PAGE
THE EPISTLE ix
THE GENERAL ARGUMENT xix
JANUARIE. Ægloga Prima 1
FEBRUARIE. Ægloga Secunda 7
MARCH. Ægloga Tertia 17
APRIL. Ægloga Quarta 23
MAY. Ægloga Quinta 31
JUNE. Ægloga Sexta 43
JULY. Ægloga Septima 51
AUGUST. Ægloga Octava 61
SEPTEMBER. Ægloga Nona 71
OCTOBER. Ægloga Decima 81
NOVEMBER. Ægloga Undecima 89
DECEMBER. Ægloga Duodecima 99
EPILOGUE 107
NOTES 109
GLOSSARY 113
TO THE MOST EXCELLENT AND LEARNED
BOTH ORATOR AND POET,
MAISTER GABRIEL HARVEY,
His very special and singular good friend E. K. commendeth the good
liking of this his good labour, and the patronage of the new Poet.
Uncouth, unkiss'd, said the old famous poet Chaucer: whom for his
excellency and wonderful skill in making, his scholar Lidgate, a worthy
scholar of so excellent a maister, calleth the loadstar of our language:
and whom our Colin Clout in his Æglogue, calleth Tityrus the god of
shepheards, comparing him to the worthiness of the Roman Tityrus,
Virgil. Which proverb, mine own good friend M. Harvey, as in that good
old poet it served well Pandar's purpose for the bolstering of his bawdy
brocage, so very well taketh place in this our new Poet, who for that he
is uncouth (as said Chaucer) is unkiss'd, and unknown to most men, is
regarded but of a few. But I doubt not, so soon as his name shall come
into the knowledge of men, and his worthiness be sounded in the trump of
Fame, but that he shall be not only kiss'd, but also beloved of all,
embraced of the most, and wonder'd at of the best. No less, I think,
deserveth his wittiness in devising, his pithiness in uttering, his
complaints of love so lovely, his discourses of pleasure so pleasantly,
his pastoral rudeness, his moral wiseness, his due observing of decorum
every where, in personages, in seasons, in matter, in speech; and
generally, in all seemly simplicity of handling his matters, and framing
his words: the which of many things which in him be strange, I know will
seem the strangest, and words themselves being so ancient, the knitting
of them so short and intricate, and the whole period and compass of
speech so delightsome for the roundness, and so grave for the
strangeness. And first of the words to speak, I grant they be something
hard, and of most men unused, yet both English, and also used of most
excellent authors, and most famous poets. In whom, when as this our Poet
hath been much travailed and throughly read, how could it be, (as that
worthy orator said) but that walking in the sun, although for other
cause he walked, yet needs he must be sunburnt; and, having the sound of
those ancient poets still ringing in his ears, he must needs, in
singing, hit out some of their tunes. But whether he useth them by such
casualty and custom, or of set purpose and choice, as thinking them
fittest for such rustical rudeness of shepheards, either for that their
rough sound would make his rhymes more ragged and rustical; or else
because such old and obsolete words are most used of country folk, sure
I think, and think I think not amiss, that they bring great grace, and,
as one would say, authority to the verse. For albe, amongst many other
faults, it specially be objected of Valla against Livy, and of other
against Sallust, that with over much study they affect antiquity, as
covering thereby credence and honour of elder years; yet I am of
opinion, and eke the best learned are of the like, that those ancient
solemn words are a great ornament, both in the one, and in the other:
the one labouring to set forth in his work an eternal image of
antiquity, and the other carefully discoursing matters of gravity and
importance. For, if my memory fail not, Tully in that book, wherein he
endeavoureth to set forth the pattern of a perfect orator, saith that
ofttimes an ancient word maketh the style seem grave, and as it were
reverend, no otherwise than we honour and reverence gray hairs for a
certain religious regard, which we have of old age. Yet neither every
where must old words be stuffed in, nor the common dialect and manner of
speaking so corrupted thereby, that, as in old buildings, it seem
disorderly and ruinous. But all as in most exquisite pictures they use
to blaze and pourtray not only the dainty lineaments of beauty, but also
round about it to shadow the rude thickets and craggy clifts, that, by
the baseness of such parts, more excellency may accrue to the
principal: for oftentimes we find ourselves, I know not how, singularly
delighted with the shew of such natural rudeness, and take great
pleasure in that disorderly order. Even so do those rough and harsh
terms enlumine, and make more clearly to appear, the brightness of brave
and glorious words. So oftentimes a discord in music maketh a comely
concordance: so great delight took the worthy poet Alceus to behold a
blemish in the joint of a well-shaped body. But, if any will rashly
blame such his purpose in choice of old and unwonted words, him may I
more justly blame and condemn, or of witless headiness in judging, or of
heedless hardiness in condemning: for, not marking the compass of his
bent, he will judge of the length of his cast: for in my opinion it is
one especial praise of many, which are due to this Poet, that he hath
laboured to restore, as to their rightful heritage, such good and
natural English words, as have been long time out of use, and almost
clean disherited. Which is the only cause, that our mother tongue, which
truly of itself is both full enough for prose, and stately enough for
verse, hath long time been counted most bare and barren of both. Which
default when as some endeavoured to salve and recure, they patched up
the holes with pieces and rags of other languages, borrowing here of
the French, there of the Italian, every where of the Latin; not
weighing how ill those tongues accord with themselves, but much worse
with ours: So now they have made our English tongue a gallimaufrey, or
hodgepodge of all other speeches. Other some not so well seen in the
English tongue, as perhaps in other languages, if they happen to hear an
old word, albeit very natural and significant, cry out straightway, that
we speak no English, but gibberish, or rather such as in old time
Evander's mother spake: whose first shame is, that they are not ashamed,
in their own mother tongue, to be counted strangers and aliens. The
second shame no less than the first, that what so they understand not,
they straightway deem to be senseless, and not at all to be understood.
Much like to the mole in Æsop's fable, that, being blind herself, would
in no wise be persuaded that any beast could see. The last, more
shameful than both, that of their own country and natural speech, which
together with their nurse's milk they sucked, they have so base regard
and bastard judgment, that they will not only themselves not labour to
garnish and beautify it, but also repine, that of other it should be
embellished. Like to the dog in the manger, that himself can eat no hay,
and yet barketh at the hungry bullock, that so fain would feed: whose
currish kind, though it cannot be kept from barking, yet I conne them
thank that they refrain from biting.
Now, for the knitting of sentences, which they call the joints and
members thereof, and for all the compass of the speech, it is round
without roughness, and learned without hardness, such indeed as may be
perceived of the least, understood of the most, but judged only of the
learned. For what in most English writers useth to be loose, and as it
were unright, in this Author is well grounded, finely framed, and
strongly trussed up together. In regard whereof, I scorn and spue out
the rakehelly rout of our ragged rhymers (for so themselves use to hunt
the letter) which without learning boast, without judgment jangle,
without reason rage and foam, as if some instinct of poetical spirit had
newly ravished them above the meanness of common capacity. And being, in
the midst of all their bravery, suddenly, either for want of matter, or
rhyme; or having forgotten their former conceit; they seem to be so
pained and travailed in their remembrance, as it were a woman in
childbirth, or as that same Pythia, when the trance came upon her. "_Os
rabidum fera corda domans_," etc.
Nathless, let them a God's name feed on their own folly, so they seek
not to darken the beams of others' glory. As for Colin, under whose
person the Author's self is shadowed, how far he is from such vaunted
titles and glorious shews, both himself sheweth, where he saith:
"Of Muses, Hobbin, I conne no skill."
And,
"Enough is me to paint out my unrest," etc.
And also appeareth by the baseness of the name, wherein it seemeth he
chose rather to unfold great matter of argument covertly than,
professing it, not suffice thereto accordingly. Which moved him rather
in Æglogues than otherwise to write, doubting perhaps his ability, which
he little needed, or minding to furnish our tongue with this kind,
wherein it faulteth; or following the example of the best and most
ancient poets, which devised this kind of writing, being both so base
for the matter, and homely for the manner, at the first to try their
abilities; and as young birds, that be newly crept out of the nest, by
little first prove their tender wings, before they make a greater
flight. So flew Theocritus, as you may perceive he was already full
fledged. So flew Virgil, as not yet well feeling his wings. So flew
Mantuane, as not being full somm'd. So Petrarch. So Boccace. So Marot,
Sanazarius, and also divers other excellent both Italian and French
poets, whose footing this author every where followeth: yet so as few,
but they be well scented, can trace him out. So finally flieth this our
new Poet as a bird whose principals be scarce grown out, but yet as one
that in time shall be able to keep wing with the best. Now, as touching
the general drift and purpose of his Æglogues, I mind not to say much,
himself labouring to conceal it. Only this appeareth, that his unstayed
youth had long wander'd in the common labyrinth of love, in which time
to mitigate and allay the heat of his passion, or else to warn (as he
saith) the young shepheards, his equals and companions, of his
unfortunate folly, he compiled these twelve Æglogues, which, for that
they be proportioned to the state of the twelve monethes, he termeth it
the _Shepheard's Calender_, applying an old name to a new work. Hereunto
have I added a certain gloss, or scholion, for the exposition of old
words and harder phrases; which manner of glossing and commenting, well
I wot, will seem strange and rare in our tongue: yet, for so much as I
knew many excellent and proper devices, both in words and matter, would
pass in the speedy course of reading either as unknown, or as not
marked; and that in this kind, as in other, we might be equal to the
learned of other nations; I thought good to take the pains upon me, the
rather for that by means of some familiar acquaintance I was made privy
to his counsel and secret meaning in them, as also in sundry other
works of his. Which albeit I know he nothing so much hateth, as to
promulgate, yet thus much have I adventured upon his friendship, himself
being for long time far estranged; hoping that this will the rather
occasion him to put forth divers other excellent works of his, which
sleep in silence; as his _Dreams_, his _Legends_, his _Court of Cupid_,
and sundry others, whose commendation to set out were very vain, the
things though worthy of many, yet being known to few. These my present
pains, if to any they be pleasurable or profitable, be you judge, mine
own Maister Harvey, to whom I have both in respect of your worthiness
generally, and otherwise upon some particular and special
considerations, vowed this my labour, and the maidenhead of this our
common friend's poetry; himself having already in the beginning
dedicated it to the noble and worthy gentleman, the right worshipful
Maister Philip Sidney, a special favourer and maintainer of all kind of
learning. Whose cause, I pray you, sir, if envy shall stir up any
wrongful accusation, defend with your mighty rhetoric and other your
rathe gifts of learning, as you can, and shield with your good will, as
you ought, against the malice and outrage of so many enemies, as I know
will be set on fire with the sparks of his kindled glory. And thus
recommending the Author unto you, as unto his most special good friend,
and myself unto you both, as one making singular account of two so very
good and so choice friends, I bid you both most heartily farewell, and
commit you and your commendable studies to the tuition of the Greatest.
Your own assuredly to be commanded,
E. K.[1]
P.S.--Now I trust, M. Harvey, that upon sight of your special friend's
and fellow poet's doings, or else for envy of so many unworthy Quidams,
which catch at the garland which to you alone is due, you will be
persuaded to pluck out of the hateful darkness those so many excellent
English poems of yours which lie hid, and bring them forth to eternal
light. Trust me, you do both them great wrong, in depriving them of the
desired sun; and also yourself, in smothering your deserved praises; and
all men generally, in withholding from them so divine pleasures, which
they might conceive of your gallant English verses, as they have already
done of your Latin poems, which, in my opinion, both for invention and
elocution are very delicate and super-excellent. And thus again I take
my leave of my good M. Harvey. From my lodging at London this tenth of
April 1579.
THE
GENERAL ARGUMENT OF
THE WHOLE BOOK.
Little, I hope, needeth me at large to discourse the first original of
Æglogues, having already touched the same. But, for the word Æglogues I
know is unknown to most, and also mistaken of some of the best learned,
(as they think,) I will say somewhat thereof, being not at all
impertinent to my present purpose.
They were first of the Greeks, the inventors of them, called _Aeglogai,
as it were Aegon, or Aeginomon logi_, that is, Goatherds' tales. For
although in Virgil and others the speakers be more shepheards than
goatherds, yet Theocritus, in whom is more ground of authority than in
Virgil, this specially from that deriving, as from the first head and
wellspring, the whole invention of these Æglogues maketh goatherds the
persons and authors of his tales. This being, who seeth not the
grossness of such as by colour of learning would make us believe, that
they are more rightly termed _Eclogai_, as they would say, extraordinary
discourses of unnecessary matter: which definition albe in substance and
meaning it agree with the nature of the thing, yet no whit answereth
with the analysis and interpretation of the word. For they be not termed
_Eclogues_, but _Æglogues_; which sentence this Author very well
observing, upon good judgment, though indeed few goatherds have to do
herein, nevertheless doubteth not to call them by the used and best
known name. Other curious discourses hereof I reserve to greater
occasion.
These twelve Æglogues, every where answering to the seasons of the
twelve monethes, may be well divided into three forms or ranks. For
either they be plaintive, as the first, the sixth, the eleventh, and the
twelfth; or recreative, such as all those be, which contain matter of
love, or commendation of special personages; or moral, which for the
most part be mixed with some satyrical bitterness; namely, the second,
of reverence due to old age; the fifth, of coloured deceit; the seventh
and ninth, of dissolute shepheards and pastors; the tenth, of contempt
of Poetry and pleasant Wits. And to this division may every thing herein
be reasonably applied; a few only except, whose special purpose and
meaning I am not privy to. And thus much generally of these twelve
Æglogues. Now will we speak particularly of all, and first of the first,
which he calleth by the first moneth's name, Januarie: wherein to some
he may seem foully to have faulted, in that he erroneously beginneth
with that moneth, which beginneth not the year. For it is well known,
and stoutly maintained with strong reasons of the learned, that the year
beginneth in March; for then the sun reneweth his finished course, and
the seasonable spring refresheth the earth, and the pleasance thereof,
being buried in the sadness of the dead winter now worn away, reliveth.
This opinion maintain the old Astrologers and Philosophers, namely, the
reverend Andalo, and Macrobius in his _Holy Days of Saturn_; which
account also was generally observed both of Grecians and Romans. But,
saving the leave of such learned heads, we maintain a custom of counting
the seasons from the moneth Januarie, upon a more special cause than the
heathen Philosophers ever could conceive, that is, for the Incarnation
of our mighty Saviour, and Eternal Redeemer the Lord Christ, who as then
renewing the state of the decayed world, and returning the compass of
expired years to their former date and first commencement, left to us
his heirs a memorial of his birth in the end of the last year and
beginning of the next. Which reckoning, beside that eternal monument of
our salvation, leaneth also upon good proof of special judgment.
For albeit that in elder times, when as yet the count of the year was
not perfected, as afterward it was by Julius Cæsar, they began to tell
the monethes from March's beginning, and according to the same, God (as
is said in Scripture) commanded the people of the Jews, to count the
moneth _Abib_, that which we call March, for the first moneth, in
remembrance that in that moneth he brought them out of the land of
Egypt: yet, according to tradition of latter times it hath been
otherwise observed, both in government of the Church and rule of
mightiest realms. For from Julius Cæsar who first observed the leap
year, which he called _Bissextilem Annum_, and brought into a more
certain course the odd wand'ring days which of the Greeks were called
_Hyperbainontes_, of the Romans _Intercalares_, (for in such matter of
learning I am forced to use the terms of the learned,) the monethes have
been numbered twelve, which in the first ordinance of Romulus were but
ten, counting but 304 days in every year, and beginning with March. But
Numa Pompilius, who was the father of all the Roman ceremonies and
religion, seeing that reckoning to agree neither with the course of the
sun nor the moon, thereunto added two monethes, Januarie and Februarie;
wherein it seemeth, that wise king minded upon good reason to begin the
year at Januarie, of him therefore so called _tanquam janua anni_, the
gate and entrance of the year; or of the name of the god _Janus_, to
which god for that the old Paynims attributed the birth and beginning of
all creatures new coming into the world, it seemeth that he _therefore_
to him assigned the beginning and first entrance of the year. Which
account for the most part hath hitherto continued: notwithstanding that
the Egyptians begin their year at September; for that, according to the
opinion of the best Rabbins and very purpose of the Scripture itself,
God made the world in that moneth, that is called of them _Tisri_. And
therefore he commanded them to keep the feast of Pavilions in the end of
the year, in the xv. day of the seventh moneth, which before that time
was the first.
But our author, respecting neither the subtilty of the one part, nor the
antiquity of the other, thinketh it fittest, according to the simplicity
of common understanding, to begin with Januarie; weening it perhaps no
_decorum_ that shepheards should be seen in matter of so deep insight,
or canvass a case of so doubtful judgment. So therefore beginneth he,
and so continueth he throughout.
[Illustration: JANUARIE
AEGLOGA
PRIMA