A Defence of Poesie and Poems
their beginnings; since it is so universal that no learned nation doth
despise it, nor barbarous nation is without it; since both Roman and
Greek gave such divine names unto it, the one of prophesying, the other
of making, and that indeed that name of making is fit for him,
considering, that where all other arts retain themselves within their
subject, and receive, as it were, their being from it, the poet only,
only bringeth his own stuff, and doth not learn a conceit out of a
matter, but maketh matter for a conceit; since neither his description
nor end containeth any evil, the thing described cannot be evil; since
his effects be so good as to teach goodness, and delight the learners of
it; since therein (namely, in moral doctrine, the chief of all
knowledges) he doth not only far pass the historian, but, for
instructing, is well nigh comparable to the philosopher; for moving,
leaveth him behind him; since the Holy Scripture (wherein there is no
uncleanness) hath whole parts in it poetical, and that even our Saviour
Christ vouchsafed to use the flowers of it; since all his kinds are not
only in their united forms, but in their severed dissections fully
commendable; I think, and think I think rightly, the laurel crown
appointed for triumphant captains, doth worthily, of all other learnings,
honour the poet’s triumph.
But {59} because we have ears as well as tongues, and that the lightest
reasons that may be, will seem to weigh greatly, if nothing be put in the
counterbalance, let us hear, and, as well as we can, ponder what
objections be made against this art, which may be worthy either of
yielding or answering.
First, truly, I note, not only in these μισομούσοι, poet-haters, but in
all that kind of people who seek a praise by dispraising others, that
they do prodigally spend a great many wandering words in quips and
scoffs, carping and taunting at each thing, which, by stirring the
spleen, may stay the brain from a thorough beholding, the worthiness of
the subject. Those kind of objections, as they are full of a very idle
uneasiness (since there is nothing of so sacred a majesty, but that an
itching tongue may rub itself upon it), so deserve they no other answer,
but, instead of laughing at the jest, to laugh at the jester. We know a
playing wit can praise the discretion of an ass, the comfortableness of
being in debt, and the jolly commodities of being sick of the plague; so,
of the contrary side, if we will turn Ovid’s verse,
“Ut lateat virtus proximitate mali.”
“That good lies hid in nearness of the evil,” Agrippa will be as merry in
the showing the Vanity of Science, as Erasmus was in the commending of
Folly; {60} neither shall any man or matter escape some touch of these
smiling railers. But for Erasmus and Agrippa, they had another
foundation than the superficial part would promise. Marry, these other
pleasant fault-finders, who will correct the verb before they understand
the noun, and confute others’ knowledge before they confirm their own; I
would have them only remember, that scoffing cometh not of wisdom; so as
the best title in true English they get with their merriments, is to be
called good fools; for so have our grave forefathers ever termed that
humorous kind of jesters.
But that which giveth greatest scope to their scorning humour, is rhyming
and versing. {61} It is already said, and, as I think, truly said, it is
not rhyming and versing that maketh poesy; one may be a poet without
versing, and a versifier without poetry. But yet, presuppose it were
inseparable, as indeed, it seemeth Scaliger judgeth truly, it were an
inseparable commendation; for if “oratio” next to “ratio,” speech next to
reason, be the greatest gift bestowed upon mortality, that cannot be
praiseless which doth most polish that blessing of speech; which
considereth each word, not only as a man may say by his forcible quality,
but by his best measured quantity; carrying even in themselves a harmony;
without, perchance, number, measure, order, proportion be in our time
grown odious.
But lay aside the just praise it hath, by being the only fit speech for
music—music, I say, the most divine striker of the senses; thus much is
undoubtedly true, that if reading be foolish without remembering, memory
being the only treasure of knowledge, those words which are fittest for
memory, are likewise most convenient for knowledge. Now, that verse far
exceedeth prose in the knitting up of the memory, the reason is manifest:
the words, besides their delight, which hath a great affinity to memory,
being so set as one cannot be lost, but the whole work fails: which
accusing itself, calleth the remembrance back to itself, and so most
strongly confirmeth it. Besides, one word so, as it were, begetting
another, as, be it in rhyme or measured verse, by the former a man shall
have a near guess to the follower. Lastly, even they that have taught
the art of memory, have showed nothing so apt for it as a certain room
divided into many places, well and thoroughly known; now that hath the
verse in effect perfectly, every word having his natural seat, which seat
must needs make the word remembered. But what needs more in a thing so
known to all men? Who is it that ever was a scholar that doth not carry
away some verses of Virgil, Horace, or Cato, which in his youth he
learned, and even to his old age serve him for hourly lessons? as,
“Percontatorem fugito: nam garrulus idem est.
Dum sibi quisque placet credula turba sumus.” {62}
But the fitness it hath for memory is notably proved by all delivery of
arts, wherein, for the most part, from grammar to logic, mathematics,
physic, and the rest, the rules chiefly necessary to be borne away are
compiled in verses. So that verse being in itself sweet and orderly, and
being best for memory, the only handle of knowledge, it must be in jest
that any man can speak against it.
Now {63} then go we to the most important imputations laid to the poor
poets; for aught I can yet learn, they are these.
First, that there being many other more fruitful knowledges, a man might
better spend his time in them than in this.
Secondly, that it is the mother of lies.
Thirdly, that it is the nurse of abuse, infecting us with many pestilent
desires, with a syren sweetness, drawing the mind to the serpent’s tail
of sinful fancies; and herein, especially, comedies give the largest
field to ear, as Chaucer saith; how, both in other nations and ours,
before poets did soften us, we were full of courage, given to martial
exercises, the pillars of manlike liberty, and not lulled asleep in shady
idleness with poets’ pastimes.
And lastly and chiefly, they cry out with open mouth, as if they had
overshot Robin Hood, that Plato banished them out of his commonwealth.
Truly this is much, if there be much truth in it.
First, {64} to the first, that a man might better spend his time, is a
reason indeed; but it doth, as they say, but “petere principium.” {65}
For if it be, as I affirm, that no learning is so good as that which
teacheth and moveth to virtue, and that none can both teach and move
thereto so much as poesy, then is the conclusion manifest, that ink and
paper cannot be to a more profitable purpose employed. And certainly,
though a man should grant their first assumption, it should follow,
methinks, very unwillingly, that good is not good because better is
better. But I still and utterly deny that there is sprung out of earth a
more fruitful knowledge.
To {66} the second, therefore, that they should be the principal liars, I
answer paradoxically, but truly, I think truly, that of all writers under
the sun, the poet is the least liar; and though he would, as a poet, can
scarcely be a liar. The astronomer, with his cousin the geometrician,
can hardly escape when they take upon them to measure the height of the
stars. How often, think you, do the physicians lie, when they aver
things good for sicknesses, which afterwards send Charon a great number
of souls drowned in a potion before they come to his ferry. And no less
of the rest which take upon them to affirm. Now for the poet, he nothing
affirmeth, and therefore never lieth; for, as I take it, to lie is to
affirm that to be true which is false: so as the other artists, and
especially the historian, affirmeth many things, can, in the cloudy
knowledge of mankind, hardly escape from many lies: but the poet, as I
said before, never affirmeth; the poet never maketh any circles about
your imagination, to conjure you to believe for true what he writeth: he
citeth not authorities of other histories, but even for his entry calleth
the sweet Muses to inspire into him a good invention; in troth, not
labouring to tell you what is or is not, but what should or should not
be. And, therefore, though he recount things not true, yet because he
telleth them not for true he lieth not; without we will say that Nathan
lied in his speech, before alleged, to David; which, as a wicked man
durst scarce say, so think I none so simple would say, that Æsop lied in
the tales of his beasts; for who thinketh that Æsop wrote it for actually
true, were well worthy to have his name chronicled among the beasts he
writeth of. What child is there that cometh to a play, and seeing Thebes
written in great letters upon an old door, doth believe that it is
Thebes? If then a man can arrive to the child’s age, to know that the
poet’s persons and doings are but pictures what should be, and not
stories what have been, they will never give the lie to things not
affirmatively, but allegorically and figuratively written; and therefore,
as in history, looking for truth, they may go away full fraught with
falsehood, so in poesy, looking but for fiction, they shall use the
narration but as an imaginative ground-plot of a profitable invention.
But hereto is replied, that the poets give names to men they write of,
which argueth a conceit of an actual truth, and so, not being true,
proveth a falsehood. And doth the lawyer lie then, when, under the names
of John of the Stile, and John of the Nokes, he putteth his case? But
that is easily answered, their naming of men is but to make their picture
the more lively, and not to build any history. Painting men, they cannot
leave men nameless; we see we cannot play at chess but that we must give
names to our chess-men: and yet, methinks, he were a very partial
champion of truth that would say we lied for giving a piece of wood the
reverend title of a bishop. The poet nameth Cyrus and Æneas no other way
than to show what men of their fames, fortunes, and estates should do.
Their {67} third is, how much it abuseth men’s wit, training it to a
wanton sinfulness and lustful love. For, indeed, that is the principal
if not only abuse I can hear alleged. They say the comedies rather
teach, than reprehend, amorous conceits; they say the lyric is larded
with passionate sonnets; the elegiac weeps the want of his mistress; and
that even to the heroical Cupid hath ambitiously climbed. Alas! Love, I
would thou couldst as well defend thyself, as thou canst offend others!
I would those on whom thou dost attend, could either put thee away or
yield good reason why they keep thee! But grant love of beauty to be a
beastly fault, although it be very hard, since only man, and no beast,
hath that gift to discern beauty; grant that lovely name of love to
deserve all hateful reproaches, although even some of my masters the
philosophers spent a good deal of their lamp-oil in setting forth the
excellency of it; grant, I say, what they will have granted, that not
only love, but lust, but vanity, but, if they list, scurrility, possess
many leaves of the poets’ books; yet, think I, when this is granted, they