When the right vertuous E.W.{1} and I were at the
Emperours Court togither, wee gave our selves to learne horsemanship of
Jon Pietro Pugliano, one that with great commendation had the place of an
Esquire in his stable: and hee according to the fertilnes of the Italian
wit, did not onely affoord us the demonstration of his practise, but
sought to enrich our mindes with the contemplations therein, which he
thought most precious. But with none I remember mine eares were at any
time more loaden, then when (either angred with slow paiment, or mooved
with our learnerlike admiration) hee exercised his speech in the praise of
his facultie. He said souldiers were the noblest estate of mankind, and
horsemen the noblest of souldiers. He said they were the maisters of
warre, and ornaments of peace, speedie goers, and strong abiders,
triumphers both in Camps and Courts: nay to so unbleeved a point he
proceeded, as that no earthly thing bred such wonder to a Prince, as to be
a good horseman. Skill of government was but a Pedenteria{2} in
comparison,
then would he adde certaine praises by
telling us what a peerless beast the horse was, the one serviceable
Courtier without flattery, the beast of most bewtie, faithfulnesse,
courage, and such more, that if I had not beene a peece of a Logician
before I came to him, I thinke he would have perswaded me to have wished
myselfe a horse. But thus much at least, with his no few words he drave
into me, that selflove is better than any guilding, to make that seem
gorgious wherein ourselves be parties. Wherein if Pulianos strong
affection and weake arguments will not satisfie you, I will give you a
nearer example of my selfe, who I know not by what mischance in these my
not old yeares and idlest times, having slipt into the title of a Poet, am
provoked to say something unto you in the defence of that my unelected
vocation, which if I handle with more good will, then good reasons, beare
with me, since the scholler is to be pardoned that followeth in the steps
of his maister. And yet I must say, that as I have more just cause to
make a pittifull defence of poor Poetrie, which from almost the highest
estimation of learning, is falne to be the laughing stocke of children, so
have I need to bring some more available proofes, since the former is by
no man bard of his deserved credit, the silly lat[t]er, hath had even the
names of Philosophers used to the defacing of it, with great daunger of
civill warre among the Muses. And first truly to all them that professing
learning envey against Poetrie, may justly be objected, that they go very
neare to ungratefulnesse, to seeke to deface that which in the noblest
nations and languages that are knowne,
hath bene the first light giver to
ignorance, and first nurse whose milk litle & litle enabled them to
feed afterwardes of tougher knowledges. And will you play the
Hedge-hogge, that being received into the den, drave out his host? Or
rather the Vipers, that with their birth kill their parents? Let learned
Greece in any of his manifold Sciences, be able to shew me one booke
before Musaeus
{3}, Homer, & Hesiod, all three
nothing else but Poets. Nay let any Historie bee brought, that can say any
writers were there before them, if they were not men of the same skill, as
Orpheus, Linus, and some other are named, who having bene the first of
that country that made pennes deliverers of their knowledge to the
posteritie, nay, justly challenge to bee called their Fathers in learning.
For not onely in time they had this prioritie, (although in it selfe
antiquitie be venerable)
{4} but went before them, as
causes to draw with their charming sweetnesse the wild untamed wits to an
admiration of knowledge. So as Amphion
{5}, was said
to moove stones with his Poetry, to build Thebes, and Orpheus to be
listened to by beasts, indeed stonie and beastly people. So among the
Romans, were Livius, Andronicus, and Ennius, so in the Italian language,
the first that made it aspire to be a treasure-house of Science, were the
Poets Dante, Bocace, and Petrach. So in our English, wer Gower, and
Chawcer, after whom, encoraged & delighted with their excellent
foregoing, others have folowed to bewtify our mother toong, aswel in the
same kind as other arts. This did so notably shew itself, that the
Philosphers of Greece durst not a long time apear to the world, but under
the mask of poets.
So Thales, Empedocles, and Parmenides, sang their
naturall Philosophie in verses. So did Pithagoras and Phocillides, their
morall Councels. So did Tirteus in warre matters, and Solon in matters of
pollicie, or rather they being Poets
{6}, did exercise
their delightfull vaine in those points of highest knowledge, which before
them laie hidden to the world. For, that wise Solon was directly a Poet,
it is manifest, having written in verse the notable Fable of the Atlantick
Iland, which was continued by Plato. And truly even Plato who so ever well
considereth, shall finde that in the body of his worke though the inside
& strength were Philosophie, the skin as it were and beautie, depended
most of Poetrie. For all stands upon Dialogues, wherein hee faines many
honest Burgesses of Athens speak of such matters, that if they had bene
set on the Racke, they would never have confessed them: besides his
Poeticall describing the circumstances of their meetings, as the well
ordering of a banquet
{7}, the delicacie of a
walke
{8}, with enterlacing meere Tales, as Gyges Ring
{9}
and others, which, who knows not to bee flowers of
Poetrie, did never walke into Appollos Garden. And even Historiographers,
although their lippes sound of things done, and veritie be written in
their foreheads, have bene glad to borrow both fashion and perchance
weight of the Poets. So Herodotus entitled his Historie, by the name of
the nine Muses, and both he and all the rest that followed him, either
stale
{10}, or usurped of Poetrie, their passionate
describing of passions, the many particularities of battels which no man
could affirme, or if that be denied me, long Orations put
in the mouths of
great Kings and Captains, which it is certaine they never pronuonced. So
that truly Philosopher, nor Historiographer, could at the first have
entered into the gates of popular judgements, if they had not taken a
great pasport of Poetrie, which in all nations at this day where learning
flourisheth not, is plaine to be seene: in all which, they have some
feeling of Poetry. In Turkey, besides their lawgiving devines, they have
no other writers but Poets. In our neighbor Countrey Ireland, where truly
learning goes verie bare, yet are their Poets held in a devout reverence.
Even among the most barbarous and simple Indians, where no writing is, yet
they have their Poets who make & sing songs which they call
Arentos
{11}, both of their Auncestors deeds, and
praises of
their Gods. A sufficient probability, that if ever learning come among
them, it must be by having their hard dull wittes softened and sharpened
with the sweete delights of Poetrie, for untill they finde a pleasure in
the exercise of the minde, great promises of much knowledge, wil little
persuade them that know not the frutes of knowledge. In VVales, the true
remnant of the auncient Brittons, as there are good authorities to shew,
the long time they had Poets which they called Bardes: so thorow all the
conquests of Romans, Saxons, Danes, and Normans, some of whom, did seeke
to ruine all memory of learning from among them, yet do their Poets even
to this day last: so as it is not more notable in the soone beginning,
then in long continuing. But since the Authors of most of our Sciences,
were the Romanes, and before them the Greekes, let us
a little stand upon
their authorities, but even so farre as to see what names they have given
unto this now scorned skill. Among the Romanes a Poet was called Vates,
which is as much as a diviner, foreseer, or Prophet, as by his conjoyned
words Vaticinium, and Vaticinari
{12}, is manifest,
so heavenly a title did that excellent people bestowe uppon this hart-ravishing knowledge, and so farre were they carried into the admiration
thereof, that they thought in the chanceable hitting uppon any of such
verses, great foretokens of their following fortunes, were placed.
Whereupon grew the word of Sortes Vergilianae, when by suddaine opening
Virgils Booke, they lighted uppon some verse of his, as it is reported by
many, whereof the Histories of the Emperours lives are full. As of Albinus
the Governour of our Iland, who in his childhood met with this verse Arma
amens capio, nec sat rationis in armis
{13}: and in
his age performed it, although it were a verie vaine and godlesse
superstition, as also it was, to think spirits were commaunded by such
verses, whereupon this word Charmes derived of Carmina, commeth: so yet
serveth it to shew the great reverence those wittes were held in, and
altogither not without ground, since both by the Oracles of Delphos and
Sybillas prophesies, were wholly delivered in verses, for that same
exquisite observing of number and measure in the words, and that high
flying libertie of conceit propper to the Poet, did seeme to have some
divine force in it. And may not I presume a little farther, to shewe the
reasonablenesse of this word Vatis, and say that the
holy Davids Psalms
are a divine Poeme? If I do, I shal not do it without the testimony of
great learned men both auncient and moderne. But even the name of Psalmes
wil speak for me, which being interpreted, is nothing but Songs: then that
it is fully written in meeter as all learned Hebritians
{14} agree, although the rules be not yet fully found. Lastly
and principally, his handling his prophecie, which is meerly Poeticall.
For what else is the awaking his musical Instruments, the often and free
chaunging of persons, his notable Prosopopeias
{15},
when he maketh you as it were see God comming in his maijestie, his
telling of the beasts joyfulnesse, and hils leaping, but a heavenly
poesie, wherein almost he sheweth himselfe a passionate lover of that
unspeakable and everlasting bewtie, to be seene by the eyes of the mind,
onely cleared by faith? But truly now having named him, I feare I seeme to
prophane that holy name, applying it to Poetry, which is among us throwne
downe to so ridiculous an estimation. But they that with quiet Judgements
wil looke a little deeper into it, shal find the end & working of it
such, as being rightly applied, deserveth not to be scourged out of the
Church of God. But now let us see how the Greekes have named it, and how
they have deemed of it. The Greekes named him poieten
{16}, which name, hath as the most excellent, gone through
other languages, it commeth of this word poiein which is to make: wherein
I know not whether by luck or wisedome, we Englishmen have met with the
Greekes in calling him a Maker. Which name, how high and incomparable a
title it is, I had rather were knowne by marking the scope
of other
sciences, then by any partial allegation. There
is no Art
{17} delivered unto mankind that hath
not the workes of nature for his principall object, without which they
could not consist, and on which they so depend, as they become Actors
& Plaiers, as it were of what nature will have set forth. So doth the
Astronomer looke upon the starres, and by that he seeth set downe what
order nature hath taken therein. So doth the Geometritian &
Arithmetitian, in their divers sorts of quantities. So doth the Musitians
intimes tel you, which by nature agree, which not. The natural Philosopher
thereon hath his name, and the morall Philosopher standeth uppon the
naturall vertues, vices, or passions of man: and follow nature saith he
therein, and thou shalt not erre. The Lawier saith, what men have
determined. The Historian, what men have done. The Gramarian, speaketh
onely of the rules of speech, and the Rhetoritian and Logitian,
considering what in nature wil soonest proove, and perswade thereon, give
artificiall rules, which still are compassed within the circle of a
question, according to the proposed matter. The Phisitian wayeth the
nature of mans bodie, & the nature of things helpfull, or hurtfull
unto it. And the Metaphisicke though it be in the second & abstract
Notions, and therefore be counted supernaturall, yet doth hee indeed build
upon the depth of nature. Only the Poet disdeining to be tied to any such
subjection, lifted up with the vigor of his own invention, doth grow in
effect into another nature: in making things either better then nature
bringeth foorth, or quite a new, formes such as never were in nature: as
the Heroes,
Demigods, Cyclops, Chymeras, Furies, and such like; so as
he
goeth hand in hand with nature, not enclosed within the narrow warrant of
her gifts, but freely raunging within the Zodiack of his owne wit. Nature
never set foorth the earth in so rich Tapistry as diverse Poets have done,
neither with so pleasaunt rivers, fruitfull trees, sweete smelling
flowers, nor whatsoever els may make the too much loved earth more lovely:
her world is brasen, the Poets only deliver a golden. But let those things
alone and goe to man, for whom as the other things are, so it seemeth in
him her uttermost comming is imploied: & know whether she have brought
foorth so true a lover as Theagenes
{18}, so constant
a friend as Pylades
{19}, so valiant a man as
Orlando
{20}, so right a Prince as Xenophons
Cyrus
{21}, so excellent a man every way as Virgils
Aeneas
{22}. Neither let this be jestingly conceived, bicause
the works of the one be essenciall, the other in imitation or fiction: for
everie understanding, knoweth the skill of ech Artificer standeth in that
Idea, or fore conceit of the worke, and not in the worke it selfe. And
that the Poet hath that Idea, is manifest, by delivering them foorth in
such excellencie as he had imagined them: which delivering foorth, also is
not wholly imaginative, as we are wont to say by them that build Castles
in the aire: but so farre substancially it worketh, not onely to make a Cyrus, which had bene but a
particular excellency as nature might have done, but to bestow a Cyrus
upon the world to make many Cyrusses, if they will learne aright, why and
how that maker made him. Neither let it be deemed too sawcy a comparison,
to ballance the highest point of
mans wit, with the efficacie of nature:
but rather give right honor to the heavenly maker of that maker, who
having made man to his owne likenes, set him beyond and over all the
workes of that second nature, which in nothing he sheweth so much as in
Poetry; when with the force of a divine breath, he bringeth things foorth
surpassing her doings: with no small arguments to the incredulous of that
first accursed fall of Adam, since our erected wit maketh us know what
perfection is, and yet our infected wil keepeth us from reaching unto
it
{23}. But these arguments will by few be understood,
and by fewer graunted: thus much I hope will be given me, that the Greeks
with some probability of reason, gave him the name above all names of
learning. Now let us go to a more ordinary opening of him, that the truth
may be the more palpable: and so I hope though we get not so unmatched a
praise as the Etimologie of his names will graunt, yet his verie
description which no man will denie, shall not justly be barred from a
principall commendation. Poesie therefore, is an Art of Imitation: for so
Aristotle termeth it in the word mimesis
{24}, that
is to say, a representing, counterfeiting, or figuring forth to speake
Metaphorically. A speaking Picture, with this end to teach and
delight
{25}. Of this have bene three generall kindes, the
chiefe both in antiquitie and excellencie, were they that did imitate the
unconceivable excellencies of God. Such were David in his Psalmes, Salomon
in his song of songs, in his Ecclesiastes and Proverbes. Moses and Debora,
in their Hymnes, and the wryter of Jobe: Which beside other, the learned
Emanuell,
Tremelius, and F. Junius
{26},
doo entitle
the Poeticall part of the scripture: against these none will speake that
hath the holie Ghost in due holie reverence. In this kinde, though in a
full wrong divinitie, were Orpheus, Amphion, Homer in his himnes, and
manie other both Greeke and Romanes. And this Poesie must be used by
whosoever will follow S. Paules
{27} counsaile, in
singing Psalmes when they are mery, and I knowe is used with the frute of
comfort by some, when in sorrowfull panges of their death bringing sinnes,
they finde the consolation of the never leaving goodnes. The second kinde,
is of them that deale with matters Philosophicall, either morall as
Tirteus, Phocilides, Cato; or naturall, as Lucretius, and Virgils
Georgikes; or Astronomicall as Manilius and Pontanus; or Historicall as
Lucan
{28}: which who mislike the fault, is in their
judgement quite out of tast, & not in the sweet food of sweetly
uttered knowledge. But bicause this second sort is wrapped within the fold
of the proposed subject, and takes not the free course of his own
invention, whether they properly bee Poets or no, let Gramarians dispute,
and goe to the third indeed right Poets, of whom chiefly this question
ariseth: betwixt whom and these second, is such a kinde of difference, as
betwixt the meaner sort of Painters, who counterfeyt onely such faces as
are set before them, and the more excelent, who having no law but wit,
bestow that in colours upon you, which is fittest for the eye to see, as
the constant, though lamenting looke of Lucretia, when she punished in her
selfe another faulte: wherein hee painteth not
Lucretia whom he never
saw,
but painteth the outward bewty of such a vertue. For these third be they
which most properly do imitate to teach & delight: and to imitate,
borrow nothing of what is, hath bin, or shall be, but range onely reined
with learned discretion, into the divine consideration of what may be and
should be. These be they that as the first and most noble sort, may justly
be termed Vates: so these are waited on in the excellentest languages and
best understandings, with the fore described name of Poets. For these
indeed do meerly make to imitate, and imitate both to delight & teach,
and delight to move men to take that goodnesse in hand, which without
delight they would flie as from a stranger; and teach to make them know
that goodnesse whereunto they are moved: which being the noblest scope to
which ever any learning was directed, yet want there not idle tongues to
bark at them. These be subdivided into sundry more special denominations.
The most notable be the Heroick, Lyrick, Tragick, Comick, Satyrick,
Iambick, Elegiack, Pastorall, and certaine others: some of these being
tearmed according to the matter they deale with, some by the sort of verse
they liked best to write in, for indeed the greatest part of Poets, have
apparelled their poeticall inventions, in that numbrous kind of writing
which is called vers. Indeed but apparelled verse: being but an ornament
and no cause to Poetrie, since there have bene many most excellent Poets
that never versified, and now swarme many versifiers that need never
answere to the name of Poets. For Xenophon who did imitate so excellently
as to give us effigiem justi imperii, the
pourtraiture of a just Empyre
under the name of Cyrus, as Cicero saith of him, made therein an absolute
heroicall Poeme. So did Heliodorus, in his sugred invention of that
picture of love in Theagenes & Chariclea
{29},
and yet both these wrote in prose, which I speake to shew, that it is not
ryming and versing that maketh a Poet, (no more than a long gown maketh an
Advocate, who though he pleaded in Armour, should be an Advocat and no
souldier) but it is that faining notable images of vertues, vices, or what
els, with that delightfull teaching, which must be the right describing
note to know a Poet by. Although indeed the Senate of Poets hath chosen
verse as their fittest raiment: meaning as in matter, they passed all in
all, so in manner, to go beyond them: not speaking table talke fashion, or
like men in a dreame, words as they chanceably fall from the mouth, but
peasing each sillable of eache word by just proportion, according to the
dignitie of the suject. Now therfore it shal not be amisse, first to way
this latter sort of poetrie by his workes, and then by his parts, and if
in neither of these Anatomies hee be condemnable, I hope we shall obteine
a more favourable sentence. This purifying of wit, this enriching of
memorie, enabling of judgement, and enlarging of conceit, which commonly
we cal learning, under what name so ever it come forth, or to what
immediate end soever it be directed, the finall end is, to lead and draw
us to as high a perfection, as our degenerate soules made worse by their
clay-lodgings, can be capable of. This according to the inclination of
man, bred many formed impressions. For some that thought
this felicity
principally to be gotten by knowledge, and no knowledge to be so high or
heavenly, as acquaintance with the stars; gave themselves to Astronomie:
others perswading themselves to be Demygods, if they knew the causes of
things, became naturall and supernaturall Philosophers. Some an admirable
delight drew to Musicke; and some the certaintie of demonstration to the
Mathematicks: but all one and other having scope to know, & by
knowledge to lift up the minde from the dungeon of the bodie, to the
enjoying his owne divine essence. But when by the ballance of experience
it was found that the Astronomer looking to the stars might fall in a
ditch, that the inquiring Philosopher might be blind in him self, &
the Mathematician, might draw forth a straight line with a crooked hart.
Then lo did proofe, the overruler of opinions make manifest, that all
these are but serving sciences; which as they have [each] a private end in
themselves, so yet are they all directed to the highest end of the
mistresse knowledge by the Greeks [called] architectonike
{30}, which stands as I thinke, in the knowledge of a mans
selfe, in the Ethike and Politique consideration, with the end of well
doing, and not of well knowing onely. Even as the Sadlers next ende is to
make a good Saddle, but his further ende, to serve a nobler facultie,
which is horsmanship, so the horsemans to souldiery: and the souldier not
only to have the skill, but to performe the practise of a souldier. So
that the ending end of all earthly learning, being verteous action, those
skils that most serve to bring forth that, have a most just title to be
Princes over al the rest: wherein if we can shew, the Poet is worthy
to
have it before any other competitors: among whom principally to challenge
it, step forth the moral Philosophers, whom me thinkes I see comming
towards me, with a sullen gravitie, as though they could not abide vice by
day-light, rudely cloathed for to witness outwardly their contempt of
outward things, with books in their hands against glorie, whereto they set
their names: sophistically speaking against subtiltie, and angry with any
man in whom they see the foule fault of anger. These men casting larges as
they go of definitions, divitions and distinctions, with a scornful
interrogative, do soberly aske, whether it be possible to find any path so
ready to lead a man to vertue, as that which teacheth what vertue is,
& teacheth it not only by delivering forth his very being, his causes
and effects, but also by making knowne his enemie vice, which must be
destroyed, and his cumbersome servant passion, which must be mastred: by
shewing the generalities that contains it, and the specialties that are
derived from it. Lastly by plaine setting downe, how it extends it selfe
out of the limits of a mans owne little world, to the government of
families, and mainteining of publike societies. The Historian scarcely
gives leisure to the Moralist to say so much, but that he loaden with old
Mouse-eaten Records, authorising himselfe for the most part upon other
Histories, whose greatest authorities are built uppon the notable
foundation Heresay, having much ado to accord differing writers, & to
pick truth out of partiality: better acquainted with a 1000. yeres ago,
then with the present age, and yet better knowing how this world goes,
then
how his owne wit runnes, curious for Antiquities, and inquisitive of
Novelties, a wonder to yoong folkes, and a Tyrant in table talke; denieth
in a great chafe, that any man for teaching of vertue, and vertues
actions, is comparable to him. I am Testis temporum, lux veritatis, vita
memoriae, magistra vitae, nuncia vetustatis
{31}. The
Philosopher saith he, teacheth a disputative vertue, but I do an active.
His vertue is excellent in the dangerlesse Academy of Plato: but mine
sheweth forth her honourable face in the battailes of Marathon, Pharsalia,
Poietiers, and Agincourt. Hee teacheth vertue by certaine abstract
considerations: but I onely follow the footing of them that have gone
before you. Old aged experience, goeth beyond the fine witted Philosopher:
but I give the experience of many ages. Lastly, if he make the song Booke,
I put the learners hand to the Lute, and if he be the guide, I am the
light. Then he would alleage you innumerable examples, confirming storie
by stories, how much the wisest Senators and Princes, have bene directed
by the credit of Historie, as Brutus, Alphonsus of Aragon, (and who not if
need be.) At length, the long line of their disputation makes a point in
this, that the one giveth the precept, & the other the example. Now
whom shall we find, since the question standeth for the highest forme in
the schoole of learning to be moderator? Truly as mee seemeth, the Poet,
and if not a moderator, even the man that ought to carry the title from
them both: & much more from all the other serving sciences. Therfore
compare we the Poet with the Historian, & with the morall Philosopher:
and if hee goe beyond them
both, no other humaine skill can match him.
For as for the divine, with all reverence it is ever to be excepted, not
onely for having his scope as far beyond any of these, as Eternitie
exceedeth a moment: but even for passing ech of these in themselves. And
for the Lawier, though Jus be the daughter of Justice, the chiefe of
vertues, yet because he seeks to make men good, rather formidine
poenae
{32}, then virtutis amore
{33}: or
to say righter, doth not endevor to make men good, but that their evill
hurt not others, having no care so he be a good citizen, how bad a man he
might be. Therefore, as our wickednes maketh him necessarie, and
necessitie maketh him honorable, so he is not in the deepest truth to
stand in ranck with these, who al endevour to take naughtinesse away, and
plant goodnesse even in the secretest cabinet of our soules: and these
foure are all that any way deale in the consideration of mens manners,
which being the supreme knowledge, they that best breed it, deserve the
best commendation. The Philosopher therefore, and the Historian, are they
which would win the goale, the one by precept, the other by example: but
both, not having both, doo both halt. For the Philosopher setting downe
with thornie arguments, the bare rule, is so hard of utterance, and so
mistie to be conceived, that one that hath no other guide but him, shall
wade in him till he be old, before he shall finde suffiecient cause to be
honest. For his knowledge standeth so upon the abstract and generall, that
happie is that man who may understand him, and more happie, that can apply
what he doth understand. On the other side, the Historian wanting the
precept, is so
tied, not to what should be, but to what is, to the
particular truth of things, that his example draweth no necessary
consequence, and therefore a lesse fruitfull doctrine. Now doth the peerlesse Poet performe both, for
whatsoever the
Philosopher saith should be done, he gives a perfect picture of it by some
one, by whom he presupposeth it was done, so as he coupleth the generall
notion with the particuler example. A perfect picture I say, for hee
yeeldeth to the powers of the minde an image of that whereof the
Philosopher bestoweth but a wordish description, which doth neither
strike, pearce, nor possesse, the sight of the soule so much, as that
other doth. For as in outward things to a man that had never seene an
Elephant, or a Rinoceros, who should tell him most exquisitely all their
shape, cullour, bignesse, and particuler marks, or of a gorgious pallace
an Architecture, who declaring the full bewties, might well make the
hearer able to repeat as it were by roat all he had heard, yet should
never satisfie his inward conceit, with being witnesse to it selfe of a
true lively knowledge: but the same man, assoon as he might see those
beasts wel painted, or that house wel in modell, shuld straightwaies grow
without need of any description to a judicial comprehending of them, so no
doubt the Philosopher with his learned definitions, be it of vertues or
vices, matters of publike policy or privat government, replenisheth the
memory with many infallible grounds of wisdom, which notwithstanding lie
darke before the imaginative and judging power, if they be not illuminated
or figured forth by the speaking
picture of Poesie. Tully taketh much
paines, and many times not without Poeticall helpes to make us know the
force, love of our country hath in us. Let us but hear old Anchices
{34},
speaking in the middest of Troies flames, or see
Ulisses in the fulnesse of all Calipsoes delightes, bewaile his absence
from barraine and beggarly Itheca
{35}. Anger the
Stoickes said, was a short madnesse
{36}: let but
Sophocles bring you Ajax on a stage, killing or whipping sheepe and oxen,
thinking them the Army of Greekes, with their Chieftaines Agamemnon, and
Menelaus: and tell me if you have not a more familiar insight into Anger,
then finding in the schoolemen his Genus and Difference. See whether
wisdom and temperance in Ulisses and Diomedes, valure in Achilles,
friendship in Nisus and Eurialus
{37}, even to an
ignorant man carry not an apparant shining: and contrarily, the remorse of
conscience in Oedipus; the soone repenting pride in Agamemnon; the selfe
devouring crueltie in his father Atreus; the violence of ambition, in the
two Theban brothers; the sower sweetnesse of revenge in Medea; and to fall
lower, the Terentian Gnato
{38}, and our Chawcers
Pander
{39} so exprest, that we now use their names,
to signify their Trades: And finally, all vertues, vices, and passions, so
in their owne naturall states, laide to the view, that we seeme not to
heare of them, but clearly to see through them. But even in the most
excellent determination of goodnesse, what Philosophers counsaile can so
readely direct a Prince, as the feined Cirus in Xenophon, or a vertuous
man in all fortunes: as Aeneas in Virgill, or a whole Common-wealth, as
the Way
of Sir Thomas Moore's Eutopia. I say the Way, because where
Sir
Thomas Moore erred, it was the fault of the man and not of the Poet: for
that Way of patterning a Common-wealth, was most absolute though hee
perchaunce hath not so absolutely performed it. For the question is,
whether the fashioned Image of Poetrie, or the regular instruction of
Philosophie, hath the more force in teaching? Wherein if the Philosophers
have more rightly shewed themselves Philosophers then the Poets, have
attained to the high toppe of their profession (as in truth Mediocribus
esse poetis non Dii, non homines, non concessere columnae
{40},) it is (I say againe) not the fault of the Art, but that
by fewe men that Art can be accomplished. Certainly even our Saviour
Christ could as well have given the morall common places of
uncharitablenesse and humblenesse, as the divine narration of Dives and
Lazarus
{41}, or of disobedience and mercy, as the
heavenly discourse of the lost childe and the gracious Father
{42}, but that his through searching wisedom, knew the estate
of Dives burning in hell, and Lazarus in Abrahams bosome, would more
constantly, as it were, inhabit both the memorie and judgement. Truly for
my selfe (mee seemes) I see before mine eyes, the lost childs disdainful
prodigalitie, turned to envy a Swines dinner: which by the learned Divines
are thought not to be Historical acts, but instructing Parables. For
conclusion, I say the Philosopher teacheth, but he teacheth obscurely, so
as the learned onely can understand him, that is to say, he teacheth them
that are alreadie taught. But the Poet is the food for the tenderest
stomacks, the Poet
is indeed, the right populer Philosopher. Whereof
Esops
Tales give good proofe, whose prettie Allegories stealing under the
formall Tales of beastes, makes many more beastly than beasts: begin to
hear the sound of vertue from those dumbe speakers. But now it may be
alleadged, that if this imagining of matters be so fit for the
imagination, then must the Historian needs surpasse, who brings you images
of true matters, such as indeed were done, and not such as fantastically
or falsely may be suggested to have bin done. Truly Aristotle himselfe in
his discourse of Poesie
{43}, plainly determineth
this question, saying, that Poetrie is philosophoteron and spuodaioteron,
that is to say, it is more Philosophicall and more [studiously
serious]
{44} then History. His reason is, because Poesie
dealeth with katholou, that is to say, with the universall consideration,
and the Historie with kathekaston, the particular. Now saith he, the
universall wayes what is fit to be said or done, either in likelihood or
necessitie, which the Poesie considereth in his imposed names: and the
particular onely maketh whether Alcibiades did or suffered this or that.
Thus farre Aristotle. Which reason of his, as all his is most full of
reason. For indeed if the question were, whether it were better to have a
particular act truly or faithfully set downe, there is no doubt which is
to be chosen, no more than whether you had rather have Vespacians Picture
right as he was, or at the Painters pleasure nothing resembling. But if
the question be for your owne use and learning, whether it be better to
have it set downe as it should be, or as it was; then certainly is more
doctrinable, the fained Cyrus in Xenophon, then the true Cyrus in
Justin
{45}: and the
fained Aeneas in
Virgill, then the right
Aeneas in Dares Phrigius
{46}: as to a Ladie that
desired to fashion her countenance to the best grace: a Painter shuld more
benefite her to pourtrait a most sweete face, writing Canidia uppon it,
then to paint Canidia as shee was, who Horace sweareth was full ill
favoured
{47}. If the Poet do his part aright, he
will shew you in Tantalus Atreus
{48}, and such like,
nothing that is not to be shunned; in Cyrus, Aeneas, Ulisses, each thing
to be followed: where the Historian bound to tell things as things were,
cannot be liberall, without hee will be Poeticall of a perfect patterne,
but as Alexander or Scipio himselfe, shew things, some to be liked, some
to be misliked, and then how will you discerne what to follow, but by your
own discretion which you had without reading Q. Curtius
{49}. And whereas a man may say, though in universall
consideration of doctrine, the Poet prevaileth, yet that the Historie in
his saying such a thing was done, doth warrant a man more in that he shall
follow. The answere is manifest, that if he stand upon that was, as if he
should argue, because it rained yesterday, therefore it should raine to
day, then indeede hath it some advantage to a gross conceit. But if hee
knowe an example onely enformes a conjectured likelihood, and so goe by
reason, the Poet doth so farre exceed him, as hee is to frame his example
to that which is most reasonable, be it in warlike, politike, or private
matters, where the Historian in his bare, was, hath many times that which
we call fortune, to overrule the best wisedome. Manie times he must tell
events, whereof he can yield no
cause, or if he do, it must be poetically.
For that a fained example (for as for to moove, it is cleare, since the
fained may be tuned to the highest key of passion) let us take one example
wherein an Historian and a Poet did concurre. Herodotus and Justin doth
both testifie, that Zopirus, King Darius faithfull servant, seeing his
maister long resisted by the rebellious Babilonians, fained himselfe in
extreame disgrace of his King, for verifying of which, he caused his owne
nose and eares to be cut off, and so flying to the Babylonians was
received, and for his knowne valure so farre creadited, that hee did finde
meanes to deliver them over to Darius
{50}. Much like
matter doth Livy record of Tarquinius, and his sonne
{51}. Xenophon excellently faineth such another Strategeme,
performed by Abradates in Cyrus behalfe
{52}. Now
would I faine knowe, if occasion be presented unto you, to serve your
Prince by such an honest dissimulation, why you do not as well learne it
of Xenophons fiction, as of the others veritie: and truly so much the
better, as you shall save your nose by the bargaine. For Abradates did not
counterfeyt so farre. So then the best of the Historian is subject to the
Poet, for whatsoever action or faction, whatsoever counsaile, pollicie, or
warre, strategeme, the Historian is bound to recite, that may the Poet if
hee list with his imitation make his owne; bewtifying it both for further
teaching, and more delighting as it please him: having all from Dante his
heven to his hell, under the authority of his pen. Which if I be asked
what Poets have done so?
as I might well name some, so yet say I, and
say
again, I speake of the Art and not of the Artificer. Now to that which
commonly is attributed to the praise of Historie, in respect of the
notable learning, is got by marking the successe, as though therein a man
shuld see vertue exalted, & vice punished: truly that commendation is
peculiar to Poetrie, and farre off from Historie: for indeed Poetrie ever
sets vertue so out in her best cullours, making fortune her well-wayting
handmayd, that one must needs be enamoured of her. Well may you see
Ulisses in a storme and in other hard plights, but they are but exercises
of patience & magnanimitie, to make them shine the more in the neare
following prosperitie. And of the contrary part, if evill men come to the
stage, they ever goe out (as the Tragedie writer answered to one that
misliked the shew of such persons) so manicled as they litle animate
folkes to follow them. But the Historie being captived to the trueth of a
foolish world, is many times a terror from well-doing, and an
encouragement to unbrideled wickednes. For see we not valiant
Milciades
{53} rot in his fetters? The just
Phocion
{54} and the accomplished Socrates
{55},
put to death like Traytors? The cruell Severus
{56},
live prosperously? The excellent Severus
{57}
miserably murthered? Sylla and Marius dying in their beds
{58}? Pompey and Cicero slain then when they wold have thought
exile a happinesse
{59}? See we not vertous
Cato
{60} driven to kill himselfe, and Rebell Caesar so
advanced, that his name yet after 1600. yeares lasteth in the highest
honor? And marke but even Caesars owne words of the forenamed Sylla, (who
in that onely, did honestly
to put downe his dishonest Tyrannie) Litteras
nescivet
{61}: as if want of learning caused him to
doo well. He ment it not by Poetrie, which not content with earthly
plagues, deviseth new punishments in hell for Tyrants: nor yet by
Philosophy, which teacheth Occidentos esse
{62}, but
no doubt by skill in Historie, for that indeed can affoord you Cipselus,
Periander, Phalaris, Dionisius
{63}, and I know not
how many more of the same kennel, that speed well inough in their
abhominable injustice of usurpation. I conclude therefore that he
excelleth historie, not onely in furnishing the minde with knowledge, but
in setting it forward to that which deserves to be called and accounted
good: which setting forward and moving to well doing, indeed setteth the
Lawrell Crowne upon the Poets as victorious, not onely of the Historian,
but over the Philosopher, howsoever in teaching it may be questionable.
For suppose it be granted, that which I suppose with great reason may be
denied, that the Philosopher in respect of his methodical proceeding,
teach more perfectly then the poet, yet do I thinke, that no man is so
much philophilosophos
{64} as to compare the
philosopher in mooving with the Poet. And that mooving is of a higher
degree than teaching, it may by this appeare, that it is well nigh both
the cause and effect of teaching. For who will be taught, if he be not
mooved with desire to be taught? And what so much good doth that teaching
bring foorth, (I speake still of morall doctrine) as that it mooveth one
to do that which it doth teach. For as Aristotle saith, it is not gnosis
but praxis
{65} must be the frute: and how praxis can
be without being moved
to practice, it is no hard matter to consider.
The
Philosopher sheweth you the way, hee enformeth you of the particularities,
as well of the tediousnes of the way, as of the pleasaunt lodging you
shall have when your journey is ended, as of the many by turnings that may
divert you from your way. But this is to no man but to him that will reade
him, and reade him with attentive studious painfulnesse, which constant
desire, whosoever hath in him, hath alreadie past halfe the hardnesse of
the way: and therefore is beholding to the Philosopher, but for the other
halfe. Nay truly learned men have learnedly thought, that where once
reason hath so much over-mastered passion, as that the minde hath a free
desire to doo well, the inward light each minde hath in it selfe, is as
good as a Philosophers booke, since in Nature we know it is well, to doo
well, and what is well, and what is evill, although not in the wordes of
Art which Philosophers bestow uppon us: for out of naturall conceit the
Philosophers drew it; but to be moved to doo that which wee know, or to be
mooved with desire to know. Hoc opus, hic labor est
{66}. Now therein of all Sciences I speake still of humane
(and according to the humane conceit) is our Poet the Monarch. For hee
doth not onely shew the way, but giveth so sweete a prospect into the way,
as will entice anie man to enter into it: Nay he doth as if your journey
should lye through a faire vineyard, at the verie first, give you a
cluster of grapes, that full of the taste, you may long to passe further.
Hee beginneth not with obscure definitions,
which must blurre the
margent
with interpretations, and loade the memorie with doubtfulnesse: but hee
commeth to you with words set in delightfull proportion, either
accompanied with, or prepared for the well enchanting skill of musicke,
and with a tale forsooth he commeth unto you, with a tale, which holdeth
children from play, and olde men from the Chimney corner; and pretending
no more, doth intend the winning of the minde from wickednes to vertue;
even as the child is often brought to take most wholesome things by hiding
them in such other as have a pleasaunt taste: which if one should begin to
tell them the nature of the Alloes or Rhabarbarum they should receive,
wold sooner take their physic at their eares then at their mouth, so it is
in men (most of which, are childish in the best things, til they be
cradled in their graves) glad they will be to heare the tales of Hercules,
Achilles, Cyrus, Aeneas, and hearing them, must needes heare the right
description of wisdom, value, and justice; which if they had bene barely
(that is to say Philosophically) set out, they would sweare they be
brought to schoole againe; that imitation whereof Poetrie is, hath the
most conveniencie to nature of al other: insomuch that as Aristotle saith,
those things which in themselves are horrible, as cruel battailes,
unnatural monsters, are made in poeticall imitation, delightfull
{67}. Truly I have known men, that even with reading Amadis de
gaule
{68}, which God knoweth, wanteth much of a
perfect Poesie, have found their hearts moved to the exercise of
courtesie, liberalitie, and especially courage. Who readeth Aeneas
carrying old Anchises on his backe
{69}, that wisheth
not
it were his fortune to performe so excellent an Act? Whom doth not
those words of Turnus moove, (the Tale of Turnus having planted his image
in the imagination) fugientam haec terra videbit? Usqueadeone mori miserum
est
{70}? Wher the Philosophers as they think scorne
to delight, so must they be content little to moove; saving wrangling
whether Virtus be the chiefe or the onely good; whether the contemplative
or the active life do excell; which Plato and Poetius
{71} well knew: and therefore made mistresse Philosophie very
often borrow the masking raiment of Poesie. For even those hard hearted
evill men who thinke vertue a schoole name, and know no other good but
indulgere genio
{72}, and therefore despise the
austere admonitions of the Philosopher, and feele not the inward reason
they stand upon, yet will be content to be delighted, which is all the
good, fellow Poet seemes to promise; and so steale to see the form of
goodnes, (which seene, they cannot but love) ere themseves be aware, as if
they tooke a medicine of Cheries. Infinit proofes of the straunge effects
of this Poeticall invention, might be alleaged: onely two shall serve,
which are so often remembered, as I thinke all men know them. The oone of
Menemus Agrippa
{73}, who when the whole people of
Rome had resolutely divided themselves from the Senate, with apparent shew
of utter ruine, though he were for that time an excellent Orator, came not
among them upon trust either of figurative speeches, or cunning
insinuations, and much lesse with farre set Maximes of Philosophie, which
especially if they were Platonike, they must have learned Geometrie
before
they could well have conceived: but forsooth, he behaveth himselfe like a
homely and familiar Poet. He telleth them a tale, that there was a time,
when all the parts of the bodie made a mutinous conspiracie against the
belly, which they thought devoured the frutes of each others labour: they
concluded that they would let so unprofitable a spender starve. In the
end, to be short, for the tale is notorious, and as notorious that it was
a tale, with punishing the belly they plagued themselves; this applied by
him, wrought such effect in the people, as I never red, that onely words
brought foorth: but then so sudden and so good an alteration, for upon
reasonable conditions, a perfect reconcilement ensued. The other is of
Nathan the Prophet
{74}, who when the holy David, had
so farre forsaken God, as to confirme Adulterie with murther, when he was
to do the tendrest office of a friend, in laying his owne shame before his
eyes; sent by God to call againe so chosen a servant, how doth he it? but
by telling of a man whose beloved lambe was ungratefully taken from his
bosome. The Application most divinely true, but the discourse it selfe
fained; which made David (I speake of the second and instrumentall cause)
as in a glasse see his owne filthinesse as that heavenly Psalme of
mercie
{75} well testifieth. By these therefore
examples and reasons, I thinke it may be manifest, that the Poet with that
same hand of delight, doth draw the mind more effectually then any other
Art doth. And so a conclusion not unfitly ensue, that as vertue is the
most excellent resting place for al worldly learning to make his end of,
so Poetry being the
most familiar to teach it, and most Princely to move
towards it, in the most excellent worke, is the most excellent workeman.
But I am content not onely to decipher him by his workes (although workes
in commendation and dispraise, must ever hold a high authoritie) but more
narrowly will examine his parts, so that (as in a man) though altogither
may carrie a presence full of majestie and bewtie, perchanve in some one
defectuous peece we may finde blemish: Now in his parts, kindes, or
species, as you list to tearme them, it is to be noted that some Poesies
have coupled togither two or three kindes, as the Tragicall and Comicall,
whereupon is risen the Tragicomicall, some in the manner have mingled
prose and verse, as Sanazara
{76} and Boetius
{77}; some have mingled matters Heroicall and Pastorall,
but that commeth all to one in this question, for if severed they be good,
the conjunction cannot be hurtfull: therefore perchance forgetting some,
and leaving some as needlesse to be remembered. It shall not be amisse, in
a word to cite the speciall kindes, to see what faults may be found in the
right use of them. Is it then the Pastorall Poeme which is misliked? (For
perchance where the hedge is lowest they will soonest leape over) is the
poore pipe disdained, which sometimes out of Moelibeus
{78} mouth, can shewe the miserie of people, under hard Lords
and ravening souldiers? And again by Titerus, what blessednesse is
derived, to them that lie lowest, from the goodnesse of them that sit
highest? Sometimes under the prettie tales of Woolves and sheepe, can
enclude the whole considerations of wrong doing
and patience; sometimes
shew that contentions for trifles, can get but a trifling victory, wher
perchance a man may see, that even Alexander & Darius, when they
strave who should be Cocke of this worldes dunghill, the benefit they got,
was, that the afterlivers may say, Haec memini & victum frustra
contendere Thirsim. Ex illo Coridon, Coridon est tempore nobis
{79}. Or is it the lamenting Elegiack, which in a kinde heart
would moove rather pittie then blame, who bewaileth with the great
Philosopher Heraclitus; the weaknesse of mankinde, and the wretchednesse
of the world: who surely is to bee praised either for compassionate
accompanying just causes of lamentations, or for rightlie painting out how
weake be the passions of woefulnesse? Is it the bitter but wholesome
Iambick
{80}, who rubbes the galled minde, in making
shame the Trumpet of villanie, with bolde and open crying out against
naughtinesse? Or the Satirick, who Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit
amico
{81}, who sportingly, never leaveth, till he
make a man laugh at follie; and at length ashamed, to laugh at himself;
which he cannot avoyde, without avoyding the follie? who while Circum
praecordia ludit
{82}, giveth us to feele how many
headaches a passionate life bringeth us to? How when all is done, Est
Ulubris animus si nos non deficit aequus
{83}. No
perchance it is the Comick, whom naughtie Play-makers and stage-keepers,
have justly made odious. To the arguments of abuse, I will after answer,
onely thus much now is to be said, that the Comedy is an imitation of the
common errors of our life, which he representeth in the most ridiculous
&
scornfull sort that may be: so as it is impossible that any beholder
can be content to be such a one. Now as in Geometrie, the oblique must be
knowne as well as the right, and in Arithmetick, the odde as well as the
even, so in the actions of our life, who seeth not the filthinesse of
evill, wanteth a great foile to perceive the bewtie of vertue. This doth
the Comaedie handle so in our private and domesticall matters, as with
hearing it, wee get as it were an experience what is to be looked for of a
niggardly Demea, of a crafty Davus, of a flattering Gnato, of a vain-glorious Thraso
{84} and not onely to know what
effects are to be expected, but to know who be such, by the signifying
badge given them by the Comaedient. And little reason hath any man to say,
that men learne the evill by seeing it so set out, since as I said before,
there is no man living, but by the force truth hath in nature, no sooner
seeth these men play their parts, but wisheth them in Pistrinum
{85}, athough perchance the lack of his owne faults lie so
behinde his backe, that he seeth not himselfe to dance the same measure:
whereto yet nothing can more open his eies, then to see his owne actions
contemptibly set forth. So that the right use of Comaedie, will I thinke,
by no bodie be blamed; and much lesse of the high and excellent Tragedie,
that openeth the greatest woundes, and sheweth forth the Ulcers that are
covered with Tissue, that maketh Kings feare to be Tyrants, and Tyrants
manifest their tyrannicall humours, that with stirring the affects of
Admiration and Comiseration, teacheth the uncertaintie of this world, and
uppon how weak foundations guilden roofes are builded:
that maketh us
know, Qui sceptra Saevus duro imperio regit, Timet timentes, metus in
authorem redit
{86}. But how much it can move,
Plutarch yeeldeth a notable testimonie of the abhominable Tyrant Alexander
Pheraeus
{87}, from whose eyes a Tragedie well made
and represented, drew abundance of teares, who without all pittie had
murthered infinite numbers, and some of his owne bloud: so as he that was
not ashamed to make matters for Tragedies, yet could not resist the sweete
violence of a Tragedie. And if it wrought no further good in him, it was,
that in despight of himself, withdrew himselfe form hearkening to that
which might mollifie his hard heart. But it is not the Tragedie they doe
mislike, for it were too absurd to cast out so excellent a representation
of whatsoever is most woothie to be learned. Is it the Lyricke that most
displeaseth, who with his tuned Lyre and well accorded voice, giveth
praise, the reward of vertue, to vertuous acts? who giveth morall
preceptes and naturall Problemes, who sometimes raiseth up his voyce to
the height of the heavens, in singing the laudes of the immortall God?
Certainly I must confesse mine owne barbarousnesse, I never heard the old
Song of Percy and Duglas
{88}, that I founde not my
heart mooved more than with a Trumpet; and yet is it sung but by some
blinde Crowder
{89}, with no rougher voyce, then rude
stile: which being so evill apparelled in the dust and Cobwebbes of that
uncivill age, what would it worke, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of
Pindar? In Hungarie I have seene it the manner at all Feastes and
other
such like meetings, to have songs of their ancestors valure, which that
right souldierlike nation, think one of the chiefest kindlers of brave
courage. The incomparable Lacedemonians, did not onelie carrie that kinde
of Musicke ever with them to the field, but even at home, as such songs
were made, so were they all content to be singers of them: when the lustie
men were to tell what they did, the old men what they had done, and the
yoong what they would doo. And where a man may say that Pindare many
times praiseth highly Victories of small moment, rather matters of sport
then vertue, as it may be answered, it was the fault of the Poet, and not
of the Poetrie; so indeed the chiefe fault was, in the time and custome of
the Greekes, who set those toyes at so high a price, that Philip of
Macedon reckoned a horse-race wonne at Olympus, among his three fearfull
felicities. But as the unimitable Pindare often did, so is that kind most
capable and most fit, to awake the thoughts from the sleepe of idlenesse,
to embrace honourable enterprises. Their rests the Heroicall, whose verie
name I thinke should daunt all backbiters. For by what conceit can a
tongue bee directed to speake evil of that which draweth with him no lesse
champions then Achilles, Cirus, Aeneas, Turnus, Tideus
{90}, Rinaldo
{91}, who doeth not onely
teache and moove to a truth, but teacheth and mooveth to the most high and
excellent truth: who maketh magnanimitie and justice, shine through all
mistie fearfulnesse and foggie desires. Who if the saying
of Plato and
Tully
{92} bee true, that who could see vertue,
woulde be woonderfullie ravished with the love of her bewtie. This man
setteth her out to make her more lovely in her holliday apparell, to the
eye of anie that will daine, not to disdaine untill they understand. But
if any thing be alreadie said in the defence of sweete Poetrie, all
concurreth to the mainteining the Heroicall, which is not onlie a kinde,
but the best and most accomplished kindes of Poetrie. For as the Image of
each Action stirreth and instructeth the minde, so the loftie Image of
such woorthies, moste enflameth the minde with desire to bee woorthie: and
enformes with counsaile how to bee woorthie. Onely let Aeneas bee worne in
the Tablet of your memorie, how hee governeth himselfe in the ruine of his
Countrey, in the preserving his olde Father, and carrying away his
religious Ceremonies, in obeying Gods Commaundment, to leave Dido, though
not onelie all passionate kindeness, not even the humane consideration of
vertuous gratefulnesse, would have craved other of him: how in stormes,
how in sports, how in warre, how in peace, how a fugitive, how victorious,
how besieged, how beseiging, how to straungers, how to Allies, how to
enemies, how to his owne. Lastly, how in his inwarde selfe, and how in his
outwarde government, and I thinke in a minde moste prejudiced with a
prejudicating humour, Hee will bee founde in excellencie fruitefull. Yea
as Horace
saith, Melius Chrisippo & Crantore
{93}: but truly I imagin it falleth out with these
Poet-whippers, as with some good women who often are sicke, but in faith
they cannot tel where. So the name of Poetrie is odious to them, but
neither his cause nor effects, neither the summe that containes him, nor
the particularities descending from him, give any fast handle to their
carping dispraise. Since then Poetrie is of all humane learnings the most
ancient, and of most fatherly antiquitie, as from whence other learnings
have taken their beginnings; Since it is so universall, that no learned
nation doth despise it, nor barbarous nation is without it; Since both
Romane & Greeke gave such divine names unto it, the one of
prophesying, the other of making; and that indeed the name of making is
fit for him, considering, that where all other Arts retain themselves
within their subject, and receive as it were their being from it. The Poet
onely, onely bringeth his owne stuffe, and doth not learn a Conceit out of
a matter, but maketh matter for a Conceit. Since neither his description,
nor end, containing any evill, the thing described cannot be evil; since
his effects be so good as to teach goodnes, and delight the learners of
it; since therein (namely in morall doctrine the chiefe of all
knowledges) hee doth not onely farre pass the Historian, but for
instructing is well nigh comparable to the Philosopher, for moving,
leaveth him behind him. Since the holy scripture (wherein there is no
uncleannesse) hath whole parts in it Poeticall, and that even our Savior
Christ vouchsafed to use the flowers of it: since all his kindes are not
only in their united formes, but
in their severed dissections fully
commendable, I thinke, (and thinke I thinke rightly) the Lawrell Crowne
appointed for triumphant Captaines, doth worthily of all other learnings,
honour the Poets triumph. But bicause we have eares as well as toongs, and
that the lightest reasons that may be, will seeme to waigh greatly, if
nothing be put in the counterballance, let us heare, and as well as we
can, ponder what objections be made against this Art, which may be
woorthie either of yeelding, or answering. First truly I note, not onely
in these mysomousoi, Poet-haters, but in all that kind of people who seek
a praise, by dispraising others, that they do prodigally spend a great
many wandring words in quips and scoffes, carping and taunting at each
thing, which by sturring the spleene, may staie the brain from a
th[o]rough beholding the worthinesse of the subject. Those kind of
objections, as they are full of a verie idle easinesse, since there is
nothing of so sacred a majestie, but that an itching toong may rub it
selfe upon it, so deserve they no other answer, but in steed of laughing
at the jeast, to laugh at the jeaster. We know a playing wit can praise
the discretion of an Asse, the comfortablenes of being in debt, and the
jolly commodities of being sicke of the plague. So of the contrary side,
if we will turne Ovids verse, Ut lateat virtus, prox imitate mali
{94}, that good lye hid, in nearnesse of the
evill. Agrippa
{95} will be as mery in shewing the vanitie
of Science,
as Erasmus was in the commending of folly: neither shal any man or matter,
escape some touch of these smiling Raylers. But for Erasmus and Agrippa,
they had an other foundation then
the superficiall part would promise.
Marry these other pleasaunt fault-finders, who will correct the Verbe,
before they understande the Nowne, and confute others knowledge, before
they confirme their owne, I would have them onely remember, that scoffing
commeth not of wisedome; so as the best title in true English they get
with their meriments, is to be called good fooles: for so have our grave
forefathers ever tearmed that humorous kinde of jesters. But that which
giveth greatest scope to their scorning humor, is ryming and versing. It
is alreadie said (and as I thinke truly said) it is not ryming and versing
that maketh Poesie: One may be a Poet without versing, and a versefier
without Poetrie. But yet presuppose it were inseperable, as indeed it
seemeth Scalliger
{96} judgeth truly, it were an
inseperable commendation. For if Oratio, next to Ratio, Speech next to
Reason
{97}, be the greatest gift bestowed upon
Mortalitie, that cannot bee praiseless, which doth most polish that
blessing of speech; which considereth each word not onely as a man may say
by his forcible qualitie, but by his best measured quantity: carrying even
in themselves a Harmonie, without perchance number, measure, order,
proportion, be in our time growne odious. But laie aside the just praise
it hath, by being the onely fit speech for Musicke, (Musicke I say the
most divine striker of the senses) Thus much is undoubtedly true, that if
reading be foolish without remembring, Memorie being the onely treasure of
knowledge, those words which are fittest for memory, are likewise most
convenient for knowledge. Now that Verse far exceedeth
Prose, in the
knitting up of the memorie, the reason is manifest, the words (besides
their delight, which hath a great affinitie to memorie) being so set as
one cannot be lost, but the whole woorke failes: which accusing it selfe,
calleth the remembrance back to it selfe, and so most strongly confirmeth
it. Besides one word, so as it were begetting an other, as be it in rime
or measured verse, by the former a man shall have a neare gesse to the
follower. Lastly even they that have taught the Art of memory, have shewed
nothing so apt for it, as a certain roome divided into many places, well
& thoroughly knowne: Now that hath the verse in effect perfectly,
everie word having his natural seat, which must needs make the word
remembred. But what needes more in a thing so knowne to all men. Who is it
that ever was scholler, that doth not carry away som verse of Virgil,
Horace, or Cato, which in his youth hee learned, and even to his old age
serve him for hourely lessons; as Percontatorem fugito nam garrulus idem
est, Dum tibi quisq; placet credula turba sumas
{98}.
But the fitnes it hath for memorie, is notably prooved by all deliverie of
Arts, wherein for the most part, from Grammer, to Logick, Mathematickes,
Physick, and the rest, the Rules chiefly necessa[r]ie to be borne away,
are compiled in verses. So that verse being in it selfe sweet and orderly,
and being best for memorie, the onely handle of knowledge, it must be in
jest that any man can speak against it. Now then goe we to the most
important imputations laid to the poore Poets, for ought I can yet learne,
they are these. First, that there beeing manie other more frutefull
knowledges, a man
might better spend his time in them, then in this.
Secondly, that it is the mother of lyes. Thirdly, that it is the nurse of
abuse, infecting us with many pestilent desires, with a Sirens sweetnesse,
drawing the minde to the Serpents taile of sinfull fansies; and herein
especially Comedies give the largest field to eare
{99}, as Chawcer saith, how both in other nations and in ours,
before Poets did soften us, we were full of courage given to martial
exercises, the pillers of man-like libertie, and not lulled a sleepe in
shadie idlenes, with Poets pastimes. And lastly and chiefly, they cry out
with open mouth as if they had shot Robin-hood, that Plato banisheth them
out of his Commonwealth
{100}. Truly this is much,
if there be much truth in it. First to the first. That a man might better
spend his time, is a reason indeed: but it doth as they say, but petere
principium
{101}. For if it be, as I affirme, that
no learning is so good, as that which teacheth and moveth to vertue, and
that none can both teach and move thereto so much as Poesie, then is the
conclusion manifest; that incke and paper cannot be to a more profitable
purpose imployed. And certainly though a man should graunt their first
assumption, it should follow (mee thinks) very unwillingly, that good is
not good, because better is better. But I still and utterly deny, that
there is sprung out of the earth a more fruitfull knowledge. To the second
therfore, that they should be the principall lyers, I answere
Paradoxically, but truly, I think truly: that of
all writers under the Sunne, the Poet is the least lyer: and though he
wold, as a Poet can scarecely be a lyer. The Astronomer with his cousin
the Geometrician, can
hardly escape, when they take upon them to
measure
the height of the starres. How often thinke you do the Phisitians lie,
when they averre things good for sicknesses, which afterwards send
Charon
{102} a great number of soules drowned in a
potion, before they come to his Ferrie? And no lesse of the rest, which
take upon them to affirme. Now for the Poet, he nothing affirmeth, and
therefore never lieth: for as I take it, to lie, is to affirme that to bee
true, which is false. So as the other Artistes, and especially the
Historian, affirming manie things, can in the clowdie knowledge of
mankinde, hardly escape from manie lies. But the Poet as I said before,
never affirmeth, the Poet never maketh any Circles about your
imagination
{103}, to conjure you to beleeve for
true, what he writeth: he citeth not authorities of other histories, even
for his entrie, calleth the sweete Muses to inspire unto him a good
invention. In troth, not laboring to tel you what is, or is not, but what
should, or should not be. And therefore though he recount things not true,
yet because he telleth them not for true, he lieth not: without we will
say, that Nathan lied in his speech before alleaged to David, which as a
wicked man durst scarce say, so think I none so simple, wold say, that
Esope lied, in the tales of his beasts: for who thinketh Esope wrote it
for actually true, were wel wothie to have his name Cronicled among the
beasts he writeth of. What childe is there, that comming to a play, and
seeing Thebes written in great letters upon an old Doore, doth beleeve
that it is Thebes? If then a man can arrive to the childes age, to know
that the Poets persons and dooings, are but
pictures, what should be, and
not stories what have bin, they will never give the lie to things not
Affirmatively, but Allegorically and figuratively written; and therefore
as in historie looking for truth, they may go away full fraught with
falshood: So in Poesie, looking but for fiction, they shall use the
narration but as an imaginative groundplat of a profitable invention. But
hereto is replied, that the Poets give names to men they write of, which
argueth a conceit of an actuall truth, and so not being true, prooveth a
falshood. And dooth the Lawier lye, then when under the names of John of
the Stile, and John of the Nokes, hee putteth his Case? But that is easily
answered, their naming of men, is but to make their picture the more
lively, and not to build anie Historie. Painting men, they cannot leave
men namelesse: wee see, wee cannot plaie at Chestes, but that wee must
give names to our Chessemen; and yet mee thinkes he were a verie partiall
Champion of truth, that would say wee lyed, for giving a peece of wood the
reverende title of a Bishop. The Poet nameth Cyrus and Aeneas, no other
way, then to shewe what men of their fames, fortunes, and estates, should
doo. Their third is, how much it abuseth mens wit, training it to wanton
sinfulnesse, and lustfull love. For indeed that is the principall if not
onely abuse, I can heare alleadged. They say the Comedies rather teach
then reprehend amorous conceits. They say the Lirick is larded with
passionat Sonets, the Elegiack weeps the want of his mistresse, and that
even to the Heroical, Cupid hath ambitiously
climed. Alas Love, I would
thou couldest as wel defend thy selfe, as thou canst offend others: I
would those on whom thou doest attend, could either put thee away, or
yeeld good reason why they keepe thee. But grant love of bewtie to be a
beastly fault, although it be verie hard, since onely man and no beast
hath that gift to discerne bewtie, graunt that lovely name of love to
deserve all hatefull reproches, although even some of my maisters the
Philosophers spent a good deale of their Lampoyle in setting foorth the
excellencie of it, graunt I say, what they will have graunted, that not
onelie love, but lust, but vanitie, but if they will list scurrilitie,
possesse manie leaves of the Poets bookes, yet thinke I, when this is
graunted, they will finde their sentence may with good manners put the
last words foremost; and not say, that Poetrie abuseth mans wit, but that
mans wit abuseth Poetrie. For I will not denie, but that mans wit may make
Poesie, which should be eikastike
{104}, which some
learned have defined figuring foorth good things to be phantastike
{105}, which doth contrariwise infect the fancie with
unwoorthie objects, as the Painter should give to the eye either some
excellent perspective, or some fine Picture fit for building or
fortification, or containing in it some notable example, as Abraham
sacrificing his sonne Isaack
{106}, Judith killing
Holofernes
{107}, David fighting with Golias
{108}, may leave those, and please an ill pleased eye with
wanton shewes of better hidden matters. But what, shal the abuse of a
thing, make the right use odious? Nay truly though
I yeeld that Poesie
may
not onely be abused, but that being abused it can do more hurt then anie
other armie of words: yet shall it be so farre from concluding, that the
abuse should give reproach to the abused, that contrariwise, it is a good
reason, that whatsoever being abused, doth most harme, being rightly used
(and upon the right use, ech thing receives his title) doth most good. Do
we not see skill of Phisicke the best ramper to our often assaulted
bodies, being abused, teach poyon the most violent destroyer? Doth not
knowledge of Law, whose end is, to even & right all things, being
abused, grow the crooked fosterer of horrible injuries? Doth not (to go to
the highest) Gods word abused, breed heresie, and his name abused, become
blasphemie? Truly a Needle cannot do much hurt, and as truly (with leave
of Ladies be it spoken) it cannot do much good. With a swoord thou maist
kill thy Father, and with a swoord thou maist defende the Prince and
Countrey: so that, as in their calling Poets, fathers of lies, they said
nothing, so in this their argument of abuse, they proove the commendation.
They alledge herewith, that before Poets began to be in price, our Nation
had set their hearts delight uppon action, and not imagination, rather
doing things worthie to be written, then writing things fit to be done.
What that before times was, I think scarcely Sp[h]inx can tell, since no
memorie is so ancient, that hath not the precedens of Poetrie. And certain
it is, that in our plainest homelines, yet never was the Albion
Nation
{109} without Poetrie. Marry this Argument, though
it
be leviled against
Poetrie, yet is it indeed a
chain-shot
{110} against all learning or bookishnes, as they commonly
terme it. Of such mind were certaine Gothes, of whom it is written
{111}, that having in the spoile of a famous Cittie, taken
a faire Librarie, one hangman belike fit to execute the frutes of their
wits, who had murthered a great number of bodies, woulde have set fire in
it. No said an other verie gravely, take heed what you do, for while they
are busie about those toyes, wee shall with more leisure conqure their
Countries. This indeed is the ordinarie doctrine of ignorance, and many
words sometimes I have heard spent in it: but bicause this reason is
generally against al learning, as well as Poetrie, or rather all learning
but Poetrie, because it were too great a digression to handle it, or at
least too superfluous, since it is manifest that all government of action
is to be gotten by knowledge, and knowledge best, by gathering manie
knowledges, which is reading; I onlely with Horace, to him that is of that
opinion, jubeo stultum esse libenter
{112}, for as
for Poetrie it selfe, it is the freest from this objection, for Poetrie is
the Companion of Camps. I dare undertake, Orlando Furioso, or honest king
Arthure, will never displease a souldier: but the quidditie of Ens &
Prima materia, will hardly agree with a Corcelet
{113}. And therefore as I said in the beginning, even Turkes
and Tartars, are delighted with Poets. Homer a Greeke, flourished, before
Greece flourished: and if to a slight conjecture, a conjecture may bee
apposed, truly it may seem, that as by him their learned men tooke almost
their first light of knowledge, so their active men, received their first
motions of
courage. Onely Alexanders example may serve, who by
Plutarche
is accounted of such vertue, that fortune was not his guide, but his
footestoole, whose Acts speake for him, though Plutarche did not: indeede
the Phoenix of warlike Princes. This Alexander, left his schoolemaister
living Aritotle behinde him, but tooke dead Homer with him. Hee put the
Philosopher Callithenes to death, for his seeming Philosophicall, indeed
mutinous stubbornnesse, but the chiefe thing hee was ever heard to wish
for, was, that Homer had bene alive. Hee well founde hee received more
braverie of minde by the paterne of Achilles, then by hearing the
definition of fortitude. And therefore if Cato misliked Fulvius for
carrying Ennius with him to the field
{114}, It may
be answered, that if Cato misliked it, the Noble Fulvius liked it, or else
he had not done it, for it was not the excellent Cato Uticencis
{115}, whose authoritie I would much more have reverenced:
But it was the former, in truth a bitter punisher of faultes, but else a
man that had never sacrificed to the Graces. He misliked and cried out
against all Greeke learning, and yet being foure score yeares olde began
to learne it, belike fearing that Pluto
{116}
understood not Latine. Indeed the Romane lawes allowed no person to bee to
the warres, but hee that was in the souldiers Role. And therefore though
Cato misliked his unmustred person, he misliked not his worke. And if hee
had, Scipio Nasica, (judged by common consent the best Romane) loved him:
both the other Scipio brothers, who had by their vertues no lesse
surnames
then of Asia and Afficke, so loved him, that they caused his
{117} bodie to be buried in their Sepulture. So as Catoes
authoritie beeing but against his person, and that answered with so farre
greater then himselfe, is herein of no validitie. But now indeede my
burthen is great, that Plato his name is laide uppon me, whom I must
confessse of all Philosophers, I have ever esteemed most worthie of
reverence; and with good reason, since of all Philosophers hee is the most
Poeticall: yet if hee will defile the fountain out of which his flowing
streames have proceeded, let us boldly examine with what reasons hee did
it. First truly a man might maliciously object, that Plato being a
Philosopher, was a naturall enemy of Poets. For indeede after the
Philosophers had picked out of the sweete misteries of Poetrie, the right
discerning true points of knowledge: they forthwith putting it in methode,
and making a Schoole Art of that which the Poets did onely teach by a
divine delightfulnes, beginning to spurne at their guides, like
ungratefull Prentices, were not content to set up shop for themselves, but
sought by all meanes to discredit their maisters, which by the force of
delight being barred them, the lesse they could overthrow them, the more
they hated them. For indeed they found for Homer, seven cities, strave who
should have him for their Cittizen, where so many Cities banished
Philosophers, as not fit members to live among them. For onely repeating
certaine of Euripides verses, many Atheniens had their lives saved of the
Siracusans
{118}, where the Atheniens themseves
thought
many Philosophers unworthie to live. Certaine Poets, as
Simonides,
and Pindarus, had so prevailed with Hiero the first, that of a Tyrant they
made him a just King
{119}: where Plato could do so
little with Dionisius, that he himselfe of a Philosopher, was made a
slave
{120}. But who should do thus, I confesse
should requite the objections made against Poets, with like cavilations
against Philosophers: as likewise one should do, that should bid one read
Phaedrus or Simposium in Plato, or the discourse of love in
Plutarch
{121}, and see whether any Poet do authorise
abhominable filthinesse as they doo. Againe, a man might aske, out of what
Common-wealth Plato doth banish them, in sooth, thence where himselfe
alloweth communitie of women
{122}. So as belike
this banishment grew not for effeminate wantonnesse, since little should
Poetical Sonnets be hurtful, when a man might have what woman he listed.
But I honor Philosophicall instructions, and blesse the wits which bred
them: so as they be not abused, which is likewise stretched to Poetrie.
S. Paul himselfe
{123} sets a watch-word uppon
Philosophie
{124}, indeed upon the abuse. So doth
PLato uppon the abuse, not upon Poetrie. Plato found fault that the
Poettes of his time, filled the worlde with wr[o]ng opinions of the Gods,
making light tales of that unspotted essence; and therfore wold not have
the youth depraved with such opinions: heerein may much be said; let this
suffice. The Poets did not induce such opinions, but did imitate those
opinions alreadie induced. For all the Greeke stories can well testifie,
that the verie religion of that time, stood upon many, and many fashioned
Gods: Not taught
so by Poets, but followed according to their nature of
imitation. Who list may read in Plutarch, the discourses of Isis and
Osiris, and of the cause why Oracles ceased, of the divine providence,
& see whether the Theology of that nation, stood not upon such dreams,
which the Poets indeede superstitiously observed. And truly since they had
not the light of Christ, did much better in it, then the Philosophers, who
shaking off superstition, brought in Atheisme. Plato therfore, whose
authoritie, I had much rather justly consture, then unjustly resist: ment
not in generall of Poets, in those words of which Julius Scaliger saith;
Qua authoritate barbari quidam atq; hispidi abuti velint ad poetas e rep.
Exigendos
{125}. But only ment to drive out those
wrong opinions of the Deitie: wherof now without further law,
Christianitie hath taken away all the hurtfull beliefe, perchance as he
thought nourished by then esteemed Poets. And a man need go no further
then to Plato himselfe to knowe his meaning: who in his Dialogue called
Ion, giveth high, and rightly, divine commendation unto Poetrie. So as
Plato banisheth the abuse, not the thing, not banishing it, but giving due
honour to it, shall be our Patron, and not our adversarie. For indeed, I
had much rather, since truly I may do it, shew their mistaking of Plato,
under whose Lyons skinne, they would make an Aslike braying
{126} against Poesie, then go about to overthrow his
authoritie; whome the wiser a man is, the more just cause he shall finde
to have in admiration: especially since he attibuteth unto Poesie, more
then my selfe do; namely, to be a verie inspiring of a divine force, farre
above mans
wit, as in the forenamed Dialogue is apparant. Of the other
side, who would shew the honours have bene by the best sort of judgements
graunted them, a whole sea of examples woulde present themselves;
Alexanders, Caesars, Scipioes, all favourers of Poets: Laelius, called the
Romane Socrates himselfe a Poet; so as part of Heautontimoroumenon
{127} in Terence, was supposed to bee made by him. And even
the Greeke Socrates, whome Appollo confirmed to bee the onely wise man, is
said to have spent part of his olde time in putting Esopes Fables into
verses. And therefore full evill should it become his scholler Plato, to
put such words in his maisters mouth against Poets. But what needs more?
Aristotle writes of the Arte of Poesie, and why, if it should not bee
written? Plutarche teacheth the use to bee gathered of them, and how, if
they should not bee reade? And who reades Plutarches either Historie or
Philosophie, shall finde hee trimmeth both their garments with gardes of
Poesie. But I list not to defend Poesie with the helpe of his underling
Historiographie. Let it suffice to have shewed, it is a fit soyle for
praise to dwell uppon; and what dispraise may set uppon it, is either
easily overcome, or transformed into just commendation. So that since the
excellencies of it, may bee so easily and so justly confirmed, and the
lowe creeping objections so soone trodden downe, it not beeing an Art of
lyes, but of true doctrine; not of effoeminatenesse, but of notable
stirring of courage; not of abusing mans wit; but of strengthening mans
wit; not banished, but honored by Plato;
Let us rather plant more
Lawrels
for to ingarland the Poets heads (which honor of being Lawreate, as
besides them onely triumphant Captaines were, is a sufficient authoritie
to shewe the price they ought to bee held in) then suffer the ill favoured
breath of such wrong speakers once to blow uppon the cleare springs of
Poesie. But sice I have runne so long a Carrier in this matter, me thinkes
before I give my penne a full stoppe, it shall be but a little more lost
time, to enquire why England the Mother of excellent mindes should be
growne so hard a stepmother to Poets, who certainely in wit ought to passe
all others, since all onely proceeds from their wit, beeing indeed makers
of themselves, not takers of others. How can I but exclaime. Musa mihi
causas memoria quo numine laeso
{128}. Sweete Poesie
that hath aunciently had Kings, Emperours, Senatours, great Captaines,
such as besides a thousandes others, David, Adrian, Sophocles,
Germanicus
{129}, not onelie to favour Poets, but to
bee Poets: and of our nearer times, can present for her Patrons, a Robert
King of Scicill
{130}, the great King Fraunces of
Fraunce
{131}, King James of Scotland
{132}; such Cardinalls as Bembus
{133}, and Bibiena
{134}; suche famous
Preachers and Teachers, as Beza
{135} and
Melanchthon
{136}; so learned Philosophers as
Fracastorius
{137}, and Scaliger
{138}; so great Orators, as Pontanus
{139}, and Muretus
{140}; so pearcing
wits, as George Buchanan
{141}; so grave
Counsailours, as besides manie, but before all, that Hospitall of
Fraunce
{142}; then whome I thinke that Realme never
brought forth
a more accomplished Judgement, more firmly builded upon
vertue: I say these with numbers of others, not onely to read others
Poesies, but to poetise for others reading; that Poesie thus embraced in
all other places, should onely finde in our time a hard welcome in
England. I thinke the verie earth laments it, and therefore deckes our
soyle with fewer Lawrels then it was accustomed. For heretofore, Poets
have in England also flourished: and which is to be noted, even in those
times when the trumpet of Mars did sonnd lowdest. And now that an over
faint quietnesse should seeme to strowe the house for Poets. They are
almost in as good reputation, as the Mountebanckes at Venice. Truly even
that, as of the one side it giveth great praise to Poesie, which like
Venus (but to better purpose) had rather be troubled in the net with Mars,
then enjoy the homely quiet of Vulcan
{143}. So
serveth it for a peece of a reason, why they are lesse gratefull to idle
England, which now can scarce endure the paine of a penne. Upon this
necessarily followeth, that base men with sevill wits undertake it, who
thinke it inough if they can be rewarded of the Printer: and so as
Epaminandas is said with the honor of his vertue to have made an Office,
by his execising it, which before was contemtible, to become highly
respected
{144}: so these men no more but setting
their names to it, by their own disgracefulnesse, disgrace the most
gracefull Poesie. For now as if all the Muses were got with childe, to
bring forth bastard Poets: without any commission, they do passe over the
Bankes of the Helicon
{145}, till they make the
Readers more wearie then Post-horses: while in the meane
time, they
Queis
meliore luto finxit praecordia Titan
{146}, are
better content to suppresse the out-flowings of their wit, then by
publishing them, to be accounted Knights of the same order. But I that
before ever I durst aspire unto the dignitie, am admitted into the
companie of the Paper-blurrers, do finde the verie true cause of our
wanting estimation, is want of desert, taking uppon us to be Poets, in
despite of Pallas. Now wherein we want desert, were a thankwoorthie labour
to expresse. But if I knew I should have mended my selfe, but as I never
desired the title, so have I neglected the meanes to come by it, onely
over-mastered by some thoughts, I yeelded an inckie tribute unto them.
Marrie they that delight in Poesie it selfe, should seek to know what they
do, and how they do: and especially looke themselves in an unflattering
glasse of reason, if they be enclinable unto it. For Poesie must not be
drawne by the eares, it must be gently led, or rather it must lead, which
was partly the cause that made the auncient learned affirme, it was a
divine gift & no humane skil; since all other knowledges lie readie
for anie that have strength of wit: A Poet no industrie can make, if his
owne Genius be not carried into it. And therefore is an old Proverbe,
Orator fit, Poeta nascitur
{147}. Yet confesse I
alwaies, that as the fertilest ground must be manured
{148}, so must the highest flying wit have a Dedalus
{149} to guide him. That Dedalus they say both in this and in
other, hath three wrings to beare itself up into the aire of due
commendation: that is Art, Imitation, and Exercise. But these neither
Artificall Rules, nor imitative paternes, we much comber
our selves
withall. Exercise indeed we do, but that verie fore-backwardly; for where
we should exercise to know, we exercise as having knowne: and so is our
braine delivered of much matter, which never was begotten by knowledge.
For there being two principall parts, Matter to be expressed by words, and
words to expresse the matter: In neither, wee use Art or imitation
rightly. Our matter is, Quodlibet
{150}, indeed
though wrongly performing, Ovids Verse. Quicquid conabar dicere, Versus
erit
{151}: never marshalling it into anie assured
ranck, that almost the Readers cannot tell where to finde themselves.
Chawcer undoubtedly did excellently in his Troilus and Creseid: of whome
trulie I knowe not whether to mervaile more, either that hee in that
mistie time could see so clearly, or that wee in this cleare age, goe so
stumblingly after him. Yet had hee great wants, fit to be forgiven in so
reverent an Antiquitie. I account the Mirrour of Magistrates
{152}, meetly furnished of bewtiful partes. And in the Earle
of Surreis Lirickes, manie thinges tasting of a Noble birth, and worthie
of a Noble minde
{153}. The Sheepheards Kalender,
hath much Poetrie in his Egloges, indeed woothie the reading, if I be not
deceived. That same framing of his style to an old rusticke language, I
dare not allow: since neither Theocritus in Greeke, Virgill in Latine, nor
Sanazara in Italian, did affect it
{154}. Besides
these, I doo not remember to have seene but fewe (to speake boldly)
printed, that have poeticall sinnewes in them. For proofe whereof, let but
moste of the Verses
bee put in prose, and then aske the meaning, and it
will be founde, that one Verse did but beget an other, without ordering at
the first, what should bee at the last, which becomes a confused masse of
words, with a tingling sound of ryme, barely accompanied with reasons.
Our Tragidies and Commedies, not without cause cryed out against,
observing rules neither of honest civilitie, nor skilfull Poetrie.
Excepting Gorboducke
{155}, (againe I say of those
that I have seen) which notwithstanding as it is full of stately speeches,
and wel sounding phrases, clyming to the height of Seneca his style, and
as full of notable morallitie, which it dooth most delightfully teach, and
so obtaine the verie ende of Poesie. Yet in truth, it is verie defectious
in the circumstaunces, which greeves mee, because it might not remaine as
an exact moddell of all Tragidies. For it is faultie both in place and
time, the two necessarie Companions of all corporall actions. For where
the Stage should alway represent but one place, and the uttermoste time
presupposed in it, should bee both by Aristotles
{156} precept, and common reason, but one day; there is both
manie dayes and places, inartificially imagined. But if it bee so in
Gorboducke, howe much more in all the rest, where you shall have Asia of the one side, and Affricke
of the other,
and so mannie other under Kingdomes, that the Player when he comes in,
must ever begin with telling where he is, or else the tale will not be
conceived. Now you shall have three Ladies
walke to gather
flowers, and then we must beleeve the stage to be a
garden. By and by we heare newes of shipwrack in the same place, then we
are too blame if we accept it not for a Rock. Upon the back of that,
comes out a hidious monster with fire and smoke, and then the miserable
beholders are bound to take it for a Cave: while in the meane time two
Armies flie in, represented with foure swords & bucklers, and then
what hard hart wil not receive it for a pitched field. Now of time, they
are much more liberall. For ordinarie it is, that two yoong Princes fall
in love, after many traverses she is got with childe, delivered of a faire
boy: he is lost, groweth a man, falleth in love, and is readie to get
another childe, and all this is in two houres space: which howe absurd it
is in sence, even sence may imagine: and Arte hath taught, and all
auncient examples justified, and at this day the ordinarie players in
Italie will not erre in. Yet will some bring in an example of Eunuche in
Terence
{157}, that conteineth matter of two dayes,
yet far short of twentie yeares. True it is, and so was it to be played in
two dayes, and so fitted to the time it set foorth. And though Plautus
have in one place done amisse
{158}, let us hit it
with him, & not misse with him. But they will say, how then shall we
set foorth a storie, which contains both many places, and many times? And
do they not know that a Tragidie is tied to the lawes of Poesie and not of
Historie: not bounde to follow the storie, but having libertie either to
faine a quite new matter, or to frame the Historie to the most Tragicall
conveniencie. Againe, many things may be told which cannot be
shewed:
if
they know the difference betwixt reporting and representing. As for
example, I may speake though I am here, of Peru, and in speech digresse
from that, to the description of Calecut
{159}: But
in action, I cannot represent it without Pacolets Horse
{160}. And so was the manner the Auncients tooke, by some
Nuntius
{161}, to recount things done in former time
or other place. Lastly, if they will represent an Historie, they must not
(as Horace saith) beginne ab ovo
{162}, but they
must come to the principall poynte of that one action which they will
represent. By example this will be best expressed
{163}. I have a storie of yoong Polidorus, delivered for
safeties sake with great riches, by his Father Priamus, to Polmimester
King of Thrace, in the Troyan warre time. He after some yeares, hearing
the overthrowe of Priamus, for to make the treasure his owne, murthereth
the Childe, the bodie of the Childe is taken up, Hecuba, shee the same
day, findeth a sleight to bee revenged moste cruelly of the Tyrant. Where
nowe would one of our Tragedie writers begin, but with the deliverie of
the Childe? Then should hee saile over into Thrace, and so spende I know
not how many yeares, and travaile numbers of places. But where dooth
Euripides? even with the finding of the bodie, the rest leaving to be told
by the spirite of Polidorus. This needes no futher to bee enlarged, the
dullest witte may conceive it. But besides these grosse absurdities, howe
all their Playes bee neither right Tragedies, nor right Comedies, mingling
Kinges and Clownes, not because the matter so carrieth it, but
thrust in
the Clowne by head and shoulders to play a part in majesticall matters,
with neither decencie nor discretion: so as neither the admiration and
Commiseration, nor the the right sportfulnesse is by their mongrell
Tragicomedie obtained. I know Apuleius did somewhat so, but that is a
thing recounted with space of time, not represented in one moment: and I
knowe the Auncients have one or two examples of Tragicomedies, as Plautus
hath Amphitrio. But if we marke them well, wee shall finde that they never
or verie daintily matche horne Pipes and Funeralls. So falleth it out,
that having indeed no right Comedie in that Comicall part of our Tragidie,
wee have nothing but scurrilitie unwoorthie of anie chaste eares, or some
extreame shewe of doltishnesse, indeede fit to lift up a loude laughter
and nothing else: where the whole tract of a Comedie should bee full of
delight, as the Tragidie should bee still maintained in a well raised
admiration. But our Comedients thinke there is no delight without
laughter, which is verie wrong, for though laughter may come with delight,
yet commeth it not of delight, as though delight should be the cause of
laughter. But well may one thing breed both togither. Nay rather in
themselves, they have as it were a kinde of contrarietie: For delight wee
scarecly doo, but in thinges that have a conveniencie to our selves, or to
the generall nature: Laughter almost ever commeth of thinges moste
disproportioned to our selves, and nature. Delight
hath a joy in it either
permanent or present. Laughter hath onely a scornfull tickling. For
example, wee are ravished with delight to see a faire woman, and yet are
farre from beeing mooved to laughter. Wee laugh at deformed creatures,
wherein certainly wee cannot delight. We delight in good chaunces, wee
laugh at mischaunces. We delight to heare the happinesse of our friendes
and Countrey, at which hee were worthie to be laughed at, that would
laugh: we shall contrarily laugh sometimes to finde a matter quite
mistaken, and goe downe the hill against the byas, in the mouth of some
such men as for the respect of them, one shall be heartily sorie, he
cannot chuse but laugh, and so is rather pained, then delighted with
laughter. Yet denie I not, but that they may goe well togither, for as in
Alexanders picture well set out, wee delight without laughter, and in
twentie madde Antiques, wee laugh without delight. So in Hercules, painted
with his great beard and furious countenaunce, in a womans attyre,
spinning, at Omphales commaundement
{164}, it breeds
both delight and laughter: for the representing of so straunge a power in
Love, procures delight, and the scornefulnesse of the action, stirreth
laughter. But I speake to this purpose, that all the ende of the Comicall
part, bee not uppon suche scornefull matters as stirre laughter onelie,
but mixe with it, that delightfull teaching whiche is the ende of Poesie.
And the great faulte even in that poynt of laughter,
and forbidden plainly
by Aristotle
{165}, is, that they stirre laughter in
sinfull things, which are rather execrable then ridiculous: or in
miserable, which are rather to be pitied then scorned. For what is it to
make folkes gape at a wretched begger, and a beggerly Clowne: or against
lawe of hospitalitie, to jeast at straungers, because they speake not
English so well as we do? What doo we learne, since it is certaine, Nil
habet infoelix paupertas durius in se, Quam quod ridiculos homines
facit
{166}. But rather a busie loving Courtier, and a
hartelesse thretning Thraso
{167}, a selfe-wise
seeming Schoolemaister, a wry transformed Traveller: these if we saw walke
in Stage names, which we plaie naturally, therein were delightfull
laughter, and teaching delightfulnesse; as in the other the Tragedies of
Buchanan
{168} do justly bring foorth a divine
admiration. But I have lavished out too many words of this Play-matter; I
do it, because as they are excelling parts of Poesie, so is there none so
much used in England, and none can be more pittifully abused: which like
an unmannerly daughter, shewing a bad education, causeth her mother
Poesies honestie to be called in question. Other sort of Poetrie, almost
have we none, but that Lyricall kind of Songs and Sonets; which Lord, if
he gave us so good mindes, how well it might be employed, and with how
heavenly fruites, both private and publike, in singing the praises of the
immortall bewtie, the immortall goodnes of that God, who giveth us hands
to write, and wits to conceive: of which we might wel want words, but
never matter, of which we could turne our eyes to nothing, but we
should
ever have new budding occassions. But truly many of such writings as come
under the banner of unresistable love, if I were a mistresse, would never
perswade mee they were in love: so coldly they applie firie speeches, as
men that had rather redde lovers writings, and so caught up certaine
swelling Phrases, which hang togither like a man that once tolde me the
winde was at Northwest and by South, because he would be sure to name
winds inough, then that in truth they feele those passions, which easily
as I thinke, may be bewraied by that same forciblenesse or Energia, (as
the Greeks call it of the writer). But let this be a sufficient, though
short note, that we misse the right use of the material point of Poesie.
Now for the outside of it, which is words, or (as I may tearme it)
Diction, it is even well worse: so is it that hony-flowing Matrone
Eloquence, apparrelled, or rather disguised, in a Courtisanlike painted
affectation. One time with so farre fet words, that many seeme monsters,
but must seeme straungers to anie poore Englishman: an other time with
coursing of a letter, as if they were bound to follow the method of a
Dictionary: an other time with figures and flowers, extreemely
winter-starved. But I would this fault were onely peculiar to Versefiers,
and had not as large possession among Prose-Printers: and which is to be
mervailed among many Schollers, & which is to be pitied among some
Preachers. Truly I could wish, if at I might be so bold to wish, in a
thing beyond the reach of my capacity, the diligent Imitators of Tully
& Demosthenes, most worthie to be imitated, did not so much keepe
Nizolian paper bookes
{169},
of their figures
and
phrase, as by attentive translation, as it were, devoure them whole, and
make them wholly theirs. For now they cast Sugar and spice uppon everie
dish that is served to the table: like those Indians, not content to weare
eare-rings at the fit and naturall place of the eares, but they will
thrust Jewels through their nose and lippes, because they will be sure to
be fine. Tully when he was to drive out Catiline, as it were with a
thunderbolt of eloquence, often useth the figure of repitition, as Vivit
& vincit, imo in senatum, Venit imo, in senatum venit
{170}, &c. Indeede enflamed, with a well grounded rage,
hee would have his words (as it were ) double out of his mouth, and so do
that artificially, which we see men in choller doo naturally. And we
having noted the grace of those words, hale them in sometimes to a
familiar Epistle, when it were too much choller to be chollericke. How
well store of Similiter Cadenses
{171}, doth sound
with the gravitie of the Pulpit, I woulde but invoke Demosthenes soule to
tell: who with a rare daintinesse useth them. Truly they have made mee
thinke of the Sophister
{172}, that with too much
subtiltie would prove two Egges three, and though he might bee counted a
Sophister, had none for his labour. So these men bringing in such a kind
of eloquence, well may they obtaine an opinion of a seeming finesse, but
perswade few, which should be the ende of their finesse. Now for
similitudes in certain Printed discourses, I thinke all Herberists, all
stories of beasts, foules, and fishes, are rifled up, that they may come
in multitudes to wait upon any
of our conceits, which certainly is as
absurd a surfet to the eares as is possible. For the force of a similitude
not being to prove any thing to a contrary disputer, but onely to explain
to a willing hearer, when that is done, the rest is a most tedious
pratling, rather overswaying the memorie from the purpose whereto they
were applied, then anie whit enforming the judgement alreadie either
satisfied, or by similitudes not to be satisfied. For my part, I doo not
doubt, when Antonius and Crassus
{173}, the great
forefathers of Cicero in eloquence, the one (as Cicero testifieth of them)
pretended not to know Art, the other not to set by it, (because with a
plaine sensiblenesse, they might winne credit of popular eares, which
credit, is the nearest steppe to perswasion, which perswasion, is the
chiefe marke of Oratorie) I do not doubt I say, but that they used these
knacks verie sparingly, which who doth generally use, any man may see doth
dance to his own musick, and so to be noted by the audience, more careful
to speak curiously than truly. Undoubtedly (at least to my opinion
undoubtedly) I have found in divers smal learned Courtiers, a more sound
stile, then in some professors of learning, of which I can gesse no other
cause, but that the Courtier following that which by practice he findeth
fittest to nature, therein (though he know it not) doth according to art,
thogh not by art (as in these cases he shuld do) flieth from nature, &
indeed abuseth art. But what? methinks, I deserve to be pounded
{174} for straying from Poetrie, to Oratory: but both have
such
an affinitie in the wordish consideration, that I think this
digression will make my meaning receive the fuller understanding: which
is not to take upon me to teach Poets how they should do, but only finding
my selfe sicke among the rest, to shew some one or two spots of the common
infection growne among the most part of writers; that acknowledging our
selves somewhat awry, wee may bende to the right use both of matter and
manner. Whereto our language giveth us great occasion, being indeed
capable of any excellent exercising of it. I knowe some will say it is a
mingled language: And why not, so much the better, taking the best of both
the other? Another will say, it wanteth Grammer. Nay truly it hath that
praise that it wants not Grammar; for Grammer it might have, but it needs
it not, being so easie in it selfe, and so voyd of those combersome
differences of Cases, Genders, Moods, & Tenses, which I thinke was a
peece of the Tower of Babilons curse
{175}, that a
man should be put to schoole to learn his mother tongue. But for the
uttering sweetly and properly the conceit of the minde, which is the end
of speech, that hath it equally with any other tongue in the world. And is
perticularly happy in compositions of two or three wordes togither, neare
the Greeke, farre beyonde the Latine, which is one of the greatest bewties
can be in a language. Now of versefying, there are two sorts, the one
auncient, the other moderne. The auncient marked the quantitie of each
sillable, and according to that, framed his verse: The moderne, observing
onely number, with some regard of the accent; the chiefe life of it,
standeth in that like sounding of the words, which we call Rime. Whether
of these be the more excellent, wold bear many speeches, the ancient no
doubt more fit for Musicke, both words and time observing quantitie, and
more fit, lively to expresse divers passions by the low or loftie sound of
the well-wayed sillable. The latter likewise with his rime striketh a
certaine Musicke to the ear: and in fine, since it dooth delight, though
by an other way, it obtaineth the same purpose, there being in either
sweetnesse, and wanting in neither, majestie. Truly the English before any
Vulgare language, I know is fit for both sorts: for, for the auncient, the
Italian is so full of Vowels, that it must ever be combred with Elisions.
The Duch so of the other side with Consonants, that they cannot yeeld the
sweete slyding, fit for a Verse. The French in his whole language, hath
not one word that hath his accent in the last sillable, saving two, called
Antepenultima; and little more hath the Spanish, and therefore verie
gracelessly may they use Dactiles. The English is subject to none of these
defects. Now for Rime, though we doo not observe quan[ti]tie, yet we
observe the Accent verie precisely, which other languages either cannot
do, or will not do so absolutely. That Caesura, or breathing place in the
midst of the Verse, neither Italian nor Spanish have: the French and we,
never almost faile off. Lastly, even the verie Rime it selfe, the Italian
cannot put it in the last sillable, by the French named the Masculine
Rime; but still in the next to the last, which the French call the Female;
or the next before that, which the Italian Sdrucciola: the example
of the
former, is Buono, Suono, of the Sdrucciola, is Femina, Semina. The French
of the other side, hath both the Male as Bon, Son; and the Female, as
Plaise, Taise
{176}; but the Sdrucciola he hath not:
where the English hath all three, as Du, Trew, Father, Rather, Motion,
Potion
{177}, with much more which might be sayd,
but that alreadie I finde the triflings of this discourse is much too much
enlarged. So that since the ever-praise woorthie Poesie is full of vertue
breeding delightfulnesse, and voyd of no gift that ought to be in the
noble name of learning, since the blames layd against it, are either false
or feeble, since the cause why it is not esteemed in England, is the fault
of Poet-apes, not Poets. Since lastly our tongue is most fit to honour
Poesie, and to bee honoured by Poesie, I conjure you all that have had the
evill luck to read this inck-wasting toy of mine, even in the name of the
nine Muses, no more to scorne the sacred misteries of Poesie. No more to
laugh at the name of Poets, as though they were next inheritors to fooles;
no more to jest at the reverent title of a Rimer, but to beleeve with
Aristotle, that they were the auncient Treasurers of the Grecians
divinitie
{178}; to beleeve with Bembus, that they
were the first bringers in of all Civilitie; to beleeve with Scalliger
that no Philosophers precepts can sooner make you an honest man, then the
reading of Virgil
{179}; to beleeve with Clauserus,
the Translator of Cornatus, that it pleased the heavenly deitie by Hesiod
and Homer, under the vaile of Fables to give us all knowledge, Logicke,
Rhetoricke, Philosophie, naturall and morall, and Quid non?
{180} to beleeve with me, that there are many misteries
contained in Poetrie, which of purpose were written darkly, least by
prophane wits it should be abused: To beleeve with Landin
{181}, that they are so beloved of the Gods, that whatsoever
they write, proceeds of a divine furie. Lastly, to beleeve themselves when
they tell you they will make you immortal by their verses. Thus doing,
your name shall florish in the Printers shops. Thus doing you shalbe of
kin to many a Poeticall Preface. Thus doing, you shal be most faire, most
rich, most wise, most all: you shall dwel upon Superlatives. Thus doing,
though you be Libertino patre natus
{182}, you shall
sodeinly grow Herculea proles
{183}. Si quid mea
Carmina possunt
{184}. Thus doing, your soule shall
be placed with Dantes Beatrix, or Virgils Anchises. But if (fie of such a
but) you bee borne so neare the dull-making Cataract of Nilus, that you
cannot heare the Planet-like Musicke of Poetrie; if you have so earth-creeping a mind that it cannot lift it selfe up to looke to the skie of
Poetrie, or rather by a certaine rusticall disdaine, wil become such a
mome, as to bee a Momus of Poetrie: then though I will not wish unto you
the Asses eares of Midas, nor to be driven by a Poets verses as
Bubonax
{185} was, to hang himselfe, nor to be rimed to
death
as is said to be done in Ireland, yet thus much Curse I must send you in
the behalfe of all Poets, that while you live, you live in love, and never
get favour, for lacking skill of a Sonet, and
when you die, your memorie die from the earth for want of an Epitaphe.
F I N I S.
