never warm his hands, for that a spark fell into the eyes of Actine, whereof she died. Let none come into the company of women, for that divers have been allured to love, and being refused, have used violence to themselves. "bet this be set down for a law, that none walk abroad in the day but men, lest meeting a beautiful woman, he fall in love, and lose his liberty. "I think, 'Madam, you will not be so precise, to cut off all conference, because love cometh by often communication, which if you do, let us all now presently depart, lest in seeing the beauty which dazzleth our eyes, and hearing the wisdom which tickleth our ears, we be en tlamed with love. "But you shall never beat the fly from the candle though he burn, nor the quail from hemlock though it be poison, nor the lover from the company of his lady though it be perilous. "It falleth out sundry times, that company is the cause to shake off love, working the effects of the root rhubarb, which being full of choler, purgeth choler, or of the scorpion's sting, which being full of poison, is a remedy for poison. "But this I conclude, that to bar one that is in love of the company of his lady, maketh him EUPHUES AND HIS ENGLAND 59 rather mad, than mortified, for him to refrain that never knew love, is either to suspect him of folly without cause, or the next way for him to fall into folly when he knoweth the cause. "A lover is like the herb heliotropium, which always inclineth to that place where the sun shineth, and being deprived of the sun, dielh. For as lunaris herb, as long as the moon waxclh, bringeth forth leaves, and in the wan- ing shaketh them off: so a lover whilst he is in the company of his lady, where all joys increase, uttereth many pleasant conceits, but banished from the sight of his mistress, where all mirth decreaseth, either liveth in melancholy, or dielh with desperation." The Lady Flavia speaking in his cast, 1 proceeded in this manner: "Truly, Martius, I had not thought that as yet your colt's tooth stuck in your mouth, or that so old a truant in love, could hitherto remember his lesson. You seem not to infer that it is requisite they should meet, but being in love that it is convenient, lest, falling into a mad mood, they pine in their own peevishness. Why then let it follow, that the drunkard which surfeiteth with wine be always quaffing, because he liketh it, or the epicure which glutteth him- self with meat be ever eating, for that it con- tenteth him, not seeking at any time the means to redress their vices, but to renew them. But it fareth with the lover as it doth with him that poureth in much wine, who is ever more thirsty, than he that drinkcth moderately, for having once tasted the delights of love, he desireth most the thing that hurteth him most, not laying a plaster to the wound, but a cor- rosive. " 1 am of this mind, that if it be dangerous, to lay flax to the lire, salt to the eyes, sulphur to the nose, that then it cannot be but perilous to let one lover come in presence of the other." Surius overhearing the lady, and seeing her so earnest, although he were more earnest in his suit to Camilla, cut her off with these words: "Good Madam, give me leave either to depart, or to speak, for in truth you gall me more with these terms, than you wist, 2 in seem- ing to inveigh so bitterly against the meeting of lovers, which is the only marrow of love, and though I doubt not but that Martius is sufficiently armed to answer you, yet would I not have those reasons refelled, 3 which I loathe to have repealed. It may be you utter them not of malice you bear to love, but only to move controversy where there is no question: for if thou envy to have lovers meet, why did you grant us; if allow it, why seek you to sepa- rate us?" The good lady could not refrain from laughter, when she saw Surius so angry, who in the midst of his own tale, was troubled with hers, whom she thus again answered. "I cry you mercy, 1 gentleman, I had not thought to have catched you, when I fished for another, but I perceive now that with one bean it is easy to get two pigeons, and with one bait to have divers bites. I sec that others may guess where the shoe wrings, besides him that wears it." "Madam," quoth Surius, "you have caught a frog, if I be not deceived, and therefore as good it were not to hurt him, as not to eat him, but if all this while you angled to have a bite at a lover, you should have used no bitter medicines, but pleasant bails." "I cannot tell," answered Flavia, "whether my bait were bitter or not, but sure I am I have the fish by the gill, that doth me good." Camilla not thinking to be silent, put in her spoke as she thought into the best wheel, saying, "Lady, your cunning may deceive you in fishing with an angle, therefore to catch him you would have, you were best to use a net." "A net!" quoth Flavia, "I need none, for my fish playeth in a net already." With that Surius began to wince, replying immediately, "So doth many a fish, good lady, that slippeth out, when the fisher thinketh him fast in, and it may be, that either your net is too weak to hold him, or your hand too wet." "A wet hand," quoth flavia, "will hold a dead her- ring:" "Aye," quoth Surius, "but eels are no herrings." "But lovers are," said Flavia. Surius not willing to have the grass mown, whereof he meant to make his hay, began thus to conclude: "Good Lady, leave off fishing for this time, and though it be Lent, rather break a statute which is but penal, than sew 2 a pond that may be perpetual." "I am content," quoth Flavia, "rather to fast for once, than to want a pleasure forever: yet, Surius, betwixt us two, I will at large prove, that there is nothing in love more venomous than meeting, which filleth the mind with grief and the body with diseases: for hav- ing the one, he cannot fail of the other. But now, Philautus and niece Francis, since I am cut off, begin you: but be short, because Style, manner 2 know ; refuted 1 I beg your pardon 2 drain, empty 6o THOMAS LODGE the time is short, and that I was more short than I would." THOMAS LODGE (i5s8?-i62s) From ROSALYNDE: EUPHUES' GOLDEN LEGACY They came no sooner nigh the folds, but they might see where their discontented forester was walking in his melancholy. As soon as Aliena saw him, she smiled, and said to Gani- mede: "Wipe your eyes, sweeting, for yonder is your sweetheart this morning in deep prayers no doubt to Venus, that she may make you as pitiful as he is passionate. Come on, Gani- mede, I pray thee let's have a little sport with him." "Content," quoth Ganimede, and with that, to waken him out of his deep memento, 1 he 2 began thus: "Forester, good fortune to thy thoughts, and ease to thy passions! What makes you SO early abroad this morn, in contemplation, no doubt, of your Rosalynde? Take heed, forester, step not too far ; the ford may be deep, and you slip over the shoes. I tell thee, flies have their spleen, the ants choler, the least hairs shadows, and the smallest loves great desires. 'Tis good, forester, to love, but not to ovcrlove, lest, in loving her that likes not thee, thou fold thyself in an endless labyrinth." Rosader seeing the fair shepherdess and her pretty swain, in whose company he felt the greatest ease of his care, he returned them a salute on this manner: "Gentle shepherds, all hail, and as healthful be your flocks as you happy in content. Love is restless, and my bed is but the cell of my bane, in that there I find busy thoughts and broken slumbers. Here, although everywhere pas- sionate,' yet I brook love with more patience, in that every object feeds mine eye with variety of fancies. When I look on Flora's beauteous tapestry, checkered with the pride of all her treasure, I call to mind the fair face of Rosa- lynde, whose heavenly hue exceeds the rose and the lily in their highest excellence. The bright- ness of Phoebus' shine puts me in mind to think of the sparkling flames that Hew from her eyes and set my heart first on tire; the sweet har- monie of the birds puts me in remembrance of the rare melody of her voice, which like the Syren enehanteth the ears of the hearer. Thus in eontemplation I salve my sorrows, with applying the perfection of every object to the excellence of her qualities." 1 meditation : he = Rosalynde disguised as Gani- mede 3 troubled "She is much beholding unto you," quoth Aliena, "and so much that I have oft wished with myself that if I should ever prove as amorous as (Enone, I might find as faithful a Paris as yourself." "How say you by this Item, forester?" quoth Ganimede. " The fair shepherdess favours you, who is mistress of so many flocks. Leave off, man, the supposition of Rosalynde's love, whenas, watching at her, you rove beyond the moon; and cast your looks upon my mistress, who no doubt is as fair though not so royal. One bird in the hand is worth two in the wood; better possess the love of Aliena, than catch frivolously at the shadow of Rosalynde." "I'll tell thee, boy," quoth Ganimede; "so is my fancy fixed on my Rosalynde, that were thy mistress as fair as Leda or Danae, whom Jove courted in transformed shapes, mine eyes would not vouch 1 to entertain their beauties; and so hath Love locked me in her perfections, that I had rather only contemplate in her beauties, than absolutely possess the excellence of any other. Venus is to blame, forester, if, having so true a servant of you, she reward you not with Rosalynde, if Rosalynde were more fairer than herself. But leaving this prattle, now I'll put you in mind of your promise, about those sonnets which you said were at home in your lodge." "I have them about me," quoth Rosader; "let us sit down, and then you shall hear what a poetical fury Love will infuse into a man." With that they sat down upon a green bank shadowed with tig trees, and Rosader, fetching a deep sigh, read them this sonnet: Rosader's Sonnet In sorrow's cell I laid me down to sleep, But waking woes were jealous of mine eyes. They made them watch, and bend themselves to weep; But weeping tears their want could not suffice. Yet since for her they wept who guides my heart, Thev, weeping, smile and triumph in their smart. Of these my tears a fountain fiercely springs. Where Venus bains : herself incensed with love; Where Cupid boweth his fair feathered wings. But I behold what pains I must approve. Care drinks it dry; but when on her I think, Love makes me weep it full unto the brink. 1 condescend 2 bathes ROSALYNDE 61 Meanwhile my sighs yield truce unto my tears, By them the winds increased and fiercely blow; Yet when I sigh, the flame more plain appears, And by their force with greater power doth glow. Amidst these pains all Phccnix-likc I thrive, Since Love that yields me death may life revive. Rosader, en espc ranee. 1 "Now surely, forester," quoth Aliena, "when thou madest this sonnet, thou wert in some amorous quandary, neither too fearful, as despairing of thy mistress' favours, nor too gleesome, as hoping in thy fortunes." "I can smile," quoth Ganimede, "at the sonettoes, canzones, madrigals, rounds and roundelays, that these pensive patients pour out, when their eyes are more full of wantonness than their hearts of passions. Then, as the fishers put the sweetest bait to the fairest fish, so these Ovidians, 1 holding Amo in their tongues, when their thoughts come at haphazard, write that they be wrapped in an endless labyrinth of sorrow, when, walking in the large lease of liberty, they only have their humours in their inkpot. If they find women so fond, 2 that they will with such painted lures come to their lust, then they triumph till they be full gorged with pleasures ; and then fly they away, like ramage kites, to their own content, leaving the tame fool, their mistress, full of fancy, yet without ever a feather. If they miss (as dealing with some wary wanton, that wants not such a one as themselves, but spies their subtilly), they end their amours with a few feigned sighs; and so their excuse is, their mistress is cruel, and they smother passions with patience. Such, gentle forester, we may deem you to be, that rather pass away the time here in these woods with writing amorets, than to be deeply enamoured, as you say, of your Rosalynde. If you be such a one, then I pray God, when you think your fortunes at the highest, and your desires to be most excellent, then that you may with Ixion embrace Juno in a cloud, and have nothing but a marble mistress to release your martyr- dom ; but if you be true and trusty, eye-pained and heart-sick, then accursed be Rosalynde if she prove cruel; for, forester, (I flatter not) thou art worthy of as fair as she." Aliena, spying the storm by the wind, smiled to see how Ganimede flew to the fist without any call; but Rosader, who took him flat for a shepherd's swain, made him this answer. 1 devotees of Ovid's Art of Love 2 foolish "Trust me, swain," quoth Rosader, "but my canzon 1 was written in no such humour; for mine eye and my heart are relatives, the one drawing fancy 2 by sight, the other enter- taining her by sorrow. If thou sawest my Rosalynde, with what beauties Nature hath favoured her, with what perfection the heavens hath graced her, with what qualities the Gods have endued her, then wouldst thou say, there is none so fickle that could be fleeting unto her. If she had been Eneas' Dido, had Venus and Juno both scolded him from Carthage, yet her excellence, despite of them, would have detained him at Tyre. If Phyllis had been as beauteous, or Ariadne as virtuous, or both as honourable and excellent as she, neither had the philbert tree sorrowed in the death of despairing Phyllis, nor the stars have been graced with Ariadne, but Demophon and Theseus had been trusty to their paragons. I will tell thee, swain, if with a deep insight thou couldst pierce into the secret of my loves, and see what deep impressions of her idea affection hath made in my heart, then wouldst thou confess I were passing passionate, and no less endued with admirable patience." "Why, " quoth Aliena, " needs there patience in Love?" "Or else in nothing," quoth Rosader; " for it is a restless sore that hath no ease, a can- ker that still frets, a disease that taketh away all hope of sleep. If, then, so many sorrows, sudden joys, momentary pleasures, continual fears, daily griefs, and nightly woes be found in love, then is not he to be accounted patient, that smothers all these passions with silence?" "Thou speakest by experience," quoth Gani- mede, "and therefore we hold all thy words for axioms. But is love such a lingering malady?" "It is," quoth he, "cither extreme or mean, according to the mind of the party that entertains it; for as the weeds grow longer untouched than the pretty flowers, and the flint lies safe in the quarry, when the emerald is suffering the lapidary's tool, so mean men are freed from Venus' injuries, when kings are environed with a labyrinth of her cares. The whiter the lawn is the deeper is the mole, the more purer the chrysolite the sooner stained; and such as have their hearts full of honour, have their loves full of the greatest sorrows. But in whomsoever," quoth Rosader, " he fixeth his dart, he never leaveth to assault him, till either he hath won him to folly or fancy; for as the moon never goes without the star Luni- sequa, 3 so a lover never goeth without the unrest 1 a kind of song 2 love 3 Moon-follower 62 THOMAS LODGE of his thoughts. For proof you shall hear another fancy of my making." "Now do, gentle forester," quoth Ganimede. And with that lie read over this sonelio: Rosader's Second Sonetto Turn I my looks unto the skies, Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes; If so 1 gaze upon the ground. Love then in every flower is found; Search 1 the shade to fly my pain, lie meets me in the shade again; Wend 1 to walk in secret grove. Even there 1 meet with sacred Love; If so I bain ' me in the spring, Even on the brink I hear him sing; If so 1 meditate alone, lie will be partner of my moan; If SO 1 mourn, he weeps with me; And where I am, there will he be, Whenas 1 talk of Rosalynde, The God from coyness waxeth kind, And seems in selfsame flames to fry, Because he loves as well as 1. Sweet Rosalynde, for pity rue, For-why 1 than Love 1 am more true; He, if he speed 3 will quickly fly, But in thy love I live and die. " How like you this sonnet ? " quoth Rosader. " Marry," quoth Ganimede, "for the pen well, for the passion ill; for, as 1 praise the one, I pity the other, in that thou shouldest hunt after a cloud, ami love either without reward or regard." " "bis not her frowardness," quoth Rosader, "but my hard fortunes, whose des- tinies have crossed me with her absence; for did she feel my loves, she would not let me linger in these sorrows. Women, as they are fair, so they respect faith, and estimate more, if they be honourable, the will than the wealth, having loyalty the object whereat they aim their fancies. But, leaving off these inter- parleys, you shall hear my last sonetto, and then you have heard all my poetry." And with that he sighed out this: Rosader's Third Sonnet Of virtuous love myself may boast alone, Since no suspect my service may attaint; For perfect fair ' she is the only one, Whom I esteem for my beloved Saint. Thus for my faith 1 only bear the bell, 8 And for her fair 4 she only doth excell. 1 bathe - because s succeed 4 beauty B excel all Then let fond ' Petrarch shroud 2 his Laura's praise, Anil Tasso cease to publish his affect, 3 Since mine the faith confirmed at all assays, And hers the fair ' which all men do respect. My lines her fair, her fair my faith assures; Thus I by Love, and Love by me endures. "Thus," quoth Rosader. "here is an end of my poems, but for all this no release of my passions; so that T resemble him that in the depth of his distress hath none but the Echo to answer him." Ganimede, pitying her Rosader, thinking to drive him out of this amorous melancholy, said that "Now the sun was in his meridional heat, and that it was high noon, therefore we shepherds say, 'tis time to go to dinner: for the sun and our stomachs, are shepherd's dials. Therefore, forester, if thou wilt take such fare as conies out of our homely scrips, welcome shall answer whatsoever thou wantest in delicates." Aliens took the entertainment by the end, and told Rosader he should be her guest. He thanked them heartily, and sat with them down to din- ner: where they had such cates' as country state did allow them, sauced with such content and such sweet prattle as it seemed far more sweet than all their courtly junkets. As soon as they had taken their repast, Rosader giving them thanks for his good cheer, would have been gone; but Ganimede, that was loath to let him pass out of her presence, began thus: "Nay, forester," quoth he, "if thy business be not the greater, seeing thou sayest thou art so deeply in love, let me see how thou canst woo. I will represent Rosa- lynde, and thou shah be, as thou art, Rosader. See in some amorous Eglogue, how if Rosa- lynde were present, how thou couldst court her; and while we sing of love. Aliens shall tune her pipe, and play us melody." "Con- tent." quoth Rosader. And Aliena, she to show her willingness, drew forth a recorder, and began to wind 7 it. Then the loving for- ester began thus: The Wooing Eglogve betwixt Rosalynde and Rosader Rosader I pray thee. Nymph, by all the working words, By all the tears and sighs that lovers know. Or what or thoughts or faltering tongue affords, 1 crave for mine in ripping up my woe. 1 foolish 6 delieaeies cover up s love 4 beauty ■ cakes blow ROSALYNDE 63 Sweet Rosalynde, my love (would God my love !), My life (would God my life!), ay pity me; Thy lips are kind, and humble like the dove, And but with beauty pity will not be. Look on mine eyes, made red with rueful tears, From whence the rain of true remorse de- scendeth, All pale in looks, and I though young in years, And nought but love or death my days be- friendeth. Oh, let no stormy rigour knit thy brows, Which Love appointed for his mercy-seat! The tallest tree by Boreas' breath it bows, The iron yields with hammer, and to heat; Rosalynde, then be thou pitiful ; For Rosalynde is only beautiful. Rosalynde Love's wantons arm their trait'rous suits with tears, With vows, with oaths, with looks, with showers of gold; But when the fruit of their affects ' appears, The simple heart by subtil sleights is sold. Thus sucks the yielding ear the poisoned bait, Thus feeds the heart upon his endless harms, Thus glut the thoughts themselves on self- deceit, Thus blind the eyes their sight by subtil charms. The lovely looks, the sighs that storm so sore, The dew of deep dissembled doubleness, — These may attempt, but are of power no more, Where beauty leans to wit and soothfastness. 2 O Rosader, then be thou wittiful; For Rosalynde scorns foolish pitiful. Rosader I pray thee, Rosalynde, by those sweet eyes That stain s the sun in shine, the morn in clear; 4 By those sweet checks where Love encamped lies To kiss the roses of the springing year; 1 tempt thee, Rosalynde, by ruthful plaints, Not seasoned with deceit or fraudful guile, But firm in pain, far more than tongue depaints, Sweet nymph, be kind, and grace me with a smile. So may the heavens preserve from hurtful food Thy harmless flocks, so may the summer yield The pride of all her riches and her good, To fat thy sheep, the citizens of field. 1 affections 2 truth 3 excel 4 clearness Oh, leave to arm thy lovely brows with scorn ! The birds their beak, the lion hath his tail; And lovers nought but sighs and bitter mourn, 1 The spotless fort of fancy 2 to assail. O Rosalynde, then be thou pitiful; For Rosalynde is only beautiful. Rosalynde The hardened steel by fire is brought in frame: Rosader And Rosalynde my love than any wool more softer; And shall not sighs her tender heart enflame? Rosalynde Were lovers true, maids would believe them ofter. Rosader Truth and regard and honour guide my love ! Rosalynde Fain would I trust, but yet I dare not try. Rosader Oh, pity me, sweet Nymph, and do but prove. Rosalynde I would resist, but yet I know not why. Rosader O Rosalynde, be kind, for times will change; Thy looks aye nill 3 be fair as now they be, Thine age from beauty may thy looks estrange: Ah, yield in time, sweet Nymph, and pity me. Rosalynde O Rosalynde, thou must be pitiful ; For Ro$ader is young and beautiful. Rosader Oh, gain more great than kingdoms or a crown ! Rosalynde Oh, trust betrayed if Rosader abuse me! 1 mourning love 3 will not 64 ROBERT GREENE Rosader First let the heavens conspire to pull me down, And heaven and earth as abject quite refuse me; Let sorrows stream about my hateful bower, And restless horror hatch within my breast; Let beauty's eye afflict me with a lour; Let deep despair pursue me without rest; Ere Rosalynde my loyalty disprove, Ere Rosalynde accuse me for unkind. Rosalynde Then Rosalynde will grace thee with her love, Then Rosalynde will have thee still in mind. Rosa tier Then let me triumph more than Tithon's dear, Since Rosalynde will Rosader respect: Then let my face exile his sorry cheer, And frolic in the comfort of affect; 1 And say that Rosalynde is only pitiful, Since Rosalynde is only beautiful. When thus they had finished their courting eglogue in such a familiar clause, 2 Ganimcde as augur of some good fortunes to light upon their affections, began to be thus pleasant: "How now, forester, have I not fitted your turn? Have I not played the woman handsomelv, and showed myself as coy in grants, as courteous in desires, and been as full of suspicion as men of flattery? And yet to salve all, jumped 3 I not all up with the sweet union of love? Did not Rosalynde content her Rosader?" The for- ester at this smiling, shook, his head, and folding his anus made this merry reply: "Truth, gentle swain, Rosader hath his Rosalynde; but as Ixion had Juno, who. thinking to possess a goddess, only embraced a cloud. In these imaginary fruitions of fancy, I resemble the birds that fed themselves with Zeuxis' painted grapes; but they grew so lean with pecking at shadows that they were glad with .Esop's cock to scrape for a barley cornel; 4 so fareth it with me, who to feed myself with the hope of my mistress' favours, soothe" myself in thy suits, and only in conceit reap a wished-for content. But if my food be no better than such amorous dreams, Venus at the year's end shall find me but a lean lover. Yet do I take these follies for high fortunes, and hope these feigned affections do divine some unfeigned end of ensuing fancies." "And thereupon," quoth 1 love 2 expression 8 closed * kernel Aliena, "I'll play the priest. From this day forth Ganimede shall call thee husband, and thou shalt call Ganimede wife, and so we'll have a marriage." "Content," quoth Rosader, and laughed. "Content," quoth Ganimede, and changed as red as a rose. And so with a smile and a blush they made up this jesting match, that after proved to a marriage in ear- nest; Rosader full little thinking he had wooed and won his Rosalynde. . . . ROBERT GREENE (i56o?-i5 9 2) From A GROAT'S WORTH OF WIT, BOUGHT WITH A MILLION OF REPENTANCE On the other side of the hedge sat one that heard his sorrow, who getting over, came tow- ards him, and brake off his passion. When he approached, he saluted Roberto in this sort. "Gentleman," quoth he, "(for so you seem) I have by chance heard you discourse some part of your grief; which appeareth to be more than you will discover, or I can conceit. 1 But if you vouchsafe 2 such simple comfort as my ability will yield, assure yourself that I will en- deavour to do the best, that either may pro- cure your profit, or bring you pleasure: the rather, for that I suppose you are a scholar, and pitv it is men of learning should live in lack." Roberto wondering to hear such good words, for that this iron age affords few that esteem of virtue, returned him thankful gratulations, and (urged by necessity) uttered his present grief, beseeching his advice how he might be employed. "Why, easily," quoth he, "and greatly to your benefit: for men of my profes- sion get by scholars their whole living." " What is your profession?" said Roberto. "Truly, sir," said he, "I am a player." "A player," quoth Roberto, "I took you rather for a gen- tleman of great living, for if by outward habit men should be censured, I tell you you would be taken for a substantial man." " So am I, where I dwell (quoth the player), reputed able at my proper cost to build a windmill. What though the world once went hard with me, when I was fain to carry my playing fardel a footback ; Tempora mutantur, 3 1 know you know the mean- ing of it better than I, but I thus construe it; it is otherwise now; for my very share in playing apparel will not be sold for two hun- dred pounds." "Truly (said Roberto) it is 1 conceive 2 condescend to accept 3 times change A GROAT'S WORTH OF WIT 65 strange, that you should so prosper in that vain practice, for that it seems to me your voice is nothing gracious." "Nay then," said the player, "I mislike your judgment: why, I am as famous for Delphrigus, and the King of Fairies, as ever was any of my time. The Twelve Labours of Hercules have I terribly thundered on the stage, and placed three scenes of the Devil on the Highway to Heaven." "Have ye so? (said Roberto) then I pray you pardon me." "Nay, more (quoth the player), I can serve to make a pretty speech, for I was a country author; passing at a moral, 1 for it was I that penned the Moral of Man's Wit, the Dialogue of Dives, and for seven years space was absolute interpreter of the puppets. But now my almanac is out of date. The people make no estimation, Of Morals teaching education. Was not this pretty for a plain rhyme ex- tempore? if ye will, ye shall have more." "Nay it is enough," said Roberto, "but how mean you to use me?" "Why sir, in making plays," said the other, "for which you shall be well paid, if you will take the pains." Roberto perceiving no remedy, thought best in respect of his present necessity, to try his wit, and went with him willingly: who lodged him at the town's end in a house of retail, where what happened our poet you shall here- after hear. There, by conversing with bad company, he grew A malo in peius, 2 falling from one vice to another, and so having found a vein 3 to finger crowns he grew cranker 4 than Lucanio, who by this time began to droop, being thus dealt withal by Lamilia. She hav- ing bewitched him with her enticing wiles, caused him to consume, in less than two years, that infinite treasure gathered by his father with so many a poor man's curse. His lands sold, his jewels pawned, his money wasted, he was cashiered by Lamilia that had cozened him of all. Then walked he, like one of Duke Hum- frey's squires, in a threadbare cloak, his hose drawn out with his heels, his shoes unseamed, lest his feet should sweat with heat: now (as witless as he was) he remembered his father's words, his kindness to his brother, his careless- ness of himself. In this sorrow he sat down on penniless bench; where, when Opus and Usus 5 told him by the chimes in his stomach it was time to fall unto meat, he was fain with the 1 Morality Play 2 from bad to worse 3 inclination * worse * need and custom camelion to feed upon the air, and make patience his best repast. While he was at his feast, Lamilia came flaunting by, garnished with the jewels whereof she beguiled him: which sight served to close his stomach after his cold cheer. Roberto, hearing of his brother's beggery, albeit he had little remorse ' of his miserable state, yet did he seek him out, to use him as a property, 2 whereby Lucanio was somewhat provided for. But being of simple nature, he served but for a block to whet Roberto's wit on ; which the poor fool perceiving, he forsook all other hopes of life, and fell to be a notorious pandar: in which detested course he continued till death. But, Roberto, now famoused for an arch play- making poet, his purse like the sea sometime swelled, anon like the same sea fell to a low ebb ; yet seldom he wanted, his labours were so well esteemed. Marry, this rule he kept, whatever he fingered aforehand was the certain means to unbind a bargain, and, being asked why he so slightly dealt with them that did him good, "It becomes me," saith he, "to be contrary to the world, for commonly when vulgar men receive earnest, they do perform, when I am paid anything aforehand I break my promise." He had shift of lodgings, where in every place his hostess writ up the woeful remembrance of him, his laundress, and his boy; for they were ever his in household, beside retainers in sundry other places. His company were lightly 3 the lewdest persons in the land, apt for pilefrey, perjury, forgery, or any villany. Of these he knew the casts to cog 4 at cards, cozen at dice : by these he learned the legerdemains of nips, foisters, cony-catchers, crossbiters, lifts, high lawyers, 6 and all the rabble of that unclean generation of vipers: and pithily could he paint out their whole courses of craft: So cunning he was in all crafts, as nothing rested in him almost but craftiness. How often the gentlewoman his wife laboured vainly to recall him, is lament- able to note: but as one given over to all lewd- ness, he communicated her sorrowful lines among his loose trulls, that jested at her boot- less laments. If he could any way get credit on scores, he would then brag his creditors carried stones, comparing every round circle to a groaning O, procured by a painful burden. The shameful end of sundry his consorts, 6 deservedly punished for their amiss, 7 wrought 1 pity 2 tool 3 easily 4 cheat 8 different kinds of pickpockets and thieves a companions 7 crime 66 ROBERT GREENE no compunction in his heart: of which one, brother to a brothel l he kept, was trussed under a tree ' as round as a hall. 3 To some of his swearing companions thus it happened: A crew of them sitting in a tavern carousing, it fortuned an honest gentleman, and his friend, to enter their room: some of them being acquainted with him, in their domineering drunken vein, would have no nay, but _down he must needs sit with them; being placed, no remedy there was, but he must needs keep even compass with their unseemly carousing. Which he refusing, they fell from high words to sound strokes, so that with much ado the gentleman saved his own, and shifted from their company. Being gone, one of these ti piers forsooth lacked a gold ring, the other sware they see ' the gentle- man take it from his hand. Upon this the gentleman was indicted before a judge: these honest men are deposed: whose 5 wisdom weighing the time of the brawl, gave light to the jury what power wine-washing poison had: they, according unto conscience, found the gentleman not guilty, and God released by that verdfci the innocent. With his accusers thus it fared: one of them for murder was worthily executed: the other never since prospered: the third, sitting not long after upon a lusty horse, the beast suddenly died under him: God amend the man ! Roberto every day acquainted with these examples, was notwithstanding nothing bet- tered, but rather hardened in wickedness. At last was that place" justified, "Clod wameth men by dreams and visions in the night, and by known examples in the day, but if he return not. he comes upon him with judgment that shall be felt." For now when the number of deceits caused Roberto be hateful almost to all men, his immeasurable drinking had made him the perfect image of the dropsy, and the loathsome scourge of lust tyrannised in his loves: living in extreme poverty, and having nothing to pay but chalk, 7 which now his host accepted not for current, this miserable man lay comfortlessly languishing, having but one groat left (the just * proportion of his father's legacy) which looking on. he cried: " Oh now it is too late ! too late to buy wit with thee: and therefore will I see if I can sell to careless youth what I negligently forgot to buy." 'trull "hanged s .4 poor pun; the man's • 'all. *saw • *.e. the judge 'scriptural f small 1 , tact Here (gentlemen) break I off Roberto's speech; whose life in most parts agreeing with mine, found one self punishment as I have done. Hereafter suppose me the said Roberto, and I will go on with that he promised: Greene will send you now his groatsworth of wit, that ' never showed a mitesworth in his life: and though no man now be by to do me good, yet, ere 1 die, I will by my repentance endeavour to do all men good. ******* And therefore (while life gives leave") will send warning to my old consorts, 2 which have lived as loosely as myself, albeit weakness will scarce suffer me to write, yet to my fellow scholars about this City, will I direct these few ensuing lines. To those Gentlemen his Quondam acquaintance, that spend their wits in making Plays, R, Li. wisheth a better exercise, and wisdom to prevent his extremities. If woeful experience may move you tgentle- men) to beware, or unheard-of wretchedness entreat you to take heed, I doubt not but you will look back with sorrow on your time past, and endeavour with repentance to spend that which is to come. Wonder not (for with thee will I hrst begin), thou famous gracer of trage- dians, that Greene, who hath said with thee like the fool in his heart, "There is no v God," should now give glory unto his greatness: for pene- trating is his power, his hand lies heavy upon me, he hath spoken unto me with a voice oi thunder, and I have felt he is a God that can punish enemies. Why should thy excellent wit, his gift, be so blinded, that thou shouldst give no glory to the giver? Is it pestilent Machiavellian policy that thou hast studied? Punish ;i folly ! What are his rules but mere con- fused mockeries, able to extirpate in small time the generation of mankind. For if 5 jubeo* hold in those that are able to command: and if it be lawful Fas et ne/as 5 to do anything that is beneficial, only tyrants should |x>ssess the earth, and they striving to exceed in tyranny, should each to other be a slaughter man; till the mightiest outliving all. one stroke were left for Death, that in one age man's life should end. The brother 1 of this Diabolical Atheism is dead, and in his life had never the felicity he aimed at: but as he began in craft, lived in 1 who, i.e. Greene - companions s Punic, de- ceitful 4 so 1 wish, so I command * lawful or unlawful 6 ? brocher = beginner THE ART OF CONY-CATCHING 67 fear and ended in despair. Quant inscruta- bilia sunt Dei indicia?} This murderer of many brethren had his conscience seared like Cain : this betrayer of Him that gave his life for him inherited the portion of Judas: this apostata perished as ill as Julian : and wilt thou, my friend, be his disciple? Look unto me, by him persuaded to that liberty, and thou shalt find it an infernal bondage. I know the least of my demerits merit this miserable death, but willful striving against' known truth, exceedeth all the terrors of my soul. Defer not (with me) till this last point of extremity; for little know- est thou how in the end thou shalt be visited. With thee I join young Juvenal, that biting satirist, that lastly with me together writ a comedy. Sweet boy, might I advise thee, be advised, and get not many enemies by bitter words: inveigh against vain men, for thou canst do it, no man better, no man so well: thou hast a liberty to reprove all, and none more; for, one being spoken to, all are offended ; none being blamed, no man is injured. Stop shallow water still running, it will rage; tread on a worm and it will turn: then blame not scholars vexed with sharp lines, if they reprove thy too much liberty of reproof. And thou no less deserving than the other two, in some things rarer, in nothing inferior; driven (as myself) to extreme shifts, a little have I to say to thee : and were it not an idola- trous oath, I would swear by sweet S. George, thou art unworthy better hap, sith 2 thou de- pendest on so mean a stay. Base minded men all three of you, if by my misery ye be not warned: for unto none of you, like me, sought those burrs to cleave: those puppets, I mean, that speak from our mouths, those antics garnished in our colours. Is it not strange that I, to whom they all have been beholding: is it not like that you, to whom they all have been beholding, shall, were ye in that case that I am now, be both at once of them forsaken? Yes, trust them not: for there is an upstart Crow, beautified with our feathers, that with his Tiger's heart wrapped in a Player's hide, supposes he is as well able to bombast out a blank verse as the best of you: and being an absolute Johannes fac Mum, is in his own con- ceit the only Shake-scene in a country. O that I might entreat your rare wits to be employed in more profitable courses: and let those Apes imitate your past excellence, and never more 1 How inscrutable arc the judgments of God 2 since acquaint them with your admired inventions I know the best husband of you all will never prove an usurer, and the kindest of them all will never prove a kind nurse: yet whilst you may, seek you better masters; for it is pity men of such rare wits, should be subject to the pleasures of such rude grooms. In this I might insert two more, that both have writ against these buckram gentlemen: but let their own works serve to witness against their own wickedness, if they persevere to maintain any more such peasants. For other new comers, I leave them to the mercy of these painted monsters, who (I doubt not) will drive the best minded to despise them : for the rest, it skills not though they make a jest at them. But now return I again to you three, knowing my misery is to you no news.: and let me heartily entreat you to be warned by my harms. De- light not, as I have done, in irreligious oaths; for from the blasphemer's house a curse shall not depart. Despise drunkenness, which wast- eth the wit, and maketh men all equal unto beasts. Fly lust, as the deathsman of the soul, and defile not the temple of the Holy Ghost. Abhor those epicures, whose loose life hath made religion loathsome to your ears: and when they sooth you with terms of mastership, remember Robert Greene, whom they have so often flattered, perishes now for want of com- fort. Remember, gentlemen, your lives are like so many lighted tapers, that are with care delivered to all of you to maintain ; these with wind-puffed wrath may be extinguished, which drunkenness put out, which negligence let fall: for man's time of itself is not so short, but it is more shortened by sin. The fire of my light is now at the last snuff, and the want of where- with to sustain it, there is no substance left for life to feed on. Trust not then, I beseech ye, to such weak stays : for they are as change- able in mind, as in many attires. Well, my hand is tired, and I am forced to leave where I would begin; for a whole book cannot con- tain these wrongs, which I am forced to knit up in some few lines of words. Desirous that yon should live, though himself be dying, Robert Greene. From THE ART OF CONY-CATCHING » There be requisite effectually to act the Art of Cony-catching, three' several parties: the setter, the verser, and the barnacle. The 1 bunco-steering 68 ROBERT GREENE nature of the setter, is to draw any person familiarly to drink with him, which person they call the cony, and their method is accord- ing to the man they aim at: if a gentleman, merchant, or apprentice, the cony is the more easily caught, in that they are soon induced to play, and therefore I omit the circumstance which they use in catching of them. And for because the poor country farmer or yeoman is the mark which they most i^\ all shoot at, who they know comes not empty to the term, 1 I will discover the means they put in practice to bring in some honest, simple and ignorant men to their purpose. The cony-catchers, appar- eled like honest civil gentlemen, or good fel- lows, with a smooth face, as if butter would not melt in their mouths, after dinner when the clients are come from Westminster Hall, and are at leisure to walk up and down Paul's, Fleet-street, Holborn, the Strand, and such common haunted places, where these co/ening companions attend only to spy out a prey: who as soon as they see a plain country fellow well and cleanly appareled, either in a coat of homespun russet, or of frieze, as the time requires, and a side'-' pouch at his side, "There is a cony," saith one. At that word out flies the setter, and overtaking the man, begins to salute him thus: "Sir, God save you, you are welcome to London, how doth all our good friends in the country, 1 hope they be all in health?" The country-man seeing a man. so courteous he knows not, half in a brown study at this strange salutation, perhaps makes him this answer: "Sir, all our friends in the country are well, thanks be to God, but truly I know you not, you must pardon me." "Why, sir," saith the setter, guessing by his tongue what country man he is, "are you not such a country man?" If he says yes, then he creeps upon him closely. If he say no, then straight the setter comes over him thus: "In good sooth, sir, 1 know you by your face and have been in your company before, I pray you, if without offence, let me crave your name, and the place of your abode." The simple man straight tells him where he dwells, his name, and who be his next neigh- bours, and what gentlemen dwell about him. After he hath learned all of him, then he comes over his fellow kindly: "Sir, though 1 have been somewhat bold to be inquisitive of your name, yet hold me excused, for 1 took you for a friend of mine, but since by mistaking I have made you slack your business, we'll drink a 1 session of court w Mi- quart of wine, or a pot of ale together." If the fool be so ready as to go, then the cony is caught ; but if he smack the setter, and smells a rat by his clawing, and will not drink with him, then away goes the setter, and discourseth to the verser the name of the man, the parish he dwells in, and what gentlemen are his near neighbours. With that away goes he, and crossing the man at some turning, meets him full in the face, and greets him thus: "What, goodman barton, how fare all our friends about you? You are well met, I have the wine for you, you are welcome to town." The poor countryman hearing himself named by a man he knows not, marvels, and answers that he knows him not, and craves pardon. "Not me, goodman barton, have you forgot me? Why 1 am such a man's kinsman, your neighbour not far off; how doth this or that good gentleman my friend? Good Lord that I should be out of your remembrance, 1 have been at your house divers times." "Indeed sir," saith the farmer, "are you such a man's kinsman? Surely, sir, if you had not challenged acquaintance of me, 1 should never have known you. I have clean forgot you, but 1 know the good gentleman your cousin well, he is my very good neighbour:" "And for his sake," saith the verser, "we'll drink afore we part." Haply the man thanks him, and to the wine or ale they go. Then ere they part, they make him a cony, and so ferret -claw l him at cards, that they leave him as bare of money, as an ape of a tail. Thus have the filthy fellows their subtle fetches to draw on poor men to fall into their cozening practices. Thus like consuming moths of the commonwealth, they prey upon the ignorance of such plain souls as measure all by their own honesty, not regarding either conscience, or the fatal revenge that's threatened for such idle and licentious persons, but do employ all their wits to overthrow such as with their handy- thrift satisfy their hearty thirst, they prefer- ring cozenage before labour, and choosing an idle practice before any honest form of good living. Well, to the method again of taking up their conies. If the poor countryman smoke them still, and will not stoop unto either of their lures, then one, either the verser, or the setter, or some of their crew, for there is a general fraternity betwixt them, stoppcth before the conv as lie goeth, and letteth drop twelve pence in the highway, that of force'-' the cony must see it. The countryman spying the shilling, 1 cheat - necessarily \ GREENE'S NFVFR TOO LATE 6 9 maketh not dainty, for quis nisi mentis inops oblatum respuii aurumj buj stoopeth veryman- iH'rly and takelh il up. 'I'lirn one of the cony catchers behind, crietb half part, and so chal- lengeth half of his finding. The countryman Content, offcrcth to change the money. "Nay faith, friend," sailh the verser, " 'tis ill luck to keep found money, we'll go spend it in a pottle of wine (or in a breakfast, dinner or supper, as the time of day requires)." If the cony say he will not, then answers the verser, "Spend my part." If still the cony refuse, he taketh half and away. If they spy the countryman to be of a having and covetous mind, then have they a further policy to draw him on: another that knowclh the place of his abode, meeteth him and saith, "Sir, well met, I have run hastily to overtake you, I pray you, dwell you not in Darbyshire, in such a village?" "Yes, marry, do I, friend," saith the cony. Then replies the verser, "Truly, sir, I have a suit to you, 1 am going out of town, and must send a letter to the parson of your parish. You shall not refuse to do a stranger such a favour as to carry it him. Haply, as men may in time meet, it may lie in my lot to do you as good a turn, and for your pains I will give you twelve pence." The poor cony in mere simplicity saith, "Sir, I'll do so much for you with all my heart; where is your letter?" "I have it not, good sir, ready written, but may 1 entreat you to step into some tavern or alehouse? We'll drink the while, and I will write but a line or two." At this the cony stoops, and for greediness of the money, and upon courtesy goes with the setter into the tavern. As they walk, they meet the verser, and then they all three go into the tavern to- gether. . . . GREENE'S NEVER TOO LATE From THE PALMER'S TALE In those days wherein Palmerin reigned king of Great Britain, famoused for his deeds of chivalry, there dwelled in the city of Casr- branck a gentleman of an ancient house, called Francesco, a man whose parentage though it were worshipful, yet it was not indued with much wealth, insomuch that his learning was better than his revenues, and his wit more beneficial than his substance. This Signor Francesco, desirous to bend the course of his compass to some peaceable port, spread no more cloth in the wind than might make easy sail, lest hoisting 1 Who but a fool refuses offered gold ? up too hastily above the main yard, some sud- den gust might make him founder in the deep. Though he were young, yet he was not rash with Icarus to soar into the sky, but to cry out with old Dedalus, Medium ienere tiilissininm, 1 treading his shoe without any slip. He was so generally loved of the citizens, that the richest merchant or gravest burghmastcr would not refuse to grant him his daughter in mar- riage, hoping more of his ensuing fortunes, than of his present substance. At last, casting his eye on a gentleman's daughter that dwelt not far from Caerbranck, he fell in love, and prosecuted his suit with such affable courtesy as the maid, considering the virtue and wit of the man, was content to set up her rest with him, so that 2 her father's consent might be at the knitting up of the match. Francesco, thinking himself cocksure, as a man thai hoped his credit in the city might carry away more than a country gentleman's daughter, finding her father on a day at fit opportunity, he made the motion about the grant of his daughter's marriage. The old churl, that listened with both ears to such a question, did not in this in utramvis aurem dormire; 3 but leaning on his elbow, made present answer, that her dowry required a greater feofment than his lands were able to afford. And upon that, without farther debating of the matter, he rose up, and hied him home. Whither as soon as he came, he called his daughter before him, whose name was Isabel, to whom he uttered these words: "Why, housewife," 1 quoth he, "are you so idle tasked, that you stand upon thorns while 6 you have a husband? Are you no sooner hatched with the Lapwing but you will run away with the shell on your head? Soon pricks the tree that will prove a thorn, and a girl that loves too soon will repent too late. What, a husband? Why, the maids in Rome durst not look at Venus' temple till they were thirty, nor went they unmasked till they were married; that neither their beauties might allure other, nor they glance their eyes on every wanton. I tell thee, fond girl, when Nilus overfloweth before his time, Egypt is plagued with a dearth; the trees that blossom in Feb- ruary are nipped with the frosts in May; un- timely fruits had never good fortune; and young gentlewomen that are wooed and won ere they be wise, sorrow and repent before they be old. What seest thou in Francesco that 1 It is safest to keep the middle way. 2 provided * sleep on either ear * huzzy 8 until 7° ROBERT GRKKNK thine eve must choose, and thy heart must fancy? Is he beautiful? Why, fond girl, what the eve liketh at morn, it hatclh at night. Love is, like a bavin, 1 but a blaze; and beauty, why how can I better compare it than to the gorgeous cedar, that is only for show and noth- ing for profit; to the apples of Tantalus, that are precious to the eye, and dust in the hand; to (he star Arlophilex, that is most bright, but littcth not for any compass; so young men that stand upon their outward portraiture, I tell thee tliev are prejudicial. Dcmophon was fair, but how dealt he with Phillis? .'Eneas was a brave man but a dissembler. Fond girl, all are but little worth, if they be not wealthy. And I pray thee, what substance hath Francesco to endue thee with? Hast thou not heard, that want breaks amity, that love beginneth in gold and endeth in beggery; that such as marry but to a fair face, tie them selves oft to a foul bargain? \nes, false valuations, imaginations as one would, and the like, but it would leave the minds of a number of men poor shrunken things, full of melancholy and indisposition, and unpleasing to themselves? One of the Fathers, in great severity, called poesy vinum decmonum ,' be- cause it filleth the imagination; and yet it is but with the shadow of a lie. But it is not the lie that passeth through the mind, but the lie that sinketh in and settleth in it, that cloth the hurt; such as we spake of before. Hut howsoever these things are thus in men's de- praved judgments and affections, \et truth, which only doth judge itself, teachcth that the inquiry of truth, which is the love-making or wooing of it, the knowledge of truth, which is the presence of it, and the belief of truth, which is the enjoying of it, is the sovereign good of human nature. The first creature- of CoA, in the works of the days, was the light of the sense; the last was the light of reason; ami his Sabbath work ever since, is the illumination of his Spirit. First he breathed light upon the face of the matter or chaos; then he breathed light into the face of man ; and still he breatheth and inspireth light into the face of his chosen. The poet 1 that beautified the sect 3 that was otherwise inferior to the rest, saith yet excel- lently well: // is a pleasure to stand upon the shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea; a pleasure to stand in the window of a eastle, and to see a battle and the adventures thereof below: but no pleasure is eomparable to the standing upon the vantage ground of Truth, (a hill not to be commanded, and where the air is always clear and serene,) and to see the .errors, and 'wanderings, and mists, and tempests, in the vale below; *o always that this prospect be with pity, and not with swelling or pride. Certainly, it is heaven upon earth, to have a man's mind move in charity, rest in provi- dence, and turn upon the poles of truth. To pass from theological and philosophical truth, to the truth of civil business; it will be acknowledged even by those that practise it not, that clear and round dealing is the honour of man's nature; and that mixture of falsehood is like allay 4 in coin of gold and silver, which may make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it. For these winding and crooked courses are the goings of the serpent; which goeth basely Upon the belly, and not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so cover a man with shame as to be found false and per- fidious. And therefore Montaigne saith pret- tilv, when he inquired the reason, why the word of the lie should be such a disgrace and such an odious charge? Saith he, If it be well 1 containers 1 devil's-wine 'Lucretius 'Epicureans 'alio; ESSAYS 75 weighed, to say that a man lieth, is as much to say, as that he is brave towards God and a coward towards men. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man. Surely the wickedness of falsehood and breach of faith cannot possibly be so highly expressed, as in that it shall be the last peal to call the judgments of God upon the generations of men; it being foretold, that when Christ cometh, he shall ■ not find faith upon the earth. II. OF DEATH Men fear Death, as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other. Certainly, the contemplation of death, as the wages of sin and passage to another world, is holy and religious; but the fear of it, as a tribute due unto nature, is weak. Yet in religious medi- tations there is sometimes mixture of vanity and of superstition. You shall read in some of the friars' books of mortification, that a man should think with himself what the pain is if he have but his finger's end pressed or tortured, and thereby imagine what the pains of death are, when the whole body is corrupted and dissolved; when many times death pass- eth with less pain than the torture of a limb: for the most vital parts are not the quickest of sense. 1 And by him that spake only as a philosopher and natural man, it was well said, Pompa mortis magis tenet, quam mors ipsa? Groans and convulsions, and a discoloured face, and friends weeping, and blacks, and obsequies, and the like, show death terrible. It is worthy the observing, that there is no passion in the mind of man so weak, but it mates 3 and mas- ters the fear of death; and therefore death is no such terrible enemy when a man hath so many attendants about him that can win the combat of him. Revenge triumphs over death ; Love slights it; Honour aspireth to it; Grief flieth to it; Fear pre-occupateth it; nay we read, after Otho the emperor had slain him- self, Pity (which is the tenderest of affections) provoked many to die, out of mere compassion to their sovereign, and as the truest sort of followers. Nay Seneca adds niceness and satiety: Cogita quamdiu eadcm feceris ; mori velle, nan tantum fortis, aut miser, sed etiam fastidiosus potest. A man would die, though he were neither valiant nor miserable, only upon a weariness to do the same thing so oft 1 sensation 2 It is the accompaniments of death that arc frightful rather than death itself. 3 conquers over and over. It is no less worthy to observe, how little alteration in good spirits the ap- proaches of death make; for they appear to be the same men till the last instant. Augustus Caesar died in a compliment; Livia, conjugii nostri mem or, vive et vale: r Tiberius in dis- simulation; as Tacitus saith of him, Jam Tiberium vires et corpus, nan dissimulatio, deserebant: 2 Vespasian in a jest: Ut puto Deus fio : 3 Galba with a sentence ; Feri, si ex re sit populi Romani;* holding forth his neck: Septimius Severus in despatch; Adeste si quid mihi reslat agendum : B and the like. Certainly the Stoics bestowed too much cost upon death, and by their great preparations made it appear more fearful. Better saith he, 8 qui finem vitce exlremum inter munera ponat natures. 1 It is as natural to die as to be born; and to a little infant, perhaps, the one is as painful as the other. He that dies in an earn- est pursuit, is like one that is wounded in hot blood ; who, for the time, scarce feels the hurt ; and therefore a mind fixed and bent upon somewhat that is good doth avert the dolours of death. But above all, believe it, the sweet- est canticle is, Nunc dimittis ; 8 when a man hath obtained worthy ends and expectations. Death hath this also; that it openeth the gate to good fame, and extinguisheth envy. Ex- tinctus amabitur idem? IV. OF REVENGE Revenge is a kind of wild justice; which the more man's nature runs to, the more ought law to weed it out. For as for the first wrong, it doth but offend the law; but the revenge of that wrong putteth the law out of office. Cer- tainly, in taking revenge, a man is but_ even with his enemy; but in passing it over, he is superior; for it is a prince's part to pardon. And Salomon, I am sure, saith, It is the glory of a man to pass by an offence. That which is past is gone, and irrevocable; and wise men have enough to do with things present and to come; therefore they do but trifle with them- selves, that labour in past matters. There is 1 Farewell, Livia, and forget not the days of our marriage. 2 His powers of body were gone, but his power of dissimulation still remained. 3 I think I am becoming a god. 4 Strike, if it be for the good of Rome. 6 Make haste, if there is anything more for me to do. Juvenal 7 Who accounts the close of life as one of the benefits of nature. 8 See Luke, 2 : 29. ° The same man that was envied while he lived, shall be loved when he is gone. 76 FRANCIS BACON no man doth a wrong for the wrong's sake; but thereby to purchase himself profit, or pleasure, or honour, or the like. Therefore why should I be angry with a man for loving himself better than me? And if any man should do wrong merely out of ill-nature, why, yet it is but like the thorn or briar, which prick and scratch, because they can do no other. The most tolerable sort of revenge is for those wrongs which there is no law to remedy; but then let a man take heed the revenge be such as there is no law to punish; else a man's enemy is still before hand, and it is two for one. Some, when they take revenge, are desirous the party should know whence it cometh. This is the more generous. For the delight seemeth to be not so much in doing the hurt as in making the party repent. But base and crafty cowards are like the arrow that flieth in the dark. Cosmus, duke of Florence, had a desperate saying against perfidious or neglecting friends, as if those wrongs were un- pardonable; You shall read (saith he) that we are commanded to forgive our enemies; but you never read that we are commanded to forgive our friends. But yet the spirit of Job was in a better tune: Shall we (saith he) take good at God's hands, and not be content to take evil also ? And so of friends in a proportion. This is certain, that a man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well. Public revenges are for the most part fortunate; as that for the death of Caesar; for the death of Pertinax; for the death of Henry the Third of France; and many more. But in private revenges it is not so. Nay rather, vindictive persons live the life of witches; who, as they are mischiev- ous, so end they infortunate. V. OF ADVERSITY It was an high speech of Seneca (after the manner of the Stoics'), that the good things which belong to prosperity are to be wished; but the good tilings that belong to adversity are to be admired. Bona reruns seeundarum op- tabilia; adversarum mirabilia. Certainly if miracles be the command over nature, they appear most in adversity. It is yet a higher speech of his than the other (much too high for a heathen), 77 is true greatness to have in one the frailty of a man, and the security of a God. Vere magnum habere fragilitatcm liomi- nis, securitatem Dei. This would have done better in poesy, where transcendences are more allowed. And the poets indeed have been busy with it; for it is in effect the thing which is figured in that strange fiction of the ancient poets, which seemeth not to be with- out mystery; nay, and to have some approach to the state of a Christian; that Hercules, when he went to unbind Prometheus, (by whom human nature is represented), sailed the length of the great ocean in an earthen pot or pitcher; lively describing Christian resolution, that sail- eth in the frail bark of the flesh thorough the waves of the world. But to speak in a mean. 1 The virtue of Prosperity is temperance; the virtue of Adversity is fortitude; which in morals is the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament; Adversity is the blessing of the New; which carrieth the greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of God's favour. Yet even in the Old Testa- ment, if you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as many hearse-like airs as carols; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath laboured more in describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities of Salomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and Adver- sity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in needle-works and embroideries, it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground : judge therefore of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed: for Prosperity doth best discover vice, but Adversity doth best discover virtue. VIII. OF MARRIAGE AND SINGLE LIFE He that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune; for they are impediments to great enterprises, either of virtue or mis- chief. Certainly the best works, and of great- est merit for the public, have proceeded from the unmarried or childless men; which both in affection and means have married and en- dowed the public. Yet it were great reason that those that have children should have greatest care of future times; unto which they know they must transmit their dearest pledges. Some there are, who though they lead a single life, yet their thoughts do end with themselves, and account future times impertinences. Nay, there are some other that account wife and children but as bills of charges. Nay more, 1 a moderate fashion ESSAYS 77 there are some foolish rich covetous men, that take a pride in having no children, because they may be thought so much the richer. For perhaps they have heard some talk, Such an one is a great rich man, and another except to it, Yea, but lie hatli a great charge of children; as if it were an abatement to his riches. But the most ordinary cause of a single life is lib- erty, especially in certain self-pleasing and humorous ' minds, which are so sensible of every restraint, as they will go near to think their girdles and garters to be bonds and shackles. Unmarried men are best friends, best masters, best servants; but not always best subjects; for they are light to run away; and almost all fugitives are of that condition. A single life doth well with churchmen; for charity will hardly water the ground where it must first fill a pool. It is indifferent for judges and magistrates; for if they be facile and cor- rupt, you shall have a servant five times worse than a wife. For soldiers, I find the generals commonly in their hortatives put men in mind of their wives and children; and I think the despising of marriage amongst the Turks maketh the vulgar soldier more base. Cer- tainly wife and children are a kind of discipline of humanity; and single men, though they may be many times more charitable, because their means are less exhaust, yet, on the other side, they are more cruel and hardhearted (good to make severe inquisitors), because their tenderness is not so oft called upon. Grave natures, led by custom, and therefore constant, are commonly loving husbands; as was said of Ulysses, vetulam suam pmtulit immortalitati. 2 Chaste women are often proud and froward, as presuming upon the merit of their chastity. It is one of the best bonds both of chastity and obedience in the wife, if she think her husband wise; which she will never do if she find him jealous. Wives are young men's mistresses; companions for middle age; and old men's nurses. So as a man may have a quarrel 3 to marry when he will. But yet he was reputed one of the wise men, that made answer to the question, when a man should marry? A young man not yet, an elder man not at all. It is often seen that bad husbands have very good wives; whether it be that it raiseth the price of their husband's kindness when it comes; or that the Wives take a pride in their patience. But this never fails, if the 1 notionatc 2 He preferred his old wife to immor- tality. 3 reason bad husbands were of their own choosing, against their friends' consent; for then they will be sure to make good their own folly. X. OF LOVE The stage is more beholding to Love, than the life of man. For as to the stage, love is ever matter of comedies, and now and then of tragedies; but in life it doth much mischief; sometimes like a syren, sometimes like a fury. You may observe, that amongst all the great and worthy persons (whereof the memory re- maineth, either ancient or recent) there is not one that hath been transported to the mad degree of love: which shows that great spirits and great business do keep out this weak pas- sion. You must except, nevertheless, Marcus Antonius, the half partner of the empire of Rome, and Appius Claudius, the decemvir and law-giver; whereof the former was indeed a voluptuous man, and inordinate; but the latter was an austere and wise man: and there- fore it seems (though rarely) that iove can find entrance not only into an open heart, but also into a heart well fortified, if watch be not well kept. It is a poor saying of Epicurus, Satis magnum alter alteri theairum sumus; l as if man, made for the contemplation of heaven and all noble objects, should do nothing but kneel before a little idol, and make himself a subject, though not of the mouth (as beasts are), yet of the eye; which was given him for higher purposes. It is a strange thing to note the excess of this passion, and how it braves the nature and value of things, by this; that the speaking in a perpetual hyperbole is comely in nothing but in love. Neither is it merely in the phrase; for whereas it hath been well said that the arch-flatterer, with whom all the petty flatterers have intelligence, is a man's self; certainly the lover is more. For there was never proud man thought so absurdly well of himself as the lover doth of the person loved; and therefore it was well said, That it is im- possible to love and to be wise. Neither doth this weakness appear to others only, and not to the party loved ; but to the loved most of all, except the love be reciproque. For it is a true rule, that love is ever rewarded either with the reciproque or with an inward and secret contempt. By how much the more men ought to beware of this passion, which loseth .not only other things, but itself. As for the other 1 Each is to other a theater large enough. 78 FRANCIS BACON losses, the poet's relation doth well figure them; That he that preferred Helena, quitted the gifts of Juno and Pallas. For whosoever esteemeth too much of amorous affection quitteth both riches and wisdom. This passion hath his Hoods in the very times of weakness; which are great prosperity and great adversity ; though this latter hath been less observed: both which times kindle love, and make it more fervent, and therefore show it to be the child of folly. They do best, who if they cannot but admit love, yet make it keep quarter; and sever it wholly from their serious affairs and actions of life; for if it check once with business, it troubleth men's fortunes, and maketh men that they can no ways be true to their own ends. I know not how, but martial men are given to love: 1 think it is but as they are given to wine ; lor perils commonly ask to be paid in pleasures. There is in man's nature a secret inclination and motion towards love of others, which if it be not spent upon some one or a few, doth naturally spread itself towards many, and maketh men become humane and charitable; as it is seen sometime in friars. Nuptial love maketh mankind; friendly love perfecteth it; but wanton love corrupteth and embaseth it. XI. OF GREAT PLACE Men in great place are thrice servants: ser- vants of the sovereign or state; servants of fame; and servants of business. So as they have no freedom ; neither in their persons, nor in their actions, nor in their times. It is a strange desire, to seek power and to lose liberty: or to seek power over others and to lose power over a man's self. The rising unto place is laborious; and by pains men come to greater pains; and it is sometimes base; and by indignities men come to dignities. The standing is slippery, and the regress is either a downfall, or at least an eclipse, which is a melancholy thing. Cum non sis qui fueris, lion esse cur veils vivere. 1 Nay, retire men cannot when they would, neither will they when it were reason; but are impatient of privateness, even in age and sickness, which require the shadow; like old townsmen, that will be still sitting at their street door, though thereby they offer age to scorn. Certainly great persons had need to borrow other men's opinions, to think themselves happy; for if 1 When you are no longer what you were, there is no reason why you should wish to live. they judge by their own feeling, they cannot find it: but if they think with themselves what other men think of them, and that other men would fain be as they are, then they are happy as it were by report; when perhaps they find the contrary within. For they are the first that find their own griefs, though they be the last that find their own faults. Certainly men in great fortunes are strangers to themselves, and while they are in the puzzle of business they have no time to tend their health either of body or mind. Illi mors gravis ineubat, qui notus nimis omnibus, ignotus moritur sibi. 1 In place there is license to do good and evil; whereof the latter is a curse: for in evil the best condition is not to will; the second not to can. But power to do good is the true and lawful end of aspiring. For good thoughts (though God accept them) yet towards men are little better than good dreams, except they be put in act ; and that cannot be without power and place, as the vantage and commanding ground. Merit and good works is the end of man's motion; and conscience of the same is the accomplishment of man's rest. For if a man can be partaker of God's theatre, he shall likewise be partaker of God's rest. Et con- versus Deus, at aspieeret opera qucc fecerunt man us suce, vidit quod omnia essent bona nimis; 2 and then the Sabbath. In the dis- charge of thy place set before thee the best examples; for imitation is a globe v 3 of precepts. And after a time set before thee thine own example; and examine thyself strictly whether thou didst not best at first. Neglect not also the examples of those that have carried them- selves ill in the same place; not to set off thy- self by taxing their memory, but to direct thy- self what to avoid. Reform therefore, without bravery or scandal of former times and persons; but yet set it down to thyself as well to create good precedents as to follow them. Reduce things to the first institution, and observe wherein and how they have degenerate; but yet ask counsel of both times; of the ancient time, what is best; and of the latter time, what is fittest. Seek to make thy course regu- lar, that men may know beforehand what they may expect ; but be not too positive anil peremp- tory; anil express thyself well when thou di- gressest from thy rule. Preserve the right of 1 It is a sad fate for a man to die too well known to everybody else, and still unknown to himself. -And God turned to look upon the works which his hands had made, and saw that all were very good. 3 world ESSAYS 79 thy place; but stir not questions of jurisdic- tion: and rather assume thy right in silence and de facto, than voice it with claims and chal- lenges. Preserve likewise the rights of inferior places; and think it more honour to direct in chief than to be busy in all. Embrace and invite helps and advices touching the execu- tion of thy place ; and do not drive away such as bring thee information, as meddlers; but accept of them in good part. The vices of authority are chiefly four; delays, corruption, roughness, and facility. For delays; give easy access; keep times appointed; go through with that which is in hand, and interlace not business but of necessity. For corruption; do not only bind thine own hands or thy ser- vants' hands from taking, but bind the hands of suitors also from offering. For integrity used doth the one; but integrity professed, and with a manifest detestation of bribery, doth the other. And avoid not only the fault, but the suspicion. Whosoever is found vari- able, and changeth manifestly without manifest cause, giveth suspicion of corruption. There- fore always when thou changest thine opinion or course, profess it plainly, and declare it, together with the reasons that move thee to change; and do not think to steal it. A ser- vant or a favourite, if he be inward, 1 and no other apparent cause of esteem, is commonly thought but a by-way to close corruption. For roughness; it is a needless cause of discontent: severity breedeth fear, but roughness breedeth hate. Even reproofs from authority ought to be grave, and not taunting. As for facility; it is worse than bribery. For bribes come but now and then; but if importunity or idle re- spects lead a man, he shall never be without. As Salomon saith, To respect persons is not good; for such a man will transgress for a piece of bread. It is most true that was anciently spoken, A place showeth the man. And it showeth some to the better, and some to the worse. Omnium consensu capax imperii, nisi imperassct, 2 saith Tacitus of Galba; but of Vespasian he saith, Solus impcraidiitm, Ves- pasiiiiius mutatus in melius: 3 though the one was meant of sufficiency, the other of manners and affection. It is an assured sign of a worthy and generous spirit, whom honour amends. For honour is, or should be, the place of virtue; and as in nature things move 1 intimate - A man whom everybody would have thought fit for empire if he had not been emperor. 3 He was the only emperor whom the possession of power changed for the better. violently to their place and calmly in their place, so virtue in ambition is violent, in author- ity settled and calm. All rising to great place is by a winding stair; and if there be factions, it is good to side a man's self whilst he is in the rising, and to balance himself when he is placed. Use the memory of thy predecessor fairly and tenderly; for if thou dost not, it is a debt will sure be paid when thou art gone. If thou have colleagues, respect them, and rather call them when they look not for it, than exclude them when they have reason to look to be called. Be not too sensible or too remembering of thy place in conversation and private answers to suitors; but let it rather be said, When he sits in place he is another man. XVI. OF ATHEISM I had rather believe all the fables in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame is without a mind. And therefore God never wrought miracle to convince atheism, because his ordi- nary works convince it. It is true, that a little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism ; but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion. For while the mind of man lookcth upon second causes scattered, it may sometimes rest in them, and go no further; but when it beholdeth the chain of them, con- federate and linked together, it must needs fly to Providence and Deity. Nay, even that school which is most accused of atheism doth most demonstrate religion; that is,- the school of Leucippus and Democritus and Epicurus. For it is a thousand times more credible, that four mutable elements, and one immutable fifth essence, duly and eternally placed, need no God, than that an army of infinite small portions or seeds unplaced, should have pro- duced this order and beauty without a divine marshal. The Scripture saith, The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God; it is not said, The fool hath thought in his heart; so as he rather saith it by rote to himself, as that he would have, than that he can throughly believe it, or be persuaded of it. For none deny there is a God, but those for whom it maketh ' that there were no God. It appeareth in nothing more, that atheism is rather in the lip than in the heart of man, than by this; that atheists will ever be talking of that their opinion, as if they fainted in it within themselves, and 1 would be advantageous 8o FRANCIS BACON would be glad to be strengthened by the consenl of others. Nay more, you shall have atheists strive to get disciples, as it fareth with other Sects. And, which is most of all, you shall have of them that will suffer for atheism, and not recant; whereas if they did duly think that there were no sueh thing as God, why should they trouble themselves? Epicurus is charged that he did but dissemble for his credit's sake, when he affirmed there were blessed natures, but sueh as enjoyed themselves without having respect to the government of the world. Wherein they say he did tempo- rise; though in secret he thought there was no Cod. Hut certainly he is traduced; for his words are noble and divine: Notl DeoS vulgi negate profanum; sed vulgi opiniones Diis applicare profanum? Plato could have said no more. And although he had the con- fidence to deny the administration, he had not the power to deny the nature. The Indians ^\ the west have names for their particular gods, though they have no name for God: as if the heathens should have had the names Jupiter, Apollo, Mars, etc., but not the word Pens; which shows that even those barbarous people have the notion, though they have not the lati- tude ami extent of it. So that against atheists the very savages take part with the very subtlest philosophers. The contemplative atheist is rare: a Diagoras, a Bion, a Lucian perhaps, and some others; and yet they seem to be more than they are; for that all that impugn a re- ceived religion or superstition are by the ad- verse part branded with the name of atheists, but the great atheists indeed are hypocrites; which are ever handling holy things, but with- out feeling; so as they must needs be cauterised in the end. The causes of atheism are: divi- sions in religion, if they be many; for any one main division addeth zeal to both sides; but many divisions introduce atheism. Another is, scandal of priests; when it is come to that which St. Bernard saith, Non esi jam dicere, ut populus sic sacerdos; quia nee sic populus id SacerdoS? A third is, custom of profane scof- fing in holy matters; which doth by little and little deface the reverence of religion. And lastly, learned times, specially with peace and prosperity; for troubles ami adversities ^\o 1 There is no profanity in refusing to believe in the ol the vulgar; the profanity is in believing of the Gods what the vulgar believe of them. "One cannot now say, the priest is .is the people, for the truth is lh.it the people ,ue not SO bad as the priest. more bow men's minds to religion. They that deny a God destroy man's nobility; for cer- tainly man is of kin to the beasts by his body; and, if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he is a base and ignoble creature. It destroys likev ise magnanimity, ami the raising of human nature; for take an example of a dog, and mark what a generosity and courage he will put on when he finds himself maintained by a man; who to him is instead of a (iod.or melior uatura , A which courage is manifestly such as that crea- ture, without that confidence of a better nature than his own, could never attain. So man, when he resteth and assureth himself upon divine protection and favour, gathered) a force and faith which human nature in itself could not obtain. Therefore, as atheism is ,in all respects hateful, so in this, that it depriveth human nature of the means to exalt itself above human frailty. As it is in particular persons, so it is in nations. Never was there such a state for magnanimity as Rome. Of this slate hear what Cicero saith: Quam volumus licet, patres conscripH, nos amemus, tamen nee nu- mero Hispanos, nee robore Hallos, nee colli- dilate Pcenos, nee arlibus Grcecos, nee denique hoc ipso hu'jus gentis ct tcrnr domes! ico nati- voque scusu Italos ipsos ct Latinos: sed pietate, ac religione, atque hoc una sapientia, quod /V- orum immortalium numine omnia regi guber- nariquc pcrspcximus, omncs gentes noHonesque super avimus} Will. OF WISDOM FOR A MANS SELF An ant is a wise creature for itself, but it is a shrewd ■ thing in an orchard or garden. And certainly men that are great losers of them- selves waste the public. Divide with reason between self love and society; and be so true to thyself, as thou be not false to others; spe- cially to thy king and country. It is a poet centre of a man's actions, himself. It is right • 1 a higher being - Pride ourselves as we may upon our country, yet are we not in number superior to the Spaniards, nor in strength to the Gauls, nor in cunning to the Carthaginians, nor to the Greeks in arts, nor to the Italians and 1. alius themselves in the homely ami native sense which belongs to this nation and land; it is in piety only ami religion, anil the wisdom of regarding the providence of the [m- mortal Gods as that which rules and governs all that we have surpassed all nations and peoples. ;i bad ' very ESSAYS 81 earth. For that ! only stands fast upon his own centre; whereas all things that have affin- ity with the heavens, move upon the centre of another, which they benefit. The referring of all to a man's self is more tolerable in a sover- eign prince; because themselves are not only themselves, but their good and evil is at the peril of the public fortune. But it is a des- perate evil in a servant to a prince, or a citizen in a republic. For whatsoever affairs pass such a man's hands, he crooketh them to his own ends; which must needs be often eccen- tric to a the ends of his master or state. There fore let princes, or states, choose such servants as have not this mark; except they mean their service should be made but the accessary. That which maketh the effect more pernicious is that all proportion is lost. It were dispro- portion enough for the servant's good to be preferred before the master's; but yet it is a greater extreme, when a little good of the ser- vant shall carry things against a great good of the master's. And yet that is the case of bad officers, treasurers, ambassadors, generals, and other false and corrupt servants; which set a bias 3 upon their bowl, of their own petty ends and envies, to the overthrow of their master's great and important affairs. And for the most part, the good such servants receive is after the model of their own fortune; but the hurt they sell for that good is after the. model of their master's fortune. And certainly it is the nature of extreme self-lovers, as they will set an house on fire, and it were but to roast their eggs; and yet these men many times hold credit with their masters, because their study is but to please them and profit themselves; and for either respect they will abandon the good of their affairs. Wisdom for a man's self is, in many branches thereof, a depraved thing. It is the wisdom of rats, that will be sure to leave a house some- what before it fall. It is the wisdom of the fox, that thrusts out the badger, who digged and made room for him. It is the wisdom of croco- diles, that shed tears when they would devour. But that which is specially to be noted is, that those which (as Cicero says of Pompey) are sui amantes, sine rivali,* are many times un- fortunate. And whereas they have all their time sacrificed to themselves, they become in 1 the earth, according to the Ptolemaic theory 2 not having the same center ;is a a weight placed on a bowl to make it take a curved course 4 lovers of themselves without rival the end themselves sacrifices to the inconstancy of fortune; whose wings they thought by their self-wisdom to have pinioned. XXV. OF DISPATCH Affected dispatch is one of the most danger- ous things to business that can be. It is like that which the physicians call predigestion, or hasty digestion; which is sure to fill the body full of crudities and secret seeds of diseases. Therefore measure not dispatch by the times of sitting, but by the advancement of the business. And as in races it is not the large stride or high lift that makes the speed; so in business, the keeping close to the matter, and not taking of it too much at once, procureth dispatch. It is the care of some only to come off speedily for the time; or to contrive some false periods of business, because ' they may seem men of dispatch. But it is one thing to abbreviate by contracting, another by cutting off. And business so handled at several sittings or meet- ings goeth commonly backward and forward in an unsteady manner. I knew a wise man that had it for a by-word, when he saw men hasten to a conclusion, Slay a little, that we may make an end the sooner. On the other side, true dispatch is a rich thing. For time is the measure of business, as money is of wares; and business is bought at a dear hand where there is small dispatch. The Spartans and Spaniards have been noted to be of small dispatch; Mi venga la muerte de Spagna; Let my death come from Spain; for then it will be sure to be long in coming. Give good hearing to those that give the first information in business; and rather direct them in the beginning, than interrupt them in the continuance of their speeches; for he that is put out of his own order will go forward and backward, and be more tedious while he waits upon his memory, than he could have been if he had gone on in his own course. But some- times it is seen that the moderator 2 is more troublesome than the actor. 3 Iterations are commonly loss of time. But there is no such gain of time as to iterate often the state of the question; for it chaseth away many a frivolous speech as it is coming forth. Long and curious 4 speeches are as fit for dis- patch, as a robe or mantle with a long train is for race. Prefaces and passages, and excusa- 1 in order that 2 the director of the talk 3 the speaker 4 elaborate s. FRANCIS BACON tions, and other speeches of reference to the person, arc great wastes of time; and though they seem to proceed of modesty, they are brav- ery. 1 Yet beware of being too material 1 when there is any impediment or obstruction in men's wills; for preoccupation of mind over re- quireth preface of speech; like a fomentation to make the unguent enter. Above all things, order, and distribution, and singling out of parts, is the life of dispatch; so as the distribution be not too subtle: for he that doth not divide will never enter well into business; and he that divideth too much will never come out of it clearly. To choose time is to save time; and an unseasonable motion is but beating the air. There be three pans of business; the preparation, the debate or examination, and the perfection. Whereof, if you look for dispatch, let the middle only be the work of many, and the first and last the work of few. The proceeding upon somewhat conceived in writing doth for the most part facilitate dispatch: for though it should be wholly rejected, yet that negative is more preg- nant of direction than an indefinite; as ashes are more generative than dust. WYU. OF FRIENDSHIP It had been hard for him that spake it to have put more truth and untruth together in few words, than in that speech, 11 For it is most true that a natural and secret hatred and aversation towards society in any man, hath somewhat of the savage beast; but it is most untrue that it should have any character at all of the divine nature; except it proceed, not out of a pleasure in solitude, but out of a love and desire to sequester a man's self for a higher conversation: such as is found to have been falsely and feignedlv in some of the heathen; as Fpimenides the Candian. Numa the Roman, Empedocles the Sicilian, and Apollonius of Tyana; and truly and really in divers of the ancient hermits and holy fa- thers of the church. But little do men perceive what solitude is, and how far it extendeth. For a crowd is not company; and faces are but a gallery of pictures; and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no love. The Latin adage meeteth with it a little: .U,.\ because in a great town friends are scattered; so that there is not that fellow- ship, for the most part, which is in less neigh- bourhoods. Hut we may go further, and affirm most truly that it is a mere ami miserable soli- tude to want true friends; without which the world is but a wilderness; and even in this sense also of solitude, whosoever in the frame of his nature and affections is unfit for friend- ship, he taketh it of the beast, and not from humanity. A principal fruit of friendship is the ease and discharge of the fulness and swellings of the heart, which passions of all kinds do cause and induce. We know diseases of stoppings and suffocations are the most dangerous in the body; and it is not much otherwise in the mind; you may take sar.a to open the liver, steel to open the spleen, flowers of sulphur for the lungs, castoreum for the brain; but no receipt ' openeth the heart, but a true friend; to whom you may impart griefs, joys, fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, ami whatsoever lieth upon the heart to oppress it, in a kind of civil ' shrift or confession. It is a strange thing to observe how high a rate great kings and monarchs do set upon this fruit of friendship whereof we speak: so great, as they purchase it many times at the hazard of their own safety and greatness. For princes, in regard of the distance of their fortune from that of their subjects ami servants, cannot gather this fruit, except (to x make them- selves capable thereof) they raise some jx^rsons to be as it were companions and almost equals to themselves, which many times sorteth to 3 inconvenience. The modern languages give unto such persons the name of favourites, or ' as if it we're matter of grace, or conversation. But the Roman name attaineth the true use and cause thereof, naming them for it is that which tieth the knot. And we see plainly that this hath been done, not by weak and passionate princes only, but by the wisest and most politic that ever reigned; who have oftentimes joined to themselves some of their servants; whom both themselves have called friends, and allowed others likewise to call them in the same manner; using the word which is received between pri- vate men. 1 Sylla, when he commanded Rome, raised. Pompey (after surnamed the Great) to height, that Pompey vaunted himself for bus a s A l rec - ; results in 4 int. great to itude. s share ESSAYS 83 Sylla's over-match. For when he had carried the consulship for a friend of his, against the pursuit of Sylla, and that Sylla did a little resent thereat, and began to speak great, Pompcy turned upon him again, and in effect bade him be quiet; for that more men adored the sun rising than the sun setting. With Julius Caesar, Decimus Brutus had obtained that interest, as he set him down in his testa- ment for heir in remainder after his nephew. And this was the man that had power with him to draw him forth to his death. For when Caesar would have discharged the senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially a dream of Calpumia; this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the senate till his wife had dreamt a better dream. And it seemeth his favour was so great, as Antonius, in a letter which is recited verbatim in one of Cicero's Philippics, calleth him venefica, witch; as if be had enchanted Caesar. Augustus raised Agrippa (though of mean birth) to that height, as when he consulted with Maecenas about the marriage of his daughter Julia, Maecenas took the liberty to tell him, that he must either marry his daughter to Agrippa, or take away his life: there was no third way, he had made him so great. With Tiberius Caesar, Sejanus had ascended to that height, as they two were termed and reckoned as a pair of friends. Tiberius in a letter to him saith, hesc pro amieitia nostra non oeeultavi; ' and the whole senate dedicated an altar to Friendship, as to a goddess, in respect of the great dearness of friendship between them two. The like or more was between Septimius Severus and Plautianus. For he forced his eldest son to marry the daughter of Plautianus; and would often maintain Plautianus in doing affronts to his son; and did write also in a letter to the senate, by these words: / love the man so well, as I wish he may over-live me. Now if these princes had been as a Trajan or a Marcus Aurelius, a man might have thought that this had proceeded of an abundant goodness of nature; but being men so wise, of such strength and severity of mind, and so extreme lovers of themselves, as all these were, it proveth most plainly that they found their own felicity (though as great as ever happened to mortal men) but as an half piece, except they mought have a friend to make it entire; and yet, which 1 These things, because of our friendship, I have not concealed from you. is more, they were princes that had wives, sons, nephews; and yet all these could not supply the comfort of friendship. It is not to be forgotten what Commineus * observeth of his first master, Duke Charles the Hardy; namely, that he would communicate his secrets with none; and least of all, those secrets which troubled him most. Whereupon he goeth on and saith that towards his lat- ter time that closeness did impair and a little perish his understanding. Surely Commineus mought have made the same judgment also, if it had pleased him, of his second master, Lewis the Eleventh, whose closeness was indeed his tormentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true; Cor ne edito: Eat not the heart. Certainly, if a man would give it a hard phrase, those that want friends to open themselves unto are cannibals of their own hearts. But one thing is most admirable (wherewith I will conclude this first fruit of friendship), which is, that this communicating of a man's self to his friend works two contrary effects; for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halfs. For there is no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he joyeth the more: and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he grieveth the less. So that it is in truth of operation upon a man's mind, of like virtue as the alchemists use to attribute to their stone for man's body; that it worketh all contrary effects, but still to the good and benefit of nature. But yet without praying in aid 2 of alchemists, there is a manifest image of this in the ordinary course of nature. For in bodies, union strength- eneth and cherisheth any natural action; and on the other side weakeneth and dulleth any violent impression : and even so is it of minds. The second fruit of friendship is healthful and sovereign for the understanding, as the first is for the affections. For friendship maketh indeed a fair day in the affections, from storm and tempests; but it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of darkness and con- fusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be under- stood only of faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from his friend; but before you come to that, certain it is that whosoever hath his mind fraught with many thoughts, his wits and understanding do clarify and break up, in the communicating and discoursing with another; he tosseth his thoughts more easily; he mar- shalleth them more orderly; he seeth how they look when they are turned into words: finally, 1 Philippe de Commines 2 calling in as advocates 8 4 FRANCIS BACON he waxeth wiser tlian himself; and that more by an hour's discourse than by a day's medi- tation. It was well said by Themistocles to the king of Persia, That speech was like cloth of Arras, opened and put abroad ; -whereby the imagery doth appear in figure; -whereas in thoughts they lie but as in packs. Neither is this second fruit of friendship, in opening the understanding, restrained only to such friends as are able to give a man counsel; (they indeed are best) ; but even without that, a man learneth of himself, and bringeth his own thoughts to light, and whetteth his wits as against a stone, which itself cuts not. In a word, a man were better relate himself to a Statua 1 or picture, than to suffer his thoughts to pass in smother. Add now, to make this second fruit of friend- ship complete, that other point which lieth more open and falleth within vulgar observa- tion; which is faithful counsel from a friend. Heraclitus saith well in one of his enigmas, Dry light is ever the best. And certain it is, that the light that a man receiveth by counsel from another, is drier and purer than that which cometh from his own understanding and judgment; which is ever infused and drenched in his affections and customs. So as there is as much difference between the counsel that a friend givcth, and that a man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend and of a Batterer, For there is no such flatterer as is a man's self; and there is no such remedy against flattery of a man's self, as the liberty of a friend. Counsel is of two sorts: the one concerning manners, the other concern- ing business. For the first, the best preser- vative to keep the mind in health is the faith- ful admonition of a friend. The calling of a man's self to a strict account is a medicine, sometime, too piercing and corrosive. Read- ing good books of morality is a little flat and dead. Observing our faults in others is some- times improper for our case. But the best receipt (best, I say, to work, and best to take) is the admonition of a friend. It is a strange thing to behold what gross errors and extreme absurdities many (especially of the greater sort) do commit, for want of a friend to tell them of them ; to the great damage both of their fame and fortune: for, as St. James saith, they are as men that look sometimes into a glass, and presently forget their own shape and favour. As for business, a man may think, if he will, 1 statue that two eyes see no more than one; or that a gamester seeth always more than a looker-on; or that a man in anger is as wise as he that hath said over the four and twenty letters; or that a musket may be shot off as well upon the arm as upon a rest; and such other fond and high imaginations, to think himself all in all. But when all is done, the help of good counsel is that which setteth business straight. And if any man think that he will take counsel, but it shall be by pieces; asking counsel in one busi- ness of one man, and in another business of another man ; it is well, (that is to say, better perhaps than if he asked none at all;) but he runneth two dangers : one, that he shall not be faithfully counselled; for it is a rare thing, except it be from a perfect and entire friend, to have counsel given, but such as shall be bowed and crooked to some ends which he hath that giveth it. The other, that he shall have counsel given, hurtful and unsafe, (though with good meaning,) and mixed partly of mischief and partly of remedy; even as if you would call a physician that is thought good for the cure of the disease you complain of, but is unacquainted with your body; and there- fore may put you in way for a present cure, but overthroweth your health in some other kind; and so cure the disease and kill the patient. But a friend that is wholly acquainted with a man's estate will beware, by furthering any present business, how he dasheth upon other inconvenience. And therefore rest not upon scattered counsels; they will rather dis- tract and mislead, than settle and direct. After these two noble fruits of friendship (peace in the affections, and support of the judgment) followeth the last fruit; which is like the pomegranate, full of many kernels; I mean aid and bearing a part in all actions and occasions. Here the best way to repre- sent to life the manifold use of friendship, is to cast and see how many things there are which a man cannot do himself; and then it will appear that it was a sparing speech of the an- cients, to say, that a friend is another himself; for that a friend is far more than himself. Men have their time, and die many times in desire of some things which they principally take to heart; the bestowing of a child, the finishing of a work, or the like. If a man have a true friend, he may rest almost secure that the care of those things will continue after him. So that a man hath, as it were, two lives in his desires. A man hath a body, and that body is confined to a place; but where friendship ESSAYS 85 is, all offices of life are as it were granted to him and his deputy. For he may exercise them by his friend. How many things are there which a man cannot, with any face or comeli- ness, say or do himself? A man can scarce allege his own merits with modesty, much less extol them ; a man cannot sometimes brook to supplicate or beg; and a number of the like. But all these things are graceful in a friend's mouth, which are blushing in a man's own. So again, a man's person hath many proper relations which he cannot put off. A man cannot speak to his son but as a father; to his wife but as a husband ; to his enemy but upon terms: whereas a friend may speak as the case requires, and not as it sorteth 1 with the person. But to enumerate these things were endless; I have given the rule, where a man cannot fitly play his own part; if he have not a friend, he may quit the stage. XLII. OF YOUTH AND AGE A man that is young in years may be old in hours, if he have lost no time. But that hap- peneth rarely. Generally, youth is like the first cogitations, not so wise as the second. For there is a youth in thoughts, as well as in ages. And yet the invention of young men is more lively than that of old ; and imagina- tions stream into their minds better, and as it were more divinely. Natures that have much heat and great and violent desires and pertur- bations, are not ripe for action till they have passed the meridian of their years; as it was with Julius Caesar, and Septimius Severus. Of the latter of whom it is said, Juventutem egit erroribus, imo furoribus, plenum. 2 And yet he was the ablest emperor, almost, of all the list. But reposed natures may do well in youth. As it is seen in Augustus Caesar, Cosmus Duke of Florence, Gaston de Fois, and others. On the other side, heat and vivac- ity in age is an excellent composition for busi- ness. Young men are fitter to invent than to judge; fitter for execution than for counsel; and fitter for new projects than for settled busi- ness. For the experience of age, in things that fall within the compass of it, directeth them ; but in new things, abuseth them. The errors of young men are the ruin of business; but the errors of aged men amount but to this, that more might have been done, or sooner. Young men, in the conduct and manage of actions, 1 agrees 2 He passed a youth full of errors; yea, of madnesses. embrace more than they can hold; stir more than they can quiet; fly to the end, without consideration of the means and degrees; pur- sue some few principles which they have chanced upon absurdly; care 1 not to innovate, which draws unknown inconveniences; use extreme remedies at first; and, that which doubleth all errors, will not acknowledge or retract them; like an unready horse, that will neither stop nor turn. Men of age object too much, consult too long, adventure too little, repent too soon, and seldom drive business home to the full period, but content themselves with a mediocrity of success. Certainly it is good to compound employments of both; for that will be good for the present, because the virtues of either age may correct the defects of both ; and good for succession, that young men may be learners, while men in age are actors; and, lastly, good for extern accidents, because authority followeth old men, and favour and popularity youth. But for the moral part, perhaps youth will have the pre- eminence, as age hath for the politic. A cer- tain rabbin, upon the text, Your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams, inferreth that young men are admitted nearer to God than old, because vision is a clearer revelation than a dream. And cer- tainly, the more a man drinketh of the world, the more it intoxicateth : and age doth profit rather in the powers of understanding, than in the virtues of the will and affections. There be some have an over-early ripeness in their years, which fadeth betimes. These are, first, such as have brittle wits, the edge whereof is soon turned; such as was Ilermogenes the rhetorician, whose books are exceeding subtle; who afterwards waxed stupid. A second sort is of those that have some natural dispositions which have better grace in youth than in age; such as is a fluent and luxuriant speech; which becomes youth well, but not age: so Tully saith of Hortensius, Idem manebat, neque idem deccbat? The third is of such as take too high a strain at the first, and are magnanimous more than tract of years can uphold. As was Scipio Africanus, of whom Livy saith in effect, Ultima primis cedebant. 3 XLIII. OF BEAUTY Virtue is like a rich stone, best plain set; and surely virtue is best in a body that is comely, 1 hesitate 2 He continued the same, when the same was not becoming. 3 His last actions were not equal to his first. 86 THOMAS NASHE (hough not of delicate features; and that hath in her dignity of presence, than beauty of aspect. Neither is it almost seen, 1 that very beautiful persons are otherwise of great virtue; as if nature were rather busy not to err, than in labour to produce excellency. And therefore they prove accomplished, but not of great spirit; and study rather behaviour than virtue, but this holds not always: for Augustus Caesar, Titus Vespasianus, Philip le Bel of France, Edward the Fourth of England, Alcibiades of Athens, Ismael the Sophy of Persia, were all high and great spirits; and yet the most beau- tiful men of their times. In beauty, that of favour is more than that of colour; and that of decent and gracious motion more than that of favour. That is the best part of beauty, which a picture cannot express; no nor the first sight of the life. There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the propor- tion. A man cannot tell whether Apelles or Albert Durer were the more trifler; whereof the one would make a personage by geometrical proportions; the other, by taking the best parts out of divers faces, to make one excellent. Such personages, I think, would please nobody but the painter that made them. Not but I think a painter may make a better face than ever was; but he must do it by a kind of fe- licity (as a musician that maketh an excellent air in music), and not by rule. A man shall see faces, that if you examine them part by part, you shall find never a good; and yet altogether do well. If it be true that the prin- cipal part of beauty is in decent motion, cer- tainly it is no marvel though persons in years seem many times more amiable; pulchrorum autuiuuus pulcher; 2 for no youth can be comely but by pardon, and considering the youth as to make up the comeliness. Beauty is as summer fruits, which are easy to corrupt, and cannot last; and for the most part it makes a dissolute youth, and an age a little out of countenance; but yet certainly again, if it light well, it maketh virtues shine, and vices blush. THOMAS NASHE (i 567-1601) THE UNFORTUNATE TRAVELLER About that time that the terror of the world and fever quartan of the French, Henry the Eight (the only true subject of chronicles), advanced his standard against the two hundred and fifty 1 it is scarcely ever seen have a beautiful autumn. 8 Beautiful persons towers of Tournay and Terouennc, and had the Emperor and all the nobility of Flanders, Holland, and Brabant as mercenary attendants on his full-sailed fortune, I, Jack Wilton, (a gentleman at least,) was a certain kind of an appendix or page, belonging or appertain- ing in or unto the confines of the English court; where what my credit was, a number of my creditors that I cozened can testify: Caelum petimus stullitia, which of us all is not a sinner? Be it known to as many as will pay money enough to peruse my story, that I followed the court or the camp, or the camp and the court. There did I (Soft, let me drink before I go any further !) reign sole king of the cans and black jacks, prince of the pygmies, county palatine of clean straw and provant, and, to conclude, lord high regent of rashers of the coals and red herring cobs. Paulo majora canamus. Well, to the purpose. What stratagemical acts and mon- uments do you think an ingenious infant of my years might enact? You will say, it were sufficient if he slur a die, pawn his master to the utmost penny, and minister the oath of the pantofle arti- ficially. These are signs of good education, I must confess, and arguments of In grace and vir- tue to proceed. Oh, but Aliquid laid quod non paid, there's a further path I must trace: examples confirm; list, lordings, to my pro- ceedings. Whosoever is acquainted with the state of a camp understands that in it be many quarters, and yet not so many as on London bridge. In those quarters are many companies : Much company, much knavery, as true as that old adage, "Much courtesy, much subtiltv." Those companies, like a great deal of corn, do yield some chaff; the corn arc cormorants, the chaff are good fellows, which arc quickly blown to nothing with bearing a light heart in a light purse. Amongst this chaff was I winnow- ing my wits to live merrily, and by my troth so I did: the prince could but command men spend their blood in his service, I could make them spend all the money they had for my pleasure. But poverty in the end parts friends; though I was prince of their purses, and exacted of my unthrift subjects as much liquid alle- giance as any kaiser in the world could do, yet where it is not to be had the king must lose his right : want cannot be withstood, men can do no more than they can do: what remained then, but the fox's case must help, when the lion's skin is out at the elbows? There was a lord in the camp, let him be a Lord of Misrule if you will, for he kept a plain alehouse without welt or guard of any THE UNFORTUNATE TRAVELLER 87 ivy bush, and sold cider and cheese by pint and by pound to all that came, (at the very name of cider I can but sigh, there is so much of it in Rhenish wine nowadays). Well, Tendit ad sidcra virtus, there's great virtue belongs (I can tell you) to a cup of cider, and very good men have sold it, and at sea it is Aqua ccelcslis; but that's neither here nor there, if it had no other patron but this peer of quart pots to authorise it, it were sufficient. This great lord, this worthy lord, this noble lord, thought no scorn (Lord, have mercy upon us !) to have his great velvet breeches larded with the drop- pings of this dainty liquor, and yet he was an old servitor, a cavalier of an ancient house, as might appear by the arms of his ancestors, drawn very amiably in chalk on the inside of his tent door. He and no other was the man I chose out to damn with a lewd moneyless device ; for coming to him on a day, as he was counting his barrels and setting the price in chalk on the head of them, I did my duty very devoutly, and told his aie-y honour I had matters of some secrecy to impart unto him, if it pleased him to grant me private audience. "With me, young Wilton?" quod he; "marry, and shalt! Bring us a pint of cider of a fresh tap into the Three Cups here; wash the pot." So into a back room he led me, where after he had spit on his finger, and picked off two or three moats of his old moth- eaten velvet cap, and sponged and wrung all the rheumatic drivel from his ill-favoured goat's beard, he bade me declare my mind, and there- upon he drank to me on the same. I up with a long circumstance, alias, a cunning shift of the seventeens, and discoursed unto him what en- tire affection I had borne him time out of mind, partly for the high descent and lineage from whence he sprung, and partly for the tender care and provident respect he had of poor soldiers, that, whereas the vastity of that place (which afforded them no indifferent supply of drink or of victuals) might humble them to some extremity, and so weaken their hands, he vouchsafed in his own person to be a victualler to the camp (a rare example of magnificence and honourable courtesy), and diligently pro- vided that without far travel every man might for his money have cider and cheese his belly full; nor did he sell his cheese by the wey only, or his cider by the great, but abased himself with his own hands to take a shoemaker's knife (a homely instrument for such a high personage to touch) and cut it out equally, like a true justiciary, in little pennyworths that it would do a man good for to look upon. So likewise of his cider, the poor man might have his moderate draught of it (as there is a moder- ation in all things) as well for his doit or his dandiprat as the rich man for his half sous or his denier. "Not so much," quoth I, "but this tapster's linen apron which you wear to protect your apparel from the imperfections of the spigot, most amply bewrays your lowly mind. I speak it with tears, too few such noble men have we, that will draw drink in linen aprons. Why, you are every child's fellow; any man that comes under the name of a soldier and a good fellow, you will sit and bear company to the last pot, yea, and you take in as good part the homely phrase of 'Mine host, here's to you,' as if one saluted you by all the titles of your barony. These considerations, I say, which the world suffers to slip by in the channel of forgetful ness, have moved me, in ardent zeal of your welfare, to forewarn you of some dangers that have beset you and your barrels." At the name of dangers he start up, and bounced with his fist on the board so hard that his tapster overhearing him, cried, "Anon, anon, sir! by and by!" and came and made a low leg and asked him what he lacked. He was ready to have striken his tapster for interrupt- ing him in attention of this his so much desired relation, but for fear of displeasing me he mod- erated his fury, and only sending for the other fresh pint, willed him look to the bar, and come when he is called, "with a devil's name!" Well, at his earnest importunity, after I had moistened my lips to make my lie run glib to his journey's end, forward I went as followeth. "It chanced me the other night, amongst other pages, to attend where the King, with his lords and many chief leaders, sat in counsel: there, amongst sundry serious matters that were debated, and intelligences from the enemy given up, it was privily informed (No villains to these privy informers !) that you, even you that I now speak to, had — (O would I had no tongue to tell the rest; by this drink, it grieves me so I am not able to repeat it !) " Now was my drunken lord ready to hang himself for the end of the full point, and over my neck he throws himself very lubberly, and entreated me, as I was a proper young gentleman and ever looked for pleasure at his hands, soon to rid him out of this hell of suspense, and resolve him of the rest: then fell he on his knees, wrung his hands, and I think on my conscience, wept out all the cider that he had drunk in a week before: to move me to have pity on him, he rose and put his rusty ring on my finger, gave THOMAS NASHE mc his greasy purse with that single money that was in it, promised to make me his heir, and a thousand more favours, if I would expire the misery of his unspeakable tormenting un- certainty. I, being by nature inclined to Mercie (for indeed I knew two or three good wenches of that name), bade him harden his ears, and not make his eyes abortive before their time, and he should have the inside of my breast turned outward, hear such a tale as would tempt the utmost strength of life to attend it and not die in the midst of it. " Why (quoth I) myself that am but a poor childish well-wilier of yours, with the very thought that a man of your desert and state by a number of peasants and varlets should be so injuriously abused in hugger mugger, have wept. The wheel under our city bridge carries not so much water over the city, as my brain hath welled forth gushing streams of sorrow. My eyes have been drunk, outrageously drunk, with giving but ordinary intercourse through their sea- circled islands to my distilling dreariment. What shall I say? that which malice hath said is the mere overthrow and murder of your days. Change not your colour, none can slander a clear conscience to itself; receive all your fraught of misfortune in at once. "It is buzzed in the King's head that you are a secret friend to the enemy, and under pre- tence of getting a license to furnish the camp with cider and such like provant, you have furnished the enemy, and in empty barrels sent letters of discovery and corn innumerable." I might well have left here, for by this time his white liver had mixed itself with the white of his eye, and both were turned upwards, as if they had offered themselves a fair white for death to shoot at. The truth was, I was very loth mine host and I should part with dry lips: wherefore the best means that I could imagine to wake him out of his trance, was to cry loud in his ear, "Ho, host, what's to pay? will no man look to the reckoning here?" And in plain verity it took expected effect, for with the noise he started and bustled, like a man that had been scared with fire out of his sleep, and ran hastily to his tapster, and all to be- laboured him about the ears, for letting gentle- men call so long and not look in to them. Presently he remembered himself, and had like to fall into his memento again, but that I met him half ways and asked his lordship what he meant to slip his neck out of the collar so sud- denly, and, being revived, strike his tapster so hastily. "Oh (quoth he), I am bought and sold for doing my country such good service as I have done. They are afraid of me, because my good deeds have brought me into such esti- mation with the commonalty. I see, I see, it is not for the lamb to live with the wolf." "The world is well amended (thought I) with your cidership; such another forty years' nap together as Epimenides had, would make you a perfect wise man." "Answer me (quoth he), my wise young Wilton, is it true that I am thus underhand dead and buried by these bad tongues?" "Nay (quoth I), you shall pardon me, for I have spoken too much already ; no definitive sentence of death shall march out of my well- meaning lips; they have but lately sucked milk, and shall they so suddenly change their food and seek after blood?" "Oh, but (quoth he) a man's friend is his friend; fill the other pint, tapster: what said the King? did he believe it when he heard it? I pray thee say; I swear by my nobility, none in the world shall ever be made privy that I received any light of this matter by thee." "That firm affiance (quoth I) had I in you be- fore, or else I would never have gone so far over the shoes, to pluck you out of the mire. Not to make many words, (since you will needs know,) the King says flatly, you are a miser and a snudge, and he never hoped better of you." "Nay, then (quoth he) questionless some planet that loves not cider hath conspired against me." "Moreover, which is worse, the King hath vowed to give Terouenne one hot breakfast only with the bungs that he will pluck out of your barrels. I cannot stay at this time to report each circumstance that passed, but the only counsel that my long cherished kind inclination can possibly con- trive, is now in your old days to be liberal : such victuals or provision as you have, presently distribute it frankly amongst poor soldiers; I would let them burst their bellies with cider and bathe in it, before I would run into my prince's ill opinion for a whole sea of it. If greedy hunters and hungry tale-tellers pursue you, it is for a little pelf that you have ; cast it behind you, neglect it, let them have it, lest it breed a farther inconvenience. Credit my advice, you shall find it prophetical: and thus have I discharged the part of a poor friend." With some few like phrases of ceremony, " Your I lonour's poor suppliant," and so forth, and "Farewell, my good youth, I thank thee and will remember thee," we parted. THOMAS DEKKER 89 But the next day I think we had a dole of cider, cider in bowls, in scuppets, in helmets; and to conclude, if a man would have filled his boots full, there he might have had it: provant thrust itself into poor soldiers' pockets whether they would or no. We made five peals of shot into the town together of nothing but spiggots and faucets of discarded empty barrels: every under-foot soldier had a distenanted tun, as Diogenes had his tub to sleep in. I myself got as many confiscated tapster's aprons as made me a tent as big as any ordinary commander's in the field. But in conclusion, my well- beloved baron of double beer got him humbly on his mary-bones to the king, and complained he was old and stricken in years, and had never an heir to cast at a dog, wherefore if it might please his Majesty to take his lands into his hands, and allow him some reasonable pension to live, he should be marvellously well pleased : as for wars, he was weary of them ; yet as long as his Highness ventured his own person, he would not flinch a foot, but make his withered body a buckler to bear off any blow advanced against him. The King, marvelling at this alteration of his cider merchant (for so he often pleasantly termed him), with a little farther talk bolted out the whole complotment. Then was I pitifully whipped for my holiday lie, though they made themselves merry with it many a winter's evening after. THOMAS DEKKER (is7o?-i6 4 i ?) THE GULL'S HORNBOOK CHAPTER VI How a Gallant should behave himself in a Play-House The theatre is your poets' royal exchange, upon which their muses (that are now turned to merchants) meeting, barter away that light commodity of words for a lighter ware than words, plauditie?, and the breath of the great beast; which (like the threatenings of two cowards) vanish all into air. Players and their factors, who put away the stuff, and make the best of it they possibly can (as indeed 'tis their parts so to do), your gallant, your courtier, and your captain, had wont to be the soundest paymasters; and I think are still the surest chapmen ; and these, by means that their heads are well stocked, deal upon this comical freight by the gross: when your groundling, and gal- lery-commoner buys his sport by the penny, and, like a haggler, is glad to utter it again by retailing. Since then the place is so free in entertain- ment, allowing a stool as well to the farmer's son as to your templer: 1 that your stinkard has the selfsame liberty to be there in his to- bacco fumes, which your sweet courtier hath : and that your carman and tinker claim as strong a voice in their suffrage, and sit to give judgment on the play's life and death, as well as the proudest momus among the tribes of critic: it is fit that he, whom the most tailors' bills do make room for, when he comes, should not be basely (like a viol) cased up in a corner. Whether therefore the gatherers 2 of the pub- lic or private playhouse stand to receive the afternoon's rent, let our gallant (having paid it) presently advance himself up to the throne of the stage. I mean not into the lord's room (which is now but the stage's suburbs) : no, those boxes, by the iniquity of custom, con- spiracy of waiting women and gentlemen ush- ers, that there sweat together, and the covetous- ness of sharers, are contemptibly thrust into the rear, and much new satin is there damned, by being smothered to death in darkness. But on the very rushes where the comedy is to dance, yea, and under the state 3 of Cambises himself must our feathered estridge, 4 like a piece of ordnance, be planted, valiantly (because im- pudently) beating down the mewes and hisses of the opposed rascality. For do but cast up a reckoning, what large comings-in are pursed up by sitting on the stage. First a conspicuous eminence is got; by which means, the best and most essential parts of a gallant (good clothes, a proportion- able leg, white hand, the Persian lock, and a tolerable beard) are perfectly revealed. By sitting on the stage, you have a signed patent to engross the whole commodity of cen- sure; may lawfully presume to be a girder; and stand at the helm to steer the passage of scenes; yet no man shall once offer to hinder you from obtaining the title of an insolent, overweening coxcomb. By sitting on the stage, you may (without travelling for it) at the very next door ask whose play it is: and, by that quest of inquiry, the law warrants you to avoid much mistaking: if you know not the author, you may rail against him: and peradventure so behave yourself, that you may enforce the author to know you. 1 a resident of one of the inns of court keepers 3 canopy 4 ostrich '■ door- 9° THOMAS DEKKER By sitting on the stage, if you be a knight, you in. iv happil) ' gel you a mistress: if a mere Fleet-street gentleman, a wife; bul assure yourself, by continual residence, you are the in .1 and principal man in election to begin the niiinU-i ui We Three By spreading your body on the Btage, and by being a justice in examining i>i plays, you shall put yourself into such true scenical au thority, thai some poel shall nol dare to presenl his muse rudely upon youi eyes, withoul hav in;', first unmasked her, rifled her, and dis covered all her bare and most mystical parts before you at a tavei a, when you most knightlj shall, for his pains, pay lor l>oth their sup pcrs. By sitting on the stage, you may (with small cost) purchase the dear acquaintance of the boys have a )\ooA stool for sixpence! at any time know what particular part any of the in fants present: get your match lighted, examine the play suits' Luc, and perhaps win wagers upon laying 'tis copper, etc. And to conclude, whether you be a fool or a justice of peace, a cuckold, or a captain, a lord mayor's son, or a dawcock, a knave, or an under-sheriff; of what stamp soevei you be, current, or counter leit, the stage, like time, will bring you to most pel fe< I light anil lay yOU Open : neither are you to be hunted from thence, though the scare i rows in the yard hool at you, hiss at you, spil at \ow, yea, throw constable THE GULL'S HORNBOOK 9i ticket: marry, when silver comes iii, remember to pay treble their fare, and it will make your flounder catchers to send more thanks after JTOU, when yon do not draw, than when you do; lor they know, it will he their own another day. Before the play begins, fall to cards: you may win or lose (as fencers do in a prize) and lieal one another by confederacy, yet share the money when you meet at supper: notwith- standing, to guU the ragamuffins that stand aloof gaping at you, throw the cards (having first lorn four or live of them) round about the Stage, just upon the third sound,' as though you had lost: it skills not if the four knaves lie on their hacks, and outface the audience; there's none such fools as dare lake exceptions at them, because, ere the play go off, heller knaves than they will fall into the company. Now, sir, if llie writer he a fellow thai halh cither epigrammed you, or hath had a flirt at your mistress, or halh broughl either your feather, or your red heard, or your little legs, etc., on the Stage, you shall disgrace him worse than by tossing him in a blanket, or giving him the bastinado in a tavern, if, in the middle of his play (he il pastoral or comedy, moral or tragedy), you rise with a screwed and dis contented face from your stool to he gone: no mailer whether the scenes he good or no; llie better they are the worse do you distaste them: and, being on your feel, sneak nol awav like a. coward, but saluie all your gentle acquaintance, thai are spread either on the rushes, or on stools ahoiil you, and draw what troop you can from the stage after you: the mimics are he holden to you, lor allowing them elbow room: their poel cries, perhaps, "a po\ j^o with you," hui (are not for thai, there's no music without frets. Marry, if either llie company, or indisposi- tion of the weather hind you to sit it out, my Counsel IS then that you turn plain ape, lake up a rush, and tickle the earnest earn oJ your fellow gallants, to make other fools fall a laugh- ing: mew at passionate speeches, blare al merry, find fault wilh the music, whew at the children's aclion, whistle al llie SOngS: and above all, curse the sharers, that yvhereas llie same day V011 had bestowed forty shillings on an embroidered fell and feather (Scotch fashion) lor your mistress in the court, or your punk in the city, within two hours after, you encounter with the very same block'- on the Stage, when the haberdasher swore to you the impression was extant but thai morning. To conclude, hoard up the finest play scraps you can get, upon which your lean wil may most savourly ivrt\, for waul of oilier stuff, when the Arcadian and Kuphtiised <>enl lewomen have their tongues sharpened to set upon you: that quality (nexl to your shuttlecock) is the only furniture to a courtier that's but a new beginner, and is but in his A B (' of compliment. 'The nexl places thai are filled, after the playhouses be emptied, are (or OUghl to be) taverns: into a tavern then let us nexl march, where the brains of one hogshead must lie beaten out to make up another. CHAPTER VII How a Gallant should behave bimsels' in a Tavern Whosoever desires to be a man of good reck oiling in the city, and (like your French lord) to have as many tables furnished as lackeys (who, when they keep least, keep none), whether he be a young qual ' of the fust year's revenue, or some auslere and sullen In id Steward, who (in despite of a great beard, a. satin suit, and a, chain of gold Wrapped in