CHAPTER XXI.

ELIZABETHAN AND JACOBEAN PROSE WRITERS.

In sketching the history of the English drama from its beginnings to the close of Ben Jonson's career, we have passed through a long tract of years, rich in other than poetic literature. We must now return to the writers in prose who came after Ascham and Sidney, and lived through the last period of Elizabeth, and in the reigns of James I, Charles I, and the Commonwealth.

The prose writers may be considered in four sets. First we have the purely literary authors, the critics and novelists such as Lyly, Sidney, Greene, Nash, and others, of whose style, with its "brave conceits," euphuism, and metaphors we have already, spoken. Next (2) we have the controversial pamphleteers, who wrangled mainly about religion and Church government, defending or attacking the Established Church with its usages; or Puritanism with its love of Presbyterian discipline, and hatred of the cross in baptism, the surplice, and other "rags of Rome". While Government supported the cause of the Established Church and severely handled recalcitrant ministers of the Puritan party, some Puritan writers went so far as to threaten war against the cause of the detested Bishops. On both sides temper rose to fever-heat, and the controversy was conducted in a prose style which was full of abuse and satire. Meanwhile (3) Hooker wrote on the same disputed themes in a style lofty, logical, and harmonious; and in his "History of the World," Sir Walter Raleigh often played on language with the effect of "a solemn music". Lastly (4) Bacon in his essays touched on familiar themes in a style of brief sentences, witty, or poetic, or philosophical, which was all his own; which came home, as he says, "to men's business and bosoms"; and, of all the manners which we have described, that of Bacon remains by far the most easily and most commonly appreciated.

Meanwhile the common fault of men who wrote in prose was the inability to tell a plain tale; to say succinctly, distinctly, and unmistakably what they meant. Perhaps they did not always wish to be understood, but even when Elizabethan and Jacobean writers were anxious to be lucid, their fanciful tropes and long sentences often detain or defy the modern reader.

This defect arose partly from imitation of the structure of stately Latin sentences in Roman literature. But in Latin the nature of the grammar does not permit the meaning to be lost. When books were comparatively rare, and leisure was plentiful, readers did not grudge the time passed over tall and massive folios and long stately involved periods. Now and again, in the age of Elizabeth as in the Restoration, the lighter authors took refuge in a style lax, colloquial, and charged with current slang. A century must pass before we arrive at the unadorned plain manner of Dean Swift.

It was not that the Elizabethans lacked the power to write tersely, simply, and clearly. So luxuriant a poet as Spenser was the master of a perfectly clear and unadorned prose style, deeply interesting in his work on the condition of Ireland. The letters of such diplomatists as Randolph, Queen Elizabeth's envoy to the Court of Mary, Queen of Scots, are as clear and amusing, or, once or twice, as pathetic, to-day, as when they were written. But the prose of literature was entangled and encumbered by the search of ornament, of esprit at all costs, and by copious antitheses and, among the lighter writers, by "clenches" and even by slang.

Hooker.

"It is not to be doubted but that Richard Hooker was born at Heavytree" (near Exeter), says Izaak Walton, about 1553. But sceptics have averred that he was born in Southgate Street, in Exeter. His parents were not rich, and, aided by Bishop Jewel, he entered Corpus Christi College, Oxford, in 1567, as a Bible Clerk. In 1577 he obtained a Fellowship; in 1579 was Reader in Hebrew, a tongue with which few Oxford men were, or are, familiarly acquainted. About four years later he took holy orders, had a severe cold, and married a wife recommended by the lady who had nursed him in his illness. "The good man," says Walton, "had no cause to rejoice in the wife of his youth," for "the contentions of a wife" (at least of Mrs. Hooker), "are a continual dropping." He took a living in Buckinghamshire, and experienced "the corroding cares that attend a married priest". Among these was reading Horace while he watched his sheep, and rocking his child's cradle.

A friend, Edwin Sandys, finding him in these distressful circumstances, obtained for him the Mastership of the Temple (1585) during the "Martin Marprelate" controversy, in which the boisterous Nash bore a part. A lecturer, Travers, opposed Hooker's theological positions, for Hooker, it seems, had maintained that all Catholics are not necessarily damned to all eternity. In 1591 Hooker obtained the living of Boscombe in Wilts, and in 1595 moved to that of Bishopsbourne near Canterbury, where he died in 1600.

The first four books of his "Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity" appeared in 1594, the fifth in 1597, the rest was posthumously published. The book was admired by James VI, who read it in Scotland, and by the Pope and Cardinal Allen. Hooker was a good, devout, simple man, a most laborious parish minister, and so short-sighted that Walton accounts for his choice of a wife (if he could be said to choose her), by this defect of vision.

The great work of Hooker, "The Ecclesiastical Polity," is an argument against the Puritans who, from matters like the surplice to matters like the Liturgy, desired in all things to imitate the "discipline" of Geneva and of Presbyterian Scotland. In the Martin Marprelate controversy, as in all old controversy, the style, as we shall see, had been extremely scurrilous on both sides. Hooker, on the other hand, writes like a gentleman, a scholar, and a Christian. As the dispute was really between men of two opposed temperaments and characters, arguments, however learned, moderate, and logical, could not make converts. The Reformation had brought not peace but a sword. Religious differences, mingled with political differences, soon broke into civil war under Charles I.

Hooker begins by stating that the opponents of the Church of England, "right well affected and most religiously inclined minds," must, he supposed, "have had some marvellous reasonable inducements" for desiring to upset the existing ecclesiastical settlement. He therefore studied the subject diligently, and could find "no law of God or reason of man" against the attitude of the defenders of the settlement, and no proof that the Presbyterian "discipline," "by error and misconceit named 'the ordinance of Jesus Christ,'" was so in very deed.

After a pathetic request for a fair hearing "of the words of one who desireth even to embrace together with you the self-same truth, if it be the truth," he gave a history of the discipline as introduced by Calvin at Geneva. Calvin, he said, by "sifting the very utmost sentence and syllable" of the New Testament found that certain passages seemed to him to enjoin that congregations should have elders with power of excommunication (with fearful civil consequences) but Calvin had "never proved that Scripture doth necessarily enforce these things"; or enforce any other thing in which the Puritans differed from the Church established. Manifestly an opponent would blow away this argument with any isolated scriptural text, whatever its original application, which as he thought backed his opinion.

Hooker analysed Puritan demagogic methods, spiritual pretensions, and habit of leading women captive. "But, be they women or be they men, if once they have tasted of that cup, let any man of contrary opinion open his mouth to persuade them, they close up their ears, his reasons they weigh not at all, all is answered with the words of John, 'We are of God, he that knoweth God heareth us.'"

All this was, in fact, the case; it was superfluous to write a long book, with quotations about the Angels from the pre-Christian Greek Orphic poems, for the purpose of converting people who closed their ears. When Hooker, wrote, some Puritan writers had already threatened civil war; their martyrs, in fact, lay in Newgate, and their blood was up. What they desired was not to be tolerated, but to dominate the consciences of others. One text both parties could use, "Compel them to come in."

The style of Hooker is somewhat rich in Latinized components. He is remote from euphuistic conceits; and does not rise into eloquence except when his subject elevates his mind and style. A celebrated example is his defence of Church music.

"Touching musical harmony whether by instrument or by voice, it being but of high and low in sounds a due proportionable disposition, such notwithstanding is the force thereof, and so pleasing effects it hath in that very part of man which is most divine, that some have been thereby induced to think that the soul itself by nature is or hath in it harmony. A thing which delighteth all ages and beseemeth all states; a thing as seasonable in grief as in joy; as decent being added unto actions of greatest weight and solemnity, as being used when men most sequester themselves from action. The reason hereof is an admirable facility which music hath to express and represent to the mind, more inwardly than any other sensible mean, the very standing, rising, and falling, the very steps and inflections every way, the turns and varieties of all passions whereunto the mind is subject; yea, so to imitate them, that whether it resemble unto us the same state wherein our minds already are, or a clean contrary, we are not more contentedly by the one confirmed, than changed and led away by the other. In harmony the very image and character even of virtue and vice is perceived, the mind delighted with their resemblances, and brought by having them often iterated into a love of the things themselves." Magnificent as is the harmony of these sentences, and severe as is the logical thought which they express, the modern reader finds that he cannot get at the sense of them by merely running his eye over them. The sentences must be carefully construed, and such writing cannot possibly be popular; as, in some degree, some writings of Bacon still remain.

The posthumously published books of Hooker were supposed to have been tampered with by the Editors. Hooker did not publish his sermons, of which several were put forth after his death. Even his Puritan adversaries could not with decency have complained that they are too short. In one sermon he speaks freely of the Pope as "The Man of Sin".

"Martin Marprelate."

We cannot here do more than mention the masters of the fierce controversial prose; indeed their names, often, can only be guessed. They fought like wild cats, with the yells of these animals when enraged, in the wordy war of "Martin Marprelate," or "Bishop's bane". Archbishop Whitgift (1586) obtained a decree from the Star Chamber for the suppression of pamphlets that attacked the usages of the Established Church. Till 1593 the battle of books lasted; and then Parliament silenced the Puritans—for a while. The authors, taking the name of "Martin Marprelate," entered the fray, on the Puritan side, with the weapon of satire, banter, and Billingsgate, in autumn, 1588. Martin, whoever he or they may have been, employed a secret press, owned by one Waldegrave, that was set up now in one place, now in another. The history of the secret presses, of Waldegrave and of his successors, is curious. The learned Udall, John Penry ("the Father of Welsh Dissent") and other combatants, were imprisoned; Penry was hanged.

There remain seven tracts by Marprelate, in a style of variegated abuse, banter, and "gag": Bishop Cooper found that his name yielded gross palpable quips and puns to the Puritan wags who wrote for "the man in the street". Martin was no Pascal, his weapons were not the small sword but the jester's bladder on a stick, and the bully's bludgeon. The Anti-Martinists answered with the same weapons, as Nash and Lyly were responsible for certain pamphlets; Greene took a hand in the fray, and it faded out in a literary and personal squabble with Gabriel Harvey.

The Martin Marprelate tracts were revolutionary, and afford a singular instance in which the wit exhibited itself on the Puritan side.

Serious treatment of serious themes, on the other hand, is nobly vindicated in the great work of Richard Hooker.

Bacon.

A style quite unlike that of Hooker is Bacon's. Francis Bacon, later Lord Verulam and Viscount St. Albans, was born in 1561, a younger son of Sir Nicholas Bacon (long time Keeper of the Seals under Elizabeth), and of his wife Elizabeth Cooke, daughter of Sir Anthony Cooke, and sister of the wife of the famous Cecil, Lord Burleigh. Bacon did not profit much by the high place of his uncle William, and his cousin Robert Cecil. They retarded from jealousy the worldly advancement, to secure which, and to aid the progress of Science, were Bacon's leading desires. After leaving Trinity College, Cambridge, and studying law at Gray's Inn, Bacon followed to Paris Sir Amyas Paulet, later the jailer of Queen Mary Stuart at Fotheringay. He was called to the Bar in 1582, and in 1584 entered Parliament, on the Court side. Ben Jonson has left lofty praise of his eloquent sagacity in debate. His memoirs of advice to Elizabeth were more admired than followed in practice. He was in favour of moderation towards both Catholics and Puritans. He attached himself to the fortunes of the Queen's brilliant wayward favourite, Essex, but his wisdom was not what Essex was fitted by nature to follow: he swayed the woman in Elizabeth by his beauty and daring grace: his military ambitions were distasteful to the pacific and parsimonious Queen. The mad enterprise of Essex, on Scottish models, to seize the Royal person, was no true English political move; it led to his trial, and Bacon was the leading speaker in his benefactor's prosecution. "It is the wisdom of rats," says Bacon, "that will leave a house some time before it fall" ("Essays," "Of Wisdom for a Man's Self").

He has never been forgiven for an action which could scarcely appear other than judicious, and praiseworthy, and even necessary, to himself. Like Cecil he made advances to James VI of Scotland, when it was clear that Elizabeth could not, as James feared, "last as long as sun and moon". On James, Bacon bestowed all his wisdom, and spoke for the project of Union between England and Scotland, a project not realized till after the lapse of a century.

Partly through the influence of King James's favourite, Buckingham, Bacon received promotion; he became Attorney-General; in 1617, Keeper of the Seals, like his father; in 1618, Chancellor, and Baron Verulam; in 1621 Viscount St. Albans. In the same year he was accused of taking gifts from suitors (then a not uncommon practice), pled guilty, with qualifications, and was disgraced. His last years were spent in literary pursuits at his place, Gorhambury, near St. Albans; he caught cold in an experiment in freezing poultry and died in March, 1626.

The industry of his biographer, Mr. Spedding, has not wholly redeemed the character of Bacon, whose personality does not endear him to mankind, and was not on a level with his genius. That genius was literary in a very high degree, and was influenced by a desire to benefit humanity through scientific knowledge of the laws of Nature and of human nature. To this task he brought an enthusiasm which reminds us of a man so different from himself as Shelley. In Bacon's belief, man might be and ought to be the master of things; and a reasoned account of all things in nature was the inventory of human possessions. To make this inventory, and to discover a new method of "interrogating nature," putting her to the question and wrenching from her all her precious secrets, was the main object of his scientific meditations.

His first important book, however, the "Essaies" (1597), was literary, and no doubt was suggested by the Essays of Montaigne, which were also familiar to Shakespeare. In its original form the book contained but ten brief studies, but Bacon kept improving them and adding to their number. There are thirty-four in the edition of 1612, fifty-eight in that of 1625. It is dedicated to Buckingham, who is informed that he has "planted things that are like to last," an unlucky prediction. "Of all my other works," adds Bacon, "my essays have been most current; for that, as it seems, they come home to men's business and bosoms". The phrase is a proverb,—indeed the essays, as the man said of "Hamlet," are "made up of quotations" of phrases that are now household words.

The genius of Bacon, in the essay, and even in his scientific works, "The Advancement of Learning" (1605), and the Latin "Novum Organum" (1620), was not desultory, like Montaigne's, but aphoristic. He coined Maxims or Aphorisms, brief sayings, weighty with wisdom, brilliant with points of wit and fancy, which sometimes remind us of La Rochefoucauld. It is interesting to compare the first drafts of the Essays in 1597 with the finished work in 1625, where they are considerably enlarged, and altered in details. "Of Faction" is increased fourfold, and strengthened by examples from Roman history. Like all the men of his time, Bacon is rich in classical references and anecdotes which, with him, are not tedious and pedantic. When he quotes Homer it is in Latin hexameters, he cites a Roman altered adaptation, "a prophecy, as it seems, of the Roman Empire," which, of course, Homer never predicted; but the Latin form serves Bacon's theory of "prophecies that have been of certain memorys and from hidden causes". This wise man notes that "the King of Spain's surname, they say, is Norway," in order that a folk-prophecy may be fulfilled by the defeat of the Armada. However on the whole he regards fulfilled prophecies, not scriptural, as accidental coincidences. "Men mark when they hit, and never mark when they miss, as they do generally also of dreams."

There is something pathetic in Bacon's wise futilities and generalities on the most pressing political question of his time, "Unity in religion". Concerning the means of procuring Unity, "Men must beware, that in the procuring or muniting of religious unity they do not dissolve and deface the laws of charity and of human society." Being men, they necessarily defaced both—Laud later had the ears of Puritans cut off, Puritans cut off the head of Laud, "and so as to consider men as Christians, we forget that they are men".

Bacon is not a little "Jesuitical". Secrecy is often necessary, "no man can be secret, except he give himself a little scope of dissimulation; which is, as it were, but the skirts or train of secrecy". Simulation is "more culpable and less politic; except it be in rare and great matters"—rather encouraging to Charles I, for we are bidden to have "dissimulation in seasonable use". Love is rather profitable to the Stage than to human existence, "in life it doth much mischief, sometimes like a syren, sometimes like a fury". "No great and worthy person" (except Mark Antony and Appius Claudius, famed for his adoration of Virginia) "hath been transported to the mad degree of love". "It is impossible to love and be wise." Bacon certainly varied much from Plato and all the poets "in this of love".

Bacon knew very well that atheism was apt to follow in the steps of his adored physical science, and consoled himself by assuming that "a little philosophy inclines man's mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion". He deemed that without belief there could be no sense of honour, for atheists have died for their opinion, whereas, if they believe that there is no God, "why should they trouble themselves?" "Against atheists the very savages take part with the very subtlest philosophers," which is perfectly true. To the dog "man is instead of a God, or melior natura." "As atheism is in all respects hateful, so in this, that it depriveth human nature of the means to exalt itself above human frailty," yet martyr atheists have despised human frailty. "For martyrdoms, I reckon them among miracles; because they seem to exceed the force of human nature."

Concerning the extreme Reformers, Bacon says "there is a superstition in avoiding superstition, when men think to do best if they go furthest from the superstition formerly received," as in the Scottish Presbyterian burial of the Christian dead with no religious service, one of Knox's innovations. In his Essay on "Wisdom for a Man's Self," Bacon speaks, wittingly or unwittingly, of his own mischance: "Whereas they have all their times sacrificed to themselves, they become in the end themselves sacrifices to the inconstancy of fortune". A word of Bacon's is always apt. "Let no nation expect to be great that is not awake upon any just cause of arming." Of colonization, "it is a shameful and unblessed thing to take the scum of the people and wicked condemned men, to be the people with whom you plant". "If you plant where savages are... use them justly and graciously." Always the counsel is excellent, always the adviser is unheard! Bacon even advises on the stage management of Masques. On Gardening he writes at much length and with manifest pleasure. His advice to keep caged birds in "little turrets with a belly"—is not that of a poetical imagination. He did not like the Ars Topiaria, "images cut out in juniper" or box. His garden contained "a heath of a natural wildness," with many artificial additions.

Bacon's Promus of Elegancies is a commonplace book, full of germs of essays, pensées. The essays themselves are strings of connected aphorisms, without much consecutiveness of style or skilled transitions. "Aphorisms," says Bacon himself, "except they should be ridiculous, cannot be made but of the pith and heart of Sciences." His Aphorisms certainly were more popular, as he knew, than his connected work of 1605, "The Advancement of Learning, Divine and Humane".

In the Dedication of this work to James I, Bacon admires his Majesty's genius, "a light of nature I have observed in your Majesty," who certainly was a clever man, and interested in literature. The book is a plea for the organization of knowledge: Bacon styles it "a small globe of the intellectual world". He surveys all knowledge, and maps it out, with a view to organized study. He meets religious objections in his usual way. It is argued that ignorance is a fine thing, making "a more devout dependence on God as the first cause". Bacon replies in the words of Job, "will you lie for God, as one man will do for another to gratify him?" Will you "offer the author of Truth the unclean sacrifice of a lie"? Bacon attacks the schoolmen as darkening counsel by words and spinning cobwebs out of assumed first principles, instead of collecting facts, and questioning nature by experiments. Practically, experimental philosophy, and the endowment of special research, are the burdens of his argument. He divides knowledge into History (the original sense of the word being inquiry), Human, Natural, and Divine. Anxious that nothing should escape him, he even classifies Ciphers, then much used in the secret correspondence of statesmen and conspirators. He had invented a cipher when a young diplomatist in Paris, and, in the later Latin translation of this book, the "De Augmentis," he is copious on the subject. The secrets of each writing were usually discovered by the simple process of torturing the conspirators who used them.

"Poesy," he says, "was ever thought to have some anticipation of divineness, because it doth raise and erect the mind, by submitting the shows of things to the desires of the mind; whereas reason doth buckle and bow the mind unto the nature of things." He conceived that there was a mystic meaning, a record of lost wisdom, in the myths of the Greeks (which are mainly decorated survivals of savage guesses at the causes of things). He asks for more biographies, in an age very careless of biography. He speaks of the "inductive" method, as opposed to the scholastic reasoning from invented assumptions; and his mind was always busy with a perfect system, "Instauratio Magna," of the interpretation of nature, and the encyclopædic organization of knowledge. This work he never completed; the "Novum Organum" (1620), written in Latin, is the most important fragment. He "had a vision of his own," but what his great and perfect method really was, in practical operation, he probably did not know himself. Fallacies he could detect and classify in brilliant fashion, the "Eidola" or shadowy Dwellers on the Threshold of Truth, bewildering men who would enter that sanctuary. His work in this kind, especially the "Novum Organum," is immensely stimulating: he saw in vision the Promised Land of Science into which he did not enter, and he would have been much disenchanted by the results, as regards human happiness, of the discoveries which he, not vainly, summoned men to make. He did not urge haste in practical application—the commercializing of science. He insisted on the collection of "contradictory instances," a method always, in accordance with human eagerness, too much neglected.[1]

Bacon's mind, in fact, was encyclopædic, and shared the faults common to encyclopædias. The contemporary specialist, like Gilbert with his remarkable experiments in magnetism, is spoken of but slightingly by Bacon; nor has he much praise for other students who, in his time, were practising what he was preaching.

Bacon's prose, beyond the region of essays and of science, may best be studied in his "Reign of Henry VII," the fruit of a few months' labour, after his banishment to the country, in 1621. He had no access to manuscripts of the period, except in copies made for him in the great collection of Sir Robert Cotton, now in the British Museum. The printed books concerning the reign, those of Polydore Virgil, Holinshed (translating Polydore), Stowe, and Speed, led Bacon into some mistakes about facts. But the book is lucid and sagacious; the character of the king is clearly depicted, without favour or deliberate fault-finding. The study of Perkin Warbeck is full of subtle interest. "Himself with long and continued counterfeiting and with often telling a lie was turned, by habit, almost into the thing he seemed to be, and from a liar to a believer." Ford makes Henry VII express the same opinion in his tragedy of "Perkin Warbeck". Bacon treats the strange career of Perkin in terms of the Stage, speaks of the prompter with his prompt-book, and, in the last Act, says, "therefore now, like the end of a play, a great number came upon the stage at once". The nature of the statecraft of Henry VII, not very apprehensive or forecasting of future events, afar off, "but an entertainer of Fortune by the day," is admirably analysed. "I have not flattered the king," says Bacon in his dedication to Charles, Prince of Wales, "but took him to life as well as I could, sitting so far off, and having no better light." Henry's attempt to secure the canonization of Henry VI is amusingly described. Cardinals were set to examine that poor prince's career, "but it died under the reference. The general opinion was that Pope Julius was too dear, and that the king would not come to his rates." But Bacon holds that the Pope did not wish to cheapen saintliness, and chose to "keep a distance between innocents and Saints". The virtues of Henry VI had not the necessary quality of being heroic.

"The New Atlantis," unfinished in 1624, was published with the "Sylva Sylvarum," after Bacon's death, in 1627. Here our author appears as the framer of a philosophical romance, not unlike More's "Utopia," but concerned, as far as it goes, with the organization of experiment and of knowledge, as practised by the people of Bensalem, somewhere in the southern seas. Bacon makes no long story of how he and his company arrived at Bensalem, an unheard of land, where civilization has survived since the time of Plato's mythical lost Atlantis. Bacon was inclined to suspect that there must have been "in the dark backward and abysm of time," a race more advanced in knowledge than the Greeks or the men of his own age. The Bensalemites are survivors of that race, people very stately, peaceable (though well provided with improved artillery), and Christian. The tale of their miraculous conversion, through St. Bartholomew, "about twenty years after the ascension of our Saviour"; and of their acquisition of the Old Testament and the New (including parts of it not yet written) about 53 a.d., is the most romantic part of the romance. The Bensalemites, who are rich in everything, make trading voyages, not for lucre, but "for Light," knowledge. They have every kind of museum, library, and scientific apparatus which the mind of Bacon could desire, regardless of expense, nor do they seem to have shrunk from vivisection in their search for the secrets of nature. "We have some degrees of flying in the air," they have Christian temples: they are extremely moral, kind, and industrious, in fact are a sort of scientific Phæacians; "far apart they dwell, in the midst of the wash of the waves, and with them are no men conversant," for they help, but do not welcome mariners.

Bacon's Latin tracts are numerous: he believed that Latin was a permanent, English a less stable speech, but of course, since his day, knowledge of Latin has more and more decreased, owing to the progress of education and the march of science. The prophetic enthusiasm of his insistence on experimental philosophy, the brilliance of his illustrations, and the sagacity of his aphoristic observations, are the bases of his literary fame. He was not so well fitted to be an experimental philosopher himself, as to be the cause of experimental philosophy in others.

Raleigh.

Sir Walter Raleigh (born 1552, at Hayes Barton, Budleigh, Devonshire), educated at Oxford, a soldier with the Huguenots in France, familiar with the wits in 1576 (when he wrote commendatory verses for Gascoigne's "Steel Glass"), a courtier who enjoyed the sunshine and suffered from the frosts of Elizabeth's favour, when supplanted by Essex went to Ireland, as we saw, became the friend of Spenser, and was styled by him "The Shepherd of the Ocean".

In life and in literature a fiery and indefatigable adventurer, his productions, from sonnets and the long, and for the most part lost poem, "Cynthia" (on Elizabeth) to tracts on practical points; accounts of voyages and of South America, and the gigantic" History of the World," give proof of extraordinary energy and fertility. His description of the glorious fight of "The Revenge," and the death of Sir Richard Grenville (published in 1596) can never be forgotten. In 1596 appeared, too, his account of his first exploration (1595) of Guiana, with a description of "the great and golden City of Manoa,"—a mirage.

On the death of Elizabeth, James I, on grounds of not unnatural if baseless suspicion, imprisoned Raleigh in the Tower, where he was well treated enough, and, with what amount of aid from collaborators is uncertain (Ben Jonson said that he had much) but, in any case with portentous industry, Raleigh compiled his "History of the World," from the creation to 130 b.c. The book (1614-1615) had a very great popularity: even the Puritans read it with admiration. There was then no such world-history in English, and though, as history, it is now obsolete of course; it is admired for its vigour, for the character it displays, and the personal observations suggested by the author's wide experience of men; and above all for occasional passages of lofty eloquence, and the organ-tones of a magnificent style, as in the famous address to Death. The capacities of style in original work had never so been exemplified in English, though such examples are but occasional.

Raleigh's very title in "The Prerogative of Parliaments" was offensive to the king, who doted on the prerogative of princes, and the book was not printed till after Raleigh's execution, following his return from his second expedition to Guiana. He also wrote tracts on War in general, on "The Navy and Sea Service," on "Trade and Commerce," on "A War with Spain" (the last thing that James desired), on "The Arts of Empire" (published by Milton, 1658, as "The Cabinet Council") and doubtless much is lost of the 3452 sheets of Raleigh's writing which John Hampden was having transcribed before the Great Rebellion.

More than Bacon, Raleigh tuned the language of "lofty, insolent, and passionate English prose": these terms were applied by Puttenham ("Art of English Poesie") to Raleigh's "dittie and amorous ode". "Insolent," of course, means here "out of the common".

Overbury.

Sir Thomas Overbury was born in Warwickshire in 1581: was the son of a Gloucestershire squire, was a gentleman commoner of Queen's College, Oxford, 1595-1598, entered the Middle Temple, and passed some years abroad. On his return he became, in Scotland, the friend of Robert Carr (or Ker), son of Ker of Fernihirst, one of Queen Mary's Border partisans. Carr, who was handsome, became King James's minion, and, in 1613, was created Earl of Somerset. His friend Overbury obtained a place at Court; and was first the friend, then the foe of Ben Jonson. An ally of Somerset, Overbury dissuaded him from his fatal marriage with Frances Howard, who, after a child-marriage (1606) with the boy Earl of Essex, detested him, loved Somerset, and, backed by James's influence, in spite of the Archbishop of Canterbury, Abbott, obtained a decree of nullity against her husband. The poet Donne, as Somerset's adviser, and the poet Campion, as a physician connected with a courtier more or less concerned in the affair, were entangled in this odious and mysterious matter. Overbury, on the other hand, was opposed to the unholy marriage of Somerset, and is thought to have written his popular poem "The Wife," to show him that Lady Essex was not what a wife should be. She plotted in various ways to get rid of Overbury. The offer of a diplomatic post in Paris he refused, with insolence it seems; he was sent to the Tower, and there, through the instigation of Lady Essex, was poisoned, with circumstances of bungling cruelty: for, as we know in the Spanish case of Escovedo, the science of poisoning was then quite in its infancy. Overbury died on 15 September, 1613. His death provoked many elegies and gave popularity to his poem "The Wife" (1614), which is of very slight merit, and to his "Characters," brief mordant sketches of types of men, in prose by Overbury and his friends. They appear to have been suggested rather by the Characters of the Greek Theophrastus, than by Montaigne or Bacon. Some pieces are ideal, "The Good Wife," and the charming "Fair and Happy Milkmaid," worthy of Izaak Walton. "She is never alone for she is still accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones.... Thus lives she, and all her care is she may die in the spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck upon her winding-sheet." Most of the other characters are drawn in a mocking style. Of "A Mere Scholar" we learn that "the antiquity of his University is his creed; and the excellency of his College, though but for a match of football, an article of his faith". "The Mere Fellow of a House," or don, with his airs of a man of the world, provokes the handsome courtier, and ex-undergraduate of Queen's. This on the scholar is good, "University jests are his universal discourse and his news the demeanour of the Proctors". Overbury jests at "The Melancholy Man". Melancholy, as Ben Jonson's Master Stephen had proved, was the fashion; a curious proof of this is the "Niobe" of Stafford (1611), a wonderful piece of railing at "the damnable times," of which a copy bears the arms of Charles I when Prince of Wales. "Straggling thoughts," says Overbury, "are the Melancholy Man's content, they make him dream waking; there's his pleasure!"

Translators.

Translation was a great, if not to the toilers a profitable industry between the reigns of Edward VI and James I. The wealth of classical, French, Spanish, and Italian learning, thought, and poetry was rapidly and strenuously conveyed into English, sometimes rough and ready, and rich in flowers of slang, sometimes replete with elegance and vigour. The translators certainly produced most idiomatic English; the ancients, in their versions, were not, as in reality, concise and classically self-restrained. There was, as a rule, no thought of minute accuracy. In fact, if some learned men were good Greek scholars, they did not write translations; the earlier translators in England used French and Italian versions of the Greek originals. Thus, Thomas Nicolls did Thucydides, the greatest of Greek historians, out of a French translation of an Italian version of the difficult original (1550). Nevertheless if you turn to the tragic pages on the utter ruin of the Athenian expedition to Sicily, the tale is still moving and rich in melancholy. Whoever B. R. was (Barnaby Rich?) the translator of the first two books of Herodotus (including his account of "the beastly devices" (as B. R. says) of the Egyptians), you cannot complain, as Macaulay did of another version, that Herodotus is "as flat as champagne in tumblers". B. R. uses slang, as "the Greeks were in the wrong box". Sir Thomas North, whose translation of Plutarch (1579) Shakespeare uses in his Roman plays, merely rendered the French version by Amyot. Whereas Plutarch's Greek lives of great men are, though in manner quiet, not frigid, North "picturesqued it everywhere". In fact these translators made Greeks and Romans speak as if they had come back to life and were writing in lusty Elizabethan England. Unluckily their volumes are not often to be picked up at bookstalls, and as magnificently printed in "Tudor Translations" they are expensive.

It is strange that the great Athenian dramatists, Æschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, and the comic Aristophanes, were left untranslated; probably because no contemporary foreign versions were easily procurable. What our ancestors knew of ancient tragedy was mainly through the rhetorical Roman imitations by Seneca. Of Plato scarce anything was translated. By 1600 Philemon Holland (born 1552), who actually went to the ancient originals for his texts, published his translation of Livy. As early as 1547 John Wylkinson Englished the Ethics of Aristotle,—out of an Italian version. Philemon was rapid, racy, indefatigable. He translated Plutarch's "Morals" in a year, using but one quill. It was through Florio's English version that Shakespeare read Montaigne's Essays. It is hardly necessary to name Richard Stanyhurst's "Four Books of Virgil's 'Æneid'" (1582) written in hideous English hexameters; and Thomas Phaer's Virgil, in "fourteeners" like Chapman's Homer, is even more helpless as a reproduction of "the stateliest measure

Ever moulded by the lips of man,"

than Conington's modern version in the metres of "The Lay of the Last Minstrel". It was clearly through Arthur Golding's translation of Ovid's "Metamorphoses" (1567, Four Books in 1565) that Shakespeare knew Ovid best. Golding also did Cæsar's "De Bello Gallico" (1565), and Sir Henry Savile, Provost of Eton, undertook Tacitus.

Among books from foreign modern authors, William Painter's "Palace of Pleasure" (1566-1567) with tales from Boccaccio, Queen Margaret of Navarre, Bandello, and Straparola (as well as from classical sources) was a treasure-house of plots and situations for the playwrights. In the tragedies and comedies of the age, Italian characters are predominant. The Spanish novel of the roads and inns and adventures, "Lazarillo de Tormes," was done out of Spanish in 1576, and set the example of this kind of fiction to Nash. Ariosto and Tasso were translated, the former by Sir John Harington (1591), the latter by Edward Fairfax (in 1600), and Richard Carew, but Dante was neglected. Of Chapman's "Homer," elsewhere spoken of, seven books appeared in 1598, and Shakespeare either glanced at it for his "Troilus and Cressida," or used, in places, a French or Latin version of Homer. It is impossible to enumerate all the translators, most of them are very readable, more so, in fact, than our most exact literal renderings of Greek and Latin originals into prose.

The Authorized Version of the Bible.

The noblest and most enduring monument of Elizabethan prose is, of course, the Authorized Version of the Bible. The nature of the texts to be translated suppressed all tendency to wilful conceits; a substratum of simple English from the time of Wyclif's versions in Chaucer's day, and from Tyndale's learned rendering, was retained; the lofty poetry of the ancient prophets was echoed in English as stately, balanced, and harmonious; and if it be said that the English does not represent "the speech" of any one age in the life of England, we may reply that the original texts also are the work of a thousand years in different languages.

Pulpit Eloquence.

It has often been remarked that sermons, in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, "discharged one part of the function of the modern newspaper" (though this is more true of Scotland than of England), and that sermons, where published, were a favourite form of reading. That is proved by their abundance in country house libraries, where old sermons usually occupy much valuable wall-space, as they cannot be sold, and present an imposing array of calf-backed volumes. Our space does not permit us to do more than name the famous preachers of the Elizabethan age, such as Lancelot Andrewes (1555-1626), Bishop of Winchester under James I; James Ussher, Archbishop of Armagh (1581-1656), a man of varied learning who arranged the chronology of the Bible; Bishop Joseph Hall (1574-1656) and Donne whose prose has many of the merits and defects of his age.

CHAPTER XXII.

LATE ELIZABETHAN AND JACOBEAN POETS.

It may have occurred to the reader that the words which Ben Jonson quoted about Shakespeare, Sufflaminandus erat—he flowed so freely that he needed stopping—indicate the great fault of Elizabethan and Jacobean Literature. The authors did not know where to stop. The age was luxuriantly rich in genius; and was over-wealthy in new ideas, gained from Greece, Rome, France, Spain, and Italy; from the clash of religions, the discoveries in the new world, and the re-discoveries of the treasures of the old world. What the English poets did not re-discover was the Greek lucidity, brevity, condensation, and orderliness. Even in plays of Shakespeare these graces are lacking: even Shakespeare's construction is not his strong point. The intellectual wealth of the poets tempted them to prolixity; the abundance of their ideas provoked them to that fashion of "conceits," of comparisons between the things most remote in heaven, earth, and the world of fancy. There was a taste which reappears now and then in literature, from early Icelandic poetry to Browning and George Meredith, for wilful abruptness, harshness, and obscurity. But industrious prolixity is not the fault of Donne, whom we now approach: his error lay in harshness, obscurity, and a measureless indulgence in conceit. Through these the light which is in him is darkened. Meanwhile rank over-abundance, the inability to stop, renders Daniel and Drayton and Phineas Fletcher burdensome, while Giles Fletcher crowds with conceits and points of wit a poem on the most sacred theme. These poets are not now commonly read, except in selections of their best things, and such selections give no idea of their pervading faults. When we extend our knowledge of the authors, and mark the formless character of the age in poetry, the sudden appearance of Milton indicates as great a miracle of genius as the existence of Chaucer, Spenser, and Shakespeare in the throng of their contemporaries.

John Donne was born in London, in 1573. His father was an eminent ironmonger, of a Catholic family; his mother's kin, the Heywoods, had suffered much from Protestant persecution. One of them was the writer of Interludes which amused the melancholy of Mary Tudor. John entered Hart Hall, Oxford, later Magdalen Hall, in 1584, he also studied at Cambridge, and entered Lincoln's Inn in 1592. A portrait of him in 1591 shows a young man holding the hilt of a very large rapier, and wearing a large earring shaped as a cross. He has a look of audacity, perhaps of sensuality, with a tinge of melancholy. He seems at this time to have studied the controversy between Catholics and Protestants, and in his "Epistle" (rhymed heroic couplets) we perceive that he was of no fervent piety, but rather a doubter. His satires appear to have been written about 1593. They are obscure, and the versification is bad, apparently of set purpose. Often the reader is puzzled to guess how a line is meant to be scanned, the natural rules of accent are set at defiance, as Ben Jonson remarked. Probably Donne aimed at imitating Persius, the obscure young Roman satirist. The satires can scarcely be read except by curious students tracing the evolution of Donne's thought and style.

In 1596 he sailed with Essex to the victory over Spain at Cadiz. Before starting he wrote one of his poetical "Elegies" to a lady with whom he had an intrigue. In 1597 he went on "the Islands Voyage" with Essex, to capture plate ships. He experienced a tempest, was driven back to Falmouth, wrote "The Storm," and later, in the Tropics "The Calm". The men are roasted by the sun and bathe, then

from the sea into the ship we turn,
Like parboiled wretches, on the coals to burn.

The poems are rude in versification and exaggeration, but most vivid are their pictures of Nature and the sea. Returning in the autumn of 1597, Donne is supposed to have travelled in Italy and Spain, if it be not more probable that he visited these countries in 1592-1596. If Ben Jonson rightly said that Donne wrote "all his best pieces of verse" before he was 25, they must have been finished by 1598. They were not printed till 1633, but circulated in manuscript.

Probably most of the pieces in his "Elegies" and "Songs and Sonnets" were composed in his tempestuous youth. The amorous conceits in "The Flea" are equally rich in ingenious fancies and in bad taste. "Woman's Constancy" and many other poems have the same moral burden as

'T was last night I swore to thee
That fond impossibility,—

to be constant. The sun is chidden for too early rising—

Go tell Court-huntsmen that the King will ride,—

but leave lovers undisturbed. In "The Indifferent" he brags that he can love all sorts and conditions of women, like Lord Byron and other amorists. He finds in himself "something like a heart," but rather rumpled. Of a later period, when he met his future wife, may be a charming song,

Just such disparity
As is 'twixt air and angel's purity'
'Twixt women's love and men's will ever be.

But the Elegies address ladies of whose nature purity is no part, and it may be admitted that the confessions do not win admiration for Donne's taste and temper, not to mention his morals, when he wrote them. "The Curse" on a woman, or a man who loves his mistress, far outdoes the Epodes of Horace in cold ferocity. "The Bait" contains remarks on the cruelty of angling which must have vexed Izaak Walton to the heart. "Love's Deity," opening with the charmed lines

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the God of Love was born,

thence descends into crabbed and difficult conceits. Two songs, "The Funeral" and "The Relic," are on a bracelet of his mistress's hair: whoever exhumes the poet's body will find

A bracelet of bright hair about the bone.

These verses of Donne's disturbed and adventurous youth, poems ingenious, conceited, passionate, mystical, or cynical, have not the music as of birds' songs which rings in the lyrists of that age: nor have the Epithalamia the charm of Spenser's. Donne in youth was not at ease with himself: he speculates too curiously. He may try to play the sensualist, but there is a dark backward in his genius; there are chords not in tune with mirth and pleasure. He is as unique as Browning, as little like other poets. If his Elegies contain, as has been supposed, the story of a love affair, it was of a nature to make him uneasy.

In 1597 Donne became secretary of the Lord Keeper, Sir Thomas Egerton, and met his niece, Anne More, daughter of Sir George More, Lieutenant of the Tower. He married her secretly at the end of 1601, and therefore was imprisoned in the Fleet jail, in February, 1602, thanks to the lady's angry father, who soon after forgave the young lovers.

By 1601 he had begun "The Progress of the Soul," or "Metempsychosis," the adventures of a soul "placed in most shapes,"[1] for example, in that fabulous and mortuary weed, a mandrake, in the roe of a fish, in a sparrow, and so forth, all to little purpose. He was unemployed, eager for employment, given to writing long letters, and laments for deaths in verse, and he assisted in a controversy with the Catholics.

Now come such more or less theological works as "Pseudo-Martyr," "Ignatius His Conclave," and "Biathanatos": the first (1610) is addressed to the King, who finally induced Donne to take holy orders. "Divine" poems he also wrote, but he was not anxious to be a professional divine. Donne's conceits were daring to the border of profanity. A visit to Paris with his patron, Sir Robert Drury, while Mrs. Donne was about to become a mother, was marked by a telepathic experience—Donne saw his wife, then in England, with a dead baby in her arms. Walton says that the day of the vision was that of the child's birth and death, but the dates do not bear out the statement. Walton's remark that Drury sent an express messenger to England, to inquire about Mrs. Donne, is certainly untrue.

In honour of a daughter of Drury who died young, Donne had written two extraordinary poems: "The First Anniversary" of the decease was published in 1611, "The Second Anniversary" was written in 1612. There seemed reason to fear that Donne would celebrate Miss Drury, whom he had never seen, once a year, while his life endured. The poem as a whole is "An Anatomy, of the World, wherein, by occasion of the death of Mistress Elizabeth Drury, the frailty and decay of this whole world is represented". Donne indulges in an exaggeration of hyperbole equalled only by the ancient Irish bards who sang the feats of Cuchulainn. For example, when Elizabeth joined the Saints

This world in that great earthquake languished,
For in a common bath of tears it bled,

an allusion to Seneca bleeding to death in a bath full of hot water. This manner of hyperbole flourished after Donne's time, infecting Crashaw and others,

For there's a kind of world remaining still,

as Donne admits. Poetry on the deplorable brevity of life and the instability of things may be excellent, and that instability is the theme of Donne, but Mistress Drury is harped upon too much, and Donne was taking this paragon on trust:—

she whose rich eyes and breast
Gilt the West Indies and perfumed the East.

It is impossible to understand how a poet, now of the mature age of thirty-nine, could write in this fashion if he had any humour.

"The Second Anniversary" dwelt on the incommodities of the soul in this life, and her exaltation in the next. Donne says that the world still has a semblance of life, as when the eyes and tongue of a decapitated man twinkle and roll, while

He grasps his hands and he pulls up his feet.
So struggles this dead world,

without Elizabeth, whom Donne never saw! There are good lines such as

Her pure and eloquent blood
Spoke in her cheeks,

and the satiric remarks on

A spongy slack divine,

who

Drinks and sucks in th' instructions of great men.

In return for these poems Drury housed and took care of Donne and his large family. The poet now became the adviser of the Earl of Somerset in the hideous suit of nullity, and, when things went against Somerset, who had done nothing for him, Donne proposed to publish his poems in "a few copies". "I apprehend some incongruities in the resolution," and indeed, as Donne at this moment intended to take holy orders, which he did in January, 1615, he was wise in breaking his resolution. He now obtained some clerical appointments, but in August, 1617, lost his wife. There is little doubt that his grief changed him from a worldly man into a man of heartfelt piety, the man whom Izaak Walton knew and adored.

His "Holy Sonnets," written at this time, have some noble almost Miltonic passages, mingled with lines that cannot be made to scan, and with hyperbolical conceits. Thus, though

Thou my thirst hast fed,
A holy thirsty dropsy melts me yet.

He requests the American explorers to lend him "new seas," so that he may drown his world in tears of penitence. He makes "yet" rhyme to "spirit.". The excuse made for such things is that Donne thought Elizabethan poetry too dulcet.

He is a poet by flashes, which are very brilliant with strange coloured fires. He is not really so obscure as he is reckoned: he can be understood, though Ben Jonson, who "esteemed him the first poet in the world in some things," added that "Donne from not being understood would perish".

Donne died on March 31, 1631. His poetry, styled by Dr. Johnson "metaphysical," exercised an influence not wholly favourable on his successors; happily it did not affect Lovelace and Herrick.

Minor Lyrists.

In the Elizabethan age it might almost be said that every man was his own poet. The name of poet became a term of contempt, as we learn from Ben Jonson and other sources. Of the best lyrists we have spoken in treating of the dramatists, of Sidney, Raleigh, and the chief sonneteers. Another sonneteer is Thomas Watson, an Oxford man, and allied to Spenser's circle (15571592). His "Hecatompathia" (1582) and "Tears of Fancy" (posthumously published) are sonnets, either informal or formal in structure; the "Hecatompathia" mainly consists of translations from modern languages. Watson had learning and some skill, but not much natural music in his soul.

Henry Constable, a Yorkshire man and a Catholic, may have been born about 1562 or earlier, judging by his degree taken at Cambridge in 1580. He passed much of his life abroad, and, on his return, part of it an the Tower, in the last years of Elizabeth. His sonnets ("Diana," 1592-1594) are pleasing, more tunable than many sonnets of his own and the succeeding age. Others have been exhumed from manuscript; some are devotional.

Willoughby's "Avisa" (the sonnet sequences usually bore girls' names) would be forgotten but for the magic initials "W. S." and allusions to W.'s love affairs. He may have been William Shakespeare; or he may have been Walter Smith, or William Smith, author of another such book as "Avisa," "Chloris" (1596). With him may pair off Lynch, with "Diella," and Griffin with "Fidessa," love-sonneteers.

Richard Barnfield (1574-1627), an Oxford man, was fertile in 1594-1598, publishing "The Affectionate Shepherd" (1594), "Cynthia" (1595), "The Encomion of Lady Pecunia" (1598). The Shepherd is much too affectionate for Christian and Northern tastes, in the style of Virgil's second Eclogue,

that horrid one
Beginning with formosum pastor Corydon,

as Byron describes it. In "Cynthia" he enthusiastically admires Spenser. If he wrote the sonnet "If Music and sweet Poetry agree," which appears in poems published with "Lady Pecunia," and the charming "As it fell upon a day" (often ascribed to Shakespeare), in the miscellany "England's Helicon," Barnfield was among the true lyrists of his time. "Lady Pecunia" is a satire on what wealth can do, and "The Complaint of Poetry for the death of Liberality," a satire on what it does not usually care to do. He made experiments in English hexameters: after the age of 24 he ceased to write or ceased to publish.

Thomas Campion (died in 1620) was, fortunately, a more persevering poet. Though his name was hardly known to modern readers till of recent years, because his lyrics were mainly published with music of his own composition, he was one of the most exquisite and delightful singers in the whole of English literature. Born in London, he went in 1581 to Peterhouse, Cambridge, left in 1585, and entered Gray's Inn in 1586. Five of his poems appear in a Miscellany of 1591: his Latin poems are of 1595. In 1601 appeared his first "Booke of Ayres," the music by himself and his friend Philip Rosseter. In 1602 he put forth "Observations on the Art of English Poesie," written, strange as it appears, in favour of verses in quantitative metres, without rhyme. He had taken the degree of Doctor of Medicine: he also wrote (1613) three Masques, one was for the wedding of the Princess Elizabeth, "the Queen of Hearts," another was for the shameful nuptials of the Earl of Somerset and Frances Howard, stained as they were with vice, vulgarity, and murder. Campion's later "Bookes of Ayres" are of 1612 and 1617. He died in March, 1619-1620.

Some of Campion's lyrics may have been suggested by and adapted to his own music, in other cases he composed the music for his own words. He employs a great number of metres, all tunable: with him music and sweet poesy agree. To think of these songs, as Thackeray said of some of Scott's novels, is to wish to run to the bookshelves, take them down and read them. Nothing can be more charming than the verses on "The Fairy Queen, Proserpina," and "Give Beauty all her right,"

Silly boy,'tis full moon yet,
Thy night as day shines clearly,

Now let her change I and spare not!
Since she proves strange, I care not!

Kind are her answers,
But her performance keeps no day,
Breaks time, as dancers
From their own music when they stray.

Drayton.

Michael Drayton (born at Hartshill in Warwickshire, 1563, died 1631) is a poet of nearly the same character and calibre as Daniel (of whom later), with the same beginnings as a sonneteer, the same prolixity in versifying history, and the same steady laborious cast of mind. From the age of 10, as he tells us, he was bent on being a Poet, and like greater poets, Burns, for example, he was usually inspired by some model, which, unlike Burns, he did not transfigure and excel. His earliest work, "The Harmony of the Church" (1591), contains rhymed paraphrases of Biblical songs and prayers. Drayton, like Milton, addresses the Heavenly Muse, singing "not of toys on Mount Ida, but of triumphs on Mount Sion". Thus from Exodus XV., the triumph over Egypt,

The Lord Jehovah is a Man of War,
Pharaoh, his chariots, and his mighty host,
Were by his hand in the wild waters lost,
His captains drownèd in Red Sea so far.

In 1593 appears his "Shepherd's Garland". Spenser had made shepherds fashionable; and eclogues were the mode. In one, "Beta," Queen Elizabeth was praised; in another, Sir Philip Sidney was lamented. The work, with improvements, was republished in 1606. The ballad of Dowsabel was a pleasant and fortunate addition. Anne Goodere, later Lady Rainsford, a daughter of Drayton's patron, Sir Henry Goodere, is the person named Idea, in the sonnets collected under that title. If the one famous and immortal sonnet,

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part,

be really by Drayton, he here showed mastery; and the addresses to Idea may not be mainly fanciful. Another sonnet on rivers, Drayton's favourite theme in the "Polyolbion," identifies Idea's home—so far she was certainly a real person. But there are critics who deny to him,

Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part.

It has even been attributed to Shakespeare, because of its excellence.

Following Daniel's "Complaint of Rosamond," Drayton versified the stories of Piers Gaveston, Matilda, daughter of Lord Robert Fitzwater, Robert Duke of Normandy, and "The Great Cromwell" (Thomas). Like Daniel, he gave little sack to a monstrous deal of bread, in a close following of prose chronicles. "Mortimeriados" (1596) is another legend, in rhyme royal, of the wars of the barons against the second and third Edwards, later recast as "The Barons' Wars," in an eight-lined stanza. "The English Heroical Epistles" were a following of the Letters of Ovid's heroines; there are twelve lovers and ladies, each writes a letter and receives a reply. Rosamond, Jane Shore, and Geraldine are, naturally, among the ladies. Drayton employs the rhymed decasyllabic couplet, and adds learned notes, comparing, for example, the Maze of Rosamond to the Cnossian Labyrinth of the Minotaur in Crete. The verses are curiously modern in some places.

The poet now did work for Henslowe and the stage. Like Daniel he wrote a panegyric of the new King, James VI and I, in 1603: it brought him no advancement, and in the next year he made "The Owle" the mouthpiece of a satire, opening with the outworn dream-formula which had so long haunted verse.

In 1606 he attempted odes: the best known is on "The Virginian Voyage": Virginia is a paradise, doubtless the laurel is indigenous, and Drayton foresees a Virginian poet (possibly Edgar Poe, in a way a Virginian). By the famous patriotic "Ballad of Agincourt," Drayton holds his most secure title to popularity.

He had long been working at his "Polyolbion," in which the rivers of England, and the great events which occurred in their valleys, are celebrated. The first thirteen books were published in 1612-1613. Drayton's best Muse is the patriotic. He was not encouraged by the reception of the book (reprinted with twelve new songs in 1622), and unhappily he stopped at the Cumberland Eden, and did not, like Richard Franck in prose, celebrate the Scottish rivers from the Debatable Land to the Naver. Drayton's ambling Alexandrine couplets are, at least, interesting to the angler, for he has a minute knowledge of even such burns as the "roaring Yarty" (mark the Yar, as in Cretan and Greek Jardanus, Yarrow, and the Australian Yarra-Yarra) and the troutful Mimram, which he calls the Mimer. Had Drayton spoken more particularly of the streams, and been less copious in endeavours "the battle in to bring," battles Celtic, or of the many civil wars, his poem would have more attractions. History, copious and minute, is a stumbling-block to poetry in Drayton, and as to history, the public, he says, "take a great pride to be ignorant thereof": "the idle humorous world must hear of nothing that savours of antiquity".

Perhaps the idle world was more kind to the playful poem "Nimphidia" (1627) where Titania, to the wrath of Oberon, wooes a new Bottom, Pigwiggen. The tripping measure is that of Chaucer's "Sir Thopas": the Fairy Queen's equipage is thus described,

Her chariot of a snail's fine shell,
Which for the colours did excell,
The fair Queen Mab becoming well,
So lively was the limning:
The seat the soft wool of the bee,
The cover, gallantly to see,
The wing of a py'd butterflee,
I trow, was ample trimming.

The venerable and undefeated singer returned to pastoral, "The Quest of Cynthia," and (1630) gave "The Muses' Elizium," full of pretty innocent ditties, while "Noah's Flood" is naturally in a more solemn strain, as are "Moses, His Birth and Miracles," and "David and Goliath". These prolix paraphrases do not greatly improve on the heroic prose of Genesis and Samuel.

Drayton died in 1631, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, but not in the Poets' Corner.

Daniel.

Samuel Daniel is one more of the poets whose names linger on in histories of literature because they were contemporaries of Shakespeare and Spenser and may more or less have "taken Eliza and our James". A privately printed edition of 150 copies of Daniel's works (edited by Dr. Grosart) keeps his laurels green in such abundance as his intrinsic literary merits deserve. He seems to have been born near Taunton about 1562-63: his father is described as a music-master; he was at Oxford for three years or thereabouts. He published a translation of a tract by Paulus Jovius, "of rare inventions both military and amorous called Imprese," in 1585. He was patronized by "Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother," and resided at Wilton, where she received much literary society and he may have enjoyed excellent trout-fishing in the Nadder and the Wily. In 1591 he "commenced poet" with twenty-seven of the stereotyped love sonnets (not in the regular Petrarchian form) which appeared unsigned in Nashe's edition of "Astrophel". In 1592-1594, three editions, emended, were published; the collection is entitled "Delia".

So sounds my Muse according as she strikes
On my heart-strings attuned unto her fame.

Probably Delia did not strike her Samuel's heart-strings with much skill and vigour.

What though my Muse no honour got thereby,
Each bird sings to herself, and so will I.

With "Delia" appeared a long and very tedious "Complaint of Rosamond" (who sleeps in Godstow near Oxford). The piece is in stanzas of seven lines, and is as woeful as "The Mirror for Magistrates". The abbey built by "the credulous devout and apt-believing ignorant" was already ruined by the Great Pillage, and the melancholy place by the grey waters is Rosamond's only monument. Her ghost left Daniel "to prosecute the tenor of my woes": there is abundance of moral but very little of music in Rosamond's "Complaint".

Daniel visited Italy about 1592, and in 1594 published "Cleopatra," a tragedy in imitation of Seneca, with a chorus.

The chorus commences thus

Now every mouth can tell
What close was muttered:
How that she did not well,
To take the course she did!

The prologue and the chorus are the first act. Naturally in Senecan drama Cleopatra does not commit suicide on the stage. A messenger narrates the moving incident in two hundred and fifty rhyming verses.

In 1595 appeared the first four books of Daniel's "Civil Wars"; a fifth book came out in 1599. In 1600 the poet became tutor to Lady Ann Clifford, but he longed to return to his Muse, and did so in 1602. His "Civil Wars" were now a Seven Years' War, and he achieved Book VI. In 1603 he addressed a panegyric to James VI and I, the new King: he obtained a Court post in connexion with the Queen's Masques, and held his place and salary till 1618; wrote a History of England, and died at Beckington, Somerset, in 1619. He had written Masques, and a "Defence of Rhyme" against the friends of unrhymed verse in classical metres. His "Civil Wars" are a chronicle in rhyme—he spares neither himself nor the infrequent reader. Daniel opens by stating that had England devoted herself solely to fighting abroad, she might have annexed Europe to the Alps, the Rhine, and the Pyrenees. But this is an error: in 1429 the tide of English conquest recoiled from the standard of the Maid, and even before the civil wars at home England had failed to hold the Loire.

The poem traces civil war from Richard II onwards to Edward IV, and, as Aristotle rightly said, an Epic poem cannot be written in that way. Daniel was an excellent man; a most industrious author, and we may say of him in the words of his own Epistle to Lord Henry Howard,