Chapter 6

_Thomas Lodge_, a Doctor of Physick, flourish'd also about the beginning of the Reign of Queen _Elizabeth_; He was also an eminent Writer of Pastoral Songs, Odes, and Madrigals. This following Sonnet is said to be of his composing.

If I must die, O let me chuse my Death: Suck out my Soul with Kisses, cruel Maid! In thy Breasts Crystal Balls embalm my Breath, Dole it all out in sighs when I am laid; Thy Lips on mine like Cupping-glasses clasp; Let our Tongues meet, and strive as they would sting: Crush out my Wind with one straight girting Grasp, Stabs on my Heart keep time whilst thou dost sing. Thy Eyes like searing-Irons burn out mine; In thy fair Tresses stifle me outright: Like _Circes_, change me to a loathsom Swine, So I may live for ever in thy sight. Into Heavens Joys can none profoundly see, Except that first they meditate on thee.

Contemporary with Dr. _Lodge_, were several others, who all of them wrote in the same strain, as _George Gascoigne_, _Tho. Hudson_, _John Markham_, _Tho. Achely_, _John Weever_, _Chr. Midleton_, _George Turbervile_, _Henry Constable_, Sir _Edward Dyer_, _Charles Fitz Geoffry_. Of these _George Gascoigne_ wrote not only Sonnets, Odes and Madrigals, but also something to the Stage: as his _Supposes_, a Comedy; _Glass of Government_, a Tragi-Comedy; and _Jocasta_, a Tragedy.

But to return to Dr. _Lodge_; we shall only add one Sonnet more, taken out of his _Euphues Golden Legacy_, and so proceed to others.

Of all chaste Birds, the _Phoenix_ doth excel; Of all strong Beasts, the _Lion_ bears the Bell: Of all sweet Flowers, the Rose doth sweetest smell; Of all fair Maids, my _Rosalind_ is fairest. Of all pure Metals, _Gold_ is only purest; Of all high Trees, the _Pine_ hath highest Crest; Of all soft _Sweets_, I like my Mistress best: Of all chaste Thoughts my Mistress Thoughts are rarest. Of all proud Birds, the _Eagle_ pleaseth _Jove_, Of pretty Fowls, kind _Venus_ likes the _Dove_: Of Trees, _Minerva_ doth the _Olive_ love, Of all sweet Nymphs, I honour _Rosalinde_, Of all her Gifts, her _Wisdom_ pleaseth most: Of all her Graces, _Virtue_ she doth boast; For all the Gifts, my Life and Joy is lost, If _Rosalinde_ prove cruel and unkind.

* * * * *

_ROBERT GREENE_.

_Robert Greene_ (that great Friend to the _Printers_ by his many Impressions of numerous Books) was by Birth a Gentleman, and sent to study in the University of _Cambridge_; where he proceeded Master of Art therein. He had in his time sipped of the Fountain of _Hellicon_, but drank deeper Draughts of Sack, that _Helliconian_ Liquor, whereby he beggar'd his Purse to enrich his Fancy; writing much against Viciousness, but too vicious in his Life. He had to his Wife a Virtuous Gentlewoman, whom yet he forsook, and betook himself to a high course of Living; to maintain which, he made his Pen mercenary, making his Name very famous for several Books which he wrote, very much taking in his time, and in indifferent repute amongst the vulgar at this present; of which, those that I have seen, are as followeth) Euphues _his Censure to_ Philautus; Tullies _Love_, _Philomela_, _The Lady_ Fitz-waters _Nightingale_, _A Quip for an upstart Courtier_, _the History of_ Dorastus _and_ Fawnia, Green's _never too late_, first and second Part; Green's _Arcadia_, Green _his Farewell to Folly_, Greene's _Groats-worth of Wit, &c._ He was also an Associate with Dr. _Lodge_ in writing of several Comedies; namely, _The Laws of Nature_; _Lady Alimony_; _Liberality and Prodigality_; and a Masque called _Luminalia_; besides which, he wrote alone the Comedies of _Fryer Bacon_, and _fair Emme_.

But notwithstanding by these his Writings he got much Money, yet was it not sufficient to maintain his Prodigality, but that before his death he fell into extream Poverty, when his Friends, (like Leaves to Trees in the Summer of Prosperity) fell from him in his Winter of Adversity: of which he was very sensible, and heartily repented of his ill passed Life, especially of the wrongs he had done to his Wife; which he declared in a Letter written to her, and found with his Book of _A Groatsworth of Wit_, after his Death, containing these Words;

_The Remembrance of many Wrongs offered Thee and thy unreproved Vertues, add greater sorrow to my miserable State than I can utter, or thou conceive; neither is it lessened by consideration of thy Absence (though Shame would let me hardly behold thy Face) but exceedingly aggravated, for that I cannot (as I ought) to thy own self reconcile my self, that thou mightest witness my inward Wo at this instan Green, _and may grow strait, if he be carefully tended; otherwise apt enough (I fear me) to follow his Fathers Folly. That I have offended thee highly, I know; that thou canst forget my Injuries, I hardly believe; yet I perswade my self, if thou sawest my wretched estate, thou couldst not but lament it: Nay, certainly I know thou wouldst. All my wrongs muster themselves about me, and every Evil at once plagues me: For my Contempt of God, I am contemned of Men; for my swearing and fors

Thy Repentant Husband

for his Disloyalty,

_Robert Greene_.

In a Comedy called _Green's Tu quoque_, written by _John Cooke_, I find these Verses made upon his Death;

How fast bleak Autumn changeth _Flora_'s Die; What yesterday was _Greene_, now's sear and dry.

* * * * *

_THOMAS NASH_.

_Thomas Nash_ was also a Gentleman born, and bred up in the University of _Cambridge_; a man of a quick apprehension and Satyrick Pen: One of his first Books he wrote was entituled _Pierce Penniless his Supplication to the Devil_, wherein he had some Reflections upon the Parentage of Dr. _Harvey_, his Father being a Rope-maker of _Saffron-Walden_: This begot high Contests betwixt the Doctor and him, so that it became to be a well known Pen-Combate. Amongst other Books which Mr. _Nash_ wrote against him, one was entituled, _Have with ye to_ Saffron-Walden; and another called _Four Letters confuted_; in which last he concludes with this Sonnet;

Were there no Wars, poor men should have no Peace; Uncessant Wars with Wasps and Drones I cry: He that begins oft knows not how to cease; He hath begun; He follow till I die. Ile hear no Truce, Wrong gets no Grave in me: Abuse pell-mell encounter with abuse; Write he again, Ile write eternally; Who feeds Revenge, hath found an endless Muse. If Death ere made his black Dart of a Pen, My Pen his special Bayly shall become: Somewhat Ile be reputed of 'mongst men, By striking of this Dunce or dead or dumb: Await the World the Tragedy of Wrath, What next I paint shall tread no common Path.

It seems he had a Poetical Purse as well as a Poetical Brain, being much straightned in the Gifts of Fortune; as he exclaims in his _Pierce Penniless_.

Why is't damnation to despair and die, When Life is my true happiness disease? My Soul, my Soul, thy Safety makes me fly The faulty Means that might my Pain appease. Divines and dying men may talk of Hell, But in my Heart her several Torments dwell.

Ah worthless Wit, to train me to this Wo! Deceitful Arts that nourish _Discontent_, Ill thrive the Folly that bewitch'd me so! Vain Thoughts adieu; for now I will repent: And yet my Wants persuade me to proceed, Since none takes pity of a Scholar's need.

Forgive me, God, although I curse my Birth, And ban the Ayr wherein I breath a wretch, Since Misery hath daunted all my Mirth, And I am quite undone through Promise breach. Oh Friends! no Friends, that then ungently frown, When changing Fortune calls us headlong down.

Without redress complains my careless Verse, And _Midas_ ears relent not at my mone; In some far Land will I my griefs rehearse, 'Mongst them that will be mov'd, when I shall grone. _England_ adieu, the Soil that brought me forth; Adieu unkind, where Skill is nothing worth.

He wrote moreover a witty Poem, entituled, _The White Herring and the Red_; and two Comedies, the one called _Summer's last Will and Testament_, and _See me and see me not_.

* * * * *

Sir _PHILIP SIDNEY_.

Sir _Philip Sidney_, the glory of the _English_ Nation in his time, and pattern of true Nobility, in whom the Graces and Muses had their domestical habitations, equally addicted both to Arts and Arms, though more fortunate in the one than in the other. Son to Sir _Henry Sidney_, thrice Lord Deputy of _Ireland_, and Sisters Son to _Robert_ Earl of _Leicester_; Bred in _Christ_'s Church in _Oxford_, (_Cambridge_ being nevertheless so happy to have a Colledge of his name) where he so profited in the Arts and Liberal Sciences, that after an incredible proficiency in all the Species of Learning, he left the Academical Life, for that of the Court, invited thither by his Uncle, the Earl of _Leicester_, that great Favourite of Queen _Elizabeth_. Here he so profited, that he became the glorious Star of his Family, a lively Pattern of Vertue, and the lovely Joy of all the learned sort. These his Parts so indeared him to Queen _Elizabeth_, that she sent him upon an Embassy to the Emperor of _Germany_ at _Vienna_, which he discharged to his own Honour, and her Approbation. Yea, his Fame was so renowned throughout all Christendom, that (as it is commonly reported) he was in election for the Kingdom of _Poland_, though the Author of his Life, printed before his _Arcadia_, doth doubt of the truth of it, however it was not above his deserts.

During his abode at the Court, at his spare hours he composed that incomparable Romance, entituled, _The Arcadia_, which he dedicated to his Sister the Countess of _Pembroke_. A Book (saith Dr. _Heylin_) which, besides its excellent Language, rare Contrivances, and delectable Stories, hath in it all the strains of Poesie, comprehendeth the whole art of speaking, and to them who can discern and will observe, affordeth notable Rules of Demeanour, both private and publick; and though some men, sharp-witted only in speaking evil, have depraved the Book, as the occasion that many precious hours are spent no better, they consider not that the ready way to make the minds of Youth grow awry, is to lace them too hard, by denying them just and due liberty. Surely (saith one) the Soul deprived of lawful delights, will, in way of revenge, (to enlarge its self out of prison) invade and attempt unlawful pleasures. Let such be condemned always to eat their meat with no other sawce, but their own appetite, who deprive themselves and others of those sallies into lawful Recreations, whereof no less plenty than variety is afforded in this _Arcadia_.

One writes, that Sir _Philip Sidney_ in the extream agony of his wounds, so terrible the sence of death is, requested the dearest friend he had, to burn his _Arcadia_; what promise his friend returned herein is uncertain; but if he brake his word to be faithful to the publick good, posterity herein hath less cause to censure him for being guilty of such a meritorious offence, wherewith he hath obliged so many ages. Hereupon thus writeth the _British_ Epigramatist.

_Ipse tuam morient sede conjuge teste jubebas, Arcadium sævis ignibus esse cibum; Si meruit mortem, quia flammam accendit amoris Mergi, non uri debuit iste liber. In Librum quæcunque cadat sententia nulla, Debuit ingenium morte perire tuum._

In serious thoughts of Death 'twas thy desire This sportful Book should be condemn'd with Fire: If so, because it doth intend Love-matters, It rather should be quench'd or drown'd i' th waters. However doom'd the Book, the memory Of thy immortal Wit will never die.

He wrote also besides his _Arcadia_, several other Works; namely, _A Defence of Poesie_, a Book entituled _Astrophel_ and _Stella_, with divers Songs and Sonnets in praise of his Lady, whom he celebrated under that bright Name; whom afterwards he married, that Paragon of Nature, Sir _Francis Walsingham_'s Daughter, who impoverished himself to enrich the State; from whom he expected no more than what was above all Portions, a beautiful Wife, and a virtuous Daughter.

He also translated part of that excellent Treatise of _Philip Morney du Plessis_, of the Truth of Religion; and no doubt had written many other excellent Works, had not the Lamp of his Life been extinguish'd too soon; the manner whereof take as followeth:

His Unkle _Robert Dudley_ Earl of _Leicester_ (a man almost as much hated as his Nephew was loved) was sent over into the _Low-Countries_, with a well appointed Army, and large Commission, to defend the _United Provinces_ against the _Spanish_ Cruelty. Under him went Sir _Philip Sidney_, who had the Command of the cautionary Town of _Flushing_, and Castle of _Ramekius_, a Trust which he so faithfully discharged, that he turned the Envy of the _Dutch_ Townsmen into Affection and Admiration. Not long after, some Service was to be performed nigh _Zutphen_ in _Gueiderland_, where the _English_, through false intelligence, were mistaken in the strength of the Enemy. Sir _Philip_ is employed next to the Chief in that Expedition; which he so discharged, that it is questionable whether his Wisdom, Industry or Valour may challenge to it self the greatest praise of the Action. And now when the triumphant Lawrels were ready to Crown his Brows, the _English_ so near the Victory, that they touched it, ready to lay hold upon it, he was unfortunately shot in the Thigh, which is the Rendez-vouz of Nerves and Sinews, which caused a Feaver, that proved so mortal, that five and twenty days after he died of the same; the Night of whose Death was the Noon of his Age, and the exceeding Loss of Christendom.

His Body was conveyed into _England_, and most honourably interred in the Church of St. _Paul_ in _London_; over which was fixed this Epitaph:

_England_, _Netherland_, the Heavens, and the Arts, All Souldiers, and the World have made fix parts Of the Noble _Sidney_; for none will suppose That a small heap of Stones can _Sidney_ enclose: _England_ hath his Body, for she it bred; _Netherland_ his Blood, in her defence shed; The Heavens his Soul, the Arts his Fame; All Soldiers the Grief, the World his good Name.

To recite the Commendations given him by several Authors, would of it self require a Volume; to rehearse some few not unpleasing to the Reader. The reverend _Cambden_ writes thus; This is that _Sidney_, whom, as God's will was, he should be therefore born into the world even to shew unto our Age a Sample of ancient Virtues. Doctor _Heylin_ in his _Cosmography_ calleth him, That gallant Gentleman of whom he cannot but make honourable mention. Mr. _Fuller_ in his _Worthies_ thus writes of him, His homebred Abilities perfected by Travel with foreign accomplishments, and a sweet Nature, set a gloss upon both. _Stow_ in his _Annals_, calleth him, a most valiant and towardly Gentleman. _Speed_ in his Chronicle, That worthy Gentleman in whom were compleat all Virtues and Valours that could be expected to reside in man: And Sir _Richard Baker_ gives him this Character, A man of so many excellent parts of Art and Nature, of Valour and Learning, of Wit and Magnanimity, that as he had equalled all those of former Ages, so the future will hardly be able to equal him.

Nor was this Poet forgotten by the Poets; who offered whole Hecatombs of Verses in his praise. Hear first that Kingly Poet, or Poetical King, King _James_ the first, late Monarch of Great _Britain_, who thus writes,

_Armipotens cui jus in fortia pectora_ Mayors, _Tu Dea quæ cerebrum perrumpere digna totantis, Tuque adeo bijugæ proles_ Latonia _rupis Gloria, decidua cingunt quam collibus artes, Duc tecum, & querelis_ Sidnæi _funera voce Plangite; nam vester fuerat_ Sidnæus _alumnus, Quid genus, & proavos, & spem, floremque juventæ, Immaturo obituraptum sine retexo? Heu frustra queror? heu rapuit Mors omnia secum? Et nihil ex tanto nunc est Heroe superstes, Præterquam Decus & Nomen virtute paratum, Doctaque_ Sidneas _testantia Carmina laudes._

Thus translated by the said King:

Thou mighty _Mars_, the Lord of Soldiers brave, And thou _Mirnerve_, that dost in wit excel, And thou _Apollo_, who dost knowledge have Of every Art that from _Parnassus_ fell, With all your Sisters that thereon do dwell, Lament for him who duly serv'd you all: Whom in you wisely all your Arts did mell, Bewail (I say) his unexpected fall, I need not in remembrance for to call His Race, his Youth, the hope had of him ay, Since that in him doth cruel Death appall Both Manhood, Wit and Learning every way: But yet he doth in bed of Honour rest, And evermore of him shall live the best.

And in another place thus;

When _Venus_ sad saw _Philip Sidney_ slain, She wept, supposing _Mars_ that he had been, From Fingers Rings, and from her Neck the Chain She pluckt away, as if _Mars_ ne'er again She meant to please, in that form he was in, Dead, and yet could a Goddess thus beguile, What had he done if he had liv'd this while?

These Commendations given him by so learned a Prince, made Mr. _Alexander Nevil_ thus to write;

Harps others Praise, a Scepter his doth sing, Of Crowned Poet, and of Laureat King.

Divine _Du Bartus_, speaking of the most Learned of the _English_ Nation, reckoneth him as one of the chief, in these words;

And (world mourn'd) _Sidney_, warbling to the _Thames_, His Swan-like Tunes, so courts her coy proud Streams, That (all with child with Fame) his Fame they bear To _Thetis_ Lap, and _Thetis_ every where.

Sir _John Harrington_ in his Epigrams thus;

If that be true the latter Proverb says, _Laudari a Laudatis_ is most Praise, _Sidney_, thy Works in Fames Books are enroll'd By Princes Pens, which have thy Works extoll'd, Whereby thy Name shall dure to endless days.

Mr. _Owen_, the _Brittish_ Epigrammatist thus sets him forth:

Thou writ'st things worthy reading, and didst do Things worthy writing too. Thy Arts thy Valour show, And by thy Works we do thy Learning know.

I shall conclude all with these excellent Verses made by himself a little before his Death;

It is not I that die, I do but leave an Inn, Where harbour'd was with me all filthy Sin: It is not I that die, I do but now begin Into eternal Joy by Faith to enter in, Why mourn you then my Parents, Friends and Kin? Lament you when I lose, not when I win.

* * * * *

Sir _FULK GREVIL_.

Next to Sir _Philip Sidney_, we shall add his great Friend and Associate, Sir _Fulk Grevil_, Lord _Brook_, one very eminent both for Arts and Arms; to which the _genius_ of that time did mightily invite active Spirits. This Noble Person, for the great love he bore to Sir _Philip Sidney_, wrote his Life. He wrote several other Works both in Prose and Verse, some of which were Dramatick, as his Tragedies of _Alaham_, _Mustapha_, and _Marcus Tallius Cicero_, and others, commonly of a Political Subject; amongst which, a Posthume Work, not publish'd till within a few years, being a two-fold Treatise, the first of Monarchy, the second of Religion, in all which is observable a close mysterious and sententious way of Writing, without much regard to Elegancy of Stile, or smoothness of Verse. Another Posthume Book is also fathered upon him; namely, _The Five Years of King_ James, _or the Condition of the State of_ England, _and the Relation it had to other Provinces_, Printed in the Year 1643. But of this last Work many people are doubtful.

Now for his Abilities in the Exercise of Arms, take this instance: At such time when the _French_ Ambassadours came over into _England_, to Negotiate a Marriage between the Duke of _Anjou_, and Queen _Elizabeth_, for their better entertainment, Solemn Justs were proclaimed, where the Earl of _Arundel, Frederick_ Lord _Windsor_, Sir _Philip Sidney_, and he, were chief Challengers against all comers; in which Challenge he behaved himself so gallantly, that he won the reputation of a most valiant Knight.

Thus you see, that though _Ease be the Nurse of Poesie_, the Muses are also Companions to _Mars_, as may be exemplified in the Lives of the Earl of _Surrey_, Sir _Philip Sidney_, and this Sir _Falk Grevil_.

I shall only add a word or two of his death, Which was as sad as lamentable. He kept a discontented servant, who conceiving his deserts, not soon or well enough rewarded, wounded him mortally; and then (to save the Law a labour) killed himself. Verifying therein the observation, _That there is none who never so much despiseth his own life, but yet is master of another mans_.

This ingenious Gentleman, (in whose person shined all true Vertue and high Nobility) as he was a great friend to learning himself, so was he a great favourer of learning in others, witness his liberality to Mr. _Speed_ the Chronologer, when finding his wide Soul was stuffed with too narrow an Occupation, gave it enlargement, as the said Author doth ingeniously confess in his description of _Warwickshire, Whose Merits_ (saith he) _to me-ward, I do acknowledge, in setting this hand free from the daily employments of a Manual Trade, and giving it full liberty thus to express the inclination of my mind, himself being the_ Procurer _of my present Estate_.

He lieth interred in _Warwick_ Church, under a Monument of Black and White Marble, wherein he is styled, _Servant to Queen_ Elizabeth, _Counsellor to King_ James, _and Friend to_ Sir _Philp Sidney_. He died _Anno 16--._ without Issue, save only those of his Brain, which will make his Name to live, when others Issue they may fail them.

* * * * *

Mr. _EDMOND SPENSER_.

This our Famous Poet, Mr. _Edmond Spenser_, was born in the City of _London_, and brought up in _Pembroke-Hall_ in _Cambridge_; where he became a most excellent Scholar, but especially very happy in _English_ Poetry, as his learned, elaborate Works do declare, which whoso shall peruse with a judicious eye, will find to have in them the very height of Poetick fancy, and though some blame his Writings for the many _Chaucerisms_ used by him, yet to the Learned they are known not to be blemishes, but rather beauties to his Book; which, notwithstanding, (saith a learned Writer) had been more salable, if more conformed to our modern language.

His first flight in Poetry, as not thinking himself fully fledged, was in that Book of his, called _The Shepherds Kalendar_, applying an old Name to a new Book; It being of Eclogues fitted to each Month in the Year: of which Work hear what that worthy Knight, Sir _Philip Sidney_ writes, whose judgment in such cases is counted infallible: _The Shepherds Kalendar_ (saith he) _hath much Poetry in his Eclogues, indeed worthy the reading, if I be not deceived; That same framing his Stile to an old rustick Language, I dare not allow, since neither_ Theocritus _in_ Greek, Virgil _in_ Latine, _nor_ Sanazara _in_ Italian _did effect it_. Afterwards he translated the _Gnat_, a little fragment of _Virgil's_ excellency. Then he translated _Bellay_ his Ruins of _Rome_; His most unfortunate Work was that of _Mother Hubbard's Tale_, giving therein offence to one in authority, who afterwards stuck on his skirts. But his main Book, and which indeed I think Envy its self cannot carp at, was his _Fairy Queen_, a Work of such an ingenious composure as will last as long as time endures.

Now as you have heard what esteem Sir _Philip_ _Sidney_ had of his Book, so you shall hear what esteem Mr. _Spenser_ had of Sir _Philip Sidney_, writing thus in his _Ruins of Time_.