act v. sc. 1, l. 143, vol. v. p. 213), but replies,—

“I am the king, and thou a false-heart traitor. Call hither to the stake my two brave bears, That with the very shaking of their chains They may astonish these fell-lurking curs: Bid Salisbury and Warwick come to me. _Enter the_ EARLS OF WARWICK _and_ SALISBURY. _Clif._ Are these thy bears? we’ll bait thy bears to death, And manacle the bear-ward in their chains, If thou darest bring them to the baiting place. _Rich._ Oft have I seen a hot o’erweening cur Run back and bite, because he was withheld; Who, being suffer’d with the bear’s fell paw, Hath clapp’d his tail between his legs and cried: And such a piece of service will you do, If you oppose yourselves to match Lord Warwick.”

The Dialogue continues until just afterwards Warwick makes this taunting remark to Clifford (l. 196),—

“_War._ You were best to go to bed and dream again, To keep thee from the tempest of the field. _Clif._ I am resolved to bear a greater storm Than any thou canst conjure up to-day; And that I’ll write upon thy burgonet, Might I but know thee by thy household badge. _War._ Now, by my father’s badge, old Nevil’s crest, The rampant bear chain’d to the ragged staff, This day I’ll wear aloft my burgonet, As on a mountain top the cedar shows That keeps his leaves in spite of any storm, Even to affright thee with the view thereof. _Clif._ And from thy burgonet I’ll rend thy bear And tread it underfoot with all contempt, Despite the bear-ward that protects the bear.”

A closer correspondence between a picture and a description of it cannot be desired; Shakespeare’s lines and Whitney’s frontispiece exactly coincide;

“Like coats in heraldry Due but to one, and crowned with one crest.”

By Euclid’s axiom, “magnitudes which coincide are equal;” and though the reasonings in geometry and those in heraldry are by no means of forces identical, it may be a just conclusion; therefore, the coincidences and parallelisms of Shakespeare, with respect to Heraldic Emblems, have their original lines and sources in such writers as Giovio, Paradin, and Whitney. It was not he who set up the ancient fortifications, but he has drawn circumvallations around them, and his towers nod over against theirs, though with no hostile rivalry.

SECTION III. _EMBLEMS FOR MYTHOLOGICAL CHARACTERS._

ECHO has not more voices than Mythology has transmutations, eccentricities, and cunningly devised fancies,—and every one of them has its tale or its narrative—its poetic tissues woven of such an exquisite thinness that they leave no shadows where they pass. The mythologies of Egypt and of Greece, of Etruria and of Rome, in all their varying phases of absolute fiction and substantial truth, perverted by an unguarded imagination, were the richest mines that the Emblem writers attempted to work; they delighted in the freedom with which the fancy seemed invited to rove from gem to gem, and luxuriated in the many forms into which their fables might diverge. Now they touched upon Jove’s thunder, or on the laurel for poets’ brows, which the lightning’s flash could not harm—then on the beauty and gracefulness of Venus, or on the doves that fluttered near her car;—Dian’s severe strictness supplied them with a theme, or Juno with her queenly birds; and they did not disdain to tell of Bacchus and the vine, of Circe, and Ulysses, and the Sirens. The slaying of Niobe’s children, Actæon seized by his hounds, and Prometheus chained to the rock, Arion rescued by the dolphin, and Thetis at the tomb of Achilles,—these and many other myths and tales of antiquity grew up in the minds of Emblematists, self-sown—ornaments, if not utilities.

Though the great epic poems are inwrought throughout with the mosaic work of fables that passed for divine, and of exploits that were almost more than human, Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, printed as early as 1471, and of which an early French edition, in 1484, bears the title ~La Bible des poetes~, may be regarded as the chief storehouse of mythological adventure and misadventure. The revival of literature poured forth the work in various forms and languages. Spain had her translation in 1494, and Italy in 1497; and as Brunet informs us (vol. iv. c. 277), to another of Ovid’s books, printed in Piedmont before 1473, there was this singularly incongruous subscription, “_Laus Deo et Virgini Mariæ Gloriosissimæ Johannes Glim_.” Caxton, in England, led the way by printing Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ in 1480, which Arthur Golding may be said to have completed in 1567 by his _English Metrical Version_.

Thus everywhere was the storehouse of mythology open; and of the Roman fabulist the Emblem writers, as far as they could, made a Book of Emblems, and often into their own works transported freely what they had found in his.

And for a poet of no great depth of pure learning, but of unsurpassed natural power and genius, like Shakespeare, no class of books would attract his attention and furnish him with ideas and suggestions so readily as the Emblem writers of the Latin and Teutonic races. “The eye,” which he describes, “in a fine phrensy rolling,” would suffice to take in at a single glance many of the pictorial illustrations which others of duller sensibilities would only master by laborious study; and though undoubtedly, from the accuracy with which Shakespeare has depicted ancient ideas and characters, and shown his familiarity with ancient customs, usages, and events, he must have read much and thought much, or else have thought intuitively, it is a most reasonable conjecture that the popular literature of his times—the illustrated Emblem-books, which made their way of welcome among the chief nations of middle, western, and southern Europe—should have been one of the fountains at which he gained knowledge. Nature, indeed, forms the poet, and his storehouses of materials on which to work are the inner and outer worlds, first of his own consciousness, and next of heaven and earth spread before him. But as a portion of this latter world we may name the appliances and results of artistic skill in its delineations of outward forms, and in the fixedness which it gives to many of the conceptions of the mind. To the artist himself, and to the poet not less than to the artist, the pictured shapes and groupings of mythological or fabulous beings are most suggestive, both of thoughts already embodied there, and also of other thoughts to be afterwards combined and expressed.

Hence would the Emblem-books, on some of which the foremost painters and engravers had not disdained to bestow their powers, become to poets especially fruitful in instruction. A proverb, a fable, an old world deity is set forth by the pencil and the graving tool, and the combination supplies additional elements of reflection. Thus, doubtless, did Shakespeare use such works; and not merely are some of his thoughts and expressions in unison with them, but moulded and modified by them.

For much indeed of his mythological lore he was indebted to Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, or, rather, I should say, to “_Ovid’s Metamorphoses_ translated out of Latin in English metre by Arthur Golding, gent. A worke very pleasaunt and delectable; 4to London 1565.” That he did attend to Golding’s couplet,—

“With skill, heed, and judgment, thys work must be red, For els too the reader it stands in small stead,”—

will appear from some few instances; as,—

“Thy promises are like Adonis’ gardens That one day bloom’d, and fruitful were the next.”— _1 Hen. VI._, act i. sc. 6, l. 6.

“Apollo flies and Daphne holds the chase, The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger.”— _Midsummer Night’s Dream_, act ii. sc. 1, l. 231.

“We still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn’d, play’d, eat together, And wheresoe’er we went, like Juno’s swans, Still we went coupled and inseparable.” _As You Like It_, act i. sc. 3, l. 69.

“Approach the chamber and destroy your sight With a new Gorgon.” _Macbeth_, act ii. sc. 3, l. 67.

“I’ll have no worse a name than Jove’s own page; And therefore look you call me Ganymede.” _As You Like It_, act i. sc. 3, l. 120.

and,—

“O Proserpina, For the flowers now, that frighted thou let’st fall From Dis’s waggon! daffodils, That come before the swallow dares, and take The winds of March with beauty; violets dim But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes Or Cytherea’s breath; pale primroses, That die unmarried, ere they can behold Bright Phœbus in his strength, a malady Most incident to maids; bold oxlips and The crown imperial; lilies of all kinds, The flower-de-luce being one! O, these I lack To make you garlands of; and my sweet friend To strew him o'er and o'er!” _Winter’s Tale_, act iv. sc. 4, l. 116.

Yet from the Emblem writers as well he appears to have derived many of his mythological allusions and expressions; we may trace this generally, and with respect to some of the Heathen Divinities,—to several of the ancient Heroes and Heroines, we may note that they supply him with most beautiful personifications.

Generally, as in _Troilus and Cressida_ (act ii. sc. 3, l. 240), the expression “bull-bearing Milo” finds its device in the _Emblemata_ of Lebeus Batillius, edition Francfort, 1596, where we are told that “Milo by long custom in carrying the calf could also carry it when it had grown to be a bull.” In _Romeo and Juliet_ (act ii. sc. 5, l. 8) the lines,—

“Therefore do nimble-pinion’d doves draw love And therefore hath the wind swift Cupid wings.”

We have the scene pictured in Corrozet’s _Hecatomgraphie_, Paris, 1540, leaf 70, with, however, a very grand profession of regard for the public good,—

“Ce n’est pas cy Cupido ieune enfant Que vous voier au carre triumphant, Mais c’est amour lequel tiẽt en sa corde Tous les estatz en grãd paix & cõcorde.”

In _Richard II._(act iii. sc. 2, l. 24) Shakespeare seems to have in view the act of Cadmus, when he sowed the serpent’s teeth,—

“This earth shall have a feeling and these stones Prove armed soldiers, ere her native king Shall falter under foul rebellion’s arms.”

And the device which emblematizes the fact occurs in Symeoni’s abbreviation of the _Metamorphoses_ into the form of Italian Epigrams (edition Lyons, 1559, device 41, p. 52).

And lastly, in _3 Henry VI._ (act v. sc. 1, l. 34), from a few lines of dialogue between Warwick and King Edward, we read,—

“_War._ ’Twas I that gave the kingdom to thy brother.

_K. Edw._ Why then ’tis mine, if but by Warwick’s gift.

_War._ Thou art no Atlas for so great a weight; And weakling, Warwick takes his gift again.”

But a better comment cannot be than is found in Giovio’s “DIALOGVE,” edition Lyons, 1561, p. 129, with Atlas carrying the Globe of the Heavens, and with the motto, “SVSTINET NEC FATISCIT,”—_He bears nor grows weary_.

The story of Jupiter and Io is presented in the Emblem-books by Symeoni, 1561, and by the Plantinian edition of Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, Antwerp, 1591, p. 35. From the latter, were it needed, we could easily have added a pictorial illustration to the _Taming of the Shrew_ (Induction, sc. 2, l. 52),—

“We'll show thee Io as she was a maid And how she was beguiled and surprised, As lively painted as the deed was done.”

The _Antony and Cleopatra_ (act ii. sc. 7, l. 101, vol. ix. p. 60), in one part, presents the banquet, or, rather, the drinking bout, between Cæsar, Antony, Pompey, and Lepidus, “the third part of the world.” Enobarbus addresses Antony,—

“_Eno._ [_To Antony._] Ha, my brave emperor! Shall we dance now the Egyptian Bacchanals, And celebrate our drink?

_Pom._ Let’s ha’t, good soldier.

_Ant._ Come, let’s all take hands, Till that the conquering wine hath steep’d our sense In soft and delicate Lethe.

_Eno._ All take hands. Make battery to our ears with the loud music: The while I’ll place you: then the boy shall sing; The holding every man shall bear as loud As his strong sides can volley. [_Music plays_, ENOBARBUS _places them hand in hand._

THE SONG.

“Come, thou monarch of the vine, Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! In thy fats our cares be drown’d, With thy grapes our hairs be crown’d: Cup us, till the world go round, Cup us, till the world go round!”

Now, the figures in Alciat, in Whitney, in the _Microcosmos_,[127] and especially in Boissard’s “THEATRVM VITÆ HUMANÆ,” ed. Metz, 1596, p. 213, of a certainty suggest the epithets “plumpy Bacchus” “with pink eyne,” a very chieftain of “Egyptian Bacchanals.” This last depicts the “monarch of the vine” approaching to mellowness.

The Latin stanzas subjoined would, however, not have suited Enobarbus and the roistering triumvirs of the world,—

“_Suave Dei munus vinum est: hominumque saluti Conducit: præsit dummodò sobrietas. Immodico sed si tibi proluat ora Lyæo, Pro dulci potas tetra aconita mero._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Wine is God’s pleasant gift, and for men’s health Conduces, when sobriety presides; But if excessive drained Lyæan wealth, For liquor sweet black aconite abides.”

The phrase, “rempli de vin dont son visage est teint,” in “LE MICROCOSME,” Lyons, 1562, suggests the placing the stanzas in which it occurs, in illustration of Shakespeare’s song; they are,—

“Le Dieu Bacchus d’ordinaire on depeint Ayant en main vn chapelet de lierre, Tenant aussi vne couppe ou vn verre Rempli de vin dont son visage est teint. Des deux costes son chef on void aislé, Et pres de luy d’vne pasture belle Le genereux Pegasus à double aisle Se veut guinder vers le ciel estoilé.”

In ſtatuam Bacchi. _DIALOGISMVS._ XXV.

It may give completion to this sketch if we subjoin the figured Bacchus of Alciat (edition Antwerp, 1581, p. 113), and present the introductory lines,—

“BACCHE _pater quis te mortali lumine nouit, Et docta effinxit quis tua membra manu? Praxiteles, qui me rapientem Gnossida vidit, Atque illo pinxit tempore, qualis eram._”

Of Alciat’s 36 lines, Whitney, p. 187, gives the brief yet paraphrastic translation,—

“The timelie birthe that SEMELE did beare, See heere, in time howe monstêrous he grewe: With drinkinge muche, and dailie bellie cheare, His eies weare dimme, and fierie was his hue: His cuppe, still full: his head, with grapes was croun’de; Thus time he spent with pipe, and tabret sounde.[128]

Which carpes all those, that loue to much the canne, And dothe describe theire personage, and theire guise: For like a beaste, this doth transforme a man, And makes him speake that moste in secret lies; Then, shunne the sorte that bragge of drinking muche, Seeke other frendes, and ioyne not handes with suche.”

On the same subject we may refer to _Love’s Labour’s Lost_ (act iv. sc. 3, l. 308, vol. ii. p. 151), to the long discourse or argument by Biron, in which he asks,—

“For where is any author in the world Teaches such beauty as a woman’s eye?”

The offensiveness of excess in wine is then well set forth (l. 333),—

“Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible, Than are the tender horns of cockled snails; Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.”

On these words the best comment are two couplets from Whitney (p. 133), to the sentiment, _Prudentes vino abstinent_,—“The wise abstain from wine.”

Loe here the vine dothe claſpe, to prudent Pallas tree, The league is nought, for virgines wiſe, doe Bacchus frendſhip flee.

Alciat.

_Quid me vexatis rami? Sum Palladis arbor, Auferte hinc botros, virgo fugit Bromium_.

_Engliſhed ſo._

Why vexe yee mee yee boughes? ſince I am Pallas tree: Remoue awaie your cluſters hence, the virgin wine doth flee.

Not less degrading and brutalising than the goblets of Bacchus are the poisoned cups of the goddess Circe. Her fearful power and enchantments form episodes in the 10th book of the _Odyssey_, in the 7th of the _Æneid_, and in the 14th of the _Metamorphoses_. So suitable a theme for their art is not neglected by the Emblem writers. Alciat adopts it as a warning against meretricious allurements (edition 1581, p. 184),—

ANDREAE ALCIATI

Cauendum à meretricibus. _EMBLEMA LXXVI._

SOLE _ſatæ Circes tam magna potentia fertur, Verterit vt multos in noua monſtra viros. Teſtis equûm domitor Picus, tum Scylla biformis, Atque Ithaci poſtquàm vina bibere sues. Indicat illustri meretricem nomine Circe, Et rationem animi perdere, quiſquis amat._

Adopting another motto, _Homines voluptatibus transformantur_,—“Men are transformed by pleasures,”—Whitney (p. 82) yet gives expression to Alciat’s idea,—

“See here VLISSES men, transformed straunge to heare: Some had the shape of Goates, and Hogges, some Apes, and Asses weare. Who, when they might haue had their former shape againe, They did refuse, and rather wish’d, still brutishe to remaine. Which showes those foolishe sorte, whome wicked loue dothe thrall, Like brutishe beastes do passe theire time, and haue no sence at all. And thoughe that wisedome woulde, they shoulde againe retire, Yet, they had rather CIRCES serue, and burne in theire desire. Then, loue the onelie crosse, that clogges the worlde with care, Oh stoppe your eares, and shutte your eies, of CIRCES cuppes beware.”

The striking lines from Horace (_Epist._ i. 2) are added,—

“_Sirenum voces, & Circes pocula nosti: Quæ si cum sociis stultus, cupidusq’ bibisset, Sub domina meretrice fuisset turpis, & excors, Vixisset canis immundus, vel amica luto sus._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Of Sirens the voices, and of Circe the cups thou hast known: Which if, with companions, anyone foolish and eager had drunk, Under a shameless mistress he has become base and witless, Has lived as a dog unclean, or a sow in friendship with mire.”

Circe and Ulysses are also briefly treated of in _The Golden Emblems_ of Nicholas Reusner, with Stimmer’s plates, 1591, sign ~C. v.~

Bellua dira libido _Pulcra facit Circe meretrix excordia corda: Fortis Vlyſseâ, qui ſapit, arte domat._ ~Ins Bieh verzäubert Circe vil, Schlägt hurn von sich, mer weiß sein will.~

Reusner (edition 1581, p. 134), assuming that “Slothfulness is the wicked Siren,” builds much upon Virgil and Horace, as may be seen from the epithets he employs. We give only a portion of his Elegiacs, and the English of them first,—

“Through various chances, through so many dangerous things, While again and again the Ithacan pursues the long ways: The voices of Sirens, and of Circe the kingdoms he forsakes: Nor does the bland Atlantis his journey retard. But as Circe to his companions supplies the potations foul, Witless and shameless this becomes a sow and that a dog.”

Improba Siren deſidia. _EMBLEMA XXIV._ _Ad Vuolfgangum, & Carolum Rechlingeros, Patr. Auguſtanos._

P_Er varios caſus, per tot diſcrimina rerum, Dum longas Ithacus itque, reditque vias: Sirenum voces, & Circes regna relinquit: Blanda nec Atlantis tunc remoratur iter. At ſocijs Circe dum pocula fœda miniſtrat: Excors, & turpis ſus fit hic, ille canis._

Now, Shakespeare’s allusions to Circe are only two. The _first_, in the _Comedy of Errors_ (act v. sc. 1, l. 269, vol. i. p. 455), when all appears in inextricable confusion, and Antipholus of Ephesus demands justice because of his supposed wrongs. The Duke Solinus in his perplexity says,—

“Why what an intricate impeach is this! I think you all have drunk of Circe’s cup.”

The _second_, in _1 Henry VI._ (act v. sc. 3, l. 30, vol. v. p. 86). On fighting hand to hand with the Maid of Orleans, and taking her prisoner, the Duke of York, almost like a dastard, reproaches and exults over her noble nature,—

“Damsel of France I think, I have you fast: Unchain your spirits now with spelling charms And try if they can gain you liberty. A goodly prize, fit for the devil’s grace! See, how the ugly witch doth bend her brows, As if, with Circe, she would change my shape!”

So closely connected with Circe are the Sirens of fable that it is almost impossible to treat of them separately. As usual, Alciat’s is the Emblem-book (edition 1551) from which we obtain the illustrative print and the Latin stanzas.

Sirenes.

_Abſque alis volucres, & cruribus abſque puellas, Roſtro abſque, & piſces, qui tamen ore canant: Quis putet eſſe vllos? iungi hæc natura negauit Sirenes fieri ſed potuiſſe docent. Illicitum eſt mulier, quæ in piſcem deſinit atrum, Plurima quòd ſecum monſtra libido vehit. Aſpectu, verbis, animi candore, trahuntur, Parthenope, Ligia, Leucoſiaque viri. Has muſæ explumant, has atque illudit Vlyſſes. Scilicet eſt doctis cum meretrice nihil._

It is Whitney who provides the poetic comment (p. 10),—

“Withe pleasaunte tunes, the SYRENES did allure Vlisses wise, to listen to theire songe: But nothinge could his manlie harte procure, Hee sailde awaie, and scap’d their charming stronge, The face, he lik’de, the nether parte, did loathe: For womans shape, and fishes had they bothe.

Which shewes to vs, when Bewtie seekes to snare The carelesse man, whoe dothe no daunger dreede, That he shoulde flie, and shoulde in time beware, And not on lookes, his fickle fancie feede: Such Mairemaides liue, that promise onelie ioyes: But hee that yeldes, at lengthe him selffe distroies.”

The Dialogue, from the _Comedy of Errors_ (act iii. sc. 2, lines 27 and 45, vol. i. pp. 425, 6), between Luciana and Antipholus of Syracuse, maintains,—

“’Tis holy sport, to be a little vain, When the sweet breath of flattery conquers strife;”

and the remonstrance urges,—

“O train me not, sweet mermaid, with thy note, To drown me in thy sister flood of tears: Sing, siren, for thyself, and I will dote: Spread o'er the silver waves thy golden hairs, And, as a bed I'll take them, and there lie; And, in that glorious supposition, think He gains by death that hath such means to die.”

And in the _Titus Andronicus_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 18, vol. vi. p. 451), Aaron, the Moor, resolves, when speaking of Tamora his imperial mistress,—

“Away with slavish weeds and servile thoughts! I will be bright, and shine in pearl and gold, To wait upon this new-made empress. To wait, said I? to wanton with this queen, This goddess, this Semiramis, this nymph. This siren, that will charm Rome’s Saturnine, And see his shipwreck and his commonweal’s.”[129]

To recommend the sentiment that “Art is a help to nature,” Alciatus (edition 1551, p. 107) introduces the god Mercury and the goddess Fortune,—

Ars Naturam adiuuans.

_Vt sphæræ Fortuna, cubo ſic inſidet Hermes: Artibus hic, varijs caſibus illa præeſt. Aduerſus vim Fortunæ eſt ars facta: ſed artis Cùm fortuna mala eſt, ſæpe requirit opem. Diſce bonas artes igitur ſtudioſa iuuentus, Quæ certæ ſecum commoda ſortis habent_.

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“As on a globe Fortune rests, so on a cube Mercury: In various arts this one excells, that in mischances. Against the force of Fortune art is used; but of art, When Fortune is bad, she often demands the aid. Learn good arts then ye studious youth, Which being sure have with themselves the advantages of destiny.”

Sambucus takes up the lyre of some Emblem Muse and causes Mercury to strike a similar strain to the saying, “Industry corrects nature.”

Induſtria naturam corrigit.

TAM _rude & incultum nihil eſt, induſtria poſſit Naturæ vitium quin poliiſſe, labor. Inuentam caſu cochleam, temereq́ue iacentem Inſtruxit neruis nuntius ille Deûm. Informem citharam excoluit: nunc gaudia mille, Et reddit dulces pectine mota ſonos. Cur igitur quereris, naturam & fingis ineptam? Nónne tibi ratio eſt? muta loquuntur, abi. Ritè fit è concha teſtudo, ſeruit vtrinque: In venerem hæc digitis, ſæpiùs illa gula._

The god is mending a broken or an imperfect musical instrument, a lyrist is playing, and a maiden dancing before him. Whitney thus performs the part of interpreter (p. 92),—

“The Lute, whose sounde doth most delighte the eare Was caste aside, and lack’de bothe striges, and frettes: Whereby, no worthe within it did appeare, MERCVRIVS came, and it in order settes: Which being tun’de, such Harmonie did lende, That Poëttes write, the trees theire toppes did bende.

Euen so, the man on whome dothe Nature froune, Wereby, he liues dispis’d of euerie wighte, Industrie yet, maie bringe him to renoume, And diligence, maie make the crooked righte: Then haue no doubt, for arte maie nature helpe. Thinke howe the beare doth forme her vgly whelpe.”

The cap with wings, and the rod of power with serpents entwined, are almost the only outward signs of which Shakespeare avails himself in his descriptions of Mercury, so that in this instance there is very little correspondence of idea or of expression between him and our Emblem authors. Nevertheless, we produce it for what it is worth.

In _King John_ (act iv. sc. 2, l. 170, vol. iv. p. 67), the monarch urges Falconbridge’s brother Philip to inquire respecting the rumours that the French had landed,—

“Nay, but make haste; the better foot before. O, let me have no subject enemies, When adverse foreigners affright my towns With dreadful pomp of stout invasion! Be Mercury, set feathers to thy heels And fly like thought from them to me again.”

One of Shakespeare’s gems is the description which Sir Richard Vernon gives to Hotspur of the gallant appearance of “The nimble-footed madcap Prince of Wales” (_1 Henry IV._, act iv. sc. 1, l. 104, vol. iv. p. 318),—

“I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm’d, Rise from the ground like feather’d Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat, As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus And witch the world with noble horsemanship.”

The railer Thersites (_Troilus and Cressida_, act ii. sc. 3, l. 9, vol. vi. p. 168) thus mentions our Hermes,—

“O thou great thunder-darter of Olympus, forget that thou art Jove the king of gods; and Mercury, lose all the serpentine craft of thy caduceus.”

And centering the good qualities of many into one, Hamlet (act iii. sc. 4, l. 55, vol. viii. p. 111) sums up to his mother the perfections of his murdered father,—

“See what a grace was seated on this brow; Hyperion’s curls, the front of Jove himself, An eye like Mars, to threaten and command; A station like the herald Mercury New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill; A combination and a form indeed, Where every god did seem to set his seal To give the world assurance of a man.”

Personifications, or, rather, deifications of the powers and properties of the natural world, and of the influences which presided over them, belong especially to the ancient Mythology. Of these, there is one from the Emblem writers decidedly claiming our notice, I may say, our admiration, because of its essential truth and beauty;—it is the Personification of Fortune, or, as some writers name the goddess, Occasion and Opportunity; and it is highly poetical in all its attributes.

From at least four distinct sources in the Emblem-books of the sixteenth century, Shakespeare might have derived the characteristics of the goddess; from Alciat, Perriere, Corrozet, and Whitney.

Perriere’s “THEATRE DES BONS ENGINS,” Paris, 1539, presents the figure with the stanzas of old French here subjoined,—

“Qvel est le nõ de la present[e/] image? Occasion ce nõme pour certain. Qui fut l’autheur? Lysipus fist l’ouurage: Et que tient ell[e/]? vng rasoir en sa main. Pourquoi? pourtãtque tout trâche souldain. Ell[e/] a cheueulx deuât & non derriere? Cest pour mõstrer quelle tourne ẽ arriere Sõ fault le coup quãd on la doibt tenir Aulx talons a dis esles? car barriere (Quellesque soit) ne la peult retenir.”

These French verses may be accepted as a translation of the Latin of Alciat, on the goddess Opportunity; as may be seen, she is portrayed standing on a wheel that is floating upon the waves; and as the tide rises, there are apparently ships or boats making for the shore. The figure holds a razor in the right hand, has wings upon the feet, and abundance of hair streaming from the forehead.

In occaſionem.

Διαλογισικῶς.

_Lyſippi hoc opus eſt, Sycion cui patria. Tu quis? Cuncta domans capti temporis articulus. Cur pinnis ſtas? vſque rotor. Talaria plantis Cur retines? Paſſim me leuis aura rapit. In dextra eſt tennis dic vnde nouacula? Acutum Omni acie hoc ſignum me magis eſſe docet. Cur in frõte coma? Occurrẽs vt prẽdar. At heus tu Dic cur pars calua eſt poſterior capitis? Ne ſemel alipedem si quis permittat abire, Ne poſſim apprehenſo poſtmodo crine capi. Tali opifex nos arte, tui cauſa, edidit hoſpes. Vtque omnes moneam: pergula aperta tenet._

Whitney’s English lines (p. 181) sufficiently express the meaning, both of the French and of the Latin stanzas,—

“What creature thou? _Occasion I doe showe._ On whirling wheele declare why doste thou stande? _Bicause, I still am tossed too, and froe._ Why doest thou houlde a rasor in thy hande? _That men maie knowe I cut on euerie side, And when I come, I armies can deuide._

But wherefore hast thou winges vppon thy feete? _To showe, how lighte I flie with little winde._ What meanes longe lockes before? _that suche as meete, Maye houlde at firste, when they occasion finde_. Thy head behinde all balde, what telles it more? _That none shoulde houlde, that let me slippe before._

Why doest thou stande within an open place? _That I maye warne all people not to staye, But at the firste, occasion to imbrace, And when shee comes, to meete her by the waye. Lysippus so did thinke it best to bee, Who did deuise mine image, as you see._”

The correspondent part to the thought contained in these three writers occurs in the _Julius Cæsar_ (act iv. sc. 3, l. 213, vol. vii. p. 396), where Brutus and Cassius are discussing the question of proceeding to Philippi and offering battle to “young Octavius and Marc Antony;” it is decided by the argument which Brutus urges with much force,—

“Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe: The enemy increaseth every day; We, at the height, are ready to decline. There is a tide in the affairs of men Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune; Omitted, all the voyage of their life Is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat, And we must take the current when it serves, Or lose our ventures.”

These lines, we may observe, are an exact comment on Whitney’s text; there is the “full sea,” on which Fortune is “now afloat;” and people are all warned, “at the first occasion to embrace,” or “take the current when it serves.”

The “images,” too, of Fortune and of Occasion in Corrozet’s “HECATOMGRAPHIE,” Embs. 41 and 84, are very suggestive of the characteristics of the “fickle goddess.”

L’ymage de fortune

Fortun[e/] eſt vng euenement Inopiné & treſſoubdain, Ne luy donne doncques (mondain) Effect deſſus toy nullement.

Fortune is standing upright upon the sea; one foot is on a fish, the other on a globe; and in the right hand is a broken mast. Occasion is in a boat and standing on a wheel; she has wings to her feet, and with her hands she holds out a swelling sail; she has streaming hair, and behind her in the stern of the boat Penitence is seated, lamenting for opportunities lost. The stanzas to “Occasion” are very similar to those of other Emblem writers; and we add, therefore, only the English of the verses to “Fortune,”—_The Image of Fortune_.

“A strange event our Fortune is, Unlocked for, sudden as a shower; Never then, worldling! give to her Right over thee to wield her power.”

A series of questions follow,—

“Tell me, O fortune, for what end thou art holding the broken mast wherewith thou supportest thyself? And why also is it that thou art painted upon the sea, encircled with so long a veil? Tell me too why under thy feet are the ball and the dolphin?”

As in the answers given by Whitney, there is abundant plainness in Corrozet,—

“It is to show my instability, and that in me there is no security. Thou seest this mast broken all across,—this veil also puffed out by various winds,-beneath one foot, the dolphin amid the waves; below the other foot, the round unstable ball;—I am thus on the sea at a venture. He who has made my portraiture wishes no other thing to be understood than this, that distrust is enclosed beneath me and that I am uncertain of reaching a safe haven;—near am I to danger, from safety ever distant: in perplexity whether to weep or to laugh,—doubtful of good or of evil, as the ship which is upon the seas tossed by the waves, is doubtful in itself where it will be borne. This then is what you see in my true image, hither and thither turned without security.”

A description, very similar to this, occurs in the dialogue between Fluellen, a Welsh captain, and “an aunchient lieutenant” Pistol (_Henry V._, act iii. sc. 6, 1. 20, vol. iv. P. 543),—

“_ Pist._ Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. _Flu._ Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands. _Pist._ Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart. And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate, And giddy Fortune’s furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind,[130] That stands upon the rolling, restless stone—

_Flu._ By your patience, Aunchient Pistol, Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral.”

Fortune on the sphere, or “rolling, restless stone,” is also well pictured in the “ΜΙΚΡΟΚΟΣΜΟΣ,” editions 1579 and 1584. The whole device is described in the French version,—

“L’oiseau de Paradis est de telle nature Qu’en nul endroit qui soit on ne le void iucher, Car il n’a point de pieds, & ne peut se rucher Ailleurs qu’en l’air serein dont il prend nourriture.

En cest oiseau se void de Fortune l’image, En laquelle n’y a sinon legreté: Iamais son cours ne fut egal & arresté, Mais tousiours incertain inconstant & volage.

Pour la quelle raison on souloit la pourtraire, Tenant vn voile afin d’aller au gré du vent, Des aisles aux costez pour voler bien auant, Ayant les pieds coupez, estant sur vne sphære;

Et pourtant cestuy la qui se fie en Fortune, Au lieu de fier au grand Dieu souuerain, Est bien maladuisé, & se monstre aussi vain Que celuy qui bastit sur le dos de Neptune.”

The ideas of the Emblematists respecting the goddess “OCCASION” are also embodied by Shakespeare two or three times. Thus on receiving the evil tidings of his mother’s death and of the dauphin’s invasion, King John (act iv. sc. 2, l. 125, vol. iv, p. 65) exclaims,—

“Withhold thy speed, dreadful Occasion! O make a league with me, till I have pleased My discontented peers!”

In _2 Henry IV._ (act iv. sc. 1, l. 70, vol. iv. p. 431) the Archbishop of York also says,—

“We see which way the stream of time doth run, And are enforced from our most quiet there By the rough torrent of occasion.”

Most beautiful too, and forcible are the stanzas on _Occasion_, or _Opportunity_ from _Lucrece_ (lines 869–882, vol. ix. p. 515),—

“Unruly blasts wait on the tender spring; Unwholesome weeds take root with precious flowers; The adder hisses where the sweet birds sing; What virtue breeds iniquity devours: We have no good that we can say is ours But ill-annexed Opportunity Or kills his life or else his quality. O Opportunity, thy guilt is great! ’Tis thou that executes! the traitor’s treason; Thou set’st the wolf where he the lamb may get; Whoever plots the sin, thou point’st the season; ’Tis thou that spurn’st at right, at law, at reason, And in thy shady cell, where none may spy him, Sits Sin, to seize the souls that wander by him.”[131]

DVM TEMPVS LABITVR, OCCASIONĒ FRONTE CAPILLATĀ REMORĀTVR. 7.

A. Nunc opus eſt alios Terrarum inuifere tractus, Et Iuuenes alios. Moniti vos ergo valete. B. Quis ſubitæ calor iſte fugæ? C. Quin ſi fuga tandem Certa tibi est; pennas ſaltem Dea salua fugaces Siſtat adhuc. D. Cur tot nequidquam verba per auras Perditis? hinc alio, mora nulla recedo; valete. E. Aufugiat? ſparsos potius pro fronte capillos Arripite. D. Ai! ſine, ſponte ſequar; veſtrisque morabor Ædibus, ad ius Fam. donec perduxero metam. F. Laudo animos, nam vi cogi DEA gaudet amicâ.

Very appropriately in illustration of these and other passages in Shakespeare may we refer to John David’s work, “OCCASIO ARREPTA NEGLECTA” (4to, Antwerp, 1605),—_Opportunity seized or neglected_. It contains twelve curiously beautiful plates by Theodore Galle, showing the advantages of seizing the Occasion, the disadvantages of neglecting it. We choose an example, it is Schema 7, cap. 1, p. 117. (See Plate XII.)

“While Time is passing onward men keep Occasion back by seizing the hair on her forehead.”

Various speakers are introduced,—

“_Time._ Now the need is to visit other climes of earth And other youths. Ye warned then, bid farewell. _B._ What this heat of sudden flight? _C._ If flight indeed at length For thee is fix’d, her swift wings let the bald goddess At least rest here. _Occasion._ Why to no purpose words in air Waste ye? hence elsewhere, no delay, I go; farewell. _E._ Should she flee? rather her scattered locks in front Seize hold of. _Occasion._ Alas! freely I follow, at your own homes Will tarry, till in just measure I prolong my stay. _Faith._ I praise your spirit, for by friendly force the goddess Rejoices to be compelled.”

The line, “her scattered locks in front seize hold of,” has its parallel in _Othello_ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 47, vol. viii. p. 505),—

“he protests he loves you, And needs no other suitor but his likings To take the safest occasion by the front To bring you in again.”

Classical celebrities, whether hero or heroine, wrapt round with mystery, or half-developed into historical reality, may also form portion of our Mythological Series.

The grand character in Æschylus, _Prometheus Bound_, is depicted by at least four of the Emblematists. The hero of suffering is reclining against the rock on Caucasus, to which he had been chained; a vulture is seated on his broad chest and feeding there. Alciat’s Emblem, from the Lyons edition of 1551, or Antwerp, 1581, number 102, has the motto which reproves men for seeking the knowledge which is beyond them: _Things which are above us, are nothing to us_,—they are not our concern. The whole fable is a warning.

Quæ ſupra nos, nihil ad nos.

_Caucaſi a æternùm pendens in rupe Prometheus Diripitur ſacri præpetis vngue iecur. Et nollet feciſſe hominem: figulosque peroſus Accenſam rapto damnat ab igne facem. Roduntur variis prudentum pectora curis, Qui cœli affectant ſcire, deûmqúe vices._

“On the Caucasian rock Prometheus eternally suspended, Has his liver torn in pieces by talons of an accursed bird. And unwilling would he be to have made man; and hating the potters Dooms to destruction the torch lighted from stolen fire. Devoured by various cares are the bosoms of the wise, Who affect to know secrets of heaven, and courses of gods.”

Similarly as a dissuasive from vain curiosity, Anulus, in his “PICTA POESIS” (Lyons, 1555, p. 90), sets up the notice,—

CVRIOSITAS FVGIENDA. “Curiosity must be shunned.”

MITTE _arcana Dei cœlumque inquirere quid ſit. Nec ſapias pluſquàm debet homo ſapere. Caucaſeo vinctus monet hoc in rupe Prometheus Scrutator cœli, fur & in igne Iouis. Cui cor edax Aquila in rediuiuo vulnere rodit. Materia pœnis ſufficiente ſuis._

Ἣ δὲ προμηθέι’ ἂχ!ος! δάκνει κέαρ ἔντερον ἔνδον Καρδιοβρόσκ!ος! ὃμως ἂετ!ος! ἐσθὶν ἂχ!ος!.

The device is almost the same with Alciat's,—the stanzas, however, are a little different,—

“Forbear to inquire the secrets of God, and what heaven may be. Nor be wise more than man ought to be wise. Bound on Caucasian rock this does Prometheus warn, Scrutator of heaven and thief in the fire of Jove. His heart the voracious Eagle gnaws in ever reviving wound, Material sufficient this for all his penalties.”—

“As for Prometheus pain gnaws his heart the bosom within, So is pain the eagle that consumes the heart.”

The “MICROCOSME,” first published in 1579, fol. 5, celebrates in French stanzas Prometheus and his cruel destiny; a fine device accompanies the emblem, representing him bound not to Caucasus, but to the cross.

“Promethee s’ estant guindé iusques aux cieux Pour desrober le feu des redoubables Dieux, Pour retribution de ceste outrecuidance Fut par eux poursuiui d’une rude vengeance. Il fut par leur decret à la croix attaché, La ou pour expier deuenant son peché, L'Aigle de Iupiter le becquetoit sans cesse, Si que ce patient estoit en grand oppressé.”

But Reusner’s _Emblems_ (bk. i. Emb. 27, p. 37, edition 1581), and Whitney’s (p. 75), adopt the same motto, _O vita misero longa_,—“O life, how long for the wretched.” The stanzas of the latter may be accepted as being in some degree representative of those of the former,—

“To Caucasus, behoulde PROMETHEVS chain’de, Whose liuer still, a greedie gripe dothe rente: He neuer dies, and yet is alwaies pain’de, With tortures dire, by which the Poëttes ment, That hee, that still amid misfortunes standes, Is sorrowes slaue, and bounde in lastinge bandes.

For, when that griefe doth grate vppon our gall, Or surging seas, of sorrowes moste doe swell, That life is deathe, and is no life at all, The liuer rente, it dothe the conscience tell: Which being launch’de, and prick’d, with inward care, Although wee liue, yet still wee dyinge are.”

How Shakespeare applies this mythic story appears in the _Titus Andronicus_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 14, vol. vi. p. 451), where Aaron, speaking of his queen, Tamora, affirms of himself,—

“Whom thou in triumph long Hast prisoner held, fetter’d in amorous chains, And faster bound to Aaron’s charming eyes Than is Prometheus tied to Caucasus.”

And still more clearly is the application made, _1 Henry VI._ (act iv. sc. 3, l. 17, vol. v. p. 71), when Sir William Lucy thus urges York,—

“Thou princely leader of our English strength, Never so needful on the earth of France, Spur to the rescue of the noble Talbot, Who now is girdled with a waist of iron And hemm’d about with grim destruction:”

and at York’s inability, through “the vile traitor Somerset,” to render aid, Lucy laments (l. 47, p. 72),—

“Thus, while the vulture of sedition Feeds in the bosoms of such great commanders, Sleeping neglection doth betray to loss The conquest of our scarce cold conqueror, That ever living man of memory, Henry the Fifth.”

It may readily be supposed that in writing these passages Shakespeare had in memory, or even before him, the delineations which are given of Prometheus, for the vulture feeding on the heart belongs to them all, and the allusion is exactly one of those which arises from a casual glance at a scene or picture without dwelling on details.

This casual glance indeed seems to have been the way in which our Dramatist appropriated others of the Emblem sketches. In the well-known quarrel scene between Brutus and Cassius, in _Julius Cæsar_ (act iv. sc. 3, l. 21, vol. vii. p. 389), Brutus demands,—

“What, shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world But for supporting robbers, shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes, And sell the mighty space of our large honours For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.”

The expression is the perfect counterpart of Alciat’s 164th Emblem (p. 571, edition Antwerp, 1581); the motto, copied by Whitney (p. 213), is, _Inanis impetus_,—“A vain attack.”

“By night, as at a mirror, the dog looks at the lunar orb: And seeing himself, believes another dog to be on high, And barks: but in vain is his angry voice driven by winds, The silent Diana ever onward goes in her course.”[132]

The device engraved on Alciat’s and Whitney’s pages depicts the full moon surrounded by stars, and a large dog baying. Whitney’s stanzas give the meaning of Alciat's, and also of Beza's, which follow below,—

“By shininge lighte, of wannishe CYNTHIAS raies, The dogge behouldes his shaddowe to appeare: Wherefore, in vaine aloude he barkes, and baies, And alwaies thoughte, an other dogge was there: But yet the Moone, who did not heare his queste, Hir woonted course, did keep vnto the weste.

This reprehendes, those fooles which baule, and barke, At learned men, that shine aboue the reste: With due regarde, that they their deedes should marke, And reuerence them, that are with wisedome bleste: But if they striue, in vaine their winde they spende, For woorthie men, the Lorde doth still defende.”

The same device to a different motto, “DESPICIT ALTA CANIS,”—_The dog despises high things_,—is adopted by Camerarius, _Ex Anim. quadrup._, p. 63, edition 1595,—

“Why carest thou for the angry thorns of a vain speaking tongue? Diana on high cares not for the loud-barking dog.”[133]

We will conclude our “baying” with Beza’s 22nd Emblem. The Latin stanza is sufficiently severe,—

“_Luna velut toto collustrans lumine terras, Frustra allatrantes despicit alta canes: Sic quisquis Christum allatrat Christíve ministros, Index stultitiæ? spernitor vsque suæ._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“As the moon with full light shining over the lands, From on high doth despise dogs barking in vain: So whoso is barking at Christ or Christ’s ministers, The scorner is the pointer out even of his own folly.”

In connection with the power of music Orpheus is named by many writers of the sixteenth century; and among the Emblematists the lead may be assigned to Pierre Coustau in “LE PEGME” (Lyons, 1560, p. 389),—

_Sur la harpe d’Orpheus._ La force d’Eloquence.

_De ſon gentil & fort melodieux D'vn inſtrument, Orpheus feit mouuoir Rocs & patitz de leur places & lieux. C’eſt eloquence ayant force & pouuoir D’ẽbler les cueurs de tous part son ſçavoir; C’eſt l’orateur qui au fort d’eloquence, Premierement ſouz méme demourance Gens beſtiaulx, & par ferocité, &c._

“_On the Harp of Orpheus._ The Power of Eloquence.

“With sound gentle and very melodious Of an instrument Orpheus caused to move Rocks and pastures from their place and home. It is eloquence having force and power To steal the hearts of all his learning shows, It is the orator who by strength of eloquence First brings even under influence Brutal people, and from fierceness Gathers them; and who to benevolence From fierceness then reclaims.

A _Narration Philosophique_ follows for three pages, discoursing on the power of eloquence.

_Musicæ, & Poeticæ vis_,—“The force of Music and Poetry,”—occupies Reusner’s 21st Emblem (bk. iii. p. 129), oddly enough dedicated to a mathematician, David Nephelite. Whitney’s stanzas (p. 186), _Orphei Musica_,—“The Music of Orpheus,”—bear considerable resemblance to those of Reusner, and are sufficient for establishing the parallelism of Shakespeare and themselves.

“LO, ORPHEVS with his harpe, that sauage kinde did tame: The Lions fierce, and Leopardes wilde, and birdes about him came. For, with his musicke sweete, their natures hee subdu’de: But if wee thinke his playe so wroughte, our selues wee doe delude. For why? besides his skill, hee learned was, and wise: And coulde with sweetenes of his tonge, all sortes of men suffice. And those that weare most rude, and knewe no good at all: And weare of fierce, and cruell mindes, the worlde did brutishe call. Yet with persuasions sounde, hee made their hartes relente, That meeke, and milde they did become, and followed where he wente. Lo, these, the Lions fierce, these, Beares, and Tigers weare: The trees, and rockes, that lefte their roomes, his musicke for to heare. But, you are happie most, who in suche place doe staye: You neede not THRACIA seeke, to heare some impe of ORPHEVS playe. Since, that so neare your home, Apollos darlinge dwelles; Who LINVS, & AMPHION staynes, and ORPHEVS farre excelles. For, hartes like marble harde, his harmonie dothe pierce: And makes them yeelding passions feele, that are by nature fierce.

But, if his musicke faile: his curtesie is suche, That none so rude, and base of minde, but hee reclaimes them muche. Nowe since you, by deserte, for both, commended are: I choose you, for a Iudge herein, if truthe I doe declare. And if you finde I doe, then ofte therefore reioyce: And thinke, I woulde suche neighbour haue, if I might make my choice.”

In a similar strain, from the _Merchant of Venice_ (act v. sc. 1, l. 70, vol. ii. p. 361), we are told of the deep influence which music possesses over—

“a wild and wanton herd Or race of youthful and unhandled colts.”

The poet declares,—

“If they but hear perchance a trumpet sound, Or any air of music touch their ears, You shall perceive them make a mutual stand, Their savage eyes turn’d to a modest gaze By the sweet power of music: therefore the poet[134] Did feign that Orpheus drew trees, stones and floods; Since nought so stockish, hard and full of rage, But music for the time doth change his nature. The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils: The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus: Let no such man be trusted.”

And in the _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ (act iii. sc. 2, l. 68, vol. i. p. 129), the method is developed by which Silvia, through the conversation of Proteus, may be tempered “to hate young Valentine” and Thurio love. Proteus says,—

“You must lay lime to tangle her desires By wailful sonnets, whose composed rhymes Should be full-fraught with serviceable vows. _Duke._ Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy. _Pro._ Say that upon the altar of her beauty You sacrifice your tears, your sighs, your heart: Write till your ink be dry, and with your tears Moist it again; and frame some feeling line That may discover such integrity: For Orpheus’ lute was strung with poets’ sinews; Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones. Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands.”[135]

Again, in proof of Music’s power, consult _Henry VIII._ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 1, vol. vi. p. 56), when Queen Katharine, in her sorrowfulness, says to one of her women who were at work around her,—

“Take thy lute, wench: my soul grows sad with troubles; Sing and disperse ’em if thou canst: leave working.”

The sweet simple song is raised,—

“Orpheus with his lute made trees And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung, as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.

Everything that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing die.”

How splendidly does the dramatic poet’s genius here shine forth! It pours light upon each Emblem, and calls into day the hidden glories. His spirit breathes upon a dead picture, and rivalling Orpheus himself, he makes the images breathe and glance and live.

The mythic tale of Actæon transformed into a stag, and hunted by hounds because of his rudeness to Diana and her nymphs, was used to point the moral of widely different subjects. Alciatus (Emb. 52, ed. 1551, p. 60) applies it “_to the harbourers of assassins_” and makes it the occasion of a very true but very severe reflection.

In receptatores ſicariorum.

_Latronum furumque manus tibi Scæua per vrbem It comes: & diris cincta cohors gladijs. Atque ita te mentis generoſum prodige cenſes, Quòd tua complurειs allicit olla malos. En nouus Actæon, qui poſtquàm cornua ſumpſit In prædam canibus se dedit ipſe ſuis._

_Alciat, 1551._

“Of thieves and robbers evil-omen’d bands the city through Go thy companions; and a cohort girded with dreadful swords. And so, O prodigal, thou thinkest thyself of generous mind, Because thy cooking pot allures very many of the bad ones. Lo, a new Actæon, who after he assumed the horns, Himself gave himself a prey to his own dogs.”

The device is graphically drawn: Actæon is in part embruted; he is fleeing with the dogs close upon him. Supposing Shakespeare to have seen this print, it represents to the life Pistol’s words in the _Merry Wives of Windsor_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 106, vol. i. p. 186),—

“Prevent, or go thou, Like Sir Actæon he, with Ringwood at thy heels.”

“EX DOMINO SERVUS,”—_The slave out of the master_,—is another saying which the tale of Actæon has illustrated. The application is from Aneau’s “PICTA POESIS,” fol. 41. On the left hand of the tiny drawing are Diana and her nymphs, busied in the bath, beneath the shelter of an overhanging cliff,—on the right is Actæon, motionless, with a stag’s head; dogs are around him. The verses translated read thus,—

“Horns being bestowed upon Actæon when changed to a stag, Member by member his own dogs tore him to pieces. Alas! wretched the Master who feeds wasteful parasites; A ready prepared prey he is for his fawning dogs! It suggests, he is mocked by them and devoured, And out of a master is made a slave, bearing horns.”

But Sambucus in his _Emblems_ (edition 1564, p. 128), and Whitney after him (p. 15)—making use of the same woodcut, only with a different border—adapt the Actæon-tragedy to another subject and moral, and take the words, _Pleasure purchased by anguish_.

Voluptas ærumnoſa.

QVI _nimis exercet venatus, ac ſine fine Haurit opes patrias, prodigit inque canes: Tantus amor vani, tantus furor vſque recurſat, Induat ut celeris cornua bina feræ. Accidit Actæon tibi, qui cornutus ab ortu, À canibus propriis dilaceratus eras. Quàm multos hodie, quos paſcit odora canum vis. Venandi ſtudium conficit, atque vorat. Seria ne ludis poſtponas, commoda damnis, Quod ſupereſt rerum ſic ut egenus habe. Sæpe etiam propria qui interdum vxore relicta Deperit externas corniger iſta luit._

Stanzas which may thus be rendered,—

“Whoever too eagerly hunting pursues, and without moderation Drains paternal treasures and lavishes them on dogs: So great the love of the folly, so strong does the passion return That it clothes him in the twin horns of the swift stag. It happened, Actæon, to thee, who though horned from thy birth, By thy own dogs into pieces wast torn. At this day how many, whom the dogs’ quick scent delights, The strong passion for hunting wastes and devours. Put not off serious things for sports,—advantages for losses: As one in need so hold fast whatever things remain: Often even the horn bearer, his own wife forsaken, Loves desperately strangers, and pays penalties for crimes.”

We here see that Sambucus has adopted the theory of the old grammarian or historian of Alexandria, Palæphatus, who informs us,—

“Actæon by race was an Arcadian, very fond of dogs. Many of them he kept, and hunted in the mountains. But he neglected his own affairs, for men then were all self-workers; they had no servants, but themselves tilled the earth; and that man was the richest, who tilled the earth and was the most diligent workman. But Actæon being careless of domestic affairs, and rather going about hunting with his dogs, his substance was wasted. And when he had nothing left, people kept saying: the wretched Actæon was eaten up by his own dogs.”

A very instructive tale this for some of our Nimrods, mighty hunters and racers in the land; but it is not to be pressed too strictly into the service of the parsimonious.

From the same motto Whitney (p. 15) keeps much closer to the mythological narrative,[136]—

“Actæon heare, vnhappie man behoulde, When in the well, hee sawe Diana brighte, With greedie lookes, hee waxed ouer boulde, That to a stagge hee was transformed righte, Whereat amasde, hee thought to runne awaie, But straighte his howndes did rente hym, for their praie.

By which is ment, That those whoe do pursue Theire fancies fonde, and thinges vnlawfull craue, Like brutishe beastes appeare vnto the viewe, And shall at lengthe, Actæons guerdon haue: And as his houndes, soe theire affections base, Shall them deuowre, and all their deedes deface.”

Very beautifully, in _Twelfth Night_ (act i. sc. 1, l. 9, vol. iii. p. 223), is this idea applied by Orsino, duke of Illyria,—

“O spirit of love, how quick and fresh art thou! That, notwithstanding thy capacity Receiveth as the sea, nought enters there, Of what validity and pitch soe’er, But falls into abatement and low price, Even in a minute! so full of shapes is fancy That it alone is high fantastical. _Cur._ Will you go hunt, my lord? _Duke._ What, Curio? _Cur._ The hart. _Duke._ Why, so I do, the noblest that I have: O, when mine eyes did see Olivia first, Methought she purged the air of pestilence! That instant was I turn’d into a hart; And my desires, like fell and cruel hounds, E’er since pursue me.”

The full force and meaning of the mythological tale is, however, brought out in the _Titus Andronicus_ (act ii. sc. 3, l. 55, vol. vi. p. 459), that fearful history of passion and revenge. Tamora is in the forest, and Bassianus and Lavinia make their appearance,—

“_Bass._ Who have we here? Rome’s royal empress, Unfurnish’d of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves, To see the general hunting in this forest? _Tam._ Saucy controller of my private steps! Had I the power that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actæon’s, and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art!”

Arion rescued by the Dolphin is another mythic tale in which poets may well delight. Alciatus (Emblem 89, edition 1581), directs the moral, “_against the avaricious, or those to whom a better condition is offered by strangers_.” Contrary to the French writers of time and place, the emblem presents in the same device the harpist both cast out of the ship and riding triumphantly to the shore.

In auaros, vel quibus melior conditio ab extraneis offertur. _EMBLEMA LXXXIX._

DELPHINI _inſidens vada cærula ſulcat Arion, Hocʠ_{3} aures mulcet, frenat & ora ſono. Quàm ſit auari hominis, non tam mens dira ſerarũ est; Quiʠ_{3} viris rapimur, piſcibus eripimur._

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“On the dolphin sitting Arion ploughs cerulean seas, With a sound he soothes the ears, with a sound curbs the mouth. Of wild creatures not so dreadful is the mind, as of greedy man; We who by men are pillaged, are by fishes rescued.”

With this thought before him Whitney (p. 144) at the head of his stanzas has placed the strong expression, “Man is a wolf to man.”[137] _Cave canem_,—“Beware of the dog,”—is certainly a far more kindly warning; but the motto, _Homo homini lupus_, tallies exactly with the conduct of the mariners.

“NO mortall foe so full of poysoned spite, As man, to man, when mischiefe he pretendes: The monsters huge, as diuers aucthors write, Yea Lions wilde, and fishes weare his frendes: And when their deathe, by frendes suppos’d was sought, They kindnesse shew’d, and them from daunger brought.

ARION lo, who gained store of goulde, In countries farre: with harpe, and pleasant voice: Did shipping take, and to CORINTHVS woulde, And to his wishe, of pilottes made his choise: Who rob’d the man, and threwe him to the sea, A Dolphin, lo, did beare him safe awaie.”

A comment from St. Chrysostom, _super Matth._ xxii., is added,—

“As a king is honoured in his image, so God is loved and hated in man. He cannot hate man, who loves God, nor can he, who hates God, love men.”

Reference is also made to Aulus Gellius (bk. v. c. 14, vol. i. p. 408), where the delightful story is narrated of the slave Androclus and the huge lion whose wounded foot he had cured, and with whom he lived familiarly for three years in the same cave and on the same food. After a time the slave was taken and condemned to furnish sport in the circus to the degraded Romans. That same lion also had been taken, a beast of vast size, and power and fierceness. The two were confronted in the arena.

“When the lion saw the man at a distance,” says the narrator, “suddenly, as if wondering, he stood still; and then gently and placidly as if recognising drew near. With the manner and observance of fawning dogs, softly and blandly he wagged his tail and placed himself close to the man’s body, and lightly with his tongue licked the legs and hands of the slave almost lifeless from fear. The man Androclus during these blandishments of the fierce wild creature recovered his lost spirits; by degrees he directed his eyes to behold the lion. Then, as if mutual recognition had been made, man and lion appeared glad and rejoicing one with the other.”

Was it now, from having this tale in mind that, in the _Troilus and Cressida_ (act v. sc. 3, l. 37, vol. vi. p. 247), these words were spoken to Hector?—

“Brother, you have a vice of mercy in you, Which better fits a lion than a man.”

_Arion sauué par vn Dauphin_, is also the subject of a well executed device in the “ΜΙΚΡΟΚΟΣΜΟΣ” (edition Antwerp, 1592),[138] of which we give the French version (p. 64),—

“Arion retournant par mer en sa patrie Chargé de quelque argẽt, vid que les mariniers Animéz contre luy d’une auare furie Pretendoyent luy oster sa vie & ses deniers.

Pour eschapper leurs mains & changer leur courage, Sur la harpe il chanta vn chant melodieux Mais il ne peut fleschir la nature sauuage De ces cruels larrons & meurtriers furieux.

Estant par eux ietté deans la mere profonde, Vn Dauphin attiré au son de l’instrument, Le chargea sur son dos, & au trauers de l’onde Le portant, le sauua miraculeusement.

Maintes fois l’innocent à qui on fait offense Trouue plus de faueur es bestes qu’es humains: Dieu qui aime les bons les prend en sa defense, Les gardant de l’effort des hommes inhumains.”

To the Emblems we have under consideration we meet with this coincidence in _Twelfth Night_ (act i. sc. 2, l. 10, vol. iii. p. 225); it is the Captain’s assurance to Viola,—

“When you and those poor number saved with you Hung on our driving boat, I saw your brother, Most provident in peril, bind himself, Courage and hope both teaching him the practice, To a strong mast that lived upon the sea; Where, like Arion on the dolphin’s back, I saw him hold acquaintance with the waves So long as I could see.”

As examples of a sentiment directly opposite, we will briefly refer to Coustau’s _Pegma_ (p. 323, edition Lyons, 1555), where to the device of a Camel and his driver, the noble motto is recorded and exemplified from Plutarch, _Homo homini Deus_,—“Man is a God to man;” the reason being assigned,—

“As the world was created for sake of gods and men, so man was created for man’s sake;” and, “that the grace we receive from the immortal God is to be bestowed on man by man.”

Reusner, too, in his _Emblemata_ (p. 142, Francfort, 1581), though commenting on the contrary saying, _Homo homini lupus_, declares,—

“_Aut homini Deus est homo; si bonus: aut lupus hercle, Si malus: ô quantum est esse hominem, atq. Deum._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Or man to man is God; if good: or a wolf in truth, If bad: O how great it is to be man and God!”[139]

Was it in reference to these sentiments that Hamlet and Cerimon speak? The one says (_Hamlet_, act iv. sc. 4, l. 33. vol. viii. p. 127),—

“What is a man, If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure, he that made us with such large discourse, Looking before and after, gave us not That capability and god-like reason To fust in us unused.”

And again (act ii. sc. 2, l. 295, vol. viii. p. 63),—

“What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension how like a god!”

So in the _Pericles_ (act iii. sc. 2, l. 26, vol. ix. p. 366), the fine thought is uttered,—

“I hold it ever, Virtue and cunning were endowments greater Than nobleness and riches: careless heirs May the two latter darken and expend, But immortality attends the former, Making a man a god.”

The horses and chariot of Phœbus, and the presumptuous charioteer Phaëton, who attempted to drive them, are celebrated with great splendour of description in Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ (bk. ii. fab. 1), that rich storehouse of Mythology. The palace of the god has lofty columns bright with glittering gold; the roof is covered with pure shining ivory; and the double gates are of silver. Here Phœbus was throned, and clothed in purple;—the days and months and years,—the seasons and the ages were seated around him; Phaëton appears, claims to be his son, and demands for one day to guide the glorious steeds. At this point we take up the narrative which Alciat has written (Emb. 56), and inscribed, “_To the rash_.”[140]

In temerarios.

_Aſpicis aurigam currus Phaëtonta paterni Igniuo mos auſum flectere Solis equos. Maxima qui poſtquàm terris incendia ſparſit: Eſt temerè inſeſſo lapſus ab axe miſer. Sic plerique rotis Fortunæ ad ſydera Reges Euecti: ambitio quos iuuenilis agit. Poſt magnam humani generis cladémque, ſuamque, Cunctorum pœnas denique dant ſcelerum._

“You behold Phaëton the driver of his father’s chariot,— Who dared to guide the fire breathing horses of the sun. After over the lands mightiest burnings he scattered, Wretched he fell from the chariot where rashly he sat. So many kings, whom youthful ambition excites, On the wheels of Fortune are borne to the stars. After great slaughter of the human race and their own, For all their crimes at last the penalties they pay.”

Shakespeare’s notices of the attempted feat and its failure are frequent. First, in the _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 153, vol. i. p. 121), the Duke of Milan discovers the letter addressed to his daughter Silvia, with the promise,—

“Silvia, this night will I enfranchise thee,”—

and with true classic force denounces the folly of the attempt,—

“Why, Phaethon,—for thou art Merops’ son,— Wilt thou aspire to guide the heavenly car, And with thy daring folly burn the world? Wilt thou reach stars because they shine on thee?”

In her impatience for the meeting with Romeo (_Romeo and Juliet_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 1, vol. vii. p. 72), Juliet exclaims,—

“Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds, Towards Phœbus’ lodging: such a waggoner As Phaethon would whip you to the west And bring in cloudy night immediately.”

The unfortunate Richard II. (act iii. sc. 3, l. 178, vol. iv. p. 179), when desired by Northumberland to meet Bolingbroke in the courtyard (“may’t please you to come down”), replies,—

“Down, down, I come; like glistering Phaeton Wanting the manage of unruly jades.”

And he too, in _3 Henry VI._ (act i. sc. 4, l. 16, vol. v. p. 244), Richard, Duke of York, whose son cried,—

“A crown, or else a glorious tomb! A sceptre or an earthly sepulchre!”—

when urged by Northumberland (l. 30),—

“Yield to our mercy, proud Plantagenet;”

had this answer given for him by the faithful Clifford,—

“Ay, to such mercy, as his ruthless arm, With downright payment, shew’d unto my father. Now Phaethon hath tumbled from his car, And made an evening at the noontide prick.”

That same Clifford (act ii. sc. 6, l. 10, vol. v. p. 271), when wounded and about to die for the Lancastrian cause, makes use of the allusion,—

“And who shines now but Henry’s enemy? O Phœbus! hadst thou never given consent That Phaëthon should check thy fiery steeds, Thy burning car had never scorch’d the earth! And, Henry, hadst thou sway’d as kings should do, Or as thy father and his father did, Giving no ground unto the house of York, They never then had sprung like summer flies; I and ten thousand in this luckless realm Had left no mourning widows for our death; And thou this day hadst kept thy chair in peace.”

In the early heroic age, when Minos reigned in Crete and Theseus at Athens, just as Mythology was ripening into history, the most celebrated for mechanical contrivance and for excellence in the arts of sculpture and architecture were Dædalus and his sons Talus and Icarus. To them is attributed the invention of the saw, the axe, the plumb-line, the auger, the gimlet, and glue; they contrived masts and sailyards for ships; and they discovered various methods of giving to statues expression and the appearance of life. Chiefly, however, are Dædalus and Icarus now known for fitting wings to the human arms, and for attempting to fly across the sea from Crete to the shore of Greece. Dædalus, hovering just above the waves, accomplished the aërial voyage in safety; but Icarus, too ambitiously soaring aloft, had his wings injured by the heat of the sun, and fell into the waters, which from his death there were named the Icarian sea.

From the edition of Alciat’s _Emblems_, 1581, we select a drawing which represents the fall of Icarus; it is dedicated “To Astrologers,” or fortune tellers. The warning in the last two lines is all we need to translate,—

“Let the Astrologer take heed what he foretells; for headlong The impostor will fall though he fly the stars above.”

In aſtrologos.

_EMBLEMA CIII._

ICARE, _per ſuperos qui raptus & aëra, donec In mare præcipitem cera liquata daret, Nunc te cera eadem, feruensque reſuſcitat ignis, Exemplo vt doceas dogmata certa tuo. Aſtrologus caueat quicquam prædicere: præceps Nam cadet impoſtor dum ſuper aſtra volat._

Whitney, however (p. 28), will supply the whole,—

“HEARE, ICARVS with mountinge vp alofte, Came headlonge downe, and fell into the Sea: His waxed winges, the sonne did make so softe, They melted straighte, and feathers fell awaie: So, whilste he flewe, and of no dowbte did care, He moou’de his armes, but loe, the same were bare.

Let suche beware, which paste theire reache doe mounte, Whoe seeke the thinges, to mortall men deny’de, And searche the Heauens, and all the starres accoumpte, And tell therebie, what after shall betyde: With blusshinge nowe, theire weakenesse rightlie weye, Least as they clime, they fall to theire decaye.”

Faire tout par moyen.

Qui trop ſ’ exalte trop ſe priſe, Qui trop ſ’abaiſſ[e/] il se deſpriſe, Mais celluy qui veult faire bien Il se gouuerne par moyen.

_Corrozet, 1540._

Fol Icarus que t’eſt il aduenu? Tu as treſmal le conſeil retenu De Dedalus ton pere qui t’apprint L’art de voler, lequel il entreprint Pour eſchapper de Minos la priſon Ou vous eſtiez enfermez, pour raiſon Qu’il auoit faict & baſty vne vache D’ung boys leger ou Paſiphe ſe cache. Ce Dedalus nature ſurmonta A toy & luy des ælles adiouſta Aux bras & piedz, tant que pouiez voler Et en volant il ſe print à parler A toy diſant: mon filz qui veulx pretendre De te ſauluer, vng cas tu doibs entendre Que ſi tu veulx à bon port arriuer Il ne te fault vers le ciel eſleuer. Car le Soleil la cire fonderoit, Et par ainſi ta plume tomberoit, Sy tu vas bas l’humidité des eaulx Te priuera du pouoir des oyſeaulx, Mais ſi tu vas ne hault ne bas, adoncques La voy[e/] eſt ſeur[e/] & ſans dangers quelzconques: O pauure ſot le hault chemin tu prins Trop hault pour toy car mal il t’en eſt prins La cire fond, & ton plumage tumbe Et toy auſſi preſt à mettre ſoubz tumbe.

We use this opportunity to present two consecutive pages of Corrozet’s “HECATOMGRAPHIE” (Emb. 67), that the nature of his

devices, and of their explanations may be seen. There is a motto,—“To take the middle way,”—and these lines follow—

“Who too much exalts himself too much values himself, Who too much abases himself, he undervalues himself, But that man who wills to do well, He governs himself the medium way.”

In the page of metrical explanation subjoined, the usual mythic narrative is closely followed.

The full idea is carried out in _3 Henry VI._ (act v. sc. 6, l. 18, vol. v. p. 332), Gloucester and King Henry being the speakers,—

“_Glou._ Why, what a peevish fool was that of Crete, That taught his son the office of a fowl! And yet for all his wings, the fool was drown’d. _K. Hen._ I, Dædalus; my poor boy, Icarus; Thy father, Minos, that denied our course; The sun that sear’d the wings of my sweet boy Thy brother Edward, and thyself the sea Whose envious gulf did swallow up his life. Ah, kill me with thy weapon, not with words! My breast can better brook thy dagger’s point Than can my ears that tragic history.”

In the 1st part also of the same dramatic series (act iv. sc. 6, l. 46, vol. v. p. 78), John Talbot, the son, is hemmed about in the battle near Bourdeaux. Rescued by his father, he is urged to escape, but the young hero replies,—

“Before young Talbot from old Talbot fly, The coward horse that bears me fall and die! And like me to the peasant boys of France, To be shame’s scorn and subject of mischance! Surely, by all the glory you have won, An if I fly, I am not Talbot’s son: Then talk no more of flight, it is no boot; If son to Talbot, die at Talbot’s foot.

_Tal._ Then follow thou thy desperate sire of Crete, Thou Icarus; thy life to me is sweet: If thou wilt fight, fight by thy father’s side; And, commendable proved, let’s die in pride.”

The tearful tale of Niobe, who that has read Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_ (bk. vi. fab. 5) could not weep over it! Seven stalwart sons and seven fair daughters clustered round the haughty dame, and she gloried in their attendance upon her; but at an evil hour she dared to match herself with Latona, and at a public festival in honour of the goddess to be the only one refusing to offer incense and prayers. The goddess called her own children to avenge the affront and the impiety; and Apollo and Diana, from the clouds, slew the seven sons as they were exercising on the plain near Thebes. Yet the pride of Niobe did not abate, and Diana in like manner slew also the seven daughters. The mother’s heart was utterly broken; she wept herself to death, and was changed to stone. Yet, says the poet, _Flet tamen_,—“ Yet she weeps,”—

_Liquitur, et lacrymas etiam nunc marmora manant,—_

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“It melts, and even now the marble trickles down tears.”

Alciat adopts the tale as a warning; _Pride_ he names his 67th Emblem.

Superbia. _EMBLEMA LXVII_

EN _ſtatuæ ſtatua, & ductum de marmore marmor, Se conferre Deis auſa procax Niobe. Eſt vitium muliebre ſuperbia, & arguit oris Duritiem, ac ſenſus, qualis ineſt lapidi_.

As we look at the device we are sensible to a singular incongruity between the subject and the droll, _Punch_-like figures, which make up the border. The sentiment, too, is as incongruous, that “Pride is a woman’s vice and argues hardness of look and of feeling such as there is in stone.”

Making a slight change in the motto, Whitney (p. 13) writes. _Superbiæ vltio_,—“Vengeance upon pride,”—

“OF NIOBE, behoulde the ruthefull plighte, Bicause shee did dispise the powers deuine: Her children all, weare slaine within her sighte, And, while her selfe with tricklinge teares did pine, Shee was transform’de, into a marble stone, Which, yet with teares, dothe seeme to waile, and mone.

This tragedie, thoughe Poëtts first did frame, Yet maie it bee, to euerie one applide: That mortall men, shoulde thinke from whence they came, And not presume, nor puffe them vp with pride, Leste that the Lorde, whoe haughty hartes doth hate, Doth throwe them downe, when sure they thinke theyr state.”

Shakespeare’s notices of Niobe are little more than allusions; the mode in which Apollo and Diana executed the cruel vengeance may be glanced at in _All’s Well_ (act v. sc. 3, l. 5, vol. iii. p. 201), when the Countess of Rousillon pleads for her son to the King of France,—

“_Count._ ’Tis past, my liege; And I beseech your majesty to make it Natural rebellion, done i’ the blaze of youth; When oil and fire, too strong for reason’s force, O’erbears it and burns on. _King._ My honour’d lady, I have forgiven and forgotten all; Though my revenges were high bent upon him, And watch’d the time to shoot.”

Troilus (act v. sc. 10, l. 16, vol. vi. p. 261), anticipating Priam’s and Hecuba’s mighty grief over the slain Hector, speaks thus of the fact,—

“Let him that will a screech-owl aye be call’d Go into Troy, and say there, ‘Hector’s dead:’ There is a word will Priam turn to stone, Make wells and Niobes of the maids and wives, Cold statues of the youth, and in a word, Scare Troy out of itself.”

Hamlet, too (act i. sc. 2, l. 147, vol. viii. p. 17), in his bitter expressions respecting his mother’s marriage, speaks thus severely of the brevity of her widowhood,—

“A little month, or ere those shoes were old With which she follow’d my poor father’s body. Like Niobe, all tears:—why she, even she,— O God! a beast that wants discourse of reason. Would have mourn’d longer;—within a month; Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married.”

Tiresias, the blind soothsayer of Thebes, had foretold that the comely Narcissus would live as long as he could refrain from the sight of his own countenance,—

“But he, ignorant of his destiny,” says Claude Mignault, “grew so desperately in love with his own image seen in a fountain, that he miserably wasted away, and was changed into the flower of his own name, which is called _Narce_, and means drowsiness or infatuation, because the smell of the Narcissus affects the head.”

However that may be, Alciatus, edition Antwerp, 1581, exhibits the youth surveying his features in a running stream; the flower is behind him, and in the distance is Tiresias pronouncing his doom. “Self love” is the motto.

Φιλαυτία _EMBLEMA LXIX._

QVOD _nimium tua forma tibi Narciſſe placebat, In florem, & noti eſt verſa ſtuporis olus. Ingenij eſt marcor, cladesque. Φιλαυτία, doctos Quæ peſſum plures datque, deditque viros: Qui veterum abiecta methodo, noua dogmata quærunt, Nilque ſuas præter tradere phantaſias._

Anulus also, in the “PICTA POESIS” (p. 48), mentions his foolish and vain passion,—

_Contemnens alios, arsit amore sui,—_

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Despising others, inflamed he was with love of himself.”

From Alciat and Anulus, Whitney takes up the fable (p. 149), his printer Rapheleng using the same wood-block as Plantyn did in 1581. Of the three stanzas we subjoin one,—

“Narcissvs lou’de, and liked so his shape, He died at lengthe with gazinge there vppon: Which shewes selfe loue, from which there fewe can scape, A plague too rife: bewitcheth manie a one. The ritche, the pore, the learned, and the sotte, Offende therein: and yet they see it not.”

It is only in one instance, _Antony and Cleopatra_ (act ii. sc. 5, l. 95, vol. ix. p. 48), and very briefly, that Shakespeare names Narcissus; he does this when the Messenger repeats to Cleopatra that Antony is married, and she replies,—

“The Gods confound thee!... ... Go, get thee hence: Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me Thou wouldst appear most ugly.”

_Ille amat, hæc odit, fugit hæc: ſectatur at ille Dúmque fugit: Laurus facta repentè ſtetit. Sic amat, & fruſtra, nec Apollo potitus amore eſt. Vltus Apollinis eſt, ſic Amor opprobrium. HAECINE doctorum ſors eſt inimica virorum, Vt iuuenes quamuis non redamentur ament? Exoſoſque habeat prudentes ſtulta iuuentus His ne iungatur ſtipes vt eſſe velit._

The most beautiful of the maidens of Thessaly, Daphne, the daughter of the river-god Peneus, was Apollo’s earliest love. He sought her in marriage, and being refused by her, prepared to force consent. The maiden fled, and was pursued, and, at the very moment of her need invoked her father’s aid, and was transformed into a laurel.

At this instant the device of Anulus represents her, in the “PICTA POESIS” (P. 47).[141]

“He loves, she hates; she flees, but he pursues, And while she flees, stopped suddenly, to laurel changed. So loves Apollo, and in vain; nor enjoys his love. So love has avenged the reproach of Apollo. This very judgment of learned men is it not hostile, That youths should love though not again be loved? Hated should foolish youth account the wise Lest by these the log be not joined as it wishes to be.”

The _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 227, vol. ii. p. 218) reverses the fable; Demetrius flees and Helena pursues,—

“_Dem._ I’ll run from thee and hide me in the brakes, And leave thee to the mercy of wild beasts. _Hel._ The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase: The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, When cowardice pursues, and valour flies.”

There is, too, the quotation already made for another purpose (p. 115) from the _Taming of the Shrew_ (Introd. sc. 2, l. 55),—

“Or Daphne roaming through a thorny wood, Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds, And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep, So workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.”

And Troilus (act i. sc. 1, l. 94, vol. vi. p. 130) makes the invocation,—

“Tell me, Apollo, for thy Daphne’s love What Cressid is, what Pandar, and what we?”

Among Mythological Characters we may rank Milo, “of force unparalleled;” to whom with crafty words of flattery Ulysses likened Diomed; _Troilus and Cressida_ (act ii. sc. 3, l. 237),—

“But he that disciplined thine arms to fight, Let Mars divide eternity in twain, And give him half: and for thy vigour, Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield To sinewy Ajax.”

Milo’s prowess is the subject of a fine device by Gerard de Jode, in the “ΜΙΚΡΟΚΟΣΜΟΣ” (p. 61), first published in 1579, with Latin verses. Respecting Milo the French verses say,—

“La force de Milon a esté nompareille, Et de ses grands efforts on raconte merueille: S’il se tenoit debout, il ne se trouuoit pas Homme aucun qui le peust faire bouger d’un pas.

A frapper il estoit si fort & si adestre Que d’un seul coup de poing il tua de sa dextre Vn robuste taureau, & des ses membres forts Vne lieue le porta sans se greuer le corps.

Mais se fiant par trop en ceste grande force, Il fut en fin saisi d’une mortelle entorce: Car il se vid manger des bestes, estant pris A l’arbre qu’il auoit de desioindre entrepris.

Qui de sa force abuse en chase non faisable Se rend par son effort bien souuent miserable, Le fol entrepreneur tombe en confusion Et s’expose à chacun en grand derision.”

The famous winged horse, Pegasus, heroic, though not a hero, has a right to close in our array of mythic characters. Sprung from the blood of Medusa when Perseus cut off her head, Pegasus is regarded sometimes as the thundering steed of Jove, at other times as the war-horse of Bellerophon; and in more modern times, under a third aspect, as the horse of the Muses. Already (at p. 142) we have spoken of some of the merits attributed to him, and have presented Emblems in which he is introduced. It will be sufficient now to bring forward the device and stanza of Alciat, in which he shows us how “by prudence and valour to overcome the Chimæra, that is, the stronger and those using stratagems.”

Conſilio & virtute Chimæram ſuperari, id est, fortiores & deceptores.

_EMBLEMA XIIII._

BELLEROPHON _ut fortis eques ſuperare Chimæram, Et Lycij potuit ſternere monſtra ſoli: Sic tu Pegaſeis vectus petis æthera pennis, Conſilioque animi monſtra ſuperba domas_.

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“As the brave knight Bellerophon could conquer Chimæra, And the monsters of the Lycian shore stretch on the ground: So thou borne on the wings of Pegasus seekest the sky, And by prudence dost subdue proud monsters of the soul.”

Shakespeare recognises neither Bellerophon nor the Chimæra, but Pegasus, the wonderful creature, and Perseus its owner.

The dauphin Lewis (see p. 141) likens his own horse to Pegasus, “with nostrils of fire,”—

It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire ... he is indeed a horse.

In the Grecian camp (see _Troilus and Cressida_, act i. sc. 3, l. 33, vol. vi. p. 142), Nestor is urging the worth of dauntless valour, and uses the apt comparison,—

“In the reproof of chance Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth, How many shallow bauble boats dare sail Upon her patient breast, making their way With those of nobler bulk! But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage The gentle Thetis, and anon behold The strong-ribb’d bark through liquid mountains cut, Bounding between the two moist elements, Like Perseus’ horse.”

The last lines are descriptive of Alciat’s device, on p. 299.

It is the same Nestor (act iv. sc. 5, l. 183), who so freely and generously compliments Hector, though his enemy,—

“I have, thou gallant Trojan, seen thee oft, Labouring for destiny, make cruel way Through ranks of Greekish youth; and I have seen thee, As hot as Perseus, spur thy Phrygian steed, Despising many forfeits and subduements, When thou hast hung thy advanced sword i’ the air, Nor letting it decline on the declined, That I have said to some my standers by, ‘Lo, Jupiter is yonder, dealing life!’”

Young Harry’s praise, too, in _1 Henry IV._, act iv. sc. 1. l. 109, vol. iv. p. 318, is thus celebrated by Vernon,—

“As if an angel dropp’d down from the clouds To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.”

For nearly all the personages and the tales contained in this section, authority may be found in Ovid, and in the various pictorially illustrated editions of the _Metamorphoses_ or of portions of them, which were numerous during the actively literary life of Shakespeare. It is, I confess, very questionable, whether for his classically mythic tales he was indeed indebted to the Emblematists; yet the many parallels in mythology between him and them justify the pleasant labour of setting both side by side, and, by this means, of facilitating to the reader the forming for himself an independent judgment.

SECTION IV. _EMBLEMS ILLUSTRATIVE OF FABLES._

SIMILITUDES and, in cases not a few, identities have often been detected between the popular tales of widely distant nations, intimating either a common origin, or a common inventive power to work out like results. Fables have ever been a floating literature,—borne hither and thither on the current of Time,—used by any one, and properly belonging to no one. How they have circulated from land to land, and from age to age, we cannot tell; whence they first arose it is impossible to divine. There exist, we are told, fables collected by Bidpai in Sanscrit, by Lokman in Arabic, by Æsop in Greek, and by Phædrus in Latin; and they seem to have been interchanged and borrowed one from the other as if they were the property of the world,—handed down from the ancestorial times of a remote antiquity.

Shakespeare’s general estimation of fables, and of those of Æsop in particular, may be gathered from certain expressions in two of the plays,—in the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act v. sc. 1, l. 1, vol. ii. p. 258) and in _3 Henry VI_. (act v. sc. 5, l. 25, vol. v. p. 329). In the _former_ the speakers are Hippolyta and Theseus,—

“_Hip._ ’Tis strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of. _The._ More strange than true: I never may believe These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.”

In the _latter_ Queen Margaret’s son in reproof of Gloucester, declares,—

“Let Æsop fable in a winter’s night; His currish riddles sort not with this place.”

The year of Shakespeare’s birth, 1564, saw the publication, at Rome, of the Latin Fables of Gabriel Faerni; they had been written at the request of Pope Pius IV., and possess a high degree of excellence, both for their correct Latinity and for the power of invention which they display. Roscoe, in his _Life of Leo X._ (Bohn’s ed. ii. p. 172), even avers that they “are written with such classical purity, as to have given rise to an opinion that he had discovered and fraudulently availed himself of some of the unpublished works of Phædrus.” This opinion, however, is without any foundation.

The _Dialogues of Creatures moralised_ preceded, however, the _Fables_ of Faerni by above eighty years. “In the Latin and Dutch only there were not less than fifteen known editions before 1511.”[142] An edition in Dutch is named as early as 1480, and one in French in 1482; and the English version appeared, it is likely, at nearly as early a date. These and other books of fables, though by a contested claim, are often regarded as books of Emblems. The best Emblem writers, even the purest, introduce fables and little tales of various kinds; as _Alciat_, Emb. 7, The Image of Isis, the Ass and the Driver; Emb. 15, The Cock, the Lion, and the Church; Emb. 59, The Blackamoor washed White, &c.: _Hadrian Junius_, Emb. 4, The caged Cat and the Rats; Emb. 19, The Crocodile and her Eggs: _Perriere_, Emb. 101, Diligence, Idleness, and the Ants. They all, in fact, adopted without scruple the illustrations which suited their particular purpose; and Whitney, in one part of his _Emblemes_, uses twelve of Faerni’s fables in succession.

Of the fables to which Shakespeare alludes some have been quoted in the former part of this work;—as The Fly and the Candle; The Sun, the Wind, and the Traveller; The Elephant and the undermined Tree; The Countryman and the Serpent. Of others we now proceed to give examples.

The Hares biting the dead Lion had, perhaps, one of its earliest applications, if not its origin, in the conduct of Achilles and his coward Greeks to the dead body of Hector, which Homer thus records (_Iliad_, xxii. 37),—

“The other sons of the Greeks crowded around; And admired Hector’s stature and splendid form; Nor was there one standing by who did not inflict a wound.”

Claude Mignault, in his notes to Alciatus (Emb. 153), quotes an epigram, from an unknown Greek author, which Hector is supposed to have uttered as he was dragged by the Grecian chariot,—

“Now after my death ye pierce my body; The very hares are bold to insult a dead lion.”

The _Troilus and Cressida_ (act v. sc. 8, l. 21, vol. vi. p. 259) exhibits the big, brutal Achilles exulting over his slain enemy, and giving the infamous order,—

“Come, tie his body to my horse’s tail; Along the field I will the Trojan trail.”

And afterwards (act v. sc. 10, l. 4, vol. vi. p. 260) the atrocities are recounted to which Hector’s body was exposed,—

“He’s dead, and at the murderer’s horse’s tail In beastly sort dragg’d through the shameful field.”

The description thus given accords with that of Alciatus, Reusner, and Whitney, in reference to the saying, “We must not struggle with phantoms.” Alciat’s stanzas (Emb. 153) are,—

Cum laruis non luctandum.

ÆACIDÆ _moriens percussu cuspidis Hector Qui toties hosteis vicerat ante suos; Comprimere haud potuit vocem, insultantibus illis, Dum curru & pedibus nectere vincla parant. Distrahite vt libitum est: sic cassi luce leonis Conuellunt barbam vel timidi lepores_.

Thus rendered by Whitney (p. 127), with the same device,—

_Cùm laruis non luctandum._

“When Hectors force, throughe mortall wounde did faile, And life beganne, to dreadefull deathe to yeelde: The Greekes moste gladde, his dyinge corpes assaile, Who late did flee before him in the fielde: Which when he sawe, quothe hee nowe worke your spite, For so, the hares the Lion dead doe byte.

Looke here vpon, you that doe wounde the dead, With slaunders vile, and speeches of defame: Or bookes procure, and libelles to be spread, When they bee gone, for to deface theire name: Who while they liu’de, did feare you with theire lookes, And for theire skill, you might not beare their bookes.”

Reusner’s lines, which have considerable beauty, may thus be rendered,—

“Since man is mortal, the dead it becomes us Neither by word nor reproachful writing to mock at. Theseus, mindful of mortal destiny, the bones of his friends Both laves, and stores up in the tomb, and covers with earth. ’Tis the mark of a weak mind, to wage war with phantoms, And after death to good men insult to offer. So when overcome by the strength of Achilles The scullions of the camp struck Hector with darts. So whelps bite the lion laid prostrate by death; So his weapon any one bloods in the boar that is slain. Better ’tis, ye gods, well to speak, of those deserving well; And wickedness great indeed, to violate sacred tombs.”

The device itself, in these three authors, is a representation of Hares biting a dead Lion; and in this we find an origin for the words used in _King John_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 134, vol. iv. p. 17), to reprove the Archduke of Austria. Austria demands of Philip Faulconbridge, “What the devil art thou?” and Philip replies,—

“One that will play the devil, sir, with you, An a’ may catch your hide and you alone: You are the hare of whom the proverb goes, Whose valour plucks dead lions by the beard.”

Immediately references follow to other fables, or to their pictorial representations,—

“I’ll smoke your skin-coat, an I catch you right:”

in allusion to the fable of the fox or the ass hunting in a lion’s skin. Again (l. 141),—

“_Blanch._ O, well did he become that lion’s robe That did disrobe the lion of that robe.

_Bast._ It lies as sightly on the back of him As great Alcides’ shows upon an ass:”

a sentiment evidently suggested to the poet’s mind by some device or emblem in which the incongruity had found a place. Farther research might clear up this and other unexplained allusions in Shakespeare to fables or proverbs; but there is no necessity for attempting this in every instance that occurs.

“_Friendship enduring even after death_,” might receive a variety of illustrations. The conjugal relation of life frequently exemplifies its truth; and occasionally there are friends who show still more strongly how death hallows the memory of the departed, and makes survivors all the more faithful in their love. As the emblem of such fidelity and affection Alciat (Emb. 159) selects the figures of the elm and the vine.[143]

Amicitia etiam poſt mortem durans. _EMBLEMA CLIX._

The consociation in life is not forgotten; and though the supporting tree should die, the twining plant still grasps it round and adorns it with leaves and fruit.

ARENTEM _ſenio, nudam quoque frondibus vlmum, Complexa eſt viridi vitis opaca coma: Agnoſcitque vices naturæ, & grata parenti Officij; reddit mutua iura ſuo. Exemploque monet, tales nos quærere amicos, Quos neque disſiungat fædere summa dies._

To which lines Whitney (p. 62) gives for interpretation the two stanzas,—

“A Withered Elme, whose boughes weare bare of leaues And sappe, was sunke with age into the roote: A fruictefull vine, vnto her bodie cleaues, Whose grapes did hange, from toppe vnto the foote: And when the Elme, was rotten, drie, and dead, His braunches still, the vine abowt it spread.

Which showes, wee shoulde be linck’de with such a frende, That might reuiue, and helpe when wee bee oulde: And when wee stoope, and drawe vnto our ende, Our staggering state, to helpe for to vphoulde: Yea, when wee shall be like a sencelesse block, That for our sakes, will still imbrace our stock.”

The Emblems of Joachim Camerarius,—_Ex Re Herbaria_ (edition 1590, p. 36),—have a similar device and motto,—

“_Quamlibet arenti vitis tamen hæret in ulmo, Sic quoque post mortem verus amicus amat._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“Yet as it pleases the vine clings to the withered elm, So also after death the true friend loves.”

And in the Emblems of Otho Vænius (Antwerp, 1608, p. 244), four lines of Alciat being quoted, there are both English and Italian versions, to—

“_Loue after death._”

“The vyne doth still embrace the elme by age ore-past, Which did in former tyme those feeble stalks vphold, And constantly remaynes with it now beeing old, Loue is not kil’d by death, that after death doth last.”

And,—

“Ne per morte muore.”

“_s’Auiticchia la vite, e l’olmo abbraccia, Anchor che il tempo secchi le sue piante; Nopo morte l’Amor tiensi constante. Non teme morte Amore, anzi la scaccia._”

It is in the _Comedy of Errors_ (act ii. sc. 2, l. 167, vol. i. p. 417) that Shakespeare refers to this fable, when Adriana addresses Antipholus of Syracuse,—

“How ill agrees it with your gravity To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave, Abetting him to thwart me in my mood! Be it my wrong, you are from me exempt, But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt. Come, I will fasten on this sleeve of thine: Thou art an elm, my husband, I a vine, Whose weakness, married to thy stronger state, Makes me with thy strength to communicate.”

With a change from the vine to the ivy a very similar comparison occurs in the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act iv. sc. 1, l. 37, vol. ii. p. 250). The infatuated Titania addresses Bottom the weaver as her dearest joy,—

“Sleep thou, and I will wind thee in my arms. Fairies begone, and be all ways away. So doth the woodbine the sweet honeysuckle Gently entwist; the female ivy so Enrings the barky fingers of the elm. O, how I love thee! how I dote on thee!”

The fable of the Fox and the Grapes is admirably represented in Freitag’s _Mythologia Ethica_ (p. 127), to the motto, “Feigned is the refusal of that which cannot be had,”—

Ficta eius quod haberi nequit recuſatio.

_Fatuus ſtatim indicat iram ſuam: qui autem diſſimulat iniuriam, callidus eſt._ _Prouerb._ 12, 16.

“A fool’s wrath is presently known: but a prudent man covereth shame.”

The fable itself belongs to an earlier work by Gabriel Faerni, and there exemplifies the thought, “to glut oneself with one’s own folly,”—

“_Stultitia sua seipsum saginare._”

“VULPES esuriens, alta de vite racemos Pendentes nulla quum prensare arte valeret, Nec pedibus tantum. aut agili se tollere saltu. Re infecta abscedens, hæc secum, Age, desine, dixit. Immatura vva est, gustuque insuavis acerbo. Consueuere homines, eventu si qua sinistro Vota cadunt, iis sese alienos velle videri.”

Whitney takes possession of Faerni’s fable, and gives the following translation (p. 98), though by no means a literal one,—

“The Foxe, that longe for grapes did leape in vayne, With wearie limmes, at lengthe did sad departe: And to him selfe quoth hee, I doe disdayne These grapes I see, bicause their taste is tarte: So thou, that hunt’st for that thou longe hast mist, Still makes thy boast, thou maist if that thou list.”

Plantin, the famed printer of Antwerp, had, in 1583, put forth an edition of Faerni’s fables,[144] and thus undoubtedly it was that Whitney became acquainted with them; and from the intercourse then existing between Antwerp and London it would be strange if a copy had not fallen into Shakespeare’s hands.

Owing to some malady, the King of France, in _All’s Well that Ends Well_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 59, vol. iii. p. 133), is unable to go forth to the Florentine war with those whom he charges to be “the sons of worthy Frenchmen.” Lafeu, an old lord, has learned from Helena some method of cure, and brings the tidings to the king, and kneeling before him is bidden to rise,—

“_King._ I’ll fee thee to stand up. _Laf._ Then here’s a man stands, that has brought his pardon. I would you had kneel’d, my lord, to ask me mercy; And that at my bidding you could so stand up. _King._ I would I had; so I had broke thy pate, And ask’d thee mercy for’t. _Laf._ Good faith, across: but, my good lord, ’tis thus; Will you be cured of your infirmity? _King._ No. _Laf._ O, will you eat no grapes, my royal fox? Yes, but you will my noble grapes, an if My royal fox could reach them: I have seen a medicine That’s able to breathe life into a stone, Quicken a rock, and make you dance canary With spritely fire and motion.”

The fox, indeed, has always been a popular animal, and is the subject of many fables which are glanced at by Shakespeare;—as in the _Two Gentlemen of Verona_ (act iv. sc. 4, l. 87, vol. i. p. 143), when Julia exclaims,—

“Alas, poor Proteus! thou hast entertained A fox to be the shepherd of thy lambs.”

Or in _2 Henry VI._ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 55, vol. v. p. 153), where Suffolk warns the king of “the bedlam brain-sick duchess” of Gloucester,—

“Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.” “The fox barks not when he would steal the lamb.”

And again, in _3 Henry VI._ (act iv. sc. 7, l. 24, vol. v. p. 312), the cunning creature is praised by Gloucester in an “_aside_,”—

“But when the fox hath once got in his nose, He’ll soon find means to make the body follow.”

The bird in borrowed plumes, or the Jackdaw dressed out in Peacock’s feathers, was presented, in 1596, on a simple device, not necessary to be produced, with the motto, “QVOD SIS ESSE VELIS,”—_Be willing to be what thou art._

“_Mutatis de te narratur fabula verbis, Qui ferre alterius parta labore ſtudes._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“By a change in the words of thyself the fable is told, Who by labour of others dost seek to bear off the gold.”

It is in the _Third_ Century of the Symbols and Emblems of Joachim Camerarius (No. 81), and by him is referred to Æsop,[145] Horace, &c.; and the recently published _Microcosm_, the 1579 edition of which contains Gerard de Jode’s fine representation of the scene.

Shakespeare was familiar with the fable. In _2 Henry VI._ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 69, vol. v. p. 153), out of his simplicity the king affirms,—

“Our kinsman Gloucester is as innocent From meaning treason to our royal person As is the sucking lamb or harmless dove.”

But Margaret, his strong-willed queen, remarks (l. 75),—

“Seems he a dove? his feathers are but borrow’d, For he’s disposed as the hateful raven. Is he a lamb? his skin is surely lent him, For he’s inclined as is the ravenous wolf.”

In _Julius Cæsar_ (act i. sc. 1, l. 68, vol. vii. p. 322), Flavius, the tribune, gives the order,—

“Let no images Be hung with Cæsar’s trophies;”

and immediately adds (l. 72),—

“These growing feathers pluck’d from Cæsar’s wing Will make him fly an ordinary pitch, Who else would soar above the view of men And keep us all in servile fearfulness.”

But more forcibly is the spirit of the fable expressed, when of Timon of Athens (act ii. sc. 1, l. 28, vol. vii. p. 228) a Senator, who was one of his importunate creditors, declares,—

“I do fear, When every feather sticks in his own wing, Lord Timon will be left a naked gull, Which flashes now a phœnix.”

The fable of the Oak and the Reed, or, the Oak and the Osier, has an early representation in the Emblems of Hadrian Junius, Antwerp, 1565, though by him it is applied to the ash. “Εἴξας νικᾶ,” or, _Victrix animi equitas_,—“By yielding conquer,” or, “Evenness of mind the victrix,”—are the sentiments to be pictured forth and commented on. The device we shall take from Whitney; but the comment of Junius runs thus (p. 49),—

“_Ad Victorem Giselinum._”

“Vis Boreæ obnixas violento turbine sternit Ornos: Arundo infracta eandem despicit. Fit victor patiens animus cedendo furori: Insiste, Victor, hanc viam & re, & nomine.”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“The stout ash trees, with violent whirl The North-wind’s force is stretching low; The reeds unbroken rise again And still in full vigour grow. Yielding to rage, the patient mind Victor becomes with added fame; That course, my Victor, thou pursue Reality, as well as name.”

Whitney adopts the same motto (p. 220), “He conquers who endures;” but while retaining from Junius the ash-tree in the pictorial illustration, he introduces into his stanzas “the mightie oke,” instead of the “stout ash.” From Erasmus (_in Epist._) he introduces an excellent quotation, that “it is truly the mark of a great mind to pass over some injuries, nor to have either ears or tongue ready for certain revilings.”

_Vincit qui patitur._

“The mightie oke, that shrinkes not with a blaste. But stiflie standes, when Boreas moste doth blowe, With rage thereof, is broken downe at laste, When bending reedes, that couche in tempestes lowe With yeelding still, doe safe, and sounde appeare: And looke alofte, when that the cloudes be cleare.

When Enuie, Hate, Contempte, and Slaunder, rage: Which are the stormes, and tempestes, of this life; With patience then, wee must the combat wage, And not with force resist their deadlie strife: But suffer still, and then wee shall in fine, Our foes subdue, when they with shame shall pine.”

On several occasions Shakespeare introduces this fable, and once moralises on it quite in Whitney’s spirit, if not in his manner. It is in the song of Guiderius and Arviragus from the _Cymbeline_ (act iv. sc. 2, l. 259, vol. ix. p. 257),—

“_Gui._ Fear no more the heat o’ the sun, Nor the furious winter’s rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta’en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. _Arv._ Fear no more the frown o’ the great; Thou art past the tyrant’s stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this and come to dust.”

Less direct is the reference in the phrase from _Troilus and Cressida_ (act i. sc. 3, l. 49, vol. vi. p. 143),—

“when the splitting wind Makes flexible the knees of knotted oaks.”

To the same purport are Cæsar’s words (_Julius Cæsar_, act i. sc. 3, l. 5, vol. vii. p. 334),—

“I have seen tempests, when the scolding wings Have rived the knotty oaks.”

In _Love’s Labour’s Lost_ (act iv. sc. 2, l. 100, vol. ii. p. 138), the Canzonet, which Nathaniel reads, recognises the fable itself,—

“If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vow’d! Though to myself forsworn, to thee I’ll faithful prove; Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bow’d.”

We have, too, in _Coriolanus_ (act v. sc. 2, l. 102, vol. vi. p. 403) the lines, “The worthy fellow is our general: He is the rock; the oak not to be wind shaken.”

This phrase is to be exampled from Otho Vænius (p. 116), where occur the English motto and stanza, “Strengthened by trauaile,”—

“Eu’n as the stately oke whome forcefull wyndes do moue, Doth fasten more his root the more the tempest blowes, Against disastres loue or firmness greater growes, And makes each aduers change a witness to his loue.”

In several instances it is difficult to determine whether expressions which have the appearance of glancing at fables really do refer to them, or whether they are current sayings, passing to and fro without any defined ownership. Also it is difficult to make an exact classification of what belongs to the fabulous and what to the proverbial. Of both we might collect many more examples than those which we bring forward; but the limits of our subject remind us that we must, as a general rule, confine our researches and illustrations to the Emblem writers themselves. We take this opportunity of saying that we may have arranged our instances in an order which some may be disposed to question; but mythology, fable, and proverb often run one into the other, and the knots cannot easily be disentangled. Take a sword and cut them; but the sword though sharp is not convincing.

SECTION V. _EMBLEMS IN CONNEXION WITH PROVERBS._

PROVERBS are nearly always suggestive of a little narrative, or of a picture, by which the sentiment might be more fully developed. The brief moral reflections appended to many fables partake very much of the nature of proverbs. Inasmuch, then, as there is this close alliance between them, we might consider the Proverbial Philosophy of Shakespeare only as a branch of the Philosophy of Fable; still, as there are in his dramas many instances of the use of the pure proverb, and instances too of the same kind in the Emblem writers, we prefer making a separate Section for the proverbs or wise sayings.

Occasionally, like the Sancho Panza of his renowned contemporary, Michael de Cervantes Saavedra, 1549–1616,[146] Shakespeare launches “a leash of proverbial philosophies at once;” but with this difference, that the dramatist’s application of them is usually suggestive either of an Emblem-book origin, or of an Emblem-book destination. The example immediately in view is from the scene (_3 Henry VI._, act i. sc. 4, l. 39, vol. v. p. 245) in which Clifford and Northumberland lay hands of violence on Richard Plantagenet, duke of York; the dialogue proceeds in the following way, York exclaiming,—

“Why come you not? what! multitudes, and fear? _Clif._ So cowards fight, when they can fly no further. So doves do peck the falcon’s piercing talons.”

The queen entreats Clifford, “for a thousand causes,” to withhold his arm, and Northumberland joins in the entreaty,—

“_North._ Hold, Clifford! do not honour him so much, To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart: What valour were it, when a cur doth grin, For one to thrust his hand between his teeth, When he might spurn him with his foot away?”

Clifford and Northumberland seize York, who struggles against them (l. 61),—

“_Clif._ Ay, ay, so strives the woodcock with the gin.[147] _North._ So doth the cony struggle in the net.”

York is taken prisoner, as he says (l. 63),—

“So triumph thieves upon their conquer’d booty; So true men yield, with robbers so o’ermatch’d.”

The four or five notions or sayings here enunciated a designer or engraver could easily translate into as many Emblematical devices, and the mind which uses them, as naturally as if he had invented them, must surely have had some familiarity with the kind of writing of which proverbs are the main source and foundation.

In this connection we will quote the proverb which “Clifford of Cumberland” (_2 Henry VI._, act v. sc. 2, l. 28, vol. vi. p. 217) utters in French at the very moment of death, and which agrees very closely with similar sayings in Emblem-books by French authors,—Perriere and Corrozet,—and still more in suitableness to the occasion on which it was spoken, the end of life.

York and Clifford,—it is the elder of that name,—engage in mortal combat (l. 26),—

“_Clif._ My soul and body on the action both! _York._ A dreadful lay! address thee instantly.” [_They fight, and_ CLIFFORD _falls._

At the point of death Clifford uses the words (l. 28), _La fin couronne les œuvres_.[148]—“The end crowns the work.” It was, no doubt, a common proverb; but it is one which would suggest to the Emblem writer his artistic illustration, and, with a little change, from some such illustration it appears to have been borrowed. Whitney (p. 130) records a resemblance to it among the sayings of the Seven Sages, dedicated “_to Sir_ HVGHE CHOLMELEY _Knight_,”—

“And SOLON said, _Remember still thy ende_.”

The two French Emblems alluded to above are illustrative of the proverb, “The end makes us all equal,” and both use a very appropriate and curious device from the game of chess. Take, first, Emb. 27 from Perriere’s _Theatre des Bons Engins_: Paris, 1539,—

XXVII.

Le Roy d’eſchez, pendant que le ieu dure, Sur ses ſubiectz ha grande preference, Sy l’on le matt[e/], il conuiẽt qu’il endure Que l’on le mett[e/] au ſac ſans difference. Cecy nous faict notable demonſtrance, Qu’ apres le ieu de vie tranſitoire, Quãd mort nous a mis en ſõ repertoire, Les roys ne ſõt pluſgrãs que les vaſſaulx; Car dans le ſac (cõm[e/] à tous eſt notoire), Roys & pyons en hõneur ſont eſgaulx.

The other, from Corrozet, is in his “HECATOMGRAPHIE:” Paris, 1540,—

La fin nous faict tous egaulx.

La terr[e/] eſt egual[e/] à chaſcun, Par tous les pays & prouinces, Auſſi toſt faict pourrir les princes, Que les corps du pauure commun.

Svr l’eſchiquier ſont les eſchez aſſis, Tous en leur rẽg par ordre biẽ raſſis, Les roys en hault pour duyre les combatz, Les roynes pres, les cheualiers plus bas, Les folz deſſoubz, puis apres les pions, Les rocz auſſy de ce ieu champions. Et quand le tout eſt aſſis en ſon lieu Subtilement ou commence le ieu. * Or vault le roy au ieu de l’eſchiquier, Mieulx que la royn[e/] & moins le cheualier. Chaſcun pion de tous ceulx la moins vault, Mais quand c’eſt faict & que le ieu deffault Il n’ya roy, ne royne, ne le roc, Qu’ enſemblement tout n[e/] ſoit à vng bloc, Mis dans vng ſac, ſans ordre ne degré, Et ſans auoir l’ung plus que l’aultre à gré. Ainſi eſt il de nous pauures humains, Aulcuns ſont grands Empereurs des Romains, Les aultres roys, les aultres ducz & comtes, Aultres petis dont on ne faict grandz comptes. Nous iouons tons aux eſchez en ce monde, Entre les biens ou l’ung plusqu’ aultr[e/] abonde, Mais quand le iour de la vié eſt paſſe, Tout corps humain eſt en terre muſſé, Autant les grands que petis terre cœurre, Tant ſeulement nous reſte la bonn[e/] œuure.

Corrozet’s descriptive verses conclude with thoughts to which old Clifford’s dying words might well be appended: “When the game of life is over,[149] every human body is hidden in the earth; as well great as little the earth covers; what alone remains to us is the good deed.” “LA FIN COURONNE LES ŒUVRES.”

But Shakespeare uses the expression, “the end crowns all,” almost as Whitney (p. 230) does the allied proverb, “Time terminates all,”—

Tempus omnia terminat.

The longeſt daye, in time reſignes to nighte. The greateſt oke, in time to duſte doth turne: The Rauen dies, the Egle failes of flighte. The Phœnix rare, in time her ſelfe doth burne. The princelie stagge at lengthe his rave doth ronne. And all muſt ende, that euer was begonne.

A sentiment this corresponding nearly with Hector’s words, in the _Troilus and Cressida_ (act iv. sc. 5, l. 223, vol. vi. p. 230),—

“The fall of every Phrygian stone will cost A drop of Grecian blood: the end crowns all, And that old common arbitrator, Time, Will one day end it.”

Prince Henry (_2 Henry IV._, act ii. sc. 2, l. 41, vol. iv. p. 392), in reply to Poins, gives yet another turn to the proverb: “By this hand, thou thinkest me as far in the devil’s books as thou and Falstaff for obduracy and persistency; let the end try the man.”

In Whitney’s address “to the Reader,” he speaks of having collected “sondrie deuises” against several great faults which he names, “bycause they are growẽ so mightie that one bloe will not beate them downe, but newe headdes springe vp like _Hydra_, that _Hercules_ weare not able to subdue them.” “But,” he adds, using an old saying, “manie droppes pierce the stone, and with manie blowes the oke is ouerthrowen.”

Near Mortimer’s Cross, in Herefordshire, a messenger relates how “the noble Duke of York was slain” (_3 Henry VI._, act ii. sc. 1, l. 50, vol. v. p. 252), and employs a similar, almost an identical, proverb,—

“Environed he was with many foes, And stood against them, as the hope of Troy Against the Greeks that would have enter’d Troy. But Hercules himself must yield to odds; And many strokes, though with a little axe, Hew down and fell the hardest-timber’d oak.”

This is almost the coincidence of the copyist, and but for the necessities of the metre, Whitney’s words might have been literally quoted.

“Manie droppes pierce the stone,” has its parallel in the half-bantering, half-serious, conversation between King Edward and Lady Grey (_3 Henry VI._, act iii. sc. 2, l. 48, vol. v. p. 280). The lady prays the restoration of her children’s lands, and the king intimates he has a boon to ask in return,—

“_King Edw._ Ay, but thou canst do what I mean to ask. _Grey._ Why then I will do what your grace commands. _Glou._ [_Aside to_ CLAR.] He plies her hard; and much rain wears the marble. _Clar._ [_Aside to_ GLOU.] As red as fire! nay, then her wax must melt.”

In Otho Vænius (p. 210), where Cupid is bravely working at felling a tree, to the motto, “By continuance,” we find the stanza,—

“Not with one stroke at first the great tree goes to grownd, But it by manie strokes is made to fall at last, The drop doth pierce the stone by falling long and fast, So by enduring long long sought-for loue is found.”

“To clip the anvil of my sword,” is an expression in the _Coriolanus_ (act iv. sc. 5, lines 100–112, vol. vi. p. 380) very difficult to be explained, unless we regard it as a proverb, denoting the breaking of the weapon and the laying aside of enmity. Aufidius makes use of it in his welcome to the banished Coriolanus,—

“O Marcius, Marcius! Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter Should from yond cloud speak divine things, And say ‘’Tis true,’ I’d not believe them more Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine Mine arms about that body, where against My grained ash an hundred times hath broke, And scarr’d the moon with splinters: here I clip The anvil of my sword, and do contest As hotly and as nobly with thy love As ever in ambitious strength I did Contend against thy valour.”

To clip, or cut, _i.e._, strike the anvil with a sword, is exhibited by more than one of the Emblem writers, whose stanzas are indeed to the same effect as those of Massinger in his play, _The Duke of Florence_ (act ii. sc. 3),—

“Allegiance Tempted too far is like the trial of A good sword on an anvil; as that often Flies in pieces without service to the owner; So trust enforced too far proves treachery, And is too late repented.”

In his 31st Emblem, Perriere gives the device, and stanzas which follow,—

XXXI.

En danger eſt de rompre ſon eſpée Qui ſur l’enclum[e/] en frappe rudement. Auſſi l’amour eſt bien toſt ſincoppée, Quand ſon amy on preſſe follement. Qui le fera, perdra ſubitement Ce qu’il deburoit bien cheremẽt garder De tel abus, ſe fault contregarder, Cõm[e/] en ce lieu auõs doctrin[e/] expreſſe. A tel effort, ne te fault hazarder De perdr[e/] amy, quãd ſouuẽt tu le preſſe.

But the meaning is, the putting of friendship to too severe a trial: “As he is in danger of breaking his sword who strikes it upon an anvil, so is love very soon cut in pieces when foolishly a man presses upon his friend.” So Whitney (p. 192), to the motto, _Importunitas euitanda_,—“Want of consideration to be avoided,”—

“Who that with force, his burnish’d blade doth trie On anuill harde, to prooue if it be sure: Doth Hazarde muche, it shoulde in peeces flie, Aduentring that, which else mighte well indure: For, there with strengthe he strikes vppon the stithe, That men maye knowe, his youthfull armes have pithe.

Which warneth those, that louinge frendes inioye, With care, to keepe, and frendlie them to treate, And not to trye them still, with euerie toye, Nor presse them doune, when causes be too greate, Nor in requests importunate to bee: For ouermuche, dothe tier the courser free?”

Touchstone, the clown, in _As You Like It_ (act ii. sc. 4, l. 43, vol. ii. p. 400), names the various tokens of his affections for Jane Smile, and declares, “I remember, when I was in love I broke my sword upon a stone and bid him take that for coming a-night to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet and the cow’s-dugs that her pretty chopt hands had milked.”

It may, however, from the general inaccuracy of spelling in the early editions of Shakespeare, be allowed to suppose a typographical error, and that the phrase in question should read, not “anvil of my sword,” but “handle;”—I clip, or embrace the handle, grasp it firmly in token of affection.

The innocence of broken love-vows is intimated in _Romeo and Juliet_ (act ii. sc. 2, l. 90, vol. vii. p. 42),—

“Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say ‘Ay,’ And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear’st, Thou mayst prove false: at lovers’ perjuries, They say, Jove laughs.”

And most closely is the sentiment represented in the design by Otho van Veen (p. 140), of Venus dispensing Cupid from his oaths, and of Jupiter in the clouds smiling benignantly on the two. The mottoes are, “AMORIS IVSIVRANDVM PŒNAM NON HABET,”—_Love excused from periurie_,—and “Giuramento sparso al vento.”

In Callimachus occurs Juliet’s very expression, “at lovers’ perjuries Jove laughs,”—

“_Nulla fides inerit: periuria ridet amantum Juppiter, & ventis irrita ferre iubet:_”

and from Tibullus we learn, that whatever silly love may have eagerly sworn, Jupiter has forbidden to hold good,—

“_Gratia magna Ioui: vetuit pater ipse valere, Iurasset cupidè quidquid ineptus Amor._”

The English lines in Otho van Veen are,—

“The louer freedome hath to take a louers oth, Whith if it proue vntrue hee is to be excused, For venus doth dispence in louers othes abused, And loue no fault comitts in swearing more than troth.”

The thoughts are, as expressed in Italian,—

“_Se ben l’amante assai promette, e giura, Non si da pena à le sue voci infide, Anzi Venere, e Giove se ne ride. l’Amoroso spergiuro non si cura._”

To such unsound morality, however, Shakespeare offers strong objections in the Friar’s words (_Romeo and Juliet_, act iii. sc. 3, l. 126),—

“Thy noble shape is but a form of wax, Digressing from the valour of a man; Thy dear love sworn, but hollow perjury, Killing that love which thou hast vow’d to cherish.”

“Labour in vain,”—pouring water into a sieve, is shown by Perriere in his 77th Emblem,—

where however it is a blind Cupid that holds the sieve, and lovers’ gifts are the waters with which the attempt is made to fill the vessel.

LXXVII.

Qvi plus mettra dans le crible d’amours, Plus y perdra, car choſe n’y profitte: Le temps ſi pert, biens, bagues & atours, Sa douleur eſt en tout amer confitte. Folle ieuneſſ[e/] & franc vouloir incite A tel deſduict deſpendre groſſe ſomme: Sur ce pẽser doibuent biẽ ieunes hõmes, Que de ce fait meilleurs n’ẽ peuuẽt eſtre: Et quãd naurõt le vaillãt de deux põmes, Ne ſera temps leur erreur recognoiſtre.

We have endeavoured to interpret the old French stanza into English rhyme,—

“Who in love’s tempting sieve shall place his store, Since nothing profits there, will lose the more; Lost are his time, goods, rings and rich array, Till grief in bitterness complete his day. Folly of youth and free desire incite Great sums to lavish on each brief delight. Surely young men on this ought well to ponder, That better cannot be, if thus they wander; And when remains two apples’ worth alone, ’Twill not the time be their mistake to own.”

Shakespeare presents the very same thought and almost the identical expressions. To the Countess of Rousillon, Bertram’s mother, Helena confesses love for her son, _All’s Well that Ends Well_ (act i. sc. 3, l. 182, vol. iii. p. 127),—

“Then, I confess, Here on my knee, before high heaven and you, That before you, and next unto high heaven, I love your son. My friends were poor, but honest; so’s my love: Be not offended; for it hurts not him That he is loved of me: I follow him not By any token of presumptuous suit; Nor would I have him till I do deserve him; Yet never know how that desert should be. I know I love in vain, strive against hope; Yet, in this captious and intenible sieve, I still pour in the waters of my love, And lack not to lose still: thus, Indian-like, Religious in my error, I adore The sun, that looks upon his worshipper, But knows of him no more.”

How probable do the turns of thought, “captious and intenible sieve,” “the waters of my love,” render the supposition that Perriere’s Emblem of Love and the Sieve had been seen by our dramatist. Cupid appears patient and passive, but the Lover in very evident surprise sees “the rings and rich _array_” flow through “le crible d’amours.” Cupid’s eyes, in the device, are bound, and the method of binding them corresponds with the lines, _Romeo and Juliet_(act i. sc. 4, l. 4, vol. vii. p. 23),—

“We’ll have no Cupid hoodwink’d with a scarf, Bearing a Tartar’s painted bow of lath, Scaring the ladies like a crow-keeper.”

Again, though not in reference to the same subject, there is in _Much Ado About Nothing_ (act v. sc. 1, l. 1, vol. ii. p. 69), the comparison of the sieve to labour in vain. Antonio is giving advice to Leonato when overwhelmed with sorrows,—

“_Ant._ If you go on thus you will kill yourself; And ’tis not wisdom thus to second grief Against yourself. _Leon._ I pray thee, cease thy counsel, Which falls into mine ears as profitless As water in a sieve: give not me counsel; Nor let no comforter delight mine ear But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.”

By way of variation we consult Paradin’s treatment of the same thought (fol. 88_v_), in which he is followed by Whitney (p. 12), with the motto _Frustrà_.

Hac illac perfluo.

“The Poëttes faine, that DANAVS daughters deare, Inioyned are to fill the fatall tonne: Where, thowghe they toile, yet are they not the neare, But as they powre, the water forthe dothe runne: No paine will serue, to fill it to the toppe, For, still at holes the same doth runne, and droppe.”

“Every rose has its thorn,” or “No pleasure without pain,” receives exemplification from several sources. Perriere (Emb. 30) and Whitney (p. 165) present us with a motto implying _No bitter without its sweet_, but giving the gathering of a rose in illustration; thus the former writer,—

“_Post amara dulcia._” “Qvi veult la ros[e/] au vert buysson saisir Esmerueiller ne se doibt s’il se poinct. Grãd biẽ na’uõs, sãs quelque desplaisir, Plaisir ne vient sans douleur, si apoint. Conclusion sommaire, c’est le point, Qu’ apres douleur, on ha plaisir: souuẽt Beau tẽps se voit, tost apres le grãt vẽt, Grãd biẽ suruiẽt apres quelque maleur. Parquoy pẽser doibt tout hõme scauãt, Que volupté n’est iamais sans douleur.”

So Whitney (p. 165),—

“Sharpe prickes preserue the Rose, on euerie parte, That who in haste to pull the same intendes, Is like to pricke his fingers, till they smarte? But being gotte, it makes him straight amendes It is so freshe, and pleasant to the smell, Thoughe he was prick’d, he thinkes he ventur’d well.

And he that faine woulde get the gallant rose, And will not reache, for feare his fingers bleede; A nettle, is more fitter for his nose? Or hemblocke meete his appetite to feede? None merites sweete, who tasted not the sower, Who feares to climbe, deserues no fruicte, nor flower.”

In the Emblems of Otho Vænius (p. 160), Cupid is plucking a rose, to the motto from Claudian, “ARMAT SPINA ROSAS, MELLA TEGUNT APES,”—Englished, “_No pleasure without payn_.”

“In plucking of the rose is pricking of the thorne, In the attayning sweet, is tasting of the sowre, With ioy of loue is mixt the sharp of manie a showre, But at the last obtayned, no labor is forlorne.”

The pretty song from _Love’s Labours Lost_ (act iv. sc. 3, l. 97, vol. ii. p. 144), alludes to the thorny rose,—

“On a day—alack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind. All unseen, can passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish himself the heaven’s breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne’er to pluck thee from thy thorn.”

The scene in the Temple-garden; the contest in plucking roses between Richard Plantagenet and the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick (_1 Henry VI._, act ii. sc. 4, lines 30–75, vol. v. pp. 36, 37), continually alludes to the thorns that may be found. We may sum the whole “brawl,” as it is termed, into a brief space (l. 68),—

“_Plan._ Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? _Som._ Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? _Plan._ Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.”

“True as the needle to the pole,” is a saying which of course must have originated since the invention of the mariner’s compass. Sambucus, in his _Emblems_ (edition 1584, p. 84, or 1599, p. 79), makes the property of the loadstone his emblem for the motto, _The mind remains unmoved_.

Mens immota manet.

DICITVR _interna vi Magnes ferra mouere: Perpetuò nautas dirigere inque viam. Semper enim ſtellam firmè aſpicit ille polærem. Indicat hac horas, nos variéque monet. Mens vtinam in cælum nobis immota maneret, Nec ſubitò dubiis fluctuet illa malis. Pax coëat tandem, Chriſte, vnum claudat ouile, Liſque tui verbi iam dirimatur ope. Da, ſitiens anima excelſas ſic appetat arces: Fontis vt ortiui ceruus anhelus aquas_.

In the latter part of his elegiacs Sambucus introduces another subject, and gives a truly religious turn to the device,—

“Gather’d one fold, O Christ, let peace abound, Be vanquish’d by thy word, our jarring strife; Then thirsting souls seek towers on heavenly ground, As pants the stag for gushing streams of life.”

The magnet’s power alone is kept in view by Whitney (p. 43),—

“By vertue hidde, behoulde, the Iron harde, The loadestone drawes, to poynte vnto the starre: Whereby, wee knowe the Seaman keepes his carde, And rightlie shapes, his course to countries farre: And on the pole, dothe euer keepe his eie, And withe the same, his compasse makes agree.

Which shewes to vs, our inward vertues shoulde, Still drawe our hartes, althoughe the iron weare: The hauenlie starre, at all times to behoulde, To shape our course, so right while wee bee heare: That Scylla, and Charybdis, wee maie misse, And winne at lengthe, the porte of endlesse blisse.”

The pole of heaven itself, rather than the magnetic needle, is in Shakespeare’s dramas the emblem of constancy. Thus in the _Julius Cæsar_ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 58, vol. vii. p. 363), Metellus, Brutus, and Cassius are entreating pardon for Publius Cimber, but Cæsar replies, in words almost every one of which is an enforcement of the saying, “Mens immota manet,”—

“I could be well moved, if I were as you; If I could pray to move, prayers would move me: But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks; They are all fire and every one doth shine; But there’s but one in all doth hold his place: So in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men, And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive; Yet in the number I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank. Unshak’d of motion: and that I am he, Let me a little show it, even in this; That I was constant Cimber should be banish’d, And constant do remain to keep him so.”

The _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act i. sc. I, l. 180, vol. ii. p. 205), introduces Hermia greeting her rival Helena,—

“_Her._ God speed fair Helena! whither away? _Hel._ Call you me fair? that fair again unsay. Demetrius loves you fair: O happy fair! Your eyes are lode-stars.”

The scene changes, Helena is following Demetrius, but he turns to her and says (act ii. sc. 1, l. 194, vol. ii. p. 217),—

“Hence, get thee gone, and follow me no more. _Hel._ You draw me, you hard-hearted adamant; But yet you draw not iron, for my heart Is true as steel: leave but your power to draw, And I shall have no power to follow you.”

The averment of his fidelity is thus made by Troilus to Cressida (act iii. sc. 2, l. 169. vol. vi. p. 191),—

“As true as steel, as plantage to the moon, As sun to day, as turtle to her mate, As iron to adamant, as earth to the centre. Yet after all comparisons of truth, As truth’s authentic author to be cited, ‘As true as Troilus’ shall crown up the verse And sanctify the numbers.”

So Romeo avers of one of his followers (act ii. sc. 4, l. 187, vol. vii. p. 58),—

“I warrant thee, my man’s as true as steel.”

“EX MAXIMO MINIMVM,”—_Out of the greatest the least_,—is a saying adopted by Whitney (p. 229), from the “PICTA POESIS” (p. 55) of Anulus,—

EX MAXIMO MINIMVM.

HAE _Sunt Relliquiæ Sacrarij, in quo Fertur viua Dei fuiſse imago. Hæc eſt illius, & domus ruina, In qua olim Ratio tenebat arcem. At nunc horribilis figura Mortis. Ventoſum caput, haud habens cerebrum_.

Both writers make the proverb the groundwork of reflexions on a human skull. According to Anulus, “the relics of the charnel house were once the living images of God,”—“that ruin of a dome was formerly the citadel of reason.” Whitney thus moralizes,—

“WHERE liuely once, GODS image was expreste, Wherin, sometime was sacred reason plac’de, The head, I meane, that is so ritchly bleste, With sighte, with smell, with hearinge, and with taste. Lo, nowe a skull, both rotten, bare, and drye, A relike meete in charnell house to lye.”

The device and explanatory lines may well have given suggestion to the half-serious, half-cynical remarks by Hamlet in the celebrated grave-yard scene (_Hamlet_, act v. sc. 1, l. 73, vol. viii. p. 153). A skull is noticed which one of the callous grave-diggers had just thrown up upon the sod, and Hamlet says (l. 86),—

“That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain’s jaw-bone, that did the first murder!”

And a little further on,—

“Here’s a fine revolution, an we had the trick to see’t. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with ’em? mine ache to think on’t.”[150]

And when Yorick’s skull is placed in his hand, how the Prince moralizes! (l. 177),—

“Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.”

And again (lines 191 and 200),—

“To what base uses we may return. Horatio! . . . . . . . Imperial Cæsar, dead, and turn’d to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away.”

Of the skull Anulus says, “Here reason held her citadel;” and the expression has its parallel in Edward’s lament (3 _Henry VI._, act ii. sc. 1, l. 68, vol. v. p. 252),—

“Sweet Duke of York, our prop to lean upon;”

when he adds (l. 74),—

“Now my soul’s palace is become a prison;”

to which the more modern description corresponds,—

“The dome of thought, the palace of the soul.”

A far nobler emblem could be made, and I believe has been made, though I cannot remember where, from those lines in _Richard II._ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 267, vol. iv. p. 145), which allude to the death’s head and the light of life within. Northumberland, Ross and Willoughby are discoursing respecting the sad state of the king’s affairs, when Ross remarks,—

“We see the very wreck that we must suffer: And unavoided is the danger now, For suffering so the causes of our wreck.”

And Northumberland replies in words of hope (l. 270),—

“Not so; even through the hollow eyes of death I spy life peering.”

It is a noble comparison, and most suggestive,—but of a flight higher than the usual conceptions of the Emblem writers. Supplied to them they could easily enough work it out into device and picture, but possess scarcely power enough to give it origin.[151]

“A snake lies hidden in the grass,” is no unfrequent proverb; and Paradin’s “DEVISES HEROIQVES” (41) set forth both the fact and the application.

Latet anguis in herba.

_En cueillant les Fleurs, & les Fraizes des champs, ſe faut d’autant garder du dangereus Serpent, qu’il nous peut enuenimer, & faire mourir nos corps. Et auſsi en colligeant les belles autoritez, & graues ſentences des liures, faut euiter d’autant les mauuaiſes opinions, qu’elles nous peuuent peruertir, damner, & perdre nos ames._

From the same motto and device Whitney (p. 24) makes the application to flatterers,—

“Of flattringe speeche, with sugred wordes beware, Suspect the harte, whose face doth fawne, and smile, With trusting theise, the worlde is clog’de with care, And fewe there bee can scape theise vipers vile: With pleasinge speeche they promise, and proteste, When hatefull hartes lie hidd within their brest.”

According to the 2nd part of _Henry VI._ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 224, vol. v. p. 158), the king speaks favourably of Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and Margaret the queen declares to the attendant nobles,—

“Henry my lord is cold in great affairs, Too full of foolish pity, and Gloucester’s show Beguiles him as the mournful crocodile With sorrow snares relenting passengers, Or as the snake roll’d in a flowering bank, With shining checker’d slough, doth sting a child, That for the beauty thinks it excellent.”

In Lady Macbeth’s unscrupulous advice to her husband (_Macbeth_, act i. sc. 5, l. 61, vol. vii. p. 438), the expressions occur,—

“Your face, my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters. To beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent under’t.”

Romeo slays Tybalt, kinsman to Julia, and the nurse announces the deed to her (_Romeo and Juliet_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 69, vol. vii. p. 75),—

“_Nurse_. Tybalt is gone, and Romeo banished; Romeo that kill’d him, he is banished. _Jul_. O God! did Romeo’s hand shed Tybalt’s blood? _Nurse_. It did, it did; alas the day, it did! _Jul_. O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face! Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave? Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical! Dove-feather’d raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!”

Though not illustrative of a Proverb, we will here conclude what has to be remarked respecting Serpents. An Emblem in Paradin’s “DEVISES HEROIQVES” (112) and in Whitney (p. 166), represents a serpent that has fastened on a man’s finger, and that is being shaken off into a fire, while the man remains unharmed; the motto, “Who against us?”—

Quis contra nos?

The scene described in the _Acts of the Apostles_, chap, xxviii. v. 3–6, Paradin thus narrates,—

“_Saint Paul, en l’ iſle de Malte fut mordu d’vn Vipere: ce neantmoins (quoi que les Barbares du lieu le cuidaſſent autrement) ne valut pis de la morsure, secouant de sa main la Beste dans le feu: car veretablement à qui Dieu veut aider, il n’y a rien que puiſse nuire._”

Whitney, along with exactly the same device, gives the full motto,—

“_Si Deus nobiscum, quis contra nos?_”

“His seruantes GOD preserues, thoughe they in danger fall: Euen as from vipers deadlie bite, he kept th’ Appostle Paule.”

The action figured in this Emblem is spoken of in the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act iii. sc. 2, l, 254, vol. ii. p. 241). Puck has laid the “love-juice” on the wrong eyes, and in consequence Lysander avows his love for Helen instead of for Hermia; and the dialogue then proceeds,—

_Dem._ I say I love thee more than he can do. _Lys._ If thou say so, withdraw, and prove it too. _Dem._ Quick, come! _Her._ Lysander, whereto tends all this? _Lys._ Away, you Ethiope! _Dem._ No, no; he’ll ... Seem to break loose; take on as you would follow, But yet come not: you are a tame man, go! _Lys._ Hang off, thou cat, thou burr! vile thing, let loose, Or I will shake thee from me like a serpent!”

Cardinal Pandulph, the Pope’s legate, in _King John_ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 258, vol. iv. p. 42), urges King Philip to be champion of the Church, and says to him,—

“France, thou mayst hold a serpent by the tongue, A chafed lion by the mortal paw, A fasting tiger safer by the tooth, Than keep in peace that hand which thou dost hold.”

King Richard’s address to the “gentle earth,” when he landed in Wales (_Richard II._, act iii. sc. 2, l. 12, vol. iv. p. 164), calls us to the Emblem of the snake entwined about the flower,—

“Feed not thy sovereign’s foe, my gentle earth, Nor with thy sweets comfort his ravenous sense; But let thy spiders, that suck up thy venom, And heavy-gaited toads lie in their way, Doing annoyance to the treacherous feet Which with usurping steps do trample thee: Yield stinging nettles to mine enemies; And when they from thy bosom pluck a flower, Guard it, I pray thee, with a lurking adder Whose double tongue may with a mortal touch Throw death upon thy sovereign’s enemies.”

“The Engineer hoist with his own petar” may justly be regarded as a proverbial saying. It finds its exact correspondence in Beza’s 8th Emblem (edition 1580), in which for device is a cannon bursting, and with one of its fragments killing the cannonier.

“_Cernis ut in cœlum fuerat quæ machina torta, Fit iaculatori mors properata suo? In sanctos quicunque Dei ruis impie seruos, Conatus merces hæc manet vna tuas._”

Thus rendered into French in 1581,—

“Vois tu pas le canon braqué contre les cieux, En se creuant creuer celui la qui le tire? Le mesme t’aduiendra, cruel malicieux, Qui lasches sur les bons les balles de ton ire.”

The sentiment is the same as that of the proverb in the motto which Lebeus-Batillius prefixes to his 18th Emblem (edition 1596), “QVIBVS REBVS CONFIDIMVS, IIS MAXIME EVERTIMVS,”—_To whatever things we trust, by them chiefly are we overthrown_. The subject is Milo caught in the cleft of the tree which he had riven by his immense strength; he is held fast, and devoured by wolves.

The application of Beza’s Emblem is made by Hamlet (act iii. sc. 4, l. 205, vol. viii. p. 117), during the long interview with his mother, just after he had said,—

“No, in despite of sense and secrecy, Unpeg the basket on the house’s top,[152] Let the birds fly, and like the famous ape, To try conclusions, in the basket creep, And break your own neck down.”

Then speaking of his plot and of the necessity which marshals him to knavery, he adds,—

“Let it work; For ’tis the sport to have the enginer Hoist with his own petar: and ’t shall go hard But I will delve one yard below their mines, And blow them at the moon: O, ’tis most sweet When in one line two crafts directly meet.”

Footnote 108:

“Swallows have built In Cleopatra’s sails their nests: the augurers Say they know not, they cannot tell; look grimly And dare not speak their knowledge.” _Ant. & Cleop._, act 4, sc. 12, l. 3.

Footnote 109:

“Nec, si miserum fortuna Sinonem Finxit, vanum etiam mendacemque improba finget.”

“Talibus insidiis, perjurique arte Sinonis, Credita res: captique dolis, lachrymisque coactis, Quos neque Tydides, nec Larissæus Achilles, Non anni domuêre decem, non mille carinæ.”

“fatisque Deûm defensus iniquis, Inclusos utero Danaos et pinea furtim Laxat claustra Sinon.”

Footnote 110:

The text of Sambucus is dedicated to his father, Peter Sambukius.

“DVM _rigidos artus elephas, dum membra quiete Subleuat, assuetis nititur arboribus: Quas vbi venator didicit, succidit ab imo, Paulatim vt recubans belua mole ruat. Tam leuiter capitur duri qui in prœlia Martis Arma, viros, turrim, tergore vectat opes. Nusquam tuta fides, nimium ne crede quieti, Sæpius & tutis decipiere locis. Hippomenes pomis Schœneïda vicit amatam, Sic Peliam natis Colchis acerba necat. Sic nos decipiunt dedimus quibus omnia nestra: Saltem conantur deficiente fide._”

Footnote 111:

“A snake worn out with cold a rustic found, And cherished in his breast doth rashly warm; Thankless the snake inflicts a fatal wound, And life restored requites with deadly harm. If badly benefits thou dost intend, Simple of heart and good within thy mind,— No benefits suppose them in their end, But deeds of evil and of evil kind. To serve the thankless is a sinful thing, And wicked they who wilfully give pain; Whatever with free soul of good thou bring, This rightfully thou may’st account true gain.”

Footnote 112:

_Schiller’s Werke_, band 8, pp. 426–7. “Die Regierung dieser Stadt war in allzu viele Hände vortheilt, und der stürmischen Menge ein viel zu grossen Antheil daran gegeben, als dasz man mit Ruhe hätte überlegen mit Einsieht wählen und mit Festigkeit ausführenkönnen.”

Footnote 113:

As Whitney describes him (p. 110, l. 27),—

“_Augustus_ eeke, that happie most did raigne, The scourge to them, that had his vnkle slaine.”

Footnote 114:

“His soldiers spying his undaunted spirit, A Talbot! a Talbot! cried out amain, And rush’d into the bowels of the battle.”

_1 Henry VI._, act. i. sc. 1, l. 127.

Footnote 115:

See _Gentleman’s Magazine_, 1778, p. 470; 1821, pt. 1, p. 531; and _Archæologia_, vol. xix. pt. 1, art. x. Also, Blomfield’s _Norfolk_, vol. v. p. 1600.

Footnote 116:

“But a prince slow for punishments, swift for rewards; To whomsoever he grieves, how often is he forced to be severe.”

Footnote 117:

“If as often as men sin his thunderbolts he should send, Jupiter, in very brief time, without arms will be.”

Footnote 118:

“The Heraulte, that proclaims the daie at hande, The Cocke I meane, that wakés vs out of sleepe, On steeple highe, doth like a watchman stande: The gate beneath, a Lion still doth keepe. And why? theise two, did alder time decree, That at the Churche, theire places still should bee.

That pastors, shoulde like watchman still be preste, To wake the worlde, that sleepeth in his sinne, And rouse them vp, that longe are rock’d in reste, And shewe the daie of Christe, will straighte beginne: And to foretell, and preache, that light deuine, Euen as the Cocke doth singe, ere daie doth shine.

The Lion shewes, they shoulde of courage bee And able to defende, their flocke from foes: If rauening wolfes, to lie in waite they see: They shoulde be stronge, and boulde, with them to close: And so be arm’de with learning, and with life, As they might keepe, their charge, from either strife.”

Footnote 119:

See also _Ecl._ ix. 29, 36.

Footnote 120:

See also _Carm._ iv. 3. 20.

Footnote 121:

The same author speaks also of the soft Zephyr moderating the sweet sounding song of the swan, and of sweet honour exciting the breasts of poets; and presents the swan as saying, “I fear not lightnings, for the branches of the laurel ward them off; so integrity despises the insults of fortune.”—_Emb._ 24 and 25.

Footnote 122:

Paradin’s words and his meaning differ; the Civic crown was bestowed, not on the citizen saved, but on the citizen who delivered him from danger.

Footnote 123:

Consequently there is an anachronism by Shakespeare in assigning the order of St. Michael to “valiant Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury,” who was slain in 1453.

Footnote 124:

The name of Lord Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, does not occur in the list which Paradin gives of the twenty-four Knights Companions of the Golden Fleece.

Footnote 125:

Paradin’s text:—“_Ma Dame Bone de Sauoye mere de Ian Galeaz, Duc de Milan, se trouuant veufe feit faire vne Deuise en ses Testons d’vne Fenix au milieu d’vn feu auec ces paroles_: Sola facta, solum Deum sequor. _Voulant signifier que comme il n’y a au monde qu’vne Fenix, tout ainsi estant demeuree seulette, ne vouloit aymer selon le seul Dieu, pour viure eternellement._”

Footnote 126:

See _Penny Cyclopædia_, vol. xxi. p. 343: “We have no doubt that the three plays in their original form, which we now call the three Parts of _Henry VI._, were his,” _i. e._ Shakespeare's, “and they also belong to this epoch,” _i. e._ previous to 1591.

Footnote 127:

Or _Parvus Mundus_, ed. 1579, where the figure of Bacchus by Gerard de Jode has wings on the head, and a swift Pegasus by its side, just striking the earth for flight.

Footnote 128:

It is curious to observe how in the margin Whitney supports his theme by a reference to Ovid, and by quotations from Anacreon, John Chrysostom, Sambucus, and Propertius.

Footnote 129:

To the device of the Sirens, Camerarius, _Ex Aquatilibus_ (ed. 1604, leaf 64), affixes the motto, “MORTEM DABIT IPSA VOLVPTAS,”—_Pleasure itself will give death_,—and with several references to ancient authors adds the couplet,—

“_Dulcisono mulcent Sirenes æthera cantu: Tu fuge, ne pereas, callida monstra maris._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“With sweet sounding song the Sirens smooth the breeze: Flee, lest thou perish, the crafty monsters of the seas.”

Footnote 130:

Shakespeare’s “goddess blind” and his representation of blind Love have their exact correspondence in the motto of Otho Vænius, “Blynd fortune blyndeth loue;” which is preceded by Cicero’s declaration, “Non solùm ipsa fortuna cæca est: sed etiam plerumque cæcos efficit quos complexa est: adeò vt spernant amores veteres, ac indulgeant nouis,”—

“Sometyme blynd fortune can make loue bee also blynd, And with her on her globe to turne & wheel about, When cold preuailes to put light loues faint feruor out, But ferwent loyall loue may no such fortune fynde.”

Footnote 131:

Well shown in Whitney’s device to the motto, _Veritas inuicta_,—“Unconquered truth” (p. 166),—where the Spirits of Evil are sitting in “shady cell” to catch the souls of men, while the Great Enemy is striving—

“with all his maine and mighte To hide the truthe, and dimme the lawe deuine.”

Footnote 132:

“LVNAREM _noctu, vt speculum, canis inspicit orbem: Seq. videns, altum credit inesse canem, Et latrat: sed frustra agitur vox irrita ventis, Et peragit cursus surda Diana suos_.”

Footnote 133:

“_Irrita vaniloquæ quid curas spicula linguæ? Latrantem curatne alta Diana canem._”

Footnote 134:

See Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, bk. x. fab. 1, 2.

Footnote 135:

For pictorial representations of the wonders which Orpheus wrought, see the Plantinian edition of “P. OVIDII NASONIS METAMORPHOSES,” Antwerp, 1591, pp. 238–243.

Footnote 136:

See Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, bk. iii. fab. 2; or the Plantinian Devices to Ovid, edition 1591, pp. 85, 87.

Footnote 137:

In the beautiful Silverdale, on Morecambe Bay, at Lindow Tower, there is the same hospitable assurance over the doorway, “_Homo homini lupus_.”

Footnote 138:

The device by Gerard de Jode, in the edition of 1579, is a very fine representation of the scene here described.

Footnote 139:

May we not in one instance illustrate the thought from a poet of the last century?—

“Who, who would live, my Nana, just to breathe This idle air, and indolently run, Day after day, the still returning round Of life’s mean offices, and sickly joys? But in the service of mankind to be A guardian god below; still to employ The mind’s brave ardour in heroic aims, Such as may raise us o’er the grovelling herd, And make us shine for ever—that is life.”—_Thomson_

Footnote 140:

For other pictorial illustrations of Phaëton’s charioteership and fall, see Plantin’s _Ovid_ (pp. 46–49), and De Passe (16 and 17); also Symeoni’s _Vita, &c., d’Ovidio_ (edition 1559, pp. 32–34).

Footnote 141:

Ovid’s _Metamorphoses_, by Crispin de Passe (editions 1602 and 1607, p. 10), presents the fable well by a very good device.

Footnote 142:

See the reprint of ~The Dialoges of Creatures Moralysed~, by Joseph Haslewood, 4to, London, 1816 (Introd., pp. viij and ix).

Footnote 143:

With the addition of two friends in conversation seated beneath the elm and vine, Boissard and Messin (1588, pp. 64, 65) give the same device, to the mottoes, “AMICITIÆ IMMORTALI,”—_To immortal friendship:_ “Parfaite est l’Amitié qui vit après la mort.”

Footnote 144:

“Centvm Fabvlæ ex Antiqvis delectæ, et a Gabriele Faerno Cremonense carminibus explicatæ. Antuerpiæ ex officina Christoph. Plantini, M.D.LXXXIII.” 16mo. pp. 1–171.

Footnote 145:

See the French version of Æsop, with 150 beautiful vignettes, “LES FABLES ET LA VIE D’ESOPE:” “A Anvers En l’imprimerie Plantiniēne Chez la Vefue, & Jean Mourentorf, M.D.XCIII.” Here the bird is a jay (see p. 117, _Du Gay_, xxxi); and the peacocks are the avengers upon the base pretender to glories not his own.

Footnote 146:

Cervantes and Shakespeare died about the same time,—it may be, on the same day; for the _former_ received the sacrament of extreme unction at Madrid 18th of April, 1616, and died soon after; and the _latter_ died the 23rd of April, 1616.

Footnote 147:

Paralleled in Æsop’s _Fables_, Antwerp, 1593; by Fab. xxxviii., _De l Espriuier & du Rossignol_; lii., _De l Oyseleur & du Merle_; and lxxvii., _Du Laboureur & de la Cigoigne_.

Footnote 148:

Identical almost with “La fin covronne l’oevvre” in Messin’s version of Boissard’s _Emblematum Liber_ (4to, 1588), where (p. 20) we have the device of the letter Y as emblematical of human life; and at the end of the stanzas the lines,—

“L’estroit est de vertu le sentier espineux, Qui couronne de vie en fin le vertueux: C’est ce que considere en ce lieu Pythagore.”

Footnote 149:

In the Emblems of Lebens-Batillius (4to, Francfort, 1596), human life is compared to a game with dice. The engraving by which it is illustrated represents three men at play with a backgammon-board before them.

Footnote 150:

The skeleton head on the shield in Death’s escutcheon by Holbein, may supply another pictorial illustration, but it is not sufficiently distinctive to be dwelt on at any length. The fac-simile reprints by Pickering, Bohn, Quaritch, or Brothers, render direct reference to the plate very easy.

Footnote 151:

A note of inquiry, from Mr. W. Aldis Wright, of Trinity College, Cambridge, asking me if Shakespeare’s thought may not have been derived from an emblematical picture, informs me that he has an impression of having “somewhere seen an allegorical picture of a child looking through the eyeholes of a skull.”

Footnote 152:

In Johnson’s and Steeven’s _Shakespeare_ (edition 1785, vol. x. p. 434) the passage is thus explained, “Sir John Suckling, in one of his letters, may possibly allude to this same story. ‘It is the story of the _jackanapes_ and the partridges; thou starest after a beauty till it is lost to thee, and then let’st out another, and starest after that till it is gone too.’”

SECTION VI. _EMBLEMS FROM FACTS IN NATURE, AND FROM THE PROPERTIES OF ANIMALS._

EMBLEM writers make the _Natural_, one of the divisions of their subject, and understand by it, in Whitney’s words, the expressing of the natures of creatures, for example, “the loue of the yonge Storkes to the oulde, or of such like.” We shall extend a little the application of the term, taking in some facts of nature, as well as the natural properties and qualities of animals, but reserving in a great degree the Poetry, with which certain natural things are invested, for the next general heading, “Emblems for Poetic Ideas.”

There is no need to reproduce the Device of Prometheus bound, but simply to refer to it, and to note the allusions which Shakespeare makes to the mountain where the dire penalty was inflicted, “the frosty Caucasus.” From the _Titus Andronicus_ we have already (p. 268) spoken of Tamora’s infatuated love,—

“faster bound to Aaron’s charming eyes Than is Prometheus ty’d on Caucasus.”

John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, endeavours, in _Richard II._ (act i. sc. 3, lines 275, 294, vol. iv. pp. 130, 131), to reconcile his son Henry Bolingbroke to the banishment which was decreed against him, and urges,—

“All places that the eye of heaven visits Are to a wise man ports and happy havens. Teach thy necessity to reason thus; There is no virtue like necessity. Think not the king did banish thee, But thou the king.”

Bolingbroke,however, replies,—

“O, who can hold a fire in his hand By thinking on the frosty Caucasus?”

The indestructibility of adamant by force or fire had for ages been a received truth.

QVEM NVLLA PERICVLA, TERRENT.

“Whom no dangers terrify,” is a fitting motto for the Emblem that pertains to such as fear nor force nor fire.

Speaking of the precious gem that figures forth their character, it is the remark of Lebeus-Batillius (Emb. 29), “Duritia ineharrabilis est, simulque ignium victrix naturâ & nunquam incalescens,”—for which we obtain a good English expression from Holland’s _Pliny_ (bk. xxxvii. c. 4): “Wonderfull and inenarrable is the _hardnesse_ of a _diamant_; besides it hath a nature to conquer the fury of fire, nay, you shall never make it hote.”

The Latin stanzas in illustration close with the lines,—

“_Qualis, non Adamas ullo contunditur ictu, Vique sua ferri duritium superat._”

[Sidenote: _i.e._]

“As by no blow the Adamant is crushed, And by its own force overcomes the hardness of iron.”

When the great Talbot was released from imprisonment (_1 Henry VI._, act i. sc. 4, l. 49, vol. v. p. 20), his companions-in-arms on welcoming him back, inquired, “How wert thou entertained?” (l. 39)—

“With scoffs and scorns and contumelious taunts. . . . . . . . . In iron walls they deem’d me not secure; So great fear of my name ’mongst them was spread That they supposed I could rend bars of steel And spurn in pieces posts of adamant.”

The strong natural affection of the bear for its young obtained record nearly three thousand years ago (_2 Samuel_ xvii. 8),—“mighty men, chafed in their minds” are spoken of “as a bear robbed of her whelps in the field.”[153] Emblems delineated by Boissard and engraved by Theodore De Bry in 1596, at Emb. 43 present the bear licking her whelp, in sign that the inborn force of nature is to be brought into form and comeliness by instruction and good learning. At a little later period, the “TRONVS CVPIDINIS,” or “EMBLEMATA AMATORIA” (fol. 2), so beautifully adorned by Crispin de Passe, adopts the sentiment, _Perpolit incultum paulatim tempus amorem_,—that “by degrees time puts the finish, or perfectness to uncultivated love.” The device by which this is shown introduces a Cupid as well as the bear and her young one,—

and is accompanied by Latin and French stanzas,—

_“Vrsa novum fertur lambendo fingere fœtum Paulatim & formam, quæ decet, ore dare; Sic dominam, vt valde sic cruda sit aspera Amator Blanditiis sensim mollet & obsequio._”

_Peu à peu._

“Ceste masse de chair, que toute ourse faonne En la leschant se forme à son commencement. Par seruir: par flatter, par complaire en aymant, L’amour rude à l’abord, à la fin se façonne.”

The sentiment of these lines finds a parallel in the _Midsummer Night’s Dream_ (act i. sc. 1. l. 232, vol. ii. p. 206),—

“Things base and vile, holding no quantity, Love can transpose to form and dignity: Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.”

Perchance, too, it receives illustration from the praise accorded to the young Dumain by Katharine, in _Love’s Labour’s Lost_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 56, vol. ii. p. 114),—

“A well accomplish’d youth, Of all that virtue love for virtue loved: Most power to do most harm, least knowing ill; For he hath wit to make an ill shape good, And shape to win grace, though he had no wit.”

To the denial of natural affection towards himself Gloucester (_3 Henry VI_., act iii. sc. 2, l. 153, vol. v. p. 284) deemed it almost a thing impossible for him to “make his heaven in a lady’s lap,”—

“Why, love forswore me in my mother’s womb: And, for I should not deal in her soft laws, She did corrupt frail nature with some bribe, To shrink mine arm up like a wither’d shrub; To make an envious mountain on my back, Where sits deformity to mock my body; To shape my legs of an unequal size; To disproportion me in every part. Like to a chaos, or an unlick’d bear-whelp That carries no impression like the dam.”

Curious it is to note how slowly the continent which Columbus discovered became fully recognised as an integral portion of what had been denominated, ἡ οἰκουμένη,—“the inhabited world.” The rotundity of the earth and of the water was acknowledged, but Brucioli’s “TRATTATO DELLA SPHERA,” published at Venice, D.M.XLIII., maintains that the earth is immovable and the centre of the universe; and in dividing the globe into climates, it does not take a single instance except from what is named the old world; in fact, the new world of America is never mentioned.

Somewhat later, in 1564, when Sambucus published his _Emblems_, and presented _Symbols of the parts of the Inhabited Earth_, he gave only three; thus (p. 113),—

_Sambucus_, 1564.

EST _regio quæuis climate certo Aëre diſtincta, & commoditate. Quælibet haud quidius terra feretq́ue. Africa monſtroſa eſt ſemper habendo Antea quod nemo viderat vſquam. Fert Aſia immanes frigidiore Nempe ſolo apros, & nimbigera vrſos: Sed reliquas vincit viribus omnes Belua, quam Europæ temperat aër. Taurus vt eſt fortis, bufalus vnà. Ergo ſit Europæ taurus alumnus, Africæ at inſigne ſitq́ue Chimæra. Sint Aſiæ immites vrſus, aperq́ue._

The Bull is thus set forth as the _alumnus_, or nursling of Europe; of Africa the Chimæra is the ensign; and to Asia belong the untamed Bear and Boar; America and the broad Pacific, from Peru to China, have neither token nor locality assigned.

Shakespeare’s geography, however, though at times very defective, extended further than its “symbols” by Sambucus. In the humorous mapping out, by Dromio of Syracuse, of the features of the kitchen-wench, who was determined to be his wife (_Comedy of Errors_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 131, vol. i. p. 429), the question is asked,—

“_Ant. S._ Where America, the Indies?

_Dro. S._ Oh, sir, upon her nose, all o’er embellished with rubies, carbuncles, sapphires, declining their rich aspect to the hot breath of Spain.

In _Twelfth Night_ (act iii. sc. 2, l. 73, vol. iii. p. 271) Maria thus describes the love-demented steward,—

“He does smile his face into more lines than is in the new map with the augmentation of the Indies; you have not seen such a thing as ’tis.”

And in the _Merry Wives of Windsor_ (act i. sc. 3, l. 64, vol. i. p. 177), Sir John Falstaff avers respecting Mistress Page and Mistress Ford,—

“I will be cheaters to them both, and they shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West Indies, and I will trade to them both.”

Yet in agreement with the map of Sambucus, with the three capes prominent upon it, of Gibraltar Rock, the Cape of Good Hope, and that of Malacca, Shakespeare on other occasions ignores America and all its western neighbours. At the consultation by Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus, about the division of the Roman Empire (_Julius Cæsar_, act iv. sc. 1, l. 12, vol. vii. p. 384), Antony, on the exit of Lepidus, remarks,—

“This is a slight unmeritable man, Meet to be sent on errands: is it fit, The three-fold world divided, he should stand One of the three to share it?”

And when the camp of Octavius is near Alexandria (_Antony and Cleopatra_, act iv. sc. 6, l. 5, vol. ix. p. 109), and orders are issued to take Antony alive, Cæsar declares,—

“The time of universal peace is near: Prove this a prosperous day, the three-nook’d world Shall bear the olive freely.”

_Plate 13_

TRATTATO DELLA SPHERA, nel quale si dimoſtrano, & inſegnano i principii della aſtrologia raccolto da Giouanni di Sacrobuſto, & altri Aſtronomi, & tradotto in lingua Italiana.

PER ANTONIO BRVCIOLI.

ET CON NVOVE ANNOTA= rioni in piu luoghi dichiarato.

In Ventia nel. D. M. XLIII.

The Signs of the Zodiac, or, rather, the figures of the animals of which the zodiac is composed, were well known in Shakespeare’s time from various sources; and though they are Emblems, and have given name to at least one book of Emblems that was published in 1618,[154]—almost within the limits to which our inquiries are confined,—some may doubt whether they strictly belong to Emblem writers. Frequently, however, are they referred to in the dramas of which we are speaking; and, therefore, it is not out of place to exhibit a representation of them. This we do from the frontispiece or title page of an old Italian astronomical work by Antonio Brucioli (see Plate XIII.), who was banished from Florence for his opposition to the Medici, and whose brothers, in 1532, were printers in Venice. It is not pretended that Shakespeare was acquainted with this title page, but it supplies an appropriate illustration of several astronomical phenomena to which he alludes.

The zodiac enters into the description of the advancing day in _Titus Andronicus_ (act ii. sc. 1, l. 5, vol. vi. p. 450),—

“As when the golden sun salutes the morn, And, having gilt the ocean with his beams, Gallops the zodiac in his glistering coach, And overlooks the highest-peering hills; So Tamora. Upon her wit doth earthly honour wait, And virtue stoops and trembles at her frown.”

It also occupies a place in a homely comparison in _Measure for Measure_ (act i. sc. 2, l. 158, vol. i. p. 303), to point out the duration of nineteen years, or the moon’s cycle,—

“This new governor Awakes me all the enrolled penalties Which have, like unscour’d armour, hung by the wall So long, that nineteen zodiacs have gone round. And none of them been worn; and for a name Now puts the drowsy and neglected act Freshly on me: ’tis surely for a name.”

The archery scene in _Titus Andronicus_ (act iv. sc. 3, l. 52, vol. vi. p. 501) mentions several of the constellations and the figures by which they were known. The dialogue is between Titus and Marcus,—

“_Tit._ You are a good archer, Marcus; [_He gives them the arrows._ ‘Ad Jovem,’ that’s for you: here, ‘Ad Apollinem:’ ‘Ad Martem,’ that’s for myself: Here, boy, to Pallas: here, to Mercury: To Saturn, Caius, not to Saturnine; You were as good to shoot against the wind. To it, boy! Marcus, loose when I bid. Of my word, I have written to effect; There’s not a god left unsolicited. _Marc._ Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the court: We will afflict the emperor in his pride. _Tit._ Now, masters, draw, [_They shoot._] O, well said, Lucius! Good boy, in Virgo’s lap; give it Pallas. _Marc._ My Lord, I aim a mile beyond the moon; Your letter is with Jupiter by this. _Tit._ Ha, ha! Publius, Publius, what hast thou done? See, see, thou hast shot off one of Taurus’ horns. _Marc._ This was the sport, my lord: when Publius shot, The Bull, being gall’d, gave Aries such a knock That down fell both the Ram’s horns in the court.”

In allusion to the old medico-astrological idea that the different members of the human body were under the influence of their proper or peculiar constellations, the following dialogue occurs in the _Twelfth Night_ (act i. sc. 3, l. 127, vol. iii. p. 231),—

“_Sir And._ Shall we not set about some revels? _Sir Toby._ What shall we do else? were we not born under Taurus? _Sir And._ Taurus! That’s sides and heart. ”_Toby._ No sir; it is legs and thighs. Let me see thee caper: ha! higher: ha, ha! excellent!”

Falstaff, in the _Merry Wives of Windsor_ (act ii. sc. 2, l. 5, vol. i. p. 190), vaunts of the good services which he had rendered to his companions: “I have grated upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and your coach-fellow Nym: or else you had looked through the grate, like a geminy of baboons.”

In telling of the folly of waiting on Achilles (_Troilus and Cressida_,