A Defence of Poesie and Poems
an excellent orator, came not among them upon trust, either of figurative
speeches, or cunning insinuations, and much less with far-fetched maxims
of philosophy, which, especially if they were Platonic, they must have
learned geometry before they could have conceived; but, forsooth, he
behaveth himself like a homely and familiar poet. He telleth them a
tale, that there was a time when all the parts of the body made a
mutinous conspiracy against the belly, which they thought devoured the
fruits of each other’s labour; they concluded they would let so
unprofitable a spender starve. In the end, to be short (for the tale is
notorious, and as notorious that it was a tale), with punishing the belly
they plagued themselves. This, applied by him, wrought such effect in
the people as I never read that only words brought forth; but then so
sudden, and so good an alteration, for upon reasonable conditions a
perfect reconcilement ensued.
The other is of Nathan the prophet, who, when the holy David had so far
forsaken God, as to confirm adultery with murder, when he was to do the
tenderest office of a friend, in laying his own shame before his eyes,
being sent by God to call again so chosen a servant, how doth he it? but
by telling of a man whose beloved lamb was ungratefully taken from his
bosom. The application most divinely true, but the discourse itself
feigned; which made David (I speak of the second and instrumental cause)
as in a glass see his own filthiness, as that heavenly psalm of mercy
well testifieth.
By these, therefore, examples and reasons, I think it may be manifest
that the poet, with that same hand of delight, doth draw the mind more
effectually than any other art doth. And so a conclusion not unfitly
ensues; that as virtue is the most excellent resting-place for all
worldly learning to make his end of, so poetry, being the most familiar
to teach it, and most princely to move towards it, in the most excellent
work is the most excellent workman.
But I am content not only to decipher him by his works (although works in
commendation and dispraise must ever hold a high authority), but more
narrowly will examine his parts; so that (as in a man) though all
together may carry a presence full of majesty and beauty perchance in
some one defectious {44} piece we may find blemish.
Now, {45} in his parts, kinds, or species, as you list to term them, it
is to be noted that some poesies have coupled together two or three
kinds; as the tragical and comical, whereupon is risen the tragi-comical;
some, in the manner, have mingled prose and verse, as Sannazaro and
Boetius; some have mingled matters heroical and pastoral; but that cometh
all to one in this question; for, if severed they be good, the
conjunction cannot be hurtful. Therefore, perchance, forgetting some,
and leaving some as needless to be remembered, it shall not be amiss, in
a word, to cite the special kinds, to see what faults may be found in the
right use of them.
Is it, then, the pastoral poem which is misliked? {46} For, perchance,
where the hedge is lowest, they will soonest leap over. Is the poor pipe
disdained, which sometimes, out of Melibæus’s mouth, can show the misery
of people under hard lords and ravening soldiers? And again, by Tityrus,
what blessedness is derived to them that lie lowest from the goodness of
them that sit highest? Sometimes under the pretty tales of wolves and
sheep, can include the whole considerations of wrong doing and patience;
sometimes show, that contentions for trifles can get but a trifling
victory; where, perchance, a man may see that even Alexander and Darius,
when they strove who should be cock of this world’s dunghill, the benefit
they got was, that the after-livers may say,
“Hæc memini, et victum frustra contendere Thyrsim.
Ex illo Corydon, Corydon est tempore nobis.” {47}
Or is it the lamenting elegiac, {48} which, in a kind heart, would move
rather pity than blame; who bewaileth, with the great philosopher
Heraclitus, the weakness of mankind, and the wretchedness of the world;
who, surely, is to be praised, either for compassionately accompanying
just causes of lamentations, or for rightly pointing out how weak be the
passions of wofulness?
Is it the bitter, but wholesome iambic, {49} who rubs the galled mind,
making shame the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crying out
against naughtiness?
Or the satiric? who,
“Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit amico;” {50}
who sportingly never leaveth, until he make a man laugh at folly, and, at
length, ashamed to laugh at himself, which he cannot avoid without
avoiding the folly; who, while “circum præcordia ludit,” giveth us to
feel how many headaches a passionate life bringeth us to; who when all is
done,
“Est Ulubris, animus si nos non deficit æquus.” {51}
No, perchance, it is the comic; {52} whom naughty play-makers and
stage-keepers have justly made odious. To the arguments of abuse I will
after answer; only thus much now is to be said, that the comedy is an
imitation of the common errors of our life, which he representeth in the
most ridiculous and scornful sort that may be; so as it is impossible
that any beholder can be content to be such a one. Now, as in geometry,
the oblique must be known as well as the right, and in arithmetic, the
odd as well as the even; so in the actions of our life, who seeth not the
filthiness of evil, wanteth a great foil to perceive the beauty of
virtue. This doth the comedy handle so, in our private and domestical
matters, as, with hearing it, we get, as it were, an experience of what
is to be looked for, of a niggardly Demea, of a crafty Davus, of a
flattering Gnatho, of a vain-glorious Thraso; and not only to know what
effects are to be expected, but to know who be such, by the signifying
badge given them by the comedian. And little reason hath any man to say,
that men learn the evil by seeing it so set out; since, as I said before,
there is no man living, but by the force truth hath in nature, no sooner
seeth these men play their parts, but wisheth them in “pistrinum;” {53}
although, perchance, the sack of his own faults lie so behind his back,
that he seeth not himself to dance in the same measure, whereto yet
nothing can more open his eyes than to see his own actions contemptibly
set forth; so that the right use of comedy will, I think, by nobody be
blamed.
And much less of the high and excellent tragedy, {54} that openeth the
greatest wounds, and showeth forth the ulcers that are covered with
tissue; that maketh kings fear to be tyrants, and tyrants to manifest
their tyrannical humours; that with stirring the effects of admiration
and commiseration, teacheth the uncertainty of this world, and upon how
weak foundations gilded roofs are builded; that maketh us know, “qui
sceptra sævus duro imperio regit, timet timentes, metus in authorem
redit.” But how much it can move, Plutarch yielded a notable testimony
of the abominable tyrant Alexander Pheræus; from whose eyes a tragedy,
well made and represented, drew abundance of tears, who without all pity
had murdered infinite numbers, and some of his own blood; so as he that
was not ashamed to make matters for tragedies, yet could not resist the
sweet violence of a tragedy. And if it wrought no farther good in him,
it was that he, in despite of himself, withdrew himself from hearkening
to that which might mollify his hardened heart. But it is not the
tragedy they do dislike, for it were too absurd to cast out so excellent
a representation of whatsoever is most worthy to be learned.
Is it the lyric that most displeaseth, who with his tuned lyre and
well-accorded voice, giveth praise, the reward of virtue, to virtuous
acts? who giveth moral precepts and natural problems? who sometimes
raiseth up his voice to the height of the heavens, in singing the lauds
of the immortal God? Certainly, I must confess mine own barbarousness; I
never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not my heart
moved more than with a trumpet; {55} and yet it is sung but by some blind
crowder, with no rougher voice than rude style; which being so evil
apparelled in the dust and cobweb of that uncivil age, what would it
work, trimmed in the gorgeous eloquence of Pindar? In Hungary I have
seen it the manner at all feasts, and all other such-like meetings, to
have songs of their ancestors’ valour, which that right soldier-like
nation think one of the chiefest kindlers of brave courage. The
incomparable Lacedæmonians did not only carry that kind of music ever
with them to the field, but even at home, as such songs were made, so
were they all content to be singers of them; when the lusty men were to
tell what they did, the old men what they had done, and the young what
they would do. And where a man may say that Pindar many times praiseth
highly victories of small moment, rather matters of sport than virtue; as
it may be answered, it was the fault of the poet, and not of the poetry,
so, indeed, the chief fault was in the time and custom of the Greeks, who
set those toys at so high a price, that Philip of Macedon reckoned a
horse-race won at Olympus among three fearful felicities. But as the
inimitable Pindar often did, so is that kind most capable, and most fit,
to awake the thoughts from the sleep of idleness, to embrace honourable
enterprises.
There rests the heroical, {56} whose very name, I think, should daunt all
backbiters. For by what conceit can a tongue be directed to speak evil
of that which draweth with him no less champions than Achilles, Cyrus,
Æneas, Turus, Tydeus, Rinaldo? who doth not only teach and move to truth,
but teacheth and moveth to the most high and excellent truth: who maketh
magnanimity and justice shine through all misty fearfulness and foggy
desires? who, if the saying of Plato and Tully be true, that who could
see virtue, would be wonderfully ravished with the love of her beauty;
this man setteth her out to make her more lovely, in her holiday apparel,
to the eye of any that will deign not to disdain until they understand.
But if any thing be already said in the defence of sweet poetry, all
concurreth to the maintaining the heroical, which is not only a kind, but
the best and most accomplished kind, of poetry. For, as the image of
each action stirreth and instructeth the mind, so the lofty image of such
worthies most inflameth the mind with desire to be worthy, and informs
with counsel how to be worthy. Only let Æneas be worn in the tablet of
your memory, how he governeth himself in the ruin of his country; in the
preserving his old father, and carrying away his religious ceremonies; in
obeying God’s commandments, to leave Dido, though not only passionate
kindness, but even the human consideration of virtuous gratefulness,
would have craved other of him; how in storms, how in sports, how in war,
how in peace, how a fugitive, how victorious, how besieged, how
besieging, how to strangers, how to allies, how to enemies; how to his
own, lastly, how in his inward self, and how in his outward government;
and I think, in a mind most prejudiced with a prejudicating humour, he
will be found in excellency fruitful. Yea, as Horace saith, “Melius
Chrysippo et Crantore:” {57} but, truly, I imagine it falleth out with
these poet-whippers as with some good women who often are sick, but in
faith they cannot tell where. So the name of poetry is odious to them,
but neither his cause nor effects, neither the sum that contains him, nor
the particularities descending from him, give any fast handle to their
carping dispraise.
Since, then, {58} poetry is of all human learnings the most ancient, and
of most fatherly antiquity, as from whence other learnings have taken