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Title: The Arte of English Poesie

Author: George Puttenham

Release date: August 3, 2005 [eBook #16420]
                Most recently updated: December 12, 2020

Language: English



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THE ARTE

OF ENGLISH

POESIE.


Contriued into three Bookes: The first of Poets and Poesie,
the second of Proportion, the third of Ornament.

[Illustration: AN CHORA SPEI (shield with hand coming out of a cloud and
holding onto an anchor entwined with vine)]

AT LONDON

Printed by Richard Field,
dwelling in the black-Friers, neere Ludgate.
1589.

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE SIR WILLIAM CECILL KNIGHT,
LORD OF BVRGHLEY, LORD HIGH TREASVRER OF ENGLAND, R.F.

Printer wisheth health and prosperitie, with the commandement
and vse of his continuall seruice.




_This Booke (right Honorable) coming to my handes, with his bare title
without any Authours name or any other ordinarie addresse, I doubted how
well it might become me to make you a present thereof, seeming by many
expresse passages in the same at large, that it was by the Authour
intended to our Soueraigne Lady the Queene, and for her recreation and
seruice chiefly deuised, in which case to make any other person her
highnes partener in the honour of his guift it could not stand with my
dutie, nor be without some prejudice to her Maiesties interest and his
merrite. Perceyuing besides the title to purport so slender a subiect, as
nothing almost could be more discrepant from the grauitie of your yeeres
and Honorable function, whose contemplations are euery houre more
seriously employed upon the publicke administration and services:
I thought it no condigne gratification, nor scarce any good satisfaction
for such a person as you. Yet when I considered, that bestowing vpon your
Lordship the first vewe of this mine impression (a feat of mine owne
simple facultie) it could not scypher her Maiesties honour or prerogatiue
in the guift, nor yet the Authour of his thanks: and seeing the thing it
selfe to be a deuice of some noueltie (which commonly it giveth euery good
thing a speciall grace) and a noueltie so highly tending to the most
worthy prayses of her Maiesties most excellent name. So deerer to you I
dare conceiue them any worldly thing besides love although I could not
deuise to have presented your Lordship any gift more agreeable to your
appetite, or fitter for my vocation and abilitie to bestow, your Lordship
beyng learned and a louer of learning, my present a Book and my selfe a
printer alwaies ready and desirous to be at your Honourable commaundement.
And thus I humbly take my leave from the Black-friers, this xxvii of May,
1589._

  Your Honours most humble
  at commaundement,

  _R.F._



_A colei_

[Illustration of Queen holding orb and sceptre.]

_Che se stessa rassomiglia & non altrui._




  THE FIRST BOOKE,
  _Of Poets and Poesie.




  _CHAP. I._

_What a Poet and Poesie is, and who may be worthily sayd the most
excellent Poet of our time._


A Poet is as much to say as a maker. And our English name well conformes
with the Greeke word: for of [Greek: poiein] to make, they call a maker
_Poeta_. Such as (by way of resemblance and reuerently) we may say of God:
who without any trauell to his diuine imagination, made all the world of
nought, nor also by any paterne or mould as the Platonicks with their
Idees do phantastically suppose. Euen so the very Poet makes and contriues
out of his owne braine both the verse and matter of his poeme, and not by
any foreine copie or example, as doth the translator, who therefore may
well be sayd a versifier, but not a Poet. The premises considered, it
giueth to the name and profession no smal dignitie and preheminence aboue
all other artificers, Scientificke or Mechanicall. And neuerthelesse
without any repugnancie at all, a Poet may in some sort be said a follower
or imitator, because he can expresse the true and liuely of euery thing is
set before him, and which he taketh in hand to describe: and so in that
respect is both a maker and a counterfaitor: and Poesiean art not only of
making, but also of imitation. And this science in his perfection, can not
grow, but by some diuine instinct, the Platonicks call it _furor_: or by
excellencie of nature and complexion: or by great subtiltie of the spirits
& wit or by much experience and obseruation of the world, and course of
kinde, or peradventure by all or most part of them. Otherwise how was it
possible that _Homer_ being but a poore priuate man, and as some say, in
his later age blind, should so exactly set foorth and describe, as if he
had bene a most excellent Captaine or Generall, the order and array of
battels, the conduct of whole armies, the sieges and assaults of cities
and townes? or as some great Princes maiordome and perfect Surueyour in
Court, the order, sumptuousnesse and magnificence of royal bankers,
feasts, weddings, and enteruewes? or as a Polititian very prudent, and
much inured with the priuat and publique affaires, so grauely examine the
lawes and ordinances Ciuill, or so profoundly discourse in matters of
estate, and formes of all politique regiment? Finally how could he so
naturally paint out the speeches, countenance and maners of Princely
persons and priuate, to wit, the wrath of _Achilles_, the magnanimitie of
_Agamemnon_, the prudence of _Menelaus_, the prowesse of _Hector_, the
maiestie of king _Priamus_, the grauitie of _Nestor_, the pollicies and
eloquence of _Vlysses_, the calamities of the distressed _Queenes_, and
valiance of all the Captaines and aduenturous knights in those lamentable
warres of Troy? It is therefore of Poets thus to be conceiued, that if
they be able to deuise and make all these things of them selues, without
any subiect of veritie, that they be (by maner of speech) as creating
gods. If they do it by instinct diuine or naturall, then surely much
fauoured from aboue. If by their experience, then no doubt very wise men.
If by any president or paterne layd before them, then truly the most
excellent imitators & counterfaitors of all others. But you (Madame) my
most Honored and Gracious: if I should seeme to offer you this my deuise
for a discipline and not a delight, I might well be reputed, of all others
the most arrogant and iniurious: your selfe being alreadie, of any that I
know in our time, the most excellent Poet. Forsooth by your Princely
pursefauours and countenance, making in maner what ye list, the poore man
rich, the lewd well learned, the coward couragious, and vile both noble
and valiant. Then for imitation no lesse, your person as a most cunning
counterfaitor liuely representing _Venus_ in countenance, in life _Diana,
Pallas_ for gouernement, and _Iuno_ in all honour and regall magnificence.




  _CHAP. II._

_That there may be an Art of our English Poesie, as well as there is of
the Latine and Greeke._


Then as there was no art in the world till by experience found
out: so if Poesie be now an Art, & of al antiquitie hath bene among
the Greeks and Latines, & yet were none, vntill by studious
persons fashioned and reduced into a method of rules & precepts,
then no doubt may there be the like with vs. And if th'art of Poesie
be but a skill appertaining to vtterance, why may not the same
be with vs as wel as with them, our language being no lesse copious
pithie and significatiue then theirs, our conceipts the same, and our
wits no lesse apt to deuise and imitate then theirs were? If againe
Art be but a certaine order of rules prescribed by reason, and gathered
by experience, why should not Poesie be a vulgar Art with
vs as well as with the Greeks and Latines, our language admitting
no fewer rules and nice diuersities then theirs? but peraduenture
moe by a peculiar, which our speech hath in many things differing
from theirs: and yet in the generall points of that Art, allowed to
go in common with them: so as if one point perchance which is
their feete whereupon their measures stand, and in deede is all the
beautie of their Poesie, and which feete we haue not, nor as yet neuer
went about to frame (the nature of our language and wordes
not permitting it) we haue in stead thereof twentie other curious
points in that skill more then they euer had, by reason of our rime
and tunable concords or simphonie, which they neuer obserued.
Poesie therefore may be an Art in our vulgar, and that verie methodicall
and commendable.




  _CHAP. III._

_How Poets were the first priests, the first prophets, the first
Legislators and politicians in the world._


The profession and vse of Poesie is most ancient from the beginning, and
not as manie erroniously suppose, after, but before any ciuil society was
among men. For if it was first that Poesie was th'originall cause and
occasion of their first assemblies; when before the people remained in the
woods and mountains, vagarant and dipersed like the wild beasts; lawlesse
and naked, or verie ill clad, and of all good and necessarie prouision for
harbour or sustenance vtterly vnfurnished: so as they litle diffred for
their maner of life, from the very brute beasts of the field. Whereupon it
is fayned that _Amphion_ and _Orpheus_, two Poets of the first ages, one
of them, to wit _Amphion_, builded vp cities, and reared walles with the
stones that came in heapes to the sound of his harpe, figuring thereby the
mollifying of hard and stonie hearts by his sweete and eloquent
perswasion. And _Orpheus_ assembled the wilde beasts to come in heards to
harken to his musicke and by that meanes made them tame, implying thereby,
how by his discreete and wholesome lessons vttered in harmonie and with
melodious instruments, he brought the rude and sauage people to a more
ciuill and orderly life, nothing as it seemeth, more preuailing or fit to
redresse and edifie the cruell and sturdie courage of man then it. And as
these two Poets and _Linus_ before them, and _Museus_ also and _Hesiodus_
in Greece and Archadia: so by all likelihood had mo Poets done in other
places and in other ages before them, though there be no remembrance left
of them, by reason of the Recordes by some accident of time perished and
failing. Poets therfore are of great antiquitie. Then forasmuch as they
were the first that entended to the obseruation of nature and her works,
and specially of the Celestiall courses, by reason of the continuall
motion of the heauens, searching after the first mouer, and from thence by
degrees comming to know and consider of the substances separate &
abstract, which we call the diuine intelligences or good Angels
_(Demones)_ they were the first that instituted sacrifices of placation,
with inuocations and worship to them, as to Gods; and inuented and
stablished all the rest of the obseruances and ceremonies of religion, and
so were the first Priests and ministers of the holy misteries. And because
for the better execution of that high charge and function, it behoued than
to live chast, and in all holines of life, and in continuall studie and
contemplation: they came by instinct divine, and by deepe meditation, and
much abstinence (the same assubtiling and refining their spirits) to be
made apt to receaue visions, both waking and sleeping, which made them
vtter prophesies, and foretell things to come. So also were they the first
Prophetes or seears, _Vidontes_, for so the Scripture tearmeth them in
Latine after the Hebrue word, and all the oracles and answers of the gods
were giuen in meeter or verse, and published to the people by their
direction. And for that they were aged and graue men, and of much wisedome
and experience in th'affaires of the world, they were the first lawmakers
to the people, and the first polititiens, deuising all expedient meanes
for th'establishment of Common wealth, to hold and containe the people in
order and duety by force and virtue of good and wholesome lawes, made for
the preseruation of the publique peace and tranquillitie. The same
peraduenture not purposely intended, but greatly furthered by the aw of
their gods, and such scruple of conscience, as the terrors of their late
inuented religion had led them into.




  _CHAP. IIII._

_How the Poets were the first Philosophers, the first Astronomers and
Historiographers and Oratours and Musiciens of the world._


Vtterance also and language is giuen by nature to man for perswasion of
others, and aide of them selues, I meane the first abilite to speake. For
speech it selfe is artificiall and made by man, and the more pleasing it
is, the more it preuaileth to such purpose as it is intended for: but
speech by meeter is a kind of vtterance, more cleanly couched and more
delicate to the eare then prose is, because it is more currant and slipper
vpon the tongue, and withal tunable and melodious, as a kind of Musicke,
and therfore may be tearmed a musicall speech or vtterance, which cannot
but please the hearer very well. Another cause is, for that it is briefer
& more compendious, and easier to beare away and be retained in memorie,
then that which is contained in multitude of words and full of tedious
ambage and long periods. It is beside a maner of vtterance more eloquent
and rethoricall then the ordinarie prose, which we use in our daily talke:
because it is decked and set out with all manner of fresh colours and
figures, which maketh that it sooner inuegleth the iudgement of man, and
carieth his opinion this way and that, whither soeuer the heart by
impression of the eare shal be most affectionatly bent and directed. The
vtterance in prose is not of so great efficacie, because not only it is
dayly vsed, and by that occasion the eare is ouerglutted with it, but is
also not so voluble and slipper vpon the tong, being wide and lose, and
nothing numerous, nor contriued into measures, and sounded with so gallant
and harmonical accents, nor in fine alowed that figuratiue conueyance, nor
so great licence in choise of words and phrases as meeter is. So as the
Poets were also from the beginning the best perswaders and their eloquence
the first Rethoricke of the world. Euen so it became that the high
mysteries of the gods should be reuealed & taught, by a maner of vtterance
and language of extraordinarie phrase, and briefe and compendious, and
aboue al others sweet and ciuill as the Metricall is. The same also was
meetest to register the liues and noble gests of Princes, and of the great
Monarkes of the world, and all other the memorable accidents of time: so
as the Poet was also the first historiographer. Then for as much as they
were the first obseruers of all naturall causes & effects in the things
generable and corruptible, and from thence mounted vp to search after the
celestiall courses and influences, & yet penetrated further to know the
diuine essences and substances separate, as is sayd before, they were the
first Astronomers and Philosophists and Metaphisicks. Finally, because
they did altogether endeuor themselues to reduce the life of man to a
certaine method of good maners, and made the first differences betweene
vertue and vice, and then tempered all these knowledges and skilles with
the exercise of a delectable Musicke by melodious instruments, which
withall serued them to delight their hearers, & to call the people
together by admiration, to a plausible and vertuous conuersation,
therefore were they the first Philosophers Ethick, & the first artificial
Musiciens of the world. Such was _Linus, Orpheus, Amphion & Museus_ the
most ancient Poets and Philosophers, of whom there is left any memorie by
the prophane writers King _Dauid_ also & _Salomon_ his sonne and many
other of the holy Prophets wrate in meeters, and vsed to sing them to the
harpe, although to many of vs ignorant of the Hebrue language and phrase,
and not obseruing it, the same seeme but a prose. It can not bee therefore
that anie scorn or indignitie should iustly be offred to so noble,
profitable, ancient and diuine a science as Poesie is.




  _CHAP. V._

_How the wilde and sauage people vsed a naturall Poesie in versicte and
time as our vulgar is._


And the Greeke and Latine Poesie was by verse numerous and metricall,
running vpon pleasant feete, sometimes swift, sometime slow (their words
very aptly seruing that purpose) but without any rime or tunable concord
in th'end of their verses, as we and all other nations now use. But the
Hebrues & Chaldees who were more ancient then the Greekes, did not only
use a metricall Poesie, but also with the same a maner or rime, as hath
bene of late obserued by learned men. Wherby it appeareth, that our vulgar
running Poesie was common to all the nations of the world besides, whom
the Latines and Greekes in speciall called barbarous. So as it was
notwithstanding the first and most ancient Poesie, and the most
vniuersall, which two points do otherwise giue to all humane inuentions
and affaires no small credit. This is proued by certificate of marchants &
trauellers, who by late nauigations haue surueyed the whole world, and
discouered large countries and strange peoples wild and sauage, affirming
that the American, the Perusine & the very Canniball, do sing and also
say, their highest and holiest matters in certaine riming versicles and
not in prose, which proues also that our maner of vulgar Poesie is more
ancient then the artificiall of the Greeks and Latines, ours comming by
instinct of nature, which was before Art or obseruation, and vsed with the
sauage and vnciuill, who were before all science or ciuilitie, euen as the
naked by prioritie of time is before the clothed, and the ignorant before
the learned. The naturall Poesie therefore being aided and amended by Art,
and not vtterly altered or obscured, but some signe left of it, (as the
Greekes and Latines haue left none) is no lesse to be allowed and
commended then theirs.




  _CHAP. VI_.

_How the riming Poesie came first to the Grecians and Latines, and had
altered and almost split their maner of Poesie_.


But it came to passe, when fortune fled farre from the Greekes and
Latines, & that their townes florished no more in traficke, nor their
Vniuersities in learning as they had done continuing those Monarchies: the
barbarous conquerers inuading them with innumerable swarmes of strange
nations, the Poesie metricall of the Grecians and Latines came to be much
corrupted and altered, in so much as there were times that the very
Greekes and Latines themselues tooke pleasure in Riming verses, and vsed
it as a rare and gallant thing: Yea their Oratours proses nor the Doctors
Sermons were acceptable to Princes nor yet to the common people vnlesse it
went in manner of tunable rime or metricall sentences, as appeares by many
of the auncient writers, about that time and since. And the great Princes,
and Popes, and Sultans would one salute and greet an other sometime in
frendship and sport, sometime in earnest and enmitie by ryming verses, &
nothing seemed clerkly done, but must be done in ryme: Whereof we finde
diuers examples from the time of th'Emperours Gracian & Valentinian
downwardes; For then aboutes began the declination of the Romain Empire,
by the notable inundations of the _Hunnes_ and _Vandalles_ in Europe,
vnder the conduict of _Totila_ & _Atila_ and other their generalles. This
brought the ryming Poesie in grace, and made it preuaile in Italie and
Greece (their owne long time cast aside, and almost neglected) till after
many yeares that the peace of Italie and of th'Empire Occidentall reuiued
new clerkes, who recouering and perusing the bookes and studies of the
ciuiler ages, restored all maner of arts, and that of the Greeke and
Latine Poesie withall into their former puritie and netnes. Which
neuerthelesse did not so preuaile, but that the ryming Poesie of the
Barbarians remained still in his reputation, that one in the schole, this
other in Courts of Princes more ordinary and allowable.




_CHAP VII._

_How in the time of Charlemaine and many yeares after him the Latine
Poetes wrote in ryme._


And this appeareth euidently by the workes of many learned men, who wrote
about the time of _Charlemaines_ raigne in the Empire _Occidentall_, where
the Christian Religion, became through the excessive authoritie of Popes,
and deepe deuotion of Princes strongly fortified and established by
erection of orders _Monastical_ in which many simple clerks for deuotion
sake & sanctitie were receiued more then for any learning, by which
occasion & the solitarinesse of their life, waxing studious without
discipline or instruction by any good methode, some of them grew to be
historiographers, some Poets, and following either the barbarous rudenes
of the time, or els their own idle inuentions, all that they wrote to the
fauor or prayse of Princes, they did it in such maner of minstrelsie, and
thought themselues no small fooles, when they could make their verses goe
all in ryme as did the Schoole of _Salerno_, dedicating their booke of
medicinall rules vnto our king of England, with this beginning.
  _Anglorum Regi scripsit tota schola Salerni
  Sivus incolumem, sivis te reddere sanicari
  Curas tolle graues, irasci crede prophanum
  Necretine ventram nec stringas as fortiter annum._

And all the rest that follow throughout the whole booke more curiously
than cleanely, neuerthelesse very well to the purpose of their arte. In
the same time king _Edward_ the iij. him selfe quartering the Armes of
England and France, did discouer his pretence and clayme to the Crowne of
Fraunce, in these ryming verses.
  _Rex sum regnorum bina ratione duorum
  Anglorum regnio sum rex ego iure paterno
  Matris iure quidem Francorum nuncupor idem
  Hinc est armorum variatio facta meorum._

Which verses _Philip de Valois_ then possessing the Crowne as next heire
male by pretexte of the law _Salique_, and holding our _Edward_ the third,
aunswered in these other of as good stuffe.
  _Prædo regnorum qui diceris esse duorum
  Regno materno priuaberis atque paterno
  Prolis ius nullum ubi matris non fuit vllum
  Hinc est armorum variatio stulta tuorum._

It is found written of Pope _Lucius_, for his great auarice and tyranny
vsed ouer the Clergy thus in ryming verses.
  _Lucius est piscis rex et tyrannus aquarum
  A quo discordat Lucius iste parum
  Deuorat hic hom homines, his piscibus insidiatur
  Esurit hic semper hic aliquando satur
  Amborum vitam si laus aquata notaret
  Plus rationis habet qui ratione caret._

And as this was vsed in the greatest and gayest matters of Princes and
Popes by the idle inuention of Monasticall men then raigning al in their
superlative. So did every scholer & secular clerke or versifier, when he
wrote any short poeme or matter of good lesson put it in ryme, whereby it
came to passe that all your old Proverbes and common sayinges, which they
would have plausible to the reader and easy to remember and beare away,
were of that sorte as these.
  _In mundo mira faciunt duo nummias & ira
  Molleficant dura peruertunt omnia iura._

And this verse in disprayse of the Courtiers life following the Court of
Rome.
  _Vita palatina dura est animaque ruina._

And these written by a noble learned man.
  _Ire redire fequi regum sublimia castra
  Eximiius status est, sed non sic itur ad astra._

And this other which to the great injurie of all women was written (no
doubt by some forlorne lover, or else some old malicious Monke) for one
woman's sake blemishing the whole sex.
  _Fallere stere nere mentari nilque tacere
  Haec qumque vere statuit Deus in muliere._

If I might have bene his Iudge, I would have had him for his labour serued
as _Orpheus_ was by the women of Thrace. His eyes to be picket out with
pinnes for his so deadly belying of them, or worse handled if worse could
be deuised. But will ye see how God raised a revenger for the silly
innocent women, for about the same ryming age came an honest civill
Courtier somewhat bookish, and wrate these verses against the whole rable
of Monkes.
  _O Monachi vestri stomachi sunt amphor a Bacchi
  Vos estos Deis est restes turpissima pestis._

Anon after came your secular Priestes as jolly rymers as the rest, who
being sore agreeued with their Pope _Calixtus_, for that he had enjoyned
them from their wives,& railed as fast against him.
  _O bone Calixte totus mundus perodit te
  Quondam Presbiteri, poterant vxoribus vti
  Hoc destruxisti, postquam tu Papa fursti._

Thus what in writing of rymes and registring of lyes was the Clergy of
that fabulous age wholly occupied.

We finde some but very few of these ryming verses among the Latines of the
ciuiller ages, and those rather hapning by chaunce then of any purpose in
the writer, as this _Distick_ among the disportes of _Ouid_.
  _Quot coem stellas tot habet tua Roma puellas
  Pascua quotque haedos tot habet tua Roma Cynedos,_

The posteritie taking pleasure in this manner of _Simphonie_ had leasure
as it seemes to deuise many other knackes in their versifying that the
auncient and ciuill Poets had not vfed before, whereof one was to make
euery word of a verse to begin with the same letter, as did _Hugobald_ the
Monke who made a large poeme to the honour of _Carolus Caluus_, euery word
beginning with _C._ which was the first letter of the king's name thus.
  _Carmina clarisona Caluis cantate camenæ._

And this was thought no small peece of cunning, being in deed a matter of
some difficultie to finde out so many wordes beginning with one letter as
might make a iust volume, though in truth it were but a phantasticall
deuise and to no purpose at all more then to make them harmonicall to the
rude eares of those barbarous ages.

Another of their pretie inuentions was to make a verse of such wordes as
by their nature and manner of construction and situation might be turned
backward word by word, and make another perfit verse, but of quite
contrary sence as the gibing Monke that wrote of Pope _Alexander_ these
two verses.
  _Laus tua non tua fraus, virtus non copia rerum,
  Scandere te faciunt hoc decus eximium._

Which if ye will turne backward they make two other good verses, but of a
contrary sence, thus.
  _Eximium decus hoc faciunt te scandere rerum
  Copia, non virtus, fraus tua non tua laus._

And they called it _Verse Lyon_.

Thus you may see the humors and appetites of men how diuers and
chaungeable they be in liking new fashions, though many tymes worse then
the old, and not onely in the manner of their life and vse of their
garments, but also in their learninges and arts, and specially of their
languages.




  _CHAP. VIII._

_In what reputation Poesie and Poets were in old time with Princes and
otherwise generally, and how they be now become contemptible and for what
causes._


For the respectes aforesayd in all former ages and in the most ciuill
countreys and commons wealthes, good Poets and Poesie were highly esteemed
and much fauoured of the greatest Princes. For proofe whereof we read how
much _Amyntas_ king of _Macedonia_ made of the Tragicall Poet _Euripides_.
And the _Athenians_ of _Sophocles_. In what price the noble poemes of
_Homer_ were holden with _Alexander_ the great, in so much as euery night
they were layd vnder his pillow, and by day were carried in the rich
iewell cofer of _Darius_ lately before vanquished by him in battaile. And
not onely _Homer_ the father and Prince of the Poets was so honored by
him, but for his sake all other meaner Poets, in so much as _Cherillus_
one no very great good Poet had for euery verse well made a _Phillips_
noble of gold, amounting in value to an angell English, and so for euery
hundreth verses (which a cleanely pen could speedely dispatch) he had a
hundred angels. And since _Alexander_ the great how _Theocritus_ the
Greeke Poet was fauored by _Tholomee_ king of Egipt & Queene _Berenice_
his wife, _Ennius_ likewise by _Scipio_ Prince of the _Romaines_,
_Virgill_ also by th'Emperour _Augustus_. And in later times how much were
_Iehan de Mehune_ & _Guillaume de Loris_ made of by the French kinges, and
_Geffrey Chaucer_ father of our English Poets by _Richard_ the second, who
as it was supposed gaue him the maner of new Holme in Oxfordshire. And
_Gower_ to _Henry_ the fourth, and _Harding_ to _Edward_ the fourth. Also
how _Frauncis_ the Frenche king made _Sangelais, Salmonius, Macrinus_, and
_Clement Marot_ of his priuy Chamber for their excellent skill in vulgare
and Latine Poesie. And king _Henry_ the 8. her _Maiesties_ father for a
few Psalmes of _Dauid_ turned into English meetre by Sternhold, made him
groome of his priuy chamber, & gaue him many other good gifts. And one
_Gray_ what good estimation did he grow vnto with the same king _Henry_,
& afterward with the Duke of Sommerset Protectour, for making certaine
merry Ballades, whereof one chiefly was, _The hunte is vp, the hunte is
up_. And Queene _Mary_ his daughter for one _Epithalamie_ or nuptiall song
made by _Vargas_ a Spanish Poet at her mariage with king _Phillip_ in
Winchester gaue him during his life two hundred Crownes pension: nor this
reputation was giuen them in auncient times altogether in respect that
Poesie was a delicate arte, and the Poets them selues cunning
Princepleasers, but for that also they were thought for their vniuersall
knowledge to be very sufficient men for the greatest charges in their
common wealthes, were it for counsell or for conduct, whereby no man neede
to doubt but that both skilles may very well concurre and be most
excellent in one person. For we finde that _Iulius Cæsar_ the first
Emperour and a most noble Captaine, was not onely the most eloquent Orator
of his time, but also a very good Poet, though none of his doings therein
be now extant. And _Quintus Catulus_ a good Poet, and _Cornelius Gallus_
treasurer of Egipt, and _Horace_ the most delicate of all the Romain
_Lyrickes_, was thought meete and by many letters of great instance
prouoked to be Secretarie of estate to _Augustus_ th'Emperour, which
neuerthelesse he refused for his vnhealthfulnesse sake, and being a quiet
mynded man and nothing ambitious of glory: _non voluit accedere ad
Rempublicam_, as it is reported. And _Ennius_ the Latine Poet was not as
some perchaunce thinke, onely fauored by _Scipio_ the _Africane_ for his
good making of verses, but vsed as his familiar and Counsellor in the
warres for his great knowledge and amiable conuersation. And long before
that _Antinienides_ and other Greeke Poets, as _Aristotle_ reportes in his
Politiques, had charge in the warres. And _Firteus_ the Poet being also a
lame man & halting vpon one legge, was chosen by the Oracle of the gods
from the _Athenians_ to be generall of the _Lacedemonians_ armie, not for
his Poetrie, but for his wisedome and graue perswasions, and subtile
Stratagemes whereby he had the victory ouer his enemies. So as the Poets
seemed to haue skill not onely in the subtilties of their arte, but also
to be meete for all maner of functions ciuill and martiall, euen as they
found fauour of the times they liued in, insomuch as their credit and
estimation generally was not small. But in these dayes (although some
learned Princes may take delight in them) yet vniuersally it is not so.
For as well Poets as Poesie are despised, & the name become, of honorable
infamous, subiect to scorne and derision, and rather a reproch than a
prayse to any that vseth it: for commonly who so is studious in th'Arte or
shewes himselfe excellent in it, they call him in disdayne a
_phantasticall_: and a light headed or phantasticall man (by conuersion)
they call a Poet. And this proceedes through the barbarous ignoraunce of
the time, and pride of many Gentlemen, and others, whose grosse heads not
being brought vp or acquainted with any excellent Arte, nor able to
contriue, or in manner conceiue any matter of subtiltie in any businesse
or science, they doe deride and scorne it in all others as superfluous
knowledges and vayne sciences, and whatsoeuer deuise be of rare inuention
they terme it _phantasticall_, construing it to the worst side: and among
men such as be modest and graue, & of litle conuersation, nor delighted in
the busie life and vayne ridiculous actions of the popular, they call him
in scorne a _Philosopher_, or _Poet_, as much to say as a phantasticall
man, very iniuriously (God wot) and to the manifestation of their own
ignoraunce, not making difference betwixt termes. For as the cuill and
vicious disposition of the braine hinders the sounde iudgement and
discourse of man with busie & disordered phantasies, for which cause the
Greekes call him [Greek: phantasikos] so is that part being well affected,
not onely nothing disorderly or confused with any monstruous imaginations
or conceits, but very formall, and in his much multiformitie _vniforme_,
that is well proportioned, and so passing cleare, that by it as by a
glasse or mirrour, are represented vnto the soule all maner of bewtifull
visions, whereby the inuentiue parte of the mynde is so much holpen, as
without it no man could deuise any new or rare thing: and where it is not
excellent in his kind, there could be no politique Captaine, nor any witty
enginer or cunning artificer, nor yet any law maker or counsellor of deepe
discourse, yea the Prince of Philosophers stickes not to say _animam non
intelligere absque phantasmate_, which text to another purpose _Alexander
Aphrodiscus_ well noteth, as learned men know. And this phantasie may be
resembled to a glasse as hath bene sayd, whereof there be many tempers and
manner of makinges, as the _perspectiues_ doe acknowledge, for some be
false glasses and shew thinges otherwise than they be in deede, and others
right as they be in deede, neither fairer nor fouler, nor greater nor
smaller. There be againe of these glasses that shew thinges exceeding
faire and comely, others that shew figures very monstruous & illfauored.
Euen so is the phantasticall part of man (if it be not disordered) a
representer of the best, most comely and bewtifull images or apparances of
thinges to the soule and according to their very truth. If otherwise, then
doth it breede _Chimeres_ & monsters in mans imaginations, & not onely in
his imaginations, but also in all his ordinarie actions and life which
ensues. Wherefore such persons as be illuminated with the brightest
irradiations of knowledge and of the veritie and due proportion of things,
they are called by the learned men not _phantastics_ but _euphantasiote_,
and of this sorte of phantasie are all good Poets, notable Captaines
stratagematique, all cunning artificers and enginers, all Legislators
Polititiens & Counsellours of estate, in whose exercises the inuentiue
part is most employed and is to the sound & true iudgement of man most
needful. This diuersitie in the termes perchance euery man hath not noted,
& thus much be said in defence of the Poets honour, to the end no noble
and generous minde be discomforted in the studie thereof, the rather for
that worthy & honorable memoriall of that noble woman twise French Queene,
Lady _Anne_ of Britaine, wife first to king _Charles_ the viij and after
to _Lewes_ the xij, who passing one day from her lodging toward the kinges
side, saw in a gallerie _Master Allaine Chartier_ the kings Secretarie, an
excellent maker or Poet leaning on a tables end a sleepe, & stooped downe
to kisse him, saying thus in all their hearings, we may not of Princely
courtesie passe by and not honor with our kisse the mouth from whence so
many sweete ditties & golden poems haue issued. But me thinks at these
words I heare some smilingly say, I would be loath to lacke liuing of my
own till the Prince gaue me a maner of new Elme for my riming: And another
to say I haue read that the Lady _Cynthia_ came once downe out of her skye
to kisse the faire yong lad _Endimion_ as he lay a sleep: & many noble
Queenes that haue bestowed kisses upon their Princes paramours, but neuer
vpon any Poets. The third me thinks shruggingly saith, I kept not to sit
sleeping with my Poesie till a Queene came and kissed me: But what of all
this? Princes may giue a good Poet such conuenient countenaunce and also
benefite as are due to an excellent artificer, though they neither kisse
nor cokes them, and the discret Poet lookes for no such extraordinarie
fauours, and aswell doth he honour by his pen the iust, liberall, or
magnanimous Prince, as the valiaunt, amiable or bewtifull though they be
euery one of them the good giftes of God. So it seemes not altogether the
scorne and ordinarie disgrace offered vnto Poets at these dayes, is cause
why few Gentlemen do delight in the Art, but for that liberalitie, is come
to fayle in Princes, who for their largesse were wont to be accompted
th'onely patrons of learning, and first founders of all excellent
artificers. Besides it is not perceiued, that Princes them selues do take
any pleasure in this science, by whose example the subiect is commonly
led, and allured to all delights and exercises be they good or bad,
according to the graue saying of the historian. _Rex multitudinem
religione impleuit, quæ semper regenti similis est._ And peraduenture in
this iron & malitious age of ours, Princes are lesse delighted in it,
being ouer earnestly bent and affected to the affaires of Empire &
ambition, whereby they are as it were inforced to indeuour them selues to
armes and practises of hostilitie, or to entend to the right pollicing of
their states, and haue not one houre to bestow vpon any other ciuill or
delectable Art of naturall or morall doctrine: nor scarce any leisure to
thincke one good thought in perfect and godly contemplation, whereby their
troubled mindes might be moderated and brought to tranquillitie. So as, it
is hard to find in these dayes of noblemen or gentlemen any good
_Mathematician_, or excellent _Musitian_, or notable _Philosopher_, or els
a cunning Poet: because we find few great Princes much delighted in the
same studies. Now also of such among the Nobilitie or gentrie as be very
well seene in many laudable sciences, and especially in making of Poesie,
it is so come to passe that they haue no courage to write & if they haue,
yet are they loath to be a knowen of their skill. So as I know very many
notable Gentlemen in the Court that haue written commendably, and
suppressed it agayne, or els suffred it to be publisht without their owne
names to it: as if it were a discredit for a Gentleman, to seeme learned,
and to shew himselfe amorous of any good Art. In other ages it was not so,
for we read that Kinges & Princes haue written great volumes and publisht
them vnder their owne regall titles. As to begin with _Salomon_ the wisest
of Kings, _Iulius Caesar_ the greatest of Emperours, _Hermes Trisingistus_
the holiest of Priestes and Prophetes, _Euax_ king of _Arabia_ wrote a
booke of precious stones in verse, prince _Auicenna_ of Phisicke and
Philosophie, _Alphonsus_ king of Spaine his Astronomicall Tables,
_Almansor_ a king of _Marrocco_ diuerse Philosophicall workes, and by
their regall example our late soueraigne Lord king _Henry_ the eight wrate
a booke in defence of his faith, then perswaded that it was the true and
Apostolicall doctrine, though it hath appeared otherwise since, yet his
honour and learned zeale was nothing lesse to be allowed. Queenes also
haue bene knowen studious, and to write large volumes, as Lady _Margaret_
of Fraunce Queene of _Nauarre_ in our time. But of all others the Emperour
_Nero_ was so well learned in Musique and Poesie, as when he was taken by
order of the Senate and appointed to dye, he offered violence to him selfe
and sayd, _O quantus artifex pereo!_ as much to say, as, how is it
possible a man of such science and learning as my selfe, should come to
this shamefull death? Th'emperour _Octauian_ being made executor to
_Virgill_ who had left by his last will and testament that his bookes of
the _Aeneidos_ should be committed to the fire as things not perfited by
him, made his excuse for infringing the deads will, by a nomber of verses
most excellently wntten, whereof these are part.
  _Frangatur potius legure, veneranda potestas,
  Quam tot congestos noctesque diesque labores
  Hauserit vna dies_.

And put his name to them. And before him his vncle & father adoptiue
_Iulius Caesar_, was not ashamed to publish vnder his owne name, his
Commentaries of the French and Britaine warres. Since therefore so many
noble Emperours, Kings and Princes haue bene studious of Poesie and other
ciuill arts, & not ashamed to bewray their skils in the same, let none
other meaner person despise learning, nor (whether it be in prose or in
Poesie, if they them selues be able to write, or haue written any thing
well or of rare inuention) be any whit squeimish to let it be publisht
vnder their names, for reason serues it, and modestie doth not repugne.




  _CHAP. IX._

_How Poesie should not be imployed vpon vayne conceits or vicious or
infamous._


Wherefore the Nobilitie and dignitie of the Art considered aswell by
vniuersalitie as antiquitie and the naturall excellence of it selfe,
Poesie ought not to be abased and imployed vpon any vnworthy matter &
subject, nor vsed to vaine purposes, which neuerthelesse is dayly seene,
and that is to vtter contents infamous & vicious or ridiculous and
foolish, or of no good example & doctrine. Albeit in merry matters (not
vnhonest) being vsed for mans solace and recreation it may well be
allowed, for as I said before, Poesie is a pleasant maner of vtterance
varying from the ordinarie of purpose to refresh the mynde by the eares
delight. Poesie also is not onely laudable, because I said it was a
metricall speach vsed by the first men, but because it is a metricall
speech corrected and reformed by discreet iudgements, and with no lesse
cunning and curiositie than the Greeke and Latine Poesie, and by Art
bewtified & adorned, & brought far from the primitiue rudenesse of the
first inuentors, otherwise it might be sayd to me that _Adam_ and _Eues_
apernes were the gayest garmentes, because they were the first, and the
shepheardes tente or pauillion, the best housing, because it was the most
auncient & most vniversall: which I would not haue so taken, for it is not
my meaning but that Art & cunning concurring with nature, antiquitie &
vniuersalitie, in things indifferent, and not euill, doe make them more
laudable. And right so our vulgar riming Poesie, being by good wittes
brought to that perfection we see, is worthily to be preferred before any
other matter of vtterance in prose, for such vse and to such purpose as it
is ordained, and shall hereafter be set downe more particularly.




  _CHAP. X._

_The subiect or matter of Poesie._


Hauing sufficiently sayd of the dignitie of Poets and Poesie, now it is
tyme to speake of the matter or subiect of Poesie, which to myne intent
is, what soeuer wittie and delicate conceit of man meet or worthy to be
put in written verse, for any necessary use of the present time, or good
instruction of the posteritie. But the chief and principall is: the laud
honour & glory of the immortall gods (I speake now in phrase of the
Gentiles.) Secondly the worthy gests of noble Princes: the memoriall and
registry of all great fortunes, the praise of vertue & reproofe of vice,
the instruction of morall doctrines, the reuealing of sciences naturall &
other profitable Arts, the redresse of boistrous & sturdie courages by
perswasion, the consolation and repose of temperate myndes, finally the
common solace of mankind in all his trauails and cares of this transitorie
life. And in this last sort being vsed for recreation onely, may allowably
beare matter not alwayes of the grauest, or of any great commoditie or
profit, but rather in some sort, vaine, dissolute, or wanton, so it be not
very scandalous & of euill example. But as our intent is to make this Art
vulgar for all English mens vse, & therefore are of necessitie to set
downe the principal rules therein to be obserued: so in mine opinion it is
no lesse expedient to touch briefly all the chief points of this auncient
Poesie of the Greeks and Latines, so far forth as it is conformeth with
ours. So as it may be knowen what we hold of them as borrowed, and what as
of our owne peculiar. Wherefore now that we haue said, what is the matter
of Poesie, we will declare the manner and formes of poemes used by the
auncients.




  _CHAP. XI._

_Of poemes and their sundry formes and how thereby the auncient Poets
receaued surnames._


As the matter of Poesie is diuers, so was the forme of their poemes &
maner of writing, for all of them wrote not in one sort, euen as all of
them wrote not vpon one matter. Neither was euery Poet alike cunning in
all as in some one kinde of Poesie, not vttered with like felicitie. But
wherein any one most excelled, thereof he tooke a surname, as to be called
a Poet _Heroick, Lyrick, Elegiack, Epigrammatist_ or otherwise. Such
therefore as gaue them selves to write long histories of the noble gests
of kings & great Princes, entermedling the dealings of the gods, halfe
gods or _Heroes_ of the gentiles, & the great & waighty consequences of
peace and warre, they called Poets _Heroick_, whereof _Homer_ was chief
and most auncient among the Greeks, _Virgill_ among the Latines. Others
who more delighted to write songs or ballads of pleasure, to be song with
the voice, and to the harpe, lute, or citheron & such other musical
instruments, they were called melodious Poets [_melici_] or by a more
common name _Lirique_ Poets, of which sort was _Pindarus, Anacreon_ and
_Callimachus_ with others among the Greeks: _Horace_ and _Catullus_ among
the Latines. There were an other sort, who sought the fauor of faire
Ladies, and coueted to bemone their estates at large, & the perplexities
of loue in a certain pitious verse called _Elegie_, and thence were called
_Eligiack_: such among the Latines were _Ouid, Tibullus_, & _Propertius_.
There were also Poets that wrote onely for the stage, I meane playes and
interludes, to receate the people with matters of disporte, and to that
intent did set forth in shewes pageants, accompanied with speach the
common behauiours and maner of life of priuate persons, and such as were
the meaner sort of men, and they were called _Comicall_ Poets, of whom
among the Greekes _Menander_ and _Aristophanes_ were most excellent, with
the Latines _Terence_ and _Plautus_. Besides those Poets _Comick_ there
were other who serued also the stage, but medled not with so base matters:
For they set forth the dolefull falles of infortunate & afflicted Princes,
& were called Poets _Tragicall_. Such were _Euripides_ and _Sophocles_
with the Greeks, _Seneca_ among the Latines. There were yet others who
mounted nothing so high as any of them both, but in base and humble stile
by maner of Dialogue, vttered the priuate and familiar talke of the
meanest sort of men, as shepheards, heywards and suchlike, such was among
the Greekes _Theocritus_: and _Virgill_ among the Latines, their poemes
were named _Eglogues_ or shepheardly talke. There was yet another kind of
Poet, who intended to taxe the common abuses and vice of the people in
rough and bitter speaches, and their inuectiues were called _Satyres_, and
them selues _Satyricques_. Such were _Lucilius_, _Iuuenall_ and _Persius_
among the Latines, & with vs he that wrote the booke called Piers plowman.
Others of a more fine and pleasant head were giuen wholly to taunting and
scoffing at vndecent things, and in short poemes vttered pretie merry
conceits, and these men were called _Epigrammatistes_. There were others
that for the peoples good instruction, and triall of their owne witts vsed
in places of great assembly, to say by rote nombers of short and
sententious meetres, very pithie and of good edification, and thereupon
were called Poets _Mimistes_: as who would say, imitable and meet to be
followed for their wise and graue lessons. There was another kind of
poeme, inuented onely to make sport, & to refresh the company with a maner
of buffonry or counterfaiting of merry speaches, conuerting all that which
they had hard spoken before, to a certaine derision by a quite contrary
sence, and this was done, when _Comedies_ or _Tragedies_ were a playing, &
that betweene the actes when the players went to make ready for another,
there was great silence, and the people waxt weary, then came in these
maner of counterfaite vices, they were called _Pantomimi_, and all that
had before bene sayd, or great part of it, they gaue a crosse construction
to it very ridiculously. Thus haue you how the names of the Poets were
giuen them by the formes of their poemes and maner of writing.




  _CHAP. XII._

_In what forme of Poesie the gods of the Gentiles were praysed and
honored._


The gods of the Gentiles were honoured by their Poetes in hymnes, which is
an extraordinarie and diuine praise, extolling and magnifying them for
their great powers and excellencie of nature in the highest degree of
laude, and yet therein their Poets were after a sort restrained: so as
they could not with their credit vntruly praise their owne gods, or vse in
their lauds any maner of grosse adulation or vnueritable report. For in
any writer vntruth and flatterie are counted most great reproches.
Wherfore to praise the gods of the Gentiles, for that by authoritie of
their owne fabulous records, they had fathers and mothers, and kinred and
allies, and wiues and concubines: the Poets first commended them by their
genealogies or pedegrees, their mariages and aliances, their notable
exploits in the world for the behoofe of mankind, and yet as I sayd
before, none otherwise then the truth of their owne memorials might beare,
and in such sort as it might be well auouched by their old written
reports, though in very deede they were not from the beginning all
historically true, and many of them verie fictions, and such of them as
were true, were grounded vpon some part of an historie or matter of
veritie, the rest altogether figuratiue & misticall, couertly applied to
some morall or natural sense, as _Cicero_ setteth it foorth in his bookes
_de natura deorum_. For to say that _Iupiter_ was sonne to _Saturne_, and
that he maried his owne sister _Iuno_, might be true, for such was the
guise of all great Princes in the Orientall part of the world both at
those dayes and now is. Againe that he loued _Danae, Europa, Leda,
Calisto_ & other faire Ladies daughters to kings, besides many meaner
women, it is likely enough, because he was reported to be a very
incontinent person, and giuen ouer to his lustes, as are for the most part
all the greatest Princes, but that he should be the highest god in heauen,
or that he should thunder and lighten, and do manie other things very
vnnaturally and absurdly: also that _Saturnus_ should geld his father
_Celius_, to th'intent to make him vnable to get any moe children, and
other such matters as are reported by them, it seemeth to be some wittie
deuise and fiction made for a purpose, or a very noble and impudent lye,
which could not be reasonably suspected by the Poets, who were otherwise
discreete and graue men, and teachers of wisedome to others. Therefore
either to transgresse the rules of their primitiue records, or to seeke to
giue their gods honour by belying them (otherwise then in that sence which
I haue alledged) had bene a signe not onely of an vnskilfull Poet, but
also of a very impudent and leude man. For vntrue praise neuer giueth any
true reputation. But with vs Christians, who be better disciplined, and do
acknowledge but one God Almightie, euerlasting, and in euery respect selfe
suffizant [_autharcos_] reposed in all perfect rest & soueraigne blisse,
not needing or exacting any forreine helpe or good. To him we can not
exhibit ouermuch praise, nor belye him any wayes, vnlesse it be in abasing
his excellencie by scarsitie of praise, or by misconceauing his diuine
nature, weening to praise him, if we impute to him such vaine delights and
peeuish affections, as commonly the frailest men are reproued for. Namely
to make him ambitious of honour, iealous and difficult in his worships,
terrible, angrie, vindicatiue, a louer, a hater, a pitier, and indigent of
mans worships: finally so passionate as in effect he shold be altogether
_Anthropopathis_. To the gods of the Gentiles they might well attribute
these infirmities, for they were but the children of men, great Princes
and famous in the world, and not for any other respect diuine, then by
some resemblance of vertue they had to do good, and to benefite many. So
as to the God of the Christians, such diuine praise might be verified: to
th'other gods none, but figuratiuely or in misticall sense as hath bene
said. In which sort the ancient Poets did in deede giue them great honors
& praises, and made to them sacrifices, & offred them oblations of sundry
sortes, euen as the people were taught and perswaded by such placations
and worships to receaue any helpe, comfort or benefite to them selues,
their wiues, children, possessions or goods. For if that opinion were not,
who would acknowledge any God? the verie _Etimologie_ of the name with vs
of the North partes of the world declaring plainely the nature of the
attribute, which is all one as if we sayd good, [_bonus_] or a giuer of
good things. Therfore the Gentiles prayed for peace to the goddesse
_Pallas_: for warre (such as thriued by it) to the god _Mars_: for honor
and empire to the god _Iupiter_: for riches & wealth to _Pluto_: for
eloquence and gayne to _Mercurie_: for safe nauigation to _Neptune_: for
faire weather and prosperous windes to _Eolus_: for skill in musick and
leechcraft to _Apollo_: for free life & chastitie to _Diana_: for bewtie
and good grace, as also for issue & prosperitie in loue to _Venus_: for
plenty of crop and corne to _Ceres_: for seasonable vintage to _Bacchus:
and for other things to others. So many things as they could imagine good
and desirable, and to so many gods as they supposed to be authors thereof,
in so much as _Fortune_ was made a goddesse, & the feuer quartaine had her
aulters, such blindnes & ignorance raigned in the harts of men at that
time, and whereof it first proceeded and grew, besides th'opinion hath
bene giuen, appeareth more at large in our bookes of _Ierotekni_, the
matter being of another consideration then to be treated of in this worke.
And these hymnes to the gods was the first forme of Poesie and the highest
& the stateliest, & they were song by the Poets as priests, and by the
people or whole congregation as we sing in our Churchs the Psalmes of
_Dauid_, but they did it commonly in some shadie groues of tall tymber
trees: In which places they reared aulters of greene turfe, and bestrewed
them all ouer with flowers, and vpon them offred their oblations and made
their bloudy sacrifices, (for no kinde of gift can be dearer then life) of
such quick cattaille, as euery god was in their conceit most delighted in,
or in some other respect most fit for the misterie: temples or churches or
other chappels then these they had none at those dayes.




  _CHAP. XIII._

_In what forme of Poesie vice and the common abuses of mans life was
reprehended._


Some perchance would thinke that next after the praise and honoring of
their gods, should commence the worshippings and praise of good men, and
specially of great Princes and gouernours of the earth; in soueraignety
and function next vnto the gods. But it is not so, for before that came to
passe, the Poets or holy Priests, chiefly studied the rebuke of vice, and
to carpe at the common abuses, such as were most offensiue to the publique
and priuate, for as yet for lacke of good ciuility and wholesome
doctrines, there was greater store of lewde lourdaines then of wife and
learned Lords, or of noble and vertuous Princes and gouernours. So as next
after the honours exhibited to their gods, the Poets finding in man
generally much to reproue & litle to praise, made certaine poems in plaine
meetres, more like to sermons or preachings then otherwise, and when the
people were assembled togither in those hallowed places dedicate to their
gods, because they had yet no large halles or places of conuenticle, nor
had any other correction of their faults, but such as rested onely in
rebukes of wife and graue men, such as at these dayes make the people
ashamed rather then afeard, the said auncient Poets used for that purpose,
three kinds of poems reprehensiue, to wit, the _Satyre_, the _Comedie_, &
the _Tragedie:_ and the first and most bitter inuectiue against vice and
vicious men, was the _Satyre_: which to th'intent their bitternesse should
breede none ill will, either to the Poets, or to the recitours, (which
could not haue bene chosen if they had bene openly knowen) and besides to
make their admonitions and reproofs seeme grauer and of more efficacie,
they made wife as if the gods of the woods, whom they called _Satyres_ or
_Silvanes_, should appeare and recite those verses of rebuke, whereas
in deede they were but disguised persons vnder the shape of _Satyres_ as
who would say, these terrene and base gods being conuersant with mans
affaires, and spiers out of all their secret faults: had some great care
ouer man, & desired by good admonitions to reforme the euill of their
life, and to bring the bad to amendment by those kinde of preachings,
whereupon the Poets inuentours of the deuise were called _Satyristes_.




  _CHAP. XIIII._

_How vice was afterward reproued by two other maner of poems, better
reformed then the Satyre, whereof the first was Comedy, the second
Tragedie._


Bvt when these maner of solitary speaches and recitals of rebuke, vttered
by the rurall gods out of bushes and briers, seemed not to the finer heads
sufficiently perswasiue, nor so popular as if it were reduced into action
of many persons, or by many voyces liuely represented to the eare and eye,
so as a man might thinke it were euen now a doing. The Poets deuised to
haue many parts played at once by two or three or foure persons, that
debated the matters of the world, sometimes of their owne priuate
affaires, sometimes of their neighbours, but neuer medling with any
Princes matters nor such high personages, but commonly of marchants,
souldiers, artificers, good honest housholders, and also of vnthrifty
youthes, yong damsels, old nurses, bawds, brokers, ruffians and parasites,
with such like, in whose behauiors, lyeth in effect the whole course and
trade of mans life, and therefore tended altogether to the good amendment
of man by discipline and example. It was also much for the solace &
recreation of the common people by reason of the pageants and shewes. And
this kind of poeme was called _Comedy_, and followed next after the
_Satyre_, & by that occasion was somwhat sharpe and bitter after the
nature of the _Satyre_, openly & by expresse names taxing men more
maliciously and impudently then became, so as they were enforced for feare
of quarell & blame to disguise their players with strange apparell, and by
colouring their faces and carying hatts & capps of diuerse fashions to
make them selues lesse knowen. But as time & experience do reforme euery
thing that is amisse, so this bitter poeme called the old _Comedy_, being
disused and taken away, the new _Comedy_ came in place, more ciuill and
pleasant a great deale and not touching any man by name, but in a certain
generalitie glancing at euery abuse, so as from thenceforth fearing none
ill-will or enmitie at any bodies hands, they left aside their disguisings
& played bare face, till one _Roscius Gallus_ the most excellent player
among the Romaines brought vp these vizards, which we see at this day
vsed, partly to supply the want of players, when there were moe parts then
there were persons, or that it was not thought meet to trouble & pester
princes chambers with too many folkes. Now by the chaunge of a vizard one
man might play the king and the carter, the old nurse & the yong damsell,
the marchant & the souldier or any other part he listed very conueniently.
There be that say _Roscius_ did it for another purpose, for being him
selfe the best _Histrien_ or buffon that was in his dayes to be found,
insomuch as _Cicero_ said _Roscius_ contended with him by varietie of
liuely gestures to surmount the copy of his speach, yet because he was
squint eyed and had a very vnpleasant countenance, and lookes which made
him ridiculous or rather odious to the presence, he deuised these vizards
to hide his owne ilfauored face. And thus much touching the _Comedy_.




  _CHAP. XV._

_In what forme of Poesie the euill and outragious bahauiours of Princes
were reprehended._


Bvt because in those dayes when the Poets first taxed by _Satyre_ and
_Comedy_, there was no great store of Kings or Emperors or such high
estats (al men being yet for the most part rude, & in a maner popularly
egall) they could not say of them or of their behauiours any thing to the
purpose, which cases of Princes are sithens taken for the highest and
greatest matters of all. But after that some men among the moe became
mighty and famous in the world, soueraignetie and dominion hauing learned
them all maner of lusts and licentiousnes of life, by which occasions also
their high estates and felicities fell many times into most lowe and
lamentable fortunes: whereas before in their great prosperities they were
both feared and reuerenced in the highest degree, after their deathes when
the posteritie stood no more in dread of them, their infamous life and
tyrannies were layd open to all the world, their wickednes reproched,
their follies and extreme insolencies derided, and their miserable ends
painted out in playes and pageants, to shew the mutabilitie of fortune,
and the iust punishment of God in reuenge of a vicious and euill life.
These matters were also handled by the Poets and represented by action as
that of the _Comedies_: but because the matter was higher then that of the
_Comedies_ the Poets stile was also higher and more loftie, the prouision
greater, the place more magnificent: for which purpose also the players
garments were made more rich & costly and solemne, and euery other thing
apperteining, according to that rate: So as where the _Satyre_ was
pronounced by rusticall and naked _Syluanes_ speaking out of a bush, & the
common players of interludes called _Plampedes_, played barefoote vpon the
floore: the later _Comedies_ vpon scaffolds, and by men well and cleanely
hosed and shod. These matters of great Princes were played vpon lofty
stages, & the actors thereof ware vpon their legges buskins of leather
called _Cothurni_, and other solemne habits, & for a speciall preheminence
did walke vpon those high corked shoes or pantofles, which now they call
in Spaine & Italy _Shoppini_. And because those buskins and high shoes
were commonly made of goats skinnes very finely tanned, and dyed into
colours: or for that as some say the best players reward, was a goate to
be giuen him, or for that as other thinke, a goate was the peculiar
sacrifice to the god _Pan_, king of all the gods of the woodes: forasmuch
as a goate in Greeke is called _Tragos_, therfore these stately playes
were called _Tragedies_. And thus haue ye foure sundry formes of Poesie
_Dramatick_ reprehensiue, & put in execution by the feate & dexteritie of
mans body, to wit, the _Satyre_, old _Comedie_, new _Comedie_, and
_Tragedie_, whereas all other kinde of poems except _Eglogue_ whereof
shalbe entreated hereafter, were onely recited by mouth or song with the
voyce to some melodious instrument.




  _CHAP. XVI._

_In what forme of Poesie the great Princes and dominators of the world
were honored._


Bvt as the bad and illawdable parts of all estates and degrees were taxed
by the Poets in one sort or an other, and those of great Princes by
Tragedie in especial, (& not till after their deaths) as hath bene before
remembred, to th'intent that such exemplifying (as it were) of their
blames and aduersities, being now dead, might worke for a secret
reprehension to others that were aliue, liuing in the fame or like abuses.
So was it great reason that all good and vertuous persons should for their
well doings be rewarded with commendation, and the great Princes aboue all
others with honors and praises, being for many respects of greater moment,
to haue them good & vertuous then any inferior sort of men. Wherfore the
Poets being in deede the trumpetters of all praise and also of slaunder
(not slaunder, but well deserued reproch) were in conscience & credit
bound next after the diuine praises of the immortall gods, to yeeld a like
ratable honour to all such amongst men, as most resembled the gods by
excellencie of function and had a certaine affinitie with them, by more
then humane and ordinarie virtues shewed in their actions here vpon earth.
They were therefore praised by a second degree of laude: shewing their
high estates, their Princely genealogies and pedegrees, mariages,
aliances, and such noble exploites, as they had done in th'affaires of
peace & of warre to the benefit of their people and countries, by
inuention of any noble science, or profitable Art, or by making wholesome
lawes or enlarging of their dominions by honorable and iust conquests, and
many other wayes. Such personages among the Gentiles were _Bacchus, Ceres,
Perseus, Hercules, Theseus_ and many other, who thereby came to be
accompted gods and halfe gods or goddesses [_Heroes_] & had their
commedations giuen by Hymne accordingly or by such other poems as their
memorie was therby made famous to the posteritie for euer after, as shal
be more at large sayd in place conuenient. But first we will speake
somewhat of the playing places, and prouisions which were made for their
pageants & pomps representatiue before remembred.




  _CHAP. XVII._

_Of the places where their enterludes or poemes drammaticke were
represented to the people._


As it hath bene declared, the _Satyres_ were first vttered in their
hallowed places within the woods where they honoured their gods vunder the
open heauen, because they had no other housing fit for great assemblies.
The old comedies were plaid in the broad streets vpon wagons or carts
vncouered, which carts were floored with bords & made for remouable stages
to passe from one streete of their townes to another, where all the people
might stand at their ease to gaze vpon the sights. Their new comedies or
ciuill enterludes were played in open pauilions or tents of linnen cloth
or lether, halfe displayed that the people might see. Afterward when
Tragidies came vp they deuised to present them vpon scaffolds or stages of
timber, shadowed with linen or lether as the other, and these stages were
made in the forme of a _Semicircle_, wherof the bow serued for the
beholders to fit in, and the string or forepart was appointed for the
floore or place where the players vttered, & had in it sundry little
diuisions by curteins as trauerses to serue for seueral roomes where they
might repaire vnto & change their garments & come in againe, as their
speaches & parts were to be renewed. Also there was place appointed for
the musiciens to sing or to play vpon their instrumentes at the end of
euery scene, to the intent the people might be refreshed, and kept
occupied. This maner of stage in halfe circle, the Greekes called
_theatrum_, as much to say as a beholding place, which was also in such
sort contriued by benches and greeces to stand or sit vpon; as no man
should empeach anothers sight. But as ciuilitie and withall wealth
encreased, so did the minde of man growe dayly more haultie and
superfluous in all his deuises, so as for their _theaters_ in halfe
circle, they came to be by the great magnificence of the Romain princes
and people somptuously built with marble & square stone in forme all
round, & were called _Amphitheaters_, wherof as yet appears one among the
ancient ruines of Rome, built by _Pompeius Magnus_, for capasitie able to
receiue at ease fourscore thousand persons as it is left written, & so
curiously contriued as euery man might depart at his pleasure, without any
annoyance to other. It is also to be knowne that in those great
_Amphitheaters_, were exhibited all maner of other shewes & disports for
the people, as their ferce playes, or digladiations of naked men, their
wrastlings, runnings leapings and other practises of actiuitie and
strength, also their baitings of wild beasts, as Elephants, Rhinocerons,
Tigers, Leopards and others, which sights much delighted the common
people, and therefore the places required to be large and of great
content.




  _CHAP. XVIII._

_Of the Shepheards or pastorall Poesie called Eglogue, and to what purpose
it was first inuented and vsed._


Some be of opinion, and the chiefe of those who haue written in this Art
among the Latines, that the pastorall Poesie which we commonly call by the
name of _Eglogue_ and _Bucolick_, a tearme brought in by the Sicilian
Poets, should be the first of any other, and before the _Satyre_ comedie
or tragedie, because, say they, the shepheards and haywards assemblies &
meetings when they kept their cattell and heards in the common fields and
forests, was the first familiar conuersation, and their babble and talk
vnder bushes and shadie trees, the first disputation and contentious
reasoning, and their fleshly heates growing of ease, the first idle
wooings, and their songs made to their mates or paramours either vpon
sorrow or iolity of courage, the first amorous musicks, sometime also they
sang and played on their pipes for wagers, striuing who should get the
best game, and be counted cunningest. All this I do agree vnto, for no
doubt the shepheards life was the first example of honest felowship, their
trade the first art of lawfull acquisition or purchase, for at those daies
robbery was a manner of purchase. So saith _Aristotle_ in his bookes of
the Politiques, and that pasturage was before tillage, or fishing or
fowling, or any other predatory art or cheuisance. And all this may be
true, for before there was a shepheard keeper of his owne, or of some
other bodies flocke, there was none owner in the world, quick cattel being
the first property of any forreine possession. I say forreine, because
alway men claimed property in their apparell and armour, and other like
things made by their owne trauel and industry, nor thereby was there yet
any good towne or city or Kings palace, where pageants and pompes might be
shewed by Comedies or Tragedies. But for all this, I do deny that the
_Eglogue_ should be the first and most auncient forme of artificiall
Poesie, being perswaded that the Poet deuised the _Eglogue_ long after the
other _drammatick_ poems, not of purpose to counterfait or represent the
rusticall manner of loues and communication: but vnder the vaile of homely
persons, and in rude speeches to insinuate and glaunce at greater matters,
and such as perchance had not bene safe to haue beene disclosed in any
other sort, which may be perceiued by the Eglogues of _Virgill_, in which
are treated by figure matters of greater importance then the loues of
_Titirus_ and _Corydon_. These Eglogues came after to containe and enforme
morall discipline, for the amendment of mans behauiour, as be those of
_Mantuan_ and other moderne Poets.




  _CHAP. XIX._

_Of historicall Poesie, by which the famous acts of Princes and the
vertuous and worthy liues of our forefathers were reported._


There is nothing in man of all the potential parts of his mind (reason and
will except) more noble or more necessary to the actiue life then memory:
because it maketh most to a sound iudgement and perfect worldly wisedome,
examining and comparing the times past with the present, and by them both
considering the time to come, concludeth with a stedfast resolution, what
is the best course to be taken in all his actions and aduices in this
world: it came vpon this reason, experience to be so highly commended in
all consultations of importance, and preferred before any learning or
science, and yet experience is no more than a masse of memories assembled,
that is, such trials as man hath made in time before. Right so no kinde of
argument in all the Oratorie craft, doth better perswade and more
vniuersally satisfie then example, which is but the representation of old
memories, and like successes happened in times past. For these regards the
Poesie historicall is of all other next the diuine most honorable and
worthy, as well for the common benefit as for the speciall comfort euery
man receiueth by it. No one thing in the world with more delectation
reuiuing our spirits then to behold as it were in a glasse the liuely
image of our deare forefathers, their noble and vertuous maner of life,
with other things autentike, which because we are not able otherwise to
attaine to the knowledge of by any of our sences, we apprehend them by
memory, whereas the present time and things so swiftly passe away, as they
giue vs no leasure almost to looke into them, and much lesse to know &
consider of them throughly. The things future, being also euents very
vncertaine, and such as can not possibly be knowne because they be not
yet, can not be vsed for example nor for delight otherwise then by hope.
Though many promise the contrary, by vaine and deceitfull arts taking vpon
them to reueale the truth of accidents to come, which if it were so as
they surmise, are yet but sciences meerely coniecturall, and not of any
benefit to man or to the common wealth, where they be vsed or professed.
Therefore the good and exemplary things and actions of the former ages,
were reserued only to the historicall reportes of wise and graue men:
those of the present time left to the fruition and iudgement of our
sences: the future as hazards and incertaine euentes vtterly neglected and
layd aside for Magicians and mockers to get their liuings by: such manner
of men as by negligence of Magistrates and remisses of lawes euery
countrie breedeth great store of. These historical men neuerthelesse vsed
not the matter so precisely to wish that al they wrote should be accounted
true, for that was not needefull nor expedient to the purpose, namely to
be vsed either for example or for pleasure: considering that many times it
is seene a fained matter or altogether fabulous, besides that it maketh
more mirth than any other, works no lesse good conclusions for example
then the most true and veritable: but often times more, because the Poet
hath the handling of them to fashion at his pleasure, but not so of
th'other which must go according to their veritie & none otherwise without
the writers great blame. Againe as ye know mo and more excellent examples
may be fained in one day by a good wit, then many ages through mans
frailtie are able to put in vse, which made the learned and wittie men of
those times to deuise many historicall matters of no veritie at all, but
with purpose to do good and no hurt, as vsing them for a maner of
discipline and president of commendable life. Such was the common wealth
of _Plato_, and Sir _Thomas Moores Vtopia_, resting all in deuise, but
neuer put in execution, and easier to be wished then to be performed. And
you shall perceiue that histories were of three sortes, wholly true and
wholly false, and a third holding part of either, but for honest
recreation, and good example they were all of them. And this may be
apparent to vs not onely by the Poeticall histories, but also by those
that be written in prose: for as _Homer_ wrate a fabulous or mixt report
of the siege of Troy, and another of _Ulisses_ errors or wandrings, so did
_Museus_ compile a true treatise of the life & loues of _Leander_ and
_Hero_, both of them _Heroick_, and to none ill edification. Also as
_Theucidides_ wrate a worthy and veritable historie, of the warres betwixt
the _Athenians_ and the _Peloponeses_: so did _Zenophon_, a most graue
Philosopher, and well trained courtier and counsellour make another (but
fained and vntrue) of the childhood of _Cyrus_ king of _Persia_,
neuertheles both to one effect, that is for example and good information
of the posteritie. Now because the actions of meane & base personages,
tend in very few cases to any great good example: for who passeth to
follow the steps, and maner of life of a craftes man, shepheard or sailer,
though he were his father or dearest frend? yea how almost is it possible
that such maner of men should be of any vertue other then their profession
requireth? Therefore was nothing committed to historie, but matters of
great and excellent persons & things that the same by irritation of good
courages (such as emulation causeth) might worke more effectually, which
occasioned the story writer to chuse an higher stile fit for his subiect,
the Prosaicke in prose, the Poet in meetre, and the Poets was by verse
exameter for his grauitie and statelinesse most allowable: neither would
they intermingle him with any other shorter measure, vnlesse it were in
matters of such qualitie, as became best to be song with the voyce, and to
some musicall instrument, as were with the Greeks, all your Hymnes &
_Encomia_ of _Pindarus_ & _Callimachus_, not very histories but a maner of
historicall reportes in which cases they made those poemes in variable
measures, & coupled a short verse with a long to serue that purpose the
better, and we our selues who compiled this treatise haue written for
pleasure a litle brief _Romance_ or historicall ditty in the English tong
of the Isle of great _Britaine_ in short and long meetres, and by breaches
or diuisions to be more commodiously song to the harpe in places of
assembly, where the company shalbe desirous to heare of old aduentures &
valiaunces of noble knights in times past, as are those of king _Arthur_
and his knights of the round table, Sir _Beuys_ of _Southampton_, _Guy_ of
_Warwicke_ and others like. Such as haue not premonition hereof, and
consideration of the causes alledged, would peraduenture reproue and
disgrace euery _Romance_, or short historicall ditty for that they be not
written in long meeters or verses _Alexandrins_, according to the nature &
stile of large histories, wherin they should do wrong for they be sundry
formes of poems and not all one.




  _CHAP. XX._

_In what forme of Poesie vertue in the inferiour sort was commended._


In euerie degree and sort of men vertue is commendable, but not egally:
not onely because mens estates are vnegall, but for that also vertue it
selfe is not in euery respect of egall value and estimation. For
continence in a king is of greater merit, than in a carter, th'one hauing
all opportunities to allure him to lusts, and abilitie to serue his
appetites, th'other partly, for the basenesse of his estate wanting such
meanes and occasions, partly by dread of lawes more inhibited, and not so
vehemently caried away with vnbridled affections, and therefore deserue
not in th'one and th'other like praise nor equall reward, by the very
ordinarie course of distributiue iustice. Euen so parsimonie and
illiberalitie are greater vices in a Prince then in a priuate person, and
pusillanimitie and iniustice likewise: for to th'one, fortune hath
supplied inough to maintaine them in the contrarie vertues, I meane,
fortitude, iustice, liberalitie, and magnanimitie: the Prince hauing all
plentie to vse largesse by, and no want or neede to driue him to do wrong.
Also all the aides that may be to lift vp his courage, and to make him
stout and fearelesse (_augent animos fortunae_) saith the _Mimist_, and
very truly, for nothing pulleth downe a mans heart so much as aduersitie
and lacke. Againe in a meane man prodigalitie and pride are faultes more
reprehensible then in Princes, whose high estates do require in their
countenance, speech & expense, a certaine extraordinary, and their
functions enforce them sometime to exceede the limites of mediocritie not
excusable in a priuat person, whose manner of life and calling hath no
such exigence. Besides the good and bad of Princes is more exemplarie, and
thereby of greater moment then the priuate persons. Therefore it is that
the inferiour persons, with their inferiour vertues haue a certaine
inferiour praise, to guerdon their good with, & to comfort them to
continue a laudable course in the modest and honest life and behauiour.
But this lyeth not in written laudes so much as in ordinary reward and
commendation to be giuen them by the mouth of the superiour magistrate.
For histories were not intended to so generall and base a purpose, albeit
many a meane souldier & other obscure persons were spoken of and made
famous in stories, as we finde of _Irus_ the begger, and _Thersites_ the
glorious noddie, whom _Homer_ maketh mention of. But that happened (& so
did many like memories of meane men) by reason of some greater personage
or matter that it was long of, which therefore could not be an vniuersall
case nor chaunce to euery other good and vertuous person of the meaner
sort. Wherefore the Poet in praising the maner of life or death of anie
meane person, did it by some litle dittie or Epigram or Epitaph in fewe
verses & meane stile conformable to his subiect. So haue you how the
immortall gods were praised by hymnes, the great Princes and heroicke
personages by ballades of praise called _Encomia_, both of them by
historicall reports of great grauitie and maiestie, the inferiour persons
by other slight poemes.




  _CHAP. XXI._

_The forme wherein honest and profitable Artes and sciences were treated._


The profitable sciences were no lesse meete to be imported to the greater
number of ciuill men for instruction of the people and increase of
knowledge, then to be reserued and kept for clerkes and great men onely.
So as next vnto the things historicall such doctrines and arts as the
common wealth fared the better by, were esteemed and allowed. And the same
were treated by Poets in verse _Exameter_ fauouring the _Heroicall_, and
for the grauitie and comelinesse of the meetre most vsed with the Greekes
and Latines to sad purposes. Such were the Philosophicall works of
_Lucretius Carus_ among the Romaines, the Astronomicall of _Aratus_ and
_Manilius_, one Greeke th'other Latine, the Medicinall of _Nicander_, and
that of _Oprianus_ of hunting and fishes, and many moe that were too long
to recite in this place.




  _CHAP. XXII._

_In what forme of Poesie the amorous affections and allurements were
vttered._


The first founder of all good affections is honest loue, as the mother of
all the vicious is hatred. It was not therefore without reason that so
commendable, yea honourable a thing as loue well meant, were it in
Princely estate or priuate, might in all ciuil common wealths be vttered
in good forme and order as other laudable things are. And because loue is
of all other humane affections the most puissant and passionate, and most
generall to all sortes and ages of men and women, so as whether it be of
the yong or old or wise or holy, or high estate or low, none euer could
truly bragge of any exemption in that case: it requireth a forme of Poesie
variable, inconstant, affected, curious and most witty of any others,
whereof the ioyes were to be vttered in one sorte, the sorrowes in an
other, and by the many formes of Poesie, the many moodes and pangs of
louers, throughly to be discouered: the poore soules sometimes praying,
beseeching, sometime honouring, auancing, praising: an other while
railing, reuiling, and cursing: then sorrowing, weeping, lamenting: in the
ende laughing, reioysing & solacing the beloued againe, with a thousand
delicate deuises, odes, songs, elegies, ballads, sonets and other ditties,
moouing one way and another to great compassion.




  _CHAP. XXIII._

_The forme of Poeticall reioysings._


Pleasure is the chiefe parte of mans felicity in this world, and also (as
our Theologians say) in the world to come. Therefore while we may (yea
alwaies if it could be) to reioyce and take our pleasures in vertuous and
honest sort, it is not only allowable, but also necessary and very
naturall to man. And many be the ioyes and consolations of the hart: but
none greater, than such as he may vtter and discouer by some conuenient
meanes: euen as to suppresse and hide a mans mirth, and not to haue
therein a partaker, or at least wise a witnes, is no little griefe and
infelicity. Therfore nature and ciuility haue ordained (besides the
priuate solaces) publike reioisings for the comfort and recreation of
many. And they be of diuerse sorts and vpon diuerse occasions growne: one
& the chiefe was for the publike peace of a countrie the greatest of any
other ciuill good. And wherein your Maiestie (my most gracious Soueraigne)
haue shewed your selfe to all the world for this one and thirty yeares
space of your glorious raigne, aboue all other Princes of Christendome,
not onely fortunate, but also most sufficient vertuous and worthy of
Empire. An other is for iust & honourable victory atchieued against the
forraine enemy. A third at solemne feasts and pompes of coronations and
enstallments of honourable orders. An other for iollity at weddings and
marriages. An other at the births of Princes children. An other for
priuate entertainements in Court, or other secret disports in chamber, and
such solitary places. And as these reioysings tend to diuers effects, so
do they also carry diuerse formes and nominations: for those of victorie
and peace are called _Triumphall_, whereof we our selues haue heretofore
giuen some example by our _Triumphals_ written in honour of her Maiesties
long peace. And they were vsed by the auncients in like manner, as we do
our generall processions or Letanies with bankets and bonefires and all
manner of ioyes. Those that were to honour the persons of great Princes or
to solemnise the pompe of any installment were called _Encomia_, we may
call them carols of honour. Those to celebrate marriages were called songs
nuptiall or _Epithalamies_, but in a certaine misticall sense as shall be
said hereafter. Others for magnificence at the natiuities of Princes
children, or by custome vsed yearely vpon the same dayes, are called songs
natall or _Genethliaca_. Others for secret recreation and pastime in
chambers with company or alone were the ordinary Musickes amorous, such as
might be song with voice or to the Lute, Citheron or Harpe, or daunced by
measures as the Italian Pauan and galliard are at these daies in Princes
Courts and other places of honourable of ciuill assembly, and of all these
we will speake in order and very briefly.




  _CHAP. XXIIII._

_The forme of Poeticall lamentations_.


Lamenting is altogether contrary to reioising, euery man saith so, and yet
is it a peece of ioy to be able to lament with ease, and freely to poure
forth a mans inward sorrowes and the greefs wherewith his minde is
surcharged. This was a very necessary deuise of the Poet and a fine,
besides his poetrie to play also the Phisitian, and not onely by applying
a medicine to the ordinary sicknes of mankind, but by making the very
greef it selfe (in part) cure of the disease. Nowe are the causes of mans
sorrowes many: the death of his parents, friends, allies, and children:
(though many of the barbarous nations do reioyce at their burials and
sorrow at their birthes) the ouerthrowes and discomforts in battell, the
subuersions of townes and cities, the desolations of countreis, the losse
of goods and worldly promotions, honour and good renowne: finally the
trauails and torments of loue forlorne or ill bestowed, either by
disgrace, deniall, delay, and twenty other wayes, that well experienced
louers could recite. Such of these greefs as might be refrained or holpen
by wisedome, and the parties owne good endeuour, the Poet gaue none order
to sorrow them: for first as to the good renowne it is lost, for the more
part by some default of the owner, and may be by his well doings recouered
againe. And if it be vniustly taken away, as by vntrue and famous libels,
the offenders recantation may suffise for his amends: so did the Poet
_Stesichorus_, as it is written of him in his _Pallinodie_ vpon the
dispraise of _Helena_, and recouered his eye sight. Also for worldly goods
they come and go, as things not long proprietary to any body, and are not
yet subiect vnto fortunes dominion so, but that we our selues are in great
part accessarie to our own losses and hinderaunces, by ouersight &
misguiding of our selues and our things, therefore why should we bewaile
our such voluntary detriment? But death the irrecouerable losse, death the
dolefull departure of frendes, that can neuer be recontinued by any other
meeting or new acquaintance. Besides our vncertaintie and suspition of
their estates and welfare in the places of their new abode, seemeth to
carry a reasonable pretext of iust sorrow. Likewise the great ouerthrowes
in battell and desolations of countreys by warres, aswell for the losse of
many liues and much libertie as for that it toucheth the whole state, and
euery priuate man hath his portion in the damage: Finally for loue, there
is no frailtie in flesh and bloud so excusable as it, no comfort or
discomfort greater then the good and bad successe thereof, nothing more
naturall to man, nothing of more force to vanquish his will and to inuegle
his iudgement. Therefore of death and burials, of th'aduersities by
warres, and of true loue lost or ill bestowed, are th'onely sorrowes that
the noble Poets sought by their arte to remoue or appease, not with any
medicament of a contrary temper, as the _Galenistes_ vse to cure
[_contraria contrarijs_] but as the _Paracelsians_, who cure [_similia
similibus_] making one dolour to expell another, and in this case, one
short sorrowing the remedie of a long and grieuous sorrow. And the
lamenting of deathes was chiefly at the very burialls of the dead, also at
monethes mindes and longer times, by custome continued yearely, when as
they vsed many offices of seruice and loue towards the dead, and thereupon
are called _Obsequies_ in our vulgare, which was done not onely by
cladding the mourners their friendes and seruauntes in blacke vestures, of
shape dolefull and sad, but also by wofull countenaunces and voyces, and
besides by Poeticall mournings in verse. Such funerall songs were called
_Epicedia_ if they were song by many, and _Monodia_ if they were vttered
by one alone, and this was vsed at the enterment of Princes and others of
great accompt, and it was reckoned a great ciuilitie to vse such
ceremonies, as at this day is also in some countrey vsed. In Rome they
accustomed to make orations funeral and commendatorie of the dead parties
in the publique place called _Procostris_: and our _Theologians_, in stead
thereof vse to make sermons, both teaching the people some good learning,
and also saying well of the departed. Those songs of the dolorous
discomfits in battaile, and other desolations in warre, or of townes
saccaged and subuerted, were song by the remnant of the army ouerthrowen,
with great skrikings and outcries, holding the wrong end of their weapon
vpwards in signe of sorrow and dispaire. The cities also made generall
mournings & offred sacrifices with Poeticall songs to appease the wrath of
the martiall gods & goddesses. The third sorrowing was of loues, by long
lamentation in _Elegie_: so was their song called, and it was in a pitious
maner of meetre, placing a limping _Pentameter_, after a lusty _Exameter_,
which made it go dolourously more then any other meeter.




  _CHAP. XXV._

_Of the solemne reioysings at the natiuitie of Princes children._


To returne from sorrow to reioysing it is a very good hap and no vnwise
part for him that can do it, I say therefore, that the comfort of issue
and procreation of children is so naturall and so great, not onely to all
men but specially to Princes, as duetie and ciuilitie haue made it a
common custome to reioyse at the birth of their noble children, and to
keepe those dayes hallowed and festiuall for euer once in the yeare,
during the parentes or childrens liues: and that by publique order &
consent. Of which reioysings and mirthes the Poet ministred the first
occasion honorable, by presenting of ioyfull songs and ballades, praysing
the parentes by proofe, the child by hope, the whole kinred by report, &
the day it selfe with wishes of all good successe, long life, health &
prosperitie for euer to the new borne. These poems were called in Greeke
_Genethaca_, with vs they may be called natall or birth songs.




  _CHAP. XXVI._

_The maner of reioysings at mariages and weddings._


As the consolation of children well begotten is great, no lesse but rather
greater ought to be that which is occasion of children, that is honorable
matrimonie, a loue by al lawes allowed, not mutable nor encombred with
such vaine cares & passions, as that other loue, whereof there is no
assurance, but loose and fickle affection occasioned for the most part by
sodaine sights and acquaintance of no long triall or experience, nor vpon
any other good ground wherein any suretie may be conceiued: wherefore the
Ciuill Poet could do no lesse in conscience and credit, then as he had
before done to the ballade of birth: now with much better deuotion to
celebrate by his poeme the chearefull day of mariages aswell Princely as
others, for that hath alwayes bene accompted with euery countrey and
nation of neuer so barbarous people, the highest & holiest, of any
ceremonie apperteining to man: a match forsooth made for euer and not for
a day, a solace prouided for youth, a comfort for age, a knot of alliance
& amitie indissoluble: great reioysing was therefore due to such a matter
and to so gladsome a time. This was done in ballade wise as the natall
song, and was song very sweetely by Musitians at the chamber dore of the
Bridegroome and Bride at such times as shalbe hereafter declared and they
were called _Epithalamies_ as much to say as ballades at the bedding of
the bride: for such as were song at the borde at dinner or supper were
other Musickes and not properly _Epithalamies_. Here, if I shall say that
which apperteineth to th'arte, and disclose the misterie of the whole
matter, I must and doe with all humble reuerence bespeake pardon of the
chaste and honorable eares, least I should either offend them with
licentious speach, or leaue them ignorant of the ancient guise in old
times vsed at weddings (in my simple opinion) nothing reproueable. This
_Epithalamie_ was deuided by breaches into three partes to serue for three
seuerall fits or times to be song. The first breach was song at the first
parte of the night when the spouse and her husband were brought to their
bed & at the very chamber dore, where in a large vtter roome vsed to be
(besides the musitiens) good store of ladies or gentlewomen of their
kinsefolkes, & others who came to honor the mariage, & the tunes of the
songs were very loude and shrill, to the intent there might no noise be
hard out of the bed chamber by the skreeking & outcry of the young
damosell feeling the first forces of her stiffe & rigorous young man, she
being as all virgins tender & weake, & vnexpert in those maner of
affaires. For which purpose also they vsed by old nurses (appointed to
that seruice) to suppresse the noise by casting of pottes full of nuttes
round about the chamber vpon the hard floore or pauement, for they vsed no
mattes nor rushes as we doe now. So as the Ladies and gentlewomen should
haue their eares so occupied what with Musicke, and what with their handes
wantonly scambling and catching after the nuttes, that they could not
intend to harken after any other thing. This was as I said to diminish the
noise of the laughing lamenting spouse. The tenour of that part of the
song was to congratulate the first acquaintance and meeting of the young
couple, allowing of their parents good discretions in making the match,
then afterward to sound cheerfully to the onset and first encounters of
that amorous battaile, to declare the comfort of children, & encrease of
loue by that meane chiefly caused: the bride shewing her self euery waies
well disposed and still supplying occasions of new lustes and loue to her
husband, by her obedience and amorous embracings and all other
allurementes. About midnight or one of the clocke, the Musicians came
again to the chamber dore (all the Ladies and other women as they were of
degree, hauing taken their leaue, and being gone to their rest.) This part
of the ballade was to refresh the faint and weried bodies and spirits, and
to animate new appetites with cherefull wordes, encoraging them to the
recontinuance of the same entertainments, praising and commending (by
supposall) the good conformities of them both, & their desire one to
vanquish the other by such friendly conflictes: alledging that the first
embracements neuer bred barnes, by reason of their ouermuch affection and
heate, but onely made passage for children and enforced greater liking to
the late made match. That the second assaultes, were less rigorous, but
more vigorous and apt to auance the purpose of procreation, that therefore
they should persist in all good appetite with an inuincible courage to the
end. This was the second part of the _Epithalamie_. In the morning when it
was faire broad day, & that by liklyhood all tournes were sufficiently
serued, the last actes of the enterlude being ended, & that the bride must
within few hours arise and apparrell her selfe, no more as a virgine, but
as a wife, and about dinner time must by order come forth _Sicut sponsa de
thalamo_, very demurely and stately to be sene and acknowledged of her
parents and kinsfolkes whether she were the same woman or a changeling, or
dead or aliue, or maimed by any accident nocturnall. The same Musicians
came againe with this last part, and greeted them both with a Psalme of
new applausions, for that they had either of them so well behaued them
selues that night, the husband to rob his spouse of her maidenhead and
saue her life, the bride so lustely to satisfie her husbandes loue and
scape with so litle daunger of her person, for which good chaunce that
they should make a louely truce and abstinence of that warre till next
night sealing the placard of that louely league, with twentie maner of
sweet kisses, then by good admonitions enformed them to the frugall &
thriftie life all the rest of their dayes. The good man getting and
bringing home, the wife sauing that which her husband should get,
therewith to be the better able to keepe good hospitalitie, according to
their estates, and to bring vp their children, (if God sent any)
vertuously, and the better by their owne good example. Finally to perseuer
all the rest of their life in true and inuiolable wedlocke. This ceremony
was omitted when men maried widowes or such as had tasted the frutes of
loue before, (we call them well experienced young women) in whom there was
no feare of daunger to their persons, or of any outcry at all, at the time
of those terrible approches. Thus much touching the vsage of _Epithalamie_
or bedding ballad of the ancient times, in which if there were any wanton
or lasciuious matter more then ordinarie which they called _Ficenina
licentia_ it was borne withal for that time because of the matter no lesse
requiring. _Catullus_ hath made of them one or two very artificiall and
ciuil: but none more excellent then of late yeares a young noble man of
Germanie as I take it _Iohannes secundus_ who in that and in his poeme _De
basis_, passeth any of the auncient or moderne Poetes in my iudgment.




  _CHAP. XXVII._

_The manner of Poesie by which they uttered their bitter taunts, and priuy
nips, or witty scoffes and other merry conceits._


Bvt all the world could not keepe, nor any ciuill ordinance to the
contrary so preuaile, but that men would and must needs vtter their
splenes in all ordinarie matters also: or else it seemed their bowels
would burst, therefore the poet deuised a prety fashioned poeme short and
sweete (as we are wont to say) and called it _Epigramma_ in which euery
mery conceited man might without any long studie or tedious ambage, make
his frend sport, and anger his foe, and giue a prettie nip, or shew a
sharpe conceit in few verses: for this _Epigramme_ is but an inscription
or writting made as it were vpon a table, or in a windowe, or vpon the
wall or mantel of a chimney in some place of common resort, where it was
allowed euery man might come, or be sitting to chat and prate, as now in
our tauernes and common tabling houses, where many merry heades meete, and
scrible with ynke with chalke, or with a cole such matters as they would
euery man should know, & descant vpon. Afterward the same came to be put
in paper and in bookes, and vsed as ordinarie missiues, some of frendship,
some of defiaunce, or as other messages of mirth: _Martiall_ was the
cheife of this skil among the Latines, & at ahese days the best Epigrames
we finde, & of the sharpest conceit are those that haue bene gathered
among the reliques of the two muet _Satyres_ in Rome, _Pasquill_ and
_Marphorir_, which in time of _Sede vacante_, when merry conceited men
listed to gibe & iest at the dead Pope, or any of his Cardinales, they
fastened them vpon those Images which now lie in the open streets, and
were tollerated, but after that terme expired they were inhibited againe.
These inscriptions or Epigrammes at their beginning had no certaine author
that would auouch them, some for feare of blame, if they were ouer saucy
or sharpe, others for modestie of the writer as was that _disticke_ of
_Virgil_ which he set vpon the pallace gate of the emperour _Augustus_,
which I will recite for the breifnes and quicknes of it, & also for
another euente that fell out vpon the matter worthy to be remembred. These
were the verses.
  _Nocte pluit tota, redeunt spectacula mane
  Diuisum imperium cum Ioue Caesar habet._
Which I haue thus Englished,
  _It raines all night, early the shewes returne
  God and Caesar, do raigne and rule by turne._

As much to say, God sheweth his power by the night raines. Caesar his
magnificence by the pompes of the day.

These two verses were very well liked, and brought to th'Emperours
Maiestie, who tooke great pleasure in them, & willed the author should be
knowen. A sausie courtier profered him selfe to be the man, and had a good
reward giuen him: for the Emperour him self was not only learned, but of
much munificence toward all learned men: whereupon _Virgill_ seing him
self by his ouermuch modestie defrauded of the reward, that an impudent
had gotten by abuse of his merit, came the next night, and fastened vpon
the same place this halfe metre, foure times iterated. Thus.
  _Sic vos non vobis
  Sic vos non vobis
  Sic vos non vobis
  Sic vos non vobis_

And there it remained a great while because no man wist what it meant,
till _Virgill_ opened the whole fraude by this deuise. He wrote aboue the
same halfe metres this whole verse _Exameter_.
  _Hos ego versiculos feci tulit alter honores._

And then finished the foure half metres, thus.
  _Sic vos non vobis      Fertis aratra boues
  Sic vos non vobis       Vellera fertis oues
  Sic vos non vobis       Mellificatis apes
  Sic vos non vobis       Indificatis aues._

And put to his name _Publius Virgilius Maro_. This matter came by and by
to Th'emperours eare, who taking great pleasure in the deuise called for
_Virgill_, and gaue him not onely a present reward, with a good allowance
of dyet a bonche in court as we vse to call it: but also held him for euer
after vpon larger triall he had made of his learning and vertue in so
great reputation, as he vouchsafed to giue him the name of a frend
(_amicus_) which among the Romanes was so great an honour and speciall
fauour, as all such persons were allowed to the Emperours table, or to the
Senatours who had receiued them (as frendes) and they were the only men
that came ordinarily to their boords, & solaced with them in their
chambers, and gardins when none other could be admitted.




  _CHAP. XXVIII._

_Of the poeme called Epitaph used for memoriall of the dead._


An Epitaph is but a kind of Epigram only applied to the report of the dead
persons estate and degree, or of his other good or bad partes, to his
commendation or reproch: and is an inscription such as a man may
commodiously write or engraue vpon a tombe in few verses, pithie, quicke
and sententious for the passer by to peruse, and iudge vpon without any
long tariaunce: So as if it exceede the measure of an Epigram, it is then
(if the verse be correspondent) rather an Elegie then an Epitaph which
errour many of these bastard rimers commit, because they be not learned,
nor (as we are wont to say) their catftes masters, for they make long and
tedious discourses, and write them in large tables to be hanged vp in
Churches and chauncells ouer the tombes of great men and others, which be
so exceeding long as one must haue halfe a dayes leasure to reade one of
them, & must be called away before he come halfe to the end, or else be
locked into the Church by the Sexten as I my selfe was once serued reading
an Epitaph in a certain cathedrall Church of England. They be ignorant of
poesie that call such long tales by the name of Epitaphes, they might
better call them Elegies, as I said before, and then ought neither to be
engrauen nor hanged vp in tables. I haue seene them neuertheles vpon many
honorable tombes of these late times erected, which doe rather disgrace
then honour either the matter or maker.




  _CHAP. XXIX._

_A certaine auncient forme of poesie by which men did vse to reproch their
enemies_.


As frendes be a rich a ioyfull possession, so be foes a continuall torment
and canker to the minde of man, and yet there is no possible meane to
auoide this inconuenience, for the best of vs all, & he that thinketh he
liues most blamelesse, liues not without enemies, that enuy him for his
good parts, or hate him for his euill. There be wise men, and of them the
great learned man _Plutarch_ that tooke vpon them to perswade the benefite
that men receiue by their enemies, which though it may be true in manner
of _Paradoxe_, yet I finde mans frailtie to be naturally such, and always
hath beene, that he cannot conceiue it in his owne case, nor shew that
patience and moderation in such greifs, as becommeth the man perfite and
accomplisht in all vertue: but either in deede or by word, he will seeke
reuenge against them that malice him, or practise his harmes, specially
such foes as oppose themselues to a mans loues. This made the auncient
Poetes to inuent a meane to rid the gall of all such Vindicatiue men: so
as they might be a wrecked of their wrong, & neuer bely their enemie with
slaunderous vntruthes. And this was done by a maner of imprecation, or as
we call it by cursing and banning of the parties, and wishing all euill to
a light vpon them, and though it neuer the sooner happened, yet was it
great easment to the boiling stomacke: They were called _Dirae_, such as
_Virgill_ made aginst _Battarus_, and _Ouide_ against _Ibis_: we
Christians are forbidden to vse such vncharitable fashions, and willed to
referre all our reuenges to God alone.




  _CHAP. XXX._

_Of short Epigrames called Posies._


There be also other like Epigrammes that were sent vsually for new yeares
giftes or to be Printed or put vpon their banketting dishes of suger
plate, or of march paines, & such other dainty meates as by the curtesie &
custome euery gest might carry from a common feast home with him to his
owne house, & were made for the nonce, they were called _Nenia_ or
_apophoreta_, and neuer contained aboue one verse, or two at the most, but
the shorter the better, we call them Posies, and do paint them now a dayes
vpon the backe sides of our fruite trenchers of wood, or vse them as
deuises in rings and armes and about such courtly purposes. So haue we
remembred and set forth to your Maiestie very briefly, all the commended
fourmes of the auncient Poesie, which we in our vulgare makings do imitate
and vse vnder these common names: enterlude, song, ballade, carroll and
ditty: borrowing them also from the French al sauing this word (song)
which is our naturall Saxon English word. The rest, such as time and
vsurpation by custome haue allowed vs out of the primitiue Greeke &
Latine, as Comedie, Tragedie, Ode, Epitaphe, Elegie, Epigramme, and other
moe. And we haue purposely omitted all nice or scholasticall curiosities
not meete for your Maiesties contemplation in this our vulgare arte, and
what we haue written of the auncient formes of Poemes, we haue taken from
the best clerks writing in the same arte. The part that next followeth to
wit of proportion, because the Greeks nor Latines neuer had it in vse, nor
made any obseruation, no more then we doe of their feete, we may truly
affirme, to haue bene the first deuisers thereof our selues, as [Greek:
autodidaktoi], and not to haue borrowed it of any other by learning or
imitation, and thereby trusting to be holden the more excusable if any
thing in this our labours happen either to mislike, or to come short of
th'authors purpose, because commonly the first attempt in any arte or
engine artificiall is amendable, & in time by often experiences reformed.
And so no doubt may this deuise of ours be, by others that shall take the
penne in hand after vs.




  _CHAP. XXXI._

_Who in any age haue bene the most commended writers in our English
Poesie, and the Authors censure giuen upon them._


It appeareth by sundry records of bookes both printed & written, that many
of our countreymen haue painfully trauelled in this part: of whose works
some appeare to be but bare translations, other some matters of their owne
inuention and very commendable, whereof some recitall shall be made in
this place, to th'intent chiefly that their names should not be defrauded
of such honour as seemeth due to them for hauing by their thankefull
studies so much beautified our English tong (as at this day) it will be
found our nation is in nothing inferiour to the French or Italian for
copie of language, subtiltie of deuice, good method and proportion in any
forme of poeme, but that they may compare with the most, and perchance
passe a great many of them. And I will not reach aboue the time of king
_Edward_ the third, and _Richard_ the second for any that wrote in English
meeter: because before their times by reason of the late Normane conquest,
which had brought into this Realme much alteration both of our langage and
lawes, and there withall a certain martiall barbarousnes, whereby the
study of all good learning was so much decayd, as long time after no man
or very few entended to write in any laudable science: so as beyond that
time there is litle or nothing worth commendation to be founde written in
this arte. And those of the first age were _Chaucer_ and _Gower_ both of
them as I suppose Knightes. After whom followed _Iohn Lydgate_ the monke
of Bury, & that nameles, who wrote the _Satyre_ called Piers Plowman, next
him followed _Harding_ the Chronicler, then in king _Henry_ th'eight times
_Skelton_, (I wot not for what great worthines) surnamed the Poet
_Laureat_. In the latter end of the same kings raigne sprong vp a new
company of courtly makers, of whom Sir _Thomas Wyat_ th'elder & _Henry_
Earle of Surrey were the two chieftaines, who hauing trauailed into
Italie, and there tasted the sweete and stately measures and stile of the
Italian Poesie as nouices newly crept out of the schooles of _Dante
Arioste_ and _Petrarch_, they greatly pollished our rude & homely maner of
vulgar Poesie, from that it had bene before, and for that cause may iustly
be sayd the first reformers of our English meetre and stile. In the same
time or not long after was the Lord _Nicholas Vaux_, a man of much
facilitie in vulgar makings. Afterward in king _Edward_ the sixths time
came to be in reputation for the same facultie _Thomas Sternehold_, who
first translated into English certaine Psalmes of Dauid, and _Iohn
Hoywood_ the Epigrammatist who for the myrth and quicknesse of his
conceits more then for any good learning was in him came to be well
benefited by the king. But the principall man in this profession at the
same time was Maister _Edward Ferrys_ a man of no lesse mirth & felicitie
that way, but of much more skil, & magnificence in this meeter, and
therefore wrate for the most part to the stage, in Tragedie and sometimes
in Comedie or Enterlude, wherein he gaue the king so much good recreation,
as he had thereby many good rewardes. In Queenes _Maries_ time florished
aboue any other Doctour _Phaer_ one that was well learned & excellently
well translated into English verse Heroicall certaine bookes of _Virgils
Aeneidos_. Since him followed Maister _Arthure Golding_, who with no lesse
commendation turned into English meetre the Metamorphosis of _Ouide_, and
that other Doctour, who made the supplement to those bookes of _Virgils
Aeneidos_, which Maister _Phaer_ left vndone. And in her Maiesties time
that now is are sprong vp an other crew of Courtly makers Noble men and
Gentlemen of her Maiesties owne seruauntes, who haue written excellently
well as it would appeare if their doings could be found out and made
publicke with the rest, of which number is first that noble Gentleman
_Edward_ Earle of Oxford, _Thomas_ Lord of Bukhurst, when he was young,
_Henry_ Lord Paget, Sir _Philip Sydney_, Sir _Walter Rawleigh_, Master
_Edward Dyar_, Maister _Fulke Greuell_, _Gascon_, _Britton_, _Turberuille_
and a great many other learned Gentlemen, whose names I do not omit for
enuie, but to auoyde tediousnesse, and who haue deserued no little
commendation. But of them all particularly this is myne opinion, that
_Chaucer_, with _Gower, Lidgat_ and _Harding_ for their antiquitie ought
to haue the first place, and _Chaucer_ as the most renowmed of them all,
for the much learning appeareth to be in him aboue any of the rest. And
though many of his bookes be but bare translations out of the Latin &
French, yet are they wel handled, as his bookes of _Troilus_ and
_Cresseid_, and the Romant of the Rose, whereof he translated but one
halfe, the deuice was _Iohn de Mehunes_ a French Poet, the Canterbury
tales were _Chaucers_ owne inuention as I suppose, and where he sheweth
more the naturall of his pleasant wit, then in any other of his workes,
his similitudes comparisons and all other descriptions are such as can not
be amended. His meetre Heroicall of _Troilus_ and _Cresseid_ is very graue
and stately, keeping the staffe of seuen, and the verse of ten, his other
verses of the Canterbury tales be but riding ryme, neuerthelesse very well
becoming the matter of that pleasaunt pilgrimage in which euery mans part
is playd with much decency. _Gower_ sauing for his good and graue
moralities, had nothing in him highly to be commended, for his verse was
homely and without good measure, his wordes strained much deale out of the
French writers, his ryme wrested, and in his inuentions small subtillitie:
the applications of his moralities are the best in him, and yet those many
times very grossely bestowed, neither doth the substance of his workes
sufficiently aunswere the subtilitie of his titles. _Lydgat_ a translatour
onely and no deuiser of that which he wrate, but one that wrate in good
verse. _Harding_ a Poet Epick or Historicall, handled himselfe well
according to the time and maner of his subiect. He that wrote the Satyr of
Piers Ploughman, seemed to haue bene a malcontent of that time, and
therefore bent himselfe wholly to taxe the disorders of that age, and
specially the pride of the Romane Clergy, of whose fall he seemeth to be a
very true Prophet, his verse is but loose meetre, and his termes hard and
obscure, so as in them is litle pleasure to be taken. _Skelton_ a sharpe
Satirist, but with more rayling and scoffery then became a Poet Lawreat,
such among the Greekes were called _Pantomimi_, with vs Buffons,
altogether applying their wits to Scurrillities & other ridiculous
matters. _Henry_ Earle of Surrey and Sir _Thomas Wyat_, betweene whom I
finde very litle difference, I repute them (as before) for the two chief
lanternes of light to all others that haue since employed their pennes
vpon English Poesie, their conceits were loftie, their stiles stately,
their conueyance cleanely, their termes proper, their meetre sweete and
well proportioned, in all imitating very naturally and studiously their
Maister _Francis Petrarcha_. The Lord _Vaux_ his commendation lyeth
chiefly in the facillitie of his meetre, and the aptnesse of his
descriptions such as he taketh vpon him to make, namely in sundry of his
Songs, wherein he sheweth the counterfait action very liuely & pleasantly.
Of the later sort I thinke thus. That for Tragedie, the Lord of Buckhurst,
& Maister _Edward Ferrys_ for such doings as I haue sene of theirs do
deserue the hyest price: Th'Earle of Oxford and Maister _Edwardes_ of her
Maiesties Chappell for Comedy and Enterlude. For Eglogue and pastorall
Poesie, Sir _Philip Sydney_ and Maister _Challenner_, and that other
Gentleman who wrate the late shepheardes Callender. For dittie and
amourous _Ode_ I finde Sir _Walter Rawleyghs_ vayne most loftie, insolent,
and passionate. Maister _Edward Dyar_, for Elegie most sweete, solempne
and of high conceit. _Gascon_ for a good meeter and for a plentifull
vayne. _Phaer_ and _Golding_ for a learned and well corrected verse,
specially in translation cleare and very faithfuly answering their
authours intent. Others haue also written with much facillitie, but more
commendably perchance if they had not written so much nor so popularly.
But last in recitall and first in degree is the Queene our soueraigne
Lady, whose learned, delicate, noble Muse, easily surmounteth all the rest
that haue written before her time or since, for sence, sweetnesse and
subtillitie, be it in Ode, Elegie, Epigram, or any other kinde of poeme
Heroick or Lyricke, wherein it shall please her Maiestie to employ her
penne, euen by as much oddes as her owne excellent estate and degree
exceedeth all the rest of her most humble vassalls.




  THE SECOND BOOKE,
  OF PROPORTION POETICAL.




  _CHAP. I._

_Of Proportion Poeticall._


It is said by such as professe the Mathematicall sciences, that all things
stand by proportion, and that without it nothing could stand to be good or
beautiful. The Doctors of our Theologie to the same effect, but in other
termes, say: that God made the world by number, measure and weight: some
for weight say tune; and peraduenture better. For weight is a kind of
measure or of much conueniencie with it: and therefore in their
descriptions be alwayes coupled together (_statica & metrica_) weight and
measures. Hereupon it seemeth the Philosopher gathers a triple proportion,
to wit, the Arithmeticall, the Geometricall, and the Musical. And by one
of these three is euery other proportion guided of the things that haue
conueniencie by relation, as the visible by light colour and shadow: the
audible by stirres, times and accents: the odorable by smelles of sundry
temperaments: the tastible by sauours to the rate: the tangible by his
obiectes in this or that regard. Of all which we leaue to speake,
returning to our poeticall proportion, which holdeth of the Musical,
because as we sayd before Poesie is a skill to speake & write
harmonically: and verses or rime be a kind of Musicall vtterance, by
reason of a certaine congruitie in sounds pleasing the eare, though not
perchance so exquisitely as the harmonicall concerts of the artificial
Musicke, consisting in strained tunes, as is the vocall Musike, or that of
melodious instruments, as Lutes, Harpes, Regals, Records and such like.
And this our proportion Poeticall resteth in fiue points: Staffe, Measure,
Concord, Scituation and figure all which shall be spoken of in their
places.




  _CHAP. II._

_Of proportion in Staffe._


Staffe in our vulgare Poesie I know not why it should be so called, unless
it be for that we vnderstand it for a bearer or supporter of a song or
ballad, not vnlike the old weake bodie, that is stayed vp by his staffe,
and were not otherwise able to walke or to stand vpright. The Italian
called it _Stanza_, as if we should say a resting place: and if we
consider well the forme of this Poeticall staffe, we shall finde it to be
a certaine number of verses allowed to go altogether and ioyne without any
intermission, and doe or should finish vp all the sentences of the same
with a full period, vnlesse it be in som special cases, & there to stay
till another staffe follow of like sort: and the shortest staffe
conteineth not vnder foure verses, nor the longest aboue ten, if it passe
that number it is rather a whole ditty then properly a staffe. Also for
the more part the staues stand rather vpon the euen nomber of verses then
the odde, though there be of both sorts. The first proportion then of a
staffe is by _quadrien_ or foure verses. The second of fiue verses, and is
seldome vsed. The third by _sizeine_ or sixe verses, and is not only most
vsual, but also very pleasant to th'eare. The fourth is in seven verses, &
is the chiefe of our ancient proportions vsed by any rimer writing any
thing of historical or graue poeme, as ye may see in _Chaucer_ and
_Lidgate_ th'one writing the loues of _Troylus_ and _Cresseida_, th'other
of the fall of Princes: both by them translated not deuised. The first
proportion is of eight verses very stately and _Heroicke_, and which I
like better then that of seuen, because it receaueth better band. The fixt
is of nine verses, rare but very graue. The seuenth proportion is of tenne
verses, very stately, but in many mens opinion too long: neuerthelesse of
very good grace & much grauitie. Of eleuen and twelue I find none ordinary
staues vsed in any vulgar language, neither doth it serue well to continue
any historicall report or ballade, or other song: but is a dittie of it
self, and no staffe, yet some moderne writers haue vsed it but very
seldome. Then last of all haue ye a proportion to be vsed in the number of
your staues, as to a caroll and a ballade, to a song, & a round, or
virelay. For to an historicall poeme no certain number is limited, but as
the matter fals out: also a _distick_ or couple of verses is not to be
accompted a staffe, but serues for a continuance as we see in Elegie,
Epitaph, Epigramme or such meetres, of plaine concord not harmonically
entertangled, as some other songs of more delicate musick be.

A staffe of foure verses containeth in it selfe matter sufficient to make
a full periode or complement of sence, though it doe not alwayes so, and
therefore may go by diuisions.

A staffe of fiue verses, is not much vsed because he that can not
comprehend his periode in foure verses, will rather driue it into six then
leaue it in fiue, for that the euen number is more agreeable to the eare
then the odde is.

A staffe of sixe verses, is very pleasant to the eare, and also serueth
for a greater complement then the inferiour staues, which maketh him more
commonly to be vsed.

A staffe of seuen verses, most vsuall with our auncient makers, also the
staffe of eight, nine and ten of larger complement then the rest, are
onely vsed by the later makers, & vnlesse they go with very good bande, do
not so well as the inferiour staues. Therefore if ye make your staffe of
eight, by two fowers not entertangled, it is not a huitaine or a staffe of
eight, but two quadreins, so is it in ten verses, not being entertangled
they be but two staues of fiue.




  _CHAP. III._

_Of proportion in measure._


Meeter and measure is all one, for what the Greekes call [Greek: metron],
the Latines call _Mensura_, and is but the quantitie of a verse, either
long or short. This quantitie with them consisteth in the number of their
feete: & with vs in the number of sillables, which are comprehended in
euery verse, not regarding his feete, otherwise then that we allow in
scanning our verse, two sillables to make one short portion (suppose it a
foote) in euery verse. And after that sort ye may say, we haue feete in
our vulgare rymes, but that is improperly: for a foote by his sence
naturall is a member of office and function, and serueth to three
purposes, that is to say, to go, to runne, & to stand still so as he must
be sometimes swift, sometimes slow, sometime vnegally marching or
peraduenture steddy. And if our feete Poeticall want these qualities it
can not be sayd a foote in sence translatiue as here. And this commeth to
passe, by reason of the euident motion and stirre, which is perceiued in
the sounding of our wordes not alwayes egall: for some aske longer, some
shorter time to be vttered in, & so by the Philosophers definition, stirre
is the true measure of time. The Greekes & Latines because their wordes
hapned to be of many sillables, and very few of one sillable, it fell out
right with them to conceiue and also to perceiue, a notable diuersitie of
motion and times in the pronuntiation of their wordes, and therefore to
euery _bissillable_ they allowed two times, & to a _trissillable_ three
times, & to euery _polisillable_ more, according to his quantitie, & their
times were some long, some short according as their motions were slow or
swift. For the sound of some sillable stayd the eare a great while, and
others slid away so quickly, as if they had not bene pronounced, then
euery sillable being allowed one time, either short or long, it fell out
that euery _tetrasillable_ had foure times, euery _trissillable_ three,
and the _bissillable_ two by which obseruation euery word, not vnder that
sise, as he ranne or stood in a verse, was called by them a foote of such
and so many times, namely the _bissillable_ was either of two long times
as the _spondeus_, or two short, as the _pirchius_, or of a long & a short
as the _trocheus_, or of a short and a long as the _iambus_: the like rule
did they set vpon the word _trissillable_, calling him a foote of three
times: as the _dactilus_ of a long and two short: the _mollossus_ of three
long, the _tribracchus_ of three short, the _amphibracchus_ of two long
and a short, the _amphimacer_ of two short and a long. The word of foure
sillables they called a foote of foure times, some or all of them, either
long or short: and yet not so content they mounted higher, and because
their wordes serued well thereto, they made feete of sixe times: but this
proceeded more of curiositie, then otherwise: for whatsoeuer foote passe
the _trissillable_ is compounded of his inferiour as euery number
Arithmeticall aboue three, is compounded of the inferiour numbers as twise
two make foure, but the three is made of one number, videl. of two and an
vnitie. Now because our naturall & primitiue language of the _Saxon
English_, beares not any wordes (at least very few) of moe sillables then
one (for whatsoeuer we see exceede, commeth to vs by the alterations of
our language growen vpon many conquestes and otherwise) there could be no
such obseruation of times in the sound of our wordes, & for that cause we
could not haue the feete which the Greeks and Latines haue in their
meetres: but of this stirre & motion of their deuised feete, nothing can
better shew the qualitie then these runners at common games, who setting
forth from the first goale, one giueth the start speedely & perhaps before
he come half way to th'other goale, decayeth his pace, as a man weary &
fainting: another is slow at the start, but by amending his pace keepes
euen with his fellow or perchance gets before him: another one while gets
ground, another while loseth it again, either in the beginning, or middle
of his race, and so proceedes vnegally sometimes swift somtimes slow as
his breath or forces serue him: another sort there be that plod on, & will
neuer change their pace, whether they win or lose the game: in this maner
doth the Greeke _dactilus_ begin slowly and keepe on swifter till th'end,
for his race being deuided into three parts, he spends one, & that is the
first slowly, the other twaine swiftly: the _anapestus_ his two first
parts swiftly, his last slowly: the _Molossus_ spends all three parts of
his race slowly and egally _Bacchius_ his first part swiftly, & two last
parts slowly. The _tribrachus_ all his three parts swiftly: the
_antibacchius_ his two first partes slowly, his last & third swiftly: the
_amphimacer_, his first & last part slowly & his middle part swiftly: the
_amphibracus_ his first and last parts swiftly but his midle part slowly,
& so of others by like proportion. This was a pretie phantasticall
obseruation of them, & yet brought their meetres to haue a maruelous good
grace, which was in Greeke called [Greek: rithmos]: whence we haue deriued
this word ryme, but improperly & not wel because we haue no such feete or
times or stirres in our meeters, by whose _simpathie_, or pleasant
conueniencie with th'eare, we could take any delight: this _rithmus_ of
theirs, is not therfore our rime, but a certaine musicall numerositie in
vtterance, and not a bare number as that of the Arithmeticall computation
is, which therefore is not called _rithmus_ but _arithmus_. Take this away
from them, I meane the running of their feete, there is nothing of
curiositie among them more then with vs nor yet so much.




  _CHAP. III._

_How many sorts of measures we use in our vulgar._


To returne from rime to our measure againe, it hath bene sayd that
according to the number of the sillables contained in euery verse, the
same is sayd a long or short meeter, and his shortest proportion is of
foure sillables, and his longest of twelue, they that vse it aboue, passe
the bounds of good proportion. And euery meeter may be aswel in the odde
as in the euen sillable, but better in the euen, and one verse may begin
in the euen, & another follow in the odde, and so keepe a commendable
proportion. The verse that containeth but two silables which may be in one
word, is not vsuall: therefore many do deny him to be a verse, saying that
it is but a foot, and that a meeter can haue no lesse then two feete at
the least, but I find it otherwise aswell among the best Italian Poets, as
also with our vulgar makers, and that two sillables serue wel for a short
measure in the first place, and midle, and end of a staffe: and also in
diuerse scituations and by sundry distances, and is very passionate and of
good grace, as shalbe declared more at large in the Chapter of proportion
by scituation.

The next measure is of two feete or of foure sillables, and then one word
_tetrasillable_ diuided in the middest makes vp the whole meeter, as thus
  _Re-ue-  re-ntli-e_

Or a trissillable and one monosillable thus. _Soueraine God_, or two
bissillables and that is plesant thus, _Restore againe_, or with foure
monosillables, and that is best of all thus, _When I doe thinke_, I finde
no fauour in a meetre of three sillables nor in effect in any odde, but
they may be vsed for varietie sake, and specially being enterlaced with
others the meetre of six sillables is very sweete and dilicate as thus.
  _O God when I behold
  This bright heauen so hye
  By thine owne hands of old
  Contrivd so cunningly._

The meter of seuen sillables is not vsual, no more is that of nine and
eleuen, yet if they be well composed, that is, their _Cesure_ well
appointed, and their last accent which makes the concord, they are
commendable inough, as in this ditty where one verse is of eight an other
is of seuen, and in the one the accent vpon the last, in the other vpon
the last saue on.
  _The smoakie sighes, the bitter teares
  That I in vaine haue wasted
  The broken sleepes, the woe and feares
  That long time haue lasted
  Will be my death, all by thy guilt
  And not by my deseruing
  Since so inconstantly thou wilt
  Not loue but still be sweruing_.

And all the reason why these meeters in all sillable are allowable is, for
that the sharpe accent falles vpon the _penulitma_ or last saue one
sillable of the verse, which doth so drowne the last, as he seemeth to
passe away in maner vnpronounced, & so make the verse seeme euen: but if
the accent fall vpon the last and leaue two flat to finish the verse, it
will not feeme so: for the odnes will more notoriously appeare, as for
example in the last verse before recited _Not loue but still be sweruing_,
say thus _Loue it is a maruelous thing._ Both verses be of egall
quantitie, vidz. seauen sillables a peece, and yet the first seemes
shorter then the later, who shewes a more odnesse then the former by
reason of his sharpe accent which is vpon the last sillable, and makes him
more audible then if he had slid away with a flat accent, as the word
_swéruing._

Your ordinarie rimers vse very much their measures in the odde as nine and
eleuen, and the sharpe accent vpon the last sillable, which therefore
makes him go ill fauouredly and like a minstrels musicke. Thus sayd one in
a meeter of eleven very harshly in mine eare, whether it be for lacke of
good rime or of good reason, or of both I wot not.
  _Now sucke childe and sleepe childe, thy mothers owne ioy
  Her only sweete comfort, to drowne all annoy
  For beauty surpassing the azured skie
  I loue thee my darling, as ball of mine eye._

This sort of compotition in the odde I like not, vnlesse it be holpen by
the _Cesure_ or by the accent as I sayd before.

The meeter of eight is no lesse pleasant then that of sixe, and the
_Cesure_ fals iust in the middle, as this of the Earle of Surreyes.
  _When raging loue, with extreme payne._

The meeter of ten sillables is very stately and Heroicall, and must haue
his _Cesure_ fall vpon the fourth sillable, and leaue sixe behind him
thus.
  _I serue at ease, and gouerne all with woe._

This meeter of twelue sillables the French man calleth a verse
_Alexandrine_, and is with our moderne rimers most usuall: with the
auncient makers it was not so. For before Sir _Thomas Wiats_ time they
were not vsed in our vulgar, they be for graue and stately matters fitter
than for any other ditty of pleasure. Some makers write in verses of
foureteene sillables giuing the _Cesure_ at the first eight, which
proportion is tedious, for the length of the verse kepeth the eare too
long from his delight, which is to heare the cadence or the tuneable
accent in the ende of the verse. Neuerthelesse that of twelue if his
_Cesure_ be iust in the middle, and that ye suffer him to runne at full
length, and do not as the common rimers do; or their Printer for sparing
of paper, cut them of in the middest, wherin they make in two verses but
halfe rime. They do very wel as wrote the Earle of Surrey translating the
booke of the preacher.
  _Salomon Davids sonne, king of Ierusalem._

This verse is a very good _Alexandrine_, but perchaunce woulde haue
sounded more musically, if the first word had bene a dissillable, or two
monosillables and not a trissillable: hauing his sharpe accent vppon the
_Antepenultima_ as it hath, by which occasion it runnes like a _Dactill_,
and carries the two later sillables away so speedily as it seemes but one
foote in our vulgar measure, and by that meanes makes the verse seeme but
of eleuen sillables, which odnesse is nothing pleasant to the eare. Iudge
some body whether it would haue done better (if it might) haue bene fayd
thus,
  _Robóham Dauids sonne, king of Ierusalem._
Letting the sharpe accent fall vpon _bo_, or thus
  _Restóre king Dáuids sónne vntó Ierúsalém_.
For now the sharpe accent falles vpon _bo_, and so doth it vpon the last
in _restóre_, which was not in th'other verse. But because we haue seemed
to make mention of _Cesure_, and to appoint his place in euery measure, it
shall not be amisse to say somewhat more of it, & also of such pauses as
are vsed in vtterance, & what commoditie or delectation they bring either
to the speakers or to the hearers.




  _CHAP. IIII._

_Of Cesure._


There is no greater difference betwixt a ciuill and brutish vtteraunce
then cleare distinction of voices: and the most laudable languages are
alwaies most plaine and distinct, and the barbarous most confuse and
indistinct: it is therefore requisit that leasure be taken in
pronuntiation, such as may make our wordes plaine & most audible and
agreable to the eare: also the breath asketh to be now and then releeued
with some pause or stay more or lesse: besides that the very nature of
speach (because it goeth by clauses of seuerall construction & sence)
requireth some space betwixt them with intermission of sound, to th'end
they may not huddle one vpon another so rudly & so fast that th'eare may
not perceiue their difference. For these respectes the auncient reformers
of language, inuented, three maner of pauses, one of lesse leasure then
another, and such seuerall intermissions of sound to serue( besides
easment to the breath) for a treble distinction of sentences or parts of
speach, as they happened to be more or lesse perfect in sence. The
shortest pause or intermission they called _comma_ as who would say a
peece of a speach cut of. The second they called _colon_, not a peece but
as it were a member for his larger length, because it occupied twice as
much time as the _comma_. The third they called _periodus_, for a
complement or full pause, and as a resting place and perfection of so much
former speach as had bene vttered, and from whence they needed not to
passe any further vnles it were to renew more matter to enlarge the tale.
This cannot be better represented then by example of these common
trauailers by the hie ways, where they seeme to allow themselues three
maner of staies or easements: one a horsebacke calling perchaunce for a
cup of beere or wine, and hauing dronken it vp rides away and neuer
lights: about noone he commeth to his Inne, & there baites him selfe and
his horse an houre or more: at night when he can conueniently trauaile no
further, he taketh vp his lodging, and rests him selfe till the morrow:
from whence he followeth the course of a further voyage, if his business
be such. Euen so our Poet when he hath made one verse, hath as it were
finished one dayes iourney, & the while easeth him selfe with one baite at
the least, which is a _Comma_ or _Cesure_ in the mid way, if the verse be
euen and not odde, otherwise in some other place, and not iust in the
middle. If there be no _Cesure_ at all, and the verse long, the lesse is
the makers skill and hearers delight. Therefore in a verse of twelue
sillables the _Cesure_ ought to fall right vpon the sixt sillable: in a
verse of eleuen vpon the sixt also leauing fiue to follow. In a verse of
ten vpon the fourth, leaving sixe to follow. In a verse of nine vpon the
fourth, leauing fiue to follow. In a verse of eight iust in the middest,
that is, vpon the fourth. In a verse of seauen, either vpon the fourth or
none at all, the meeter very ill brooking any pause. In a verse of sixe
sillables and vnder is needefull no _Cesure_ at all, because the breath
asketh no reliefe: yet if ye giue any _Comma_, it is to make distinction
of sense more then for any thing else: and such _Cesure_ must neuer be
made in the middest of any word, if it be well appointed. So may you see
that the vse of these pawses or distinctions is not generally with the
vulgar Poet as it is with the Prose writer because the Poetes cheife
Musicke lying in his rime or concorde to heare the Simphonie, he maketh
all the hast he can to be at an end of his verse, and delights not in many
stayes by the way, and therefore giueth but one _Cesure_ to any verse: and
thus much for the sounding of a meetre. Neuerthelesse he may vse in any
verse both his _comma, colon_, and _interrogatiue_ point, as well as in
prose. But our auncient rymers, as _Chaucer, Lydgate_ & others, vsed these
_Cesures_ either very seldome, or not at all, or else very licentiously,
and many times made their meetres (they called them riding ryme) of such
vnshapely wordes as would allow no conuenient _Cesure_, and therefore did
let their rymes runne out at length, and neuer stayd till they came to the
end: which maner though it were not to be misliked in some sort of meetre,
yet in euery long verse the _Cesure_ ought to be kept precisely, if it
were but to serue as a law to correct the licentiousnesse of rymers,
besides that it pleaseth the eare better, & sheweth more cunning in the
maker by following the rule of his restraint. For a rymer that will be
tyed to no rules at all, but range as he list, may easily vtter what he
will: but such maner of Poesie is called in our vulgar, ryme dogrell, with
which rebuke we will in no case our maker should be touched. Therfore
before all other things let his ryme and concordes be true, cleare, and
audible with no lesse delight, then almost the strayned note of a
Musicians mouth, & not darke or wrenched by wrong writing as many doe to
patch vp their meetres, and so follow in their arte neither rule, reason,
nor ryme. Much more might be sayd for the vse of your three pauses,
_comma_, _colon_, & _periode_, for perchance it be not all a matter to vse
many _commas_, and few, nor _colons_ likewise, or long or short
_periodes_, for it is diuersly vsed, by diuers good writers. But because
it apperteineth more to the oratour or writer in prose then in verse, I
will say no more in it, then thus, that they be vsed for a commodious and
sensible distinction of clauses in prose, since euery verse is as it were
a clause of it selfe and limited with a _Cesure_ howsoeuer the sence
beare, perfect or imperfect, which difference is obseruable betwixt the
prose and the meeter.




  _CHAP. V._

_Of Proportion in Concord, called Symphonie or rime._


Because we vse the word rime (though by maner of abusion) yet to helpe
that fault againe we apply it in our vulgar Poesie another way very
commendably & curiously. For wanting the currantnesse of the Greeke and
Latine feete, in stead thereof we make in th'ends of our verses a certaine
tunable sound: which anon after with another verse reasonably distant we
accord together in the last fall or cadence: the eare taking pleasure to
heare the like tune reported, and to feele hie returne. And for this
purpose serue the _monosillables_ of our English Saxons excellently well,
because they do naturally and indifferently receiue any accent, & in them
if they finish the verse, resteth the shrill accent of necessitie, and so
doth it not in the last of euery _bissillable_, nor of euery
_polisillable_ word: but to the purpose, _ryme_ is a borrowed word from
the Greeks by the Latines and French, from them by vs Saxon angles and by
abusion as hath bene sayd, and therefore it shall not do amisse to tell
what this _rithmos_ was with the Greekes, for what is it with vs hath bene
already sayd. There is an accomptable number which we call _arithmeticall
(arithmos)_ as one, two, three. There is also a musicall or audible
number, fashioned by stirring of tunes & their sundry times in the
vtterance of our wordes, as when the voice goeth high or low, or sharpe or
flat, or swift or slow: & this is called _rithmos_ or numerositie, that is
to say, a certaine flowing vtteraunce by slipper words and sillables, such
as the toung easily vtters, and the eare with pleasure receiueth, and
which flowing of wordes with much volubilitie smoothly proceeding from the
mouth is in some sort _harmonicall_ and breedeth to th'eare a great
compasiion. This point grew by the smooth and delicate running of their
feete, which we haue not in our vulgare, though we use as much as may be
the most flowing words & slippery sillables, that we can picke out: yet do
not we call that by the name of ryme, as the Greekes did: but do give the
name of ryme onely to our concordes, or tunable consentes in the latter
end of our verses, and which concords the Greekes nor Latines neuer vsed
in their Poesie till by the barbarous souldiers out of the campe, it was
brought into the Court and thence to the schoole, as hath bene before
remembred: and yet the Greekes and Latines both vsed a maner of speach, by
clauses of like termination, which they called [Greek: illegible] and
was the nearest that they approched to our ryme: but is not our right
concord: so as we in abusing this terme (_ryme_) be neuertheless excusable
applying it to another point in Poesie no lesse curious then their
_rithme_ or numerositie which in deede passed the whole verse throughout,
whereas our concordes keepe but the latter end of euery verse, or
perchaunce the middle and the end in metres that be long.




  _CHAP. VI._

_Of accent, time and stir perceiued euidently in the distinction of mans
voice, and which makes the flowing of a meeter._


Nowe because we haue spoken of accent, time and stirre or motion in
wordes, we will set you downe more at large what they be. The auncient
Greekes and Latines by reason their speech fell out originally to be
fashioned with words of many syllables for the most part, it was of
necessity that they could not vtter euery sillable with one like and egall
sounde, nor in like space of time, nor with like motion or agility: but
that one must be more suddenly and quickely forsaken, or longer pawsed
vpon then another: or sounded with a higher note & clearer voyce then
another, and of necessitie this diuersitie of sound, must fall either vpon
the last sillable, or vpon the last saue one, or vpon the third and could
not reach higher to make any notable difference; it caused them to giue
vunto three different sounds three seuerall names: to that which was
highest lift vp and most eleuate or shrillest in the eare, they gaue the
name of the sharpe accent, to the lowest and most base because it seemed
to fall downe rather then to rise vp, they gaue the name of the heauy
accent, and that other which seemed in part to lift vp and in part to fall
downe, they called the circumflex, or compast accent: and if new termes
were not odious, we might very properly call him the (windabout) for so is
the Greek word. Then bycause euery thing that by nature fals down is said
heauy, & whatsoever naturally mounts upward is said light, it gaue
occasion to say that there were diuersities in the motion of the voice, as
swift & slow, which motion also presupposes time, by cause time is
_mensura motus_, by the Philosopher: so haue you the causes of their
primitiue inuention and vse in our arte of Poesie, all this by good
obseruation we may perceiue in our vulgar wordes if they be of mo
sillables then one, but specially if they be _trissillables_, as for
example in these wordes [_altitude_] and [_heauinesse_] the sharpe accent
falles vpon [_al_] & [_he_] which be the _antepenultimaes:_ the other two
fall away speedily as if they were scarse founded in this _trissilable
[forsaken]_ the sharp accent fals vpon [_sa_] which is the _penultima_,
and in the other two is heauie and obscure. Againe in these _bisillables,
endúre, unsúre, demúre, aspíre, desíre, retíre_, your sharpe accent falles
vpon the last sillable: but in words _monosillable_ which be for the more
part our naturall Saxon English, the accent is indifferent, and may be
vsed for sharp or flat and heauy at our pleasure. I say Saxon English, for
our Normane English alloweth vs very many _bissillables_, and also
_triffilables_ as, _reuerence, diligence, amorous, desirous_, and such
like.




  _CHAP. VII._

_Of your Cadences by which your meeter is made Symphonicall
when they be sweetest and most solemne in a verse._


As the smoothenesse of your words and sillables running vpon feete of
sundrie qualities, make with the Greekes and Latines the body of their
verses numerous or Rithmicall, so in our vulgar Poesie, and of all other
nations at this day, your verses answering eche other by couples, or at
larger distances in good [_cadence_] is it that maketh your meeter
symphonicall. This cadence is the fal of a verse in euery last word with a
certaine tunable sound which being matched with another of like sound, do
make a [_concord_.] And the whole cadence is contained sometime in one
sillable, sometime in two, or in three at the most: for aboue the
_antepenultima_ there reacheth no accent (which is chiefe cause of the
cadence) vnlesse it be vsurpation in some English words, to which we giue
a sharpe accent vpon the fourth as, _Hónorable, mátrimonie, pátrimonie,
míserable_, and such other as would neither make a sweete cadence, nor
easily find any word of like quantitie to match them. And the accented
sillable with all the rest vnder him make the cadence, and no sillable
aboue, as in these words, _Agíllitie, facíllitie, subiéction, diréction_,
and these bissilables, _Ténder, slénder, trústie, lústie, but alwayes the
cadence which falleth vpon the last sillable of a verse is sweetest and
most commendable: that vpon the _penultima_ more light, and not so
pleasant: but falling vpon the _antepenultima_ is most vnpleasant of all,
because they make your meeter too light and triuiall, and are fitter for
the Epigrammatist or Comicall Poet then for the Lyrick and Elegiack, which
are accompted the sweeter Musickes. But though we haue sayd that (to make
good concored) your seuerall verses should haue their cadences like, yet
must there be some difference in their orthographie, though not in their
sound, as if one cadence be [_constraine_] the next [_restraine_] or one
[_aspire_] another [_respire_] this maketh no good concord, because they
are all one, but if ye will exchange both these consonants of the accented
sillable, or voyde but one of them away, then will your cadences be good
and your concord to, as to say, _restraine, refraine, remaine: aspire,
desire, retire_: which rule neuerthelesse is not well obserued by many
makers for lacke of good iudgement and a delicate eare. And this may
suffise to shew the vse and nature of your cadences, which are in effect
all the sweetnesse and cunning in our vulgar Poesie.




  _CHAP. VIII_

_How the good maker will not wrench his word to helpe his rime, either by
falsifying his accent, or by untrue orthographie._


Now there can not be in a maker a fowler fault then to falsifie his accent
to serue his cadence, or by vntrue orthographie to wrench his words to
helpe his rime, for it is a signe that such a maker is not copious in his
owne language, or (as they are wont to say) not halfe his crafts maister:
as for example, if one should rime to this word [_Restore_] he may not
match him with [_Doore_] or [_Poore_] for neither of both are of like
terminant, either by good orthography or in naturall sound, therfore such
rime is strained, so is it to this word [_Ram_] to say [_came_] or to
[_Beane [_Den_] for they sound not nor be written alike, & many other like
cadences which were superfluous to recite, and are vsuall with rude rimers
who obserue not precisely the rules of [_prosodie_] neuerthelesse in all
such cases (if necessitie constrained) it is somewhat more tolerable to
help the rime by false orthographie, than to leaue an unpleasant
dissonance to the eare, by keeping trewe orthographie and loosing the
rime, as for example it is better to rime [_Dore_] with [_Restore_] then
in his truer orthographie, which is [_Doore_] and to this word [_Desire_]
to say [_Fier_] then fyre though it be otherwise better written _fire_.
For since the cheife grace of our vulgar Poesie consisteth in the
Symphonie, as hath bene already sayd, our maker must not be too licentious
in his concords, but see that they go euen, iust and melodious in the
eare, and right so in the numerositie or currantnesse of the whole body of
his verse, and in euery other of his proportions. For a licentious maker
is in truth but a bungler and not a Poet. Such men were in effect the most
part of all your old rimers and specially _Gower_, who to make vp his rime
would for the most part write his terminant sillable with false
orthographie, and many times not sticke to put in a plaine French word for
an English, & so by your leaue do many of our common rimers at this day:
as he that by all likelyhood, hauing no word at hand to rime to this word
[_ioy_] he made his other verse ende in [_Roy_] saying very impudently
thus,
  _O mightie Lord of loue, dame Venus onely ioy
  Who art the highest God of any heauenly Roy._
Which word was neuer yet receiued in our language for an English word.
Such extreme licentiousnesse is vtterly to be banished from our schoole,
and better it might haue bene borne with in old riming writers, bycause
they liued in a barbarous age, & were graue morall men but very homely
Poets, such also as made most of their workes by translation out of the
Latine and French toung, & few or none of their owne engine as may easely
be knowen to them that list to looke vpon the Poemes of both languages.

Finally as ye may ryme with wordes of all sortes, be they of many
sillables or few, so neuerthelesse is there a choise by which to make your
cadence (before remembred) most commendable, for some wordes of exceeding
great length, which haue bene fetched from the Latine inkhome or borrowed
of strangers, the vse of them in ryme is nothing pleasant, sauing
perchaunce to the common people, who reioyce much to be at playes and
enterludes, and besides their naturall ignoraunce, haue at all such times
their eares so attentiue to the matter, and their eyes vpon the shewes of
the stage, that they take little heede to the cunning of the rime, and
therefore be as well satisfied with that which is grosse, as with any
other finer and more delicate.




  _Chap. IX._

_Of Concorde in long and short measures, and by neare or farre distaunces,
and which of them is most commendable_.


But this ye must obserue withall, that bycause your concords containe the
chief part of Musicke in your meetre, their distaunces may not be too wide
or farre asunder, lest th'eare should loose the tune, and be defrauded of
his delight, and whensoeuer ye see any maker vse large and extraordinary
distaunces, ye must thinke he doth intende to shew himselfe more
artificiall then popular, and yet therein is not to be discommended, for
respects that shalbe remembred in some other place of this booke.

Note also that rime or concorde is not commendably vsed both in the end
and middle of a verse, vnlesse it be in toyes and trifling Poesies, for it
sheweth a certaine lightnesse either of the matter or of the makers head,
albeit these common rimers vse it much, for as I sayd before, like as the
Symphonie in a versse of great length, is (as it were) lost by looking
after him, and yet may the meetre be very graue and stately: so on the
other side doth the ouer busie and too speedy returne of one maner of
tune, too much annoy & as it were glut the eare, vnlesse it be in small &
popular Musickes song by thesse _Cantabanqui_ vpon benches and barrels
heads where they haue none other audience then boys or countrey fellowes
that passse by them in the streete, or else by blind harpers or such like
tauerne minstrels that giue a fit of mirth for a groat, & their matters
being for the most part stories of old time, as the tale of Sir _Topas_,
the reportes of _Beuis_ of _Southampton, Guy_ of _Warwicke, Adam Bell_,
and _Clymme of the Clough_ & such other old Romances or historicall rimes,
made purposely for recreation of the common people at Christmasse diners &
brideales, and in tauernes & alehouses and such other places of base
resort, also they be vsed in Carols and rounds and such light or
lasciuious Poemes, which are commonly more commodiously vttered by these
buffons or vices in playes then by any other person. Such were the rimes
of _Skelton_ (vsurping the name of a Poet Laureat) being in deede but a
rude rayling rimer & all his doings ridiculous, he vsed both short
distaunces and short measures pleasing onely the popular eare: in our
courtly maker we banish them vtterly. Now also haue ye in euery song or
ditty concorde by compasse & concorde entertangled and a mixt of both,
what that is and how they be vsed shalbe declared in the chapter of
proportion by _scituation._




  _CHAP. X_

_Of proportion by situation._


This proportion consisteth in placing of euery verse in a staffe or ditty
by such reasonable distaunces, as may best serue the eare for delight, and
also to shew the Poets art and variety of Musick, and the proportion is
double. One by marshalling the meetres, and limiting their distaunces
hauing regard to the rime or concorde how they go and returne: another by
placing euery verse, hauing a regard to his measure and quantitie onely,
and not to his concorde as to set one short meetre to three long, or foure
short and two long, or a short measure and a long, or of diuers lengthes
with relation one to another, which maner of _Situation_, euen without
respect of the rime, doth alter the nature of the Poesie, and make it
either lighter or grauer, or more merry, or mournfull, and many wayes
passionate to the eare and hart of the hearer, seeming for this point that
our maker by his measures and concordes of sundry proprotions doth
counterfait the harmonicall tunes of the vocall and instrumentall
Musickes. As the _Dorian_ because his falls, sallyes and compasse be
diuers from those of the _Phrigien_, the _Phrigien_ likewise from the
_Lydien_, and all three from the _Eolien, Miolidien_, and _Ionien_,
mounting and falling from note to note such as be to them peculiar, and
with more or lesse leasure or precipitation. Euen so by diuersitie of
placing and situation of your measures and concords, a short with a long,
and by narrow or wide distances, or thicker or thinner bestowing of them
your proportions differ, and breedeth a variable and strange harmonie not
onely in the eare, but also in the conceit of them that heare it, whereof
this may be an ocular example.

[Illustration: diagram of four lines with line one connected to line three
and line two connected to line four.]
Scituation in Concord ---------- \
                      ----------  ) \
                      ---------- /   )
                      ----------    /

Scituation in Measure ------                   ------------
                      -------                  ---------
                      --------                 ------------
                      ---------                ------
                      ---------                ---------
                      --------                 ------------
                      -------                  ------
                      ------                   ------------
                                               ------------
                                               ------
                                               ------

Where ye see the concord or rime in the third distance, and the measure in
the fourth, sixth or second distaunces, where of ye may deuise as many
others as ye list, so the staffe be able to beare it. And I set you downe
an occular example: because ye may the better conceiue it. Likewise it so
falleth out most times your ocular proportion doeth declare the nature of
the audible: for if it please the eare well, the fame represented by
delineation to the view pleaseth the eye well and _é conuerso:_ and this
is by a naturall _simpathie_, betweene the eare and the eye, and betweene
tunes & colours euen as there is the like betweene the other sences and
their obiects of which it apperteineth not here to speake. Now for the
distances vsually obserued in our vulgar Poesie, they be in the first
second third and fourth verse, or if the verse be very short in the fift
and sixt and in some maner of Musickes farre aboue.

And the first distance for the most part goeth all by _distick_ or couples
of verses agreeing in one cadence, and do passe so speedily away away and
so often returne agayne, as their tunes are neuer lost, nor out of the
eare, one couple supplying another so nye and so suddenly, and this is the
most vulgar proportion of distance or situation, such as vsed _Chaucer_ in
his Canterbury tales, and _Gower_ in all his workes.

[Illustration: diagram of four lines with line one connected to line two
and line three connected to line four.]

Second distance is, when ye passe ouer one verse, and ioyne the first and
the third, and so continue on till an other like distance fall in, and
this is also usuall and common, as

[Illustration: diagram of four lines with line one connected to line three
and line two connected to line four.]

Third distauce is, when your rime falleth vpon the first and fourth verse
ouerleaping two; this manner is not so common but pleasant and allowable
inough.

[Illustration: diagram of four lines with line one connected to line four
and line two connected to line three.]

In which case the two verses ye leaue out are ready to receiue their
concordes by the same distaunce or any other ye like better.

The fourth distaunce is by ouerskipping three verses and lighting vpon the
fift, this manner is rare and more artificiall then popular, vnlesse it be
in some special case, as when the meetres be so little and short as they
make no shew of any great delay before they returne, ye shall haue example
of both.

[Illustration: two diagrams: the first of five lines with line 1
connected to line 5 and lines 2, 3, and 4 connected;
the second of ten lines with line 1 and 5 connected, lines 2 and 6
connected, lines 3 and 7 connected, lines 4 and 8 connected, lines 5 and 9
connected, and lines 8 and 10 connected.]

And these ten litle meeters make but one Decameter at length.

  --,--,--,--,--,--,--,--,--,--,

There be larger distances also, as when the first concord falleth upon the
sixt verse & is very pleasant if they be ioyned with other distances not
so large as

[Illustration: diagram of six lines with lines 1 and 6 connected,
line 2 and 5 connected, and lines 3 and 4 connected.]

There be also, of the seuenth, eight, tenth, and twefth distance, but then
they may not go thicke, but two or three such distances serue to
proportion a whole song, and all betweene must be of other lesse
distances, and these wide distaunces serue for coupling of slaues, or for
to declare high and passionate or graue matter, and also for art:
_Petrarch_ hath giuen us examples hereof in his _Canzoni_, and we by lines
of sundry lengths & and distances as followeth,

[Illustration: four diagrams: first of eight lines with lines 1 and 8
connected, 2 and 3 connected, 4 and 5 connected, and 6 and 7 connected;
second of ten lines with lines 1 and 10 connected, 2 and 4 connected, 3
and 5 connected, 5 and 7 connected, 6 and 8 connected and 7 and 9
connected;
third of twelve lines with lines 1 and 12 connected, 2 and 5 connected, 3
and 4 connected, and 6 and 9 connected, 7 and 8 connected, 9 and 12
connected, 10 and 11 connected;
fourth of thirteen lines with 1 and 13 connected, 2 and 5 connected, 3 and
4 connected, 6 and 9 connected, 7 and 8 connected, 10 and 13 connected,
and 11 and 12 connected.]

And all that can be obiected against this wide distance is to say that the
eare by loosing his concord is not satisfied. So is in deede the rude and
popular eare but not the learned, and therefore the Poet must know to
whose eare he maketh his rime, and accommodate himselfe thereto, and not
giue such musicke to the rude and barbarous, as he would to the learned
and delicate eare.

There is another sort of proportion used by _Petrarche_ called the
_Seizino_, not riming as other songs do, but by chusing sixe wordes out of
which all the whole dittie is made, euery of those sixe commencing and
ending his verse by course, which restraint to make the dittie sensible
will try the makers cunning, as thus.
    --------------- )
  ( --------------- )
  ( --------------- )
  ( --------------- )
  ( --------------- )
  ( ---------------

Besides all this there is in _Situation_ of the concords two other
points, one that it go by plaine and cleere compasse not intangled:
another by enterweauing one with another by knots, or as it were
by band, which is more or lesse busie and curious, all as the maker
will double or redouble his rime or concords, and set his distances
farre or nigh, of all which I will giue you ocular examples, as thus.

[Illustration: two diagrams: Concord in Plaine compasse, has four lines
with 1 and 4 connected and 2 and 3 connected;
Concord in Entertangle, has alternating lines connected - 1 and 3, 2 and
4, 3 and 5, etc.]

And first in a _Quadreine_ there are but two proportions, for foure verses
in this last sort coupled, are but two _Disticks_, and not a staffe
_quadreine_ or of foure.

[Illustration: three diagrams of four lines each:
first, with lines 1 and 4 connected and lines 2 and 3 connected;
second, with lines 1 and 3 connected and lines 2 and 4 connected;
third, with lines 1 and 2 connected and lines 3 and 4 connected.]

The staffe of fiue hath seuen proportions, whereof some of them be harsher
and vnpleasaunter to the eare then other some be.

[Illustration: seven diagrams of five lines each:
first, connecting these pairs of lines - 1 with 3, 2 with 4, 3 with 5;
second, connecting these pairs of lines - 1 with 4, 2 with 5, 3 with 4;
third, connecting these pairs of lines - 1 with 2, 2 with 5, 3 with 4;
fourth, connecting these pairs of lines - 1 with 4, 2 with 3, 4 with 5;
fifth, connecting these pairs of lines - 1 with 5, 2 with 3, 3 with 4;
sixth, connecting these pairs of lines - 1 with 3, 2 with 4, 4 with 5;
seventh, connecting these pairs of lines - 1 with 2, 2 with 4, 3 with 5.]

The _Sixaine_ or staffe of sixe hath ten proportions, whereof some be
vsuall, some not vsuall, and not so sweet one as another.

[Illustration: ten diagrams of six lines each:
first, connecting these lines - 1 with 6, 2 with 5, 3 with 4;
second, connecting these lines - 1 with 3, 2 with 4, 5 with 6;
third, connecting these lines - 1 with 3, 2 with 6, 3 with 4 and 5;
fourth, connecting these lines - 1 with 4, 2 with 5, 3 with 6;
fifth, connecting these lines - 1 with 6, 2 with 4, 3 with 5;
sixth, connecting these lines - 1 with 6, 2 with 3, 4 with 5;
seventh, connecting these lines - 1 with 5, 2 with 6, 3 with 4;
eighth, connecting these lines - 1 with 2, 5 and 6, 3 with 4;
ninth, connecting these lines - 1 with 3, 2 with 5, 4 with 6;
tenth, connecting these lines - 1 with 2 and 4, 3 with 5 and 6.]

The staffe of seuen verses hath seuen proportions, whereof one onley is
the vsuall of our vulgar, and kept by our old Poets _Chaucer_ and other in
their historicall reports and other ditties: as in the last part of them
that follow next.

[Illustration: eight diagrams of seven lines each:
first, connecting these lines - 1 with 3, 2 with 4, 4 with 6, 5 with 7;
second, connecting these lines - 1 with 3, 2 with 4, 3 with 5, 6 with 7;
third, connecting these lines - 1 with 4, 2 with 3, 4 with 7, 5 with 6;
fourth, connecting these lines - 1 with 2, 6 and 7, 3 with 4 and 5;
fifth, connecting these lines - 1 with 7, 2 with 6, 3 with 4 and 5;
sixth, connecting these lines - 1 with 2, 5 and 6, 3 with 4 and 7;
seventh, connecting these lines - 1 with 4 and 7, 2 with 3, 5 and 6;
eighth, connecting these lines - 1 with 2, 3 with 4 and 5, 6 with 7.]

The _huitain_ or staffe of eight verses, hath eight proportions such as
the former staffe, and is because he is longer, he hath one more then the
_sestaine_.

The staffe of nine verses hath yet moe then the eight, and the staffe of
ten more then the ninth and the twelfth, if such were allowable in
ditties, more then any of them all, by reason of his largenesse receiuing
moe compasses and enterweauings, alwayes considered that the very large
distances be more artificiall, then popularly pleasant, and yet do giue
great grace and grauitie, and moue passion and affections more vehemently,
as it is well to be obserued by _Petrarcha_ his _Canzoni_.

Now ye may perceiue by these proportions before described, that there is a
band to be giuen euery verse in a staffe, so as none fall out alone or
vncoupled, and this band maketh that the staffe is sayd fast and not
loose: euen as ye see in buildings of stone or bricke the mason giueth a
band, that is a length to two breadths, & vpon necessitie diuers other
sorts of bands to hold in the worke fast and maintaine the
perpendicularitie of the wall: so in any staffe of seuen or eight or more
verses, the coupling of the moe meeters by rime or concord, is the faster
band: the fewer the looser band, and therefore in a _huiteine_ he that
putteth foure verses in one concord and foure in another concord, and in a
_dizaine_ fiue, sheweth him selfe more cunning, and also more copious in
his owne language. For he that can find two words of concord, can not find
foure or fiue or sixe, vnlesse he haue his owne language at will.
Sometimes also ye are driuen of neccesitie to close and make band more
then ye would, lest otherwise the staffe should fall asunder and seeme two
staues: and this is in a staffe of eight and ten verses: whereas without a
band in the middle, it would seeme two _quadriens_ or two _quintaines_,
which is an error that many makers slide away with. Yet _Chaucer_ and
others in the staffe of seuen and sixe do almost as much a misse, for they
shut vp the staffe with a _disticke_, concording with none other verse
that went before, and maketh but a loose rime, and yet bycause of the
double cadence in the last two verses serue the eare well inough. And as
there is in euery staffe, band, giuen to the verses by concord more or
lesse busie: so is there in some cases a band giuen to euery staffe, and
that is by one whole verse running alone throughout the ditty or ballade,
either in the middle or end of euery staffe. The Greekes called such
vncoupled verse _Epimonie_, the Latines _Versus intercallaris_. Now
touching the situation of measures, there are as manie or more proportions
of them which I referre to the makers phantasie and choise, contented with
two or three ocular examples and no moe.

-------                        ----------    ----------    ------
---------                      ----------    ----------    --------------
-------------    ----------    ----          ----------    --------------
-------------    --------      ----          ----------    --------------
---------        ------        ----------    ----          ------
-------          ------        ----------    ------        --------------
---------        --------      ----          ------        --------------
-----------      ----------    ----          ------        --------------
-------------                  ----------    ----          ------

Which maner or proportion by situation of measures giueth more efficacie
to the matter oftentimes then the concords them selues, and both
proportions concurring together as they needes must, it is of much more
beautie and force to the hearers mind.

To finish the learning of this diuision, I will set you downe one example
of a dittie written extempore with this deuice, shewing not onley much
promptnesse of wit in the maker, but also great arte and a notable
memorie. Make me saith this writer to one of the comnpanie, so many
strokes or lines with your pen as ye would haue your song containe verses:
and let euery line bearue his seuerall length, euen as ye would haue your
verse of measure. Suppose of foure, fiue, sixe, or eight or more
sillables, and set a figure of euerie number at th'end of the line,
whereby ye may knowe his measure. Then where you will haue your rime or
concord to fall, marke it with a compast stroke or semicircle passing ouer
those lines, be they farre or neare in distance, as ye haue seene before
described. And bycause ye shall not thinke the maker hath premeditated
beforehand any such fashioned ditty, do ye your selfe make one verse
whether it be of perfect or imperfect sense, and giue it him for a theame
to make all the rest upon: if ye shall perceiue the maker do keepe the
measures and rime as ye haue appointed him, and besides do make his dittie
sensible and ensuant to the first verse in good reason, then may ye say he
is his crafts maister. For if he were not of a plentiful discourse, he
could not vpon the sudden shape an entire dittie vpon your imperfect
theame or proposition in one verse. And if he were not copious in his
language, he could not haue such store of wordes at commaundement, as
should supply your concords. And if he were not of a maruelous good memory
he could not obserue the rime and measures after the distances of your
limitation, keeping with all grauitie and good sense in the whole dittie.




  _CHAP. XI._

_Of Proportion in figure._


Your last proportion is that of figure, so called for that it yelds an
ocular representation, your meeters being by good symmetrie reduced into
certaine Geometricall figures, whereby the maker is restrained to keepe
him within his bounds, and sheweth not onley more art, but serueth also
much better for briefenesse and subtiltie of deuice. And for the same
respect are also fittest for the pretie amourets in Court to entertaine
their seruants and the time withall, their delicate wits requiring some
commendable exercise to keepe them from idlenesse. I find not of this
proportion, vsed by any of the Greeke or Latine Poets, or in any vulgar
writer, sauing of that one forme which they cal _Anacreens egge._ But
being in Italie conuersant with a certaine gentleman, who had long
trauailed the Orientall parts of the world, and seene the Courts of the
great Princes of China and Tartarie. I being very inquisitiue to know of
the subtillities of those countreyes, and especially in matter of learning
and of their vulgar Poesie, he told me that they are in all their
inuentions most wittie, and haue the vse of Poesie or riming, but do not
delight so much as we do in long tedious descriptions, and therefore when
they will vtter any pretie conceit, they reduce it into metricall feet,
and put it in forme of a _Lozange_ or square, or such other figure, and so
engrauen in gold, siluer, or iuorie, and sometimes with letters of
ametist, rubie, emeralde or topas curiousely cemented and peeced together,
they sende them in chaines, bracelets, collars and girdles to their
mistresses to weare for a remembrance. Some fewe measures composed in this
sort this gentleman gaue me, which I translated word for word and as neere
as I could followed both the phrase and the figure, which is somewhat hard
to performe, because of the restraint of the figure from which ye may not
digresse. At the beginning they wil seeme nothing pleasant to an English
eare, but time and vsage will make them acceptable inough, as it doth in
all other new guises, be it for wearing of apparell or otherwise. The
formes of your Geometricall figures be hereunder represented.

[Illustration: labelled diagrams of lines of different lengths (forming
different shapes):
The Lozange, called Rombus (diamond)
The Fuzie or spindle, called Romboides (narrow diamond)
The Triangle or Tricquet (pyramid)
The Square or quadrangle (square)
The Pillaster or Cillinder (tall rectangle)
The Spire or taper, called piramis (tall pyramid)
The Rondel or Sphere (circle)
The egge or figure ouall (vertical egg)
The Tricquet reuerst (triangle)
The Tricquet displayed (hour-glass)
The Taper reuersed (narrow triangle)
The Rondel displayed (half circle upon the other half)
The Lozange reuersed (wide diamond <>)              u
The Egge displayed (half oval upon the other half - n)
The Lozange rabbated (hexagon).]

_Of the Lozange._

The _Lozange_ is a most beautifull figure, & fit for this purpose, being
in his kind a quadrangle reuerst, with his point vpward like to a quarrell
of glasse the Greekes and Latines  both call it _Rombus_ which may be the
cause as I suppose why they also gaue that name to the fish commonly
called the _Turbot_, who beareth iustly that figure, it ought not to
containe about thirteene or fifteene or one & twentie meetres, & the
longest furnisheth the middle angle, the rest passe vpward and downward,
still abating their lengthes by one or two sillables till they come to the
point: the Fuzie is of the same nature but that he is sharper and
slenderer. I will giue you an example of two of those which my Italian
friend bestowed vpon me, which as neare as I could I trnslated into the
same figure obseruing the phrase of the Orientall speach word for word.

A great Emperor in Tartary whom they cal _Can_, for his good fortune
in the wars & many notable conquests he had made, was surnamed
_Temir Cutzclewe_, this man loued the Lady _Kermesine_, who
presented him returning from the conquest of _Corasoon_ (a great kindgom
adioyning) with this _Lozange_ made in letters of rubies & diamants
entermingled thus:
                     Sound
                   O   Harpe
                 Shril lie  out
               Temir  the   stout
             Rider  who with  sharpe
         Trenching slide of brite steele
       Hath made his feircest foes so feele
     All such as  wrought him shame  or harme
      The strength of his braue right arme,
        Cleauing hard downe vnto the eyes
         The raw skulles of his enemies
           Much honour hath he  wonne
             By doughtie deedes done
                In    Cora   soon
                  And  all  the
                      Worlde
                      Round.

_To which_ Can Temir _answered in_ Fuzie, _with letters of Emeralds and
Ametists artificially cut and entermingled, thus

                      Five
                  Sore batailes
                Manfully    fought
              In   blouddy    fielde
            With  bright blade in hand
          Hath Temir won & forst to yeld
        Many a Captaine strong  and stoute
       And  many a king his Crowne to vayle,
      Conquering  large  countreys  and  land,
     Yet   ne uer     wanne     I    vic to rie
    I   speake   it   to   my   greate    glorie
     So   deare   and   ioy  full   vn  to  me,
      As when  I  did  first  con quere  thee
       O  Kerme sine,  of  all    myne  foes
        The most cruell, of all  myne  woes
         The   smartest ,   the   sweetest
           My    proude     con    quest
             My      ri  chest    pray
               O   once    a    daye
                Lend  me thy  sight
                 Whose only light
                    Keepes  me
                      Alive.

_Of the Triange or Triquet._

The triangle is an halfe square, _Lozange_ or _Fuzie_ parted vpon the
crosse angles: and so his base being brode and his top narrow it receaueth
meetres of many sizes one shorter then another: and ye may vse this figure
standing or reuersed, as thus.

A certaine great Sultan of Persia called _Ribuska_, entertaynes in loue
the Lady _Selamour_, sent her this triquet reuest pitiously bemoaning his
estate, all set in merquetry with letters of blew Saphire and Topas
artificially cut and entermingled.

    Selamour   dearer  then   his   owne life
     To  thy  di stresssed   wretch cap tive,
      Ri   buska   whome    late ly    erst
       Most   cru   el   ly   thou   perst
        With    thy     dead   ly   dart,
         That     paire   of    starres
          Shi    ning     a      farre
           Turne   from   me,   to me
            That I may & may not see
             The smile,   the loure
              That lead  and driue
               Me to die  to liue
                Twise yea thrise
                   In     one
                     hourre.

To which _Selamour_ to make the match egall, and the figure entire,
answered in a standing Triquet richly engrauen with letters of like
stuffe.
                     Power
                    Of death
                  Nor  of  life
                Hath    Selamour,
              With Gods it is  rife
            To giue and bereue breath
          I may  for  pitie  perchaunce
        Thy  lost   libertie   re - store,
      Vpon   thine  othe   with  this penaunce,
   That while thou liuest thou neuer loue no more.

This condition seeming to Sultan _Ribuska_ very hard to performe, and
cruell to be enjoyned him, doeth by another figure a Taper, signifying
hope, answere the Lady _Selamour_, which dittie for lack of time I
translated not.

_Of the Spire or Taper called Pyramis._

The Taper is the longest and sharpest triangle that is, & while
he mounts vpward he waxeth continually more slender, taking
both his figure and name of the fire, whole flame if ye marke it, is
alwaies pointed, and naturally by his forme couets to clymbe: the
Greekes call him Pyramis. The Latines in vse of Architecture
call him _Obeliscus_, it holdeth the altitude of six ordinary triangles,
and in metrifying his base can not well be larger then a
meetre of six, therefore in his altitude he will require diuers rabates
to hold so many sizes of meetres as shall serue for his composition,
for neare the toppe there wil be roome little inough for a meetre of
two sillables, and sometimes of one to finish the point. I haue set
you downe one or two examples to try how ye can disgest the
maner of the deuise.

  _Her Maiestie, for many parts in her most noble and vertuous nature
  to be found, resembled to the spire. Ye must begin beneath according
  to the nature of the deuice_.

          _Skie,                  1
          -----
         A  zurd                  2
         in  the
         assurde.
         --------
        And  better,              3
        And  richer,
        Much greter,
       --------------
      Crowne   &    empir
      After   an     hier
      For   to     aspire         4
      Like flames of fire
      In  formes of spire
     -------------------
     To   mount  on   hie,
     Con  ti   nu   al  ly
     With  trauel  &  teen
     Most  gratious  queen
     Ye haue  made  a  vow        5
     Shewes vs plainly how
     Not fained  but  true
     To  euery  mans   vue
     Shining cleere in you
     Of so bright  an hewe
     Euen   thus    vertwe
     ---------------------
   Vanish  out  of  our sight
   Till his fine top be quite
   To   taper  in  the   ayre     6
   Endeavors  soft  and faire
   By   his   kindly   nature
   Of   tall  comely  stature
   Like  as this faire figure_

  _From God the fountaine of all good, are deriued into the world
  all good things: and vpon her maiestie all the good fortunes any
  worldly creature can be furnisht with. Reade downward according
  to the nature of the deuice.

    1               God
                    On
                    Hie
                    Frome
    2             A bove
                  Sends loue,
                  Wise  dome,
                  Iu   stice
                  Cou   rage,
                  Boun   tie,
    3           And doth geue
                All that liue
                Life & breath
                Harts ese helth
                Children, welth
                Beauty strength
                Restfull    age,
                And   at length
                A   mild  death,
    4         He   doeth    bestowe
              All   mens   fortunes
              Both   high   &   low
              And  the  best things
              That earth  can  haue
              Or   mankind    craue,
              Good queens  &  kings
              Fi nally  is the same
              Who gaue you  (madam)
              Seyson of this Crowne
              With pouer soueraigne
    5       Impug    nable     right,
            Redoubt able       might,
            Most   prosperous  raigne
            Eternall     re    nowne,
            And that your chiefest is
            Sure hope of heavens blis.

_The Piller, Pillaster or Cillinder._

The Piller is a figure among all the rest of the Geometricall most
beawtifull, in respect that he is tall and vpright and of one bignesse
from the bottom to the toppe. In Architecture he is considered with two
accessarie parts, a pedestall or base, and a chapter or head, the body is
the shaft. By this figure is signified stay, support, rest, state and
magnificence, your dittie then being reduced into the forme of a Piller,
his base will require to beare the breath of a meetre of six or seuen or
eight sillables: the shaft of foure: the chapter egall with the base, of
this proportion I will giue you one or two examples which may suffise.

  _Her Maiestie resembled to the crowned piller, Ye must read vpward._

 _Is   blisse  with  immortalitie.
   Her trymest top of all ye see,
      Garnish  the crowne.
      Her   iust   renowne
      Chapter  and   head,
      Parts  that maintain
      And    woman    head
      Her  mayden   raigne
      In   te   gri   tie:
      In    ho nour    and
      with    ve  ri  tie:
      Her  roundnes  stand
      Strengthen the state.
      By  their   increase
      With   out   de bate
      Concord   and  peace
      Of  her   sup  port,
      They  be   the  base
      with   stedfastnesse
      Vertue   and   grace
      Stay   and   comfort
      Of  Albi ons   rest,
      The   sounde  Pillar
      And  seene   a farre
      Is plainely  exprest
    Tall stately and strayt
   By this no ble pour trayt_

  _Philo to the Lady Calia, sendeth this Odolet of her prayse
  in forme of a Piller, which ye must read downward._

  _Thy princely port and Maijestie
     Is  my ter  rene   dei tie,
        Thy  wit   and  sense
        The  streame & source
        Of     e  l o  quence
        And  deepe   discours,
        Thy  faire  eyes  are
        My bright load starre,
        Thy  speach  a  darte
        Percing   my    harte,
        Thy    face     a las,
        My   loo king  glasse,
        Thy  loue ly   lookes
        My   prayer    bookes,
        Thy  pleasant  cheare
        My   sunshine  cleare
        Thy   ru full   sight
        My  darke    midnight,
        Thy  will  the  stent
        Of     my    con tent,
        Thy  glo rye    flour
        Of    myne   ho  nour,
        Thy  loue  doth  giue
        The   lyfe   I   lyve,
        Thy    lyfe  it    is
        Mine  earthly  blisse:
   But grace & fauour in thine eies
   My bodies soule & souls paradise._

_The Roundell or Spheare_.

The most excellent of all the figures Geometrical is the round for his
many perfections. First because he is euen & smooth, without any angle, or
interruption, most voluble and apt to turne, and to continue motion, which
is the author of life: he conteyneth in him the commodious description of
euery other figure, & for his ample capacitie doth resemble the world or
uniuers, & for his indefiniteness hauing no speciall place of beginning
nor end, beareth a similitude with God and eternitie. This figure hath
three principall partes in his nature and vse much considerable: the
circle, the beame, and the center. The circle is his largest compasse or
circumference: the center is his middle and indiuisible point: the beame
is a line stretching directly from the circle to the center, &
contrariwise from the center to the circle. By this description our maker
may fashion his meetre in Roundel, either with the circumference, and that
is circlewise, or from the circumference, that is, like a beame, or by the
circumference, and that is ouerthwart and dyametrally from one side of the
circle to the other.

_A generall resemblance of the Roundell to God, the world and the Queene._

  _All and whole, and euer, and one,
  Single, simple, eche where, alone,
  These be counted as Clerkes can tell,
  True properties, of the Roundell.
  His still turning by consequence
  And change, doe breede both life and sense.
  Time, measure of stirre and rest.
  Is also by his course exprest.
  How swift the circle stirre aboue,
  His center point, doeth neuer moue:
  All things that euer were or be,
  Are closde in his concauitie.
  And though he be, still turnde and tost,
  No roome there wants nor none is lost.
  The Roundell hath no bonch or angle,
  Which may his course stay or entangle.
  The furthest part of all his spheare,
  Is equally both farre and neare.
  So doth none other figure fare
  Where natures chattels closed are:
  And beyond his wide compasse,
  There is no body nor no place,
  Nor any wit that comprehends,
  Where it begins, or where it ends:
  And therefore all men doe agree,
  That it purports eternitie.
  God aboue the heauens so hie
  Is this Roundell, in world the skie,
  Vpon earth she, who beares the bell
  Of maydes and Queenes, is this Roundell:
  All and whole and euer alone,
  Single, sans peere, simple, and one._

A speciall and particular resemblance of her Maiestie to the Roundell.

  _First her authoritie regall
  Is the circle compassing all:
  The dominion great and large
  Which God hath geuen to her charge:
  Whithin which most spatious bound
  She enuirons her people round,
  Retaining them by oth and liegeance.
  Whithin the pale of true obeysance:
  Holding imparked as it were,
  Her people like to heards of deere.
  Sitting among them in the middes
  Where foe allowes and bannes and bids
  In what fashion she list and when,
  The seruices of all her men.
  Out of her breast as from an eye,
  Issue the rayes incessantly
  Of her iustice, bountie and might
  Spreading abroad their beams so bright
  And reflect not, till they attaine
  The fardest part of her domaine.
  And makes eche subiect clearley see,
  What he is bounden for to be
  To God his Prince and common wealth,
  His neighbour, kinred and to himselfe.
  The same centre and middle pricke,
  Whereto our deedes are drest so thicke,
  From all the parts and outmost side
  Of her Monarchie large and wide,
  Also fro whence reflect these rayes,
  Twentie hundred maner of wayes
  Where her will is them to conuey
  Within the circle of her suruey.
  So is the Queene of Briton ground,
  Beame, circle, center of all my round._

_ Of the square or quadrangle equilater._

The square is of all other accompted the figure of most folliditie and
stedfastnesse, and for his owne stay and firmitie requireth none other
base then himselfe, and therefore as the roundell or Spheare is appropriat
to the heauens, the Spire to the element of the fire: the Triangle to the
ayre, and the Lozange to the water: so is the square for his inconcussable
steadinesse likened to the earth, which perchaunce might be the reason
that the Prince of Philosophers in his first booke of the _Ethicks_,
termeth a constant minded man, euen egal and direct on all sides, and not
easily ouerthrowne by euery little aduersitie, _hominem quadratum_, a
square man. Into this figure may ye reduce your ditties by vsing no moe
verses then your verse is of sillables, which will make him fall out
square, if ye go aboue it wil grow into the figure _Trapezion_, which is
some portion longer then square. I neede not giue you any example, by
cause in good arte all your ditties, Odes & Epigrammes should keepe & not
exceede the nomber of twelue verses, and the longest verse to be of twelue
sillables & not aboue, but vnder that number as much as ye will.

_The figure Ouall._

This figure taketh his name of an egge, and also as it is thought his
first origine, and is as it were a bastard or imperfect rounde declining
toward a longitude, and yet keeping within one line for his periferie or
compasse as the rounde, and it seemeth that he receiueth this forme not as
an imperfection but any impediment vnnaturally hindring his rotunditie,
but by the wisedome and prouidence of nature for the commoditie of
generation in such of her creatures as bring not forth a liuely body (as
do foure footed beasts) but in stead thereof a certaine quantitie of
shapelesse matter contained in a vessell, which after it is sequestred
from the dames body receiueth life and perfection, as in the egges of
birdes, fishes, and serpents: for the matter being of some quantitie, and
to issue out at a narrow place, for the easie passage thereof, it must of
necessitie beare such shape as might not be sharpe and greeuous to passe
at an angle, nor so large or obtuse as might not essay some issue out with
one part moe then other as the rounde, therefore it must be slenderer in
some part, & yet not without a rotunditie & smoothnesse to giue the rest
an easie deliuerie. Such is the figure Ouall whom for his antiquitie,
dignitie and vse, I place among the rest of the figures to embellish our
proportions: of this sort are diuers of _Anacreons_ ditties, and those
other of the Grecian Liricks, who wrate wanton amorous deuises, to solace
their witts with all, and many times they would (to giue it right shape of
an egg) deuide a word in the midst, and peece out the next verse with the
other halfe, as ye may see by perusing their meetres.

When I wrate of these deuices, I smiled with myselfe, thinking that the
readers would do so to, and many of them say, that such trifles as these
might well haue bene spared, considering the world is full inough of them,
and that it is pitie mens heades should be fedde with such vanities as are
to none edification nor instruction, either of morall vertue, or otherwise
behooffull for the common wealth, to whose seruice (say they) we are all
borne, and not to fill and replenish a whole world full of idle toyes. To
which sort of reprehendours, being either all holy and mortified to the
world, and therefore esteeming nothing that fauoureth not of Theologie, or
altogether graue and worldy, and therefore caring for nothing but matters
of pollicie, & discourses of estate, or all giuen to thrift and passing
for none art that is not gainefull and lucratiue, as the sciences of the
Law, Phisicke and marchaundise: to these I will giue none other aunswere
then referre them to the many trifling poemes of _Homer, Ouid, Virgill,
Catullus_ and other notable writers of former ages, which were not of any
grauitie or seriousnesse, and many of them full of impudicitie and
ribaudrie, as are not these of ours, nor for any good in the world should
haue bene: and yet those trifles are come from many former siecles vnto
our times, vncontrolled or condemned or supprest by any Pope or Patriarch
or other seuere censor of the ciuill maners of men, but haue bene in all
ages permitted as the conuenient solaces and recreations of mans wit. And
as I can not denie but these conceits of mine be trifles: no lesse in very
deede be all the most serious studies of man, if we shall measure grauitie
and lightnesse by the wise mans ballance who after he had considered of
all the profoundest artes and studies among men, in th'ende cryed out with
this Epyphoneme, _Vanitas vanitatum & omnia vanitas_. Whose authoritie if
it were not sufficient to make me beleeue so, I could be content with
_Democritus_ rather to condemne the vanities of our life by derision, then
as _Heraclitus_ with teares, saying with that merrie Greeke thus,
  _Omnia sunt risus, sunt puluis, & omnia nil sunt.
  Res hominum cunctae, nam ratione carent._
Thus Englished,
  _All is but a iest, all daft, all not worth two peason:
  For why in mans matters is neither rime nor reason._

Now passing from these courtly trifles, let vs talke of our scholastical
toyes, that is of the Grammaticall versifying of the Greeks and Latines
and see whether it might be reduced into our English arte or no.




  _CHAP. XII._

_How if all maner of sodaine innouatians were not very scandalous,
specially in the lawes of any langage or arte, the use of the Greeke and
Latine feete might be brought into our vulgar Poesie, and with good grace
enough._


Now neuerthelesse albeit we haue before alledged that our vulgar _Saxon
English_ standing most vpon wordes _monosillable_, and little vpon
_polysillables_ doth hardly admit the vse of those fine inuented feete of
the Greeks & Latines, and that for the most part wise and graue men doe
naturally mislike with all sodaine innouations specially of lawes (and
this the law of our auncient English Poesie) and therefore lately before
we imputed it to a nice & scholasticall curiositie in such makers as haue
fought to bring into our vulgar Poesie some of the auncient feete, to wit
the _Dactile_ into verses _exameters_, as he that translated certaine
bookes of _Virgils Eneydos_ in such measures & not vncommendably: if I
should now say otherwise it would make me seeme contradictorie to my
selfe, yet for the information of our yong makers, and pleasure of all
others who be delighted in noueltie, and to th'intent we may not seeme by
ignorance or ouersight to omit any point of subtillitie, materiall or
necessarie to our vulgar arte, we will in this present chapter & by our
own idle obseruations shew how one may easily and commodiously lead all
those feete of the auncients into our vulgar language. And if mens eares
were not perchaunce to daintie, or their iudgementes ouer partiall, would
peraduenture nothing at all misbecome our arte, but make in our meetres a
more pleasant numerositie then now is. Thus farre therefore we will
aduenture and not beyond, to th'intent to shew some singularitie in our
arte that euery man hath not heretofore obserued, and (her maiesty good
liking always had) whether we make the common readers to laugh or to
lowre, all is a matter, since our intent is not so exactlie to prosecute
the purpose, nor so earnestly, as to thinke it should by authority of our
owne iudgement be generally applauded at to the discredit of our
forefathers maner of vulgar Poesie, or to the alteration or peraduenture
totall destruction of the same, which could not stand with any good
discretion or curtesie in vs to attempt, but thus much I say, that by some
leasurable trauell it were no hard matter to induce all their auncient
feete into vse with vs, and that it should proue very agreable to the eare
and well according with our ordinary times and pronunciation, which no man
could then iustly mislike, and that is to allow euery world _polisillable_
one long time of necessitie, which should be where his sharpe accent falls
in our owne _ydiome_ most aptly and naturally, wherein we would not follow
the license of the Greeks and Latines, who made not their sharpe accent
any necessary prolongation of their tunes, but vsed such sillable
sometimes long sometimes short at their pleasure. The other sillables of
any word where the sharpe accent fell not, to be accompted of such time
and quantitie as his _ortographie_ would best beare hauing regard to
himselfe, or to his next neighbour word, bounding him on either side,
namely to the smoothnes & hardnesse of the sillable in his vtterance,
which is occasioned altogether by his _ortographie_ & situation as in this
word [_dáyly_] the first sillable for his vsuall and sharpe accentes sake
to be always long, the second for his flat accents sake to be alwayes
shoft, and the rather for his _ortographie_, bycause if he goe before
another word commencing with a vowell not letting him to be eclipsed, his
vtterance is easie & currant, in this trissilable [_dau-nge`ro`us_] the
first to be long, th'other two short for the same causes. In this word
[_da-nge`rou`sne-sse_] the first & last to be both long, bycause they
receiue both of them the sharpe accent, and the two middlemost to be
short, in these words [_remedie_] & [_remedilesse_] the time to follow
also the accent, so as if it please better to set the sharpe accent vpon
[_re_] then vpon [_dye_] that sillable should be made long and _é
conuerso_, but in this word [_remedilesse_] bycause many like better to
accent the sillable [_me_] then the sillable [_les_] therefore I leaue him
for a common sillable to be able to receiue both a long and a short time
as occasion shall serue. The like law I set in these wordes
[_reuocable_][_recouerable_] [_irreuocable_][_irrecouerable_] for
sometimes it sounds better to say _ré-uo`ca-blé_ then _re`uo-ca`ble`,
re-cóue`rable_ then _réco-ue`ra`blé_ for this one thing ye must alwayes
marke that if your time fall either by reason of his sharpe accent or
otherwise vpon the _penultima_, ye shal finde many other words to rime
with him, bycause such terminations are not geazon, but if the long time
fall vpon the _antepenultima_ ye shall not finde many wordes to match him
in his termination, which is the cause of his concord or rime, but if you
would let your long time by his sharpe accent fall aboue the
_antepenultima_ as to say [_co-ue`ra`ble_] ye shall seldome or perchance
neuer find one to make vp rime with him vnlesse it be badly and by abuse,
and therefore in all such long _polisillables_ ye doe commonly giue two
sharpe accents, and thereby reduce him into two feete as in this word
[_re-mu`nèra`ti`on_] which makes a couple of good _Dactils_, and in this
word [_contribu-ti`o`n_] which makes a good _spo-ndeus_ & a good
_dactill_, and in this word [_reca-pi`tu`la-tio`n_] it makes two
_dactills_ and a sillable ouerplus to annexe to the word precedent to
helpe peece vp another foote. But for wordes _monosillables_ (as be most
of ours) because in pronouncing them they do of necessitie retaine a
sharpe accent, ye may iustly allow then to be all long if they will so
best serue your turne, and if they be tailed one to another, or th'one to
a _dissillable_ or _polyssillable_ ye ought to allow them that time that
best serues your purpose and pleaseth your eare most, and truliest
aunsweres the nature of the _ortographie_ in which I would as neare as I
could obserue and keepe the lawes of the Greeke and Latine versifiers,
that is to prolong the sillable which is written with double consonants or
by dipthong or with finale consonants that run hard and harshly vpon the
toung: and to shorten all sillables that stand vpon vowels, if there were
no cause of _elision_ and single consonants & such of them as are most
flowing and slipper vpon the toung as _n.r.t.d.l._ for this purpose to
take away all aspirations, and many times the last consonant of a word as
the Latine Poetes vsed to do, specially _Lucretius_ and _Ennnius_ to say
[_finibu_] for [_finibus_] and so would not I stick to say thus [delite]
for [delight] [hye] for [high] and such like, & doth nothing at all
impugne the rule I gaue before against the wresting of wordes by false
_ortographie_ to make vp rime, which may not be falsified. But this
omission of letters in the middest of a meetre to make him the more
slipper, helpes the numerositie and hinders not the rime. But generally
the shortning or prolonging of the _monosillables_ dependes much vpon the
nature or their _ortographie_ which the Latin Grammariens call the rule of
position, as for example if I shall say thus.
  _No-t ma`ni`e daye-s pa-st_. Twentie dayes after,
This makes a good _Dactill_ and a good _spondeus_, but if ye turne
them backward it would not do so, as.
  _Many dayes, not past_.
And the _distick_ made all of _monosillables_.
  _Bu-t no-ne o-f u-s tru-e me-n a-nd fre-e,
  Could finde so great good lucke as he_.
Which words serue well to make the verse all _spondiacke_ or _iambicke_,
but not in _dactil_, as other words or the same otherwise placed would do,
for it were at illfauored _dactil_ to say.
  _Bu-t no`ne o`f, u-s a`ll tre`we._

Therefore whensoeuer your words will not make a smooth _dactil_, ye must
alter them or their situations or else turne them to other feete that may
better beare their maner of sound and orthographie: or if the word be
_polysillable_ to deuide him, and to make him serue by peeces, that he
could not do whole and entierly. And no doubt by like consideration did
the Greeke & Latine versifiers fashion all their feete at the first to be
of sundry times, and the selfe same sillable to be sometime long and
sometime short for the eares better satisfaction as hath bene before
remembred. Now also wheras I said before that our old Saxon English for
his many _monosillables_ did not naturally admit the vse of the ancient
feete in our vulgar measures so aptly as in those languages which stood
most vpon _polisillables_, I sayd it in a sort truly, but now I must
recant and confesse that our Normane English which hath growen since
_William_ the Conquerour doth admit any of the auncient feete, by reason
of the many _polysillables_ euen to sixe and seauen in one word, which we
at this day vse in our most ordinarie language: and which corruption hath
bene occasioned chiefly by the peeuish affectation not of the Normans them
selues, but of clerks and scholars or secretaries long since, who not
content with the vsual Normane or Saxon word, would conuert the very
Latine and Greeke word into vulgar French, as to say innumerable for
innombrable, reuocable, irreuocable, irradiation, depopulation & such
like, which are not naturall Normane nor yet French, but altered Latines,
and without any imitation at all: which therefore were long time despised
for inkehorne termes, and now be reputed the best & most delicat of any
other. Of which & many other causes of corruption of our speach we haue in
another place more amply discoursed, but by this meane we may at this day
very well receiue the auncient feete _metricall_ of the Greeks and Latines
sauing those that be superfluous as be all the feete aboue the
_trissillable_, which the old Grammarians idly inuented and distinguisht
by speciall names, whereas in deede the same do stand compounded with the
inferiour feete, and therefore some of them were called by the names of
_didactilus_, _dispondeus_, and _disiambus:_ which feete as I say we may
be allowed to vse with good discretion & precise choise of wordes and with
the fauorable approbation of readers, and so shall our plat in this one
point be larger and much surmount that which _Stamhurst_ first tooke in
hand by his _exameters dactilicke_ and _spondaicke_ in the translation of
_Virgills Eneidos_, and such as for a great number of them my stomacke can
hardly digest for the ill shapen sound of many of his wordes
_polisillable_ and also his copulation of _monosillables_ supplying the
quantitie of a _trissillable_ to his intent. And right so in promoting
this deuise of ours being (I feare me) much more nyce and affected, and
therefore more misliked then his, we are to bespeake fauour, first of the
delicate eares, then of the rigorous and seuere dispositions, lastly to
craue pardon of the learned & auncient makers in our vulgar, for if we
should seeke in euery point to egall our speach with the Greeke and Latin
in their _metricall_ observations it could not possible be by vs
perfourmed, because their sillables came to be timed some of them long,
some of them short not by reason of any euident or apparant cause in
writing or sounde remaining vpon one more then another, for many times
they shortned the sillable of sharpe accent and made long that of the
flat, & therefore we must needes say, it was in many of their wordes done
by preelection in the first Poetes, not hauing regard altogether to the
_ortographie_, and hardnesse or softnesse of a sillable, consonant, vowell
or dipthong, but at their pleasure, or as it fell out: so as he that first
put in a verse this word [_Penelope_] which might be _Homer_ or some other
of his antiquitie, where he made [_pe-_] in both places long and [_ne`_]
and [_lo`_] short, he might haue made them otherwise and with as good
reason, nothing in the world appearing that might moue them to make such
(preelection) more in th'one sillable then in the other for _pe_,
_ne_, and _lo_, being sillables vocals be egally smoth and currant vpon
the toung, and might beare aswel the long as the short time, but it
pleased the Poet otherwise: so he that first shortned, _ca_, in this word
_cano_, and made long _tro_, in _troia_, and _o_, in _oris_, might haue
aswell done the contrary, but because he that first put them into a verse,
found as it is to be supposed a more sweetnesse in his owne eare to haue
them so tymed, therefore all other Poets who followed, were fayne to doe
the like, which made that _Virgill_ who came many yeares after the first
reception of wordes in their seuerall times, was driuen of neceisiitie to
accept them in such quantities as they were left him and therefore said.
  _a-rma` ni` ru-mqu-e ca`ro- tro- ie- qui-  pri-mu`s a`bo-ris._

Neither truely doe I see any other reason in that lawe (though in other
rules of shortning and prolonging a sillable there may be reason) but that
it stands vpon bare tradition. Such as the _Cabalists_ auouch in their
mysticall constructions Theologicall and others, saying that they receaued
the same from hand to hand from the first parent _Adam, Abraham_ and
others, which I will giue them leaue alone both to say and beleeue for me,
thinking rather that they haue bene the idle occupations, or perchaunce
the malitious and craftie constructions of the _Talmudists_ and others of
the Hebrue clerks to bring the world into admiration of their lawes and
Religion. Now peraduenture with vs Englishmen it be somewhat too late to
admit a new inuention of feet and times that our forefathers neuer vused
nor neuer observed till this day, either in their measures or in their
pronuntiation, and perchaunce will seeme in vs a presumptuous part to
attempt, considering also it would be hard to find many men to like of one
mans choise in the limitation of times and quantities of words, with which
not one, but euery eare is to be pleased and made a particular iudge,
being most truly sayd, that a multitude or comminaltie is hard to please
and easie to offend, and therefore I intend not to proceed any further in
this curiositie then to shew some small subtillitie that any other hath
not yet done, and not by imitation but by obseruation, nor to th'intent to
haue it put in execution in our vulgar Poesie, but to be pleasantly
scanned vpon, as are all nouelties so friuolous and ridiculous as it.




  _CHAP. XIII._

_A more particular declaration of the metricall feete of the ancient Poets
Greeke and Latine and chiefly of the feete of two times_.


Their Grammarians made a great multitude of feete, I wot not to what huge
number, and of so many sizes as their wordes were of length, namely sixe
sizes, whereas indeede, the metricall feete are but twelve in number,
wherof foure only be of two times, and eight of three times, the rest
compounds of the premised two sorts, even as the Arithmeticall numbers
aboue three are made of two and three. And if ye will know how many of
these feete will be commodiously received with vs, I say all the whole
twelve, for first for the foote, _spondeus_ of two long times ye haue
these English words _mo-rni-ng, mi-dni-ght, mi-scha-unce_, and a number
moe whose ortographie may direct your iudgement in this point: for your
_Trocheus_ of a long and short ye haue these words _ma-ne`r, bro-ke`n,
ta-ke`n, bo-die`, me-mbe`r_, and a great many moe if there last sillables
abut not vpon the consonant in the beginning of another word, and in these
whether they do abut or no _wi-tti`e, di-tti`e, so-rro`w, mo-rro`w_, &
such like, which end in a vowell for your _Iambus_ of a short and a long,
ye haue these words [_re`sto-re_] [_re`mo-rse_] [_de`si-re_] [_e`ndu-re_]
and a thousand besides. For your foote _pirrichius_ or of two short
silables ye haue these words [_ma`ni`e_] [_mo`ne`y_] [_pe`ni`e_]
[_si`lie`_] and others of that construction or the like: for your feete of
three times and first your _dactill_, ye haue these words & a number moe
_pa-ti`e`nce, te-mpe`ra`nce, wo-ma`nhea`d, io-li`ti`e, dau-nge`ro`us,
du-eti`fu`ll_ & others. For your _molossus_, of all three long, ye haue a
member of wordes also and specially most of your participles actiue, as
_pe-rsi-sti-ng, de-spo-ili-ng, e-nde-nti-ng_, and such like in
ortographie: for your _anapestus_ of two short and a long ye haue these
words but not many moe, as _ma`ni`fo-ld, mo`ni`le-sse, re`ma`ne-nt,
ho`li`ne-sse_. For your foote _tribracchus_ of all three short, ye haue
very few _trissillables_, because the sharpe accent will aways make one of
them long by pronunciation, which els would be by ortographie short as,
[me`ri`ly`] [minion] & such like. For your foote _bacchius_ of a short &
two long ye haue these and the like words _trissillables_ [_la`me-nti-ng_]
[_re`que-sti-ng_] [_re`nou-nci-ng_] [_re`pe-nta-nce_] [_e`nu-ri-ng_]. For
your foote _antibacchius_, of two long and a short ye haue these words
[_fo-rsa-ke`n_] [_i-mpu-gne`d_] and others many: For your _amphimacer_
that is a long, a short and a long ye haue these words and many more
[_e-xce`lle-nt_] [_i-mi`ne-nt_] and specially such as be propre names of
persons or townes or other things and namely Welsh words; for your foote
_amphibracchus_, of a short, a long and a short, ye haue these words and
many like to these [_re`si-ste`d_] [_de`li-ghtfu`ll_] [_re`pri-sa`ll_]
[_i`nau-nte`r_] [_e`na-mi`ll_] so as for want of English wordes if your
eare be not to daintie and your rules to precise, ye neede not be without
the _metricall_ feete of the ancient Poets such as be most pertinent and
not superfluous. This is (ye will perchaunce say) my singular opinion:
then ye shall see how well I can maintaine it. First the quantitie of a
word comes either by (preelection) without reason or force as hath bene
alledged, and as the auncient Greekes and Latines did in many wordes, but
not in all, or by (election) with reason as they did in some, and not a
few. And a sound is drawen at length either by the infirmitie of the
toung, because the word or sillable is of such letters as hangs long in
the palate or lippes ere he will come forth, or because he is accented and
tuned hier and sharper then another, whereby he somewhat obscureth the
other sillables in the same word that be not accented so high, in both
these cases we will establish our sillable long, contrariwise the
shortning of a sillable is, when his sounde or accent happens to be heauy
and flat, that is to fall away speedily, and as it were inaudible, or when
he is made of such letters as be by nature slipper & voluble and smoothly
passe from the mouth. And the vowell is alwayes more easily deliuered then
the consonant: and of consonants, the liquide more than the mute, & a
single consonant more then a double, and one more then twayne coupled
together: all which points were obserued by the Greekes and Latines, and
allowed for _maximes_ in versifying. Now if ye will examine these
foure _bissillables_ [_re-mna-nt_] [_re`ma-ine_] [_re-nde`r_] [_re`ne`t_]
for an example by which ye may make a generall rule, and ye shall finde,
that they aunswere our first resolution. First in [_remnant_] [_rem_]
bearing the sharpe accent and hauing his consonant abbut vpon another,
soundes long. The sillable [_nant_] being written with two consonants must
needs be accompted the same, besides that [_nant_] by his Latin originall
is long, viz. [_remane-ns._] Take this word [_remaine_] because the last
sillable beares the sharpe accent, he is long in the eare, and [_re_]
being the first sillable, passing obscurely away with a flat accent is
short, besides that [_re_] by his Latine originall and also by his
ortographie is short. This word [_render_] bearing the sharpe accent upon
[_ren_] makes it long, the sillable [_der_] falling away swiftly & being
also written with a single consonant or liquide is short and makes the
_trocheus._ This word [_re`ne`t_] hauing both syllables sliding and
slipper make the foote _Pirrichius_, because if he be truly vttered, he
beares in maner no sharper accent upon the one then the other sillable,
but be in effect egall in time and tune, as is also the _Spondeus._ And
because they be not written with any hard or harsh consonants, I do allow
them both for short sillables, or to be used for common, according as
their situation and place with other words shall be: and as I haue named
to you but onely foure words for an example, so may ye find out by
diligent obseruation foure hundred if ye will. But of all your words
_bissillables_ the most part naturally do make the foot _Iambus_, many the
_Trocheus_, fewer the _Spondeus_, fewest of all the _Pirrichius_, because
in him the sharpe accent (if ye follow the rules of your accent as we haue
presupposed) doth make a litle oddes: and ye shall find verses made all of
_monosillables_, and do very well, but lightly they be _Iambickes_,
bycause for the more part the accent falles sharpe vpon euery second word
rather then contrariwise, as this of Sir _Thomas Wiats_.
  _I fi-nde no` pea-ce a`nd ye-t mi`e wa-rre i`s do-ne,
  I feare and hope, and burne and freese like ise._

And some verses where the sharpe accent falles vpon the first and third,
and so make the verse wholly _Trochaicke_, as thus,
  _Worke not, no nor, with thy friend or foes harme
  Try but, trust not, all that speake thee so faire._

And some verses made of _monosillables_ and _bissillables_ enterlaced as
this of th'Earles,
  _When raging loue with extreme paine_
And this
  _A fairer beast of fresher hue beheld I neuer none._

And some verses made all of _bissillables_ and others all of
_trissillables_, and others of _polisillables_ egally increasing and of
diuers quantities, and sundry situations, as in this of our owne, made to
daunt the insolence of a beautifull woman.
  _Brittle beauty blossome daily fading
  Morne, noone, and eue in age and eke in eld
  Dangerous disdaine full pleasantly perswading
  Easie to gripe but combrous to weld.
  For slender bottome hard and heauy lading
  Gay for a while, but little while durable
  Suspicious, incertaine, irreuocable,
  O since thou art by triall not to trust
  Wisedome it is, and it is also iust
  To sound the stemme before the tree be feld
  That is, since death will driue us all to dust
  To leaue thy loue ere that we be compeld._

In which ye haue your first verse all of _bissillables_ and of the foot
_trocheus._ The second all of _monosillables_, and all of the foote
_Iambus_, the third all of _trissillables_, and all of the foote
_dactilus_, your fourth of one _bissillable_, and two _monosillables_
interlarded, the fift of one _monosillable_ and two _bissillables_
enterlaced, and the rest of other sortes and scituations, some by degrees
encreasing, some diminishing: which example I haue set downe to let you
perceiue what pleasant numerosity in the measure and disposition of your
words in a meetre may be contriued by curious wits & these with other like
were the obseruations of the Greeke and Latine versifiers.




  _CHAP. XIIII_.

_Of your feet of three times, and first of the Dactil._


Your feete of three times by prescription of the Latine Grammariens are of
eight sundry proportions, for some notable difference appearing in euery
sillable of three falling in a word of that size: but because aboue the
_antepenultima_ there was (among the Latines) none accent audible in any
long word, therfore to deuise any foote of longer measure then of three
times was to them but superfluous: because all aboue the number of three
are but compounded of their inferiours. Omitting therefore to speake of
these larger feete, we say that of all your feete of three times the
_Dactill_ is most usuall and fit for our vulgar meeter, & most agreeable
to the eare, specially if ye ouerlade not your verse with too many of them
but here and there enterlace a _Iambus_ or some other foote of two times
to giue him grauitie and stay, as in this _quadrein Trimeter_ or of three
measures.
  _Rende`r a`gai-ne mi`e li-be`rti`e
  a`nd se-t yo`ur ca-pti`ue fre-e
  Glo-ri`ou`s i`s the` vi-cto`ri`e
  Co-nque`ro`urs u-se wi`th le-ni`ti`e_

Where ye see euery verse is all of a measure, and yet vnegall in number of
sillables: for the second verse is but of sixe sillables, where the rest
are of eight. But the reason is for that in three of the same verses are
two _Dactils_ a peece, which abridge two sillables in euery verse: and so
maketh the longest euen with the shortest. Ye may note besides by the
first verse, how much better some _bisillable_ becommeth to peece out an
other longer foote then another word doth: for in place of [_render_] if
ye had sayd [_restore_] it had marred the _Dactil_, and of necessitie
driuen him out at length to be a verse _Iambic_ of foure feet, because
[_render_] is naturally a _Trocheus_ & makes the first two times of a
_dactil._ [_Restore_]is naturally a _Iambus_, & in this place could not
possibly haue made a pleasant _dactil_.

Now againe if ye will say to me that these two words [_libertie_] and
[_conquerours_] be not precise _Dactils_ by the Latine rule. So much will
I confesse to, but since they go currant inough vpon the tongue and be so
vsually pronounced, they may passe wel inough for _Dactils_ in our vulgar
meeters, & that is inough for me, seeking but to fashion an art, & not to
finish it: which time only & custom haue authoritie to do, specially in
all cases of language as the Poet hath wittily remembred in this verse
                          _si volet usus,
  Quem penes arbitrium est & vis & norma loquendi._

The Earle of Surrey upon the death of Sir _Thomas Wiat_ made among other
this verse _Pentameter_ and of ten sillables,
  _What holy graue (alas) what sepulcher_

But if I had had the making of him, he should haue bene of eleuen
sillables and kept his measure of fiue still, and would so haue runne more
pleasantly a great deale; for as he is now, though he be euen he seemes
odde and defectiue, for not well obseruing the natural accent of euery
word, and this would haue bene soone holpen by inserting one
_monosillable_ in the middle of the verse, and drawing another sillable in
the beginning into a _Dactil_, this word [_holy_] being a good
[_Pirrichius_] & very well seruing the turne, thus,
  _Wha-t ho`li`e gra-ue a`la-s wha`t fit se`pu-lche`r._
Which verse if ye peruse throughout ye shall finde him after the first
_dactil_ all _Trochaick_ & not _Iambic_, nor of any other foot of two
times. But perchance if ye would seeme yet more curious, in place of these
four _Trocheus_ ye might induce other feete of three times, as to make the
three sillables next following the _dactil_, the foote [_amphimacer_] the
last word [_Sepulcher_] the foote [_amphibracus_] leauing the other midle
word for a [_Iambus_] thus.
  _Wha-t ho`li`e gra-ue a`la-s wha`t fit se`pu-lche`r._
If ye aske me further why I make [_what_] first long & after short in one
verse, to that I satisfied you before, that it is by reason of his accent
sharpe in one place and flat in another, being a common _monosillable_,
that is, apt to receive either accent, & so in the first place receiuing
aptly the sharpe accent he is made long: afterward receiuing the flat
accent more aptly then the sharpe, because the sillable precedent [_las_]
vtterly distaines him, he is made short & not long, & that with very good
melodie, but to haue giuen him the sharpe accent & plucked it from the
sillable [_las_] it had bene to any mans eare a great discord: for
euermore this word [_alás_] is accented vpon the last, & that lowdly &
notoriously as appeareth by all our exclamations vsed vnder that terme.
The same Earle of Surrey & Sir _Thomas Wyat_ the first reformers &
polishers of our vulgar Poesie much affecting the stile and measures of
the Italian _Petrarcha_, vsed the foote _dactil_ very often but not many
in one verse, as in these,
  _Fu-ll ma`ni`e that in presence of thy li-ueli`e he`d,
  Shed Cæsars teares vpon Po-mpe`iu`s he`d.
  Th'e-ne`mi`e to life destroi er of all kinde,
  If a-mo` ro`us faith in an hart un fayned,
  Myne old dee-re e`ne` my my froward master.
  The- fu`ri` ous gone in his most ra ging ire._

And many moe which if ye would not allow for _dactils_ the verse would
halt vnlesse ye would seeme to helpe it contracting a sillable by vertue
of the figure _Syneresis_ which I thinke was neuer their meaning, nor in
deede would haue bred any pleasure to the eare, but hindred the flowing of
the verse. Howsoeuer ye take it the _dactil_ is commendable inough in our
vulgar meetres, but most plausible of all when he is sounded vpon the
stage, as in these comicall verses shewing how well it becommeth all noble
men and great personages to be temperat and modest, yea more then any
meaner man, thus.
  _Le-t no` no`bi-li`ti`e ri-che`s o`r he-ri`ta`ge
  Ho-no`r o`r e-mpi`re o`r ea-rthli`e do`mi-ni`o`n
  Bre-ed I`n yo`ur hea-d a`ni`e pe-euish o`pi-ni`o`n
  That ye` ma`y sa-fe`r a`uo-uch a`ni`e o-utra-ge._

And in this distique taxing the Prelate symoniake standing all upon
perfect _dactils_.
  _No-w ma-ni-e bi-e mo-ne-y pu-rue`y pro`mo-ti`o`n
  For mony mooues any hart to deuotion._

But this aduertisement I will giue you withall, that if ye vse too many
_dactils_ together ye make your musike too light and of no solemne
grauitie such as the amorous _Elegies_ in court naturally require, being
alwaies either very dolefull or passionate as the affections of loue
enforce, in which busines ye must make your choice of very few words
_dactilique_, or them that ye cannot refuse, to dissolue and breake them
into other feete by such meanes as it shall be taught hereafter: but
chiefly in your courtly ditties take heede ye vse not these maner of long
_polisillables_ and specially that ye finish not your verse them as
[_retribution_] _restitution_] _remuneration_] _recapitulation_] and such
like: for they smatch more the schoole of common players than of any
delicate Poet _Lyricke_ or _Elegiacke._




  _CHAP. XV._

_Of all your other feete of three times and how well they would fashion a
meetre in our vulgar.__


All your other feete of three times I find no vse of them in our vulgar
meeters nor no sweetenes at all, and yet words inough to serue their
proportions. So as though they haue not hitherto bene made artificiall,
yet nowe by more curious obseruation they might be. Since all artes grew
first by obseruation of natures proceedings and custome. And first your
[Molossus] being of all three long is euidently discouered by this word
[_pe-rmi-tti-ng_] The [_Anapestus_] of two short and a long by this word
[_fu`ri`o-us_] if the next word beginne with a consonant. The foote
[_Bacchius_] of a short and two long by this word [_re`si-sta-nce_] the
foote [_Antibachius_] of two long and a short by this word [_e-xa-mple`_]
the foote [_Amphimacer_] of a long a short & a long by this word
[_co-nque`ri-ng_] the foote of [_Amphibrachus_] of a short a long and a
short by this word [_re`me-mbe`r_] if a vowell follow. The foote
[Tribrachus_] of three short times is very hard to be made by any of our
_trissillables_ vnles they be compounded of the smoothest sort of
consonants or sillables vocals, or of three smooth _monosillables_, or of
some peece of a long _polysillable_ & after that sort we may with wresting
of words shape the foot [_Tribrachus_] rather by vsurpation then by rule,
which neuertheles is allowed in euery primitiue arte & inuention: & so it
was by the Greekes and Latines in their first versifying, as if a rule
should be set downe that from henceforth these words should be counted al
_Tribrachus_ [_e`ne`mi`e_] _re`me`di`e_] _se`li`ne`s_] _mo`ni`le`s_]
_pe`ni`le`s_] _cru`e`lli`e_] & such like, or a peece of this long word
[_re`co-ue`ra`ble`_] _innu`me`ra`ble`_] _rea`di`li`e_] and others. Of all
which manner of apt wordes to make these stranger feet of three times
which go not so currant with our eare as the _dactil_, the maker should
haue a good iudgement to know them by their manner of orthographie and by
their accent which serue most fitly for euery foote, or else he shoulde
haue always a little calender of them apart to vse readily when he shall
neede them. But because in very truth I thinke them but vaine &
superstitious obseruations nothing at all furthering the pleasant melody
of our English meeter, I leaue to speake any more of them and rather wish
the continuance of our old maner of Poesie, scanning our verse by
sillables rather than by feete, and vsing most commonly the word
_Iambique_ & sometime the _Trochaike_ which ye shall discerne by their
accents, and now and then a _dactill_ keeping precisely our symphony or
rime without any other mincing measures, which an idle inuentiue head
could easily deuise, as the former examples teach.




  _CHAP. XVI._

_Of your verses perfect and defectiue; and that which the Graecians called
the halfe foote._


The Greekes and Latines vsed verses in the odde sillable of two sortes,
which they called _Catalecticke_ and _Acatalecticke_, that is odde vnder
and odde ouer the iust measure of their verse, & we in our vulgar finde
many of the like, and specially in the rimes of Sir Thomas Wiat, strained
perchaunce out of their originall, made first by _Francis Petrarcha_: as
these
  _Like vnto these, immeasurable mountaines,
  So is my painefull life the burden of ire:
  For hie be they, and hie is my desire
  And I of teares, and they are full of fountaines._
Where in your first second and fourth verse, ye may find a sillable
superfluous, and though in the first ye will seeme to helpe it, by drawing
these three sillables,[_i-m me` su`_] into a _dactil_, in the rest it can
not be so excused, wherefore we must thinke he did it of purpose, by the
odde sillable to giue greater grace to his meetre, and we finde in our old
rimes, this odde sillable, sometime placed in the beginning and sometimes
in the middle of a verse, and is allowed to go alone & to hang to any
other sillable. But this odde sillable in our meetres is not the halfe
foote as the Greekes and Latines vsed him in their verses, and called such
measure _pentimimeris_ and _eptamimeris_, but rather is that, which they
called the _catalectik_ or maymed verse. Their _hemimeris_ or halfe foote
serued not by licence Poeticall or necessitie of words, but to bewtifie
and exornate the verse by placing one such halfe foote in the middle
_Cesure_, & one other in the end of the verse, as they vfed all their
_pentameters elegiack_: and not by coupling them together, but by accompt
to make their verse of a iust measure and not defectiue or superflous: our
odde sillable is not altogether of that nature, but is in a maner drownd
and supprest by the flat accent, and shrinks away as it were inaudible and
by that meane the odde verse comes almost to be an euen in euery mans
hearing. The halfe foote of the auncients was reserued purposely to an
vse, and therefore they gaue such odde sillable, wheresoeuer he fell the
sharper accent, and made by him a notorious pause as in this _pentameter_.
  _Ni-l mi` hi` re-scri-ba`s a-tta`me`n i-pse` ve` ni`_.

Which in all make fiue whole feete, or the verse _Pentameter._ We
in our vulgar haue not the vse of the like halfe foote.




  _CHAP. XVII._

_Of the breaking your bissillables and polysillables and when it is to be
used._


Bvt whether ye suffer your sillable to receiue his quantitie by his
accent, or by his ortography, or whether ye keepe your _bissillable_ whole
or whether ye breake him, all is one to his quantitie, and his time will
appeare the selfe same still and ought not to be altered by our makers,
vnlesse it be when such sillable is allowed to be common and to receiue
any of both times, as in the _dimeter_, made of two sillables entier.
  _e-xtre-ame de`si-re_

The first is a good _spondeus_, the second a good _iambus_, and if the
same wordes be broken thus it is not so pleasant.
  _I`n e-x tre-ame de` sire_

And yet the first makes a _iambus_, and the second a _trocheus_ ech
sillable retayning still his former quantities. And alwaies ye must haue
regard to the sweetenes of the meetre, so as if your word _polysillable_
would not sound pleasantly whole, ye should for the nonce breake him,
which ye may easily doo by inserting here and there one _monosillable_
among your _polysillables_, or by changing your word into another place
then where he soundes vnpleasantly, and by breaking, turne a _trocheus_ to
a _iambus_, or contrariwise: as thus:
  _Ho-llo`w va-lle`is u-nde`r hi-e`st mou-ntai`nes
  Cra-ggi`e cli-ffes bri`ng foo-rth the` fai-re`st fou-ntai`nes_

These verses be _trochaik_, and in mine eare not so sweete and harmonicall
as the _iambicque_, thus:
  _The` ho-llo`wst va-ls li`e u-nde`r hi-e`st mo-unta-ines
  The` cra-ggi`st clifs bri-ng fo-rth the` fai-re`st fou-nta-ines_.

All which verses bee now become _iambicque_ by breaking the first
_bissillables_, and yet alters not their quantities though the feete be
altered: and thus,
  _Restlesse is the heart in his desires
  Rauing after that reason doth denie_.

Which being turned thus makes a new harmonie.
  _The restlesse heart, renues his old desires
  Ay rauing after that reason doth it deny_.

And following this obseruation your meetres being builded with
_polysillables_ will fall diuersly out, that is some to be
_spondaick_, some _iambick_, others _dactilick_, others _trochaick_, and
of one mingled with another, as in this verse.
  _He-aui`e I-s the` bu-rde`n of Pri`nce`s i-re_

The verse is _trochaick_, but being altered thus, is _iambicque_.
  _Fu`ll he-aui`e i-s the` pa-ise o`f Pri-nce`s i-re_

And as _Sir Thomas Wiat_ song in a verse wholly _trochaick_, because the
wordes do best shape to that foote by their naturall accent, thus,
  _Fa-rewe`ll lo-ue a`nd a-ll thi`e la-wes fo`r e-ve`r_

And in this ditty of th'Erle of Surries, passing sweete and harmonicall:
all be _Iambick_.
  _When raging loue with extreme paine
  So cruell doth straine my hart,
  And that the teares like fluds of raine
  Beare witnesse of my wofull smart._

Which beyng disposed otherwise or not broken, would proue all _trochaick_,
but nothing pleasant.

Now furthermore ye are to note, that al _monosyllables_ may receiue the
sharp accent, but not so aptly one as another, as in this verse where they
serue well to make him _iambicque_, but not _trochaick_.
  _Go`d grau-nt thi`s pea-ce ma`y lo-ng e`ndu-re_

Where the sharpe accent falles more tunably vpon [graunt] [peace] [long]
[dure] then it would by conuersion, as to accent then thus:
  _Go-d grau`nt - thi-s pea`ce - ma-y lo`ng - e-ndu-re._

And yet if ye will aske me the reason I can not tell it, but that it
shapes so to myne eare, and as I thinke to euery other mans. And in this
meeter where ye haue whole words _bissillable_ vnbroken, that maintaine
(by reason of their accent) sundry feete, yet going one with another be
very harmonicall.

Where ye see one to be a _trocheus_ another the _iambus_, and so
entermingled not by election but by constraint of their seuerall accents,
which ought not to be altred, yet comes it to passe that many times ye
must of necessitie alter the accent of a sillable, and put him from his
naturall place, and then one sillable, of a word _polysillable_, or one
word _monosillable_, will abide to be made sometimes long, sometimes
short, as in this _quadreyne_ of ours playd in a mery moode.
  _Gèue mé mìne ówne ànd whén I dó dèsíre
  Geue others theirs, and nothing that is mine_
  _Nòr gíue mè thát, wherto all men aspire
  Then neither gold, nor faire women nor wine._

Where in your first verse these two words [_giue_] and [_me_] are accented
one high th'other low, in the third verse the same words are accented
contrary, and the reason of this exchange is manifest, because the maker
playes with these two clauses of sundry relations [_giue me_] and [_giue
others_] so as the _monosillable_ [_me_] being respectiue to the word
[_others_] and inferring a subtilitie or wittie implication, ought not to
haue the same accent, as when he hath no such respect, as in this _distik_
of ours.
  _Pro-ue me` (Madame) ere ye re-pro`ue
  Meeke minds should e-xcu`se not a-ccu`se_.

In which verse ye see this word [_reprooue_,] the sillable [_prooue_]
alters his sharpe accent into a flat, for naturally it is long in all his
singles and compoundes [_reproòue_] [_approòue_] [_disproòue_] & so is the
sillable [_cuse_] in [_excuse_] [_accuse_] [_recuse_] yet in these verses
by reason one of them doth as it were nicke another, and haue a certaine
extraordinary sence with all, it behoueth to remoue the sharpe accents
from whence they are most naturall, to place them where the nicke may be
more expresly discouered, and therefore in this verse where no such
implication is, nor no relation it is otherwise, as thus.
  _If ye re`pro-ue my constancie
  I will excu-se you curtesly_.

For in this word [_reproóue_] because there is no extraordinary sence to
be inferred, he keepeth his sharpe accent vpon the sillable [_proóue_] but
in the former verses because they seeme to encounter ech other, they do
thereby merite an audible and pleasant alteration of their accents in
those sillables that cause the subtiltie. Of these maner of nicetees ye
shal finde in many places of our booke, but specially where we treate of
ornament, vnto which we referre you, sauing that we thought good to set
down one example more to solace your mindes with mirth after all these
scholasticall preceptes, which can not but bring with them (specially to
Courtiers) much tediousnesse, and so to end. In our Comedie intituled
_Ginecocratia:_ the king was supposed to be a person very amorous and
effeminate, and therefore most ruled his ordinary affaires by the aduise
of women either for the loue he bare to their persons of liking he had to
their pleasant ready witts and vtterance. Comes me to the Court one
_Polemon_ an honest plaine man of the country, but rich: and hauing a
suite to the king, met by chaunce with one _Philino_, a louer of wine and
a merry companion in Court, and praied him in that he was a stranger that
he would vouchsafe to tell him which way he were best to worke to get his
suite, and who were most in credit and fauour about the king, that he
might seek to them to furder his attempt. _Philino_ perceyuing the
plainnesse of the man, and that there would be some good done with him,
told _Polemon_ that if he would well consider him for his labor he would
bring him where he should know the truth of all his demaundes by the
sentence of the Oracle. _Polemon_ gaue him twentie crownes, _Philino_
brings him into a place where behind an arras cloth hee himselfe spake in
manner of an Oracle in these matters, for so did all the Sybils and
sothsaiers in old times giue their answers.
  _Your best way to worke - and marke my words well,
  Not money: nor many,
  Nor any: but any,
  Not weemen, but weemen beare the bell._

_Polemon_ wist not what to make of this doubtfull speach, & not being
lawfull to importune the oracle more then once in one matter, conceyued in
his head the pleasanter construction, and stacke to it: and hauing at home
a fayre yong damsell of eighteene yeares old to his daughter, that could
very well behaue her self in countenance and also in her language,
apparelled her as gay as he could, and brought her to the Court, where
_Philino_ harkning daily after the euent of this matter, met him, and
recommended his daughter to the Lords, who perceiuing her great beauty and
other good parts, brought her to the King, to whom she exhibited her
fathers supplication, and found so great fauour in his eye, as without any
long delay she obtained her sute at his hands. _Poleman_ the diligent
solliciting of his daughter, wanne his purpose: _Philino_ gat a good
reward and vsed the matter so, as howsoeuer the oracle had bene construed,
he could not haue receiued blame nor discredit by the successe, for euery
waies it would haue proued true, whether _Polemons_ daughter had obtayned
the sute, or not obtained it. And the subtiltie lay in the accent and
Ortographie of these two wordes [any] and [weemen] for [any] being deuided
sounds _a nie_ or neere person to the king: and [weemen] being diuided
soundes _wee men_, and not [weemen] and so by this meane _Philino_ serued
all turnes and shifted himselfe from blame, not vnlike the tale of the
Rattlemouse who in the warres proclaimed betweene the foure footed beasts
and the birdes, beyng sent for by the Lyon to beat his musters, excused
himselfe for that he was a foule and flew with winges: and beying sent for
my the Eagle to serue him, sayd that he was a foure footed beast, and by
that craftie cauill escaped the danger of the warres, and shunned the
seruice of both Princes. And euer since sate at home by the fire side,
eating vp the poore husbandmans baken, halfe lost for lacke of a good
huswifes looking too.


_FINIS_.




  THE THIRD BOOKE,
  OF ORNAMENT.




  _CHAP. I_.

_Of Ornament Poeticall_.


As no doubt the good proportion of any thing doth greatly adorne and
commend it and right so our late remembred proportions doe to our vulgar
Poesie: so is there yet requisite to the perfection of this arte, another
maner of exornation, which resteth in the fashioning of our makers
language and stile, to such purpose as it may delight and allure as well
the mynde as the eare of the hearers with a certaine noueltie and strange
maner of conueyance, disguising it no litle from the ordinary and
accustomed: neuertheless making it nothing the more vnseemely or
misbecomming, but rather decenter and more agreable to any ciuill eare and
understanding. And as we see in these great Madames of honour, be they for
personage or otherwise neuer so comely and bewtifull, yet if they want
their courtly habillements or at leastwise such other apparell as custome
and ciuilitie haue ordained to couer their naked bodies, would be halfe
ashamed or greatly out of countenaunce to be seen in that sort, and
perchance do then thinke themselves more amiable in euery mans eye, when
they be in their richest attire, suppose of silkes or tyssews & costly
embroderies, then when they go in cloth or in any other plaine and simple
apparell. Euen so cannot our vulgar Poesie shew it self either gallant or
gorgious, if any lymme be left naked and bare and not clad in his kindly
clothes and coulours, such as may conuey them somewhat our of sight, that
is from the common course of ordinary speach and capacitie of the vulgar
iudgement, and yet being artificially handled must needes yeld it much
more bewtie and commendation. This ornament we speake of is giuen to it by
figures and figurative speaches, which be the flowers as it were and
coulours that a Poet setteth vpon his language by arte, as the embroderer
doth his stone and perle, or passements of golde vpon the stuffe of a
Princely garment, or as th'excellent painter bestoweth the rich Orient
coulours vpon his table of pourtraite: so neuerthelessse as if the same
coulours in our art of Poesie (as well as in those other mechanicall
artes) be not well tempered, or not well layd, or be vused in excesse, or
neuer so litle disordered or misplaced, they not onely giue it no maner of
grace at all, but rather do disfigure that stuffe and spill the whole
workmanship taking away all bewtie and good liking from it, no lesse then
if the crimson tainte, which should be laid vpon a Ladies lips, or right
in the center of her cheekes should by some ouersight or mishap be applied
to her forhead or chinne, it would make (ye would say) but a very
ridiculous bewtie, wherfore the chief prayse and cunning of our Poet is in
the discreet vsing of his figures, as the skilfull painters is in the good
conueyance of his coulours and shadowing traits of his pensill, with a
delectable varietie, by all measure and iust proportion, and in places
most aptly to be bestowed.




  _CHAP. II_.

_How our writing and speaches publike ought to be figuratiue, and if they
be not doe greatly disgrace the cause and purpose of the speaker and
writer._


Bvt as it hath bene alwayes reputed a great fault to vse figuratiue
speaches foolishly and indiscretly, so is it esteemed no lesse an
imperfection in mans vtterance, to haue none vse of figure at all,
specially in our writing and speaches publike, making them but as our
ordinary talke, then which nothing can be more vnsauourie and farre from
all ciuilitie. I remember in the first yeare of Queenes Maries raigne a
Knight of Yorkshire was chosen speaker of the Parliament, a good gentleman
and wise, in the affaires of his shire, and not vnlearned in the lawes of
the Realme, but as well for some lack of his teeth, as for want of
language nothing well spoken, which at that time and businesse was most
behooffull for him to haue bene: this man after he had made his Oration to
the Queene; which ye know is of course to be done at the first assembly of
both houses; a bencher of the Temple both well learned and very eloquent,
returning from the Parliament house asked another gentleman his frend how
he liked M. Speakers Oration: mary quoth th'other, methinks I heard not a
better alehouse tale told this seuen yeares. This happened because the
good old Knight made no difference betweene an Oration or publike speach
to be deliuered to the eare of a Princes Maiestie and state of a Realme,
then he would haue done of an ordinary tale to be told at his table in the
countrey, wherein all men know the oddes is very great. And though graue
and wise counsellours in their consultations doe not vse much superfluous
eloquence, and also in their iudicall hearings do much mislike all
scholasticall rhetoricks: yet in such a case as it may be (and as this
Parliament was) if the Lord Chancelour of England or Archbishop of
Canterbury himselfe were to speake, he ought to doe it cunningly and
eloquently, which can not be without the vse of figures: and neuerthelesse
none impeachment or blemish to the grauitie of the persons or of the
cause: wherein I report me to them that knew Sir _Nicholas Bacon_ Lord
keeper of the great Seale, or the now Lord Treasorer of England, and haue
bene conuersant with their speaches made in the Parliament house &
Starrechamber. From whose lippes I haue seene to proceede more graue and
naturall eloquence, then from all the Oratours of Oxford or Cambridge, but
all is as it is handled, and maketh no matter whether the same eloquence
be naturall to them or artificiall (though I thinke rather naturall) yet
were they knowen to be learned and not vnskilfull of th'arte, when they
were yonger men: and as learning and arte teacheth a schollar to speake,
so doth it also teach a counsellour, and aswell an old man as a yong, and
a man in authoritie, aswell as a priuate person and a pleader aswell as a
preacher, euery man after his sort and calling as best becommeth: and that
speach which becommeth one, doth not become another, for maners of
speaches, some serue to work in excesse, some in mediocritie, some to
graue purposes, some to light, some to be short and brief, some to be
long, some to stirre vp affections, some to pacifie and appease them, and
these common despisers of good vtterance, which resteth altogether in
figuratiue speaches, being well vsed whether it come by nature or by arte
or by exercise, they be but certaine grosse ignorance of whom it is truly
spoken, _scientia non habet inimicum nisi ignorantem._ I haue come to the
Lord Keeper Sir _Nicholas Bacon_, & found him sitting in his gallery alone
with the works of _Quintilian_ before him, in deede he was a most eloquent
man, and of rare learning and wisedome, as euer I knew England to breed,
and one that ioyed as much in learned men and men of good witts. A Knight
of the Queenes priuie chamber, once intreated a noble woman of the Court,
being in great fauour about her Maiestie (to th'intent to remoue her from
a certaine displeasure, which by sinister opinion she had conceiued
against a gentleman his friend) that it would please her to heare him
speake in his own cause & not to condemne him vpon his aduersaries report:
God forbid said she, he is to wise for me to talke with, let him goe and
satisfie such a man naming him: why quoth the Knight againe, had your
Ladyship rather heare a man talke like a foole or like a wise man? This
was because the Lady was a litle peruerse, and not disposed to reforme her
selfe by hearing reason, which none other can so well beate into the
ignorant head, as the well spoken and eloquent man. And because I am so
farre waded into this discourse of eloquence and figuratiue speaches, I
will tell you what hapned on a time my selfe being present whene certaine
Doctours of the ciuil law were heard in a litigious cause betwixt a man
and his wife: before a great Magistrat who (as they can tell that knew
him) was a man very well learned and graue, but somewhat sowre, and of no
plausible vtterance: the gentlemans chaunce, was to say: my Lord the
simple woman is not so much to blame as her lewde abbettours, who by
violent perswasions haue lead her into this wilfulnesse. Quoth the iudge,
what neede such eloquent termes in this place, the gentleman replied, doth
your Lordship mislike the terme, [_violent_] & me thinkes I speake it to
great purpose: for I am sure she would neuer haue done it, but by force of
perswasion. & if perswasions were not very violent to the minde of man it
could not haue wrought so strange an effect as we read that it did once in
_Ægypt_, & would haue told the whole tale at large, if the Magistrate had
not passed it ouer very pleasantly. Now to tell you the whole matter as
the gentleman intended, thus it was. There came into Ægypt a notable
Oratour, whose name was _Hegesias_ who inueyed so much against the
incommodities of this transitory life, & so highly commended death the
dispatcher of all euils; as a great number of his hearers destroyed
themselues, some with weapon, some with poyson, others by drowning and
hanging themselues to be rid out of this vale of misery, in so much as it
was feared least many moe of the people would haue miscaried by occasion
of his perswasions, if king _Ptolome_ had not made a publicke
proclamation, that the Oratour should auoyde the countrey, and no more be
allowed to speake in any matter. Whether now perswasions, may not be said
violent and forcible to simple myndes in speciall, I referre it to all
mens iudgements that heare the story. At least waies, I finde this
opinion, confirmed by a pretie deuise or embleme that _Lucianus_ alleageth
he saw in the pourtrait of _Hercules_ within the Citie of Marseills in
Prouence: where they had figured a lustie old man with a long chayne tyed
by one end at his tong, by the other end at the peoples eares, who stood a
farre of and seemed to be drawen to him by the force of that chayne
fastned to his tong, as who would say, by force of his perswasions. And to
shew more plainly that eloquence is of great force (and not as many men
thinke amisse) the propertie and gift of yong men onely, but rather of old
men, and a thing which better becommeth hory haires then beardlesse boyes,
they seeme to ground it vpon this reason: age (say they and most truly)
brings experience, experience bringeth wisedome, long life yeldes long vse
and much exercise of speach, exercise and custome with wisedome, make an
assured and volluble vtterance: so is it that old men more then any other
sort speake most grauely, wisely, assuredly, and plausibly, which partes
are all that can be required in perfite eloquence, and so in all
deliberations of importance where counsellours are allowed freely to opyne
& shew their conceits, good perswasion is no lesse requisite then speach
it selfe: for in great purposes to speake and not to be able or likely to
perswade, is a vayne thing: now let vs returne backe to say more of this
Poeticall ornament.




  _CHAP. III._

_How ornament Poeticall is of two sortes according to the double vertue
and efficacie of figures._


This ornament then is of two sortes, one to satisfie & delight th'eare
onely by a goodly outward shew fet vpon the matter with wordes, and
speaches smothly and tunably running: another by certaine intendments or
sence of such wordes & speeches inwardly working a stirre to the mynde:
that first qualitie the Greeks called _Enargia_, of this word _argos_,
because it geueth a glorious lustre and light. This latter they callled
_Energia_ of _ergon_, because it wrought with a strong and vertuous
operation; and figure breedeth them both, some seruing to giue glosse
onely to a language, some to geue it efficacie by sence, and so by that
meanes some of them serue th'eare onely, some serue the conceit onely and
not th'eare: there be of them also that serue both turnes as common
seruitours appointed for th'one and th'other purpose, which shalbe
hereafter spoken of in place: but because we haue alleaged before that
ornament is but the good or rather bewtifull habite of language and stile
and figuratiue speaches the instrument wherewith we burnish our language
fashioning it to this or that measure and proportion, whence finally
resulteth a long and continuall phrase or maner of writing or speach,
which we call by the name of _stile_: we wil first speake of language;
then of stile, lastly of figure, and declare their vertue and differences,
and also their vse and best application, & what portion in exornation
euery of them bringeth to the bewtifying of this Arte.




  _CHAP. IIII._

_Of Language._


Speach is not naturall to man sauing for his onely habilitie to speake,
and that he is by kinde apt to vtter all his conceits with sounds and
voyces diuersified many maner of wayes, by meanes of the many & fit
instruments he hath by nature to that purpose, as a broad and voluble
tong, thinne and mouable lippes, teeth euen and not shagged; thick ranged,
a round vaulted pallate, and a long throte, besides an excellent capacitie
of wit that maketh him more disciplinable and imitative than any other
creature: then as to the forme and action of his speach, it commeth to him
by arte & teaching, and by vse or exercise. But after a speach is fully
fashioned to the common vnderstanding, & accepted by consent of a whole
countrey & nation, it is called a language, & receaueth none allowed
alteration, but by extraordinary occasions by little & little, as it were
insensibly bringing in of many corruptions that creepe along with the
time: of all which matters, we haue more largely spoken in our bookes of
the originals and pedigree of the English tong. Then when I say language,
I meane the speach wherein the Poet or maker writeth be it Greek or Latine
or as our case is the vulgar English, & when it is peculiar vnto a
countrey it is called the mother speach of that people: the Greekes terme
it _Idioma_: so is ours at this day the Norman English. Before the
Conquest of the Normans it was the Anglesaxon and before that the British,
which as some will, is at this day, the Walsh, or as others affirme the
Cornish: I for my part thinke neither of both, as they be now spoken and
ponounced. This part in our maker or Poet must be heedyly looked vnto,
that it be naturall, pure, and the most vsuall of all his countrey: and
for the same purpose rather that which is spoken in the kings Court, or in
the good townes and Cities within the land, then in the marches and
frontiers, or in port townes, where straungers haunt for traffike sake, or
yet in Vniuersities where Schollers vse much peeuish affectation of words
out of the primatiue languages, or finally, in any vplandish village or
corner of a Realme, where is no resort but of poore rusticall or vnciuill
people: neither shall he follow the speach of a craftes man or carter, or
other of the inferiour sort, though he be inhabitant or bred in the best
towne and Citie in this Realme, for such persons doe abuse good speaches
by strange accents or illshapen soundes, and false ortographie. But he
shall follow generally the better brought vp sort, such as the Greekes
call [_charientes_] men ciuill and graciously behauoured and bred. Our
maker therefore at these dayes shall not follow _Piers plowman_ nor
_Gower_ nor _Lydgate_ nor yet _Chaucer_, for their language is now out of
vfe with vs: neither shall he take the termes of Northern-men, such as
they vse in dayly talke, whether they be noble men or gentlemen, or of
their best clarkes all is a matter: nor in effect any speach vsed beyond
the riuer of Trent, though no man can deny but that theirs is the purer
English Saxon at this day, yet it is not so Courtly nor so currant as our
Southerne English is, no more is the far Westerne mans speach: ye shall
therfore take the vsuall speach of the Court, and that of London and the
shires lying about London within lx. myles, and not much aboue. I say not
this but that in euery shyre of England there be gentlemen and others that
speake but specially write as good Southerne as we of Middlesex or Surrey
do, but not the common people of euery shire, to whom the gentlemen, and
also their learned clarkes do for the most part condescend, but herein we
are already ruled by th'English Dictionaries and other bookes written by
learned men, and therefore it needeth none other direction in that
behalfe. Albeit peradventure some small admonition be not impertinent, for
we finde in our English writers many wordes and speaches amendable & ye
shall see in some many inkhorne termes so ill affected brought in by men
of learning as preachers and schoolmasters and many straunge termes of
other languages by Secretaries and Marchaunts and trauailours, and many
darke wordes and not vsuall nor well sounding, though they be dayly spoken
in Court. Wherefore great heed must be taken by our maker in this point
that his choise be good. And peraduenture the writer hereof be in that
behalfe no lesse faultie then any other, vsing many straunge and
vnaccustomed wordes and borrowed from other languages: and in that
respect him selfe no meete Magistrate to refome the same errours in any
other person, but since he is not vnwilling to acknowledge his owne fault,
and can the better tell how to amend it, he may seeme a more excusable
correctour of other mens: he intendeth therefore for an indifferent way
and vniuersall benefite to taxe himselfe first and before any others.

These be words vsed by th'author in this present treatise, _scientificke_,
but with some reason, for it ausuereth the word _mechanicall_, which no
other word could haue done so properly, for when hee spake of all
artificers which rest either in science or in handy craft, it followed
necessarilie that _scientifique_ should be coupled with _mechanicall_: or
els neither of both to haue bene allowed, but in their places: a man of
science liberall, and a handicrafts man, which had not bene so cleanly a
speech as the other _Maior-domo_: in truth this word is borrowed of the
_Spaniard_ and _Italian_, and therefore new and not vsuall, but to them
that are acquainted with the affaires of Court: and so for his iolly
magnificence (as this case is) may be accepted among Courtiers, for whom
this is specially written. A man might haue said in steade of
_Maior-domo_, the French word (_maistre d'hostell_) but ilfauouredly, or
the right English word (_Lord Steward_.) But me thinks for my owne opinion
this word _Maior-domo_ though he be borrowed, is more acceptable than any
of the rest, other men may iudge otherwise. _Politien_, this word also is
receuied from the Frenchmen, but at this day vsuall in Court and with all
good Secretaries: and cannot finde an English word to match him, for to
haue said a man politique, had not bene so wel: bicause in trueth that had
bene no more than to haue said a ciuil person. _Politien_ is rather a
surueyour of ciuilitie than ciuil, & a publique minister or Counseller in
the state. Ye haue also this worde _Conduict_, a French word, but well
allowed of vs, and long since vsuall, it soundes somewhat more than this
word (leading) for it is applied onely to the leading of a Captaine, and
not as a little boy should leade a blinde man, therefore more proper to
the case when he saide, _conduict_ of whole armies: ye finde also this
word _Idiome_, taken from the Greekes, yet seruing aptly, when a man
wanteth to expresse so much vnles it be in two words, which surplussage to
auoide, we are allowed to draw in other words single, and asmuch
significatiue: this word _significatiue_ is borrowed of the Latine and
French, but to vs brought in first by some Noble-mans Secretarie, as I
thinke, yet doth so well serue the turne, as it could not now be spared:
and many more like vsurped Latine and French words: as, _Methode,
methodicall, placation, function, assubriling, refining, compendious,
prolixe, figuratiue, inueigle_. A terme borrowed of our common Lawyers,
_impression_, also a new terme, but well expressing the matter, and more
than our English word. These words, _Numerous, numerositee, metricall,
harmonicall_, but they cannot be refused, specially in this place for
description of the arte. Also ye finde these words, _penetrate,
penetrable, indignitie_, which I cannot see how we may spare them,
whatsoeuer fault wee finde with Ink-horne termes: for our speach wanteth
words to such sense so well to be vsed: yet in steade of _indignitie_, yee
haue vnworthinesse: and for _penetrate_, we may say _peerce_, and that a
French terme also, or _broche_, or enter into with violence, but not so
well sounding as _penetrate_. Item, _sauage_, for wilde: _obscure_, for
darke. Item these words, _declamation, delineation, dimention_, are
scholasticall termes in deede, and yet very proper. But peraduenture (& I
could bring a reason for it) many other like words borrowed out of the
Latin and French, were not so well to be be allowed by vs, as these words,
_audacious_, for bold: _facunditie_, for eloquence, _egregious_, for great
or notable: _implete_, for replenished; _attemptat_, for attempt:
_compatible_, for agreeable in nature, and many more. But herein the noble
Poet _Horace_ hath said inough to satisfie vs all in these few verses.
  _Multa renascentur quae iam cecidere cadentque
  Quae nunc sunt in honore vocabula si volet usus
  Quem penes artibrium est et ius et norma loquendi._
Which I haue thus englished, but nothing with so good grace, nor so
briefly as the Poet wrote.
  _Many a word if able shall est arise
  And such as now bene held in hiest prise
  Will fall as fast, when vse and custome will
  Onely vmpiers of speach, for force and skill._




  _CHAP. V._

_Of Stile_.


Stile is a constant & continuall phrase or tenour of speaking and writing,
extending to the whole tale or processe of the poeme or historie, and not
properly to any peece or member of a tale: but is of words speeches and
sentences together, a certaine contriued forme and qualitie, many times
naturall to the writer, many times his peculier by election and arte, and
such as either he keepeth by skill, or holdeth on by ignorance, and will
not or peraduenture cannot easily alter into any other. So we say that
_Ciceros_ stile and _Salusts_ were not one, nor _Cesars_ and _Linies_, nor
_Homers_ and _Hesiodus_, nor _Herodotus_ and _Theucidides_, nor
_Euripides_ & _Aristophones_, nor _Erasmus_ and _Budeus_ stiles. And
because this continuall course and manner of writing or speech sheweth the
matter and disposition of the writers minde, more than one or few words or
sentences can shew, therefore there be that haue called stile, the image
of man [_mentes character_] for man is but his minde, and as his minde is
tempered and qualified, so are his speeches and language at large, and his
inward conceits be the mettall of his minde and his manner of vtterance
the very warp & woofe of his conceits, more plaine, or busie and
intricate, or otherwise affected after the rate. Most men say that not any
one point in all _Phisiognomy_ is so certaine, as to iudge a mans manners
by his eye: but more assuredly in mine opinion, by his dayly maner of
speech and ordinary writing. For if the man be graue, his speech and stile
is graue: if light-headed, his stile and language also light: if the
minde be haughtie and hoate, the speech and stile is also vehement and
stirring: if it be colde and temperate, the stile is also very modest: if
it be humble, or base and meeke, so is also the language and stile. And
yet peraduenture not altogether so, but that euery mans stile is for the
most part according to the matter and subiect of the writer, or so ought
to be and conformable thereunto. Then againe may it be said as wel, that
men doo chuse their subjects according to the mettal of their minds, &
therfore a high minded man chuseth him high & lofty matter to write of.
The base courage, matter base & lowe, the meane & modest mind, meane &
moderate matters after the rate. Howsoeuer it be, we finde that vnder
these three principall complexions (if I may with leaue so terme them)
high, meane and base stile, there be contained many other humors or
qualities of stile, as the plaine and obscure, the rough and smoth, the
facill and hard, the plentifull and barraine, the rude and eloquent, the
strong and feeble, the vehement and cold stiles, all which in their euill
are to be reformed, and the good to be kept and vsed. But generally to
haue the stile decent & comely it behooueth the maker or Poet to follow
the nature of his subiect, that is if his matter be high and loftie that
the stile be so to, if meane, the stile also to be meane, if base, the
stile humble and base accordingly: and they that do otherwise vse it,
applying to meane matter, hie and loftie stile, and to hie matters, stile
eyther meane or base, and to the base matters, the meane or hie stile, do
vtterly disgrace their poesie and shew themselues nothing skilfull in
their arte, nor hauing regard to the decencie, which is the chiefe praise
of any writer. Therefore to ridde all louers of learning from that errour,
I will as neere as I can set downe, which matters be hie and loftie, which
be but meane, and which be low and base, to the intent the stiles may be
fashioned to the matters, and keepe their _decorum_ and good proportion in
euery respect: I am not ignorant that many good clerkes be contrary to
mine opinion, and say that the loftie style may be decently vsed in a
meane and base subiect & contrariwise, which I do in parte acknowledge,
but with a reasonable qualification. For _Homer_ hath so vsed it in his
trifling worke of _Batrachomyomachia_: that is in his treatise of the
warre betwixt the frogs and the mice. _Virgill_ also in his _bucolickes_,
and in his _georgicks_, whereof the one is counted meane, the other base,
that is the husbandmans discourses and the shepheards, but hereunto
serueth a reason in my simple conceite: for first to that trifling poeme
of _Homer_, though the frog and the mouse be but litle and ridiculous
beasts, yet to treat of warre is an high subiect, and a thing in euery
respect terrible and daungerous to them that it alights on: and therefore
of learned dutie asketh martiall grandiloquence, if it be set foorth in
his kind and nature of warre, euen betwixt the basest creatures that can
be imagined: so also is the Ante or pismire, and they be but little
creeping things, not perfect beasts, but _insects_, or wormes: yet in
describing their nature & instinct, and their manner of life approching to
the forme of a common-welth, and their properties not vnlike to the
vertues of most excellent gouernors and captaines, it asketh a more
maiestie of speach then would the description of any other beastes life or
nature, and perchance of many matters perteyning vnto the baser sort of
men, because it resembleth the historie of a ciuill regiment, and of them
all the chiefs and most principall which is _Monarchie_: so also in his
_bucolicks_, which are but pastorall, speaches and the basest of any other
poeme in their owne proper nature: _Virgill_ vsed a somewhat swelling
stile when he came to insinuate the birth of _Marcellus_ heire apparant to
the Emperour _Augustus_, as child to his sister, aspiring by hope and
greatnes of the house, to the succession of the Empire, and establishment
thereof in that familie: whereupon _Virgill_ could do no lesse then to vse
such manner of stile, whatsoeuer condition the poeme were of and this was
decent, & no fault or blemish, to confound the tennors of the stiles for
that cause. But now when I remember me againe that this _Eglogue_, (for I
haue read it somewhere) was conceiued by _Octauian_ th'Emperour to be
written to the honour of _Pollio_ a citizen of Rome, & of no great
nobilitie, the same was misliked againe as an implicatiue, nothing decent
nor proportionable to _Pollio_ his fortunes and calling, in which respect
I might say likewise the stile was not to be such as if it had bene for
the Emperours owne honour, and those of the bloud imperiall, then which
subiect there could not be among the _Romane_ writers an higher nor grauer
to treat vpon: so can I not be remoued from mine opinion, but still me
thinks that in all decencie the stile ought to conforme with the nature of
the subiect, otherwise if a writer will seeme to obserue no _decorum_ at
all, nor passe how he fashion his tale to his matter, who doubteth but he
may in the lightest cause speake like a Pope, & in the grauest matters
prate like a parrat, & finde wordes & phrases ynough to serue both turnes,
and neither of them commendably, for neither is all that may be written of
Kings and Princes such as ought to keepe a high stile, nor all that may be
written vpon a shepheard to keepe the low, but according to the matter
reported, if that be of high or base nature: for euery pety pleasure, and
vayne delight of a king are not to accompted high matter for the height of
his estate, but meane and perchaunce very base and vile: nor so a Poet or
historiographer, could decently with a high stile reporte the vanities of
_Nero_, the ribaudries of _Caligula_, the idleness of _Domitian_, & the
riots of _Heliogabalus_. But well the magnanimitie and honorable ambition
of _Caesar_, the prosperities of _Augustus_, the grauitie of _Tiberius_,
the bountie of _Traiane_, the wisedome of _Aurelius_, and generally all
that which concerned the highest honours of Emperours, their birth,
alliaunces, gouernment, exploits in warre and peace, and other publike
affaires: for they be matter stately and high, and require a stile to be
lift vp and aduaunced by choyse of wordes, phrases, sentences, and
figures, high, loftie, eloquent, & magnifik in proportion: so be the meane
matters, to be caried with all wordes and speaches of smothnesse and
pleasant moderation, & finally the base things to be holden within their
teder, by low, myld, and simple maner of vtterance, creeping rather then
clyming, & marching rather then mounting vpwardes, with the wings of the
stately subiects and stile.




  _CHAP. VI._

_Of the high, low, and meane subiect._


The matters therefore that concerne the Gods and diuine things are highest
of all other to be couched in writing, next to them the noble gests and
great fortunes of Princes, and the notable accidents of time, as the
greatest affaires of war & peace, these be all high subiectes, and
therefore are deliuered ouer to the Poets _Hymnick_ & historicall who be
occupied either in diuine laudes, or in _heroicall_ reports: the meane
matters be those that concerne meane men their life and busines, as
lawyers, gentlemen, and marchants, good housholders and honest Citizens,
and which found neither to matters of state nor of warre, nor leagues, nor
great alliances, but smatch all the common conuersation, as of the
ciuiller and better sort of men: the base and low matters be the doings of
the common artificer, seruingman, yeoman, groome, husbandman,
day-labourer, sailer, shepheard, swynard, and such like of homely calling,
degree and bringing vp: so that in euery of the sayd three degrees, not
the selfe same vertues be egally to be praysed nor the same vices, egally
to be dispraised, nor their loues, mariages, quarels, contracts and other
behauiours, be like high nor do require to be set fourth with the like
stile: but euery one in his degree and decencie, which made that all
_hymnes_ and histories, and Tragedies, were written in the high stile; all
Comedies and Enterludes and other common Poesies of loues, and such like
in the meane stile, all _Eglogues_ and pastorall poemes in the low and
base flile, otherwise they had bene vtterly disproporcioned: likewise for
the same cause some phrases and figures be onely peculiar to the high
stile, some to the base or meane, some common to all three, as shalbe
declared more at large hereafter when we come to speake of figure and
phrase: also some wordes and speaches and sentences doe become the high
stile, that do not become th'other two. And contrariwise, as shalbe said
when we talke of words and sentences: finally some kinde of measure and
concord, doe not beseeme the high stile, that well become the meane and
low, as we haue said speaking of concord and measure. But generally the
high stile is disgraced and made foolish and ridiculous by all wordes
affected, counterfait, and puffed vp, as it were a windball carrying more
countenance then matter, and can not be better resembled then to these
midsommer pageants in London, where to make the people wonder are set
forth great and vglie Gyants marching as if they were aliue, and armed at
all points, but within they are stuffed full of browne paper and tow,
which the shrewd boyes vnderpeering, do guilefully discouer and turne to a
great derision: also all darke and vnaccustomed wordes, or rusticall and
homely, and sentences that hold too much of the mery & light, or infamous
& vnshamefast are to be accounted of the same sort, for such speaches
become not Princes, nor great estates, nor them that write of their doings
to vtter or report and intermingle with the graue and weightie matters.




  _CHAP. VII._

_Of Figures and figuratuie speaches_.


As figures be the instruments of ornament in euery language, so be they
also in a sorte abuses or rather trespasses in speach, because they passe
the ordinary limits of common vtterance, and be occupied of purpose to
deceiue the eare and also the minde, drawing it from plainnesse and
simplicitie to a certaine doublenesse, whereby our talke is the more
guilefull & abusing, for what els is your _Metaphor_ but an inuersion of
sence by transport; your _allegorie_ by a duplicitie of meaning or
dissimulation vnder couert and darke intendments: one while speaking
obscurely and in riddle called _Ænigma_: another while by common prouerbe
or Adage called _Paremia_: then by merry skoffe called _Ironia_: then by
bitter tawnt called _Sarcasmus_: then by periphrase or circumlocution when
all might be said in a word or two: then by incredible comparison giuing
credit, as by your _Hyperbole_, and many other waies seeking to inueigle
and appassionate the mind: which thing made the graue iudges _Areopagites_
(as I find written) to forbid all manner of figuratiue speaches to be vsed
before them in their consistorie of Iustice, as meere illusions to the
minde, and wresters of vpright iudgement, saying that to allow such manner
of forraine & coulored talke to make the iudges affectioned, were all one
as if the carpenter before he began to square his timber would make his
squire crooked: in so much as the straite and vpright mind of a Iudge is
the very rule of iustice till it be peruerted by affection. This no doubt
is true and was by them grauely considered: but in this case because our
maker or Poet is appointed not for a iudge but rather for a pleader, and
that of pleasant & louely causes and nothing perillous, such as be those
for the triall of life, limme, or liuelyhood; and before iudges neither
sower nor seuere, but in the care of princely dames, yong ladies,
gentlewomen and courtiers, beyng all for the most part either meeke of
nature, or of pleasant humour, and that all his abuses tende but to
dispose the hearers to mirth and sollace by pleasant conueyance and
efficacy of speach, they are not in truth to be accompted vices but for
vertues in the poetical science very commendable. On the other side, such
trespasses in speach (whereof there be many) as geue dolour and disliking
to the eare & minde, by any foule indecencie or disproportion of sound,
situation, or sence, they be called and not without cause the vicious
parts or rather heresies of language: wherefore the matter resteth much in
the definition and acceptance of this word [_decorum_] for whatsoeuer is
so, cannot iustly be misliked. In which respect it may come to passe that
what the Grammarian setteth downe for a viciositee in speach may become a
vertue and no vice, contrariwise his commended figure may fall into a
reprochfull fault: the best and most assured remedy whereof is, generally
to follow the saying of _Bias: ne quid nimis_. So as in keeping measure,
and not exceeding nor shewing any defect in the vse of his figures, he
cannot lightly do amisse, if he haue besides (as that must needes be) a
speciall regard to all circumstances of the person, place, time, cause and
purpose he hath in hand, which being well obserued it easily auoideth all
the recited inconueniences, and maketh now and then very vice goe for a
formall virtue in the excrcise of this Arte.




  _CHAP. VIII._

_Sixe pointes set downe by our learned forefathers for a generall
regiment of all good vtterance be it by mouth or by writing._


Bvt before there had bene yet any precise obseruation made of figuratiue
speeches, the first learned artificers of language considered that the
bewtie and good grace of vtterance rested in no many pointes: and
whatsoeuer transgressed those lymits, they counted it for vitious; and
thereupon did set downe a manner of regiment in all speech generally to be
obserued, consisting in sixe pointes. First they said that there ought to
be kept a decent proportion in our writings and speach, which they termed
_Analogia._ Secondly, that it ought to be voluble vpon the tongue, and
tunable to the eare, which they called _Tasis_. Thirdly, that it were not
tediously long, but briefe and compendious, as the matter might beare,
which they called _Syntomia._ Fourthly, that it should cary an orderly and
good construction, which they called _Synthesis_. Fiftly, that it should
be a sound, proper and naturall speach, which they called _Ciriologia_.
Sixtly, that it should be liuely & stirring, which they called _Tropus_.
So as it appeareth by this order of theirs, that no vice could be
committed in speech, keeping within the bounds of that restraint. But sir,
all this being by them very well conceiued, there remayned a greater
difficultie to know what this proportion, volubilitie, good construction,
& the rest were, otherwise we could not be euer the more relieued. It was
therefore of necessitie that a more curious and particular description
should bee, made of euery manner of speech, either transgressing or
agreeing with their said generall prescript. Whereupon it came to passe,
that all the commendable parts of speech were set foorth by the name of
figures, and all the illaudable partes vnder the name of vices, or
viciosities, of both which it shall bee spoken in their places.




  _CHAP. IX_.

_How the Greeks first, and afterward the Latines, inuented new names for
euery figure, which this Author is also enforced to doo in his vulgar_.


The Greekes were a happy people for the freedome & liberty of their
language, because it was allowed them to inuent any new name that they
listed, and to peece many words together to make of them one entire, much
more significatiue than the single word. So among other things did they to
their figuratiue speeches deuise cortainen ames. The Latines came somewhat
behind them in that point, and for want of conuenient single wordes to
expresse that which the Greeks could do by cobling many words together,
they were faine to vse the Greekes still, till after many yeares that the
learned Oratours and good Grammarians among the Romaines, as _Cicero,
Verro, Quintilian_, & others strained themselues to giue the Greeke wordes
Latin names, and yet nothing so apt and fitty. The same course are we
driuen to follow in this description, since we are enforced to cull out
for the vse of our Poet or maker all the most commendable figures. Now to
make them knowen (as behoueth) either we must do it by th'originall Greeke
name or by the Latine, or by our owne. But when I consider to what sort of
Readers I write, & how illfaring the Greeke terme would sound in the
English eare, then also how short the Latines come to expresse manie of
the Greeke originals. Finally, how well our language serueth to supplie
the full signification of them both, I haue thought it no lesse lawfull,
yea peraduenture under licence of the learned, more laudable to vse our
owne naturall, if they be well chosen, and of proper signification, than
to borrow theirs. So shall not our English Poets, though they be to seeke
of the Greeke and Latin languages, lament for lack of knowledge sufficient
to the purpose of this arte. And in case any of these new English names
giuen by me to any figure, shall happen to offend, I pray that the learned
will beare with me and to thinke the straungenesse thereof proceedes but
of noueltie and disaquaintance with our eares, which in processe of time,
and by custome will frame very well: and such others as are not learned in
the primitiue languages, if they happen to hit upon any new name of myne
(so ridiculous in their opinion) as may moue them to laughter, let such
persons, yet assure themselues that such names go as neare as may be to
their originals, or els serue better to the purpose of the figure then the
very originall, reseruing alwayes, that such new name should not be
vnpleasant in our vulgar nor harsh vpon the tong: and where it shall
happen otherwise, that it may please the reader to thinke that hardly any
other name in our English could be found to serue the turne better. Againe
if to auoid the hazard of this blame I should haue kept the Greek or Latin
still it would haue appeared a little too scholasticall for our makers,
and a peece of worke more fit for clerkes then for Courtiers for whose
instruction this trauaile is taken: and if I should haue left out both the
Greeke and Latine name, and put in none of our owne neither: well
perchance might the rule of the figure haue bene set downe, but no
conuenient name to hold him in memory. It was therefore expedient we
deuised for euery figure of importance his vulgar name, and to ioyne the
Greeke or Latine originall with them; after that sort much better
satisfying aswel the vulgar as the learned learner, and also the authors
owne purpose, which is to make of a rude rimer, a learned and a Courtly
Poet.




  _CHAP. X._

_A division of figures, and how they serue in exornation of language._


And because our chiefe purpose herein is for the learning of Ladies and
young Gentlewomen, or idle Courtiers, desirous to become skilful in their
owne mother tongue, and for their priuate recreation to make now & then
ditties of pleasure, thinking for our parte none other science so fit for
them & the place as that which teacheth _beau_ semblant, the chiefe
profession aswell of Courting as of poesie: since to such manner of mindes
nothing is more combersome then tedious doctrines and schollarly methodes
of discipline, we haue in our owne conceit deuised a new and strange
modell of this arte, fitter to please the Court then the schoole, and yet
not vnnecessarie for all such as be willing themselues to become good
makers in the vulgar, or to be able to iudge of other mens makings:
wherefore, intending to follow the course which we haue begun, thus we
say: that though the language of our Poet or maker being pure & clenly, &
not disgraced by such vicious parts as haue bene before remembred in the
Chapter of language, be sufficiently pleasing and commendable for the
ordinarie vse of speech; yet is not the same so well appointed for all
purposes of the excellent Poet, as when it is gallantly arrayed in all his
colours which figure can set vpon it, therefore we are now further to
determine of figures and figuratiue speeches. Figuratiue speech is a
noueltie of language euidently (and yet not absurdly) estranged from the
ordinarie habite and manner of our dayly talke and writing and figure it
selfe is a certaine liuely or good grace set vpon wordes, speaches and
sentences to some purpose and not in vaine, giuing them ornament or
efficacie by many maner of alterations in shape, in sounde, and also in
sence, sometime by way of surplusage, sometime by defect, sometime by
disorder, or mutation, & also by putting into our speaches more pithe and
substance, subtilitie, quicknesse, efficacie or moderation, in this or
that sort tuning and tempring them, by amplification, abridgement,
opening, closing, enforcing, meekening, or otherwise disposing them to the
best purpose whereupon the learned clerks who haue written methodically of
this Arte in the two master languages, Greeke and Latine, haue sorted all
their figures into three rankes, and the first they bestowed vpon the Poet
onely: the second vpon the Poet and Oratour indifferently: the third vpon
the Oratour alone. And that first sort of figures doth serue th'eare onely
and may be therefore called _Auricular_: your second serues the conceit
onely and not th'eare, and may be called _sensable_, not sensible nor yet
sententious: your third sort serues as well th'eare as the conceit and may
be called _sententious figures_, because not only they properly apperteine
to full sentences, for bewtifying them with a currant & pleasant
numerositie, but also giuing them efficacie, and enlarging the whole
matter besides with copious amplifications. I doubt not but some busie
carpers will scorne at my new deuised termes: _auricular_ and _sensable_,
saying that I might with better warrant haue vsed in their steads these
words, _orthographicall_ or _syntacticall_, which the learned Grammarians
left ready made to our hands, and do importe as much as th'other that I
haue brought, which thing peraduenture I deny not in part, and
neuerthelesse for some causes thought them not so necessarie: but with
these maner of men I do willingly beare, in respect of their laudable
endeuour to allow antiquitie and slie innouation: with like beneuolence I
trust they will beare with me writing in the vulgar speach and seeking by
my nouelties to satisfie not the schoole but the Court: whereas they know
very well all old things soone waxe stale & lothsome, and the new deuises
are euer dainty and delicate, the vulgar instruction requiring also vulgar
and communicable termes, not clerkly or vncouthe as are all these of the
Greeke and Latine languages primitiuely receiued, vnlesse they be
qualified or by much vse and custome allowed and our eares made acquainted
with them. Thus then I say that _auricular_ figures be those which worke
alteration in th'eare by sound, accent, time, and slipper volubilitie in
vtterance, such as for that respect was called by the auncients
numerositie of speach. And not onely the whole body of a tale in poeme or
historie may be made in such sort pleasant and agreable to the eare, but
also euery clause by it selfe, and euery single word carried in a clause,
may haue their pleasant sweetenesse apart. And so long as this qualitie
extendeth but to the outward tuning of the speech reaching no higher then
th'eare and forcing the mynde little or nothing, it is that vertue which
the Greeks call _Enargia_ and is the office of the _auricular_ figures to
performe. Therefore as the members of language at large are whole
sentence, and sentences are compact of clauses, and clauses of words, and
euery word of letters and sillables, so is the alteration (be it but of a
sillable or letter) much materiall to the sound and sweetenesse of
vtterance. Wherefore beginning first at the smallest alterations which
rest in letters and sillables, the first sort of our figures _auricular_
we do appoint to single words as they lye in language; the second to
clauses of speach; the third to perfit sentences and to the whole masse or
body of the tale be it poeme or historie written or reported.




  _CHAP. XI_

_Of auricular figures apperteining to single wordes and working by their
diuers soundes and audible tunes alteration to the eare onely and not the
mynde._


A word as he lieth in course of language is many wayes figured and thereby
not a little altered in sound, which consequently alters the tune and
harmonie of a meeter as to the eare. And this alteration is sometimes by
_adding_ sometimes by _rabbating_, of a sillable or letter to or from a
word either in the beginning, middle or ending ioyning or vnioyning of
sillibles and letters suppressing or confounding their seueral soundes, or
by misplacing of a letter, or by cleare exchaunge of one letter for
another, or by wrong ranging of the accent.
And your figures of addition or surpluse be three, videl.
In the beginning, as to say: _I-doon_ for _doon, endanger_ for _danger,
embolden_ for _bolden_.

In the middle, as to say _renuers_ for _reuers, meeterly_ for _meetly,
goldylockes_ for _goldlockes._

In th'end, as to say [_remembren_ for _remembre_] [_spoken_ for _spoke_].
And your figures of _rabbate_ be as many, videl.

From the beginning, as to say [_twixt_ for _betwixt_] [_gainsay_ for
_againsay_] [_ill_ for _euill_].

From the middle, as to say [_paraunter_ for _parauenture_] [_poorety_ for
_pouertie_] [_souraigne_ for _soueraigne_] [_tane_ for _taken._]

From the end, as to say [_morne_ for _morning_] [_bet_ for _better_] and
such like.

Your swallowing or eating vp one letter by another is when two vowels
meete, whereof th'ones sound goeth into other, as to say for _to attaine,
t'attaine_] for _sorrow smart, sor'smart_.]

Your displacing of a sillable as to say [_desier_ for _desire_] [_sier_
for _sire._]

By cleare exchaunge of one letter or sillable for another, as to say
_euermare_ for _euermore, wrang_ for _wrong: gould_ for _gold: fright_ for
_fraight_ and a hundred moe, which be commonly misused and strained to
make rime.

By wrong ranging the accent of a sillable by which meane a short sillable
is made long and a long short as to say _soueráine_ for _souéraine:
gratíous_ for _grátious: éndure_ for _endúre: Salómon_ for _Sálomon._

These many wayes may our maker alter his wordes, and sometimes it is done
for pleasure to giue a better sound, sometimes vpon necessitie and to make
vp the rime. But our maker must take heed that he be not to bold specially
in exchange of one letter for another for vnlesse vsuall speach and
custome allow it, it is a fault and no figure, and because these be
figures of the smallest importaunce, I forbeare to giue them any vulgar
name.




  _CHAP. XII._

_Of Auricular figures pertaining to clauses of speech and by them working
no little alteration to the eare._


As your single words may be many waies transfigured to make the meetre or
verse more tunable and melodious, so also may your whole and entire
clauses be in such sort contriued by the order of their construction as
the eare may receiue certaine recreation, although the mind for any
noueltie of sence be little or nothing affected. And therefore al your
figures of _grammaticall_ construction, I accompt them but merely
_auricular_ in that they reach no furder then the eare. To which there
will appeare some sweete or vnsauery point to offer you dolour or delight,
either by some euident defect, or surplusage, or disorder, or immutation
in the same speaches notably altering either the congruitie
_grammaticall_, or the sence, or both.

  [Sidenote: _Eclipsis_ or the Figure of default.]
And first of those that worke by defect, if but one word or some little
portion of speach be wanting, it may be supplied by ordinary vnderstanding
and vertue of the figure _Eclipsis_, as to say _so early a man_, for [_are
ye_] so early a man: he is to be intreated, for he is [_easie_] to be
intreated: I thanke God I am to liue like a Gentleman, for I am [_able_]
to liue, and the Spaniard said in his deuise of armes _acuerdo oluido_, I
remember I forget whereas in right congruitie of speach it should be: I
remember [that I [doo] forget. And in a deuise of our owne [_empechement
pur a choison_] a let for a furderance whereas it should be said [_vse_] a
let for a furderance, and a number more like speaches defectiue, and
supplied by common vnderstanding.

  [Sidenote: _Zeugma_ or the Single supply.]
But if it be to mo clauses then one, that some such word be supplied to
perfit the congruitie or sence of them all, it is by the figure [_Zeugma_]
we call him the [_single supplie_] because by one word we serue many
clauses of one congruitie, and may be likened to the man that serues many
maisters at once, but all of one country or kindred: as to say
  _Fellowes, and friends and kinne forsooke me quite._

Here this word forsooke satisfieth the congruitie and sence of all three
clauses, which would require euery of them asmuch. And as we setting forth
her Maiesties regall petigree said in this figure of [_Single supplie._]
  _Her graundsires Father and Brother was a King
  Her mother a crowned Queene, her Sister and her selfe._

Whereas ye see this one Word [was] serues them all in that they require
but one congruitie and sence.

  [Sidenote: _Prozeugma_, or the Ringleader.]
Yet hath this figure of [_Single supply_] another propertie, occasioning
him to change now and then his name: by the order of his supplie, for if
it be placed in the forefront of all the seuerall clauses whom he is to
serue as a common seruitour, then is he called by the Greeks _Prozeugma_,
by vs the Ringleader: thus
  _Her beautie perst mine eye, her speach mine wofull hart;
  Her presence all the powers of my discourse. &c._

Where ye see this one word [_perst_] placed in the foreward, satisfieth
both in sence & congruitie all those other clauses that followe him.

  [Sidenote: _Mezozeugma_, or the Middlemarcher.]
And if such word of supplie be placed in the middle of all such clauses as
he serues: it is by the Greeks called _Mezozeugma_, by us the
[_Middlemarcher_] thus:
  _Faire maydes beautie (alack) with yeares it weares away,
  And with wether and sicknes, and sorrow as they say._

Where ye see this word [_weares_] serues one clause before him, and two
clauses behind him, in one and the same sence and congruitie. And in this
verse,
  _Either the troth or talke nothing at all._

Where this word [_talke_] serues the clause before and also behind.

  [Sidenote: _Hypozeugma_, or the Rerewarder.]
But if such supplie be placed after all the clauses, and not before nor in
the middle, then is he called by the Greeks _Hypozeugma_, and by vs the
[_Rerewarder_] thus:
  _My mates that wont, to keepe me companie
  And my neighbours, who dwelt next to my wall
  The friends that sware, they would not sticke to die
  In my quarrell: they are fled from me all._

Where ye see this word [_fled from me_] serue all the three clauses
requiring but one congruitie & sence.

  [Sidenote: _Sillepsis_, or the Double supply.]
But if such want be in sundrie clauses, and of seuerall congruities or
sence, and the supply be made to serue them all, it is by the figure
_Sillepsis_, whom for that respect we call the [_double supplie_]
conceiuing, and, as it were, comprehending vnder one, a supplie of two
natures, and may be likened to the man that serues many masters at once,
being of strange Countries or kinreds, as in these verses, where the
lamenting widow shewed the Pilgrim the graues in which her husband &
children lay buried.
  _Here my sweete sonnes and daughters all my blisse,
  Yonder mine owne deere husband buried is._

Where ye see one verbe singular supplyeth the plurall and singular, and
thus
  _Iudge ye louers, if it be strange or no;
  My Ladie laughs for ioy, and I for wo._

Where ye see a third person supplie himselfe and a first person. And thus,
  _Madame ye neuer shewed your selfe vntrue,
  Nor my deserts would euer suffer you._

Viz. to show. Where ye see the moode Indicatiue supply him selfe and an
Infinitiue. And the like in these other.
  _I neuer yet failde you in constancie,
  Nor neuer doo intend vntill I die._

Viz. [_to show_.] Thus much for the congruitie, now for the sence. One
wrote thus of a young man, who slew a villaine that had killed his father,
and rauished his mother.
  _Thus valiantly and with a manly minde,
  And by one feate of euerlasting fame,
  This lustie lad fully requited kinde,
  His fathers death, and eke his mothers shame._

Where ye see this word [_requite_] serue a double sence: that is to say,
to reuenge, and to satisfie. For the parents iniurie was reuenged, and the
duetie of nature performed or satisfied by the childe.

  [Sidenote: _Hypozeuxis_, or the Substitute.]
But if this supplie be made to sundrie clauses, or to one clause sundrie
times iterated, and by seuerall words, so as euery clause hath his owne
supplie: then is it called by the Greekes _Hypozeuxis_, we call him the
substitute after his originall, and is a supplie with iteration, as thus:
  _Vnto the king she went, and to the king she said,
  Mine owne liege Lord behold thy poore handmaid._

Here [_went to the king_] and [_said to the king_] be but one clause
iterated with words of sundrie supply. Or as in these verses following.
  _My Ladie gaue me, my Lady wist not what,
  Geuing me leaue to be her Soueraine:
  For by such gift my Ladie hath done that,
  Which whilest she liues she may not call againe._

Here [_my Ladie gaue_] and [_my Ladie wist_] be supplies with iteration,
by vertue of this figure.

Ye haue another _auricular_ figure of defect, and is when we begin to
speake a thing, and breake of in the middle way, as if either it needed no
further to be spoken of, or that we were ashamed, or afraide to speake it
it out. It is also sometimes done by way of threatning, and to shew a
moderation of anger. The Greekes call him _Aposiopesis._ I, the figure of
silence, or of interruption, indifferently.

  [Sidenote: _Aposiopesis_, or the Figure of silence.]
If we doo interrupt our speech for feare, this may be an example, where as
one durst not make the true report as it was, but staid halfe way for
feare of offence, thus:
  _He said you were, I dare not tell you plaine
  For words once out, neuer returne againe._

If it be for shame, or that the speaker suppose it would be indecent to
tell all, then thus: as he that said to his sweete hart, whom he checked
for secretly whispering with a suspected person.
  _And did ye not come by his chamber dore?
  And tell him that: goe to, I say no more._

If it be for anger or by way of manace or to show a moderation of wrath as
the graue and discreeter sort of men do, then thus.
  _If I take you with such another cast
  I sweare by God, but let this be the last._

Thinking to haue said further viz. I will punish you.

If it be for none of all these causes but vpon some sodaine occasion that
moues a man to breake of his tale, then thus.
  _He told me all at large: lo yonder is the man
  Let himselfe tell the tale that best tell can._

This figure is fit for phantasticall heads and such as be sodaine or lacke
memorie. I know one of good learning that greatly blemisheth his
discretion with this maner of speach: for if he be in the grauest matter
of the world talking, he will vpon the sodaine for the flying of a bird
ouerthwart the way, or some other such sleight cause, interrupt his tale
and neuer returne to it againe.

  [Sidenote: _Prolepsis_, or the Propounder.]
Ye haue yet another maner of speach purporting at the first blush a defect
which afterward is supplied the, Greekes call him _Prolepsis_, we the
Propounder, or the Explaner which ye will: because he workes both
effectes, as thus, where in certaine verses we describe the triumphant
enter-view of two great Princesses thus.
  _These two great Queenes, came marching hand in hand,
  Vunto the hall, where store of Princes stand:
  And people of all countreys to behold,
  Coronis all clad, in purple cloth of gold:
  Celiar in robes, of siluer tissew white
  With rich rubies, and pearles all bedighte._

Here ye see the first proposition in a sort defectiue and of imperfect
sence, till ye come by diuision to explane and enlarge it, but if we
should follow the originall right, we ought rather to call him the
forestaller, for like as he that standes in the market way, and takes all
vp before it come to the market in grosse and sells it by retaile, so by
this maner of speach our maker setts down before all the matter by a brief
proposition, and afterward explanes it by a diuision more particularly.

By this other example it appeares also.
  _Then deare Lady I pray you let it bee,
  That our long loue may lead us to agree:
  Me since I may not wed you to my wife,
  To serue you as a mistresse all my life:
  Ye that may not me for your husband haue,
  To clayme me for your seruant and your slaue._




  _CHAP. XIII._

_Of your figures Auricular working by disorder._


  [Sidenote: _Hiperbaton_, or the Trespasser.]
To all of speaches which wrought by disorder by the Greekes gaue a general
name [_Hiperbaton_] as much to say as the [_trespasser_] and because such
disorder may be committed many wayes it receiueth sundry particulars vnder
him, whereof some are onely proper to the Greekes and Latines and not to
vs, other some ordinarie in our maner of speaches, but so foule and
intollerable as I will not seeme to place them among the figures, but do
raunge them as they deserue among the vicious or faultie speaches.

  [Sidenote: _Parenthesis_, or the Insertour]
Your first figure of tollerable disorder is [_Parenthesis_] or by an
English name the [_Insertour_] and is when ye will seeme for larger
information or some other purpose, to peece or graffe in the middest of
your tale an vnnecessary parcell of speach, which neuerthelesse may be
thence without any detriment to the rest. The figure is so common that it
needeth none example, neuerthelesse because we are to teache Ladies and
Gentlewomen to know their schoole points and termes appertaining to the
Art, we may not refuse ro yeeld examples euen in the plainest cases, as
that of maister _Diars_ very aptly.
  _But now my Deere_ (_for so my loue makes me to call you still_)
  _That loue I say, that lucklesse loue, that works me all this ill._

Also in our Eglogue intituled _Elpine_, which we made being but eightene
yeares old, to king _Edward_ the sixt a Prince of great hope, we surmised
that the Pilot of a ship answering the King, being inquisitiue and
desirous to know all the parts of the ship and tackle, what they were, &
to what vse they serued, vsing this insertion or Parenthesis.
  _Soueraigne Lord (for why a greater name
  To one on earth no mortall tongue can frame
  No statelie stile can giue the practisd penne:
  To one on earth conuersant among men.)_

And so proceedes to answere the kings question?
  _The shippe thou seest sayling in sea so large, &c._

This insertion is very long and vtterly impertinent to the principall
matter, and makes a great gappe in the tale, neuerthelesse is no disgrace
but rather a bewtie and to very good purpose, but you must not vse such
insertions often nor to thick, nor those that bee very long as this of
ours, for it will breede great confusion to haue the tale so much
interrupted.

  [Sidenote: _Histeron proteron_, or the Preposterous.]
Ye haue another manner of disordered speach, when ye misplace your words
or clauses and set that before which should be behind, _& è conuerso_, we
call it in English prouerbe, the cart before the horse, the Greeks call it
_Histeron proteron_, we name it the Preposterous, and if it be not too
much vsed is tollerable inough, and many times scarse perceiueable,
vnlesse the sence be thereby made very absurd: as he that described his
manner of departure from his mistresse, said thus not much to be misliked.
  _I kist her cherry lip and tooke my leaue_:

For I tooke my leaue and kist her: And yet I cannot well say whether a man
vse to kisse before hee take his leaue, or take his leaue before he kisse,
or that it be all one busines. It seemes the taking leaue is by vsing some
speach, intreating licence of departure: the kisse a knitting vp of the
farewell, and as it were a testimoniall of the licence without which here
in England one may not presume of courtesie to depart, let yong Courtiers
decide this controuersie. One describing his landing vpon a strange coast,
sayd thus preposterously.
  _When we had climbde the clifs, and were a shore_,

Whereas he should haue said by good order.
  _When we were come ashore and clymed had the cliffs_

For one must be on land ere he can clime. And as another said:
  _My dame that bred me up and bare me in her wombe_.

Whereas the bearing is before the bringing vp. All your other figures of
disorder because they rather seeme deformities then bewties of language,
for so many of them as be notoriously vndecent, and make no good harmony,
I place them in the Chapter of vices hereafter following.




  _CHAP. XIIII._

_Of your figures Auricular that worke by Surplusage_.


Your figures _auricular_ that worke by surplusage, such of them as be
materiall and of importaunce to the sence or bewtie of your language, I
referre them to the harmonicall speaches oratours among the figures
rhetoricall, as be those of repetition, and iteration or amplification.
All other sorts of surplusage, I accompt rather vicious then figuratiue, &
therefore not melodious as shalbe remembred in the chapter of viciosities
or faultie speaches.




  _CHAP. XV._

_Of auricular figures working by exchange._


  [Sidenote: _Enallage_, or the Figure of Exchange.]
Your figures that worke _auricularly_ by exchange, were more obseruable to
the Greekes and Latines for the brauenesse of their language, ouer that
ours is, and for the multiplicitie of their Grammaticall accidents, or
verball affects, as I may terme them, that is to say, their diuers cases,
moodes, tenses, genders, with variable terminations, by reason whereof,
they changed not the very word, but kept the word, and changed the shape
of him onely, vsing one case for another, or tense, or person, or gender,
or number, or moode. We, hauing no such varietie of accidents, haue little
or no vse of this figure. They called it _Enallage._

  [Sidenote: _Hipallage_, or the Changeling.]
But another sort of exchange which they had, and very prety, we doe
likewise vse, not changing one word for another, by their accidents or
cases, as the _Enallage_: nor by the places, as the [_Preposterous_] but
changing their true construction and application, whereby the sence is
quite peruerted and made very absurd: as he that should say,
for _tell me troth and lie not, lie me troth and tell not._
For _come dine with me and stay not, come stay with me and dine not._

A certaine piteous louer, to moue his mistres to compassion, wrote among
other amorous verses, this one.
  _Madame, I set your eyes before mine woes._

For, mine woes before your eyes, spoken to th'intent to winne fauour in
her sight.

But that was pretie of a certaine sorrie man of law, that gaue his Client
but bad councell, and yet found fault with his fee, and said: my fee, good
frend, hath deserued better counsel. Good master, quoth the Client, if
your selfe had not said so, I would neuer haue beleeued it; but now I
thinke as you doo. The man of law perceiuing his error, I tell thee (quoth
he) my counsel hath deserued a better fee. Yet of all others was that a
most ridiculous, but very true exchange, which the yeoman of London vsed
with his Sergeant at the Mace, who said he would goe into the countrie,
and make merry a day or two, while his man plyed his busines at home: an
example of it you shall finde in our Enterlude entituled Lustie London:
the Sergeant, for sparing of hors-hire, said he would goe with the Carrier
on foote. That is not for your worship, saide his yeoman, whereunto the
Sergeant replyed.
  _I wot what I meant Iohn, it is for to stay
  And company the knaue Carrier, for loosing my way._

The yeoman thinking it good manner to soothe his Sergeant, said againe,
  _I meant what I wot Sir, your best is to hie,
  And carrie a knaue with you for companie._

Ye see a notorious exchange of the construction, and application of the
words in this: _I wot what I meane_; and _I meane what I wot_, and in the
other, _company the knaue Carrier_, and _carrie a knaue in your company_.
The Greekes call this figure [_Hipallage_] the Latins _Submutatio_, we in
our vulgar may call him the [_under-change_] but I had rather haue him
called the [_Changeling_] nothing at all sweruing from his originall, and
much more aptly to the purpose, and pleasanter to beare in memory:
specially for our Ladies and pretie mistresses in Court, for whose
learning I write, because it is a terme often in their mouthes, and
alluding to the opinion of Nurses, who are wont to say, that the Fayries
vse to steale the fairest children out of their cradles, and put other ill
fauoured in their places, which they called changelings, or Elfs: so, if
ye mark, doeth our Poet, or maker play with his wordes, vsing a wrong
construction for a right, and an absurd for a sensible, by manner of
exchange.




  _CHAP. XVI._

_Of some other figures which because they serue chiefly to make the
meeters tunable and melodious, and affect not the minde but very little,
be placed among the auricular._


  [Sidenote: _Omoioteleton_, or the Like loose.]
The Greekes vsed a manner of speech or writing in their proses, that went
by clauses, finishing in words of like tune, and might be by vsing like
cases, tenses, and other points of consonance, which they called
_Omoioteleton_, and is that wherin they neerest approched to our vulgar
ryme, and may thus be expressed.
  _Weeping creeping beseeching I wan,
  The loue at length of Lady Lucian._

Or thus if we speake in prose and not in meetre.
  _Mischaunces ought not to be lamented,
  But rather by wisedome in time preuented:
  For such mishappes as be remedilesse,
  To sorrow them it is but foolishnesse:
  Yet are we all so frayle of nature,
  As to be greeued with euery displeasure._

The craking Scotts as the Cronicle reportes at a certaine time made this
bald rime vpon the English-men.
  _Long beards hartlesse,
  Painted hoodes witlesse:
  Gay coates gracelesse,
  Make all England thriftlesse._

Which is no perfect rime in deede, but clauses finishing in the self same
tune: for a rime of good simphonie should not conclude his concords with
one & the same terminant sillable, as _less, less, less_, but with diuers
and like terminants, as _les, pres, mes_, as was before declared in the
chapter of your cadences, and your clauses in prose should neither finish
with the same nor with the like terminants, but with the contrary as hath
bene shewed before in the booke of proportions; yet many vse it otherwise,
neglecting the Poeticall harmonie and skill. And th'Earle of _Surrey_ with
Syr _Thomas Wyat_ the most excellent makers of their time, more
peraduenture respecting the fitnesse and ponderositie of their wordes then
the true cadence or simphonie, were very licencious in this point. We call
this figure following the originall, the [_like loose_] alluding to
th'Archers terme who is not said to finish the feate of his shot before he
giue the loose, and deliuer his arrow from his bow, in which respect we
vse to say marke the loose of a thing for marke the end of it.

  [Sidenote: _Parimion_, or the Figure of like letter.]
Ye do by another figure notably affect th'eare when ye make euery word of
the verse to begin with a like letter, as for example in this verse
written in an _Epithaphe_ of our making.
  _Time tried his truth his trauailes and his trust,
  And time to late tried his integritie._

It is a figure much vsed by our common rimers, and doth well if it be not
too much vsed, for then it falleth into the vice which shalbe hereafter
spoken of called _Tautologia._

  [Sidenote: _Asyndeton_, or the Loose language.]
Ye haue another sort of speach in a maner defectiue because it wants good
band or coupling, and is the figure [_Asyndeton_] we call him [_loose
language_] and doth not a litle alter th'eare as thus.
  _I saw it, I said it, I will sweare it._

_Caesar_ the Dictator vpon the victorie hee obteined against _Pharnax_
king of _Bithinia_ shewing the celeritie of his conquest, wrate home to
the Senate in this tenour of speach no lesse swift and speedy then his
victorie.
  _Veni, vidi, vici,
  I came, I saw, I overcame._

Meaning thus I was no sooner come and beheld them but the victorie fell on
my side.

The Prince of Orenge for his deuise of Armes in banner displayed against
the Duke of Adua and the Spaniards in the Low-countrey vsed the like maner
of speach.
  _Pro Rege, pro lege, pro grege,
  For the king, for the commons, for the countrey lawes._

It is a figure to be vsed when we will seeme to make hast, or to be
earnest, and these examples with a number more be spoken by the figure of
[_lose language_.]

  [Sidenote: _Polisindeton_, or the Couple clause.]
Quite contrary to this ye haue another maner of construction which they
called [_Polisindeton_] we may call him the [_couple clause_] for that
euery clause is knit and coupled together with a coniunctiue thus,
  _And I saw it, and I say it and I
  Will sweare it to be true._

So might the Poesie of _Caesar_ haue bene altered thus.
  _I came, and I saw, and I ouercame._

One wrote these verses after the same sort,
  _For in her mynde no thought there is,
  But how she may be true to is:
  And tenders thee and all thy heale,
  And wisheth both thy health and weale:
  And is thine owne, and so she sayes,
  And cares for thee ten thousand wayes._

  [Sidenote: _Irmus_, or the Long loose.]
Ye haue another maner of speach drawen out at length and going all after
one tenure and with an imperfit sence till you come to the last word or
verse which concludes the whole premisses with a perfit sence & full
periode, the Greeks call it [_Irmus_,] I call him the [_long loose_] thus
appearing in a dittie of Sir _Thomas Wyat_ where he describes the diuers
distempers of his bed.
  _The restlesse state renuer of my smart,
  The labours salue increasing my sorrow:
  The bodies ease and troubles of my hart,
  Quietour of mynde mine unquiet foe:
  Forgetter of paine remembrer of my woe,
  The place of sleepe wherein I do but wake:
  Besprent with teares my bed I thee forsake._

Ye see here how ye can gather no perfection of sence in all this dittie
till ye come to the last verse in these wordes _my bed I thee forsake_.
And in another Sonet of _Petrarcha_ which was thus  Englished by the same
Sir _Thomas Wyat_.
  _If weaker care of sodaine pale collour,
  If many sighes with little speach to plaine:
  Now ioy now woe, if they my ioyes distaine,
  For hope of small, if much to feare therefore,
  Be signe of loue then do I loue againe._

Here all the whole sence of the dittie is suspended till ye come to the
last three wordes, _then do I loue againe_, which finisheth the song with
a full and perfit sence.

  [Sidenote: _Epitheton_, or the Qualifier.]
When ye will speake giuing euery person or thing besides his proper name a
qualitie by way of addition whether it be of good or of bad it is a
figuratiue speach of audible alteration, so is it also of sence as to say.
  _Fierce Achilles, wise Nestor, wilie Vlysses,
  Diana the chast and thou louely Venus:
  With thy blind boy that almost neuer misses,
  But hits our hartes when he levels at vs._

Or thus commending the Isle of great Brittaine.
  _Albion hugest of Westerne Ilands all,
  Soyle of sweete ayre and of good store:
  God send we see thy glory neuer fall,
  But rather dayly to grow more and more._

Or as we sang of our Soueraigne Lady giuing her these Attributes besides
her proper name.
  _Elizatbeth regent of the great Brittaine Ile,
  Honour of all regents and of Queenes._

But if we speake thus not expressing her proper name _Elizabeth_, videl.
  _The English Diana, the great Britton mayde._

Then is it not by _Epitheton_ or figure of Attribution but by the figures
_Antonomasia_, or _Periphrasis_.

  [Sidenote: _Endiadis_, or the Figure of Twinnes.]
Ye haue yet another manner of speach when ye will seeme to make two of
one, not thereunto constrained, which therefore we call the figure of
Twynnes, the Greekes _Endiadis_ thus.
  _Not you coy dame your lowrs nor your lookes._

For [_your lowring lookes_] And as one of our ordinary rimers said,
  _Of fortune nor her frowning face,
  I am nothing agast._

In stead of [_fortunes frowning face_.] One praysing the Neapolitans for
good men at armes, said by the figure of Twynnes thus.
  _A proud people and wise and valiant,
  Fiercely fighting with horses and with barbes:
  By whole prowes the Romain Prince did daunt,
  Wild Affricanes and the lawlesse Alarbes:
  The Nubiens marching with their armed cartes,
  And sleaing a farre with venim, and with dartes._

Where ye see this figure of Twynnes twise vsed, once when he said _horses
and barbes_ for barbd horses: againe when he saith with _venim_ and with
_dartes_ for venimous dartes.




  _CHAP. XVII._

_Of the figures which we call Sensable, because they alter and affect the
minde by alteration of sence, and first in single wordes._


The eare hauing receiued his due satisfaction by the _auricular_ figures,
now must the minde also be seured, with his naturall delight by figures
_sensible_ such as by alteration of intendments affect the courage, and
geue a good liking to the conceit. And first, single words haue their
sence and vnderstanding altered and figured many wayes, to wit, by
transport, abuse, crosse-naming, new naming, change of name. This will
seeme very darke to you, vnlesse it be otherwise explaned more
particularly: and first of _Transport_.

  [Sidenote: Metaphora, or the Figure of transporte.]
There is a kinde of wresting of a single word from his owne right
signification, to another not so naturall, but yet of some affinitie or
conueniencie with it, as to say, _I cannot digest your vnkinde words_, for
I cannot take them in good part: or as the man of law said, _I feele you
not_, for I vnderstand not your case, because he had not his fee in his
hand. Or as another said to a mouthy Aduocate, _why barkest thou at me so
sore?_ Or to call the top of a tree, or of a hill, the crowne of a tree or
of a hill: for in deede _crowne_ is the highest ornament of a Princes
head, made like a close garland, or els the top of a mans head, where the
haire windes about, and because such terme is not applyed naturally to a
tree or to a hill, but is transported from a mans head to a hill or tree,
therefore it is called by _metaphore_, or the figure of _transport_. And
three causes moue vs to vse this figure, one for necessitie or want of a
better word, thus:
  _As the drie ground that thirstes after a showr
  Seems to reioyce when it is well wet,
  And speedely brings foorth both grasse and flowr,
  If lacke of sunne or season doo not let._

Here for want of an apter and more naturall word to declare the drie
temper of the earth, it is said to thirst & to reioyce, which is onley
proper to liuing creatures, and yet being so inuerted, doth not so much
swerue from the true sence but that euery man can easilie conceiue the
meaning thereof.

Againe, we vse it for pleasure and ornament of our speach, as thus in an
Epitaph of our owne making, to the honourable memorie of a deere friend,
Sir _Iohn Throgmorton_, knight, Iustice of Chester, and a man of many
commendable vertues.
  _Whom vertue rerde, enuy hath ouerthrowen
  And Iudged full low, vnder this marble stone:
  Ne neuer were his values so well knowen,
  Whilest he liued here, as now that he is gone.

Here these words, _rered, overthrowen_, and _lodged_, are inuerted, &
_metaphorically_ applyed, not vpon necessitie, but for ornament onely,
afterward againe in these verses.
  _No sunne by day that euer saw him rest
  Free from the toyles of his so busie charge,
  No night that harbourd rankor in his breast,
  Nor merry moode made reason runne at large._

In these verses the inuersion or metaphore, lyeth in these words, _saw,
harbourd, run:_ which naturally are applyed to liuing things, & not to
insensible: as the _sunne_, or the _night_: & yet they approach so neere,
& so conueniently, as the speech is thereby made more commendable. Againe,
in moe verses of the same Epitaph, thus.
  _His head a source of grauitie and sence,
  His memory a shop of ciuill arte,
  His tongue a streame of sugred eloquence,
  Wisdome and meekenes lay mingled in his harte,_

In which verses ye see that these words, _source, shop, find, sugred_, are
inuerted from their owne signification to another, not altogether so
naturall, but of much affinitie with it.

Then also do we it sometimes to enforce a sence and make the word more
significatiue: as thus,
  _I burne in loue, I freese in deadly hate
  I swimme in hope, and sinke in deepe dispaire._

These examples I haue the willinger giuen you to set foorth the nature and
vse of your figure metaphore, which of any other being choisly made, is
the most commendable and most common.

  [Sidenote: _Catachresis_, or the Figure of abuse]
But if for lacke of naturall and proper terme or worde we take another,
neither naturall nor proper and do vntruly applie it to the thing which we
would seeme to expresse, and without any iust inconuenience, it is not
then spoken by this figure _Metaphore_ or of _inuersion_ as before, but by
plaine abuse as he that bad his man go into his library and set him his
bowe and arrowes, for in deede there was neuer a booke there to be found,
or as one should in reproch say to a poore man, thou raskall knaue, where
_raskall_ is properly the hunters terme giuen to young deere, leane & out
of season, and not to people: or as one said very pretily in this verse.
  _I lent my loue to losse, and gaged my life in vaine._

Whereas this worde _lent_ is properly of mony or some such other thing, as
men do commonly borrow, for vse to be repayed againe, and being applied to
loue is vtterly abused, and yet very commendably spoken by vertue of this
figure. For he that loueth and is not beloued againe; hath no lesse wrong,
that he that lendeth and is neuer repayde.

  [Sidenote: _Metonimia_, or the Misnamer]
Now doth this vnderstanding or secret conceyt reach many times to the only
nomination of persons or things in their names, as of men, or mountaines,
seas, countries and such like, in which respect the wrong naming, or
otherwise naming of them then is due, carieth not onely an alteration of
sence but a necessitie of intendment figuratiuely, as when we cal loue by
the name of _Venus_, fleshly lust by the name of _Cupid_, bicause they
were supposed by the auncient poets to be authors and kindlers of loue and
lust: _Vulcane_ for fire, _Ceres_ for bread: _Bacchus_ for wine by the
same reason; also if one should say to a skilfull craftesman knowen for a
glutton or common drunkard, that had spent all his goods on riot and
delicate fare.
  _Thy hands they made thee rich, thy pallat made thee poore._

It is ment, his trauaile and arte made him wealthie, his riotous life had
made him a beggar: and as one that boasted of his housekeeping, said that
neuer a yeare passed ouer his head, that he drank not in his house euery
moneth foure tonnes of beere, & one hogshead of wine, meaning not the
caskes, or vessels, but that quantitie which they conteyned. These and
such other speaches, where ye take the name of the Author for the thing it
selfe, or the thing conteining, for that which is contained, & in many
other cases do as it were wromg name the person or the thing. So
neuerthelesse as it may be vnderstood, it is by the figure _metonymia_, or
misnamer.

  [Sidentote: _Antonomasia_, or the Surnamer.]
And if this manner of naming of persons or things be not by way of
misnaming as before, but by a conuenient difference, and such as is true
or esteemed and likely to be true, it is then called not _metonimia_, but
_antonomasia_, or the Surnamer, (not the misnamer, which might extend to
any other thing aswell as to a person) as he that would say: not king
Philip of Spaine, but the Westerne king, because his dominion lieth the
furdest West of any Christen prince: and the French king the great
_Vallois_, because so is the name of his house, or the Queene of England,
_The maiden Queene_, for that is her hiest peculiar among all the Queenes
of the world, or as we said in one of our _Partheniades_, the _Bryton
mayde_, because she is the most great and famous mayden of all Brittayne:
thus,
  _But in chaste stile, am borne as I weene
  To blazon foorth the Brytton mayden Queene._

So did our forefathers call _Henry the first, Beauclerke, Edmund Ironside,
Richard coeur de lion: Edward the Confessor_, and we of her Maiestie
_Elisabeth_ the peasible.

  [Sidenote: _Onomatopeia_, or the New namer.]
Then also is the sence figuratiue when we deuise a new name to any thing
consonant, as neere as we can to the nature thereof, as to say: _flashing
of lightning, clashing of blades, clinking of fetters, chinking of money_:
& as the poet _Virgil_ said of the sounding a trumpet, _ta-ra-tant,
taratantara_, or as we giue special names to the voices of dombe beasts,
as to say, a horse neigheth, a lyon brayes, a swine grunts, a hen
cackleth, a dogge howles, and a hundreth mo such new names as any man hath
libertie to deuise, so it be fittie for the thing which he couets to
expresse.

  [Sidenote: _Epitheton_, or the Quallifier,
   otherwise the figure of Attribution.]
Your _Epitheton_ or _qualifier_, whereof we spake before, placing him
among the figures _auricular_, now because he serues also to alter and
enforce the sence, we will say somewhat more of him in this place, and do
conclude that he must be apt and proper for the thing he is added vnto, &
not disagreable or repugnant, as one that said: _darke disdaine_ and
_miserable pride_, very absurdly, for disdaine or disdained things cannot
be said darke, but rather bright and cleere, because they be beholden and
much looked vpon, and pride is rather enuied then pitied or miserable,
vnlessse it be in Christian charitie, which helpeth not the terme in this
case. Some of our vulgar writers take great pleasure in giuing Epithets
and do it almost to euery word which may receiue them, and should not be
so, vea though they were neuer so propre and apt, for sometimes wordes
suffered to go single, do giue greater sence and grace than words
quallified by attributions do.

  [Sidenote: _Metalepsis_, or the Farreset.]
But the sence is much altered & the hearers conceit strangly entangled by
the figure _Metalepsis_, which I call the farset, as when we had rather
fetch a word a great way off then to vse one nerer hand to expresse the
matter aswel & plainer. And it seemeth the deuiser of this figure had a
desire to please women rather then men: for we vse to say by manner of
Prouerbe: things farreset and deare bought are good for Ladies: so in this
manner of speach we vfe it, leaping ouer the heads of a great many words,
we take one that is furdest off, to vtter our matter by: as _Medea_
cursing hir first acquaintance with prince _Iason_, who had very vnkindly
forsaken her, said:
  _Woe worth the mountaine that the maste bare
  Which was the first causer of all my care._

Where she might aswell haue said, woe worth our first meeting, or woe
worth the time that _Iason_ arriued with his ship at my fathers cittie in
_Colchos_, when he tooke me away with him, & not so farre off as to curse
the mountaine that bare the pinetree, that made the mast, that bare the
sailes, that the ship sailed with, which caried her away. A pleasant
Gentleman came into a Ladies nursery, and saw her for her owne pleasure
rocking of her young child in the cradle, and sayd to her:
  _I speake it Madame without any mocke,
  Many a such cradell may I see you rocke._

Gods passion hourson said she, would thou haue me beare mo children yet,
no _Madame_ quoth the Gentleman, but I would haue you liue long, that ye
might the better pleasure your friends, for his meaning was that as euery
cradle signified a new borne childe, & euery child the leasure of one
yeares birth, & many yeares a long life: so by wishing her to rocke many
cradels of her owne, he wished her long life. _Virgill_ said:
  _Post multas mea regna videns murabor aristas._

Thus in English.
  _After many a stubble shall I come
  And wonder at the sight of my kingdome._

By stubble the Poet vnderftoode yeares, for haruests come but once euery
yeare, at least wayes with vs in Europe. Thus is spoken by the figure of
farre-set _Metalepsis_.

  [Sidenote: _Emphasis_, or the Renforcer.]
And one notable meane to affect the minde, is to inforce the sence of any
thing by a word of more than ordinary efficacie, and neuertheles is not
apparant, but as it were, secretly implyed, as he that laid thus of a
faire Lady.
  _O rare beautie, ô grace, and curtesie_.

And by a very euill man thus.
  _O sinne it selfe, not wretch, but wretchednes_.

Whereas if he had said thus, _O gratious, courteous and beautifull woman_:
and, _O sinfull and wretched man_, it had bene all to one effect, yet not
with such force and efficacie to speake by the denominatiue, as by the
thing it selfe.

  [Sidenote: _Liptote_, or the Moderatour.]
As by the former figure we vse to enforce our sence, so by another we
temper our sence with wordes of such moderation, as in appearaunce it
abateth it but not in deede, and is by the figure _Liptote_, which
therefore I call the _Moderator_, and becomes us many times better to
speake in that sort quallified, than if we spake it by more forcible
termes, and neuertheles  is equipolent in sence, thus.
  _I know you hate me not, nor wish me any ill._

Meaning in deede that he loued him very well and dearely, and yet the
words doe not expresse so much, though they purport so much. Or if you
would say; I am not ignorant, for I know well inough. Such a man is no
foole, meaning in deede that he is a very wise man.

  [Sidenote: _Paradiastole_, or the Curry-fauell.]
But if such moderation of words tend to flattery, or soothing, or
excusing, it is by the figure _Paradiastole_, which therfore nothing
improperly we call the _Curry-fauell_, as when we make the best of a bad
thing, or turne a signification to the more plausible sence: as, to call
an vnthrift, a liberall Gentleman: the foolish-hardy, valiant or
couragious: the niggard, thriftie: a great riot, or outrage, an youthfull
pranke, and such like termes: moderating and abating the force of the
matter by craft, and for a pleasing purpose, as appeareth by these verses
of ours, teaching in what cases it may commendably be vsed by Courtiers.

  [Sidenote: _Meiosis_, or the Disabler.]
But if you diminish and abbase a thing by way of spight or malice, as it
were to depraue it, such speach is by the figure _Meiosis_ or the
_disabler_ spoken of hereafter in the place of _sententious_ figures.
  _A great mountaine as bigge as a molehill,
  A heauy burthen perdy, as a pound of fethers._

  [Sidenote: _Tapinosis_, or the Abbaser.]
But if ye abase your thing or matter by ignorance or errour in the choise
of your word, then is it by vicious maner of speach called _Tapinosis_,
whereof ye shall haue examples in the chapter of vices hereafter folowing.

  [Sidenote: _Synecdoche_, or the Figure of quick conceite.]
Then againe if we vse such a word (as many times we doe) by which we driue
the hearer to conceiue more or lesse or beyond or otherwise then the
letter expresseth, and it be not by vertue of the former figures
_Metaphore_ and _Abase_ and the rest, the Greeks then call it
_Synecdoche_, the Latines _sub intellectio_ or vnderftanding, for by part
we are enforced to vnderstand the whole, by the whole part, by many things
one thing, by one, many, by a thing precedent, a thing consequent, and
generally one thing out of another by maner of contrariety to the word
which is spoken, _aliudex alio_, which because it seemeth to aske a good,
quick, and pregnant capacitie, and is not for an ordinarie or dull wit so
to do, I chose to call him the figure not onely of conceit after the
Greeke originall, but also of quick conceite. As for example we will giue
none because we will speake of him againe in another place, where he is
ranged among the figures _sensable_ apperteining to clauses.




  _CHAP. XVIII._

_Of sensable figures altering and affecting the mynde by alteration of
sense or intendements in whole clauses or speaches._


As by the last remembred figures the sence of single wordes is altered, so
by these that follow is that of whole and entire speach: and first by the
Courtly figure _Allegoria_, which is when we speake one thing and thinke
another, and that our wordes and our meanings meete not. The vse of this
figure is so large, and his vertue of so great efficacie as it is supposed
no man can pleasantly vtter and perswade without it, but in effect is sure
neuer or very seldome to thriue and prosper in the world, that cannot
skilfully put in vse, in somuch as not onely euery common Courtier, but
also the grauest Counsellour, yea and the most noble and wisest Prince of
them all are many times enforced to vse it, by example (say they) of the
great Emperour who had it vsually in his mouth to say, _Qui nescit
dissimulare nescit regnare_.  Of this figure therefore which for his
duplicitie we call the figure of [_false semblant or dissimulation_] we
will speake first as of the chief ringleader and captaine of all other
figures, either in the Poeticall or oratorie science.

  [Sidenote: _Allegoria_, or the Figure of false semblant.]
And ye shall know that we may dissemble, I meane speake otherwise then we
thinke, in earnest as well as in sport, vnder couert and darke termes, and
in learned and apparant speaches, in short sentences, and by long ambage
and circumstance of wordes, and finally aswell when we lye as when we tell
truth. To be short euery speach wrested from his owne naturall
signification to another not altogether so naturall is a kinde of
dissimulation, because the wordes beare contrary countenaunce to
th'intent. But properly & in his principall vertue _Allegoria_ is when we
do speake in sence translatiue and wrested from the owne signification,
neuerthelesse applied to another not altogether contrary, but hauing much
coueniencie with it as before we said of the metaphore: as for example if
we should call the common wealth, a shippe; the Prince a Pilot, the
Counsellours mariners, the stormes warres, the calme and [_hauen_] peace,
this is spoken all in allegorie: and because such inuersion of sence in
one single worde is by the figure _Metaphore_, of whom we spake before,
and this manner of inuersion extending to whole and large speaches, it
maketh the figure _allegorie_ to be called a long and perpetuall
Metaphore. A noble man after a whole yeares absence from his ladie, sent
to know how she did, and whether she remayned affected toward him as she
was when he left her.
  _Louely Lady I long full sore to heare,
  If ye remaine the same, I left you last yeare._

To whom she answered in _allegorie_ other two verses:
  _My louing Lorde I will well that ye wist,
  The thred is spon, that neuer shall untwist._

Meaning, that her loue was so stedfast and constant toward him as no time
or occasion could alter it. _Virgill_ in his shepeherdly poemes called
_Eglogues_ vsed as rusticall but fit _allegorie_ for the purpose thus:
  _Claudite iam riuos pueri sat prata biberunt._

Which I English thus:
  _Stop up your streames (my lads) the medes haue drunk ther fill._

As much to say, leaue of now, yee haue talked of the matter inough: for
the shepheards guise in many places is by opening certaine sluces to water
their pastures, so as when they are wet inough they shut them againe: this
application is full Allegoricke.

Ye haue another manner of Allegorie not full, but mixt, as he that wrate
thus:
  _The cloudes of care haue coured all my coste,
  The stormes of strife, do threaten to appeare:
  The waues of woe, wherein my ship is toste.
  Haue broke the banks, where lay my life so deere.
  Chippes of ill chance, are fallen amidst my choise,
  To marre the minde that ment for to reioyce._

I call him not a full Allegorie, but mixt, bicause he discouers withall
what the _cloud, storme, waue_, and the rest are, which in a full
allegorie should not be discouered, but left at large to the readers
iudgement and coniecture.

  [Sidenote: _Enigma_, or the Riddle.]
We dissemble againe vnder couert and darkes speaches, when we speake by
way of riddle (_Enigma_) of which the sence can hardly be picked out, but
by the parties owne assoile, as he that said:
  _It is my mother well I wot,
  And yet the daughter that I begot._

Meaning it by the ise which is made of frozen water, the same
being molten by the sunne or fire, makes water againe.

My mother had an old woman in her nurserie, who in the winter nights would
put vs forth many prety ridles, whereof this is one:
  _I haue a thing and rough it is
  And in the midst a hole I wis:
  There came a yong man with his ginne,
  And he put it a handfull in_.

The good old Gentlewoman would tell vs that were children how it was meant
by a furd glooue. Some other naughtie body would peraduenture haue
construed it not halfe so mannerly. The riddle is pretie but that it
holdes too much of the _Cachemphaton_ or foule speach and may be drawen to
a reprobate sence.

  [Sidenote: _Parimia_, or Prouerb.]
We dissemble after a sort, when we speake by comon prouerbs, or, as we vse
to call them, old said sawes, as thus:
  _As the olde cocke crowes so doeth the chick:
  A bad Cooke that cannot his owne fingers lick._

Meaning by the first, that the yong learne by the olde, either to be good
or euill in their behauiors: by the second, that he is not to be counted a
wise man, who being in authority, and hauing the administration of many
good and great things, will not serue his owne turne and his friends
whilest he may, & many such prouerbiall speeches: as _Totnesse is turned
French_, for a strange alteration: _Skarborow warning_, for a sodaine
commandement, allowing no respect or delay to bethinke a man of his
busines. Note neuerthelesse a diuersitie, for the two last examples be
prouerbs, the two first prouebiall speeches.

  [Sidenote: _Ironia_, or the Drie mock.]
Ye doe likewise dissemble, when ye speake in derision or mokerie, & that
may be many waies: as sometime in sport, sometime in earnest, and priuily,
and apertly, and pleasantly, and bitterly: but first by the figure
_Ironia_, which we call the _drye mock_: as he that said to a bragging
Ruffian, that threatened he would kill and slay, no doubt you are a good
man of your hands: or, as it was said by a French king, to one that praide
his reward, shewing how he had bene cut in the face at a certain battell
fought in his seruice: ye may see, quoth the king, what it is to runne
away & looke backwards. And as _Alphonso_ king of Naples, said to one that
profered to take his ring when he washt before dinner, this wil serue
another well: meaning that the Gentlemen had another time taken them, &
becaufe the king forgot to aske for them, neuer restored his ring againe.

  [Sidenote: _Sarcasmus_, or the Bitter taunt.]
Or when we deride with a certaine seueritie, we may call it the bitter
taunt [_Sarcasmus_] as _Charles_ the fift Emperour aunswered the Duke of
Arskot, beseeching him recompence of seruice done at the siege of Renty,
against _Henry_ the French king, where the Duke was taken prisoner, and
afterward escaped clad like a Colliar. Thou wert taken, quoth the
Emperour, like a coward, and scapedst like a Colliar, wherefore get thee
home and liue vpon thine owne. Or as king _Henry_ the eight said to one of
his priuy chamber, who sued for Sir _Anthony Rowse_, knight of Norfolke,
that his Maiestie would be good vnto him, for that he was an ill begger.
Quoth the king againe, if he be ashamed to beg, we are ashamed to geue. Or
as _Charles_ the fift Emperour, hauing taken in battaile _Iohn Frederike_
Duke of Saxon, with the Lantgraue of Hessen and others: this Duke being a
man of monstrous bignesse and corpulence, after the Emperor had seene the
prisoners, said to those that were about him, I haue gone a hunting many
times, yet neuer tooke I such a swine before.

  [Sidenote: _Asteismus_ or the Merry scoffe, otherwise the ciuill iest.]
Or when we speake by manner of pleasantery, or mery skoffe, that is by a
kind of mock, whereof the sence is farreset, & without any gall or
offence. The Greekes call it [_Asteismus_] we may terme it the ciuill
iest, because it is a mirth very full of ciuilitie, and such as the most
ciuill men doo vse. As _Cato_ said to one that had geuen him a good knock
on the head with a long peece of timber he bare on his shoulder, and then
bad him beware: what (quoth _Cato_) wilt thou strike me againe? for ye
know, a warning should be geuen before a man haue receiued harme, and not
after. And as king _Edward_ the sixt, being of young yeres, but olde in
wit, saide to one of his priuie chamber, who sued for a pardon for one
that was condemned for a robberie, telling the king that if was but a
small trifle, not past sixteene shillings matter which he had taken: quoth
the king againe, but I warrant you the fellow was sorrie it had not bene
sixteene pound: meaning how the malefactors intent was as euill in that
trifle, as if it had bene a greater summe of money. In these examples if
ye marke there is no griefe or offence ministred as in those other before,
and yet are very wittie, and spoken in plaine derision.

The Emperor _Charles_ the fift was a man of very few words, and delighted
little in talke. His brother king _Ferdinando_ being a man of more
pleasant discourse, sitting at the table with him, said, I pray your
Maiestie be not so silent, but let vs talke a little. What neede that
brother, quoth the Emperor, since you haue words enough for vs both.

  [Sidenote: _Micterismus_, or the Fleering frumpe.]
Or when we giue a mocke with a scornefull countenance as in some smiling
sort looking aside or by drawing the lippe awry, or shrinking vp the nose;
the Greeks called it _Micterismus_, we may terme it a fleering frumpe, as
he that said to one whose wordes he beleued not, no doubt Sir of that.
This fleering frumpe is one of the Courtly graces of _hicke the scorner._

  [Sidenote: _Antiphrasis_, or the Broad floute.]
Or when we deride by plaine and flat contradiction, as he that saw a
dwarfe go in the streete said to his companion that walked with him: See
yonder gyant: and to a Negro or woman blackemoore, in good sooth ye are a
faire one, we may call it the broad floute.

  [Sidenote: _Charientismus_, or the Priuy nippe.]
Or when ye giue a mocke vnder smooth and lowly wordes as he that hard one
call him all to nought and say, thou art sure to be hanged ere thou dye:
quoth th'other very soberly, Sir I know your maistership speakes but in
iest, the Greeks call it (_charientismus_) we may call it the priuy nippe,
or a myld and appealing mockery: all these be souldiers to the figure
_allegoria_ and fight vnder the banner of dissimulation.

  [Sidenote: _Hiperbole_, or the Ouer reacher,
        otherwise called the loud lyer.]
Neuerthelesse ye haue yet two or three other figures that smatch a spice
of the same _false semblant_, but in another sort and maner of phrase,
whereof one is when we speake in the superlatiue and beyond the limites of
credit, that is by the figure which the Greeks call _Hiperbole_, Latines
_Demenitiens_ or the lying figure. I for his immoderate excesse cal him
the ouer reacher right with his originall or [_lowd lyar_] & me thinks not
amisse: now when I speake that which neither I my selfe thinke to be true,
nor would haue any other body beleeue, it must needs be a great
dissimulation, because I meane nothing lesse then that I speake, and this
maner of speech is vsed, when either we would greatly aduaunce or greatly
abase the reputation of any thing or person, and must be vsed very
discreetly, or els it will seeme odious, for although a prayse or other
report may be allowed beyond credit, it may not be beyond all measure,
specially in the proseman, as he that was a speaker in a Parliament of
king _Henry_ the eights raigne, in his Oration which ye know is of
ordinary to be made before the Prince at the first assembly of both
houses, ould seeme to prayse his Maiestie thus. What should I go about to
recite your Maiesties innumerable vertues, euen as much as if I tooke vpon
me to number the stares of the skie, or to tell the sands of the sea. This
_Hyperbole_ was both _ultra fidem_ and also _ultra modum_, and therefore
of a graue and wise Counsellour made the speaker to be accompted a grosse
flattering foole: peraduenture if he had vsed it thus, it had bene better
and neuerthelesse a lye too, but a more moderate lye and no lesse to the
purpose of the kings commendation, thus. I am not able with any wordes
sufficiently to expresse your Maiesties regall vertues, your kingly
merites also towardes vs your people and realme are so exceeding many, as
your prayses therefore are infinite, your honour aud renowne euerlasting:
And yet all this if we shall measure it by the rule of exact veritie, is
but an vntruth, yet a more cleanely commendation then was maister
Speakers. Neuerthelesse as I said before if we fall a praysing, specially
of our mistresses vertue, bewtie, or other good parts, we be allowed now
and then to ouer-reach a little by way of comparison as he that said thus
in prayse of his Lady.
  _Giue place ye louers here before,
  That spent your boasts and braggs in vaine:
  My Ladies bewtie passeth more,
  The best of your I dare well fayne:
  Then doth the sunne the candle light,
  Or brightest day the darkest night._

And as a certaine noble Gentlewoman lamenting at the vnkindnesse of her
louer said very pretily in this figure.
  _But since it will no better be,
  My teares shall neuer blin:
  To moist the earth in such degree,
  That I may drowne therein:
  That by my death all men may say,
  Lo weemen are as true as they._

  [Sidenote: _Periphrasis_, or the Figure of ambage.]
Then haue ye the figure _Periphrasis_, holding somewhat of the disembler,
by reason of a secret intent not appearing by the words, as when we go
about the bush, and will not in one or a few words expresse that thing
which we desire to haue knowen, but do chose rather to do it by many
words, as we our selues wrote of our Soueraigne Lady thus:
  _Whom Princes serue, and Realmes obay,
  And greatest of Bryton kings begot:
  She came abroade euen yesterday,
  When such as saw her, knew her not._

And the rest that followeth, meaning her Maiesties person, which we would
seeme to hide leauing her name vnspoken to the intent the reader should
gesse at it: neuerthelesse vpon the matter did so manifestly disclose it,
as any simple iudgement might easily perceiue by whom it was ment, that is
by Lady _Elizabeth, Queene of England and daughter to king Henry the
eight_, and therein resteth the dissimulation. It is one of the gallantest
figures among the poetes so it be vsed discretely and in his right kinde,
but many of these makers that be not halfe their craftes maisters, do very
often abuse it and also many waies. For if the thing or person they go
about to describe by circumstance, be by the writers improuidence
otherwise bewrayed, it looseth the grace of a figure, as he that said:
  _The tenth of March when Aries receiued,
  Dan Phoebus raies into his horned hed._

Intending to describe the spring of the yeare, which euery man knoweth of
himselfe, hearing the day of March named: the verses be very good the
figure nought worth, if it were meant in Periphrase for the matter, that
is the season of the yeare which should haue bene couertly disclosed by
ambage, was by and by blabbed out by naming the day of the moneth, & so
the purpose of the figure disapointed, peraduenture it had bin better to
haue said thus:
  _The month and date when Aries receiud,
  Dan Phoebus raies into his horned head._

For now there remaineth for the Reader somewhat to studie and gesse vpon,
and yet the spring time to the learned iudgement sufficiently expressed.

The Noble Earle of Surrey wrote thus:
  _In winters iust returne, when Boreas gan his raigne,
  And euery tree vnclothed him fast as nature taught them plaine._

I would faine learne of some good maker, whether the Earle spake this in
figure of _Periphrase_ or not, for mine owne opinion I thinke that if he
ment to describe the winter season, he would not haue disclosed it so
broadly, as to say winter at the first worde, for that had bene against
the rules of arte, and without any good iudgement: which in so learned &
excellent a personage we ought not to suspect, we say therefore that for
winter it is no _Periphrase_ but language at large: we say for all that,
hauing regard to the second verse that followeth it is a _Periphrase_,
seeming that thereby he intended to shew in what part of the winter his
loues gaue him anguish, that is in the time which we call the fall of the
leafe, which begins in the moneth of October, and stands very well with
the figure to be vttered in that sort notwithstanding winter be named
before, for winter hath many parts: such namely as do not shake of the
leafe, nor vncloth the trees as here is mentioned: thus may ye iudge as I
do, that this noble Erle wrate excellently well and to purpose. Moreouer,
when a maker will seeme to vse circumlocution to set forth any thing
pleasantly and figuratiuely, yet no lesse plaine to a ripe reader, then if
it were named expresly, and when all is done, no man can perceyue it to be
the thing intended. This is a foule ouersight in any writer as did a good
fellow, who weening to shew his cunning, would needs by periphrase
expresse the realme of Scotland in no lesse then eight verses, and when he
had said all, no man could imagine it to be spoken of Scotland: and did
besides many other faults in his verse, so deadly belie the matter by his
description, as it would pitie any good maker to heare it.

  [Sidenote: _Synecdoche_, or the Figure of quick conceite.]
Now for the shutting vp of this Chapter, will I remember you farther of
that manner of speech which the Greekes call _Synecdoche_, and we the
figure of [_quicke conceite_] who for the reasons before alleged, may be
put under the speeches _allegoricall_, because of the darkenes and
duplicitie of his sence: as when one would tell me how the French king was
ouerthrowen at Saint Quintans. I am enforced to think that it was not the
king himselfe in person, but the Constable of Fraunce with the French
kings power. Or if one would say, the towne of Andwerpe were famished, it
is not so to be taken, but of the people of the towne of Andwerp, and this
conceit being drawen aside, and (as it were) from one thing to another, it
encombers the minde with a certaine imagination what it may be that is
meant, and not expressed: as he that said to a young gentlewoman, who was
in her chamber making her selfe vnready. Mistresse will ye geue me leaue
to vnlace your peticote, meaning (perchance) the other thing that might
follow such vnlacing. In the olde time, whosoeuer was allowed to vndoe his
Ladies girdle, he might lie with her all night: wherfore the taking of a
womans maydenhead away, was said to vndoo her girdle. _Virgineam dissoluit
zonan_, saith the Poet, conceiuing out of a thing precedent, a thing
subsequent. This may suffice for the knowledge of this figure [_quicke
conceit._]




  _CHAP. XIX._

_Of Figures sententious, otherwise called Rhetoricall_.


Now if our presupposall be true that the Poet is of all other the most
auncient Orator, as he that by good & pleasant perswasions first reduced
the wilde and beastly people into publicke societies and ciuilitie of
life, insinuating vnto them, vnder fictions with sweete and coloured
speeches, many wholesome lessons and doctrines, then no doubt there is
nothing so fitte for him, as to be furnished with all the figures that be
_Rhetoricall_, and such as do most beautifie language with eloquence &
sententiousnes. Therefore since we haue already allowed to our maker his
_auricular_ figures, and also his _sensable_, by which all the words and
clauses of his meeters are made as well tunable to the eare, as stirring
to the minde, we are now by order to bestow vpon him those other figures
which may execute both offices, and all at once to beautifie and geue
sence and sententiousnes to the whole language at large. So as if we
should intreate our maker to play also the Orator, and whether it be to
pleade, or to praise, or to aduise, that in all three cases he may vtter,
and also perswade both copiously and vehemently.

And your figures rhethoricall, besides their remembered ordinarie vertues,
that is, sententiousnes, & copious amplification, or enlargement of
language, doe also conteine a certaine sweet and melodious manner of
speech, in which respect, they may, after a sort, be said _auricular_:
because the eare is no lesse rauished with their currant tune, than the
mind is with their sententiousnes. For the eare is properly but an
instrument of conueyance for the minde, to apprehend the sence by the
sound. And our speech is made melodious or harmonicall, not onely by
strayned tunes, as those of _Musick_, but also by choise of smoothe words:
and thus, or thus, marshalling them in their comeliest construction and
order, and aswell by sometimes sparing, sometimes spending them more or
lesse liberally, and carrying or transporting of them farther off or
neerer, setting them with sundry relations, and variable formes, in the
ministery and vse of words, doe breede no little alteration in man. For to
say truely, what els is man but his minde? which, whosoeuer haue skil to
compasse, and make yeelding and flexible, what may not he commaund the
body to perfourme? He therefore that hath vanquished the minde of man,
hath made the greatest and most glorious conquest. But the minde is not
assailable vnlesse it be by sensible approches, whereof the audible is of
greatest force for instruction or discipline: the visible, for
apprehension of exterior knowledges as the Philosopher saith. Therefore
the well tuning of your words and clauses to the delight of the eare,
maketh your information no lesse plausible to the minde than to the eare:
no though you filled them with neuer so much sence and sententiousnes.
Then also must the whole tale (if it tende to perswasion) beare his iust
and reasonable measure, being rather with the largest, than with the
scarcest. For like as one or two drops of water perce not the flint stone,
but many and often droppings doo: so cannot a few words (be they neuer so
pithie or sententious) in all cases and to all manner of mindes, make so
deepe an impression, as a more multitude of words to the purpose
discreetely, and without superfluitie vttered: the minde being no lesse
vanquished with large loade of speech, than the limmes are with heauie
burden. Sweetenes of speech, sentence and amplification, are therefore
necessarie to an excellent Orator and Poet, ne may in no wise be spared
from any of them.

And first of all others your figure that worketh by iteration or
repetition of one word or clause doth much alter and affect the eare and
also the mynde of the hearer, and therefore is counted a very braue figure
both with the Poets and rhetoriciens, and this repetition may be in seuen
sortes.

  [Sidenote: _Anaphora_, or the Figure of Report.]
Repetition in the first degree we call the figure of _Report_ according to
the Greeke originall, and is when we make one word begin, and as they are
wont to say, lead the daunce to many verses in sute, as thus.
  _To thinke on death it is a miserie
  To thinke on life it is a vanitie:
  To thinke on the world verily it is,
  To thinke that heare man hath no perfit blisse_.

And this written by Sir _Walter Raleigh_ of his greatest mistresse iin
most excellent verses.
  _In vayne mine eyes in vaine you wast your teares,
  In vayne my sighs the smokes of my despaires:
  In vayne you search th'earth and heauens aboue,
  In vayne ye seeke, for fortune keeps my loue._

Or as the buffon in our enterlude called _Lustie London_ said very
knauishly and like himselfe.
  _Many a faire lasse in London towne,
  Many a bawdie basket borne up and downe:
  Many a broker in a thridbare gowne.
  Many a bankrowte scarce worth a crowne.
      In London_.

  [Sidenote: _Antistrophe_, or the Counter turne.]
Ye haue another sort of repetition quite contrary to the former when ye
make one word finish many verses in sute, and that which is harder, to
finish many clauses in the middest of your verses or dittie (for to make
them finish the verse in our vulgar it should hinder the rime) and because
I do finde few of our English makers vse this figure, I haue set you down
two litle ditties which our selues in our yonger yeares played vpon the
_Antistrophe_, for so is the figures name in Greeke: one vpon the mutable
loue of a Lady, another vpon the meritorious loue of Christ our Sauiour,
thus.
  _Her lowly lookes, that gaue life to my loue,
  With spitefull speach, curstnesse and crueltie:
  She kild my loue, let her rigour remoue,
  Her cherefull lights and speaches of pitie
  Reuiue my loue: anone with great disdaine,
  She shunnes my loue, and after by a traine
  She seekes my loue, and faith she loues me most,
  But seing her loue, so lightly wonne and lost:
  I longd not for her loue, for well I thought,
  Firme is the loue, if it be as it ought._

The second vpon the merites of Christes passion toward mankind, thus,
  _Our Christ the sonne of God, chief authour of all good,
  Was he by his allmight, that first created man:
  And with the costly price, of his most precious bloud,
  He that redeemed man: and by his instance wan
  Grace in the sight of God, his onely father deare,
  And reconciled man: and to make man his peere
  Made himselfe very man: brief to conclude the case,
  This Christ both God and man, he all and onely is:
  The man brings man to God and to all heauens blisse._

The Greekes call this figure _Antistrophe_, the Latines, _conuersio_, I
following the originall call him the _counterturne_, because he turnes
counter in the middest of euery meetre.

  [Sidenote: _Symploche_, or the figure of replie.]
Take me the two former figures and put them into one, and it is that which
the Greekes call _symploche_, the Latines _complexio_, or _conduplicatio_,
and is a maner of repetion, when one and the selfe word doth begin and end
many verses in sute & so wrappes vp both the former figures in one, as he
that sportingly complained of his vntrustie mistresse, thus.
  _Who made me shent for her loues sake?
      Myne owne mistresse.
  Who would not seeme my part to take,
      Myne owne mistresse.

  What made me first so well content
      Her curtesie.
  What makes me now so sore repent
      Her crueltie._

The Greekes name this figure _Symploche_, the Latins _Complexio_,
perchaunce for that he seemes to hold in and to wrap vp the verses by
reduplication, so as nothing can fall out. I had rather call him the
figure of replie.

  [Sidenote: _Anadiplosis_, or the Redouble.]
Ye haue another sort of repetition when with the worde by which you finish
your verse, ye beginne the next verse with the same, as thus:
  _Comforte it is for man to haue a wife,
  Wife chast, and wise, and lowly all her life._

Or thus:
  _Your beutie was the cause of my first loue,
  Looue while I liue, that I may sore repent._

The Greeks call this figure _Anadiplosis_, I call him the _Redouble_ as
the originall beares.

  [Sidenote: _Epanalepsis_, or the Eccho sound,
             otherwise, the slow return.]
Ye haue an other sorte of repetition, when ye make one worde both beginne
and end your verse, which therefore I call the slow retourne, otherwise
the Eccho sound, as thus:
  _Much must he be beloued, that loueth much,
  Feare many must he needs, whom many feare._

Vnlesse I called him the _eccho sound_, I could not tell what name to giue
him, vnlesse it were the slow returne.

  [Sidenote: _Epizeuxis_, or the Vnderlay, or Coocko-spel.]
Ye haue another sort of repetition when in one verse or clause of a verse,
ye iterate one word without any intermission, as thus:
  _It was Maryne, Maryne that wrought mine woe._

And this bemoaning the departure of a deere friend.
  _The chiefest staffe of mine assured stay,
  With no small griefe, is gon, is gon away._

And that of Sir _Walter Raleighs_ very sweet.
  _With wisdomes eyes had but blind fortune seene,
  Than had my looue, my looue for euer beene._

The Greeks call him _Epizeuxis_, the Latines _Subiunctio_, we may call him
the _vnderlay_, me thinks if we regard his manner of iteration, & would
depart from the originall, we might very properly, in our vulgar and for
pleasure call him the _cuckowspell_, for right as the cuckow repeats his
lay, which is but one manner of note, and doth not insert any other tune
betwixt, and sometimes for hast stammers out two or three of them one
immediatly after another, as _cuck, cuck, cuckow_, so doth the figure
_Epizeuxis_ the former verses, _Maryne, Maryne_, without any intermission
at all.

  [Sidenote: _Ploche_, or the Doubler.]
Yet haue ye one sorte of repetition, which we call the _doubler_, and is
as the next before, a speedie iteration of one word, but with some little
intermission by inserting one or two words betweene, as in a most
excellent dittie written by Sir _Walter Raleigh_ these two closing verses:
  _Yet when I sawe my selfe to you was true,
  I loued my selfe, bycause my selfe loued you._

And this spoken in common Prouerbe.
  _An ape wilbe an ape, by kinde as they say,
  Though that ye clad him all in purple array._

Or as we once sported vpon a fellowes name who was called _Woodcock_, and
for an ill part he had plaid entreated fauour by his friend.
  _I praie you intreate no more for the man,
  Woodcocke wilbe a woodcocke do what ye can._

Now also be there many other sortes of repetition if a man would vse them,
but are nothing commendable, and therefore are not obserued in good
poesie, as a vulgar rimer who doubled one word in the end of euery verse,
thus:
  _adieu, adieu
  my face, my face_.

And an other that did the like in the beginning of his verse, thus:
  _To loue him and loue him, as sinners should doo._

These repetitions be not figuratiue but phantastical, for a figure is euer
vsed to a purpose, either of beautie or of efficacie: and these last
recited be to no purpose, for neither can ye say that it vrges affection,
nor that it beautifieth or enforceth the sence, nor hath any other
subtilitie in it, and therfore is a very foolish impertinency of speech,
and not a figure.

  [Sidenote: _Prosonomasia_, or the Nicknamer.]
Ye haue a figure by which ye play with a couple of words or names much
resembling, and because the one seemes to answere th'other by manner of
illusion, and doth, as it were, nick him, I call him the _Nicknamer_. If
any other man can geue him a fitter English name, I will not be angrie,
but I am sure mine is very neere the origninall sense of the
_Prosonomasia_, and is rather a by-name geuen in sport, than a surname
geuen of any earnest purpose. As, _Tiberius_ the Emperor, because he was a
great drinker of wine, they called him by way of derision to his owne name
_Caldius Biberius Mero_, in steade of _Claudius Tiberius Nero_: and so a
iesting frier that wrate against _Erasmus_, called him by resemblance to
his own _Errans mus_, and are mainteined by this figure _Prosonomasia_, or
the Nicknamer. But euery name geuen in iest or by way of a surname, if it
do not resemble the true, is not by this figure, as, the Emperor of
Greece, who was surnamed _Constantinus Cepronimus_, because he beshit the
foont at the time he was christened: and so ye may see the difference
betwixt the figures _Antonomasia_ & _Prosonomatia_. Now when such
resemblance happens betweene words of another nature and not vpon mens
names, yet doeth the Poet or maker finde prety sport to play with them in
his verse, specially the Comicall Poet and the Epigrammatist. Sir _Philip
Sidney_ in a dittie plaide very pretily with these two words, _Loue and
liue_, thus.
  _And all my life I will confesse,
  The lesse I loue, I liue the lesse._

And we in our Enterlude called the woer, plaid with these two words,
lubber and louer, thus, the countrey clowne came & woed a young maide of
the Citie, and being agreeued to come so oft, and not to haue his answere,
said to the old nurse very impatiently.
[Sidenote: Woer.]
  _Iche pray you good mother tell our young dame,
  Whence I am come and what is my name,
  I cannot come a woing euery day._

Quoth the nurse.
[Sidenote: Nurse.]
  _They be lubbers not louers that so use to say._

Or as one replyed to his mistresse charging him with some disloyaltie
towards her.
  _Proue me madame ere ye fall to reproue,
  Meeke mindes should rather excuse than accuse._

Here the words proue and reproue, excuse and accuse, do pleasantly
encounter, and (as it were) mock one another by their much resemblance:
and this is by the figure _Prosonomatia_, as wel as if they were mens
proper names, alluding to each other.

  [Sidenote _Traductio_, or the tranlacer.]
Then haue ye a figure which the Latines call _Traductio_, and I the
tranlacer: which is when ye turne and tranlace a word into many sundry
shapes as the Tailor doth his garment, & after that sort do play with him
in your dittie: as thus,
  _Who liues in loue his life is full of feares,
  To lose his loue, liuelode or libertie
  But liuely sprites that young and recklesse be,
  Thinke that there is no liuing like to theirs._

Or as one who much gloried in his owne wit, whom _Persius_ taxed in a
verse very pithily and pleasantly, thus.
  _Scire tuum nihil est nisi te scire, hoc sciat alter._

Which I haue turned into English, not so briefly, but more at large of
purpose the better to declare the nature of the figure: as thus,
  _Thou weenest thy wit nought worth if other weet it not
  As wel as thou thy selfe, but a thing well I wot,
  Who so in earnest weenes, he doth in mine aduise,
  Shew himselfe witlesse, or more wittie than wise._

Here ye see how in the former rime this word life is tranlaced into liue,
liuing, liuely, liuelode: & in the latter rime this word wit is translated
into weete, weene, wotte, witlesse, witty & wise: which come all from one
originall.

  [Sidenote: _Antipophora_, or Figure of responce.]
Ye haue a figuratiue speach which the Greeks cal _Antipophora_, I name him
the _Responce_, and is when we will seeme to aske a question to th'intent
we will aunswere it our selues, and is a figure of argument and also of
amplification. Of argument, because proponing such matter as our
aduersarie might obiect and then to answere it our selues, we do vnfurnish
and preuent him of such helpe as he would otherwise haue vsed for
himselfe: then because such obiection and answere spend much language it
serues as well to amplifie and enlarge our tale. Thus for example.
  _Wylie worldling come tell me I thee pray,
  Wherein hopest thou, that makes thee so to swell?
  Riches? alack it taries not a day,
  But where fortune the fickle list to dwell:
  In thy children? how hardlie shalt thou finde,
  Them all at once, good and thriftie and kinde:
  Thy wife? o' faire but fraile mettall to trust,
  Seruants? what theeues? what threachours and iniust?
  Honour perchance? it restes in other men:
  Glorie? a smoake: but wherein hopest thou then?
  In Gods iustice? and by what merite tell?
  In his mercy? o' now thou speakest wel,
  But thy lewd life hath lost his loue and grace,
  Daunting all hope to put dispaire in place._

We read that _Crates_ the Philosopher Cinicke in respect of the manifold
discommodities of mans life, held opinion that it was best for man neuer
to haue bene borne or soone after to dye, [_Optimum non nasci vel citò
mori_] of whom certaine verses are left written in Greeke which I haue
Englished, thus.
  _What life is the liefest? the needy is full of woe and awe,
  The wealthie full of brawle and brabbles of the law:
  To be a married man? how much art thou beguild,
  Seeking thy rest by carke, for houshold wife and child:
  To till it is a toyle, to grase some honest gaine,
  But such as gotten is with great hazard and paine:
  The sayler of his shippe, the marchant of his ware,
  The souldier in armes, how full of dread and care?
  A shrewd wife brings thee bate, wiue not and neuer thriue,
  Children a charge, childlesse the greatest lacke aliue:
  Youth witlesse is and fraile, age sicklie and forlorne,
  Then better to dye soone, or neuer to be borne._

_Metrodorus_ the Philosopher _Stoick_ was of a contrary opinion, reuersing
all the former suppositions against _Crates_, thus.
  _What life list ye to lead? in good Citie and towne
  Is wonne both wit and wealth, Court gets vs great renowne,
  Countrey keepes vs in heale, and quietnesse of mynd,
  Where holesome aires and exercise and pretie sports we find:
  Traffick it turnes to gaine, by land and eke by seas,
  The land-borned liues safe, the forriene at his ease:
  Housholder hath his home, the roge romes with delight,
  And makes moe merry meales, then dothe the Lordly wight:
  Wed and thost hast a bed, of solace and of ioy,
  Wed not and haue a bed, of rest without annoy:
  The setled loue is safe, sweete is the loue at large,
  Children they are a store, no children are no charge,
  Lustie and gay is youth, old age honourd and wise:
  Then not to dye or be unborne, is best in myne aduise._

_Edward_ Earle of Oxford a most noble & learned Gentleman made in this
figure of responce an emble of desire otherwise called _Cupide_ which for
his excellencie and wit, I set downe some part of the verses, for example.
  _When wert thou borne desire?
  In pompe and pryme of May,
  By whome sweete boy wert thou begot?
  By good conceit men say,
  Tell me who was they nurse?
  Fresh youth in sugred ioy.
  What was thy meate and dayly foode?
  Sad sighes with great annoy.
  What hast thou then to drinke?
  Vnfayned louers teares.
  What cradle wert thou rocked in?
  In hope deuoyde of feares._

  [Sidenote: _Synteiosis_, or the Crosse copling.]
Ye haue another figure which me thinkes may well be called (not much
sweruing from his originall in sence) the _Crosse-couple_, because it
takes me two contrary words, and tieth them as it were in a paire of
couples, and so makes them agree like good fellowes, as I saw once in
Fraunce a wolfe coupled with a mastiffe, and a foxe with a hounde. Thus it
is.
  _The niggards fault and the unthrifts is all one,
  For neither of them both knoweth how to vse his owne._

Or thus.
  _The couetous miser, of all his goods ill got,
  Aswell wants that he hath, as that he hath not_.

In this figure of the _Crosse-couple_ we wrate for a forlorne louer
complaining of his mistresse crueltie these verses among other.
  _Thus for your sake I daily dye,
  And do but seeme to liue in deede:
  Thus is my blisse but miserie,
  My lucre losse without your meede._

  [Sidenote: Atanaclasis, or the Rebounde.]
Ye haue another figure which by his nature we may call the _Rebound_,
alluding to the tennis ball which being smitten with the racket reboundes
backe againe, and where the last figure before played with two wordes
somewhat like, this playeth with one word written all alike but carrying
diuers sences as thus.
  _The maide that soone married is, soone marred is._

Or thus better because _married_ & _marred_ be different in one letter.
  _To pray for you euer I cannot refuse,
  To pray vpon you I should you much abuse._

Or as we once sported vpon a countrey fellow who came to runne for the
best game, and was by his occupation a dyer and had very bigge swelling
legges.
  _He is but course to runne a course,
  Whose shankes are bigger then his thye:
  Yet is his lucke a little worse,
  That often dyes before he dye.

Where ye see this word _course_, and _dye_, vsed in diuers sences, one
giuing the _Rebounde_ vpon th'other.

  [Sidenote: _Clymax_, or the Marching figure.]
Ye haue a figure which as well by his Greeke and Latine originals, & also
by allusion to the maner of a mans gate or going may be called the
_marching figure_, for after the first steppe all the rest proceeds by
double the space, and so in our speach one word proceedes double to the
first that was spoken, and goeth as it were by strides or paces: it may
aswell be called the _clyming_ figure, for _Clymax_ is as much to say as a
ladder, as in one of our Epitaphes shewing how a very meane man by his
wisedome and good forture came to great estate and dignitie.
  _His vertue made him wise, his wisedome broght him wealth,
  His wealth won many friends, his friends made much supply:
  Of aides in weale and woe in sicknesse and in health,
  Thus came he from a low, to sit in state so hye._

Or as _Ihean de Mehune_ the French Poet.
  _Peace makes plentie, plentie makes pride,
  Pride breeds quarrell, and quarrell brings warre:
  Warre brings spoile, and spoile pouertie,
  Pouertie pacience, and pacience peace.
  So peace brings warre, and warre brings peace._

  [Sidenote: _Antimetauole_, or the Counterchange]
Ye haue a figure which takes a couple of words to play with in a verse,
and by making them to chaunge and shift one into others place they do very
pretily exchange and shift the sence, as thus.
  _We dwell not here to build us boures,
  And halles for pleasure and good cheare:
  But halles we build for us and ours,
  To dwell in then whilst we are here._

Meaning that we dwell not here to build, but we build to dwel, as we liue
not to eate, but eate to liue, or thus.
  _We wish not peace to maintaine cruell warre,
  But we make warre to maintaine us in peace._

Or thus.
  _If Poesie be, as some haue said,
  A speaking picture to the eye:
  Then is a picture not denaid,
  To be a muet Poesie._

Or as the Philosopher _Musonius_ wrote.
  _With pleasure if we worke vnhonestly and ill,
  The pleasure passeth, the bad it bideth still.
  Well if we worke with trauaile and with paines,
  The paine passeth and still the good remaines._

A wittie fellow in Rome wrate vnder the Image of _Caesar_ the Dictator
these two verses in Latine, which because they are spoke by this figure of
_Counterchaunge_ I haue turned into a couple of English verses very well
keeping the grace of the figure.
  _Brutus for casting out of kings, was first of Consuls past,
  Caesar for casting Consuls out, is of our kings the last._

_Cato_ of any Senatour not onely the grauest but also the promptest and
wittiest in any ciuill scoffe, misliking greatly the engrossing of offices
in Rome that one should haue many at once, and a great number goe without
that were as able men, said thus by _Counterchaunge_.
  _It seemes your offices are very litle worth,
  Or very few of you worthy of offices._

Againe:
  _In trifles earnest as any man can bee,
  In earnest matters no such trifler as hee._

  [Sidenote: _Insultatio_, or the Disdainefull.]
Yee haue another figure much like to the _Sarcasimus_, or bitter taunt wee
spake of before: and is when with proud and insolent words, we do vpbraid
a man, or ride him as we terme it: for which cause the Latines also call
it _Insultatio_, I chose to name him the _Reproachfull_ or _scorner_, as
when Queene _Dido_ saw, that for all her great loue and entertainements
bestowed vpon _Æneas_, he would needs depart and follow the _Oracle_ of
his destinies, she brake out in a great rage and said disdainefully.
  _Hye thee, and by the wild waues and the wind,
  Seeke Italie and Realmes for thee to raigne,
  If piteous Gods haue power amidst the mayne,
  On ragged rocks thy penaunce thou maist find._

Or as the poet _Iuuenall_ reproached the couetous Merchant, who for lucres
sake passed on no perill either by land or sea, thus:
  _Goe now and giue thy life unto the winde,
  Trusting unto a piece of bruckle wood,
  Foure inches from thy death or seauen good
  The thickest planke for shipboord that we finde._

  [Sidenote: _Antitheton_, or the renconter]
Ye haue another figure very pleasnt and fit for amplification, which to
answer the Greeke terme, we may call the encounter, but following the
Latine name by reason of his contentious nature, we may call him the
Quarreller, for so be al such persons as delight in taking the contrary
part of whatsoeuer shalbe spoken: when I was scholler in Oxford they
called euery such one _Iohannes ad oppositum._
  _Good haue I doone you, much, harme did I neuer none,
  Ready to ioy your gaines, your losses to bemone,
  Why therefore should you grutch so sore as my welfare:
  Who onely bred your blisse, and neuer causd your care._

Or as it is in these two verses where one speaking of _Cupids_ bowe,
deciphered thereby the nature of sensual loue, whose beginning is more
pleasant than the end, thus allegorically and by _antitheton_.
  _His bent is sweete, his loose is somewhat sowre,
  In ioy begunne, ends oft in wofull bowre._

Maister _Diar_ in this quarelling figure.
  _Nor loue hath now the force, on me which it ones had,
  Your frownes can neither make me mourne, nor fauors make me glad._

_Socrates_ the Greek Oratour was a litle too full of this figure, & so was
the Spaniard that wrote the life of _Marcus Aurelius_ & many of our
moderne writers in vulgar, vse it in excesse & incurre the vice of fond
affectation: otherwise the figure is very commendable.

In this quarrelling figure we once plaid this merry Epigrame of an
importune and shrewd wife, thus:
  _My neighbour hath a wife, not fit to make him thriue,
  But good to kill a quicke man, or make a dead reuiue.
  So shrewd she is for God, so cunning and so wise,
  To counter with her goodman, and all by contraries.
  For when he is merry, she lurcheth and she loures,
  When he is sad she singes, or laughes it out by houres.
  Bid her be still her tongue to talke shall neuer cease,
  When she should speake and please, for spight she holds her peace,
  Bid spare and she will spend, bid spend she spares as fast,
  What first ye would haue done, be sure it shalbe last.
  Say go, she comes, say come, she goes, and leaues him all alone,
  Her husband (as I thinke) calles her ouerthwart Ione._

  [Sidenote: _Erotema_, or the Questioner.]
There is a kinde of figuratiue speach when we aske many questions and
looke for none answere, speaking indeed by interrogation, which we might
as well say by affirmation. This figure I call the _Questioner_ or
inquisitiue, as when _Medea_ excusing her great crueltie vsed in the
murder of her owne children which she had by _Iason_, said:
  _Was I able to make them I praie you tell,
  And am I not able to marre them all aswell?_

Or as another wrote very commendably.
  _Why strive I with the streame, or hoppe against the hill,
  On search that neuer can be found, and loose my labour still?

_Cato_ vnderstanding that the Senate had appointed three citizens of Rome
for embassadours to the king of _Bithinia_, whereof one had the Gowte,
another the Meigrim, the third very little courage or discretion to be
employd in any such businesse, said by way of skoffe in this figure.
  _Must not (trowe ye) this message be well sped,
  That hath neither heart, nor heeles, nor hed?_

And as a great Princesse aunswered her seruitour, who distrusting in her
fauours toward him, praised his owne constancie in these verses.
  _No fortune base or frayle can alter me:_

To whome she in this figure repeting his words:
  _No fortune base or frayle can alter thee.
  And can so blind a witch so conquere mee?_

  [Sidenote: _Ecphonisis_, or the Outcry.]
The figure of exclamation, I call him [_the outcrie_] because it vtters
our minde by all such words as do shew any extreme passion, whether it be
by way of exclamation or crying out, admiration or wondering, imprecation
or cursing, obtestation or taking God and the world to witnes, or any such
like as declare an impotent affection, as _Chaucer_ of the _Lady
Cresseida_ by exclamation.
  _O soppe of sorrow soonken into care,
  O caytife Cresseid, for now and evermare_.

Or as _Gascoine_ wrote very passionatly and well to purpose:
  _Ay me the dayes that I in dole consume,
  Alas the nights which witnesse well mine woe:
  O wrongfull world which makest my fancie faine
  Fie fickle fortune, fie, fie thou art my foe:
  Out and alas so froward is my chance,
  No nights nor daies, nor worldes can me auance._

_Petrarche_ in a sonet which Sir _Thomas Wiat_ Englished excellently well,
said in this figure by way of imprecation and obtestation: thus,
  _Perdie I said it not,
  Nor neuer thought to doo:
  Aswell as I ye wot,
  I haue no power thereto:
  "And if I did the lot
  That first did me enchaine,
  May neuer shake the knot
  But straite it to my paine.
  "And if I did each thing,
  That may do harme or woe:
  Continually may wring,
  My harte where so I goe.
  "Report may alwaies ring:
  Of shame on me for aye,
  If in my hart did spring,
  The wordes that you doo say.
  "And if I did each starre,
  That is in heauen aboue._
And so forth, &c.

  [Sidenote: _Brachiologa_, or the Cutted comma]
We vse sometimes to proceede all by single words, without any close or
coupling, sauing that a little pause or comma is geuen to euery word. This
figure for pleasure may be called in our vulgar the cutted comma, for that
there cannot be a shorter diuision then at euery words end. The Greekes in
their language call it short language, as thus.
  _Enuy, malice, flattery, disdaine,
  Auarice, deceit, falsned, filthy gaine._

If this loose language be vsed, not in single words, but in long clauses,
it is called _Asindeton_, and in both cases we vtter in that fashion, when
either we be earnest, or would seeme to make hast.

  [Sidenote: _Parison_, or the Figure of euen]
Ye haue another figure which we may call the figure of euen, because it
goeth by clauses of egall quantitie, and not very long, but yet not so
short as the cutted comma: and they geue good grace to a dittie, but
specially to a prose. In this figure we once wrote in a melancholike humor
these verses.
  _The good is geason, and short is his abode,
  The bad bides long, and easie to be found:
  Our life is loathsome, our sinnes a heavy lode,
  Conscience a curst iudge, remorse a priuie goade.
  Disease, age and death still in our eare they round,
  That hence we must the sickly and the sound:
  Treading the steps that our forefathers troad,
  Rich, poore, holy, wise; all flesh it goes to ground._

In a prose there should not be vsed at once of such euen clauses past
three or foure at the most.

  [Sidenote: _Sinonimia_, or the Figure of store]
When so euer we multiply our speech by many words or clauses of one sence,
the Greekes call it _Sinonimia_, as who would say like or consenting
names: the Latines hauing no fitte terme to giue him, called it by a name
of euent, for (said they) many words of one nature and sence, one of them
doth expound another. And therefore they called this figure the
[_Interpreter_] I for my part had rather call him the figure of [_store_]
because plenty of one manner of thing in our vulgar we call so. _Æneas_
asking whether his Captaine _Orontes_ were dead or aliue, vsed this store
of speeches all to one purpose.
  _It he aliue,
  Is he as I left him queauing and quick,
  And hath he not yet geuen up the ghost,
  Among the rest of those that I haue lost?_

Or if it be in single words, then thus.
  _What is become of that beautifull face,
  Those louely lookes, that fauour amiable,
  Those sweete features, and visage full of grace,
  That countenance which is alonly able
  To kill and cure?_

Ye see that all these words, face, lookes, fauour, features, visage,
countenance, are all in sence but all one. Which store, neuerthelesse,
doeth much beautifie and inlarge the matter. So said another.
  _My faith, my hope, my trust, my God and eke my guide,
  Stretch forth thy hand to saue the soule, what ere the body bide._

Here faith, hope and trust be words of one effect, allowed to vs by this
figure of store.

  [Sidenote: _Metanoia_, or the Penitent.]
Otherwhiles we speake and be sorry for it, as if we had not wel spoken, so
that we seeme to call in our word againe, and to put in another fitter for
the purpose: for which respects the Greekes called this manner of speech
the figure of repentance: then for that vpon repentance commonly followes
amendment, the Latins called it the figure of correction, in that the
speaker seemeth to reforme that which was said amisse. I following the
Greeke originall, choose to call him the penitent, or repentant: and
singing in honor of the mayden Queen, meaning to praise her for her
greatnesse of courage ouershooting my selfe, called it first by the name
of pride: then fearing least fault might be found with that terme, by & by
turned this word pride to praise: resembling her Maiesty to the Lion,
being her owne noble armory, which by a slie construction purporteth
magnanimitie. Thus in the latter end of a Parthemiade.
  _O peereles you, or els no one aliue,
  Your pride serues you to seaze them all alone:
  Not pride madame, but praise of the lion,
  To conquer all and be conquerd by none._

And in another Parthemiade thus insinuating her Maiesties great constancy
in refusall of all marriages offred her, thus:
  _Her heart is hid none may it see,
  Marble or flinte folke weene it be._

Which may imploy rigour and cruelty, than correcteth it thus.
  _Not flinte I trowe I am a lier,
  But Siderite that feeles no fire._

By which is intended, that it proceeded of a cold and chast complexion not
easily allured to loue.

  [Sidenote: _Antenagoge_, or the Recompencer]
We haue another manner of speech much like to the _repentant_, but doth
not as the same recant or vnsay a word that hath bene said before, putting
another fitter in his place, but hauing spoken any thing to depraue the
matter or partie, he denieth it not, but as it were helpeth it againe by
another more fauourable speach and so seemeth to make amends, for which
cause it is called by the originall name in both languages, the
_Recompencer_, as he that was merily asked the question; whether his wife
were not a shrewe as well as others of his neighbours wiues, answered in
this figure as pleasantly, for he could not well denie it.
  _I must needs say, that my wife is a shrewe,
  but such a huswife as I know but a fewe._

Another in his first preposition giuing a very faint commendation to the
Courtiers life, weaning to make him amends, made it worse by a second
proposition, thus:
  _The Courtiers life full delicate it is,
  but where no wise man will euer set his blis._

And an other speaking to the incoragement of youth in studie and to be
come excellent in letters and armies, said thus:
  _Many are the paines and perils to be past,
  But great is the gaine and glory at the last._

  [Sidenote: _Epithonema_, or the Surclose.]
Our poet in his short ditties, but specially playing the Epigrammatist
will vse to conclude and shut vp his Epigram with a verse or two, spoken
in such sort, as it may seeme a manner of allowance to all the premisses,
and that wich a ioyfull approbation, which the Latines call _Acclamatio_,
we therefore call this figure the _surcloze_ or _consenting close_, as
_Virgill_ when he had largely spoken of Prince _Eneas_ his successe and
fortunes concluded with this close.
  _Tant molis erat Romanum condere gentens._

In English thus:
  _So huge a peece of worke it was and so hie,
  To reare the house of Romane progenie._

Sir _Philip Sidney_ very pretily closed vp a dittie in this sort.
  _What medcine then, can such disease remoue,
  Where loue breedes hate, and hate engenders loue._

And we in a _Partheniade_ written of her Maiestie, declaring to what
perils vertue is generally subiect, and applying that fortune to her
selfe, closed it vp with this _Epiphoneme_.
  _Than if there bee,
  Any so cancard hart to grutch,
  At your glories: my Queene: in vaine,
  Repining at your fatall raigne;
  It is for that they feele too much,
  Of your bountee._

As who would say her owne ouermuch lenitie and goodness, made her ill
willers the more bold and presumptuous.

_Lucretius Carus_ the philosopher and poet inueighing sore against the
abuses of the superstitious religion of the Gentils, and recompting the
wicked fact of king _Agamemnon_ in sacrificing his only daughter
_Iphigenia_, being a yoong damsell of excellent bewtie, to th'intent to
please the wrathfull gods, hinderers of his nauigation, after he had said
all, closed it vp in this one verse, spoken in _Epiphonema_.
  _Tantum relligio potuit suadere malorum._

In English thus:
  _Lo what an outrage, could cause to be done,
  The peevish scruple of blinde religion._

  [Sidenote: _Auxesis_, or the Auancer]
It happens many times that to vrge and enforce the matter we speake of, we
go still mounting by degrees and encreasing our speech with wordes or with
sentences of more waight one then another, & is a figure of great both
efficacie & ornament, as he that declaring the great calamitie of an
infortunate prince, said thus:
  _He lost besides his children and his wife,
  His realme, ronowne, liege, libertie and life._

By which it appeareth that to any noble Prince the losse of his estate
ought not to be so greeuous, as of his honour, nor any of them both like
to the lacke of his libertie, but that life is the dearest detriment of
any other. We call this figure by the Greeke originall the _Auancer_ or
figure of encrease because every word that is spoken is one of more weight
then another. And as we lamented the crueltie of an inexorable and
unfaithfull mistresse.
  _If by the lawes of love it be a falt,
  The faithfull friend, in absence to forget:
  But if it be (once do thy heart but halt,)
  A secret sinne: what forfet is so great:
  As by despute in view of every eye,
  The solemne vowes oft sworne with teares so salt,
  As holy Leagues fast seald with hand and hart:
  For to repeale and breake so wilfully?
  But now (alas) without all iust desart,
  My lot is for my troth and much goodwill,
  To reape disdaine, hatred and rude refuse,
  Or if ye would worke me some greater ill:
  And of myne earned ioyes to feele no part,
  What els is this (o cruell) but to vse,
  Thy murdring knife to guiltlesse bloud to spill._

Where ye see how she is charged first with a fault, then with a secret
sinne, afterward with a foule forfet, last of all with a most cruel &
bloudy deede. And thus againe in a certaine lovers complaint made to the
like effect.
  _They say it is a ruth to see thy lover neede,
  But you can see me weepe, but you can see me bleede:
  And neuer shrinke nor shame, ne shed no teare at all,
  You make my wounds your selfe, and fill them up with gall:
  Yea you can see me sound, and faint for want of breath,
  And gaspe and grone for life, and struggle still with death,
  What can you now do more, sweare by your maydenhead,
  The for to flea me quicke, or strip me being dead._

In these verses you see how one crueltie surmounts another by degrees till
it come to very slaughter and beyond, for it is thought a despite done to
a dead carkas to be an euidence of greater crueltie then to haue killed
him.

  [Sidenote: _Meiosis_, or the Disabler.]
After the Auancer followeth the abbaser working by wordes and sentences of
extenuation or diminution. Whereupon we call him the _Disabler_ or figure
of _Extenuation_: and this extenuation is vsed to diuers purposes,
sometimes for modesties sake, and to auoide the opinion of arrogancie,
speaking of our selues or of ours, as he that disabled himselfe to his
mistresse thus.
  _Not all the skill I haue to speake or do,
  Which litle is God wot (set loue apart:)
  Liueload nor life, and put them both thereto,
  Can counterpeise the due of your desart._

It may be also be done for despite to bring our aduersaries in contempt,
as he that sayd by one (commended for a very braue souldier) disabling him
scornefully, thus.
  _A iollie man (forsooth) and fit for the warre,
  Good at hand grippes, better to fight a farre:
  Whom bright weapon in shew as is said,
  Yea his owne shade; hath often made afraide._

The subtilitie of the scoffe lieth in these Latin wordes [_eminus &
cominus pugnare_.] Also we vse this kind of Extenuation when we take in
hand to comfort or cheare any perillous enterprise, making a great matter
seeme small, and of litle difficultie, & is much vsed by captaines in the
warre, when they (to giue courage to their souldiers) will seeme to
disable the persons of their enemies, and abase their forces, and make
light of euery thing than might be a discouragement to the attempt, as
_Hanniball_ did in his Oration to his souldiers, when they should come to
passe the Alpes to enter Italie, and for sharpnesse of the weather, and
steepnesse of the mountaines their hearts began to faile them.

We vse it againe to excuse a fault, & to make an offence seeme lesse then
it is, by giuing a terme more fauorable and of lesse vehemencie then the
troth requires, as to say of a great robbery, that it was but a pilfry
matter: of an arrant ruffian that he is a tall fellow of his hands: of a
prodigall foole, that he is a kind hearted man: of a notorious vnthrift, a
lustie youth, and such like phrases of extenuation, which fall more aptly
to the office of the figure _Curry fauell_ before remembred.

And we vse the like termes by way of pleasant familiaritie, and as it were
for Courtly maner of speach with our egalls or inferiours, as to call a
young Gentlewoman _Mall_ for _Mary_, _Nell_ for _Elner_: _Iack_ for Iohn_,
_Robin_ for _Robert_: or any other like affected termes spoken of
pleasure, as in our triumphals calling familiarly vpon our _Muse_, I
called her _Moppe_.
  _But will you weet,
  My litle muse, nay prettie moppe:
  If we shall algates change our stoppe,
  Chose me a sweet._

Vnderstanding by this word (_Moppe_) a litle prety Lady, or tender young
thing. For so we call litle fishes, that be not come to their full growth
(_moppes_), as whiting moppes, gurnard moppes.

Also such termes are vsed to be giuen in derision and for a kind of
contempt, as when we say Lording for Lord, & as the Spaniard that calleth
an Earle of small reuenue _Contadilio_: the Italian calleth the poore man
by contempt _pouerachio_ or _pouerino_, the little beast _animalculo_ or
_animaluchio_, and such like _diminutiues_ appertaining to this figure,
the (_Disabler_) more ordinary in other languages than our vulgar.

  [Sidenote: _Epanodis_, or the figure of Retire]
This figure of retire holds part with the propounder of which we spake
before(_prolepsis_) because of the resumption of a former proposition
vuttered in generalitie to explane the same better by a particular
diuision. But their difference is, in that the propounder resumes but the
matter only. This [_retire_] resumes both the matter and the termes, and
is therefore accompted one of the figures of repetition, and in that
respect may be called by his originall Greeke name the [_Resounde_] or the
[_retire_] for this word [Greek: illegible] serues both sences resound and
retire. The vse of this figure, is seen in this dittie following,
  _Loue hope and death, do stirre in me much strife,
  As neuer man but I lead such a life:
  For burning loue doth wound my heart to death:
  And when death comes at call of inward grief,
  Cold lingring hope doth feede my fainting breath:
  Against my will, and yeelds my wound relief,
  So that I liue, but yet my life is such:
  As neuer death could greeue me halfe so much._

  [Sidenote: _Dialisis_, or the Dismembrer.]
Then haue ye a maner speach, not so figuratiue as fit for argumentation,
and worketh not vnlike the _dilemma_ of the Logicians, because he propones
two or moe matters entierly, and doth as it were set downe the whole tale
or rekoning of an argument and then cleare euery part by it selfe, as
thus.
  _It can not be but nigarsdship or neede,
  Made him attempt this foule and wicked deede:
  Nigardship not, for alwayes he was free,
  Nor neede, for who doth not his richesse see?_

Or as one than entreated for a faire young maide who was taken by the
watch in London and carried to Bridewell to be punished.
  _Now gentill Sirs let this young maide alone,
  For either she hath grace or els she hath none:
  If she haue grace, she may in time repent,
  If she haue none what bootes her punishment._

Or as another pleaded his deserts with his mistresse.
  _Were it for grace, or els in hope of gaine,
  To say of my deserts, it is but vaine:
  For well in minde, in case ye do them beare,
  To tell them oft, it should but irke your eare:
  Be they forgot: as likely should I faile,
  To winne with wordes, where deedes can not preuaile._

  [Sidenote: _Merismus_, or the Distributer.]
Then haue ye a figure very meete for Orators or eloquent perswaders such
as our maker or Poet must in some cases shew him selfe to be, and is when
we may coueniently vtter a matter in one entier speach or proportion and
will rather do it peecemeale and by distrbution of euery part for
amplification sake, as for example he that might say, a house was
outragiously plucked downe: will not be satisfied so to say, but rather
will speake it in this sort: they first vndermined the groundsills, they
beate downe the walles, they vnfloored the loftes, they vntiled it and
pulled downe the roofe. For so in deede is a house pulled downe by
circumstances, which this figure of distribution doth set forth euery one
apart, and therefore I name him the _distributor_ according to his
originall, as wrate the _Tuscane_ Poet in a Sonet which Sir _Thomas Wyat_
translated with very good grace, thus.
  _Set me whereas the sunne doth parch the greene,
  Or where his beames do not dissolue the yce:
  In temperate heate where he is felt and seene,
  In presence prest of people mad or wise:
  Set me in hye or yet in low degree,
  In longest night or in the shortest day:
  In clearest skie, or where clouds thickest bee,
  In lustie youth or when my heares are gray:
  Set me in heauen, in earth or els in hell,
  In hill or dale or in the foaming flood:
  Thrall or at large, aliue where so I dwell,
  Sicke or in health, in euill fame or good:
  Hers will I be, and onely with this thought,
  Content my selfe, although my chaunce be naught._

All which might haue been said in these two verses.
  _Set me wherefoeuer ye will
  I am and wilbe yours still._

The zealous Poet writing in prayse of the maiden Queene would not seeme to
wrap vp all her most excellent parts in a few words them entierly
comprehending, but did it by a distributor or _merismus_ in the negatiue
for the better grace, thus.
  _Not your bewtie, most gracious soueraine,
  Nor maidenly lookes, mainteind with maiestie:
  Your stately port, which doth not match but staine,
  For your presence, your pallace and your traine,
  All Princes Courts, mine eye could euer see:
  Not of your quicke wits, your sober gouernaunce:
  Your cleare forsight, your faithfull memorie,
  So sweete features, in so staid countenaunce:
  Nor languages, with plentuous utterance,
  So able to discourse, and entertaine:
  Not noble race, farre beyond Caesars raigne,
  Runne in right line, and bloud of nointed kings:
  Not large empire, armies, treasurs, domaine,
  Lustie liueries, of fortunes dearst darlings:
  Not all the skilles, fit for a Princely dame,
  Your learned Muse, with vse and studie brings.
  Not true honour, ne that immortall fame
  Of mayden raigne, your only owne renowne
  And no Queenes els, yet such as yeeldes your name
  Greater glory than doeth your treble crowne._

And then concludes thus.
  _Not any one of all these honord parts
  Your Princely happes, and habites that do moue,
  And, as it were, ensorcell all the hearts
  Of Christen kings to quarrell for your loue,
  But to possesse, at once and all the good
  Arte and engine, and euery starre aboue
  Fortune or kinde, could farce in flesh and bloud,
  Was force inough to make so many striue
  For your person, which in our world stoode
  By all consents the minionst mayde to wiue._

Where ye see that all the parts of her commendation which were
particularly remembred in twenty verses before, are wrapt vp in the two
verses of this last part, videl.
  _Not any one of all your honord parts,
  Those Princely haps and habites, &c._

This figure serues for amplification, and also for ornament, and to
enforce perswasion mightely. Sir _Geffrey Chaucer_, father of our English
Poets, hath these verses following in the distributor.
  _When faith failes in Priestes sawes,
  And Lords hestes are holden for lawes,
  And robberie is tane for purchase,
  And lechery for solace
  Then shall the Realme of Albion
  Be brought to great confusion._

Where he might haue said as much in these words: when vice abounds, and
vertue decayeth in Albion, then &c. And as another said,
  _When Prince for his people is wakefull and wise,
  Peeres ayding with armes, Counsellors with aduise,
  Magistrate sincerely vsing his charge,
  People prest to obey, nor let to runne at large,
  Prelate of holy life, and with deuotion
  Preferring pietie before promotion,
  Priest still preaching, and praying for our heale:
  Then blessed is the state of a common-weale._

All which might haue bene said in these few words, when euery man in
charge and authoritie doeth his duety, & executeth his function well, then
is the common-wealth happy.

  [Sidenote: _Epimone_, or the Loue burden.]
The Greeke Poets who made musicall ditties to be song to the lute or
harpe, did vse to linke their staues together with one verse running
throughout the whole song by equall distance, and was, for the most part,
the first verse of the staffe, which kept so good sence and conformitie
with the whole, as his often repetition did geue it greater grace. They
called such linking verse _Epimone_, the Latines _versus intercalaris_,
and we may terme him the Loue-burden, following the originall, or if it
please you, the long repeate: in one respect because that one verse alone
beareth the whole burden of the song according to the originall: in
another respect, for that it comes by large distances to be often
repeated, as in this ditty made by the noble knight Sir _Philip Sidney_,
  _My true loue hath my heart and I haue his,
  By iust exchange one for another geuen:
  I holde his deare, and mine he cannot misse,
  There neuer was a better bargaine driuen.
    My true loue hath my heart and I haue his.
  My heart in me keepes him and me in one,
  My heart in him his thoughts and sences guides:
  He loues my heart, for once it was his owne,
  I cherish his because in me it bides.
    My true loue hath my heart, and I haue his._

  [Sidenote: _Paradoxon_, or the Wondrer.]
Many times our Poet is caried by some occasion to report of a thing that
is maruelous, and then he will seeme not to speake it simply but with some
signe of admiration, as in our enterlude called the _Woer_.
  _I woonder much to see so many husbands thriue,
  That haue but little wit, before they come to wiue:
  For one would easily weene who so hath little wit,
  His wife to teach it him, were a thing much unfit._

Or as _Cato_ the Romane Senatour said one day merily to his companion that
walked with him, pointing his finger to a yong vnthrift in the streete who
lately before had sold his patrimonie, of a goodly quantitie of salt
marshes, lying neere vnto _Capua_ shore.
  _Now is it not, a wonder to behold,
  Yonder gallant skarce twenty winter old,
  By might (marke ye) able to do more
  Than the mayne sea that batters on his shore?
  For what the waues could neuer wash away,
  This proper youth hath wasted in a day._

  [Sidenote: _Aporia_, or the Doubtfull.]
Not much vnlike the _wondrer_ haue ye another figure called the
_doubtfull_, because oftentimes we will seeme to cast perils, and make
doubt or things when by a plaine manner of speech wee might affirme or
deny him, as thus of a cruell mother who murdred her owne child.
  _Whether the cruell mother were more to blame,
  Or the shrewd childe come of so curst a dame:
  Or whether some smatch of the fathers blood,
  Whose kinne were neuer kinde, nor neuer good.
  Mooued her thereto &c._

  [Sidenote: _Epitropis_, or the Figure of Reference.]
This manner of speech is vsed when we will not seeme, either for manner
sake or to auoid tediousnesse, to trouble the iudge or hearer with all
that we could say, but hauing said inough already, we referre the rest to
their consideration, as he that said thus:
  _Me thinkes that I haue said, what may well suffise,
  Referring all the rest, to your better aduise._

  [Sidenote: _Parisia_, or the Licentious.]
The fine and subtill perswader when his intent is to sting his aduersary,
or els to declare his mind in broad and liberal speeches, which might
breede offence or scandall, he will seeme to bespeake pardon before hand,
whereby his licentiousnes may be the better borne withall, as he that
said:
  _If my speech hap t'offend you any way,
  Thinke it their fault, that force me so to say._

  [Sidenote: _Anachinosis_, or the Impartener.]
Not much vnlike to the figure of _reference_, is there another with some
little diuersitie which we call the _impartener_, because many times in
pleading and perswading, we thinke it a very good policie to acquaint our
iudge or hearer or very aduersarie with some part of our Counsell and
aduice, and to aske their opinion, as who would say they could not
otherwise thinke of the matter then we do. As he that had tolde a long
tale before certaine noblewomen of a matter somewhat in honour touching
the Sex:
  _Tell me faire Ladies, if the case were your owne,
  So foule a fault would you haue it be knowen?_

Maister _Gorge_ in this figure, said very sweetly,
  _All you who read these lines and skanne of my desart,
  Iudge whether was more good, my hap or els my hart._

  [Sidenote: _Paramologia_, or the figure of Admittance.]
The good Orator vseth a manner of speach in his perswasion and is when all
that should seeme to make against him being spoken by th'other side, he
will first admit it, and in th'end auoid all for his better aduantage, and
this figure is much vsed by our English pleaders in the Starchamber and
Chancery, which they call to confesse and auoid, if it be in case of crime
or iniury, and is a very good way. For when the matter is so plaine that
it cannot be denied or trauersed, it is good that it be iustified by
confessall and auoidance. I call it the figure of _admittance._ As we once
wrate to the reproofe of a Ladies faire but crueltie.
  _I know your witte, I know your pleasant tongue,
  Your some sweet smiles, your some, but louely lowrs:
  A beautie to enamour olde and yong.
  Those chast desires, that noble minde of yours,
  And that chiefe part whence all your honor springs,
  A grace to entertaine the greatest kings.
  All this I know: but sinne it is to see,
  So faire partes spilt by too much crueltie._

  [Sidenote: _Etiologia_, or the Reason rent, or the Tellcause.]
In many cases we are driuen for better perswasion to tell the cause that
mooues vs to say thus or thus: or els when we would fortifie our
allegations by rendring reasons to euery one, this assignation of cause
the Greekes called _Etiologia_, which if we might without scorne of a new
inuented terme call [_Tellcause_] it were right according to the Greeke
originall: & I pray you why should we not? and with as good authoritie as
the Greekes? Sir _Thomas Smith_, her Maiesties principall Secretary, and a
man of great learning and grauitie, seeking to geue an English word to
this Greeke word [Greek: illegible] called it Spitewed or wedspite. Master
Secretary _Wilson_ gueing an English name to his arte of Logicke, called
it _Witcraft_, me thinke I may be bolde with like liberty to call the
figure _Etiologia_ [_Tellcause_.] And this manner of speech is always
contemned, with these words, for, because, and such other confirmatiues.
The Latines hauing no fitte name to geue it in one single word, gaue it no
name at all, but by circumlocution. We also call him the reason-rendrer,
and leaue the right English word [_Telcause_] much better answering the
Greeke originall. _Aristotle_ was most excellent in vse of this figure,
for he neuer propones any allegation, or makes any surmise, but he yeelds
a reason or cause to fortifie and proue it, which geues it great credit.
For example ye may take these verses, first pointing, than confirming by
similitudes.
  _When fortune shall haue spat out all her gall,
  I trust good luck shall be to me allowde,
  For I haue seene a shippe in hauen fall,
  After the storme had broke both maste and shrowde._

And this.
  _Good is the thing that moues vs to desire,
  That is to say the beauty we behold:
  Els were we louers as in an endlesse fire,
  Alwaies burning and euer chill a colde._

And in these verses.
  _Accused though I be without desart,
  Sith none can proue beleeue it not for true:
  For neuer yet since first ye had my hart,
  Entended I to false or be untrue._

And in this Disticque.
  _And for her beauties praise, no right that with her warres:
  For where she comes she shewes her selfe like sun among the stars._

And in this other dittie of ours where the louer complaines of his Ladies
crueltie, rendring for euery surmise a reason, and by telling the cause,
seeketh (as it were) to get credit, thus.
  _Cruel you be who can say nay,
  Since ye delight in others wo:
  Vnwise am I, ye may well say,
  For that I haue, honourd you so.
  But blamelesse I, who could not chuse
  To be enchaunted by your eye:
  But ye to blame, thus to refuse
  My seruice, and to let me die._

  [Sidenote: _Dichologia_, or the Figure of excuse.]
Sometimes our error is so manifest, or we be so hardly prest with our
aduersaries, as we cannot deny the fault layd vnto our charge: in which
case it is good pollicie to excuse it by some allowable pretext, as did
one whom his mistresse burdened with some vnkindne speeches which he had
past of her, thus.
  _I said it: but by lapse of lying tongue,
  When furie and iust griefe my heart opprest:
  I sayd it: as ye see, both fraile and young,
  When your rigor had ranckled in my brest.
  The cruell wound that smarted me so sore,
  Pardon therefore (sweete sorrow) or at least
  Beare with mine youth that neuer fell before,
  Least your offence encrease my griefe the more._

And againe in these,
  _I spake amysse I cannot it deny.
  But caused by your great discourtesie:
  And if I said that which I now repent,
  And said it not, but by misgouernment
  Of youthfull yeres, your selfe that are so young
  Pardon for once this error of my tongue,
  And thinke amends can neuer come to late:
  Loue may be curst, but loue can neuer hate._

  [Sidenote: _Noema_, or the Figure of close conceit.]
Speaking before of the figure [_Synechdoche_] wee called him [_Quicke
conceit_] because he inured in a single word onely by way of intendment or
large meaning, but such as was speedily discouered by euery quicke wit, as
by the halfe to vnderstand the whole, and many other waies appearing by
the examples. But by this figure [_Noema_] the obscurity of the sence
lieth not in a single word, but in an entier speech, whereof we do not so
easily conceiue the meaning, but as it were by coniecture, because it is
wittie and subtile or darke, which makes me therefore call him in our
vulgar the [_Close conceit_] as he that said by himselfe and his wife, I
thanke God in fortie winters that we haue liued together, neuer any of our
neighbours set vs at one, meaning that they neuer fell out in all that
space, which had bene the directer speech and more apert, and yet by
intendment amounts all to one, being neuerthelesse dissemblable and in
effect contrary. _Pawlet_ Lord Treasorer of England, and first Marques of
Winchester, with the like subtill speech gaue a quippe to Sir _William
Gifford_, who had married the Marques sister, and all her life time cound
neuer loue her nor like of her company, but when she was dead made the
greatest moane for her in the world, and with teares and much lamentation
vttered his griefe to the L. Treasorer, o good brother, quoth the Marques,
I am right sory to see you now loue my sister so well, meaning that he
shewed his loue too late, and should haue done it while she was aliue.

A great counsellour somewhat forgetting his modestie, vsed these words:
Gods lady I reckon my selfe as good a man as he you talke of, and yet I am
not able to do so. Yea sir quoth the party, your L. is too good to be a
man, I would ye were a Saint, meaning he would he were dead, for none are
shrined for Saints before they be dead.

  [Sidenote: _Orismus_, or the Definer of difference.]
The Logician vseth a definition to expresse the truth or nature of euery
thing by his true kinde and difference, as to say wisedome is a prudent
and wittie foresight and consideration of humane or worldly actions with
their euentes. This definition is Logicall. The Oratour vseth another
maner of definition, thus: Is this wisedome? no it is a certaine subtill
knauish craftie wit, it is no industrie as ye call it, but a certaine
busie brainsicknesse, for industrie is a liuely and vnweried search and
occupation in honest things, egernesse is an appetite in base and small
matters.

  [Sidenote: _Procatalepsis_, or the presumptuous,
             otherwise the figure of Presupposall.]
It serueth many times to great purpose to preuent our aduersaries
arguments, and take vpon vs to know before what our iudge or aduersary or
hearer thinketh, and that we will seeme to vtter it before it be spoken or
alleaged by them, in respect of which boldnesse to enter so deepely into
another mans conceit or conscience, and to be so priuie of another mans
mynde, gaue cause that this figure was called the [_presumptuous_] I will
also call him the figure of _presupposall_ or the _preuenter_, for by
reason we suppose before what may be said, or perchaunce would be said by
our aduersary or any other, we do preuent them of their aduantage, and do
catch the ball (as they are wont to say) before it come to the ground.

  [Sidenote: _Paralepsis_, or the Passager.]
It is also very many times vsed for a good pollicie in pleading
or perswasion to make wise as if we set but light of the matter, and
that therefore we do passe it ouer lightly when in deede we do
then intend most effectually and despightfully if it be inuectiue to
remember it: it is also when we will not seeme to know a thing,
and yet we know it well inough, and may be likened to the maner
of women, who as the common saying is, will say nay and take it.
  _I hold my peace and will not say for shame,
  The much vntruth of that vnciuill dame:
  For if I should her coullours kindly blaze,
  It would so make the chast eares amaze, &c._

  [Sidenote: _Commoratio_, or the figure of abode.]
It is said by maner of a prouerbiall speach that he who findes himselfe
well should not wagge, euen so the perswader finding a substantiall point
in his matter to serue his purpose, should dwell upon that point longer
then vpon any other lesse assured, and vse all endeuour to maintaine that
one, & as it were to make his chief aboad thereupon, for which cause I
name him the figure of aboad, according to the Latine name: Some take it
not but for a course of argument & therefore hardly may one giue any
examples thereof.

  [Sidenote: _Metastasis_, or the Flitting figure, or the Remoue.]
Now as arte and good pollicy in perswasion bids vs to abide & not to
stirre from the point of our most aduantage, but the same to enforce and
tarry vpon with all possible argument, so doth discretion will vs
sometimes to flit from one matter to another, as a thing meete to be
forsaken, and another entred vpon, I call him therefore the _flitting_
figure, or figure of _remoue_, like as the other before was called the
figure of _aboade_.

  [Sidenote: _Parecuasis, or the Stragler.]
Euen so againe, as it is wisdome for a perswader to tarrie and make his
aboad as long as he may conueniently without tediousness to the hearer,
vpon his chiefe proofes or points of the cause tending to his aduantage,
and likewise to depart againe when time serues, and goe to a new matter
seruing the purpose aswell. So is it requisite many times for him to talke
farre from the principall matter, and as it were to range aside, to
th'intent by such extraordinary meane to induce or inferre other matter,
aswell or better seruing the principal purpose, and neuertheles in season
to returne home where he first strayed out. This maner of speech is termed
the figure of digression by the Latines, following the Greeke originall,
we also call him the _straggler_ by allusion to the souldier that marches
out of his array, or by those that keepe no order in their marche, as the
battailes well ranged do: of this figure there need be geuen no example.

  [Sidenote: _Expeditio_, or the speedie dispatcher.]
Occasion offers many times that our maker as an oratour, or perswader, or
pleader should go roundly to worke, and by a quick and swift argument
dispatch his perswasion, & as they are woont to say not stand all day
trifling to no purpose, but to rid it out of the way quickly. This is done
by a manner of speech, both figuratiue and argumentatiue, when we do
briefly set down all our best reasons seruing the purpose and reiect all
of them sauing one, which we accept to satisfie the cause: as he that in a
litigious case for land would prooue it not the aduersaries, but his
clients.
  _No man can say its his by heritage,
  Nor by Legacie, or Testatours deuice:
  Nor that it came by purchase or engage,
  Nor from his Prince for any good seruice.
  Then needs must it be his by very wrong,
  Which he hath offred this poore plaintife so long._

Though we might call this figure very well and properly the [_Paragon_]
yet dare I not so to doe for feare of the Courtiers enuy, who will haue no
man vse that terme but after a courtly manner, that is, in praysing of
horses, haukes, hounds, pearles, diamonds, rubies, emerodes, and other
precious stones: specially of faire women whose excellencie is discouered
by paragonizing or setting one to another, which moued the zealous Poet,
speaking of the mayden Queene, to call her the paragon of Queenes. This
considered, I will let our figure enioy his best beknowen name, and call
him stil in all ordinarie cases the figure of comparison: as when a man
wil seeme to make things appeare good or bad, or better or worse, or more
or lesse excellent, either vpon spite or for pleasure, or any other good
affection, then he sets the lesse by the greater, or the greater to the
lesse, the equall to his equall, and by such confronting of them together,
driues out the true ods that is betwixt them, and makes it better appeare,
as when we sang of our Soueraigne Lady thus, in the twentieth Partheniade.
  _As falcon fares to bussards flight,
  As egles eyes to owlates sight,
  As fierce saker to coward kite,
  As brightest noone to darkest night:
  As summer sunne exceedeth farre,
  The moone and euery other starre:
  So farre my Princesse praise doeth passe,
  The famoust Queene that euer was._

And in the eighteene Partheniade thus.
  _Set rich rubie to red esmayle,
  The rauens plume to peacocks tayle,
  Lay me the larkes to lizards eyes,
  The duskie cloude to azure skie,
  Set shallow brookes to surging seas,
  An orient pearle to a white pease._

&c. Concluding.
  _There shall no lesse an ods be seene
  In mine from euery other Queene._

  [Sidenote: Dialogismus, or the right reasoner.]
We are sometimes occasioned in our tale to report some speech from another
mans mouth, as what a king said to his priuy counsel or subiect, a
captaine to his souldier, a souldiar to his captaine, a man to a woman,
and contrariwise: in which report we must always geue to euery person his
fit and naturall, & that which best becommeth him. For that speech
becommeth a king which doth not a carter, and a young man that doeth not
an old: and so, in euery sort and degree. _Virgil_ speaking in the person
of _Eneas, Turnus_ and many other great Princes, and sometimes of meaner
men, ye shall see what decencie euery of their speeches holdeth with the
qualitie, degree and yeares of the speaker. To which examples I will for
this time referre you.

So if by way of fiction we will seem to speake in another mans person, as
if king _Henry_ the eight were aliue, and should say of the towne of
Bulleyn, what we by warretime hazard of our person hardly obteined, our
young sonne without any peril at all, for little mony deliuered vp againe.
Or if we should faine king _Edward_ the thirde, vnderstanding how his
successour Queene _Marie_ had lost the towne of Calays by negligence,
should say: That which the sword wanne, the distaffe hath lost. This
manner of speech is by the figure _Dialogismus_, or the right reasoner.

  [Sidenote: _Gnome_, or the Director.]
In waightie causes and for great purposes, wise perswaders vse graue &
weighty speaches, specially in matter of aduise or counsel, for which
purpose there is a maner of speach to alleage textes or authorities of
wittie sentence, such as smatch morall doctrine and teach wisedome and
good behauiour, by the Greeke originall we call him the _directour_, by
the Latin he is called _sententia_: we may call him the _sage sayer_,
thus.

  [Sidenote: _Sententia_, or the Sage sayer.]
  _Nature bids vs as a louing mother,
  To loue our selues first and next to loue another.

  The Prince that couets all to know and see,
  Had neede full milde and patient to bee.

  Nothing stickes faster by us as appeares,
  Then that which we learne in our tender yeares._

And that which our foueraigne Lady wrate in defiance of fortune.
  _Neuer thinke you fortune can beare the sway,
  Where vertues force, can cause her to obay._

Heede must be taken that such rules or sentences be choisly
made and not often vsed least excesse breed lothsomnesse.

  [Sidenote: _Sinathrismus_, or the Heaping figure.]
Arte and good pollicie moues vs many times to be earnest in our speach,
and then we lay on such load and so go to it by heapes as if we would
winne the game by multitude of words & speaches, not all of one but of
diuers matter and sence, for which cause the Latines called it _Congeries_
and we the _heaping figure_, as he that said
  _To muse in minde how faire, how wise, how good,
  How braue, how free, how curteous and how true,
  My Lady is doth but inflame my blood._

Or thus.
  _I deeme, I dreame, I do, I tast, I touch,
  Nothing at all but smells of perfit blisse_.

And thus by maister _Edward Diar_, vehement swift & passionatly.
  _But if my faith my hope, my loue my true intent,
  My libertie, my seruice vowed, my time and all be spent,
  In vaine, &c._

But if such earnest and hastie heaping vp of speaches be made by way of
recapitulation, which commonly is in the end of euery long tale and
Oration, because the speaker seemes to make a collection of all the former
materiall points, to binde them as it were in a bundle and lay them forth
to enforce the cause and renew the hearers memory, then ye may geue him
more properly the name of the [_collectour_] or recapitulatour, and
serueth to very great purpose as in an hympne written by vs to the Queenes
Maiestie entitled [_Mourua_] wherein speaking of the mutabilitie of
fortune in the case of all Princes generally, wee seemed to exempt her
Maiestie of all such casualtie, by reason she was by her destinie and many
diuine partes in her, ordained to a most long and constant prosperitie in
this world, concluding with this recapitualtion.
  _But thou art free, but were thou not in deede,
  But were thou not, come of immortall seede:
  Neuer yborne, and thy minde made to blisse,
  Heauens mettall that euerlasting is:
  Were not thy wit, and that thy vertues shall,
  Be deemd diuine thy fauour face and all:
  And that thy loze, ne name may neuer dye,
  Nor thy state turne, stayd by destinie:
  Dread were least once thy noble hart may feele,
  Some rufull turne, of her unsteady wheele._

  [Sidenote: _Apostrophe_, or the turne tale.]
Many times when we haue runne a long race in our tale spoken to the
hearers, we do sodainly flye out & either speake or exclaime at some other
person or thing, and therefore the Greekes call such figure (as we do) the
turnway or turnetale, & breedeth by such exchaunge a certaine recreation
to the hearers minds, as this vsed by a louer to his vnkind mistresse.
  _And as for you (faire one) say now by proofe ye finde,
  That rigour and ingratitude soone kill a gentle minde._

And as we in our triumphals, speaking long to the Queenes Maiestie, vpon
the sodaine we burst out in an exclamtion to _Phebus_, seeming to draw in
a new matter, thus.
  _But O Phebus,
  All glistering in thy gorgious gowne,
  Wouldst thou wit safe to slide a downe:
  And dwell with us,

  But for a day,
  I could tell thee close in thine eare,
  A tale that thou hadst leuer heare
  --I dare well say:

  Then ere thou wert,
  To kisse that unkind runneaway,
  Who was transformed to boughs of bay:
  For her curst hert. &c ._

And so returned againe to the first matter.

  [Sidenote: _Hypotiposis_, or the counterfait representation.]
The matter and occasion leadeth vs many times to describe and set foorth
many things, in such sort as it should appeare they were truly before our
eyes though they were not present, which to do it requireth cunning: for
nothing can be kindly counterfait or represented in his absence, but by
great discretion in the doer. And if the things we couet to describe be
not naturall or not veritable, than yet the same axeth more cunning to do
it, because to faine a thing that neuer was nor is like to be, proceedeth
of a greater wit and sharper inuention than to describe things that be
true.

  [Sidenote: _Prosopographia_.]
And these be things that a poet or maker is woont to describe sometimes as
true or naturall, and sometimes to faine as artificiall and not true.
_viz_. The visage, speach and countenance of any person absent or dead:
and this kinde of representation is called the Counterfait countenance: as
_Homer_ doth in his _Iliades_, diuerse personages: namely _Achilles_ and
_Thersites_, according to the truth and not by fiction. And as our poet
_Chaucer_ doth in his Canterbury tales set for the Sumner, Pardoner,
Manciple, and the rest of the pilgrims, most naturally and pleasantly.

  [Sidenote: _Prosopopeia_, or the Counterfait in personation.]
But if ye wil faine any person with such features, qualities & conditions,
or if ye wil attribute any humane quality, as reason or speech to dombe
creatures or other insensible things, & do study (as one may say) to giue
them a humane person, it is not _Prosopographia_, but _Prosopopeia_,
because it is by way of fiction, & no prettier examples can be giuen to
you thereof, than in the Romant of the rose translated out of French by
_Chaucer_, describing the persons of auarice, enuie, old age, and many
others, whereby much moralities is taught.

  [Sidenote: _Cronographia_, or the Counterfait time.]
So if we describe the time or season of the yeare, as winter, summer,
haruest, day, midnight, noone, euening, or such like: we call such
description the counterfait time. _Cronographia_ examples are euery where
to be found.

  [Sidenote: _Topographia_, or the Counterfait place.]
And if this description be of any true place, citie, castell, hill, valley
or sea, & such like: we call it the counterfait place _Topographia_, or if
ye fayne places vntrue, as heauen, hell, paradise, the house of fame, the
pallace of the sunne, the denne of sheepe, and such like which ye shall
see in Poetes: so did _Chaucer_ very well describe the country of
_Saluces_ in _Italie_, which ye may see, in his report of the Lady
_Grysyll_.

  [Sidenote: _Pragmatographia_, or the Counterfait action.]
But if such description be made to represent the handling of any busines
with the circumstances belonging therevnto as the manner of a battell, a
feast, a marriage, a buriall or any other matter that heth in feat and
actiutie: we call it then the counterfeit action [_Pragmatographia_.]

In this figure the Lord _Nicholas Vaux_ a noble gentleman, and much
delighted in vulgar making, & a man otherwise of no great learning but
hauing herein a maruelous facillitie, made a dittie representing the
battayle and assault of _Cupide_, so excellently well, as for the gallant
and propre application of his fiction in euery part, I cannot choose but
set downe the greatest part of his ditty, for in truth it can not be
amended.
  _When Cupid scaled first the fort,
  Wherein my hart lay wounded sore,
  The battrie was of such a sort,
  That I must yeeld or die therefore.
  There saw I loue vpon the wall,
  How he his banner did display,
  Alarme alarme he gan to call,
  And had his souldiers keepe aray.
    The armes the which that Cupid bare,
  We pearced harts with teares besprent:
  In siluer and sable to declare
  The stedfast loue he alwaies meant.
    There might you see his band all drest
  In colours like to white and blacke,
  With pouder and with pellets prest,
  To bring them forth to spoile and sacke,
  Good will the master of the shot,
  Stood in the Rampire braue and proude,
  For expence of pouder he spared not,
  Assault assault to crie aloude.
    There might you heare the Canons rore,
  Eche peece discharging a louers looke, &c._

  [Sidenote: _Omiosis_, or Resemblance.]
As well to a good maker and Poet as to an excellent perswader in prose,
the figure of _Similitude_ is very necessary by which we not onely
bewtifie our tale, but also very much inforce & inlarge it. I say inforce
because no one thing more preuaileth with all ordinary iudgements than
perswasion by _similitude_. Now because there are sundry sorts of them,
which also do worke after diuerse fashions in the hearers of conceits, I
will set them foorth by a triple diuision, exempting the generall
_Similitude_ as their common Auncestour, and I will cal him by the name of
_Resemblance_ without any addition, from which I deriue three other sorts:
and giue euery one his particular name, as Resemblance by Pourtrait or
Imagery, which the Greeks call _Icon_, _Resemblance_ morall or misticall,
which they call _Parabola_, & _Resemblance_ by example, which they call
_Paradigma_, and first we will speake of the general resemblance, or bare
_similitude_, which may be thus spoken.
  _But as the watrie showres delay the raging wind,
  So doeth good hope cleane put away dispaire out of my mind._

And in this other likening the forlorne louer to a striken deer.
  _Then as the striken deere, withdrawes himselfe alone,
  So do I seeke some secret place, where I may make my mone._

And in this of ours where we liken glory to a shadow.
  _As the shadow (his nature beying such,)
  Followeth the body, whether it will or no,
  So doeth glory, refuse it nere so much,
  Wait on vertue, be it in weale or wo.
  And euen as the shadow in his kind,
  What time it beares the carkas company,
  Goth oft before, and often comes behind:
  So doth renowne, that raiseth us so hye,
  Come to vs quicke, sometime not till we dye.
  But the glory, that growth not ouer fast,
  Is euer great, and likeliest long to last._

Againe in a ditty to a mistresse of ours, where we likened the cure of
Loue to _Achilles_ launce.
  _The launce so bright, that made Telephus wound,
  The same rusty, salued the sore againe,
  So may my meede (Madame) of you redownd,
  Whose rigour was first suthour of my paine._

The _Tuskan_ poet vseth this _Resemblance_, inuring as well by
_Dissimilitude_ as _Similitude_, likening himselfe (by _Implication_) to
the flie, and neither to the eagle nor to the owle: very well Englished by
Sir Thomas Wiat after his fashion and by myselfe thus:
  _There be some fowles of sight so prowd and starke,
  As can behold the sunne, and neuer shrinke,
  Some so feeble, as they are faine to winke,
  Or neuer come abroad till it be darke:
  Others there be so simple, as they thinke,
  Because it shines, so sport them in the fire,
  And feele vnware, the wrong of the desire,
  Fluttring amidst the flame that doth them burne,
  Of this last ranke (alas) am I aright,
  For in my ladies lookes to stand or turne
  I haue no power, ne find place to retire,
  Where any darke may shade me from her sight
  But to her beames so bright whilst I aspire,
  I perish by the bane of my delight._

Againe in these likening a wise man to the true louer.
  _As true loue is constant with his enioy,
  And asketh no witnesse nor no record,
  And as faint loue is euermore most coy,
  To boast and brag his troth at euery word:
  Euen so the wise without enother meede:
  Contents him with the guilt of his good deede._

And in this resembling the learning of an euill man to the seedes sowen in
barren ground.
  _As the good seedes sowen in fruitfull soyle,
  Bring foorth foyson when barren doeth them spoile:
  So doeth it fare when much good learning hits,
  Vpon shrewde willes and ill disposed wits._

And in these likening the wise man to an idiot.
  _A sage man said, many of those that come
  To Athens schoole for wisdome, ere they went
  They first seem'd wise, then louers of wisdome,
  Then Orators, then idiots, which is meant
  That in wisedome all such as profite most,
  Are least surlie, and little apt to boast._

Againe, for a louer, whose credit vpon some report had bene shaken, he
prayeth better opinion by similitude.
  _After ill crop the soyle must eft be sowen,
  And fro shipwracke we sayle to seas againe,
  Then God forbid whose fault hath once bene knowen,
  Should for euer a spotted wight remaine._

And in this working by resemblance in a kinde of dissimilitude betweene a
father and a master.
  _It fares not by fathers as by masters it doeth fare,
  For a foolish father may get a wise sonne,
  But of a foolish master it haps very rare
  Is bread a wise seruant where euer he wonne.

And in these, likening the wise man to the Giant, the foole to
the Dwarfe.
  _Set the Giant deepe in a dale, the dwarfe vpon an hill,
  Yet will the one be but a dwarfe, th'other a giant still.
  So will the wise be great and high, euen in the lowest place:
  The foole when he is most aloft, will seeme but low and base._

  [Sidenote: _Icon_, or Resemblance by imagerie.]
But when we liken an humane person to another in countenaunce, stature,
speach or other qualitie, it is not called bare resemblance, but
resemblaunce by imagerie or pourtrait, alluding to the painters terme, who
yeldeth to th'eye a visible representation of the thing he describes and
painteth in his table. So we commending her Maiestie for the wisedome
bewtie and magnanimitie likened her to the Serpent, the Lion and the
Angell, because by common vsurpation, nothing is wiser then the Serpent,
more courageous then the Lion, more bewtifull then the Angell. These are
our verses in the end of the seuenth _Partheniade._
  _Nature that seldome workes amisse,
  In womans brest by passing art:
  Hath lodged safe the Lyons hart,
  And stately fixt with all good grace,
  To Serpents head an Angels face._

And this maner of resemblance is not onely performed by likening liuely
creatures one to another, but also of any other naturall thing bearing a
proportion of similitude, as to liken yellow to gold, white to siluer, red
to the rose, soft to silke, hard to the stone and such like. Sir _Philip
Sidney_ in the description of his mistresse excellently well handled this
figure of resemblaunce by imagerie, as ye may see in his booke of
_Archadia_: and ye may see the like, of our doings, in a _Partheniade_
written of our soueraigne Lady, wherein we resemble euery part of her body
to some naturall thing of excellent perfection in his kind, as of her
forehead, browes, and haire, thus:
  _Of siluer was her forehead hye,
  Her browes two bowes of hebenie,
  Her tresses trust were to behold
  Frizled and fine as fringe of gold._

And of her lips.
  _Two lips wrought out of rubie rocke,
  Like leaues to shut and to vnlock.
  As portall dore in Princes chamber:
  A golden tongue in mouth of amber._

And of her eyes.
  _Her eyes God wot what stuffe they are,
  I durst be sworne each is a starre:
  As cleere and bright as woont to guide
  The Pylot in his winter tide._

And of her breasts.
  _Her bosome sleake as Paris plaster,
  Helde up two balles of alabaster,
  Eche byas was a little cherrie:
  Or els I thinke a strawberie._

And all the rest that followeth, which may suffice to exemplifie your
figure _Icon_, or resemblance by imagerie and portrait.

  [Sidenote: _Parabola_ or Resemblance misticall.]
But whensoeuer by your similitude ye will seeme to teach any moralitie or
good lesson by speeches misticall and darke, or farre sette, vnder a sence
metaphoricall applying one naturall thing to another, or one case to
another, inferring by them a like consequence in other cases the Greekes
call it _Parabola_, which terme is also by custome accepted of vs:
neuerthelesse we may call him in English the resemblance misticall: as
when we liken a young childe to a greene twigge which ye may easilie bende
euery way ye list: or an old man who laboureth with continuall
infirmities, to a drie and dricklie oke. Such parables were all the
preachings of Christ in the Gospell, as those of the wise and foolish
virgins, of the euil steward, of the labourers in the vineyard, and a
number more. And they may be fayned aswell as true: as those fables of
_Aesope_, and other apologies inuented for doctrine sake by wise and graue
men.

  [Sidenote: _Paradigma_, or a resemblance by example.]
Finally, if in matter of counsell or perswasion we will seeme to liken one
case to another, such as passe ordinarily in mans affaires, and doe
compare the past with the present, gathering probabilitie of like successe
to come in the things wee haue presently in hand: or if ye will draw the
iudgements precedent and authorized by antiquitie as veritable, and
peraduenture fayned and imagined for some purpose, into similitude or
dissimilitude with our present actions and affaires, it is called
resemblance by example: as if one should say thus, _Alexander_ the great
in his expidition to Asia did thus, so did _Hanniball_ comming into
Spaine, so did _Caesar_ in Egypt, therfore all great Captains & Generals
ought to doe it.

And thus againe, It hath bene alwayes vsuall among great and magnanimous
princes in all ages, not only to repulse any iniury & inuasion from their
owne realmes and dominions, but also with a charitable & Princely
compassion to defend their good neighbors Princes and Potentats, from all
oppression of tyrants & vsurpers. So did the Romaines by their armes
restore many Kings of Asia and Affricke expulsed out of their kingdoms. So
did K. _Edward_ I restablish _Baliol_ rightfull owner of the crowne of
Scotland against _Robert le brus_ no lawfull King. So did king _Edward_
the third aide _Dampeeter_ king of Spaine against _Henry_ bastard and
vsurper. So haue many English Princes holpen with their forces the poore
Dukes of Britaine their ancient friends and allies, against the outrages
of the French kings: and why may not the Queene our soueraine Lady with
like honor and godly zele yeld protection to the people of the Low
countries, her neerest neighbours to rescue them a free people from the
Spanish seruitude.

And as this resemblance is of one mans action to another, so may it be
made by examples of bruite beastes, aptly corresponding in qualitie or
euent, as one that wrote certaine prety verses of the Emperor _Maximinus_,
to warne him that he should not glory too much in his owne strength, for
so he did in very deede, and would not take any common souldier to taske
at wrastling, or weapon, or in any other actiuitie and feates of armes,
which was by the wiser sort mislliked, these were the verses.
  The Elephant is strong, yet death doeth it subdue,
  The bull is strong, yet cannot death eschue.
  The Lion strong, and slaine for all his strength:
  The Tygar strong, yet kilde is at the length.
  Dread thou many, that dreadest not any one,
  Many can kill, that cannot kill alone._

And so it fell out, for _Maximinus_ was slaine in a mutinie of his
souldiers, taking no warning by these examples written for his
admonition.




  _CHAP. XX._

_The last and principall figure of our poeticall Ornament._


  [Sidenote:  _Exargasia_ or The Gorgious.]
For the glorious lustre it setteth vpon our speech and language, the
Greeks call it [_Exargasia_] the Latine [_Expolisio_] a terme transferred
from these polishers of marble or porphirite, who after it is rough hewen
& reduced to that fashion they will do set vpon it a goodly glasse, so
smoth and cleere as ye may see your face in it, or otherwise as it fareth
by the bare and naked body, which being attired in rich and gorgious
apparell, seemeth to the common vsage of th'eye much more comely &
bewtifull then the naturall. So doth this figure (which therefore I call
the _Gorgious_) polish our speech & as it were attire it with copious &
pleasant amplifications and much varietie of sentences all running vpon
one point & to one intent so as I doubt whether I may terme it a figure,
or rather a masse of many figurative speaches, applied to the bewtifying
of our tale or argument. In a worke of ours intituled _Philocalia_ we have
strained to shew the vse & application of this figure and all others
mentioned in this booke, to which we referre you. I finde none example in
English meetre, so well maintaining this figure as that dittie of her
Maiesties owne making passing sweete and harmonicall, which figure beyng
as his very originall name purporteth the most bewtifull and gorgious of
all others, it asketh in reason to be reserued for a last complement, and
desciphred by the arte of a Ladies penne, her selfe being the most
bewtifull, or rather bewtie of Queenes. And this was the occasion: our
soueraigne Lady perceiuing how by the Sc.Q. residence within this Realme
at so great libertie and ease (as were skarce meete for so great and
daungerous a prysoner) bred secret factions among her people, and made
many of the nobilitie incline to fauour her partie: some of them desirous
of innouation in the state: others aspiring to greater fortunes by her
libertie and life. The Queene our soueraigne Lady to declare that she was
nothing ignorant of those secret practizes, though she had long with great
wisdome and pacience dissembled it, writeth this ditty most sweet and
sententious, not hiding from all such aspiring minds the daunger of their
ambition and disloyaltie: which afterward fell out most truly by
th'exemplary chastisement of sundry persons, who in fauour of the said
Sc.Q. declining from her Maiestie, sought to interrupt the quiet of the
Realme by many euill and vndutifull practizes. The ditty is as followeth.
  _The doubt of future foes, exiles my present ioy,
  And wit me warnes to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy.
  For falshood now doth flow, and subiect faith doth ebbe,
  Which would not be, if reason rul'd or widsome wev'd the webbe.
  But clowdes of tois vntried, do cloake aspiring mindes,
  Which turne to raigne of late repent, by course of changed windes.
  The toppe of hope supposed, the roote of ruth wil be,
  And frutelesse all their grassed guiles, as shortly ye shall see.
  The dazeld eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds,
  Shalbe vnseeld by worthy wights, whose foresight falshood finds.
  The daughter of debate, that eke discord doth sowe
  Shal reap no gaine where formor rule hath taught stil peace to growe.
  No forreine bannisht wight shall ancre in this port,
  Our realme it brookes no strangers force, let them elsewhere resort.
  Our rusty sworde with rest shall first his edge employ,
  To polle their toppes that seeke, such change and gape for ioy._

In a worke of ours entituled [_Philo Calia_] where we entreat of the loues
betwene prince _Philo_ and Lady _Calia_ in their mutual letters messages,
and speeches: we have strained our muse to shew the vse and application of
this figure, and of all others.




  _CHAP. XXI._

_Of the vices or deformities in speach and writing principally noted by
auncient Poets._


It hath bene said before how by ignorance of the maker a good figure may
become a vice, and by his good discretion, a vicious speach go for a
vertue in the Poeticall science. This saying is to be explaned and
qualified, for some maner of speaches are always intollerable and such as
cannot be vsed with any decencie, but are euer vndecent namely
barbarousnesse, incongruitie, ill disposition, fond affectation,
rusticitie, and all extreme darknesse, such as it is not possible for a
man to vnderstand the matter without an interpretour, all which partes are
generally to be banished out of euery language, vnlesse it may appeare
that the maker or Poet do it for the nonce, as it was reported by the
Philosopher _Heraclitus_ that he wrote in obscure and darke termes of
purpose not to be vnderstood, whence he merited the nickname _Scotinus_,
otherwise I see not but the rest of the common faultes may be borne with
sometimes, or passe without any greate reproofe, not being vsed ouermuch
or out of season as I said before: so as euery surplusage or preposterous
placing or vndue iteration or darke word, or doubtfull speach are not so
narrowly to be looked vpon in a large poeme, nor specially in the pretie
Poesies and deuises of Ladies, and Gentlewomen makers, whom we would not
haue too precise Poets least with their shrewd wits, when they were maried
they might become a little too phantasticall wiues, neuerthelesse because
we seem to promise an arte, which doth not iustly admit any wilful errour
in the teacher, and to th'end we may not be carped at by these methodicall
men, that we haue omitted any necessary point in this businesse to be
regarded, I will speake somewhat touching these viciosities of language
particularly and briefly, leauing no little to the Grammarians for
maintenaunce of the scholasticall warre, and altercations: we for our part
condescending in this deuise of ours, to the appetite of Princely
personages & other so tender & quesie complexions in Court, as are annoyed
with nothing more then long lessons and ouermuch good order.




  _CHAP. XXII._

_Some vices in speaches and writing are alwayes intollerable, some others
now and then borne withall by licence of approued authors and custome._


  [Sidenote: _Barbarismus_, or Forrein speech.]
The foulest vice in language is to speake barbarously: this terme grew by
the great pride of the Greekes and Latines, when they were dominatours of
the world reckoning no language so sweete and ciuill as their owne, and
that all nations beside them selues were rude and vnciuill, which they
called barbarous: So as when any straunge word not of the naturall Greeke
or Latin was spoken, in the old time they called it _barbarisme_, or when
any of their owne naturall wordes were sounded and pronounced with
straunge and ill shapen accents, or written by wrong ortographie, as he
that would say with vs in England, a dousand for a thousand, asterday, for
yesterday, as commonly the Dutch and French people do, they said it was
barbarously spoken. The Italian at this day by like arrogance calleth the
Frenchman, Spaniard, Dutch, English, and all other breed behither their
mountaines _Appennines_, _Tramontani_, as who would say Barbarous. This
terme being then so vsed by the auncient Greekes, there haue bene since,
notwithstanding who haue digged for the Etimologie somethat deeper, and
many of them haue said that is was spoken by the rude and barking language
of the Affricans now called Barbarians, who had great trafficke with the
Greekes and Romanes, but that can not be so, for that part or Affricke
hath but of late receiued the name of Burbarie and some others rather
thinke that of this word Barbarous, that countrey came to be called
_Barbaria_ and but few yeares in respect agone. Others among whom is _Ihan
Leon_ a Moore of _Granada_, will seeme to deriue _Barbaria_, from this
word _Bar_, twice iterated thus _Barbar_, as much to say as flye, flye,
which chaunced in a persecution of the Arabians by some seditious
Mahometanes in the time of their Pontif, _Habdul mumi_, when they were had
in the chase, & driuen out of Arabia Westward into the countreys of
_Mauritania_, & during the pursuite cried one vpon another flye away, flye
away, or passe passe, by which occasion they say, when the Arabians which
were had in chase came to stay and settle themselues in that part of
Affrica, they called it _Barbar_, as much to say, the region of their
flight or pursuite. Thus much for the terme, though not greatly pertinent
to the matter, yet not vnpleasant to know for them that delight in such
niceties.

  [Sidenote: _Solecismus_, or Incongruitie.]
Your next intollerable vice is _solecismus_ or incongruitie, as when we
speake halfe English, that is by misusing the _Grammaticall_ rules to be
obserued in cases, genders, tenses, and such like, euery poore scholler
knowes the fault, & cals it the breaking of _Priscians_ head, for he was
among the Latines a principall Grammarian.

  [Sidenote: Cacozelia, or Fonde affectation.]
Ye haue another intollerable ill maner of speach, which by the Greekes
originall we may call _fonde affectation_ and is when we affect new words
and phrases other then the good speakers and writers in any language, or
then custome hath allowed, & is the common fault of young schollers not
halfe well studied before they come from the Vniuersitie or schooles, and
when they come to their friends, or happen to get some benefice or other
promotion in their countreys, will seeme to coigne fine wordes out of the
Latin, and to vse new fangled speaches, thereby to shew thenselues among
the ignorant the better learned.

  [Sidenote: Soraismus, or The mingle mangle.]
Another of your intollerable vices is that which the Greekes call
_Soraismus_, & we may call the [_mingle mangle_] as when we make our
speach or writinges of sundry languages vsing some Italian word, or
French, or Spanish, or Dutch, or Scottish, not for the nonce or for any
purpose (which were in part excusable) but ignorantly and affectedly as
one that said vsing this French word _Roy_, to make ryme with another
verse, thus.
  _O mightie Lord of loue, dame Venus onely ioy,
  Whose Princely power exceedes ech other heauenly roy._

The verse is good but the terme peeuishly affected.

Another of reasonable good facilitie in translation finding certaine of
the hymnes of _Pyndarus_ and of _Anacreons odes_, and other _Lirickes_
among the Greekes very well translated by _Rounsard_ the French Poet, &
applied to the honour of a great Prince in France, comes our minion and
translates the same out of French into English, and applieth them to the
honour of a great noble man in England (wherein I commend his reuerent
minde and duetie) but doth so impudently robbe the French Poet both of his
prayse and also of his French termes, that I cannot so much pitie him as
be angry with him for his inurious dealing, our sayd maker not being
ashamed to vfe these French wordes _freddon, egar, superbous, filanding,
celest, calabrois, thebanois_ and a number of others, for English wordes,
which haue no maner of conformitie with our language either by custome or
deriuation which may make them tollerable. And in the end (which is worst
of all) makes his vaunt that neuer English finger but his hath toucht
_Pindars_ string which was neuerthelesse word by word as _Rounsard_ had
said before by like braggery. These be his verses.
  _And of an ingenious inuention infanted with pleasant trauaile._

Whereas the French word is _enfante_ as much to say borne as a
child, in another verse he saith.
  _I will freddon in thine honour._

For I will shake or quiuer my fingers, for so in French is _freddon_,
and in another verse.
  _But if I will thus like pindar,
  In many discourses egar._

This word _egar_ is as much to say as to wander or stray out of the way,
which in our English is not receiued, nor these wordes _calabrois,
thebanois_, but rather _calabrian, theba_ [_filanding sisters_] for the
spinning sisters: this man deserues to be endited of pety _larceny_ for
pilfring other mens deuices from them & conuerting them to his owne vfe
for in deede as I would with euery inuentour which is the very Poet to
receaue the prayses of his inuention, so would I not haue a translatour be
ashamed to be acknowen of this translation.

  [Sidenote: _Cacosintheton_, or the Misplacer.]
Another of your intollerable vices is ill disposiiton or placing of your
words in a clause or sentence: as when you will place your adiectiue after
your substantiue, thus: _Mayde faire, widow riche, priest holy_, and such
like, which though the Latines did admit, yet our English did not, as one
that said ridiculously.
  _In my yeares lustie, many a deed doughtie did I._

All these remembred faults be intollerable and euer vndecent.

  [Sidenote: _Cacemphaton_, or figure of foule speech.]
Now haue ye other vicious manners of speech, but sometimes and in some
cases tollerable, and chiefly to the intent to mooue laughter, and to make
sport, or to giue it some prety strange grace, and is when we vse such
wordes as may be drawen to a foule and vnshamefast sence, as one that
would say to a young woman, _I pray you let me iape with you_, which
indeed is no more but let me sport with you. Yea and though it were not
altogether so directly spoken the very sounding of the word were not
commendable, as he that in the presence of Ladies would vse this common
Prouerbe,
  _Iape with me but hurt me not,
  Bourde with me but shame me not._

For it may be taken in another peruerser sence by that sorte of persons
that heare it, in whose eares no such matter ought almost to be called in
memory, this vice is called by the Greekes _Cacemphaton_, we call it the
vnshamefast or figure of foule speech, which our courtly maker shall in
any case shunne, least of a Poet he become a Buffon or rayling companion,
the Latines called him _Scurra_. There is also another sort of ilfauoured
speech subiect to this vice, but resting more in the manner of the
ilshapen sound and accent, than for the matter it selfe, which may easily
be auoyded in choosing your wordes those that bee of the pleasantest
orthography, and not to rune too many like sounding words together.

  [Sidenote: _Tautologia_, or the figure of selfe saying.]
Ye haue another manner of composing your metre nothing commendable,
specially if it be too much vsed, and is when our maker takes too much
delight to fill his verse with wordes beginning all with a letter, as an
English rimer that said:
  _The deadly droppes of darke disdaine,
  Do daily drench my due desartes._

And as the Monke we spake of before, wrote a whole Poeme to the honor of
_Carolus Caluus_ euery word in his verse beginning with C, thus:
  _Carmina clarifone Caluis cantate camena._

Many of our English makers vse it too much, yet we confesse it doth not
ill but pretily becomes the meetre, if ye passe not two or three words in
one verse, and vse it not very much, as he that said by way of _Epithete._
  _The smoakie sighes: the trickling teares._

And such like, for such composition makes the meetre runne away smoother,
and passeth from the lippes with more facilitie by iteration of a letter
then by alteration, which alteration of a letter requires an exchange of
ministery and office in the lippes, teeth or palate, and so doth not the
iteration.

  [Sidenote: _Histeron, proteron_, or the Preposterous.]
Your misplacing and preposterous placing is not all one in behauiour of
language, for the misplacing is alwaies intollerable, but the preposterous
is a pardonable fault, and many times giues a pretie grace vnto the
speech. We call it by a common saying to _set the carte before the horse_,
and it may be done eyther by a single word or by a clause of speech: by a
single word thus:
  _And if I not performe, God let me neuer thriue._

For performe not: and this vice is sometime tollerable inough, but if the
word carry any notable sence, it is a vice not tollerable, as he that said
praising a woman for her red lippes, thus:
  _A corrall lippe of hew._

Which is no good speech, because either he should haue sayd no more but a
corrall lip, which had bene inough to declare the rednesse or els he
should haue said a lip of corrall hew, and not a corrall lip of hew. Now
if this disorder be in a whole clause which carieth more sentence then a
word, it is then worst of all.

  [Sidenote: _Acyron_, or the Vncouthe.]
Ye haue another vicious speech which the Greeks call _Acyron_, we call it
the _vncouthe_, and is when we vse an obscure and darke word, and vtterly
repugnant to that we would expresse, if it be not by vertue of the figures
_metaphore, allegorie, abusion_, or such other laudable figure before
remembred, as he that said by way of _Epithete_.
  _A dongeon deep, a dampe as darke as hell._

Where it is euident that a dampe being but a breath or vapour, and not to
be discerned by the eye, ought not to haue this _epithete (darke,)_ no
more then another that praysing his mistresse for her bewtifull haire,
said very improperly and with an vncouth terme.
  _Her haire surmounts Apollos pride,
  In it such bewty raignes._

Whereas this word _raigne_ is ill applied to the bewtie of a womans haire,
and might better haue bene spoken of her whole person, in which bewtie,
fauour, and good grace, may perhaps in some sort be said to raigne as our
selues wrate, in a _Partheniade_ praising her Maiesties countenance, thus:
  _A cheare where loue and Maiestie do raigne,
  Both milde and sterne, &c._

Because this word Maiestie is a word expressing a certaine Soueraigne
dignitie, as well as a quallitie of countenance, and therefore may
properly be said to _raigne_, & requires no meaner a word to set him
foorth by. So it is not of the bewtie that remaines in a womans haire, or
in her hand or any other member: therfore when ye see all these unproper
or harde Epithets vsed, ye may put them in the number of [_uncouths_] as
one that said, the _flouds of graces_: I haue heard of _the flouds of
teares_, and _the flouds of eloquence_, or of any thing that may resemble
the nature of a water-course, and in that respect we say also, _the
streames of teares_, and _the streames of utterance_, but not _the
streames of graces_, or of _beautie_. Such manner of vncouth speech did
the Tanner of Tamworth vse to king _Edward_ the fourth, which Tanner
hauing a great while mistaken him, and vsed very broad talke with him, at
length perceiuing by his traine that it was the king, was afraide he
should be punished for it, said thus with a certaine rude repentance.
  _I hope I shall be hanged tomorrow._

For _[I fear me] I shall be hanged_, whereat the king laughed a good, not
only to see the Tanners vaine feare, but also to heare his ill shapen
terme, and gaue him for recompence of his good sport, the inheritance of
Plumton parke, I am afraid the Poets of our time that speake more finely
and correctedly will come too short of such a reward.

  [Sidenote: The vice of Surplusage.]
Also the Poet or makers speech becomes vicious and vnpleasant by nothing
more than by vsing too much surplusage: and this both not only in a word
or two more than ordinary, but in whole clauses, and peraduenture large
sentences impertinently spoken, or with more labour and curiositie than is
requisite.

  [Sidenote: _Pleonasmus_, or Too ful speech.]
The first surplusage the Greekes call _Pleonasmus_, I call him [_too much
speech_] and is no great fault, as if one should say, _I heard it with
mine eares, and saw it with mine eyes_, as if a man could heare with his
heeles, or see with his nose. We our selues vsed this superfluous speech
in a verse written of our mistresse, neuertheles, not much to be misliked,
for euen a vice sometime being seasonably vsed, hath a pretie grace,
  _For euer may my true loue liue and neuer die
  And that mine eyes may see her crownde a Queene._

As, if she liued euer, she could euer die, or that one might see her
crowned without his eyes.

  [Sidenote: _Macrologia_, or Long language.]
Another part of surplusage is called _Macrologia_, or long language, when
we vse large clauses or sentences more than is requisite to the matter: it
is also named by the Greeks _Perissologia_, as he that said, the
Ambassadours after they had receiued this answere at the kings hands, they
tooke their leaue and returned home into their countrey from whence they
came.

So said another of our rimers, meaning to shew the great annoy and
difficultie of those warres of Troy, caused for _Helenas_ sake.
  _Nor Menelaus was vnwise,
  Or troupe of Troians mad,
  When he with them and they with him,
  For her such combat had._

The clauses (_he with them and they with him_) are surpluage, and one of
them very impertinent, because it could not otherwise be intended, but
that _Menelaus_, fighting with the Troians, the Troians must of necessitie
fight with him.

  [Sidenote: _Periergia_, or Ouerlabor, otherwise called the curious.]
Another point of surplusage lieth not so much in superfluitie of your
words, as of your trauaile to describe the matter which yee take in hand,
and that ye ouer-labour your selfe in your businesse. And therefore the
Greekes call it _Periergia_, we call it ouer-labor, iumpe with the
originall: or rather [_the curious_] for his ouermuch curiositie and
studie to shew himselfe fine in a light matter, as one of our late makers,
who in most of his things wrote very well, in this (to mine opinion) more
curiously than needed, the matter being ripely considered: yet is his
verse very good, and his meetre cleanly. His intent was to declare how
vpon the tenth day of March he crossed the riuer of Thames, to walke in
Saint _Georges_ field, the matter was not as great as ye may suppose.
  _The tenth of March when Aries receiued
  Dan Phoebus raies into his horned head,
  And I my selfe by learned lore perceiued
  That Ver approcht and frosty winter fled
  I crost the Thames to take the cheerefull aire,
  In open fields, the weather was so faire._

First, the whole matter is not worth all this solemne circumstance to
describe the tenth day of March, but if he had left at the two first
verses it had bene inough. But when he comes with two other verses to
enlarge his description, it is not only more than needes, but also very
ridiculous for he makes wise, as if he had not bene a man learned in some
of the mathematickes (by learned lore) that he could not haue told that
the x. of March had fallen in the spring of the yeare: which euery carter,
and also euery child knoweth without any learning. Then also when he saith
[_Ver approcht, and frosty winter fled_] though it were a surplusage
(because one season must needes geue place to the other) yet doeth it well
inough passe without blame in the maker. These, and a hundred more of such
faultie and impertinent speeches may yee finde amongst vs vulgar Poets
when we be carelesse of our doings.

  [Sidenote: _Tapinosis_, or the Abbaser.]
It is no small fault in a maker to vse such wordes and termes as do
diminish and abbase the matter he would seeme to set forth, by imparing
the dignitie, height vigour or maiestie of the cause he takes in hand, as
one that would say king _Philip_ shrewdly harmed the towne of
_S. Quinaines_, when in deede he wanne it and put it to the sacke, and
that king _Henry_ the eight made spoiles in _Turwin_, when as in deede he
did more than spoile it, for he caused it to be defaced and razed flat to
the earth, and made in inhabitable. Therefore the historiographer that
should by such wordes report of these two kings gestes in that behalfe,
should greatly blemish the honour of their doings and almost speake
untruly and iniuriously by way of abbasement, as another of our bad rymers
that very indecently said.
  _A misers mynde thou hast, thou hast a Princes pelfe._

A lewd terme to be giuen to a Princes treasure (_pelfe_) and was a little
more manerly spoken by _Seriant Bendlowes_, when in a progresse time
comming to salute the Queene in Huntingtonshire he said to her Cochman,
stay thy cart good fellow, stay thy cart, that I may speake to the Queene,
whereat her Maiestie laughed as she had bene tickled, and all the rest of
the company although very graciously (as her manner is) she gaue him great
thanks and her hand to kisse. These and such other base wordes do greatly
disgrace the thing & the speaker or writer: the Greekes call it
[_Tapinosis_] we the [_abbaser._]

  [Sidenote: Bomphiologia, or Pompious speech.]
Others there be that fall into the contrary vice by vsing such bombasted
wordes, as seeme altogether farced full of winde, being a great deale to
high and loftie for the matter, whereof ye may finde too many in all
popular rymers.

  [Sidenote: _Amphibologia_, or the Ambiguous.]
Then haue ye one other vicious speach with which we will finish this
Chapter, and is when we speake or write doubtfully and that the sence may
be taken two wayes, such ambiguous termes they call _Amphibologia_, we
call it the _ambiguous_, or figure of sence incertaine, as if one should
say _Thomas Tayler_ saw _William Tyler_ dronke, it is indifferent to
thinke either th'one or th'other dronke. Thus said a gentleman in our
vulgar pretily notwithstanding because he did it not ignoratnly, but for
the nonce.
  _I sat by my Lady soundly sleeping,
  My mistresse lay by me bitterly weeping._

No man can tell by this, whether the mistresse or the man, slept or wept:
these doubtfull speaches were vsed much in the old times by their false
Prophets as appeareth by the Oracles of _Delphos_ and and of the _Sybille_
prophecies deuised by the religious persons of those dayes to abuse the
superstitious people, and to encumber their busie braynes with vaine hope
or vaine feare.

_Lucretius_ the merry Greeke reciteth a great number of them, deuised by a
coosening companion one _Alexander_, to get himselfe the name and
reputation of the God _Aesculapius_, and in effect all our old Brittish
and Saxon prophesies be of the same sort, that turne them on which side ye
will, the matter of them may be verified, neuerthelesse carryeth generally
such force in the heades of fonde people, that by the comfort of those
blind prophecies many insurrections and rebellions have bene stirred vp in
this Realme, as that of _Iacke Straw & Iacke Cade_ in _Richard_ the
seconds time, and in our time by a seditious fellow in Norffolke calling
himself Captaine Ket and others in other places of the Realme lead
altogether by certaine propheticall rymes, which might be construed two or
three wayes as well as to that one whereunto the rebelles applied it: our
maker shall therefore auoyde all such ambiguous speaches vnlesse it be
when he doth it for the nonce and for some purpose.




  _CHAP. XXIII._

_What it is that generally makes our speach well pleasing & commeniable
and of that which the Latines call Decorum._


In all things to vse decencie, is it onely that giueth euery thing his
good grace & without which nothing in mans speach could seeme good or
gracious, in so much as many times it makes a bewtifull figure fall into
deformitie, and on th'other side a vicious speach seeme pleasaunt and
bewtifull: this decencie is therfore the line & leuell for al good  makers
to do their busines by. But herein resteth the difficultie to know what
this good grace is, & wherein it confitted, for peraduenture it be easier
to conceaue then to expresse, we wil therfore examine it to the bottome &
say: that euery thing which pleaseth the mind or sences, & the mind by the
sences as by means instrumentall, doth it for some amiable point or
qualitie that is in it, which draweth them to a good liking and
contentment with their proper obiects. But that cannot be if they discouer
any illfauorednesse or disproportion to the partes apprehensiue, as for
example, when a sound is either too loude or too low or otherwise confuse,
the eare is ill affected: so is th'eye if the coulour be sad or not
liminous and recreatiue, or the shape of a membred body without his due
measures and simmetry, and the like of euery other sence in his proper
function.  These excesses or defectes or confusions and disorders in the
sensible objectes are deformities and vnseemely to the sence. In like sort
the mynde for the things that be his mentall obiectes hath his good graces
and his bad, whereof th'one contents him wonderous well, th'other
displeaseth him continually, no more nor no lesse then ye see the discords
of musicke do to a well tuned eare. The Greekes call this good grace of
euery thing in his kinde, [Greek: illegible], the Latines [_decorum_] we
in our vulgar call it by a scholasticall terme [_decencie_] our owne Saxon
English terme is [_seemelynesse_] that is to say, for his good shape and
vtter appearance well pleasing the eye, we call it also [_comelynesse_]
for the delight it bringeth comming towards vs, and to that purpose may be
called [_pleasant approche_] so as euery way seeking to expresse this
[Greek: illegible] of the Greekes and _decorum_ of the Latines, we are
faine in our vulgar toung to borrow the terme which our eye onely for his
noble prerogatiue ouer all the rest of the sences doth vsurpe, and to
apply the same to all good, comely, pleasant and honest things, euen to
the spirituall obiectes of the mynde, which stand no lesse in the due
proportion of reason and discourse than any other materiall thing doth in
his sensible bewtie, proportion and comelynesse.

Now because this comelynesse resteth in the good conformitie of many
things and their sundry circumstances, with respect one to another, so as
there be found a iust correspondencie betweene them by this or that
relation, the Greekes call it _Analogie_ or a conuenient proportion. This
louely conformitie or proportion or conueniencie betweene the sence and
the sensible hath nature her selfe first most carefully obserued in all
her owne workes, then also by kinde graft it in the appetites of euery
creature working by intelligence to couet and desire: and in their actions
to imitate & performe: and of man chiefly before any other creature as
well in his speaches as in euery other part of his behauiour. And this in
generalitie and by an vsuall terme is that which the Latines call
[_decorum_.] So albeit we before alleaged that all our figures be but
transgressions of our dayly speach, yet if they fall out decently to the
good liking of the mynde or eare and to the bewtifying of the matter or
language, all is well, if indecently, and to the eares and myndes
misliking (be the figure of it selfe neuer so commendable) all is amisse,
the election is the writers, the iudgement is the worlds, as theirs to
whom the reading apperteineth. But since the actions of man with their
circumstances be infinite, and the world likewise replenished with many
iudgements, it may be a question who shal haue the determination of such
controuersie as may arise whether this or that action or speach be decent
or indecent: and verely it seemes to go all by discretion, not perchaunce
of euery one, but by a learned and experienced discretion, for otherwise
seemes the _decorum_ to a weake and ignorant iudgement, then it doth to
one of better knowledge and experience: which sheweth that it resteth in
the discerning part of the minde, so as he who can make the best and most
differences of things by reasonable and wittie distinction is to be the
fittest iudge or sentencer of [_decencie_.] Such generally is the
discreetest man, particularly in any art the most skilfull and
discreetest, and in all other things for the more part those that be of
much obseruation and greatest experience. The case then standing that
discretion must chiefly guide all those business, since there be sundry
sortes of discretion all unlike, euen as there be men of action or art, I
see no way so fit to enable a man truly to estimate of [_decencie_] as
example, by whose veritie we may deeme the differences of things and their
proportions, and by particular discussions come at length to sentence of
it generally, and also in our behauiours the more easily to put it in
execution. But by reason of the sundry circumstances, that mans affaires
are as it were wrapt in, this [_decencie_] comes to be very much alterable
and subiect to varietie, in so much as our speech asketh one maner of
_decencie_, in respect of the person who speakes: another of his to whom
it is spoken: another of whom we speake: another of what we speak, and in
what place and time and to what purpose. And as it is of speach, so of al
other our behauiours. We wil therefore set you down some few examples of
euery circumstance how it alters the decencie of speach or action. And by
these few shal ye be able to gather a number more to confirme and
establish your iudgement by a perfit discretion.

This decencie, so farfoorth as apperteineth to the consideration of our
art, resteth in writing, speech and behauiour. But because writing is no
more then the image or character of speech, they shall goe together in
these our observations. And first wee wil sort you out diuers points, in
which the wise and learned men of times past haue noted much decency or
vndecencie, every man according to his discretion, as it hath bene said
afore: but wherein for the most part all discreete men doe generally
agree, and varie not in opinion, whereof the examples I will geue you be
worthie of remembrance: & though they brought with them no doctrine or
institution at all, yet for the solace they may geue the readers, after
such a rable of scholastical precepts which be tedious, these reports
being of the nature of matters historicall, they are to be embraced: but
olde memories are very profitable to the mind and serue as a glasse to
looke vpon and behold the euents of time, and more exactly to skan the
trueth of every case that shall happen in the affaires of man, and many
there be that haply doe not obserue euery particularitie in matters of
decencie or vndecencie: and yet when the case is tolde them by another
man, they commonly geue the same sentence vpon it. But yet whosoeuer
obserueth much, shalbe counted the wisest and discreetest man, and
whosoever spends all his life in his owne vaine actions and conceits, and
obserues no mans else, he shal in the ende prooue but a simple man. In
which respect it is alwaies said, one man of experience is wiser than
tenne learned men, because of his long and studious obseruation and often
triall.

And your decencies are of sundrie sorts, according to the many
circumstances accompanying our writing, speech or behauiour, so as in the
very sound or voice of him that speaketh, there is a decencie that
becommeth, and an vndecencie that misbecommeth vs, which th'Emperor
_Anthonine_ marked well in the Orator _Philisetes_, who spake before him
with so small and shrill a voice as the Emperor was greatly annoyed
therewith, and to make him shorten his tale, said, by thy beard thou
shouldst be a man, but by thy voice a woman.

_Phanorinus_ the Philosopher was counted very wise and well learned, but a
little too talkatiue and full of words: for the which _Timocrates_
reprooued him in the hearing of one _Polemon_. That is no wonder quoth
_Polemon_, for so be all women. And besides, _Phanorinus_ being knowen for
an Eunuke or gelded man, came by the same nippe to be noted as an
effeminate and degenerate person.

And there is a measure to be vsed in a mans speech or tale, so as it be
neither for shortnesse too darke, nor for length too tedious. Which made
_Cleomenes_ king of the Lacedemonians geue this vnpleasant answere to the
Ambassadors or the Samiens, who had tolde him a long message from their
Citie, and desired to know his pleasure in it. My masters (saith he) the
first part of your tale was so long, that I remember it not, which made
that the second I vnderstoode not, and as for the third part I doe nothing
well allow of. Great princes and graue counsellors who haue little spare
leisure to hearken, would haue speeches vsed to them such as be short and
sweete.

And if they be spoken by a man of account, or one who for his yeares,
profession or dignitie should be thought wise & reuerend, his speeches &
words should also be graue, pithie & sententious, which was well noted by
king _Antiochus_, who likened _Hermogenes_ the famous Orator of Greece,
vnto these fowles in their moulting time, when their feathers be sick, and
be so loase in the flesh that at any little rowse they can easilie shake
them off: so saith he, can _Hermogenes_ of all the men that euer I knew,
as easilie deliuer from him his vaine and impertinent speeches and words.

And there is a decencie, that euery speech should be to the appetite and
delight, or dignitie of the hearer & not for any respect arrogant or
vndutifull, as was that of _Alexander_ sent Embassadour from the
_Athenians_ to th'Emperour _Marcus_, this man seing th'emperour not so
attentiue to his tale, as he would haue had him, said by way of
interruption, _Ceasar_ I pray thee giue me better eare, it seemest thou
knowest me not, nor from whom I came: the Emperour nothing well liking his
bold malapert speech, said: thou art deceyued, for I heare thee and know
well inough, that thou art that fine, foolish, curious, sawcie _Alexander_
that tendest to nothing but to combe & cury thy haire, to pare thy nailes,
to pick thy teeth, and to perfume thy selfe with sweet oyles, that no man
may abide the sent of thee. Prowde speeches, and too much finesse and
curiositie is not commendable in an Embassadour. And I haue knowen in my
time such of them, as studied more vpon what apparel they should weare,
and what countenaunces they should keepe at the times of their audience,
then they did vpon th'effect of their errant or commission.

And there is decency in that euery man should talke of the things they
haue best skill of, and not in that, their knowledge and learning serueth
them not to do, as we are wont to say, he speaketh of Robin hood that
neuer shot in his bow: there came a great Oratour before _Cleomenes_ king
of _Lacedemonia_, and vttered much matter to him touching fortitude and
valiancie in the warres: the king laughed: why laughest thou quoth the
learned man, since thou art a king thy selfe, and one whom fortitude best
becommeth? why said Cleomenes would it not make any body laugh, to heare
the swallow who feeds onely vpon flies to boast of his great pray, and see
the eagle stand by and say nothing? if thou wert a man of warre or euer
hadst bene day of thy life, I would not laugh to here thee speake of
valiancie, but neuer being so, & speaking before an old captaine I can not
choose but laugh.

And some things and speaches are decent or indecent in respect of the time
they be spoken or done in. As when a great clerk presented king
_Antiochus_ with a booke treating all of iustice, the king that time lying
at the siege of a towne, who lookt vpon the title of the booke, and cast
it to him againe: saying, what a diuell tellest thou to me of iustice, now
thou seest me vse force and do the best I can to bereeue mine enimie of
his towne? euery thing hath his season which is called Oportunitie, and
the vnfitnesse or vndecency of the time is called Importunitie.

Sometime the vndeceny ariseth by the indignitie of the word in respect of
the speaker himselfe, as whan a daughter of Fraunce and next heyre
generall to the crowne (if the law _Salique_ had not barred her) being set
in a great chaufe by some harde words giuen her by another prince of the
bloud, said in her anger, thou durst not haue said thus much to me if God
had giuen me a paire of, &c. and told all out, meaning if God had made her
a man and not a woman she had bene king of Fraunce. The word became not
the greatnesse of her person, and much lesse her sex, whose chiefe virtue
shamefastnesse, which the Latines call _Verecundia_, that is a naturall
feare to be noted with any impudicitie: so as when they heare or see any
thing tending that way they commonly blush, & is a part greatly praised in
all women.

Yet will ye see in many cases how pleasant speeches and fauouring some
skurrillity and vnshamefastnes haue now and then a certaine decencie, and
well become both the speaker to say, and the hearer to abide, but that is
by reason of some other circumstance, as when the speaker himselfe is
knowne to be a common iester or buffon, such as take vpon them to make
princes merry, or when some occasion is giuen by the hearer to induce such
a pleasaunt speach, and in many other cases whereof no generall rule can
be giuen, but are best knowen by example: as when Sir _Andrew Flamock_
king _Henry_ the eights standerdbearer, a merry conceyted man and apt to
skoffe, waiting one day at the kings heeles when he entred the parke at
Greenewich, the king blew his horne, _Flamock_ hauing his belly full, and
his tayle at commaundment, gaue out a rappe nothing faintly, that the king
turned him about and said how now sirra? _Flamock_ not well knowing how to
excuse his vnmannerly act, if it please you Sir quoth he, your Maiesty
blew one blast for the keeper and I another for his man. The king laughed
hartily and tooke it nothing offensiuely: for indeed as the case fell out
it was not vndecently spoken by Sir _Andrew Flamock_, for it was the
cleaneliest excuse he could make, and a merry implicatiue in termes
nothing odious, and therefore a sporting satisfaction to the kings mind,
in a matter which without some such merry answere could not haue bene well
taken. So was _Flamocks_ action most vncomely, but his speech excellently
well becoming the occasion.

But at another time and in another like case, the same skurrillitie of
_Flamock_ was more offensiue, because it was more indecent. As when the
king hauing _Flamock_ with him in his barge, passing from Westminster to
Greenewich to visite a fayre Lady whom the king loued and was lodged in
the tower of the Parke: the king comming within sight of the tower, and
being disposed to be merry, said, _Flamock_ let vs rime: as well as I can
said _Flamock_ if it please your grace. The king began thus:
  _Within this towre,
  There lieth a flowre,
  That hath my hart._

_Flamock_ for aunswer: _Within this hower, she will, &c._ with the rest in
so vncleanly termes, as might not now become me by the rule of _Decorum_
to vtter writing to so great a Maiestie, but the king tooke them in so
euill part, as he bid _Flamock_ auaunt varlet, and that he should no more
be so neere vnto him. And wherein I would faine learne, lay this
vndecencie? in the skurrill and filthy termes not meete for a kings eare?
perchance so. For the king was a wise and graue man, and though he hated
not a faire woman, liked he nothing well to heare speeches of ribaudrie:
as they report of th'emperour _Octauian: Licet fuerit ipse
incontinentissimus, fuit tamen incontinense feuerissimus vltor._ But the
very cause in deed was for that _Flamocks_ reply answered not the kings
expectation, for the kings rime commencing with a pleasant and amorous
proposition: Sir _Andrew Flamock_ to finish it not with loue but with
lothsomnesse, by termes very rude and vnciuill, and seing the king greatly
fauour that Ladie for her much beauty by like or some other good partes,
by his fastidious aunswer to make her seeme odious to him, it helde a
great disproportion to the kings appetite, for nothing is so vnpleasant to
a man, as to be encountered in his chiefe affection, & specially in his
loues, & whom we honour we should also reuerence their appetites, or at
the least beare with them (not being wicked and vtterly euill) and
whatsoeuer they do affect, we do not as becommeth vs if we make it seeme
to them horrible. This in mine opinion was the chiefe cause of the
vndecencie and also of the kings offence. _Aristotle_ the great
philosopher knowing this very well, what time he put _Calistenes_ to king
_Alexander_ the greats seruice gaue him this lesson. Sirra quoth he, ye go
now from a scholler to be a courtier, see ye speake to the king your
maister, either nothing at all, or else that which pleaseth him, which
rule if _Calistenes_ had followed and forborne to crosse the kings
appetite in diuerse speeches, it had not cost him so deepely as afterward
it did. A like matter of offence fell out betweene th'Emperour _Charles_
the fifth, & an Embassadour of king _Henry_ the eight, whom I could name
but will not for the great opinion the world had of his wisdome and
sufficiency in that behalfe, and all for misusing of a terme. The king in
the matter of controuersie betwixt him and Ladie _Catherine_ of
_Castill_ the Emperours awnt, found himselfe grieued that the Emperour
should take her part and worke vnder hand with the Pope to hinder the
diuorce: and gaue his Embassadour commission in good termes to open his
griefes to the Emperour, and to expostulat with his Maiestie, for that he
seemed to forget the kings great kindnesse and friendship before times
vsed with th'Emperour, aswell by disbursing for him sundry great summes of
monie which were not all yet repayd: as also furnishing him at his neede
with store of men and munition to his warres, and now to be thus vsed he
thought it a very euill requitall. The Embassadour for too much animositie
and more then needed in the case, or perchance by ignorance of the
proprietie of the Spanish tongue, told the Emperour among other words,
that he was _Hombre el mas ingrato enel mondo_, the ingratest person in
the world to vse his maister so. The Emperour tooke him suddainly with the
word, and said: callest thou me _ingrate_? I tell thee learne better
termes, or else I will teach them thee. Th'Embassadour excused it by his
commission, and said: they were the king his maisters words, and not his
owne. Nay quoth th'Emperour, thy maister durst not haue sent me these
words, were it not for that broad ditch betweene him & me, meaning the
sea, which is hard to passe with an army of reuenge. The Embassadour was
commanded away & no more hard by the Emperor, til by some other means
afterward the grief was either pacified or forgotten, & all this
inconuenience grew by misuse of one word, which being otherwise spoken &
in some sort qualified, had easily holpen all, & yet th'Embassadour might
sufficiently haue satisfied his commission & much better aduaunced his
purpose, as to haue said for this word [_ye are ingrate_,] ye haue not
vsed such gratitude towards him as he hath deserued: so ye may see how a
word spoken vndecently, not knowing the phrase or proprietie of a
language, maketh a whole matter many times miscarrie. In which respect it
is to be wished, that none Ambassadour speake his principall commandements
but in his own language or in another as naturall to him as his owne, and
so it is vsed in all places of the world sauing in England. The Princes
and their commissioners fearing least otherwise they might vtter any thing
to their disaduantage, or els to their disgrace: and I my selfe hauing
seene the Courts of Fraunce, Spaine, Italie, and that of the Empire, with
many inferior Courts, could neuer perceiue that the most noble personages,
though they knew very well how to speake many forraine languages, would at
any times that they had bene spoken vnto, answere but in their owne, the
Frenchman in French, the Spaniard in Spanish, the Italian in Italian, and
the very Dutch Prince in the Dutch language: whether it were more for
pride, or for feare of any lapse, I cannot tell. And _Henrie_ Earle of
Arundel being an old Courtier and a very princely man in all his actions,
kept that rule alwaies. For on a time passing from England towards Italie
by her maiesties licence, he was very honorably enterteined at the Court
of Brussels, by the Lady Duches of Parma, Regent there: and sitting at a
banquet with her, where also was the Prince of Orange, with all the
greatest Princes of the state, the Earle, though he could reasonably well
speake French, would not speake one French word, but all English, whether
he asked any question, or answered it, but all was done by Truchemen. In
so much as the Prince of Orange maruelling at it, looked a side on that
part where I stoode a beholder of the feast, and sayd, I maruell your
Noblemen of England doe not desire to be better languaged in the forraine
languages. This word was by and by reported to the Earle. Quoth the Earle
againe, tell my Lord the Prince, that I loue to speake in that language,
in which I can best vtter my mind and not mistake.

Another Ambassadour vsed the like ouersight by ouerweening himselfe that
he could naturally speake the French tongue, whereas in troth he was not
skilfull in their termes. This Ambassadour being a Bohemian, sent from the
Emperour to the French Court, whereafter his first audience, he was highly
feasted and banquetted. On a time, among other a great Princesse sitting
at the table, by way of talke asked the Ambassador whether the Empresse
his his mistresse when she went a hunting, or otherwise trauailed abroad
for her solace, did ride a horsback or goe in her coach. To which the
Ambassadour answered vnwares and not knowing the French terme, _Par ma foy
elle chenauche fort bien; & si en prend grand plaisir_. She rides (saith
he) very well, and takes great pleasure in it. There was good smiling one
vpon another of the Ladies and Lords, the Ambassador wist not whereat, but
laughed himselfe for companie. This word _Chenaucher_ in the French tongue
hath a reprobate sence, specially being spoken of a womans riding.

And as rude and vnciuill speaches carry a marueilous great indecencie, so
doe sometimes those that be ouermuch affected and nice: or that doe fauour
of ignorance or adulation, and be in the eare of graue and wise persons no
lesse offensive than the other: as when a sutor in Rome came to _Tiberius_
the Emperor and said, I would open my case to your Maiestie, if it were
not to trouble your sacred businesse, _sacras vestras occupationes_ as the
Historiographer reporteth. What meanest thou by that terme quoth the
Emperor, say _laboriosas_ I pray thee, & so thou maist truely say, and bid
him leaue off such affected flattering termes.

The like vndencie vsed a Herald at armes sent by _Charles_ the fifth
Emperor, to _Fraunces_ the first French king, bringing him a message of
defiance, and thinking to qualifie the bitterness of his message with
words pompous and magnificent for the kings honor, vsed much this terme
(sacred Maiestie) which was not vsually geuen to the French king, but to
say for the most part [_Sire_] The French king neither liking his errant,
nor yet of his pompous speech, said somewhat sharply, I pray thee good
fellow clawe me not where I itch not with thy sacred maiestie but goe to
they businesse, and tell thine errand in such termes as are decent betwixt
enemies, for thy master is not my frend, and turned him to a Prince of the
bloud who stoode by, saying, me thinks this fellow speakes like Bishop
_Nicholas_, for on Saint _Nicholas_ night commonly the Scholars of the
Countrey make them a Bishop, who like a foolish boy, goeth about blessing
and preaching with so childish termes, as maketh the people laugh at his
foolish counterfait speeches.

And yet in speaking or writing of a Princes affaires & fortunes there is a
certaine _Decorum_, that we may not vse the same termes in their busines,
as we might very wel doe in a meaner persons, the case being all one, such
reuerence is due to their estates. As for example, if an Historiographer
shal write of an Emperor or King, how such a day hee ioyned battel with
his enemie, and being ouer-laide ranne out of the fielde, and tooke his
heeles, or put spurre to his horse and fled as fast as he could: the
termes be not decent, but of a meane souldier or captaine, it were not
vndecently spoken. And as one, who translating certaine bookes of _Virgils
Æneidos_ into English meetre, said that _Æneas_ was fayne to trudge out of
Troy: which terme became better to be spoken of a beggar, or of a rogue,
or a lackey: for so wee vse to say to such maner of people, be trudging
hence.

Another Englishing this word of _Virgill_ [_fato profugus_] called _Æneus_
[_by fate a fugitiue_] which was vndecently spoken, and not to the
Authours intent in the same word: for whom he studied by all means to
auaunce aboue all other men of the world for virtue and magnanimitie he
meant not to make him a fugitiue. But by occasion of his great distresses,
and of the hardnesse of his destinies, he would haue it appeare that
_Æneas_ was enforced to flie out of _Troy_, and for many yeeres to be a
romer and a wandrer about the world both by land and sea [_fato profugus_]
and never to find any resting place till he came into _Italy_, so as ye
may euidently perceiue in this terme [_fugitiue_] a notable indignity
offred to that princely person, and by th'other word a wanderer, none
indignitie at all, but rather a terme of much loue and commiseration. The
same translatour when he came to these words: _Insignem pietate virum tot
voluere casus tot adire labores compulit._ Hee turned it thus, what moued
_Iuno_ to tugge so great a captaine as _Æneus_, which word tugge spoken in
this case is so vndecent as none other coulde haue bene deuised, and tooke
his first originall from the cart, because it signifieth the pull or
draught of the oxen or horses, and therefore the leathers that beare the
chiefe stresse of the draught, the cartars call them tugges, and so wee
vse to say that shrewd boyes tugge each other by the eares, for pull.

Another of our vulgar makers, spake as illfaringly in this verse written
to the dispraise of a rich man and couetous. Thou hast a misers minde
(thou hast a princes pelfe) a lewde terme to be spoken of a princes
treasure, which in no respect nor for any cause is to be called pelfe,
though it were neuer so meane, for pelfe is properly the scrappes or
shreds of taylors and of skinners, which are accompted of so vile price as
they be commonly cast out of dores, or otherwise bestowed vpon base
purposes: and carrieth not the like reason or decencie, as when we say in
reproch of a niggard or vserer, or worldly couetous man, that he setteth
more by a little pelfe of the world, than by his credit or health, or
conscience. For in comparison of these treasours, all the gold or siluer
in the world may by a skornefull terme be called pelfe, & so ye see that
the reason of the decencie holdeth not alike in both cases. Now let vs
passe from these examples, to treate of those that concerne the
comelinesse and decencie of mans behauiour.

And some speech may be whan it is spoken very vndecent, and yet the same
hauing afterward somewhat added to it may become prety and decent, as was
the stowte worde vfed by a captaine in Fraunce, who sitting at the lower
end of the Duke of _Guyses_ table among many, the day after there had bene
a great battaile foughten, the Duke finding that this captaine was not
seene that day to do any thing in the field, taxed him priuily thus in al
the hearings. Where were you Sir the day of the battaile, for I saw ye
not? the captaine answered promptly: where ye durst not haue bene: and the
Duke began to kindle with the worde, which the Gentleman perceiuing, said
spedily: I was that day among the carriages, where your excellencie would
not for a thousand crownes haue bene seene. Thus from vndecent it came by
a wittie reformation to be made decent againe.

The like hapned on a time at the Duke of Northumberlandes bourd, where
merry _John Heywood_ was allowed to sit at the tables end. The Duke had a
very noble and honorable mynde always to pay his debts well, and when he
lacked money, would not stick to sell the greatest part of his plate: so
had he done few dayes before. _Heywood_ being loth to call for his drinke
so oft as he was dry, turned his eye toward the cupbord and sayd I finde
great misse of your graces standing cups: the Duke thinking he had spoken
it of some knowledge that his plate was lately sold, said somewhat
sharpely, why Sir will not those cuppes serue as good a man as your selfe.
_Heywood_ readily replied. Yes if it please your grace, but I would haue
one of them stand still at myne elbow full of drinke that I might not be
driuen to trouble your men so often to call for it. This pleasant and
speedy reuers of the former wordes holpe all the matter againe, whereupon
the Duke became very pleasaunt and dranke a bolle of wine to _Heywood_,
and bid a cup should alwayes be standing by him.

It were to busie a peece of worke for me to tell you of all the partes of
decencie and indecency which haue bene obserued in the speaches of man &
in his writings, and this that I tell you is rather to solace your eares
with pretie conceits after a sort of long scholasticall preceptes which
may happen haue doubled them, rather then for any other purpose of
institution or doctrine, which to any Courtier of experience, is not
necessarie in this behalfe. And as they appeare by the former examples to
rest in our speach and writing: so do the same by like proportion consist
in the whole behauiour of man, and that which he doth well and commendably
is euer decent, and the contrary vndecent, not in euery mans iudgement
alwayes one, but after their seuerall discretion and by circumstance
diuersly, as by the next Chapter shalbe shewed.




  _CHAP. XXIIII._

_Of decencie in behauiour which also belongs to the consideration of the
Poet or maker._


And there is a decency to be obserued in euery mans action & behauiour
aswell as in his speach & writing which some peraduenture would thinke
impertinent to be treated of in this booke, where we do but informe the
commendable fashions of language & stile: but that is otherwise, for the
good maker or poet who is in decent speach & good termes to describe all
things and with prayse or dispraise to report euery mans behauiour, ought
to know the comlinesse of an action aswell as of a word & thereby to
direct himselfe both in praise & perswation or any other point that
perteines to the Oratours arte. Wherefore some examples we will set downe
of this maner of decency in behauiour leauing you for the rest to our
booke which we haue written _de Decoro_, where ye shall see both partes
handled more exactly. And this decencie of mans behauiour aswell as of his
speach must also be deemed by discretion, in which regard the thing that
may well become one man to do may not become another, and that which is
seemely to be done in this place is not so seemely in that, and at such a
time decent, but at another time vndecent, and in such a case and for such
a purpose, and to this and that end and by this and that euent, perusing
all the circumstances with like consideration. Therefore we say that it
might become king _Alexander_ to giue a hundreth talentes to _Anaxagoras_
the Philosopher, but not for a beggerly Philosopher to accept so great a
gift, for such a Prince could not be impouerished by that expence, but the
Philosopher was by it excessiuely to be enriched, so was the kings action
proportionable to his estate and therefore decent, the Philosophers,
disproportionable both to his profession and calling and therefore
indecent.

And yet if we shall examine the same point with a clearer discretion, it
may be said that whatsoeuer it might become king _Alexander_ of his regal
largesse to bestow vpon a poore Philosopher vnasked, that might aswell
become the Philosopher to receiue at his hands without refusal, and had
otherwise bene some empeachement of the kings abilitie or wisedome, which
had not bene decent in the Philosopher, nor the immoderatenesse of the
kinges gift in respect of the Philosophers meane estate made his
acceptance the lesse decent, since Princes liberalities are not measured
by merite nor by other mens estimations, but by their owne appetites and
according to their greatnesse. So said king _Alexander_ very like himselfe
to one _Perillus_ to whom he had geuen a very great gift, which he made
curtesy to accept, saying it was too much for such a mean person, what
quoth the king if it be too much for thy self, hast thou neuer a friend or
kinsman that may fare the better by it? But peraduenture if any such
immoderat gift had bene craued by the Philosopher and not voluntarily
offred by the king it had bene vndecent to haue taken it. Euen so if one
that standeth vpon his merite, and spares to craue the Princes liberalitie
in that which is moderate and fit for him, doth vndecently. For men should
not expect till the Prince remembred it of himselfe and began as it were
the gratification, but ought to be put in remembraunce by humble
folicitations, and that is duetifull, & decent, which made king _Henry_
th'eight her Maiesties most noble father, and for liberality nothing
inferiour to king _Alexander_ the great, aunswere one of his priuie
chamber, who prayd him to be good & gracious to a certaine old Knight
being his seruant for that he was but an ill begger, if he be ashamed to
begge we wil thinke scorne to giue. And yet peraduenture in both these
cases, the vndecencie for too much crauing or sparing to craue, might be
easily holpen by a decent magnificence in the Prince, as _Amazas_ king of
_Ægypt_ very honorably considered, who asking one day for one _Diopithus_
a noble man of his Court, what was become of him for that he had not sene
him wait of long time, one about the king told him that he heard say he
was sicke and of some conceit he had taken that his Maiestie had but
slenderly looked to him, vsing many others very bountifully. I beshrew his
fooles head quoth the king, why had he not sued vnto vs and made vs pruie
of his want, then added, but in truth we are most to blame our selues, who
by a mindeful beneficence without sute should haue supplied his
bashfullnesse, and forthwith commaunded a great reward in money & pension
to be sent vnto him, but it hapned that when the kings messengers entred
the chamber of _Diopithus_, he had newly giuen vp the ghost: the
messengers sorrowed the case, and _Diopithus_ friends sate by and wept,
not so much for _Diopithus_ death, as for pitie that he ouerliued not the
comming of the kings reward. Therupon it came euer after to be vsed for a
prouerbe that when any good turne commeth too late to be vsed, to cal it
_Diopithus_ reward.

In Italy and Fraunce I haue knowen it vsed for common pollicie, the
Princes to differre the bestowing of their great liberalities as
Cardinalships and other high dignities & offices of gayne, till the
parties whom they should seeme to gratifie be so old or so sicke as it is
not likely they should long enioy them.

In the time of _Charles_ the ninth French king, I being at the Spaw
waters, there lay a Marshall of Fraunce called _Monsieur de Sipier_, to
vse those waters for his health, but when the Phisitions had all giuen him
vp, and that there was no hope of life in him, came from the king to him a
letters patents of six thousand crownes yearely pension during his life
with many comfortable wordes: the man was not so much past remembraunce,
but he could say to the messenger _trop tard_, _trop tard_, it should haue
come before, for in deede it had bene promised long and came not till now
that he could not fare the better by it.

And it became king _Antiochus_, better to bestow the faire Lady
_Stratonica_ his wife vpon his sonne _Demetrius_, who lay sicke for her
loue and would else haue perished, as the Physitions cunningly discouered
by the beating of his pulse, then it could become _Demetrius_ to be
inamored with his fathers wife, or to enioy her of his guilt, because the
fathers act was led by discretion and of a fatherly compassion, not
grutching to depart from his deerest possession to saue his childes life,
where as the sonne in his appetite had no reason to lead him to loue
vnlawfully, for whom it had rather bene decent to die, then to haue
violated his fathers bed with safetie of his life.

No more would it be seemely for an aged man to play the wanton like a
child, for it stands not with the conueniency of nature, yet when king
_Agesilaus_ hauing a great sort of little children, was one day disposed
to solace himself among them in a gallery where they plaied, and tooke a
little hobby horse of wood and bestrid it to keepe them in play, one of
his friends seemed to mislike his lightnes, o good friend quoth
_Agesilaus_, rebuke me not for this fault till thou haue children of thine
owne, shewing in deede that it came not of vanitie but of a fatherly
affection, ioying in the sport and company of his little children, in
which respect and as that place and time serued, it was dispenceable in
him & not indecent.

And in the choise of a man's delights & maner of his life, there is a
decencie, and so we say th'old man generally is no fit companion for the
young man, nor the rich for the poore, nor the wise for the foolish. Yet
in some respects and by discretion it may be otherwise, as when the old
man hath the gouernment of the young, the wise teaches the foolish, the
rich is wayted on by the poore for their reliefe, in which regard the
conuersation is not indecent.

And _Proclus_ the Philosopher knowing how euery indecencie is vnpleasant
to nature, and namely, how vncomely a thing it is for young men to doe as
old men doe (at leastwise as young men for the most part doe take it)
applyed it very wittily to his purpose: for hauing his sonne and heire a
notable vnthrift, & delighting in nothing but in haukes and hounds and gay
apparrell, and such like vanities, which neither by gentle nor sharpe
admonitions of his father, could make him leaue. _Proclus_ himselfe not
onely bare with his sonne, but also vsed it himselfe for company, which
some of his frends greatly rebuked him for, saying, o _Proclus_, an olde
man and a Philosopher to play the foole and lasciuious more than the
sonne. Mary, quoth _Proclus_, & therefore I do it, for it is the next way
to make my sonne change his life, when he shall see how vndecent it is in
me to leade such a life, and for him being a yong man, to keepe companie
with me being an old man, and to doe that which I doe.

So is it not vnseemely for any ordinarie Captaine to winne the victory or
any other auantage in warre by fraud & breach of faith: as _Hanniball_
with the Romans, but it could not well become the Romaines managing so
great an Empire, by examples of honour and iustice to doe as _Hanniball_
did. And when _Parmenio_ in a like case perswaded king _Alexander_ to
breake the day of his appointment, and to set vpon _Darius_ at the
sodaine, which _Alexander_ refused to doe, _Parmenio_ saying, I would doe
it if I were _Alexander_, and I too quoth _Alexander_ if I were
_Parmenio_: but it behooueth me in honour to fight liberally with mine
enemies, and iustly to ouercome. And thus ye see that was decent in
_Parmenios_ action, which was not in the king his masters.

A great nobleman and Counseller in this Realme was secretlie aduised by
his friend, not to vse so much writing his letters in fauour of euery man
that asked them, specially to the Iudges of the Realme in cases of
iustice. To whom the noble man answered, it becomes vs Councellors better
to vse instance for our friend, then for the Iudges to sentence at
instance: for whatsoeuer we doe require them, it is in their choise to
refuse to doe, but for all that the example was ill and dangerous.

And there is a decencie in chusing the times of a mans busines, and as the
Spaniard sayes, _es tiempo de negotiar_, there is a fitte time for euery
man to performe his businesse in, & to attend his affaires, which out of
that time would be vndecent: as to sleepe al day and wake al night, and to
goe a hunting by torch-light as an old Earle of Arundel vsed to doe, or
for any occasion of little importance, to wake a man out of his sleepe, or
to make him rise from his dinner to talke with him, or such like
importunities, for so we call euery vnseasonable action, and the
vndecencie of time.

_Callicrasides_ being sent Ambassador by the Lacedemonians, to _Cirus the
young king of Persia to contract him for money and men toward their warres
against the Athenians, came to the Court at such vnseasonable time as the
king was yet in the midst of his dinner and went away againe saying, it is
now no time to interrupt the kings mirth. He came againe another day in
the after noone, and finding the king ar a rere-banquet, and to haue taken
the wine somewhat plentifully, turned back againe, saying, I thinke there
is no houre fitte to deal with _Cirus_, for he is euer in his banquets; I
will rather leaue all business vndone, then doe any thing that shall not
become the Lacedemonians: meaning to offer conference of so great
importance to his Countrey, with a man so distempered by surfet as hee was
not likely to geue him any reasonable resolution in the cause.

One _Eudamidas_ brother to the king _Agis_ of _Lacedemonia_, coming by
_Zenocrates_ schoole and looking in, saw him sit in his chaire, disputing
with a long hoare beard, asked who it was, one answered, Sir it is a wise
man and one of them searches after virtue, and if he haue not yet found it
quoth _Eudamidas_ when will he vse it, that now at his yeares is seeking
after it, as who would say it is  not time to talke of matters when they
should be put in execution nor for an old man to be to seeke what virtue
is, which all his youth he should haue had in exercise.

Another time coming to heare a notable Philosopher dispute, it happened,
that all was ended euen as he came, and one of his familiars would haue
had him requested the Philosopher to beginner againe, that were indecent
and nothing ciuill quoth _Eudamidas_, for if he should come to me
supperlesse when I had supped before, were it seemely for him to pray me
to suppe againe for his companie?

And the place makes a thing decent or indecent, in which consideration one
_Eubondae_ being sent Embassadour into a forraine realme, some of his
familiars tooke occasion at the table to praise the wines and women of
that country in prefence of their owne husbands, which th'embassadour
mislikes, and when supper was ended and the guestes departed, tooke his
familiars aside, and told them that is was nothing decent in a strange
country to praise thewomen, nor specially a wife before her husbands face,
for inconueniencie that might rise thereby, aswell to the prayser as to
the woman, and that the chief commendation of a chaste matrone, was to be
known onely to her husband, and not to be observed by strangers and
guestes.

And in the vse of apparel there is no little decency and vndecencie to be
perceiued, as well for the fashion as the stuffe, for it is comely that
euery estate and vocation should be knowen by the differences of their
habit: a Clarke from a lay man: a gentleman from a yeoman: a souldier from
a citizen, and the chief of euery degree from their inferiours, because in
confusion and disorder there is no manner of decencie.

The Romaines of any other people most seuere censurers of decencie,
thought no vpper garment so comely for a ciuill man as a long playted
qowne, because it sheweth much grauitie & also pudicitie, hiding euery
member of the body which had not bin pleasant to behold. In somuch as a
certain _Proconsull_ or Legat of theirs dealing one day with _Ptolome_
king of Egypt, seeing him clad in a straite narrow garment very
licentiously, disclosing euery part of his body, gave him a great checke
for it: and said that vnlesse he vsed more saf and comely garments, the
Romaines would take no pleasure to hold amitie with him, for by the
wantonness of his garment they would iudge the vanitie of his mind, not to
be worthy of their constant friendship. A pleasant old courtier wearing
one day in the sight of a great councellour, after the new guise a French
cloake scarce reaching to the wast, a long beaked doublet hanging downe to
his thies, & an high paire of silke netherstocks that couered all his
buttocks and loignes the Councellor marueled to see him in that sort
disguised, and otherwise than he had binwoont to be. Sir quoth the
Gentleman to excuse it: if I should not be able whan I had need to pisse
out of my doublet, and to do the rest in my netherstocks (vsing the plaine
terme) all men would say that I was but a lowte, the Councellor laughed
hartily at the absurditie of the speech, but what those sower fellows of
Rome haue said trowe ye? truly in mine opinion, that all such persons as
take pleasure to shew their limbes, specially those that natures hath
commanded out of sight, should be inioyned either to go starke naked, or
else to resort backe to the comely and modest fashion of their owne
countrie apparel, vsed by their old honourable auncestors.

And there is a decency of apparel in respect of the place where it is to
be vsed: in the Court to be richely apparelled: in the countrey to weare
more plain & homely garments. For who would not thinke it a ridiculous
thing to see a Lady in her milke-house with a velvet gowne, and at a
bridal in her cassock of mockado: a Gentleman of the Countrey among the
bushes and briers, goes in a pounced dublet and a paire of embroidered
hosen, the the Cities to weare a fries Ierkin and a paire of leather
breeches? yet some such phantasticals haue I knowen, and one a certaine
knight, of all other the most vaine, who commonly would come to the
Sessions, and other ordinarie meetings and Commissions in the Countrey, so
bedect with buttons and aglets of gold and such costly embroideries, as
the poore plaine men of the Countrey called him for his gaynesse, the
golden knight. Another for the like cause was called Saint Sunday; I
thinke at this day they be so farre spent, as either of them would be
content with a good cloath cloake: and this came by want of discretion, to
discerne and deeme right of decencie, which many Gentlemen doe wholly
limite by the person or degree where reason doeth it by the place and
presence: which may be such as it might very well become a great Prince to
wear courser apparel than in another place or presence a meaner person.

Neuerthelesse in the vse of a garment many occasions alter the decencies,
sometimes the qualities of the person, sometimes of the case, otherwise
the countrie custome, and often the constitution of lawes, and the very
nature of vse it selfe. As for example a king and prince may vse rich and
gorgeous apparel decently so cannot a meane person doo, yet if an herald
of armes to whom a king giueth his gowne of cloth of gold, or to whom it
was incident as a fee of his office, do were the same, he doth it
decently, because such hath alwaise bene th'allowances of heraldes: but if
such herald haue worne out, or sold, or lost that gowne, to buy him a new
of the like stuffe with his owne mony and to weare it, is not decent in
the eye and iudgement of them that know it.

And the country custome maketh things decent in ves as in Asia for all men
to weare long gownes both a foot and horsebacke: in Europa short
gaberdins, or clokes, or iackets, euen for their vpper garments. The Turke
and Persian to weare great tolibants of ten, fifteene, and twentie elles
of linen a peece vpon their heads, which can not be remooued: in Europe to
were caps or hats, which vpon euery occasion of salutation we vse to put
of as a signe of reuerence. In th'East partes the men to make water
couring like women, with vs standing as a wall. With them to congratulat
and salute by giuing a becke with the head, or a bende of the bodies, with
vs here in England, and in Germany, and all other Northern parts of the
world to shake handes. In France, Italie, and Spaine to embrace ouer the
shoulder, vnder the armes, at the very knees, according the superiors
degree. With vs the wemen giue their mouth to be kissed in other places
their cheek, in many places their hand, or in steed of an offer to the
hand, to say these words _Beso los manos_. And yet some others surmounting
in all courtly ciuilitie will say, _Los manos & los piedes_. And aboue
that reach too, there be that will say to the Ladies, _Lombra de fus
pisadae_, the shadow of your steps. Which I recite vnto you to shew the
phrase of those courtly seruitours in yeelding the mistresses honour and
reuerence.

And it is seen that very particular vse of it selfe makes a matter of much
decencie and vndecencie, without any countrey custome or allowance, as if
one that hath many yeares worne a gowne shall come to be seen weare a
iakquet or ierkin, or he that hath many yeares worne a beard or long haire
among those that had done the contrary, and come sodainly to be pold and
shauen, it will seeme not only to himself, a deshight and very vndecent,
but also to all others that neuer vsed to go so, vntill the time and
custome haue abrogated that mislike.

So it was in England till her Maiesties most noble father for diuers good
respects, caused his owne head and all his Courtiers to be polled and his
beard to be cut short. Before that was thought more decent both for old
men and young to be all shauen and to weare long haire either rounded or
square. Now againe at this time, the young Gentlemen of the Court haue
taken vp the long haire trayling on their shoulders, and thinke it more
decent: for what respect I would be glad to know.

The Lacedemonians bearing long bushes of haire, finely kept & curled vp,
vsed this ciuill argument to maintaine that custome. Haire (say they) is
the very ornament of nature appointed for the head, which therforeto vse
in his most sumptuous degree is comely, specially for them that be Lordes,
Maisters of men, and of a free life, hauing abilitie & leasure inough to
keepe it cleane, and so for a signe of seignorie, riches and libertie, the
masters of the Lacedemonians vsed long haire. But their vassals, seruaunts
and slaues vsed it short or shauen in signe of seruitude and because they
had no meane nor leasure to kembe and keepe it cleanely. It was besides
combersome to them hauing many businesse to attende, in some seruices
there might no maner of filth be falling from their heads. And to all
souldiers it is very noysome and a daungerous disauantage in the warres or
in any particular combat, which being the most comely profession of euery
noble young Gentleman, it ought to perswade them greatly from wearing long
haire. If there be any that seeke by long haire to helpe or to hide an ill
featured face, it is in them allowable so to do, because euery man may
decently reforme by arte, the faultes and imperfections that nature hath
wrought in them.

And all singularities or affected parts of a mans behauiour seeme
vndecent, as for one man to march or let in the street more stately, or to
looke more solempnely, or to go more gayly & in other coulours or
fashioned garments then another of the same degree and estate.

Yet such singularities haue had many time both good liking and good
successe, otherwise then many would haue looked for. As When _Dinocrates_
the famous architect, desirous to be knowen to king _Alexander_ the great,
and hauing none acquaintance to bring him to the kings speech he came one
day to the Court very strangely apparelled in long skarlet robes, his head
compast with a garland of Laurell, and his face all to be slicked with
sweet oyle, and stoode in the kings chamber, motioning nothing to any man:
newes of this stranger came to the king, who caused him to be brought to
his presence, and asked his name and the cause of his repaire to the
Court. He aunswered, his name was _Dinocrates_ the Architect, who came to
present his Maiestie with a platforme of his own deuising, how his
Maiestie might buylde a Citie vpon the mountaine Athos in Macedonia, which
should beare the figure of a mans body, and tolde him all how. Forsooth
the breast and bulke of his body should rest vpon such a fiat: that hil
should be his head, all set with foregrowen woods like haire: his right
arme should stretch out to such a hollow bottome as might be like his
hand: holding a dish conteyning al the waters that should serue that
Citie: the left arme with his hand should hold a valley of all the
orchards and gardens of pleasure pertaining thereunto: and either legge
should lie vpon a ridge of rocke, very gallantly to behold, and so should
accomplish the full figure of a man. The king asked him what commoditie of
soyle, or sea, or nauigable riuer lay neere vunto it, to be able to
sustaine so great a number of inhabitants. Truly Sire (quoth _Dinocrates_)
I haue not yet considered thereof: for in trueth it is the barest part of
all the Countrey of Macedonia. The king smiled at it, and said very
honourably, we like your deuice well, and mean to vse your seruice in the
building of a Citie, but we wil chuse out a more commodious scituation:
and made him attend in that voyage in which he conquered Asia and Egypt,
and there made him chiefe Surueyour of his new Cite of Alexandria. Thus
did _Dinocrates_ singularitie in attire greatly further him to his
aduancement.

Yet are generally all rare things and such as breede maruell & admiration
somewhat holding of the vndecent, as when a man is bigger & exceeding the
ordinary stature of a man like a Giaunt, or farre vnder the reasonable and
common size of men as a dwarfe, and such vndecencies do not angre vs, but
either we pittie them or scorne at them.

But at all insolent and vnwoonted partes of a mans behauiour, we find many
times cause to mislike or to be mistrustfull, which proceedeth of some
vndecency that is in it, as when a man that hath alwaies bene strange and
vnacquainted with vs, will suddenly become our familiar and domestick: and
another that hath bene alwaies sterne and churlish, wilbe vpon the
suddaine affable and curteous, it is neyther a comely sight, nor a signe
of any good towards vs. Which the subtill Italian well obserued by the
successes thereof, saying in Prouerbe.
  _Chi me fa meglio chenon fuole,
  Tradito me ha o tradir me vuolo.

  He that speakes me fairer, than his woont was too
  Hath done me harme, or meanes for to doo._

Now againe all maner of conceites that stirre vp any vehement passion in a
man, doo it by some turpitude or euill and vndecency that is in them, as
to make a man angry there must be some iniury or contempt offered, to make
him enuy there must proceede some vndeserued prosperitie of his egall or
inferiour, to make him pitie some miserable fortune or spectakle to
behold.

And yet in euery of the these passions being as it were vndecencies, there
is a comelinesse to be discerned, which some men can keepe and some men
can not, as to be angry, or to enuy, or to hate, or to pitie, or to be
ashamed decently, that is none otherwise then reason requireth. This
surmise appeareth to be true, for _Homer_ the father of Poets writing that
famous and most honourable poeme called the _Iliades_ or warres of Troy:
made his commencement the magnanimous wrath and anger of _Achilles_ in his
first verse thus: [Greek: illegible] Sing foorth my muse the wrath of
_Achilles Peleus_ sonne: which the Poet would neuer haue done if the wrath
of a prince had not beene in some sort comely & allowable. But when
_Arrianus_ and _Curtius_ historiographers that wrote the noble gestes of
king _Alexander_ the great, came to prayse him for many things, yet for
his wrath and anger they reproched him, because it proceeded not of any
magnanimitie, but vpon surfet & distemper in his diet, not growing of any
iust causes, was exercised to the destruction of his dearest friends and
familiers, and not of his enemies nor any other waies so honorably as
th'others was, and so could not be reputed a decent and comely anger.

So may al your other passions be vsed decently though the very matter of
their originall be grounded vpon some vndecencie, as it is written by a
certaine king of Egypt, who looking out of his window, and seing his owne
sonne for some grieuous offence, carried by the officers of his iustice to
the place of execution: he neuer once changed his countenance at the
matter, though the sight were neuer so full of ruth and atrocitie. And it
was thought a decent countenance and constant animositie in the king to be
so affected, the case concerning so high and rare a peece of his owne
iustice. But within few daies after when he beheld out of the same window
an old friend and familiar of his, stand begging an almes in the streete,
he wept tenderly, remembering their old familiarity and considering how by
the mutabilitie of fortune and frailtie of mans estate, it might one day
come to passe that he himselfe should fall into the like miserable estate.
He therfore had a remorse very comely for a king in that behalfe, which
also caused him to giue order for his poore friends plentiful reliefe.

But generally to weepe for any sorrow (as one may doe for pitie) is not so
decent in a man: and therefore all high minded persons, when they cannot
chuse but shed teares, wil turne away their face as a countenance vndecent
for a man to shew, and so will the standers by till they haue supprest
such passion, thinking it nothing decent to behold such an vncomely
countenance. But for Ladies and women to weepe and shed teares at euery
little greefe it is nothing vncomely, but rather a signe of much good
nature & meekness of minde, a most decent propertie for that sexe, and
therefore they be for the more part more deuout and charitable, and
greater geuers of almes than men, and zealous relieuers of prisoners, and
beseechers of pardons, and such like parts of commiseration. Yea they be
more than so too: for by the common prouerbe, a woman will weepe for pitie
to see a gosling goe barefoote.

But most certainly all things that moue a man to laughter, as doe these
scurrilities & other ridiculous behauiours, it is for some vndecencie that
is found in them: which maketh it decent for euery man to laugh at them.
And therefore when we see or heare a natural foole and idiot doe or say
any thing foolishly, we laugh not at him: but when he doeth or speaketh
wisely, because that is vnlike him selfe: and a buffonne or counterfet
foole, to heare him speake wisely which is like himselfe, it is no sport
at all, but for such a counterfait to talke and looke foolishly it maketh
us laugh, because it is no part of his naturall, for in euery vncomlinesse
there must be a certaine absurditie and disproportion to nature, and the
opinion of the hearer or beholder to make the thing ridiculous. But for a
foole to talke foolishly or a wiseman wisely, there is no such absurditie
or disproportion.

And though at all absurdities we may decently laugh, & when they be no
absurdities not decently, yet in laughing is there an vndecencie for other
respectes sometime, than of the matter it selfe, Which made _Philippus_
sonne to the first Christen Emperour, _Phillipus Arabicus_ sitting with
his father one day in the theatre to behold the sports, giue his father a
great rebuke because he laughed, saying that it was no comely countenance
for an Emperour to bewray in such a publicke place, nor specially to laugh
at euery foolish toy: the posteritie gaue the sonne for that cause the
name of _Philippus Agelastos_ or without laughter.

I haue seene forraine Embassadours in the Queenes presence laugh so
dissolutely at some rare pastime or sport that hath beene made there that
nothing in the world could worse haue becomen them, and others very wise
men, whether it haue ben of some pleasant humour and complexion, or for
other default in the spleene, or for ill education or custome, that could
not vtter any graue and earnest speech without laughter, which part was
greatly discommended in them.

And _Cicero_ the wisest of any Romane writers, thought it vncomely for a
man to daunce: saying, _Saltantem sobrium vidi neminem_. I neuer saw any
man daunce that was sober and his right wits, but there by your leaue he
failed, not our young Courtiers will allow it, besides that it is the most
decent and comely demeanour of all exultations and reioycements of the
hart, which is no lesse naturall to man then to be wise or well learned,
or sober.

To tell you the decencies of a number of other behauiours, one might do it
to please you with pretie reportes, but to the skilfull Courtiers it
shalbe nothing necessary, for they know all by experience without
learning. Yet some few remembraunces wee will make you of the most
materiall, which our selues haue obserued, and so make an end.

It is decent to be affable and curteous at meales & meetings, in open
assemblies more solemne and straunge, in place of authoritie and iudgement
not familiar nor pleasant, in counsell secret and sad, in ordinary
conferences easie and apert, in conuersation simple, in capitulation
subtill and mistrustfull, at mournings and burials sad and sorrowfull, in
feasts and bankets merry & ioyfull, in houshold expence pinching and
sparing, in publicke entertainement spending and pompous. The Prince to be
sumptuous and magnificent, the priuate man liberall with moderation, a man
to be in giuing free, in asking spare, in promise slow, in performance
speedy, in contract circumspect but iust, in amitie sincere, in ennimitie
wily and cautelous [_dolus an virtus quis in hoste requirit_, saith the
Poet] and after the same rate euery sort and maner of businesse or affaire
or action hath his decencie and vndecencie, either for the time or place
or person or some other circumstaunce, as Priests to be sober and sad, a
Preacher by his life to giue good example, a Iudge to be incorrupted,
solitarie and vnacqainted with Courtiers or Courtly entertainements, & as
the Philosopher saith _Oportet iudicem esse rudem & simplicem_, without
plaite or wrinkle, sower in looke and churlish in speach, contrariwise a
Courtly Gentleman to be loftie and curious in countenaunce, yet sometimes
a creeper and a curry fauell with his superiours.

And touching the person we say it is comely for a man to be a lambe in the
house, and a Lyon in the field, appointing the decencie of his qualitie by
the place, by which reason also we limit the comely parts of a woman to
consist in foure points, that is to be a shrewe in the kitchin, a saint in
the Church, an Angell at the bourd, and an Ape in the bed, as the
Chronicle reportes by Mistresse _Shore_ paramour to king _Edward_ the
fourth.

Then also there is a decency in respect of the persons with whom we do
negotiate, as with the great personages his egals to be solemne and surly,
with meaner men pleasant and popular, stoute with the sturdie and milde
with the meek, which is a most decent conuersation and not reprochfull or
vnseemely, as the prouerbe goeth, by those that vse the contrary, a Lyon
among sheepe and a sheepe among Lyons.

Right so in negotiating with Princes we ought to seeke their fauour by
humilitie & not by sternnesse, nor to trafficke with them by way of indent
or condition, but frankly and by manner of submission to their wils, for
Princes may be lead but not driuen, nor they are to be vanquisht by
allegation, but must be suffered to haue the victorie and be relented
vnto: nor they are not to be challenged for right or iustice, for that is
a maner of accusation: nor to be charged with their promises, for that is
a kinde of condemnation: and at their request we ought not to be hardly
entreated but easily, for that is a signe of deffidence and mistrust in
their bountie and gratitude: nor to recite the good seruices which they
haue receiued at our hands, for that is but a kind of exprobration, but in
crauing their bountie or largesse to remember vnto them all their former
beneficences, making no mention of our owne merites, & so it is thankfull,
and in praysing them to their faces to do it very modestly: and in their
commendations not to be exessiue for that is tedious, and alwayes fauours
of suttelty more then of sincere loue.

And in speaking to a Prince the voyce ought to be lowe and not lowde nor
shrill, for th'one is a signe of humilitie th'other of too much audacitie
and presumption. Nor in looking on them seeme to ouerlooke them, nor yet
behold them too stedfastly, for that is a signe of impudence or litle
reuerence, and therefore to the great Princes Orientall their seruitours
speaking or being spoken vnto abbase their eyes in token of lowlines,
which behauiour we do not obserue to our Princes with so good a discretion
as they do: & such as retire from the Princes presence, do not by & by
turne tayle to them as we do, but go backward or sideling for a reasonable
space, til they be at the wal or chamber doore passing out of sight, and
is thought a most decent behauiour to their soueraignes. I haue heard that
king _Henry_ th'eight her Maiesties father, though otherwise the most
gentle and affable Prince of the world, could not abide to haue any man
stare in his face or to fix his eye too steedily vpon him when he talked
with them: nor for a common suter to exclame or cry out for iustice, for
that is offensiue and as it were a secret impeachement of his wrong doing,
as happened once to a Knight in this Realme of great worship speaking to
the king. Nor in speaches with them to be too long, or too much affected,
for th'one is tedious th'other is irksome, nor with lowd acclamations to
applaude them, for that is too popular & rude and betokens either
ignoraunce, or seldome accesse to their presence, or little frequenting
their Courts: nor to shew too mery or light a countenance, for that is a
signe of little reuerence and is a peece of a contempt.

And in gaming with a Prince it is decent to let him sometimes win of
purpose, to keepe him pleasant, & neuer to refuse his gift, for that is
vndutifull: nor to forgiue him his losses, for that is arrogant: nor to
giue him great gifts, for that is either insolence or follie: nor to feast
him with excessiue charge for that is both vaine and enuious, & therefore
the wise Prince king _Henry_ the seuenth her Maiesties grandfather, if his
chaunce had bene to lye at any of his subiects houses, or to passe moe
meales than one, he that would take vpon him to defray the charge of his
dyet, or of his officers and houshold, he would be maruelously offended
with it, saying what priuate subiect dare vndertake a Princes charge, or
looke into the secret of his expence? Her Maiestie hath bene knowne
oftentimes to mislike the superfluous expence of her subiects bestowed
vpon her in times of her progresses.

Likewise in matter of aduise it is neither decent to flatter him for that
is seruile, neither to be to rough or plaine with him, for that is
daungerous, but truly to Counsell & to admonish, grauely not greuously,
sincerely not sourely: which was the part that so greatly commended
_Cineas_ Counsellour to king _Pirrhus_, who kept that decencie in all his
perswasions, that he euer preuailed in aduice, and carried the king which
way he would.

And in a Prince it is comely to giue vnasked, but in a subiect to aske
vnbidden: for that first is signe of a bountifull mynde, this of a loyall
& confident. But the subiect that craues not at his Princes hand, either
he is of no desert, or proud, or mistrustfull of his Princes goodnesse:
therefore king _Henry_ th'eight to one that entreated him to remember one
Sir _Anthony Rouse_ with some reward for that he had spent much and was an
ill beggar: the king aunswered (noting his insolencie,) If he be ashamed
to begge, we are ashamed to giue, and was neuerthelesse one of the most
liberall Princes of the world.

And yet in some Courts it is otherwise vsed, for in Spaine it is thought
very vndecent for a Courtier to craue, supposing that it is the part of an
importune: therefore the king of ordinarie calleth euery second, third or
fourth yere for his Checker roll, and bestoweth his _mercedes_ of his owne
meere motion, and by discretion, according to euery mans merite and
condition.

And in their commendable delights to be apt and accommodate, as if the
Prince be geuen to hauking, hunting, riding of horses, or playing vpon
instruments, or any like exercise, the seruitour to be the same: and in
their other appetites wherein the Prince would seeme an example of vertue,
and would not mislike to be egalled by others: in such cases it is decent
their seruitours & subiects studie to be like to them by imitation, as in
wearing their haire long or short, or in this or that sort of apparrell,
such excepted as be only fitte for Princes and none els, which were
vndecent for a meaner person to imitate or counterfet: so is it not comely
to counterfet their voice, or looke, or any other gestures that be not
ordinary and naturall in euery common person: and therefore to go vpright
or speake or looke assuredly, it is decent in euery man. But if the Prince
haue an extraordinarie countenance or manner of speech, or bearing of his
body, that for a common seruitour to counterfet is not decent, and
therefore it was misliked in the Emperor _Nero_, and thought uncomely for
him to counterfet _Alexander_ the great by holding his head a little
awrie, & neerer toward the tone shoulder, because it was not his own
naturall.

And in a Prince it is decent to goe slowly, and to march with leysure, and
with a certaine granditie rather than grauitie: as our soueraine Lady and
mistresse, the very image of maiestie and magnificence, is accustomed to
doe generally, vnlesse it be when she walketh apace for her pleasure, or
to catch her a heate in the colde mornings.

Neuerthelesse, it is not so decent in a meaner person, as I haue obserued
in some counterfet Ladies of the Countrey, which vse it much to their owne
derision. This comelines was wanting in Queene _Marie_, otherwise a very
good and honourable Princesse. And was some blemish to the Emperor
_Ferdinando_, a most noble minded man, yet so carelesse and forgetfull of
himselfe in that behalfe, as I haue seene him runne vp a paire of staires
so swift and nimble a pace as almost had not become a very meane man, who
had not gone in some hastie businesse.

And in a noble Prince nothing is more decent and welbeseeming his
greatnesse than to spare foule speeches, for that breedes hatred, and to
let none humble suiters depart out of their presence (as neere as may be)
miscontented. Wherein her Maiestie hath of all others a most Regall gift,
and nothing inferior to the good Prince _Titus Vespasianus_ in that point.

Also, not to be passionate for small detriments or offences, nor to be a
reuenger of them, but in cases of great iniurie and specially of
dishonors: and therein to be the very sterne and vindicatiue, for that
sauours of Princely magnanimitie: nor to seeke reuenge vpon base and
obscure persons, ouer whom the conquest is not glorious, nor the victorie
honourable, which respect moued our soueraign Lady (keeping alwaies the
decorum of a Princely person) at her first comming to the crowne, when a
knight of this Realme, who had very insolently behaued himselfe toward her
when she was Lady _Elizabeth_, fell vpon his knee to her, and besought her
pardon: suspecting (as there was good cause) that he should haue bene sent
to the Tower, she said vnto him most mildly: do you not know that we are
descended of the Lion, whose nature is not to harme or pray vpon the
mouse, or any other such small vermin?

And with these examples I thinke sufficient to leaue, geuing you
information of this one point, that all your figures Poeticall or
Rhethoricall are but obseruations of strange speeches and such as without
any arte at al we should vse, & commonly do, euen by very nature without
discipline But more or lesse aptly and decently, or scarcely, or
aboundantly, or of this or that kind of figure, & one of vs more then
another, according to the disposition of our nature, constitution of the
heart, & facilities of each mans vtterance: so as we may conclude, that
nature her selfe suggesteth the figure in this or that forme: but arte
aydeth the iudgement of his vse and application, which geues me occasion
finally and for a full conclusion to this whole treatise, to enforme you
in the next chapter how art should be vsed in all respects, and specially
in this behalfe of language, and when the naturall is more commendable
then the artificiall, and contrariwise.




  _CHAP. XXV_.

_That the good Poet or maker ought to dissemble his arte, and in what
cases the artificiall is more commended then the naturall, and
contrariwise._


And now (most excellent Queene) having largely said of Poets & Poesie and
about what matters they be employed: then of all the commended fourmes of
Poemes, thirdly of metricall proportions, such as do appertaine to our
vulgar arte: and last of all set forth the poeticall ornament consisting
chiefly in the beautie and gallantness of his language and stile, and so
haue apparelled him to our seeming, in all his gorgious habilliments, and
pulling him first from the carte to the schoole, and from thence to the
Court, and preferred him to your Maiesties seruice, in that place of great
honour and magnificence to geue entertainment to Princes, Ladies of
honour, Gentlewomen and Gentlemen, and by his many moodes of skill, to
serue the many humors of men thither haunting and resorting, some by way
of solace, some of serious aduise and in matters aswell profitable as
pleasant and honest. Wee haue in our humble conceit sufficiently
perfourmed our promise or rather dutie to your Maiestie in the description
of this arte, so alwaies as we leaue him not vnfurnisht of one peece that
best befeemes that place of any other, and may serue as a principall good
lesson for al good makers to beare continually in mind, in the vsage of
this science: which is that being now lately become a Courtier he shew not
himself a craftsman, & merit to be disgraded, & with scorne sent back
againe to the shop, or other place of his first facultie and calling, but
that so wisely & discreetly he behaue himselfe as he may worthily returne
the credit of his place, and profession of a very Courtier, which is in
plaine termes, cunningly to be able to dissemble.  But (if it please your
Maiestie) may it not seeme inough for a Courtier to know how to weare a
fether, and set his cappe a slaunt, his chaine _en echarpe_, a straight
buskin _al inglesse_, a loose _alo Turquesque_, the cape _alla Spaniola_,
the breech _a la Françoise_, and by twentie maner of new faishoned
garments to disguise his body, and his face with as many countenances,
whereof it seemes there be many that make a very arte, and studie who can
shew himselfe most fine, I will not say most foolish and ridiculous? or
perhaps rather that he could dissemble his conceits as well as his
countenances, so as he neuer speake as he thinkes, or thinke as he speaks,
and that in any matter of importance his words and his meaning very
seldome meete: for so as I remember it was concluded by vs setting foorth
the figure _Allegoria_, which therefore not impertinently we call the
Courtier or figure of faire semblant, or is it not perchance more
requisite our courtly Poet do dissemble not onely his countenances &
conceits, but also all his ordinary actions of behauiour, or the most part
of them, whereby the better to winne his purposes & good aduantages, as
now & then to haue a iourney or sicknesse in his sleeue, thereby to shake
of other importunities of greater consequence, as they vse their
pilgrimages in Fraunce, the Diet in Spaine, the baines in Italy? and when
a man is whole to faine himselfe sicke to shunne the businesse in Court,
to entertaine time and ease at home, to salue offences without discredite,
to win purposes by mediation in absence, which their presence would eyther
impeach or not greatly preferre, to harken after the popular opinions and
speech, to entend to their more priuate solaces, to practize more deepely
both at leasure & libertie, & when any publique affaire or other attempt &
counsaile of theirs hath not receaued good successe, to auoid therby the
Princes present reproofe, to coole their chollers by absence, to winne
remorse by lamentable reports, and reconciliation by friends intreatie.
Finally by sequestering themselues for a time fro the Court, to be able
the frecher & cleerer to discerne the factions and state of the Court and
of al the world besides, no lesse then doth the looker on or beholder of a
game better see into all points of auauntage, then the player himselfe?
and in dissembling of diseases which I pray you? for I haue obserued it in
the Court of Fraunce, not a burning feuer or a plurisie, or a palsie or
the hydropick and swelling gowte, or any other like disease, for if they
may be such as may be either easily discerned or quickly cured, they be
ill to dissemble and doo halfe handsomely serue the turne.

But it must be either a dry dropsie, or a megrim or letarge, or a fistule
_in ano_, or some such other secret disease, as the common conuersant can
hardly discouer, and the Phisition either not speedily heale, or not
honestly bewray? of which infirmities the scoffing _Pasquil_ wrote, _Vleus
vesicae renum dolor in peno scirrus_. Or as I haue seene in diuers places
where many make themselues hart whole, when in deede they are full sicke,
bearing it stoutly out to the hazard of their health, rather then they
would be suspected of any lothsome infirmity, which might inhibit them
from the Princes presence, or entertainment of the ladies. Or as some
other do to beare a port of state & plentie when they haue neither penny
nor possession, that they may not seeme to droope, and be reiected as
vnworthy or insufficient for the greater seruices, or be pitied for their
pouertie, which they hold for a marueilous disgrace as did the poore
Squire of Castile, who had rather dine with a sheepes head at home &
drinke a cruse of water to it, then to haue a good dinner giuen him by his
friend who was nothing ignorant of his pouertie. Or as others do to make
wise they be poore when they be riche, to shunne thereby the publicke
charges and vocations, for men are not now a dayes (specially in states of
_Oligarchie_ as the most in our age) called somuch for their wisedome as
for their wealth, also to auoyde enuie of neighbours or bountie in
conuersation, for whosoeuer is reputed rich cannot without reproch, but be
either a lender or a spender. Or as others do to seeme very busie when
they haue nothing to doo, and yet will make themselues so occupied and
ouerladen in the Princes affaires, as it is a great matter to haue a
couple of wordes with them, when notwithstanding they lye sleeping on
their beds all an after noone, or sit solemnly at cardes in their
chambers, or enterteyning of the Dames, or laughing and gibing with their
familiars foure houres by the clocke, whiles the poore suter desirous of
his dispatch is aunswered by some Secretarie or page _il fault attendre,
Monsieur_ is dispatching the kings businesse into Languedock, Prouence
Piemont, a common phrase with the Secretaries of France. Or as I haue
obserued in many of the Princes Courts of Italie, to seeme idle when they
be earnestly occupied & entend to nothing but mischieuous practizes, and
do busily negotiate by coulor of otiation. Or as others of them that go
ordinarily to Church and neuer pray to winne an opinion of holinesse: or
pray still apace, but neuer do good deede, and geue a begger a penny and
spend a pound on a harlot, to speake faire to a mans face, and foule
behinde his backe, to set him at his trencher and yet sit on his skirts
for so we vse to say by a fayned friend, then also to be rough and
churlish in speach and apparance, but inwardly affectionate and fauouring,
as I haue sene of the greatest podestates and grauest iudges and
Presidentes of Parliament in Fraunce.

These & many such like disguisings do we find in mans behauiour, &
specially in the Courtiers of forraine Countreyes, where in my youth I was
brought vp, and very well obserued their maner of life and conuersation,
for of mine owne Countrey I haue not made so great experience. Which
parts, neuerthelesse, we allow not now in our English maker, because we
haue geuen him the name of an honest man, and not of an hypocrite: and
therefore leauing these manner of dissimulations to all base-minded men, &
of vile nature or misterie, we doe allow our Courtly Poet to be a
dissembler only in the subtilties of his arte: that is, when he is most
artificiall, so to disguise and cloake it as it may not appeare, nor seeme
to proceede from him by any studie or trade of rules, but to be his
naturall: nor so euidently to be descried, as euery ladde that reades him
shall say he is a good scholler, but will rather haue him to know his arte
well, and little to vse it.

And yet peraduenture in all points it may not be so taken, but in such
onely as may discouer his grossenes or his ignorance by some schollerly
affectation: which thing is very irkesome to all men of good trayning, and
specially to Courtiers. And yet for all that our maker may not be in all
cases restrayned, but that he may both vse and also manifest his arte to
his great praise, and need no more be ashamed thereof, than a shomaker to
haue made a cleanly shoe or a Carpenter to haue buylt a faire house.
Therefore to discusse and make this point somewhat cleerer, to weete,
where arte ought to appeare, and where not, and when the naturall is more
commendable than the artificiall in any humane action or workmanship, we
wil examine it further by this distinction.

In some cases we say arte is an ayde and coadiutor to nature, and a
furtherer of her actions to good effect, or peraduenture a meane to supply
her wants, by renforcing the causes wherein shee is impotent and
defectiue, as doth the arte of phisicke, by helping the naturall
concoction, retention, distribution, expulsion, and other vertues, in a
weake and vnhealthie bodie. Or as the good gardiner seasons his soyle by
sundrie sorts of compost: as mucke or marle, clay or sande, and many times
by bloud, or lees of oyle or wine, or stale, or perchaunce with more
costly drugs: and waters his plants, and weedes his herbes and floures,
and prunes his branches, and vnleaues his boughes to let in the sunne: and
twentie other waies cherisheth them, and cureth their infirmities, and so
makes that neuer, or very seldome any of them miscarry, but bring foorth
their flours and fruites in season. And in both these cases it is no smal
praise for the Phisition & Gardiner to be called good and cunning
artificers.

In another respect arte is not only an aide and coadiutor to nature in all
her actions, but an alterer of them, and in some sort a surmounter of her
skill, so as by meanes of it her owne effects shall appeare more
beautifull or straunge and miraculous, as in both cases before remembred.
The Phisition by the cordials hee will geue his patient, shall be able not
onely to restore the decayed spirites of man and render him health, but
also to prolong the terme of his life many yeares ouer and aboue the stint
of his first and naturall constitution. And the Gardiner by his arte will
not onely make an herbe, or flowr, or fruite, come forth in his season
without impediment, but also will embellish the same in vertue, shape,
odour and taste, that nature of her selfe woulde neuer haue done: as to
make the single gillifloure, or marigold, or daisie, double: and the white
rose, redde, yellow, or carnation, a bitter mellon sweete; a sweete apple,
soure; a plumme or cherrie without a stone; a peare without core or
kernell, a goord or coucumber like to a horne, or any other figure he
will: any of which things nature could not doe without mans help and arte.
These actions also are most singular, when they be most artificiall.

In another respect, we say arte is neither an aider nor a surmounter, but
onely a bare immitatour of natures works, following and counterfeyting her
actions and effects, as the Marmesot doth many countenances and gestures
of man, of which sorte are the artes of painting and keruing, whereof one
represents the naturall by light colour and shadow in the superficiall or
flat, the other in body massife expressing the full and emptie, euen,
extant, rabbated, hollow, or whatsoeuer other figure and passion of
quantitie. So also the Alchimist counterfeits gold, siluer, and all other
mettals, the Lapidarie pearles and pretious stones by glasse and other
substances falsified, and sophisticate by arte. These men also be praised
for their craft, and their credit is nothing empayred, to say that their
conclusions and effects are very artificiall. Finally in another respect
arte is as it were an encountrer and contrary to nature, producing effects
neither like to hers, nor by participation with her operations, nor by
imitation of her paternes, but makes things and produceth effects
altogether strange and diuerse, & of such forme & qualitie (nature alwaies
supplying stuffe) as she neuer would nor could haue done of her selfe, as
the carpenter that builds a house, the ioyner that makes a table or a
bedstead, the tailor a garment, the Smith a locke or a key, and a number
of like, in which case the workman gaineth reputation by his arte, and
praise when it is best expressed & most apparant, & most studiously. Man
also in all his actions that be not altogether naturall, but are gotten by
study & discipline or exercise, as to daunce by measures, to sing by note,
to play on the lute, and such like, it is a praise to be said an
artificiall dauncer, singer, & player on instruments, because they be not
exactly knowne or done, but by rules & precepts or teaching of
schoolemasters. But in such actions as be so naturall & proper to man, as
he may become excellent therein without any arte or imitation at all,
(custome and exercise excepted, which are requisite to euery action not
numbred among the vitall or animal) and wherein nature should seeme to do
amisse, and man suffer reproch to be found destitute of them: in those to
shew himselfe rather artificiall then naturall, were no lesse to be
laughed at, then for one that can see well inough, to vse a paire of
spectacles, or not to heare but by a trunke put to his eare, nor feele
without a paire of ennealed glooues, which things in deed helpe an infirme
sence, but annoy the perfit, and therefore shewing a disabilitie naturall
mooue rather to scorne then commendation, and to pitie sooner then to
prayse. But what else is language and vtterance, and discourse &
persuasion, and argument in man, then the vertues of a well constitute
body and minde, little lesse naturall then his very sensuall actions,
sauing that the one is perfited by nature at once, the other not without
exercise & iteration? Peraduenture also it wil be granted, that a man sees
better and discernes more brimly his collours, and heares and feeles more
exactly by vse and often hearing and feeling and seing, & though it be
better to see with spectacles then not to see at all, yet is their praise
not egall nor in any mans iudgement comparable: no more is that which a
Poet makes by arte and precepts rather then by naturall instinct: and that
which he doth by long meditation rather then by a suddaine inspiration, or
with great pleasure and facillitie then hardly (and as they are woont to
say) in spite of Nature or Minerua, then which nothing can be more irksome
or ridiculous.

And yet I am not ignorant that there be artes and methods both to speake
and to perswade and also to dispute, and by which the naturall is in some
sorte relieued, as th'eye by his spectacle, I say relieued in his
imperfection, but not made more perfit then the naturall, in which respect
I call those artes of Grammer, _Logicke_, and _Rhetorick_ not bare
imitations, as the painter or keruers craft and worke in a forraine
subiect viz. a liuely purtraite in his table of wood, but by long and
studious obseruation rather a repetition or reminiscens naturall, reduced
into perfection, and made prompt by use and exercise. And so whatsoeuer a
man speakes or perswades he doth it not by imitation artificially, but by
obseruation naturally (though one follow another) because it is both the
same and the like that nature doth suggest: but if a popingay speake, she
doth it by imitation of mans voyce artificially and not naturally being
the like, but not the same that nature doth suggest to man. But now
because our maker or Poet is to play many parts and not one alone, as
first to deuise his plat or subiect, then to fashion his poeme, thirdly to
vse his metricall proportions, and last of all to vtter with pleasure and
delight, which restes in his maner of language and stile as hath bene
said, whereof the many moodes and straunge phrases are called figures, it
is not altogether with him as with the crafts man, nor altogither
otherwise then with the crafts man, for in that he vseth his metricall
proportions by appointed and harmonicall measures and distaunces, he is
like the Carpenter or Ioyner, for borrowing their tymber and stuffe of
nature, they appoint and order it by art otherwise then nature would doe,
and worke effects in apparance contrary to hers. Also in that which the
Poet speakes or reports of another mans tale or doings, as _Homer_ of
_Priamus_ or _Vlisses_, he is as the painter or keruer that worke by
imitation and representation in a forrein subiect, in that he speakes
figuratiuely, or argues subtillie, or perswades copiously and vehemently,
he doth as the cunning gardiner that vsing nature as a coadiutor, furders
her conclusions & many times makes her effectes more absolute and
straunge. But for that in our maker or Poet, which restes onely in deuise
and issues from an excellent sharpe and quick inuention, holpen by a
cleare and bright phantasie and imagination, he is not as the painter to
counterfaite the naturall by the like effects and not the same, nor as the
gardiner aiding nature to worke both the same and the like, nor as the
Carpenter to worke effects vtterly vnlike, but euen as nature her selfe
working by her owne peculiar vertue and proper instinct and not by example
or meditation or exercise as all other artificers do, is then most admired
when he is most naturall and least artificiall. And in the feates of his
language and vtterance, because they hold as well of nature to be
suggested and vttered as by arte to be polished and reformed. Therefore
shall our Poet receaue prayse for both, but more by knowing of his arte
then by vnseasonable vsing it, and be more commended for his naturall
eloquence then for his artificiall, and more for his artificiall well
desembled, then for the same ouermuch affected and grossely or vndiscretly
bewrayed, as many makers and Oratours do.




  _The Conclusion_.


And with this (my most gratious soueraigne Lady) I make an end, humbly
beseeching your pardon, in that I haue presumed to hold your eares so long
annoyed with a tedious trifle so as vnlesse it preecede more of your owne
Princely and naturall mansuetude then of my merite. I feare greatly least
you may thinck of me as the Philosopher Plato did of _Anueris_ an
inhabitant of the Citie _Cirene_, who being in troth a very actiue and
artificiall man in driuing of a Princes Charriot or Coche (as your
Maiestie might be) and knowing it himselfe well enough, comming one day
into Platos schoole, and hauing heard him largely dispute in matters
Philosophicall, I pray you (quoth he) geue me leaue also to say somewhat
of myne arte, and in deede shewed so many trickes of his cunning how to
lanche forth and stay, and chaunge pace, and turne and winde his Coche,
this way and that way, vphill downe hill, and also in euen or rough
ground, that he made the whole assemblie wonder at him. Quoth Plato being
a graue personage, verely in myne opinion this man should be vtterly vnfit
for any seruice of greater importance then to driue a Coche. It is great
pitie that so prettie a fellow, had not occupied his braynes in studies of
more consequence. Now I pray God it be not thought so of me in describing
the toyes of this our vulgar art. But when I consider how euery thing hath
his estimation by oportunitie, and that it was but the studie of my yonger
yeares in which vanitie raigned. Also that I write to the pleasure of a
Lady and a most gratious Queene, and neither to Priestes nor to Prophetes
or Philosophers. Besides finding by experience, that many times idlenesse
is lesse harmefull then vnprofitable occupation, dayly seeing how these
great aspiring mynds and ambitious heads of the world seriously searching
to deale in matters of state, be often times so busie and earnest that
they were better be vnoccupied and peraduenture althgether idle, I presume
so much vpon your Maiesties most milde and gracious iudgement howsoeuer
you conceiue of myne abilitie to any better or greater seruice, that yet
in this attempt ye wil allow of my loyall and good intent alwayes
endeuouring to do your Maiestie the best and greatest of those seruices I
can.




  A Table of the Chapters in this booke,
  and euery thing in them conteyned.


What a Poet and Poesie is, and who may be said the most
  excellent Poet in our time.                                   fol.  1

Whether there may be an arte of our English or vulgar Poesie.         3

How Poets were the first Priests, the first Prophets,
  the first Legis-lators and Polititiens in the world.                3

How Poets were the first Philosophers, the first Astronomeers,
  and Historiographers, and Orators, and Musicians in the world.      5

How euery wilde and sauadge people vse a kind of natural Poesie
  in versiete and rime, as our vulgar is.                             7

Whence the riming Poesie came first to the Greekes and Latines,
  and how it had altered, and almost spilt their maner of Poesie.     7

How in the time of Charlemaynes raigne and many yeares after him,
  the Latine Poets wrote in rime.                                     8

In what reputation Poets and Poesie were in the old time with
  Princes, and otherwise generally, & how they be now become
  contemptible, and for what causes.                                 11

How Poesie shoulde not be employed vpon vaine conceits,
  nor specially those that bee vicious or infamous.                  18

The subiect or matter of Poesie, what it is.                         18

Of Poems and their sundrie sortes, and how thereby the
  auncient Poets receaued Surnames.                                  19

In what forms of Poesie the gods of the gentils were praysed
  and honored.                                                       21

In what forme of Poesie vice, & the common abases of mans life
  were reprehended.                                                  24

How the Poesie for reprehension of vice, was reformed by two
  manner of Poems, more euill than the first.                        25

In what forme of Poesie the euill and outrageous behauiours
  of Princes were reprehended.                                       25

In what forme of Poesie the great Princes and dominators
  of the world were praised and honoured.                            27

Of the places where in auncient time their enterludes and other
  Poemes drammaticke were represented vnto the people.               28

Of the shepheards or pastorall poesie called Egologue, and
  to what purpose it was first inuented and deuised.                 30

Of historicall Poesie, by which the famous acts of princes and
  the vertuous and worthy liues of our forefathers were reported.    31

In what forms of poesie vertue in the inferior sort was commended.   34

The forme wherein honest & profitable arts and sciences were treated. 35

In what forme of poesie the amarous affections and entertainments
  were vttered.                                                      36

The forme of poeticall reiocings.                                    36

The forme of poeticall lamentations.                                 37

The solemne reioysings at the birth and natiuitie of princes children. 40

The manner of reioysing at weddings and marriages, specially of great
  Ladies and Gentlewomen and Dames of honour.                        40

The manner of poesie by which they vttered their bitter tauntes
  or priuy nippes, and witty scoffes and other merry conceits.       43

What manner of poeme they vsed for memorial of the dead.             45

An auncient forme of poesie by which men did vse to reproch their
  enimies.                                                           46

Of the short poeme called with vs posie.                             47

Who in any age have beene the most commended writers in our English
  poesie, and the Authors censure giuen vpon them.                   48



  The Table of the second booke.


Of proportion poeticall.                                        fol. 53

Of proportion in Staff.                                              54

Of proportion in Measure.                                            55

How many sortes of measures we use in our vulgar.                    58

Of the distinctions of mans voice and pauses allowed to our speech,
  & of the first pause called Ceszure.                               61

Of proportion in concord called Rime.                                63

Of accent, stirre and time, evidently perceyued in the distinction
  of mans voice, and in that which maketh the flowing of a Meetre.   64

Of your Cadences in which the meeter is made Symphonicall, &
  when they be most sweet and solemne.                               65

How the good maker will not wrench his word to helpe his rime,
  either by falsifying his accent or his Ortographie.                67

Of concord in long and short measures, & by neare or farre
  distances, and which of them is most commendable.                  68

Of proportion by situation.                                          69

Of proportion in figure.                                             75

How if all manner of suddaine innouations were not very scandalous,
  specially in the lawes of any language, the use of the Greeke
  and Latine feet might be brought into our vulgar poesie &
  with good grace inough.                                            85

A more particular declaration of the Metricall feete of the Greekes
  and Latines, and of your feete of two times.                       91

Of the feet of three times, and what vse we may haue of them
  in our vulgar.                                                    103

Of all the other of three times besides the Dactill.                106

Of your halfe foote in a verse & those verses which they called
  perfect and defective.                                            107

Of the breaking of your wordes of many sillables, & when & how
  it is to be vsed.                                                 108



  The Table of the third booke.


Of ornament poeticall and that it resteth in figures.               114

How our writing & speeches publique ought to be figuratiue,
  and if they be not doo greatly disgrace the cause and
  purpose of  the speaker and writer.                               115

How ornament poeticall is of two sortes according to the
  double nature and efficacy of figures.                            119

Of language and what speech our maker ought to vse.                 119

Of stile, and that it is of three kindes, loftie, meane,
  and low according to the nature of the subiect.                   123

Of the loftie, meane, and low subiect.                              127

Of figures and figuratiue speeches.                                 128

Sixe points set downe by our learned forefathers for a generall
  rule or regiment of all good vtterance, be it by mouth or by
  writing.                                                          129

How the Greekes first and afterwardes the Latines inuented
  new names for euery figure, which this Author is also enforced
  to do in his vulgar arte.                                         130

A diuision of figures and how they serue in exornation of language. 131

Of Auricular figures apperteyning to single words and working by
  their diuers sounds and audible tunes, alteration to the eare
  onely and not to the minde.                                       134

Of Auricular figures perteyning to clawses of speech, and by
  them working no little alteration to the eare.                    135

Of Auricular figures working by disorder.                           140

Of Auricular figures working by surplusage.                         141

Of Auricular figures working by exchange.                           142

Of Auricular figures that serue to make the meetre tuneable and
  melodious, but not by defect nor surplusage, disorder nor exchange. 145



  The names of your figures Auricular.

Eclipsis, _or the figure of default._                               136
Zeugma, _or the single supply._                                     136
Prozeugma, _or the ringleader._                                     137
Mezozeugma, _or the middlemarcher._                                 137
Hypozeugma, _or the rerewarder._                                    137
Sillepsis, _or the double supply._                                  137
Hypozeuxis, _or the substitute._                                    138
Aposiopesis, _or the figure of silence, otherwise
   called the figure of interruption._                              139
Prolepsis, _or the propounder._                                     139
Hiperbaton, _or the trespasser._                                    140
Parenthesis, _or the insertour._                                    140
Histeron proteron, _or the preposterous._                           141
Enallage, _or figure of exchange._                                  142
Hipallage, _or the changeling._                                     143
Omoioteleton, _or the figure of likeloose._                         144
Patimion, _or figure of like letter._                               145
Asindeton, _or figure of lose language._                            145
Polisindeton, _or the coople clause._                               146
Irmus, _or the long lose._                                          146
Epitheton, _or the qualifier._                                      147
Endiades, _or the figure of twinnes._                               147

_Of the figures which we call Sensable, because they alter and affect
  the minde by alteration of sense and first in single words._      148
Metaphora, _or the figure of transport._                            149
Catacresis, _or the figure of abuse._                               150
Metonymia, _or the misnamer._                                       150
Antonomasia, _or the surnamer._                                     151
Onomatopeia, _or the newnamer._                                     151
Epitheton, _or figure of attribution, otherwise
  called the qualifier._                                            152
Metalepsis, _or the far-set._                                       152
Liptote, _or the moderator._                                        153
Paradiastole, _or the currifauel, otherwise
   called the soother._                                             154
Meiosis, _or the disabler._                                         154
Tapinosis, _or the abbaser._                                        154
Synecdoche, _or the figure of quick conceit._                       154
_Of sensable figures appertaining to whole speeches, and by them
 affecting and altering the minde by force of sence and intendment._ 155
Allegoria, _or figure of faire semblance._                          155
Enigma, _or the riddle._                                            157
Parimia, _or the prouerbe._                                         157
Ironia, _or the drie mock._                                         157
Sarcasmus, _or the bitter taunt._                                   158
Asteismus, _the merry scoffe, or ciuill iest._                      158
Micterismus, _or the fleering frumpe._                              158
Antiphrasis, _or the broad floute._                                 159
Charientismus, _or the priuie nippe._                               159
Hyperbole, _or the loud lier, otherwise
  called the ouerreacher._                                          159
Periphrasis, _or the figure of ambage._                             161
Synecdoche, _or the figure of quick conceit._                       162
_Of figures sententious, otherwise called rhetoricall._             163
Anaphora, _or the figure of report._                                165
Antistrophe, _or the counterturne._                                 165
Simploche, _or figure of reiteration._                              166
Anadiplosis, _or the redouble._                                     167
Epanalepsis, _or the slow returne, otherwise
  called the Eccho sound._                                          167
Epizeuxis, _or the vnderlay, otherwise
  called the Cuckow spell._                                         167
Ploche, _or the doubler, otherwise
  called the swift repeate._                                        168
Paranomasia, _or the nicknamer._                                    168
Traductio, _or the tranlater._                                      170
Antipophora, _or the figure of responce._                           170
Sineciosis, _or the crossecoople._                                  172
Atanaclasis, _or the rebound._                                      173
Clymax, _or the marching figure._                                   173
Antimetauole, _or the counterchainge._                              174
Insultatio, _or the disdainfull._                                   175
Antitheton, _or the quareller, otherwise
  called the ouerthwart or rencounter._                             175
Erotema, _or the questioner._                                       176
Echphonisis, _or the outcrie._                                      177
Brachiologia, _or the cutted comma._                                178
Parison, _or the figure of euen._                                   178
Sinonimya, _or the figure of store._                                179
Metanoia, _or the penitent, otherwise
  called the figure of repentance._                                 179
Antenagoge, _or the recompencer._                                   180
Epiphonema, _or the close._                                         181
Auxesis, _or the auancer._                                          182
Meiosis, _or the disabler._                                         183
Dialisis, _or the dismembrer._                                      185
Merismus, _or the distributor._                                     185
Epimone, _or the loueburden._                                       188
Paradoxon, _or the wonderer._                                       189
Aporia, _or the doubtfull._                                         189
Epitropi, _or the figure of reference, otherwise
  called the figure of submission._                                 189
Parrisia, _or the licentious._                                      190
Anachmosis, _or the importuner._                                    190
Paramologia, _or figure of admittance._                             190
Etiologia, _or the tell-cause, otherwise
  called the reason rendrer._                                       191
Dicheologia, _or the figure of excuse._                             192
Noema, _or the figure of close conceit._                            193
Orismus, _or the definer by difference._                            193
Procatalepsis, _or the presumptuous._                               194
Paralepsis, _or the passenger._                                     194
Commoratio, _or figure of aboade._                                  194
Metastasis, _or figure of remoue, otherwise
  called the flitter._                                              194
Parecuasis, _or the straggler, otherwise
  called the figure of digression._                                 195
Expeditio, _or the dispatcher._                                     195
Diologismus, _or the right reasoner._                               196
Gnome, _or the director, otherwise
  called the sagesayer._                                            197
Sinathrismus, _or the heaping figure._                              197
Apostrophe, _or the turne tale._                                    198
Hipotiposis, _or the counterfait, otherwise
  called the figure of representation._                             199
Prosopographia, _or the counterfet countenance._                    199
Prosopopeia, _or the false impersonation._                          200
Chronographia, _or the counterfait of time._                        200
Topographia, _or counterteit of place._                             200
Pragmatographia, _or counterfait of action._                        203
Omoiosis, _or the figure of resemblance._                           203
Icon, _or resemblance by portrait, and ymagerie._                   204
Parabola, _or resemblance misticall._                               205
Paradigma, _or resemblance by example._                             205
Exargasia, _or the gorgious, otherwise
  called the bewtifull._                                            206
_Of the vices and deformitie in speech principally noted
  by ancient Poets._                                                208
_How some vices in speeches are alwaies intollerable, some others
  now and then borne withal by licence of approued authors._        209
Barbarismus, _or barbarous speech._                                 209
Solecismus, _or false speech._                                      210
Cacozelia, _or fonde affectation._                                  210
Soraismus, _or the vice called the mingle-mangle._                  211
Cacosintheton, _or the misplacer._                                  212
Cacemphaton, _or foule speech._                                     212
Tautologia, _or selfe saying._                                      213
Acyron, _or the vncouth._                                           214
Pleonasmus, _or fault of full speech._                              215
Macrologia, _or long language._                                     215
Periergia, _or ouerlabor, otherwise called the curious._            216
Tapinosis, _or the abbaser._                                        216
Bomphiologia, _or pompous speech._                                  217
Amphibologia, _or the ambiguous._                                   217
_What it is that generally makes our speech vertuous or vicious,
  & of that which the Latines call decorum._                        218
_Of decencie in behauiour and action, which also belongs to the
  consideration of a Poet or maker._                                231
_How the good poet or maker ought to dissemble his arte, and
  in what cases the artificiall is more commended then the
  naturall and contrariwise._                                       250
_The conclusion._                                                   257

FINIS.





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