71 .TIMBER- DISCOVERIES . r MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY FELIX E. SCHELLING Professor of English Literature in the University OF Pennsylvania UNIVERSITir BOSTON, U.S.A. PUBLISHED BY GINN & COMPANY 1892 ^0 6~^if Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1892, By FELIX E. SCHELLING, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington All Rights Reserved. Typography by J. S. Cushing & Co., Boston, U.S.A. Presswork by Ginn & Co., Boston, U.S.A. TS •7 '^i TO THE MEMORY OF MY TEACHER, COLLEAGUE, AND FRIEND JOHN GEORGE REPPLIER McELROY -^ PREFACE. The Discoveries of Ben Jonson deserve attention for two reasons : as one of the best examples of later Elizabethan prose, and as one of the earli est cons cious efforts at simple literarypresentment. A higher claim is to be found in the sound sense, discriminating judgment, and lofty moral senti- ment with which the work is pervaded, and in the inexpli- cable and inexcusable neglect that has suffered so rare an English classic to remain practically inedited, and, until quite recently, all but unknown. The memory of the man has been long since reclaimed from ignorant and perverse detraction, and his literary achievements acknowledged to be surpassed alone by the master who has surpassed all ; but there remains yet somewhat to a complete knowledge of " one of the noblest, manliest, most honest and most helpful natures that ever dignified and glorified a powerful intelligence and an admirable genius." (Swinburne, A Study of Ben Jonso7i, p. 130.) Although the evident disorder of many parts of the Discoveries suggests and courts rearrangement, I have pre- ferred to follow the original order throughout, and to depart as little as possible from the readings of the edition of 1641. It was found necessary to use greater freedom with the punctuation. Variants from the folio in Whalley, Gilford, VI PREFACE. Colonel Cunningham's edition and Professor Morley's, will be found under the notes, together with emendations of Mr. Swinburne and others. While as many references as possible have been verified, the notes of the present edition do not pretend to have exhausted the allusions with which the text is literally brist- ling. If any apology be deemed necessary, I can but urge the words of so capable and scholarly a critic as William Gifford {Works of Joiison, ed. Cunningham, ii. p. 51) : " The variety and extent of Jonson's reading are altogether surprising ; nothing seems to have been too poor and trifling, too recondite and profound, for his insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge. It is but seldom, and even then acci- dentally, that I can fall in with him : the general range of his wide and desultory track is to me nearly imperceptible." It gives me much pleasure to record my obligations to the courtesy and the scholarship of Dr. Horace Howard Furness T of Philadelphia, Professor Albert S. Cook of Yale University, Mr. Charlton T\_ Lewis of New York, Dr. Paul Shorey of Bryn Mawr College, Mr. William R. Thayer of Concord, Mass., and Mr. Joseph Jacobs, of London, England. Nor is my indebtedness less to my colleagues, Dr. Oswald Sei- densticker. Professor William A. Lamberton, Dr. Morton W. Easton, Dr. Hermann V. Hilprecht, Dr. Morris Jastrow, Jr., and Dr. William Romaine Newbold. F. E. S. Philadelphia, December, 1891. CONTENTS. PAGE Introduction ix Sketch of the Life of Ben Jonson ix Publication and Date of Composition xiv Literary Influences xviii Style xxi Analysis xxvii Discoveries i Notes 89 Index of Proper Names 163 vii INTRODUCTION. I. Sketch of the Life of Ben Jonson. {^Compiled chiefiy from his Conversations with Drumtnond, Sytnond's Life, and Ward's English Dramatic Literature.^ Ben Jonson was born in the year 1573. He came of a border family of Anandale, and was the posthumous son of a minister who had *' losed all his estate under Queen Marie, having been cast into prison and forfeited." i^Co7i- versaiions with Drumjnond.^ His widow marrying again, Jonson was " brought up poorly," but " put to school " at Westminster, and there befriended by the learned anti- quary Camden. Fuller states that from Westminster Jon- son went to [St. John's College] Cambridge. If so, he re- mained but a short time ; for he afterwards told Drummond that " he was Master of Arts in both Universities by their favor, not his study." The trade of his step- father, that of a bricklayer, proving distasteful, Jonson enlisted as a soldier, and relates that, " in his service in the Low Countries," he had, " in the face of both the camps, killed an enemy and taken opi7na spolia from him." It seems likely that Jonson was again in England in 1592, and married while yet under age. He told Drummond that " his wife was a shrew, yet honest." He had several children by her, none of whom survived him. The beginning of Jonson's career as a dramatist cannot be fixed with certainty ; but the advances of money made to him by Philip Henslow, the manager and stage-broker, in 1597, prove that he was a recognized playwright by that X INTR on UC TION. time, doing 'prentice-work, according to the custom of his age, in the reconstruction and adaptation of earlier plays. The pleasing tradition that Jonson owed his introduction to a dramatic career to the good offices of Shakespeare is not susceptible of proof; although his first dramatic success, Every Man in his Humor, was acted in 1598 by the Lord Chamberlain's Servants, Shakespeare's company, and Shake- speare was himself an actor in it. The notion that Jonson and Shakespeare Hved in a state of rivalry and enmity is based upon no evidence worthy of a moment's considera- tion. (See the notes, especially 23 9 and 23 28.) In this year Jonson had the misfortune to kill a fellow- actor, in a duel, for which he was tried at Old Bailey, con- victed on his own confession, and, pleading his clergy, escaped capital punishment with a brand upon the thumb of his left hand and forfeit of goods and chattels. While in prison he became converted to the Roman Church, and remained of that faith for twelve years. The duel severed his connection with Henslow and drew him into writing for Shakespeare's rival company. In 1599 Queen Elizabeth witnessed Jonson's next play, Every Man out of his Humor, the first of the series of dramatic satires, which were soon to involve their author in internecine warfare with his fellow-craftsmen. During the next three years Jonson was a leading combatant in what is known as "The War of the Theatres," Cynthia's Revels giving the affront, the Poetaster, Marston and Dekker's Satiromas- tix, and many other plays continuing the battle. Notwith- standing Jonson's " aggressive and egotistic personality," and the gall and venom of both parties, it may be doubted if the terrors of these literary frays were such as the historians of literature would have us believe. At all events the collabo- ration of Dekker and Jonson in the pageants attending the accession of James, and the fervent dedication of Marston's Ala/content to Jonson in 1604, preclude the possibility of I INTR OD UC TfON. xi our believing these enmities to have been either very deep or very lasting. Sejanus, Jonson's first tragedy, was produced at the Globe Theatre in 1603, Shakespeare again taking a part; but it was not well received. In consequence Jonson turned his attention to a different species of the drama, and, the festivities attending the progress of the new king offering a splendid field for his talents, began with the The Satyre in 1603, that series of stately Masques and Entertainments which alone would be sufficient to render his name remark- able in the history of our literature. He soon gained the royal favor, and with it the patronage of many noble houses ; and for years the most notable courtly entertainments and civic feasts were enriched with '^ the poetry and learning of Master Ben Jonson and the invention and architecture of Master Inigo Jones." ' In 1605 Chapman and Marston were imprisoned for cer- tain passages of the comedy. Eastward Ho ! which an irritable courtier conceived to be derogatory to the Scotch ; and Jonson, who had a hand in the play but not in the offensive passages, "voluntarily imprisoned himself" with them. But both Chapman and Jonson had influence at Court and the playwrights were soon at Hberty. Jonson con- tinued for years to furnish entertainments for the Court, and appears to have accompanied many of the royal progresses. In 1 6 16 the Laureateship, with a pension of one hundred marks a year, was conferred upon him ; this with his fees and retainers from several noble patrons, and the small earnings of his plays, formed the bulk of his income. Two years later the king granted him the reversion of the office of Master of the Revels, but Jonson did not live to enjoy its perquisites. It is even said that at one time Jonson nar- rowly escaped the honor of knighthood, which King James was wont to lavish with indiscriminate hand. Volpone was produced in 1605 ; The Silent Woman, in V xii INTR OD UC TTON. 1609, and The Alchemist followed in the succeeding year. These masterly comedies met with unqualified success, as did Barfho/omeiu Fair m 1614. A less degree of popular approbation awaited his second tragedy, Caii/i?ie, which was produced in 161 1. This group of plays represents Jonson at the height of his dramatic power. From 1616 to 1625 Jonson produced nothing for the stage, although still not infrequently engaged in the com- position of courtly entertainments. During this period of prosperity he was enabled to continue the prosecution of those studies which have made him memorable as one of the greatest scholars of a scholarly age, and to collect his rich and varied library, afterwards unhappily destroyed by fire. He told Drummond that " the Earl of Pembroke sent him ^20 every first day of the new year to buy new books." With another patron, Lord d'Aubigny, he lived for a period of five years. Jonson accompanied the eldest son of Sir Walter Raleigh to Paris as his tutor in 16 13, and told Drum- mond that he had written certain parts of Sir Walter's His- tory of the World for him (see notes 30 34). Later, in 16 18, Jonson set out on foot for Scotland, and spent some time with the Scotch poet, William Drummond, at Havv- thornden, the latter's country-seat. In the words of Pro-j fessor Ward : '' His [Jonson's] moral like his physical nature was cast in a generously ample mould ; he spoke hi^ mind freely in praise and blame ; uttered his opinion of men and books in round terms ; and probably never gave a second thought to his sayings after they had flowed as copi- ously as the canary which had removed the last barrier of self-restraint. Talk such as this will not always bear analy- sis ; and when Drummond, after Ben Jonson's departure, summarized his impressions of his guest in a note of his own — not of course intended for the public eye — it does not follow that he was in a fit mood for the purpose." Courtly patronage failed Jonson towards the close of the IN TR OD I rc TFON. xiii reign of James, and in 1625 he had recourse once more to the stage. While the sweeping assertion of Dryden that these later plays are " Jonson's dotages " is unfair, their inferiority to the work of his better days is as marked as it is deplorable. But there were many compensations yet left to the veteran of letters. None of the great English liter- ary dictators enjoyed a rule more absolute than that of Ben Jonson, whether in the earlier days of the Mermaid, where, in the words of Herrick : We such clusters had As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine; or in the later times of the Apollo room of the Devil Tavern. Nor was this homage confined to " the billowy realms of Bohemia." To use the words of Professor Ward once more : " Contemporary literature of every description — from Clarendon to Milton, and from Milton to Herrick — abounds with testimonies together proving his position to have been unrivalled among the men of letters of his times ; and on his death a crowd of poets hastened to pay their tributes of acknowledgment to one who seems to have been loved more than he was feared, and to have left behind him a gap which it was felt must remain unfilled." Unhappily, poverty, disease, and increasing years were now aggravated by renewed petty squabbles, especially with Inigo Jones, who used his influence at Court unworthily to prevent the employment of his unhappy rival. In 1628, on the death of Thomas Middleton, Jonson obtained the post of Chronologer to the City of London, and in the ensuing year King Charles renewed his father's patronage of the old laureate with a gift of ;£ioo, and an increase of Jonson's standing salary. Now much of his time bedridden, the old poet became dependent on the liberality of noble patrons, xiv INTRODUCTION.- and yet the friendship of many of the greatest and noblest men of his day, and the adoration of a younger generation " sealed of the tribe of Ben," must have gone far towards brightening even these darkening days. Ben Jonson died August 6, 1635, ^^d although a projected monument failed of erection in the midst of the poHtical tension that was rapidly hurrying the nation to civil war, all must agree that '^ no time will efface the brief but sufficient legend * O rare Ben Jonson.' " 2. Publication and Date of Composition. Ben Jonson's Exploi-ata, Timber or Discoveries as pubHshed posthumously in 1641, filling the last forty-seven pages of the second volume of the folio edition of 1640 Since Dr. Brinsley Nicholson's examination and collation 01 the folio editions of Jonson (see Notes and Queries^ Fourth Series, vol. v. p. 573), we may dismiss the supposition of Lowndes that a third folio edition was printed, bearing date 1 64 1, as well as his affirmation of the existence of a second volume of the first folio of 1616. It was not until the reprint of 1640 that a second volume, containing the Dis- coveries and other pieces variously dated, appeared. Gififord supposed that this volume was printed from manuscripts surreptitiously obtained (ed. Cunningham, iii. p. 277) ; but Dr. Nicholson has shown conclusively, and for reasons which space will not permit me to set forth here, that at least two of the plays contained in this volume had received touches from the hand of the author, and that " as to the pieces dated 1640 and 1641, some of the smaller poems are from the author's revised copies, while the same pieces in the quarto and duodecimo non-surreptitious editions of 1640 are from earUer drafts." The separate title of the Discoveries bears no imprint beyond the words, "London, printed M.DC.XLL" The IN TR OD UC TION. XV pagination runs continuously through Horace, his Arte of Poetrie, pp. 1-29, The English Grammar, pp. 31-84, and the Discoveries, pp. 85-132 ; while each of the former sep- arate titles displays the imprint, " Printed M.DC.XL." Dr. Nicholson, however, informs us that the general title of the second volume bears the imprint of R. Meighan, 1640, who was not the publisher of the other volume of'*lhe second folio. The exemplar, the property of the present editor, contains no such general title ; and it would seem from Gifford's note, referred to above, that his copy exhibited a like defect. Dr. Nicholson assures us that whatever the ot\ r variants, all the copies of the Discoveries bears the dJ^o of £6^1,., In view of the corrupt state of portions of the- text, the evident disorder of many of the notes, and the ignorant misplacement and repetition of marginal references, it is clear that the work could never have been intended, by so careful an author as Jonson, for publication in its present form. And yet, considering the age and its posthumous appearance, the condition of the text of the folio is far from justifying the brilliant strictures of Mr. Swinburne. The truth seems that editors of Jonson have generally wearied of their task before reaching the later products of their author's brain ; and, while most of the mistakes of the folio have been reproduced with sedulous fidelity, not a few new errors have crept into the text through carelessness or unnecessary zeal in emendation. As appears from the title, the Discoveries is a " species of commonplace book of aphorisms flowing out of the poet's daily reading." But it would be far from just to regard this as all. For every note is stamped with the powerful indi- viduality of the writer, so that even the reflected thoughts of others have become wholly Jonson's own ; while the care with which the notes have been penned, and the painstaking attention to matters of style and expression^ entitle Jonson xvi INTRODUCTION. here as elsewhere to challenge the first place of his age as a master of vigorous, idiomatic English prose. There is internal evidence, too, pointing to an intent to publish, in the words : " I had not told posterity this but for their igno- rance, who choose that circumstance to commend their friend by wherein he most faulted " {De Shakespeai'c nos- trati, 23 u-ie), to which may possibly be added the several passages susceptible of an autobiographical interpretation (18 8-19 2, 31 28-32 3, 43 24-44 23, etc.) The date of the composition of the Discoveries cannot be determined with any degree of accuracy ; and it is highly probable, from the nature of the work, that it was written from time to time through a series of years. One piece of external evidence we have in a letter of James Howell to Jonson, dated June 27, 1629, and containing a series of quotations on the madness of poets, nearly all of which are to be found in a passage of the Discoveries (see 75 24-76 8, and the notes thereon, in which Howell's letter is quoted). Unfortunately for this bit of evidence, the letter mentions The Magjictic Lady as a finished work, and that play was not acted until 1632. It is unUkely that Jonson kept the finished manuscript of his play in his desk three years before performance, and still more improbable that Howell should write thus familiarly of a play as yet untried. Moreover, Anthony a Wood declares (^Athence. Oxofiie?ises, ed. 181 7, iii. col. 746) that " many of the said letters were never written before their author was in the Fleet [1642], as he pretends they were, only feigned (no time being kept with the dates), and purposely pubhshed to gain money to relieve his necessities." Hence, while it is quite possible that Howell sent such a letter to Jonson, the date can prove nothing as to the composition of Jonson's note, if indeed the evidence of Anthony a Wood does not raise a presump- tion of direct borrowing on the part of Howell from Jonson's already published Discoveries. INTR OD UC TION. xvii A few parallel passages between the Discoveries and other works of Jonson may be found, as the statement " that poets are far rarer births than kings " {Disc. 76 12, Epigram, 79, and the Epilogue to New Infi), or the allusion to the pas- sage oi Julius Ccesar {Disc. 23 27, and the Induction to The Staple of Newes) ; but such points prove little, and need not be pressed. The two or three parallels between the Discoveries and works of contemporary authors (Bacon's Advance me fit of Learning, 31 13, Q>Q) 12, 17 ; Selden's Table Talk, 73 3) are of about equal uncertainty. Several allu- sions to contemporary persons and events are somewhat more fruitful. The disgrace of Lord Bacon in 1621 was assuredly prior to the writing of the note (31 28-32 3) ; whilst that concerning his eloquence (30 10-21) — unless the literality of the translation from Seneca mislead — must have been written subsequent to the chancellor's death in 1626. The allusions to Taylor, the Water Poet (22 9 and u), amount to nothing, as Taylor continued the production of his book- lets long after the death of Jonson ; that to Heath's Epi- grams (22 8) is more definite, unless reminiscent, as Heath does not appear to have written subsequent to 1620. These allusions lead to 1620 or 1621, as the earliest possible date assignable to the composition of any of the notes constituting the Discoveries ; while the date, 1630, con- tained in the note on Archy Armstrong (13 is) , the reminis- cent character of Jonson's remarks on Bacon, Shakespeare, and others, the adaptation of Seneca's words on the failure of his memory to Jonson himself (18 12-29) and his frequent bitterness of spirit (11 I8-29, 21 16 seqq., 43 24-44 23), all point to a still later period as the probable date of compo- sition. It is likely that little violence will be done to the truth in assigning the composition of the Discoveries to the last years of the poet's life. xviii INTR OD UCTION. X. Literary Influences. The nature of this work is not such as to warrant the treatment of so extended a topic as the learning of Ben Jonson, We must therefore be content with a brief consid- eration of the hterary influences discernible in the Discov- eries. In view of the restoration of some scores of passages to their respective owners — for which the reader is referred to the notes — it is to be hoped that the Discoveries may thenceforth be regarded in a very different light from a pro- duction of original English prose. As Whalley said long ago^-^ed ^onson, vii. p. 71), and as the title of the work imports, " Many of the following passages are imitations or observations made upon the authors of Jonson's daily read- ing " ; and I may add that quite as many are literal quota- tions, Jonson's own merely in the sense that he has translated them, and applied their very words to the changed conditions of his time. It is notable that to this latter class belong several of the passages most commonly quoted as auto- biographical or reminiscent of the poet's contemporaries {e.g. 18 10-29, 28 17 seqq., and the notes thereon), and not a few which have been enthusiastically admired as Jonson's by those imperfectly conversant with their originals. See especially the passage of Euripides, translated at 4 15, and highly extolled by Mr. Swinburne in his Study of Ben Jotison, p. 131 ; and the discussion of the advantages of a public over a private education at 53 21 seqq.^ a literal transcript of a well-known passage of Quintilian, equally exalted as Jonson's with the lavish panegyric of which the same critic is so consummate a master {ibid. p. 167-168, and my note on 54 16), and pronounced by Professor Ward " very English in spirit" {English Dramatic Literature^ i. p. 542, note 2). In reading the Discoveries, it is not difficult to discern the influences under which a given series of notes was written. Now the author was reading the elder Seneca, and IN TR OD UC TION. xix the reminiscent character of the pro(xmia to the several books of his Controversies led Jonson into an application of the rhetorician's words to himself (18 8-29, 28 i7-29 3), to the eloquence of Lord Bacon (30 10-21), or to his recol-, lection of Shakespeare (23 22-24) . A diligent study of the ' histitutes of Quintilian and the Poetics of Aristotle inspires respectively~fhe essays on style and poetry. TrTaiiother place we find traces of Plutai'cir'runniilg through several pages, dipping into the various topics of the Morals, gleaning an anecdote here and there from the Lives, and diverted through similarity of subject-matter into other allusions. The more usual Greek and Latin classics are of course [ pervading ; and quotations from the writings of Petronius Arbiter, Varro, Aulus Gellius, Vitruvius, and the collections of Stobaeus are sufficient to prove the range and the diver- sity of Jonson's classical reading. Of the moderns he has made no less use ; and we find frequent reference or famil- iar allusion to the commentaries and original works of the famous scholars of the classical Renaissance, such as the < ScaHgers, Erasmus, Vives, Lipsius, Heinsius, and others. ' ^ Elsewhere a consideration of the attributes of princes brings into discussion tenets of Macchiavelli, and involves the cita- tion of several passages of The Prince (see pp. Zl-^^ pas- ^ sim) ; whilst other notes are the result of a recent study of \ \ the essay On the Advancement of Learjiing or other parts \ \ of the Instauratio Magna. (For references to these seve- ral authors, see the Index and Notes.) Thus we find the Discoveries, like all the other produc- tions of this veritable Titan, attesting Jonson's unparalleled reading and that audacious power with which he has appro- priated the literary spoils of all ages to his royal will and disposal, holding a reckless course beneath a burden of learning that must have overpowered a less than colossal frame. In the words of Mr. Symonds {Ben Jonson, English Worthies, p. 52) : '' This wholesale and indiscriminate trans- XX INTRODUCTION. lation is managed with admirable freedom. He held the prose writers and poets of antiquity in solution in his spa- cious memory. He did not need to dovetail or weld his borrowings into one another, but rather, having fused them in his own mind, poured them plastically forth into the mould of thought." In a case like the present we should guard against apply- ing our own conditions to a consideration of the past. In the essay on style (see 77 14) Jonson speaks of an ability " to convert the substance or riches of another poet to his own use " as " a requisite in our poet " only second to " natural wit " and the exercise of his powers. And Dryden shows his appreciation of this theory, as well as of its prac- tice, in the words : " The greatest man of the last age, Ben Jonson, . . . was not only a professed imitator of Horace, but a learned plagiary of all the others ; you track him every- where in their snow. . . . But he has done his robberies so openly that one may see he fears not to be taxed by any law. He invades authors like a monarch, and what would be theft in other poets is only victory in him " {An Essay on Dramatic Poesy, Arber's Efiglish Gamer, iii. pp. 551 and 519). Plagiarism has been well termed "an invention of the nineteenth century," and, in view of the extended borrowings of Shakespeare and other lesser Elizabethans, may properly be considered a crime Httle recognized as such to that age. Jonson was consistent in theory and practice, and believed a great thought to be always his who expresses it best. As to Jonson's power in this respect, we may agree with the judicious Fuller when he says : " What was ore in others he was able to refine unto him " ( Worthies of England, ed. 1840, ii. p. 425). Finally, whatever may be said of Jonson's other works, in that under consideration the very title disarms criticism in this particular. " Si/^a, timber, the raw material of facts and thoughts," are the author's words; and such is the IN TR on UC TION. xxi humble relation which he would have the Discoveries bear to the Forest and Underwoods of his works. 4. Style. The Discoveries ^ come in character as in time midway between Hooker and Dryden^and they incline rather to the "mofelTian to the less modern form " (Sai ntsbury, H i^M2:v^ , / of Elizabethan Literature^ p. 219). Two things explain this positTon. jonson's vocabulary is somewhat more anti- quated than that of most of his contemporaries, and the conservatism of mcreasing years only added to that of con- stituHon. " Word§J:)orrowed of antiquity," he writes, "do / . lend a kind of majesty to style, and are not without their dehght sometimes ; for they have the authority of years and out of their intermission do win themselves a kind of grace like newness" (61 u-is). A comparison of the vocabulary of Sir Philip Sidney's Defense of Foesie W\\h that of thej . Discoveries, written nearly sixty years later, will disclose a^ far larger number of words demanding explanation in the ■ latter. On the other hand, a like comparison between the two works with reference to the structure of sentence and paragraph will exhibit a form and symmetry, a sense of order and proportion, and a~cbnsciousness__of^j]i e demands of literary .presentment in the Discoveries for which we may look in vain in the somwhat loosely-strung periods and form- \ less paragraphs of the Defense. This contrast becomes the more startHng when we remember that Sidney's work is characterized by a logical sequence and continuity of thought often wanting in the disjointed entries of the Discoveries. The chief traits of Jonson's prose are force, condensity and ^ * directness. The first often rises to genuine doquence and displays in its reserve and union with grace a truly classic dignity. (See the well-known passage on the eloquence of xxii INTRODUCTION. Bacon, 30 7-21 ; 17 8-13, 33 6-22 and many others.) Jon- son's condensity and directness are pervading, and achieved largely by a prevailing shortness and crispness in the con- / struction of sentence, and an omission of qualifiers an d ' con nective s wherever the sense permits. "" Brevity is attained in matter by avoiding idle comple- ments, prefaces, protestations, parentheses, superfluous circuit of figures and digressions : in the composition, by omitting conjunctions . . . and such Hke idle particles, that have no great business in a serious letter but breaking of sentences, as oftentimes a short journey is made long by unnecessary baits " (70 4-12). As an example of the application of these principles, read the passage on Counsel (3 18-4 4) which Mr. Swinburne describes as possessed of " too strong a flavor of the style of Tacitus in its elaborate if not laborious terseness of expression" {Study of Ben Jonson, p. 131) ; and notice Jonson's further expression of his theory on this subject : " Periods are beautiful when they are not too long " (62 31). Elsewhere he commends *' a strict and succinct style . . . where you can take away nothing without loss, and that loss to be manifest " {ibid. 19-21). Jonson is rarely obscure ; and involved or confused con- [ structions are totally foreign to the constitution of a mind by nature clear, precise and painful in its attention to detail. Such occasional obscurities as do occur are almost invariably traceable to excessive condensity, as : *' In the Greek poets, as also in Plautus, we shall see the economy and disposition of poems better obser\'ed than in Terence and the later [Greek poets] who thought " etc. (57 35-58 5) ; or to Latin influence as : " Creatures . . . that continually labor under their own misery and other's envy,'' i.e. the envy which they feel towards others. (47 ir), and see 36 7). Other instances , of L atinism are, the variation between the infinitive and im^jerative, 54 25-28 ; " he denied figures to be invented " 28 35 ; etc. : a comparison of the passages translated from INTR OD UC TION. xxiii Quintilian and Seneca will disclose many other examples. Barring the use of several words in their Latin sense, as : opinion^ reputation (6 3), discipline, learning (7 3), copy, abundance (26 32), zwice, remark, saying (37 17), delicate, chosen (44 22), election, selection i^^ is), translations, meta- phors (60 25), to concoct, to digest (77 20), and offices, duties or obligations (78 26), many of them common to the age ; occasional forms like umbractical (16 25), itidagations (28 11), or digladiation {fo^ 35) ; and the still rarer coining of a word like recession (50 19) ; Jonson's voca,blllarx_ is remarkably English for a scholar of his da y. Jonson considered that "some words are to be culled out for ornament and color," but they had better grow in our style as in a meadow," etc. (61 31 ; see also on this topic 62 2, 63 16-32 and 63 33-64 14). JHis practice is entirely con- sistent with this, and it would 4e difficult to find a writer of equal vigor so sparing in the use of figures) In the Discov- eries Jonson shows a prevailing preference for simile over metaphor, and elaborated comparisons like that of the world to a play (36 22 seqq?), or even the apt figure of the evil man riding coated and booted through the dirty ways of the world (43 19-24) are rare. (See, however, 65 19 seqq.) /He often caps a semi-humorous passage with an implied or ex- pressed comparison that amounts almost to the force of the hke trick of Swift or Carlyle ; thus counsellors that advise a pHnce to becruel afe~called " hangmen's factors '/ (39 e), and the depth of certain writers, which you may find " with your middle finger " is " cream-bowl — or but puddle-deep " (25 13). Again, Jonson rarely indulges in hyperbole ; unless we can ! grant that term, in asorTrHwTiat "extended sense, to those passages in which he becomes impassioned through bit- terness of feeling (21 16-31 and 43 24 Jeq'q.') ,"~or through power and brilliancy of satire and invective : see especially the essay on Parasites (51 10 seqq.). This latter quality is xxi V IN TRODUC TION. to be expected of Jonson, whose method in his dramas and in his Conversations, as reported by Drummond, was " to color highly but not falsely," and to present the subject in hand, so to speak, somewhat heightened into an abnor- mal alto-rilievo by seeing too far on each side. Jonson has succeeded in avoiding_severaUaulj;s_pecuhar t o his a ge. He almost totally eschews compound words, and it may be doubted if any of his own coinage can be found in the Discoveries, {kn exception must be made in the burlesque word noted above, 25 13.) Moreover, Jonson has kept the vocabulary of poetry as well as the use of poetic figures and measured cadence well apart from his prose ; although I believe that Mr. Swinburne has discovered an exception to this last in the fine line on nature at 7 12 : " Men are decayed, and studies : she is not." Neither excessive balance nor undue antithesis mar the flow of Jonson's style. There are passages, however, in which attention to this particular is apparent ; as : " When a virtu- ous man is raised, it brings gladness to his friends, grief to his enemies, and glory to his posterity. . . . He is grown to active men an example, to the slothful a spur, to the envious a punishment" (42 20-25). The practise of wanton alUtera- tion too is not among his faults, though rare instances occur in which he has fallen into that " species of indefensible Ciceronianism " which delights in playing on the sounds of words {e.g. 4G 12, 13 and 69 24). For a closer consideration of the prose style of Jonson the reader must be referred to the following pages, and espe- cially to the essay on 6!<^iiV Those that ape eccentricity and originality, 24 25-25 5. The effeminate and shallow, 25 6-14. The ha sty plagiar jst^^gj, 15-25. 5-3S 1. Difference between him who is raised to sovereignty by the favor of his peers and by the power of the people, 3S 1-19. "y ANALYSIS. XXXI The glory of clemency, 38 20-39 25. Religion the strength of empire, 39 26-30. Religion in the prince includes all other virtues, 39 30-32. No man should murmur at the action of the prince, -10 4-8. Of tyrants and their wickedness, 40 i)-29. Js. good king is a public servant, 40 28-29. l^he illiterate prince, a pilot without eyes, 40 30. The victim of ill-counsel and flattery, 40 30-41 11. The true prince the pastor of his people, 4! 12-28. Justice above power, 41 30. Wars of aggrandizement disapproved, 41 30-33. Care in the administration of justice at home, 42 1-7. Recognition of merit, 42 7-19. The honors of the virtuous are the honors of their time, 42 20-25. The well-born often heirs to their ancestors' vices, 42 20-33. Thieves of public money, 42 34-43 5. Not always safe from the justice of the prince, 43 6-15. Of the good, and the evil, 43 16-48 35. The good and evil contrasted, 43 10-24. The innocent need no defence, 43 24. Personal reminiscence, 43 25-44 23. Jonson accused to the king on insufficient grounds, 43 27-44 9; abused as a maker of verses, 44 10-12: his context misconstrued, 44 12-18; his poverty made a reproach, 44 19-23. Great wickedness not the product of poverty, 44 24-27. Poverty praised, 44 27-32. Money not true riches, which reside alone in the mind, 44 33. Unworthiness of the ostentation of wealth, 45 1-46 5. Worthlessness of the world of fashion, 46 6-28. Folly of luxury in building and adornment, 46 29-47 11. Folly of those that count all by loss and gain, 47 12-25. Wickedness of those that delight in the vices of others, 47 26-48 3. ■ Vice must be shunned in reality as well as in appearance, 48 4-13. - Virtue alone gives glory, 48 14-26. Those who depend on appearances are short-lived in their pride, 48 28-35. Poetry and painting compared, 49 1-51 9. Their likeness to nature, 49 1-6. The pen nobler than the pencil, 49 6-8. Their common ends, nature above art in both, 49 9-14. a fA xxxil ANAL VS/S. Of painting, its nearness to nature and its divine origin, 49 15-21. Various painters excel in various qualities, 49 22-30. Discoveries in painting, 49 30-33, Need of variety of style in both arts, 49 34-50 7. The advancement of painting, 50 8-51 9. Origin of art in poetry and geometry, 50 8-10. Symmetry, elegance, perspective, 50 10-20. Philosophy as affecting art, 50 20-27. Danger of departing from nature into the grotesque, 50 27-31. Original of plastic art in pottery, 50 31-34. Socrates a teacher of art, 50 34-51 1. Succession of ancient Greek painters, 51 2-5. Six famous artists of Italy named, 51 5-9, Pfs£^rasii£SjJ2^10-52 2G. TT^e species defined, 51 10-17, / Their servility in praise and dispraise, 51 17-26. Contrasted with the true man, 51 27-52 10, '^Parasites mark the impotence of the great, 52 11-14. gossip beneath the contempt of the honorable, 52 14-18. The fate of a parasite, 52 19-23. To praise all as great a vice as to blame all, 52 24-26, On style, 52 27-72 4, Address to " his lordship," 52 27-53 3, E^jucation of the young, 53 3-54 18. Should be adapted to different natures, 53 4-12* Change, a recreation, 53 12-15. Gentle means as incentives to study, 53 15-21. Public preferable to a private education, 53 21-54 9. Judicious praise, 54 10-16, Disapproval of corporal punishment, 54 16-18. . Necessaries to a good style, 54 19-56 8. / jl. Read the best authors. 2, Observe the best speakers. 3, Exercise in writing, 54 19-22. Involves a. What to write, d. The manner of it. c. Its arrangement, 54 22-28, Practice should be slow but Incessant, 54 28-32. Revision should be frequent, 54 32-55 18. Dangers of ready writing, 55 18-23. Follow your natural bent, 55 23-27. ANAL YSIS. xxxiii Study of good models valuable : 1. In exciting the mind and memory, 2. In exciting emulation, 3. As a means of quotation, 55 27-56 4. Various styles should be exercised, 56 4-8. Method of teaching, 56 n-59 8. "^"""^periment more valuable than precept; precept preferable -^ to reprehension, 56 9-17. Nature more availing than rules of art, 56 21-26. Natural defects in style, 56 27-57 7. Dependent on age, and not to be reprehended too severely in the young, 56 32-57 7. Early impressions the most lasting, 57 7-15. The clearest and simplest authors to be read first, 57 15-58 5. Extremes of antiquity and newness to be avoided, 57 18-30. Great authors to be read for their matter, 57 30-58 5. "Nature no niggard in her endowments, 58 6-lS. Labor necessary to all attainment, 58 18-23. Many things may be learned together, 58 23-59 8. Misuse of learning, 59 9-21. Elementarii senes, gabblers, pedants. /Value of pure and plain language, 59 22-32. Speech the distinguishing trait of man and the instrument of society, 59 33-60 2. Words and sense the body and soul of language, 60 3-7. \ Of words, 60 7-62 21. Words should be chosen : 1. According to the speaker. 2, With reference to the subject, 60 7-16, Use and misuse of metaphors, 60 1<)-61 1. Dangers of coining new words, 61 1-8. Custom the mistress of language, 61 9-14. Use of archaic words, 61 14-31. Words of ornament should grow out of style, 61 31-62 6. Importance of accuracy, 62 6-11. Style should be such that nothing can be taken away without loss, 62 11-21. Varieties of style, 52 22-66 9. Enumerated as (i) the brief, (2) the concise, (3) the abrupt, (4) the congruent and harmonious, 62 22-30. Periods should not be too long, 62 31-33. ^y xxxiv ANAL YSIS. Clearness and obscurity, 62 33-63 16. Use of hyperbole, 63 16-32. Use and misuse of metaphor, 63 32-64 14. Le style c'est Vhomme, 64 15-66 9. In general, 64 15-22. With respect to structure, 64 23-65 13. As to " figure and feature," 65 14-18. As to " composition," i.e. construction, 65 19-24. Further comparison of style to the human frame, 65 24-66 9. Observations of Bacon on the distempers of learning in : 1. The study of words. 2. Vain matter, 3. Deceit, 66 10-16. Danger of undue regard for authority applied to the question of style, 66 16-67 11. Of the able writer, 67 12-68 13. Necessity of a correspondence of matter and manner, 67 17- 08 13. Of epistolary style, 68 14-72 4. 1. Invention, 68 14-30. 2. Ordering : a. According to the understanding of the recipient. b. In logical sequence, 68 30-69 9. 3. Style : a. Brevity, determined by the estate of him to whom you write ; obtained by avoiding idle words, 69 10-70 21. b. Perspicuity, attained by avoidance of undue brevity or circumlocution, 70 22-71 26. c. Vigor, obtained by proper use of figure, allusion, 71 27-32. d. Discretion, in what fits the writer, and the recipient, 71 32-72 4. Of poetry, 72 5-87 19. The " peccant humors " of poetry, 72 5-18. Satire justified, 72 19-73 26. ^*^ The poet and his art defined, 73 27-36. Length not determinative of the word/^rw, the varieties of poems, 74 1-18. Poesie, the poet's art or craft, 74 19-75 13. 1. Of divine origin, 74 28. 2. The rule and pattern of living well, 74 32-75 6. 3. "The nearest kin to virtue," 75 8. 4. " A dulcet and gentle philosophy," 75 11-13. ANAL YSIS, XXXV Nature and requisites of the poet, 75 13-21. 1. Perfection of natural gifts, 75 22-24. >^ 2. Divine inspiration, 75 24-76 13. ^^ 3. Exercise of his talents and diligent labor, 76 14-77 12. 4. Imitation, " the power to convert the riches of another poet to his own use," 77 13-28. 5. " Study and multiplicity of reading," 77 29-78 2. 6. Art, the crown of the rest. To be attained by study of Horace and Aristotle, and the adaptation of study to his own talents, 78 2-32. 7. Civil prudence and eloquence, 78 32-79 3. The poet nearest to the orator, 79 3-C. Especially the writer of comedy, 79 G-29. The freedom of the poet in his art affirmed, 79 30-80 6. Aristotle as an exponent of the art of poetry, 80 6-12. Aristophanes on Euripides, 80 13-17. The poet alone can judge of poets, 80 18. The nature of critics, 80 20-30. Horace's and other critical opinions of Latin poets, 80 30-81 26. Parts of the drama, 81 29-83 13. ^ — Its end to teach by moving, 81 29-33. The mere causing of laughter unworthy, 81 33-83 13. Of the magnitude and compass of the fable, 83 14-87 19. The fable (/xO^os) defined, 83 18-30. Its magnitude varies with the nature of the work, 83 30-84 10. Unity of action differs in dramatic and epic form, 84 11-25. The measure of the fable must not be too great or too small, 84 25-85 3. The compass of the fable, 85 4-20. Necessity of proportion, involves : 1. Unity of time. 2. Scope for episode. Unity considered with reference to its parts, 85 21-34. A single hero not sufficient to connect disjointed adventures, 85 34-86 17. '•■'- Instances of correct usage and of violation of unity, 86 18-87 6. A necessary part such that its removal will destroy unity, 87 7-13. An episode defined, 87 13-19. Misplaced note on roughness of style, 87 20-24. TIMBER: OR, DISCOVERIES MADE UPON MEN AND MATTER, AS THEY HAVE FLOWED OUT OF HIS DAILY READINGS; OR HAD THEIR REFLUX TO HIS PECULIAR NOTIDNS OF THE TIMES, Ben Jonson. Tecum habita, ut noris quam sit tibi curta supellex. — Persius, Satire iv, 52. SYLVA Rerum et sententiarum quasi ""tKi] dicta a multiplici materia et varietate in iis contenta. Quejuadmodum enim vulgo solemus infini- tam arborum nascentium indisc'riminatim multitiidinem Sylvam dicere : ita etiam libros suos in quibus varice et diverse? tiiaterice opuscula temere congesta erant, Sylvas appellabant antiqui: Timber- trees. X"' ' J' » EXPLORATA: OR, DISCOVERIES »* • ihea are wise by their own counsel, or \ , Jearned, by their, o\Vn teaching. For he that was only ^ ;•■ kaaght by 'buT'Sblf had a fool to his master. ^^' ^^^- — A ^"^^ th^i ^s wounded to the world would 'h-- V be better cured by another's apology than its own : for ^ few can apply medicines well themselves. Besides, the / man that is once hated, both his good and his evil deeds oppress him : he is not easily emergent^ f lo Negotia. — In great affaw^s it is a w6rk of difficulty to please all. And oft times we lose the occasion of carry- / ing a business well and thoroughly by our too much haste. For passions are spiritual rebels, and raise sedition against the understanding. 15 Amor patricE. — There is a necessity all men should love their country : he that professeth the contrary may be delighted with his words, but his heart is ihere. Ingenia, — N^^tures that are hardened to evil you shall s^ner break than make straight ; they are like poles 20 that are crooked and dry, there ijrio attemuting them. Applausus. — We prQ/(se the thmgs we hear with much more willingness than those we s^, because we envy the present and reverence the past ; thinking ourselves instructed by the yone, and OA^rlaid by the other. v ■''\'^'; Opinio. — Opmion is a light, vain, cmde, and imper- fect thing ; settled in the imagination, but never arriving at the understanding, there to obtain the tincture of reason. We labor with it more than truth. There is much more holds us than presseth us. An ill fact is one 30 thing, an ill fortune is another ; yet both oftentimes sway us alike, by the errm- of our thinldng. y Impostura. — Many men believe not themselves what they would persimde /thers ; and less do the things which they would impose on others; but least of r|' 35 know what they themselves most confidently boast. C | DISCO VERIES. 5 they set the sign of the cross over their outer doors, and sacrifice to their gut and their groin in their inner closets. / / V fr) /actum vipE. — Wnat a deal of cojd ousiness doth a ' m^ misspend the better part of life in ! in scattering 5 compliments, tendering visits, gathering and venting news, following feasts and plays, making a little winter- love in a dark corner. / Hypocrita. — Puritanus Hypocrita est Hcereticus, quem opinio propricB perspicacice, qua sibi videtur^ cuiti paucis, 10 in Ecclesia dogmatibus errores quosdant animadvertisse, de statu mentis deturbavit : unde sacro furore percitus, phrenetice pugnat contra magistratus, sic ratus obedien- / tiam prcestare Deo. 1 / / •? Mutua auxilia. — Learning needs rest- sovereignty 1$ ^ gives it. Sovereignty needs counsel : learning aftords ^ it. There is such a consociation of offices between --! the prince and whom his favor breeds, that they may help to sustain his power as he their knowledge. ^' It is the greatest part of his liberality, his favor ; and 20 from whom doth he hear discipHne more willingly, or /' the arts discoursed more gladly, than from those ^ whom his own bounty and benefits have made able '^ and faithful? , ^ if Cojnit\_io'] universu — In being able to counsel others, 25 a man must be furnished with a universal store in himself, to the knowledge of all nature — that is, the matter and seed-plot : there are the seats of all argu- ment and invention. But especially you must be cun- ' ning in the nature of man : there is the variety of things lof which are as the elements and letters, which his art and 3 wisdom must rank and order to the present occasion, -p, For we see not all letters in single words, nor all places "^ in particular discourses. That cause seldom happens wherein a man will use all arguments. 35 6 DISCOVERIES. P' Consiliarii adjunct\_i\ probitaSy sapientia. — The two ■/ chief things that give a man reputation in counsel are the opinion of his honesty and the opinion of his wisdom : the authority of those two will persuade when the same 5 counsels uttered by other persons less qualified are of no efficacy or working. Vita recta. — Wisdom without honesty is mere craft ^ and cozenage. And therefore the reputation of honesty must first be gotten, which cannot be but by living well. lo A good life is a main argument. Obseque?itia, humanitas, solid tudo. — Next a good life, to beget love in the persons we counsel, by dissem- bling our knowledge of ability in ourselves, and avoiding all suspicion of arrogance, ascribing all to their instruc- 15 tion, as an ambassador to his master, or a subject to his sovereign; seasoning all with humanity and sweetness, only expressing care and solicitude. And not to counsel rashly, or on the sudden, but with advice and medita- tion. Dat nox co7isilium. For many foolish things fall 20 from wise men, if they speak in haste or be extemporal. It therefore behoves the giver of counsel to be circum- spect ; especially to beware of those with whom he is not thoroughly acquainted, lest any spice of rashness, folly, or self-love appear, which will be marked by new per- 25 sons and men of experience in affairs. ^c^ Modestia, parrhesia. — And to the prince, or his supe- rior, to behave himself modestly and with respect. Yet free from flattery or empire. Not with insolence or pre- cept ; but as the prince were already furnished with the 30 parts he should have, especially in affairs of state. For in other things they will more easily suffer themselves to be taught or reprehended : they will not willingly con- tend, but hear, with Alexander, the answer the musi- cian gave him : Absit, o trx, ut tu melius luec sciaSy 35 quam ego. DISCO VERIES. 7 Perspicuitas, clegantia. — A man should so deliver himself to the nature of the subject whereof he speaks, that his hearer may take knowledge of his discipline with some delight ; and so apparel fair and good matter, that the studious of elegancy be not defrauded ; redeem arts 5 from their rough and braky seats, where they lay hid and overgrown with thorns, to a pure, open and flowery light, where they may take the eye and be taken by the hand. ^ 'y Natura no7i effoeta. — I cannot think Nature is so spent and decayed that she can bring forth nothing 10 worth her former years. She is always the same, like herself; and when she collects her strength is abler still. Men are decayed, and studies : she is not. J I J Non nimium credendum antiquitati. — I know nothing can conduce more to letters than to examine the writings 15 of the ancients, and not to rest in their sole authority, or take all upon trust from them, provided the plagues of judging and pronouncing against them be away ; such as are envy, bitterness, precipitation, impudence, and scur- rile scoffing. For to all the observations of the ancients 20 we have our own experience, which if we will use and apply, we have better means to pronounce. It is true they opened the gates, and made the way that went be-^ /Mjof >^^** fore us, but as guides, not commanders : Non domini ^/v^vOv'*'*'^A, nosff'i, sed duces fuere. ^ Truth lies open to all; it is no 25 , j^^Jjuc* man's several. Patet omnibus ver-itas ; nondum est occu- pata. • Multum ex illa^ ^tiapi Juturis relictum est. ptss'enttre licet^sed cum >ratione. — If in some things I dissent from others, whose wit, industry, diligence, and judgment, I look up at and admire, let me not therefore 30 hear presently of ingratitude and rashness. For I thank those that have taught me, and will ever; but yet dare not think the scope of their labor and inquiry was envy their posterity what they also could add and find out. If I err, pardon me : Nulla ars simul et inventa est et 35 Z 1/ 8 DISCOVERIES. ahsoluta. I do not desire to be equal to those that went before ; but to have my reason examined with theirs, and so much faith to be given them, or me, as those shall evict. I am neither author nor fautor of any sect. I will 5 have no man addict himself to me ; but if I have any- thing right, defend it as Truth's, not mine, save as it con- duceth to a common good. It profits not me to have any man fence or fight for me, to flourish, or take a side. Stand for truth, and 'tis enough : Non jnihi cedendum, xo sed veritate. -'kIA" ' '• -' ^•^-^, ^ Scientice. Uberales non vulgi simt. — Arts that respect the mind were ever reputed nobler than those that serve the body, though we less can be without them, as tillage, spinning, weaving, building, etc., without which we could 15 scarce sustain life a day. But these were the works of every hand ; the other of the brain only, and those the most generous and exalted wits and spirits, that cannot rest or acquiesce. The mind of man is still fed with labor : Opere pascitur. 20 There is a more secret cause, and the power of liberal studies lies more hid than that it can be wrought out by profane wits. It is not every man's^way to hit. There are men, I confess, that set the caract and value upon things as they love them ; but science is not every man's mistress. 25 It is as great a spite to be praised in the wrong place, and by a wrong person, .as can be done to a noble nature. Honesta atnbitio. -=- If divers men seek fame or honor by divers ways, so both be honest, neither is to be blamed ; but they that seek immortality are not only worthy of love, 30 but of praise. Maritus improbiis. — He hath a delicate wife, a fair fortune, a family to go to be welcome ; yet he had rather be drunk with mine host and the fiddlers of such a town, than go home. DISCO VERTES. 9 Afflictio pill }nagistra. — Affliction teacheth a wicked person sometime to pray : prosperity never. Deploratis facilis desce7isiis Avertii. — Many might go to heaven with half the labor they go to hell, if they would venture their industry the right way ; but " The s devil take all ! " quoth he that was choked in the mill- dam, with his four last words in his mouth. .^gidius ctirsu superat. — A cripple in the way out- travels a footman or a post out of the way. Prodigo nummi nauct. — Bags of money to a prodigal lo person are the same that cherry-stones are with some boys, and so thrown away. MuJida et sordida. — A woman, the more curious she is about her face is commonly the more careless about her house. 15 Debitiun deploratum. — Of this spilt water there is a little to be gathered up : it is a desperate debt. Latro sesquipedalis. — The thief that had a longing at the gallows to commit one robbery more before he was hanged. And like the German lord, when he went out 20 of Newgate into the cart, took order to have his arms set up in his last herborough : said he was taken and com- mitted upon suspicion of treason, no witness appearing against him ; but the judges entertained him most civ- illy, discoursed with him, offered him the courtesy of the 25 rack ; but he confessed, etc. Calumnicc fructus. — I am beholden to calumny, that she hath so endeavored and taken pains to belie me. Tt shall make me set a surer guard on myself, and keep a better watch upon my actions. 30 A tedious person is one a man would leap a steeple \iJLjLA4jLu, from, gallop down any steep hill to avoid him ; forsake his meat, sleep, nature itself, with all her benefits, to shun him. A mere impertinent ; one that touched neither heaven nor earth in his discourse. He opened \J 10 DISCO VERIES. an entry into a fair room, but shut it again presently. I spake to him of garhc, he answered asparagus ; consulted him of marriage, he tells me of hanging, as if they went by one and the same destiny. 5 Bellujti scriboitimn. — What a sight it is to see writers committed together by the ears for ceremonies, syllables, points, colons, commas, hyphens, and the like, fighting as for their fires and their altars ; and angry that none are frighted at their noises and loud brayings under their lo asses' skins. There is hope of getting a fortune without digging in these quarries. Sed meliore in omne ingenio anhnoque qiiani fortuna sum usus. Pingue solum lassat; sed juvat ipse labor. Differentia inter doctos et sciolos. — Wits made out 15 their several expeditions then for the discovery of truth, to find out great and profitable knowledges ; had their several instruments for the disquisition of arts. Now there are certain scioli or smatterers that are busy in the skirts and outsides of learning, and have scarce anything 20 of solid literature to commend them. They may have some edging or trimming of a scholar, a welt or so ; but it is no more. Impostoruin fucus. — Imposture is a specious thing, yet never worse than when it feigns to be best, and to 25 none discovered sooner than the simplest. For truth and goodness are plain and open ; but imposture is ever ashamed of the light. Icunculaj-tun motio. — A puppet-play must be shad- owed and seen in the dark ; for draw the curtain, et sor- 30 det gesticiilatio. Principes et administri. — There is a great difference in the understanding of some princes, as in the quality of their ministers about them. Some would dress their masters in gold, pearl, and all true jewels of majesty ; DISCOVERIES. 1] Others furnish them with feathers, bells, and ribbons, and are therefore esteemed the fitter servants. But they are ever good men that must make good the times ; if the men be naught, the times will be such. Finis exspecian- dus est in unoquoque ho7ninu7n ; anifnali ad mutatiotie7n 5 protnptissimo. Scitum Hispanic urn. — It is a quick saying with the Spaniards, Aries inter haredes non dividi. Yet these have inherited their fathers' lying, and they brag of it. He is a narrow-minded man that affects a triumph in any 10 glorious study ; but to triumph in a lie, and a lie them- selves have forged, is frontless. Folly often goes beyond her bounds : but impudence knows none. ,/, - Non nova res livor. — Envy is no new thing, nor was it .^ born only in our times. The ages past have brought it 15 forth, and the coming ages will. So long as there are men i V^ « fit for it, quorum odium virtute relicta placet, it will never""' be wanting. It is a barbarous envy, to take from those men's virtues which, because thou canst not arrive at, thou impotently despairest to imitate. Is it a crime in 20 me that I know that which others had not yet known but from me ? or that I am the author of many things which never would have come in thy thought but that I taught them ? It is a new but a foolish, way you have found out, that whom you cannot equal or come near in doing, you 25 would destroy or ruin with evil speaking ; as if you had bound both your wits and natures prentices to slander, and then came forth the best artificers when you could / form the foulest calumnies. ^ ,-,„..>, / Nil gratius proteHw 4ih\ro\. — Indeed nothing is of 30 more credit or request now than a petulant paper, or scoffing verses ; and it is but convenient to the times and manners we live with, to have then the worst writings and studies flourish when the best begin to be despised. Ill ^' A 12 DISCO VERIES. I arts begin where good end. The time was when men would learn and study good things, not envy those that- had them. Then men were jiad in,' price ibr learning;/^ now letters only make men \\\e:^^dm l^le^ soroent^ ^o''^,^ ^ is upbraidingly called a poet, as if it were a most con-f^J . temptible nick-name : but the professors, indeed, have made the learning cheap — railing and tinkling rimers, • whose writings the vulgar more greedily read, as being taken with the scurrility and petulancy of such wits. He j.A lo shall jipt have a reader now unless he jeer and he. ^Pastus ^ l x^ /iodiVr\^m']-wgefi[u^. It is the food of men's natures; the diet of the times : gallants cannot sleep else. The writer must he and the gentle reader rests happy to hear ^tvM. the worthiest works misinterpreted, the clearest actions ''♦W 15 obscured, the innocentest hfe traduced : and in such a^i^b^ hcence of lying, a field so fruitful of slanders, how can there be matter wanting to his laughter ? Hence comes the epidemical infection; for how can they escape the contagion of the writings, whom the virulency of the cal- 20 u;i:mies hath not staved off from reading? Nothing doth more invite a greedy reader than an unlooked-for subject. And what more unlooked-for than to see a person of an unblamed life made ridiculous or odious by the artifice of lying ? Sed seculi 77iorbus. But it 25 is the disease of the age ; and no wonder if the world, growing old, begin to be infirm : old age itself is a disease. It is long since the sick world began to dote and talk idly : would she had but doted still ! but her dotage is \now broke forth into a madness, and become a mere 30 frenzy.,^ ^ -^ .,_ /, .. < ■' ^^^ .., '..:?■'• J 3k/-"V*^'^ 'Jimshris mahtia. — This Alastor; who hath left nothing unsearched or unassailed by his impudent and licentious lying in his aguish writings (for he was in his cold quak- ing fit all the while), what hath he done more than a , 35 troublesome base cur? barked and made a noise afar off; DISCO VERfES. 13 had a fool or two to spit in his mouth, and cherish him with a musty bone ? But they are rather enemies of my i^" fam^ than mq, thes^e ^barjcers^/. ^ ^^ |, ^ , ;/ , , , ^^^^MA ^/Tto^V J/^// Choragi fuere. — It is an "art to have so niuch ^j^j4^ judgment as to apparel a lie well, to give it a good 5 dressing ; that though the nakedness would show de- formed and odious, the suiting of it might draw their readers. Some love any strumpet, be^ she never so shop- like or meretricious, in good clothes. But these, nature could not have formed them better to destroy their own lo testimony and to overthrow their calumny. Hear-say news. — That an elephant, [in 1 3630, came hither ambassador from the Great Mogul, who could both write and read, and was every day allowed twelve cast of bread, twenty quarts of Canary sack, besides nuts and 15 almonds the citizens' wives sent him. That he had a Spanish boy to his interpreter, and his chief negociation was to confer or practise with Archy, the principal fool of state, about stealing hence Windsor Castle and carrying it away on his back if he can. 20 Lingua sapientis, potius qiiain loquentis optanda. — A wise tongue should not be licentious and wandering ; but moved and, as it were, governed with certain reins from the heart and bottom of the breast : and it was excel- lently said of that philosopher, that there was a wall or 25 parapet of teeth set in our mouth, to restrain the petu- lancy of our words ; that the rashness of talking should not only be retarded by the guard and watch of our heart, but be fenced in and defended by certain strengths placed in the mouth itself, and within the lips. But you shall 30 see some so abound with words, without any seasoning or taste of matter, in so profound a security, as "^hlle they are speaking, for the most part they confess to speak they know not what. 14 DISCO VERIES. Of the two — if either were to be wished — I would rather have a plain downright wisdom, than a foolish and affected eloquence. For what is so furious and Bedlam like as a vain sound of chosen and excellent words, without any 5 subject of sentence or science mixed ? Whom the disease of talking still once possesseth, he can never hold his peace. Nay, rather than he will not discourse he will hire men to hear him. And so heard, not hearkened unto, he comes off most times like a lo mountebank, that when he hath praised his medicines, finds none will take them, or trust him. He is Hke Homer's Thersites d/xcTpoeTn^^, aKpLT6fxv6o<;, speaking without judgment or measure. Loquax ?nagis, quam facundus ; satis loquentice, sapientice parum. 15 rXco(r(e/xv^ta. Pythag\_orce~\ quafu laudabilis / yXdid- (Tiq^ \\* 30 the ear with a kind of unevenness. These men err not by chance, but knowingly and willingly ; they are like men that affect a fashion by themselves ; have some singularity in a ruff, cloak, or hat-band ; or their beards specially cut to provoke beholders, and set a mark upon 35 themselves. They would be reprehended while they are DISCO VERIES. 25 looked on. And this vice, one that is in authority with the rest, loving, delivers over to them to be imitated ; so that oft-times the faults which he fell into the others seek for. This is the danger, when vice becomes a pre- cedent. • 5 Others there are that have no composition at all ; but a kind of tuning and riming fall in what they write. It runs and slides, and only makes a sound. Women's poets they are called, as you have women's tailors. They write a verse as smooth, as soft as cream, lo In which there is no torrent, nor scarce stream. You may sound these wits and find the depth of them with your middle finger. They are cream-bowl-, or but ^^ J^^^ ^ Some that turn over ^11 books, and are equally search- 15 ing in all papers ; that write out of what they presently find or meet, without choice. By which means it hap- pens that what they have discredited and impugned in one work, they have before or after extolled the same in another. Such are all the essayists, even their master 20 Montaigne. These, in all they write, confess still what books they have read last, and therein their own folly so much, that they bring it to the stake raw and undigested ; not that the place did need it neither, but that they thought themselves furnished and would vent it. 25 Some, again who,, aft^r they have got authority, or, which is less, opinion', by their writings, to have read much, dare presently to feign whole books and authors, and lie safely. For what never was, will not easily be found, not by the most curious. 30 > And some, by a cunning .protestation against all read- ing, and false venditation of " their own naturals, think to divert the sagacity of their readers from themselves, and cool the scent of their own fox-like thefts ; when 26 DISCO VERIES. ' yet they are so rank, as a man may find whole pages I together usurped from one author ; their necessities compelHng them to read for present use, which could not be in many books ; and so come forth more ridiculously 5 and palpably guilty than those who, because they cannot trace, they yet would slander their industry. But the wretcheder are the obstinate contemners of all helps and arts ; such as presuming on their own naturals, which, perhaps, are excellent, dare deride all lo diligence, and seem to mock at the .terms when they understand not the things ; thinking "that way to get off wittily with their ignorance. These are imitated often by such as are their peers in negligence, though they can- not be in nature ; and they utter all they can think with 15 a kind of violence and indisposition, unexamined, with- out relation either to person, place, or any fitness else ; and the more wilful and stubborn they are in it the more learned they are esteemed of the multitude, through their excellent vice of judgment, who think those things the 20 stronger that have no art ; as if to break were better than to open, or to rend asunder gentler than to loose. It cannot but come to pass that these men who com- monly seek to do more than enough may sometimes happen on something that is good and great ; but very 25 seldom : and when it comes it doth not recompence the rest of their ill. ^ox their jests, and their sen- tences, which they only and ambitiously seek for, stick out, and are more eminent, because all is sordid and vile about them ; as lights are more discerned in a thick 30 darkness than a faint shadow. Now, because they speak all they can, however unfitly, they are thought to.have the greater' Qopy ; where^'tKe learned use ever election and a mean, they look back to what they intended at first, and make all an even and proportioned body. The tj;u£_arti- 35 ficer will not run away from Nature as he were afraid of DISCO VERIES. 27 her, or depart from life and the Hkeness of truth, but speak to the capacity of his hearers. And though his language differ from the vulgar somewhat, it shall not fly from all humanity, with the. Tamerlan es and Tain£.r- rhams ' of the late age, which had nothing in them but the scenical 5 strutting and furious vociferation to warrant them to the ignorant gapers. He knows it is his only art so to carry it, as none but artificers perceive it. In the mean time, per- haps, he is called barren, dull, lean, a poor writer, or by what contumelious word can come in their cheeks, by 10 these men who, without labor, judgment, knowledge, or almost serine, are received or preferred before him. He "^^l^tulates them and their fortune. An other age, or juster\-» men, will acknowledge the virtues of his studies, his wis- dom in dividing, his subtlety in arguing, with what strength 15 he doth inspire his readers, with what sweetness he strokes them ; in inveighing, what sharpness ; in jest, what urban- ity he uses ; how he doth reign in men's affections ; how invade and break in upon them, and make their, minds like the thing he writes. Then in his elocution to behold 20 what word is proper, which hat)i ornq^pnt, which height, what is beautifully translated, where figures are fit, which gentle, which strong, to show the composition manly ; and how he hath avoided faint, obscure, obscene, sordid, humble, improper, or effeminate phrase ; which is not 25 only praised ofBie.most, but commended, which is worse, especially for that it is naught. / Ignorantia' animcE. — I know no disease of the soul but ignorance, not of the arts and sciences, but of it self; yet relating to those it is a pernicious evil, the darkener 3° of man's life, the disturber of his reason, and common confounder of truth, with which a man goes groping in the dark, no otherwise than if he were blind. Great understandings are most racked and troubled with it; 28 DISCO VERIES. nay, sometimes they will rather choose to die than not to know the things they study for. Think thpn what an evil it is, and what good the contrary. ■? Saefitia. — Knowledge is the action of the soul, and is 5 perfect without the senses, as having the seeds of all science and virtue in it self; but not without the service of the senses ; by those organs the soul works ; she is a perpetual agent, prompt and subtle : but often flexible and erring, entangling herself like a silkworm, but her lo reason is a weapog, .with two edges, and cuts through. In her indagatioris oft-times new scents put her by, and she takes in errors into her by the same conduits she doth trut.^iy^ {ihApiu^^ Otium stu'dio7'um. — Ease and relaxation are profitable 15 to all studies. The mind is .Hke a.i)ow, the stron2;er by being unbent. Buf the ^temp^r m spirits is all, when to command a man's wit, when to favor it. I have known a man vehement on both sides, that knew no mean, either to intermit his studies or call upon them again. • .When 20 he hath set himself to writing he would join night' to day, press upon himself without release, not minding it, till he fainted ; and when he left off, resolve himself into all sports and looseness again, that it was almost a despair to draw him to his book; but once got to it, he grew 25 stronger and more earnest by the ease. His whole pow- ers were renewed ; he would work out of himself what he desired, but with such excess as his study could not be ruled ; he knew not how to dispose his own abilities, or husband them ; he was of that immoderate power against 30 himself. Nor was he only a strong, but an absolute speaker and writer ; but his subtlety did not show it self; his judgmeir|,t thought that a vice ; for the ambush hurts more that), is hid. He never forced his language, nor went out of the highway of speaking but for some great 35 necessity or apparent profit ; for he denied figures to be / DISCO VERIES. 29 iav.ented for prnament, but for aid ; and still thought it ^'^^ an extreme madness to bind or wrest that which ought to still emincntia. — It is no wonder mens emmence^ ^ appears but in their own way. Virgil's felicity left him 5 in prose, as TuUy's forsook him in verse,' Sallust's ora- tions are read in the honor of story, yet the most elo- quent Plato's speech, which he made for Socrates, is neither worthy of the patron nor the person defended. Nay, in the same kind of oratory, and where the matter 10 is one, you shall have him that reasons strongly, open p' negligently ; another that prepares well, not fit so well. And this happens not only to brains, but to bodies. One can wrastle well, another run well, a third leap or throw the bar, a fourth lift or stop a cart going : each hath his ^s way of strength. So in other creatures — some dogs are for the deer, some for the wild boar, some are fox- hounds, some otter-hounds. Nor are all horses for the coach or saddle, some are for the cart and panniers. De Claris oratoribus. — I have known many excel- 20 lent men that would speak suddenly to the admiration of their hearers, who upon study and premeditation have been forsaken by their own wits, and no way answered their feme ; their eloquence was greater than their read- ing, and the things they uttered better than those they 25 knew ; their fortune deserved better of them than their care. For men of present spirits, and of greater wits than study, do please more in the things they invent than in those they bring. And I have heard some of them compelled to speak, out of necessity, that have so 30 infinitely exceeded themselves, as it was better both for them and their auditory that they were so surprised, not prepared. Nor was it safe then to cross them, for their adversary, their anger made them more eloquent. Yet these men I could not but love and admire, that they 35 30 DISCO VERIES. returned to their studies. They left not dihgence, as many do, when their rashness prospered ; for dihgence is a great aid, even to an indifferent wit ; when we are not contented with the examples of our own age, but would 5 know the face of the former. Indeed, the more we con- y fer with the more^we profit by, if the persons be chosen. \rri^\ Doifimus V'erulamiiis. — One, though he be excellent ^ I ipV'.and the chief, is not to be imitated alone ; for never no ^ * imitator ever grew up to his author ; likeness is always on lo this side truth. Yet there happened in my time one noble ,y speaker who was full of gravity in his speaking ; his lan- guage, where^ |iej:ould spare or pass by a jest, was nobly censoridu^f No man ever spake more neatly, more presiy, more weightily, or suffered less emptiness, less 15 idleness, in what he uttered. No member of his speech but consisted of his own graces. His hearers could not cough, or look aside from him, without loss. He com- manded where he spoke, ai;id, had his judges angry and pleased at his devotion. ' No man had their affections 2^ more in his power. The fear of every man that heard him ^as lest he .should make an end. Scriptorium catalogus. — Cicero is said to be the only wit that the people of Rome had equalled to their em- pire. Ingeniutn par impei'io. We have had many, and 25 in their several ages (to take in but the former seculuni) Sir Thomas More, the elder Wyatt, Henry Earl of Surrey, Chaloner, Smith, Eli»t, B[ish«p] Gardiner, were for their times admirable ; and the more, because they began eloquence with us. Sir Nico[las] Bacon was singular, 30 and almost alone, in the beginning of Queen Elizabeth's times. Sir Philip Sidney and Mr. Hooker (in different matter) grew great masters of wit and language, and in whom all vigor of invention and strength of judgment met. The Earl of Essex, noble and high ; and Sir Walter 35 Raleigh, not to be contemned, either for judgment or DISCOVERIES. » 31 Style ; Sir Henry Savile, grave, and truly lettered ; Sir Edwin Sandys, excellent in both ; Lo[rd] Egerton, the Chancellor, a grave and great orator, and best when he ^ «, was provoked; but his learned and able, though vi^iioi-^f/^'^^' * tunate, successor is he who hath filled up all numbers, s and performed that in our tongue which may be com- pared or preferred either to insolent Greece or haughty Rome. In short, within his view, and about his times, were all the wits born that could honor a language or help study. Now things daily fall, wits grow downward, lo and eloquence grows backward; so, that he may be- named and stand as the, mark and d/c/A^ of our language.' "* , X>e augmentis\scientiari!^in. —i ^ave ever observed it ^^ to have been the office of a wise patriot, among the greatest affairs of the State, to take care of the common- ^s wealth of learning. For schools, they are the seminaries of State ; and nothing is worthier the study of a states- man than that part of the republic which we call the ad- vancement of letters. Witness the care of Julius Caesar, who, in the heat of the civil war, writ his books of Anal- 20 ogy, and dedicated them to Tully. This made the late Lord S[aint] Alban entitle his work Novum Orgafiujfi ; which, though by the most of superficial men, who cannot get beyond the tide of nominals, it i§ not penetrated nor understood, it really openeth all defects of learning 25 whatsoever, and is a book Qui longum noto scriptori porriget xvum. My conceit of his person was never increased toward him by his place or honors. But I have and do rever- ence him for the greatness that was only proper to him- 30 self, in that he seemed to me ever, by his work, one of the greatest men, and most worthy of admiration, that had been in many ages. In his adversity I ever prayed that God would give him strength ; for greatness he could 32 DISCO VERIES. not want. Neither could I condole in a word or syllable for him, as knowing no accident could do harm to virtue, but rather help tQ^i^ake it nianifqst. ' De corrupteldf mo7'um. — There cannot be one color 5 of the mind, another of the wit. If the mind be staid, grave, and composed, the wit is so; that vitiated, the other is blown and deflowered. Do we not see, if the mind languish, the members are dull? Look upon an effeminate person, his very gait confesseth him. If a man lo be fiery, his motion is so ; if angry, it is troubled and vio- lent. So that we may conclude wheresoever manners and fashions are corrupted, language is. It imitates the public riot. The excess of feasts and apparel are the notes of a sick state, and the wantonness of language, of 15 a sick mind. De rebus imindanis. — If we would consider what our affairs are indeed, not what they are called, we should find more evils belonging us than happen to us. How often doth that which was called a calamity prove the 20 beginning and cause of a man's happiness ? and, on the contrary, that which happened or came to another with great gratulation and applause, how it hath lifted him but a step higher to his ruin? as if he stood before where he might fall safely. 25 Viilgi moi'es. — Mo?-hus eomitialis. — The vulgar are commonly ill-natured, and always grudging against their governors ; which makes that a prince has more business and trouble with them than ever Hercules had with the bull or any other beast ; by how much they have more 30 heads than will be reined with one bridle. There was not that variety of beasts in the ark, as is of beastly natures in the multityde ; especially when they come to that iniquity to censure their sovereign's actions. Then all the counsels are made good or bad by the events ; and DTSCO VERIES. 33 it falleth out that the same facts receive from them the names, now of diligence, now of vanity, now of majesty, now of fury ; where they ought wholly to hang on his mouth, as he to consist of himself, and not others' counsels. 5 Princeps. — After God, nothing is to be loved of man like the prince ; he violates Nature that doth it not with his whole heart. For when he hath put on the care of the public good and common safety, I am a wretch, and put-of[f] man, if I do not reverence and honor him, in 10 whose charge all things divine and human are placed. Do but ask of Nature why all living creatures are less delighted with meat and drink that sustains them than with venery that wastes them ? and she will tell thee, the first respects but a private, the other a common good, 15 propagation. He is the arbiter of life and death : when he finds no other subject for his mercy, he should spare himself. All his punishments are rather to correct than to destroy. Why are prayers with Orpheus said to be the daughters of Jupiter, but that princes are thereby 20 admonished that the petitions of the wretched ought to have more weight with them than the laws themselves. De opf\Jmo'\ Rege Jacobo. — It was a great accu[mu]- lation to His Majesty's deserved praise that men might openly visit and pity those whom his greatest prisons 25 had at any time received or his laws condemned. De Pri7ic\ipum'\ adjunctis. — Sed ve7-e pnidens hand concipi possit Princeps, nisi simul et domes. Wise is rather the attribute of a prince than learned or good. The learned man profits others rather than himself; the 30 good man rather himself than others ; but the prince commands others, and doth himself. The wise Lycurgus gave no law but what himself kept. Sylla and Lysander did not so ; the one living extremely dissolute himself, enforced frugality by the laws ; the other permitted 35 34 ^ DISCO VERIES. those licenses to others which himself abstained from. But the prince's prudence is his chief art and safety. In his counsels and dehberations he foresees the future times : in the equity of his judgment he hath remem- s brance of the past, and knowledge of what is to be done or avoided for the present. Hence the Per- sians gave out their Cyrus to have been nursed by a bitch, a creature to encounter it, as of sagacity to seek out good ; showing that wisdom may accompany forti- lo tude, or it leaves to be, and puts on the name of rash- ness. De malign\_itate\ studentium. — There be some men are born only to suck out the poison of books : Habent venenum pro victu ; imo, pro deliciis. And such are they 15 that only relish the obscene and foul things in poets, which makes the profession taxed. But by whom? Men that watch for it ; and, had they not had this hint, are so unjust valuers of letters as they think no learning good but what brings in gain. It shows they themselves would 20 never have been of the professions they are but for the profits and fees. But if another learning, well used, can instruct to good life, inform manners, no less persuade and lead men than they threaten aud compel, and have no reward, is it therefore the worst study ? I could never 25 think the study of wisdom confined only to the philoso- pher, or of piety to the divine, or of state to the politic ; but that he which can feign a commonwealth (which is the poet) can gown it with counsels, strengthen it with laws, correct it with judgments, inform it with religion 30 and morals, is all these. We do not require in him mere elocution, or an excellent faculty in verse, but the exact - knowledge of all virtues and their contraries, with ability to render the one loved, the other hated, by his proper embattling them. The philosophers did insolently, to DISCOVERIES. 35 challenge only' to themselves that which the greatest gen- erals and gravest counsellors never durst. For such had rather do than pronjisethe best things. Cotitrovers[iales'\ scri^to7'es. — Some controverters in divinity are like swaggerers in a tavern that catch that 5 which stands next them, the candlestick or pots ; turn everything into a weapon : oft-times they fight bhndfold, and both beat the air. More Andabatarum qui clausis oculis pugnant. The one milks a he-goat, the other holds under a sieve. Their arguments are as fluxive as 10 liquor spilt upon a table, which with your finger you may drain as you will. Such controversies or disputations (carried with more labor than profit) are odious ; where most times the truth is lost in the midst or left untouched. And the fruit of their fight is, that they spit one upon 15 another, and are both defiled. These fencers in religion I like not. Moi'bi. — The body hath certain diseases that are with less evil tolerated than removed. As if to cure a leprosy a man should bathe himself with the warm blood of a 20 n)urdered child, so in the Church some errors may be dissimuled with less inconvenience than can be dis- covered. Jactantia inteinp estiva. — Men that talk of their own benefits are not believed to talk of them because they 25 have done them ; but to have done them because they might talk of them. That which had been great, if another had reported it of them, vanisheth, and is noth- ing, if he that did it speak of it. For men, when they cannot destroy the deed, will yet be glad to take advan- 30 tage of the boasting, and lessen it. Adulatio. — I have seen that poverty makes men do - unfit things ; but honest men should not do them ; they should gain otherwise. Though a man be hungry, he should not play the parasite. That hour wherein I would 35 36 DISCOVERIES. repent me to be honest, there were ways enow open for me to be rich. But flattery is a fine pick-lock of tender ears ; especially of those whom fortune hath borne high upon their wings, that submit their dignity 5 and authority to it, by a soothing of themselves. For, indeed, men could never be taken in that abundance with the springes of others' flattery, if they began not there ; if they did but remember how much more profit- able the bitterness of truth were, than all the honey dis- lo tilling from a whorish voice, which is not praise, but poison. But now it is come to that extreme folly, or rather madness, with some, that he that flatters them modestly or sparingly is thought to malign them. If their friend consent not to their vices, though he do not 15 contradict them, he is nevertheless an enemy. When they do ah things the worst way, even then they look for praise. Nay, they will hire fellows to flatter them with suits and suppers, and to prostitute their judgments. They have livery-friends, friends of the dish, and of the 20 spit, that wait their turns, as my lord has his feasts and guests. De vita huniana. — I have considered our whole life is like a play : wherein every man forgetful of himself, is in travail with expression of another. Nay, we so insist in 25 imitating others, as we cannot when it is necessary return to ourselves ; like children, that imitate the vices of stammerers so long, tifl at last they become such, and make the habit to another nature, as it is never forgotten. Depiis et probis. — Good men are the stars, the planets 30 of the ages wherein they live and illustrate the times. God did never let them be wanting to the world : as Abel, for an example of innocency, Enoch of purity, Noah of trust in God's mercies, Abraham of faith, and so of the rest. These, sensual men thought mad because 35 they would not be partakers or practisers of their mad- DISCO VERFES. 37 ness. But they, placed high on the top of all virtue, looked down on the stage of the world and contemned the play of fortune. For though the most be players, some must be spectators. Mores aulici. — I have discovered that a feigned 5 familiarity in great ones is a note of certain usurpation on the less. For great and popular men feign them- selves to be servants to others to make those slaves to them. So the fisher provides bait for the trout, roach, dace, etc., that they may be food to him. 10 Impiorufn querela. — The complaint of Caligula was most wicked of the condition of his times, when he said they were not famous for any public calamity, as the reign of Augustus was, by the defeat of Varus and the legions ; and that of Tiberius, by the falling of the thea- 15 tre at Fidense ; whilst his oblivion was eminent through the prosperity of his affairs. As that other voice of his was worthier a headsman than a head when he wished the people of Rome had but one neck. But he found when he fell that they had many hands. A tyrant, how 20 great and mighty soever he may seem to cowards and _^.y V sluggards, is but one creature, one animal. p^^^ \fi ,;^^, Nobilium ingenia. — I have marked among the nobil-' ^,. ity some are so addicted to the service of the prince and ''' commonwealth, as they look not for spoil ; such are to 25 be honored and loved. There are others which no ob- ligation will fasten on ; and they are of two sorts. The first are such as love their own ease ; or, out of vice, of nature, or self-direction, avoid business and care. Yet these the prince may use with safety. The other remove 30 themselves upon craft and design, as the architects say, with a premeditated thought, to their own rather than their prince's profit. Such let the prince take heed of, and not doubt to reckon in the list of his open enemies. Principum vaiia\jio'\ Finnissima vero omnium basis 35 38 DISCO VERIES. jus hcBreditarium Principis. — There is a great variation between him that is raised to the sovereignty by the fa- vor of his peers and him that comes to it by the suffrage of the people. The first holds with more difficulty, be- 5 cause he hath to do with many that think themselves his equals, and raised him for their own greatness and op- pression of the rest. The latter hath no upbraiders, but was raised by them that sought to be defended from oppression : whose end is both the easier and the honester lo to satisfy. Beside, while he hath the people to friend, who are a multitude, he hath the less fear of the nobility, who are but few. Nor let the common proverb of he that builds on the people builds on the dirt, discredit my opinion : for that hath only place where an ambitious and 15 private person, for some popular end, trusts in them against the public justice and magistrate. There they will leave him. But when a prince governs them, so as they have still need of his administration (for that is his art), he shall ever make and hold them faithful. 20 dementia. — A prince should exercise his cruelty not by himself, but by his ministers ; so he may save himself and his dignity with his people by sacrificing those when he list, saith the great doctor of state, Machiavell. But I say he puts off man and goes into a beast, that is cruel. 25 No virtue is a prince's own, or becomes him more, than this clemency : and no glory is greater than to be able to save with his power. Many punishments, sometimes and in some cases, as much discredit a prince, as many fu- nerals a physician. The state of things is secured by 30 clemency ; severity represseth a few, but it irritates more. Hand infima ars in p7'incipe, ubi ienitas, ubi severitas plus polleat in cominune bonum, callere. The lopping of trees makes the boughs shoot out thicker ; and the tak- ing away of some kind of enemies increaseth the number. 35 It is then most gracious in a prince to pardon when DISCO VERIES. 39 many about him would make him cruel ; to think then how much he can save when others tell him how much he can destroy ; not to consider what the impotence of others hath demolished, but what his own greatness can sustain. These are a prince's virtues : and they that give s him other counsels are but the hangman's factors. dementia tutela opti7?ia. — He that is cruel to halves (saith the said S[ain]t Nicholas) loseth no less the oppor- tunity of his cruelty than of his benefits : for then to use his cruelty is too late ; and to use his favors will be lo interpreted fear and necessity, and so he loseth the thanks. Still the counsel is cruelty. But princes, by hearkening to cruel counsels, become in time obnoxious to the authors, their flatterers, and ministers ; and are brought to that, that when they would, they dare not is change them ; they must go on and defend cruelty with cruelty ; they cannot alter the habit. It is then grown necessary, they must be as ill as those have made them : and in the end they will grow more hateful to themselves than to their subjects. Whereas, on the contrary, the 20 merciful prince is safe in love, not in fear. He needs no emissaries, spies, intelligencers to entrap true subjects. He fears no libels, no treasons. His people speak what they think, and talk openly what they do in secret. They have nothing in their breasts that they need a cypher for. 25 He is guarded with his own benefits. Religio. — The strength of empire is in religion. What else is the Palladium (with Homer) that kept Troy so long from sacking? Nothing more commends the Sov- ereign to the subject than it. For he that is religious 30 must be merciful and just necessarily : and they are two strong ties upon mankind. Justice is the virtue that innocence rejoiceth in. Yet even that is not always so safe, but it may love to stand in the sight of mercy. For sometimes misfortune is made a crime, and then inno- 35 40 DISCO VEKIES. cence is succored no less than virtue. Nay, oftentimes virtue is made capital ; and through the condition of the times it may happen that that may be punished with our praise. Let no man therefore murmur at the actions of 5 the prince, who is placed so far above him. If he offend, he hath his discoverer. God hath a height beyond him. But '' where the prince is good," Euripides saith, " God 1 is a guest in a human body." 12 Tyranni. — There is nothing with some princes sacred '-^ Jho above their majesty, or profane, but what violates their i \ sceptres. But a prince, with such counsel, is like the ' god Terminus, of stone, his own landmark, or as it is in 9- the fable, a crowned lion. It is dangerous offending such a one, who, being angry, knows not how to forgive ; that 15 cares not to do anything for maintaining or enlarging of empire ; kills not men or subjects, but destroy eth whole countries, armies, mankind, male and female, guilty or not guilty, holy or profane ; yea, some that have not seen the light. All is under the law of their spoil and licence. 2o But princes that neglect their proper office thus their fort- une is oftentimes to draw a Sejanus to be near about them, who will at last affect to get above them, and put them in a worthy fear of rooting both them out and their family. For no men hate an evil prince more than they that 25 helped to make him such. And none more boastingly weep his ruin than they that procured and practised it. The same path leads to ruin which did to rule when men profess a licence in governing. A good king is a public servant. 30 Illiteratus princeps. — A prince without letters is a pilot / without eyes. All his government is groping. In sover- / eignty it is a most happy thing not to be compelled ; but so it is the most miserable not to be counselled. And how can he be counselled that cannot see to read the 35 best counsellors, which are books : for they neither flatter DISCOVERIES. 41 us nor hide from us? He may hear, you will say; but how shall he always be sure to hear truth, or be counselled the best things, not the sweetest? They say princes learn no art truly but the art o{_ horsenianship. The reason is the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw 5 a prince as soon as his groom. Which is an argument that the good counsellors to princes are the best instru- ments of a good age. For though the prince himself be of a most prompt inclination to all virtue, yet the best pilots have need of mariners besides sails, anchor, and 10 other tackle. Character principis. — If men did know what shining fetters, gilded miseries, and painted happiness thrones and sceptres were, there would not be so frequent strife about the getting or holding of them ; there would be more 15 principalities than princes ; for a prince is the pastor of the people. He ought to shear, not to flay his sheep ; to take their fleeces, not their fells. Who were his enemies before, being a private man, becom.e his children now he is public. He is the soul of the commonwealth, and 20 ought to cherish it as his own body. Alexander the Great was wont to say, he hated that gardener that plucked his herbs or flowers up by the roots. A man may milk a breast till the blood come ; churn milk and it yieldeth butter, but wring the nose and the blood followeth. He 25 is an ill prince that so pulls his subjects' feathers as he would not have them grow again ; that makes his ex- chequer a receipt for the spoils of those he governs. No, let him keep his own, not affect his subjects' ; strive rather to be called just than powerful. Not, like the 30 Roman tyrants, affect the surnames that grow by human slaughters ; neither to seek war in peace, nor peace in war, but to observe faith given, though to an enemy. Study piety toward the subject; show care to defend him. Be slow to punish in divers cases, but be a sharp 35 42 DISCO VERIES. and severe revenger of open crimes. Break no decrees or dissolve no orders to slacken the strength of laws. Choose neither magistrates, civil or ecclesiastic, by favor or price ; but with long disquisition and report of their 5 worth by all suffrages. Sell no honors, nor give them hastily, but bestow them with counsel and for reward ; if he do, acknowledge it though late, and mend it. For princes are easy to be deceived ; and what wisdom can escape it where so many court-arts are studied? But, lo above all, the prince is to remember that when the great day of account comes, which neither magistrate nor prince can shun, there will be required of him a reckoning for those whom he hath trusted, as for himself, which he must provide. And if piety be wanting in the priests, equity in 15 the judges, or the magistrates be found rated at a price, what justice or religion is to be expected ? which are the only two attributes make kings akin to gods, and is the Delphic sword, both to kill sacrifices and to chastise offenders. 20 De gratiosis. — When a virtuous man is raised, it brings gladness to his friends, grief to his enemies, and glory to his posterity. Nay, his honors are a great part of the honor of the times ; when by this means he is grown to active men an example, to the slothful a spur, to the 25 envious a punishment. Divites. — He which is sole heir to many rich men, having, besides his father's and uncles', the estates of divers his kindred come to him by accession, must needs be richer than father or grandfather ; so they which are 30 left heirs ex asse of all their ancestors' vices, and by their good husbandry improve the old and daily purchase new, must needs be wealthier in vice, and have a greater revenue or stock of ill to spend on. , ^ .^^^|.jLi Fures publici. — The great thieves of a state are lightly '^- 35 the officers of the crown ; they hang the less still, play the DISCO VERIES. 43 pikes in the pond, eat whom they list. The net was never spread for the hawk or buzzard that hurt us, but the harm- less birds : they are good meat : ■ Dat veniam corvis, vexat censura columbas. Non rete accipitri tenditur, neque milvio. 5 But they are not always safe though, especially when they meet with wise masters. They can take down all the huff and swelling of their looks, and like dexterous auditors place the counter where he shall value nothing. Let them but remember Lewis XL, who to a Clerk of lo the Exchequer that came to be Lord Treasurer, and had for his device represented himself sitting upon Fort- une's wheel, told him he might do well to fasten it with a good, strong nail, lest, turning about, it might bring him where he was again. As indeed it did. 15 De bonis et malts ; de innocentia. — A good man will avoid the spot of any sin. \ The very aspersion is grievous, (which makes him choose his way in his hfe as he would in his journey. The ill man rides through all confidently ; he is coated and booted for it. The oftener 20 he offends, the more openly, and the fouler, the fitter in fashion.' His modesty, like a riding-coat, the more it is worn is the less cared for. It is good enough for the dirt still, and the ways he travels in. An innocent man needs no eloquence, his innocence is instead of it, else I 25 had never come off so many times from these precipices, whither men's malice hath pursued me. Pit is true I have been accused to the lords, to the kin/ and by great ones,7but it happened my accusers had not thought of the accusation with themselves7and so were driven, for want 30 of crimes, to use invention^ which was found slander|or too late (being entered so fair) to seek starmig-holes for their rashness,'Jwhich were not given them./ And then they may think what accusation that was like to prove, 44 DISCO VERIES. when they that were the engineers feared to be the authors. \ Nor were they content to feign things against me, but to urge things, feigned by the ignorant, against my profession, which though, from their hired and mer- 5 cenary impudence, I might have passed by as granted to a nation of barkers that let out their tongues to Uck others' sores ; yet I durst not leave myself undefended, having a pair of ears unskilful to hear lies, or have those things said of me which I could truly prove of them. lo They objected making of verses to me, when I could object to most of them, their not being able to read them, but as worthy of scorn. Nay, they would offer to urge ^ mine own writings against me, but by pieces (which was an excellent way of malice), as if any man's context might IS not seem dangerous and offensive, if that which was knit to what went before were defrauded of his beginning ; or that things by themselves uttered might not seem subject to calumny, which read entire would appear most free. At last they upbraided my poverty : I confess she is my 20 domestic ; sober of diet, simple of habit, frugal, painful, a good counseller to me, that keeps me from cruelty, pride, or other more delicate impertinences, which are the nurse-children of riches. But let them look over all the great and monstrous wickednesses, they shall never find 25 those in poor families. They are the issue of the wealthy giants and the mighty hunters, whereas no great work, or worthy of praise or memory, but came out of poor cradles. It was the ancient poverty that founded commonweals, built cities, invented arts, made wholesome laws, armed 30 men against vices, rewarded them with their own virtues, and preserved the honor and state of nations, till they betrayed themselves to riches. Amor nummi. — Money never made any man rich, but I his mind. He that can order himself to the law of 1 35 Nature is not only without the sense but the fear of DISCOVERIES. 45 poverty.) O, but to strike blind the people with our wealth and pomp is the thing ! What a wretchedness is this, to thrust all our riches outward, and be beggars within ; to contemplate nothing but the little, vile, and sordid things of the world ; not the great, noble, and 5 precious ! We serve our avarice, and, not content with the good of the earth that is offered us, we search and dig for the evil that is hidden. God offered us those things, and placed them at hand, and near us, that He knew were profitable for us, but the hurtful He laid deep 10 and hid. Yet do we seek only the things whereby we may perish, and bring them forth, when God and Nature hath buried them. We covet superfluous things, when it were more honor for us if we could contemn necessary. What need hath Nature of silver dishes, multitudes of 15 waiters, delicate pages, perfumed napkins ? She requires meat only, and hunger is not ambitious. Can we think no wealth enough but such a state for which a man may be brought into 3.prcefminire, begged, proscribed, or poi- soned ? O ! if a man could restrain the fury of his gullet 20 and groin, and think how many fires, how many kitchens, cooks, pastures, and ploughed lands ; what orchards, stews, ponds and parks, coops and garners, he could spare ; what velvets, tissues, embroideries, laces, he could lack ; and then how short and uncertain his life is ; he were in 25 a better way to happiness than to live the emperor of these delights, and be the dictator of fashions. But we make our selves slaves to our pleasures, and we serve fame and ambition, which is an equal slavery. Have not I seen the pomp of a whole kingdom, and what a foreign 3° king could bring hither also to make himself gazed and wondered at, laid forth, as it were, to the show, and vanish all away in a day? And shall that which could not fill the expectation of few hours, entertain and take up our whole lives, when even it appeared as superfluous 3S 46 DISCO VERIES. to the possessors as to me that was a spectator? The bravery was shown, it was not possessed ; while it boasted itself it perished. It is vile, and a poor thing to place our happiness on these desires. Say we wanted them all, 5 famine ends famine. De mollibus et effcemhiatis. — There is nothing valiant or solid to be hoped for from such as are always kempt and perfumed, and every day smell of the tailor ; the exceedingly curious that are wholly in mending such an lo imperfection in the face, in taking away the morphew in the neck, or bleaching their hands at midnight, gumming and bridling their beards, or making the waist small, binding it with hoops, while the mind runs at waste : too much pickedness is not manly. Not from those that will 15 jest at their own outward imperfections, but hide their ulcers within, their pride, lust, envy, ill-nature, with all the art and authority they can. These persons are in danger, for whilst they think to justify their ignorance by impudence, and their persons by clothes and outward 20 ornaments, they use but a commission to deceive them- selves : where, if we will look with our understanding, and not our senses, we may behold virtue and beauty (though covered with rags) in their brightness ; and vice and deformity so much the fouler, in having all the 25 splendor of riches to gild them, or the false light of honor and power to help them. Yet this is that where- with the world is taken, and runs mad to gaze on — clothes and titles, the birdhme of fools. De stuliitia. — AVhat petty things they are we wonder 30 at, like children that esteem every trifle, and prefer a fair- ing before their fathers ! What difference is between us and them but that we are dearer fools, coxcombs at a higher rate ? They are pleased with cockleshells, whistles, hobbyhorses, and such like ; we with statues, marble 35 pillars, pictures, gilded roofs, where underneath is lath DISCOVERIES. 47 and lime, perhaps loam. Yet we take pleasure in the lie, and are glad we can cozen ourselvesn Nor is it only in our walls and ceilings, but all that we call happiness is mere painting and gilt, and all for money. What a thin membrane of honor that is, and liow hath all true reputa- 5 tion fallen, since money began to have any ! Yet the great herd, the multitude, that in all other things are divided, in this alone conspire and agree — to love money. They wish for it, they embrace it, they adore it, while yet it is possessed with greater stir and torment 10 than it is gotten. De sibi molestis. — Some men what losses soever they have they make them greater, and if they have none, even all that is not gotten is a loss. Can there be creatures of more wretched condition than these, that 15 continually labor under their own misery and others' envy? A man should study other things, not to covet, not to fear, not to repent him ; to make his base such as no tempest shall shake him ; to be secure of all opinion, and pleasing to himself, even for that wherein 20 he displeaseth others ; for the worst opinion gotten for doing well, should delight us. Wouldst not thou be just but for fame, thou oughtest to be it with infamy ; he that would have his virtue published is not the servant of vir- tue, but glory. 25 Periciilosa 77ielancholia. — It is a dangerous thing when men's minds come to sojourn with their affections, and their diseases eat into their strength ; that when too much desire and greediness of vice hath made the body unfit, or unprofitable, it is yet gladded with the sight and 30 spectacle of it in others ; and for want of ability to be an actor, is content to be a witness. It enjoys the pleasure of sinning in beholding others sin, as in dicing, drinking, drabbing, etc. Nay, when it cannot do all these, it is offended with his own narrowness, that 35 48 DISCOVERIES. excludes it from the universal delights of mankind, and oft times dies of a melancholy, that it cannot be vicious enough. FalscB species fugiendce. — I am glad when I see any 5 man avoid the infamy of a vice ; but to shun the vice itself were better. Till he do that he is but like the prentice, who, being loth to be spied by his master coming forth of Black Lucy's, went in again ; to whom his master cried, "The more thou runnest that way to lo hide thyself, the more thou art in the place." So are those that keep a tavern all day, that they may not be seen at night. I have known lawyers, divines — yea, great ones — of this heresy. Decipimur specie. — There is a greater reverence had 15 of things remote or strange to us than of much better if they be nearer and fall under our sense. Men, and almost all sorts of creatures, have their reputation by .. distance. Rivers, the farther they run and more from their spring, the broader they are, and greater. And 20 where our original is known, we are the less confident ; among strangers we trust fortune. Yet a man may live as renowned at home, in his own country, or a private village, as in the whole world. For it is virtue that gives glory ; that will endenizen a man everywhere. It is only 25 that can naturalise him. A native, if he be vicious, deserves to be a stranger, and cast out of the common- wealth as an alien. \ Dejectio aulic\_drum']. — A dejected countenance and mean clothes beget often a contempt, but it is with the 30 shallowest creatures : courtiers commonly. Look up even with them in a new suit, you get above them straight. Nothing is more short-lived than [their] pride ; it is but while their clothes last : stay but while these are worn out, you cannot wish the thing more wretched or 35 dejected. DISCO VERIES. /4O V Poesis et pictura. — Poetry and picture are arts of a like nature, and both are busy about imitation. It was excellently said of Plutarch, poetry was a speaking picture, -^ and picture a mute poesy. For they both invent, feign, and devise many things, and accommodate all they 5 y invent to the use and service of Nature. Yet of the two the pen is more noble than the pencil ; for that can speak to the understanding, the other but to the sense. They both behold pleasure and profit as their common -.,' object ; but should abstain from all base pleasures, lest 10 they should err from their end, and, while they seek to better men's minds, destroy their manners. They both ^y^ are born artificers, not made. Nature is more powerful ]X in them than study. , / De pictura. — Whosoever loves not picture is injurious 15 to truth and all the wisdom of poetry. Picture is the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to Nature. It is itself a silent work, and always of one and the same habit ; yet it doth so enter and penetrate the inmost affection (being done by an excellent artificer) as 20 sometimes it o'ercomes the power of speech and oratory. There are divers graces in it, so are there in the artificers. One excels in care, another in reason, a third in easiness, a fourth in nature and grace. Some have diligence and comehness, but they want majesty. They can express a 25 human form in all the graces, sweetness, and elegancy, but they miss the authority. They can hit nothing but smooth cheeks ; they cannot express roughness or gravity. Others aspire to truth so much as they are rather lovers of likeness and beauty. Zeuxis and Parrhasius are said 30 to be contemporaries ; the first found out the reason of lights and shadows in picture, the other more subtlely examined the lines. \j \ \ De stilo. — In picture light is required no less than ' shadow ; so in style, height as well as humbleness. But 35 r 50 DISCO VERIES. beware they be not too humble, as Phny pronounced of Regulus's writings. You would think them written, not on a child, but by a child. Many, out of their own obscene apprehensions, refuse proper and fit words — as 5 occupy J nature, and the like ; so the curious industry in some, of having all alike good, hath come nearer a vice than a virtue. De progress\ione\ picturce. — Picture took her feigning from poetry; from geometry her rule, compass, lines, lo proportion, and the whole symmetry. Parrhasius was the first \\^n reputation by adding symmetry to picture ; he added subtlety to the countenance, elegancy to the hair, love-lines to the face, and by the public voice of all artificers, deserved honor in the outer lines. Eupompus 15 gave it splendor by numbers and other elegancies. From the optics it drew reasons, by which it considered how things placed at distance and afar off should appear less ; how above or beneath the head should deceive the eye, etc. So from thence it took shadows, recession, light, 20 and heightenings. From moral philosophy it took the soul, the expression of senses, perturbations, manners, when they would paint an angry person, a proud, an inconstant, an ambitious, a brave, a magnanimous, a just, a merciful, a compassionate, an humble, a dejected, a base, and the 25 like. They made all heightenings bright, all shadows dark, all swellings from a plane, all solids from breaking. See where he [Vitruvius] complains of their painting Chimaeras, by the vulgar unaptly called grotesque, saying that men who were born truly to study and emulate 30 Nature did nothing but make monsters against Nature, which Horace so laughed at. The art plastic was mould- ing in clay or potter's earth anciently. This is the parent of statuary, sculpture, graving, and picture ; cutting in brass and marble, all serve under her. Socrates taught 35 Parrhasius and Clito, two noble statuaries, first to express DISCO VERIES. 51 manners by their looks in imagery. Polygnotus and Aglaophon were ancienter. After them Zeuxis, who was the lawgiver to all painters after Parrhasius. They were contemporaries, and lived both about Philip's time, the father of Alexander the Great. There lived in this latter age six famous painters in Italy, who were excellent and emulous of the ancients — Raphael de Urbinb, Michael Angelo Buonarotti, Titian, Antony of Correggio, Sebastian of Venice, Julio Romano, and Andrea [del] Sarto. % Parasiti ad ??te?isam, wwio serviles. — These are flat- lo terers for their bread, that praise all my oraculous lord does or says, be it true or false ; invent tales that shall please ; make baits for his lordship's ears ; and if they be not received in what they offer at, they shift a point of the compass, and turn their tale, presently tack about, 15 deny what they confessed, and confess what they denied ; fit their discourse to the persons and occasions. What they snatch up and devour at one table, utter at another ; and grow suspected of the master, hated of the servants, while they inquire, and reprehend, and compound, and 20 dilate business of the house they have nothing to do with. They praise my lord's wine and the sauce he Hkes ; observe the cook and bottle-man ; while they stand in my lord's favor, speak for a pension for them, but pound them to dust upon my lord's least distaste, or change of 25 his palate. How much better is it to be silent, or at least to speak sparingly ! for it is not enough to speak good, but timely things. If a man be asked a question, to answer ; but to repeat the question before he answer is well, that he be 30 sure to understand it, to avoid absurdity. For it is less dishonor to hear imperfectly than to speak imperfectly. The ears are excused, the understanding is not. And in things unknown to a man, not to give his opinion, lest by 52 DISCO VERIES. the affectation of knowing too much he lose the credit he hath by speaking or knowing the wrong way what he utters. Nor seek to get his patron's favor by embarking himself in the factions of the family, to inquire after 5 domestic simulties, their sports or affections. They are an odious and vile kind of creatures, that fly about the house all day, and picking up the filth of the house like pies or swallows, carry it to their nest, the lord's ears, and oftentimes report the lies they have feigned for what they lo have seen and heard. These are called instruments of grace and power with great persons, but they are indeed the organs of their impotency, and marks of weakness. For sufficient lords are able to make these discoveries themselves. Neither 15 will an honorable person inquire who eats and drinks together, what that man plays, whom this man loves, with whom such a one walks, what discourse they held, who sleeps with whom. They are base and servile natures that busy themselves about these disquisitions. How 20 often have I seen (and worthily) these censors of the family undertaken by some honest rustic and cudgelled thriftily. These are commonly the off-scouring and dregs of men that do these things, or calumniate others ; yet I know not truly which is worse, he that maligns all, or 25 that praises all. There is as great a vice in praising, and as frequent, as in detracting. It pleased your lordship of late to ask my opinion touching the education of your sons, and especially to the advancement of their studies. To which, though I 30 returned somewhat for the present, which rather mani- fested a will in me than gave any just resolution to the thing propounded, I have upon better cogitation called those aids about me, both of mind and memory, which shall venter my thoughts clearer, if not fuller, to your lord- DISCO VERIES. 53 ship's demand. /I confess, my lord, they will seem but petty and minute things I shall offer to you, being writ for children, and of them. But studies have their infancy as well as creatures. We see in men even the strongest compositions had their beginnings from milk and the 5 cradle ; and the wisest tarried sometimes about apting their mouths to letters and syllables. / In their education, therefore, the care must be the greater had of their beginnings, to know, examine, and weigh their natures ; which, though they be proner in some children to some 10 disciplines, yet are they naturally prompt to taste all by degrees, and with change. For change is a kind of refreshing in studies, and infuseth knowledge by way of recreation. Thence the school itself is called a play or game, and all letters are so best taught to scholars. They 15 should not be affrighted or deterred in their entry, but drawn on with exercise and emulation. A youth should not be made to hate study before he know the causes to love it, or taste the bitterness before the sweet ; but called on and allured, entreated and praised : yea, when he 20 deserves it not. For which cause I wish them sent to the best school, and a pubhc, which I think the best. Your lordship, I fear, hardly hears of that, as willing to breed them in your eye and at home, and doubting their manners may be corrupted abroad. They are in more 25 danger in your own family, among ill servants (allowing they be safe in their schoolmaster), than amongst a thousand boys, however immodest. Would we did not spoil our own children, and overthrow their manners our- selves by too much indulgence ! To breed them at home 30 is to breed them in a shade, whereas in a school they have the light and heat of the sun. They are used and accustomed to things and men. When they come forth into the commonwealth, they find nothing new, or to seek. They have made their friendships and aids, some to last 35 54 DISCO VERIES. their age. They hear what is commanded to others as well as themselves, much approved, much corrected ; all which they bring to their own store and use, and learn as much as they hear. Eloquence would be but a poor s thing if we should only converse with singulars, speak but man and man together. Therefore I like no private breeding. I would send them where their industry should be daily mcreased by praise, and that kindled by emula- tion. It is a good thing to inflame the mind ; and lo though ambition itself be a vice, it is often the cause of great virtue. Give me that wit whom praise excites, glory puts on, or disgrace grieves ; he is to be nourished with ambition, pricked forward with honor, checked with reprehension, and never to be suspected of sloth. Though 15 he be given to play, it is a sign of spirit and liveliness, so there be a mean had of their sports and relaxations. And from the rod or ferule I would have them free, as from the menace of them ; for it is both deformed and servile. y . ' De stilo, et Optimo soHbendi genere. — For a man to 20 write well, there are required three necessaries — to read < the best authors, observe the best speakers, and much exercise of his own style. In style, to consider what ought to be written, and after what manner, he must first think and excogitate his matter, then choose his words, 25 and examine the weight of either. Then take care, in placing and ranking both matter and words, that the composition be comely; and to do this with diligence and often. No matter how slow the style be at first, so it I be labored and accurate ; seek the best, and be not glad I 30 of the forward conceits,''6r first words, that offer them- * selves to us ; but judge of what we invent, and order what we approve. Repeat often what we have formerly written ; which beside that it helps the consequence, and makes the juncture better, it quickens the heat of imagi- 35 nation, that often cools in the time of setting down, and DISCOVERIES. 55 gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back. As we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest that fetch their race largest ; or, as in throwing a dart or javelin, we force back our arms to make our loose the stronger. Yet, if we have a fair gale of wind, I forbid s not the steering out of our sail, so the favor of the gale de- ceive us not. For all that we invent doth please us in the conception of birth, else we would never set it down. But the safest is to return to our judgment, and handle over again those things the easiness of which might make them lo justly suspected. So did the best writers in their begin- nings ; they imposed upon themselves, care and industry; they did nothing rashly : they obtained" first to write well, and then custom made it easy and a habit. By little and little their matter showed itself to them more plentifully ; 15 their words answered, their composition followed ; and all, as in a well-ordered family, presented itself in the place. So that the sum of all is, ready writing makes not good writing, but good writing brings on ready writing. Yet, when we think we have got the faculty, 20 it is even then good to resist it, as to give a horse a check sometimes with a bit, which doth not so much stop his course as stir his mettle. Again, whither a man's genius is best able to reach, thither it should more and more contend, lift and dilate itself; as men of low stature 25 raise themselves on their toes, and so ofttimes get even, if not eminent. Besides, as it is fit for grown and able writers to stand of themselves, and work with their own strength, to trust and endeavor by their own fac- ulties, so it is fit for the beginner and learner to study 30 X others and the best. For the mind and memory are more sharply exercised in comprehending another man's things than our own ; and such as accustom themselves and are familiar with the best authors shall ever and anon find somewhat of them in themselves, and in the expression 35 56 DISCO VERIES. of their minds, even when they feel it not, be able to utter something Hke theirs, which hath an authority above their own. Nay, sometimes it is the reward of a man's study, the praise of quoting another man fitly; and though a 5 man be more prone and able for one kind of writing than another, yet he must exercise all. For as in an instru- ment, so in style, there must be a harmony and consent of parts. Prcccipiejidi modi. — I take this labor in teaching others, 1 lo that they should not be always to be taught, and I would / bring my precepts into practice, for rules are ever of less ' " force and value than experiments ; yet with this purpose, rather to show the right way to those that come after, than to detect any that have slipped before by error. And I 15 hope it will be more profitable \ for men do more will- ingly listen, and with more favor, to precept, than repre- hension. Among divers opinions of an art, and most of them contrary in themselves, it is hard to make^election ; and, therefore, though a man cannot invent new things 2o after so many, he may do a welcome work yet to help posterity to judge rightly of the old. .But arts and precepts avail nothing, except Nature be beneficial . and aiding. And therefore these things are no more written to a dull disposition, than rules of husbandry to a barren 25 soil. No precepts will profit a fool, no more than beauty will the blind, or music the deaf. As we should take care that our style in writing be neither dry nor empty, we should look again it be not winding, or wanton with far- fetched descriptions : either is a vice. But that is worse 30 which proceeds out of want, than that which riots out of plenty. The remedy of fruitfulness is easy, but no labor will help the contrary. I will like and praise some things in a young writer which yet, if he continue in, I cannot but justly hate him for the same. There is a time to be 35 given all things for maturity, and that even your country \i DISCO VERIES. 57 husbandman can teach, who to a young plant will not put the pruning-knife, because it seems to fear the iron, as not able to admit the scar. No more would I tell a green writer all his faults, lest I should make him grieve and faint, and at last despair. For nothing doth more s hurt than to make him so afraid of all things as he can endeavor nothing. Therefore youth ought to be instructed betimes, and in the best things ; for we hold those longest we take soonest, as the first scent of a vessel lasts, and the tinct the wool first receives. Therefore a master should lo temper his own powers, and descend to the other's infirm- ity. If you pour a glut of water upon a bottle, it receives httle of it; but with a funnel, and by degrees, you shall fill rpany of them, and spill little of your own; to their , - capacity they will all receive and be full. And as it is fit 15 to read the best authors to youth first, so let them be of . the openest and clearest, as Livy before Sallust, Sidney-j,*. IjO^i/- before Donne. And beware of letting them taste Govver ,.^fc)-«.0»^ or Chaucer at first, lest, falling too much in love with antiquity, and not apprehending the weight, they grow 20 rough and barren in language only..?. When their judgments are firm, and out of danger, let them read both the old and the new; but no less take J)'eed that their new flowers and sweetness do not 'as much corrupt as the others' dryness and squalor, if they choose not carefully. 25 Spenser, in affecting the ancients, writ no language ; yet I would have him read for his matter, but as Virgil read Ennius. The reading of Homer and Virgil is counselled by Quintilian as the best way of informing youth and confirming man. For, besides that the mind is raised 3° with the height and sublimity of such a verse, it takes spirit from the greatness of the matter, and is tincted " with the best things. Tragic and lyric poetry is good too, and comic with the best, if the manners of the reader be once in safety. In the Greek poets, as also in Plautus, 35 58 DISCO VERIES. we shall see the economy and disposition of poems better observed than in Terence and the later [qu. Greek poets], who thought the sole grace and virtue of their fable the sticking in of sentences, as ours do the forcing 5 in of jests. Fals\ji\ querel\ji\ fugie7id\a'\. — We should not pro- tect our sloth with the patronage of difficulty. It is a false quarrel against Nature, that she helps understand- ing but in a few ; when the most part of mankind are lo inclined by her thither, if they would take the pains, no less than birds to fly, horses to run, etc. : which if they lose, it is through their own sluggishness, and by that means become her prodigies, not her children. I confess. Nature in children is more patient of labor in 15 study than in age ; for the sense of the pain, the judg- ment of the labor is absent : they do not measure what they have done. And it is the thought and consideration that affects us more than the weariness itself. Plato was not content with the learning that Athens could give him, 20 but sailed into' Italy for Pythagoras's knowledge : and yet not thinking himself sufficiently informed, went into Egypt, to the priests, and learned their mysteries. He labored, so must we. Many things may be learned to- gether, and performed in one point of time ; as musi- 25 cians exercise their memory, their voice, their fingers, and sometimes their head and feet at once. And so a preacher, in the invention of matter, election of words, composition of gesture, look, pronunciation, motion, useth all these faculties at once. And if we can express this 30 variety together, why should not divers studies, at divers hours, delight, when the variety is able alone to refresh and repair us? As, when a man is weary of writing, to read ; and then again of reading, to write. Wherein howsoever we do many things, yet are we, in a sort, still 35 fresh to what we begin ; we are recreated with change, DISCO VERIES. 59 as the stomach is with meats. But some will say this variety breeds confusion, and makes, that either we lose all, or hold no more than the last. Why do we not then persuade husbandmen that they should not till land, help it with marl, lime, and compost? plant hop-gardens, 5 prune trees, look to bee-hives, rear sheep, and all other cattle at once ? It is easier to do many things and con- tinue, than to do one thing long. Prcecept\^a\ elemcni\aria\, — It is not the passing ^"^ through these learnings that hurts us, but the dwelling 10 and sticking about them. To descend to those extreme anxieties and foolish cavils of grammarians, is able to break a wit in pieces, being a work of manifold misery and vainness, to be elementarii series. Yet even letters are, as it were, the bank of words, and restore themselves 15 to an author as the pawns of language. But talking and eloquence are not the same : to speak, and to speak well, are two things. A fool may talk, but _a wise man spe aks ; and out of the observation, knowledge, and the use of things, many writers perplex their readers and hearers 20 with mere nonsense. Their writings need sunshine. / Pure and neat language I love, yet plain and customary, y -& A barbarous phrase hath often made me out of love with a good sense, and doubtful writing hath wracked me, beyond my gati^ence. The reason v/hy a poet is said 25 that tie ought to have all knowledges is, that he should not be ignorant of the most, especially of those he will handle. And indeed, when the attaining of them is pos- sible, it were a sluggish and base thing to despair ; for frequent imitation of anything becomes a habit quickly. 30 If a man should prosecute as much as could be said of everything, his work would find no end. De bratwhis ^ignitate. — Speech is the only benefit V man hath to express his excellency of mind above other creatures. It is the instrument of society ; therefore 35 60 DISCO VERIES. Mercury, who is the president of language, is called deoruin hoiJiimnnque interpres. In all speech, words and sense are as the body and the soul. The sense is as the life and soul of language, without which all words are 5 dead. Sense is wrought out of experience, the knowl- edge of human life and actions, or of the liberal arts, which the Greeks called 'EyKi;KXo7rai8etav. Words are the * people's, yet there is a choice of. them to be made ; for verborum delectus origo est eloqiientice. : They are to be lo chose according to the persons we make speak, or the things we speak of. Some are of the camp, some of the council-board, some of the shop, some of the sheepcot, some of the pulpit, some of the bar, etc. And herein is seen their elegance and propriety, when we use them fitly 15 and draw them forth to their just strength and nature by way of translation or metaphor. . But in this translation we must onl}^^erve necessity {iiaititetnere nihil transferiur a prudenti) or commodity, which is a kind of necessity : ^ .^ that is, when we either absolutely want a word to express J 20 by, and that is necessity ; or when we have not so fit a word, and that is commodity ; as when we avoid loss by it, and escape obsceneness, and gain in the grace and'^ j property which helps significance. Metaphors far-f6t ' hinder 'to be under'stdocl ; an(i affected, lose their grace. 25 Or when the person fetcheth his translations from a wrongs place : as if a privy councillor should at the table take his metaphor from a dicing-house, or ordinary, or a vintner's vault ; or a justice of peace draw his simiUtudes from the mathematics ; or a divine from a bawdy-house, or taverns ; 30 or a gentleman of Northamptonshire, Warwickshire, or the Midland, should fetch all the illustrations to his country neighbors from shipping, and tell them of the main-sheet and the bowline. Metaphors are thus many times deformed, as in him that said, Castratam morte 35 Africani re?npublicam ; and another, Stercus curice Glau- DISCO VER/ES. 61 ciam, and Can a nive conspiiit A /pes. All attempts that are new in this kind, are dangerous, and somewhat hard, before they be softened with use. A man coins not a new word without some peril and less fruit ; for if it happen to be received, the praise is but moderate ; if refused, the s scorn is assured. Yet we must adventure ; for things at '^^ first hard and rough are by use made tender and gentle. It is an honest error that is committed, following great chiefs. y'Custom is the most certain mistress of language, as the public stamp makes the current money. But we must lo not be too frequent with the mint, every day coining, nor fetch words from the extreme and utmost ages ; since the chief virtue of a style is perspicuity, and noth- ing so vicious in it as to need an interpreter. 'VVords^ borrowed of antiquity do lend a kind of majesty to style, 15 and are not without their delight sometimes ; for they have the authority of years, and out of their intermission do win themselves a kind of gracelike newness. Butj the eldest of the present, and newest of the past lan-| guage, is the best. For what was the ancient language, '20 which some men so dote upon, but the ancient custom? Yet when I name custom, I understand not the vulgar custom ; for that were a precept no less dangerous to language than life, if we should speak or live after the manners of the vulgar : but that I call custom of speech, 25 which is the consent of the learned ; as custom of life, which is the consent of the good. Virgil was most lov- ing of antiquity ; yet how rarely doth he insert aguai diVid pic tail Lucretius is scabrous and rough in these; he seeks them : as some do Chaucerisms with us, which 30 were better expunged and banished. Some words are I to be culled out for ornament and color, as we gather I flowers to straw houses or make garlands; but they are better when they grow to our style as in a meadow, where, though the mere grass and greenness delights, yet 35 62 DISCO VERIES. the variety of flowers doth heighten and beautify. Marry, we must not play or riot too much with them, as in paro- nomasies ; nor use too swelUng or ill-sounding words, qucB per salebras, altaque saxa cadiint. It is true, tliere 5 is no sound but shall find some lovers, as the bitterest con- fections are grateful to some palates. Our composition J must be more accurate in the beginning and end than in the midst, and in the end more than in the beginning ; for through the midst the stream bears us. And this is lo attained by custom, more than care or diligence. We must express readily and fully, not profusely. There is difference between a hberal and prodigal hand. As it is a great point of art, when our matter requires it, to enlarge and veer out all sail, so to take it in and contract 15 it, is of no less praise, when the argument doth ask it. Either of them hath their fitness in the place. A good man always profits by his endeavor, by his help, yea, when he is absent ; nay, when he is dead, by his example and memory : so good authors in their style. A strict and 20 succinct style is that where you can take away nothing without loss, and that loss to be manifest. Tacitus^ The Laconic, Suetonius, Seneca, and Fabi- ^;/?/j-. -^The brief style is that which expresseth much in little ; the 'concise style, which expresseth Qot enough 25 but leaves somewhat to be understood ; fhe abrupt style, which hath many breaches, and doth not seem to end but fall. The congruent and harmonious fitting of parts in a sentence hath almost the fastening and force of knitting and connection ; as in stones well squared, 30 which will rise strong a great way without mortar. Periods are beautiful when they are not too long ; for so they have their strength too, as in a pike or javelin. As we must take the care that our words and sense be clear, so if the obscurity, happen through the 35 hearer's or reader's want of understanding, I am not to DISCOVERIES. 63 1 answer for them, no more than for their not Hstening or I marking ; I must neither find them ears nor mind. But / a man cannot put a word so in sense but something about I it will illustrate it, if the writer understand himself; for ^\ order helps, mu9h to . perspicuity, ' as confusion h^urts.^s^^ ^^'^Rectitudo liicem ad/eft } ohliquitas et cir chin due tlo offusca't ' -j^ !We should therefore speak what we can the nearest way, so as we keep our gait, not leap ; for too short may as well be not let into the memory, as too long not kept in. ^^'Obscurttas offundit tenebras. Whatsoever loseth the grace lo and clearness, converts into a riddle; the obscurity is marked, but not the value. That perisheth, and is passed by, like the pearl in the fable. Our style should be Hke a skein of silk, to be carried and found by the right thread, not ravelled and perplexed : then all is a U knot, a heap. There are words that do as niuch raise J a style as others can depress it. Superlation and over- muchness amplifies ; it may be above faith, but never above a mean. It was ridiculous in Cestius, when he said of Alexander: , .. .*.,..-* -^ - ^° Fremit oceanus, quasi indignetur, quod ferfas relinquas. But propitiously from Virgil : Credas innare revulsas Cycladas. . /jA/^^ He doth not say it was so, but seemed to be so. ^s^^"^ Although it be somewhat incredible, that is excused ^ before it be spoken. But there are hyperboles which will become one language, that will by no means admit another. As Eos esse Fyopuli] R\omani\ exercitus, (jiii caelum possint perrumpere, who would say with us, but a 30 madman ? Therefore we must consider in every tongue what is used, what received. ,/Quintilian warns us, that in no kind of translation, or metaphor, or allegory, we 64 DISCO VERIES. make a turn from what we began; as if we fetch the original of our metaphor from sea and billows, we end not in flames and ashes : it is a most foul inconsequence. Neither must we draw out our allegory too long, lest 5 either we make ourselves obscure, or fall into affectation, which is childish. But why do men depart at all from the right and natural ways of speaking ? Sometimes for necessity, when we are driven, or think it fitter, to speak that in obscure words, or by circumstance, which uttered lo plainly would offend the hearers ; or to avoid obscene- ness, or sometimes for pleasure, and variety, as travellers turn out of the highway, drawn either by the cornmooity^ of a footpath, or the delicacy or freshness of the fields, y --/-y^Vnd all this/is called ia-xrji^aTLa-fx^vrh or figured language. / js * Oratio imago animi. — ^^Language most shows a man : ^•^>A Speak, that I may see tnee. It springs out of the most retired and inmost parts of us, and is the image of the parent of it, the mind. No glass renders a man's form or likeness so true as his speech. Nay, it is likened to a man ; 20 and as we consider feature and composition in a man, so words in language ; in the greatness, aptness, sound struc- ture, and harmony of it. Structura et statiira. — Some men are tall and big, so I some language is high and great : sublimis. Then the 25 words are chosen, their sound ample, the composition full, the absolution plenteous, and poured out, all grave, sinewy, ^ and strong. Some are httle and dwarfs, /////;///?>, ///w/7t?; so of speech, it is humble and low, the words poor and flat, the members and periods thin and weak, without knitting ^ 30 or number. Mediocris plana etplacida. — The middle are of a just stature. There the language is plain and pleasing ; even without stopping, round without swelling : all well- torned, composed, elegant, and accurate. Vitiosa oratio^ vasta, tumens^ enormis, affectata, abjecta. — The vicious 35 language is vast and gaping, swelling and irregular : when DISCO VERIES. 65 it contends to be high, full of rock, mountain, and point- edness; as it affects to be low, it is abject, and creeps, full of bogs and holes. ^^And according to their subject these styles vary, and rose their names : for that which is high and loftAj, declaring excellent matter, becomes vast 5 and turnOt^iisy speaking of petty and inferior things ; so that which was even and apt in a mean and plain subject, will appear most poor and humble in a high argument. Would you not laugh to meet a great councillor of State . ^ (in a flat cap, with his trunk hose, and a hobby-horse cloak, 10 '^1 his gloves under his girdle, and yond haberdasher in a velvet gown, furred with sables ? There is a certain lati- tude in these things, by which we find the degrees. The next thing to the stature is the figure, Jig7ira, and y feature in language, that is, whether it be round and straight, 15 which consists of short and succinct periods, numerous and ^ polished ; or square and firm, which is to have equal and ^'>^^ strong parts everywhere answerable, and weighed. %,Ti^^ i ^ /y)^f The third is the skin and coat, ^aifts sive cortex, which .■ V ^ rests in the well-joining, cementing, and coagmentation of 20 *^ words, compositio ; whenas it is smooth, gentle, and sweet, like a table upon which you may run your finger without , rubs, and your nail cannot find a joint ; not horrid, rough, ^ wrinkled, gaping, or chapped. \J\ After these, the flesh, blood, and bones come in question. 25 ^ We say it is a fleshy style, cai-nosa, when there is much periphrasis, and circuit of words ; and when with more than enough, it grows fat and corpulent, adipata, redim- jjT ' dans: arvina orationis, full of suet and tallow. It hath ' . v>' blood and juice when the words are proper and apt, their 30 sound sweet, and the phrase neat and picked — oratio uncta, et bene pasta. But where there is redundancy, both the blood ' and ju^ce are faulty and vipious : : — Redundat s'afiguuk, 'qtl.a'nimio'''plus dicit, quani 'necesse ^^ is deceit, or the likeness of truth, imposture held up by . ^^ 15 credulity. All these are the cobwebs of learning, and to \ let them grow in us is either sluttish or foolish. Nothing )