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._