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SHELDON & 00., Publishers, 498 & 500 Broadway, New York. Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry, 19 Spring Lane.-- PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION. -•o»- The following extracts from the Chief English Writers were selected by the late Mr. Shaw to accompany his His- tory of English Literature, and are divided into the same number of chapters, that they may be read with the bio- graphical and critical account of each author. They present Specimens of all the chief English Writers from the earliest times to the present century. In making these Selections, two objects have been chiefly kept in view : first, the illus- tration of the style of each Writer by some of the most striking or characteristic specimens of his works ; and, sec- ondly, the choice of such passages as are suitable, either from their language or their matter, to be read in schools or com- mitted to memory. W. S (3) ivi240391 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/choicespecimensoOOshawrich PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION, -*o*- In furnishing to American students an edition of Dr. Sliaw'? " Specimens of English Literature," which should be adapted to their wants, the Editor deems it proper to state what changes have been made in the volume. It appeared, upon examination, that, even with Dr. William Smith's additions to the original work of Dr. Shaw, some of the best English writers were not represented in the selections. As it seemed desirable to make the representation of approved authors as complete as a moderate limit would allow, it became necessary to revise the whole work; and, in order to gain space for a more extended view, to omit whatever was of inferior interest. It was found, too, that many passages, either not of the highest merit, of needless length, or unsuitable to be read in seminaries, might with advantage be abbreviated, or exchanged for others. By these methods, it became possible, without increasing the size, materially to extend the scope of the work. While no im- portant writer represented in the original has been excluded from this reprint, opportunity has been gained, by judicious condensa- tion, to present to the reader specimens of the following list of English authors not included in the English edition, viz. : Algernon Sydney, Ray, John Ho-iVe, Sir Isaac Newiofi, Doddridge, Watts, Bishop Butler, Bentham, Foster, Chalmers, Pollok, Hallam, Mrs. Hcmans, Mrs. Bro-vuning, Hjigh Miller, Edward Irving, Macaiilay, Hazlitt, and Hood. In addition to the changes involved in this more enlarged rep- resentation, alterations have been made upon some one or other of the following grounds. ' Passages containing Greek or Latin quotations have generallj- been omitted, as embarrassing in seminaries in which the ancien; (5) 6 PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. . classics are not studied : an extract has occasionally been stricken out on the score of coarseness and bad taste : others of questionable truth, or of doubtful morality, have been either omitted or abridged ; and prosaic or sombre passages have been exchanged for those of a more poetic or cheerful cast. A few brief foot-notes have also been added. The number, however, of such changes is not so great as to aifect the identity of the two works; and has not seemed to require any other than this general acknowledgment. The Editor indulges the hope that, while the changes which have been introduced will impart to the work an increased interest, they will not be found to impair at all its representative character ; and that an improved tone, both of taste and of sentiment, in the selec- tions, will justify the alterations with which it is now submitted to the American public. B. N. M. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Anglo-Saxon, Semi-Saxon, and Old English Literature. A. Anglo-Saxon. Page 17 Caedmon, A. D. 650. . . 1. The Creation. King Alfred iS 2. Ohtlier's Narrative, in Translation of Bo- ethius. 3. Translation of the Pastorale of St. Gregory. B. Semi-Saxon. Layamon. Brut, 1 150-1250. . 20 4. The Dream of Arthur. 5. The Ormulum. C. Old English, 1250-13 50. Henry III 22 (!. Proclamation in A. D. 1258. 7- 8. 9- lO. King Alisaunder. 23 Havelok 24 Robert of Gloucester. . . 24 Robert Mannj'ng, or Rob- ert of Brunne 25 CHAPTER II. The Age of Chaucer. of Piers Plough- The Vision man, 1350 11. Satire of Lawyers. [ohn Gower, d. 140S. . . . 12. "Confessio Amantis :" Tale of the Cof- fers or Caskets. 13. Chaucer, 132S-1400. . . From the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. The Knight. The Prioress. The Friar. 26 26 29 The Doctor of Physic. The Miller. John Barbour, d. A. D. 1396. . 35 11. Apostrophe to Freedom. Chaucer (Prose) 36 15. Tale of J\Ieilb(Eus (from the Parson's Talc). Counsel of Prinleni;e. 16. Sir John de Mandeville, 1300-1371 36 Wiclifte, A. D. 1324-1384. . . 38 17. Matthew's Gospel, Chap. VIU. CHAPTER III. From the Death of Chaucer to the Age of Elizabeth, A. D. 1400-1558. A. Scottish Poets. James I., I394-H37 40 18. On his Beloved. William Dunbar, about 1465- 1520 41 I'J. Ire, Pride, and Envy. Sir David Lyndsay, 1490-1557. 42 20. Meldrinr.'s Duel wi'Ji the English Champion Talbart. B. English Poets. John Skelton, d. 1529. ... 44 21. .Vtiauk upon Wolsey. Sir Thomas Wyatt, 1503-1541. 45 22. To his Beloved. Earl of Surrey, I5i7-i547- • 46 23. A Prisoner in Windsor Castle, he Re- flects on Past Happiness. 24. Description of Spring. Thomas, Lord Vaux. ... 47 25. Upon his White Hairs. C. English Prose. Caxton, d. 1491 48 20. Introduction to the Morte d' Arthur. CONTENTS. 27. Lord Berners's Froissart. 49 Tjndale, d. 1536 50 28. MatUiew's Gospel, Chap. VIII. 29. Hugh Latimer, d. 1555. . 51 Sir Thomas More, 1480-1535. 52 30. Description of Richard lU. 31. Roger Ascham, 1515-1568. SZ D. Ballads. 32. The Ancient Ballad of Chevj Chase 54 33. The more Modern Ballad of Chevy Chase. ... 61 34. Sir Patrick Spens. ... 68 35. The Two Corbies. ... 71 CHAPTER IV. The Elizabethan Poets (including the Reign of James I). Michael Drayton, 1563-163 1. 84 George Gascoigne, 1530-1577. 73 36. The Vanity of the Beautiful. Thomas Sackville, Lord Buck- hurst 73 37. Allegorical Personages in Hell. Edmund Spenser, 1553-1599- 75 38. Una and the Lion. .39. Prince Arthur. 40. Belphccbe. 41. The Care of Angels over Men. 42. The Seasons. 43. Sonnet LXXXVIII. Sir Philip Sydney, 1554-1586. 79 44. Sonnet to Sleep. Sir Walter Raleigh, 1552-1618. So i5. A Passionate Shepherd to his Love. The Nymph's Reply to the Passionate Shepherd. The Soul's Errand. Samuel Daniel, 1562-1619. 46. Richard II. on the Moruiug before his Murder. 83 47. Pigwiggen Arming. 48. From the Puly-olbion. Song XHI. Sir John Davies, 1570-1626. . 85 49. From the Nosce Teipsum. John Donne, 1573-1631. . . 86 50. From his Elegies. Bishop Hall, 1574-1656. . . 87 51. From the Satires. Robert Southwell, 1560-1595. 88 52. Times go by Turns. Giles Fletcher. ..... 89 53. Justice addi-essing the Creator. William Drummond, 1585- 1649 89 54. On Sleep. CHAPTER V. The New Philosophy and Prose Literature in the Reigns of Elizabeth and James I. Sir Philip Sydney, 1554-15S6. 90 65. In Praise of Poetry. Sir Walter Raleigh, 1552-1618. 91 56. The Folly of Ambition and Power of Death. Richard Hooker, 1553-1598. . 92 57. The Necessity and Majesty of Law. Francis Bacon, 1561-1626. . 93 58. Of Studies. 59. Of Adversity. 60. Of Discourse. . 61. Atheism ignoble. 62. Design of the Inductive Philosophy. 63. The Benefit of Learning. 64. The Dignity of Literature. 65. Vindication of Natural Theology. Robert Burton, 1576-1640. . 98 66. Philautia, or Self-Love, a Cause of Mel- anchuiy. 67. The Power of Love. Lord Herbert of Cherbury, 1581-1648 100 68. From Life of Henry VIH. 69. Thomas Hobbes,i588-i679. :oi Emulation and Envy. Laugltter. Weeping. Admiration and Curiosity. CHAPTER VI. The Dawn of the Drama. Christopher Marlowe, 1563 .''-1593. ICV| 70. From Edward U. I 71. From Doctor Faustus. CONTENTS. 9 CHAPTER VII. Sh.\kspeare, 1564-1616. Shakspeare, 1564-1616. . . A. Comedies. 72. The World a Stage. 73. The Abuse of Authority. ; t. Mercy. 75. Oberon's Vision. 70 The Power of Imagination. B. Historical Plays. 77. Lamentation of Constance. 78. Clarence's Dream. 79. Wolsey and Cromwell. 80. Death of Queen Katharine. 108 C. Tragedies. 81. Hamlet and the Ghost. 82. riamlei's Soliloquy on Death. 83. Mark Antony's Oration over the dead Body of CaBsar. 84. Macbeth's Irresolution before the Murder of Duncan. 85. Witches. D. Songs. 86. Ariel's Song. 87. The Fairy to Puck. 88. Sonnet XCIX. CHAPTER VIII. The Shakspearian Dramatists. Benjonson, 1573-1637. 89. From the Sad Shepherd; or, % Tale of Robin Hood. 90. From Sejanus. 123 Beaumont, 1586-1615, Fletcher, 1576-1625. 91. From the Faithful Shepherdess. 92. From the Two Noble Kinsmen. and 125 Philip Massinger, 1584-1640. 129 93. From the Virgin Martyr. John Ford, 15S6-1639. . . . 130 94. From the Lover's Melancholy. John Webster. Fl. 1623. • • 131 9.5. From the Duchess of Malfy. James Shirley, 1594-1666. . . 132 96. From the Lady of Pleasure. CHAPTER IX. The so-called Metaphysical Poets. George Wither, 1588-1667. . 136 97. The Steadfast Shepherd. Francis Quarles, 1592-1644. . 136 98. O that Thou wouldst hide Me in the Grave, that Thou wouldst keep Me in secret until Thy wrath be past. George Herbert, 1593-1632. . 137 99. Sunday. Richard Crashaw, 1620-1650. 138 1(X\ Lines on a Prayer-Book sent to Mrs. R. loi. Robert Herrick,i59i-i674. 139 Song. To Meadows. Sir John Suckling, 1609-1641. 140 102. Song. Sir Richard Lovelace, 1618- 1658 141 103. To AUhea from Prison. Thomas Carew, 1589-1639. . 142 104. Song. William Browne, 1590-1645. . 142 105. Evening. William Habington, 1605- 1654 143 10c. Cupio Dissolvi. Edmund Waller, 1605-1687. . 143 107. Song. On a Girdle. Sir William Davenant, 1605- 1668 144 108. Character of Birtha. Sir John I>enhain, 1615-1668. 145 109. The Thames. Abraham Cowlej, 1618-1667. 146 110. Hymn to Light. 111. Character ot CromweU. 10 CONTENTS, CHAPTER X. Theologicai. Writers of the Civil War and the Commonwealth. John Hales, 1584-1656. . . . 148 112 Peace in the Church. Wi-'.iam Chillingworth, 1602- 1644 .149 113. 1 he Religion of Protestants. Sir Thomas Browne, 1605- 1682 150 114. Tlioughts on Death and Immortality. Thomas Fuller, 1608-1661. . 151 115. The Good Schoolmaster. 1x6. JeremjTajlor, 1613-1667. 152 Marriage. On Prayer. On Content. Against Anger. Cunitbrting tlie Afflicted. Richard Baxter, 1615-1691. . 156 117. From the " Saints' Rest." Joseph Hall, 1574-1656. . . 158 118. The Pleasure of Study. Owen Feltham. Circa 1610- 1677 158 119. Sedulity and Diligence. Sir Thomas Overbury, 1581- 1613 159 120. A Fair and Happy Milkmaid. CHAPTER XI. John Milton, 1608-1674. John Milton, I608-1674. 121. From the Hymn of the Nativity. 122. From Comus. 123. From Lycidas. 124. From L' Allegro. 125. From II Penseroso. 126. Exordium ot Book I. Par. Lost 127. Satan. (Book I.) 128. Pandemonium. (Book I.) 129. Death and Satan. (Book II.) 130. Invocation to Light. (Book III.) 13L Eden. (Book IV.) . 161 132. Adam and Eve. (Book IV.) 133. Evening in Eden. (Book IV.) 134. Morning Prayer of Adam and Eve. (BookV.) 135. Athens. (Book IV.) Par. Regained. 13(i. l^ament of Samson. 137. Sonnet on his own Blindness. 138. On tiie late Massacre in Piedmont. 13'J. Argument for the Liberty of the Press. Andrew Marvell, 1620-1678. . 140. The Nymph complaining for the Death of her Fawn. i8n CHAPTER Xn. The Age of the Restoration. 141. Samuel Butler, 1612-1680. 182 Honor. Caligula's Campaign in Britain. The Procession of the Skimmington. The Opposition in the Long Parliament. Jchn Drjden, 1631-1700. . . 184 142. London after the Fire. 143- On Milton. 144. Character of Shaftesbury (Achitophel). 145. Character of Zimri (Villiera, Duke of Buckingham). 14<). Veni, Creator Spiritus. 147. Faith. 148. Epistle to Congreve. 149. Dreams. 150. Alexander's Feast. 151. Chaucer and Cowley. 152. Shakspeare and Ben Jonson. Algernon Sidney, 1621--1684. • ^95 153. Influence of Government OE. the Char- acter of a People. John Raj, 1628-1705. . . . 197 154. Civilization designed by the Creator. 155, John Bunyan, 1628-1688. 197 The Vallov of Humiliation. The Golden City. Edward Hyde, Earl of Claren- don, 1608-1674 201 15C. Character of John Hampden. 157. Execution of Montrose. Izaak Walton, 1593-1683. . . 203 158. Fishing. Contentment. John Evelyn, 1620-1706. . . 205 159. St. Paul's Cathedral and the Fire of London. Samuel Pepys, 1632-1703. . 205 IGO. Mr. Pepys quarrels with his Wife. CONTENTS. 11 CHAPTER XIII. The Second Revolution. John Locke, 1632-1704. . . . 161. Uses of Pleasure aiid Fuin. 162. Isaac Barrow, 1630-1677. God. What is Wit? John Tillotson, 1630-1694. 3S.'J. Happiness is Goodness. Robert South, 1633-1716. . . IW. The State of Man before the Fall. William Sherlock, 1678-1761. I&5. Charity. 207 208 210 211 212 Robert Boyle, 1627-1691. . .213 I6G. Practical Sufficiency of the great Prin- ciples of Morals. John Howe, 1630-1705. . . . 214 167. The Temple in Ruins. Gilbert Burnet, 1643-1715. . . 215 168. Character of William III. Sir Isaac Newton, 1642-1727. 216 169. Effect of an Experiment upon Light CHAPTER XIV. Pope, Swift, and the Poets in the Reigns of Queen Anne, George I., and George II. Alexander Pope, 168S-1744. 170. From the " Essay on Criticism." Pride. Suund an Echo to the Sense. From the " Essay on Man." The Scale of Being. Omnipresence ot the Deity. Address to Bolingbroke. Description of Belinda. The Di'iug Christian to his Soul. 171, 172. 17a. 174. Country Hospitality. 175. The Academy of Legado. 176. Thoughts on Various Subjects. 2X8 Jonathan Swift, 1667-1745. . 222 Matthew Prior, 1664-1721. 177. The Chameleon. John Gaj, 1688-1732. . . 178. The Hare and many Friends. Thomas Parnell, 1679-1718. 179. Hymn to Contentment. Edward Young, 16S1-1765. 180. Procrastination. Bishop Butler, 1692-1752. . 181. Evidence for Christianity sufficient. . 225 . 226 . 228 . 229 • 230 CHAPTER XV. The Essayists. loseph Addison, 1672-1719. . 232 182. The Political L^'pholsterer. 1&3. The Vision of Mirza. 184. Ketiections in Westminster Abbey. 183. Cato's Soliloquy on the Immortality of the Soul. Sir Richard Steele, 1675-1729. 237 186. The Dream. Sir William Temple, 162S- 1699 238 187. Against Excessive Grief. Lord Shaftesbury, 1671-1713. 239 188. The Deity unfolded in his Works. Lord Bolingbroke, 1678-1751. 240 189. The Use of History. 190. The Patriot King. Bishop Berkelej^ 1684-1753. . 242 191. Luxury the Cause of National Ruin. Lady Mary Montagu, 1690- 1762 243 192. From her Letters. CHAPTER XVI. Daniel Defoe, 1661-1731. . . 193. From " The Great Plague in London." Henry Fielding, 1707-1754. . 246 194. From " Tom Jones." Tobias George Smollett, 1721- 1771 247 195. The Soldier's Return. The Great Novelists. , . 244 Laurence Sterne, 1713-1768. . 248 196. Death of Le Fevre. Oliver Goldsmith, 172S-1774. 25a 197. The Stern Moralist. 198. A Fable. IW. France. 200. The Village Inn. 12 CONTENTS. CHAPTER XVII. Historical, Moral, Political, and Theological Writers of THE Eighteenth Century. Isaac Watts, 1674-1728. . . 254 201. The Earnest Student. Philip Doddridge, 1702-1751. 254 202. Obli;j:ation of Harmony among Chris- tians. Darid Hume, 1711-1776. . . 255 3"*?. Character of Queen Elizabeth. 204. On the Middle Station of Life. William Robertson, 1721-1793. 258 205. Execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. Edward Gibbon, 1737-1794. . 259 206. Conception and Completion of his Hia- torv. 207. Charlemagne. 208. Mahomet. 209. Invention and Use of Gunpowder. Samuel Johnson, 1709-1784. • 264 210. Letter to the Earl of Chesterfield. 211. From the Preface to his Dictionary. 212. The Right Improvement of Time. .. 213. Dryden and Pope. 214. Reflections on Landing at lona. 215. The Fate of Poverty. 216. Charles XII. William Pitt, Earl of Chat- ham, 1708-1778 27a 217. Speech on American Affairs. Edmund Burke, 1731-1797. . 272 218. Sympathy a Source of the Sublime. 219. Close of his Speech to the Electors of Bristol. 220. Marie Antoinette, Queen of France. 221. From the "Impeachment of Warren Hastings." 222. From "A Letter to a Noble Lord" (Duke of Bedford). The Letters of Junius, 1769- 1772 277 223. To his Grace the Duke of Bedford. Adam Smith, 1723-1790 . . 279 224. On the Division of Labor. William Paley, 1743-1805. . . 280 225. Character of Paul. CHAPTER XVIII. The Dawn of Romantic Poetry. Robert Blair, 1699-1746. . . 282 226. From " The Grave." James Thomson, 1700-1748. . 283 227. Evening in Autumn. 228. Reflections suggested by Winter. 229. From "The Castle of Indolence." William Shenstone, 1714-1763. 285 230. The Shepherd's Home. William Collins, 1721-1759. . 286 2r,l. Ode to Fear. Mark Akenside, 1721-1770. . 287 232. Genius. Thomas Gray, 1716-1771. . . 288 233. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard. 2.34. On a Dis'ant Prospect of Eton College. 2So. The Progress of Poesy. William Cowper, 1731-1800. . 295 2SC). On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture. 237. Mercy to Animals. 238. Pleasures of a Winter Evening. 239. The Play-Place of Early Days. 210. The Diverting History of John Gilpin. William Falconer, 1730-1769. 307 'Ml. From " The Shipwreck." Erasmus Darwin, 1731-1802. 242. Steel. James Macpherson, 1738-1796. 243. The Songs of Selma. Thomas Chatterton, 1752- 1770 244. Resignation. George Crabbe, 1754-1832. 24.5. The Dying Sailor. 246. An English Peasant. Robert Burns, 1759-1796. . . 247. To iNIary in Heaven. 248. John Anderson. 240. Bannockburn. 250. The Banks o' Doon. 251. The Cotter's Saturday Night. John Wolcott, 1738-1819. . . 252. The Razor Seller. Richard Brinslej Sheridan, 1751-1816 253. The Old Husband and the Young "Vfife. 307 308 310 315 322 323 CHAPTER XIX. Walter Scott. Walter Scott, 1771-1832. . . 254. Description of Melrose Abbey. 255. Love of Country 2.")6. Pitt and Fox. 257. The Parting of Douglas and Marmion. 258. The Death of Marmion. 326 259. Ellen — The Lady of the LaTie. 260. Paternal Aft'ection. 201. Sunset and the Approach of a Storm. 262. Des(!ription of Richmond. 2&i. Rebecca describes the Siege to the wounded Ivaiihoe. CONTENTS. 13 CHAPTER XX. Byron, Moore, Shelley, Keats, and Campbell. Lord Byron, 1 788-1 824. . , let. The Eve of the Battle of Waterloo. Rome. Tlic Gladiator. The Ocean. Modern Greece. The Flight of the Giaour. The Crime of the East- 2ri. A Ship in full Sail. 272. Remorse. From " The Prisoner of Chillon." Manfred's Soliloquy on the Jungfrau. The Coliseum. The Isles of Greece. Armenia. 339 2G-) 2G(). 20/. 2^3. 2(!9. 270. 2;n. 274. 275. 276. 277. Thomas Moore, 1 779-1852. . 351 278. Paradise and the Peri. 279. 'Tis the Last Rose of Summer. 280. Forget not the Field. 282. The Turf shall be my Fragrant Shrine. Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792- 1^21. 357 283. From " Ode to a Skylark." 284. Returning Spring. 285. The Plain ot Lombardy. John Keats, 1796-1821. . . . 36a 28<). From " Ode to Autumn." 287. From " Ilvperion." 288. Ode on a Grecian Urn. 289. Moonlight. Thomas Campbell, 1777-1844. 363 2'.K). Hope bevond the Grave. 291. The Soldier's Dream. 292. Ye Marwiers of England. 293. Hohenlinden. CHAPTER XXI. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, and other Modern Poets. William Wordsworth^ 1770- 1S50 368 294. Tlie Greek Mythology 295. Tintern Abbey. 296. To a Skylark. 297. Portrait. 298. Milton. 299. We are Seven. 300. Crilicism of Poetry. Samuel Taylor Coleridge, 1772-1S34. .' 377 301. Genevieve. 302. Hymn before Sunrise in the "Vale of Chamouni. 303. Kubla Khan ; or, a "Vision in a Dream. 304. A Calm on the Equator. 305. The Phantom Ship. 30(). Truth. 307. Advantage of Jlethod. Robert Southey, 1774-1843. . 387 ;j08. Tiie Battle of Blenheim. 309. The Evening Rainb.iw. 310. Loid William and Edmund. 311. From the " Life of Nelson." Samuel Rogers, 1763-1855. . 393 312. Ginevra. Rev. Charles Wolfe, 1791-1823. 395 olu. The Burial of Sir John jMoore. James Montgomery, 1771-1854. 396 ;;I4. The Love of Country and of Home. '315. Prayer. Horace Smith, 17S0-1S49. . . 397 316. Address to a Mummy. George Canning, 1770-1827. . 399 317. The Friend of Humanity and the Knife- Grinder. John Wilson, 1785-1854. . . 400 318. From "The City of the Phiguc." John Gibson Lockhart, 1794- 1854 402 319. Zara's Ear-Rings. Robert Pollok, 1790-1S27. . . 403 320. The Genius of Byron. Felicia Dorothea Hemans, 1 793-1 835 404 321. The Treasures of the Deep. Thomas Hood, 1 798-1 845. . 405 322. The Biidge of Sighs. 323. The Death-Bed. Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1S61 40S 324. Cowper's Grave. Thomas Babington Macaulay, 1800-1859 408 325. The Battle of Ivry. CHAPTER XXII. Letter Writers and INIodern Essayists, with Prose Writers OF THE Nineteenth Century. Horace Walpole, 1717-1797. . 411 826. Letter to Sir Horace Mann. William Cowper, 1731-1800. 412 827. Letter to the Rev. John Kewton. 2U)i, To Lady Uesketh. de Qi.nncey, 1785- Thomas 1859. :.;29. Interview with a Malay. 3SU. Opium Dreams. 415 14 CONTENTS. Sydney Smith, 1771-1S45. . . 418 331. Wit. 332. From " The Letters of Peter Plymley." Francis Jeffrey, 1773-1850. . 421 SiS. English Literature. Charles JLamb, 1775-1834. . 425 334. From the "Dissertation upon Roast Pig." 335. A Quaker's Meeting. John Foster, 1770-1843. . . 430 336. Blessedness of a Virtuous Character. Henry Hallam, 1777-1859. . 431 .337. Evils produced by the Spirit of Chiv- alry. William Hazlitt, 1778-1830. . 432 T38. Influence of the Translation of the Bible upon Ijlterature. Sir William Hamilton, 178S- 1856 433 339. Matliematical Study an insufficient Discipline. Thomas Chalmers, 1780-1847. 434 340. The Joy of Good, and the Misery of Evil Aftections. Tlie Force of Christian Evidence streno;tliened by the Christianity of the Witnesses. Thomas Babington Macaiilay, 1800-1859 436 341. Fallacious Distrust of Liberty. 342. Evils of the Reign of Terror. Hugh Miller, 1S02-1856. . . 43S 343. The Future History of Man upon tlie Globe. Pleasures of a Life of Labor. Jeremy Bentham, 1748-1832. . 439 344. Jargon of the English Law. 345. Impossibility of a Knowledge of the Common Law by the People. Richard Whateley, 1787-1856. 346. Civilization favorable to Morality. 440 CHAPTER XXIII. Orators. 347. William Pitt, Earl Chatham, 1708-1778. of 442 444 Edmund Burke, 1731-1797. 348. From his " Speech on Conciliation with America," March 22, 1775. 341). Character of Lord Chatham's Second Administration, and of Charles Towiishend, 1774. 350. Invasion of the Carnatic by Hyder Ali. Edward, Lord Thurlow, 1732- 1806 450 351. Speech in Reply to the Duke of Gratton. William Pitt, the Younger, 1759-1806 451 352. From his Speech on the Abolition of the Slave Trade, April 2, 17U2. Charles James Fox, 1749-1806. 454 353. From his Speeoh on the Address on the King's Speech, Nov. 26, 1778. 354. From his Speech on the Overtures of Peace from the First Consul, Feb. 3, 1800. 355. Character of Mr. Fox and Mr. Pitt Henry Grattan, 1750-1820. . 457 356. Attack upon Mr. Flood. 357. Speech against Napoleon, May 25, 1815. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 1751-1816 462 358. From his Speech against Warren Has- tings in the House of Commons, Feb. 7, 1787. 359. From his Speech against Warren Has- tings in Westminster Hall, June 3, 1788. John Philpot Curran, 1750- 1817 464 360. From his Speech on the Trial of Archi- bald Hamilton Rowan. Robert Hall, 1764-1831. . . 361. The War with Napoleon. Sir James Mackintosh, 1765- 1832. 362. From his Speech in Defence of Peltier for a Libel on the First Consul of France —Bonaparte. Thomas, Lord Erskine, 1750- 1823 363. Principles of the Law of Libel. 364. From his Speech on the Trial of Thomas Hardy. George Canning, 1770-1827. . 365. From his Speech on Parliamentary Re- form. 366. Speecli at Plymouth in the Year 1823, upon the Occasion of being presented with the Freedom of that Town. Lord Brougham, 1779-1868. . 367. Peril of denying Just Reforms. 368. Slavery opposed to the Law of Nature. Edward Irving, 1792-1834. 369. The Object of iMiracles. 370. Anticipation of a Future World of Glory. 464 468 469 472 474 476 INDEX OF AUTHORS. Page Addison, Joseph 232 Akenside, Mark 2S7 Alfred, King 18, 19 Ascham, Roger 53 Bacon, Francis 93 Barbour. John ^s, Barrow, Isaac. ..... 208 Baxter, Richard 156 Beaumont and Fletcher. . .125 Bcntham, Jeremy 439 Berkeley, Bishop 242 Berners, Lord 49 Blair, Robert 282 Bolingbroke, Lord. . . . 240 Boyle, Robert 213 Brougham, Lord 474 Browne, Sir Thomas. . . 150 Browne, William 142 Browning, Elizabeth B. . . 408 Buckhurst, Lord 73 Bunyan, John 197 Burke, Edmund. . . 272,444 Burnet, Gilbert 215 Burns, Robert. ..... 315 Burton, Robert 98 Butler, Samuel 182 Butler, Bishop 230 Byron, Lord 339 Caedmon 17 Campbell, Thomas. . . . 363 Canning, George. . . 399, 472 Carew, Thomas 142 Caxton, William 48 Chalmers, Thomas. . . . 434 Chatham, Earl of. . . 270, 442 Chatterton, Thomas. . . . 310 Chaucer, Geoffrey. . . . 29-36 Chillingworth, William. . . 149 Clarendon, Earl of. . . . 201 Coleridge, S. T 377 Collins, William 286 Cowley, Abraham 146 Cowper, William. . . 295, 412 Pa^e Crabbe, George 311 Crashaw, Richard 13S Curran, John Philpot. . . 464 Daniel, Samue4 83 Darwin, Erasmus 307 Davenant, Sir William. . . 144 Davies, Sir John 85 Defoe, Daniel 244 Denham, Sir John 145 Donne, John 86 Doddridge, Philip 254 Drayton!^ Michael 84 Drummond, William. ... 89 Dryden, John 184 Dunbar William 41 Erskine, Lord 469 Evelyn, John 205 Falconer, William 307 Feltham, Owen 158 Fielding, Henry 246 Fletcher, Giles 89 Ford, John 130 Foster, John 430 Fox, Charles James. . . . 454 Fuller, Thomas 151 Gascoigne, George. • • • 73 Gay, John 226 Gibbon, Edward 259 Goldsmith, Oliver 250 Gower, John 26 Grattan, Henry 457 Gray, Thomas 288 Habington, William. . . . 143 Hales, John 148 Hall, Bishop 87 Hall, Joseph i^S Hall, Robert 465 Hallam, Henry 431 Hamilton, Sir William. . . 433 Hazlitt, William 432 Hemans, Felicia Dorothea. . 404 Herbert, George 137 Herbert, Lord loa (1.0 16 INDEX OF AUTHORS. Herrick, Robert 139 Hobbes, Thomas loi Hood. Thomas 405 Hooker, Richard 92 Howe, John 214 Hume, David 255 Irving, Edward 476 James I., King 40 Jeftrej, Francis 421 Johnson, Samuel 264 Jonson, Ben 123 Junius, Letters of. ... . 277 Keats, John 360 Lamb, Charles 425 Latimer, Hugh "51 Lajamon 20 Locke, John 207 Lockhart, J. Gibson. . . . 402 Lovelace, Sir R 141 Ljndsay, Sir David. ... 42 Macaulaj, Thomas B. . 40S, 436 Mackintosh, Sir J 468 Macpherson, James. . . . 308 Mandeville, Sir John de. . . 36 Marlowe, Christopher. . . 104 Marvell, Andrew 180 Massinger, Philip 129 Miller, Hugh 438 Milton, John 161 Montagu, Lady Mary. . . 243 Montgomery, James. . . . 396 More, Sir Thomas. .... 52 Moore, Thomas 351 Newton, Sir Isaac 216 Overbury, Sir Thomas. . . 159 Paley, William 280 Parnell, Thomas 228 Pepys, Samuel 205 Pitt, William, Jun 451 Pollok, Robert 403 Pope, Alexander 218 Prior, Matthew 225 Qiiarles, Francis 136 Qtiincey, Thomas de. . . . 415 Raleigh, Sir Walter. . . 80, 91 Ray, John . . 197 Robertson, William. . . .2^8 Rogers, Samuel 393 Scott, Sir Walter 326 Shaftesbury, Lord 239 Shakspeare, William. . . . 108 Shelley, Percy B. ... 357 Shenstone, William . . . 285 Sheridan, Richard B. . 323, 462 Sherlock, William 212 Shirley, James 133 Sidney, Algernon 195 Skelton, John 44 Smith, Adam 279 Smith, Horace 397 Smith, Sj'dney 418 Smollett, Tobias G. . . . 247 South, Robert 211 Southey, Robert 3S7 Southwell, Robert 88 Spenser, Edmund. .... 75 Steele, Sir Richard. . . . 237 Sterne, Laurence 248 Suckling, Sir John 140 Surrey, Earl of. 46 Swift, Jonathan 222 Sj^dney, Sir Philip. . . 79, 90 Taylor, Jeremy 152 Temple, Sir William. . . . 238 Thomson, James 283 Thurlow, Lord 450 Tillotson, John 210 Tyndale, William 50 Vaux, Lord 47 W^aller. Edmund 143 W^alton, Izaak 203 Walpole, Horace 411 Watts, Isaac 254 Whateley, Richard. . . . 440 Webster. John 131 Wicliffe.'john de 38 Wilson, John 400 Wither, George 136 Wolcott, John 322 Wolfe, Rev. Charles. . . . 39;^ Wordsworth, William. . . 368 Wyatt, Sir T 45 Young, Edward 22g ■> J 1 y ■, J ' > CilOICE SPECDIEXS OF ENGLISH LITERATURE. CHAPTER I. A.NGLO-SAXON, SEMI-SAXON, AND OLD ENGLISH LITERATURE, A. — ANGLO-SAXON. 1. — Caedmon, A. D. 650. T/ie Creation. (Manual, p. 36.) (From Guest's English Rhythms, vol. ii. p. 32.) Ne waes her tha giet, njmthe heol- ; Ne had there here as jet, save the ster-sceado, | vault-shadow, Wiht geworden ; ac thes wida Aught existed ; but this wide grund abjss Stod deop and dim — drihtne Stood deep and dim — strange to fremde,^ its Lord, IdeP and unnyt. On thone easrum wlat Idle ^ and useless. On it with eves srlanc'd Stith-frihth cining, and tha stowe ■ The stalwart king, and the place beheold j beheld Dreama lease. Geseah deorc ges- All jojless. He saw dark cloud weorc i Semian"^ sinnihte, sweart under Lour with lasting night, swart roderum, i under heaven, Wonn ^ and weste ; oth thaet theos j Wan ■* and waste ; till this world's woruld-sresceaft creation Thurh word gewearth wuldor- i Rose through the word of the cjninges. | glory-King. Her ffirest gesceop ece drihten ■ Here first shap'd the eternal Lord (Helm eall-wihtal) heofon and (Head of all things I) heaven and eorthan ; earth ; Rodor arjErde, and this rume land Sky he reard, and this wide land Gestathelode — strangum mihtum, He 'stablish'd — by his strong might, Frea selmihtig! Folde was tha gyt Grais-ungrene ; gar-secg theahte, Lord Almighty ! Earth was not as yet Green with grass ; ocean cover'd, 1 Fremde has a double ending in the nominarive — one vowel, the other consonantal. S Idel, A. S., barren, idle. Deserts iiTle. — Ottiello Idle pebbles. — Lfar. 3 Se7?»an is the active verb ; semian. I believe, is always neuter. In Caedmon 4- 4 Wan, in the sense of dismal, was long known to our poetry : Jtfin Is the drenching in the sea so icon. — Chaucer, Knightes Tale. 2 (17) v> ANGLOS A KON. Chap. L Sweart synnihte, side and wide, Wonne waegas. Tha waes wuldor-torht, Heofon-weardes gast ofer holm boren, Miclum spedum. Metod engla heht, (Lifes brytta) leoht forth cuman Ofer rumne grund. Rathe w£es gefjlled Heah-cininges haes — him waes halig leoht, Ofer westenne, swa se wjrhta be- head. Swart with lasting night, wide and /ar, Wan pathways. Then glory-bright, Was the spirit of Heaven's-Guard o'er the water borne. With mighty speed. Bade the Angel-maker, (The Life-dispenser) light to come forth O'er the wide abyss. G^iick was fulfil I'd The high King's best — round him was holy light. Over the waste, as the Maker bade. 2. King Alfred. O/il/icr's Narrative^ in Translatioii of So'ethius. (Manual, p. 28.) (From Marsh's Orig^in and History of the Eug-lisli Language, pp. 125-128.) Fela spella him scedon tha Beor- mas, cEgther ge of hyra agenum lande ge of thaem lande the ymb hy utan wxron ; ac he nyste hwa?t thajs sothes wier, forthtem he hit sylf ne geseah. Tha Finnas him thuhte, and tha Beormas spra^con neah an getheode. Swithost he for thyder, to-eacan tha^s landes sceawunge, for tha;m hors-hwsel- um, forthcem hi habbath swvthe ajthele ban on hyra tothum, tha teth hy brohton sume thaim cy- nincge : and hyra hyd bith swythe god to scip-rapum. Se hwa^l bith micle lasssa thonne othre hwalas, ne bith he lengra thonne svfan elna lang; ac on his agnum lande 1 is sebetstahv/cel-huntath,thabeoth eahta and feowertiges elna lange, and tha maestan fiftiges elna lange ; thara he siede thtet he syxa sum ofsloge syxtig on twam dagum. He was swythe spedig man on thiein gehtuin the heora speda on beoth, thait is on wild-deorum. He haifde tha-gyt, tha he thone cyningc sohte, tamra deora unbe- bohtra syx bund. Tha deor hi hatath hranas, thara wreron syx sticl-b.ranas, tha beoth swythe dyre mid r'innum. for-thaem hy fod tha wiidan hranas mid. Many things him told the Beor- mas, both of their own land and of the land that around them about were; but he wist-not what (of-) the sooth was, for-that he it self not saw. The Finns him thought, and the Beormas spoke nigh one language. Chiefliest he fared thi- ther, besides the land's seeing, for the horse-whales, for-that thej' have very noble bones in their teeth, these teeth they brought some (to-) the king : and their hide is vei'y good for ship-ropes. This whale is much less that o^.her whales, not is he longer than seven ells long; but in his own lauvl is the best whale-hunting, they are eight and forty ells long, and the largest fifty ells long; (of-) these he said that he (of-) six some slev/ sixty in two days. He was (a) very wealthy man in the ownings that their wealth in is, that is in wild-deer. He had yet, when he the king sought, (of-) tame deer unsold six hundred. These deer they hight reins, (of-) them were; six stale-reins, these are very dear with (the) Finns, for-that thev catch the wild reins with (them). A. D. 1150-1250. ANGLO-SAXON. 19 3. King Alfred. Translation of the Pastorale of St, Gregory. (Manual, p. 28.) (From Wright's Kiographia Britannica Literaria, Anglo-Saxon period, p. 397.) Alfred kyning hateth gretung Wulfsige bisceop his worthum liiflice and freondlice, and the cjthan hate, thset me com swithe oft on ge-mj'nd, hwylce witan geo waeron geond Angel-cyn, segther ge godcundra hada ge woruld- cundra, and hu ge-sseliglica tida tha waeron geond Angle-cyn, and iiu tha cj ningas the thone anweald hrefdon thaes folces, Gode and his seryndwritum hyrsumodon ; and hu hi ccgther ge hcora sjbbe ge heora svdo, and ge heora anweald innan borde gehealdon and eac ut hira ethel rymdon ; and hu him tha speow, legther ge mid wige ge mid wisdome ; and eac tha god- cundan hadas hu georne hi waeron ajgther ge ymbe lara ge jmbe leor- nunga, and jmbe ealle th-a theow- domas thi by Gode sceoldon, and hu man ut on borde wisdome and lare hider on land sohte, and hu we hi nu sceoldon utebegitan, gif we hi habban sceoldon. Swa claene heo wiEs othfeallen on An- gel-cynne that swithe feawa waeron beheonan Huinbre the hira the- nun^e cuthon understandan on Englisc, oththe furthon an a;rend- ge-writof Ledene on Englisc arec- can ; and ic wene th^et naht monige be-geondan Humbre natron. Swa feawa heora waeron, thaet ic fur- thon anne senlepne ne mieg ge- thencan besuthan Thamise tha tha ic to rice feng. Gode aelmigh- tigum sj thane, thaet we nu aenigne an steal habbath lareowa. For tham ic the beode, thiet thu do swa ic ge-ljfe that thu wille, thiet thu the thissa woruld thinga to tham ge-aemtige, swa thu oftost micge, thaet tbu thone wisdome the the God sealde thaer thter thu hine befaestan meege befaest. Ge- thenc hwilce witu us tha becomon for thisse woruld, tha tha we hit' na hwa'tl.f' ue scifc m* Ivifcdon. ne Alfred the king greets affec- tionately and friendly bishop Wulf- sige his worthy, and I bid thee know, that it occurred to me very often in my mind, what kind of wise men there formerly were throughout the English nation, as well of the spiritual degree as of laymen, and how happy times there were then among the Eng- lish people, and how the kings who then had the government of the people obeyed God and his Evangelists, and how they both in their peace and in their war, and in their government, held them at home, and also spread their noble- ness abroad, and how they then flourished as well in war as in wisdom; and also the religious orders how earnest they were both about doctrine and about learning, and about all the services that they owed to God ; and how people abroad came hither to this land in search of wisdom and teach insT, and how we now must obtain them from without if we must have them. So clean it was ruined amongst the English people, that there were very few on this side the Humber who could understand their service in English, or declare forth an epistle out of Latin into English ; and I think that there were not ; many beyond the Humber. So few such there were, that I cannot think of a single one to the south of the Thames when I began to reign. To God Almighty be thanks, that we now have any [ teacher in stall. Therefore I bid thee that thou do as I believe thou wilt, that thou, who pourest out to them these worldly things as often as thou mayest, that thou bestow the wisdom which God gave thee wherever thou mayest bestow it. Think what kind of punishments shall come to us for this world, if 20 SEMI-SAXON. Chap. I. eac othrum mannum ne Ijfdon. Thone naman anne we lufdon thaet we Cristene wseron, and swithe feawa tha theawas. Tha ic this eal ge-munde, tha ge-mund ic eac hu ic ge-seah aer tham the hit eal for-heregod waere and for- bcerned, hu tha circan geond eal Angel-cjn stodon mathma and boca ge-fylled, and eac micel maeniu Godes theawa, and tha swithe lytie feorme thara boca wiston, for tham the hi hira nan thing ongitan ne mihton, for tham the hi naeron on hira agenge theode awritene. Swilce hi cwie- don ure yldran, tha the thas stowa ser heoldon, hi lufedon wisdome, and thurh thone hi begeton welan and us Isefdon. we neither loved it ourselves noi left it to other men. We have loved only the name of being Christians, and very few the duties. When I thought of all this, then I thought also how I saw, before it was all spoiled and burnt, how the churches throughout all the Eng- lish nation were filled with treas- ures and books, and also with a great multitude of God's servants, and yet they knew very little fruit of the books, because they could understand nothing of them, be- cause they were not written in their own language ; as they say our elders, who held these places before them, lo^ed wisdom, and through it obtained weal and left it to us. B. — SEMI-SAXON. 4. Layamon. Brut^ 1 150-1250. The JJ-^-eairi of ArtJiur. (Manual, p. 33.) (From Sir F. Madden's Edition, vol. iii. pp. 118-121.) To niht a mine slepe, Ther ich laei on bure, Mei maette a sweuen ; Ther uore ich ful sari aem. Me imette that mon me hof Uppen are halle. Tha halle ich gon bestriden, Swulc ich wolde riden Alle tha lond tha ich ah Alle ich ther ouer sah. And Walwain sat biuoren me; Mi sweord he bar an honde. Tha com Moddred faren ther Mid unimete uolke. He bar an his honde Ane wiax stronge. He bigon to hewene Hardliche swithe, And tha postes for-heou alle Tha heolden up the halle. Ther ich isey Wenheuer eke, Wimiuonen leofuest me : Al there muche halle rof Mid hire honden heo to-droh. To-night in my sleep (bed), Where I lay in chamber, I dreamt a dream, — Therefore I am " full " sorry. I dreaint that men raised (set) me Upon a hall ; The hall I gan bestride, As if\ would ride; All the lands that I possessed (had;, All I there overlooked (them saw). And Walwain sate viefore me; Mv sword he bare in hand. Then approached Modred there, With innumerable folk; He bare in his hand A "battle "-axe (most) strong; He began to hew Exceeding hardijy; And the posts all hewed in pieces, That held up the hall. There I saw Wenhaver eke (the queen), " Dearest of women to me " ; All the mickle hall roof With her hand she drew down ; A. D. 1150-1250. SEMI-SAXON. 21 Tha halle gon to haelden, And ich haeld to grunden, That mi riht aerm to-brac. Tha seide Modred, Haue that I Adun ueol tha halle And Walwain gon to ualle, And feol a there eorthe ; His aermes brekeen beine. And ich igrap mi sweord leofe Mid mire leoft honde, And smaet of Modred is haft, That hit wond a thene ueld ; And tha quene ich al to-smathde, Mid deore mine sweorde, And seodthen ich heo adun sette In ane swarte putte. And al mi uolc riche Sctte to fleme, That nuste ich under Criste Whar heo bicomen weoren. Buten mi seolf ich gond atstonden Uppen ane wolden And ich ther wondrien agon Wide yeond than moren. Ther ich isah gripes And grisliche fugheles. Tha com an guldene leo Lithen ouer dune. Deoren swithe hende, Tha ure Drihten make. Tha leo me orn foren to, And iueng me bi than midle, And forth hire gun yeongen And to there sae wende. And ich isaeh thae vthen I there sae driuen ; And the leo i than ulode Iwende with me seolue. Tha wit i sae comen, Tha vthen me hire binomen. Com ther an fisc lithe, And fereden me to londe. Tha wes ich al wet. And weri of sorjen, and seoc. Tha gon ich iwakien Swithe ich gon to quakien ; Tha gon ich to binicn Swule ich al fur burne. And swa ich habbe al niht The hall gan to tumble, And I tumbled to the ground. So that mj right arm brake in pieces, — Then said Modred, "Have that!" Down fell the hall ; And Walwain gan to fall (was fallen), And fell on the earth ; His arms both brake. And I grasped my dear (good) sword With my left hand. And smote of Modred his head, So that it rolled on the field. And the queen I " cut all in pieces With my dear sword, And afterwards I " set " her " down In a black pit. And all my good people Set to flight, So that I knew not under Christ Where (that) they were gone. But myself I gan stand Upon a weald, "And I there gan to wander Wide over the moors " ; There I saw gripes. And grisly (wondrous) fowls ! Then approached a golden lion Over tke down ; — "A beast most fair. That our Lord made " ; — The (this) lion ran towards (^quickly to) me. And took "me" by the middle. And forth gan her move (he gan me carry), And to the sea went. "And I saw the waves Drive in the sea"; And the lion in the flood Went with myself. When we came in tke sea, The waves took her from me ; But there approached (came swim- ming) a fish. And brought me to land ; — Then was I all wet, " And " weary " from sorrow," and (very) sick. When I gan to wake. Greatly (then) gan I to quake; "Then gan I to tremble As if I al burnt with fire." And so (thus) I have all night •2> OLD ENGLISH. C^p. 1 Of mine sweuene swithe ithoht; For ich .vhat to iwisse Agan is all mi blisse; For a to mine Hue Sorjen ich not drije. Wale thit ich nabbe here Wenhauer mine quene ! Of mj dream much thought; I For I wot (all) with certainty^ Gone is all my bliss, For ever in my life Sorrow I must endure ! Alas ! that I have (had) not here Wenhaver, my queen I 5, The Onnulum. (Manual, p. 33.) /- . i 1 , (Edited by Dr. White, Oxford, 1852.) Nu, brotherr Wallterr, brotherr min Affterr the flaeshes kinde ; Annd brotherr min i Crisstenn- dom Thurrh fulluhht and thurrh trow- wthe ; Annd brotherr niin i Godess hus, Yet o the thr'de wise, Thurrh thatt witt hafenn takenn ba An reghellboc to folghenn, Unnderr kanunnkess had and lif, Swa summ Sant Awwstin sette; Ich hafe don swa summ thu badd Annd forthedd te thin wille; Ice hafe wennd inntill Ennglissh Goddspelless hallghe lafe, Affterr thatt little witt tatt me Min Drihhtin hafethth lenedd. Now, brother Walter, brother mire After the flesh's kind (or nature) ; And brother mine in Christendom (or Christ's kingdom) Through baptism and through truth ; And brother mine in God's house, Yet on (in) the third wise, [both Though that we two have taken One rule-book to follow, Under canonic's (canon's) rank and life. So as St. Austin set (or ruled) ; I have done so as thou bade And performed thee thine will (wish) ; I have wended (turned) into Eng- lish Gospel's holy lore. After that little wit that me My Lord hath lent. C — OLD ENGLISH, 1250-1350. S» Henry III. Proclamation in K.T>. 1258. (From Marsh's Origin and History of the English Language, pp. 192, 193.) Henr', thurg Godes fultume King on Engleneloande, Ihoaverd on Irloand, duk' on Norm', on Aqui- tain', and eorl on Aniow, send igretinge to all hise halde ilaerde and ilaewede on Huntendon' schir'. Thaet witen ge wel alle, thaet we willen and unnen, thaet thaet ure laedesmen alle other the moare dael of heom, thaet beoth ichosen thai g" us and thurg thaet loandes Henry, by the grace of God king in (of) England, lord in (of) Ire- land, duke in (of) Normandy, in (of) Aquitiiine, and earl in (of) Anjou, sends greeting to all his lieges, clerk and lay, in Hunting donshire. This know ye well all, that we will and grant that what our coun- cillors, all or the major part of them, who are chosen by us and hy ^he land's people in our king- A. D. Ud0-I3o0. OLD ENGLISH. 2% folk on ure kuneriche, habbeth idon and schullen don in the worth- nesse of Gode and on ure treowthe for the freme of the loande thurg the besigte of than toforeniseide redesmen, beo stedefaest and iles- tinde in alle thinge a buten aende, and we hoaten alle ure treowe in the treowthe, that heo us ogen, Lhaet heo stedefaestliche healden and swerien to healden and to werien the isetnesses, thaet beon imakede and beon to makien thurg than toforeniseide raedesrnen other thurg the moare dael of heom alswo alse hit is biforen iseid, and thaet aehc other helpe thaet for to done bi than ilche othe agenes alle men rigt for to done and to ibangen, and noan ne nime of loande ne of egte, where-thurg this besigte miige beon ilet other iwersed on onie wise and g f oni other onie cumen her on^enes, we willen and hoaten, thaet alle ure treowe heom healden deadliche ifoan, and for thaet we wllen, thaet this beo stedefaest and les- tinde, we senden gew this writ open iseined with ure seel to halden amanges gew ine liord. Witnesse usselven aet Lunden' thane egtetenthe dav on the monthe of Octobr' in the two and fowertigthe geare of ure cruninge. And this wes idom aetforen ure 'sworene redesmen : [here follow the signatures of several redesmen or councillors] and aetforen othre moge. And al on tho ilche worden is itend in to aeurihce othre shcire ouer al thaere kuneriche on Ensrle- neloande and ek in tel Irelonde. dom, have done and shall do, to the honor of God and in allegiance to us, for the good of the land, by the ordinance of the aforesaid councillors, be steadfast and per- manent in all things, time without end, and we command all our lieges by the faith that they owe us, that they steadfastly hold, and swear to hold and defend the regu- lations that are made and to be made by the aforesaid councillors, or by the major part of them, as is before said, and that each help others this to do, by the same oath, against all men, right to do and to receive, and that none take of land or goods, whereby this ordinance may be let or impaired in any wise, and if any [sing.] or any [plural] transgress here against, we will and command that all our lieges them hold as deadly foes, and because we will that this be steadfast and permanent, we send you these let- ters patent sealed with our seal, to keep among you in custody. Witness ourself at London the eighteenth day in the month of October in the two and fortieth year of our coronation. And this was done before oui sworn councillors : [Signatures] and before other nobles [.''] And all in the same words is sent into every other shire over all the kingdom in (of) England and also into Ireland. y. King Allsaiindei'. (Manual, p. 34.) (From Guest's History of English Rhythms, vol. ii. p. 142.) Averil is merry, and longith the day ; Ladies loven solas and play; Swaynes justes ; knyghtis turnay; April is merry, and length'neth the day; Ladies love solace and play; Swains the jousts ; knights the tournay ; 24 OLD EN-GLISE. Chap. I. Syiigeth the nyghtjngale ; gredeth theo jaj'; The hote sunne chongeth the clay ; A.S ye well yseen may. Singeth the nightingale; scream- eth the jay; The hot sun changeth the clay; As ye well may see. — A/i'saunder, 14a 8, Havelok. (Manual, p. 34.) %'l(i (From Guest's History of English Rhythms, vol. ii. pp. 142-145.) Till" that he tunge, Speken, and Knictes and siden. Hwan he was hosled and shriven, His quiste maked, and for him given, His knictes dede he alle site, For thorw them he wolde wite, Hwo micte yeme hise children yunge, couthen speken wit [riden, gangen, on horse sweynes bi hete ^ [sone He spoken there offe — and chosen A riche man was, that, under mone, Was the trewest that he wende — Godard, the kinges oune frende; And sej^den, he moucthe hem best loke Yif that he hem undertoke, Till hise sone mouthe here Helm on heued, and leden ut here, (In his hand a spere stark) And king ben maked of Denmark. When he was housled and shriven, His bequests made, and for him given, His knights he made all sit, For from them would he know. Who should keep his children young, Till they knew how to speak with tongue, [horse, To speak, and walk, and ride on Knights and servants by their side. [soon They spoke thereof — and chosen Was a rich man, that, under moon, Was the truest that they knew — Godard, the king's own friend; And said they, he might best them keep If their charge he undertook, Till his son might bear Heim on head, and lead out host, (In his hand a sturdy spear) And king of Denmark should be made. 1 This is clearly a mistake for here. 9» Robert of Gloucester. (Manual, p. 33.) Thuse come lo ! Engelond into Normannes honde, And the Normans ne couthe speke tho.bote her owe speche, And speke French as dude atom, and here chyldren dude al so teche ; So that hej'men of thys lond, that of her blod come, Holdcth alle thulke speche that hii of hem nome. Vor bote a man couthe French me tolth of hym wel lute ; Thus came lo ! England into Nor- mans'-hand. And the Normans not could speak then but their own speech, And spake French as (they) did at home, and their children did all so teach : So that high men of this land, that of their blood come, Hold all the same speech that they of them took; For but a man know French men tell (reckon) of him well little: A. D. 1250-135a OLD ENGLISH. 25 Ac lowe men holdeth to Englyss and to her kunde speche yute. Ich wane ther ne be man in world contreves none That ne holdeth to her kunde speche, hot Engelond one. Ac wel me wot vor to conne both wel yt ys ; Vor the more that a man con, the more worth he ys. But low men nold to English and to their natural speech yet. I wen there not be man in world countries none That not holdeth to their natural speech but England (al-) one- But well I wot for to know both well it is : For the more that a man knows, the more worth he is. 10. Robert Mannyng or Robert of Brunnb. (Manual, p. 33.) Lordynges, that be now here, If ye wille listene & lere AH the story of Inglande, Als Robert Mannyng wryten it fand, & on Inglysch has it schewed, Not for the lerid bot for the lewed, For tho that in this land wonn, That the Latyn no Frankys conn. For to haf solace & gamen In felawschip when thai sitt samen. Lords, that be now here, If ye will listen and learn All the story of England, As Robert Mannyng found it writ- ten. And in English has shewed it, Not for the learned but for the un- learned, For those that in this land dwell. That know not Latin nor French, In order to have solace and enjoy- ment In fellowship when the/ sit to- gether. 26 PIERS PLOUGHMAN, Chap. IL CHAPTER II. THE AGE OF CHAUCER Urn The Vision of Piers Ploughman^ i35o» (Manual, p. 54.) Satire of Lawyers. Yet hoved ^ ther an hundred In howves ^ of selk, Sergeantz it bi-semed That serveden at the barre, Pleteden for penjes And poundes the lawe ; And noght for love of our Lord Unlose hire lippes ones. Thow mjghtest bettre meete mjst On Malverne hilles, Than gete a mom of hire mouth, Til moneie be shewed. 1 Aoved, waited. 2 hovovet, hooks or caps. X^* John Gower, d. 140S. Confessio Amantis, (Manual, p. 56, seq.) Tale of the Coffers or Caskets. From the Fifth Book. In a Cronique thus I rede : Aboute a king, as must nede, Ther was of knjghtes and squiers Gret route, and eke of officers : Some of long time him hadden served, And thoughten that they haue deserved Avanc^ment, and gon withoute : And some also ben of the route, That comen but a while agon, And they avanced were anon. These olde men upon this thing. So as they durst, ageyne the king A. D. 13S0. GOWER. 27 Among hemself ^ compleignen ofte: But there is nothing said so sofie, That it ne comith out at laste : The king it wiste, and als so faste, As he ivhich was of high prudence : He shope therfore an evidence Of hem ^ that pleignen in the cas, To knowe in whose defalte it was; And all within his owne entent, That non ma wiste what it ment. Anon he let two cofres make Of one semblance, and of one make, So lich,^ that no lif thilke throwe, That one may fro that other knowe : They were into his chamber brought, But no man wot why they be wrought. And natheles the king hath bede That they be set in privy stede, As he that was of wisdom slih; Whan he therto his time sih,* All prively, that none it wiste His ownfe hondes that one chiste Of fin gold, and of fin perie,* The which out of his tresorie Was take, anon he fild full ; That other cofre of straw and mull • With stones meynd' he fild also: "^ Thus be they full bothe two. So that erliche ** upon a day He had within, where he lay, Ther should be tofore his bed A bord up set and fair^ spred : And than he let the cofres fette ' Upon the bord, and did hem sette. He knewe the names well of tho,"' The whiche agein him grutched so, Both of his chambre and of his halle, Anon and sent for hem alle ; And seide to hem in this wise. There shall no man his hap despise : I wot well ye have longe served. And God wot what ye have deserved; But if it is along on me Of that ye unavanced be. Or elles if it belong on yow, I ThemBclreg. 2 Them. 3 Like. 4 Saw. 5 Jewels, or precioni tUmm, • RubbUh. 7 Mingled. 8 Early. Fetched. V) ThoM. 28 GO WEB, ^ Chap. IL The soth^ shall be proved now : To stopp^ with your evil word, Lo I here two cofres on the bord ; Chese which you list of bothfe two; And witeth well that one of tho Is with tresor so full begon, That if ye happ6 therupon Ye shall be rich^ men for ever : Now chese/^ and take which you is lever, But be well ware ere that ye take, For of that one I undertake Ther is no maner good therein, Wherof ye mighten profit winne. Now goth *^ together of one assent, And taketh your avisement; For, but I you this day avance, It stant upon your own^ chance, Al only in defalte of grace; So shall be shewed in this place Upon you all well afyn,^'^ That no defalte shal be myn. They knelen all, and with one vois The king they thonken of this chois : And after that they up arise. And gon aside, and hem avise, And at laste they accorde (Wherof her ^'^ talh to recorde To what issue they be falle) A knyght shall speke for hem alle : He kneleth doun unto the king. And seith that they upon this thing, Or for to winne, or for to lese,'^ Ben all avised for to chese. Tho '® toke this knyght a yerd " on honde, And goth there as the cofres stonde, And with assent of everychone ^^ He leith his yerde upon one, And seith ^^ the king how thilke same They chese in reguerdon ^° by name, And preith him that they might it have. The king, which wolde his honor save, Whan he had heard the common vois, Hath granted hem her owne chois, And toke hem therupon the keie ; But for he wold6 it were seie ^' 11 Choocc. 18 Go. 13 At last. 14 Their. 15 Lose. 19 Then. IT A roX IS Every one. 19 Sayetli to the king. 20 Au their reward. 31 Sceo. \ A.. D. 1328-1400. CHAUCEB. 29 What good thej have as they suppose, He bad anon the cofre unclose, Which was fulfild with straw and stones : Thus be they served all at ones. This king than, in the sam^ stede, Anon that other cofre undede, Where as they sihen gret richesse, Wei more than they couthen gesse. Lo ! seith the king, now may ye se That ther is no defalte in me; Forthy^^ my self I wol aquite, And bereth ye your own^ wite ^ Of that ■^'* fortune hath you refused. Thus was this wise king excused : And they lefte off her evil speche, And mercy of her king beseche. 23 Therefore. 23 Blame. 84 f. e. that which. 13. Chaucer, 1328-1400. (Manual, p. 35, seq.) From the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. Whann^ that April with his shoures sote ' The droughte of March hath perced to the rote,* And bathed every veine in swiche '^ licour, Of whiche vertiie engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eke with his sot^ brethe Enspired hath in every holt and hethe The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours yronne,* And smale foules maken melodie, That slepen alle night with open eye, So priketh hem ^ nature in hir ^ corages ; ^ Than longen folk to gon on pilgrimages. And palmeres for to seken Strang^ strondes. To serve ^ halweys^ couthe '" in sondry londes; And specially, from every shires ende Of Englelond, to Canterbury they wende,^* The holy blisful martyr for to seke, That hem hath holpen, whan that they were seke.'* Befelle, that, in that seson on a day, In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay, Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Canterbury with devoute corage, I 8%eet. 2 Root 3 Such. 4 Run. 5 Them. 6 Their. T IncliuftUoB. 8 To keep. 9 Holidays. lo Known. U Go. 12 Sick. 80 CHAUCER. Chap. II At night was come into that hostelrie Wei nine and twenty in a compagnie Of sondrj folk, by aventure yfalle *^ In felawship, and pilgrimes were they alle, That toward Canterbury wolden '"* ride. The chambres and the stables weren wide, And wel we weren esed atte beste. And shortly, whan the sonne was gon to reste, _ So hadde I spoken with hem everich on ^* That I was of hir felawship anon, And mad6 forword erly for to rise. To take oure way ther as I you devise. But natheles, while I have time and space. Or that I forther in this talfe pace, Me thinketh it accordant to reson, To tellen you alle the condition Of eche of hem, so as it semed me, And whiche they weren, and of what degre; And eke in what araie that they were inne : And at a knight than wol I firste beginne. 13 Fallen. H Would. 15 Eve/y one. The Knight. A Knight ther was, and that a worthy man, That fro the tim^ that he firste began To riden out, he loved Chevalrie, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie. Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre,^ And therto hadde he ridden, no man ferre,* As wel in Cristendom as in Hethenesse, And ever honoured for his worthinesse. At Alisandre he was whan it was wonne. Ful often time he hadde the bord^ begonne* \ Aboven all^ nations in Pruce. In Lettowe hadde he reysed ^ and in Ruce, No cristen man so ofte of his degre. In Gernade at the siege eke hadde he be Of Algesir, and ridden in Belmarie. At Leyes was he, and at Satalie, Whan they were wonne ; and in the Grete see At many a noble armee hadde he be. At mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene. And foughten for our faith at Tramiss^ne In listes thries, and ay slain his fo. This ilke worthy knight hadde ben also I War. 2 Farther. 8 4 Been placed at the head of the table. 6 Travelled A. D. 1328-1400. CHAUCER, 31 Sometimfe with the Lord of Palatie, Agen another hethen in Turkie : And evermore he hadde a sovereine pris.' And though that he was worthy he was wise, And of his port as meke as is a mayde. He never yet no vilanie ne sayde In alle his lif, unto no manere wight. He was a veray parfit gentil knight. But for to tellen you of his araie, His hors was good, but he ne was not gaie. Of fustian he wered a gipon,' All^ besmotred ^ with his habergeon,* For he was late ycome fro his viage. And went^ for to don his pilgrimage. • Praise. J Wore a short cassock. 8 Smutted- • Coat of mail The Prioress. Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hire smiling was full simple and coy; Hire gretest otlie n'as but by Seint Eloy; And she was cleped * Madame Eglentine. Ful wel she sange the service devine, Entuned in hire nose ful swetely; And Frenche she spake ful fayre and fetisly,* After the scole of Stratford att^ Bowe, For Frenche of Paris was to hire unknowe. At met^ was she wel ytaughte withalle; She lette no morsel from her lippes fall, Ne wette hire fingres in hire sauce depe. Wel coude she carie a morsel, and wel kepe Thatte no drope ne fell upon hire brest. In curtesie was sette ful moche hire lest.' Hire over lippe wiped she so clene. That in hire cuppe was no ferthing sene * Of grese, whan she dronken hadde hire draught. Ful semely after her mete she raught-* And sikerly she was of grete disport, And ful plesant, and amiable of port, And peined® hire to contrefeten' chere Of court, and ben estatelich of manure, And to ben holden digne^ of reverence. But for to speken of hire consci-ence. She was so charitable and so pitoiis. She wolde wepe if that she saw a mous 1 called 2 Neatly. 3 Her pleasure. 4 Smallest spot. 5 Rose. * Took {iaiij& 7 To imitate. ^ 8 Worthy. 32 CIIAUCEB. Chap. \L Caughte in a trappe, if it were ded or bledde. Of smal^ houndes hadde she, that she fedde With rested flesh, and milk, and wastel brede. But sore wept she if on of hem were ded&., Or if men smote it with a jerde^ smert,^* And all was conscience and tendre herte. Full semelj hire wimple jpinched was; Hire nose tretis ; '^ hire ejen grey as glas ; Hire mouth ful smale, and therto soft and red; But sikerly she hadde a fajre forehfed. It was almost a spanne brode I trowe ; For hardily she was not undergrowe. " Ful fetise '^ was hire cloke, as I was ware. Of smale corall aboute hire arm she bare A pair of bedes, gauded all with grene ; And theron heng a broche of gold ful shene. On whiche was first ywriten a crouned A, And after, Amor**vincit omnia. 9 Stick W Smartly, adv. H Straight. ^2 Of low statvae. » SfeA The Friar. A Frere ther was, a wanton and a mery, . A Limitour, a ful solempn^ man. In all the ordres foure is none that can * So muche of daliance and fayre langage. He hadde ymade ful many a manage . Of yongfe wimmin, at his owen cost. Until his ordre he was a noble post. Ful wel beloved, and familier was he With frankeleins over all in his contrfee, And eke with worthy wimmen of the toun : For he had power of confession, As saide himselfe, nsore than a curat, For of his ordre he was licenciat. Ful swetely herde he confession, And plesant was his absolution. He was an esy man to give penance, Ther as he wiste to han ^ a good pitance : For unto a poure ^ ordre for to give Is sign^ that a man is well yshrive.* For if he gave, he dorste^ make avant, He wistfe that a man was repentant. For many a man so hard is of his herte, He may not wepe although him sor^ smerte. Therfore in stede of weping and praieres. Men mote give silver to the poure freres. I Knew. 'i Have. 8 Fow. * Shriven. & Durst make a boc«t h. D. 1 28-1400. CHAUCER. 33 His tippet was ay farsed^ ful of knives, And pinnes, for to given fayre wives. And certainly he hadde a mery note. Wei coude he singe and plaien on a rote.' Of yeddinges ^ he bare utterly the pris. ♦ His nekke was white as the flour de lis. Therto he strong was as a champioun, And knew wel the tavernes in every toun, And every hosteler and gay tapstere, Better than a lazar or a beggere. For unto swiche a worthy man as he Accordeth nought, as by his faculty, To haven ^ with sike lazars acquaintance. It is not honest, it may not avance, As for to delen with no swiche pouraille,'® But all with riche, and sellers of vitaille. And over all, ther as profit shuld arise, Curteis he was, and lowly of servise. Ther n' as no man no wher so vertuous. He was the beste begger in all his hous : And gave a certain ferme '' for the grant, Non of his bretheren came in his haunt. For though a widewe hadde but a shoo, (So plesant was his in principio^ Yet wold he have a ferthing or he went. His pourchas '* was wel better than his rent, And rage he coude as it hadde ben a whelp, In lovedayes,'^ ther coude he mochel help. For ther was he nat like a cloisterere, With thredbare cope, as is a poure scolere. But he was like a maister or a pope. Of double worsted was his semicope,^* That round was as a belle out of the presse. Somwhat he lisped for his wantonnesse, To make his English swete upon his tonge; And in his harping, whan that he hadde songe, His eyen twinkeled in his bed aright, As don the sterres in a frosty night. This worthy limitour was cleped Hub^rd. * stuffed. 7 A stringed instrument. 8 Story telling. 9 Have. W Poor people. 11 F«n& U Foichase. 13 Days appointed for the amicable settlement of differences. U Half cloak. The Doctor of Physic. With us ther was a Doctour of Phisike, In all this world ne was ther non him like To speke of phisike, and of surgerie ; 3 34 CHAUCER. Chap. II. For he was grounded in astronomic. He kept his patient a ful gret del In houres by his magike natural. Wei coude he fortunen * the ascendent* Of his images for his patient. He knew tlie cause of every maladie, Were it of cold, or hote, or moist, or drie, And wher engendred, and of what humour, He was a veray parfite practisour. The cause yknowe, and of his harm the rote,' Anon he gave to the sikfe man his bote.* Ful redy hadde he his apothecaries To send him dragges,^ and his lettuaries,* For eche of hem made other for to winne; Hir frendship n'as not nevve to beginne. Wei knew he the old Esculapius, And Dioscorides, and eke Rufiis; Old Hippocras, Hali, and Gallien, Serapion, Rasis, and Avicen ; Averrois, Damascene, and Constantin; Bernard, and Gatisden, and Gilbertin. Of his diete mesurable was he, For it was of no superfluitee, But of gret nourishing, and digestible. ^ His studie was but litel on the Bible. In sanguin '^ and in perse** he clad was alle Lined with taffata, and with sendalle.^ And yet he was but esy of dispence : ^^ He kepte that he wan " in the pestilence. For golde in phisike is a cordial ; Therfore he loved gold in special. 1 Make fortune. 2 The ascendant. 3 Root. 4 Remedy. 6 Drugs. 6 Electuaries. f Blood-red color. 8 Sky-colored, or bluish grey. 9 Thin silk. 10 Expense. XI Gained, goi * The Miller. The Miller was a stout carl for the nones, Ful bigge he was of braun, and eke of bones; That proved wel, for over all ther he came, At wrastling he wold here away the ram.' He was short shuldered brode, a thikk^ gnarre,' Ther n'as no dore, that he n'olde heve of baiTC, Or breke it at a renning with his hede. His herd as any sowe or fox was rede, And therto brode, as though it were a spade. Upon the cop "* right of his nose he hade I The prize. 2 A hard knot in a tree. 3 A running. * Top. A. D. 1396. BARBOUR. 35 A wert, and theron stode a tufte of heres, Rede as the bristles of a sowes eres. His nose-thirles ^ blacke were and wide. A swerd and bokeler bare he by his side. His mouth as wide was as a forneis. He was a jangler,® and a goliardeis,' And that was most of sinne, and harlotries. Wei coude he stelen corne, and tollen thries. And yet he had a thomb* of gold parde.' A white cote and a blew hode wered he. A baggepipe wel coude he blowe and soune, And therwithall he brought us out of toune. ,^ 6 Nostrils. 6 Prater. 7 Buffoon. 8 9 He was as honest as other millere, though he )uA^ according to tliC proverb, like every miller, a thumb of gold. 14:» John Barbour, d. A. D. 1396. (See Manual, p. 51.) Apostrophe to Freedom. [Old Orthography.] A! fredome is a nobill thing! Fredome mayse man to haiif lik- ing! Fredome all solace to man giffis : He levys at ese that frely levys ! A noble hart may haiff nane ese, Na ellys nocht that may him plese, Gyff fredome failythe : for fre lik- ing Is yearnyt our all othir thing. Na he, that ay base levyt fre, May nocht knaw weill the prop- yrte, The angyr, na the wretchyt dome, That is cowplyt to foule thyrldome. Bot gy^ he had assayit it. Then all perquer he suld it wyt ; And suld think fredome mar to pryse Than all the gold in warld that is. [Modern Orthography.] Ah ! Freedom is a noble thing ! Freedom makes men to have lik- ing 1 1 Freedom all solace to man gives : He lives at ease that freely lives! A noble heart may have none ease, Na else nought that may him please, If freedom faileth for free liking Is yearned* oure^ all other thing. Na he, that aye has lived free, May not know well the property,* The anger, na the wretched doom. That it coupled to foul thyrldom. * But if he had assayed it. Then all perquer^ he should it wit; ^ And should think freedom more to prize Than all the gold in world that is. 1 Pleasure. 8 Desired. 3 Over, above. 9 Exactly. 4 Peculiar state or condition. 1 Know. 6 Thraldoru 36 CHAUCER. Chap. IL IS, Chaucer {Prose). Tale of Meliboeus (from the Parson's Tale). Counsel of Prudence. Whan dame Prudence, ful debonairly and with gret pacience, had herd all that hire husbonde liked for to say, than axed she of him licence for to speke, and sayde in this wise. My lord, (quod she) as to your first reson, it may lightly ben ansAverd : for I say that it is no folie to chaunge conseil whan the thing is chaunged, or elles whan the thing semeth otherwise than it semed afore. And moreover I say, though that ye have sworne and behight ' to performe your emprise, and nevertheles ye weive to performe thilke same emprise by just cause, men shuld not say therfore ye were a Iyer, ne forsworn : for the book sayth, that the wise man maketh no lesing,^ when he turneth his corage^ for the better. And al be it that your emprise be established and ordeined by gret multitude of folk, yet thar"* you not accomplish thilke ordinance but ^ you liketh : for the trouthe of thinges, and the profit, ben rather founden in fewe folk that ben wise and ful of reson, than by gret multitude of folk, ther^ every man cryeth and clattereth what hiin liketh: sothly' swiche^ multitude is not honest. As to the second reson, wheras ye say, that alle women ben wicke : save your grace, certes ye despise alle women in this wise, and he that all de- spiseth, as saith the book, all displeseth. And Senek saith, that who so wol have sapience, shal no man dispreise, but he shal gladly teche the science that he can, without presumption or pride : and swiche thinges as he nought can, he shal not ben ashamed to lere^ hem, and to enquere of lesse folke than himself. 1 Promised. 2 Lie. 3 Ileart. 4 It behooveth. 5 Unless. 6 Where. 7 Truly. 8 Such. 9 Learn them. ±Gm Sir John de Mandeville, 1300-1371. (Manual, p. 54.) And therfore I schalle telle zou, what the Soudan tolde me upon a day, in his Chambre. He leet voyden out of his Chambre alle maner pf men, Lordes and othero : for he wolde speke with me in Conseille. And there he askede me, how the Cristene men governed hem in oure Contree. And I seyde him, Righte wel : thonked be God. And he seyde me, Treulyche, nay: for zee Cristene men ne recthen righte noghte how untrewly to serve God. Ze scholde zeven ensample to the lewed peple, for to do wel; and zee zeven hem ensample to don evylle. For the Comownes, upon festyfulle dayes, whan thei scholden gon to Chirche to serve God, than gon thei to Tavernes, ^. D. 1300-1371. MANDEVILLE. 37 ftnd ben there in glotony, alle the day and alle nyg =;, and eten and drynken, as Bestes that have no resoun, and wite nc. whan thei have y now. And also the Cristene men enforcen hem, in .ille maneres that thei mowen, for to fighte, and for to desceyven that on that other. And there with alle thei ben so proude, that thei knowen not how to ben clothed ; now long, now schort, now streyt, now large, now swerded, now daggered, and in all manere gyses. Thei scholden ben symple, meke and trewe, and fulle of Almes dede, as Jhesu was, in whom thei trowe : but thei ben alle the contrarie, and evere enclyned to the Evylle, and to don evylle. And thei ben so coveytous, that for a lytylle Sylver, thei sellen here Doughtres, here Sustres and here owne Wyfes, to putten hem to Leccherie. And on with drawethe the Wif of another: and non of hem holdethe Feythe to another: but thei defoulen here Lawe, that Jhesu Crist betook hym to kepe, for here Sal- vacioun. And thus for here Sjmnes, han thei lost alle this Lond„that wee holden. For, for hire Synnes here God hathe taken hem in to oure Hondes, noghte only be Strengthe of our self, but for here Synnes. For wee knowen wel in verry sothe, that whan zee serve God, God wil helpe zou : and whan he is with zou, no man may be azenst you. And that knowe we wel, be oure Prophecyes, that Cris- tene men schulle wynnen azen this Lond out of oure Hondes, whan thei serven God more devoutly. But als longe als thei ben of foule and of unclene Lyvnge, (as thei ben now) wee have no drede of hem, in no kynde : for here God wil not helpen hem in no wise. And than T asked him, how he knew the State of Cristene men. And he answerde me, that he knew alle the state of the Comounes also, be his Messan- geres, that he sente to alle Londes, in manere as thei weren Mar- chauntes of precyous Stones, of Clothes of Gold and of othere thinges ; for to knowen the manere of every Contree amonges Cristene men. And than he leet clepe in alle the Lordes, that he made voyden first out of his Chambre ; and there he schewed me 4, that weren grete Lordes in the Contree, that tolden me of my Contree, and of many othere Cristene Contrees, als wel as thei had ben of the same Contree ; and thei spak Frensche righte wel ; and the Sowdan also, where of I had gret Marvaylle. Alias ! that it is gret sclaundre to oure Feythe and to oure Lawe, whan folk that ben with outen Lawe, schulle re- preven us and undernemen us of oure Synnes. And thei that scholden ben converted to Crist and to the Lawe of Jhesu, be oure gode En- samples and be oure acceptable Lif to God, and so converted to the Lawe of Jhesu Crist, ben thorghe oure Wykkednesse and evylle lyv- yngp, fer fro us and Straungeres fro the holy and verry Beleeve, schulle thus appelen us and holden us for wykkede Lyveres and cursed. And treulj'' thei sey sothe. For the Sarazines ben gode and feythfulle. For thei kepen entierly the Comaundement of the Holy Book Alkaron, that God sente hem be his Messager Machomet; to the whiche, as thei seyne, seynt Gabrielle the Aungel often tyme tolde the wille of God. 38 WICLIFFE. Chap. 1L 17 • WiCLiFFE, A. D. 1324-1384. (Manual, p. 58.) Matthew's Gospel, Chap. VIII. Forsothe when Jhesus hadde comen doun fro the hil, many cum- panyes folewiden hjm. And loo ! a leprouse man cummjnge wor« shipide hjm, sayinge; Lord, gif thou wolt, thou maist make me clene. And Jhesus holdynge forthe the hond, touchide hym sayinge, I wole ; be thou maad clene. And anoon the lepre of hym was clensid. And Jhesus saith to hym ; See, say thou to no man ; but go, shewe thee to prestis, and ofFre that gifte that Moyses comaundide, into witnessing to hem. Sothely when he hadde entride in to Capharnaum, centurio neigide to hym preyinge hym, And said, Lord, my child lyeth in the hous sike on the palsie, and is yuel tourmentid. And Jhesus saith to hym, I shal cume, and shal hele hym. And centurio answerynge saith to hym. Lord, I am not worthi, that thou entre vndir my roof; but oonly say bi word, and my child shall be helid. For whi and I am a man ordeynd vnder power, hauynge vndir me knigtis ; and I say to this. Go, and he goth ; and to an other, Come thou, and he cometh; and to my seruaunt, D® thou this thing, and he doth. Sothely Jhesus, heerj^nge these thingis, wondride, and saide to men suynge hym : Trewly I saye to you I fond nat so grete feith in Yrael. Sothely Y say to you, that manye shulen come fro the est and west, and shulen rest with Abraham and Ysaac and Jacob in the kyngdam of heuenes; forsothe the sonys of the rewme shulen be cast out into vttremest derknessis ; there shal be weepj'nge, and beetynge togidre of teeth. And Jhesus saide ^^ centurio, Go ; and as thou hast bileeued be it don to thee. And the child was helid fro that houre. And when Jhesus hadde comen in to thv hous of Symond Petre, he say his wyues moder Hggynge, and shakun with feueris. And he touchide hir hond, and the feuer lefte hir : and she roose, and seruyde hem. Sothely whan the euenyng was maad, thei brougte to hym many hauynge deuelys : and he castide out spiritis hy word, and helide alle hauynge yuel; that it shulde be fulfiUid, that thing that was said by Ysaie, the prophete, sayinge, He toke oure infirmytees, and here oure sykenessis. Sothely Jhesus seeynge many cumpanyes about hym, bad his disci'piis go ouer the water. And 00 scribe, or a man of lawe, commynge to, saide to hym, Maistre, I shal sue thee whidir euer thou shalt go. And Jhesus said to hym, Foxis ban dichis, or borowis, and briddis of the eir //rt« nestis; but mannes sone hath nat wher he reste his heued. Sotheli an other of his disciplis saide to hym, Lord, suffre me go first and birye my fadir. Forsothe Jhesus saide to hym, Sue thcu me, and late dede men birye her dead men. And Jhesu steyinge vp in to a litel ship, his disciplis sueden him. And loo ! a grete steryng was made in the see, so that the litil ship was hilid with wawis; but he siepte. And his disciplis camen nig to hym, and raysiden hym, say- A. D. 1324-1384. WICLIFFE. 39 inge, Lord, saue vs : we perishen. And Jhesus seith to hem, What ben jee of litil feith iigast? Thanne he rjsjnge comaundide to the wjndis and the see, and a grete pesiblenesse is maad. Forsothe men wondreden, sayinge : What manere man is he this, for the wyndis and the see obeishen to hym. And whan Jhesus hadde comen ouer the water in to the cuntre of men of Genazereth twey men hauynge deuelis runnen to hym, goynge out fro birielis, ful feerse, or ivickid, so that no man migte passe by that wey. And loo! thei crieden, sayinge, What to vs and to thee, Jhesu tiie sone of God? hast thou comen hidir before the tyme for to tourmente vs ? Sothely a floe, or droue, of many hoggis lesewynge was nat fer from hem. But the deuelis preyeden him, sey- inge, gif thou castist out vs hennes, sende vs in to the droue of hoggis. And he saith to hem, Go yee. And thei goynge out wente in to the hoggis; and loo! in a greet hire al the droue wente heedlynge in to the see, and thei ben dead in watris. Forsothe the hirdes fledden awey, and cummynge in to the citee, tolden alle these thingis ; and of hem that hadden the fendis. And loo ! al the citee wente ageinis Jhesu, metynge hym ; and hym seen, thei preiden kym^ that he shulde pass fro her coostis. 40 JAMES L Chap. III. CHAPTER III. FROM THE DEATH OF CHAUCER TO THE AGE OF ELIZABETH A. D. 1400-1558. A. — SCOTTISH POETS. 18, James I. 1 394-1 437. (Manual, p. 60.) From the King's Quair (Quire or Book). On his Beloved. The longfe daj^s and the nightes eke, I would bewail my fortune in this wise, For which, again ' distress comfort to seek My custom was, on mornes, for to rise Early as day : O happy exercise ! By thee come I to joy out of torment; But now to purpose of my first intent. Bewailing in my chamber, thus alone, Despaired of all joy and remedy, For-tired of my thought, and woe begone; And to the window gan I walk in hye,^ To see the world and folk that went forby; As for the time (though I of mirthis food Might have no more) to look it did me good. Now was there made fast by the touris wall A garden fair; and in the corners set An herbere^ green; with wandis long and small Railed about and so with treeis set Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, That life was none (a) walking there forby That might within scarce any wight espy. Of her array the form gif* I shall write. Toward her golden hair, and rich attire, 1 Against. 2 Haste. 8 Herbary, or garden of simplea. A. D. 1465-1520. DUNBAB. 41 In fret wise couched with pearlis white, And greats balas* lemyng® as the fire; With many an emerant and faire sapphire, And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue, Of pUimys parted red and white and blue. About her neck, white as the fyr amaille,' A goodly chain of small orfevyrie,^ Whereby there hang a ruby without fail Like to a heart yshapen verily, That as a spark of lowe ^ so wantonly Seemed burnyng upon her whit6 throat; Now gif there was good parly God it wote. And for to walk that freshfe maye's morrow, An hogk she had upon her tissue white, That goodlier had not been seen toforrow,*" As I suppose, and girt she was a lyte " Thus halfling^^ loose for haste; to such delight It was to see her youth in goodlihead. That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread. In her was youth, beauty with humble port, Bounty, richess, and womanly feature: (God better wote than my pen can report) Wisdom largess, estate and cunning sure. In a word in deed, in shape and countenance, That nature might no more her childe avance. 6 Rubies. 6 Burning. 7 Mr. Ellia conjectares that this is an error, for/air tmail. i. e. engmeL 8 Goldsmith's work. a Fire. 10 Heretofore. 11 A little. 12 Half. 10» William Dunbar, about 1465-1520. (Manual, p. 60.) From the Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins. Ire, Pride, and Envy. And first of all in dance was Pryd, With hair wyl'd bak, bonet on side,* Like to mak vaistie wainis ; ^ And round about him, as a quheill,' Hang all in rumpilis to the heill,* His kethat for the nanis.^ Mony proud trompour with him trippit,® Throw skaldan fyre ay as they skippit,^ They girnd with hyddous granis.** 1 With hair combed back (and) bonnet to one side. 2 Likely to make wasteful trants. 8 Like a wheel. 4 Hung all in rumples to the lieel. 5 His cassock for the nonce. 6 Many a prood imposto} with hino tripped. T Through scalding fire as they skipped. 8 They grinned with hideous gro*na. 42 LYNDSA7. Chai'. llL Then Ire cam in with sturt and strife," His hand was ay upon his knjfe, He brandeist lyk a heir; Bostaris, braggaris, and burganeris/** After him passit into pairis," All bodin in fair of weir. ^^ In jakkis stryppis and bonnettis of steil,^^ Thair leggis were chenyiet to the heill,^* Frawart was thair affair,^' Sum upon uder with brands beft,^" Some jaggit uthers to the heft ^' With knyves that scherp coud scheir.^' Next in the dance followit Invy/® Fild full of feid and fellony,^" Hid malice and dispyte, For privy haterit that tratour trymlet; '* Him followit mony freik dissymlit,^^ With fenyiet wordis quhyte.^^ And flattereris into menis faces, ^^ And backbyteris of sundry races ^* To ley that had delyte,2« With rownaris of false lesingis ; ^' Allace, that courtis of noble kingis ^' Of thame can nevir be quyte. 29 9 Then Ire came with trouble and sti-ife. 10 Boasters, braggarts, and bullies, H After him passed in pairs. 12 All arrayed in feature of war. 13 In coats of armor and bonnets of steel. 14 Their legs were chained to the heel. (Probably it means covered with iron net-work.) 15 Froward was their aspect. 16 Some strcck upon others with brands. 17 Some stuck others to the hilt. 18 With knives tha. sharply could mangle. 19 Followed Envy. ») Filled full of quarrel and felony. 21 For privy hatred that traitor trembled. 22 Him followed many a dissembling renegado. 23 With feigned words fair or white. 24 And flatterers to men's faces. 25 And backbiters of sundry races. 26 To lie that had delight. 27 With spreaders of false lies. 28 Alas that courts of noble kings. 29 Qf them can never be rid. 20, Sir David Lyndsay. 1490-1557. (Manual, p. 69.) Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion Talbart. Then clariouns and trumpets blew, And weiriours * many hither drew; On eviry side come ^ mony man To behald wha the battel wan. The field was in the meadow green, Quhare everie man micht weil be seen : The heraldis put tham sa in order, That na man past within the border, 1 Warriors. S Came. A. D. 1490-1557. LYNDSAT. 43 Nor preissit^ to com within the green, Bot heraldis and the campiouns keen; The order and the circumstance Wer lang to put in remembrance. Quhen thir twa nobill men of weir Wer Weill accounterit in their geir, And in thair handis strong burdounis,* Than trumpettis blew and clariounis, And heraldis cryit hie on hicht, Now let thame go — God shaw^ the richt. Than trumpettis blew triumphantly, And thay twa campiouns eagerlie, They spurrit their hors with spier on breist, Pertly to prief® their pith they preist.' That round rink-room " was at utterance, Bot Talbart's hors with ane mischance He outterit,^ and to run was laith ; '* Quharof Tulbart was wonder wraith.^* The Squj^er furth his rink '^ he ran, Commendit weill with every man. And him discharget of his speir Honestlie, like ane man of weir. The trenchour '^ of the Squyreis speir Stak still into Sir Talbart's geir; Than everie man into that steid ^* Did all beleve that he was dede. The Squyer lap richt haistilHe From his coursour '^ deliverlie, And to Sir Talbart made support, And humillie ^^ did him comfort. When Talbart saw into his schield Ane otter in ane silver field, This race, said he, I sair may rew, For I see weill my dreame was true ; Methocht yon otter gart ^^ me bleid, And buir ^^ me backwart from my sted; But heir I vow to God soverane. That I sail never just ^^ agane. And sweitlie to the Squiyre said, Thou knawis^*^ the cunning^' that we made, Quhilk^^ of us twa suld tyne*^^ the field, He suld baith hors and armour yield Till him ^^ that wan, quhairfore I will My hors and harness geve the till. 8 Pressed. * Spears. 6 Shew. 6 Prove. 1 Tried. 8 Course-rooiii. 9 Swerved from Ihe course. 10 Loath. 11 Wroth. 12 Course. 13 Head of the spear. 14 In that situatioii, ir> Courser. 16 Humbly. 17 Made. 19 Bore. 19 Joust. 20 Thcu knowest 21 Agreement ol understanding. 22 Which. 2^ Lose. 24 To him. 44 SEE L TON, Chap. III. Then said the Squyer, courteouslie, Brother, I thank you hartfuUie ; Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave, For I have gotten that I would have. B. — ENGLISH POETS. 21* John Skelton, d. 1529. (Manual, p. 65.) Attack upon Wolsey. But this mad Amalek Like to a Mamelek,' He regardeth lords No more than potshords ; He is in such elation Of his exaltation, And the supportation Of our sovereign lord. That, God to record,^ He ruleth all at v\rill, Without reason or skill ; ' Howbeit the primordial Of his wretched original. And his base progeny,^ And his greasy genealogy. He came of the sank royal * That was cast out of a butcher's stall. He would dry up the streams Of nine kings' reams, ^ All rivers and wells, All water that swells; For with us he so mells' That within England dwells, I wold he were somewhere else; For else by and by He will drink us so dry, And suck us so nigh. That men shall scantly Have penny or halfpenny. God save his noble grave, And grant him a place Endless to dwell With the devil of hell I 1 Mamaluke. 2 Witness. 3 Regard to propriety. 4 Frogenitortlilp t 6 Sanguo royal, blood royal. 6 Realms. T Meddlec A. D. 1503-1541. WYATT. 45 For, an he were there, We need never fear Of the feindes blake; For I undertake He wold so brag and crake, That he wold than make The devils to quake, c ^ To shudder and to shake, Like a fire-drake,^ And with a coal rake ' Bruise them on a brake,* And bind them to a stake, And set hell on fire At his own desire. He is such a grim sire. And such a potestolate,''* And such a potestate, That he wold brake the brains Of Lucifer in his chains. And rule them each one In Lucifer's trone.^* • Fiery dragon. > Engine of torture. W " Equivalent, I suppose, to legatee."— Dytt. U Throne. 22. Sir Thomas Wyatt. i 503-1 541. (JVxanua , p. 66.) To HIS Beloved. Forget not yet the tried intent Of such a truth as I have meant; My great travail so gladly spent, Forget not yet ! Forget not j'et when first began The weary life, ye know since whan, The suit, the service, none tell can ; Forget not yet ! Forget not yet the great assays, The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, The painful patience in delays, Forget not yet ! Forget not ! — Oh ! forget not this, How long ago hath been, and is The mind that never meant amiss. Forget not yet ! 46 SURREY, Chap. IlL Forget not then thine own approved, The which so long hath thee so lov'd, "Whose steadfast faith jet never mov'd, Forget not this ! 23. Earl of Surrey. 15 17-1547. (Manual, p. 66.) A Prisoner in Windsor Castle, he Reflects on Past Happiness. So cruel prison how could betide, alas ! As proud Windsor? Where I in lust and joy, With a king's son, my childish years did pass, In greater feast than Priam's sons of Troy ; ' Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour. The large green courts, where we were wont to hove, With eyes upcast unto the maiden's tower, And easy sighs, such as folk draw in love. The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue, The dances short, long tales of great delight; With words and looks that tigers could but rue, When each of us did plead the other's right. The palm play,^ where desported^ for the game, With dazed eyes oft we, by gleams of love. Have miss'd the ball, and got sight of our dame. To bait her ej^es, which kept the leads above. The gravell'd ground, with sleeves tied on the helm, On foaming horse with swords and friendly hearts; With cheer as though one should another whelm, Where we have fought, and chased oft with darts. With silver drops the meads yet spread for ruth ; In active games of nimbleness and strength. Where we did strain, trained Avith swarms of youth, Our tender limbs that yet shot up in length. The secret groves, which oft we made resound Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies praise; Recording soft what grace each one had found, What hope of speed, what dread of long delays. The wild forest, the clothed holts with green ; With reins avail'd,^ and swift ybreathed horse. With cry of hounds, and merry blasts between. Where we did chase the fearful hart of force. The void walls eke that harbour'd us each night: Wherewith, alas I revive within my breast The sweet accord, such sleeps as yet delight; The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest; 1 Teaiu»-court > Stripped. > SliOtdUMd. A. D. 1517-1547. VAUX. 47 The secret thoughts, imparted with s'ach trust; The wanton talk, the divers change of play ; The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just, Wherewith we past the winter nights away. And with this thought the blood forsakes the face; The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue : The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas I Upsupped have, thus I my plaint renew : place of bliss ! renewer of my woes ! Give me account, where is my noble fere?* Whom in thy walls thou didst each night enclose ; To other lief: ^ but unto me most dear. Echo, alas I that doth my sorrow rue, Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint. Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew, In prison pine, with bondage and restraint: And with remembrance of the greater grief, To banish the less, I find my chief relief. 4 Companiou. 6 Beloved. 24, Description of Spring. The soote ' season, that bud and bloom forth brings. With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale, The nightingale with feathers new she sings; The turtle to her make ^ hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs. The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; The fishes fleet with new repaired scale ; The adder all her slough away she flings ; The swift swallow pursueth the flies small ; The busy bee her honey now she mings ; ^ Winter is worn that was the flower's bale.* And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs. 1 Sweet 2 Mate. 3 Mingles. 4 Destructicm. 2S, Thomas, Lord Vaux. (Manual, p. 70.) Upon his White Hairs. These hairs of age are messengers Which bid me fast repent and pray; They be of death the harbingers, That doth prepare and dress the way : Wherefore I joy that you may see Uj>on my head such hairs to be. 48 CAXTON. CttiP. UL They be the lines that lead the length How far my race was for to run ; They say my youth is fled with strength, And how old age is well begun ; The which I feel, and you may see Such lines upon my head to be. They be the strings of sober sound, Whose music is harmonical ; Their tunes declare a time from ground I came, and how thereto I shall : Wherefore I love that you may see Upon my head such hairs to be. God grant to those that white hairs have, No worse them take than I have meant; That after they be laid in grave, Their souls may joy their lives well spent,' God grant, likewise, that you may see Upon my head such hairs to be. C — ENGLISH PROSE. 20, Caxton, d. 1491. (Manual, p. 59.) Introduction to the Morte d'Arthur. After that I had accomplysshed and fynysshed dyuers hystoryes as wel of contemplacyon as of other hystoryal and worldly actes of grete conquerours & prynces. And also certeyn bookes of ensaumples and doctryne. Many noble and dyuers gentylmen of thys royame of Eng- lond camen and demaunded me many and oftymies, wherfore that I haue not do made & enprynte the noble hystorye of the saynt greal, and of the moost renomed crysten Kyng. Fyrst and chyef of the thre best crysten and worthy, kyng Arthur, whyche ought moost to be re- membred emonge vs englysshe men tofore al other crysten kynges. For it is notoyrly knowen thorugh the vnyuersal world, that there been ix worthy & the best that euer were. That is to wete thre paynyms, thre Jewes and thre crysten men. As for the paynyms they were tofore the Incarnacyon of Cryst, whiche were named, the fyrst Hector of Troye, of whome thystorye is comen bothe in balade and in prose. The second Alysaunder the grete, & the thyrd Julyus Cezar E'nperour of Rome of whome thystoryes ben wel kno and had. And as for the thre Jewes whyche also were tofore thyncarnacyon of our lord of whome the fyrst was Due Josue whyche brought the chyldren of Israhel in to the londe of byheste. The second Dauyd kyng of Jherusalem, & the thyrd Judas Machabeus of these thre the byble reherceth al theyr noble hystoryes & actes. And sythe the sayd Incarnacyon haue ben A. D. 1491. BERNERS. 49 thre noble crysten men stalled and admjtted thorugh the vnyuersal world in to the nombre of the ix beste & worthy, of whome was fyrst the noble Arthur whose noble actes I purpose to wrj^te in thys present book here folowyng. The second was Charlemayn or Charles the grete, of whome thystorye is had in many places bothe in frensshe and englysshe, and the thyrd and last was Godefray of boloyn, of whose actes & life I made a book vnto thexcellent prynce and kyng of noble memorye kyng Edward the fourth, the sayd noble Jentylmen instantly requyred me temprynte thystorye of the sayd noble kyng and conquerour king Arthur, and of his knyghtes wyth thystorye of the saynt greal, and of the deth and endyng of the sayd Arthur. Afferm- yng that I ouzt rather tenprynet his actes and noble feates, than of godefroye of boloyne, or any of the other eyght, consyderyng that he was a man born wythin this royame and kyng and Emperour of the same. • 27* Lord Berners's Froissart. (Manual, p. 62.) Anon after the dethe of the pope Gregory, the cardynalles drew them into the conclaue, in the palays of saynt Peter. Anone after, as they were entred to chose a pope, acordyng to their vsage, such one as shuld be good and profytable for holy churche, the romayns assem- bled the togj'der in a great nombre, and came into the bowrage of saynt Peter : they were to the nombre of xxx. thousand what one and other, in the entent to do yuell, if the mater went nat accordynge to their appetytes. And they came oftentymes before the conclaue, and sayd, Harke, ye sir cardj'nalles, delj^uer you atones, and make a pope; ye tary to longe; if ye make a romayne, we woll nat chaung him; but yf ye make any other, the romayne people and counsayles woll nat take hym for pope, and ye putte yourselfe all in aduenture to be slayne. The cardynals, who were as than in the danger of the romayns, and herde well those wordes, they were nat at their ease, nor assured of their lyues, and so apeased them of their yre as well as they myght with fayre wordes; but somoche rose the felony of the romayns, y* suche as were next to y*^ conclaue, to thentent to make the cardy- nalles afrayde, and to cause them to codiscende the rather to their opinyons, brake vp the dore of the conclaue, whereas the cardynalles were. Than the cardynalles went surely to haue been slayne, and so fledde away to saue their lyues, some one waye and some another; but the romayns were nat so content, but toke them and put them togyder agayn, whether they wolde or nat. The cardynalles than seynge theselfe in the daunger of the romayns, and in great parell of their lyues, agreed among themselfe, more for to please the people than for any deuocj^on ; howbeit, by good electyon they chase an holy man, a cardynall of the romayne nacion, whome pope Vrbayne the fyfte had made cardynall, and he was called before, the cardynall of «aynt Peter. This electyon pleased greatly y^ romayns, and so this 4 50 TYNDALE, Chap. III. good man had all the ryghtes that belonged to the papalite ; howebeit he lyued nat but thre dayes after, and I shall shewe you why. The romayns, who desj^red a pope of their owne nacion, were so ioyfuU of this newe pope, y' they toke hym, who was a hundred yere of age, and sette hym on a whyte mule, and so ledde him vp and doune through y^ cytie of Rome, exaltyng him, and shewyng howe they had va« quesshed the cardynals, seyng they had a pope romayn accordyng to their owne ententes, in so moche that the good holy man was so sore traueyled that he tell syck, and so dyed the thyrde daye, and was buryed in the churche of saynt Peter, and there he lyethe. — Reprint of 1S12, vol. i. pp. 510,511. 28, Tyndale, d. 1536. (Manual, p. 62.) Matthew's Gospel, Chap. viii. When Jesus was come downe from the mountayne, moch people folowed him. And lo, there cam a lepre, and worsheped him saynge, Master, if thou wylt, thou canst make me clene. He putt forthe his hond and touched him saynge: I will, be clene, and immediatly his leprosy was clensed. And Jesus said vnto him. Se thou tell no man, but go and shewe thysilf to the preste and offer the gyfte, that Moses commaunded to be offred, in witnes to them. When Jesus was entred in to Capernaum, there cam vnto him a certayne Centurion, besechyng him And saynge : Master, my servaunt lyeth sicke att home off the palsye, and is grevously payned. And Jesus sayd vnto him. I will come and cure him. The Centurion answered and saide : Syr I am not worthy that thou shuldest com vnder the rofe of my housse, but speake the worde only and my servaunt shalbe healed. For y also my selfe am a man vndre power, and have sowdeeres vndre me, and y saye to one, go, and he goeth : and to anothre, come, and he cometh : and to my servaunt, do this, and he doeth it. When Jesus herde these saynges : he marveyled, and said to them that folowed liim: Verely y say vnto you, I have not founde so great fayth : no, not in Israeli. I say therfore vnto you, that many shall come from the eest and weest, and shall rest with Abraham, Ysaac and Jacob, in the kyngdom of heven : And the children of the kingdom shalbe cast out in to the vtmoost dercknes, there shalbe wepinge and gnasshing of tethe. Then Jesus said vnto the Centurion, go thy waye, and as thou hast believed so be it vnto the. And his servaunt was healed that same houre. And Jesus went into Peters housse, and saw his wyves mother lyinge sicke of a fevre. And he thouched her hande, and the fevre leeft her ; and she arose, and ministred vnto them. When the even was come they brought vnto him many that were possessed with devylles, And he cast out the spirites with a word, and healed all that were sicke. To fulfill that whiche was spoken by Esay the prophet sainge : He toke on him oure infix-mytes, and bare ourc sicknesses. When Jesua A. D. 1555. LATIMER. 51 saw moche people about him, he commaunded to go over the water- And there cam a scribe and said vnto him : master, I woll folowe the whjthersumever thou goest. And Jesus said vnto him : the foxes have holes, and the byrddes of the aier have nestes, but the sonne of man hath not whereon to leye his heede : Anothre that was one of hys disciples seyd vnto him : master suffre me fyrst to go and burye my father. But Jesus said vnto him : folowe me, and let the deed burie their deed. And he entred in to a shyppe, and his disciples folowed him, And lo there arose a greate storme in the see, in so moche, that the shippe was hyd with waves, and he was aslepe. And his disciples cam vnto him, and awoke him, sayinge : master, save us, we perishe. And he said vnto them : why are ye fearfull, o ye endewed with lytell faithe.^ Then he arose, and rebuked the wyndes and the see, and there folowed a greate calme. And men marveyled and said : what man is this, that bothe wyndes and see obey him? And when he was come to the other syde, in to the countre off the gergesens, there met him two possessed of devylls, which cam out off the graves, and were out off measure fearce, so that no man myght go by that waye. And lo they cryed out saynge : O Jesu the sonne off God, what have we to do with the ? art thou come hyther to torment vs before the tyme [be come] ? There was a good waye off from them a greate heerd of swyne fedinge. Then the devyls besought him saynge: if thou cast vs out, suffre vs to go oure waye into the heerd of swyne. And he said vnto them : go youre wayes : Then went they out, and departed into the heerd of swyne. And lo, all the heerd of swyne was caryed with violence hedlinge into the see, and perisshed in the water. Then the heerdmen fleed, and went there ways into the cite, and tolde every thinge, and what had fortuned vnto them that were possessed of the devyls. And lo, all the cite cam out, and met Jesus. And when they sawe him they besought him, to depart out off there costes. 29. Hugh Latimer, d. 1555. (Manual, p. 62.) (From his Sermons.) I can not go to my boke for pore folkes come vnto me, desirynge me that I wyll speake y* theyr matters maye be heard. I trouble my Lord of Canterburye, & beynge at hys house nowe and then I walka in the garden lokyng in my boke, as I canne do but little good at it. But some thynge I muste nedes do to satisfye thys place. I am no soner in the garden and haue red a whyle, but by and by commeth there some or other knocking at the gate. Anone cometh my man and sayth : Syr, there is one at the gate woulde speake wyth you. When I come there, then is it some 01 other that desireth me that I wyll speake that hys matter might be heard, & that he hath layne thys longe at great costes and charges* 52 MORE. Chap. III. and can not once haue hys matter come to the hearing, but amog all other, one especially moued me at thys time to speake. Thys it is syr : A gentylwoman came to me and tolde me, that a greate man kepeth certaine landes of hyrs from hyr and wilbo hyr tenaunte in the spite of hyr tethe. And that in a whole twelue moneth she coulde not gette but one daye for the hearynge of hyr matter, and the same daye when the matter shoulde be hearde, the greate manna broughte on hys syde a greate syghte of Lawyers for hys counsayle, the gentilwoman had but one ma of lawe : and the great man shakes him so, so that he cat [not] tell what to do, so that when the matter came to the poynte, the Judge was a meane to the gentylwoman that she wold let the great ma haue a quietnes in hyr Lande. I beseche your grace that ye wyll loke to these matters. 50. Sir Thomas More, 1480-1535. (Manual, p. 61.) Description of Richard III. Richarde, the thirde sonne of Richarde, Duke of York, was in witte and courage egall with his two brothers, in bodye and prowesse farre vnder them bothe, little of stature, ill fetured of limmes, croke backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hard fauoured of visage, and such as is in states called warlye, in other menne otherwise, he was malicious, wrathfull, enuious, and from afore his birth, euer frowarde. . . . None euill captaine was hee in the warre, as to whiche his disposicion was more metely then for peace. Sundrye victories hadde hee, and sommetime ouerthrowes, but neuer in defaulte as for his owne parsone, either of hardinesse or polytike order, free was hee called of dyspence, and sommewhat aboue hys power liberal!, with large giftes hee get him vnstedfaste frendeshippe, for whiche hee was fain to pil and spoyle in other places, and get him stedfast hatred. Hee was close and secrete, a deepe dissimuler, lowlye of countey- naunce, arrogant of heart, outwardly coumpinable where he inwardely hated, not letting to kisse whome hee though te to kyll : dispitious and cruell, not for euill will alway, but after for ambicion, and either for the suretie or encrease of his estate. Frende and foo was muche what indifferent, where his aduantage grew, he spared no mans deathe, whose life withstoode his purpose. He slewe with his owne handes king Henry the sixt, being prisoner in the Tower, as menne constantlj' saye, and that without commaundement or knoweledge of the king, whiche woulde vndoubtedly yf he had entended that thinge, haue ap- pointed that boocherly office, to some other then his owne borne brother. A. D. 1515-1568. ASCEAM. 53 31, Roger AscHAM, 1515-1568. (Manual, p. 64.) (From the School Master.) And one example, whether love or feare doth worke more in a childe, for vertue and learning, I will gladlie report: which male be hard with some pleasure, and folowed with more profit. Before I went into Germanie, I came to Brodegate in Lecetershire, to take my leave of that noble Ladie Jane Grey, to whom I was exceding moch beholdinge. Hir parentes, the Duke and the Duches, with all the houshould, Gentlemen and Gentlewomen, were huntinge in the Parke : I founde her, in her Chamber, readinge Phoedon Platonis in Greeke, and that with as moch delite, as som jentleman wold read a merie tale in Bocase. After salutation, and dewtie done, with som other taulke, I asked hir, whie she wold leese soch pastime in the Parke? smiling she answered me: I wisse, all their sporte in the Parke is but a shadoe to that pleasure, that I find in Plato : Alas good folke, they never felt, what trewe pleasure ment. And howe came you Madame, quoth I, to this deepe knowledge of pleasure, and what did chieflie allure you unto it: seinge, not many women, but verie fewe men have atteined thereunto? I will tell you, quoth she, and tell you a troth, which perchance ye will mervell at. One of the greatest ben- efites, that ever God gave me, is, that he sent me so sharpe and severe Parentes, and so jentle a scholeinaster. For when I ain in presence either of father or mother, whether I speake, kepe silence, sit, stand, or go, eate, drinke, be merie, or sad, be sowyng, plaiyng, dauncing, or doing anie thing els, I must do it, as it were, in soch weight, mesure, and number, even so perfitelie, as God made the world, or else I am so sharplie taunted, so cruellie threatened, yea presentlie some tymes, with pinches, nippes, and bobbes, and other waies, which I will not name, for the honor I beare them, so without measure mis- ordered, that I thinke my selfe in hell, till tyme cum, that I must go to M. Elmer, who teacheth me so jentlie, so pleasantlie, with soch faire allurementes to learning, that I thinke all the tyme nothing, whiles I am with him. And when I am called from him, I fall on weeping, because, what soever I do els, but learning, is ful of grief, trouble, feare, and whole misliking unto me : And thus my booke, aath bene so moch my pleasure, and bringeth dayly to me more pleas- ure and more, that in respect of it, all other pleasures, in very deede, be but trifles and troubles unto me. I remember this talke gladly, both bicause it is so worthy of memorie, and bicause also, it was the last talke that ever I had, and the last tyme, that ever I saw that noble and worthie Ladie. 54 ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. Chap. IIL D. — BALLADS. 32* The Ancient Ballad of Chevy Chase, (Manual, pp. 67-69.) Sir Philip Sydney, in his Discburse of Poetry, speaks of this Ballad in the following words: — "I never heard the old song of Piercy ar:.l Douglas, that I found not my heart more moved than with a tnmpet; and yet it is sung by some blind crowder with no rougher voice than rude stile ; which being so evil apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it work trimmed in the gor- geous eloquence of Pindar.'"' The First Fit.* The Pers^ owt^ of Northombarlande, And a vowe to God mayd he, That he wolde hunte in the mountayns Off Chyviat within dayes thre, In the mauger^ of dougte Dogles, And all that ever with him be. The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat He sayd he wold kill, and cary them away : Be my feth, sayd the dougheti Doglas agayn, I wyll lef that hontyng yf that I may. Then the Persfe owt of Banborowe cam, With him a myghtye meany ; ^ With fifteen hondrith archares bold ; The wear chosen out of shyars thre. This begane on a Monday at morn In Cheviat the hillys so he; The chyld may rue that ys un-born, It was the mor pitte. The dryvars thorowe the woodes went For to reas the dear; Bomen bickarte uppone the bent* With ther browd aras cleare. Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went On every syde shear : 1 Fit is a part or division of a song. 2 Out. 3 In spite of. 4 Hinder. 6 Company 6 Field Chap. III. ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 55 Grea-hondes thorowe the greves glent For to kyll thear dear. The begane in Chjviat the hjls ab ive Yerly on a monnyn day ; Be that it drewe to the owai'e ' off none A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay. The blewe a mort uppone the bent, The semblyd on sydis shear ; To the quyrry * then the Perse went To se the bryttlynge off the deare. He sayd, It was the Duglas promys This day to meet me hear; But I wyste he wold faylle verament: A gret oth the Perse swear. At the laste a squyar of Northombelonde Lokyde at his hand full ny, He was war^ ath the doughetie Doglas corayngasj With him a mighte meany^ Both with spear, by 11,*" and brande : " Yt was a royghti sight to se, Hardyar men both off hart nar hande Were not in Christiante. The wear twenty hondritli spear-men good Withouten any fayle ; The wear borne a-long be the watter a Twyde, Yth '^ bowndes of Tividale. LcKve off the br}i;lyng of the dear, he sayde, And to your bowys look ye tayk good heed ; For never sithe ye wear on your mothars borne Had ye never so mickle need. The dougheti Dogglas on a stede He rode att his men beforne ; His armor glytteryde as dyd a glede ; ** A bolder barne was never born. Tell me 'what' men ye ar, he says. Or whos men that ye be : Who gave youe leave to hunte in this Chy viat chays in the spyt of me ? I Hour. « Quarry. 9 Awar-e. XO Battle-axe. U Sword. 12 In the. 13 A red-not coai 56 ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. Chap. III. The first mane that ever him an answear majd, Yt was the good lord Perse : We wjll not tell the ' what ' men we ar, he says. Nor whos men that we be ; But we wjll hount hear in this chajs In the spjte of thjne, and of the. The fattiste hartes in all Chyviat We have kyld, and cast ^* to carry them a-way. Be my troth, sayd the doughte Dogglas agayn, Ther-for the ton ^^ of us shall de this day. Then sayd the doughte Doglas Unto the lord Pers^ : To kyll all thes giltless men, A-las ! it wear great pitte. But, Pers^, thowe art a lord of lande, I am a yerle *^ callyd within my contre; Let all our men uppone a parti stande ; And do the battell off the and of me. Now Cristes cors on his crowne, sayd the lord Pers^fe, Who-soever ther-to says nay. Be my troth, doughte Doglas, he says, Thow shalt never se that day ; Nethar in Ynglonde, Skottlonde, nar France, Nor for no man of a woman bom, But and fortune be my chance, I dar met him on man for on. Then bespayke a squyar off Northombarlonde, Ric. Wytharynton was him nam ; It shall never be told in Sothe-Ynglonde, To kyng Herry the fourth for sham. I wat " youe byn '^ great lordes twaw, I am a poor squyar of lande ; I will never se my captayne fyght on a fylde. And stande my-selffe, and looke on, But whyll I may my weppone welde, I wyll not ' fayl ' both harte and hande. That day, that day, that dredfull day ; The first fit here I fynde. And youe wyll here any mor athe hountyng athe Chyviat, Yet ys ther mor behynde. M Mejui. 15 One. 16 Earl. 17 Know. 18 Are. Chap. m. ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 57 The Second Fit. The Yngglishe men hade ther bowys yebent, The hartes were good yenoughe ; The first of arros that the shote off, Seven skore spear-men the sloughe.'* Yet bjdys the yerle Doglas uppon the bent A captayne good yenoughe, And that was sene verament, For he wrought hom both woo and wouche.* The Dogglas pertyd his ost in thre, - Like a cheffe cheften ^^ off pryde, With suar ^^ speares of myghtte tre The cum in on every syde. Thrughe our Yngglishe archery Gave many a wounde full wyde ; Many a doughete the garde to dy, Which ganyde ^^ them no pryde. The Yngglishe men let thear bowys be, And pulde ^* owt brandes that wer bright; It was a hevy syght to se Bryght swordes on basnites ^^ lyght. Thorowe ryche male, and myne-ye-ple Many sterne the stroke downe streight : Many a freyke '^ that was full free, That undar foot dyd lyght. At last the Duglas and the Pers6 met, Lyk to captayns of myght and mayne ; The swapte togethar tyll the both swat With swordes, that wear of fyn myllan. Thes worths freckys for to fyght Ther-to the wear full fayne, Tyll the bloode owte off their basnites sprente," As ever dyd heal ^ or rayne. Holde the, Persfe, sayd the Doglas, And i' feth I shall the brynge Wher thowe shalte have a yerls wagis Of Jamy our Scottish kynge. » Slew. 20 Mischief. 21 Chieftain. 22 Heavy. 83 Gained. 24 Pitied S5 Helmete. 20 Fellow. 27 Sprung. S HaiL 58 ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. Chap. III. Thoue shalte have thy ransom fre, I hight^^ the hear this thinge, For the manfulljste man yet art thowe, That ever I conqueryd in filde fightyng. Nay ' then ' sayd the lord Persfe, I tolde it the beforne, That I wolde never yeldyde be To no man of a woman born. With that ther cam an arrowe hastely Forthe off a mightie wane,^** Hit hathe strekene the yerle Duglas In at the brest bane. Thoroue lyvar and longs bathe" The sharp arrowe ys gane, That never after in all his lyffe days, He spayke mo wordes but ane, That was, Fyghte ye, my merry men whylljs^^ye may, For my lyfF days ben ^^ gan. The Pers6 leanyde^* on his brande, And sawe the Duglas de ; •''^ He tooke the dede man be the hande, And sayd, Wo ys me for the ! To have sayvde thy lyffe I wold have pertyd^* with My landes for years thre, For a better man of hart, nare of hande Was not in all the north country. Of all that se " a Skottishe knyght, Was callyd Sir Hewe the Mongonbyrry, He sawe the Duglas to the deth was dyght; ^* He spendyd ^^ a spear a trusti tre : He rod uppon a corsiare Throughe a hondrith archery; He never styntyde^*' nar never blane,^* Tyll he cam to the good lord Persfe. He set uppone the lord Pers6 A dynte that was full soare ; With a suar spear of a myght^ tre Clean thorow the body he the Pers^ bore, » Entreat. 30 Ane, one, ac. man. 31 Both. 32 Whilst. 33 Are. 34 Leaned. 86 DU £0 Parted. 37 Saw. 33 Put. 39 Grasped. 40 Stopped. 41 Staid. CUAP. m. ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE, 59 Athe ^^ tothar syde, that a man myght se, A large cloth yard and mare : Towe Dettar captajns wear nat in Christiant^ Then that day slain were ther. An archar off Northomberlonde Say slean was the lord Persfe, He bar a bende-bow in his hande. Was made off trusti tre : An arow, that a cloth yarde was lang. To th' hard stele haylde *^ he ; A dynt, that was both sad and sore. He sat on Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrrj, The dynt yt was both sad and sar, That he of Mongon-byrry sete ; The swane-fethars, that his arrowe bar,*" With his hart blood the wear wete. Ther was never a freake wone foot wolde fle. But still in stour"*^ dyd stand, Heawying on yche othar, whyll the myght dre. With many a bal-ful brande. This battell begane in Chyviat An owar"*® befor the none. And when even song bell was rang The battell was nat half done. The tooke ' on ' on ethar hand Be the lyght off the mone ; Many hade no strength for to stande. In Chyviat the hyllys aboun. 47 Of fifteen hondrith archers of Ynglonde Went away but fifti and thre; Of twenty hondrith spear-men of Skotlondc, But even five and fifti : But all wear slayne Cheviat within : The hade no strengthe to stand on hie; The chylde may rue that ys un-borne, It was the mor pitt^. Thear was slayne with the lord Pers^ Sir John of Agerstone, Sir Roge the hinde Hartly, Sir Wylham the bolde Hearone. II At the. *3 Hauled. « Bore. 45 Fight. « Hour. « Abovo 60 ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. Chap. IIL Sir Jorg the worthe Lovele A knight of great renowen, Sir Raff the rjch Rugb^ With dyntes wear beaten dowene. For Wetharrjngton my harte was wo, That ever he slayne shulde be; For when both his leggis wear hewyne in to, Yet he knyled and fought on hys kne. Ther was slayne with the dougheti Douglas Sir Hewe the Mongon-byrry, Sir Davye Lwdale, that worthe was, His sistars son was he: Sir Charles a Murr^, in that place, That never a foot wolde fie; Sir Hewe Maxwell, a lorde he was, With the Duglas dyd he dey. So on the morrowe the mayde them byears Oft' byrch, and hasell so ' gray ; ' Many wedous with wepyng tears Cam to fach ''^ ther makys a-way. Tivydale may carpe*^ off care, Northombarlond may mayk grat mone, For towe such captayns, as slayne wear thear, On the march perti shall never be none. Wordeys commen to Edden burrowe. To Jamy the Skottishe kyng, That dougheti Duglas, lyft-tenant of the Marches, He lay slean Chyviot with-in. His handdes did he weal ^° and wryng. He sayd, Alas, and woe ys me ! Such another captayn Skotland within, He sayd, y-feth shud never be. Worde ys commyn to lovly Londone Till the fourth Harry our kyng. That lord Perse, leyff-tennante of the Merchis, He lay slayne Chyviat within. God have merci on his soil, sayd kyng Harry, Good lord, yf thy will it be I «e Fetch 49 Lament. SO WaU. Chap. III. ANCIENT BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. 61 I have a hondrith captajns in Ynglonde, As good as ever was hee : But Perse, and I brook °' my lyffe, Thy deth well quy te °^ shall be. As our noble kyng made his a-vowe, Lyke a noble prince of renowen, , For the deth of the lord Perse, He dyd the battel of Hombyll-down : Wher syx and thritte '°^ Skottish knyghtes On a day wear beaten down : Glendale glytteryde on ther armor bryght, Over castill, towar, and town. This was the hontynge off the Cheviat; That tear begane this spurn : Old men that knowen the gr&»vnde well yenoughe. Call it the Battell of Otteroarn. At Otterburn began this spurne Uppon a monnyn day : Ther was the dougghte Doglas slean, The Perse never went away Ther was never a tym on the march partes Sen ^'* the Doglas and the Perse met, But yt was marvele, and the redde blude ronne not, As the reane doys in the stret. Jhesue Christ our balys bete, And to the blys us brynge ! Thus was the hountynge of the Chevyat: God send us all good ending 1 61 Enjoy. 6-.'Paid. f^ Thirty. M Since. 33* The more modern Ballad of Chevy Chase. Thi? form of the Ballad was probably written not much later than the time of Queen Elizabeth. It is the one criticised by AddisOD io the * Spectator,' Nos. 70 and 74. God prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safetyes all ; A woefull hunting once there did In Chevy-Chace befall ; 62 MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE, Chap. IIL To drive the deere with hound and home, Erie Percy took his waj ; The child may rue that is unborne, The hunting of that day. The stout Erie of Northumberland A vovr to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summers days to take ; The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace To kill and beare awav. These tydings to Erie Douglas came, In Scottland where he lay : Who sent Erie Percy present word, He wold prevent his sport. The English Erie, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort With fifteen hundred bow-men bold; All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of neede To ayme their shafts arright. The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran. To chase the fallow deere : On munday they began to hunt Ere day-light did appeare ; And long before high noone they had An hundred fat buckes slaine ; Then having dined, the drovyers went To rouze the deare againe. The bow-men mustered on the hills, Well able to endure ; Theire backsides all, with speciall care, That day were guarded sure. The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, The nimble deere to take, That with their cryes the hills and dales An eccho shrill did make. Lord Percy to the quarry went, To view the slaughter'd deere: Quoth he, " Erie Douglas promised This day to meet me heere : Chap. III. MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CEASE, 63 But if I thought he wold not come, Noe longer wold I stay." With that, a brave jounge gentleman Thus to the Erie did say : "Loe, yonder doth Erie Douglas come, His men in armour bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish speres All marching in our sight; All men of pleasant Tivydale, Fast by the river Tweede : " ♦* O, cease your sports," Erie Percy said, "And take your bowes with speede : And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance ; For there was never champion yett, ' In Scotland or in France, That ever did on horsebacke come. But if my hap it were, I durst encounter inan for man. With him to break a spere." Erie Douglas on his milke-white steede, Most like a baron bold. Rode formost of his company. Whose armour shone like gold. " Show me," sayd hee, "whose men you bee, That hunt soe boldly heere. That, without my consent, doe chase And kill my fallow-deere." The first man that did answer make, Was noble Percy hee ; Who sayd, "Wee list not to declare, Nor shew whose men wee bee : Yet wee will spend our deerest blood. Thy cheefest harts to slay." Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe, And thus in rage did say, *' Ere thus I will out-braved bee, One of us two shall dye : I know thee well, an erle thou art; Lord Percy, soe am I. 64 MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CEASE. Chap. 111. But trust me, Percy, pittje it were, And great offence to kill Any of these our guiltlesse men, For they have done no ill. Let thou and I the battell trye, And set our men aside." ''Accurst bee he," Erie Percy sayd, By whome this is denyed." Then stept a gallant squier forth, Witherington was his name. Who said, " I wold not have it told To Henry our king for shame, That ere my captaine fought on foote. And I stood looking on, You bee two erles," sayd Witherington, " And I, a squier alone : He doe the best that doe I may. While I have power to stand : While I have power to weeld my sword, lie fight with hart and hand." '&' Our English archers bent their bowes. Their harts were good and trew; Att the first flight of arrowes sent. Full four-score Scots they slew. * [Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent, As Chieftain stout and good. As valiant Captain, all unmov'd The shock he firmly stood. His host he parted had in three, As Leader ware and try'd, And soon his spearmen on their foes Bare down on every side. Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound : But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground : 1 The f )ur stanzas here inclosed in Brackets, which are borrowed chiefly ft'om the ancient Copy. W* Ottered to the Reader instead of the following lines, which occur in the Editor'a folio MS. i- To drive the deere with hound and home, Douglas bade on the bent ; Two captaines moved with mickle might, Their speres to shivers went. Chap. III. MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CEASE, 65 And throwing strait their bows away, They grasp'd their swords so bright : And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On shields and helmets light] They closed full fast on everye side, Noe slacknes there was found; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground. O Christ ! it was a griefe to see, And likewise for to heare, The cries of men lying in their gore. And scattered here and there. At last these two stout erles did meet, Like captaines of great might : Like lyons wood, they layd on lode, And made a cruell fisht : *o They fought untill they both did sweat, With swords of tempered Steele ; Until the blood, like drops of rain, They trickling downe did feele. " Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas sayd; *'In faith I will thee bringe. Where thou shalt high advanced bee By James our Scottish king : Thy ransome I will freely give, And this report of thee. Thou art the most couragious knight, That ever I did see." "Noe, Douglas," quoth Erie Percy then, "Thy profter I doe scorne; I will not yeelde to any Scott, That ever yett was borne." With that, there came an arrow keene Out of an English bow, Which struck Erie Douglas to the heart, A deepe and deadlye blow : Who never spake more words than thesei *' Fight on, my merry men all ; For why, my life is at an end ; Lord Percy sees my fall." 5 66 MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE. Chap. IlL Then leaving lifte, Erie Percy tooke The dead man by the hand ; And said, "Erie Douglas, for thy life Wold I had lost my land. O Christ ! my verry hart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake ; For sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance cold never take." A knight amongst the Scotts there was, Which saw Erie Douglas dye, Who streight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percye : Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd. Who, with a spere most bright, Well-mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight; And past the English archers all. Without all dread or feare; And through Earl Percyes body then He thrust his hatefull spere ; With such a vehement force and might He did his body gore. The staff ran through the other side A large cloth-yard, and more. So thus did both these nobles dye. Whose courage none could staine : An English archer then perceiv'd The noble erle was slaine ; He had a bow bent in his hand. Made of a trusty tree ; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew hee : Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, So right the shaft he sett. The grey goose-winge that was thereon, In his harts bloode was wett. This fight did last from breake of day, Till setting of the sun ; For when they rung the evening-bell, The battel scarce was done. Chap. III. MODERN BALLAD OF CHEVY CHASE, 67 With stout Erie Percy, there \ras slaine, Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James that bold barron : And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account. Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine Whose prowesse did surmount. For Witherington needs must I wayle, As one in doleful dumpes ; For when his leggs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumpes. And with Erie Douglas, there was slaine Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, Sir Charles Murray, that from the field One foote wold never flee. Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, His sisters sonne was hee; Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd, Yet saved cold not bee. And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Erie Douglas dye : Of twenty hundred Scottish speres. Scarce fifty-five did flye. Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three ; The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chase, Under the greene woode tree. Next day did many widdowes come, Their husbands to bewayle ; They washt their wounds in brinish teares. But all wold not prevayle. Theyr bodyes bathed in purple gore, They bare with them away : They kist them dead a thousand times, Ere they were cladd in clay. The newes was brought to Eddenborrow, Where Scottlands king did raigne, That brave Erie Douglas suddenlye Was with an arrow slaine : 68 SIB PATRICK SPENS. Chap. UL •* O, heavy newes," King James did saj , ** Scottland may witnesse bee, I have not any captaine more Of such account as hee." Like tydings to King Henry came, Within as short a space. That Percy of Northumberland Was slaine at Chevy-Chese : " Now, God be with him," said our king, " Sith it will noe better bee ; I trust I have, within my realme. Five hundred as good as hee : Yett shall not Scotts, nor Scotland say. But I will vengeance take : I'll be revenged on them all, For brave Erie Percyes sake." This vow full well the king perform'd After, at Humbledowne ; In one day, fifty knights were slayne, With lords of great renowne : And of the rest, of small account. Did many thousands dye : Thus endeth the hunting of Chevy-Chase, Made by the Erie Percy. God save our king, and bless this land With plentye, joy, and peace; And grant henceforth, that foule debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease. 34, Sir Patrick Spens, The king sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine; ** O whare ^ will I get a skeely ^ skipper. To sail this new ship o' mine ! " — O up and spake an eldern knight, Sat at the king's right knee, — ** Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor, That ever sail'd the sea." 1 Where. 8 Skilful. Chap. III. SIR PATRICK SPENS, 69 Our king has written a braid letter, And seal'd it with his hand, And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. ** To Norowaj, to Norowaj, To Noroway o'er the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis thou maun bring her hame." — The first word that Sir Patrick read. Sae loud loud laughed he : The neist ^ word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blinded his e'e. " O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me, To send us out, at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea.? Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, Our ship must sail the faem ; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame." They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the speed they may ; They ha'e landed in Noroway, Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say — *• Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud. And a' our queenis fee." — " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud ! Fu' loud I hear ye lie ; For I ha'e brought as much white monie. As gane my men and me. And I ha'e brought a half-fou* of gude red goud, Out o'er the sea wi' me. Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a' I Our gude ship sails the morn." — " Now, ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deadly storm ! ' - 3 Next. * BusheL 70 SIR PATRICK SPENS. Chap. IU. I saw the new moon, late jestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm; And, if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm." Thej hadna sail'd a league, a league, A league but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm ; And the waves cam o'er the broken ship. Till a' her sides were torn. *' O where will I get a gude sailor. To take my helm in hand. Til I get up to the tall top-mast. To see if I can spy land?" " O here am I, a sailor gude, To take the helm in hand. Till you go up to the tall top-mast; But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." — He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane, When a boult flew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it came in. " Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith. Another o' the twine. And wap them into our ship's side. And let nae the sea come in." Tliey fetch'd a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they wapp'd them round that gude ship's sidCj* But still the sea came in. O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords To weet^ their cork-heel'd shoon ! ^ But lang or' a' the play was play'd, They wat their hats aboon.® Any mony was the feather bed, That floated on the faem ; And mony was the gude lord's son, That never mair cam hame. • To wet 6 Shoes. 7 Before. i Ibofik Chap. UI. TEE TWO CORBIES. 71 The ladjes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair, A' for the sake of their true loves, — For them they'll see nae mair. O lang, lang, may the ladyes sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand! And lang, lang, may the maidens sit, With their goud kaims ^ in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves! For them they'll see nae mair. Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet ! 9 Combs. 3S, The Two Corbies. There were two corbies sat on a tree, Large and black as black might be; And one the other gan say. Where shall we go and dine to-day.? Shall we go dine by the wild salt sea.? Shall we go dine 'neath the greenwood tree? As I sat on the deep sea sand, I saw a fair ship nigh at land, I waved my wings, I bent my beak, The ship sunk, and I heard a shriek; There they lie, one, two, and three, I shall dine by the wild salt sea. Come, I will show ye a sweeter sight, A lonesome glen, and a new-slain knight ; ■ His blood yet on the grass is hot, His sword half-drawn, his shafts unshot, And no one kens that he lies there, But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild fowl hame, 72 TEE TWO CORBIES. Chap. IU His lady's away with anotlier mate, So we shall make our dinner sweet; Our dinner's sure, our feasting free. Come, and dine bj the greenwood tree. Ye shalt sit on his white hause-bane,^ I will pick out his bony blue een ; Ye'll take a tress of his yellow hair, To theak yere nest when it grows bare ; The gowden ^ down on his young chin Will do to sewe my young ones in. O, cauld and bare will his bed be. When winter storms sing in the tree; At his head a turf, at his feet a stone, He will sleep nor hear the maiden's moan; O'er his white bones the birds shall fly, The wild deer bound, and foxes cry. \ Vti9 iieck-bone — a phrase for the neck. 2 Golden A. D. 1530-1577. QASCOIGNE, 78 CHAPTER IV. THE ELIZABETHAN POETS (INCLUDING THE REIGN OF JAMES I.). S6* George Gascoigne. 1530-1577. (Manual, p. 71.) The Vanity of the Beautiful. They course the glass, and let it take no rest; They pass and spy who gazeth on their face ; They darkly ask whose beauty seemeth best; They hark and mark who marketh most their grace; They stay their steps, and stalk a stately pace ; They jealous are of every sight they see ; They strive to seem, but never care to be. if * * * * * What grudge and grief our joys may then suppress, To see our hairs, which yellow were as gold, Now grey as glass ; to feel and find them less ; To scrape the bald skull which was wont to hold Our lovely locks with curling sticks controul'd; To look in glass, and spy Sir Wrinkle's chair Set fast on fronts which erst were sleek and fair. 37. Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst. (Manual, p. 72.) Allegorical Personages in Hell. From the Induction to the Mirrour for Magistrates. And first wfthin the porch and jaws of Hell Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent With tears; and to herself oft would she tell Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent ' 1 stopped. 74 SACKVILLE. Chap. IV. To sob and sigh ; but ever thus lament With thoughtful care, as she that all in vain Would wear and waste continually in pain. Her eyes unstedfast, rolling here and there, Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought. So was her mind continually in fear, Toss'd and tormented by the tedious thought Of those detested crimes which she had wrought : With dreadful cheer and looks thrown to the sky, Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook, With foot uncertain proifer'd here and there; Benumm'd of speech, and with a ghastly look, Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear; His cap upborn with staring of his hair, Stoyn'd ^ and amazed at his shade for dread, And fearing greater dangers than was need. And next within the entry of this lake Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire. Devising means how she may vengeance take, Never in rest till she have her desire ; But frets within so far forth with the fire Of wreaking flames, that now determines she To die by death, or veng'd by death to be. When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, Had shewed herself, as next in order set. With trembling limbs we softly parted thence. Till in our eyes another sight we met. When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet,^ Rewing, alas ! upon the woeful plight Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight. His face was lean and some-deal pin'd away> And eke his handes consumed to the bone, But what his bod}' was I cannot say; For on his carcass raiment had he none, Save clouts and patches, pieced one by one; With staflfin hand, and scrip on shoulders cast. His chief defence against the winters blast. *i3' His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree; Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share. Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he, % A«to]usLi« Richard II. on the Morning before his Murdek. From the Third Book of the Civil Wars. The morning of that day which was his last After a weary rest, rising to pain. Out at a little grate his eyes he cast Upon those bordering hills and open plain, Wnere others' liberty makes him complain The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, Conferring ' captive crowns with freedom poor. O happy man, saith he, that lo I see, Grazitg his cattle in those pleasant fields, If he but knew his good. How blessed he That feels not what affliction greatness yields ! Other than what he is he would not be. Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. Thine, thine is that true life : that is to live To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none, And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire, Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan. 1 Comparing. 84 MICHAEL DRAYTON. Chap. IV. Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire Of my restraint, why here I live alone, And pitiest this mj miserable fall ; For pity must have part — envy not all. Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, And have no venture in the wreck you see; No interest, no occasion to deplore Other men's travels, v^^hile yourselves sit free. How much doth your sweet rest make us the more To see our misery and what we be : Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil. ^Michael Drayton. 1563-1631. (Manual, pp. 80, 81.) From the Nymphidia. 4:7 • PiGWIGGEN ArMING. And quickly arms him for the field, A little cockle-shell his shield. Which he could very bravely wield. Yet could it not be pierced : His spear a bent both stiff and strong, And well near of two inches long : The pile was of a horse-fly's tongue. Whose sharpness nought reversed. And puts him on a coat of mail, Which was of a fish's scale. That when his foe should him assail, No point should be prevailing. His rapier was a hornet's sting. It was a very dangerous thing; For if he chanc'd to hurt the king, It would be long in healing. His helmet was a beetle's head, Most horrible and full of. dread. That able was to strike one dead, Yet it did well become him : And for a plume, a horse's hair. Which being tossed by the air, Had force to strike his foe with fear, And turn his weapon from him. A. D. 1570-1626. SIB JOHN DAVIE S. 85 Himself he on an earwig set, Yet scarce he on his back could get, So oft and high he did curvet. Ere he himself could settle : He made him turn, and stop, and l;ounc-. To gallop, and to trot the round, He scarce could stand on any ground, He was so full of mettle. 48 • From the Poly-olbion. — Song XIII. When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave. At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring, But hunts-up, to the morn, the feath'red sylvans sing: And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll. Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole, Those quiristers are percht with many a speckled breast. Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glitt'ring east Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight: On which the mirthful quires, with their clear open throats, Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes. That hills and vallies ring, and even the echoing air Seems all compos'd of sounds, about them everywhere. 4:9» Sir John Davies. 1570-1626. (Manual, p. 81.; From the Nosce Teipsum. As spiders, touch'd, seek their web's inmost part; As bees, in storms, back to their hives return; As blood in danger gathers to the heart; As men seek towns when foes the country burn : If aught can teach us aught, affliction's looks (Making us pry into ourselves so near). Teach us to know ourselves beyond all books, Or all the learned schools that ever were. She within lists my ranging mind hath brought, That now beyond myself I will not go : Myself am centre of my circling thought : Only myself I study, learn, and know. 86 JOHN DONNE, Chap. IV. I know my body's of so frail a kind, As force without, fevers within can kill ; I know the heavenly nature of my mind, But 'tis corrupted both in wit and will. I know my soul hath power to know all things, Yet is she blind and ignorant in all ; I know I'm one of nature's little kings. Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall. I know my life's a pain, and but a span ; I know my sense is mock'd in every thing : And, to conclude, I know myself a man, Which is a proud and yet a wretched thing. 50. John Donne. 1573-1631. (Manual, p. 82.) From his Elegies. Language, thou art too narrow and too weak To ease us now; great sorrows cannot speak. If we could sigh our accents, and weep words. Grief wears, and lessens, that tears breath affords. Sad hearts, the less they seem, the more they are; So guiltiest men stand mutest at the bar; Not that they know not, feel not their estate. But extreme sense hath made them desperate. Sorrow ! to whom we owe all that we be, Tyrant in the fifth and greatest monarchy, Was't that she did possess all hearts before Thou hast killed her, to make thy empire more? Knew'st thou some would, that knew her not, lament, As in a deluge perish the innocent.'' Was't not enough to have that palace won. But thou must raze it too, that was undone? Had'st thou stay'd there, and looked out at her eyes, All had adored thee, that now from thee flies ; For they let out more light than they took in ; They told not when, but did the day begin. She was too sapphirine and clear for thee ; Clay, flint, and jet now thy fit dwellings be. Alas, she was too pure, but not too weak; Whoe'er saw crystal ordnance but would break? And, if we be thy conquest, by her fall Thou hast lost thy end ; in her we perish all : Or, if we live, we live but to rebel, That know her better now, who knew her well. A. D. 1574-1656. BISHOP HALL. 87 51, Bishop Hall. 1574-1656. (Manual, p. 83.) From the Satires. Seest thou how gaily my young master goes, Vaunting himself upon his rising toes; And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side; And picks his glutted teeth since late noon-tide? 'Tis Ruffio : Trow'st thou where he din'd to-day? In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humfray.^ Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer, Keeps he for every straggling cavalier. And open house, haunted with great resort ; Long service mixt with musical disport. Many fair yonker with a feather' d crest, Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest, To fare so freely with so little cost, Than stake his twelvepence to a meaner host. Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say He touch'd no meat of all this live-long day, For sure methoughtj yet that was but a guess, llis eyes seem'd sunk for very hollowness, But could he have (as I did it mistake) So little in his purse, so much upon his back? So nothing in his inaw? yet seemeth by his belt. That his gaunt gut no too much stuffing felt. Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip? Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip. Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by. All trapped in the new-found bravery. The nuns of new-won Calais his bonnet lent, In lieu of their so kind a conquerment. What needed he fetch that from farthest Spain, His grandame could have lent with lesser pain? Though he perhaps ne'er pass'd the English shore. Yet fain would counted be a conqueror. His hair, French-like, stares on his frighted head. One lock amazon-like dishevelled. As if he meant to wear a native cord. If chance his fates should him that bane afford. All British bare upon the bristled skin. Close notched is his beard both lip and chin; His linen collar labyrinthian set, 1 The phrase of dining with Duke Iliiniphry arose from St. Paul's being the general resort of th< loungers of those days, many of wliom, like Hall's gallant, were glad to beguile the thoughts of dinuei n-ith a walk in the middle aisle, where there was a tomb, by mistake supposed to b« t'lat of Bomphry, Duke of Gloucester. 88 BOBERT SOUTHWELL, Chap. IV. Whose thousand double turnings never met : His sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings, As if he meant to fly with linen wings. But when I look, and cast mine eyes below, What monster meets mine eyes in human shew? So slender waist with such an abbot's loin, Did never sober nature sure conjoin. Lik'st a straw scare-crow in the new-sown field, Rear'd on some stick, the tender corn to shield. Or if that semblance suit not every deal, Like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel. ****** S2» Robert Southwell. 1560-1595. (Manual, p. 85.) Times go by Turns. The loppfed tree in time may grow again, Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorriest wight may find release of pain. The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. The sea of fortune doth not ever flow. She draws her favors to the lowest ebb : Her tides have equal times to come and go ; Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web . No joy so great but runneth to an end, No hap so hard but may in fine amend. Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring ; Not endless night, yet not eternal day : The saddest birds a season find to sing, The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. A chance may win that by mischance was lost; That net that holds no great, takes little fish ; In some things all, in all things none are cross'd; Few all they need, but none have all they wish. Unmingled joys here to no man befall ; Who least, hath some ; who most, hath never all. A. D. 1 585-1649. FLE TCEER. — DR UMMOND. 89 53* Giles Fletcher. (Manual, p. 84.) From Christ's Victory in Heaven. Justice Addressing the Creator. Upon two stony tables, spread before her, She leant her bosom, more than stony hard; There slept th' impartial judge and strict restorer Of wrong or right, with pain or with reward; There hung the score of all our debts — the card Where good, and bad, and life, and death, were painted : Was never heart of mortal so untainted. But, when that scroll was read, with thousand terrors fainted. Witness the thunder that Mount Sinai heard. When all the hill with fiery clouds did flame, And wand'ring Israel, with the sight afear'd, Blinded with seeing, durst not touch the same, But like a wood of shaking leaves became. On this dead Justice, she, the living law. Bowing herself with a majestic awe, All heaven, to hear her speech, did into silence draw. 54* William Drummond. 1585-1649. (Manual, p. 87.) On Sleep. Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings, Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, Sole comforter of minds with grief oppress'd; Lo, by thy charming rod, all breathing things . Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possess'd. And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings T^iou spar'st, alas! who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light, which thou art wont to show, With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe ; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath; I 1 Dng to kiss the image of my death. 90 SIE PHILIP SYDNEY. Chap. V. CHAPTER V. THE NEW PHILOSOPHY AND PROSE LITERATURE IN THE REIGNS OF ELIZABETH AND JAMES I. 35, Sir Philip Sydney. 1554-1586. (Manual, p 78.) (For his Poetry, see page 79.) From the Defence of Poesy. In Praise of Poetry. Now therein — (that is to say, the power of at once teaching and enticing to do well) — now therein, of all sciences — I speak still of human and according to human conceit — is our poet the monarch. For he doth not only show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice any man to enter into it. Nay, he doth, as if your journey should lie through a fair vineyard, at the very first give you a cluster of grapes, that, full of that taste, you may long to pass further. He beginneth not with obscure definitions, which must blur the margent with interpretations, and load the memory with doubtfulness; but he cometh to you with words set in delightful pro- portion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well-enchanting skill of music ; and with a tale, forsooth, he cometh unto you with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney- corner; and pretending no more, doth intend the winning of the mind from, wickedness to virtue, even as the child is often brought to take most wholesome things, by hiding them in such other as have a pleas- ant taste. For even those hard-hearted evil men, who think virtue a school name, and know no other good but indulgere genio^ and there- fore despise the austere admonitions of the philosopher, and feel not the inward reason they stand upon, j^et will be content to be delighted ; which is all the good-fellow poet seems to promise ; and so steal to see the form of goodness — which, seen, they cannot but love ere themselves be aware, as if they had taken a medicine of cherries. By these, therefore, examples and reasons, I think it maybe manifest that the poet, with that same hand of delight, doth draw the mind more effectually than any other art doth. And so a conclusion not unfitly ensues, that as virtue is the most excellent resting-place for all worldly learning to make an end of, so poetry, being the most famili ir to A. D. 1552-1618. SIE WALTER RALEIGH. &l teach it, and most princely to move towards it, in the most excellent work is the most excellent workman. Since, then, poetry is of all human learning the most ancient, and of most f^.therly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have taken their beginnings; — Since it is so universal that no learned nation doth despise it, no barbarous nation is without it; — Since both Ro- man and Greek gave such divine names unto it, the one of prophesy- ing, the other of making; and that, indeed, that name of making is fit for it, considering that whereas all other arts retain themselves within their subject, and receive, as it were, their being from it, — the poet, only, bringeth his own stuff, and doth not learn a conceit out of the matter, but maketh matter for a conceit; — Since, neither his description nor end containing any evil, the thing described can- not be evil; — Since his effects be so good as to teach goodness and delight the learners of it; — Since therein (namely, in moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledge) he doth not only far pass the historian, but, for instructing, is well nigh comparable to the philosopher, and for moving, leaveth him behind; — Since the Holy Scripture (wherein there is no uncleanness) hath whole parts in it poetical, and that even our Saviour Christ vouchsafed to use the flowers of it; — Since all its kinds are not only in their united forms, but in their severed dissec- tions fully commendable: — I think — (^ajid I thitik I thhik rightly) — the laurel crown appointed for triumphant captains, doth worthily, of all other learnings, honor the poet's triumph. 50* Sir Walter Raleigh. 1552-1618. (Manual, p. 89.) (For bis Poetry, see page 80.) From the History of the World. The Folly of Ambition and Power of Death. If we seek a reason of the succession and continuance of boundless ambition in mortal men, we may add, that the kings and princes of the world have always laid before them the actions, but not the ends of those great ones which preceded them. They are alwaj-s trans- ported with the glorj' of the one, but they never mind the misery of the other, till they find the experience in themselves. They neglect the advice of God while they enjoy life, or hope it, but they follow the counsel of death upon his first approach. It is he that puts into man all the wisdom of the world without speaking a word, which God, with all the words of his law, promises, or threats, doth not infuse. Death, whicK hateth and destroj^eth man, is believed; God, which hath made him and loves him, is always deferred. "I have consid- ered," saith Solomon, " all the works that are under the sun, and, behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit; " but who believes it, till death tells it us? It was death, which, opening the conscience of &2 RICHARD HOOKER. Chap. V Charles V., made him enjoin his son Philip to restore Navarre, and King Francis I. of France to command that justice should be done upon the murderers of the Protestants in Merindol and Cabrieres, which till then he neglected. It is therefore death alone that can suddenly make man to know himself. He tells the proud and insolent that they are but abjects, and humbles them at the instant, makes them cry, complain, and repent, yea, even to hate their forepassed happiness. He takes the account of the rich, and proves him a beg- gar, a naked beggar, which hath interest in nothing but in the gravel that fills his mouth. He holds a glass before the eyes of the most beautiful, and makes them see therein their deformity and rottenness, and they acknowledge it. O eloquent, just, and mighty death ! whom none could advise, thou hast persuaded ; what none could advise, thou hast persuaded; what none hath dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flat- tered, thou only hast cast out of the world and despised ; thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched greatness, all the pride, cruelty, and ambition of man, and covered it all over with these two narrow words, htc Jacet ! ^^"'f-^-nji. <>JU(A . - 57. Richard Hooker. 1553-1598' (Manual, p. 91.) From the Ecclesiastical Polity. The Necessity and Majesty of Law. The stateliness of houses, the goodliness of trees, when we behold them, delighteth the eye; but that foundation which beareth up the one, that root which ministreth unto the other nourishment and life, is in the bosom of the earth concealed; and if there be occasion at any time to search into it, such labor is then inore necessary than pleasant, both to them which undertake it, and for the lookers on. In like manner, the use and benefit of good laws all that live under them may enjoy with delight and comfort, albeit the grounds and first original causes from whence they have sprung be unknown, as to the greatest part of men they are. Since the time that God did first proclaim the edicts of his law upon the world, heaven and earth have hearkened unto his voice, and their labor hath been to do his will. He made a law for the rain ; he gave his decree u?ito the sea, tJiat the rvaters should not pass his commandment. Now, if nature should intermit her course, and leave altogether, though it were for a while, the observation of her own laws ; if those principal and mother elements of the world, whereof all things in this lower world are made, should lose the qualities which now they have; if the frame of that heavenly arch erected over our heads should loosen and dissolve itself; if celestial spheres should forget their wonted motions, and by irregular volu* bility turn themselves any way as it might happen; if the prince 0/ A. D. loDi-1626. FRANCIS BACON. 93 the lights of heaven, which now, as a giant, doth run his unwearied course, should, as it were, through a languishing faintness, begin to stand and to rest himself; if the moon should wander from her beaten way, the times and seasons of the year blend themselves by disor- dered and confused mixture, the winds breathe out their last gasp, the clouds yield no rain, the eai'th be defected of heavenly influence, the fruits of the earth pine away, as children at the withered breasts oi their mother, no longer able to yield them relief; what would be- come of man himself, whom these things do now all serve? See we not plainly, that obedience of creatures unto the law of nature is the stay of the whole world ? Of Law there can be no less acknowledged than that her seat is the bosom of God; her voice the harmony of the world. All things in heaven and earth do her homage ; the very least as feeling her care, and the greatest as not exempted from her power. Both angels and men, and creatures of what condition soever, though each in difl:er- ent sort and manner, yet all with uniform consent, admiring her as . the mother of their peace and joy. Francis Bacon. 1561-1626. (Manual, pp. 92-104.. ) From the Essays. S8t Of Studies. Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight, is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business ; for expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particu- lars, one by one : but the general counsels, and the plots and mar- shalling of affairs come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies, is sloth ; to use them too much for orna- ment, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the huinor of a scholar : they perfect nature, and are perfected by experi- ence : for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men con V temn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them ; for! they teach not their own use ; but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and con- fute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and dis- course, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested ; that is, some books are to be read only in parts ; others to be read, but not curiously ; and some few to be read whollj', and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others ; but that would be only in the less importanl 94 FEANCIS BACON. Chap. V. arguments and the meaner sort of books; else distilled books are, like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man; and, therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. His- tories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtile; nat- ural philosophy, deep; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to contend. SO* Of Adversity. But to speak in a mean, the virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue of adversity is fortitude, which in morals is the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament, adversity is the blessing of the New, which carrieth the greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of God's favor. Yet even in the Old Testament, if you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as many hearse-like airs as carols ; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath labored more in describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities of Solomon. Pros- perity is not without many fears and distastes ; and adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in needle-works and embroid- feries, it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground : judge, therefore, of the pleasure of the heart by ..the pleasure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odors,v most fragrant when they are incensed, or crushed : for prosperity doth/ best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.. 00* Of Discourse. Some in their discourse desire rather commendation of Avit, in being able to hold all arguments, than of judgment, in discerning what is true; as if it were a praise to know what inight be said, and not what should be thought. Some have certain common-places and themes, wherein they are good, and want variety : which kind of poverty is for the most part tedious, and, when it is once perceived, ridiculciis. The honorablest part of talk is to give the occasion; and again to moderate and pass to somewhat else, for then a man leads the dance. It is good in discourse, and speech of conversation, to vary and inter- mingle speech of the present occasion with arguments, tales with rea- sons, asking of questions with telling of opinions, and jest with earnest; for it is a dull thing to tire, and as we say now, to jade any- thing too far. As for jest, there be certain things which ought to be Drivileged from it; namely, religion, matters of stale, great persons, any man's present business of importance, and any case that deserveih pity; yet tliere be some that think their wits have been asleep, cxrcpt A. D. 1561-1G26. FRANCIS BACON. jf/| thej dart out somewhat that is piquant, and to the quick; that is a vein which would be bridled. And, generally, men ought to find the difference between saltness and bitterness. Certainly, he that hath a satirical vein, as he maketh others afraid of his wit, so he had need be afraid of others' memory. He that questioneth much, shall learn much, and content much ; but especially if he apply his questions to the skill of the persons whom he asketh ; for he shall give them occa- sion to please themselves in speaking, and himself shall continually gather knowledge ; but let his questions not be troublesome, for that is fit for a poser; and let him be sure to leave other men their turns to speak : nay, if there be any that would reign and take up all the time, let him find means to take them off, and to bring others on, as musicians use to do with those that dance too long galliards. If yon dissemble sometimes your knowledge of that you are thought to know, you shall be thought, another time, to know that you know not. Speech of a man's self ought to be seldom, and well-chosen. 01 • Atheism Ignoble. I had rather believe all the fables in the Legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame is without a Mind. And therefore God never wrought miracle to convince Atheism ; because his ordinary works convince it. It is true that a little phi- losophy inclineth man's mind to Atheism; but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to Religion : for, while the mind of man looketh upon second causes scattered, it may sometimes rest in them, and go no farther; but, when it beholdeth the chain of them, confed- erate and linked together, it must needs fly to Providence and Deity. The Scripture saith, "The fool hath said in his heart, there is no God;" it is not said, "The fool hath thought in his heart:" so as he rather saith it by rote to himself, as that he would have, than that he can thoroughly believe it or be persuaded of it. For none deny there is a God, but those for whom it maketh that there were no God. But the great Atheists, indeed, are hypocrites, which are ever handling holy things, but without feeling. They that deny a God, destroy man's nobility : for certainly man is of kin to the beasts by his body : and, if he be not akin to God by his spirit, he is a base and ignoble creature. It destroys likewise magnanimity and the raising of human nature : for, take an example of a dog, and mark what a generosity and courage he will put on when he finds himself maintained by a man, who to him is instead of a God or Melior Natura : which courage is manifestly such, as that creature, without that confidence of a better nature than his own, could never attain. So man, when he resteth and assureth himself upon Divine protection and favour, gathereth a force and faith, which human nature in itself could not obtam. Therefore, as Atheism is in all respects hateful, so in this, that il depriveth human nature of the means to exalt itself above hurh^^ fraiitv. 96 FRANCIS BACON, Chap. V« From the Introduction to *« The Great Restauration." G2» Design of the Inductive Philosophy. The sixth and last part of our work, to which all the rest are sub- servient, is to lay down that philosophy which shall flow from the just, pure, and strict inquiry hitherto proposed. But to perfect this, is beyond both our abilities and our hopes, yet we shall lay the foun- dations of it, and recommend the superstructure to posterity. We design no contemptible beginning to the work; and anticipate that the fortune of mankind will lead it to such a termination as is not possible for the present race of men to conceive. The point in view is not only the contemplative happiness, but the whole fortunes, and affairs, and power, and works, of men. For man being the minister and interpreter of nature, acts and understands so far as he has ob- served of the order, the works, and mind, of nature, and can proceed no farther; for no power is able to loose or break the chain of causes, nor is nature to be conquered but by submission : whence those twin intentions, human knowledge and human power, are really coinci- dent; and the. greatest hinderance to works, is the ignorance of causes. The capital precept for the whole undertaking is this, that the eye of the mind be never taken off from things themselves, but receive their images truly as they are. And God forbid that ever we should offer the dreams of fancy for a model of the world ; but rather in his kindness vouchsafe to us the means of writing a revelation and true vision of the traces and moulds of the Creator in his creatures. May thou, therefore, O Father, who gavest the light of vision as the first fruit of creation, and who hast spread over the fall of man the light of thy understanding as the accomplishment of thy works, guard and direct this work, which, issuing from thy goodness, seeks in return thy glory! When thou hadst surveyed the works which thy hands had wrought, all seemed good in thy sight, and thou restedst. But when man turned to the works of his hands, he found all vanity and vexation of spirit, and experienced no rest. If, however, we labour in thy works, thou wilt make us to partake of thy vision and sabbath ; we, therefore, humbly beseech thee to strengthen our pur- pose, that thou mayst be willing to endow thy family of mankind with new gifts, through our hands, and the hands of those in whom thou shalt implant the same spirit. From the Advancement of Learning. Book I. § C. OS* The Benefit of Learning. If it be objected, that learning takes up much time, which might be better employed, I answer that the most active or busy men have many vacant hours, while they expect the tides and returns of busi A. D. lo61-1626. FRANCIS BACON. 97 ness ; and then the question is, how those spaces of leisure shall be filled up, whether with pleasure or study? Demosthenes being taunted by -^'Eschines, a man of pleasure, that his speeches smelt of the lamp, very pertly retorted, "There is great difference between the objects which you and I pursue by lamp-light." No fear, therefore, that learning should displace business, for it rather keeps and defends the mind against idleness tmd pleasure, which might otherwise enter to the prejudice both of business and learning. For the allegation that learning should undermine the reverence due to laws and government, it is a mere calumny, without shadow of truth; for to say that blind custom of obedience should be a safer obligation than duty, taught and understood, is to say that a blind man may tread surer by a guide than a man with his eyes open can by a light. And, doubtless, learning makes the mind gentle and pliable to government, whereas ignorance renders it churlish and mutinous ; and it is always found that the most barbarous, rude, and ignorant times have been most tumultuous, changeable, and seditious. From the Advancement of Learning, Close of Book I. G4:, The Dignity of Literature. To conclude, the dignity and excellence of knowledge and learning is what human nature most aspires to for the securing of immortality, which is also endeavoured after by raising and ennobling fainilies, by buildings, foundations, and monuments of fame, and is in effect the bent of all other human desires. But we see how much more durable the monuments of genius and learning are than those of the hand. The verses of Homer have continued above five and twenty hundred years without loss, in which time numberless palaces, temples, castles, and cities have been demolished and are fallen to ruin. It is impossible to have the true pictures or statues of Cyrus, Alexander, Caesar, or the great personages oi much later date, for the originals cannot last, and the copies must lose life and truth; but the images of men's knowl- edge remain in books, exempt from the injuries of time, and capable of perpetual renovation. Nor are these properly called images ; be- cause they generate still, and sow their seed in the minds of others, so as to cause infinite actions and opinions in succeeding ages. If, therefore, the invention of a ship was thought so noble, which carries commodities from place to place and consociateth the remotest regions in participation of their fruits, how much more are letters to be valued, which, like ships, pass through the vast ocean of time, and convey knowledge and inventions to the remotest ages.'' Nay, some of the philosophers who were most immersed in the senses, and denied the immortality of the soul, yet allowed that whatever motions the spirit of man could perform without the organs of the body might remain after death, which are only those of the understanding and not of the 7 98 ROBERT BURTON. Chap. V. aflfections, so immortal and incorruptible a thing did knowledge appear to them. And thus having endeavored to do justice to the cause of knowledge, divine and human, we shall leave Wisdom to be justified of her children. Advancement of Learning. Book III., chap. II. 35, Vindication of Natural Theology. Divine philosophy is a science, or rather the rudiments of a science, derivable from God by the light of nature, and the contemplation of his creatures ; so that with regard to its object, it is truly divine ; but with regard to its acquirement, natural. The bounds of this knowl- edge extend to the confutation of atheism, and the ascertaining the laws of nature, but not to the establishing of religion. And, there- fore, God never wrought a miracle to convert an atheist, because the light of nature is sufficient to demonstrate a deity ; but miracles were designed for the conversion of the idolatrous and superstitious, who acknowledged a God, but erred in their worship of him — the light of nature being unable to declare the will of God, or assign the just form of worshipping him. For as the power and skill of a workman are seen in his works, but not his person, so the works of God express the wisdom and omnipotence of the Creator, without the least representa- tion of his image. And in this particular, the opinion of the heathens differed from the sacred verity, as supposing the world to be the image of God, and man a little image of the world. The Scripture never gives the world that honour, but calls it the work of his hands ; making only man the image of God. And, therefore, the being of a God, that he governs the world, that he is all-powerful, wise, prescient, good, a just rewarder and punisher, and to be adored, may be shown and enforced from his works ; and many other wonderful secrets, with regard to his attributes, and much more as to his dispensation and government over the universe, may also be solidly deduced, and made appear from the same. And this subject has been usefully treated by several. Robert Burton, i 576-1640. (Manual, p. 104.) From the Anatomy of Melancholy. SO, Philautia, or Self-Love, a Cause of Melancholy. Now the common cause of this mischief ariseth from ourselves or others : we are active and passive. It proceeds inwardly from our- selves, as we are active causes, from an overweening conceit we have of our good parts, own worth (which indeed is no worth), our bounty, favour, grace, valour, strength, wealth, patience, meekness, hospitality, beauty, temperance, gentry, knowledge, wit, science, art, learning, A.D. 1576-1G40. ROBERT BURTON. 99 our excellent gifts and fortunes, for which (Narcissus-like) we admire, flatter, and applaud ourselves, and think all the world esteems so of us; and, as deformed women easily believe those that tell them they be fair, we are too credulous of our own good parts and praises, too well persuaded of ourselves. We brag and vendicate our own works, and scorn all others in respect of us. . . . That which Tullj' writ to Atticus long since, is still in force — there ivas never yet true j)oet of orator, that thought any othet better than himself. And such, for the most part, are your princes, potentates, great philosophers, histori- ographers, authors of sects or heresies, and all our great scholars, as Hierom defines : a ?tatural philosopher is glorfs creature, and a very slave of rumour, fame, and popular opinion : and, though they write de contemptu glorioe, yet (as he observes) they will put their names to their books. S'^ • The Power of Love. Bocace hath a pleasant tale to this purpose, which he borrowed from the Greeks, and which Beroaldus hath turned into Latine, Bebelius into verse, of Cymon and Iphigenia. This Cymon was a fool, a proper man of person, and the governor of Cyprus son, but a very ass ; insomuch that his father being ashamed of him, sent him to a farm-house he had in the country, to be brought up ; where by chance, as his manner was, walking alone, he espied a gallant young gentle- woman named Iphigenia, a burgomaster's daughter of Cyprus, with her maid, by a brook side, in a little thicket. Whett Cymon saw her, he stood leatiing ofi his staffe., gaping on her immovable, and in a maze : at last he fell so far in love with the glorious object, that he began to rouze himself up; to bethink what he was; would needs follow her to the city, and for her sake began to be civil, to learn to sing and dance, to play on instruments, and got all those gentleman-like quali- ties and complements, in a short space, which his friends were most glad of. In brief, he became froin an idiot and a clown, to be one of the most complete gentlemen in Cyprus; did many valorous exploits, and all for the love of Mistress Iphigenia. In a word I may say this much of them all, let them be never so clownish, rude and horrid, Grobians and sluts, if once they be in love, they will be most neat and spruce. 'Tis all their studj^, all their business, how to wear their clothes neat, to be polite and terse, and to set out themselves. No sooner doth a young man see his sweetheart coming, but he smugs up himself, pulls up his cloak, now fallen about hi«? shoulders, ties his garters, points, sets his band, cuffs, slicks his hnir, twires his beard, &c 100 LORD HERBERT OF CHER BURY, Chap. V. 68* Lord Herbert of Cherbury. 1581-1648. (Manual, p. 105.) From Life of Henry VIII. Sir Thomas More, Lord Chancellor of England, after divers suits to be discharged of his place — which he had held two years and a half — did at length by the king's good leave resign it. The example whereof being rare, will give me occasion to speak more particularly of him. Sir Thomas More, a person of sharp wit, and endued be- sides with excellent parts of learning (as his works may testify), was yet (out of I know not what natural facetiousness) given so much to jesting, that it detracted no little from the gravity and importance of his place, which, though generally noted and disliked, I do not think was enough to make him give it over in that merriment we shall find anon, or retire to a private life. Neither can I believe him so much addicted to his private opinions as to detest all other governments but his own Utopia, so that it is probable some vehement desire to follow his book, or secret offence taken against some person or matter — among which perchance the king's new intended marriage, or the like, might be accounted — occasioned this strange counsel; though, yet, I find no reason pretended for it but infinnity and want of health. Our king hereupon taking the seal, and giving it, together with the order of knighthood, to Thomas Audley, Speaker of the Lower House, Sir Thomas More, without acquainting any body with what he had done, repairs to his family at Chelsea, where after a mass celebrated, the next day, in the church, he comes to his lady's pew, with his hat in his hand — an office formerly done by one of his gentlemen — and says: "Madam, my lord is gone." But she thinking this at first to be but one of his jests, was little moved, till he told her sadly, he had given up the great seal; whereupon she speaking some passionate words he called his daughters then present to see if they could not spy some fault about their mother's dressing; but they after search saying they could find none, he replied : " Do you not perceive that your mother's nose standeth somewhat awry.^"' — of which jeer the provoked lady was so sensible, that she went from him in a rage. Shortly after, he acquainted his servants with what he had done, dis- missing them also to the attendance of some other great personages, CO whom he had recommended them. For his fool, he bestowed him on the lord-mayor during his office, and afterwards on his successors in that charge. And now coming to himself, he began to consider iiow much he had left, and finding that it was not above one hundred pounds yearly in lands, besides some money, he advised with his daughters how to live together. But the grieved gentlewomen — who knew not what to reply, or indeed how to take these jests — remained astonished, he says : " We will begin with the slender diet of the stu- dents of the law, and if that will not hold out, we will take such i > >» > 3 > > > 3 > J •> ) > 1 > , 3 ■) 11 1 t , >■» .' > '■>>!,> 3 1, A. D. 15b8-1679. THOMAS HOBBES:\ I I V i )]^ U)i ' .' '. ■»>>)-» 1 commons as they have at Oxford; which, yet, if our purse will not stretch to maintain, for our last refuge we will go a begging, and at every man's door sing together a Salve Regina to get alms." But these jests were thought to have in them inore levity than to be taken everywhere for current; he might have quitted his dignity without using such sarcasms, and betaken himself to a more retired and quiet life without making them or himself contemptible. And certainly whatsoever he intended hereby, his family so little understood his meaning, that they needed some more serious instructions. So that I cannot persuade myself for all this talk, that so excellent a person would omit at fit times to give his family that sober account of his relinquishing this place, which I find he did to the Archbishop War- ham, Erasmus, and others. 00» Thomas Hobbes. 1588-1679. (Manual, p. 105.) From the Treatise on Human Nature. Emulation and Envy. Emulatt07i is grief arising from seeing one's self exceeded or ex- celled by his co7icurrent. together with hope to equal or exceed him in time to come, by his own ability. But, e7ivy is the same grief joined with pleasure conceived in the imagination of some /// fortune that may befall him. Laughter. There is a passion that hath no name ; but the sign of it is that distortion of the countenance which we call laughter, which is always Joy : but what joy, what we think, and wherein we triumph when we laugh, is not hitherto declared by any. That it consisteth in ii'it, or, as they call it, in the Jest, experience co7ifuteth : for men laugh at mischances and indecencies, wherein there lieth no wit nor jest at all. And forasmuch as the same thing is no more ridicvdous when it grow- eth stale or usual, whatsoever it be that moveth laughter, it must be new and unexpected. Men laugh often, especially such as are greedy of applause from everything they do well, at their o'ivn actions per- formed never so little beyond their own expectations ; as also at their o\sn jests: and in this case it is manifest, that the passion of laughter proceedeth from a sudden conceptio7i cf some ability in himself that laugheth. Also men laugh at the t7ifi7'7nitics of others, by comparison wherewith their own abilities are set off and illustrated. Also men laugh at jests, the rvit whereof always consisteth in the elegant dis- covering and conveying to our minds some absurdity of another : and in this case also the passion of laughter proceedeth from the sudden imagination of our own odds and eminency : for what is else the rec- ommending of ourselves to our own good opin on, by comparison lt)2 - ■ ' THOMAS EOBBES. Chap. V. with another man's infirmity or absurdity? For when a jest is broken upon ourselves, or friends of whose dishonour we participate, Ave nevei laugh thereat. I may therefore conclude, that the passion of laugh- ter is nothing else but sudden glory arising from some sudden concep- tion of some eminency in ourselves, by comparison with the infirmity of others, or with our own formerly: for men laugh at the follies of themselves past, when they come suddenly to remembrance, except they bring with them any present dishonour. It is no wonder theie- fore that men take heinously to be laughed at or derided, that is, tri- umphed over. Laughter without offence., must be at absurdities and infirmities abstracted from persons, and when all the company may laugh together : for laughing to one's self putteth all the rest into jealousy and examination of themselves. Besides, it is vain glory, and an argument of little worth, to think the infirmity of another, sufficient matter for his triumph. Weeping. The passion opposite hereunto, whose signs are another distortion of the face with tears, called iveeping., is the sudden falling out tuith ourselves, or sudden conception of defect; and therefore children weep often ; for seeing they think that every thing ought to be given them which they desire, of necessity every repulse must be a check of their expectation, and puts them in mind of their too much weak- ness to make themselves masters of all they look for. For the same cause women are more apt to weep than men, as being not only more accustomed to have their wills, but also to measure their powers by the power and love of others that protect them. Men are apt to weep that prosecute revenge, when the revenge is suddenly stopped or frus- trated by the repentance of their adversary; and such are the tears of reconciliation. Also revengeful men are svibject to this passion upon the beholding those men they pity, and suddenly remember they cannot help. Other weeping in men proceedeth for the most part from the same cause it proceedeth from in women and children. Admiration and Curiosity. Forasmuch as all knowledge beginneth from experience, therefore also ?ietv experience is the beginning of new knowledge, and the in- crease of experience the beginning of the increase of knowledge. "Whatsoever therefore happeneth new to a man, giveth him matter of hope of knowing somewhat that he knew not before. And this hope and expectation of future knowledge from anything that happeneth new and strange, is that passion which we commonly call admira^ tioji ; and the same considered as appetite, is called curiosity, which is appetite of knowledge. As in the discerning of faculties, man leaveth all community with beasts at the faculty of ifnposing names ; BO also doth he surmount their nature at this passion of curiosity. For M'hen a beast seeth anything new and strange to him, he consid- A. D. 1588-1679. THOMAS HOBBES. 103 ereth it so far only as to discern whether it be likely to serve his turn, or hurt him, and accordingly approacheth nearer to it, or fleeth from it: whereas man, who in most events remembereth in what manner they were caused and begun, looketh for the cause and beginning of everything that ariseth new unto him. And from this passion of ad- miration and curiosity, have arisen not only the invention of names, but also supposition of such causes of all things as they thought might produce them. And from this beginning is derived a.\\ philoso- phy ; as astronomy from the admiration of the course of heaven ; natural philosophy from the strange effects of the elements and other bodies. And from the degrees of curiosity, proceed also the degrees of knowledge amongst men : for, to a man in the chase of riches or authority (which in respect of knowledge are but sensuality), it is a diversity of little pleasure, whether it be the motion of the sun or the earth that maketh the day, or to enter into other contemplations of any strange accident, otherwise than w^hether it conduce or not to the end he pursueth. Because curiosity is delight^ therefore also novelty is so, but especially that novelty from which a man conceiveth an opinion true or false o{ bettering- Win own estate; for, in such case, they stand affected with the hope that all gamesters have while the cards are shuffling. 104 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. CiLiP. VI. CHAPTER VI. THE DAWN OF THE DRAMA. Christopher Marlowe. i563?-i593. (Manual, p. 126.)' 70, From Edward II. Murder of the King. Berkley Castle. The King is left aloue with Lightborn, a murderer. Edw. Who's there? what lisrht is that? wherefore comest thou? Light. To comfort you, and bring jou joyful news. Ediv. Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks. Villain, I know thou comest to murder me. Light. To murder you, my most gracious lord? Far is it from my heart to do you harm. The queen sent me to see how you were used, For she relents at this your inisery : And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears, To see a king in this most piteous state? Edvj. Weep'st tliou already? list awhile to me, And then thy heart, were it as Gurney's * is, Or as Matrevis,* hewn from the Caucasus, Yet will it mielt, ere I have done my tale. This dungeon where they keep me is a sink Wherein the filth of all the castle falls. Light O villains ! Edw. And there, in mire and puddle have I stood This ten days' space ; and lest that I should sleep, One plays continually upon a drum. They give me bread and water, being a king; So that, for want of sleep and sustenance, My mind 's distemper'd, and my body 's numb'd, And whether I have limbs or no, I know not. O, would my blood drop out from every vein, As doth this water from my tatter'd robes I Tell Isabel the queen, I look'd not thus. When for her sake I ran at tilt in France,^ And there unhorsed the duke of Cleremont. 1 llis keepers. A. D. 1563-1593. CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 105 Light. O, speak no more, my lord ! this breaks my heart. Lie on this bed, and rest yourself awhile. Edw. These looks of thine can harbour naught but death : I see my tragedy written in th}' brows. Yet stay awhile, forbear thy bloody hand, And let me see the stroke before it comes, That even then when I shall lose my life, My mind may be more steadfast on my God. Light. What means your highness to mistrust me thus? Edw. What mean'st thou to dissemble with me thus.? Light. These hands were never stained with innocent bloo