CARDINAL NEWMAN STUDENT'S HANDBOOK OF ENGLISH LITERATURE WJTH SELECTIONS FROM THE WRITINGS OF THE MOST DISTINGUISHED AUTHORS BY REV, O. L. JENKINS, A.M., S, S LATE PRESIDENT OF ST. CHARLES' COLLEGE MD THIRTY-EIGHTH REVISED EDITION Metropolitan Press JOHN MURPHY COMPANY PUBLISHERS BALTIMORE MARYLAND Copyright 1912, by JOHN MURPHY COMPANY Press of JOHN MURPHY COMPANY, Baltimore CARDINALS RESIDENCE 408 N. CHARLES ST. BALTIMORE, MD. Rev. F. X. McKenny, S.S., St. Charles' College, Catonsville, Md. My Dear Father: I take pleasure in introducing this latest revision of Jenkins9 "Handbook of Literature." It is a manual which has stood the long test of modern experimenting in the teaching of our Hnglish classics; and its extended use witnesses to its saneness of method and soundness of principle. While it justly gives praise for what is artistic in the best of our literature, it as fearlessly points out what is blameworthy from the viewpoint of Catholic morality. Such an aim tends to give better balance of mind and round- ness of finish to the young student of letters than does the god- less teaching of art for art's sake, now rampant in a world that seeks no higher standard than the culture of respectability. I would like to see this book in still wider use, for the inspira- tion of youth who must carry on the traditions of our Hnglish literature and the standards of our Catholic ethics. May 6, 1912. THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA WASHINGTON, D. C. April Eighteenth, Nineteen Twelve. My Dear Father McKenny: I am much pleased to hear that you are about to publish a new edition of Jenkins' "Hand-book of Literature." It is an excellent manual and well deserves the popularity that it has long enjoyed in our Catholic colleges, academies and high schools. With best wi^fus. 1 remain, Very sincerely yours in Xt, Rector. Very Reverend F. X. McKenny, S.S., President, St. Charles' College, Catonsville, Md. PREFACE The purpose of this text-book is to give a general outline of the main trend of English Literature, keep- ing in mind Cardinal Newman's definition of Litera- ture as summarized by Professor Winchester, that Literature consists of those books that have permanent interest, appeal to the intellect through the imagination, which are founded on truth and are fittingly expressed. The Poets and the Prose writers have been grouped separately, that their mutual influence, relative impor- tance, and development from period to period may be seen more readily and grasped by the student more easily. Such questions as the development of the Arthurian tales, the drama, the novel, and kindred topics are merely suggested; and the amount of such work that may be done depends on the ability of different classes, the time devoted to English in various schools, and the inclination of individual teachers. Our hope is that the changes incorporated into this revised edition of a book that has had such a host of friends in the past, may serve to increase its popular- ity, and continue to serve as an introduction and incen- tive to a most interesting subject to many of our American youth. C. C. BERKELEY, J. J. JEPSON. ST. CHARLES' COLLEGE, CATONSVILLE, MARYLAND, May 27, 1912. TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE PREFACE yii TABLE OF CONTENTS . . ix PART L BRITISH LITERATURE. CHAPTER I. ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD. . Most Ancient Inhabitants of Britain, St. Augustine and their Conversion to Christianity 1 Venerable Bede 1 The Literature 2 Caedmon 2 Cynewulf, King Alfred 2 Origin of the various Chronicles 3 CHAPTER II. SECOND PERIOD. NORMAN PERIOD The Normans, at time of the Battle of Hastings 3 Semi-Saxon writings, Roman influence, influence of the French, the Universities 3 Monasteries, the Ancient Libraries 4 Curriculum of a liberal education. 5 Universities 6 The Scholastic Method 7 Rhyming Chronicles, Layamon, Metrical Romances 8 ix x CONTENTS. CHAPTER III. THIRD PERIOD. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. PAGE French still the language of court 9 Act passed ordering all lawsuits to be carried on in English henceforth 9 William Langland 10 Geoffrey Chaucer 10 John Gower 23 John Lydgate 24 Sir John Mandeville 26 John Wycliff 29 CHAPTER IV. FOURTH PERIOD. REVIVAL OF LITERATURE. Weary stretch of desert for a century and a half after Chaucer 31 Social unrest, discovery of America, had great creative in- fluence, together with the advent of the printing-press.. 32 William Dunbar 32 Sir Thomas Wyatt 33 Henry Howard 34 William Caxton . . . 36 Malory 37 Blessed Thomas More 38 Roger Ascham 42 CHAPTER V. FIFTH PERIOD. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. Treaty of peace with France and its results for literature. . 45 Positive injury done by the Reformation to Literature.... 46 Development of the Drama, first attempts at theatrical ex- hibitions in England, Miracle Plays 47 Earliest comedy, Ralph Roister Bolster, and the earliest tragedy, Gorboduc 49 CONTENTS. xi PAGE Edmund Spenser 49 Sir Philip Sydney 56 Christopher Marlowe 56 Robert Southwell 60 Thomas Sackville 65 William Shakespeare 63 Beaumont and Fletcher 83 Ben Jonson 84 The Last of the Dramatists, Massinger, Webster, Heywood, Randolph, Middleton, and Shirley, and the closing of the London theatres by order of Parliament 89 Sir Walter Raleigh 91 Francis Bacon 93 CHAPTER VI. SIXTH PERIOD. CIVIL WAR PERIOD. Period of unrest not in the main favorable to literature, baleful influence of Euphuism, making of the whole a transition period 98 Richard Crashaw 99 Abraham Cowley 101 Sir William Davenant 105 John Milton 106 Samuel Butler 119 Edmund Waller 124 John Dryden 124 Edward Hyde 133 Sir Thomas Browne, M. D.. 135 Izaak Walton 137 John Bunyan 138 Samuel Pepys 140 John Evelyn 142 CHAPTER VII. SEVENTH PERIOD. THE PERIOD OF THE CLASSICISTS. Derives its name less on account of the refinement and polish of its writers than from their professed imitation of the classic models . 144 xii CONTENTS. PAGE Alexander Pope 145 James Thomson 153 William Collins 159 Edward Young 165 Thomas Gray 168 Oliver Goldsmith 174 Robert Burns 180 William Cowper 184 J ohn Gay 189 Thomas Chatterton 189 James Beattie 189 James MacPherson 189 Thomas Percy 190 J oseph Addison 190 Sir Richard Steele 196 Jonathan Swift 201 Letters of Junius 207 David Hume 209 Samuel Johnson 213 William Robertson 221 Edward Gibbon 224 Edmund Burke 228 Novels and Novel-reading, history of the Novel 233 Daniel Defoe 236 Henry Fiedling, Samuel Richardson 241 Laurence Sterne, Tobias George Smollett 242 CHAPTER VIII. EIGHTH PERIOD. THE NINETEENTH CENTURY AND AFTER. Begins with a seething of revolt and movement for emanci- pation 242 In America, peace and independence prepares foundation for birth of a lasting literature; Catholics again take part in the literature of nations 243 The Age of Romanticism 243 Foundation of many notable magazines and reviews 246 The Victorian Period 345 John Keais . : .249 CONTENTS. xiii PAGfi Percy Bysshe Shelley 253 George Gordon Byron 257 William Blake 264 George Crabbe 266 S. Taylor Coleridge 269 Rx:hard Brindsley Sheridan 274 Jane Austen 275 William Hazlitt 277 Sir Walter Scott 280 Charles Lamb 289 Robert Southey 293 Thomas Campbell 296 James Clarence Mangan 298 William Wordsworth 302 Thomas Moore 305 Elizabeth Barrett Browning 308 Arthur Hugh dough 310 John Keble 312 Dante Gabriel Rossetti , 312 Robert Browning 314 John Lingard • 320 John Wilson 326 Charlotte Bronte 327 Thomas de Quincey 329 Thomas Babington Macauley 334 Frederick William Faber 337 William Makepeace Thackeray 341 Walter Savage Landor 346 Nicholas Patrick Wiseman 350 Charles Dickens 356 Bulwer-Lytton 360 George Eliot 361 Thomas Carlyle 365 John Richard Green 368 Anthony Trollope 370 Matthew Arnold 372 Alfred Lord Tennyson 378 Christina Georgina Rossetti 384 William Morris 386 Coventry Patmore 389 Aubrey de Vere 391 Francis Thompson 395 Charles Algernon Swinburne 399 CONTENTS. John Henry Newman .......... ............................ 402 Henry Edward Manning .................................. 412 Robert Louis Stevenson .................................. 415 John Ruskin ............................................... 420 George Meredith ......................................... 424 Thomas Hardy ............................................ 426 Patrick Augustine Sheehan ................................ 427 James Matthew Barrie ............... ............ ......... 430 Rudyard Kipling .......................................... 432 G. K. Chesterton ........ . 433 CONTENTS. xv PART II. AMERICAN LITERATURE. CHAPTER IX. I. BEFORE THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. PAGE Ephemeral character of the literature prior to the last hundred years; first settlers retained Elizabethan char- acteristics more than their contemporaries in England.. 437 James Otis, Francis Hopkinson, John Dickinson 440 Samuel Seabury, Jonathan Odell . 441 Charles Brockden Brown 442 Timothy Dwight, John Trumbull 443 Joel Barlow 444 Benjamin Franklin 444 Philip Freneau 450 II. THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. Edgar Allan Poe 451 William Cullen Bryant 459 Sidney Lanier 462 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 464 Abram J. Ryan 468 John Greenleaf Whittier 470 Edmund Clarence Stedman 474 John Banister Tabb 475 James Fenimore Cooper 478 American Orators 482 Patrick Henry, John Adams, James Otis 482 John C. Calhoun, Senator Hayne 483 William Lloyd Garrison, Wendell Phillips, Charles Sumner, Henry Clay 484 Edward Everett , 485 Rufus Choate, Abraham Lincoln, Channing, Parker, Clarke, Bushnell, Beecher, Brooks 486 John England, Martin John Spalding, John Hughes, P. J. Ryan, John Ireland 487 Daniel Webster 487 Washington Irving 491 xvl CONTENTS. PAGE William H. Prescott 495 Nathaniel Hawthorne 499 Orestes A. Brownson 502 Ralph Waldo Emerson 509 George Bancroft 512 James Russell Lowell 515 Brother Azarias 519 Francis Parkman 521 Oliver Wendell Holmes 523 Richard Malcolm Johnston 528 Bret Harte 529 Francis Richard Stockton 530 Joel Chandler Harris 532 Francis Marion Crawford 534 Charles Warren Stoddard 535 Samuel Langhorne Clemens 537 Henry James 539 William Dean Howells 540 The Short Story, reaches its zenith in the Nineteenth Cen- tury ; its history, and principal exponents 543 CHAPTER X. MINOR WRITERS. Novelists 545 Writers of Short Stories 546 Poets 547 Historians ( Modern) 547 F,ssayists (Modern) 54S CHAPTER I. ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD, 449-1066. The Angles, Saxons, and Jutes, tribes of the Germanic race, were a fierce horde of piratical adven- turers, living on the borders of the North Sea. As a people they were remarkable for their love of freedom, strong religious convictions, and reverence for woman. After many incursions along the coast of Britain, they finally established a settlement in the fifth century, and so laid the foundations of the English nation. Their songs and stories mark the beginning of Anglo-Saxon literature, the earliest remaining forms of which date from the conversion of the Saxons to Christianity by St. Augustine in 596. From this period the Saxon mind was ever active, though its labors were often interrupted by the inroads of the Danes and by internal wars. Venerable Bede (673-735) is the crowning glory of this period, and his Historia Bcclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, written in the eighth century, is to this day an authoritative work, not only for the annals of the Church but also for public events of the early Anglo- Saxon period. All his writings are in Latin. Of the Anglo-Saxon poetry, Beowulf, an epic, a great literary, historical and mythological curiosity, of pagan origin was cast into its present form by a Christian whose name we know not.* It tells of the fight of the hero, Beowulf, with the monster Grendel ; * In the eighth or ninth century. 2 BRITISH LITERATURE. of his fight with the monster's mother and finally of his fight with a huge dragon. Caedmon's paraphrase of Genesis and Exodus is one among many other fragmentary poems of the period still extant. Bede tells us that Caedmon, a lay-brother of Whitby, can be compared to no other religious poet, "for he did not learn the art of poetry from men, but from God." He is sometimes called the Saxon Milton, because he took as his theme Lucifer and Paradise Lost, and many passages are marked with true epic spirit. Andreas and Elene is a poem, or rather two distinct poems, by another remarkable genius of these early times, Cynewulf. The first of some 1700 lines, tells of the adventures of the apostle St. Andrew. The second, of 1300 lines, gives the story of St. Helena and the true Cross. Others works of Cynewulf worth noting are The Christ, Juliana, the Fates of the Apostles. Through these Christian narrative poems there is a quaint com- mingling of the old Norse fable and the writer's newly acquired knowledge of Christianity; for instance, the bird Phoenix is made symbolic of the resurrection and eternal life. There is every where evident Teutonic strength and action along with an abiding faith and sterling patriotism. The prose that remains of the period is valuable for the aid it gives the historian but not for its literary merit. Instances of this statement are the translations of King Alfred which include Orosius} Universal His- tory and Geography, Bede's History, and Boethius' Consolations of Philosophy. The Saxon Chronicle is a work, however, that deserves special mention. This old manuscript dates NORMAN PERIOD. 3 from about the year 891 and gives a connected account of events from the beginning of the Christian era to 1154. It was compiled under the direction of Arch- bishop Plegmund, and was continued under his suc- cessors, the Archbishops of Canterbury, to the days of the Norman conquest. The monks of various mon- asteries made copies of this manuscript to which they added and inserted their local histories. This is the origin of the various Chronicles, three of which are now in the British Museum, one is at Oxford and one at Cambridge. CHAPTER II. NORMAN PERIOD, 1066-1350. The Normans at the time of the battle of Hastings (1066) ranked among the most polished and also the most warlike nations of Europe. Though their con- quest of England was effected with many hardships to the Saxons, it produced notable good results; for it unified or nationalized the ever-warring Saxon tribes and brought with it the fruits of Roman civilization. A mighty effort was made to substitute the French for the Anglo-Saxon tongue, but this was not accom- plished. Our language remains to-day a happy admix- ture of Norman elegance and Anglo-Saxon strength. The dearth of Semi-Saxon writings proves however no lack of mental activity in the nation. Never, per- haps, was that activity better displayed in Europe than at the period of which we speak. * This was the age that beheld the foundation of the great Universities, • The student is referred to Dr. J. J. Walsh's recently published studies of this period "The Thirteenth, the Greatest of CenturUe." 4 BRITISH LITERATURE. when the study of philosophy and theology excited universal enthusiasm. England did not remain behind in that intellectual movement. We are told that in 1231 the number of students at Oxford, together with their attendants, amounted to thirty thousand. The English monasteries, too, were so many centres of study and learning. But in both the universities and the monasteries, Latin was still the chief medium of imparting and transmitting knowledge. In the half-developed state of most European lan- guages during the Middle Ages, a common idiom was indispensable; and Latin was that link which united the several countries of Europe. It is worthy of note, in the history of letters, that we owe to the monks whatever we know of their times. The remains of their patient and arduous labors form the only true materia historica of modern writers. This is especially true of English monks and monasteries. Scarcely any other country in Europe possesses such an historical treasure as the Saxon Chronicle, so authentic and so characteristic. It is a faithful picture of the manners, the thoughts, the joys, the sorrows of the most interesting and important period in the history of England, as if the life itself of the nation, with its characteristic incidents, were made to pass before our eyes in a rapid panorama. LIBRARIES. The art of printing not yet being known, each monastery had its scriptorium for those who were employed in transcribing books, an occupation in which the majority of the monks were engaged during the hours allotted to manual labor. Each monastery had its library. From the writings of Alcuin, we learn NORMAN PERIOD. 5 that there was a renowned library at York ; and, as it is the earliest recorded collection of books, and fur- nishes the first catalogue of an English library extant, we subjoin a list of the chief works it contained. Alcuin says that in this library were the works of Jerome, Hilarius, Ambrose, Augustine, Athanasius, Gregory, Pope Leo, Basil, Chrysostom, and others. Bede and Aldhelm, the native authors, were also here. In history and philosophy, were Orosius, Boethius, Pompeius, Pliny, Aristotle, and Cicero. In poetry, Sedulius, Juvencus, Prosper, Arator, Paulinus, Eortunatus, Lac- tantius ; and, of the classics, Virgil, Statius, and Lucan. Of grammarians, there was a great number, such as Probus, Phocas, Donatus, Priscian, Servius, Eutychius, and Comminianus. Ingulf tells us that the library of Croyland contained above three hundred volumes, till the unfortunate fire that destroyed the abbey in 1091. The academical library of Oxford in 1300 consisted, according to Hallam, of a few tracts kept in chests under St. Mary's Church. The difficulty of procuring books in those times may be shown from the fact that in 1067 the Countess of Anjou paid for a collection of homilies two hundred sheep, a measure of wheat, another of rye, a third of millet, and a certain quantity of skins of the marten. CURRICULUM OF A LIBERAL EDUCATION. John of Salisbury gives us, in his writings, the most complete account that has reached us, not only of the mode of study at Paris, but of the entire learning of the age. Those branches of literary and scientific knowledge, which formed the usual course of educa- tion, were considered as divided into two great classes, g BRITISH LITERATURE. —the first, or more elementary, comprehending Gram- mar, Logic, and Rhetoric, was called the Trivium; the second, comprehending Music, Arithmetic, Geom- etry, and Astronomy, the Quadrivium. UNIVERSITIES. The seven arts, comprised in the Trivium and Quad- rivium, were, so to say, the foundation of the Univer- sity system. The superstructure embraced the sciences of Theology, Law, Medicine, and, subordinated to these, Metaphysics, Natural History, and the lan- guages. A University was, therefore, a "Studium generate, a school of universal learning, consisting of teachers and learners from every quarter." The four Faculties which conferred degrees were those of Arts, Theology, Law, and Medicine. In the Faculty of Arts there were no other degrees than those of Bache- lor and Master ; but in the other Faculties the success- ful candidates, after severe examination, could become Bachelors, Licentiates, and Doctors or Masters. The titles of Doctor and Master, at first used indiscrimi- nately, came to be restricted in their application; that of Master to the highest degree in the Faculty of Arts, and that of Doctor to the highest degree in the other three Faculties. Theology, Medicine, Civil and Canon Law, had particular schools. Salerno was the nursery of all the Medical Faculties of Europe; Bologna was the chief School of Law ; Paris, as a place of general instruction, stood at the head of all others, and was styled the City of Letters. In the University of Paris, none was admitted to the course of theology who had not obtained the degree of Master of Arts. After three years' attendance at the course of theology, and NORMAN PERIOD. 7 a twofold examination, the student passed through the ordeal of a public thesis during five hours ; and if suc- cessful he was made Bachelor of Theology. To become Licentiate he studied two or three years more, and had examinations yet more trying. Still further exami- nations and public defense of thesis were required before he could wear the Doctor's cap. The universities, as corporate bodies, became pos- sessed of a great number of privileges. They were so many little republics governed by their charter of statutes, their tribunals, and their independent juris- diction. They were special objects of favor on the part of kings and popes. Their influence was most powerful in the decision of all religious and even political questions. THE SCHOLASTIC METHOD. The system adopted in the schools and universities of the twelfth and subsequent centuries for the teach- ing of philosophy and theology, is known as the Scho- lastic Method. To define words of an obscure or ambiguous meaning; to analyze and point out the various aspects of a question, and determine such as are brought under immediate discussion ; to prove one's position by arguments drawn in syllogistic form ; and, finally, to solve the objections that may be raised by adversaries : these are the main features of the scho- lastic method. Not a few writers have inconsiderately attempted to throw discredit upon this system. That some of the schoolmen, wandering in a maze of meta- physical subtleties, undertook to treat useless, frivolous, and sometimes absurd questions, cannot cast a censure upon a method perfectly sound in itself, and illustrated 8 BRITISH LITERATURE. by a number of great men, such as Roger Bacon, St. Anselm and St. Thomas Aquinas. As already noted, Latin was the language of the schools, and most of the writings are necessarily in that tongue. Any detailed account of them is there- fore out of place in a manual of English literature. There is however a number of marked literary types during this Norman period that deserve mention. Prominent are the Rhyming Chronicles, and Metrical Romances Geoffrey of Monmouth, a Welsh monk wTrote Historia Regum Brittanite, a medley of Christian and pagan legends, the Arthurian tales, from which many later workers have obtained their literary material ; for instance, Shakespeare for his King Lear, and Tennyson for his Idylls of the King. Layamon (1205), a secular priest, was one of these rhyming chroniclers, and the first to write English for the entertainment of the people. His Brut, a poem of about 16000 lines, starts with the Fall of Troy, gives an account of Aeneas' flight to Italy, and tells how his great-grand-son, Brutus, founded the kingdom of Britain. This is the first of the Arthurian legends in our own tongue, and is almost pure Anglo-Saxon. T'he metrical romances treat in romantic spirit of love, chivalry, and religion ; they are in fact an epitome of Middle Age spirit, and overshadow all other liter- ary forms. At times all the songs or tales of one hero are collected, and then we have such productions as the Chanson de Roland, or the Geste of Robin Hood. There are Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, Sir Gawain and the Green Knights, the most interesting of all perhaps and the finest of the early romances. Some tell of Charlemagne, others of the Crusaders, and in particular of Richard the Lion-Hearted. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 9 CHAPTER III. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD, 1350-1450. The literary interest of this period lies chiefly in the prevalence which the vernacular idiom obtained over the French, and the general impetus given to studies : it prepared rather than accomplished great literary achievements. The court was yet essentially French; in the schools Latin was studied through the French, and the greater part of writers still composed in Latin. Edward III., it is said, knew, or at any rate used no more of English than a few phrases, such as : "Ha ! St. George! Ha! St. Edward!" However, an act passed under his reign (1362) ordered that the plead- ings in all lawsuits should thenceforth be carried on in English; and, under his successor, the same rule was applied to parliamentary proceedings. English was now taught, instead of French, in the "grammere scoles of Engelond." The great success of the English version of Mandeville's Travels, affords another proof of the growing importance of the native language. King Henry IV., by writing his will in English, set a good example, which his nobles made sure to follow. On the Continent, the names of Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio loom large and bright on the literary hori- zon. At home there is Chaucer alone portraying his day as did Shakespeare his own time, — business man and courtier, his writings reflect the stirring times in which he lived. Langland in lower key sings of the social unrest and preaches the equality of men. Wyclif represents the religious upheaval that is beginning. Gower and Lydgate though scholars and literary men, are now little read. 10 BRITISH LITERATURE. WlUvIAM LANGLAND, ? - 1360. William Langland, about 1360, is thought to be the author of the Vision of Piers (Peter) Plowman. He was a cleric in minor orders only, and later he mar- ried. The work comprises 14,000 lines of two feet (or 7000 of four feet), which have no rhyme, but an alliter- ation as regular as that of the old Saxon poems. Under the form of a vision or dream the poet indulges a taste for satire. All orders of men, but particularly the religious, serve as a target for his shafts. As has been justly remarked, the credit due to a satirist depends much upon his known character and motives; and of these, in the present instance, we have no cer- tain knowledge. According to Wright, there is in the Vision no heretical doctrine ; but the same cannot be said of Piers Plowman's Crede, a shorter poem, writ- ten soon after by a follower of Wyclif. This author, says Wright, "is the simple representative of the peas- ant rising to judge and act for himself — the English sans-culotte of the fourteenth century, if we may be allowed the comparison." Piers Plowman has little or no unity of plan, nor has the author any creative power worthy of notice, neither does he give us any descriptions either of char- acter or nature worthy of literary study. But his invective against the London city life in all its super- ficial aspects is strong. GEotftfRiCY CHAUCSR, 1340 (?)-1400.* Geoffrey Chaucer, That renownmed Poet Dan Chaucer, Well of English undefyled, On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled, * In regard to Chaucer's life, the list of his authentic works, and our Extract*, we have followed Rev. -Walter W. Skeat. the eminent editor of Cnaucer's Worhg, 1 vols., 8vo, 1894, Oxford, Clarendoa Press. GEOFFREY CHAUCER EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 11 was born, probably in London, between 1330 and 1340. His father and grandfather were vintners. We have no certain information of the place and manner of his education. As early as 1357, he lived in the service of Lionel, Earl of Ulster and Duke of Clarence, and second son of Edward III. Chaucer accompanied his master in the great expedition of Edward III. to France, in 1359, and was taken prisoner, but was soon ransomed by Lionel. He was sent several times to France and to Italy on diplomatic missions. We find him in 1366 married to one Philippa, a lady in the attendance of Philippa, Queen of England ; and, in the year following, he is mentioned as "a valet of the king's household." A yearly pension of twenty marks (about thirty- four dollars) was paid by the court to Chaucer on his wife's account, from 1368 to 1387 ; and another pen- sion, of twenty pounds per annum, was granted him by John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, from 1374 to 1387. Besides, the appointment of Comptroller of Custom at London, from 1374 to 1386 helped to keep the poet in easy circumstances. He lost this office and his pensions about the same time, and for twelve years was generally distressed by poverty. At the accession of Henry IV., the son of his best patron, he was relieved from his pecuniary embarrassments, but he had already grown infirm. He died October 25, 1400, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. If now we turn to the literary productions of Chaucer, we find them more numerous than would be expected from a man so much engaged in other pur- suits. Most of them are poetical narratives. His early pieces seem to have been affected by the artificial conceit of the time, but his style, as represented by the 12 BRITISH LITERATURE. Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, became tfie stan- dard of English literary excellence for the two cen- turies following. One of the earliest productions of Chaucer is the Romaunt of the Rose, a free metrical translation of a French poem. The original, which was considered a masterpiece, begun by Guillaume de Lorris and com- pleted by Jean de Meung in the thirteenth century, con- sists of over 22,000 lines, 1705 verses only, according to Skeat, are from Chaucer, the remainder of the poem being lost. The whole composition, which is in rhym- ing couplets, deals with love under the allegory of a rose. The Book of the Duchess is a funeral poem of 1334 octo-syllabic lines, composed (in 1369) in honor of the Duchess of Lancaster, first wife of his patron, John of Gaunt. The Life of St. Cecilia (Lif of Seynt Cecyle) is an early poem of 553 verses in the seven- line stanza, which Chaucer inserted later on in the Canterbury Tales as the Seconde Nonnes Tale. About 1377-81 Chaucer gave a prose English trans- lation of the five books of De Consolatione Philosophic by Boethius. Troilus and Criseyde (1379-1383) is a poem of 8239 verses in the seven-line stanza. The subject was a favorite legend of the Trojan war. and had been ver- sified by Boccaccio in his Filostrato (1341). The Eng- lish poet follows the Italian more or less closely, but he is more moral. The same subject has been drama- tized by Shakespeare. It is declared by Saintsbury to be the most accomplished long poem yet written in English. The House of Fame, composed about 1383, is in the form of a dream or vision. The poet gives a vivid pic- ture of the Temple of Fame, to which he is himself EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 13 carried by an eagle. It is marked by considerable humor. He tells us Of this hille, that northewarde lay, How hit was writen ful of names, Of folkes that hadden grete fames Of olde tymes, and yet they were As fressh as men hadde writen hem here The selfe day, ryght or that oure That I upon hem gan to poure. Of the hall he says that every wall of it, and floor, and roof, was plated half a foot thick with gold, Of whiche to litel al in my poche is.* The Legende of Goode Women is a poetical story, in rhyming couplets, of nine remarakble women of classic antiquity. Among his heroines we have Cleopatra, Dido, Medea, Lucretia, and Hypermnestra. Alcestis, the queen of love, typified by the daisy, is the special object of his attention in the Prologue. Amid a strange blending of fact, mythology and sound principles, womanly purity, innocence, and truthfulness seem to be the never- wearying object of the poet's admira- tion. This work was also suggesttJ by one of Boc- caccio.f The Astrolabie is an unfinished treatise on astronmy, written in 1391 for the use of 'lytel Lowys his sonne/ Among Chaucer's minor poems, we may mention : Compleint to his Lady, An Amorous Compleint, Com- pleint unto Pite, Anelida and Arcite, Compleint of Mars, The Former Age (from Boethius), Fortune, * It was The House of Fame that inspired Pope to write The Temple of Fame. t See Tennyson's Dream of Fair Women. 3 !4 BRITISH LITERATURE. Parlement of Foules (fools), Compleint to his Empty Purse, but the most interesting is Chaucer's A. B. C., or Prayer to Our Lady, in twenty-three stanzas of eight lines, which expresses the author's tender and unaffected devotion to the mother of God. It is a free translation from a French poem still extant, and was composed between 1359 and 1369. Several other poems have been attributed to Chaucer, as The Flower and the Leaf, The Cuckoo and the Nightingale, but they are rejected by the latest critics. When advanced in age, Chaucer composed the great work on which his fame chiefly rests, his Canterbury. Tales, the most durable monument of his genius. These Tales are a series of independent stories, linked together by an ingenious device which was evidently suggested by the Decameron* of Boccaccio. A crowd of pilgrims, Veil nine and twenty in a companye/ on their way to the shrine of St. Thomas a Becket, at Canterbury, pass the night at the Tabard Inn, South- wark, where they make the acquaintance of our poet. Whilst at supper they agree to travel together to Can- terbury; and, in order to relieve the tedium of the journey, each person, at the suggestion of the host of the Tabard, is to tell two stories in going, and two oth- ers in returning. But we are allowed to accompany the travellers only on a part of the journey, and to hear but twenty-four of their stories. The Prologue to the Tales, which contains eight hundred and sixty verses, describes the characters of the pilgrims with unsur- passed simplicity and grace, but at the same time with * This work of Boccaccio consists of a hundred tales divided into decades, each decade occupying one day in the relation. They are narrated by a company of young persons of rank, who fled to a retreat on the banks of the Arno, in order to escape the infection of th« terrible plague then i aging in Florence. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 15 all the prejudices of a Wycliffite, especially against the monks and the ecclesiastical hierarchy. All ranks of society, excepting the very highest and the very lowest, come in for a share of the poet's satirical humor or gentle praise. We have a Knight, who had fought against the 'Heathenesse' in Palestine; his son the young squire, attended by the Yeoman ; and a 'Franke- lein,' or country gentleman, in whose house 'it snowed of mete and drink/ The peasantry are represented by the Ploughman, the Miller, the Reve or bailiff. Then come a group of ecclesiastical personages, at whose expense, with the exception of the Parish Priest, the poet indulges without stint his ridicule and censure. The learning of that age has three representatives : the 'Clerke from Oxford;' the 'Sergeant of the Lawe,' very busy, but still proud 'to seem busier than he is;' and 'the Doctor of Physike/ who happened to be a great astronomer, that 'studied everything but his Bible/ and deemed 'Gold in phisike a great cordiale.' The group from lower life is made up of the Haber- dasher, Carpenter, Weaver, Dyer, Tapestry-maker, and Cook. These, with a few others, including the host and the poet, are the far-famed pilgrims of Canterbury. Henry Morley considers the spirit of Chaucer as essentially dramatic. "Had the mind of Chaucer stirred among us in the days of Queen Elizabeth, his works would have been plays, and Shakespeare might have found his match. . . . He had that highest form of genius which can touch every part of human life, and, at the contact, be stirred to a simple sympa- thetic utterance. Out of a sympathy so large, good humor flows unforced, and the pathos shines upon us with a rare tranquillity. The meanness or the gran- deur, fleshly grossness or ideal beauty, of each form Jfi BRITISH LITERATURE. of life is reflected back from the unrippled mirror of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales as from no other work of man except the plays of Shakespeare."* All nature is with Chaucer alive with a fresh and active life-blood. His grass is the gladdest green; his birds pour forth notes the most thrilling, the most soothing that ever touched mortal ear. There was many and many a lovely note, Some singing loud, as if they had complained; Some with their notes another manner feigned; And some did sing all out with the full throat. Like many others who have given their thoughts to the world without an ever-present proper sense of moral responsibility, Chaucer, in his last hours, bitterly bewailed some too-well remembered lines, which dying- he vainly wished to blot. 'Wo is me! wo is me!' he exclaimed in that solemn hour, 'that I cannot recall those things which I have written; but alas! they are now continued from man to man, and I cannot do what I desire.' " t He died on the 25th of October. 1400, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. PROLOGUE. $ WHAN than Aprille with his schowres swoote The drought of Marche hath perced to the roote, And bathed every veyne in swich licour, Of which vertue engendred is the flour; Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breethe Enspired hath in every holte and heethe The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne Hath in the Ram his halfe cours i-ronne, * English Writers, vol. v. pp. 27G, 277. t Allibone's Diet. j The extracts from the Prologue are taken from the sixth edition of the Chaucer of Rev. Richard Morris, LL.D. (1879), collated from the best MSS. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. And small fowles maken melodic, That slepen al the night with open eye, So pricketh hem nature in her corages : — Thanne longen folk to gon on pilgrimages, And palmers for to seeken straunge strondes, To feme halwes, kouthe in sondry londes ; And specially, from every schires ende Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende, The holy blisful martir for to seeke, That hem hath holpen whan that they were secke. Byfel that, in that sesoun on a day, In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay, Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, At night was come into that hostelrie Wei nyne and twenty in a compainye, Of sondry folk, by aventure i-falle In felaweschipe, and pilgryms, were thei alle, That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde; The chambres and the stables weren wyde, And wel we weren esed atte beste. And schortly, whan the sonne was to reste, So hadde I spoken with hem everychon, That I was of here felaweschipe anon, And made forward erly for to ryse, To take our wey ther as I yow devyse. But natheless, whil I have tyme and space Or that I forther in this tale pace, Me thinketh it accordaunt to resoun, To telle you al the condicioun Of eche of hem, so as it semede me, And whiche they weren, and of what degre; And eek in what array that they were inne : And at a knight than wol I first bygynne. A KNIGHT ther was, and that a worthy man, That from the tyme that he first began To ryden out, he lovede chyvalrye, Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie. Ful worthi was he in his lordes werre, And therto hadde he riden, noman ferre, As wel in Cristendom as in hethenesse, And evere honoured for his worthinesse. At Alisaundre he was whan it was wonne, Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bygonne Aboven alle nacions in Pruce. BRITISH LITERATURE. In Lettowe hadde he reysed and in Ruce, No cristen man so ofte of his degre. In Gernade atte siege hadde he be, Of algesir, riden in Belmarie. At Lieys was he, and at Satalie, When they were wonne; and in the Greete see At many a noble arive hadde he be, And mortal batailles hadde he ben fiftene, And foughten for oure feith at Tramassene In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo. This ilke worthi knight hadde ben also Somtyme with the lord of Palatye, Ageyn another hethen in Turkye And everemore he hadde a sovereyn prys. And though that he was worthy, he was wys, And of his port as meke as is a mayde. He nevere yit no vileinye ne sayde In all his lyf, unto no manner wight. He was a verray perfight gentil knight. But for to tellen you of his array, His hors was good, but he ne was nought gay. Of fustian he werede a gepoun Al bysmotered with his habergeoun. For he was late ycome from his viage, And wente for to doon his pilgrimage. A CLERK ther was of Oxenford also, That unto logik hadde longe i-go. As leen was his hors as is a rake, And he was not right fat, I undertake; But lokede holwe, and thereto soberly. Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy, For he hadde geten him yit no benefice, Nee was so worldly for to have office. For him was levere have at his beddes heede Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reede, Of Aristotle and his philosophic, Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sawtrie. But al be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre; But al that he mighte of his frendes hente, On bookes and on lernyng he it spente, And busily gan for the soules preye Of hem that yaf him wherewith to scoleye, Of studie took he most care and most hede. Not oo word spak he more than was neede. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 19 And that was said in forme and reverence. And schort and quyk, and ful of high sentence. Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche, And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche. A SERGEANT OF LA WE, war and wys That often hadde ben atte parvys, Ther was also, ful riche of excellence. Discret he was, and of gret reverence: He semede such, his words were so wise, Justice he was ful often in assise, By patente, and by pleyn commissioun; For his science, and for heih renoun Of fees and robes hadde he many oon. So gret a purchasour was nowher noon. All was fee symple to him in effecte, His purchasyng mighte nought ben enfecte. Nowher so besy a man as he there nas, And yit he seemede besier than he was. In termes hadde caas and domes alle, That fro the tyme of Kyng William were falle. Therto he couthe endite, and make a thing, Ther couthe no wight pynche at his writyng; And every statute couthe he pleyn by roote He rood but hoomly in a medle coote, Gird with a seynt of silk, with barres smale; Of his array telle I no lenger tale. A FRANKELEYN was in his compainye; Whit was his berde, as is the dayesye. Of his complexioun he was sangwyn. Wei lovede he by the morwe a sop in wyn. To lyven in delite was al his wone, For he was Epicurus owne sone, That heeld opynyoun that pleyn delyt Was verraily felicite perfyt. An houshaldere, and that a great, was he; Seynt Julian he was in his countre. His breed, his ale, was alway after oon; A bettre envyned man was nowhere noon. Withoute bake mete was nevere his hous, Of flessch and fissch, and that so plentevous, Hit snewede in his hous of mete and drinke, Of alle deyntees that men cowde thinke. After the sondry sesouns of the yeer, So chaungede he his mete and his soper. Ful many a fat patrich hadde he in mewe, 20 BRITISH LITERATURE. And many a brem and many a luce in stewe. Woo was his cook, but-if his sauce were Polynaunt and scharp, and redy al his gere. His table dormant in his halle alway Stood redy covered al the longe day. At sessiouns ther was he lord and sire. Ful ofte tyme he was knight of the schire. An anlas and a gipser al of silk Heng at his girdel, whit as morne mylk. A schirreve had he ben, and a countour; Was nowher such a worthi vavasour. With us ther was a DOCTOUR of Phisik, In al this world ne was ther non him lyk To speke of phisik and of surgerye; For he was grounded in astronomye. He kept his pacient wonderly wel In houres by his magik naturel. Wel cowde he fortunen the ascendent Of his ymages for his pacient. He knew the cause of every maladye, Were it of hoot or cold, or moyste, or drye, And where engendred, and of what humour; He was a verrey parfight practisour. The cause i-knowe, and of his harm the roote, Anon he yaf the syke man his boote. Ful redy hadde he his apotecaries, To sende him dragges, and his letuaries. For ech of hem made other for to wynne ; Here frendschipe nas not newe to begynne. Wel knew he the olde Esculapius, And Deiscorides, and eek Rufus; Old Ypocras, Haly, and Galien; Serapyon, Razis, and Avycen; Averrois, Damascien, and Constantyn; Bernard, and Gatesden, and Gilbertyn. Of his diete mesurable was he, For it was of no superfluite, But of gret norisching and digestible. His studie was but litel on the Bible. In sangwin and in pers he clad was al, Lined with taffata and with sendal. And yit he was but esy of dispence; He kepte that he wan in pestilence. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 21 For gold in phisik is a cordial, Therefor he lovede gold in special. A good man was ther of religioun, And was a poure PERSOUN of a toun; But riche he was of holy thought and werk. He was also a lerned man, a clerk That Cristes gospel trewely wolde preche; His parischens devoutly wolde he teche. Benigne he was, and wonder diligent, And in adversite ful pacient; And such he was i-proved ofte sithes. Ful loth were him to curse for his tythes, But rather wolde he yeven out of dowte, Unto his poure parisschens aboute, Of his offrynge, and eek of his substaunce. He could in litel thing han suffisaunce. Wyd was his parische, and houses for asonder, But he ne lafte not for reyne ne thonder, In sickness nor in meschief to visite The ferreste in his parissche, moche and lite Uppon his feet, and in his hond a staf. This noble ensample to his scheep he yaf, That first he wroughte, and afterward he taughte. Out of the gospel he tho wordes caughte, And this figure he addede eek thereto, That if gold ruste, what schal yren doo? For if a prest be foul, on whom we truste, No wonder if a lewde man to ruste; And schame it is, if that a prest take kepe, A [foul] schepherde [to se] and clene schepe; Wei oughte a prest ensample for to yive, By his clennesse, how that his scheep schulde lyve, He sette not his benefice to hyre, And leet his scheep encombred in the myre, And ran to Londone, unto seynte Poules To seeken him a chaunterie for soules, Or with a bretherhede to ben withholde; But dwelte at hoom, and kepte wel his folde, So that the wolf ne made it not myscarye; He was a schepherde and no mercenarie. And though he holy were, and vertuous, He was to sinful man nought despitous, Nc of his speche daungerous ne digne, 22 BRITISH LITERATURE. But in his teching discret and benigne. To drawe folk to heven by fairnesse By good ensample, this was his busynesse: But it were eny persone obstinat, What so he were, of high or lowe estat, Him wolde he synbbe scharply for the nones. A bettre preest, I trowe, ther nowhere non is. He waytede after no pompe and reverence, Nee makede him a spiced conscience. But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve, He taughte, but first he folwede it himselve. FROM CHAUCER'S A. B. c., GAINED I,A PRIERE DE NOSTRE DAME C. Comfort ys noon, but in yow, Lady dere! For loo my synne and my confusioun, Which oughte not in thy presence for to appere, Han take on me a grevouse accioun, Of verray ryght and disperacioun! And as by ryght they myghten wel sustene, That I were worthy my damnacioun, Nere mercye of yow, blysful hevenes queene! E. Evere hath myn hope of refute in the be; For here before ful often in many a wyse, Unto mercy hastow receyved me. But mercy, Lady! at the grete assise, Whan we shal come before the hye justise! So litel good shal then in me be founde, That, but thou er that day correcte me, Of verray ryght my werke wol me confounde. G. Gloriouse mayde and tnoder! whiche that never Were bitter nor in erthe nor in see, But ful of swetnesse and of mercye ever, Help, that my fader be not wroth! Speke thow, for I ne dar nat him yse; So have I doom in erthe, alias the while! That certes, but that thow my socour be, To synke eterne he wol my goost exile. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 33 Q. Queene of Comfort, yet whan I me bethynke, That I agilite have bothe hym and thee, And that my soule ys worthy for to synke, Alias! I, katyf, whider may I fle! Who shal unto thy Sone my mene be? Who, but thy selfe, that art of pitee welle? Thou hast more routhe on cure adversiie Than in this world myght any tonge telle. JOHN GOWER, 1325 (?)-1408. The personal history of John Gower, the contem- porary and friend of Chaucer, is involved in great obscurity. He was liberally educated, having studied at Merton College, Oxford, and was a member of the Society of the Inner Temple. He appears to have been in affluent circumstances, as he contributed largely to the building of the conventual church of St. Mary Overy's, in Southwark. Peacham, in his Compleat Gentleman, says of him : "His verses, to say the truth, were poor and plaine, yet full of good and grave moral- itie; but, while he affected altogether the French phrase and words, made himself too obscure to his reader; besides, his invention cometh far short of the promise of his titles." He is on all occasions serious and didactic, and so uniformly grave and sententious, even upon topics which might inspire vivacity, that he is charcterized by Chaucer as the 'Morall Gower/ Though possessing little poetic genius, he had great literary ability and exerted considerable influence on the development of English Poetry. He supplied materials which Chaucer and Shakespeare used to much better advantage. His principal works are : 1. Speculum Meditantis, a moral tract in French rhymes. 24 BRITISH LITERATURE. 2. Vox Clamantis, a metrical chronicle of the in- surrection of the Commons under Richard II. It consists of seven books in Latin elegiacs. 3. Confessio Amantis, an English poem in octo- syllabic Romance metre, said to contain 30,000 verses ; it treats of the morals and metaphysics of love. The language is tolerably perspicuous, and the versification often harmonious; 'but the amount of edification or entertainment to be got out of the Confessio Amantis is not very considerable/ Gower died at an advanced age in 1408, and was buried in St. Mary Overy's, now St. Saviour's Church, to which he was a benefactor, and in which his tomb is still to be seen. The following lines, taken from the fifth book of his Confessio Amantis, are given as a specimen to the spelling and archaisms of his time: In a cronique thus I rede: Aboute a king, as must nede, Ther was of knyghtes and squiers Gret route, and eke of officers: Some of long time him hadden served, And thoughten that they have deserved Advancement, and gon withoute: And some also ben of the route, That comen but a while agon, And they avanced were anon. JOHN LYDGATS, 1370 (?)-1443. Of the immediate followers of Chaucer and Gower, John Lydgate is the most distinguished versifier. He was a monk of the Benedictine Abbey of Bury St. Edmund's in Suffolk, and flourished in the reigns of Henry V. and Henry VI. He was regarded as a prodigy of learning at the period in which he lived. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 25 He had travelled in France and Italy, and mastered the language and literature of both countries. On his return to England, he opened a school at his monastery and gave instruction in poetry and rhetoric, and even in mathematics and theology. His poems range over a great variety of subjects. The principal among them are The Fall of Princes, taken from Boccaccio, The Story of Thebes,, and The History of Troy, containing about 28,000 verses. Besides these, a list has been given of his other pieces to the number of 251, existing in manuscripts in different libraries. Lydgate wrote in verse a life of St. Edmund, which he dedicated to Henry VI. We give, with some changes in the spelling, the fol- lowing beautiful lament, taken from his Testament: CHRIST DESCRIBES HIS SUFFERINGS. Behold, O man! lift up thine eye, and see What mortal pain I suffered for thy trespace ! With piteous voice I cry, and say to thee, Behold my wounds, behold my bloody face! Behold the rebukes, that do me so menace, Behold mine enymes that do me so despise And how that I, to reform thee to grace, Was, like a lamb, offered in sacrifice! Behold the mynstrys,* which had me in keeping, Behold the pillar and the ropis strong, Where I was bound, my sides down bleeding, Most felly beat with their scoorges long ! Behold the battle which I did underfong,t The brunt abiding of their mortal! emprise! Through their accusing and their slanders wrong, Was [I], like a lamb, offered in sacrifice. Behold and see the hateful wretchedness, Put again me to my confusion, Mine eyen hid and blinded with darkness, * Ministers, officers. t Undertake. JDeadly Work. 26 BRITISH LITERATURE. Beat and eke bobbid * by false illusion Salwedll in scorn by their false kneeling downJ Behold all this, and see the mortal guise, How I, alone, for man's salvacion, Was, like a lamb, offered in sacrifice. See my disciples, how they hat me forsake. And fro me fled, almost every one, See how they slept and list not with me wake! Of mortaLdread they left me all alone, Except my Mother and my cousin John, My death complaining in most doleful wise: See fro my cross they wolde never gone, For man's offense when I did sacrifice. Behold the knights,$ which, by their froward chauncc, Sat for my clothes at the' dice to play! Behold my Mother, swouning for grevaunce, Upon the cross when she sawhe § me die ! Behold the sepulchre in which my bonys lie, Kept with strong watche till I did arise ! Of hell gates see how I brak the key, And gave for man my blood in sacrifice! Turn home again, thy sinne do forsake; Behold and see if aught be left behind, How I to mercy am ready thee to take; Give me thine heart and be no more unkind! Thy love and mine togidre do them bind, And never let them parte in no wise: When thou wer lost, thy soul again to find, My blood I offer'd for thee in sacrifice. SIR JOHN MAND£VIU,£, 1300-1372. Sir John Mandeville, the reputed author of a curious volume of travels, was born at St. Albaris about the year 1300, and received a liberal education for the pro- fession of medicine. Stimulated by a strong desire to visit foreign countries, he claims to have left England * Deceived. f Have. § Saw. J| galuted. % Soldiers. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 27 in 1322, and to have been abroad thirty-four years. During this long period he visited Palestine, Egypt, Persia, and parts of India and China, remaining three years at Pekin. After his return to his native land, in the year 1356, he drew up an account of his observa- tions in Latin, then "put this boke out of Latyn into Frensche, and translated it agen out of Frensche into Englysche, that every man of my Nacioun may undir- stonde it." Time has disproved these statements and the work is probably a collection of tales, made by the author. To Sir John however we are indebted for the most entertaining of narratives. His stories were at the time very popular, and rendered him celebrated throughout Europe. "Of no book," says Halliwell, "with the exception of the Scriptures, can more manu- scripts be found of the end of the fourteenth and the beginning of the fifteenth century." There are no fewer than nineteen copies in the British Museum alone. To his credulity or imagination we must attribute the stories he tells us of people who have no heads, but their eyes are in their shoulders; of people who have neither noses nor mouths; of people who have mouths so big, that, when they sleep in the sun, they cover the whole face with the upper lip; of people whose ears hang down to their knees; of people who have horses' feet; and feathered men who leap from tree to tree. The work is interesting and valuable, chiefly as giving the earliest example, on a large scale, of English prose. His style is straightforward and unadorned, yet the proportion of Latin and French words is larger than that found in Chaucer or Gower. Sir John Mandeville died in 1372 at Liege, in Bel- gium, where a monument is erected to his memory. 28 BRITISH LITERATURE. The following extract from his writings is given in its antique text, with an interlinear modernized ver- sion, in order to convey a better idea of the progress which the language has since made. (From the Prologue.) For als moche as the Lond bezonde the See, that is to seye, the For as much as the Land beyond the sea, that is to say, the Hofy Lond, that men callen the Lond of Promyssioun, or of Holy Land, that men call the Land of Promise, or of Behste, passynge alle othere Londes, is the most worthi Lond, reward, passing all other lands, is the most worthy Land, most excellent, and Lady as Sovereyn of alle othere Londes, most excellent, and Lady as Sovereign of all other Lands, and is blessed and halewed of the precyous Body and Blood of and is blessed and hallowed of the precious Body and Blood of oure Lord Jesu Crist; in the whiche Lond is lykede him to our Lord Jesus Christ; in the which Land it pleased him to take Flesche and Blood of the Virgyne Marie, and become take Flesh and Blood of the Virgin Mary, and become Man, and worche many Myracles, and preche and teche the Man, and work many miracles, and preach and teach the Feythe and the Lawe of Cristene Men unto his children; and Faith and the Law of Christian men unto his children ; and there it lykede him to suffre many Reprevinges and Scornes there it pleased him to suffer many Reproaches and Scorns for us; and he that was Kyng of Hevene, of Eyr, of Erthe, of for us; and he that was King of Heaven, of air, of earth, of See A dere God, what Love had he to us his Subjettes, sea A dear God, what Love had he to us his subjects, whan he that never trespaced, wolde for Trepassours suffre when he that never trespassed would for trespassers suffer Dethe! — Righte well oughte us for to love and worschipe, to Death! — Right well ought we to love and worship, to drede and serven suche a Lord; and to worschipe and prayse dread and serve such a Lord; and to worship and praise such an holy Lond, that broughte forthe suche Fruyt, thorghc such a holy Land, that brought forth such Fruit, through the whiche every Man is saved, but it be his own the which every Man is saved, except through his own defaute. fault. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 29 II. And I John Maundevylle knyghte aboreseyd, (alle And I John Mandeville, knight abovesaid, (al- thoughe I be unworthi) that departed from our countrees and though I be unworthy) that departed from our countries and passed the see, the ycer of grace, 1322, that have passed manye passed the sea, the year of grace, 1322, that have passed many londes and manye yles and contrees, and cerched manye fulle lands and many isles and countries, and searched many full- straunge places, and have ben in manye a fulle gode honourable strange places, and hive been in many a full-good honorable company e, and at manye a faire dede of arms, (alle be it that company, and at many a fair deed of arms, (albeit that I ded none myself, for myn unable insufficance) now I am I did none myself, for mine unable insufficiency) now I am comen horn (mawgree my self) to reste Wherefore I come home (maugre myself) to rest Wherefore I preye to alle the rederes ann hereres of this boke, zif it please pray to all the readers and hearers of this book, if it please hem, that thei wolde preyen to God for me : and I shalle preye them, that they would pray to God for me : and I shall pray for hem. And alle tho that seyn for me a Pater noster, with for them. And aft those that say for me a Pater Noster, with an Ave Maria, that God forzeve me my synnes, I make hem an Ave Maria, that God forgive me my sins, I make them partners and graunte hem part of all the gode pilgrymages and partners and grant them part of all the good pilgrimages and of alle the gode dedes, that I have done, zif ony be to his ples- of all the good deeds, that I have done, if any be to his pleas- ance: and noghte only of tho, but of alle that evere I schalle sure: and not only of those, but of all that ever I shall do unto my lyfes ende. do unto my life's end. JOHN WYCUF, 1324-1384. John Wyclif wrote in Latin many works of theology or controversy, in which he attacked indis- criminately all those who belonged to the regular or secular clergy, together with the pope, bishops, and other dignitaries, as being no better than liars and fiends, hypocrites and traitors, heretics and anti- christs.* His itinerant priests alone were the true * See Lingard's Ilist. of England, vol. iv., p. 158. 4 30 BRITISH LITERATURE. evangelical preachers. Wyclif deserves the title of first English reformer. The term, when applied to the Church founded by Christ, is self-condemning, for it argues a want of faith in His power to keep for ever in the truth that Church for which He gave His life, and which His apostle Paul styles "the Church of the living God, the pillar and ground of the truth." Among Wyclif's English writings, a translation of the Bible is ascribed to him. There is little doubt that he had the principal share in the new translation which was then made. Sir Thomas More testifies that long before Wyclif there was an English version of the Scriptures, 'by good and godly people with devotion and soberness well and reverently red.'* English or Anglo-Saxon translations of the Gospels, of the Psalms, and of some other parts of the Bible were certainly in existence. Wyclif is also the author of many original writings in defence of his reforming views in theology and church government. "His style," says Prof. Craikf "is everywhere coarse and slovenly, though sometimes animated by a popular force of boldness of expression." The compilation of Henry Knyghton, a canon regu- lar of Leicester is strongly antagonistic to the views of Wyclif, and at the same time highly interesting. Thomas of Walden, a Carmelite, undertook a syste- matic defence of the church on those points in par- ticular which were attacked by the Lollards. His work deserves more attention than is generally accorded it; for 4ie ">ty\e has great merit and the presentation of his views shows the monk to have been a theologian of vastly more power and mental acumen than Wyclif can lay claim to. * See Kenrick's Bible, Introduction to the Gospels, p. iv., edit. 1862. fEng. Lit, p. 165. EARLY ENGLISH PERIOD. 31 The language spoken in the Lowland districts during the fourteenth century, was nearly the same as that of England. It was in this language that B ARBOUR, Arch- deacon of Aberdeen, wrote his heroic and patriotic poem, The Bruce, which has ever been a favorite with his countrymen. It celebrates the exploits of Robert Bruce, who, by the victory of Bannockburn, asserted the independence of Scotland, and obtained the crown for himself. It contains seven thousand rhyming couplets, and has the rare merit of combining spirited and harmonious poetry with truthful history. Barbour composed another work, The Brute, which is lost. His death occurred in 1395. JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND (1394-1436) is the author of the Kings Quhair (quire or book), remarkable for its simplicity, feeling, and poetical spirit. Froissart's famous Chronicles may be considered as part of the literature of this period, for not only did he reside long in England, but much of the subject matter of the chronicles bears on the feats of English arms. CHAPTER IV. FOURTH PERIOD. REVIVAL OF LITERATURE, 1450-1558. For a century and a half following the death of Chaucer, there is scarcely a writer of prominence, and very few works have made an imprint on the history of literature or left more than a vague memory behind them. The Praise of Folly by Erasmus and More's Utopia are really the only literary oases • in all that weary stretch of desert. This is but what might be 32 BRITISH LITERATURE. expected, for the Hundred Years' War with France, and the civil War of the Roses that followed at home, together with the still greater upheaval of the so- called Reformation, left little time or inclination for the development and cultivation of the fine arts. Yet this social unrest, with the constant march of armies, and the accompanying pageantry of war, must have been dramatised in the minds of the people, whilst the discovery of America kindled their imaginations and fired both mind and heart with higher and more vivid aspirations than had ever yet animated the Eng- lish breast. The Renaissance also had no other immediate effect than to set scholars to the study and imitation of the classics. The creative influence like the other motive forces just mentioned, found its fruition in the glorious Elizabethan period which followed. The printing-press too had to come, the better to dissemi- nate and preserve those treasures of the Golden Age of Englioh letters. WILUAM DUNBAR, 1465-1530. William Dunbar, a Franciscan friar, is styled by Craik "the Chaucer of Scotland/' and by Walter Scott "a poet unrivalled by any that Scotland ' has produced." His poems belong to three classes, the allegorical, the moral, and the comic. The Thistle and the Rose, The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins, and The Golden Terge, are his principal allegories. Of his moral poems, the best is The Merle and the Night- ingale. The birds are made to discuss the comparative merits of earthly and heavenly love, the last verse being an acknowledgment that "All love is lost but upon God alone." REVIVAL OF LITERATURE. 33 In the opinion of Craik, Burns is certainly the only name among the Scottish poets that can be placed in the same line with that of Dunbar ; and even the in- spired ploughman, though equal to Dunbar in comic power md superior in depth of passion, is not to be compared with the elder poet in strength or in general fertility of imagination. ROBERT HENRYSON, or HENDERSON, also a Scottish poet much renowned in his time, is supposed to have been a Benedictine and to have died before 1508. He wrote the beautiful pastoral of Robin and Makyne, printed among Percy's Reliques, also a translation of /Esop's Fables, which is his best work, and some other small poems. The fable of The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse is rendered with much humor and characteristic description. Wyatt and Surrey are the most prominent poets of this period, the most prominent in fact since Chaucer, and they sing a worthy prelude to the Elizabethan era. SIR THOMAS WYATT, 1503-1542. Sir Thomas Wyatt was born in 1503 at Allington in Kent. In 1520 he took his degree of Master at Cambridge and married Elizabeth Brooke daughter of Lord Cobham. At court he was esquire to the King, and for a while was High Marshal at Calais. He assisted the King at his marriage with Anne Boleyn. His sister waited on that unfortunate queen when three years later she was led to execution, and he himself was imprisoned in the Tower for a short while for manifesting sympathy towards Anne. At a later period he was again imprisoned for some real or fan- cied misbehavior whilst executing a commision for the 34 BRITISH LITERATURE. King in Spain. Once more he was speedily acquitted and continued in the service of Henry till his death in 1542. HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY, 1516-1547. Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, born in 1516, was the son of Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk. He was educated by a private tutor, and was knighted at the age of twenty. In 1536 he saw his first service at the head of a command sent against some Linconshire rebels. Like Wyatt, Surrey spent some little time in prison on two occasions, once for a breach of court discipline, and at another time for joining a party that amused itself by annoying some citizens of London. He was with the army at the capture of Boulogne, and took part in several other military operations. But the strife between the Howards and Seymours, at a time when the King was thought to be dying, sent him to the Tower once more, this time on the more serious charge of treason. The accusation seems to have been groundless, but by the order of Henry VIII. he was beheaded in 1547. In those days many of the courtiers wrote verses and passed them round for the pleasure and admiration of their friends. In 1557 a collection of such verses, amorous and satirical, was published and most of the poems are from the pens of Wyatt and Surrey. To Wyatt is due the honor of having introduced the son- net to English writers, and the felicitous music of his lyrics gives him a further claim to permanency in our literature. Surrey is much more smooth and finished in his son- nets than is Wyatt, though in lyric power he is inferior. REVIVAL OF LITERATURE. 35 In his translation of the second and fourth books of Virgil's Aeneid, blank verse appears for the first time in English poetry; and this invention, the most flexible, most powerful, and most characteristic form of English verse, is in itself enough to make Surrey's name forever famous. 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 yet when first began The weary life ye know, since whan The suit, the service none can tell; 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! Forget not then thine own approv'd, The which so long hath thee so lov'd, Whose steadfast faith yet never mov'd: Forget not this! — From Wyatt's Lyrics. The following sonnet was written by Surrey in honor of his squire Clere, who lost his life in defending that of his master. Norfolk sprung thee, Lambeth holds thee dead, Clere of the county of De Cleremont high; Within the womb of Ormond's race thou'rt bred, And sawst thy cousin crowned in the sight. Shelton for love, Surrey for lord thou chase; I 36 BRITISH LITERATQRE. ( Vy me', while life did last that league was tender) Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal blaze, Landrecy burnt and battered Boulogne render. At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure, Thine Earl, half dead, gave in thy hand his will; Which cause did thee this pining death procure, Ere summers four times seven thou couldst fulfill. Ah! Clere! if love had booted care or cost, Heaven had not won, nor earth so timely lost. Before giving our brief sketch of the prose writers of this period, a few words on the life of William Caxton would be opportune, for though not an author, he has done so much for the advancement and preser- vation of English letters that any commentary how- ever brief would be incomplete without a word con- cerning this notable figure. WILUAM CAXTON, 1412 (?)-1492. William Caxton, memorable as the first English printer, and as a voluminous translator, was born in Kent about 1-412 or 1422. He spent twenty-three years in Holland and Flanders; and whilst there made himself master of the art of printing, then recently introduced on the Continent. Having translated a French book styled Recuyell des Histoires de Troyes. he printed it at Ghent in 1471. This was the first book- in the English language ever issued from the press. His second was The Game and Playe of Chess (1475). He afterwards established a printing office at West- minster, and published (1477) The Dictes and Sayings of the Philosophers, which was the first book printed in England. In the Caxton celebration, held in 1877, to commemorate this event, no fewer than one hun- dred and ninety copies of books printed by Caxton were exhibited, representing one hundred and four distinct works. A much larger number might have REVIVAL OF LITERATURE. 3f been collected, had not the English Parliament of 1550 ordered the destruction of all Catholic books. In 1485 he printed Malory's "Morte Arthure," then for the first time published. Caxton was one of the most indus- trious and indefatigable men. He united with industry great modesty and simplicity of character, and styled himself 'Simple William Caxton/ He calls Chaucer, whose Canterbury Tales he took great pains to have correctly printed, 'the worshipful father and first foun- der and embellisher of ornate eloquence in our English/ It is said that he completed, on the day of his death, the translation of the Vita Patrum, or "The Righte Devoute and Solitairye Lyfe of the Ancient or Olde Holy Faders, Hermytes Dwelling in the Deserts." MALORY. Little is known of the author of the famous Morte d' Arthur, save that he was a knight who prob- ably served in the wars under Philip Beauchamp and that he died in 1471. His book, "ended in the 9th yeer of the reygne of King Edward the Fourth" (1470), was first published by Caxton in 1485. "Morte d' Arthur" has attracted attention for several centuries for the loftiness of ideal maintained in conflict with adverse fate. It is among the earliest of the real tokens of what English prose was to become as a vehicle of thought and emotion. The genius of Malory is mani- fest in his work of transforming fragmentary legends and local deeds into a real epic that has made a pro- found impression upon subsequent artistic expression in the poetry of Tennyson, Matthew Arnold, Swin- bourne, and Morris, the painting of Rossetti, Watts and Burne-Jones, and the music of Wagner. 3p BRITISH LITERATITRE. How Syr Boors mette Syr Lyonel taken and beten wyth thorne, and also a mayde which shold have been devoured: Upon the morne, as soon as the day appiered, Bors departed from thens, and soo rode in-to a foreste vnto the houre of mydday, and there bifelle hym a merveyllous adventure. So he mette at the departyng of the two wayes two knyghtes, that ledde Lyonel his broder al naked, bounden upon a straunge hakney, & his handes bounden to- fore his brest : And everyche of hern helde in his handes thornes, where-with they wente tetynge hym so sore that the blood trayled doune more than in an hondred places of his body, soo that he was al blood tofore and behynde, but he said never a word, as he whiche was grete of herte; he suffered alle that ever they dyd to hym as though he had felt none anguysshe. Anone syre Bors dressid hym to rescowe hym that was his broder : and soo looked upon the other syde of hym, and saw a knyghte whiche brought a fair gently wooman, and wold have set her in the thyckest place of the forest, for to have been the more surer oute of the way from hem that sought hym. And she, whiche was no thynge assured, cryed with an hyghe voys, 'Saynte Mary, socoure your mayde.' And anone she aspyed where syre Bors came rydynge. And whanne she came nygh hym, she demed hym a knyghte of the Round Table, whereof she hoped to have some comforte; and thenne she conjured him, by the fey the that he ought 'unto hym in whose servyse thow arte entryd in, and for the feythe ye owe unto the hyghe ordre of knyghtode, & for the noble kynge Artuhrs sake, that I suppose made the knyght, that thow help me, and suffre rne not to be shamed of this knyghte/ Whanne Bors herd her say thus, he had soo moche sorowe there he nyst not what to doo. 'For yf I lete my broder be in adventure he must be slayne, and that wolde I not for alle the erthe. And yf I helpe not the mayde, she is shamed for ever, and also she shall lese her vyrgynyte, the which she shal never gete ageyne.' Thenne lyfte he up his eyen, and sayd wepynge. 'Fair swete lord Jhesu Cryste, whoos lyege man am I, kepe Lyonel my broder that these knyghtes slee hym not; and for pyte of yow, and for Mary sake, I shall socoure this mayde.' BLESSED THOMAS MORE, 1480-1535. Sir Thomas More, the most distinguished character in the reign of Henry VIII., was born in London in the year 1480. He was the son of a judge of the King's Bench, and was educated at Oxford. Science REVIVAL OF LITERATURE. 39 and virtue had great attractions for him, and he culti- vated both with eminent success. He was a man of true genius and possessed a mind enriched with all the learning of his time. He ranks with Bishop Fisher and Cardinal Pole among the leading Roman Catholic writers of the reign of Henry VIII. His sagacity and talents, displayed in various honorable and impor- tant public functions, especially in the conference for the peace of Cambrai in 1529, caused him to be raised to the dignity of Lord High Chancellor. Sir Thomas More was unjustly imprisoned and con- demned to death by Henry VIII., for refusing to take the oath in which the king was declared to be the supreme head of the Church. In prison, some of his friends endeavored to gain him over by representing to him that he ought not to entertain any other opinion than that of the Parliament of England. "I should mistrust myself," he said, "to stand alone against the whole Parliament; but I have on my side the whole Catholic Church, the great parliament of Christians." When his wife conjured him to obey the king, and pre- serve his life for the consolation and support of his children, "How many years," says he, "do you think I have still to live?" She replied: "More than twenty." "Ah, my wife," he continued, "do you wish that I should exchange eternity for twenty years?" Indeed a character of greater disinterestedness and integrity cannot be found in ancient or modern history. The poet Thomson pays him this beautiful and well- deserved tribute of praise: 'Like Cato firm, like Anstides just/ Faithfully and firmly attached to the principles of the Catholic faith, he lived amid the splendors of the ±0 BRITISH LITERATURE. court without pride, and perished on the scaffold with- out weakness. His death was that of the Christian martyr. By a decree of Pope Leo XIII., December 29th, 1886, he was declared Blessed, together with Cardinal Fisher and fifty-two others who died for the faith from 1535 to 1583. His Utopia, written in Latin, and first published in 1518, was translated into English as early as 1551 by Robinson, and later by Bishop Burnet. It is a curious philosophical work, full of profound observations and shrewd insight into human nature, and describes an imaginary model country and people, an imitation of Plato's Commonwealth. The word 'utopia' has, since his time, become an English word, applied to any scheme of ideal perfection that cannot be carried out. "If false and impracticable theories," says Hallam, "are found in the Utopia (and perhaps More knew them to be such), this is in a much greater degree true of the Platonic Republic; and they are more than com- pensated by the sense of justice and humanity that per- vades it, and his bold censures on the vices of power." His History of Edward V ., of his Brother, and of Richard IIL, is, in Hallam's judgment, the earliest* specimen of dignified idiomatic prose, without vul- garism or pedantry. It is certainly the first English history that can be said to aspire to be more than a chronicle, and is characterized by an easy narrative that rivals the sweetness of Herodotus. "No historian either of ancient or modern times," says Hume, "can possibly have more weight. He may justly be esteemed a contemporary with regard to the murder of the two * Compare this statement with the comment on Malory and read the extracts from both writers. REVIVAL OP LITERATURE. 41 princes ; and it is plain from his narrative that he had the particulars from the eye-witnesses themselves." More also wrote a great number of devotional treat- ises and controversial tracts. Among these may be mentioned an answer to the work of Luther against the king of England, divided into two books; and an explanation of the Passion of our Lord, with a beau- tiful prayer taken from the Psalms. LETTER TO LADY MORE. Maistres Alyce, in my most harty wise I recommend me to you; and whereas I am enfourmed by my son Heron of the losse of our barnes and our neighbours also, with all the corn that was therein, albeit (saving God's pleasure) it is gret pitie of so much good corne lost, yet sith it hath liked hym to sende us such a chaunce we must and are bounden, not only to be con- tent, but also to be glad of his visitacion. He sente us all that we have loste; and sith he hath by such a chaunce taken it away againe, his pleasure be fulfilled. Let us never grudge ther at, but take it in good worth, and hartely thank him as well for adversite as for prosperite. And per- adventure we have more cause to thank him for our losse then for our winning; for his wisdome better seeth what is good for us then we do our selves. Therefore I pray you be of good chere, and take all the howsold with you to church, and there thanke God, both for that he hath given us and for that he hath taken from us, and for that he hath left us, which, if it please hym, he can encrease when he will. And if it please him to leave us yet lesse, at his pleasure be it. I pray you to make some good ensearche what my pobre neghbours have loste, and bid them take no thought therefore: for and* I shold not leave myself a spone, there shal no pore neighbour of mine bere no losse by any chaunce happened in my house. I pray you be with my children and your household merry in God. And devise some what with your frendes, what waye wer best to take, for provision to be made for corne for our householde, and for sede thys yere comming, if ye thinkc it good that we kepe the ground stil in our handes. And whether ye think it good that we so shal do or not, yet I think it were * And means if. 42 BRITISH LITERATURE. not best sodenlye thus to leave it all up, and to put away our folk of our farme till we have somewhat advised us thereon. How beit if we have more nowe than ye shal nede, and which can get them other maisters, ye may then discharge us of them. But I would not that any man were sodenly sent away he wote nere wether. At my comming hither I perceived none other but that I should tary still with the Kinges Grace. But now I shall (I think) because of this chance, get leave this next weke to come home and se you: and then shall we further devyse together uppon all thinges, what order shall be best to take. And thus as hartely fare you well with all our children as ye can wishe. At Woodestoke the third day of Septembre by the hand of your loving husbande, THOMAS MORE KNIGHT. CHARACTER OB1 RICHARD III. Richard, the third son, of whom we now entreat, was in wit and courage equal with either of them; in body and prowess, far under them both; but little of stature, ill-featured of limbs, crook-backed, his left shoulder much higher than his right, hard- favored of visage. He was malicious, wrathful, envious, and from afore his birth ever froward. None evil captain was he in the war, as to which his disposition was more meetly than for peace. Sundry victories had he, and sometime overthrows, but never in default for his own person, either of hardiness or politic order. Free was he called of dis- pense, and somewhat above his power liberal. With large gifts he get him unsteadfast friendship, for which he was fain to pil and spoil in other places, and get him steadfast hatred. He was close and secret; a deep dissimuler, lowly of countenance, arro- gant of heart ; outwardly coumpinable where he inwardly hated ; dispitious and cruel, not for evil will alway, but oftener for ambition, and either for the surety and increase of his estate. Friend and foe was indifferent where his advantage grew; he spared no man's death whose life withstood his purpose. He slew with his own hands King Henry VI. being prisoner in the Tower. ROGER ASCHAM, 1515-1568. Roger Ascham, at one time preceptor, and ultimately Latin Secretary to Queen Elizabeth, is the first writer REVIVAL OF LITERATURE. 43 on education in our language. He took his degree in the University of Cambridge at the age of nineteen. His two principal works are Toxophilus and The Schoolmaster. Toxophilus, published in 1544, is a dialogue on the art of archery, designed to promote an elegant and useful mode of recreation among those who, like him- self, gave most of their time to study, and also to exemplify a style of composition more purely English than what was in vogue at that time. The Schoolmaster, printed after his death, contains good general views of education, and what Johnson acknowledges to be "perhaps the best advice tha. was ever given for the study of languages." His writings are in pure, idiomatic, vigorous Eng- lish. They exhibit great variety of knowledge, remark- able sagacity, and sound common-sense. In his dedication of Toxophilus to the gentlemen and yeomen of England, he recommends to all who write in any tongue, the counsel of Aristotle : "To speak as the common people do, to think as wise men do." From this we may perceive that he had a proper regard for what was due to the great fountain-head and oracle of the national language — the vocabulary of the common people. ^He was never robust; and his death, which h?,p- pened in 1568, was occasioned by too close application to the composition of a Latin poem, which he intended to present to Queen Elizabeth on the anniversary of her accession to the throne. The following extracts from the opening of the Toxophilus, show that what was good sense and sound philosophy in Ascham's time is so still, and that the 44 BRITISH LITERATURE. lesson is not less required at the present time than it was then. STUDY SHOULD BE RELIEVED BY AMUSEMENT. Philoloyus. — How much in this matter is to be given to the authority of Aristotle or Tully, I cannot tell, seeing sad men may well enough speak merrily for a mere matter ; this I am sure, which thing this fair wheat (God save it) maketh me remember, that those husbandmen which rise earliest, and come latest home, and are content to have their dinner and other drinkings brought into the field to them, for fear of losing time, have fatter barns in the harvest, than they which will either sleep at noontime of the day, or else make merry with their neighbors at the ale. And so a scholar, that purposeth to be a good husband, and desireth to reap and enjoy much fruit of learning, must till and sow thereafter. Our best seed-time, which be scholars, as it is very timely, and when we be young ; so it endureth not over long, and therefore it may not be let slip one hour; our ground is very hard and full of weeds; our horse wherewith we be drawn very wild, as Plato saith. And infinite other mo lets,* which will make a thrifty scholar take heed how he spendeth his time in sport and play. OCCUPATIONS SHOULD BE CHOSEN SUITABLE TO THE NATURAL FACULTIES. If men would go about matters which they should do and be fit for, and not such things which wilfully they desire and yet be unfit for, verily greater matters in the commonwealth than shooting should be in better case than they be. This ignorance in men which know not for what time and to what thing they be fit, causeth some wish to be rich, for whom it were better a great deal to be poor; other to be meddling in every man's matter, for whom it were more honesty to be quiet and still; some to desire to be in the court, which be born and be fitter rather for the cart; some to be masters and rule others, which never yet began to rule themselves; some always to jangle and talk, which rather should hear and keep silence; some to teach, which rather should learn ; some to be priests, which were fitter to be clerks. And this perverse judgment of the world, when men measure themselves amiss, bringeth much disorder and great unseemliness to the whole body of the * Mo lets means more obstacles. REVIVAL OF LITERATURE. 45 Commonwealth, as if a man shoulcl wear his hose upon his head, or a woman go with a sword and a buckler, every man would take it as a great uncomeliness, although it be but a trifle in respect of the other. This perverse judgment of men hindereth n^thiner so much as learning, because, commonly those that be unfittest for learning, be chiefly set to learning. As if a man nowadays have two sons, the one impotent, weak, sickly, lisping, stutter- ing and stammering, or having any mis-shape in his body; what doth the father of such one commonly say? This boy is fit for nothing else, but to set to learning and make a priest off as who would say, the outcasts of the world, having neither countenance, tongue, nor wit (for of a perverse body cometh commonly a perverse mind), be good enough to make those men of, which shall be appointed to preach God's holy word, and minister his blessed sacraments, besides other most weighty matters in the commonwealth; put oft times, and worthily, to learned men's discretion and charge ; when rather such an office so high in dignity, so goodly in administration should be committed to no man, which should not have a countenance full of comeliness to allure good men, a body full of manly authority to fear ill men, a wit apt for all learning, with tongue and voice able to persuade all men. And although few such men as these can be found in a commonwealth, yet surely a goodly disposed man will both in his mind think fit, and with all his study labor to get such men as I speak of, or rather better, if better can be gotten, for such an high administration, which is most properly appointed to God's own m?tters and businesses. CHAPTER V. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE, 1558-1625. As has been pointed out already, from the time of Chaucer until the reign of Elizabeth was half over, no genius appeared to vivify the languishing literature of England. Her poets were prosy, and her prose writ- ers mostly stiff, or else clumsy imitators. But when the wisdom of Elizabeth concluded that inglorious treaty of peace with France the nation obtained what was most needed, and tangible results followed quickly. 46 BRITISH LITERATURE. Wealth increased rapidly through the quickened pulse of trade, internal industries multiplied, discovery added new outlets to the activity of the people. The persecutions that raged in Ireland at this time, the martyrdom of her priests, and the plundering of her people, in a word the disruption of the country is a sad reverse to this picture. But the mass of the Eng- lish people if they thought of the matter at all, found a balm for their conscience in the antagonism that such violence manifested for Rome and Spain, sym- pathy for either meaning disloyalty to England. "The official reformers, if one may so call them,— Henry VIII. and his agents, and the council of Edward VI., — did positive injury to education and literature for the time," the historian Hallam affirms, "by the rapacity which led them to destroy the monasteries for the sake of their lands. Many good monastic schools thus ceased to exist, and education throughout the country seems to have been at the lowest possible ebb about the middle of the century. The sincere re- formers, who afterwards developed in the great Puri- tan party, were disposed to look upon human learning as something useless, if not dangerous; upon art, as a profane waste of time ; and generally upon all mental exertion which was not directed to the great business of securing one's salvation, as so much labor thrown away." * In his History of English Literature, the same writer lays the charge in question upon the reformers generally, and Luther in particular, as being the originator of the fanatic movement against human learning.! "By the regulations of the Star Chamber, in 1585, no press was allowed to be used out of Lon- * Hallam's Lit. of Europe, Vol. I, pp. 52 and 53. t P. 106. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 47 don, except one at Oxford and another at Cambridge. Thus every check was imposed on literature, and it seems unreasonable to dispute that they had some effi- cacy in restraining its progress." * The prosperity of the country in Elizabeth's time brought more leisure; and inclination and time for pleasure found its satisfaction in the revival of the old drama which was gradually developed till it found its perfect utterance in Marlow, Shakespeare, Fletcher and Jonson. More might have been accomplished and with greater celerity considering the influences at work had not the English mind been smitten by the baneful influences of the Reformation. Inasmuch as the drama of Shakespeare is the crowning glory of English letters we may pause here to trace briefly the origin of this form of English literature. The first attempts at theatrical exhibitions in Eng- land were made by the clergy, who, realizing that things seen have a more telling effect on a rude people than things merely talked of, selected dramatic events from the life of Christ or the Saints, or striking events in Church history, and fitted these to the stage. In such productions wre have the Miracle Plays. The earliest of these were written in Latin by an English monk in the early part of the twelfth century. Chaucer makes allusion to miracle plays in the prologue to the Wife of Bath's tale. These shows were generally given from large trav- eling vans, going from town to town. They carried their properties with them and in the records of more than one old town we read such items as : "two pence * Hallam's Lit. p. 413-414. 48 BRITISH LITERATURE. for a pair of gloves for god; 8 pence for dressyng devells hede ; 2 shillings for mendyng Herod's hede." When Henry VI. came to London after his cor- onation at Paris the citizens gave him a splendid reception, and the pageants were the most brilliant feature of the programme. Among others was one wherein seven ladies richly dressed gave the king the seven gifts of the Holy Ghost, etc. But inasmuch as the scholastic philosophy delighted in abstract terms and fine discriminations and closely defined distinctions, the drama instead of developing from the miracle plays into a dramatic exhibition of persons and scenes from real life, was reduced to the representation of moral abstractions, with such char- acters as Liberty, Friendship, Poverty and the like, whence arose the Morality Plays. These continued on till the end of the sixteenth century, or until the revival of learning brought the old Greek and Latin authors into Merry England. The morality plays how- ever were not religious as the miracle plays had been; in fact religious subjects were excluded on occasion when politically treated, or when the old religion was attacked. In the days of Henry VIII. , the Interludes grew out of the morality plays, and were intended to fill in the spare time during a banquet or festive celebration. The chief difference between the two is that in the morality plays, as we have said, the characters are per- sonified qualities, in the interludes these characters whilst not individuals are representatives of classes such as the Pedlar, the Curate, the Weaver, and other such. The earliest known English Comedy, Ralph Roister Doister, was written sometime about 1550, by Nich- ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 49 olas Udall, master of Eton College. This one together with Gammer Gurtoris Needle and Misogonus, (the latter translated from the Italian by Thomas Rychardes, 1560), are the only comedies of note till we come to the immediate predecessors and contemporaries of Shakespeare. The earliest tragedy, Gorboduc, by Sackville, was presented in 1562, and is in blank verse. Its theme is the legendary history of Britain, like Shakespeare's Lear. Perhaps the key-note of Elizabeth's success is to be found in the love she had for England's greatness, which love she imparted to her people, for it can be traced in no uncertain manner in all the various literary forms of her time, e. g., Spenser's Fame Queene, Shakespeare's dramas, Bacon's essays, Ra- leigh's history, and Sidney's Arcadia. EDMUND SP£NS£R, 1553-1599. Edmund Spenser, author of The Fairie Queene, was born in London, in the year 1553. Of his parentage little is known. In 1569, he entered as a sizar at Pem- broke College, Cambridge. On leaving the University, he retired to the North of England, where in 1579 he composed part of his Shepherd's Calendar. The fol- lowing year he went to Ireland as secretary to Lord Wilton; four years later he obtained from Queen Elizabeth the estate of Kilcolman, where he resided till Tyrone's Rebellion (1598). In this uprising his castle was attacked and burned; with difficulty he escaped and made his way to London where, impov- erished and broken-hearted, he died 1599. He was buried, as he requested, near the tomb of Chaucer in Westminster Abbey. 50 BRITISH LITERATURE. The Shepherd's Calendar is a piece of polemical and party divinity in twelve eclogues, according to the twelve months of the year, and dedicated to Sir Philip Sidney. It was admired in his time; but it soon lost its popularity on account of the obsolete, uncouth phrases with which it abounds, and which Dryden termed the Chaucerisms of Spenser. His Mother Hub- bard's Tale, a political satire, represents the middle age of Spenser's genius, if not of his life; that stage of his mental and poetical progress, in which the higher sense of the beautiful had not yet been fully developed. In this poem, we still find both his puritanism and his imitation of Chaucer, two things which disappear altogether in his later poetry. The following well- known complaint of a court expectant, taken from this piece, probably describes too well the vicissitudes of his own life : Full little knowest thou that hast not tried, What hell it is in suing long to bide, To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow, To feed on hope, to pine with fear and sorrow, To have thy prince's grace, yet want his peers' ; To have thy asking, yet wait many years ; To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares, To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs ; To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run, To spend, to give, to wait, to be undone. Other works of Spenser were : Muiopotmos; or, The Fate of the Butterfly (1590) ; The Ruins of Time (1591) ; Colin Clout's Come Home Again (1595) ; Amoreiti; or, Sonnets (1595), eighty-three in number; Epithalamion. This last poem, the most celebrated bridal ode in the English language, was composed on the occasion of Spenser's own marriage, in 1594, and published the year after. EDMUND SPENSER ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 51 Spenser's only extant prose work, A View of the State of Ireland, is the result of his long stay in that country. His greatest poem, The Fairie Queene, was given to the world in detached portions, and at long intervals of time, the last three books appearing in 1596. It is an extended allegory, with images drawn from the popu- lar notions concerning fairies. The poet represents the Fairie Queen as holding her solemn annual feast during twelve days, on each of which a perilous advent- ure is undertaken by some particular knight, each of twelve knights typifying some moral virtue. The first is the Knight of the Red Cross, representing Holiness : the second is Sir Guyon, or Temperance; the third, Britomartis, representing Chastity; the fourth, Cam- bel and Triamond, or Friendship; the fifth, Artegal, or Justice ; the sixth, Sir Calidore, or Courtesy. What the other six books would have been, we have no means of knowing; for the poet did not live to complete his original design. The Queen Gloriana is symbolical of Queen Elizabeth, and the adventures of the Red Cross Knights shadow forth the history of the Church of England. Spenser is considered the most luxuriant and melo- dious versifier in the English language. His creation of scenes and objects is wonderful; and in free and sonorous versification he has not yet been surpassed. The Spenserian stanza is the adoption of one of Chauc- er's stanzas,* with the addition of an Alexandrine line. His lofty rhyme has a swell and cadence and continu- ous sweetness that we can find nowhere else. "Many of his words," says Campbell, "deserve reviving; and, * This stanza of Chaucer is found in L« Pridre de Nostre Dame. See p. 22 of this book. 52 BRITISH LITERATURE. though the forms are sometimes obsolete, the language is, as a whole, beautiful in its antiquity; and, like the moss and ivy in some majestic building, covers the fabric of the poem with romantic and venerable associ- ations." His faults arose out of the fulness of his riches. His inexhaustible powers of circumstantial description betrayed him into a tedious minuteness ; and, in the painting of natural objects, led him to group together trees and plants, and assemble sounds of instruments, which were never seen or heard in unison out of Fairie Land. The great length of the poem, its allegorical form, added to the real and affected obsoleteness of the language, may indeed deter readers in general from a complete perusal ; but it will always be resorted to by the genuine lovers of poetry, as a rich storehouse of invention. THE CAVE OF MAMMON. (From The Fairie Queene, B. II., C. vii.) At length they came into a larger space That stretched itself into an ample plain, Through which a beaten broad highway did trace That straight did lead to Pluto's grisly reign. By that way's side there sat infernal pain. And fast beside him sat tumultous strife. The one in hand an iron whip did strain, The other brandished a bloody knife, And both did gnash their teeth and both did threaten Life. Before the door sat self-consuming Care, Day and night keeping wary watch and ward. For fear lest Force or Fraud should unaware Break in, and spoil the treasure there in guard; Nor would he suffer Sleep once thitherward Approach, although his drowsy den were next, « For next to death is sleep to be compared; Therefore his house is unto his annexed; Here Sleep, there Riches, and hell-gate them both betwixt ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 53 That house's form within was rude and strong, Like a huge cave hewn out of rocky clift, From whose rough vault the ragged branches hung Embost with massy gold of glorious gift, And with rich metal loaded every rift, That heavy ruin they did seem to threat; And over them Arachne high did lift Her cunning web, and spread her subtle net, Enwrapped in foul smoke, and clouds more black than jet. Both roof and floor, and walls were all of gold, But overgrown with dust and old decay, And hid in darkness, that none could behold The hue thereof; for view of cheerful day Did never in that house itself display, But a faint shadow of uncertain light; Such as a lamp, whose life does fade away; Or as the moon, clothed with cloudy night, Does show to him that walks in fear and sad affright. In all that room was nothing to be seen, But huge great iron chests and coffers strong, All barred with double bands, that none could ween Them to enforce by violence or wrong; On every side they placed were along ; But all the ground with skulls was scattered, And dead men's bones, which round about were flung, Whose lives (it seemed) whilome there were shed, And their vile carcasses now left unburied. They forward pass, nor Guyon yet spake word, Till that they came unto an iron door, Which to them open'd of its own accord, And showed of riches such exceeding store, As eye of man did never see before, Nor ever could within one place be found, Though all the wealth which is, or was of yore, Could gathered be through all the world around, And that above were added to that under ground. 54 BRITISH LITERATURE. THE CARE OF ANGELS OVER US. (Vrom'The Fairie Queene, B. II., C. viii.) And is there care in Heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is • — else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts : but O ! the exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foej How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succor us that succor want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant ! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons ^ound about us plant; And all for love and nothing ior reward: O, why should heavenly God to men have such regard? SWEET TEMPERED WITH SOUR. Sonnet XXVI. Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere ;* Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near; Sweet is the firbloom, but his branches rough; Sweet is the Cyprus, but his rind is tough ; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill ; Sweet is the broom flower, but yet sour enough ; And sweet is moly,f but his root is ill ; So, every sweet with sour is tempered still ; That maketh it be coveted the more : For easy things that may be got at will Most sorts of men do set but little store. Why then should I account of little pain That endless pleasure shall unto me gain? * Brier. t A sort of wild garlic. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 55 TRUE BEAUTY. Sonnet LXXIX. Men call you fair, and you do credit it, For that yourself you daily such do see; But the true fair, that is the gentle wit And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me. For all the rest, however fair it be, Shall turn to naught, and lose that glorious hue; But only that is permanent, and free From all frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue. That is true beauty, that doth argue you To be divine, and born of heavenly seed; Derived from that fair spirit from whom all true And perfect beauty did at first proceed. He only fair, and what he fair hath made; All other fair, like flowers untimely fade. DESCRIPTION OF A BUTTERFLY. (From The Fate of a Butterfly.) He the gay garden round about doth fly, From bed to bed, from one to other border, And takes survey, with curious, busy eye, Of every flower and herb there set in order; Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly, Yet none of them he rudely doth disorder, Nor with his feet their silken leaves deface, But feeds upon the pleasures of each place, And evermore, with most variety And change of sweetness (for all change is sweet), He seeks his dainty sense to gratify; Now sucking of the juice of herbs most meet, Or of the dew which yet on them doth lie, Now in the same bathing his tender feet ; - And then he percheth on some bank thereby To sun himself, and his moist wings to dry. 56 BRITISH LITERATURE. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, 1554-1586. Sir Philip Sidney, the patron and friend of Spen- ser, the accomplished man of the world, was also a distinguished writer. He is an author of Arcadia, the Defence of Poesy, and miscellaneous poems. His Sonnets, which constitute the chief part of his poetry, are replete with "artificial conceits and elaborate nothings." The Arcadia is a philoso- phical romance in prose, which narrates the fictitious story of a knight and courtier.* Popular during the seventeenth century, neglected during the eighteenth, it has found readers again in our own time. The De- fence of Poesy, written also in prose, has kept up the reputation of an English classic, and deservedly. It contains substantially all that has ever been said in defence of the poetic art. Sidney, when only thirty- two years of age, was mortally wounded in a skirmish near Zutphen in Holland. DESCRIPTION OF ARCADIA. There were hills which garnished their proud heights with stately trees; humble valleys whose base estate seemed comforted with the refreshing of silvery rivers; meadows enamel'd with all sorts of eye-pleasing flowers; thickets which, being lined with most pleasant shades, were witnessed so too by the cheerful disposition of many well-tuned birds ; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober security, while the pretty lambs with bleating oratory craved the dams' comfort; here a shepherd's boy piping, as though he should never be old ; there a young shep- herdess knitting, and withal singing, and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her hands kept time to her voice-music. CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, 1564-1593. Christopher Marlowe was born in Canterbury a few months before Shakespeare. His father was a poor * Besides many fine passages on the proper form of government. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 57 shoemaker, but the boy received a high-school educa- tion through the kindness of a patron. When about twenty years of age he came to London, and became a dramatic writer, and contributed to the stage. Prof. Dowden says of him: "When Shakespeare began to write tragedy, the department of tragedy was domi- nated by a writer of superb genius, Christopher Mar- lowe, and Shakespeare may well have hesitated to dispute with him in this special province. But he (Shakespeare) could not imitate the vices of Mar- lowe's style — he saw them too clearly. He saw that he must write tragedy of a kind altogether different from that created by Marlowe's method — the method of idealizing passion on a gigantic scale. He must eliminate the bombast and the rhapsody of blood." He and John Lyly were the most brilliant prede- cessors of Shakespeare, but Marlowe's extravagant life, the violence of which is reflected in his dramas, was cut short by the hand of a murderer, in a tavern brawl. Tamburlaine, the story of Timur the Tartar, which brought Marlowe before the public, was written when the author was but twenty-three years of age. It was followed in quick succession by Doctor Faustus, The Jew of Malta, and Edward III., besides minor works. There was a legend of Doctor Faustus current long before the English poet took it up and immortalized it by his genius. The plays of Calderon and Goethe on the same subject are imitations of Marlowe's, with more or less successful changes. The Jew of Malta, like the other productions of this dramatist, is full of horrors. He is the poet of unbridled passion and des- pair. His "mighty line," though often disfigured by rant and bombast and irregularity of metre, flows with a great variety of melody. 58 BRITISH LITERATURE. Faust. And what are you that live with Lucifer? Meph. Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, Conspired against our God with Lucifer, And are forever damned with Lucier. Faust. Where are you damned ? Meph. In hell. Faust. How comes it then that thou are out of hell? Meph. Why this is heil, nor am I out of it; Think'st thou that I who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of Heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being deprived of everlasting bliss? — Faust, Scene 3. Edward. Who's there? what light is that? wherefore com'st thou? Lightborn. To comfort you, and bring you joyful news. Edw. Small comfort finds poor Edward in thy looks ! Villain, I know thou com'st 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 misery: And what eyes can refrain from shedding tears, To see a king in this most piteous state! Edw. Weep'st thou already? List it a while to me And then thy heart, were it as Gurney's* is, Or as Matrevis',* hewn from Caucasu, Yet will it melt, 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 villians! 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 distempered, and my body's numbed, 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 tattered robes! Tell Isabel, the queen, I looked not thus, When for her sake I ran at tilt in France, And there unhorsed the Duke of Cleremont. * Edward's keepers. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 59 Light. O speak no more, my lord! this breaks my heart. Lie on this bed, and rest yourself awhile. Hdw. These looks of thine can harbor naught but death! I see my tragedy written in thy 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 blood, Nor shall they now be tainted with a king's. Edw. Forgive my thought, for having such a thought. One jewel have I left, receive thou this. Still fear I, and I know not what's the cause, But every joint shakes as I give it thee. Oh, if thou harbour'st murder in thy heart, Let the gift change thy mind, and save thy soul. Know that I am a king: Oh, at that name I feel a hell of grief. Where is my crown? Gone, gone; and do I still remain alive? Light. You're overwatched, my lord; lie down and rest. Edw. But that grief keeps me waken, I should sleep; For not these ten days have these eyelids closed. Now as I speak they fall, and yet with fear Open again. O wherefore sitt'st thou here? Light. If thou mistrust me, I'll be gone my lord. Edw. No, no; for if thou mean'st to murder me, Thou wilt return again; and therefore stay. Light. He sleeps. Edw. O let me not die ; yet stay, O stay a while. Light. How now, my lord? Edw. Something still buzzeth in my ears, And tells me if I sleep, I never wake; This fear is that which makes me tremble thus. And therefore tell me wherefore art thou come? Light. To rid thee of thy life. Matrevis, come. Edw. I am too weak and feeble to resist: Assist me, sweet God, and receive rny soul. 60 BRITISH LITERATURE. ROBERT SOUTHWELL, 1560-1595. This charming Christian poet, who was a victim of religious persecution, was born at St. Faith's, Norfolk, in 1560, of an ancient and respectable Catholic family. His early years are represented as giving promise of future excellence. Obedience to his parents, docility to his instructors, and gentleness to all, won him every heart. He was sent at an early age to the English college at Douay,* and thence to Rome, where he was enrolled among the children of St. Ignatius. In 1584, he was ordained priest. In 1586, he was, at his earnest request, sent as a missionary to his native country, and was made chaplain to the Countess of Arundel. Whilst in the faithful discharge of his sacred duties he was apprehended by an agent of Queen Elizabeth, kept for three years in a loathsome prison, and, after being repeatedly and barbarously tortured, was executed at Tyburn in 1595. "This whole proceeding," says the Protestant C. D. Cleveland, "should cover the authors of it with everlasting infamy. There was not a par- ticle of evidence at his trial, that this pious and accom- plished poet meditated any evil designs against the government.''! Conscious of suffering in the best of causes, he met death with the heroism of a martyr. His writings, although composed in prison, exhibit no trace of angry feeling against any human being or any human institution. The constant themes of both his prose and verse are life's uncertainty and the world's vanity, the crimes and follies of humanity, the consola- tions and glories of religion. We have from his classic pen fifty-five beautiful poems. They were very popular * The English college at Douay was founded in 1568 by Cardinal William Allen, for the twofold purpose of recruiting English mis- sioners, and giving a Catholic education to young Catholic Englishmen. t Compendium of Eng. Lit, p. 89. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 61 in his time, as many as eleven editions having been published between 1593 and 1600. Ben Jonson has expressed his admiration of South- well, and praised the Burning Babe as a poem of great beauty. "Southwell," says Angus, "shows in his poe- try great simplicity and elegance of thought, and still greater purity of language. He has been compared in some of his pieces to Goldsmith, and the comparison seems not unjust. There is in both the same natural- ness of sentiment, the same propriety of expression, and the same ease and harmony of versification ; while there is in him a force and compactness of thought, with occasional quaintness, not often found in the more modern poet."* The prose of Southwell is not less charming than his poetry. The Triumph over Death, written on the character of Lady Sackville, and Mary Magdalen's Funeral Tears, are among his best prose pieces. His beautiful lines on the death of Mary Queen of Scots, may not inaptly be applied to himself : Some things more perfect are in their decay, Like spark that going out gives clearest light ; Such was my hap, whose doleful dying day Began my joy, and termed Fortune's spite. Rue not my death, rejoice at my repose; It was no death to me, but to my woe : The bud was opened to let out the rose; The chains unloosed to let the captive go. DANGERS OF DELAY. Shun delays, they breed remorse; Use thy time while time is lent thee ; Creeping snails make little course, Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee. Good is best when soonest wrought, Lingering labors come to naught. * Handbook of Eng. Lit. 62 BRITISH LITERATURE. Hoist up sail while gale doth last. Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure; Seek not time when time is past; Sober speed is wisdom's leisure. After-wit is dearly bought, Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. Time wears all his locks before, Take thy hold or else beware, When he flies he turns no more, And behind his scalp is bare. Works adjourned have many stays, Long demurs breed new delays. Seek the salve while sore is green, Festered wounds ask deeper lancing; After-cures are seldom seen, Often sought, but rarely chancing. Time and place give best advice, Out of season, out of price. Drops will pierce the stubborn flint, Not by force, but often falling; Custom kills by feeble dint, More by use than strength enthralling. Single sands have little weight, Many make a drowning freight. TIMES GO BY TURNS. The lopped 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 of 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. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 63 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 crossed; 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. SCORN NOT THE LEAST. Where words are weak, and foes encountering strong, Where mightier do assault than do defend, The feebler part puts up enforced wrong, And silent sees that speech could not amend; Yet higher powers most think, though they repine, When sun is set, the little stars will shine. While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly, And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fish; Yet pikes are caught when little fish go by, These fleet afloat, while those do fill the dish; There is a time even for the worms to creep, And suck the dew while all their foes do sleep. The merlin cannot ever soar on high, Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase; The tender lark will find a time to fly, And fearful hare to run a quiet race. He that high growth on cedars did bestow, Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow. In Haman's pomp poor Mardocheus wept, Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe ; The Lazar pined, while Dives' feast was kept, Yet he to heaven — to hell did Dives go. We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May; Yet grass is green when flowers do fade away. 64 BRITISH LITERATURE. THE BURNING BABE. As I in hoary winter's night Stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat, Which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye To view what fire was near, A pretty Babe, all burning bright, Did in the air appear; Who, scorched with excessive heat, Such floods of tears did shed, As though his floods should quench his flames, Which with his tears were bred "Alas !" quoth he, "but newly born, In fiery hearts I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts Or feel my fire, but I; My faultess breast the furnace is, The fuel, wounding thorns ; Love is the fi^e, and sighs the smoke, The ashes, shames and scorns ; The fuel justice layeth on, And mercy blows the coals, The metal in this furnace wrought Are men's defiled souls : For which, as now on fire I am, To work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath, To wash them in my blood." With this he vanished out of sight, And swiftly shrunk away, And straight I called unto my mind That it was Christmas Day. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. $5 OPENING ADDRESS TO THE HOLY INNOCENTS. Joy, infant saints, cropped in the tender flower! Long is their life that die in blissful hour; Too long they live, that live till they be naught: Life saved by sin is purchase dearly bought. Your fate the pen of Angels should rehearse: Whom spotless, death in cradle rocked asleep; Sweet roses mixed with lilies strewed your hearse, Death virgin-white in martyr-red did steep. THOMAS SACKVILLE, 1536-1608. Thomas Sackville, better known as Lord Buckhurst and Earl of Dorset, an eminent statesman and poet, was born in Sussex, in 1536. He studied first at the University of Oxford, and afterwards removed to Cambridge. At both universities, he was distinguished for his performances in Latin and English poetry. In the history of the language, his poetical genius entitles him to be considered as forming a connecting link be- tween Chaucer and Spenser, between The Canterbury Tales and The Fairie Queene. His tragedy of G orb o due is a sanguinary story drawn from early British history, composed with con- siderable force of poetical conception and moral senti- ment. It is full of illustrations of the present from the past. It discusses the blessings of peace and settled government, the folly of popular risings, and the evils of a doubtful succession. As a poet, Sackville handled the heroic verse with great sucess, and gave the first example of regular tragedy in blank verse. Of a poem entitled the Mirror for Magistrates, intended to give a view of the illustrious but unfortu- nate characters in English history, he finished only a poetical preface, or Induction, and one legend, the Life of the Duke of Buckingham. "His Induction consists 66 BRITISH LITERATURE. of a few hundred lines; and even in these, there is a monotony of gloom and sorrow which prevents us from wishing it to be longer. It is truly styled by Campbell a landscape on which the sun never shines."* There hung on Sackville's genius not only the gloom of despondency, but a ghastly complexion caught up from the lurid flames of religious persecution. He was one of the judicial tribunal that pronounced the doom of Mary Stuart ; and the Parliament, after having con- firmed the sentence, commissioned him to bear the sad news to the unfortunate Queen. Sackville died suddenly at the council table, in April, 1608. ALLEGORICAL PERSONAGES IN H$LL. (From the Mirror for Magistrates.) And first within the porch and jaws of hell Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent t With tears; and to herself oft would she tell Her wretchedness, and cursing never stent $ 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 eye unsteadfast, rolling here and there, Whirled on each place, as place that vengeance brought; So was her mind continually in fear, Tossed 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. 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; * Hallam's Lit. of Europe, vol. 1., p. 346. t Besprinkled, t Stopped. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. fl But frets within so far forth with the fire Of wreaking flames, that now determines she To die by death, or venged by death to be. When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, Had shown 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 sight forthwith I fet,* Ruing, alas ! upon the woful plight Of Misery, that next appeared in sight. Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad,t With visage grim, a stern look, and blackly hued: In his right hand a naked sword he had, That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued ; And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) Famine and fire he held, and therewithal He razed towns and threw down towers and all; Cities he sacked, and realms (that whilom flowered In honor, glory, and rule, above the rest) He overwhelmed, and all their fame devoured, Consumed, destroyed, wasted, and never ceased, Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppressed: His face forehewed with wounds; and by his side There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide. MIDNIGHT. Midnight was come, and every vital thing With sweet sound sleep their weary limbs did rest; The beasts were still, the little birds that sing, Now sweetly slept, beside their mother's breast, The old and all well shrouded in their nest; The waters calm, the cruel seas did cease, The woods, and fields, and all things held their peace. The golden stars were whirled amid their race, And on the earth did laugh with twinkling light, When each thing nestled in his resting-place, Forgot day's pain with pleasure of the night: The hare had not the greedy hounds in sight, The fearful deer of death stood not in doubt, The partridge dreamed not of the falcon's foot. Fetched. t Clothed. 68 BRITISH LITERATURE. The ugly bear now minded not the stake, Nor how the cruel mastiffs do him tear; The stag lay still unroused from the brake; The foamy boar feared not the hunter's spear: All things were still in desert, bush, and brere. "The quiet heart, now from their travails rest," Soundly they slept, in most of all their rest. WIUJAM SHAKESPEARE, 1564-1616. William Shakespeare, the greatest of modern poets, nature's oracle and interpreter, was born in 1564, at Stratford-on-Avon, a market-town in Warwickshire. Of his early life and education, almost as little is known as of Homer himself. He came to London in his twenty-second year, and connected himself with the stage, first as an actor, then as an author. Though not a classical scholar, he had probably read numerous translations of ancient works ; the romances, tales, and legends of the time ; also the histories and biographies then extant. He took his words from the common peo- ple, from all classes in the busy scenes of life, and from the popular books of his day. "The polite," says Dr. Johnson, "are always catching modish innovations, and the learned depart from established forms of speech in hope of finding or making better; those who wish for distinction, forsake the vulgar, when the vulgar is right; but there is a conversation above grossness and below refinement, where propriety resides, and where this poet seems to have gathered his comic dialogue. He is, therefore, more agreeable to t'.ie cars of the pres- ent age than any other author equally remote ; and, among his other excellencies, deserves to be studied as one of the original masters of our language." His first play, Pericles, Prince of Tyre, written about 1590, met with success. He continued to WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 69 write until two years before his death, which occurred in his native place, in 1616. Of the forty-three dram- atic pieces ascribed to him, seven are considered as spurious by English commentators ; but German critics regard them as genuine. The remaining thirty-six may be divided into three classes : comedies, tragedies, and chronicle plays. Of the fourteen comedies, the plots of five : The Taming of the Shrew (in part), The Merchant of Venice, All's Well that Ends Well, Much Ado About Nothing, Measure for Measure, are Italian; two are classical — The Comedy of Errors and the Twelfth Night — taken from Plautus. Of the remaining seven, the plots of two — Midsummer Night's Dream, and As You Like It — are from mediaeval sources ; that of The Two Gentlemen of Verona is Spanish ; that of The Merry Wives of Windsor is English, and that of Love's Labor's Lost is apparently French ; while those of The Winter's Tale and The Tempest are of un- known origin. Of the plots of Shakespeare's twelve tragedies, five —Timon of Athens, Pericles, Julius Ctfsar, Antony and Cleopatra, and Coriolanus — are classical; two — Hamlet and Troilus and Cressida — are mediaeval; — two — Romeo and Juliet, and Othello — are Italian; and three — Cymbeline, Lear, and Macbeth — are from the legendary history of Britain. For the material of his classical tragedies, Shakespeare is supposed to have depended chiefly on North's translation of Plutarch's Lives. His chronicle .plays are ten in number : King John, King Richard the Second, two of King Henry the Fourth, King Henry the Fifth, three of King Henry the Sixth, Richard the Third, and Henry the Eighth. 70 ' BRITISH LITERATURE. These historical plays commence, in the chronological order with King John, and end with Henry VIII., omitting, however, the reigns of Henry III., the four Edwards, and Henry VII. They are generally based on the facts of history, and exhibit so truthfully and clearly the principal features of the events, their causes, even their secret springs, that Coleridge falls into the extravagance of deeming them a better help to the knowledge of history for the periods over which they extend than any other writings. The living pictures make an impression on the imagination which can never be effaced. It is generally admitted that the Chronicles of Holinshed and Hall both influenced the style of Shakespeare, and furnished him with bio- graphical and historical facts, as well as with the groundwork of his tragedy of Macbeth. The latest productions of Shakespeare's genius are the finest. In Lear, Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, and The Tempest, all his wonderful faculties and acquire- ments are found combined. "Macbeth," in the opin- ion of Hallam, "is the greatest effort of his genius, the most sublime and impressive drama the world has ever beheld." The essence of his genius, according to Car- dinal Wiseman, consists in what constitutes the very soul of the dramatic idea, the power to throw himself into the situations, the circumstances, the nature, the acquired habits, the feelings true or fictitious of every character which he introduces, and the power to give outward life to the inward conception. "For a time he lives in the astute villian as in the innocent child; he works his entire power of thought into intricacies of the traitor's brain; he makes his heart beat in con- cord with the usurer's sanguinary spite, and then, like some beautiful creature in the animal world, draws ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 71 himself out of the hateful evil, and is himself again; and able even often to hold his own noble and gentle qualities as a mirror, or exhibit the loftiest, the mosl generous, and amiable examples of our nature. . . . This ubiquity, if we may so call it, of Shakespeare's sympathies constitutes the unlimited extent and might of his dramatic genius." "All the images of nature," says Dryden, "were present to him, and he drew them not laboriously but luckily: when he describes any- thing, you more than see it — you feel it too. Those who accuse him of having wanted learning, give him the greater commendation — he was naturally learned, he needed not the spectacles of books to read nature; he looked inwards and found her there." Of the heavenly and the supernatural — the spiritual in the highest sense — he says little. Perhaps the man felt more than the poet reveals. Perhaps he deemed the place not fit for such utterances. The religion of Shakespeare is not known. "That he was a Chris- tian," says De Vere, "no one who appreciates his poetry can doubt ; and it is as certain that his religious tone has no sympathy with the sect or the conventicle. It has been frequently remarked that in the whole series of his historical plays, in which he so often delineates ecclesiastical persons, and treads on tender ground, he never is betrayed into a sneer, or drops a hint in sanction of that polemical tradition which grew in the courts of Elizabeth and James the First, and which nearly to our own time, has indirectly transmit- ted itself through English literature." "There is," says Reed, "an impressive contrast between the spirit with which Milton and Shakespeare have treated the most sacred subjects. A reverential temper, less looked for in the dramatic bard, marks every passage in which 72 BRITISH LITERATURE. allusion is made to such subjects — a feeling of pro- found reverential reserve; and as this may not have been generally observed, let me group some brief and characteristic passages together. There is a beau- tiful allusion to Christmas in Hamlet : Some say, that ever 'gainst that season comes Wherein our Saviour's birth is celebrated, This bird of dawning singeth all night long : And then, they say, no spirit dares stir abroad; The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike, No fairy takes, no witch hath power to charm, So hallowed and so gracious is the time! The mention, in Henry the Fourth, of the Holy Land: Those holy fields Over whose acres walked those blessed feet, Which, fourteen hundred years ago, were nailed For our advantage on the bitter cross. The allusion to the scheme of Redemption and to the Lord's Prayer in Portia's plea for mercy: Though justice be thy plea, consider this — That in the course of justice none of us Should see salvation; we do pray for mercy; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy." Shakespeare wrote also a series of one hundred and fifty-four Sonnets, and a few narrative Poems which are condemned for their sensualism. "Notwithstand- ing the frequent beauties of these Sonnets" says Hal- lam, "it is impossible not to wish that Shakespeare had not written them." The Plays, as edited for schools are judiciously purged of objectionable passages. Shakespeare died at Stratford on the anniversary of his birthday, April 23, 1616; and was interred on the ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 73 second day after his death, in the chancel of Strat- ford church, where a monument still remains to his memory. CLARENCE'S DREAM. (From Richard III., Act I., Scene IV.) Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? Clarence. O, I have passed a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days; So full of dismal terror was the time. Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me. Clar. Methought that I had broken from the Tower, And was embarked to cross to Burgundy, And in my company my brother Gloster, Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches. Thence we looked toward England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befallen us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloster stumbled; and in falling Struck me, that sought to stay him, overboard Into the tumbling billows of the main. O Lord, methought what pain it was to drown ! What dreadful noise of waters in my ears! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men that fishes gnawed 'ipon, Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scattered in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls; and in those holey, Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. Brak. Had you such leisure in the time of death To gaze upon the secrets of the deep? Clar. Methought I had; and often did I strive To yield the ghost; but still the envious flood 7 74 BRITISH LITERATURE. Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth To find the empty, vast, and wandering air, But smothered it within my panting bulk, Which almost burst to belch it in the sea. Brak. Awaked you not with this sore agony? Clar. O, no, my dream was lengthened after life 0, then began the tempest of my soul. I passed, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud — "What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence?" And so he vanished. Then came wandering by A shadow* like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud — "Clarence is come; false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewkesbury ; Seize on him, furies, take him to your torments !" With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Knvironed me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise 1, trembling, waked; ana for a season after Could not believe but that I was in hell: Such terrible impression made my dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. Clar. Ah! Brakenbury, I have done those things That now give evidence against my soul, For Edward's sake; and see how he requites me! 0 God! if my deep prayers cannot appease thee, But thou wilt be avenged on my misdeeds, Yet execute thy wrath on me alone: O, spare my guiltless wife and my poor children !— 1 prithee, Brakenbury, stay by me ; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. * Prince Edward, son of Henry VI. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 75 PRINCE ARTHUR AND HUBERT. (From King John, Act IV., Scene I.) Enter HUBERT and Two ATTENDANTS. Hub. Heat me these irons hot; and, look thou stand Within the arras; when I strike my foot Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth; And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, Fast to the chair: be heedful: hence, and watch. I Attend. I hope, your warrant will bear out the deed. Hub. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you ; look to 't. — [Exeunt Attendants. Young lad, come forth; I have to say with you. Enter ARTHUR. Arth. Good morrow, Hubert. Hub. Good morrow, little Prince. Arth. As little prince (having so great a title To be more prince), as may be. — You are sad. Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. Arth. Mercy on me' Methinks, nobody should be sad but I. ... So I were out of prison, and kept sheep, I should be as merry as the day is long ; And so I would be here, but that I doubt My uncle practices more harm to me; He is afraid of me, and I of him: Is it my fault that I was Geffrey's son ! No indeed, is't not; and I would to heaven, I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. Hub. (Aside.) If I talk to him, with his innocent prate He will awake my mercy, which lies dead: Therefore I will be sudden, and dispatch. Arth. Are you sick, Hubert? you look pale to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick: That I might sit all night, and watch with you. I warrant, I love you more than you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom — Read here, young Arthur. (Showing a paper.) How now, fool- ish rheum! (Aside.) Turning dispiteous torture out of door! I must be brief; lest resolution drop Out at my eyes, in tender womanish tears. — Can you not read it? is it not fair 'writ? 76 BRITISH LITERATURE. Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hub. Young boy, I must. Arth And will you? Hub. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, (The best I had, a princess wrought it me,) And I did never ask it you again: And with my hand at midnight held your head ; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheered up the heavy time; Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? Or, What good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you at your sick service had a prince. Nay, you may think, my love was crafty love, And call it, cunning; do an if you will: If heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, Why, then you must — Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you? Hub. I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. Ah, none, but in this iron age, would do it! The iron of itself, though heat red-hot, Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, And quench his fiery indignation, Even in the matter of mine innocence. Nay, after that, consume away in rust, But for containing fire to harm mine eye. Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron? And if an angel should have come to me, And told me, Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed no tongue, but Hubert's. Hub. Come forth. (Stamps.) Re-enter ATTENDANTS, with cords, irons, etc. Do as I bid you do. Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. Arth. Alas, what need you be so boisterous-rough? I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 77 For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound; Nay, hear me, Hubert, drive these men away, And I will sit as quiet as a lamb; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, Nor look upon the iron angerly; Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you Whatever torment you do put me to. Hub. Go, stand within; let me alone with him. 1 Attend. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. [Exeunt Attendants. Arth. Alas ! I then had chid away my friend : He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart: — Let him come back, that his compassion may Give life to yours. Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. Arth. Is there no remedy? Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. Arth. O heaven ! — that there were but a mote A grain of dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, Any annoyance in that precious sense! Then, feeling what small things are boisterous there, Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. Hub. Is this your promise? go to, hold your tongue. Arth.. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : Let me not hold my tongue; let me not, Hubert! Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue, So I may keep mine eyes; O, spare mine eyes; Though to no use, but still to look on you ! Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, And would not harm me. Hub. I can heat it, boy. Arth. No, in good sooth; the fire is dead with grief, Being create for comfort, to be used In undeserved extremes ; see else yourself ; There is no malice in this burning coal; The breath of heaven hath blown his spirit out, And strewed repentant ashes on his head, Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert: Nay, it, perchance, will sparkle in your eyes ; And, like a dog that is compelled to fight, ^g BRITISH LITERATURE. Snatch at his master that doth tarre him on. All things, that you should use to do me wrong, Deny your office: only do you lack That mercy, which fierce fire, and iron, extend, Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. Hub. Well, see to live; I will not touch thine eyes For all the treasure that thine uncle owes : Yet am I sworn, and I did purpose, boy, With this same very iron to burn them out. Arth. O, now you look like Hubert! all this while You were disguised. Hub. Peace: no more. Adieu; Your uncle must not know but you are dead: I'll fill these dogged spies with false reports. And, pretty child, sleep doubtless and secure That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, Will not offend thee. Arth. O heaven!— I thank you, Hubert. Hub. Silence; no more: Go closely in with me; Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. MERCY. (From The Merchant of Venice, Act IV., Scene I.) The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes. 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes The throned monarch better than his crown: His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, The attribute to awe and majesty, Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. But mercy is above the sceptred sway ; It is enthroned in the hearts of kings; It is an attribute to God himself; And earthly power doth then show likest God's When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew, Though justice be thy plea, consider this— That, in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation : we do pray for mercy ; And that same prayer doth teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. COMMONWEALTH OF BEES. (From Henry V., Act I., Scene II.) They have a king, and officers of sorts : Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad ; Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; Which pillage they with merry march bring home To the tent-royal of their emperor, Who, busied in his majesty surveys The singing masons building roofs of gold; The civil citizens kneading up the honey; The poor mechanic porters crowding in Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate ; The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum Delivering o'er to executioners pale The lazy yawning drone. FALL OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. (From Henry VIII. , Act III., Scene II.) Cardinal Wolsey, after his fall from the favor of Henry VIII., thus soliloquizes, and afterwards confers with his servant Crom- well: Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man; to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him : The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost ; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is aripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; . But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new-opened: O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors! There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, 60 BRITISH LITERATURE. More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. — •Enter CROMWELL amazedly. Why, how now, Cromwell? Crom. I have no power to speak, sir. Wol. What! amazed At my misfortunes? can thy spirit wonder A great man should decline? Nay, and you weep, I am fallen indeed. Crom. How does your grace? Wol. Why, well; Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. I know myself now; and I feel within me A peace above all earthly dignities, A still and quiet conscience. The king has cured me, I humbly thank his grace; and from these shoulders, These ruined pillars, out of pity, taken A load would sink a navy, too much honor: O 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 'tis a burden, Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven. Crom. I am glad, your grace has made that right use of it Wol. I hope I have; I am able now, methinks, (Out of a fortitude of soul I feel,) To endure more miseries, and greater far, Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. What news abroad? Crom. The heaviest, and the worst, Is your displeasure with the king. Wol. God bless him! Crom. The next is, that Sir Thomas More is chosen Lord Chancellor in your place. Wol. That's somewhat sudden: But he's a learned man. May he continue Long in his highness's favor, and do justice For truth's sake, and his conscience; that his bones, When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, May have a tomb of orphans' tears wept on 'em !* What more? Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome, Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. Wol. That's news indeed. The chancellor is the general guardian of orphans. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell; I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now To be thy lord and master. Seek the king; That sun I pray may never set! I have told him What, and how true thou art; he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, Neglect him not, make use now, and provide For thine own future safety. Crom, 0 my lord, Must I then leave you? Must I needs forego So good, so noble, and so true a master? Bear witness, all that have not hearts of iron, With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord. The king shall have my service; but my prayers Forever, and forever, shall be yours. Wol. Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee; Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, — Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. Cromwell, I charge thee ; fling away ambition ; By that sin fell the angels ; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by't? Love thyself last : cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not: Let all the ends thou aimest at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve thy king! And, Pr'ythee, lead me in: There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 'tis the king's; my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal 82 BRITISH LITERATURE. I served my king, he would not now in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies. Crom. Good sir, have patience. Wol. So I have. Farewell, The hopes of court! my hopes in heaven do dwell. WOLSEY'S VICES AND VIRTUES. (From Henry VIII., Act IV., Scene II.) Queen Katharine. So may he rest; his faults lie gently on him ! Yet thus far, Griffith, give me leave to speak him, And yet with charity. — He was a man Of an unbounded stomach,* ever ranking Himself with princes; one that, by suggestion, Tithed all the kingdom : simony was fair play ; His own opinion was his law: i' the presence t He would say untruths ; and be ever double, Both in his words and meaning. He was never, But where he meant to ruin, pitiful ; His promises were, as he was then, mighty; But his performance, as he is now, nothing. Of his own body he was ill, and gave The clergy ill example. Griffith. Noble madam, Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues We write in water. May it please your highness To hear me speak his good now? Katharine. Yes, good Griffith; I were malicious else. Griffith. This cardinal, Though from an humble stock, undoubtedly Was fashioned to much honor from his cradle. He was a scholar, and a ripe and good one; Exceeding wise, fair spoken, and persuading; Lofty and sour to them that loved him not; But to those men that sought him sweet as summer, And though he were unsatisfied in getting, (Which was sin) yet in bestowing, madam, He was most princely : ever witness for him Those twins of learning, that he raised in you, Ipswich and Oxford! one of them fell with him.t Unwilling to outlive the good that did it ; * Pride. t Of the king. $ Ipswich. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 33 The other, though unfinished, yet so famous, So excellent in art, and still so rising, That Christendom shall ever speak his virtue. His overthrow heaped happiness upon him; For then and not till then he felt himself, And found the blessedness of being little: And to add greater honor to his age Than man could give him, he died, fearing God. BEAUMONT AND Fl^TCHER. Francis Beaumont (1584-1616) was the son of a judge at Gracedieu, Leicestershire; whilst Fletcher (1579-1625) was the son of the Dean of Peterbor- ough, afterwards Bishop of L/ondon, whose name is recalled in connection with the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots. Theirs is the most famous of liter- ary partnerships ; and their combined efforts produced thirty-eight plays. Whilst immeasurably below Shake- speare, their style and language is purer and finer than Jonson's and especially do they excel in dramatic technique. But even their best works, The Maid's Tragedy, Philaster, The Faithful Shepherdess, The Knight of the Burning Pestle, are unfit for reading, much more for the stage, so pronounced is their licen- tiousness and so patent their indecency. Roses, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone, But in their hue ; Maiden pinks, of odour faint, Daises smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true; Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry spring-time's harbinger, With her bells dim; Oxlips in their cradles growing, Marigold on death-beds blowing, Lark-heels trim; S4 BRITISH LITERATURE. All, dear Nature's children sweet, Lie 'fore bride and bride-groom's feet, Blessing their senses ! Not an angel of the air, Bird melodies or bird fair, Be absent hence ! The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar, Nor chatt'ring pie May on our bride house perch or sing, Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly! — Two Noble Kinsmen. Care-charming Sleep, the easer of all woes, Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose On this afflicted prince fall like a cloud In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud Or painful to his slumbers ; easy, light, And as a purling stream, thou son of Night, Pass by his troubled senses, sing his pain Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain ; Into this prince gently, oh gently slide, And kiss him into slumbers like a bride. — Valentinian. BEN JONSON, 1574-1637. Ben Jonson, the contemporary and friend of Shake- speare, was born in 1574, at Westminster. After serv- ing in Flanders as a common soldier, with great credit for bravery, we find him, at the age of twenty, settled as an actor in London. In this calling he did not suc- ceed; and, in 1596, he produced his first comedy, Every Man in His Humor, which is still considered a standard piece. From this period he seems to have pro- duced a play annually for several years, besides writ- ing occasionally masques and interludes for the enter- tainment of the Court. He holds the second place among the dramatic authors of this period, although ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 85 Beaumont and Fletcher as regards imagery and wit, and Massinger as regards grace and dignity of senti- ment, rank before him. In many of the qualities of a dramatist, Jonson excels; but he is often hard, un- genial, pedantic, wearing too frequently what Milton calls 'his learned sock.' His comedies and tragedies are sixteen in number; and his masques and other Court entertainments, thirty-five. Besides these, he wrote a book entitled Timber; or, Discoveries made upon Men and Matter. It is chiefly a collection of moral remarks and criticisms, unconnected, judicious, witty, and often severe. The English Grammar which is extant under his name, is but part of a work which he wrote on that subject. It shows an accurate acquaintance with the principles of our speech. It is one of the earliest of our grammars, as the Timber is one of the earliest specimens of literary criticism. His best dramas are his Alchymist, Epicene, and Volpone; or, the Pox, which, besides being considered admirable as to plot and development, exhibit traits of pungent humor, strong conception, and powerful discrimination. His tragedies of Sejanus and Catiline are too learned and declamatory either for the closet or the stage ; and a great portion of his comedy is low, forced, unnatural, and repulsive. His characters, when compared with those of Shakespeare, are what sculpture is to actual life. He died in poverty, and was called to the 'dread account' in 1637, regretting the occasional irreverences of his pen, and deploring the frequent abuse of powers which were given for nobler ends. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, and on his tombstone were in- scribed these words only, 'O rare Ben Jonson!' 86 BRITISH LITERATURE. ADVICE TO A FECKLESS YOUTH. Learn to be wise, and practice how to thrive, That would I have you do : and not to spend Your coin on every bauble that you fancy, Or every foolish brain that humors you. I would not have you to invade each place, Nor thrust yourself on all societies, Till men's affections, or your own desert, Should worthily invite you to your rank. He that is so respectless in his courses, Oft sells his reputation at cheap market. Nor would I you should melt away yourself In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect To make a blaze of gentry to the world, A little puff of scorn extinguish it, And you be left like an unsavory snuff, Whose property is only to offend. I'd have you sober, and contain yourself; Nor that your sail be bigger than your boat; But moderate your expenses now (at first) As you may keep, the same proportion still, Nor stand so much on your gentility, Which is an airy, and mere borrowed thing, From dead men's dust and bones ; and none of yours, Except you make, or hold it. TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKESPEAR*. Soul of the age, The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! My Shakespeare, rise ! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further off, to make thee room'. Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read and praise to give. . And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, From thence to honor thee I will not seek For names : but call forth thundering ^Eschylus. Euripides, and Sophoclts. to us ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the muses still were in their prime When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm. . . . Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were To see thee in our water yet* appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, That did so take Eliza and our James. THE GOOD LIFE, LONG LIFE. It is not growing like a tree In bulk doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night ; It was the plant and flower of light. In small proportion we just beauties see, And in short measures life may perfect be, HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER. Hear me, O God! A broken heart Is my best part: Use still thy rod, That I may prove Therein Thy love. If thou hadst not Been stern to me, But left me free, I had forgot Myself and Thee. For sin's so sweet, As minds ill bent Rarely repent, Until they meet Their punishment. 88 BRITISH LITERATURE. HYMN TO THE MOON. Queen and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess, excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade, Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess, excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal shining quiver; Give unto the flying heart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess, excellently bright. DIRECTIONS FOR WRITING WELL.* (From The Timber.) For a man to write well, there are required three necessa- ries ; to read the best authors ; observe the best speakers ; and much exercise of his own style. In style, to consider what ought to be written, and after what manner; he must first think, and excogitate his matter; then choose his words, and examine the weight of either. Then take care in placing and ranking both matter and words, that the composition be comely ; and to do this with diligence and often. No matter how slow the style be at first, so it be labored and accurate; seek the best, and be not glad of the forward conceits, or first words that offer themselves to us, but judge of what we invent, and order what we approve. Repeat often what we have formerly written; which, besides that it helps the consequence, and makes the juncture better, quickens the heat of imagination, that often cools in the time of sitting down, and gives it new strength, as if it grew lustier by the going back. As we see in the contention of leaping, they jump farthest that fetch • "Ben Jonson's directions for writing well should be indelibly im- pressed upon the mind of every student." — Drake's Essays. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 89 their race largest; or, as in throwing a dart or javelin, we force back our arms, to make our loose the stronger. Yet, if we have a fair gale of wind, I forbid not the steering out of our sail, so the favor of the gale deceive us not. For all that we invent doth please us in the conception or birth; else we would never set it down. But the safest is to return to our judgment, and handle over again those things, the easiness of which might make them justly suspected. So did the best writers in their beginnings. They imposed upon themselves care and industry. They did nothing rashly. They obtained first to write well, and then custom made it easy and a habit. By little and little, their matter showed itself to them more plentifully"; their words answered, their composition followed; and all, as in a well-ordered family, presented itself in the place. So that the sum of all is, ready writing makes not good writing but good writing brings on ready writing. THE LAST OF THE DRAMATISTS. Massinger, Webster, Heywood, Randolph, Middle- ton, and Shirley bring us to the end of the Elizabethan drama, for it was in 1642 that Parliament ordered the London theatres to be closed. Most of the Elizabethan dramatists lived irregular and unbridled lives, given up almost unreservedly to improvidence and passion. But the age in which they lived offers some extenua- tion. The old Church had been swept away, and what the nation had substituted for it neither garbed the pride nor calmed the passion of these youthful and gifted men. The solid bulwark of moral traditions of the Catholic Church stood firm in the serious minded ranks of the people, but so much could not be expected for the plastic artistic temperament of the wits and literati of the court and city. Massinger's A New Way to Pay Old Debts still holds the stage for the splendidly drawn character of Sir Giles Overreach. Webster: The White Devil and The Duchess oft Malfi. 90 BRITISH LITERATURE. Heywood: A Woman Killed With Kindness. Randolph : The Muses' Looking Glass. A defence of the stage against the Puritans. Shirley (a convert) : The Maid's Revenge, The Traitor, The Ball, The Bird in a Cage, etc. (Lines from Massinger) 'Death hath a thousand doors to let out life'. 'Gold can do much, but beauty more'. Virtue not in action is a vice'. 'When we go not forward, we go backward'. With your leave I must not kneel, sir, While I reply to this : but thus rise up In my defence, and tell you, as a man, (Since, when you are unjust, the deity Which you may challenge as a king, parts from you,) 'Twas never read in holy writ or moral, That subjects on their loyalty were obliged To love their sovereign's vices. — The Maid of Honor. (A lyric from Shirley's The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses.) The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; Thfre is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings; Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath. When they, pale captives, creep to death. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 91 The garlands wither on your brow ; Then boast no more your mighty deeds ! Upon Death's purple altar now, See, where the victor-victim bleeds : Your heads must come To the cold tomb : - Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. SIR WAI/TER RAI^IGH, 1552-1618. Sir Walter Raleigh was born at Hayes Manor m Devon, of an old family, and from youth was remark- able both for his acuteness of intellect and roving disposition; he was a dashing courtier, a reckless ad- venturer, and a brilliant writer. One of the favors received by him at the hand of Elizabeth, was a liberal grant of 12,000 acres of confiscated Irish land. In his course of adventures beyond the sea, he discovered Virginia, which he thus called in honor of the Queen. Under James I. he was cast into the Tower for a charge of treason from which he could not entirely prove himself innocent. During the thirteen years of his confinement, he wrote the History of the World. This great work does not reach beyond the year 168 B. C. In it much fiction is mixed with history, but the style is clear, forcible, and eloquent. Raleigh has also written several lyric poems of merit. Released from his confinement on promise that he would open a gold mine in the New World, he started in search of new adventures, but failed in his attempt to discover the gold. After his return, he was accused by the Spaniards of having attacked them unjustly, and executed on the old charge of treason for which he had suffered his long imprisonment. 92 BRITISH LITERATURE. AMBITION AND DEATH. (From the History.) By this which we have already set down is seen the beginning and the end of the three first Monarchies of the World, whereof the Founders and the Erecters thought that they could never have ended. That of Rome, which made the fourth, was also at this time almost at the highest. We have left it flourishing in the middle of the Field, having rooted up or cut down all that kept it from the eyes and admiration of the World. But after some continuance, it shall begin to lose the beauty it had; the storms of ambition shall beat her great boughs and branches one against another, her Leaves shall fall off, her Limbs wither, and a rabble of barbarous Nations enter the field, and cut her down For the rest, if we seek a reason of the succession and con- tinuance of this boundless ambition in mortal men, we may add to that which hath already been said, 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 always transported with the glory 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, which hateth and destroyeth man, is believed ; God, which hath made him and loves him, is always deferred: '[ have considered,' 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 open- ing the conscience of Charles the Fifth made him enjoin his son Philip to restore Navarre ; and King Francis the First 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 forepast happiness. He takes the account of the rich, and proves him a beggar, 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 acknowl- edge it. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 93 O eloquent, just, and mighty Death! whom none couid advise, thou hast persuaded; what none have dared, thou hast done; and whom all the world hath flattered, 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, Hie jacet! SONNET ON SPENSER'S FAIRIE QUEEN. Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, Within that temple where the vestal flame Was wont to burn; and passing by that way, To see that buried dust of living fame, Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen, At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; And from thenceforth those graces were not seen, For they this queen attended: in whose stead Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse : Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief, And cursed the access of that celestial thief. ON PASSION. Passions are likened best to floods and streams ; The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; So when affections yield discourse, it seems The bottom is but shallow whence they come. They that are rich in words, in words discover That they are poor in that which makes a lover. FRANCIS BACON, 1561-1626. Francis Bacon, Lord High Chancellor of England, termed by many the parent of experimental philosophy, was born in London, in 1561. From his early boy- hood he showed great vivacity of mind, and gave indi- cations of his future eminence. When only nineteen years old, he wrote a work entitled Of the State of Europe, in which he displayed astonishing maturity of 94 BRITISH LITERATURE. judgment. To an active, comprehensive, and pene- trating genius, he added application to study and the frequentation of the learned men of his age. His char- acter unfortunately was not in keeping with his literary merit. Having been accused by Parliament of venality and corruption, he fully confessed to the committee of investigation the crimes laid to his charge, and be- sought them not 'to press upon a broken reed.' He was fined £40,000, imprisoned in the Tower, and de- clared incapable of holding any office or employment in the state. However, he was soon released by King James, and obtained the entire revocation of his sen- tence. The following are the most important works of this remarkable man: I. Essays, or Counsels Civil and Moral, the best known and most popular of his productions. The Essays are fifty-eight in number, besides a fragment. Burke preferred them to Bacon's other writings. "The 'small volume of Essays may be read from beginning to end in a few hours; and yet after the twentieth peru- sal, one seldom fails to remark in it something over- looked before."* The style is elaborate, sententious, often metaphorical, and possesses a degree of concise- ness rarely found in the compositions of the Eliza- bethan age. II. History of the Reign of Henry VII. This is a reliable and well-executed work, which alone would have illustrated the name of Bacon, had not his other writings reached a higher degree of splendor. III. The treatise De Sapientid Veterum, in which he shows his knowledge of antiquity, and explains the ancient fables by ingenious allegories. * Dugald Stewart. ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 95 IV. Elements of the Laws of England, in two parts. 1. A collection of the principal rules and maxims of the common law with their latitude and extent. 2. The use of the law for the preservation of our persons, goods, and good names. V". De Augment is Scientiarum. This work, in which his English treatise on the Advancement of Learning is embodied, gives a general summary of human knowl- edge, taking special notice of gaps and imperfections in science. VI. Novum Organum, or New Instrument or Meth- od of studying the sciences. This work explains the inductive method of reasoning, and dwells on the nec- essity of experiments in the study of natural sciences. From these the appelation of Baconian method came to be used for the method of induction. The De Augmentis and the Novum Organum form the first two parts of a vast philosophical system, in six divisions, entitled Instauratio Magna (The Great Reform of sciences) ; of the four other parts we have only some detached fragments. The most opposite appreciations have been given of Lord Bacon and his philosophical works. Whilst many writers, like Hallam, Dugald Stewart, Diderot, D'Alembert, and in general the impugners of the scholastic philosophy, have professed unbounded ad- miration for his genius ; others, among whom we may quote De Maistre, Rohrbacher, and Cantu, have stren- uously maintained that his works swarm with errors; that the method of induction, falsely called Baconian, far from being new, was pointed out by Aristotle him- self, and applied extensively by Roger Bacon, Coperni- cus, Galileo, and many other modern philosophers, before Francis Bacon ; and, finally, that his real merit 96 BRITISH LITERATURE. lies principally in the poetical beauties with which he has illustrated the driest subjects. We think that Bacon has been too much praised and too much blamed. He had the actual merit of urging the practice of the inductive method in physical sciences. True it is that the method was well known before Bacon; but, in point of fact, it was too often neglected. The great fault with Bacon, is to imply everywhere as a principle, that man knows nothing except through experience and observation. This principle was afterwards followed up to its last consequences, and eventually led its defenders to materialism and atheism. As to Bacon himself, fond as he was of experiments, he made and multiplied them to little profit, and left no im- portant contribution to any single branch of physical science. He died, in 1626, of a fever contracted while making an experiment. He was buried at St. Albans. A great poet has styled him : 'The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind/ — Pope. OF TRUTH. Essay I. . . . . It will be acknowledged, even by those that prac- tise it not, that clear and round dealing is the honor of man's nature, and that mixture of falsehood is like alloy in coin of gold and silver, which make the metal work the better, but it embaseth it. For these winding and crooked courses are the goings of the serpent, which goeth basely upon the belly and not upon the feet. There is no vice that doth so cover a man with shame, as to be found false and perfidious; and therefore Montaigne saith prettily, when he inquired the reason why the word of the lie should be such a disgrace, and such an odious charge: saith he, "If it be well weighted, to say that a man licth, is as much as to say that he is brave towards God and a coward towards men. For a lie faces God, and shrinks from man." ELIZABETHAN LITERATURE. 97 Off ADVERSITY. Essay V. The vertue of Prosperity is Temperance, the Vertue of Ad- versity is Fortitude, which in Morals is the more Heroical ver- tue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament; Adversity is the Blessing of the New; which carrieth the greater Bene- diction, and the Clearer Revelation of God's Favor. Yet even in the Old Testament, if you listen to David's harpe, you shall heare as many Herse-like ayres as Carols ; and the Pencil of the Holy Ghost hath laboured more in describing the Afflictions of Job than the Felicities of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many Feares and Distastes; and Adversity is not without Com- forts and Hopes. We see in Needle-workes and Imbroideries, it is more pleasing to have a Lively Worke upon a Sad and Solemn Ground, than to have a Darke and Melancholy Worke upon a Lightsome Ground: judge, therefore, of the Pleasure of the Heart by the Pleasure of the Eye. Certainly vertue is like pretious Odours, most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed: For Prosperity doth best discover Vice, but Ad- versity doth best discover Vertue OF STUDIES. Essay L. 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 Particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshalling of affaires, come best from those that are Learned. To spend too much time in Studies is Sloth ; to use them too much for ornament is Affecta- tion; to make Judgment wholly by their rules is the humour of a scholler. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experi- ence; for naturall abilities are like naturall plants that need proyning by study ; and studies themselves doe give forth direc- tions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experi- ence. Crafty men contemne studies ; simple men admire them ; and wise men use them; for they teache not their owne use, but that is a wisdome without them and above them, won by observation. Reade not to contradict and confute; nor to be- leeve and take for granted; nor to find talke and discourse; but to weigh and consider. Some bookes are to be tasted, others 98 BRITISH LITERATURE. to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some bookes are to be read onely in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some bookes also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be onely in the lesse important arguments, and the meaner sort of bookes; else distilled bookes are like common distilled waters, flashing 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 conferre little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning to seeme to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets witty; the mathematicks subtle; natural philosophy deep; moral grave; logick and rhetorick able to control. Abeunt studio in mores. . . . CHAPTER VI. Civil, WAR PERIOD, 1625-1700. The interval which begins with the Civil War and terminates with the seventeenth century, was not in the main favorable to literature. During the broils that agitated the nation, men could not be expected to cultivate letters with ardor or success. Under the Commonwealth and the Protectorate, triumphant Puri- tanism was looked upon as a declared enemy of poets, wits, and artists. With the Restoration came in a looseness of manners and a servile imitation of French ideas and taste, which were more dangerous to litera- ture than even the overstrained rigidity of the Puri- tans. The stage was particularly infected. The com- edy, far from being faithful to its mission of corrector of morals, openly sneered at virtue and winked at prof- ligacy. Throughout the century, * Euphuism con- tinued to exert a baleful influence on the literary taste. The whole epoch was one of change and transition. * Affected writing, from Euphues the principal character in two famous works of John Lyly (1554-1603), who deserves to be called the father of Euphuism. CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 99 Milton, its greatest name, belongs by the character of his poetical writings to the Shakespearian times, whereas Dryden, who comes next in point of ex- cellence, was the acknowledged master of the classicist age. RICHARD CRASHAW, 1616 (?)-1650. Richard Crashaw, an eminent religious poet, was the son of a London preacher. After preliminary studies at the Charterhouse, he went to Cambridge, where he was elected to a fellowship in 1637. When the Earl of Manchester, under the authority of the Revolted Par- liament 'reformed' the University by expelling such members as refused to subscribe the Covenant, Cra- shaw was one of the fifty-five Fellows ejected. He then possessed a high reputation as preacher. But he gave up all prospects of ambition and wealth, and made his submission to the Catholic Church. After some time spent in a state of great poverty, he went (1646) to Italy, where he was appointed one of the canons of Loretto. He held this preferment till his death, which happened about the year 1650. The principal works of Crashaw are: Steps to the Temple, The Delights of the Muses, Sacred Poems, Poemata Latina, Bpigrammata Sacra. His transla- tions from the Latin and the Italian poets are master- pieces of the kind. His original works, although fre- quently marred by quaintness and conceits, peculiar to his time, are characterized by energy of thought, in- tense feeling of faith and piety, exquisite beauty, and wealth of diction. Crashaw was an intimate friend of Selden and Cowley, the latter of whom dedicated to his memory one of the most touching elegies in the 100 BRITISH LITERATURE. language. In his Epigrammata Sacra is found the well-known verse relating to the miracle of Cana: Lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit. The modest water saw its God and blushed. ON SENDING A PRAYER-BOOK TO A LADY. It is an armory of light. Let constant use but keep it bright, You'll find it yields To holy hands and humble hearts More words and shields Than sin hath snares, or hell hath darts. LAZARUS'S TEARS. Rich Lazarus ! richer in those gems, thy tears, Than Dives in the robes he wears : He scorns them now, but Oh ! they'll suit full well With the purple he must wear in hell. GIVE TO CJESAR WHAT IS CESAR'S. All we have is God's, and yet Caesar challenges a debt; Nor hath God a thinner share, Whatever Caesar's payments are. All is God's; and yet, 'tis true, All we have is Caesar's too. All is Caesar's; and what odds? So long as Caesar's self is God's. CHRIST S VICTORY ON THE CROSS. Christ, when he died. Deceived the cross, And on death's side Threw all the loss: The captive world awaked, and found The prisoner loose, the jailor bound. O dear and sweet dispute Twixt death's and love's far different fruit! CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 101 Different as far As antidotes and poisons are. By that first fatal tree Both life and liberty Were sold and slain ; By this they both look up and live again. O strange mysterious strife Of open death and hidden life! When on the cross my King did bleed, Life seemed to die, death died incked. (From his Epitaph on Mr. Ashton.) Sermons he heard, yet not so many As left no time to practice any: He heard them reverently, and then His practice preached them o'er again. ABRAHAM COWLEY, 1618-1667. Abraham Cowley, a distingushed poet and one of the most popular and influential writers of his day, was born in London in 1618. He was admitted as King's scholar in Westminster School, and so early imbibed a taste for poetry that in his sixteenth or seventeenth year, while yet at school, he published a collection of verses which he entitled Poetical Blossoms. These and other juvenile productions attracted "considerable atten- tion towards the author, and procured him great liter- ary distinction. His poetical works are divided into four classes : the miscellaneous, the amatory verses, the Pindaric Odes, and the Damdeis. The last is an epic of considerable length on the sufferings and glories of David. Although incomplete and conveying no strong proof of epic talent, it contains some pleasing passages. It is now, however, entirely neglected. Cowley's multifarious learning and well-digested reflections, give to his writings that peculiar attraction which grows upon the reader, as he becomes older and 102 BRITISH LITERATURE. more contemplative. He was well versed both in Greek and Latin literature; and his imitations, para- phrases, and translations, show perfect knowledge of the originals, and a great mastery over the resources of the English language. What has contributed much to diminish Cowley's reputation, is that abuse of intel- lectual ingenuity, that passion for learned, far-fetched, and recondite illustrations which was to a certain extent the vice of his age. Pope says of him: "Who now reads Cowley? If he pleases yet, His moral pleases, not his pointed wit: Forgot his Epic, nay Pindaric art, But still I love the language of his heart." As an essayist in prose, Cowley's style has a smooth and placid evenness, abounding with thought, without any of the affectation or straining which disfigures his poetry. His Essay on Cromwell especially is easy and graceful throughout, with the exception of the close. In general, it may be said of him, that few authors afford so many new thoughts, and those so entirely their own. A severe cold and fever, caught from wan- dering among the damp fields, terminated his life in 1667, in the forty-ninth year of his age. AND FAME. (From the Pindaric Odes.) O Life! thou Nothing's younger brother! So like, that one might take one for the other What's somebody or nobody? In all the cobwebs of the schoolmen's trade We no such nice distinction woven see, As 'tis 'to be' or 'not to be/ Dream of a shadow ! a reflection made From the false glories of the gay reflected bow Is a more solid thing than thou. Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise CIVIL WAR PERIOD. Up betwixt two eternities! Yet canst nor wind nor wave sustain, But broken and overwhelmed, the endless oceans meet again. And with what rare invention do we strive Ourselves then to survive ! Wise subtle arts and such as well befit That Nothing, man's no wit — Some with vast costly tombs would purchase it, And by the proofs of death pretend to live. "Here lies the great" — false Marble! where? Nothing but small and sordid dust lies there. Some build enormous mountain-palaces ; The fools and architects to please; A lasting life in well-hewn stone they rear: So he, who on the Egyptian shore * Was slain so many hundred years before, Lives still (O life! most happy and most dear! O life! that epicures envy to hear!) Lives in the dropping ruins of his amphitheatre. His father-in-law a higher place does claim t In the seraphic entity of Fame; He, since that toy his death, Does fill all mouths, and breathes in all men's breath. 'Tis true the two immortal syllables remain; But oh, ye learned men! explain What essence, what existence this, What substance, what subsistence, what hypostasis In six poor letters is! In those alone does the great Ceesar live, 'Tis all the conquered world could give. We poets madder yet than all, With a refined fantastic vanity, Think we not only have but give eternity. Fain would I see that prodigal Who his to-morrow would bestow For all old Homer's life, e'er since he died, till now! TO THE GRASSHOPPER, Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning's gentle wine! * Pompey the Great. f Csesar whose daughter was married to Pompey. 104 BRITISH LITERATURE. Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill. Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing, Happier than the happiest king! All the fields which thou dost see, All the plants belong to thee. All that summer hours produce, Fertile made with early juice. Man for thee does sow and plough; Farmer he, and landlord thou! Thou dost innocently enjoy, Nor does thy luxury destroy. Thee country hinds with gladness hear, Prophet of the ripened year ! To thee, of all things upon earth, Life's no longer than thy mirth. Happy insect! happy thou, Dost neither age nor winter know. But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung Thy fill, the flowery leaves among, Sated with thy summer feast, Thou retir'st to endless rest. THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE AND UNCERTAINTY OF RICHES. Why dost thou heap up wealth, which thou must quit, Or what is worse, be left by it? Why dost thou load thyself when thou'rt to fly, O man! ordained to die? Why dost thou build up stately room on high, Thou who art under ground to lie? Thou sow'st and plant'st, but no fruit must see, For death, alas ! is reaping thee. Suppose thou fortune couldst to tameness bring, And clip or pinion her wing; Suppose thou couldst on fate so far prevail, As not to cut off thy entail; Yet death at all that subtlety will laugh; Death will that foolish gardener mock, Who does a slight and annual plant ingraff Upon a lasting stock. CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 1Q5 Thou dost thyself wise and industrious deem ; A mighty husband thou wouldst seem ; Fond man ! like a bought slave, thou all the while Dost but for others sweat and toil. , Officious fool ! that needs must meddling be In business that concerns not thee ; For when to future years thou extend'st thy cares, Thou deal'st in other men's affairs. Even aged men, as if they truly were Children again, for age prepare; Provisions for long travel they design, In the last point of their short line. Wisely the ant against poor winter hoards The stock which summer's wealth affords ; In grasshoppers, which must at autumn die, How vain were such an industry ! The wise example of the heavenly lark, Thy fellow-poet, Cowley, mark ; Above the clouds let thy proud music sound! Thy humble nest built on the ground. SIR WIUJAM DAVENANT, 1605-1668. William Davenant was the son of a vintner at Ox- ford. He studied at Lincoln College but took no degree. His great admiration for Shakespeare led him to write for the stage. He is called by Southey a poet of rare and indubitable genius, who had more fame in his time than he has preserved. He wrote as many as twenty-five plays and many other poetical works. Gondibert, the best known of his productions, is an unfinished heroic poem of 6000 lines, of which Scott has said that 'few poems afford more instances of vig- orous conception, and even of felicity of expression/ But the chief merit of Davenant, in our estimation, is the effort which he made to 'rescue poetry from becom- 106 BRITISH LITERATURE. ing the mere handmaid of pleasure, and to restore her to her natural rank in society, as an auxiliary of relig- ion and virtue/ In 1638, he succeeded Ben Jonson as poet-laureate and, a few years later, became a Roman Catholic. During the Commonwealth when imprisoned and in . danger of his life, he owed his release to Milton's interference; a service which he repaid after the Restoration by successfully exerting his influence in behalf of his benefactor and brother poet. It was for his troupe of actors playing at a theatre in Portugal Row that Davenant obtained per- mission from Charles II. for actresses to play the female parts; such parts having been till then filled by boys. JOHN MII/TON, 1608-1674. John Milton, England's greatest epic poet, may be regarded as being, in many respects, the standard of dignified poetic expression ; although Shakespeare alone exhibits the varied elements of copiousness, pow- er, and brilliancy inherent in our language. "It is easy," says Pope, "to mark out the general course of our poetry : Chaucer, Spenser, Milton, and Dry den, are the landmaiks for it." Milton was born in Lon- don, in 1608. His first preceptor was a Puritan min- ister, named Young. At the age of sixteen he was sent to Christ's College, Cambridge, where he continued for seven years. Whilst still a member of the University, he wrote his Ode on the Nativity, almost any verse of which is sufficient to indicate a new era in poetry. The five years immediately succeeding his University career, he spent in the reading of classical works and the com- position of a few poems. Lycidas is a monody on the death of a friend, in which is poured forth the treas- JOHN MILTON CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 107 ures of thought and imagination of the poet's mind. Comus, a masque is the most graceful and fanciful of his poems. In melody of versification, sweetness of imagery, and the Doric delicacy of its songs and odes, it has never been surpassed. His U Allegro, an ode to mirth, and // Penseroso, an ode to melancholy, are two exquisite poems, in which the thought and mode of treatment are no less Italian than their titles. In 1638, he went abroad, and spent fifteen months travel- ling in Italy and France. In 1644, appeared his Trac- tate on Education, in which he rejects the modern method of the school and university, and proposes in its place a system chiefly imitated from the gymnasia of Sparta and Athens, but totally impracticable and Utopian. About the same time was published his Areo- pagitica, or Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Print- ing, the most eloquent prose composition of his pen. In the triumph of the Republicans, he was appointed Latin Secretary of Cromwell. In 1651 was published his Defensio pro Populo Anglicano, a reply to Sal- masius, the most learned man in Europe, after Gro- tius, who had defended the claims and conduct of King Charles I. For nearly ten years the eyesight of the poet had been failing, and, in 1652, he became hopelessly blind. Dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day! — Samson Agonistes. Milton's political and religious sentiments were of the extremest and even most violent character. There appears continually in his works, we will not say, a contest, but a contrast, between his conviction and his sympathies — between his logic and his *ancy. Thus, 108 BRITISH LITERATURE. while Milton the polemic was advocating the over- throw of the monarchic institutions of England, and the destruction of the hierarchic edifice of its Church, Milton the poet had his soul deeply penetrated with the enthusiasm inspired by his country's history, and his ear ever thrilling to the majestic services of its half-Roman worship. The man who desired the aboli- tion of all external dignities on earth, has given us the grandest picture of such a graduated hierarchy of orders in heaven — Thrones, Princedoms, Virtues, Dominations, Powers; he who would have reduced the externals of Christian- ity to a simplicity and meanness compared with which the subterranean worship of the persecuted Christians of the primitive ages was splendor, has exhibited a deeper and more prevailing admiration than any other poet ever showed, for the grandeur of Gothic archi- tecture, and the charms of the solemn masses of the ancient cathedrals: But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloisters' pale And love the high-embowered roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light: There let the pealing organs blow To the full-voiced choir below, In service high and anthems clear, As may with sweetness through mine ear, Dissolve me into ecstasies, And bring all heaven before mine eyes. — // Penseroso. His immortal Paradise Lost was finished in 1665, and first printed in 1667. It long struggled with bad CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 109 taste and political prejudices, before it took a secure place among the few productions of the human mind that continually rise in estimation, and are unlimited by time or place. It is divided into twelve books or cantos; it begins with the council of Satan and the fallen angels, the description of the erection of Pande- monium, and ends with the expulsion of our first par- ents from Paradise. "Lake other great works, and in a higher degree than most, the poem is oftenest studied and estimated by piecemeal only. Though it be so taken, and though its unbroken and weighty solemnity should at length have caused weariness, it cannot but have left a vivid impression on all minds not quite unsusceptible of fine influences. The stately march of its diction; the organ-peal with which its versification rolls on; the continual overflowing, especially in the earlier books, of beautiful illustrations from nature and art ; the clearly and brightly colored pictures of human happiness and innocence — these are features, some or all of which must be delightful to most of us, and give to the mind images and feelings not easily or soon effaced." The first book is as unsurpassed for magnifi- cence of imagination, as the fourth is for grace and luxuriance. A tide of gorgeous eloquence rolls on from beginning to end, like a river of molten gold, outblazing, we may surely say, everything of its kind in any other poetry. In Paradise Lost, we rarely meet with feeble lines. There are few in which the tone is not in some way distinguishd from prose. The very artificial style of Milton, sparing in English idiom, and his study of a rhythm not always the most grateful to our ears, but preserving his blank verse from a trivial flow, are the causes of this elevation. HO BRITISH LITERATURE. "It is strange," says Schlegel, "that Milton failed to discover the incompleteness of Paradise Lost as a unique whole, of which the Creation, the Fall, and Re- demption, are so many successive acts closely linked together. He eventually perceived the defect, it is true, and appended Paradise^ Regained; but the propor- tions of this latter to the first performance, were not in keeping, and much too slight to admit of its con- stituting an efficient keystone." Paradise Regained tells the story, in four cantos, of Christ's triple tempta- tion and complete triumph over Satan. In studying Milton's epic as a sacred poem, we are impressed by a want of awe and reserve in the handl- ing of religious mysteries, when, for instance, he repre- sents the Supreme Being 'as a school-divine;' and we loathe the grim puritanical pleasantry which he puts in the mouth of the rebel angels, while making the first experiment of their new-discovered artillery. The Mil- tonic Satan is undoubtedly one of the most stupendous creations of poetry; but there is a heroic grandeur in it which wins, do what you will, a human sympathy. This is wrong: the representation of the devil should be purely and entirely evil, without a tinge of good, as that of God should be purely and entirely good, without a tinge of evil. Milton never speaks of the Trinity, and hardly disguises his Arianism. Yet we would be inclined to apply to Paradise Lost, in its religious aspect, what Macaulay says of his Essay on the Doctrines of Christianity: "The book, were it far more orthodox or far more heretical than it is, would not much edify or corrupt the present generation." About four years before his death, Milton published his tragedy of Samson Agonistes. It abounds in moral and descriptive beauties; but exhibits little purely dra- CIVIL WAR PERIOD. matic talent, either in the development of the plot or in the delineation of character. As the Comus was a beautiful reflection of his happy youth, the Samson Agomstes shadows forth the gloomy grandeur of the poet's old age. We seem to hear the voice of Milton's own spirit in the words of his hero : I I feel my genial spirit droop, My race of glory run, and race of shame; And I shall shortly be with them that rest. Milton's prose writings are frequently scathing in denunciation, but at other times poetically beautiful. DEBATE IN PANDEMONIUM. High on a throne of royal state, which far Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, Satan exalted sat, by merit . raised To that bad eminence: and from despair Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue Vain war with heaven; and, by success untaught, His proud imagination thus displayed: "Power and dominions, deities of heaven; For since no dee^ within her gulf can hold Immortal vigor, though oppressed and fallen, I give not heaven for lost. From this descent Celestial virtues rising, will appear More glorious and more dread than from no fall, And trust themselves to fear no second fate. Me though just right, and the fixed laws of heaven, Did first create your leader: next, free choice, With what besides, in council or in fight, Hath been achieved of merit; yet this loss, Thus far at least recovered, hath much more Established in a safe unenvied throne, Yielded with full consent. The happier state In heaven, which follows dignity, might draw BRITISH LITERATURE. Envy from each inferior; but who here Will envy whom the highest place exposes Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim, Your bulwark, and condemns to greater share Of endless pain? Where there is then no good For which to strive, no strife can grow up there From faction ; for none sure will claim in hell Precedence, none whose portion is so small Of present pain, that with ambitious mind Will covet more. With this advantage then To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, More than can be in heaven, we now return To claim our just inheritance of old, Surer to prosper than prosperity Could have assured us ; and by what best way, Whether of open war, or covert guile, We now debate; who can advise, may speak." . . Up rose Belial, in act more graceful and humane: A fairer person lost not heaven ; he seemed For dignity composed, and high exploit: But all was false and hollow; though his tongue Dropped manna, and could make the worse appear The better reason, to perplex and dash Maturest counsels: for his thoughts were low: To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds Timorous and slothful; yet he pleased the ear, And with persuasive accent thus began: "I should be much for open war, O peers, As not behind in hate; if what was urged Main reason to persuade immediate war, Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast Ominous conjecture on the whole success; When he, who most excels in fact of arms, In what he counsels, and in what excels, Mistrustful grounds his courage on despair And utter dissolution, as the scope Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. First, what revenge? The towers of heaven are filled With armed watch, that render all access Impregnable; oft on the bordering deep Encamp their legions; or, with obscure wing, Scout far and wide into the realm of night, Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way By force, and at our heels all hell should rise CIVIL WAR PERIOD. With blackest insurrection, to confound Heaven's purest light; yet our great enemy All incorruptible, would on his throne Sit unpolluted; and the ethereal mould, Incapable of stain, would soon expel Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope Is flat despair: we must exasperate The almighty Victor to spend all his rage, And that must end us; that must be our cure, To be no more. Sad cure ! for who would lose Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night, Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, Let this be good, whether our angry foe Can give it, or will ever? how he can, Is doubtful; that he never will, is sure. Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, Belike through impotence, or unaware, To give his enemies their wish, and end Them in his anger, whom his anger saves To punish endless? Wherefore cease we then? Say they who counsel war, We are decreed, Reserved, and destined, to eternal woe; Whatever doing, what can we suffer more, What can we suffer worse? Is this then worst, Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? What, when we fled amain, pursued, and struck With heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought The deep to shelter us ? this hell then seemed A refuge from those wounds : or when lay Chained on the burning lake? that sure was worse. What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, And plunge us in the flames? or, from above, Should intermitted vengeance arm again His red right hand to plague us? What if all Her stores were opened, and this firmament Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire, Independent horrors, threatening hideous fall One day upon our heads; while we perhaps, Designing or extorting glorious war, Caught in a fiery tempest shall be hurled 114 BRITISH LITERATURE. Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey Of wracking whirlwinds; or forever sunk Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains; There to converse with everlasting groans, Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse. War, therefore, open or concealed, alike My voice dissuades." The Third Book opens by an easy transition, with an address to Light. The whole passage has been greatly admired : ADDRESS TO LIGHT. Hail, holy light! offspring of heaven first-born, Or of the Eternal coeternal beam May I express thee unblamed ! since God is light, And never but in unapproached light Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, Bright effluence of bright essence increate Or hearest thou rather, pure ethereal stream, Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the sun, Before the heavens thou wert, and at the voice Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest The rising world of waters dark and deep, Won from the void and formless infinite. Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight Through utter and through middle darkness borne, With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, I sung of Chaos and eternal Night; Taught by the heavenly muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend, Though hard and rare: thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovereign vital lamp; but thou Revisitest not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, Or dim suffusion veiled. Yet not the more Cease I to wander where the muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or stmny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song; but chief CIVIL WAR PERIOD. Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, That wash thy hallowed feet and warbling flow, Nightly I visit: nor sometimes forget Those other two equalled with them in renown, Blind Thamyris, and blind Mseonides, And Tiresias, and Phineas, prophets old: Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shadiest covert hid Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year Seasons return ; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and everduring dark Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair, Presented with a universal blank Of nature's works to me expunged and rased, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. So much the rather thou, celestial light, Shine inward, and the mind through all her power Irradiate; there plant eyes, all mist from thence Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell Of things invisible to mortal sight. SATAN'S SOLILOQUY ON VIEWING PARADISE AT A DISTANCE. Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixed sad; Sometimes towards heaven, and the full blazing sun, Which now sat high in his meridian tower: Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began: "O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned, Lookest from thy sole dominion like the god Of this new world: at whose sight all the stars Hide their diminished heads; to thee I call, But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 0 sun! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, That bring to my remembrance from what state 1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere; Till pride and worse ambition threw me down Warring in heaven against heaven's matchless King. Ah, wherefore? he deserved no such return From me whom he created what I was BRITISH LITERATURE. In that bright eminence, and with his good Upbraided none, nor was his service hard. What could be less than to afford him praise, The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks, How due ! yet all his good proved ill in me, And wrought but malice; lifted up so high I disdained subjection, and thought one step higher Would set me highest, and in a moment quit The debt immense of endless gratitude, So burdensome still paying, still to owe; Forgetful what from him I still received, And understood not that a grateful mind By owing owes not, but still pays, at once Indebted and discharged; what burden then? O had his powerful destiny ordained Me some inferior angel, I had stood Then happy; no unbounded hope had raised Ambition. Yet why not? some other power As great might have aspired, and me, though mean, Drawn to his part; but other powers as great Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within Or from without, to all temptations armed. Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand? Thou hadst; whom hast thou then or what to accuse, But heaven's free love dealt equally to all? Be then his love accursed, since love or hate, To me alike, it deals eternal woe. Nay, cursed be thou; since against his thy will Chose freely what it now so justly rues. Me miserable ! which way shall I fly Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell; And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threatening to devour me opens wide, To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven. O, then, at last relent: is there no place Left for repentance, none for pardon left? None left but by submission ; and that word Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced With other promises and other vaunts Than to submit, boasting I could subdue The Omnipotent. Ay me! they little know How dearly I abide that boast so vain, Under what torments inwardly I groan, CIVIL WAR PERIOD. While they adore me on the throne of hell, With diadem and sceptre high advanced, The lower still I fall, only supreme In misery: such joy ambition finds. But say I could repent and could obtain, By act of grace, my former state; how soon Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay Which feigned submission swore! Ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void. For never can true reconcilement grow, Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep; Which would but lead me to a worse relapse And heavier fall : so should I purchase dear Short intermission bought with double smart. This knows my Punisher; therefore as far From granting he, as I from begging peace: All hope excluded thus, behold, instead Of us outcast, exiled, his new delight Mankind created, and for him this world. So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear, Farewell remorse : all good to me is lost ; Evil, be thou my good : by thee at least Divided empire with heaven's King I hold, By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ;* As man ere long, and this new world shall know." ON THE MORNING 0£ CHRIST'S NATIVITY. It was the winter wild, While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; Nature, in awe to Him, Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. ****** No war, or battle sound, Was heard the world around : The idle spear and shield were high up hung; The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by. 118 BRITISH LITERATURE. But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kissed, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave The stars with deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence, But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until the Lord himself bespake and bid them go. ****** The shepherds on the lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row: Full little thought they then, That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal finger strook; Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise : As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loath to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. ****** The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. CIVIL WAR PERIOD. H9 The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale, Edged with poplar pale, The parting genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn, The nymphs in twilight shades of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat. ****** So, when the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending. Heaven's youngest-teemed star Hath fixed her polished car, Her sleeping Lord, with handmaid lamp, attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. SAMUKL BUTLER, 1612-1680. Samuel Butler, a minor poet, the author of the fam- ous Hudibras, was born in Worcestershire, in 1612. It is generally thought that he was educated at Cam- bridge, although some have denied that he enjoyed the advantages of a university education. He resided for 10 120 BRITISH LITERATURE. some time with Sir Samuel Luke, a commander under Cromwell. In this situation, he acquired the materials for his Hudibras, by a study of those around him, and particularly of Sir Samuel himself, a caricature of whom is exhibited in the celebrated Knight Hudibras, the hero of the poem. The name of Hudibras is taken from the old ro- mances of chivalry, Sir Hugh de Bras being one of the Knights of King Arthur's Round Table.* The poem itself is a burlesque on the extravagant ideas and rigid manners of the English Puritans of the Civil War and Commonwealth. The versification is the rhymed iambic tetrameter, a measure well adapted for continuous and easy narrative, and peculiarly fitted for the burlesque. The learning, the inexhaustible wit, the ingenious and felicitous illustrations, do not how- ever prevent us from perceiving that the intrigue is so limited and defective as scarcely to deserve the name of plot; and that the action is inconsistent and left unfinished at the conclusion, if indeed the abrupt termination of a poem in which nothing is concluded, can be called a conclusion. Incomplete as it is, it obtained at once an immense popularity. Yet the plethora of wit, the condensation of thought and style, which so highly characterize this production, the vulgarity of the language, soon be- come tiresome and oppressive; and after perusing some thirty or forty pages, the reader would fain relin- quish the task and pass to something more dignified, less sparkling or whimsical. As a work intended to * The Knights of the Round Table, a military order supposed to have been instituted by Arthur, a renowned British chieftain, in the year 516. They are said to have been twenty-four in number, all selected from among the bravest of the nation. The Round Table, which gave them their title, was an invention of that prince to avoid disputes about the upper and lower end, and to take away all emula- tion as to places. CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 131 ridicule the Puritans, the attraction of Hudibras was great, but temporary. As applicable to classes of characters which exist forever, the pungency will always be relished. Fanaticism, hypocrisy, and time- serving venality are of all ages. The idiomatic spirit of this celebrated satirist, his proverb-like oddity and humor of expression, have caused many of his lines and similes to be completely identified with the lan- guage. Celebrated as Hudibras rendered its author, it did nothing towards extricating him from indigence. The unfortunate and ill-requited laureate of the Royalists died in 1680, not possessing sufficient property to pay his funeral expenses. A monument was indeed erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey, forty years after his death ; and this tardy recognition of his merit, gave occasion to one of the keenest epigrams in the English language : "Whilst Butler, needy wretch, was yet alive, No generous patron would a dinner give: See him when starved to death and turned to dust, Presented with a monumental bust; The poet's fate is here in emblem shown: He asked for bread, and he received a stone." SIR HUDIBRAS AND HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS. When civil dudgeon first grew high, And men fell out, they knew not why; When hard words, jealousies, and fears, Set folks together by the ears ; . . . When gospel-trumpeter, surrounded By long-eared rout, to battle sounded, And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic, Was beat with fist instead of a stick; Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling, And out he rode a-colonelling. A wight he was, whose very sight would Entitle him mirror of knighthood, 122 BRITISH LITERATURE. That never bowed his stubborn knee To anything but chivalry, Nor put up blow but that which laid Right worshipful on shoulder blade. . «, We grant, altho' he had much wit, He was very shy of using it ; As being loath to wear it out, And therefore bore it not about Unless on holidays or so, As men their best apparel do. Besides, 'tis known he could speak Greek, As naturally as pigs squeak. That Latin was no more difficile Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle: Being rich in both, he never scanted His bounty unto such as wanted ; But much of either would afford To many that had -not one word. . . c He was in logic a great critic, Profoundly skilled in analytic. He could distinguish and divide A hair 'twixt south and southwest side: On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute. He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, — a man's no horse; He'd prove a buzzard— is no fowl, And that a lord may be — an owl ; A calf — an alderman; a goose — a justice; And rooks — committee-men and trustees. He'd run in debt by disputation, And pay with ratiocination. All this by syllogism, true In mood and figure, he would do. For rhetoric — he could not ope His mouth but out there flew a trope; And when he happened to break off In the middle of his speech, or cough, He had hard words ready to show why, And tell what rule he did it by; Else, when with greatest art he spoke, You'd think he talked like other folk; For all a rhetorician's rules Teach nothing but to name his tools. But, when he pleased to show't, his speech CIVIL WAR PERIOD. In loftiness of sound was rich; A Babylonish dialect, Which learned pedants much affect. It was a parti-colored dress Of patched and piebald languages: 'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin, As fustian heretofore on satin: It had an odd promiscuous tone, As if he had talked three parts in one : Which made some think, when he did gabble, They had heard three laborers of Babel, Or Cerberus himself pronounce A leash of languages at once. HIS RELIGION. For his religion, it was fit To match his learning and his wit: 'Twas Presbyterian true blue. For he was of that stubborn crew Of errant saints, whom all men grant To be the true church militant; Such as do build their faith upon The holy text of pike and gun; Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery; And prove their doctrine orthodox By apostolic blows and knocks ; Call fire, and sword, and desolation A godly thorough reformation, Which always must be carried on, And still be doing, never done; As if religion were intended For nothing else but to be mended; A sect whose chief devotion lies In odd perverse antipathies; In falling out with that or this, And finding, somewhat still amiss; More peevish, cross, and splenetic, Than dog distraught or monkey sick; That with more care keep holiday The wrong, than others the right way; Compound for sins they are inclined to, By damning those they have no mind to. Still so perverse and opposite, As if they worshipped God for spite. 324 BRITISH LITERATURE. EDMUND WAU^R, 1605-1687. Edmund Waller was born at Coleshill, near Amer- sham. His uncle's wife was aunt to Oliver Cromwell, but his own family were staunch loyalists. In his infancy he inherited a small fortune. After an educa- tion received at Cambridge, he enured Parliament at the age of sixteen. His life was a checkered one, as he passed alternately from the republican to the royalist, and from the royalist to the republican party as occasion or policy demanded. As a poet he enjoyed the widest popularity, which continued after his death for a hundred years. His poems, written for special occasions to men and women of the world, are grace- ful and full of airy compliments. His lyrics are of the best, particularly when, forgetting his usual frivolity, he strikes a pensive strain. When past eighty years he wrote these beautiful lines: The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more : For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries. The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that time hath made; Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, As they draw nearer to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, Who stand upon the threshold of the new. \ JOHN DRYDEN, 1631-1700. John Dryden, one of the greatest masters of English verse, whose masculine satire has never been excelled, was born in Northamptonshire, in 1631. He was edu- cated partly at Westminster, and partly at Trinity CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 1£5 College, Cambridge. His first acknowledged publica- tion was a poem on the death of Lord Hastings; but his most important and promising early production was a set of heroic stanzas on the death of Cromwell. In 1662, he became a candidate for theatrical laurels ; and, within the space of thirty years, produced twenty- seven plays, the most popular of which are The Indian Emperor and The Conquest of Granada. His dramatic efforts, however, were in great part failures; and he had but too much cause for the repentance which he expresses in regard to the licentiousness with which they are defiled. Deeply is it to be regretted, that his great talents were so instrumental in extending and prolonging the depravation of national taste. His com- edy is, with scarcely an exception, false to nature, ill- arranged, and offensive equally to taste and morality. In 1667, appeared Annus Mirabilis, a poem on the memorable events of 1666,* which may be esteemed his most elaborate work. In 1681, Dryden published the political satire of Absalom and Achitophel, written in the style of a scriptural narrative, in which the inci- dents of the rebellion of Absalom against David are admirably applied to Charles II., the Duke of Mon- mouth, and the intriguing Earl of Shaftesbury. It is considered the most vigorous, elastic, and finely versi- fied satire in the English language. The attacks of a rival poet, Shadwell, drew from his pen, in 1682, another vigorous satire entitled Mac-Flecknoe. In the same year was published his Religio Laid, a poem written to defend the Church of England against the dissenters; yet evincing a sceptical spirit with regard to revealed religion. His doubts, however, * "An expensive though necessary war, a consuming pestilence, and a more consuming fire." 126 BRITISH LITERATURE. about religion were dispelled when he embraced the Roman Catholic faith. Satisfied with the prospect of an infallible guide, he exclaimed : Good life, be now my task — my doubts are done. The first public fruit of his conversion was a contro- versial poem of great force and beauty of versification, The Hind and The Panther, (1687). The milk-white Hind is the Church of Rome; the spotted Panther is the Church of England; while the Independents, Quakers, Calvinists, and other sects, are represented by bears, hares, wolves, and other animals. This allegorical description of the sects fills the first section of the poem, the second deals with the struggle between the Hind and the Panther; the third develops personal and doctrinal satire. The following opening lines, which Johnson styles lofty, elegant, and musical, rank among the most beautiful in our language: A milk-white Hind, immortal and unchanged, Fed on the lawns, and in the forest ranged: Without unspotted, innocent within, She feared no danger, for she knew no sin. Yet had she oft been chased with horns and hounds, And Scythian shafts, and many-winged wounds, Aimed at her heart; was often forced to fly, And doomed to death, though fated not to die. "The wit in the Hind and Panther" says Hallam, "is sharp, ready, and pleasant ; the reasoning in some- times admirably close and strong; it is the energy of Bossuet in verse." As an example of his success in the difficult undertaking of rendering argument in verse interesting, read lines 449-555 of the second part of the poem, or the defense of his course of action in becoming a Catholic. Part III — lines 235-50. "A more CIVIL WAR PERIOD. 127 just and complete estimate of his natural and acquired powers, of the merits of his style and of its blemishes, may be formed from the Hind and Panther, than from any of his other writings/' * Dryden also gave to the world versions of Juvenal and Persius, and a still weightier task, his celebrated translation of Virgil, published in 1697, which Pope hesitates not to charac- terize as the most noble and spirited translation he knew of in any language. The Ode to St. Cecilia, commonly called Alexander's Feast, was Dry den's next effort. It is the loftiest and most imaginative of all his compositions, and one of the noblest lyrics in the English language. The Fables, published in his sixty-eighth year, are imitations of Boccaccio and Chaucer, and afford the finest specimens of Dryden's happy versification : 'The varying verse, the full resounding line, The long majestic march, and energy divine/ — Pope. At this advanced age, his fancy was even brighter and more prolific than ever. Like a calm and brilliant sunset, it shed a lustre on the last days of the poet. His principal prose compositions are his Essay on Dramatic Poetry, and his admirable Prefaces and Dedi- cations. If there is a doubt whether he can rank with the first class of poets, there can be no question of his pre-eminence as a writer of prose. "The matchless prose of Dryden," says Lord Brougham, "is rich, various, natural, animated, pointed, lending itself to the logical as well as the narrative and picturesque; never balking, never cloying, never wearying. The vigor, freedom, variety, copiousness, that speaks an ex- haustless fountain from its source : nothing can surpass * Macaulay. 128 BRITISH LITERATURE. Dryden." "The prose of Dryden/' says Sir Walter Scott, "may rank with the best in the English language. It is no less of his own formation than his versification ; it is equally spirited, and equally harmonious." He is the father of the modern paragraph; as in verse he had compassed his thought in the riming couplet, in prose he aimed to give unity and clearness to his expression by embodying the idea in the short space of a paragraph. In disposition and moral character, Dryden is repre- sented as most amiable. He declares, however, that he was not one of those whose sprightly sayings di- verted company. One of his censurers makes him remark of himself, "To writing bred, I knew not what to say." By Congreve, who spoke from observation, he is de- scribed as Very modest and very easily to be discoun- tenanced, in his approaches to his equals or superiors/ 4