“Environed he was with many foes,
And stood against them, as the hope of Troy
Against the Greeks that would have enter’d Troy.
But Hercules himself must yield to odds;
And many strokes, though with a little axe,
Hew down and fell the hardest-timber’d oak.”
This is almost the coincidence of the copyist, and but for the
necessities of the metre, Whitney’s words might have been
literally quoted.
“Manie droppes pierce the stone,” has its parallel in the
half-bantering, half-serious, conversation between King Edward
and Lady Grey (3 Henry VI., act iii. sc. 2, l. 48, vol. v. p. 280).
The lady prays the restoration of her children’s lands, and the
king intimates he has a boon to ask in return,—
“King Edw. Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.
Grey. Why then I will do what your grace commands.
Glou. [Aside to Clar.] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble.
Clar. [Aside to Glou.] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt.”
In Otho Vænius (p. 210), where Cupid is bravely working at
felling a tree, to the motto, “By continuance,” we find the
stanza,—
“Not with one stroke at first the great tree goes to grownd,
But it by manie strokes is made to fall at last,
The drop doth pierce the stone by falling long and fast,
So by enduring long long sought-for loue is found.”
“To clip the anvil of my sword,” is an expression in the
Coriolanus (act iv. sc. 5, lines 100–112, vol. vi. p. 380) very difficult
to be explained, unless we regard it as a proverb, denoting
the breaking of the weapon and the laying aside of enmity.
Aufidius makes use of it in his welcome to the banished Coriolanus,—
“O Marcius, Marcius!
Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart
A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter
Should from yond cloud speak divine things,
And say ‘’Tis true,’ I’d not believe them more
Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine
Mine arms about that body, where against
My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,
And scarr’d the moon with splinters: here I clip
The anvil of my sword, and do contest
As hotly and as nobly with thy love
As ever in ambitious strength I did
Contend against thy valour.”
To clip, or cut, i.e., strike the anvil with a sword, is exhibited
by more than one of the Emblem writers, whose stanzas are
indeed to the same effect as those of Massinger in his play, The
Duke of Florence (act ii. sc. 3),—
“Allegiance
Tempted too far is like the trial of
A good sword on an anvil; as that often
Flies in pieces without service to the owner;
So trust enforced too far proves treachery,
And is too late repented.”
In his 31st Emblem, Perriere gives the device, and stanzas
which follow,—
En danger eſt de rompre ſon eſpée
Qui ſur l’enclumé̩[e/]̩ en frappe rudement.
Auſſi l’amour eſt bien toſt ſincoppée,
Quand ſon amy on preſſe follement.
Qui le fera, perdra ſubitement
Ce qu’il deburoit bien cheremẽt garder
De tel abus, ſe fault contregarder,
Cõmé̩[e/]̩ en ce lieu auõs doctriné̩[e/]̩ expreſſe.
A tel effort, ne te fault hazarder
De perdré̩[e/]̩ amy, quãd ſouuẽt tu le preſſe.
But the meaning is, the putting of friendship to too severe a
trial: “As he is in danger of breaking his sword who strikes it
upon an anvil, so is love very soon cut in pieces when foolishly
a man presses upon his friend.” So Whitney (p. 192), to the
motto, Importunitas euitanda,—“Want of consideration to be
avoided,”—
“Who that with force, his burnish’d blade doth trie
On anuill harde, to prooue if it be sure:
Doth Hazarde muche, it shoulde in peeces flie,
Aduentring that, which else mighte well indure:
For, there with strengthe he strikes vppon the stithe,
That men maye knowe, his youthfull armes have pithe.
Which warneth those, that louinge frendes inioye,
With care, to keepe, and frendlie them to treate,
And not to trye them still, with euerie toye,
Nor presse them doune, when causes be too greate,
Nor in requests importunate to bee:
For ouermuche, dothe tier the courser free?”
Touchstone, the clown, in As You Like It (act ii. sc. 4, l. 43,
vol. ii. p. 400), names the various tokens of his affections for
Jane Smile, and declares, “I remember, when I was in love I
broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming
a-night to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her
batlet and the cow’s-dugs that her pretty chopt hands had
milked.”
It may, however, from the general inaccuracy of spelling in
the early editions of Shakespeare, be allowed to suppose a
typographical error, and that the phrase in question should
read, not “anvil of my sword,” but “handle;”—I clip, or
embrace the handle, grasp it firmly in token of affection.
The innocence of broken love-vows is intimated in Romeo
and Juliet (act ii. sc. 2, l. 90, vol. vii. p. 42),—
“Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say ‘Ay,’
And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear’st,
Thou mayst prove false: at lovers’ perjuries,
They say, Jove laughs.”
And most closely is the sentiment represented in the design by
Otho van Veen (p. 140), of Venus dispensing Cupid from his
oaths, and of Jupiter in the clouds smiling benignantly on the
two. The mottoes are, “Amoris ivsivrandvm pœnam non
habet,”—Love excused from periurie,—and “Giuramento sparso
al vento.”
In Callimachus occurs Juliet’s very expression, “at lovers’
perjuries Jove laughs,”—
“Nulla fides inerit: periuria ridet amantum
Juppiter, & ventis irrita ferre iubet:”
and from Tibullus we learn, that whatever silly love may have
eagerly sworn, Jupiter has forbidden to hold good,—
“Gratia magna Ioui: vetuit pater ipse valere,
Iurasset cupidè quidquid ineptus Amor.”
The English lines in Otho van Veen are,—
“The louer freedome hath to take a louers oth,
Whith if it proue vntrue hee is to be excused,
For venus doth dispence in louers othes abused,
And loue no fault comitts in swearing more than troth.”
The thoughts are, as expressed in Italian,—
“Se ben l’amante assai promette, e giura,
Non si da pena à le sue voci infide,
Anzi Venere, e Giove se ne ride.
l’Amoroso spergiuro non si cura.”
To such unsound morality, however, Shakespeare offers strong
objections in the Friar’s words (Romeo and Juliet, act iii. sc. 3,
l. 126),—
“Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,
Digressing from the valour of a man;
Thy dear love sworn, but hollow perjury,
Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish.”
“Labour in vain,”—pouring water into a sieve, is shown by
Perriere in his 77th Emblem,—
where however it is a blind Cupid that holds the sieve, and
lovers’ gifts are the waters with which the attempt is made to fill
the vessel.
Qvi plus mettra dans le crible d’amours,
Plus y perdra, car choſe n’y profitte:
Le temps ſi pert, biens, bagues & atours,
Sa douleur eſt en tout amer confitte.
Folle ieuneſſé̩[e/]̩ & franc vouloir incite
A tel deſduict deſpendre groſſe ſomme:
Sur ce pẽser doibuent biẽ ieunes hõmes,
Que de ce fait meilleurs n’ẽ peuuẽt eſtre:
Et quãd naurõt le vaillãt de deux põmes,
Ne ſera temps leur erreur recognoiſtre.
We have endeavoured to interpret the old French stanza into
English rhyme,—
“Who in love’s tempting sieve shall place his store,
Since nothing profits there, will lose the more;
Lost are his time, goods, rings and rich array,
Till grief in bitterness complete his day.
Folly of youth and free desire incite
Great sums to lavish on each brief delight.
Surely young men on this ought well to ponder,
That better cannot be, if thus they wander;
And when remains two apples’ worth alone,
’Twill not the time be their mistake to own.”
Shakespeare presents the very same thought and almost the
identical expressions. To the Countess of Rousillon, Bertram’s
mother, Helena confesses love for her son, All’s Well that Ends
Well (act i. sc. 3, l. 182, vol. iii. p. 127),—
“Then, I confess,
Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,
That before you, and next unto high heaven,
I love your son.
My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love:
Be not offended; for it hurts not him
That he is loved of me: I follow him not
By any token of presumptuous suit;
Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;
Yet never know how that desert should be.
I know I love in vain, strive against hope;
Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,
I still pour in the waters of my love,
And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,
Religious in my error, I adore
The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,
But knows of him no more.”
How probable do the turns of thought, “captious and
intenible sieve,” “the waters of my love,” render the supposition
that Perriere’s Emblem of Love and the Sieve had
been seen by our dramatist. Cupid appears patient and
passive, but the Lover in very evident surprise sees “the rings
and rich array” flow through “le crible d’amours.” Cupid’s
eyes, in the device, are bound, and the method of binding them
corresponds with the lines, Romeo and Juliet(act i. sc. 4, l. 4,
vol. vii. p. 23),—
“We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,
Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,
Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper.”
Again, though not in reference to the same subject, there is in
Much Ado About Nothing (act v. sc. 1, l. 1, vol. ii. p. 69), the
comparison of the sieve to labour in vain. Antonio is giving
advice to Leonato when overwhelmed with sorrows,—
“Ant. If you go on thus you will kill yourself;
And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief
Against yourself.
Leon. I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.”
By way of variation we consult Paradin’s treatment of the
same thought (fol. 88v), in which he is followed by Whitney
(p. 12), with the motto Frustrà.
“The Poëttes faine, that Danavs daughters deare,
Inioyned are to fill the fatall tonne:
Where, thowghe they toile, yet are they not the neare,
But as they powre, the water forthe dothe runne:
No paine will serue, to fill it to the toppe,
For, still at holes the same doth runne, and droppe.”
“Every rose has its thorn,” or “No pleasure without pain,”
receives exemplification from several sources. Perriere (Emb.
30) and Whitney (p. 165) present us with a motto implying
No bitter without its sweet, but giving the gathering of a rose
in illustration; thus the former writer,—
“Post amara dulcia.”
“Qvi veult la rosé̩[e/]̩ au vert buysson saisir
Esmerueiller ne se doibt s’il se poinct.
Grãd biẽ na’uõs, sãs quelque desplaisir,
Plaisir ne vient sans douleur, si apoint.
Conclusion sommaire, c’est le point,
Qu’ apres douleur, on ha plaisir: souuẽt
Beau tẽps se voit, tost apres le grãt vẽt,
Grãd biẽ suruiẽt apres quelque maleur.
Parquoy pẽser doibt tout hõme scauãt,
Que volupté n’est iamais sans douleur.”
So Whitney (p. 165),—
“Sharpe prickes preserue the Rose, on euerie parte,
That who in haste to pull the same intendes,
Is like to pricke his fingers, till they smarte?
But being gotte, it makes him straight amendes
It is so freshe, and pleasant to the smell,
Thoughe he was prick’d, he thinkes he ventur’d well.
And he that faine woulde get the gallant rose,
And will not reache, for feare his fingers bleede;
A nettle, is more fitter for his nose?
Or hemblocke meete his appetite to feede?
None merites sweete, who tasted not the sower,
Who feares to climbe, deserues no fruicte, nor flower.”
In the Emblems of Otho Vænius (p. 160), Cupid is plucking
a rose, to the motto from Claudian, “Armat spina
rosas, mella tegunt apes,”—Englished, “No pleasure without
payn.”
“In plucking of the rose is pricking of the thorne,
In the attayning sweet, is tasting of the sowre,
With ioy of loue is mixt the sharp of manie a showre,
But at the last obtayned, no labor is forlorne.”
The pretty song from Love’s Labours Lost (act iv. sc. 3, l. 97,
vol. ii. p. 144), alludes to the thorny rose,—
“On a day—alack the day!
Love, whose month is ever May,
Spied a blossom passing fair
Playing in the wanton air:
Through the velvet leaves the wind.
All unseen, can passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish himself the heaven’s breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alack, my hand is sworn
Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn.”
The scene in the Temple-garden; the contest in plucking
roses between Richard Plantagenet and the Earls of Somerset,
Suffolk, and Warwick (1 Henry VI., act ii. sc. 4, lines 30–75,
vol. v. pp. 36, 37), continually alludes to the thorns that may be
found. We may sum the whole “brawl,” as it is termed, into a
brief space (l. 68),—
“Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;
Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.”
“True as the needle to the pole,” is a saying which of
course must have originated since the invention of the
mariner’s compass. Sambucus, in his Emblems (edition
1584, p. 84, or 1599, p. 79), makes the property of the
loadstone his emblem for the motto, The mind remains
unmoved.
Dicitvr interna vi Magnes ferra mouere:
Perpetuò nautas dirigere inq́₃que viam.
Semper enim ſtellam firmè aſpicit ille polærem.
Indicat hac horas, nos variéque monet.
Mens vtinam in cælum nobis immota maneret,
Nec ſubitò dubiis fluctuet illa malis.
Pax coëat tandem, Chriſte, vnum claudat ouile,
Liſque tui verbi iam dirimatur ope.
Da, ſitiens anima excelſas ſic appetat arces:
Fontis vt ortiui ceruus anhelus aquas.
In the latter part of his elegiacs Sambucus introduces another
subject, and gives a truly religious turn to the device,—
“Gather’d one fold, O Christ, let peace abound,
Be vanquish’d by thy word, our jarring strife;
Then thirsting souls seek towers on heavenly ground,
As pants the stag for gushing streams of life.”
The magnet’s power alone is kept in view by Whitney (p. 43),—
“By vertue hidde, behoulde, the Iron harde,
The loadestone drawes, to poynte vnto the starre:
Whereby, wee knowe the Seaman keepes his carde,
And rightlie shapes, his course to countries farre:
And on the pole, dothe euer keepe his eie,
And withe the same, his compasse makes agree.
Which shewes to vs, our inward vertues shoulde,
Still drawe our hartes, althoughe the iron weare:
The hauenlie starre, at all times to behoulde,
To shape our course, so right while wee bee heare:
That Scylla, and Charybdis, wee maie misse,
And winne at lengthe, the porte of endlesse blisse.”
The pole of heaven itself, rather than the magnetic needle,
is in Shakespeare’s dramas the emblem of constancy. Thus in
the Julius Cæsar (act iii. sc. 1, l. 58, vol. vii. p. 363), Metellus,
Brutus, and Cassius are entreating pardon for Publius Cimber,
but Cæsar replies, in words almost every one of which is an
enforcement of the saying, “Mens immota manet,”—
“I could be well moved, if I were as you;
If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:
But I am constant as the northern star,
Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality
There is no fellow in the firmament.
The skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks;
They are all fire and every one doth shine;
But there’s but one in all doth hold his place:
So in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men,
And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;
Yet in the number I do know but one
That unassailable holds on his rank.
Unshak’d of motion: and that I am he,
Let me a little show it, even in this;
That I was constant Cimber should be banish’d,
And constant do remain to keep him so.”
The Midsummer Night’s Dream (act i. sc. I, l. 180, vol. ii. p.
205), introduces Hermia greeting her rival Helena,—
“Her. God speed fair Helena! whither away?
Hel. Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.
Demetrius loves you fair: O happy fair!
Your eyes are lode-stars.”
The scene changes, Helena is following Demetrius, but he turns
to her and says (act ii. sc. 1, l. 194, vol. ii. p. 217),—
“Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.
Hel. You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;
But yet you draw not iron, for my heart
Is true as steel: leave but your power to draw,
And I shall have no power to follow you.”
The averment of his fidelity is thus made by Troilus to
Cressida (act iii. sc. 2, l. 169. vol. vi. p. 191),—
“As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,
As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,
As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre.
Yet after all comparisons of truth,
As truth’s authentic author to be cited,
‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse
And sanctify the numbers.”
So Romeo avers of one of his followers (act ii. sc. 4, l. 187, vol.
vii. p. 58),—
“I warrant thee, my man’s as true as steel.”
“Ex maximo minimvm,”—Out of the greatest the least,—is
a saying adopted by Whitney (p. 229), from the “Picta Poesis”
(p. 55) of Anulus,—
Hae Sunt Relliquiæ Sacrarij, in quo
Fertur viua Dei fuiſse imago.
Hæc eſt illius, & domus ruina,
In qua olim Ratio tenebat arcem.
At nunc horribilis figura Mortis.
Ventoſum caput, haud habens cerebrum.
Both writers make the proverb the groundwork of reflexions
on a human skull. According to Anulus, “the relics of the
charnel house were once the living images of God,”—“that ruin
of a dome was formerly the citadel of reason.” Whitney
thus moralizes,—
“Where liuely once, Gods image was expreste,
Wherin, sometime was sacred reason plac’de,
The head, I meane, that is so ritchly bleste,
With sighte, with smell, with hearinge, and with taste.
Lo, nowe a skull, both rotten, bare, and drye,
A relike meete in charnell house to lye.”
The device and explanatory lines may well have given
suggestion to the half-serious, half-cynical remarks by Hamlet
in the celebrated grave-yard scene (Hamlet, act v. sc. 1, l. 73,
vol. viii. p. 153). A skull is noticed which one of the callous
grave-diggers had just thrown up upon the sod, and Hamlet
says (l. 86),—
“That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave
jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain’s jaw-bone, that did the first
murder!”
And a little further on,—
“Here’s a fine revolution, an we had the trick to see’t. Did these bones
cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with ’em? mine ache to
think on’t.”[150]
And when Yorick’s skull is placed in his hand, how the
Prince moralizes! (l. 177),—
“Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where
be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own
grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell
her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her
laugh at that.”
And again (lines 191 and 200),—
“To what base uses we may return. Horatio!
. . . . . . .
Imperial Cæsar, dead, and turn’d to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.”
Of the skull Anulus says, “Here reason held her citadel;”
and the expression has its parallel in Edward’s lament
(3 Henry VI., act ii. sc. 1, l. 68, vol. v. p. 252),—
“Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon;”
when he adds (l. 74),—
“Now my soul’s palace is become a prison;”
to which the more modern description corresponds,—
“The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.”
A far nobler emblem could be made, and I believe has been
made, though I cannot remember where, from those lines in
Richard II. (act ii. sc. 1, l. 267, vol. iv. p. 145), which allude to
the death’s head and the light of life within. Northumberland,
Ross and Willoughby are discoursing respecting the sad state
of the king’s affairs, when Ross remarks,—
“We see the very wreck that we must suffer:
And unavoided is the danger now,
For suffering so the causes of our wreck.”
And Northumberland replies in words of hope (l. 270),—
“Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death
I spy life peering.”
It is a noble comparison, and most suggestive,—but of a flight
higher than the usual conceptions of the Emblem writers. Supplied
to them they could easily enough work it out into device
and picture, but possess scarcely power enough to give it origin.[151]
“A snake lies hidden in the grass,” is no unfrequent proverb;
and Paradin’s “Devises Heroiqves” (41) set forth both the
fact and the application.
En cueillant les Fleurs, & les Fraizes des champs, ſe faut d’autant garder du
dangereus Serpent, qu’il nous peut enuenimer, & faire mourir nos corps. Et auſsi en
colligeant les belles autoritez, & graues ſentences des liures, faut euiter d’autant les
mauuaiſes opinions, qu’elles nous peuuent peruertir, damner, & perdre nos ames.
From the same motto and device Whitney (p. 24) makes the
application to flatterers,—
“Of flattringe speeche, with sugred wordes beware,
Suspect the harte, whose face doth fawne, and smile,
With trusting theise, the worlde is clog’de with care,
And fewe there bee can scape theise vipers vile:
With pleasinge speeche they promise, and proteste,
When hatefull hartes lie hidd within their brest.”
According to the 2nd part of Henry VI. (act iii. sc. 1, l. 224,
vol. v. p. 158), the king speaks favourably of Humphrey, Duke of
Gloucester, and Margaret the queen declares to the attendant
nobles,—
“Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,
Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester’s show
Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile
With sorrow snares relenting passengers,
Or as the snake roll’d in a flowering bank,
With shining checker’d slough, doth sting a child,
That for the beauty thinks it excellent.”
In Lady Macbeth’s unscrupulous advice to her husband
(Macbeth, act i. sc. 5, l. 61, vol. vii. p. 438), the expressions
occur,—
“Your face, my thane, is as a book where men
May read strange matters. To beguile the time,
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,
But be the serpent under’t.”
Romeo slays Tybalt, kinsman to Julia, and the nurse
announces the deed to her (Romeo and Juliet, act iii. sc. 2, l. 69,
vol. vii. p. 75),—
“Nurse. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;
Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.
Jul. O God! did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?
Nurse. It did, it did; alas the day, it did!
Jul. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather’d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!”
Though not illustrative of a Proverb, we will here conclude
what has to be remarked respecting Serpents. An Emblem in
Paradin’s “Devises Heroiqves” (112) and in Whitney
(p. 166), represents a serpent that has fastened on a man’s
finger, and that is being shaken off into a fire, while the
man remains unharmed; the motto, “Who against us?”—
The scene described in the Acts of the Apostles, chap, xxviii. v.
3–6, Paradin thus narrates,—
“Saint Paul, en l’ iſle de Malte fut mordu d’vn Vipere: ce neantmoins (quoi que
les Barbares du lieu le cuidaſſent autrement) ne valut pis de la morsure, secouant de
sa main la Beste dans le feu: car veretablement à qui Dieu veut aider, il n’y a rien
que puiſse nuire.”
Whitney, along with exactly the same device, gives the full
motto,—
“Si Deus nobiscum, quis contra nos?”
“His seruantes God preserues, thoughe they in danger fall:
Euen as from vipers deadlie bite, he kept th’ Appostle Paule.”
The action figured in this Emblem is spoken of in the Midsummer
Night’s Dream (act iii. sc. 2, l, 254, vol. ii. p. 241).
Puck has laid the “love-juice” on the wrong eyes, and in consequence
Lysander avows his love for Helen instead of for
Hermia; and the dialogue then proceeds,—
Dem. I say I love thee more than he can do.
Lys. If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.
Dem. Quick, come!
Her. Lysander, whereto tends all this?
Lys. Away, you Ethiope!
Dem. No, no; he’ll ...
Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,
But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!
Lys. Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,
Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!”
Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope’s legate, in King John (act iii.
sc. 1, l. 258, vol. iv. p. 42), urges King Philip to be champion of
the Church, and says to him,—
“France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,
A chafed lion by the mortal paw,
A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,
Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.”
King Richard’s address to the “gentle earth,” when he landed
in Wales (Richard II., act iii. sc. 2, l. 12, vol. iv. p. 164), calls us
to the Emblem of the snake entwined about the flower,—
“Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,
Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;
But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,
And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,
Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet
Which with usurping steps do trample thee:
Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;
And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,
Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder
Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch
Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.”
“The Engineer hoist with his own petar” may justly be
regarded as a proverbial saying. It finds its exact correspondence
in Beza’s 8th Emblem (edition 1580), in which for device is
a cannon bursting, and with one of its fragments killing the
cannonier.