act iv. sc. 2, l. 53, vol. i. p. 437),—

“_Dro. S._ ’Tis time that I were gone: It was two ere I left him, and now the clock strikes one. _Adr._ The hours come back! that did I never hear. _Dro. S._ O, yes; if any hour meet a sergeant, a’turns back for very fear. _Adr._ As if Time were in debt! how fondly dost thou reason! _Dro. S._ Time is a very bankrupt, and owes more than he’s worth to season. Nay, he’s a thief too: have you not heard men say, That Time comes stealing on by night and day? If Time be in debt and theft, and a sergeant in the way, Hath he not reason to turn back an hour in a day?”

Almost of the same complexion are some of the other strong contrasts of epithets which Shakespeare applies. Iachimo, in _Cymbeline_ (act i. sc. 6, l. 46, vol. ix. p. 185), uses the expressions,—

“The cloyed will, That satiate yet unsatisfied desire, that tub Both fill’d and running, ravening first the lamb, Longs after for the garbage.”

But “old fond paradoxes, to make fools laugh i’ the ale-house,” are also given forth from the storehouse of his conceits. Desdemona and Emilia and Iago play at these follies (_Othello_, act ii. sc. 1, l. 129, vol. viii. p. 477), and thus some of them are uttered,—

“_Iago._ If she be fair and wise, fairness and wit, The one’s for use, the other useth it. _Des._ Well praised! How if she be black and witty? _Iago._ If she be black, and thereto have a wit, She’ll find a white that shall her blackness fit. . . . . . . _Des._ But what praise couldst thou bestow on a deserving woman indeed? one that, on the authority of her merit, did justly put on the vouch of very malice itself? _Iago._ She that was ever fair, and never proud, Had tongue at will, and yet was never loud. Never lack’d gold, and yet went never gay, Fled from her wish, and yet said, now I may; . . . . . . She was a wight, if ever such wight were,— _Des._ To do what? _Iago._ To suckle fools, and chronicle small beer.”

We thus return, by a wandering path indeed, to the paradoxical saying with which we set out,—concerning “fleeing what we follow;” for Iago’s paragon of a woman,—

“Fled from her wish, and yet said, now I may.”

Taken by itself, the coincidence of a few words in the dedications of works by different authors is of trifling importance; but when we notice how brief are the lines in which Shakespeare commends his “VENUS AND ADONIS” to the patronage of the Earl of Southampton, it is remarkable that he has adopted an expression almost singular, which Whitney had beforehand employed in the long dedication of his Emblems to the Earl of Leycester. “Being abashed,” says Whitney, “that my habillitie can not affoorde them such, as are fit to be offred vp to so honorable a suruaighe” (p. xi); and Shakespeare, “I leave it to your honourable survey, and your Honour to your heart’s content.” Whitney then declares, “yet if it shall like your honour to allowe of anie of them, I shall thinke my pen set to the booke in happie hour; and it shall incourage mee, to assay some matter of more momente, as soon as leasure will further my desire in that behalfe;” and Shakespeare, adopting the same idea, also affirms, “only if your Honour seem but pleased, I account myself highly praised and vow to take advantage of all idle hours, till I have honoured you with some graver labour.” Comparing these passages together, the inference appears not unwarranted, that Whitney’s dedication had been read by Shakespeare, and that the tenor of it abided in his memory, and so was made use of by him.

From the well-known lines of _Horace_ (Ode ii. 10),—

“Sæpius ventis agitatur ingens Pinus; et celsæ graviore casu Decidunt turres; feriuntque summos Fulgura montes,”—

several of the Emblem writers, and Shakespeare after them, tell of the huge pine and of its contests with the tempests; and how lofty towers fall with a heavier crash, and how the lightnings smite the highest mountains. Sambucus (edition 1569, p. 279) and Whitney (p. 59) do this, as a comment for the injunction, _Nimium rebus ne fide secundis_,—“Be not too confident in prosperity.” In this instance the stanzas of Whitney serve well to express the verses of Sambucus,—

_Nimium rebus ne fide secundis._

“The loftie Pine, that on the mountaine growes, And spreades her armes, with braunches freshe, & greene, The raginge windes, on sodaine ouerthrowes, And makes her stoope, that longe a farre was seene: So they, that truste to muche in fortunes smiles, Thoughe worlde do laughe, and wealthe doe moste abounde, When leste they thinke, are often snar’de with wyles, And from alofte, doo hedlonge fall to grounde: Then put no truste, in anie worldlie thinges, For frowninge fate, throwes downe the mightie kinges.”

Antonio, in the _Merchant of Venice_ (act iv. sc. 1, l. 75, vol. ii. p. 345), applies the thought to the fruitlessness of Bassanio’s endeavour to soften Shylock’s stern purpose of revenge,—

“You may as well forbid the mountain pines To wag their high tops, and to make no noise When they are fretten with the gusts of heaven.”

And when “dame Eleanor Cobham, Gloster’s wife,” is banished, and her noble husband called on to give up the Lord Protector’s staff of office (_2 Henry VI._, act ii. sc. 3, l. 45, vol. v. p. 145), Suffolk makes the comparison,—

“Thus droops this lofty pine, and hangs his sprays; Thus Eleanor’s pride dies in her youngest days.”

So, following almost literally the words of Horace, the exiled Belarius, in _Cymbeline_ (act iv. sc. 2, l. 172, vol. ix. p. 253), declares of the “two princely boys,” that passed for his sons,—

“They are as gentle As zephyrs blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head; and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchafed, as the rudest wind That by the top doth take the mountain pine And make him stoop to the vale.”

Words, which, though now obsolete, were in current use in the days of Surrey, Sidney, Spenser, and Shakespeare, cannot of themselves be adduced in evidence of any interchange of ideas; but when the form of the sentence and the application of some peculiar term agree, we may reasonably presume that it has been more than the simple use of the same common tongue which has caused the agreement. When, indeed, one author writes in English, and the others in Latin, or Italian, or French, we cannot expect much more than similarity of idea in treating of the same subject, and a mutual intercommunion of thought; but, in the case of authors employing the same mother tongue, there are certain correspondencies in the use of the same terms and turns of expression which betoken imitation.

Such correspondencies exist between Whitney and Shakespeare, as may be seen from the following among many other instances. I adopt the old spelling of the folio edition of Shakespeare, 1632,—

Abroach Whitney, p. 7 And bluddie broiles at home are set _abroache_.

_Rom. and J._ i. 1. Who set this ancient quarrell new l. 102 _abroach_?

_2 Hen. IV._ iv. 2, Alacke, what Mischeifes might be 14 set _abroach_.

a-worke Whitney, p. vi. They set them selues _a worke_.

_2 Hen. IV._ iv. 3, Skill in the Weapon is nothing, 107 without Sacke (for that sets it _a-worke_).

_K. Lear_, iii. 5, 5 — a provoking merit set _a-worke_ by a reprovable badnesse in himselfe.

Banne Whitney, p. 189 The maide her pacience quite forgot

And in a rage, the brutishe beaste did _banne_.

_Hamlet_, iii. 2, With Hecats _ban_, thrice blasted, 246 thrice infected.

_1 Hen. IV._ v. 3, Fell _banning_ Hagge, Inchantresse 42 hold thy tongue.

_2 Hen IV._ ii. 4, And _banne_ thine Enemies, both 25 mine and thine.

Cates Whitney, p. 18 Whose backe is fraughte with _cates_ and daintie cheere.

_C. Errors_, iii. 1, But though my _cates_ be meane, 28 take them in good part.

_1 Hen. IV._ iii. 1, I had rather live 163

With Cheese and Garlike in a Windmill far

Then feed on _Cates_, and have him talke to me

In any Summer House in Christendome.

create Whitney, p. 64 Not for our selues alone wee are _create_.

_M. N. Dr._ v. 1, And the issue there _create_ 394

Ever shall be fortunate.

_K. John_, iv. 1, The fire is dead with griefe 106

Being _create_ for comfort.

_Hen. V._ ii. 2, 31 With hearts _create_ of duty and of zeal.

Erksome Whitney, p. 118 With _erksome_ noise and eke with poison fell.

_T. of Shrew_, i. 2, I know she is an _irkesome_ 182 brawling scold.

_2 Hen. VI._ ii. 1, How _irkesome_ is this Musicke to 56 my heart!

Ingrate Whitney, p. 64 And those that are vnto theire frendes _ingrate_.

_T. of Shrew_, i. 2, Will not so gracelesse be, to be 266 _ingrate_.

_Coriol._ v. 2, 80 _Ingrate_ forgetfulness shall poison rather.

Prejudicate Whitney, xiii. The enuious who are alwaies readie with a _prejudicate_ opinion to condempe.

_All’s Well_, i. 2, @span 6: wherein our deerest 7 friend@

_Prejudicates_ the businesse.

Ripes Whitney, p. 23 When autumne _ripes_ the frutefull fields of grane.

_K. John_, ii. 1, — yon greene Boy shall haue no 472 Sunne to _ripe_

The bloome that promiseth a mighty fruit.

Vnrest Whitney, p. 94 It shewes her selfe doth worke her own _vnrest_.

_Rich. II._ ii. 4, Witnessing Stormes to come, Woe 22 and _Vnrest_.

_T. An._ ii. 3, 8 And so repose sweet Gold for their _unrest_.

vnsure Whitney, p. 191 So, manie men do stoope to sightes _vnsure_.

_Hamlet_, iv. 4, 51 Exposing what is mortal and _unsure_.

_Macbeth_, v. 4, 19 Thoughts speculative their _unsure_ hopes relate.

vnthrifte Whitney, p. 17 And wisdome still, against such _vnthriftes_ cries.

_Rich. II._ ii. 3, my Rights and Royalties 120

Pluckt from my armes perforce, and giuen away

To upstart _Vnthriftes_.

_Timon_, iv. 3, 307 What man didd’st thou euer knowe _unthrifte_ that was beloved after his meanes?

_M. Venice_, v. 1, And with an _unthrift_ love did 16 run from Venice

As far as Belmont.[182]

So close are some of these correspondencies that they can scarcely be accounted for except on the theory that Shakespeare had been an observant reader of Whitney’s Emblems.

There are also various expressions, or epithets, which the Emblem-books may be employed to illustrate, and which receive their most natural explanation from this same theory that Shakespeare was one of the very numerous host of Emblem students or readers. Perriere’s account of a man attempting to swim with a load of iron on his back (Emb. 70), is applied by Whitney with direct reference to the lines in Horace, “O cursed lust of gold, to what dost thou not compel mortal bosoms?” He sets off the thought by the device of a man swimming with “a fardle,” or heavy burden (p. 179),—

_Auri ſacra fames quid non?_

“Desire to haue, dothe make vs muche indure. In trauaile, toile, and labour voide of reste: The marchant man is caried with this lure, Throughe scorching heate, to regions of the Easte: Oh thirste of goulde, what not? but thou canst do: And make mens hartes for to consent thereto.

The trauailer poore, when shippe doth suffer wracke, Who hopes to swimme vnto the wished lande, Dothe venture life, with fardle on his backe, That if he scape, the same in steede maye stande. Thus, hope of life, and loue vnto his goods, Houldes vp his chinne, with burthen in the floods.”

In the _Winter’s Tale_, the word “fardel” occurs several times; we will, however, take a familiar quotation from _Hamlet_ (act iii. sc. 1, l. 76, vol. viii. p. 80),—

“Who would fardels bear, To grunt and sweat under a weary life, But that the dread of something after death, The undiscover’d country from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will, And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?”

The Bandogs, which Sir Thomas More and Spenser describe, appear to have been different from those of Sambucus and Whitney, or, rather, they were employed for a different purpose. “We must,” writes the worthy Chancellor (p. 586), “haue bande dogges to dryue them (the swine) out of the corne with byting, and leade them out by the ears;” and Spenser, in _Virgil’s Gnat_ (l. 539), speaks of—

“greedie Scilla, under whom there lay Manie great bandogs, which her gird about.”

These dogs were mastiffs, and their banning was barking or braying; but the dogs entitled bandogs in Whitney, though also mastiffs, were fastened by a band to a small cart, and trained to draw it. A large species of dog may be seen at this day in the towns of Belgium performing the very same service to which their ancestors had been accustomed above three centuries ago. Sambucus heads his description of the bandog’s strength and labours with the sentence,—“ The dog complains that he is greatly wronged.”

Canis queritur nimium nocere.

_Non ego furaces nec apros inſector & vrſos, Applaudit nec hero blandula cauda dolo: Sub iuga ſed mittor validus, traho & eſſeda collo, Quæque leuant alios viribus vſque premor. Per vicos ductum me alij latratibus vrgent, Miratur caſus libera turba meos. Quàm fueram charus dominæ, ſi paruulus eſſem, Non menſsa, lecto nec caruiſſe velim. Sic multis vires, & opes nocuere ſuperbæ: Contentum modico & profuit eſſe ſtatu._

Seated near the toiling mastiff is a lady with two or three pet curs, and the large dog complains,—

“Were I a little whelp, to my lady how dear I should be; Of board and of bed I never the want should see.”[183]

Whitney, using the woodcut which adorns the editions of Sambucus both in 1564 and 1599, prefixes a loftier motto (p. 140),—_Feriunt summos fulmina montes_,—“Thunderbolts strike highest mountains;” and thus expatiates he,—

“The bandogge, fitte to matche the bull, or beare, With burthens greate, is loden euery daye: Or drawes the carte, and forc’d the yoke to weare: Where littell dogges doe passe their time in playe: And ofte, are bould to barke, and eeke to bite, When as before, they trembled at his sighte.

Yet, when in bondes they see his thrauled state, Eache bragginge curre, beginnes to square, and brall: The freër sorte, doe wonder at his fate, And thinke them beste, that are of stature small: For they maie sleepe vppon their mistris bedde, And on their lappes, with daynties still bee fedde.

The loftie pine, with axe is ouerthrowne, And is prepar’d, to serue the shipmans turne: When bushes stande, till stormes bee ouerblowne, And lightninges flashe, the mountaine toppes doth burne. All which doe shewe that pompe, and worldlie power, Makes monarches, markes: when varrijnge fate doth lower.”

The mastiff is almost the only dog to which Shakespeare assigns any epithet of praise. In _Henry V._ (act iii. sc. 7, l. 130, vol. iv. p. 552), one of the French lords, Rambures, acknowleges “that island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.” It is the same quality in Achilles and Ajax on which Ulysses and Nestor count when “the old man eloquent,” in _Troilus and Cressida_ (act i. sc. 3, l. 391, vol. vi. p. 155), says of the two warriors,—

“Two curs shall tame each other: pride alone Must tarre[184] the mastiffs on, as ’twere their bone.”

It is, however, only in a passing allusion that Shakespeare introduces any mention of the bandog. He is describing the night “when Troy was set on fire” (_2 Henry VI._, act i. sc. 4, l. 16, vol. v. p. 129), and thus speaks of it,—

“The time when scritch-owls cry, and ban-dogs howl, When spirits walk, and ghosts break up their graves.”

We are all familiar with the expression “motley’s the only wear,” and probably we are disposed simply to refer it to the way in which that important personage was arrayed who exercised his fun and nonsense and shrewd wit in the courts of the kings and in the mansions of the nobles of the middle ages. The pictorial type exists in the Emblems both of Sambucus and of his copyist Whitney (p. 81), by whom the sage advice is imparted,—“Give trifles in charge to fools.”

_Fatuis leuia commitito._

“The little childe, is pleas’de with cockhorse gaie, Althoughe he aske a courser of the beste: The ideot likes, with bables for to plaie, And is disgrac’de, when he is brauelie dreste: A motley coate, a cockescombe, or a bell, Hee better likes, then Iewelles that excell.

So fondelinges vaine, that doe for honor sue, And seeke for roomes, that worthie men deserue: The prudent Prince, dothe give hem ofte their due, Whiche is faire wordes, that right their humors serue: For infantes hande, the rasor is vnfitte, And fooles vnmeete, in wisedomes seate to sitte.”

The word “motley” is often made use of in Shakespeare’s plays. Jaques, in _As You Like It_ (act ii. sc. 7, lines 12 and 42, vol. ii. pp. 405, 406), describes the “motley fool” “in a motley coat,”—

“I met a fool i’ the forest, A motley fool; a miserable world! As I do live by food, I met a fool; Who laid him down and bask’d him in the sun, And rail’d on Lady Fortune in good terms, In good set terms, and yet a motley fool. . . . . . . O that I were a fool! I am ambitious for a motley coat.”

The Prologue to _Henry VIII._ (l. 15) alludes to the dress of the buffoons that were often introduced into the plays of the time,—

“a fellow In a long motley coat, guarded with yellow.”

The fool in _King Lear_ (act i. sc. 4, 1. 93, vol. viii. p. 280) seems to have been dressed according to Whitney’s pattern, for, on giving his cap to Kent, he says,—

“Sirrah, you were best take my coxcomb.

_Kent._ Why, fool?

_Fool._ Why, for taking one’s part that’s out of favour: nay, an thou canst not smile as the wind sits, thou’lt catch cold shortly: there, take my coxcomb: why, this fellow hath banished two on’s daughters, and done the third a blessing against his will; if thou follow him, thou must needs wear my coxcomb.”

Drant’s translations[185] from Horace, published in 1567, convey to us a pretty accurate idea of the fool’s attire,—

“Well geue him cloth and let the fool Goe like a cockescome still.”

Perchance we know the lines in the “FAERIE QUEENE” (vi. c. 7, 49, 1. 6),—

“And other whiles with bitter mockes and mowes He would him scorne, that to his gentle mynd Was much more grievous then the others blowes: Words sharpely wound, but greatest griefe of scorning growes.”

But probably we are not prepared to trace some of the expressions in these lines to an Emblem-book origin. The graphic “mockes and mowes,” indeed, no Latin nor French can express; but our old friend Paradin, in the “DEVISES HEROIQVES” (leaf 174), names an occasion on which very amusing “mockes and mowes” were exhibited; it was, moreover, an example that,—

“_Things badly obtained are badly scattered._” As he narrates the tale,— “One day it happened that a huge ape, nourished in the house of a miser who found pleasure only in his crowns, after seeing through a hole his master playing with his crowns upon a table, obtained means of entering within by an open window, while the miser was at dinner. The ape took a stool, as his master did, but soon began to throw the silver out of the window into the street. How much the passers by kept laughing and the miser was vexed, I shall not attempt to say. I will not mock him among his neighbours who were picking up his bright crowns either for a nestegg, or for a son or a brother,—for a gamester, a driveller or a drunkard,—for I cannot but remember that fine and true saying which affirms, ‘_Things badly gained are badly scattered_.’”

This tale, derived by Paradin from Gabriel Symeoni’s _Imprese Heroiche et Morali_, is assumed by Whitney as the groundwork of his very lively narrative (p. 169), _Against Userers_, of which we venture to give the whole.

_Malè parta malè dilabuntur. In fæneratores._

“An vserer, whose Idol was his goulde, Within his house, a peeuishe ape retain’d: A seruaunt fitte, for suche a miser oulde, Of whome both mockes, and apishe mowes, he gain’d. Thus, euerie daie he made his master sporte, And to his clogge, was chained in the courte.

At lengthe it hap’d? while greedie graundsir din’de? The ape got loose, and founde a windowe ope: Where in he leap’de, and all about did finde, The GOD, wherein the Miser put his hope? Which soone he broch’d, and forthe with speede did flinge, And did delighte on stones to heare it ringe?

The sighte, righte well the passers by did please, Who did reioyce to finde these goulden crommes: That all their life, their pouertie did ease. Of goodes ill got, loe heere the fruicte that commes. Looke herevppon, you that have MIDAS minte, And bee posseste with hartes as harde as flinte.

Shut windowes close, leste apes doe enter in, And doe disperse your goulde, you doe adore. But woulde you learne to keepe, that you do winne? Then get it well, and hourde it not in store. If not: no boultes, nor brasen barres will serve, For GOD will waste your stocke, and make you sterue.”

Poor Caliban, in the _Tempest_ (act ii. sc. 2, l. 7, vol. i. p. 36), complains of Prospero’s spirits that,—

“For every trifle are they set upon me; Sometimes like apes, that mow and chatter at me, And after bite me.”

And Helena, to her rival Hermia (_Midsummer Night’s Dream_, act iii. sc. 2, l. 237, vol. ii. p. 240), urges a very similar charge,—

“Ay, do, persever, counterfeit sad looks, Make mouths upon me when I turn my back; Wink each at other; hold the sweet jest up.”

There is not, indeed, any imitation of the jocose tale about the ape[186] and the miser’s gold, and it is simply in “the mockes and apishe mowes” that any similarity exists. These, however, enter into the dialogue between Imogen and Iachimo (_Cymbeline_, act i. sc. 6, l. 30, vol. ix. p. 184); she bids him welcome, and he replies,—

“_Iach._ Thanks, fairest lady. What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop Of sea and land, which can distinguish ’twixt The fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones Upon the number’d beach, and can we not Partition make with spectacles so precious ’Twixt fair and foul? _Imo._ What makes your admiration? _Iach._ It cannot be i’ the eye; for apes and monkeys, ’Twixt two such shes, would chatter this way and Contemn with mows the other.”

There is a fine thought in Furmer’s _Use and Abuse of Wealth_, first published in Latin in 1575, and afterwards, in 1585, translated into Dutch by Coornhert; it is respecting the distribution of poverty and riches by the Supreme wisdom. The subject (at p. 6) is _Undeserved Poverty_,—“The Lord maketh poor, and enriches.” (See Plate XVI.)

“The riches which Job had as God bestows, So giver of poverty doth God appear. Who thinks each good because from God each flows, Shall always each with bravest spirit bear.”

_Plate 16_

IIII.

PAVPERTAS IMMERITA.

Dominus pauperem facit & ditat.

1. _Regum_ 2, 7.

_Vt Deus auctor opum quas olim Iobus habebat, Sic paupertatis tum Deus auctor erat. Qui bonum vtrumque putat, Dominus quia donat vtrumque, In animo forti ſemper vtrumque feret._

_Providence making Rich and making Poor Coörnhert, 1585._

In the device, the clouds are opened to bestow fulness upon the poor man, and emptiness upon the rich. By brief allusion chiefly does Shakespeare express either of these acts; but in the _Tempest_ (act iii. sc. 2, l. 135, vol. i. p. 48), Caliban, after informing Stephano that “the isle is full of noises,” and that “sometimes a thousand twangling instruments will hum about mine ears,” adds,—

“And then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open, and show riches Ready to drop upon me; that when I waked, I cried to dream again.”

A very similar picture and sentiment to those in Coornhert are presented by Gloucester’s words in _King Lear_ (act iv. sc. 1, l. 64, vol. viii. p. 366),—

“Here, take this purse, thou whom the heavens’ plagues Have humbled to all strokes: that I am wretched Makes thee the happier. Heavens, deal so still! Let the superfluous and lust-dieted man, That slaves your ordinance, that will not see Because he doth not feel, feel your power quickly; So distribution should undo excess, And each man have enough.”

Coornhert’s title, “~Recht Ghebruyck ende Misbruyck vantydlycke have~,”—_The right use and misuse of worldly wealth_,—and, indeed, his work, have their purport well carried out by the king in _2 Henry IV._ (act iv. sc. 4, l. 103, vol iv. p. 450),—

“Will Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still in foulest letters? She either gives a stomach and no food; Such are the poor, in health; or else a feast And takes away the stomach; such are the rich. That have abundance and enjoy it not.”

The fine thoughts of Ulysses, too, in _Troilus and Cressida_ (act iii. sc. 3, l. 196, vol. vi. p. 201), have right and propriety here to be quoted,—

“The providence that’s in a watchful state Knows almost every grain of Plutus’ gold, Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps, Keeps place with thought and almost like the gods Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles. There is a mystery, with whom relation Durst never meddle, in the soul of state; Which hath an operation more divine Than breath or pen can give expressure to.”

Petruchio’s thought, perchance, may be mentioned in this connection (_Taming of the Shrew_, act iv. sc. 3, l. 165, vol. iii. p. 78), when he declares his will to go to Kate’s father,—

“Even in these honest mean habiliments: Our purses shall be proud, our garments poor; For ’tis the mind that makes the body rich: And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, So honour peereth in the meanest habit.”

_Plate 17._

The Horatian thought, “Time flies irrevocable.” so well depicted by Otho Vænius in his _Emblemata_ (edition 1612, p. 206), has only general parallels in Shakespeare; and yet it is a thought with which our various dissertations on Shakespeare and the Emblematists may find no unfitting end. The Christian artist far excels the Heathen poet. Horace, in his _Odes_ (bk. iv. carmen 7), declares,—

“_Immortalia ne speres, monet annus & almum Quæ rapit hora diem: Frigora mitescunt Zephyris: Ver proterit Æstas Interitura, simul Pomifer Autumnus fruges effuderit: & mox Bruma recurrit iners._”

_i.e._ “Not to hope immortal things, the year admonishes, and the hour which steals the genial day. By western winds the frosts grow mild; the summer soon to perish supplants the spring, then fruitful autumn pours forth his stores, and soon sluggish winter comes again.”

These, however, the artist makes (_Henry V._, act iv. sc. 1, l. 9, vol. v. p. 555),—

“Preachers to us all, admonishing That we should dress us fairly for our end.”

Youthful Time (see Plate XVII.) is leading on the seasons,—a childlike spring, a matured summer wreathed with corn, an autumn crowned with vines, and a decrepid winter,—and yet the emblem of immortality lies at their feet; and the lesson is taught, as our Dramatist expresses it (_Hamlet_, act i. sc. 2, l. 71, vol. viii. p. 14),—

“All that lives must die Passing through nature to eternity.”

The irrevocable time flies on, and surely it has its comment in _Macbeth_ (act v. sc. 5, l. 19, vol. vii. p. 512),—

“To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death.”

Or, in Hotspur’s words (_1 Henry IV._, act v. sc. 2, l. 82, vol. iv. p. 337),—

“O gentlemen, the time of life is short! To spend that shortness basely were too long, If life did ride upon a dial’s point, Still ending at the arrival of an hour.”

And for eternity’s Emblem,[187] the Egyptians, we are told (Horapollo,