bugh Latimer. 1485(?)-1555. AN ARRAIGNMENT OF LONDON. (From the Sermon of the Plough, 1548. Now what shall we say of these rich citizens of London? What shall I say of them? Shall I call them proud men of London, malicious men of London, merciless men of London? No, no, I may not say so; they will be offended with me then. Yet must I speak. For is there not reigning in London as 5 much pride, as much covetousness, as much cruelty, as much oppression, and as much superstition, as was in Nebo? Yes, I think, and much more too. Therefore, I say, repent, O London! repent, repent! Thou hearest thy faults told thee: amend them, amend them! I think if Nebo had had 10 the preaching that thou hast, they would have converted. And, you rulers and officers, be wise and circumspect, look to your charge, and see you do your duties; and rather be glad to amend your ill-living than to be angry when you are warned or told of your fault. What ado was there made in 15 London at a certain man because he said (and indeed at that time on a just cause), "Burgesses!" quoth he, "nay, Butterflies." Lord, what ado there was for that word! And yet would God they were no worse than butterflies! Butterflies do but their nature: the butterfly is not covetous, is not 20 greedy of other men's goods; is not full of envy and hatred, is not malicious, is not cruel, is not merciless. The butterfly glorieth not in her own deeds, nor preferreth the traditions of men before God's word; it committeth not idolatry, nor worshippeth false gods. But London cannot abide to be 25 rebuked; such is the nature of man. If they be pricked, they will kick; if they be rubbed on the gall, they will wince; but yet they will not amend their faults, they will not be ill spoken of. But how shall I speak well of them? If you could be content to receive and follow the word of God and 30 favor good preachers, if you could bear to be told of your faults, if you could amend when you hear of them, if you would be glad to reform that is amiss, if I might see any such inclination in you that you would leave to be merciless and begin to be charitable, I would then hope well of you, I 5 would then speak well of you. But London was never so ill as it is now. In times past, men were full of pity and compassion, but now there is no pity; for in London their brother shall die in the streets for cold, he shall lie sick at the door between stock and stock, I cannot tell what to call it, and 10 perish there for hunger: was there ever more unmercifulness in Nebo? I think not. In times past, when any rich man died in London, they were wont to help the poor scholars of the Universities with exhibition. When any man died they would bequeath reat sums of money toward the relief of the 15 poor. When I was a scholar in Cambridge myself, I heard very good report of London, and knew many that had relief of the rich men of London: but now I can hear no such good report, and yet I inquire of it and hearken for it; but now charity is waxen cold, none helpeth the scholar nor yet the 20 poor. John Lyly. THE CHARACTER OF EUPHUES. (From Euphues: The Anatomy of Wit, 1578.) There dwelt in Athens a young gentleman of great patrimony, and of so comely a personage that it was doubted whether he were more bound to Nature for the lineaments of his person or to Fortune for the increase of his possessions. 25 But Nature, impatient of comparisons, and as it were disdaining a companion or co-partner in her working, added to this comeliness of his body such a sharp capacity of mind that not only she proved Fortune counterfeit but was half of that opinion that she herself was only current. This young gal30 lant, of more wit than wealth, and yet of more wealth than wisdom, seeing himself inferior to none in pleasant conceits. thought himself superior to all in honest conditions, insomuch that he deemed himself so apt to all things that he gave himself almost to nothing but practicing of those things commonly which are incident to these sharp wits-fine phrases, smooth quipping, merry taunting, using jesting without mean, and abusing mirth without measure. As therefore 5 the sweetest rose hath his prickle, the finest velvet his brack, the fairest flour his bran, so the sharpest wit hath his wanton will, and the holiest head his wicked way. And true it is that some men write and most men believe, that in all perfect shapes a blemish bringeth rather a liking every way to the 10 eyes than a loathing any way to the mind. Venus had her mole in her cheek, which made her more amiable; Helen, her scar on her chin, which Paris called cos amoris, the whetstone of love; Aristippus, his wart; Lycurgus, his wen: so likewise in the disposition of the mind, either virtue is overshadowed 15 with some vice, or vice overcast with some virtue—Alexander, valiant in war, yet given to wine; Tully, eloquent in his gloses, yet vain-glorious; Solomon, wise, yet too wanton; David, holy, but yet an homicide. None more witty than Euphues, yet at the first none more wicked. The freshest 20 colors soonest fade, the teenest razor soonest turneth his edge, the finest cloth is soonest eaten with moths, and the cambric sooner stained than the coarse canvas: which appeared well in this Euphues, whose wit being like wax, apt to receive any impression, and having the bridle in his own hands, either 25 to use the rein or the spur, disdaining counsel, leaving his country, loathing his old acquaintance, thought either by wit to obtain some conquest, or by shame to abide some conflict, and, leaving the rule of reason, rashly ran unto destruction. Sir Philip Sidney. 1554-1586. HER LOVERS DESCRIBE URANIA. (From the Arcadia, 1590.) It was in the time that the earth begins to put on her new 30 apparel against the approach of her lover, and that the sun, running a most even course, becomes an indifferent arbiter between the night and the day; when the hopeless shepherd Strephon was come to the sands which lie against the island of Cythera, where, viewing the place with a heavy kind of 5 delight, and sometimes casting his eyes to the isleward, he called his friendly rival, the pastor Claius, unto him, and, setting first down in his darkened countenance a doleful copy of what he would speak, "O my Claius," said he, "hither we are now come to pay the rent for which we are so called 10 unto by over-busy Remembrance; Remembrance, restless Remembrance, which claims not only this duty of us, but for it will have us forget ourselves. I pray you, when we were amid our flock, and that of other shepherds some were running after their sheep strayed beyond their bounds, some de15 lighting their eyes with seeing them nibble upon the short and sweet grass, some medicining their sick ewes, some setting a bell for an ensign of a sheepish squadron, some with more leisure inventing new games of exercising their bodies and sporting their wits, did Remembrance grant us any 20 holiday, either for pastime or devotion, nay, either for necessary food or natural rest? but that still it forced our thoughts to work upon this place, where we last (alas that the word 'last' should so long last!) did gaze our eyes upon her everflourishing beauty: did it not still cry within us, 'Ah you 25 base-minded wretches, are your thoughts so deeply bemired in the trade of ordinary worldlings, as for respect of gain some paltry wool may yield you, to let so much time pass without knowing perfectly her estate, especially in so troublesome a season? to leave that shore unsaluted, from whence 30 you may see to the island where she dwelleth? to leave those steps unkissed wherein Urania printed the farewell of all beauty? Well, then, Remembrance commanded, we obeyed, and here we find that, as our Remembrance came ever clothed unto us in the form of this place, so this place gives new heat 35 to the fever of our languishing Remembrance. Yonder, my Claius, Urania lighted; the very horse (methought) bewailed to be so disburdened; and as for thee, poor Claius, when thou wentst to help her down, I saw reverence and desire so divide thee that thou didst at one instant both blush and quake, and instead of bearing her wert ready to fall down thyself. There she sate, vouchsafing my cloak (then most gorgeous) under her: at yonder rising of the ground she turned herself, looking back toward her wonted abode, and because of her parting 5 bearing much sorrow in her eyes, the lightsomeness whereof had yet so natural a cheerfulness as it made even sorrow seem to smile; at that turning she spake unto us all, opening the cherry of her lips, and Lord how greedily mine ears did feed upon the sweet words she uttered? And here she laid 10 her hand over thine eyes, when she saw the tears springing in them, as if she would conceal them from other and yet herself feel some of thy sorrow. But woe is me, yonder, yonder, did she put her foot into the boat, at that instant, as it were, dividing her heavenly beauty between the earth and the sea. 15 But when she was embarked, did you not mark how the winds whistled and the seas danced for joy, how the sails did swell with pride, and all because they had Urania? O Urania, blessed be thou, Urania, the sweetest fairness and fairest sweetness!" With that word his voice brake so with sobbing 20 that he could say no further; and Claius thus answered: Alas, my Strephon," said he, "what needs this score to reckon up only our losses? What doubt is there but that the light of this place doth call our thoughts to appear at the court of Affection, held by that racking steward, Remem- 25 brance? As well may sheep forget to fear when they spy wolves as we can miss such fancies when we see any place made happy by her treading. Who can choose, that saw her, but think where she stayed, where she walked, where she turned, where she spoke? But what is all this? truly no more 30 but as this place served us to think of those things, so those things serve as places to call to memory more excellent matters. No, no, let us think with consideration, and consider with acknowledging, and acknowledge with admiration, and admire with love, and love with joy in the midst of all woes: 35 let us in such sort think, I say, that our poor eyes were so enriched as to behold, and our low hearts so exalted as to love, a maid who is such that, as the greatest thing the world |