Part 7

Againe, in your long and large discourses, you must have y^e like considerations & cares, & some more: y^e which you may more commodiously learne of your Maisters y^t teache you y^t arte, that is commonly called Rhetorike.

And amongest other things, You must accustome your selfe, to use suche gentle and courtious speache to men, and so sweete, that it may have no maner of bitter taste. And you shall rather say, I cannot tell how to say it: Then say: you ar deceived: Or, it is not true: Or, you know it not. For, it is a courteous and friendly parte to excuse a mans faulte, even in that very thing, wherein you know how to blame him. And withall, it doth well, to make the proper and peculiar fault of your friend, indifferent and common to you both: and first, to take one piece to your selfe, and then after, to blame and reprove him for it. Wee were deceived and failed muche: we forgot our selves yesterday to doe so. Althoughe suche negligence & errour, or what soever it be: be altogether his fault and not yours. And Restagnone forgat him selfe muche, when he saide to his companions: If your wordes doe not lie. For, A man should not bring another mannes faithe and honestie in question and doubte. But, if a man promise you any thing, and doe not performe it: it shall not doe well, for you to say unto him, You have lost your credite with mee: without some necessarie cause doe drive you to say so, as to save your owne credite and honestie. But, you shall rather say: You could not do it: Or, you did not remember to doe it: Then, you have cleane forgotten mee. For, these kinde of speaches, have some prickles & stinges of Complaint, Anger and Choler. So that, suche as use them selves to speake suche churlishe and fumishe woordes, are taken for sharpe and sower fellowes: & men doe asmuche shunne their acquaintance: as to thrust them selves uppon thornes and thistles.

And bycause I knowe som, of this naughtie condition & qualitie: I meane some y^t be so hastie and greedy to speake, y^t they take not the sense with them, but over passe it and runne before it, as the grehound, that doth not pinche by overshooting his game: ther fore I will not spare to tell you that, which may be thought needeles to touche, as a thing to well knowen: and that is, that You shall never speake, before you have first considered & laide the plot in your minde what it is you have to saie. For in so doing, your talke shalbe well delivered and not borne before the time. I trust, straungers will easily beare with this worde: if at least they vouchsafe to read these trifles of mine. And if you doe not skorne my preceptes: it shall never chaunce you to say: "welcome Maister Agostino," to such a one, whose name is Agnolo, or Bernardo. And you shal never need to say, "Tell me your name:" Nor say againe, "I saide not well:" Nor, "Lorde what doe I call him:" Nor to hack and to stutter long together, to finde out a worde, "Maister Arrigo:" no "Master Arabico:" Tushe, what doe I call him I should say, "Maister Agabito." These fonde & foolish behaviours & fashions, paine a man as much to heare them, as to be drawne and haled with cordes.

The voice would be neither hoarse nor shrill. And, when you laugh and sporte in any sorte: you must not crye out and criche like the Pullye of a well: nor yet speake in your yawning. I knowe well it is not in us, to geve our selves a ready tongue or perfect voice at our owne will and pleasure. Hee y^t doth stutter, or is hoarse: let him not alwayes bable and gabbe, and keepe a courte alone: let him rather amend the defect of his tounge with silence, and hearinge: and withall (if hee can) with studie diminishe the fault of Nature. It is an ill noise to heare a man raise his voice highe, like to a common Crier. And yet I would not have him speake so lowe and softly, that he that harkens, shall not heare him. And if he be not heard at y^e first time he speaketh, he must speake, the next time, somewhat plainer: but yet, not yoape out aloude, that he make not men thinke he is woode and angry with them: for hee shall doe but well, to rehearse that againe he hath spoken, y^t men may understand what he said.

Your wordes would be disposed, even as the common use of speache doth require and not unsorted, disordered and scattered confusedly: as many be woont to doe uppon a bravery, whose maner of talke is more like a Scrivener (me thinke) that readeth in his mother tounge, the Indenture he hath written before in latine: then a man that reasoneth or talketh in his Naturall language: as this for example.

They drawe by sent of false and fained steps of truth.

Or if a man should preposterously place his wordes thus.

Those times did blossomes geve before their time of soothe.

Which maner of speache, may be otherwhile allowed in versifiers: but it is utterly forbidden in common talke.

And, it behoves a man, not onely to shunne this versifying maner of speache, in his familiar and common discourse, or talke: but likewise eschewe y^e pomp, bravery, & affectation, that may be suffered and allowed to inriche an Oration, spoken in a publike place. Otherwise, men that doe heare it, will but spite it, and laughe him to scorne for it.

Albeit perchaunce, a Sermon may shewe a greater cunning and arte, then common talke. But, Everie thing must have his time and place. For, he that walkes by the way must not daunce, but goe. For, every man hath not the skill to daunce, yet every man can skill to goe. But, Dauncing is meete for feastes & weddings: it is not to use in the stretes. You must then take good heede you speake not with a majestie.

It is thought by many Philosophers.

And suche is all Filocolo, and the other treatises of Maister John Boccace, except his greater woorke, and litle more perchaunce Corbaccio.

I would not for al this, that you should use so base a speache, as y^e scum, as it were, and the froth of the meanest and vilest sorte of people, Launderers & Hucksters: but suche as gentlemen should speake & talke, which I have partly told you before, in what sort it may be done: that is, if you talke of matters that be neither vile, vaine, fowle, nor lothesome. And if you have skill to choose amongest the woords of your owne countrie speache, the purest and most proper, suche as have the best sounde, and best sense, touching nor remembring, in no case, no matter that is foule, vile and base: & if you can place your woords in good order, and not shoofle them together at random, nor yet, with over muche Curious studie, file them (as it were) one your beades. Moreover, if you do dispose such things as you have to say with discretion. And take good hede that you couple not unfit & unlikely matters together: as for Example.

As sure as God is in Heaven: So stands the staffe in the chimny corner.

And if you speake not so slowe, as if you were unlustie: nor so hasty, as if you wer hungrie: but as a wise and a temperate man should doe. Likewise, if you pronounce youre woords and your sillables with a certaine grace & sweetnes: not as a Scholemaister y^t teacheth young Children to read & to spell. Neither must you mumble them nor supp them up, as if they were glued & pasted together one to another. If you remember these and such other rules and precepts: youre talke will be liked, and heard with pleasure enoughe: and you shall well maintaine the state and countenaunce, that well besemeth a gentleman well taught and honest.

Besids these, there be some, that never hould their tounge. And as the shippe that sailes, doth not presently stand still, by taking downe the sailes: So doe they runne forward, as caried away with a certaine braide: and loosing the matter of their talke, yet leave not to babble, but either repeate that againe that is said, or els speake still they cannot tell what.

And there be other so full of babble, that they will not suffer another to speake. And as wee doe see otherwhile, uppon the flowers in the countrie where they thresh corne, one Pullet pull the corne out of the others beake: so doe they catche the tale out of his mouth y^t beganne it, and tell it them selves. And sure, suche maner of people, induce men to quarell and fight with them for it. For, if you doe marke it wel: Nothing moves a man sooner to anger: then when he is soudainely cut short of his will and his pleasure, be it of never so little and small importaunce. As when you gape wide with yawning: another should thrust his hand in your mouth: or when you doe lift your arme redy to hurle a stone: it is soudainly staide by one that stands behinde you. Even then, as these doings, and many moe like unto these, which tend to hinder the will and desire of another (albeit but in way of sporte & of play) are unseemely, and would be eschewed: So in talke and communication with men, wee should rather pull one, and further their desiers, by what meanes we can, then stop them and hinder them in it.

And therefore, If any man be in a redines to tell his tale: it is no good maner to interrupte him: nor to say that you doe knowe it well. Or, if hee besprinckle his tale here and there, with some prety lie: you must not reprove him for it, neither in wordes nor in gesture, as shaking your hed, or scowling uppon him, as many be wont: gloriously vaunting them selves, that they can, by no meanes, abide the taste of a Lie.... But, this is not the reason of this, it is the sharpenes and sowernes of their owne rusticall & eager Natures, which makes them so venemous & bitter in all companies they come: that no man cares for their acquaintance.

Likewise, It is an illfavoured condition to stop another mans tale in his mouth: and it spites him asmuche, as if a man should take him by the sleeve & hould him backe, even when he is redie to runne his course. And when another man is in a tale, it is no good maner for you, by telling the company some newes, & drawing their mindes to other matters, to make them forsake him cleane, and leave him alone. For, it is an uncourtious parte for you to leade and carry away the company: which the other (not you) hath brought together.

And, when a man tells his tale, you must geve good eare unto him: that you may not say otherwhile, O what?: Or, how?: which is many a mans fashion to doe. And this is asmuch trouble and paine to him that speaketh: as to shoofle against y^e stones, to him that goeth. All these fashions, and generally, that which may stoppe, and that which may traverse the course of another mans talke, must be shunned.

And, if a man tell his tale slowe like a drawe-latche: you must not yet hasten him forwarde, nor lende him woordes, although you be quicker in speache then hee. For, many doe take that ill, and specially suche, as persuade themselves they have a Joly grace in telling a tale. For, they doe imagine you thinke not so well of them, as they themselves doe: And that you would geve them instructions in their owne Arte: as Merchaunts that live in greate wealth & plentie, would count it a greate reproche unto them, that a man should proffer them money, as if they lived in lacke, & were poore and stoode in neede of releefe. And you must understand, that, Every man in his owne conceite, thinkes he can tell his tale well: althoughe for modestie sake he deny it. And I cannot gesse how it cometh to passe, that the veriest foole doth babble most: which over muche prattle, I would not have a gentleman to use, and specially, if his skill be but scant in the matter in talke: Not onely, bycause it is a hard matter: but, He must run in many faults that talkes muche: but also, bycause a man weenes, that, He that talkes all the talke to him selfe, woulde (after a sorte) preferre him self above them all that heare him, as a Maister would be above his scholers. And therfore, It is no good maner for a man to take uppon him a greater state, then doth become him. And in this fault, not men alone, but many countries fall into, so cackling and prattling: that, woe be their eares that geve them hearing.

But, as over muche babble makes a man weary: so doth over muche Silence procure as greate disliking. For, To use silence in place where other men talke to and fro: is in maner, asmuche a fault, as not to pay your share and scot as other men doe. And as speache is a meane to shewe men your minde, to whome you speake: so, doth Silence againe make men wene, you seke to be unknowne. So y^t, as those people which use to drinke muche at feastes, and make them selves drunke, are wont to thrust them out of their companie, that will not take their drinke as they doe: So be these kinde of mute & still fellowes, coldly welcome to pleasaunt and mery companie, that meete to passe the time away in pleasure and talke. So that, It is good maner for a man to speake, and likewise to hold his peace, as it comes to his turne, and occasion requires.

As an old Chronicle maketh mention. There was in the parts of Morea, a very good workman in stone: Who for y^e singular good skill he had in his Art, was called (as I take it) Maestro Chiarissimo. This man (now well strooken in yeares) made a certaine treatise, & therin gathered together al y^e precepts & rules of his arte: as the man y^t had very good skill to doe it: shewing in what sorte the proportions and lineaments of the body, should be duely measured, as well everyone a parte by it selfe, as one respecting another: y^t they might justly & duely be answerable y^e one to the other: which treatise of his, he named Regolo. Meaning to shewe, that according to that, all the Images and pictures, that from thensforth any workeman should make, should be squared & lined forth: as y^e beames, and y^e stones, and the walles, are measured by y^e rules & precepts of that booke. But, for that it is a muche easier matter to speake it, then to worke it, or doe it: and besides that, The greatest number of men, especially of us that be prophane and not learned, have our senses much quicker then our understanding, and consequently, better conceive particular things and Examples, then the generall propositions and Syllogismes (which I might terme in plainer speache, Reasons) for this cause this worthy man I speake of, having regard to the Nature of workemen: whose capacities are unfit and unable to weeld the weighte of generall Precepts and rules: and to declare more plainely, with all his cunning and skill: having found out for his purpose, a fine marble stone, with muche labour and paine, he fashioned and shaped an Image of it, as perfectly proportioned in every parte and member: as the precepts and rules of his treatise had before devised. And as he named the booke, so did he name that Image, and called it by name of Regolo.

Now, (and it pleased god) I would I could but one parte of those twoe points, which that noble Ingraver & worckeman I speake of, had perfect skill and knowledge to doe: I meane, that I could gather together in this treatise, after a sorte, the due measures of this Art I take uppon me to treate of. For, to perfourme the other, to make the second Regolo: I meane, to use and observe in my maners, the measures I speake of, framing and forming, as it were, A Visible Example, and a material Image of them: it were now, to muche for me to doe. For asmuch as, It is not inough to have knowledge and Art, in matters concerning maners & fashions of men: But it is needefull withall, to worke them to a perfect effect, to practise and use them muche: which cannot be had uppon the soudaine, nor learned by & by: but it is number of yeares that must winne it: & y^e beste parte of mine be runne fourth alredy, you see.

But for all this, you must not make y^e lesse reconing of these precepts. For, A man may well teache another the way: although he have gone out of the way himself. And, peradventure, they that have lost their wayes, do better remember the hard wayes to find: then they that never went a misse. And, if in mine infancie, when minds be tender and pliable, like a young twigge, they that had y^e charge & governement of me, had had the skill to smoothe my manners, (perhaps of Nature somwhat hard and rude) and would have polished and wrought them fine: peradventure I should have beene such A one, as I travaile to make thee Nowe, whome I love no lesse then if thou were my sonne. For albeit, the power of Nature be greate: yet is she many times Maistered and corrected by custome: But, we must in time begin to encounter and beate her downe, before she get to muche strength and hardines. But most men will not doe so: but rather yealding to their appetite without any striving, following it where so ever it leades them, thinke they must submitte themselves to Nature: As though Reason were not a naturall thing in man. But, Reason hath (as a Lady and Mistris) power to chaunge olde customes, and to helpe & hold up Nature, when she doth at any time decay and fall. But very seldome we harken unto her. And y^t for y^e moste parte, maketh us like unto them whome god hath not endued w^t Reason: I mean brute beastes, in whome notwithstanding, something yet worketh: not their owne Reasons (for they have none of them selves) but ours: as in horses you see it: which by nature would be ever wilde, but y^t their rider makes them tame, and withal, after a sorte, redy & very well paced. For many of them would have a hard trot, but that the rider makes them have an easier pace. And some he doth teache to stand still, to galopp, to treade the ringe, and passe the carreere: And they learne to doe it all well you see. Then, if the horse, the dog, y^e hauke, & many other beastes besides, more wilde then these, be guided and ruled by Reason, and learne that which their owne Nature cannot attaine, but rather repugneth: and become after a sorte cunning and skilfull, so farre as their kinde doth beare it, not by Nature, but by custome & use: how muche then may we thinke wee should excell them, by the precepts and rules of our Reason, if wee tooke any heede unto it. But, The Senses desire & covet present delightes, what soever they be: and can abide no paines, but puts them of. And by this meanes, they also shake of Reason, and thinke her unpleasant, forasmuche as she sets before them, not pleasure, many times, hurtfull: but goodnes and vertue, ever painfull, sower and unsavoury in taste. For, while we live according to the Sense, wee are like to the selly sickman, to whom al cates never so deinty & sweete, seeme untoothsome: and he chideth still with his Cater and Cooke, in whome there is no fault at all for it. For, it is the Nature of his disease, and the Extremitie of his sicknes, and not the fault of his meate, that he doth not savourly taste what he eates. So Reason, which of it selfe is sweete and savourie: seemes bitter in taste unto us, though it have no ill taste in dede. And therfore as nice & deintie felowes, we refuse to make any taste of her: & cover our grosnes, w^t saying that Nature hath no spurres nor raines y^t can prick her forth, or hold her backe. Where sure, if an Oxe or an Asse, or a Hogge, could speake: I beleeve, they could not lightly tell a more fowle & shamefull tale then this. We should be children still all the time of our riper yeares, & in our extreame age: and waxe as very fooles with gray hoary heads, as when we were very babes: if it were not that reason, which increaseth in us with our yeares, subdueth affections in us and growen to perfection, transformeth us from beastes in to men. So that it is well seene, shee ruleth our senses and bridleth our willes. And it is our owne Imperfection and not her faulte, if we doe swarve from vertue, goodnes, and good order in life.

It is not then true, that there is not a bridell and Master for Nature, Nay, she is guided and ruled by twaine: Custome I meane, and Reason. But, as I have tould you a litle before: Reason without Custome and use, cannot make an uncivile bodie, well taught and courtious: Which custome and use, is as it were, bred and borne of time. And therefore they shall doe well, to harken betime unto her, not only for that, by this meanes, a man shall have more time and leasure to learne to be such as she teacheth, and to become as it were a houshould servaunt of hers, and one of her traine: but also bycause The tender age, as pure and cleane, doth easily receave all Impressions, and reteineth more lively, the colours wherewith she is dyed: then when a man comes to riper yeares: And also, bycause The things wherein wee have byn nourished and trained from our youth, doe ordinarily please us, above all other things. And for this cause, it is said that Diodato, a man that had a singular good gift & grace of utterance, would evermore bee the first that came fourth uppon the stage to shewe his Comedie: allthoughe they were all but counterfets unto him, whosoever they were that should have spoken before him. But he would not his voice should occupie other mens eares, after they heard another man speake. Although, in respect of his doings, it were a greate deale Inferiour to his. Seing then, I cannot agree my workes and my wordes together, for those causes I have shewed you before, as Maestro Chiarissimo did: whoe had as good a skil to do it, as he had knowledge to teache it: let it suffice that I have tould in some part what must be done, by cause I am not by any meanes able to doe it in dede. He that liveth in darkenes, may very well Judge what comfort it is to enjoy the benefit of light. And by an over long silence, we knowe what pleasure it is to speake: so when you beholde my grose and rude maners: you shall better Judge, what goodnes and vertue there is in courtious behaviours and fashions.

To come againe then to this treatise, which growes now to some end: wee say that Those be good maners and fashions, which bring a delight, or at least, offend not their senses, their minds, and conceits, with whom we live. And of these, wee have hitherto spoken inoughe.

But you must understand with all this, that, Men be very desirous of bewtifull things, well proportioned and comely. And of counterfet things fowle and ill shapen, they be as squemish againe, on the other side. And this is a speciall privilege geven to us: that other creatures have no capacitie, to skill what bewtie or measure meaneth. And, therefore, as things not common w^t beastes but proper to our selves: we must embrace them for them selves: and holde them dere: & yet those, much more, y^t drawe nerest to y^e knowledge of man: as which are most apt and inclined to understand the perfection which Nature hath lefte in men.