Chapter IX: Part 9

[Sidenote: _Dichologia_, or the Figure of excuse.]
Sometimes our error is so manifest, or we be so hardly prest with our
aduersaries, as we cannot deny the fault layd vnto our charge: in which
case it is good pollicie to excuse it by some allowable pretext, as did
one whom his mistresse burdened with some vnkindne speeches which he had
past of her, thus.
_I said it: but by lapse of lying tongue,
When furie and iust griefe my heart opprest:
I sayd it: as ye see, both fraile and young,
When your rigor had ranckled in my brest.
The cruell wound that smarted me so sore,
Pardon therefore (sweete sorrow) or at least
Beare with mine youth that neuer fell before,
Least your offence encrease my griefe the more._

And againe in these,
_I spake amysse I cannot it deny.
But caused by your great discourtesie:
And if I said that which I now repent,
And said it not, but by misgouernment
Of youthfull yeres, your selfe that are so young
Pardon for once this error of my tongue,
And thinke amends can neuer come to late:
Loue may be curst, but loue can neuer hate._

[Sidenote: _Noema_, or the Figure of close conceit.] Speaking before of the figure [_Synechdoche_] wee called him [_Quicke conceit_] because he inured in a single word onely by way of intendment or large meaning, but such as was speedily discouered by euery quicke wit, as by the halfe to vnderstand the whole, and many other waies appearing by the examples. But by this figure [_Noema_] the obscurity of the sence lieth not in a single word, but in an entier speech, whereof we do not so easily conceiue the meaning, but as it were by coniecture, because it is wittie and subtile or darke, which makes me therefore call him in our vulgar the [_Close conceit_] as he that said by himselfe and his wife, I thanke God in fortie winters that we haue liued together, neuer any of our neighbours set vs at one, meaning that they neuer fell out in all that space, which had bene the directer speech and more apert, and yet by intendment amounts all to one, being neuerthelesse dissemblable and in effect contrary. _Pawlet_ Lord Treasorer of England, and first Marques of Winchester, with the like subtill speech gaue a quippe to Sir _William Gifford_, who had married the Marques sister, and all her life time cound neuer loue her nor like of her company, but when she was dead made the greatest moane for her in the world, and with teares and much lamentation vttered his griefe to the L. Treasorer, o good brother, quoth the Marques, I am right sory to see you now loue my sister so well, meaning that he shewed his loue too late, and should haue done it while she was aliue.

A great counsellour somewhat forgetting his modestie, vsed these words: Gods lady I reckon my selfe as good a man as he you talke of, and yet I am not able to do so. Yea sir quoth the party, your L. is too good to be a man, I would ye were a Saint, meaning he would he were dead, for none are shrined for Saints before they be dead.

[Sidenote: _Orismus_, or the Definer of difference.] The Logician vseth a definition to expresse the truth or nature of euery thing by his true kinde and difference, as to say wisedome is a prudent and wittie foresight and consideration of humane or worldly actions with their euentes. This definition is Logicall. The Oratour vseth another maner of definition, thus: Is this wisedome? no it is a certaine subtill knauish craftie wit, it is no industrie as ye call it, but a certaine busie brainsicknesse, for industrie is a liuely and vnweried search and occupation in honest things, egernesse is an appetite in base and small matters.

[Sidenote: _Procatalepsis_, or the presumptuous, otherwise the figure of Presupposall.] It serueth many times to great purpose to preuent our aduersaries arguments, and take vpon vs to know before what our iudge or aduersary or hearer thinketh, and that we will seeme to vtter it before it be spoken or alleaged by them, in respect of which boldnesse to enter so deepely into another mans conceit or conscience, and to be so priuie of another mans mynde, gaue cause that this figure was called the [_presumptuous_] I will also call him the figure of _presupposall_ or the _preuenter_, for by reason we suppose before what may be said, or perchaunce would be said by our aduersary or any other, we do preuent them of their aduantage, and do catch the ball (as they are wont to say) before it come to the ground.

[Sidenote: _Paralepsis_, or the Passager.] It is also very many times vsed for a good pollicie in pleading or perswasion to make wise as if we set but light of the matter, and that therefore we do passe it ouer lightly when in deede we do then intend most effectually and despightfully if it be inuectiue to remember it: it is also when we will not seeme to know a thing, and yet we know it well inough, and may be likened to the maner of women, who as the common saying is, will say nay and take it. _I hold my peace and will not say for shame, The much vntruth of that vnciuill dame: For if I should her coullours kindly blaze, It would so make the chast eares amaze, &c._

[Sidenote: _Commoratio_, or the figure of abode.] It is said by maner of a prouerbiall speach that he who findes himselfe well should not wagge, euen so the perswader finding a substantiall point in his matter to serue his purpose, should dwell upon that point longer then vpon any other lesse assured, and vse all endeuour to maintaine that one, & as it were to make his chief aboad thereupon, for which cause I name him the figure of aboad, according to the Latine name: Some take it not but for a course of argument & therefore hardly may one giue any examples thereof.

[Sidenote: _Metastasis_, or the Flitting figure, or the Remoue.] Now as arte and good pollicy in perswasion bids vs to abide & not to stirre from the point of our most aduantage, but the same to enforce and tarry vpon with all possible argument, so doth discretion will vs sometimes to flit from one matter to another, as a thing meete to be forsaken, and another entred vpon, I call him therefore the _flitting_ figure, or figure of _remoue_, like as the other before was called the figure of _aboade_.

[Sidenote: _Parecuasis, or the Stragler.] Euen so againe, as it is wisdome for a perswader to tarrie and make his aboad as long as he may conueniently without tediousness to the hearer, vpon his chiefe proofes or points of the cause tending to his aduantage, and likewise to depart againe when time serues, and goe to a new matter seruing the purpose aswell. So is it requisite many times for him to talke farre from the principall matter, and as it were to range aside, to th'intent by such extraordinary meane to induce or inferre other matter, aswell or better seruing the principal purpose, and neuertheles in season to returne home where he first strayed out. This maner of speech is termed the figure of digression by the Latines, following the Greeke originall, we also call him the _straggler_ by allusion to the souldier that marches out of his array, or by those that keepe no order in their marche, as the battailes well ranged do: of this figure there need be geuen no example.

[Sidenote: _Expeditio_, or the speedie dispatcher.] Occasion offers many times that our maker as an oratour, or perswader, or pleader should go roundly to worke, and by a quick and swift argument dispatch his perswasion, & as they are woont to say not stand all day trifling to no purpose, but to rid it out of the way quickly. This is done by a manner of speech, both figuratiue and argumentatiue, when we do briefly set down all our best reasons seruing the purpose and reiect all of them sauing one, which we accept to satisfie the cause: as he that in a litigious case for land would prooue it not the aduersaries, but his clients. _No man can say its his by heritage, Nor by Legacie, or Testatours deuice: Nor that it came by purchase or engage, Nor from his Prince for any good seruice. Then needs must it be his by very wrong, Which he hath offred this poore plaintife so long._

Though we might call this figure very well and properly the [_Paragon_] yet dare I not so to doe for feare of the Courtiers enuy, who will haue no man vse that terme but after a courtly manner, that is, in praysing of horses, haukes, hounds, pearles, diamonds, rubies, emerodes, and other precious stones: specially of faire women whose excellencie is discouered by paragonizing or setting one to another, which moued the zealous Poet, speaking of the mayden Queene, to call her the paragon of Queenes. This considered, I will let our figure enioy his best beknowen name, and call him stil in all ordinarie cases the figure of comparison: as when a man wil seeme to make things appeare good or bad, or better or worse, or more or lesse excellent, either vpon spite or for pleasure, or any other good affection, then he sets the lesse by the greater, or the greater to the lesse, the equall to his equall, and by such confronting of them together, driues out the true ods that is betwixt them, and makes it better appeare, as when we sang of our Soueraigne Lady thus, in the twentieth Partheniade. _As falcon fares to bussards flight, As egles eyes to owlates sight, As fierce saker to coward kite, As brightest noone to darkest night: As summer sunne exceedeth farre, The moone and euery other starre: So farre my Princesse praise doeth passe, The famoust Queene that euer was._

And in the eighteene Partheniade thus.
_Set rich rubie to red esmayle,
The rauens plume to peacocks tayle,
Lay me the larkes to lizards eyes,
The duskie cloude to azure skie,
Set shallow brookes to surging seas,
An orient pearle to a white pease._

&c. Concluding.
_There shall no lesse an ods be seene
In mine from euery other Queene._

[Sidenote: Dialogismus, or the right reasoner.] We are sometimes occasioned in our tale to report some speech from another mans mouth, as what a king said to his priuy counsel or subiect, a captaine to his souldier, a souldiar to his captaine, a man to a woman, and contrariwise: in which report we must always geue to euery person his fit and naturall, & that which best becommeth him. For that speech becommeth a king which doth not a carter, and a young man that doeth not an old: and so, in euery sort and degree. _Virgil_ speaking in the person of _Eneas, Turnus_ and many other great Princes, and sometimes of meaner men, ye shall see what decencie euery of their speeches holdeth with the qualitie, degree and yeares of the speaker. To which examples I will for this time referre you.

So if by way of fiction we will seem to speake in another mans person, as if king _Henry_ the eight were aliue, and should say of the towne of Bulleyn, what we by warretime hazard of our person hardly obteined, our young sonne without any peril at all, for little mony deliuered vp againe. Or if we should faine king _Edward_ the thirde, vnderstanding how his successour Queene _Marie_ had lost the towne of Calays by negligence, should say: That which the sword wanne, the distaffe hath lost. This manner of speech is by the figure _Dialogismus_, or the right reasoner.

[Sidenote: _Gnome_, or the Director.] In waightie causes and for great purposes, wise perswaders vse graue & weighty speaches, specially in matter of aduise or counsel, for which purpose there is a maner of speach to alleage textes or authorities of wittie sentence, such as smatch morall doctrine and teach wisedome and good behauiour, by the Greeke originall we call him the _directour_, by the Latin he is called _sententia_: we may call him the _sage sayer_, thus.

[Sidenote: _Sententia_, or the Sage sayer.]
_Nature bids vs as a louing mother,
To loue our selues first and next to loue another.

The Prince that couets all to know and see,
Had neede full milde and patient to bee.

Nothing stickes faster by us as appeares,
Then that which we learne in our tender yeares._

And that which our foueraigne Lady wrate in defiance of fortune.
_Neuer thinke you fortune can beare the sway,
Where vertues force, can cause her to obay._

Heede must be taken that such rules or sentences be choisly made and not often vsed least excesse breed lothsomnesse.

[Sidenote: _Sinathrismus_, or the Heaping figure.] Arte and good pollicie moues vs many times to be earnest in our speach, and then we lay on such load and so go to it by heapes as if we would winne the game by multitude of words & speaches, not all of one but of diuers matter and sence, for which cause the Latines called it _Congeries_ and we the _heaping figure_, as he that said _To muse in minde how faire, how wise, how good, How braue, how free, how curteous and how true, My Lady is doth but inflame my blood._

Or thus.
_I deeme, I dreame, I do, I tast, I touch,
Nothing at all but smells of perfit blisse_.

And thus by maister _Edward Diar_, vehement swift & passionatly.
_But if my faith my hope, my loue my true intent,
My libertie, my seruice vowed, my time and all be spent,
In vaine, &c._

But if such earnest and hastie heaping vp of speaches be made by way of recapitulation, which commonly is in the end of euery long tale and Oration, because the speaker seemes to make a collection of all the former materiall points, to binde them as it were in a bundle and lay them forth to enforce the cause and renew the hearers memory, then ye may geue him more properly the name of the [_collectour_] or recapitulatour, and serueth to very great purpose as in an hympne written by vs to the Queenes Maiestie entitled [_Mourua_] wherein speaking of the mutabilitie of fortune in the case of all Princes generally, wee seemed to exempt her Maiestie of all such casualtie, by reason she was by her destinie and many diuine partes in her, ordained to a most long and constant prosperitie in this world, concluding with this recapitualtion. _But thou art free, but were thou not in deede, But were thou not, come of immortall seede: Neuer yborne, and thy minde made to blisse, Heauens mettall that euerlasting is: Were not thy wit, and that thy vertues shall, Be deemd diuine thy fauour face and all: And that thy loze, ne name may neuer dye, Nor thy state turne, stayd by destinie: Dread were least once thy noble hart may feele, Some rufull turne, of her unsteady wheele._

[Sidenote: _Apostrophe_, or the turne tale.] Many times when we haue runne a long race in our tale spoken to the hearers, we do sodainly flye out & either speake or exclaime at some other person or thing, and therefore the Greekes call such figure (as we do) the turnway or turnetale, & breedeth by such exchaunge a certaine recreation to the hearers minds, as this vsed by a louer to his vnkind mistresse. _And as for you (faire one) say now by proofe ye finde, That rigour and ingratitude soone kill a gentle minde._

And as we in our triumphals, speaking long to the Queenes Maiestie, vpon
the sodaine we burst out in an exclamtion to _Phebus_, seeming to draw in
a new matter, thus.
_But O Phebus,
All glistering in thy gorgious gowne,
Wouldst thou wit safe to slide a downe:
And dwell with us,

But for a day,
I could tell thee close in thine eare,
A tale that thou hadst leuer heare
--I dare well say:

Then ere thou wert,
To kisse that unkind runneaway,
Who was transformed to boughs of bay:
For her curst hert. &c ._

And so returned againe to the first matter.

[Sidenote: _Hypotiposis_, or the counterfait representation.] The matter and occasion leadeth vs many times to describe and set foorth many things, in such sort as it should appeare they were truly before our eyes though they were not present, which to do it requireth cunning: for nothing can be kindly counterfait or represented in his absence, but by great discretion in the doer. And if the things we couet to describe be not naturall or not veritable, than yet the same axeth more cunning to do it, because to faine a thing that neuer was nor is like to be, proceedeth of a greater wit and sharper inuention than to describe things that be true.

[Sidenote: _Prosopographia_.] And these be things that a poet or maker is woont to describe sometimes as true or naturall, and sometimes to faine as artificiall and not true. _viz_. The visage, speach and countenance of any person absent or dead: and this kinde of representation is called the Counterfait countenance: as _Homer_ doth in his _Iliades_, diuerse personages: namely _Achilles_ and _Thersites_, according to the truth and not by fiction. And as our poet _Chaucer_ doth in his Canterbury tales set for the Sumner, Pardoner, Manciple, and the rest of the pilgrims, most naturally and pleasantly.

[Sidenote: _Prosopopeia_, or the Counterfait in personation.] But if ye wil faine any person with such features, qualities & conditions, or if ye wil attribute any humane quality, as reason or speech to dombe creatures or other insensible things, & do study (as one may say) to giue them a humane person, it is not _Prosopographia_, but _Prosopopeia_, because it is by way of fiction, & no prettier examples can be giuen to you thereof, than in the Romant of the rose translated out of French by _Chaucer_, describing the persons of auarice, enuie, old age, and many others, whereby much moralities is taught.

[Sidenote: _Cronographia_, or the Counterfait time.] So if we describe the time or season of the yeare, as winter, summer, haruest, day, midnight, noone, euening, or such like: we call such description the counterfait time. _Cronographia_ examples are euery where to be found.

[Sidenote: _Topographia_, or the Counterfait place.] And if this description be of any true place, citie, castell, hill, valley or sea, & such like: we call it the counterfait place _Topographia_, or if ye fayne places vntrue, as heauen, hell, paradise, the house of fame, the pallace of the sunne, the denne of sheepe, and such like which ye shall see in Poetes: so did _Chaucer_ very well describe the country of _Saluces_ in _Italie_, which ye may see, in his report of the Lady _Grysyll_.

[Sidenote: _Pragmatographia_, or the Counterfait action.] But if such description be made to represent the handling of any busines with the circumstances belonging therevnto as the manner of a battell, a feast, a marriage, a buriall or any other matter that heth in feat and actiutie: we call it then the counterfeit action [_Pragmatographia_.]

In this figure the Lord _Nicholas Vaux_ a noble gentleman, and much
delighted in vulgar making, & a man otherwise of no great learning but
hauing herein a maruelous facillitie, made a dittie representing the
battayle and assault of _Cupide_, so excellently well, as for the gallant
and propre application of his fiction in euery part, I cannot choose but
set downe the greatest part of his ditty, for in truth it can not be
amended.
_When Cupid scaled first the fort,
Wherein my hart lay wounded sore,
The battrie was of such a sort,
That I must yeeld or die therefore.
There saw I loue vpon the wall,
How he his banner did display,
Alarme alarme he gan to call,
And had his souldiers keepe aray.
The armes the which that Cupid bare,
We pearced harts with teares besprent:
In siluer and sable to declare
The stedfast loue he alwaies meant.
There might you see his band all drest
In colours like to white and blacke,
With pouder and with pellets prest,
To bring them forth to spoile and sacke,
Good will the master of the shot,
Stood in the Rampire braue and proude,
For expence of pouder he spared not,
Assault assault to crie aloude.
There might you heare the Canons rore,
Eche peece discharging a louers looke, &c._

[Sidenote: _Omiosis_, or Resemblance.] As well to a good maker and Poet as to an excellent perswader in prose, the figure of _Similitude_ is very necessary by which we not onely bewtifie our tale, but also very much inforce & inlarge it. I say inforce because no one thing more preuaileth with all ordinary iudgements than perswasion by _similitude_. Now because there are sundry sorts of them, which also do worke after diuerse fashions in the hearers of conceits, I will set them foorth by a triple diuision, exempting the generall _Similitude_ as their common Auncestour, and I will cal him by the name of _Resemblance_ without any addition, from which I deriue three other sorts: and giue euery one his particular name, as Resemblance by Pourtrait or Imagery, which the Greeks call _Icon_, _Resemblance_ morall or misticall, which they call _Parabola_, & _Resemblance_ by example, which they call _Paradigma_, and first we will speake of the general resemblance, or bare _similitude_, which may be thus spoken. _But as the watrie showres delay the raging wind, So doeth good hope cleane put away dispaire out of my mind._

And in this other likening the forlorne louer to a striken deer.
_Then as the striken deere, withdrawes himselfe alone,
So do I seeke some secret place, where I may make my mone._

And in this of ours where we liken glory to a shadow.
_As the shadow (his nature beying such,)
Followeth the body, whether it will or no,
So doeth glory, refuse it nere so much,
Wait on vertue, be it in weale or wo.
And euen as the shadow in his kind,
What time it beares the carkas company,
Goth oft before, and often comes behind:
So doth renowne, that raiseth us so hye,
Come to vs quicke, sometime not till we dye.
But the glory, that growth not ouer fast,
Is euer great, and likeliest long to last._

Againe in a ditty to a mistresse of ours, where we likened the cure of
Loue to _Achilles_ launce.
_The launce so bright, that made Telephus wound,
The same rusty, salued the sore againe,
So may my meede (Madame) of you redownd,
Whose rigour was first suthour of my paine._

The _Tuskan_ poet vseth this _Resemblance_, inuring as well by
_Dissimilitude_ as _Similitude_, likening himselfe (by _Implication_) to
the flie, and neither to the eagle nor to the owle: very well Englished by
Sir Thomas Wiat after his fashion and by myselfe thus:
_There be some fowles of sight so prowd and starke,
As can behold the sunne, and neuer shrinke,
Some so feeble, as they are faine to winke,
Or neuer come abroad till it be darke:
Others there be so simple, as they thinke,
Because it shines, so sport them in the fire,
And feele vnware, the wrong of the desire,
Fluttring amidst the flame that doth them burne,
Of this last ranke (alas) am I aright,
For in my ladies lookes to stand or turne
I haue no power, ne find place to retire,
Where any darke may shade me from her sight
But to her beames so bright whilst I aspire,
I perish by the bane of my delight._

Againe in these likening a wise man to the true louer.
_As true loue is constant with his enioy,
And asketh no witnesse nor no record,
And as faint loue is euermore most coy,
To boast and brag his troth at euery word:
Euen so the wise without enother meede:
Contents him with the guilt of his good deede._

And in this resembling the learning of an euill man to the seedes sowen in
barren ground.
_As the good seedes sowen in fruitfull soyle,
Bring foorth foyson when barren doeth them spoile:
So doeth it fare when much good learning hits,
Vpon shrewde willes and ill disposed wits._

And in these likening the wise man to an idiot.
_A sage man said, many of those that come
To Athens schoole for wisdome, ere they went
They first seem'd wise, then louers of wisdome,
Then Orators, then idiots, which is meant
That in wisedome all such as profite most,
Are least surlie, and little apt to boast._

Againe, for a louer, whose credit vpon some report had bene shaken, he
prayeth better opinion by similitude.
_After ill crop the soyle must eft be sowen,
And fro shipwracke we sayle to seas againe,
Then God forbid whose fault hath once bene knowen,
Should for euer a spotted wight remaine._

And in this working by resemblance in a kinde of dissimilitude betweene a
father and a master.
_It fares not by fathers as by masters it doeth fare,
For a foolish father may get a wise sonne,
But of a foolish master it haps very rare
Is bread a wise seruant where euer he wonne.

And in these, likening the wise man to the Giant, the foole to
the Dwarfe.
_Set the Giant deepe in a dale, the dwarfe vpon an hill,
Yet will the one be but a dwarfe, th'other a giant still.
So will the wise be great and high, euen in the lowest place:
The foole when he is most aloft, will seeme but low and base._

[Sidenote: _Icon_, or Resemblance by imagerie.] But when we liken an humane person to another in countenaunce, stature, speach or other qualitie, it is not called bare resemblance, but resemblaunce by imagerie or pourtrait, alluding to the painters terme, who yeldeth to th'eye a visible representation of the thing he describes and painteth in his table. So we commending her Maiestie for the wisedome bewtie and magnanimitie likened her to the Serpent, the Lion and the Angell, because by common vsurpation, nothing is wiser then the Serpent, more courageous then the Lion, more bewtifull then the Angell. These are our verses in the end of the seuenth _Partheniade._ _Nature that seldome workes amisse, In womans brest by passing art: Hath lodged safe the Lyons hart, And stately fixt with all good grace, To Serpents head an Angels face._

And this maner of resemblance is not onely performed by likening liuely creatures one to another, but also of any other naturall thing bearing a proportion of similitude, as to liken yellow to gold, white to siluer, red to the rose, soft to silke, hard to the stone and such like. Sir _Philip Sidney_ in the description of his mistresse excellently well handled this figure of resemblaunce by imagerie, as ye may see in his booke of _Archadia_: and ye may see the like, of our doings, in a _Partheniade_ written of our soueraigne Lady, wherein we resemble euery part of her body to some naturall thing of excellent perfection in his kind, as of her forehead, browes, and haire, thus: _Of siluer was her forehead hye, Her browes two bowes of hebenie, Her tresses trust were to behold Frizled and fine as fringe of gold._

And of her lips.
_Two lips wrought out of rubie rocke,
Like leaues to shut and to vnlock.
As portall dore in Princes chamber:
A golden tongue in mouth of amber._

And of her eyes.
_Her eyes God wot what stuffe they are,
I durst be sworne each is a starre:
As cleere and bright as woont to guide
The Pylot in his winter tide._

And of her breasts.
_Her bosome sleake as Paris plaster,
Helde up two balles of alabaster,
Eche byas was a little cherrie:
Or els I thinke a strawberie._

And all the rest that followeth, which may suffice to exemplifie your figure _Icon_, or resemblance by imagerie and portrait.

[Sidenote: _Parabola_ or Resemblance misticall.] But whensoeuer by your similitude ye will seeme to teach any moralitie or good lesson by speeches misticall and darke, or farre sette, vnder a sence metaphoricall applying one naturall thing to another, or one case to another, inferring by them a like consequence in other cases the Greekes call it _Parabola_, which terme is also by custome accepted of vs: neuerthelesse we may call him in English the resemblance misticall: as when we liken a young childe to a greene twigge which ye may easilie bende euery way ye list: or an old man who laboureth with continuall infirmities, to a drie and dricklie oke. Such parables were all the preachings of Christ in the Gospell, as those of the wise and foolish virgins, of the euil steward, of the labourers in the vineyard, and a number more. And they may be fayned aswell as true: as those fables of _Aesope_, and other apologies inuented for doctrine sake by wise and graue men.

[Sidenote: _Paradigma_, or a resemblance by example.] Finally, if in matter of counsell or perswasion we will seeme to liken one case to another, such as passe ordinarily in mans affaires, and doe compare the past with the present, gathering probabilitie of like successe to come in the things wee haue presently in hand: or if ye will draw the iudgements precedent and authorized by antiquitie as veritable, and peraduenture fayned and imagined for some purpose, into similitude or dissimilitude with our present actions and affaires, it is called resemblance by example: as if one should say thus, _Alexander_ the great in his expidition to Asia did thus, so did _Hanniball_ comming into Spaine, so did _Caesar_ in Egypt, therfore all great Captains & Generals ought to doe it.

And thus againe, It hath bene alwayes vsuall among great and magnanimous princes in all ages, not only to repulse any iniury & inuasion from their owne realmes and dominions, but also with a charitable & Princely compassion to defend their good neighbors Princes and Potentats, from all oppression of tyrants & vsurpers. So did the Romaines by their armes restore many Kings of Asia and Affricke expulsed out of their kingdoms. So did K. _Edward_ I restablish _Baliol_ rightfull owner of the crowne of Scotland against _Robert le brus_ no lawfull King. So did king _Edward_ the third aide _Dampeeter_ king of Spaine against _Henry_ bastard and vsurper. So haue many English Princes holpen with their forces the poore Dukes of Britaine their ancient friends and allies, against the outrages of the French kings: and why may not the Queene our soueraine Lady with like honor and godly zele yeld protection to the people of the Low countries, her neerest neighbours to rescue them a free people from the Spanish seruitude.

And as this resemblance is of one mans action to another, so may it be made by examples of bruite beastes, aptly corresponding in qualitie or euent, as one that wrote certaine prety verses of the Emperor _Maximinus_, to warne him that he should not glory too much in his owne strength, for so he did in very deede, and would not take any common souldier to taske at wrastling, or weapon, or in any other actiuitie and feates of armes, which was by the wiser sort mislliked, these were the verses. The Elephant is strong, yet death doeth it subdue, The bull is strong, yet cannot death eschue. The Lion strong, and slaine for all his strength: The Tygar strong, yet kilde is at the length. Dread thou many, that dreadest not any one, Many can kill, that cannot kill alone._

And so it fell out, for _Maximinus_ was slaine in a mutinie of his souldiers, taking no warning by these examples written for his admonition.

_CHAP. XX._

_The last and principall figure of our poeticall Ornament._

[Sidenote: _Exargasia_ or The Gorgious.] For the glorious lustre it setteth vpon our speech and language, the Greeks call it [_Exargasia_] the Latine [_Expolisio_] a terme transferred from these polishers of marble or porphirite, who after it is rough hewen & reduced to that fashion they will do set vpon it a goodly glasse, so smoth and cleere as ye may see your face in it, or otherwise as it fareth by the bare and naked body, which being attired in rich and gorgious apparell, seemeth to the common vsage of th'eye much more comely & bewtifull then the naturall. So doth this figure (which therefore I call the _Gorgious_) polish our speech & as it were attire it with copious & pleasant amplifications and much varietie of sentences all running vpon one point & to one intent so as I doubt whether I may terme it a figure, or rather a masse of many figurative speaches, applied to the bewtifying of our tale or argument. In a worke of ours intituled _Philocalia_ we have strained to shew the vse & application of this figure and all others mentioned in this booke, to which we referre you. I finde none example in English meetre, so well maintaining this figure as that dittie of her Maiesties owne making passing sweete and harmonicall, which figure beyng as his very originall name purporteth the most bewtifull and gorgious of all others, it asketh in reason to be reserued for a last complement, and desciphred by the arte of a Ladies penne, her selfe being the most bewtifull, or rather bewtie of Queenes. And this was the occasion: our soueraigne Lady perceiuing how by the Sc.Q. residence within this Realme at so great libertie and ease (as were skarce meete for so great and daungerous a prysoner) bred secret factions among her people, and made many of the nobilitie incline to fauour her partie: some of them desirous of innouation in the state: others aspiring to greater fortunes by her libertie and life. The Queene our soueraigne Lady to declare that she was nothing ignorant of those secret practizes, though she had long with great wisdome and pacience dissembled it, writeth this ditty most sweet and sententious, not hiding from all such aspiring minds the daunger of their ambition and disloyaltie: which afterward fell out most truly by th'exemplary chastisement of sundry persons, who in fauour of the said Sc.Q. declining from her Maiestie, sought to interrupt the quiet of the Realme by many euill and vndutifull practizes. The ditty is as followeth. _The doubt of future foes, exiles my present ioy, And wit me warnes to shun such snares as threaten mine annoy. For falshood now doth flow, and subiect faith doth ebbe, Which would not be, if reason rul'd or widsome wev'd the webbe. But clowdes of tois vntried, do cloake aspiring mindes, Which turne to raigne of late repent, by course of changed windes. The toppe of hope supposed, the roote of ruth wil be, And frutelesse all their grassed guiles, as shortly ye shall see. The dazeld eyes with pride, which great ambition blinds, Shalbe vnseeld by worthy wights, whose foresight falshood finds. The daughter of debate, that eke discord doth sowe Shal reap no gaine where formor rule hath taught stil peace to growe. No forreine bannisht wight shall ancre in this port, Our realme it brookes no strangers force, let them elsewhere resort. Our rusty sworde with rest shall first his edge employ, To polle their toppes that seeke, such change and gape for ioy._

In a worke of ours entituled [_Philo Calia_] where we entreat of the loues betwene prince _Philo_ and Lady _Calia_ in their mutual letters messages, and speeches: we have strained our muse to shew the vse and application of this figure, and of all others.

_CHAP. XXI._

_Of the vices or deformities in speach and writing principally noted by auncient Poets._

It hath bene said before how by ignorance of the maker a good figure may become a vice, and by his good discretion, a vicious speach go for a vertue in the Poeticall science. This saying is to be explaned and qualified, for some maner of speaches are always intollerable and such as cannot be vsed with any decencie, but are euer vndecent namely barbarousnesse, incongruitie, ill disposition, fond affectation, rusticitie, and all extreme darknesse, such as it is not possible for a man to vnderstand the matter without an interpretour, all which partes are generally to be banished out of euery language, vnlesse it may appeare that the maker or Poet do it for the nonce, as it was reported by the Philosopher _Heraclitus_ that he wrote in obscure and darke termes of purpose not to be vnderstood, whence he merited the nickname _Scotinus_, otherwise I see not but the rest of the common faultes may be borne with sometimes, or passe without any greate reproofe, not being vsed ouermuch or out of season as I said before: so as euery surplusage or preposterous placing or vndue iteration or darke word, or doubtfull speach are not so narrowly to be looked vpon in a large poeme, nor specially in the pretie Poesies and deuises of Ladies, and Gentlewomen makers, whom we would not haue too precise Poets least with their shrewd wits, when they were maried they might become a little too phantasticall wiues, neuerthelesse because we seem to promise an arte, which doth not iustly admit any wilful errour in the teacher, and to th'end we may not be carped at by these methodicall men, that we haue omitted any necessary point in this businesse to be regarded, I will speake somewhat touching these viciosities of language particularly and briefly, leauing no little to the Grammarians for maintenaunce of the scholasticall warre, and altercations: we for our part condescending in this deuise of ours, to the appetite of Princely personages & other so tender & quesie complexions in Court, as are annoyed with nothing more then long lessons and ouermuch good order.

_CHAP. XXII._

_Some vices in speaches and writing are alwayes intollerable, some others now and then borne withall by licence of approued authors and custome._

[Sidenote: _Barbarismus_, or Forrein speech.] The foulest vice in language is to speake barbarously: this terme grew by the great pride of the Greekes and Latines, when they were dominatours of the world reckoning no language so sweete and ciuill as their owne, and that all nations beside them selues were rude and vnciuill, which they called barbarous: So as when any straunge word not of the naturall Greeke or Latin was spoken, in the old time they called it _barbarisme_, or when any of their owne naturall wordes were sounded and pronounced with straunge and ill shapen accents, or written by wrong ortographie, as he that would say with vs in England, a dousand for a thousand, asterday, for yesterday, as commonly the Dutch and French people do, they said it was barbarously spoken. The Italian at this day by like arrogance calleth the Frenchman, Spaniard, Dutch, English, and all other breed behither their mountaines _Appennines_, _Tramontani_, as who would say Barbarous. This terme being then so vsed by the auncient Greekes, there haue bene since, notwithstanding who haue digged for the Etimologie somethat deeper, and many of them haue said that is was spoken by the rude and barking language of the Affricans now called Barbarians, who had great trafficke with the Greekes and Romanes, but that can not be so, for that part or Affricke hath but of late receiued the name of Burbarie and some others rather thinke that of this word Barbarous, that countrey came to be called _Barbaria_ and but few yeares in respect agone. Others among whom is _Ihan Leon_ a Moore of _Granada_, will seeme to deriue _Barbaria_, from this word _Bar_, twice iterated thus _Barbar_, as much to say as flye, flye, which chaunced in a persecution of the Arabians by some seditious Mahometanes in the time of their Pontif, _Habdul mumi_, when they were had in the chase, & driuen out of Arabia Westward into the countreys of _Mauritania_, & during the pursuite cried one vpon another flye away, flye away, or passe passe, by which occasion they say, when the Arabians which were had in chase came to stay and settle themselues in that part of Affrica, they called it _Barbar_, as much to say, the region of their flight or pursuite. Thus much for the terme, though not greatly pertinent to the matter, yet not vnpleasant to know for them that delight in such niceties.

[Sidenote: _Solecismus_, or Incongruitie.] Your next intollerable vice is _solecismus_ or incongruitie, as when we speake halfe English, that is by misusing the _Grammaticall_ rules to be obserued in cases, genders, tenses, and such like, euery poore scholler knowes the fault, & cals it the breaking of _Priscians_ head, for he was among the Latines a principall Grammarian.

[Sidenote: Cacozelia, or Fonde affectation.] Ye haue another intollerable ill maner of speach, which by the Greekes originall we may call _fonde affectation_ and is when we affect new words and phrases other then the good speakers and writers in any language, or then custome hath allowed, & is the common fault of young schollers not halfe well studied before they come from the Vniuersitie or schooles, and when they come to their friends, or happen to get some benefice or other promotion in their countreys, will seeme to coigne fine wordes out of the Latin, and to vse new fangled speaches, thereby to shew thenselues among the ignorant the better learned.

[Sidenote: Soraismus, or The mingle mangle.] Another of your intollerable vices is that which the Greekes call _Soraismus_, & we may call the [_mingle mangle_] as when we make our speach or writinges of sundry languages vsing some Italian word, or French, or Spanish, or Dutch, or Scottish, not for the nonce or for any purpose (which were in part excusable) but ignorantly and affectedly as one that said vsing this French word _Roy_, to make ryme with another verse, thus. _O mightie Lord of loue, dame Venus onely ioy, Whose Princely power exceedes ech other heauenly roy._

The verse is good but the terme peeuishly affected.

Another of reasonable good facilitie in translation finding certaine of the hymnes of _Pyndarus_ and of _Anacreons odes_, and other _Lirickes_ among the Greekes very well translated by _Rounsard_ the French Poet, & applied to the honour of a great Prince in France, comes our minion and translates the same out of French into English, and applieth them to the honour of a great noble man in England (wherein I commend his reuerent minde and duetie) but doth so impudently robbe the French Poet both of his prayse and also of his French termes, that I cannot so much pitie him as be angry with him for his inurious dealing, our sayd maker not being ashamed to vfe these French wordes _freddon, egar, superbous, filanding, celest, calabrois, thebanois_ and a number of others, for English wordes, which haue no maner of conformitie with our language either by custome or deriuation which may make them tollerable. And in the end (which is worst of all) makes his vaunt that neuer English finger but his hath toucht _Pindars_ string which was neuerthelesse word by word as _Rounsard_ had said before by like braggery. These be his verses. _And of an ingenious inuention infanted with pleasant trauaile._

Whereas the French word is _enfante_ as much to say borne as a child, in another verse he saith. _I will freddon in thine honour._

For I will shake or quiuer my fingers, for so in French is _freddon_,
and in another verse.
_But if I will thus like pindar,
In many discourses egar._

This word _egar_ is as much to say as to wander or stray out of the way, which in our English is not receiued, nor these wordes _calabrois, thebanois_, but rather _calabrian, theba_ [_filanding sisters_] for the spinning sisters: this man deserues to be endited of pety _larceny_ for pilfring other mens deuices from them & conuerting them to his owne vfe for in deede as I would with euery inuentour which is the very Poet to receaue the prayses of his inuention, so would I not haue a translatour be ashamed to be acknowen of this translation.

[Sidenote: _Cacosintheton_, or the Misplacer.] Another of your intollerable vices is ill disposiiton or placing of your words in a clause or sentence: as when you will place your adiectiue after your substantiue, thus: _Mayde faire, widow riche, priest holy_, and such like, which though the Latines did admit, yet our English did not, as one that said ridiculously. _In my yeares lustie, many a deed doughtie did I._

All these remembred faults be intollerable and euer vndecent.

[Sidenote: _Cacemphaton_, or figure of foule speech.] Now haue ye other vicious manners of speech, but sometimes and in some cases tollerable, and chiefly to the intent to mooue laughter, and to make sport, or to giue it some prety strange grace, and is when we vse such wordes as may be drawen to a foule and vnshamefast sence, as one that would say to a young woman, _I pray you let me iape with you_, which indeed is no more but let me sport with you. Yea and though it were not altogether so directly spoken the very sounding of the word were not commendable, as he that in the presence of Ladies would vse this common Prouerbe, _Iape with me but hurt me not, Bourde with me but shame me not._

For it may be taken in another peruerser sence by that sorte of persons that heare it, in whose eares no such matter ought almost to be called in memory, this vice is called by the Greekes _Cacemphaton_, we call it the vnshamefast or figure of foule speech, which our courtly maker shall in any case shunne, least of a Poet he become a Buffon or rayling companion, the Latines called him _Scurra_. There is also another sort of ilfauoured speech subiect to this vice, but resting more in the manner of the ilshapen sound and accent, than for the matter it selfe, which may easily be auoyded in choosing your wordes those that bee of the pleasantest orthography, and not to rune too many like sounding words together.

[Sidenote: _Tautologia_, or the figure of selfe saying.] Ye haue another manner of composing your metre nothing commendable, specially if it be too much vsed, and is when our maker takes too much delight to fill his verse with wordes beginning all with a letter, as an English rimer that said: _The deadly droppes of darke disdaine, Do daily drench my due desartes._

And as the Monke we spake of before, wrote a whole Poeme to the honor of _Carolus Caluus_ euery word in his verse beginning with C, thus: _Carmina clarifone Caluis cantate camena._

Many of our English makers vse it too much, yet we confesse it doth not ill but pretily becomes the meetre, if ye passe not two or three words in one verse, and vse it not very much, as he that said by way of _Epithete._ _The smoakie sighes: the trickling teares._

And such like, for such composition makes the meetre runne away smoother, and passeth from the lippes with more facilitie by iteration of a letter then by alteration, which alteration of a letter requires an exchange of ministery and office in the lippes, teeth or palate, and so doth not the iteration.

[Sidenote: _Histeron, proteron_, or the Preposterous.] Your misplacing and preposterous placing is not all one in behauiour of language, for the misplacing is alwaies intollerable, but the preposterous is a pardonable fault, and many times giues a pretie grace vnto the speech. We call it by a common saying to _set the carte before the horse_, and it may be done eyther by a single word or by a clause of speech: by a single word thus: _And if I not performe, God let me neuer thriue._

For performe not: and this vice is sometime tollerable inough, but if the word carry any notable sence, it is a vice not tollerable, as he that said praising a woman for her red lippes, thus: _A corrall lippe of hew._

Which is no good speech, because either he should haue sayd no more but a corrall lip, which had bene inough to declare the rednesse or els he should haue said a lip of corrall hew, and not a corrall lip of hew. Now if this disorder be in a whole clause which carieth more sentence then a word, it is then worst of all.

[Sidenote: _Acyron_, or the Vncouthe.] Ye haue another vicious speech which the Greeks call _Acyron_, we call it the _vncouthe_, and is when we vse an obscure and darke word, and vtterly repugnant to that we would expresse, if it be not by vertue of the figures _metaphore, allegorie, abusion_, or such other laudable figure before remembred, as he that said by way of _Epithete_. _A dongeon deep, a dampe as darke as hell._

Where it is euident that a dampe being but a breath or vapour, and not to be discerned by the eye, ought not to haue this _epithete (darke,)_ no more then another that praysing his mistresse for her bewtifull haire, said very improperly and with an vncouth terme. _Her haire surmounts Apollos pride, In it such bewty raignes._

Whereas this word _raigne_ is ill applied to the bewtie of a womans haire, and might better haue bene spoken of her whole person, in which bewtie, fauour, and good grace, may perhaps in some sort be said to raigne as our selues wrate, in a _Partheniade_ praising her Maiesties countenance, thus: _A cheare where loue and Maiestie do raigne, Both milde and sterne, &c._

Because this word Maiestie is a word expressing a certaine Soueraigne dignitie, as well as a quallitie of countenance, and therefore may properly be said to _raigne_, & requires no meaner a word to set him foorth by. So it is not of the bewtie that remaines in a womans haire, or in her hand or any other member: therfore when ye see all these unproper or harde Epithets vsed, ye may put them in the number of [_uncouths_] as one that said, the _flouds of graces_: I haue heard of _the flouds of teares_, and _the flouds of eloquence_, or of any thing that may resemble the nature of a water-course, and in that respect we say also, _the streames of teares_, and _the streames of utterance_, but not _the streames of graces_, or of _beautie_. Such manner of vncouth speech did the Tanner of Tamworth vse to king _Edward_ the fourth, which Tanner hauing a great while mistaken him, and vsed very broad talke with him, at length perceiuing by his traine that it was the king, was afraide he should be punished for it, said thus with a certaine rude repentance. _I hope I shall be hanged tomorrow._

For _[I fear me] I shall be hanged_, whereat the king laughed a good, not only to see the Tanners vaine feare, but also to heare his ill shapen terme, and gaue him for recompence of his good sport, the inheritance of Plumton parke, I am afraid the Poets of our time that speake more finely and correctedly will come too short of such a reward.

[Sidenote: The vice of Surplusage.] Also the Poet or makers speech becomes vicious and vnpleasant by nothing more than by vsing too much surplusage: and this both not only in a word or two more than ordinary, but in whole clauses, and peraduenture large sentences impertinently spoken, or with more labour and curiositie than is requisite.

[Sidenote: _Pleonasmus_, or Too ful speech.] The first surplusage the Greekes call _Pleonasmus_, I call him [_too much speech_] and is no great fault, as if one should say, _I heard it with mine eares, and saw it with mine eyes_, as if a man could heare with his heeles, or see with his nose. We our selues vsed this superfluous speech in a verse written of our mistresse, neuertheles, not much to be misliked, for euen a vice sometime being seasonably vsed, hath a pretie grace, _For euer may my true loue liue and neuer die And that mine eyes may see her crownde a Queene._

As, if she liued euer, she could euer die, or that one might see her crowned without his eyes.

[Sidenote: _Macrologia_, or Long language.] Another part of surplusage is called _Macrologia_, or long language, when we vse large clauses or sentences more than is requisite to the matter: it is also named by the Greeks _Perissologia_, as he that said, the Ambassadours after they had receiued this answere at the kings hands, they tooke their leaue and returned home into their countrey from whence they came.

So said another of our rimers, meaning to shew the great annoy and
difficultie of those warres of Troy, caused for _Helenas_ sake.
_Nor Menelaus was vnwise,
Or troupe of Troians mad,
When he with them and they with him,
For her such combat had._