SECTION V._Shakespeare and the Emblem Writers an exposition of their similarities of throught and expression, preceded by a view of emblem-literature down to A.D. 1616

_EMBLEMS IN CONNEXION WITH PROVERBS._

PROVERBS are nearly always suggestive of a little narrative, or of a

picture, by which the sentiment might be more fully developed. The brief

moral reflections appended to many fables partake very much of the

nature of proverbs. Inasmuch, then, as there is this close alliance

between them, we might consider the Proverbial Philosophy of Shakespeare

only as a branch of the Philosophy of Fable; still, as there are in his

dramas many instances of the use of the pure proverb, and instances too

of the same kind in the Emblem writers, we prefer making a separate

Section for the proverbs or wise sayings.

Occasionally, like the Sancho Panza of his renowned contemporary,

Michael de Cervantes Saavedra, 1549–1616,[146] Shakespeare launches “a

leash of proverbial philosophies at once;” but with this difference,

that the dramatist’s application of them is usually suggestive either of

an Emblem-book origin, or of an Emblem-book destination. The example

immediately in view is from the scene (_3 Henry VI._, act i. sc. 4, l.

39, vol. v. p. 245) in which Clifford and Northumberland lay hands of

violence on Richard Plantagenet, duke of York; the dialogue proceeds in

the following way, York exclaiming,—

“Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear?

_Clif._ So cowards fight, when they can fly no further.

So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons.”

The queen entreats Clifford, “for a thousand causes,” to withhold his

arm, and Northumberland joins in the entreaty,—

“_North._ Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much,

To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart:

What valour were it, when a cur doth grin,

For one to thrust his hand between his teeth,

When he might spurn him with his foot away?”

Clifford and Northumberland seize York, who struggles against them (l.

61),—

“_Clif._ Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.[147]

_North._ So doth the cony struggle in the net.”

York is taken prisoner, as he says (l. 63),—

“So triumph thieves upon their conquer’d booty;

So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatch’d.”

The four or five notions or sayings here enunciated a designer or

engraver could easily translate into as many Emblematical devices, and

the mind which uses them, as naturally as if he had invented them, must

surely have had some familiarity with the kind of writing of which

proverbs are the main source and foundation.

In this connection we will quote the proverb which “Clifford of

Cumberland” (_2 Henry VI._, act v. sc. 2, l. 28, vol. vi. p. 217) utters

in French at the very moment of death, and which agrees very closely

with similar sayings in Emblem-books by French authors,—Perriere and

Corrozet,—and still more in suitableness to the occasion on which it was

spoken, the end of life.

York and Clifford,—it is the elder of that name,—engage in mortal combat

(l. 26),—

“_Clif._ My soul and body on the action both!

_York._ A dreadful lay! address thee instantly.”

[_They fight, and_ CLIFFORD _falls._

At the point of death Clifford uses the words (l. 28), _La fin couronne

les œuvres_.[148]—“The end crowns the work.” It was, no doubt, a common

proverb; but it is one which would suggest to the Emblem writer his

artistic illustration, and, with a little change, from some such

illustration it appears to have been borrowed. Whitney (p. 130) records

a resemblance to it among the sayings of the Seven Sages, dedicated “_to

Sir_ HVGHE CHOLMELEY _Knight_,”—

“And SOLON said, _Remember still thy ende_.”

[Illustration: _Perriere, 1539._]

The two French Emblems alluded to above are illustrative of the proverb,

“The end makes us all equal,” and both use a very appropriate and

curious device from the game of chess. Take, first, Emb. 27 from

Perriere’s _Theatre des Bons Engins_: Paris, 1539,—

XXVII.

Le Roy d’eſchez, pendant que le ieu dure,

Sur ses ſubiectz ha grande preference,

Sy l’on le matt[e/], il conuiẽt qu’il endure

Que l’on le mett[e/] au ſac ſans difference.

Cecy nous faict notable demonſtrance,

Qu’ apres le ieu de vie tranſitoire,

Quãd mort nous a mis en ſõ repertoire,

Les roys ne ſõt pluſgrãs que les vaſſaulx;

Car dans le ſac (cõm[e/] à tous eſt notoire),

Roys & pyons en hõneur ſont eſgaulx.

The other, from Corrozet, is in his “HECATOMGRAPHIE:” Paris, 1540,—

La fin nous faict tous egaulx.

La terr[e/] eſt egual[e/] à chaſcun,

Par tous les pays & prouinces,

Auſſi toſt faict pourrir les princes,

Que les corps du pauure commun.

[Illustration: _Corrozet, 1540._]

Svr l’eſchiquier ſont les eſchez aſſis,

Tous en leur rẽg par ordre biẽ raſſis,

Les roys en hault pour duyre les combatz,

Les roynes pres, les cheualiers plus bas,

Les folz deſſoubz, puis apres les pions,

Les rocz auſſy de ce ieu champions.

Et quand le tout eſt aſſis en ſon lieu

Subtilement ou commence le ieu.

* Or vault le roy au ieu de l’eſchiquier,

Mieulx que la royn[e/] & moins le cheualier.

Chaſcun pion de tous ceulx la moins vault,

Mais quand c’eſt faict & que le ieu deffault

Il n’ya roy, ne royne, ne le roc,

Qu’ enſemblement tout n[e/] ſoit à vng bloc,

Mis dans vng ſac, ſans ordre ne degré,

Et ſans auoir l’ung plus que l’aultre à gré.

Ainſi eſt il de nous pauures humains,

Aulcuns ſont grands Empereurs des Romains,

Les aultres roys, les aultres ducz & comtes,

Aultres petis dont on ne faict grandz comptes.

Nous iouons tons aux eſchez en ce monde,

Entre les biens ou l’ung plusqu’ aultr[e/] abonde,

Mais quand le iour de la vié eſt paſſe,

Tout corps humain eſt en terre muſſé,

Autant les grands que petis terre cœurre,

Tant ſeulement nous reſte la bonn[e/] œuure.

Corrozet’s descriptive verses conclude with thoughts to which old

Clifford’s dying words might well be appended: “When the game of life is

over,[149] every human body is hidden in the earth; as well great as

little the earth covers; what alone remains to us is the good deed.” “LA

FIN COURONNE LES ŒUVRES.”

But Shakespeare uses the expression, “the end crowns all,” almost as

Whitney (p. 230) does the allied proverb, “Time terminates all,”—

Tempus omnia terminat.

[Illustration: _Whitney, 1586._]

The longeſt daye, in time reſignes to nighte.

The greateſt oke, in time to duſte doth turne:

The Rauen dies, the Egle failes of flighte.

The Phœnix rare, in time her ſelfe doth burne.

The princelie stagge at lengthe his rave doth ronne.

And all muſt ende, that euer was begonne.

A sentiment this corresponding nearly with Hector’s words, in the

_Troilus and Cressida_ (act iv. sc. 5, l. 223, vol. vi. p. 230),—

“The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost

A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all,

And that old common arbitrator, Time,

Will one day end it.”

Prince Henry (_2 Henry IV._, act ii. sc. 2, l. 41, vol. iv. p. 392), in

reply to Poins, gives yet another turn to the proverb: “By this hand,

thou thinkest me as far in the devil’s books as thou and Falstaff for

obduracy and persistency; let the end try the man.”

In Whitney’s address “to the Reader,” he speaks of having collected

“sondrie deuises” against several great faults which he names, “bycause

they are growẽ so mightie that one bloe will not beate them downe, but

newe headdes springe vp like _Hydra_, that _Hercules_ weare not able to

subdue them.” “But,” he adds, using an old saying, “manie droppes pierce

the stone, and with manie blowes the oke is ouerthrowen.”

Near Mortimer’s Cross, in Herefordshire, a messenger relates how “the

noble Duke of York was slain” (_3 Henry VI._, act ii. sc. 1, l. 50, vol.

v. p. 252), and employs a similar, almost an identical, proverb,—

“Environed he was with many foes,

And stood against them, as the hope of Troy

Against the Greeks that would have enter’d Troy.

But Hercules himself must yield to odds;

And many strokes, though with a little axe,

Hew down and fell the hardest-timber’d oak.”

This is almost the coincidence of the copyist, and but for the

necessities of the metre, Whitney’s words might have been literally

quoted.

“Manie droppes pierce the stone,” has its parallel in the

half-bantering, half-serious, conversation between King Edward and Lady

Grey (_3 Henry VI._, act iii. sc. 2, l. 48, vol. v. p. 280). The lady

prays the restoration of her children’s lands, and the king intimates he

has a boon to ask in return,—

“_King Edw._ Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask.

_Grey._ Why then I will do what your grace commands.

_Glou._ [_Aside to_ CLAR.] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the

marble.

_Clar._ [_Aside to_ GLOU.] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt.”

In Otho Vænius (p. 210), where Cupid is bravely working at felling a

tree, to the motto, “By continuance,” we find the stanza,—

“Not with one stroke at first the great tree goes to grownd,

But it by manie strokes is made to fall at last,

The drop doth pierce the stone by falling long and fast,

So by enduring long long sought-for loue is found.”

“To clip the anvil of my sword,” is an expression in the _Coriolanus_

(act iv. sc. 5, lines 100–112, vol. vi. p. 380) very difficult to be

explained, unless we regard it as a proverb, denoting the breaking of

the weapon and the laying aside of enmity. Aufidius makes use of it in

his welcome to the banished Coriolanus,—

“O Marcius, Marcius!

Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart

A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter

Should from yond cloud speak divine things,

And say ‘’Tis true,’ I’d not believe them more

Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine

Mine arms about that body, where against

My grained ash an hundred times hath broke,

And scarr’d the moon with splinters: here I clip

The anvil of my sword, and do contest

As hotly and as nobly with thy love

As ever in ambitious strength I did

Contend against thy valour.”

To clip, or cut, _i.e._, strike the anvil with a sword, is exhibited by

more than one of the Emblem writers, whose stanzas are indeed to the

same effect as those of Massinger in his play, _The Duke of Florence_

(act ii. sc. 3),—

“Allegiance

Tempted too far is like the trial of

A good sword on an anvil; as that often

Flies in pieces without service to the owner;

So trust enforced too far proves treachery,

And is too late repented.”

In his 31st Emblem, Perriere gives the device, and stanzas which

follow,—

[Illustration: _Perriere, 1539._]

XXXI.

En danger eſt de rompre ſon eſpée

Qui ſur l’enclum[e/] en frappe rudement.

Auſſi l’amour eſt bien toſt ſincoppée,

Quand ſon amy on preſſe follement.

Qui le fera, perdra ſubitement

Ce qu’il deburoit bien cheremẽt garder

De tel abus, ſe fault contregarder,

Cõm[e/] en ce lieu auõs doctrin[e/] expreſſe.

A tel effort, ne te fault hazarder

De perdr[e/] amy, quãd ſouuẽt tu le preſſe.

But the meaning is, the putting of friendship to too severe a trial: “As

he is in danger of breaking his sword who strikes it upon an anvil, so

is love very soon cut in pieces when foolishly a man presses upon his

friend.” So Whitney (p. 192), to the motto, _Importunitas

euitanda_,—“Want of consideration to be avoided,”—

“Who that with force, his burnish’d blade doth trie

On anuill harde, to prooue if it be sure:

Doth Hazarde muche, it shoulde in peeces flie,

Aduentring that, which else mighte well indure:

For, there with strengthe he strikes vppon the stithe,

That men maye knowe, his youthfull armes have pithe.

Which warneth those, that louinge frendes inioye,

With care, to keepe, and frendlie them to treate,

And not to trye them still, with euerie toye,

Nor presse them doune, when causes be too greate,

Nor in requests importunate to bee:

For ouermuche, dothe tier the courser free?”

Touchstone, the clown, in _As You Like It_ (act ii. sc. 4, l. 43, vol.

ii. p. 400), names the various tokens of his affections for Jane Smile,

and declares, “I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a

stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile: and I

remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow’s-dugs that her pretty

chopt hands had milked.”

It may, however, from the general inaccuracy of spelling in the early

editions of Shakespeare, be allowed to suppose a typographical error,

and that the phrase in question should read, not “anvil of my sword,”

but “handle;”—I clip, or embrace the handle, grasp it firmly in token of

affection.

The innocence of broken love-vows is intimated in _Romeo and Juliet_

(act ii. sc. 2, l. 90, vol. vii. p. 42),—

“Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say ‘Ay,’

And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear’st,

Thou mayst prove false: at lovers’ perjuries,

They say, Jove laughs.”

And most closely is the sentiment represented in the design by Otho van

Veen (p. 140), of Venus dispensing Cupid from his oaths, and of Jupiter

in the clouds smiling benignantly on the two. The mottoes are, “AMORIS

IVSIVRANDVM PŒNAM NON HABET,”—_Love excused from periurie_,—and

“Giuramento sparso al vento.”

In Callimachus occurs Juliet’s very expression, “at lovers’ perjuries

Jove laughs,”—

“_Nulla fides inerit: periuria ridet amantum

Juppiter, & ventis irrita ferre iubet:_”

and from Tibullus we learn, that whatever silly love may have eagerly

sworn, Jupiter has forbidden to hold good,—

“_Gratia magna Ioui: vetuit pater ipse valere,

Iurasset cupidè quidquid ineptus Amor._”

The English lines in Otho van Veen are,—

“The louer freedome hath to take a louers oth,

Whith if it proue vntrue hee is to be excused,

For venus doth dispence in louers othes abused,

And loue no fault comitts in swearing more than troth.”

The thoughts are, as expressed in Italian,—

“_Se ben l’amante assai promette, e giura,

Non si da pena à le sue voci infide,

Anzi Venere, e Giove se ne ride.

l’Amoroso spergiuro non si cura._”

To such unsound morality, however, Shakespeare offers strong objections

in the Friar’s words (_Romeo and Juliet_, act iii. sc. 3, l. 126),—

“Thy noble shape is but a form of wax,

Digressing from the valour of a man;

Thy dear love sworn, but hollow perjury,

Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish.”

“Labour in vain,”—pouring water into a sieve, is shown by Perriere in

his 77th Emblem,—

[Illustration: _Perriere, 1539._]

where however it is a blind Cupid that holds the sieve, and lovers’

gifts are the waters with which the attempt is made to fill the vessel.

LXXVII.

Qvi plus mettra dans le crible d’amours,

Plus y perdra, car choſe n’y profitte:

Le temps ſi pert, biens, bagues & atours,

Sa douleur eſt en tout amer confitte.

Folle ieuneſſ[e/] & franc vouloir incite

A tel deſduict deſpendre groſſe ſomme:

Sur ce pẽser doibuent biẽ ieunes hõmes,

Que de ce fait meilleurs n’ẽ peuuẽt eſtre:

Et quãd naurõt le vaillãt de deux põmes,

Ne ſera temps leur erreur recognoiſtre.

We have endeavoured to interpret the old French stanza into English

rhyme,—

“Who in love’s tempting sieve shall place his store,

Since nothing profits there, will lose the more;

Lost are his time, goods, rings and rich array,

Till grief in bitterness complete his day.

Folly of youth and free desire incite

Great sums to lavish on each brief delight.

Surely young men on this ought well to ponder,

That better cannot be, if thus they wander;

And when remains two apples’ worth alone,

’Twill not the time be their mistake to own.”

Shakespeare presents the very same thought and almost the identical

expressions. To the Countess of Rousillon, Bertram’s mother, Helena

confesses love for her son, _All’s Well that Ends Well_ (act i. sc. 3,

l. 182, vol. iii. p. 127),—

“Then, I confess,

Here on my knee, before high heaven and you,

That before you, and next unto high heaven,

I love your son.

My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love:

Be not offended; for it hurts not him

That he is loved of me: I follow him not

By any token of presumptuous suit;

Nor would I have him till I do deserve him;

Yet never know how that desert should be.

I know I love in vain, strive against hope;

Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve,

I still pour in the waters of my love,

And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like,

Religious in my error, I adore

The sun, that looks upon his worshipper,

But knows of him no more.”

How probable do the turns of thought, “captious and intenible sieve,”

“the waters of my love,” render the supposition that Perriere’s Emblem

of Love and the Sieve had been seen by our dramatist. Cupid appears

patient and passive, but the Lover in very evident surprise sees “the

rings and rich _array_” flow through “le crible d’amours.” Cupid’s eyes,

in the device, are bound, and the method of binding them corresponds

with the lines, _Romeo and Juliet_(act i. sc. 4, l. 4, vol. vii. p.

23),—

“We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf,

Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath,

Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper.”

Again, though not in reference to the same subject, there is in _Much

Ado About Nothing_ (act v. sc. 1, l. 1, vol. ii. p. 69), the comparison

of the sieve to labour in vain. Antonio is giving advice to Leonato when

overwhelmed with sorrows,—

“_Ant._ If you go on thus you will kill yourself;

And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief

Against yourself.

_Leon._ I pray thee, cease thy counsel,

Which falls into mine ears as profitless

As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;

Nor let no comforter delight mine ear

But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.”

By way of variation we consult Paradin’s treatment of the same thought

(fol. 88_v_), in which he is followed by Whitney (p. 12), with the motto

_Frustrà_.

Hac illac perfluo.

[Illustration: _Paradin, 1562._]

“The Poëttes faine, that DANAVS daughters deare,

Inioyned are to fill the fatall tonne:

Where, thowghe they toile, yet are they not the neare,

But as they powre, the water forthe dothe runne:

No paine will serue, to fill it to the toppe,

For, still at holes the same doth runne, and droppe.”

“Every rose has its thorn,” or “No pleasure without pain,” receives

exemplification from several sources. Perriere (Emb. 30) and Whitney (p.

165) present us with a motto implying _No bitter without its sweet_, but

giving the gathering of a rose in illustration; thus the former writer,—

“_Post amara dulcia._”

“Qvi veult la ros[e/] au vert buysson saisir

Esmerueiller ne se doibt s’il se poinct.

Grãd biẽ na’uõs, sãs quelque desplaisir,

Plaisir ne vient sans douleur, si apoint.

Conclusion sommaire, c’est le point,

Qu’ apres douleur, on ha plaisir: souuẽt

Beau tẽps se voit, tost apres le grãt vẽt,

Grãd biẽ suruiẽt apres quelque maleur.

Parquoy pẽser doibt tout hõme scauãt,

Que volupté n’est iamais sans douleur.”

So Whitney (p. 165),—

[Illustration: _Whitney, 1586._]

“Sharpe prickes preserue the Rose, on euerie parte,

That who in haste to pull the same intendes,

Is like to pricke his fingers, till they smarte?

But being gotte, it makes him straight amendes

It is so freshe, and pleasant to the smell,

Thoughe he was prick’d, he thinkes he ventur’d well.

And he that faine woulde get the gallant rose,

And will not reache, for feare his fingers bleede;

A nettle, is more fitter for his nose?

Or hemblocke meete his appetite to feede?

None merites sweete, who tasted not the sower,

Who feares to climbe, deserues no fruicte, nor flower.”

In the Emblems of Otho Vænius (p. 160), Cupid is plucking a rose, to the

motto from Claudian, “ARMAT SPINA ROSAS, MELLA TEGUNT APES,”—Englished,

“_No pleasure without payn_.”

“In plucking of the rose is pricking of the thorne,

In the attayning sweet, is tasting of the sowre,

With ioy of loue is mixt the sharp of manie a showre,

But at the last obtayned, no labor is forlorne.”

The pretty song from _Love’s Labours Lost_ (act iv. sc. 3, l. 97, vol.

ii. p. 144), alludes to the thorny rose,—

“On a day—alack the day!

Love, whose month is ever May,

Spied a blossom passing fair

Playing in the wanton air:

Through the velvet leaves the wind.

All unseen, can passage find;

That the lover, sick to death,

Wish himself the heaven’s breath.

Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;

Air, would I might triumph so!

But, alack, my hand is sworn

Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn.”

The scene in the Temple-garden; the contest in plucking roses between

Richard Plantagenet and the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick (_1

Henry VI._, act ii. sc. 4, lines 30–75, vol. v. pp. 36, 37), continually

alludes to the thorns that may be found. We may sum the whole “brawl,”

as it is termed, into a brief space (l. 68),—

“_Plan._ Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

_Som._ Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

_Plan._ Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;

Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.”

“True as the needle to the pole,” is a saying which of course must have

originated since the invention of the mariner’s compass. Sambucus, in

his _Emblems_ (edition 1584, p. 84, or 1599, p. 79), makes the property

of the loadstone his emblem for the motto, _The mind remains unmoved_.

Mens immota manet.

[Illustration: _Sambucus, 1584._]

DICITVR _interna vi Magnes ferra mouere:

Perpetuò nautas dirigere inque viam.

Semper enim ſtellam firmè aſpicit ille polærem.

Indicat hac horas, nos variéque monet.

Mens vtinam in cælum nobis immota maneret,

Nec ſubitò dubiis fluctuet illa malis.

Pax coëat tandem, Chriſte, vnum claudat ouile,

Liſque tui verbi iam dirimatur ope.

Da, ſitiens anima excelſas ſic appetat arces:

Fontis vt ortiui ceruus anhelus aquas_.

In the latter part of his elegiacs Sambucus introduces another subject,

and gives a truly religious turn to the device,—

“Gather’d one fold, O Christ, let peace abound,

Be vanquish’d by thy word, our jarring strife;

Then thirsting souls seek towers on heavenly ground,

As pants the stag for gushing streams of life.”

The magnet’s power alone is kept in view by Whitney (p. 43),—

“By vertue hidde, behoulde, the Iron harde,

The loadestone drawes, to poynte vnto the starre:

Whereby, wee knowe the Seaman keepes his carde,

And rightlie shapes, his course to countries farre:

And on the pole, dothe euer keepe his eie,

And withe the same, his compasse makes agree.

Which shewes to vs, our inward vertues shoulde,

Still drawe our hartes, althoughe the iron weare:

The hauenlie starre, at all times to behoulde,

To shape our course, so right while wee bee heare:

That Scylla, and Charybdis, wee maie misse,

And winne at lengthe, the porte of endlesse blisse.”

The pole of heaven itself, rather than the magnetic needle, is in

Shakespeare’s dramas the emblem of constancy. Thus in the _Julius Cæsar_

(act iii. sc. 1, l. 58, vol. vii. p. 363), Metellus, Brutus, and Cassius

are entreating pardon for Publius Cimber, but Cæsar replies, in words

almost every one of which is an enforcement of the saying, “Mens immota

manet,”—

“I could be well moved, if I were as you;

If I could pray to move, prayers would move me:

But I am constant as the northern star,

Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality

There is no fellow in the firmament.

The skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks;

They are all fire and every one doth shine;

But there’s but one in all doth hold his place:

So in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men,

And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;

Yet in the number I do know but one

That unassailable holds on his rank.

Unshak’d of motion: and that I am he,

Let me a little show it, even in this;

That I was constant Cimber should be banish’d,

And constant do remain to keep him so.”

The _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act i. sc. I, l. 180, vol. ii. p. 205),

introduces Hermia greeting her rival Helena,—

“_Her._ God speed fair Helena! whither away?

_Hel._ Call you me fair? that fair again unsay.

Demetrius loves you fair: O happy fair!

Your eyes are lode-stars.”

The scene changes, Helena is following Demetrius, but he turns to her

and says (act ii. sc. 1, l. 194, vol. ii. p. 217),—

“Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more.

_Hel._ You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant;

But yet you draw not iron, for my heart

Is true as steel: leave but your power to draw,

And I shall have no power to follow you.”

The averment of his fidelity is thus made by Troilus to Cressida (act

iii. sc. 2, l. 169. vol. vi. p. 191),—

“As true as steel, as plantage to the moon,

As sun to day, as turtle to her mate,

As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre.

Yet after all comparisons of truth,

As truth’s authentic author to be cited,

‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse

And sanctify the numbers.”

So Romeo avers of one of his followers (act ii. sc. 4, l. 187, vol. vii.

p. 58),—

“I warrant thee, my man’s as true as steel.”

“EX MAXIMO MINIMVM,”—_Out of the greatest the least_,—is a saying

adopted by Whitney (p. 229), from the “PICTA POESIS” (p. 55) of Anulus,—

EX MAXIMO MINIMVM.

[Illustration: _Aneau, 1555._]

HAE _Sunt Relliquiæ Sacrarij, in quo

Fertur viua Dei fuiſse imago.

Hæc eſt illius, & domus ruina,

In qua olim Ratio tenebat arcem.

At nunc horribilis figura Mortis.

Ventoſum caput, haud habens cerebrum_.

Both writers make the proverb the groundwork of reflexions on a human

skull. According to Anulus, “the relics of the charnel house were once

the living images of God,”—“that ruin of a dome was formerly the citadel

of reason.” Whitney thus moralizes,—

“WHERE liuely once, GODS image was expreste,

Wherin, sometime was sacred reason plac’de,

The head, I meane, that is so ritchly bleste,

With sighte, with smell, with hearinge, and with taste.

Lo, nowe a skull, both rotten, bare, and drye,

A relike meete in charnell house to lye.”

The device and explanatory lines may well have given suggestion to the

half-serious, half-cynical remarks by Hamlet in the celebrated

grave-yard scene (_Hamlet_, act v. sc. 1, l. 73, vol. viii. p. 153). A

skull is noticed which one of the callous grave-diggers had just thrown

up upon the sod, and Hamlet says (l. 86),—

“That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave

jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain’s jaw-bone, that did the

first murder!”

And a little further on,—

“Here’s a fine revolution, an we had the trick to see’t. Did these

bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with ’em? mine

ache to think on’t.”[150]

And when Yorick’s skull is placed in his hand, how the Prince moralizes!

(l. 177),—

“Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where

be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,

that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own

grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell

her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her

laugh at that.”

And again (lines 191 and 200),—

“To what base uses we may return. Horatio!

. . . . . . .

Imperial Cæsar, dead, and turn’d to clay,

Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.”

Of the skull Anulus says, “Here reason held her citadel;” and the

expression has its parallel in Edward’s lament (3 _Henry VI._, act ii.

sc. 1, l. 68, vol. v. p. 252),—

“Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon;”

when he adds (l. 74),—

“Now my soul’s palace is become a prison;”

to which the more modern description corresponds,—

“The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.”

A far nobler emblem could be made, and I believe has been made, though I

cannot remember where, from those lines in _Richard II._ (act ii. sc. 1,

l. 267, vol. iv. p. 145), which allude to the death’s head and the light

of life within. Northumberland, Ross and Willoughby are discoursing

respecting the sad state of the king’s affairs, when Ross remarks,—

“We see the very wreck that we must suffer:

And unavoided is the danger now,

For suffering so the causes of our wreck.”

And Northumberland replies in words of hope (l. 270),—

“Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death

I spy life peering.”

It is a noble comparison, and most suggestive,—but of a flight higher

than the usual conceptions of the Emblem writers. Supplied to them they

could easily enough work it out into device and picture, but possess

scarcely power enough to give it origin.[151]

“A snake lies hidden in the grass,” is no unfrequent proverb; and

Paradin’s “DEVISES HEROIQVES” (41) set forth both the fact and the

application.

Latet anguis in herba.

[Illustration: _Paradin, 1562._]

_En cueillant les Fleurs, & les Fraizes des champs, ſe faut d’autant

garder du dangereus Serpent, qu’il nous peut enuenimer, & faire mourir

nos corps. Et auſsi en colligeant les belles autoritez, & graues

ſentences des liures, faut euiter d’autant les mauuaiſes opinions,

qu’elles nous peuuent peruertir, damner, & perdre nos ames._

From the same motto and device Whitney (p. 24) makes the application to

flatterers,—

“Of flattringe speeche, with sugred wordes beware,

Suspect the harte, whose face doth fawne, and smile,

With trusting theise, the worlde is clog’de with care,

And fewe there bee can scape theise vipers vile:

With pleasinge speeche they promise, and proteste,

When hatefull hartes lie hidd within their brest.”

According to the 2nd part of _Henry VI._ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 224, vol.

v. p. 158), the king speaks favourably of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester,

and Margaret the queen declares to the attendant nobles,—

“Henry my lord is cold in great affairs,

Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester’s show

Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile

With sorrow snares relenting passengers,

Or as the snake roll’d in a flowering bank,

With shining checker’d slough, doth sting a child,

That for the beauty thinks it excellent.”

In Lady Macbeth’s unscrupulous advice to her husband (_Macbeth_, act i.

sc. 5, l. 61, vol. vii. p. 438), the expressions occur,—

“Your face, my thane, is as a book where men

May read strange matters. To beguile the time,

Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye,

Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower,

But be the serpent under’t.”

Romeo slays Tybalt, kinsman to Julia, and the nurse announces the deed

to her (_Romeo and Juliet_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 69, vol. vii. p. 75),—

“_Nurse_. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished;

Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished.

_Jul_. O God! did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood?

_Nurse_. It did, it did; alas the day, it did!

_Jul_. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!

Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?

Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!

Dove-feather’d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!”

Though not illustrative of a Proverb, we will here conclude what has to

be remarked respecting Serpents. An Emblem in Paradin’s “DEVISES

HEROIQVES” (112) and in Whitney (p. 166), represents a serpent that has

fastened on a man’s finger, and that is being shaken off into a fire,

while the man remains unharmed; the motto, “Who against us?”—

Quis contra nos?

[Illustration: _Paradin, 1562._]

The scene described in the _Acts of the Apostles_, chap, xxviii. v. 3–6,

Paradin thus narrates,—

“_Saint Paul, en l’ iſle de Malte fut mordu d’vn Vipere: ce

neantmoins (quoi que les Barbares du lieu le cuidaſſent autrement) ne

valut pis de la morsure, secouant de sa main la Beste dans le feu: car

veretablement à qui Dieu veut aider, il n’y a rien que puiſse nuire._”

Whitney, along with exactly the same device, gives the full motto,—

“_Si Deus nobiscum, quis contra nos?_”

“His seruantes GOD preserues, thoughe they in danger fall:

Euen as from vipers deadlie bite, he kept th’ Appostle Paule.”

The action figured in this Emblem is spoken of in the _Midsummer Night’s

Dream_ (act iii. sc. 2, l, 254, vol. ii. p. 241). Puck has laid the

“love-juice” on the wrong eyes, and in consequence Lysander avows his

love for Helen instead of for Hermia; and the dialogue then proceeds,—

_Dem._ I say I love thee more than he can do.

_Lys._ If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too.

_Dem._ Quick, come!

_Her._ Lysander, whereto tends all this?

_Lys._ Away, you Ethiope!

_Dem._ No, no; he’ll ...

Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow,

But yet come not: you are a tame man, go!

_Lys._ Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose,

Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!”

Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope’s legate, in _King John_ (act iii. sc. 1, l.

258, vol. iv. p. 42), urges King Philip to be champion of the Church,

and says to him,—

“France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue,

A chafed lion by the mortal paw,

A fasting tiger safer by the tooth,

Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.”

King Richard’s address to the “gentle earth,” when he landed in Wales

(_Richard II._, act iii. sc. 2, l. 12, vol. iv. p. 164), calls us to the

Emblem of the snake entwined about the flower,—

“Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth,

Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense;

But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom,

And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way,

Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet

Which with usurping steps do trample thee:

Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies;

And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower,

Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder

Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch

Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.”

“The Engineer hoist with his own petar” may justly be regarded as a

proverbial saying. It finds its exact correspondence in Beza’s 8th

Emblem (edition 1580), in which for device is a cannon bursting, and

with one of its fragments killing the cannonier.

[Illustration: _Beza_, 1580.]

“_Cernis ut in cœlum fuerat quæ machina torta,

Fit iaculatori mors properata suo?

In sanctos quicunque Dei ruis impie seruos,

Conatus merces hæc manet vna tuas._”

Thus rendered into French in 1581,—

“Vois tu pas le canon braqué contre les cieux,

En se creuant creuer celui la qui le tire?

Le mesme t’aduiendra, cruel malicieux,

Qui lasches sur les bons les balles de ton ire.”

The sentiment is the same as that of the proverb in the motto which

Lebeus-Batillius prefixes to his 18th Emblem (edition 1596), “QVIBVS

REBVS CONFIDIMVS, IIS MAXIME EVERTIMVS,”—_To whatever things we trust,

by them chiefly are we overthrown_. The subject is Milo caught in the

cleft of the tree which he had riven by his immense strength; he is held

fast, and devoured by wolves.

The application of Beza’s Emblem is made by Hamlet (act iii. sc. 4, l.

205, vol. viii. p. 117), during the long interview with his mother, just

after he had said,—

“No, in despite of sense and secrecy,

Unpeg the basket on the house’s top,[152]

Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape,

To try conclusions, in the basket creep,

And break your own neck down.”

Then speaking of his plot and of the necessity which marshals him to

knavery, he adds,—

“Let it work;

For ’tis the sport to have the enginer

Hoist with his own petar: and ’t shall go hard

But I will delve one yard below their mines,

And blow them at the moon: O, ’tis most sweet

When in one line two crafts directly meet.”

[Illustration: _Horapollo, ed. 1551._]

-----

Footnote 108:

“Swallows have built

In Cleopatra’s sails their nests: the augurers

Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly

And dare not speak their knowledge.”

_Ant. & Cleop._, act 4, sc. 12, l. 3.

Footnote 109:

“Nec, si miserum fortuna Sinonem

Finxit, vanum etiam mendacemque improba finget.”

“Talibus insidiis, perjurique arte Sinonis,

Credita res: captique dolis, lachrymisque coactis,

Quos neque Tydides, nec Larissæus Achilles,

Non anni domuêre decem, non mille carinæ.”

“fatisque Deûm defensus iniquis,

Inclusos utero Danaos et pinea furtim

Laxat claustra Sinon.”

Footnote 110:

The text of Sambucus is dedicated to his father, Peter Sambukius.

“DVM _rigidos artus elephas, dum membra quiete

Subleuat, assuetis nititur arboribus:

Quas vbi venator didicit, succidit ab imo,

Paulatim vt recubans belua mole ruat.

Tam leuiter capitur duri qui in prœlia Martis

Arma, viros, turrim, tergore vectat opes.

Nusquam tuta fides, nimium ne crede quieti,

Sæpius & tutis decipiere locis.

Hippomenes pomis Schœneïda vicit amatam,

Sic Peliam natis Colchis acerba necat.

Sic nos decipiunt dedimus quibus omnia nestra:

Saltem conantur deficiente fide._”

Footnote 111:

“A snake worn out with cold a rustic found,

And cherished in his breast doth rashly warm;

Thankless the snake inflicts a fatal wound,

And life restored requites with deadly harm.

If badly benefits thou dost intend,

Simple of heart and good within thy mind,—

No benefits suppose them in their end,

But deeds of evil and of evil kind.

To serve the thankless is a sinful thing,

And wicked they who wilfully give pain;

Whatever with free soul of good thou bring,

This rightfully thou may’st account true gain.”

Footnote 112:

_Schiller’s Werke_, band 8, pp. 426–7. “Die Regierung dieser Stadt war

in allzu viele Hände vortheilt, und der stürmischen Menge ein viel zu

grossen Antheil daran gegeben, als dasz man mit Ruhe hätte überlegen

mit Einsieht wählen und mit Festigkeit ausführenkönnen.”

Footnote 113:

As Whitney describes him (p. 110, l. 27),—

“_Augustus_ eeke, that happie most did raigne,

The scourge to them, that had his vnkle slaine.”

Footnote 114:

“His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit,

A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain,

And rush’d into the bowels of the battle.”

_1 Henry VI._, act. i. sc. 1, l. 127.

Footnote 115:

See _Gentleman’s Magazine_, 1778, p. 470; 1821, pt. 1, p. 531; and

_Archæologia_, vol. xix. pt. 1, art. x. Also, Blomfield’s _Norfolk_,

vol. v. p. 1600.

Footnote 116:

“But a prince slow for punishments, swift for rewards;

To whomsoever he grieves, how often is he forced to be severe.”

Footnote 117:

“If as often as men sin his thunderbolts he should send,

Jupiter, in very brief time, without arms will be.”

Footnote 118:

“The Heraulte, that proclaims the daie at hande,

The Cocke I meane, that wakés vs out of sleepe,

On steeple highe, doth like a watchman stande:

The gate beneath, a Lion still doth keepe.

And why? theise two, did alder time decree,

That at the Churche, theire places still should bee.

That pastors, shoulde like watchman still be preste,

To wake the worlde, that sleepeth in his sinne,

And rouse them vp, that longe are rock’d in reste,

And shewe the daie of Christe, will straighte beginne:

And to foretell, and preache, that light deuine,

Euen as the Cocke doth singe, ere daie doth shine.

The Lion shewes, they shoulde of courage bee

And able to defende, their flocke from foes:

If rauening wolfes, to lie in waite they see:

They shoulde be stronge, and boulde, with them to close:

And so be arm’de with learning, and with life,

As they might keepe, their charge, from either strife.”

Footnote 119: