Peccant Shakespeare

[Dennis]

My Shakespeare - Peccant not Perfect



Peccare (Latin)



Definitions:

1. be wrong

2. blunder, stumble

3. do wrong, commit moral offense

4. sin



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Disproportionate Droeshout Figure – Inequalis Tonsor/Ambisinister – WRONG in both hands/not dexterous



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Jonson, Timber

De Poetica. - We have spoken sufficiently of oratory, let us now make a diversion to poetry. Poetry, in the primogeniture, had many PECCANT HUMOURS, and is made to have more now, through the LEVITY AND INCONSTANCY of MENS JUDGEMENTS. Whereas, indeed, it is the most prevailing eloquence, and of the most exalted caract. Now the discredits and disgraces are many it hath received through men' s study of depravation or calumny; their practice being to give it diminution of credit, by lessening the professor' s estimation, and making THE AGE afraid of their liberty; and THE AGE is grown so tender of her fame, as she calls all writings aspersions.



That is the state word, the PHRASE OF COURT (placentia college), which some call Parasites Place, the INN OF IGNORANCE.



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Bacon, Advancement of Learning



V

PECCANT HUMOURS in Learning

THus have we at length gone over the three Distem∣pers or Diseases of Learning; besides the which, there are other, rather PECCANT HUMORS, than confir∣med Diseases, which neverthelesse are not so secret and in∣trinsique, but that they fall under a popular sense and reprehension, and therefore are not to be passed over.

I The first of these is an extreme affection of two extremi∣ties, Antiquity and Novelty; wherein the daughters of Time, doe take after the Father; for as Time devoureth his children, so these, one of them seeketh to depresse the other; while Antiquity envieth there should be new Additions; and Novel∣ty can not be content to adde things recent, but it must de∣face and reject the old. Surely the advice of the Prophet is the true direction in this case,*state super vias antiquas & vi∣dete quaenam fit via recta & bona & ambulate in ea: Antiquity deserveth that reverence, that men should make a stay a while, and stand thereupon, and look about to discover which is the best way; but when the discovery is well ta∣ken, than not to rest there, but cheerefully to make progres∣sion. Indeed to speak truly, Antiquitas seculi, Juventus Mun∣di, Certainly our times are the Ancient times, when the world is now Ancient, and not those which we count An∣cient, ordine retrogrado, by a computation backward from our own times.

II An other error induced by the former is, a suspition and diffidence, that any thing should be now to be found out, which the world should have mist and past over so long time: as if the same objection might be made to Time,* wherewith Lucian reproacheth Iupiter, and other the Heathen Gods, For he wonders that they begot so many children in old time, and begot none in his time? and askes in scoffing manner, whether they were now become Septuagenary, or whether the Law Papia; made against old mens mariages, had restrained them? So it seemes men doubt least time is become past children and generation. *Nay rather the LEVITY and INCONSTANCY of MENS JUDGEMENTS, is hence plainly discovered, which untill a matter be done, wonder it can be done. So Alexander's expedition in∣to Asia was prejudg'd as a vast and impossible enterprize; yet afterwards it pleased Livie, so to slight it as to say of A∣lexander,*Nil aliud quam bene ausus est vana contemnere: The same hapned unto Columbus in the westerne Navigation. But in intellectuall matters it is much more common,(...)

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Peccant \Pec"cant\, a. [L. peccans, -antis, p. pr. of peccare to sin: cf. F. peccant.]

1. guilty of an offence; corrupt

2. violating or disregarding a rule; faulty

3. producing disease; morbid

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Horace, of the Art of Poetrie

transl. Ben Jonson



If to Quintilius, you recited ought:

Hee'd say, Mend this, good friend, and this; "Tis naught.

If you denied, you had no better straine,

And twice, or thrice had 'ssayd it, still in vaine:

Hee'd bid, BLOT ALL: and to the anvile bring

Those ill-torn'd Verses, to new hammering.



Then: If your fault you rather had defend

Then change. No word, or worke, more would he spend

In vaine, BUT YOU, AND YOURS, YOU should LOVE STILL

Alone, without a rivall, by his will.

A wise, and honest man will cry out shame

On artlesse Verse; the hard ones he will blame;

Blot out the careless, with his turned pen;

Cut off superfluous ornaments; and when

They're darke, bid cleare this: all that's doubtfull wrote

Reprove; and, what is to be changed, not:

Become an Aristarchus. And, not say,

Why should I grieve my friend, this TRIFLING WAY?

These trifles into serious mischiefs lead

The man once mock'd, and suffered WRONG TO TREAD.



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Bacon, Advancement Learning



III An other error which hath some affinity with the former is, a conceit That all sects and ancient opinions, after they have bin discussed and ventilated; the best still prevail'd and supprest the rest. Wherefore they think that if a man should begin the labour of a new search and examination, he must needs light upon somewhat formerly rejected, and after re∣jection, lost, and brought into oblivion: as if the multitude, or the wisest, to gratify the multitude, were not more ready to give passage to that which is populare and superficiall; than to that which is substantiall and profound. For Time seemeth to be of the nature of a River, *which carrieth down to us that which is light and blown up, and sinketh and drowneth that which is waighty and solid*.



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Raising a Hollow/Light Praise:


Soul of the age!

The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage!

My Shakespeare, RISE!


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Bacon and Jonson – Levity and Inconstancy of Mens Judgements


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Levity



Levity originally was thought to be a physical force exactly like gravity but pulling in the opposite direction, like the helium in a balloon. As recently as the 19th century, scientists were still arguing about its existence. Today levity refers only to lightness in manner. To stern believers of some religious faiths, levity is often regarded as almost sinful.



Synonyms

facetiousness, flightiness, flippancy, frivolity, frivolousness, frothiness, light-headedness, light-mindedness, lightness, silliness



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Amorphus: ALTEZZA INGEGNO



Jonson, _Cynthia's Revels_.



AMORPHUS. And there's her minion, Crites: why his advice more than

Amorphus? Have I not INVENTION afore him? LEARNING to better

that INVENTION above him? and INFANTED with PLEASANT TRAVEL



– [PARAPHRASE OF SOUTHERN’S ODE TO Oxford in his _Pandora_.]



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Jonson, Cynthia's Revels - censuring Amorphus and his crew of courtly

revellers.( if we once but fancy levity)



Crites: O VANITY [vanus/empty],

How are thy painted beauties doted on,

By LIGHT AND EMPTY IDIOTS how pursu'd

With open and extended Appetite!

How they do sweat, and run themselves from breath,

Rais'd on their Toes, to catch thy AIRY FORMS,

Still turning GIDDY, till they reel like Drunkards,

That buy the merry madness of one hour,

With the long irksomness of following time!

O how despis'd and base a thing is a Man,

If he not strive t'erect his groveling Thoughts

Above the strain of Flesh! But how more cheap,

When, even his best and understanding Part,

(The crown and strength of all his Faculties)

Floats like a dead drownd Body, on the Stream

Of vulgar humour, mixt with common'st dregs?

I suffer for their Guilt now, and my Soul

(Like one that looks on ill-affected Eyes)

Is hurt with mere intention on their Follies.

Why will I view them then? my sense might ask me:

Or is't a rarity, or some new object,

That strains my strict observance to this Point?

O would it were, therein I could afford

My Spirit should draw a little neer to theirs,

To gaze on novelties: so Vice were one.

Tut, she is stale, rank, foul, and were it not

That those (that woo her) greet her with lockt Eyes,

(In spight of all the impostures, paintings, drugs,

Which her Bawd custom dawbs her Cheeks withal)

She would betray her loath'd and leprous Face,

And fright th' enamour'd dotards from themselves:

But such is the perverseness of our nature,

That IF WE ONCE BUT FANCY LEVITY,

(How antick and ridiculous so ere

It sute with us) yet will our muffled thought

Choose rather not to see it, than avoid it:

And if we can but banish our own sense,

We act our mimick tricks with that free license,

That lust, that pleasure, that security,

*As if we practis'd in a Paste-board Case*,

And no one saw the motion, but the motion.

Well, check thy passion, lest it grow too lowd:

"While fools are pittied, they wax fat and proud



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William Cartwright:



...Shakespeare to thee was DULL, whose best jest lyes

I'th Ladies questions, and the Fooles replyes;

Old fashion'd wit, which walkt from town to town

In turn'd Hose, which our fathers call'd the CLOWN;

Whose wit our nice times would obsceannesse call,

And which made Bawdry passe for Comicall:

Nature was all his Art, thy veine was FREE

As his, but without his SCURILITY;



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Sidney, Defense of Poetry



But, besides these gross absurdities, how all their plays be neither right tragedies nor right comedies, mingling kings and clowns, not because the matter so carrieth it, but thrust in the clown by head and shoulders to play a part in majestical matters, with neither decency nor discretion; so as neither the admiration and commiseration, nor the right sportfulness, is by their mongrel tragi-comedy obtained. I know Apuleius did somewhat so, but that is a thing recounted with space of time, not represented in one moment; and I know the ancients have one or two examples of tragi-comedies, as Plautus hath Amphytrio. But, if we mark them well, we shall find that they never, or very daintily, match hornpipes and funerals. So falleth it out that, having indeed no right comedy in that comical part of our tragedy, we have nothing but scurrility, unworthy of any chaste ears, or some extreme show of doltishness, indeed fit to lift up a loud laughter, and nothing else; where the whole tract of a comedy should be full of delight, as the tragedy should be still maintained in a well-raised admiration.



(snip)



But our comedians think there is no delight without laughter, which is very wrong; for though laughter may come with delight, yet cometh it not of delight, as though delight should be the cause of laughter; but well may one thing breed both together. Nay, rather in themselves they have, as it were, a kind of contrariety. For delight we scarcely do, but in things that have a conveniency to ourselves, or to the general nature; laughter almost ever cometh of things most disproportioned to ourselves and nature. Delight hath a joy in it either permanent or present; laughter hath only a scornful tickling...But I have lavished out too many words of this playmatter. I do it, because as they are excelling parts of poesy, so is there none so much used in England, and none can be more pitifully abused; which, like an unmannerly daughter, showing a bad education, causeth her mother Poesy`s honesty to be called in question.

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Dull Grinning Ignorance:



John Beaumont , Jonsonus Virbius



...Twas he that found (plac'd) in the seat of wit,

DULL grinning IGNORANCE, and banish'd it;

He on the prostituted stage appears

To make men hear, not by their eyes, but ears;

Who painted virtues, that each one might know,

And point the man, that did such treasure owe :

So that who could in JONSON'S lines be high

Needed not honours, or a riband buy ;

But vice he only shewed us in a glass,

Which by reflection of those rays that pass,

Retains the figure lively, set before,

And that withdrawn, reflects at us no more;

So, he observ'd the like decorum, when

*He whipt the vices, and yet spar'd the men* :

When heretofore, the Vice's only note,

And sign from virtue was his party-coat;

When devils were the last men on the stage,

And pray'd for plenty, and the PRESENT AGE.


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Jonson's Epigrams:

To the great Example of Honour, and Vertue , the most
Noble William, Earl of Pembroke, Lord Chamberlain, &c.

M Y L O R D,

While you cannot change your Merit, I dare not change your Title: It was you that made it, and not I. Under which Name, I here offer to your Lordship the ripest of my Studies, my Epigrams; which, though they carry danger in the sound, do not therefore seek your shelter: For, when I made them, I had nothing in my Conscience, to expressing of which I did need a Cypher. But, if I be fallen into those Times, wherein, for the likeness of Vice, and Facts, every one thinks anothers ill Deeds objected to him; and that in their ignorant and guilty Mouths, the common Voice is (for their security) Beware the Poet, confessing, therein, SO MUCH LOVE TO THEIR DISEASES, as they would rather make a Party for them, than be either rid, or told of them: I must expect, at your Lordship's hand, the protection of Truth, and Liberty, while you are constant to your own Goodness. In thanks whereof, I return you the Honour of leading forth so many good, and great Names (as my Verses mention on the better part) to their remembrance with Posterity. Amongst whom, if I have praised, unfortunately, any one, that doth not deserve; or, if all answer not, in all Numbers, the Pictures I have made of them: I hope it will be forgiven me, that they are no ill Pieces, though they be not like the Persons. But I foresee a nearer Fate to my Book than this, That the Vices therein will be own'd before the Vertues, (though, there, I have avoided all Particulars, as I have done Names) and some will be so ready to discredit me, as they will have the impudence to bely themselves. For, if I meant them not, it is so. Nor, can I hope otherwise. For, why should they remit any thing of their Riot, their Pride, their Self-love, and other inherent Graces, to consider Truth or Vertue; but, with the Trade of the World, lend their long Ears against Men they love not: And hold their dear MOUNTEBANK, or JESTER, in far better Condition than all the Study, or Studiers of Humanity? For such, I would rather know them by their VISARDS, still, than they should publish their FACES, at their peril, in my Theatre, where C A T O, if he liv'd, might enter without scandal. By your Lordship's most faithfull Honourer,



B E N. J O H N S O N.

Ben Jonson's Epigrams

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Peccant Humours/disease/distemper



Disease/Water/Uroscopy

mount/bank

Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were

TO SEE THEE IN OUR WATERS yet appear,

And make those FLIGHTS UPON the BANKS of Thames,

That so did TAKE Eliza and our James!


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HORACE., Ars Poet. 1.

Suppose a painter wished to couple a horse’s neck with a man’s head,

and to lay feathers of every hue on limbs gathered here and there, so

that a woman, lovely above, foully ended in an ugly fish below; would

you restrain your laughter, my friends, if admitted to a private view?

Believe me…a BOOK will appear uncommonly like that PICTURE, if

impossible figures are wrought into it – *like a sick man’s dreams* –

with the result that neither head nor foot is ascribed to a single

shape, and unity is lost*.



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In his translation of Horace’s _Art of Poetry_ Jonson translates ‘Minerva’ as ‘Nature’



Alexander Pope

...of all English Poets Shakespear must be confessed to be the fairest and fullest subject for Criticism, and to afford the most numerous, as well as the most conspicuous instances, both of beauties and FAULTS of all sorts. (ibid. p. i)

(snip)

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Pope, Preface to Shakespeare



...the images of Life were to be drawn from those of their [the audience’s] own rank: accordingly we find, that not our Author’s only but almost all the old Comedies have their Scene among Tradesmen and Mechaniks: and even their Historical Plays strictly follow the common Old Stories or Vulgar Traditions of that kind of people. In Tragedy, nothing was so sure to Surprize and cause Admiration, as the most strange, unexpected, and consequently most unnatural, Events and Incidents; the most exaggerated Thoughts; the most verbose and bombast Expression; the most pompous Rhymes, and thundering Versification. In Comedy, nothing was so sure to please, as mean bufoonery, vile ribaldry, and unmannerly jests of fools and clowns. (Preface to edition, p. v)



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Mix head with heels? Levity or inversion?

Bartholomew Fair: Jonson

The Induction on the Stage:

(SNIP)

It is also agreed, That every Man here exercise his

own Judgment, and not *Censure by Contagion*, or upon

trust, from anothers Voice, or Face, that sits by him,

be he never so first in the *Commission of Wit*: As also,

that he be fixt and settled in his Censure, that what he

approves, or not approves to day, he will do the same

to morrow; and if to morrow, the next day, and so

the next week (if need be:) and not to be brought

about by any that sits on the Bench with him, though

they indite and arraign Plays daily. He that will swear,

Jeronimo, or Andronicus are the best Plays, yet shall pass

unexcepted at here, as a Man whose JUDGEMENT shews it

is CONSTANT



[NOTE-LEVITY AND INCONSTANCY OF Mens JUDGEMENTS],



and hath stood still these five and twenty

or thirty years. Though it be an IGNORANCE, it is a

vertuous and staid Ignorance; and next to truth, a CON-

FIRM’D ERROR [PECCANT HUMOUR]

does well; such a one the Author knows

where to find him.

It is further covenanted, concluded and agreed, That how great soever the expectation be, no Person here is to expect more than he knows, or better Ware than a Fair will afford: neither to look back to the Sword and Buckler-age of Smithfield, but content himself with the present. Instead of a little Davy, to take Toll o' the Bawds, the Author doth promise a strutting Horse-courser, with a leer-Drunkard, two or three to attend him, in as good Equipage as you would wish. And then for Kind- heart, the Tooth-drawer, a fine Oily Pig-woman with her Tapster, to bid you welcome, and a Consort of Roarers for Musick. A wise Justice of Peace meditant, instead of a Jugler, with an Ape. A civil Cutpurse searchant. A sweet Singer of new Ballads allurant: and as fresh an Hypocrite, as ever was broach'd, rampant. If there be ne- ver a Servant-monster i' the Fair, who can help it, he says, nor a Nest of Antiques? He is loth to make Nature afraid in his Plays, like those that beget Tales, Tempests, and such like Drolleries, to mix his head with other Mens Heels; let the CONCUPISCENCE of JIGS AND DANCES, reign as strong as it will amongst you: yet if the Pup-pets will please any body, they shall be entreated to come in.


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Jonson, _The Alchemist_

TO THE READER.

If thou beest more, thou art an understander, and then I trust thee. If thou art one that takest up, and but a pretender, beware of what hands thou receivest thy commodity; for thou wert never more fair in the way to be cozened, than in THIS AGE, in poetry, especially in plays: wherein, now the CONCUPISCENCE of DANCES and of ANTICS so reigneth, as to run away from nature, and be afraid of her, is the only point of art that tickles the spectators. But how out of purpose, and place, do I name art? When the professors are grown so obstinate contemners of it, and presumers on their own naturals, as they are deriders of all diligence that way, and, by simple mocking at the terms, when they understand not the things, think to get off WITTILY with their IGNORANCE. Nay, they are esteemed the more learned, and sufficient for this, by the many, through their excellent vice of judgment. For they commend writers, as they do fencers or wrestlers; who if they come in robustuously, and put for it with a great deal of violence, are received for the braver fellows: when many times their own rudeness is the cause of their disgrace, and a little touch of their adversary gives all that boisterous force the foil. I deny not, but that these men, who always seek to do more than enough, may some time happen on some thing that is good, and great; but very seldom; and when it comes it doth not recompense the rest of their ill. It sticks out, perhaps, and is more eminent, because all is sordid and VILE about it: as lights are more discerned in a thick darkness, than a faint shadow. I speak not this, out of a hope to do good to any man against his will; for I know, if it were put to the question of theirs and mine, *the worse would find more suffrages: because the most favour common errors*. But I give thee this warning, that there is a great difference between those, that, to gain the opinion of copy, utter all they can, however unfitly; and those that use election and a mean. For it is only the DISEASE of the unskilful, to think rude things greater than polished; or scattered more numerous than composed.

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TO THE GREAT EXAMPLE OF HONOR, AND VERTVE, THE MOST NOBLE WILLIAM EARLE OF PENBROOKE, &c.

MY LORD,



IN so thicke, and darke an IGNORANCE, as now almost couers the AGE, I craue leaue to stand neare your light: and, by that, to be read. Posterity may pay your benefit the honor, and thanks; when it shall know, that you dare, in these JIG-GIVEN times, to countenance a legitimate Poëme. I must call it so, against all noise of opinion: from whose crude, and airy reports, I appeale, to that great and singular faculty of Iudgment in your Lordship, able to vindicate truth from ERROR. It is the first (of this RACE) that euer I dedicated to any Person, and had I not thought it the best, it should haue beene taught a lesse ambition. Now, it approacheth your censure chearefully, and with the same assurance, that Innocency would appeare before a Magistrate.

Your Lo. most faithfull Honorer. Ben. Ionson.

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Bartholomew Fair, Jonson

The Induction to the Stage

Stage-keeper.

Gentlemen, have a little patience, they are e'en

upon coming, instantly. He that should be-

gin the Play, Master Little-wit, the Proctor,

has a stitch new faln in his black silk Stock-

ing; 'twill be drawn up ere you can tell twenty. He

plays one o' the Arches that dwells about the Hospital,

and he has a very pretty part. But for the whole Play,

will you ha' the truth on't? (I am looking, lest the Poet

hear me, or his Man, Master Broom, behind the Arras)

it is like to be a very conceited scurvy one, in plain En-

glish. When't comes to the Fair once, you were e'en

as good go to Virginia, for any thing there is of Smith-

field. He has not hit the Humours, he do's not know

'em; he has not convers'd with the Bartholmew-birds,

as they say; he has ne'er a Sword and Buckler Man in

his Fair; nor a little Davy, to take Toll o' the Bawds

there, as in my time; nor a Kind-heart, if any bodies

Teeth should chance to ake in his Play; nor a Jugler

with a well-educated Ape, to come over the Chain for

the King of England, and back again for the Prince,

and sit still on his Arse for the Pope, and the King of

Spain! None o' these fine sights! Nor has he the Can-

vas-cut i' the Night, for a Hobby-horse-man to creep in-

to his she-neighbour, and take his leap there! Nothing!

No, and some writer (that I know) had had but the Pen-

ning o' this matter, he would ha' made you such a Jig-

ajog i' the Boothes, you should ha' thought an Earth-

quake had been i' the Fair! But these Master-Poets,

they will ha' their own absurd courses; they will be

inform'd of nothing. He has (sirreverence) kick'd me

three or four times about the Tyring-house, I thank him,

for but offering to put in with my experience. I'll

be judg'd by you, Gentlemen, now, but for one conceit

of mine! Would not a fine Pump upon the Stage ha'

done well, for a property now? and a Punque set under

upon her Head, with her Stern upward, and ha' been

sous'd by my witty young Masters o' the Inns o' Court?

What think you o' this for a shew, now? he will not

hear 'o this! I am an Ass! I! and yet I kept the Stage

in Master Tarleton's time, I thank my Stars. Ho! and

that Man had liv'd to have play'd in Bartholmew Fair,

you should ha' seen him ha' come in, and ha' been co-

zened i' the Cloath-quarter, so finely! And Adams,

the Rogue, ha' leap'd and caper'd upon him, and ha'

dealt his Vermine about, as though they had cost him

nothing. And then a substantial WATCH to ha' stoln in

upon 'em, and taken 'em away, WITH MISTAKING WORDS,

AS THE FASHION IS in the Stage-practice.

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Jonson, To the MEMORY of My Beloved the Author, Mr. William Shakespeare



Yet must I not give Nature all: thy art,

My gentle Shakespeare, must enjoy a part.

For though the poet's matter nature be,

His ART doth give the FASHION; and, that he

Who casts to write a living line, must sweat,

(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat

Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same

(And himself with it) that he thinks to frame,

Or, for the laurel, he may gain a scorn;

For a good poet's *made*, as well as born;

And such wert thou.



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Jonson

Nature herself was proud of his DESIGNS

And joy'd to wear the DRESSING of his lines, [CLOTHES/PAINTING BIRDLIME OF FOOLS]

Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit,

As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit.

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In the verse prologue to _Every Man in his Humour_ , Jonson characterizes Shakespeare's plays as 'Monsters'



SCENE,---LONDON

PROLOGUE.



Though need make many poets, and some such

As art and nature have not better'd much;

Yet ours for want hath not so loved the stage,

As he dare serve the *ill customs of the AGE*,

Or purchase your delight at such a rate,

As, for it, he himself must justly hate:

To make a child now swaddled, to proceed

Man, and then shoot up, in one beard and weed,

Past threescore years; or, with three rusty swords,

And help of some few foot and half-foot words,

Fight over York and Lancaster's king jars,

And in the tyring-house bring wounds to scars.

He rather prays you will be pleas'd to see

One such to-day, as other plays should be;

Where neither chorus wafts you o'er the seas,

Nor creaking throne comes down the boys to please;

Nor nimble squib is seen to make afeard

The gentlewomen; nor roll'd bullet heard

To say, it thunders; nor tempestuous drum

Rumbles, to tell you when the storm doth come;

But deeds, and language, such as men do use,

And persons, such as comedy would choose,

When she would shew an image of the times,

And sport with human follies, not with CRIMES.

Except we make them such, by loving still

Our POPULAR ERRORS, when we know they're ill.

I mean such ERRORS as you'll all confess,

By laughing at them, they deserve no less:

Which when you heartily do, there's hope left then,

*You, that have so grac'd MONSTERS, may like men*.







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Saturday, 14 September 1751.

By Samuel Johnson


Nunquam aliud natura, aliud sapientia dicit.

Juvenal, XIV.321.

For wisdom ever echoes nature’s voice.

[1] Every government, say the politicians, is perpetually degenerating towards corruption, from which it must be rescued at certain periods by the resuscitation of its first principles, and the re-establishment of its original constitution. Every animal body, according to the methodick physicians, is, by the predominance of some exuberant quality, continually declining towards disease and death, which must be obviated by a seasonable reduction of the PECCANT HUMOUR to the just equipoise which health requires.

[2] In the same manner the studies of mankind, all at least which, not being subject to rigorous demonstration, admit the influence of fancy and caprice, are perpetually tending to error and confusion. Of the great principles of truth which the first speculatists discovered, the simplicity is embarrassed by ambitious additions, or the evidence obscured by inaccurate argumentation; and as they descend from one succession of writers to another, like light transmitted from room to room, they lose their strength and splendour, and fade at last in total evanescence.

[3] The systems of learning therefore must be sometimes reviewed, complications analised into principles, and knowledge disentangled from opinion. It is not always possible, without a close inspection, to separate the genuine shoots of consequential reasoning, which grow out of some radical postulate, from the branches which art has engrafted on it. The accidental prescriptions of authority, when time has procured them veneration, are often confounded with the laws of nature, and those rules are supposed coeval with reason, of which the first rise cannot be discovered.

[4] Criticism has sometimes permitted fancy to dictate the laws by which fancy ought to be restrained, and fallacy to perplex the principles by which fallacy is to be detected; her super-intendance of others has betrayed her to negligence of herself; and, like the antient Scythians, by extending her conquests over distant regions, she has left her throne vacant to her slaves.

(SNIP)

[10] I know not whether he that professes to regard no other laws than those of nature, will not be inclined to receive tragi-comedy to his protection, whom, however generally condemned, her own laurels have hitherto shaded from the fulminations of criticism. For what is there in the mingled drama which impartial reason can condemn? The connexion of important with trivial incidents, since it is not only common but perpetual in the world, may surely be allowed upon the stage, which pretends only to be the mirrour of life. The impropriety of suppressing passions before we have raised them to the intended agitation, and of diverting the expectation from an event which we keep suspended only to raise it, may be speciously urged. But will not experience shew this objection to be rather subtle than just? is it not certain that the tragic and comic affections have been moved alternately with equal force, and that no plays have oftner filled the eye with tears, and the breast with palpitation, than those which are variegated with interludes of mirth?

[11] I do not however think it safe to judge of works of genius merely by the event. These resistless vicissitudes of the heart, this alternate prevalence of merriment and solemnity, may sometimes be more properly ascribed to the vigour of the writer than the justness of the design: and instead of vindicating tragi-comedy by the success of Shakespear, we ought perhaps to pay new honours to *that transcendent and unbounded genius that could preside over the passions in sport*; who, to actuate the affections, needed not the slow gradation of common means, but could fill the heart with instantaneous jollity or sorrow, and vary our disposition as he changed his scenes. Perhaps the effects even of Shakespeare’s poetry might have been yet greater, had he not counter-acted himself; and we might have been more interested in the distresses of his heroes had we not been so frequently diverted by the jokes of his buffoons.


*********************

Noble Stranger, Lewis Sharpe (1640) – As it was acted at the Private House in Salisbury Court, by her Maiesties Servants. The author, L.S.

To his Friend the Author on his Come∣dy, called the Noble Stranger.

FRiend, from me thou canst not expect a praise,

My Muse can give no Cypres nor no Baies:

She cannot though she would be vile, expresse

One syllable to make thy merits lesse:

Nor can she, had she rob'd the fluent store

Of Donns wise Genius, make thy merits more:

No, 'tis thy owne smooth numbers must preferre

*Thy Stranger to the Globe-like Theatre*.



(SNIP)

Richard Woolfall



*************************************

Noble Stranger, Lewis Sharpe (fl.1640)

Mercutio.

It shall sir— Doe you heare Tom, goe and prepare Flavia for the project, and bring those properties we agreed on.

Plod.

Say no more.

Exit.

Pupillus.

Whither doe you send him?

Mercutio.

To an Antiquaries study; for strange properties to perform the Ceremonies requisite at INSPIRATION: for we must use Invocations, Incantations, Conjurations, Imprecations, and all for the rare effect of Inspiration.

Pupillus.

Blesse me, doe you begin to conjure already?

Fled-Wit.

No, he tells you but what he must doe.

Pup.

But harke you; pray d'ee deale with honest, faire conditi∣oned Devills?

Mer.

O blemish to our sacred Magicke—Devills!

Pup.

O no, pray Sir.



Mercutio.

That thought's enough to ruine all the fabricke of our hopes.

Pupillus.

Good sir, Ile never thinke while I live agen.

Mer.

I tell you sir, we must invoake the Celestiall Deities— We may beginne the Act, none but the bright Minerva can con∣firme it

Pup.

And will she come at your call.

Mer.

Yes, yes, if you performe quietly what we desire.

Pup.

Oh most obedient Goddesse.

Enter Plod with a Boxe, in which are little pieces of paper rold up: A Table set forth.

Mer.

Are you come? 'tis well: Is Flavia ready?

Plod.

Onely waits her Cue

Mer.

Look you sir, you see these papers.

Pup.

I, whence came they; from the Lottery?

Mer.

No sir, they are certaine Collections out of learned and witty Authors, for all humours in an accomplished wit. Now sir, you must eate every one of hem one by one.

Pup.

How, eate 'hem?

Mer.

I ease 'hem, and you shall find they will produce effects as various, as the qualities or conditions out of whom they were collected: now therefore off with your Hat and Cloake, kneele downe with a strong beliefe, imagination, and attention — you two stand to keepe him in that equall posture I shall set him; so, now first with a Scholastique Inspiration: somewhat of a hard digesti∣on, as—

"Dulcia non meruit qui non gustavit amara.

Pup.

O 'twill never downe, I shall be choakt with it.

Mer.

My life Sir we'll helpe it downe—here—so—feare not, I warrant you—is it downe?

Pup.

Almost—so,

Mer.

How is it sir?

Pup.

O 'twas so sweete at first, and so abhominable bitter at the last—

Mer

Why there you relish the conceit sir: for the interpreta∣tion of it is; Hee deserves not sweete, that has not tasted bitter.

Pup.

I have tasted a bitter one; now pray let the next be a sweet one.

Mer.

According as we see this work: 'thas a present operation—How doe you feele your selfe inclin'd?

Pup.

Oh I cou'd quarrell about the Etymologie of words, fight about Syllables, and Orthography, chop Logique with my Father, Write Tragedies and Comedies by the grosse: and my fingers itch at an Hen-roost.

Mer.

'Thas wrought bravely, the direct symptomes of an University wit: now for the inspiration of a confident Poeticall wit.

Pup.

Pray pick out the hard words, if there be any.

Mer.

There's none in this — you shall heare it.

"This from our Author I was bid to say,

"By Iove 'tis good; and if you lik't you may. [my note – from Ben Jonson’s _Cynthia’s Revels_]



Pupillus.

Ile tell you how I like it presently.

Mer.

Come sir, downe with it—

Fled.

So, this past with ease—

Mer.

How doe you find your selfe affected now?

Pup.

Oh that I were in a Play-house—I wou'd tell the whole Audience of their pittifull, Hereticall, Criticall humours—Let a man, striving to enrich his labours, make himselfe as poore as a broken Citizen, that dares not so much as shew the tips on's Hornes: yet will these people crye it downe, they know not why: One loves high language, though he understands it not; another whats obscaene, to move the blood, not spleene: a third, whose wit lyes all in his gall, must have a Satyre: a fourth man all ridiculous: and the fift man not knowing what to have, grounds his opinion on the next man ith' formall Ruffe; and so many heads, so many severall humours; and yet the poor Poet must find waies to please 'hem all.

Mer.

It workes strangely.

Pup.

But when they shal come to feed on the Offalls of wit, have nothing for their money but a Drumme, a Fooles Coat, and Gunpowder; see Comedies, more ridiculous than a Morrice dance; and for their Tragedies, about at Cudgells were a brave Battalia to 'hem: Oh Phoebus, Phoebus, what will this world come to?

Mer.

'Fore Iove, it has wrought most strangely—Tis well here we're none but friends—how doe you sir?



Pup.

Ah! pretty, pretty, sure I have talked extravagantly, Gentlemen have I not?

Mer.

I indeed have you; 'tis of a delicate operation: Now sir, you shall have a valiant inspiration to confront your enemy, or rivall in your Mistresses favour—In this paper is the expiring breath of a great warriour, the last words he utter'd.

"—Farewell light,

"Tis fit the world should weare eternall night.



Pup.

Why this will kill me sure.

Mer.

No, hold him fast—tis of a strong operation—So, chew it well, feare nothing—Now it is downe: how is't?

He breakes violently from them.

Pup.

Let me goe, let me goe, the world's too narrow to confine me: Ile mount the skies, snatch Ioves three-fold lightning from his hand, dart it at the World, and reduc't againe to its first desolate Chaos, drye up the Sea with fire of my rage, and puffe mens soules away.

Mer.

We must change this humour: Ile now beleeve a strong imagination's witch-craft: force downe another; read it first: What is't? hold him fast.

Fled.

"Enter these Armes, and since thou thoughtst it best,

"Not to dreame all my dreame, lets act the rest.

Mer.

A fit one, a wanton lovers rapture: give it him, thrust it downe: So, he begins to yield; how is't.

Pup.

O what have you gi'n me now?

Mer,

Onely to inspire you with a wanton art to winne your Mistris.

Pup.

Tis wonderfull provocative, believe me: sure it came out of Ovids-Ars-Amandi: *oh for the book of Venus and Adonis, to Court my Mistris by: I cou'd dye, I cou'd dye in the Eli-zi-um of her Armes: no sweets to those of Love: O Love, love, thy flames will burne me up to dust and ashes*.

Mer.

We must quench your flames— Pinch him hard.

Pup.

Oh—

Mer.

Harder yet.

Pup.

Oh—

What doe you doe? what doe you? Alas all's downe againe;

I am as cold as a Cucumber.



Mer

So, I beleeve you are sufficiently prepared:

Now we will invoke the goddesse Minerva— kneele,

Downe with your face to the west: harken with

Attention to what she shall say or request, and be sure to performe it —So, 'tis well.

Pup.

Does she come yet?

Fled.

No, no, he must invoak first.

Mer.

Thou sacred goddesse of Joves brave begot,

walk round about him.

Descend to earth, and here make fast the knot

We humble Mortalls have begunne to tye,

And we'll adore thy glorious Deity.

Pup.

O me, O.

Soft Musick. Enter Flavia drest like Minerva with a Violl of Water.

Fla.

Who calls Minerva from the Starry Court?

Pup.

Oh 'twas he Lady.

Fla.

We know the full effects of your desire,

It is this noble youth with wit t'inspire:

Then downe his throat this sacred drinke compell,

Tis , SALT and water from the MUSES WELL.

Pup.

Paugh.

Fla.

Now let him offer gold to our dispose,

And all's confirm'd with this one pluck by th'nose.



*********************************

‘INSPIRATION’

Cynthia’s Revels, Ben Jonson



Amorphus. That's good, but how Pythagorical?

Phi. I, Amorphus. Why Pythagorical Breeches?

Amor. O most kindly of all, 'tis a CONCEIT of that FORTUNE,

I am bold to hug my Brain for.

Pha. How is't, exquisite Amorphus?

Amor. O, I am rapt with it, 'tis so fit, so proper,

so happy. --

Phi. Nay do not rack us thus?

Amor. I never truly relisht my self before. Give me

your Ears. Breeches Pythagorical, by reason of their trans-

migration into several shapes.

Mor. Most rare, in sweet troth.



**************************************

Oldham, on Jonson

XIII.

Let meaner spirits stoop to low precarious Fame,

Content on gross and coarse Applause to live,

And what the dull, and sensless Rabble give,

Thou didst it still with noble scorn contemn,

Nor would'st that wretched Alms receive,

The poor subsistence of some BANKRUPT, SORDID NAME:

Thine was no EMPTY VAPOR, RAIS’D beneath,

And form'd of common Breath,

The false, and foolish Fire, that's whisk'd about

By popular Air, and glares a while, and then GOES OUT...



**********************************

obscenus (Latin)

Origin & history

Uncertain. Usually derived from Proto-Indo-European *ḱʷeyn- ("to soil; mud; filth"). According to Pokorny, cognate with inquinō, caenum, cūniō and whin.

Alternative forms

• obscaenus

Adjective

obscēnus (feminine obscēna, neuter obscēnum)

1. inauspicious, ominous, portentous

2. repulsive, offensive, abominable, hateful, disgusting, filthy

3. immodest, impure, indecent, lewd, obscene



************************************

E P I G R A M S . JONSON

XLIX. — TO PLAYWRIGHT.

PLAYWRIGHT me reads, and still my verses damns,

He says I want the tongue of epigrams ;

I have no SALT, no bawdry he doth mean ;

For witty, in his language, is OBSCENE.

Playwright, I loath to have thy manners known

In my chaste book ; I profess them in thine own.



************************************

William Cartwright:


...Shakespeare to thee was DULL, whose best jest lyes

I'th Ladies questions, and the Fooles replyes;

Old fashion'd wit, which walkt from town to town

In turn'd Hose, which our fathers call'd the CLOWN;

Whose wit our nice times would obsceannesse call,

And which made Bawdry passe for Comicall:

Nature was all his Art, thy veine was FREE

As his, but without his SCURILITY;



************************************



Cartwright, William, Jonsonus Virbius

...Blest life of Authors, unto whom we owe

Those that we have, and those that we want too:

Th'art all so good, that reading makes thee worse,

And to have writ so well's thine onely curse.

Secure then of thy merit, thou didst hate

That servile base dependance upon fate:

Successe thou ne'r thoughtst vertue, nor that fit,

Which chance, and th'ages fashion did make hit;

*Excluding those from life in after-time*,

Who into Po'try first brought luck and rime:

Who thought the peoples breath good ayre: sty'ld name

What was but noise; and getting Briefes for fame

Gathered the many's suffrages, and thence

Made COMMENDATION a BENEVOLENCE:

THY thoughts were their owne Lawrell, and did win

That best applause of being crown'd within..



**************************

Jonson, A Speech according to Horace.


And could (if our great Men would let their Sons

Come to their Schools,) show 'em the use of Guns.

And there instruct the noble English Heirs

In Politick, and Militar Affairs;

But he that should perswade, to have this done

For Education of our Lordings; Soon

Should he hear of Billow, Wind, and Storm,

From the *Tempestuous Grandlings*, who'll inform

Us, in our bearing, that are thus, and thus,

Born, bred, allied? what's he dare tutor us?

Are we by Book-worms to be aw'd? must we

Live by their Scale, that dare do nothing free?

Why are we Rich, or Great, except to show

All licence in our Lives? What need we know?

More then to praise a Dog? or Horse? or speak

The Hawking Language? or our Day to break

With Citizens? let Clowns, and Tradesmen breed

Their Sons to study Arts, the Laws, the Creed:

We will believe like Men of our own Rank,

In so much Land a year, or such a Bank,

That turns us so much Monies, at which rate

Our Ancestors impos'd on Prince and State.

Let poor Nobility be vertuous: We,

Descended in a Rope of Titles, be

From Guy, or Bevis, Arthur, or from whom

The Herald will. Our Blood is now become,

Past any need of Vertue. Let them care,

That in the Cradle of their Gentry are;

To serve the State by Councels, and by Arms:

We neither love the Troubles, nor the harms.

What love you then? your Whore? what study? Gate,

Carriage, and Dressing. There is up of late

The Academy, where the Gallants meet ——

What to make Legs? yes, and to smell most sweet,

All that they do at Plays. O, but first here

They learn and study; and then practise there.

But why are all these Irons i' the Fire

Of several makings? helps, helps, t' attire

His Lordship. That is for his Band, his Hair

This, and that Box his Beauty to repair;

This other for his Eye-brows; hence, away,

I may no longer on these Pictures stay,

These Carkasses of Honour; Taylors blocks,

Cover'd with Tissue, whose prosperity mocks

The fate of things: whilst totter'd Vertue holds

Her broken Arms up, to their EMPTY Moulds.



********************************************

His WIT was in his own Power, would the RULE OF IT had been so, too


De Shakspeare nostrat.—Augustus in Hat.—I remember the players have often mentioned it as an honour to Shakspeare, that in his writing (whatsoever he penned) he never blotted out a line. My answer hath been, “Would he had blotted a thousand,” which they thought a malevolent speech. I had not told posterity this but for their ignorance who chose that circumstance to commend their friend by wherein he most faulted; and to justify mine own candour, for I loved the man, and do honour his memory on this side idolatry as much as any. He was, indeed, honest, and of an open and free nature, had an excellent phantasy, brave notions, and gentle expressions, wherein he flowed with that facility that sometimes it was necessary he should be stopped. “Sufflaminandus erat,” [47a] as Augustus said of Haterius. His wit was in his own power; would the rule of it had been so, too. Many times he fell into those things, could not escape laughter, as when he said in the person of Cæsar, one speaking to him, “Cæsar, thou dost me wrong.” He replied, “Cæsar did never wrong but with just cause;” and such like, which were ridiculous. But he redeemed his vices with his virtues. There was ever more in him to be praised than to be pardoned.

********************************************

Edward de Vere – Best for comedy



Scurra:



Mirth Making. The Rhetorical Discourse on Jesting in Early Modern England

Chris Holcomb

...Associations between social status and certain forms of jesting appear as early as the Nicomachean Ethics, where Aristotle classifies different modes of jesting according to three social types: the boor, the buffoon, and the witty man of tact. Aristotle has little to say about boorish men except that they never say "anything funny themselves and take offense at those who do" (4.8.3) Instead, Aristotle dwells on differences between the buffoon and man of wit, and in differentiating these two social types, he associates indecorous jests with those of the lower-class buffoon and decorous ones with those of a gentleman. 'Those who go to excess in ridicule are thought to be buffoons or VULGAR FELLOWS, who itch to have their joke at all costs, and are more concerned to raise a laugh than to keep within the bounds of decorum' (4.8.3). The buffoon often jests in a 'servile' and often obscene fashion (4.8.5-6), he 'cannot resist a joke,' he will 'not keep his tongue off himself or anyone else, if he can raise a laugh,' and he 'will say things which a man of refinement would never say' (4.8.10). Those 'who jest with good taste,' by contrast, will say 'only the sort of things that are suitable to a virtuous man and a gentleman; (4.8.5). They prefer to jest by way of 'innuendo, which marks a great advance in decorum,' and they will never stoop so low in their jesting as to say anything 'unbecoming to a gentleman' (4.8.6-7). The line Aristotle draws here is not simply one between the indecorous and decorous; it is also one between the lower and upper classes. And while Aristotle couches his distinctions in more or less descriptive (although elitist) terms, they do have prescriptive force. If a speaker is to show himself as a 'man of refinement,' he must limit his jesting behaviours and avoid the excesses of the buffoon.


Cicero and Quintilian adopt Aristotle's method of classifying decorous and indecorous jests along class lines, and they both use the buffoon and well-bred man of tact to define forms of jesting befitting an orator (the boor, as often happens in everyday life, is left out of their discussions of jesting). But they add to the ranks of the buffoon (or SCURRA, in Latin) a cast of characters familiar from the Roman stage, street performances, and entertainments provided at a gentleman's dinner party - characters including the mime (mimus), pantomime (ethologus), and clown (sannio). Cicero says that 'an orator must avoid each of two dangers: he must not let his jesting become buffoonery or mere mimicking (scurrilis...aut mimicus)' (2.58.239). Like Aristotle's buffoon, the Latin scurra violates proprieties of time. Cicero says he jests "from morning to night, and without any reason at all" (2.60.245). He also shows no restraint in his selection of objects of ridicule, and his jests, like a scattergun, will often strike 'unintended victims' (2.60.245). He will even turn himself into an object of ridicule if he thinks he can raise a laugh (Quintilian, 6.3.82). Most important, the scurra is a member of the lower classes, a parasite who would often perform at a gentleman's dinner party for table scraps, and his antics almost always bespoke his lowly position. For all of these reasons, especially the last, Cicero and Quintilian repeatedly insist that orators avoid all likeness to buffoons, and toward this end, they offer a set of strictures limiting the jesting practices of orators so that those practices accord with the orator's gentlemanly status. With respect to proprieties of time, Cicero says, "Regard then to occasions, control and restraint of our actual raillery, and economy in bon-mots, will distinguish an orator from a buffoon (oratorem a scurra)" (2.60.247). As we have seen, orators should also be careful in their selection of comic butts and avoid targeting the excessively wretched or wicked and the well-beloved. Moreover, they must never turn themselves into objects of laughter for, as Quintilian says, "To make jokes against oneself is scarcely fit for any save professed buffoons and is strongly to be disapproved in an orator" (6.3.82). Presumable, orators should keep the audience's laughter off themselves and direct it only at their opponents. Above all, the orator should only jest in ways that befit a gentleman or liberalis. He should avoid obscenities in his jesting, which are 'not only degrading to a pubic speaker, but also hardly sufferable at a gentleman's dinner party (convivio liberorum)' (De oratore, 2.61.252), and 'scurrilous or brutal jests, although they may raise a laugh, are quite unworthy of a gentlman (liberali)' (Quintilian, 6.3.83). In an allusion to his famous formulation or the orator as a GOOD MAN, or vir bonus, skilled in speaking, Quintilian sums up his attitudes toward buffoonery, a summation that will serve for Cicero's views on the subject as well: 'A good man (vir bonus) will see that everything he says is consistent with his dignity and the respectability of his character (dignitate ac verecundia); for we pay too dear for the laugh we raise if it is at the cost of our own integrity (probitatis)' (6.3.35). (Holcomb,pp.39-40)

*************************************

Probitas

Latin probitas HONESTY, probity, uprightness.

******************************************

"To My Book" by Ben Jonson


It will be looked for, book, when some but see

Thy title, Epigrams, and named of me,

Thou should'st be bold, licentious, full of gall,

Wormwood, and sulphur, sharp, and toothed withal;

Become a petulant thing, hurl ink, and wit,

As madmen stones: not caring whom they hit.

Deceive their malice, who could wish it so.

And by thy wiser temper, let men know

Thou are not covetous of least self-fame.

Made from the hazard of another's shame:

Much less with lewd, profane, and beastly phrase,

To catch the world's loose laughter, or VAIN gaze.

*He that DEPARTS with his own HONESTY

For VULGAR PRAISE, doth it too dearly buy.*

***********************

Rhodri Lewis:

...the visionary quality of the furor poeticus was by definition irrational, and easily contaminated by the threat of ‘enthusiasm’; as there was Restoration consensus that the civil wars had been the product of enthusiastic speech and writing, this contamination was fatal. Consequently, the imitative model of poetics – and with it, translation – came to have a new prestige and cultural importance as an antidote to such anxieties: in CONSTRAINING the poet’s FREEDOM to ERR, it was seen as doing important meta-literary work, and conferred an intrinsic mutuality on the literary enterprise:

****************************

Constraining/Holding/Ruling Shakespeare's Sublime Quill:



From To the Deceased Author of these Poems (William Cartwright)


by Jasper Mayne



For thou to Nature had'st joyn'd Art, and skill.

In Thee Ben Johnson still HELD SHAKESPEARE'S QUILL:

A QUILL, RUL'D by sharp Judgement, and such Laws,

As a well studied Mind, and Reason draws.

Thy Lamp was cherish'd with suppolied of Oyle,

Fetch'd from the Romane and the Graecian soyle. (snip)

******************************

His WIT was in his own Power, would the RULE OF IT had been so, too – Jonson on Shakespeare's

******************************
Jonson, Timber
On Comedy and Tragedy:
...The parts of a comedy and tragedy – The parts of a comedy are the same with a tragedy, and the end is partly the same, for they both delight and teach; the comics are called [Greek text], of the Greeks no less than the tragics.

Aristotle. Plato. Homer
Nor is the moving of laughter always the end of comedy; that is rather a fowling for the people's delight, or their fooling. For, as Aristotle says rightly, the moving of laughter is a fault in comedy, a kind of turpitude that depraves some part of a man's nature without a disease. As a wry face without pain moves laughter, or a deformed vizard, or a rude clown dressed in a lady's habit and using her actions; we dislike and scorn such representations which made the ancient philosophers ever think laughter unfitting in a wise man. And this induced Plato to esteem of Homer as a sacrilegious person, because he presented the gods sometimes laughing. As also it is divinely said of Aristotle, that to seen ridiculous is a part of dishonesty, and foolish.

The wit of the old comedy
So that what either in the words or sense of an author, or in the language or actions of men, is awry or depraved does strangely stir mean affections, and provoke for the most part to laughter. And therefore it was clear that all insolent and obscene speeches, jests upon the best men, injuries to particular persons, perverse and sinister sayings (and the rather unexpected) in the old comedy did move laughter, especially where it did imitate any dishonesty, and scurrility came forth in the place of wit, which, who understands the nature and genius of laughter cannot but perfectly know.

Aristophanes. Plautus
Of which Aristophanes affords an ample harvest, having not only outgone Plautus or any other in that kind, but expressed all the moods and figures of what is ridiculous oddly. In short, as vinegar is not accounted good until the wine be corrupted, so jests that are true and natural seldom raise laughter with the beast the multitude. They love nothing that is right and proper. The farther it runs from reason or possibility with them the better it is.

***************************

Timber/Discoveries

(In the difference of wits, note 10)



Not. 10.--It cannot but come to pass that these men who commonly

seek to do more than enough may sometimes happen on something that

is good and great; but very seldom: and when it comes it doth not

recompense the rest of their ill. For their jests, and their

sentences (which they only and ambitiously seek for) stick out, and

are more eminent, because all is sordid and vile about them; as

lights are more discerned in a thick darkness than a faint shadow.

Now, because they speak all they can (however unfitly), they are

thought to have the greater copy; where the learned use ever

election and a mean, they look back to what they intended at first,

and MAKE ALL AN EVEN AND PROPORTIONED BODY



http://home.att.net/~tleary/GIFS/DROUS.JPG



The true artificer will

not run away from NATURE as he were AFRAID of her, or depart from

life and the likeness of truth, but speak to the capacity of his

hearers. And though his language differ from the vulgar somewhat,

it shall not fly from all humanity, with the Tamerlanes and Tamer-

chains of the late age, which had nothing in them but the scenical

strutting and furious vociferation to warrant them to the ignorant

gapers. He knows it is his only art so to carry it, as none but

artificers perceive it. In the meantime, perhaps, he is called

barren, dull, lean, a poor writer, or by what contumelious word can

come in their cheeks, by these men who, without labour, judgment,

knowledge, or almost sense, are received or preferred before him.

He gratulates them and their fortune. Another age, or juster men,

will acknowledge the virtues of his studies, his wisdom in dividing,

his subtlety in arguing, with what strength he doth inspire his

readers, with what sweetness he strokes them; in inveighing, what

sharpness; in jest, what urbanity he uses; how he doth reign in

men's affections; how invade and break in upon them, and makes their

minds like the thing he writes. Then in his elocution to behold

what word is proper, which hath ornaments, which height, what is

beautifully translated, where figures are fit, which gentle, which

strong, to show the composition manly; and how he hath avoided

faint, obscure, obscene, sordid, humble, improper, or effeminate

phrase; which is not only praised of the most, but commended (which

is worse), especially for that it is naught.



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Shakespeare, Show and Seeming:

(seems to shake a lance)





Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to SHOW

To whom all SCENES of Europe homage owe. (scene - painted cloth)

He was not of an age, but for all Time !



--Jonson

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Trophaeum Peccati - On Recorder of Stratford Greville's monument in Warwick



FOLK GREVILL

SERVANT to Queene Elizabeth

Conceller to King James

Frend to Sir Philip Sidney.

TROPHAEUM PECCATI

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Greville, _Dedication_:


...Neither am I (for my part) so much in love with this life, nor believe so little in a better to come, as to complain of God for taking him [Sidney], and such like exorbitant worthyness from us: fit (as it were by an Ostracisme) to be divided, and not incorporated with our corruptions: yet for the sincere affection I bear to my Prince, and Country, my prayer to God is, that this *Worth*, and Way may not fatally be buried with him; in respect, that both before his time, and since, experience hath published the usuall discipline of greatnes to have been tender of it self onely; making HONOUR a triumph, or rather TROPHY OF DESIRE, set up in the eyes of Mankind, either to be worshiped as IDOLS, or else as Rebels to perish under her glorious oppressions. *Notwithstanding, when the pride of flesh, and power of favour shall cease in these by death, or disgrace; what then hath time to register, or fame to publish in these great mens names, that will not be offensive, or infectious to others? What Pen without blotting can write the story of their deeds? Or what Herald blaze their Arms without a blemish? And as for their counsels and projects, when they come once to light, shall they not live as noysome, and loathsomely above ground, as their Authors carkasses lie in the grave? So as the return of such greatnes to the world, and themselves, can be but private reproach, publique ill example, and a fatall scorn to the Government they live in. Sir Philip Sidney is none of this number; for the greatness which he affected was built upon true *Worth*; esteeming Fame more than Riches, and Noble actions far above Nobility it self.

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SONNET 72 - Shakespeare

O, lest the world should task you to recite

What merit lived in me, that you should love

After my death, -- dear love, forget me quite,

For you in me can NOTHING WORTHY prove;

Unless you would devise some virtuous lie,

To do more for me than mine own desert,

And hang more praise upon deceased I

Than niggard truth would willingly impart:

O, lest your true love may seem false in this,

That you for love speak well of me untrue,

My name be buried where my body is,

And live no more to shame nor me nor you.

For I am sham'd by that which I bring forth,

And so should you, to love things NOTHING WORTH.

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Greville, __A Dedication to Sir Philip Sidney_



“I conceived an Historian was bound to tell nothing but the truth, but to tell all truths were both justly to wrong, and offend not only princes and States, but to blemish, and stir up himself, the frailty and tenderness, not only of particular men, but of many Families, with the spirit of an Athenian Timon.”

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Tyrants allow of no scope, stamp, or standard, but their own WILL (Greville):

Infected Will:

Sidney - Neither let it be deemed too bold a comparison to balance the highest point of man's WIT with the efficacy of nature; but rather give right honor to the heavenly maker of that maker, who having made man to his own likeness, set him beyond and over all the work of that second nature, which in nothing he shows so much as in poetry, when with the force of a divine breath he brings things forth far surpassing her doings, with no small argument to the incredulous of that first accursed fall of Adam, since our erected WIT makes us know what perfection is, but our INFECTED WILL. keeps us from reaching unto it.