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_Hac memini et victum frustra contendere Thyrsin; Ex illo Corydon,
Corydon est tempore nobis._ [Footnote: All these instances are taken
from Virgil's _Eclogues_.]
Or is it the lamenting Elegiac, which in a kind heart would move rather
pity than blame, who bewails with the great philosopher Heraclitus the
weakness of mankind, and the wretchedness of the world: who surely is
to be praised, either for compassionate accompanying just causes of
lamentation, or for rightly painting out how weak be the passions of
woefulness. Is it the bitter, but wholesome Iambic [Footnote: Originally
used by the Greeks for satire], which rubs the galled mind, in making
shame the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crying out against
naughtiness; or the satirist, who
_Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit amico?_
Who sportingly never leaveth, until he make a man laugh at folly, and
at length ashamed, to laugh at himself: which he cannot avoid, without
avoiding the folly. Who while
_Circum pracordia ludit_,
giveth us to feel, how many headaches a passionate life bringeth us
to. How when all is done,
_Est Ulubris, animus si nos non deficit aquus_ [Footnote: _i.e._ The
wise can find happiness even in a village.]_?_
No perchance it is the comic, whom naughty play-makers and stage-
keepers have justly made odious. To the argument of abuse [Footnote:
To the argument that, because comedy is liable to abuse, it should
therefore be prohibited altogether.], I will answer after. Only thus
much now is to be said, that the comedy is an imitation of the common
errors of our life, which he representeth in the most ridiculous and
scornful sort that may be. So as it is impossible that any beholder
can be content to be such a one.
Now, as in geometry, the oblique must be known as well as the right:
and in arithmetic, the odd as well as the even, so in the actions of
our life, who seeth not the filthiness of evil, wanteth a great foil
to perceive the beauty of virtue. This doth the comedy handle so in
our private and domestical matters, as with hearing it we get as it
were an experience, what is to be looked for of a niggardly Demea: of
a crafty Davus: of a flattering Gnatho: of a vainglorious Thraso
[Footnote: All characters in the Plays of Terence.]: and not only to
know what effects are to be expected, but to know who be such, by the
signifying badge given them by the comedian. And little reason hath
any man to say that men learn evil by seeing it so set out: sith, as
I said before, there is no man living but, by the force truth hath in
nature, no sooner seeth these men play their parts, but wisheth them
in Pistrinum [Footnote: the tread-mill.]: although perchance the sack
of his own faults lie so behind his back, that he seeth not himself
dance the same measure: whereto yet nothing can more open his eyes,
than to find his own actions contemptibly set forth. So that the right
use of comedy will (I think) by nobody be blamed, and much less of the
high and excellent tragedy, that openeth the greatest wounds, and
showeth forth the vicers [Footnote: sinners.], that are covered with
tissue: that maketh kings fear to be tyrants, and tyrants manifest
their tyrannical humours: that, with stirring the effects of admiration
and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this world, and upon
how weak foundations golden roofs are builded. That maketh us know,
_Qui sceptra scevus duro imperio regit,
Timet timentes, metus in auctorem redit._
But how much it can move, Plutarch yieldeth a notable testimony, of
the abominable tyrant, Alexander Pheraus; from whose eyes, a tragedy
well made and represented drew abundance of tears: who, without all
pity, had murdered infinite numbers, and some of his own blood. So as
he, that was not ashamed to make matters for tragedies, yet could not
resist the sweet violence of a tragedy.
And if it wrought no further good in him, it was, that he in despite
of himself withdrew himself from hearkening to that, which might mollify
his hardened heart. But it is not the tragedy they do mislike: for it
were too absurd to cast out so excellent a representation of whatsoever
is most worthy to be learned. Is it the lyric that most displeaseth,
who with his tuned lyre, and well accorded voice, giveth praise, the
reward of virtue, to virtuous acts? who gives moral precepts and natural
problems, who sometimes raiseth up his voice to the height of the
heavens, in singing the lauds of the immortal God. Certainly I must
confess my own barbarousness, I never heard the old song of Percy and
Douglas, that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet: and
yet is it sung but by some blind crouder [Footnote: fiddler.], with
no rougher voice than rude style: which being so evil apparelled in
the dust and cobwebs of that uncivil age, what would it work trimmed
in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar? In Hungary I have seen it the
manner at all feasts and other such meetings, to have songs of their
ancestors' valour; which that right soldier-like nation think the
chiefest kindlers of brave courage. The incomparable Lacedemonians did
not only carry that kind of music ever with them to the field, but
even at home, as such songs were made, so were they all content to be
the singers of them, when the lusty men were to tell what they did,
the old men what they had done, and the young men what they would do.
And where a man may say that Pindar many times praiseth highly victories
of small moment, matters rather of sport than virtue: as it may be
answered, it was the fault of the poet, and not of the poetry; so
indeed, the chief fault was in the time and custom of the Greeks, who
set those toys at so high a price, that Philip of Macedon reckoned a
horse-race won at Olympus, among his three fearful felicities. But as
the inimitable Pindar often did, so is that kind most capable and most
fit to awake the thoughts from the sleep of idleness, to embrace
honourable enterprises.
There rests the heroical, whose very name (I think) should daunt all
backbiters; for by what conceit can a tongue be directed to speak evil
of that which draweth with it no less champions than Achilles, Cyrus,
Aneas, Turnus, Tydeus, and Rinaldo? who doth not only teach and move
to a truth, but teacheth and moveth to the most high and excellent
truth? who maketh magnanimity and justice shine, throughout all misty
fearfulness and foggy desires? who, if the saying of Plato and Tully
be true, that who could see Virtue, would be wonderfully ravished with
the love of her beauty, this man sets her out to make her more lovely
in her holiday apparel, to the eye of any that will deign, not to
disdain, until they understand. But if anything be already said in the
defence of sweet poetry, all concurreth to the maintaining the heroical,
which is not only a kind, but the best, and most accomplished kind of
poetry. For as the image of each action stirreth and instructeth the
mind, so the lofty image of such worthies most inflameth the mind with
desire to be worthy, and informs with counsel how to be worthy. Only
let Aneas be worn in the tablet of your memory, how he governeth himself
in the ruin of his country, in the preserving his old father, and
carrying away his religious ceremonies [Footnote: sacred vessels and
household gods.]: in obeying the god's commandment to leave Dido,
though not only all passionate kindness, but even the humane
consideration of virtuous gratefulness, would have craved other of
him. How in storms, how in sports, how in war, how in peace, how a
fugitive, how victorious, how besieged, how besieging, how to strangers,
how to allies, how to his enemies, how to his own: lastly, how in his
inward self, and how in his outward government. And I think, in a mind
not prejudiced with a prejudicating humour, he will be found in
excellency fruitful: yea, even as Horace saith:
_Melius Chrysippo et Crantore_
[Footnote: A better teacher than the philosophers.].
But truly I imagine, it falleth out with these poet-whippers, as with
some good women, who often are sick, but in faith they cannot tell
where. So the name of poetry is odious to them; but neither his cause,
nor effects, neither the sum that contains him, nor the particularities
descending from him, give any fast handle to their carping dispraise.
Sith then poetry is of all human learning the most ancient, and of
most fatherly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have taken
their beginnings: sith it is so universal, that no learned nation doth
despise it, nor no barbarous nation is without it: sith both Roman and
Greek gave divine names unto it, the one of prophesying, the other of
making: and that indeed that name of making is fit for him; considering,
that whereas 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 a matter, but maketh
matter for a conceit: sith neither his description, nor his end,
containeth any evil, the thing described cannot be evil: sith his
effects be so good as to teach goodness and to delight the learners:
sith therein (namely, in moral doctrine, the chief of all knowledges),
he doth not only far pass the historian, but for instructing is well-
nigh comparable to the philosopher: and for moving, leaves him behind
him: sith 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: sith all his kinds are not only in their
united forms, but in their severed dissections fully commendable, I
think (and think I think rightly), the laurel crown, appointed for
triumphing captains, doth worthily (of all other learnings) honour the
poet's triumph. But because we have ears as well as tongues, and that
the lightest reasons that may be, will seem to weigh greatly, if nothing
be put in the counter-balance: let us hear, and as well as we can
ponder, what objections may be made against this art, which may be
worthy, either of yielding or answering.
First truly I note, not only in these _mysomousoi_ poet-haters, but
in all that kind of people, who seek a praise by dispraising others,
that they do prodigally spend a great many wandering words, in quips,
and scoffs; carping and taunting at each thing, which, by stirring the
spleen, may stay the brain from a through beholding the worthiness of
the subject.
Those kind of objections, as they are full of very idle easiness, sith
there is nothing of so sacred a majesty, but that an itching tongue
may rub itself upon it: so deserve they no other answer, but instead
of laughing at the jest, to laugh at the jester. We know a playing wit
can praise the discretion of an ass; the comfortableness of being in
debt, and the jolly commodity of being sick of the plague. So of the
contrary side, if we will turn Ovid's verse:
_Ut lateat virtus proximitate mali,_
that good lie hid in nearness of the evil: Agrippa will be as merry
in showingthe vanity of science, as Erasmus was in commending of folly.
Neither shall any man or matter escape some touch of these smiling
railers. But for Erasmus and Agrippa, they had another foundation than
the superficial part would promise. Marry, these other pleasant
fault-finders, who will correct the verb, before they understand the
noun, and confute others' knowledge before they confirm their own: I
would have them only remember, that scoffing cometh not of wisdom. So
as the best title in true English they get with their merriments is
to be called good fools: for so have our grave forefathers ever termed
that humorous kind of jesters: but that which giveth greatest scope
to their scorning humours is rhyming and versing. It is already said
(and as I think, truly said) it is not rhyming and versing that maketh
poesy. One may be a poet without versing, and a versifier without
poetry. But yet, presuppose it were inseparable (as indeed it seemeth
Scaliger judgeth) truly it were an inseparable commendation. For if
_oratio_ next to _ratio_, speech next to reason, be the greatest gift
bestowed upon mortality: that cannot be praiseless, which doth most
polish that blessing of speech, which considers each word, not only
(as a man may say) by his forcible quality, but by his best measured
quantity, carrying even in themselves, a harmony: without (perchance)
number, measure, order, proportion, be in our time grown odious. But
lay aside the just praise it hath, by being the only fit speech for
music (music, I say, the most divine striker of the senses): thus much
is undoubtedly true, that if reading be foolish, without remembering,
memory being the only treasurer of knowledge, those words which are
fittest for memory, are likewise most convenient for knowledge.
Now, that verse far exceedeth prose in the knitting up of the memory,
the reason is manifest. The words (besides their delight, which hath
a great affinity to memory), being so set, as one word cannot be lost,
but the whole work fails: which accuseth itself, calleth the remembrance
back to itself, and so most strongly confirmeth it. Besides, one word
so as it were begetting another, as be it in rhyme or measured verse,
by the former a man shall have a near guess to the follower. Lastly,
even they that have taught the art of memory have showed nothing so
apt for it, as a certain room divided into many places well and
thoroughly known. Now, that hath the verse in effect perfectly: every
word having his natural seat, which seat must needs make the words
remembered. But what needeth more in a thing so known to all men? Who
is it that ever was a scholar, that doth not carry away some verses
of Virgil, Horace, or Cato [Footnote: The moralist. His elegiacs are
constantly quoted by medieval writers, _e.g._ in _Piers Plowman_.],
which in his youth he learned, and even to his old age serve him for
hourly lessons? But the fitness it hath for memory is notably proved
by all delivery of arts: wherein for the most part, from grammar to
logic, mathematic, physic, and the rest, the rules chiefly necessary
to be borne away are compiled in verses. So that, verse being in itself
sweet and orderly, and being best for memory, the only handle of
knowledge, it must be in jest that any man can speak against it. Now
then go we to the most important imputations laid to the poor poets;
for aught I can yet learn, they are these: first, that there being
many other more fruitful knowledges, a man might better spend his time
in them, than in this. Secondly, that it is the mother of lies. Thirdly,
that it is the nurse of abuse, infecting us with many pestilent desires:
with a siren's sweetness, drawing the mind to the serpent's tail of
sinful fancy. And herein especially, comedies give the largest field
to err, as Chaucer saith: how both in other nations and in ours, before
poets did soften us, we were full of courage, given to martial
exercises; the pillars of man-like liberty, and not lulled asleep in
shady idleness with poets' pastimes. And lastly, and chiefly, they cry
out with an open mouth, as if they outshot Robin Hood, that Plato
banished them out of his commonwealth. Truly, this is much, if there
be much truth in it. First to the first: that a man might better spend
his time, is a reason indeed: but it doth (as they say) but _petere
principium_. For if it be as I affirm, that no learning is so good as
that which teacheth and moveth to virtue; and that none can both teach
and move thereto so much as poetry: then is the conclusion manifest,
that ink and paper cannot be to a more profitable purpose employed.
And certainly, though a man should grant their first assumption, it
should follow (methinks) very unwillingly, that good is not good,
because better is better. But I still and utterly deny that there is
sprung out of earth a more fruitful knowledge. To the second, therefore,
that they should be the principal liars; I answer paradoxically, but
truly I think, truly; that of all writers under the sun, the poet is
the least liar: and though he would, as a poet can scarcely be a liar,
the astronomer, with his cousin the geometrician, can hardly escape,
when they take upon them to measure the height of the stars.
How often, think you, do the physicians lie, when they aver things
good for sicknesses, which afterwards send Charon a great number of
souls drowned in a potion before they come to his ferry? And no less
of the rest, which take upon them to affirm. Now, for the poet, he
nothing affirms, and therefore never lieth. For, as I take it, to lie
is to affirm that to be true which is false. So as the other artists,
and especially the historian, affirming many things, can in the cloudy
knowledge of mankind hardly escape from many lies. But the poet (as
I said before) never affirmeth. The poet never maketh any circles about
your imagination, to conjure you to believe for true what he writes.
He citeth not authorities of other histories, but even for his entry
calleth the sweet Muses to inspire into him a good invention: in truth,
not labouring to tell you what is or is not, but what should or should
not be: and therefore, though he recount things not true, yet because
he telleth them not for true, he lieth not, without we will say that
Nathan lied in his speech, before alleged, to David. Which as a wicked
man durst scarce say, so think I, none so simple would say, that Asop
lied in the tales of his beasts: for who thinks that Asop wrote it for
actually true, were well worthy to have his name chronicled among the
beasts he writeth of.
What child is there, that coming to a play, and seeing Thebes written
in great letters upon an old door, doth believe that it is Thebes? If
then a man can arrive, at that child's age, to know that the poet's
persons and doings are but pictures what should be, and not stories
what have been, they will never give the lie to things not
affirmatively, but allegorically and figuratively, written. And
therefore as in history, looking for truth, they go away full fraught
with falsehood: so in poesy, looking for fiction, they shall use the
narration but as an imaginative groundplot of a profitable invention.
But hereto is replied that the poets give names to men they write of,
which argueth a conceit of an actual truth, and so, not being true,
proves a falsehood. And doth the lawyer lie, then, when under the names
of John a stile and John a noakes, he puts his case? But that is easily
answered. Their naming of men is but to make their picture the more
lively, and not to build any history: painting men, they cannot leave
men nameless. We see we cannot play at chess, but that we must give
names to our chessmen; and yet methinks he were a very partial champion
of truth that would say we lied for giving a piece of wood the reverend
title of a bishop. The poet nameth Cyrus or Aneas no other way than
to show what men of their fames, fortunes, and estates should do.
Their third is, how much it abuseth men's wit, training it to wanton
sinfulness and lustful love; for indeed that is the principal, if not
the only abuse I can hear alleged. They say the comedies rather teach
than reprehend amorous conceits. They say the lyric is larded with
passionate sonnets. The elegiac weeps the want of his mistress. And
that even to the heroical, Cupid hath ambitiously climbed. Alas, Love!
I would thou couldst as well defend thyself as thou canst offend others.
I would those on whom thou dost attend could either put thee away or
yield good reason why they keep thee. But grant love of beauty to be
a beastly fault, although it be very hard, sith only man and no beast
hath that gift, to discern beauty. Grant that lovely name of love to
deserve all hateful reproaches: although even some of my masters the
philosophers spent a good deal of their lamp-oil in setting forth the
excellency of it. Grant, I say, whatsoever they will have granted;
that not only love, but lust, but vanity, but (if they list) scurrility,
possesseth many leaves of the poet's books: yet think I, when this is
granted, they will find their sentence may with good manners put the
last words foremost; and not say that poetry abuseth man's wit, but
that man's wit abuseth poetry.
For I will not deny but that man's wit may make poesy (which should
be _eikastike_, which some learned have defined, figuring forth good
things) to be fantastic: which doth contrariwise infect the fancy with
unworthy objects. As the painter, that should give to the eye either
some excellent perspective or some fine picture fit for building or
fortification, or containing in it some notable example, as Abraham
sacrificing his son Isaac, Judith killing Holofernes, David fighting
with Goliath, may leave those and please an ill-pleased eye with wanton
shows of better hidden matters. But what, shall the abuse of a thing
make the right use odious? Nay, truly, though I yield that poesy may
not only be abused, but that, being abused by the reason of his sweet
charming force, it can do more hurt than any other army of words: yet
shall it be so far from concluding that the abuse should give reproach
to the abused, that contrariwise it is a good reason that whatsoever
being abused, doth most harm, being rightly used (and upon the right
use each thing conceiveth his title) doth most good.
Do we not see the skill of physic (the best rampire to our often-
assaulted bodies), being abused, teach poison the most violent
destroyer? Doth not knowledge of law, whose end is to even and right
all things, being abused, grow the crooked fosterer of horrible
injuries? Doth not (to go to the highest) God's word, abused, breed
heresy? and His name abused, become blasphemy? Truly a needle cannot
do much hurt, and as truly (with leave of ladies be it spoken) it
cannot do much good. With a sword thou mayest kill thy father, and
with a sword thou mayest defend thy prince and country. So that, as
in their calling poets the fathers of lies they say nothing: so in
this their argument of abuse they prove the commendation.
They allege herewith that, before poets began to be in price, our
nation hath set their hearts' delight upon action and not upon
imagination: rather doing things worthy to be written than writing
things fit to be done. What that before time was, I think scarcely
Sphinx can tell: sith no memory is so ancient that hath the precedence
of poetry. And certain it is that, in our plainest homeliness, yet
never was the Albion nation without poetry. Marry, this argument,
though it be levelled against poetry, yet is it indeed a chain-shot
against all learning, or bookishness, as they commonly term it. Of
such mind were certain Goths, of whom it is written that, having in
the spoils of a famous city taken a fair library, one hangman (belike
fit to execute the fruits of their wits) who had murdered a great
number of bodies, would have set fire on it. "No", said another very
gravely, "take heed what you do, for while they are busy about these
toys, we shall with more leisure conquer their countries."
This indeed is the ordinary doctrine of ignorance, and many words
sometimes I have heard spent in it; but because this reason is generally
against all learning, as well as poetry; or rather, all learning but
poetry: because it were too large a digression to handle, or at least
too superfluous: (sith it is manifest that all government of action
is to be gotten by knowledge, and knowledge best by gathering many
knowledges, which is, reading), I only with Horace, to him that is of
that opinion,
_Jubeo stultum esse libenter:_
for as for poetry itself, it is the freest from this objection. For
poetry is the companion of the camps.
I dare undertake, Orlando Furioso or honest King Arthur will never
displease a soldier; but the quiddity of _ens_ and _prima materia_
will hardly agree with a corslet; and therefore, as I said in the
beginning, even Turks and Tartars are delighted with poets. Homer, a
Greek, flourished before Greece flourished. And if to a slight
conjecture a conjecture may be opposed, truly it may seem that, as by
him their learned men took almost their first light of knowledge, so
their active men received their first motions of courage. Only
Alexander's example may serve, who by Plutarch is accounted of such
virtue that fortune was not his guide but his footstool; whose acts
speak for him, though Plutarch did not: indeed, the Phoenix of warlike
princes. This Alexander left his schoolmaster, living Aristotle, behind
him, but took dead Homer with him; he put the philosopher Calisthenes
to death for his seeming philosophical, indeed mutinous stubbornness.
But the chief thing he ever was heard to wish for was that Homer had
been alive. He well found he received more bravery of mind by the
pattern of Achilles than by hearing the definition of fortitude; and
therefore, if Cato misliked Fulvius for carrying Ennius with him to
the field, it may be answered that, if Cato misliked it, the noble
Fulvius liked it, or else he had not done it. For it was not the
excellent Cato Uticensis (whose authority I would much more have
reverenced), but it was the former [Footnote: Cato the Censor]: in
truth, a bitter punisher of faults, but else a man that had never well
sacrificed to the Graces. He misliked and cried out upon all Greek
learning, and yet, being 80 years old, began to learn it. Belike,
fearing that Pluto understood not Latin. Indeed, the Roman laws allowed
no person to be carried to the wars but he that was in the soldiers'
roll; and therefore, though Cato misliked his unmustered person, he
misliked not his work. And if he had, Scipio Nasica, judged by common
consent the best Roman, loved him. Both the other Scipio brothers, who
had by their virtues no less surnames than of Asia and Affrick, so
loved him that they caused his body to be buried in their sepulchre.
So as Cato, his authority being but against his person, and that
answered with so far greater than himself, is herein of no validity.
But now, indeed, my burden is great; now Plato his name is laid upon
me, whom I must confess, of all philosophers, I have ever esteemed
most worthy of reverence, and with great reason, sith of all
philosophers he is the most poetical. Yet if he will defile the
fountain, out of which his flowing streams have proceeded, let us
boldly examine with what reasons he did it. First, truly, a man might
maliciously object that Plato, being a philosopher, was a natural enemy
of poets; for, indeed, after the philosophers had picked out of the
sweet mysteries of poetry the right discerning true points of knowledge,
they forthwith putting it in method, and making a school-art of that
which the poets did only teach by a divine delightfulness, beginning
to spurn at their guides like ungrateful 'prentices, were not content
to set up shops for themselves, but sought by all means to discredit
their masters. Which by the force of delight being barred them, the
less they could overthrow them, the more they hated them. For, indeed,
they found for Homer seven cities strove who should have him for their
citizen: where many cities banished philosophers, as not fit members
to live among them. For only repeating certain of Euripides' verses,
many Athenians had their lives saved of the Syracusians: [Footnote:
The story is told in _Balaustion's Adventure_.] when the Athenians
themselves thought many philosophers unworthy to live.
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