time, and misspent our gotten treasure. How curious were we to please our lady, how carelesse to displease our Lord. How devout in serving our goddesse, how desperate in forgetting our God! Ah my Philautus, if the wasting of our money might not dehort us, yet the wounding of our minds should deterre us; if reason might nothing perswade us to wisdom, yet shame should prouoke us to wit. If there bee any man in despire to obtain his purpose or obstinate in his opinion, that hauing lost his freedome by folly, would also lose his life for loue, let him repair hither, and he shall reape such profit as will either quench his flames or asswage his furie, eyther cause him to renounce his lady as most pernitious or redeeme his libertie as most precious. Come therefore to me all ye lovers that haue been deceived by fancie, the glasse of pestilence; or deluded by women, the gate of perdition: be as earnest to seeke a medicine, as you were eager to runne into mischiefe. This is therefore to admonish all young imps and nouises in loue not to blow the coales of fancy with desire but to quench them with disdaine. The first sip of loue is pleasant, the second perrillous, the third pestilent. Though the beginning bring delight, the end bringeth destruction.

Euphues, by John Lily.

The influence of euphuism is seen in much of the poetry of the latter part of the sixteenth century, sometimes in the phraseology, sometimes only in the thoughts. The following are specimens:

Delightfull and Daintie Devises.

You mery mates that maske it out in myrth,
And daunce with dames of delicate delight;

You that are fed with Fancy from your byrth,
And liued your bliss in beauties bower so bright:
You that are lulde in Lady Venus' lap

And rockt to rest with sirens' sugred songes.

Draw neere a while and or you boast or bragge,
Behold the state of my unsteadfast staye,

Wherein you may be warned by my wyll

And shun the baytes that brittle bewtie breedes:
Who if I had not skorned at Reason's skyll
Had had no cause for to repent my deedes.

Three Collections of Poetry, 1579, Roxburghe Club,

The perfect Trial of a faithful Friend.
Not stayed state, but feeble stay,
Not costly robes, but bare array;
Not passed wealth, but present want,
Not heaped store, but slender scant;
Not plenty's purse, but poor estate,
Not happy hap, but froward fate;
Not wish at will, but want of joy,
Not heart's good health, but heart's annoy;
Not freedom's use, but prison's thrall,
Not costly seat, but lowest fall;
Not weal I mean, but wretched woe,

Doth truly try the frien from foe:
And nought but froward forr.ne proves,
Who fawning feigns, or simply loves.

Paradise of Dainty Devices. ELLIS's Specimens, ii., 121.

So. Falke Greville, Lord Brooke, 1554-1628. (Handbook, par.137.) The most difficult of all our poets.' No writer appears to have reflected more deeply on momentous subjects.

Imagination.

Knowledge's next organ is imagination;
A glass, wherein the object of our sense
Ought to reflect true heighth, or declination,
For understanding's clear intelligence:
But this power also hath her variation,
Fixed in some, in some with difference;
In all, so shadowed with self-application,

As makes her pictures still too foul, or fair;
Not like the life in lineament or air.

This power, besides, always cannot receive
What sense reports, but what th' affections please
To admit; and, as those princes that do leave
Their state in trust to men corrupt with ease,
False in their faith, or but to faction friend,
The truths of things can scarcely comprehend;

So must th' imagination from the sense
Be misinformed, while our affections cast

False shapes and forms on their intelligence,
And to keep out true intromission thence,
Abstract the imagination or distastes,
With images pre-occupately plac'd.

Hence our desires, fears, hopes, love, hate, and sorrow,
In fancy make us hear, feel, see impressions,
Such as out of our sense they do not borrow;
And are the efficient cause, the true progression
Of sleeping visions, idle phantasms waking,
Life, dreams, and knowledge, apparitions making.
A Treatise on Humane Learning

Reality of a True Religion.

For sure in all kinds of hypocrisy

No bodies yet are found of constant being;

No uniform, no stable mystery,

No inward nature, but an outward seeming;

No solid truth, no virtue, holiness,

But types of these, which time makes more or less.

And, from these springs, strange inundations flow,
To drown the sea-marks of humanity,

With massacres, conspiracy, treason, woe,

By sects and schisms profaning Deity:

Besides, with furies, fiends, earth, air, and hell,
They fit, and teach confusion to rebel.

But, as there lives a true God in the heaven,
So is there true religion here on earth:
By nature? No, by grace; not got, but given;
Inspired, not taught; from God a second birth;
God dwelleth near about us, even within,
Working the goodness, censuring the sin.

Such as we are to him, to us is he,

Without God there was no man ever good;

Divine the author and the matter be,

Where goodness must be wrought in flesh and blood:
Religion stands not in corrupted things,

But virtues that descend have heavenly wings.

A Treatise of Relig

61. Sir Philip Sidney, 1554-1586. (Handbook, pars. 91, 122.)

About 1580 some violent attacks were made on music and poetry, in all their forms: Gorson, and other pamphleteers, holding that a poem and a lie were the same. Sidney's Defence is a logical and earnest reply that has permanent interest.

Defence of Poesy.

Is it then the Pastoral Poem which is misliked (for, perchance, where the hedge is lowest, they will soonest leap over), is the poor pipe disdained, which sometimes out of Melibus' 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. . . .

Or is it the lamenting Elegiac, 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 cause of lamentations, or for rightly pointing out how weak be the passions of wofulness?

Is it the bitter, but wholesome lambic, who rubs the galled mind, in making shame the trumpet of villany, with bold and open crowing out against naughtiness?

Or the Satiric, who

'Omne vafer vitium ridenti tangit amico,' a

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 (he plays about the heart), giveth us to feel how many head-aches a passionate life bringeth to ?....

No, perchance it is the Comic, whom naughty play-makers and stage-keepers have justly made odious. To the arguments of abuse, I will after answer; only this 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

• Slily touches the faults of his friend, who laughs the while.

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.

And much less of the high and excellent Tragedy, 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 affections 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 sœvus duro imperio regit, Timet timentes; metus in authorem redit.a . . .

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: and yet is it sung but by some blind crowder, with no rougher voice than rude stile: 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?...

There rests the Heroical, whose very name, I think, should daunt all back biters. For by what conceit can a tongue be directed to speak evil of that which draweth with him no less champions than Achilles, Cyrus, Eneas, Turnus, 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,

■ The crnel prince who sways the sceptre of a severe government, fears those whe fear him, and terror returns upon its author.

The Ballad of Chevy Chase.