From Chaucer to Tennyson Part 18

OF STUDIES.

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. Their chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring: for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business; for expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars, one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots and marshaling of affairs come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humor of a scholar: they perfect nature, and are perfected by experience: for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by study; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them; for they teach not their own use; but that is a wisdom without them and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted, nor to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested; that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously;[108] and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that would be only in the less important arguments,[109] and the meaner sorts of books; else distilled books are, like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, and writing an exact man; and therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not. Histories make men wise; poets, witty; the mathematics, subtile; natural philosophy, deep; moral, grave; logic and rhetoric, able to contend: _Abeunt studia in mores_;[110] nay, there is no stand or impediment in the wit, but may be wrought out by fit studies: like as diseases of the body may have appropriate exercises--bowling is good for the stone and reins, shooting for the lungs and breast, gentle walking for the stomach, riding for the head and the like; so, if a man's wit be wandering, let him study the mathematics; for in demonstrations, if his wit be called away never so little, he must begin again; if his wit be not apt to distinguish or find differences, let him study the school-men, for they are _Cymini sectores_;[111] if he be not apt to beat over matters, and to call up one thing to prove and ill.u.s.trate another, let him study the lawyers'

cases: so every defect of the mind may have a special receipt.

[Footnote 108: Attentively.]

[Footnote 109: Subjects.]

[Footnote 110: Studies pa.s.s into the character.]

[Footnote 111: Hair-splitters.]

OF ADVERSITY.

It was a high speech of Seneca (after the manner of the Stoics), that "the good things which belong to prosperity are to be wished, but the good things that belong to adversity are to be admired"--_Bona rerum secundarum optabilia, adversarum mirabilia_. Certainly, if miracles be the command over Nature, they appear most in adversity. It is yet a higher speech of his than the other (much too high for a heathen), "It is true greatness to have in one the frailty of a man and the security of a G.o.d "--_Vere magnum habere fragilitatem hominis, securitatem dei_.

This would have done better in poesy, where transcendencies are more allowed; and the poets indeed have been busy with it; for it is in effect the thing which is figured in that strange fiction of the ancient poets, which seemeth not to be without mystery;[112] nay, and to have some approach to the state of a Christian; "that Hercules, when he went to unbind _Prometheus_ (by whom human nature is represented), sailed the length of the great ocean in an earthen pot or pitcher," lively describing Christian resolution, that saileth in the frail bark of the flesh through the waves of the world. But, to speak in a _mean_[113] the virtue of prosperity is temperance, the virtue of adversity is fort.i.tude, which in morals is the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of the Old Testament, adversity is the blessing of the New, which carrieth the greater benediction, and the clearer revelation of G.o.d's favor. Yet, even in the Old Testament, if you listen to David's harp, you shall hear as many hea.r.s.e-like airs as carols; and the pencil of the Holy Ghost hath labored more in describing the afflictions of Job than the felicities of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and distastes; and adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in needle-works and embroideries it is more pleasing to have a lively work upon a sad and solemn ground, than to have a dark and melancholy work upon a lightsome ground: judge, therefore, of the pleasure of the heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly virtue is like precious odors, most fragrant when they are incensed[114] or crushed: for prosperity doth best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.

[Footnote 112: An allegorical meaning.]

[Footnote 113: Moderately, that is, without poetic figures.]

[Footnote 114: Burnt.]

BEN JONSON.

SONG TO CELIA.

Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honoring thee, As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be.

But thou thereon did'st only breathe And sent'st it back to me: Since when it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee.

LONG LIFE.

It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make men better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night; It was the plant and flower of light.

In small proportions we just beauty see; And in short measures life may perfect be.

EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE.

Underneath this sable hea.r.s.e Lies the subject of all verse, Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; Death, ere thou hast slain another, Learn'd and fair and good as she, Time shall throw a dart at thee.

THE THANKLESS MUSE.

[From _The Poetaster_.]

O this would make a learned and liberal soul To rive his stained quill up to the back, And d.a.m.n his long-watched labours to the fire-- Things that were born when none, but the still night And his dumb candle, saw his pinching throes; Were not his own free merit a more crown, Unto his travails than their reeling claps.[115]

This 'tis that strikes me silent, seals my lips, And apts me rather to sleep out my time, Than I would waste it in contemned strifes With these vile Ibides,[116] these unclean birds That make their mouths their clysters, and still purge From their hot entrails. But I leave the monsters To their own fate. And, since the Comic Muse Hath proved so ominous to me, I will try If tragedy have a more kind aspect: Her favors in my next I will pursue, Where, if I prove the pleasure but of one, So he judicious be, he shall be alone A theater unto me. Once I'll 'say[117]

To strike the ear of time in those fresh strains, As shall, beside the cunning of their ground, Give cause to some of wonder, some despite, And more despair to imitate their sound.

I, that spend half my nights and all my days Here in a cell, to get a dark pale face, To come forth worth the ivy or the bays, And in this age can hope no other grace-- Leave me! There's something come into my thought That must and shall be sung high and aloof, Safe from the wolf's black jaw and the dull a.s.s's hoof.[118]

[Footnote 115: Applauses.]

[Footnote 116: Plural of ibis.]

[Footnote 117: That is, I will try once for all.]

[Footnote 118: That is, envy and stupidity.]

JOHN FLETCHER AND FRANCIS BEAUMONT.

A SONG OF TRUE LOVE DEAD.

[From _The Maid's Tragedy_.]

Lay a garland on my hea.r.s.e Of the dismal yew; Maidens willow branches bear; Say I died true: My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth: Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth.

A SONG OF CRUEL LOVE.[119]

[From _Rollo, Duke of Normandy_.]

Take, oh take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn; But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, though sealed in vain.

Hide, oh hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow Are of those that April wears; But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.

SWEET MELANCHOLY.[120]

[From _The Nice Valor_.]

Hence, all your vain delights, As short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly!

There's naught in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't, But only melancholy: O sweetest melancholy!

Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, A look that's fastened on the ground, A tongue chained up without a sound!

Fountain-heads and pathless groves, Places which pale pa.s.sion loves, Moonlight walks when all the fowls Are warmly housed, save bats and owls, A midnight bell, a parting groan, These are the sounds we feed upon; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley: Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

[Footnote 119: The first stanza of this song was probably Shakspere's.]

[Footnote 120: This should be compared with Milton's _Il Penserosa_.]

CaeSAR'S LAMENT OVER POMPEY.