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Tudor ^ Stuart Library

Wilson's Arte of Rhetor ique IS 60

Henry Frowde, M.A.

Tublisher to the University of Oxford

London, Edinburgh, New York

Toronto and Melbourne

ff^ilsons ^rte ofRhetorique

I S 6 o

Edited by G. H. MAIR

(LAi the Clarendon Tress

MCMIX

MAY 1 7 1956

Oxford

Printed at the Clarendon Press By Horace Hart, M.A. Printer to the University

Introduction.

In ij^o there was imprinted at London by John Kingston, *and now newlie sette forthe againe, with a prologue to the reader,' * The ^rte of B})etoriqu,ey for the use of all such as are studious of eloquence, set forthe in Englishe, by Thomas Wilson.* This is not the first edition. As is implied in the title the book had been already issued j it had been published in ij J3, beautifully printed in black letter by Richard Grafton, the king's printer. For reasons which will appear hereafter, the last year of Mary's reign had been a stirring time for the author, and little leisure was left him for literary tasks. But with the accession of Elizabeth security and prosperity returned to him, and he set about preparing a new edition of his successful textbook. Much was altered and much added j he prefaced it by a new prologue of much personal interest. Towards the end of the year the corrected and completed book was issued from the press. It was reprinted in 15^2, 15^3, and 15^7, and indeed frequently down to about the year of the Great Armada, when apparently, whether owing to the advent of newer textbooks or to the changing taste of a more fastidious and sophisticated period we cannot know, it fell out of demand and public esteem and gradually ceased to be reprinted. The ^rte of K})etonque^ then, was in its day a work of great popularity j it passed through numerous editions and was eagerly read by two generations of seekers after eloquence and literary skill, and then slipped gently back into the night, gathering the dust of unused bookshelves. But a day arrives when the obsolete becomes again alive and interesting. A modern finds little to choose between the book that has been superseded and its successor ; he loves them both for their strangeness and for the picture which they suggest to him of forgotten habits of thought. Antiquity gilds dullness ; stupidity becomes amiable in dead men. It is not, how- ever, the undiscriminating zeal of the antiquary or the mere delight

in

vi Introduction.

in qualntness for quaintness* sake that has suggested the reprinting of this book. It is in its way a landmark in the history of the English Renaissance, and many passages in it are important and indeed indispensable to the historian of English literature. This has long been known j the book was styled by Waiton * The first system of criticism in our language' j but so far to all but a few it has been accessible only in extracts and these not representative. There is so much that is of interest in the mass that is forgotten, so much that explains and interprets many aspects of Elizabethan art, as to make this reprint of some service perhaps to those who are studying the period. The book appeared in an age of busy and eager experiment when many conflicting fashions were struggling for the mastery both in prose and in verse. Its author was no peda- gogue remote from the live issues of the time. He was a courtier and a statesman as well as a writer and a scholar ; on many of the problems which emerged from the turmoil of literary effort he had strong opinions, and the mark of them is left on his work. The student of Tudor literature may find it worth his while to hear what an alert and cultured contemporary has so say on these matters.

Thomas Wilson, the author (dignified by many as Sir Thomas Wilson, though he was never knighted) was born about the year ifif. He was a Lincolnshire man, the son of another Thomas Wilson of Strubby in that county and Anne Cumberworth his wife. He himself disclaims any pride in his native shire, and when Lincoln folk are mentioned in his books it is generally for their stupidity. He had all the Elizabethan's impatience of rusticity and dullness, all the contempt which London and the court felt for the country. *Itis better,' he says, 'to be borne in London then in Ltncolne. For that the aire is better, the people more ciuill, and the wealth much greater and the men for the most part more wise '.' Yet he owed much to the neighbours of his early home. One of them, William Cecil, Lord Burghley, did much to promote Wilson to the honourable state employment of his later years. There are others who deserve no less mention — Katherine Willoughby,

■ P. 13 inf.

Duchess

Introduction. vii

Duchess of Suffolk, with whom his friendship was firm and lifelong and about whom we shall hear presently ; and Sir Edward Dymock, who helped him both at the University and later, and at whose house The uirte of K^etoriqm was written during a holiday visit.

Thomas Wilson was educated first at Eton j in 1541 he became a scholar of King's G)llege, Cambridge. The time and the cir- cumstances were fortunate. During his residence there Sir John Cheke was chosen provost, and Wilson was thus thrown into contact with what was at once the most progressive and the most national side of English Humanism. Through Cheke and Sir Thomas Smith (himself a member of King's and afterwards his predecessor in the Secretaryship of State) he gained the friendship of Roger Ascham j through them, too, he became intimate with Walter Haddon, another member of the coterie and the most distinguished Latinist of his time. With him Wilson collaborated in his earliest book. Before he left Cambridge he had become one of a school of men who, by their scholarship and the individuality of their opinions, did much to mould the course of the Renaissance in England on its pedagogic side, and who had no inconsiderable influence on the development of English prose. From them he learned the lesson of simplicity and his horror of exaggerated Latinism. He fought side by side with them in the crusade against inkhorn terms, and he bore the brunt of the battle. For whereas Ascham confined himself to the practice of teaching and the composition of dialogues which contain precepts in style only by the way j whereas Haddon distilled from his pen poetical effusions in the learned tongues and Cheke's influence was exerted through personal contact only, Wilson set himself in his textbooks on Logic and Rhetoric to provide sure guidance for the aspiring student who was anxious to acquire what the new learning had to give him. Through him the teaching of Cheke and Ascham found its way to a wider circle of disciples than either of these could command.

At Cambridge, Wilson formed an attachment which remained throughout his life his most precious recollection. We have seen that in Lincolnshire he enjoyed the friendship and patronage of

Katherine

viii Introduction.

Katherine Willoughby, Duchess of Suffolk. At the University he became the tutor of her two sons. Henry and Charles Brandon, both counted Dukes of Suffolk because in their death one survived the other by a few hours, made by the brilliancy and high promise of their talents and the bitter tragedy of their early death a remarkable impression on their contemporaries. The elder for a time was a fellow-pupil with King Edward under Sir John Cheke ; but both during the larger part of their education were under Wilson's care. It is easy to see how deep was his regard for them j he returns to their praise again and again, and there is nothing of the con- ventional eulogy which is the due of patronage in his tone. When they died, of the sweating sickness, in ijji? he published along with Walter Haddon a volume of memorial verses and two letters by way of biography.^ In The ^ne of Rhetor i^tte the examples "^ Of Commending a noble Personage', and 'Of Comfort*,^ are both tributes to their memory. He begins his commendation after the manner of rhetoricians in vague phrases and high-sounding generali- ties. Gorgias^ Heliogabalm^ and Phaphorinus the philosopher ' extolling the feuer quartain*, all have their place, but when he reaches the matter in hand he forgets the precepts of the ancients and the mannerisms of the schools. Of his own special pupil, the Duke Charles, 'for the Greeke, the Latine and the Italian, I know he could do more than would be thought true by my report. I leaue to speake of his skill in pleasant insti-umentes, neither will I utter his aptnesse in Musicke, and his toward nature, to all exercises of the bodie ... if his brother were set aside there was not one that went beyond him. A child that by his owne inclination, so much yeelded to his ruler, that few by chastment haue done the like j pleasant of speech, prompt of wit, stirring by nature, hault without hate, kind without craft, liberall of heart, gentle in behauiour, forward in all

' ' Vira et obicus duorum fratnim SufFolciensium, Henrici et Caroli Brandoni, duabus episcolis [Gualc. Haddoni ec Tho. Wilsoni] explicata; adduntur epitaphia ft acroamaca in eosdcm Graece et Latine conscripta, cum Cantabrigiensium turn Oxoniensium iugi commendatione ct induscria,' etc. Edente Tho. Wiisono. London, in ed. Rich. Graftoni. ^ pp. 14, 66 inf.

things.

Introduction. ix

things, greedie of learning, and Loth to take the foil in any assemblie.' The second example, ' Of Comfort,* is addressed to their mother.

* When God lately visited this relme with the sweating disease and received the two worthie gentlemen, Henrie, Duke of Suffolk and his brother Lord Charles : I, seeing my Ladies Grace their mother taking their death most greeuously, could not otherwise for the dutie whiche I then did, and euer shall owe unto her, but comfort her in that her heauiness, the whiche undoubtedly at that time much weakened her bodie.' There is no mistaking the sincerity of his friendship. It is pleasant to read his gratitude for her patronage who was ' by birthe noble and witte great, of nature gentle and mercifull to the poore, and to the GodHe and especially to the learned an earnest good patronesse, and most helping ladie aboue all other*.

In the same year, 1 5 J i, which saw his first appearance as an author in the two epistles, Wilson published his first famous book, ' The Rule of Reason, conteyning the Arte of Logike, sette forthe in Englishe by Thomas Wilson.' In his dedication to King Edward he explains the reasons which led to its writing and publication. Hitherto students of logic have been obliged to have recourse to the ancient tongues J his object is to provide a textbook 'in the vulgar tongue '.

* I take not upon me so cunningly and perfectlie to haue written of the said arte, as though none could dooe it better j But because no Englishman untill now, hath gone through with this enterprise, I haue thought meet to declare that it may be dooen.' The book is based on Aristotle and makes no pretence at originality. ' I doe herein take vpon me no more,* he says, ' but to be as a poore meane manne, or a simple persone, whose charge were to bee a Lodesman, to conueigh some noble Princes, into a straunge lande.' The com- position of the book was apparently suggested by Richard Grafton, the King's printer, who had already helped the author at Cambridge.^

' ' The Printer hereof your Maiescies seruaunt, prouoked me first hereunto, vnto whom I haue euer founde myselfe greately beholdyng, not only at my being in Cambridge, but also at all tymes else when I most needed helpe.' Jinle »f Reason, Ep. Ded., ed. 1567.

Richard Grafton was the leading publisher of his time and issued the First Book of Common Prayer, Hall's OironicUs, and many other notable works.

Despite

X Introduction.

Despite his fears that ^ this fruit being of a straunge kind (soche as no Englishe ground hath before this tyme, and in this sorte by any tillage brought forthe) maie perhaps in the firste tastyng, proue some- what rough and harsh in the mouthe, because of the straungenesse ', the book had a considerable vogue. It was republished with cor- rections and additions in 1^67,^ and frequently reprinted later. Im- mediately after, encouraged by its success to continue his plan of making the sciences accessible to the unlearned, Wilson published The ^rte of I^morique. It was dedicated to John Dudley, Earl of Warwick and Master of Horse, to whom he tells us its inception was due. ' For whereas it pleased you, emong other talke of learning, earnestlie to wishe, that ye might one daie see the preceptes of Blntorik^ sette forthe by me in Englishe, as I had erste dooen the niles of Logike : hauyng in my countree this laste sommer, a quiete tyme of vacacion with Sir Edwarde Dymoke knighte : I trauailed so muche as my leasure might serve thereunto.' The book was published in ijjjj^and with its appearance his career as an author ceased for the time being, and he fell under the ban of religious persecution, *Hard shift,' says Fuller,^ ' he made to conceal himself in the reign of Queen Mary.* Eventually he was forced to quit the country and fly over seas.

* His subsequent career must be told in less detail. Its importance belongs to political and diplomatic rather than to literary history ; it is written in his dispatches at the Record Office, in State papers and the like, and could not be adequately treated within the limits which a preface imposes. In i n 5 the fall of Northumberland drove him abroad, and he travelled to Italy. In the same year we find him with Sir John Cheke in Padua. Two years later he pro-

' The 1567 edition is interesting as containing a passage cited from 'An enterlude, made by Nicholas Udall'. This is Jiatph Roister Doister, the date of which is fixed by the allusion.

- The statement of one bibliographer (see D, N. B.) that it was published at the same time as 77j« Rule of Reason, is undoubtedly wrong. No such edition exists; and the passage from the Dedication above quoted implies some time between the dates of writing.

^ Fuller's Worthies, ed. 18+0, vol. ii, p. 2.77.

ceeded

Introduction. xi

ceeded to Rome, and in December, l5J7j he became implicated in an intrigue at the Papal Court against Cardinal Pole. In January he was summoned by Philip and Mary to return to England and appear before the Privy Council. There can be no doubt what was the fate they had in store for him j Wilson apparently recognized the meaning of the summons j he paid no heed and was arrested in Rome by the Inquisition on a charge of heresy. His position was one of the greatest danger, and only the fortunate accident of an insurrection in the city prevented his death ; apparently he had been already put to the torture. The incident is described in a passage of gravity and dignity in * The Prologue to the Reader ', which he added to The ^rt of Hjmorique in 1560.' * Twoo yeres past, at my beyng in Italie, I was charged in Roome toune, to my greate daunger and vtter vndoyng (if God's goodnesse had not been the greater) to haue written this booke of Rhetorike and the Logike also, for the whiche I was compted an heretike, notwithstanding the absolution granted vnto all the realme, by Pope Julie the thirde, for all former offences or practises, deuised againste the holie mother Churche, as they call it . , . God be my ludge, I had then as little feare (although death was present and the tormente at hande, where- of I felte some smarte) as euer I had in all my life before. For, when I sawe those who did seeke my death to be so maliciously sette, to make soche poore shiftes, for my readier despatche and to burden me with these back reckeninges : I tooke soche courage, and was so bolde, that the ludges did moche maruaile at my stoutnesse.* The account is too long to quote in full j but it shows that the spirit of Ridley and Latimer fired other men not less ardently though martyrdom was only for a few. * In the ende,* he says, * by God's grace I was wonderfully deliuered, through plaine force of the worthie Romaines (an enterprise heretofore in that sorte neuer attempted) being then without hope of life, and moche lesse of libertie.* In i ^^9, before his return to England he was made an LL.D. of Ferrara, an honour which he afterwards received from his own university and from Oxford.

' See infra.

From

xii Introduction.

From if^o to the end of his life, Wilson was employed in State business. He was appointed Advocate of the Court of Arches and Master of Requests j he enjoyed the patronage, like so many other men of letters, of the Earl of Leicester, and he was employed with increasing frequency on diplomatic missions. Amongst his other posts he held that of Master of St. Catherine's Hospital in the Tower of London j his conduct there seems to have aroused much con- troversy. * Under Queen Elizabeth,' says Fuller,' '^ he was made master of the hospital of St. Catherine's nigh the Tower of London, upon the same token that he took down the choir, which my author saith (allow him a little hyperbole) was as great as the choir of St. Paul's. I am loath to believe it done out of covetousness to gain from the materials thereof, but would rather conceive it so run to ruin that it was past repairing.* Fuller's * author' was Stowe in whose Survey of London the charge against Wilson is made. What- ever the motive which drew him into the task of house-breaking, he was checked in his destructive career, and the ancient privileges of the Hospital were apparently confirmed on the presentation of ' an ernest address from the inhabitants to Secretary Cecyl, complainijig unto him against the said Master.^ ' It is unlikely that Stowe is right in alleging his action to have been for the sake of personal gain. Fuller's conjecture is the more charitable. The trial for treason of the Duke of Norfolk in 1571 ^ and the detention and examination of the prisoners (under torture) absorbed his attention as a Tower official and he dates his letters 'from prison in the Bloody tower '. In the following year he was sent along with Sir Ralph Sadler *to expostulate by way of accusation' with Mary, Queen of Scots. Two years later he was ambassador to the Nether- lands, and in IJ7^ conducted the negotiations for the projected marriage of Elizabeth with Anjou. On November ii, iJ79j he was sworn Secretary of State in place of Sir Thomas Smith.

» Fuller, ibid.

° Stowe, Survey of London, vol. i, p. 20j.

^ State Trialt, vol. i, pp. 9^7, 1017. Trial of the Duke of Norfolk. Wilson gave evidence ac the trial.

Meanwhile,

Introduction. xiii

Meanwhile, even under the pressure of State business (and Eliza- bethan officials were hardworked men) his pen was not idle. As early as I Jf6 he and Cheke had formed the project of a translation of Demosthenes into the English tongue. In 1570 there was published, being dedicated on June 10 of that year to William Cecil, 'Three Orations of Demosthenes, chiefe orator of the Grecians in fauour of the Olynthians . . . with those his foure Orations against King Philip of Macedonie ; most nedeful to be redde in these daungerous dayes of all them that loue their countries libertie and desire to take warn- ing for their better auayle.' Wilson is responsible for the whole of this translation, which is said to attain a high level of scholarship. As is made clear on the title page the work was intended to have a political significance. Philip of Macedon for the Englishman meant Philip of Spain:, and the lesson was enforced by a comparison of Athens and England in the preface. It is possible that the Government through Cecil commissioned Wilson to do the work j if so, he is the earliest of the long line of English authors who have used their pens in the service of politics. To be set side by side with Milton, Dryden, and Swift, to name only a few, is to be in no bad company. In his last publication he turned to the field of Economics. In 1572 he dedicated to Leicester 'a discourse on Usurye, by waye of Dialogue and Oracions '. The dialogue takes place between 'a rich worldly merchaunt, the godlie zealous Preacher, the Temporall and ciuil Lawyer ', who in turn make the orations. As might be supposed the rich and worldly merchant is confuted and the godly and zealous preacher triumphs. Usury is condemned, as it had been by Aristotle and the Canonists, on moral grounds. In doing so the author is expressing the opinion held by his own genera- tion } an Act of Parliament utterly forbidding the practice was passed the year before his treatise was published ; at the end of the century Shakespeare in The Aferchant of Venice takes the same standpoint. There is no wonder that the book was popular and much relished by the Church. In a prefatory letter to the author which appeared in the edition of 1584' the Bishop of Salisbury eulogizes the work.

' Qilptcd in the Geiitlemans liagazjney 183J, p. 471.

*If

xiv Introduction.

* If I were a usurer never so greedily bent to spoil and rapine, ut sunt foeneratores, yet would I think myself most unhappy if such persuasion could not move me.' The usurer did not prove so tract- able as the good bishop imagined, and modern ears remain alto- gether deaf to his appeal. These, with a Latin treatise which perhaps was a translation of part of the preface to Demosthenes, are all his published works. Antony Wood refers to 'other things which I have not yet seen '.' They have not come to the light since his time.

Wilson became Secretary of State, as we have seen, in 1579; he did not live above two years to enjoy the office. While he held it, he obtained a reputation for great ability and deep policy. Despite his long connexion with the Leicester party, he seems to have done his best to dissuade Elizabeth from identifying herself with it at the expense of Sussex. *His peculiar knack,' we are told, 'was a politic and artificial nourishing of hopes." ^ 'While he enjoyed the office of Secretary,' says Antony Wood, ' He became famous for three things (i) For quick dispatch and industry, (a) for constant diligence, and (3) for a large and strong memory.'^ His friendship and influence were much sought after,* and had he lived, he might have been a guide and patron to the new generation of poets and writers. As it was, he died while still in office in if 81, and his funeral was cele- brated on June 17 in St. Catherine's Church, East Smithfield. His portrait may be seen in the National Portrait Gallery.

His career presents him as a man closely in touch with the three greatest forces in the England of his time— the Renaissance, the Reformation, and the revival of the State under the Tudors. The last he served faithfully in many quarters. Whether we are to believe or not the statement of a seventeenth-century biographer ^

' Antony Wood, Fajti Oxoniensts, ed. 1711, p. 98.

* Lloyd, Statesmen and Favourites of England, since the Reformatiott, l66j. Quoted in Gentleman^s Magatj'ne, loc. cit.

3 Antony Wood, loc. cit.

* Gabriel Harvey counts him as ' my honourable fauourer'; he was one of the numerous friends from whom Harvey hoped advancement.

^ Lloyd in GtntUman't M.t^az.ine, ibid.

that

Introduction. xv

that his parents designed him for a life of letters and his own in- clination drove him into business, there can be no doubt as to his capacity. Says Fuller, speaking of his secretaryship, ' It argues his ability for the place because he was put into it ; seeing in those active times, under so judicious a queen, weakness might despair to be employed in such an office.' ' There is no reason to quarrel with this terse and just verdict. There is no mistaking his zeal for the Reformation. It shines through everything he wrcjte, and the reader of the Logike and the ^hetorike will have no cause to wonder at the papal persecution of his works. No opportunity is lost of driving a nail into the coffin of English Catholicism. Examples will be found on many pages of this book. The pre-Reformation period is 'the doting world when stockes were saintes and dumme walls spake*. He approves the marriage of priests and monks. 'And I thinke the Bishops officers would have procured this matter long agoe, if they had not found greater gaines by Priestes Lemmans then they were like to haue by priestes wiues.* The B^le of I^ason is one long Protestant tract in which the doctrines of Geneva are enforced by the apparatus of mediaeval logic. But though he loved Latimer as 'the father of all preachers' he was not blind to abuses in his own Church. ' Doe ye not see, how euery one catcheth and pulleth from the Church, what thei can ? I feare me one day, they wil pluck doune Church and all. Call you this the Gospell, when men seeke onely to prouide for their bellies, and care not a groate whether their soules go to Hell ? A patrone of a benefice, will have a poore ymgrame soule, to beare the name of a Parson, for twentie marke or ten pound : and the patron himselfe, wil take up for his snapshare, as good as a hundred marke. Thus God is robbed, learning decaied, England dishonoured, and honestie not regarded.'^ His part in the English Renaissance and the importance in it of The ^rte of ^hetorique must now be treated at more length.

' Fuller, ibid. ' P. 36.

II

xvi Introduction.

II

The Renaissance did not come to pass in a night. The forms of teaching and schemes of knowledge which we associate with the Middle Ages subsisted for long side by side with the new learning. It is the mediaeval division of arts and sciences which we find in Wilson's work. When he says in his preface to the ^rte of Logikcy that * divers learned menne, of other countries, have heretofore, for furtheraunce of knowledge, not suffered any of the sciences liberals, to be hidden in the Greke or Latine tongue, but haue with most earnest trauaile, made every of them familiare to their Vulgar people *, the liberal sciences he is thinking of are no other than the famous seven of mediaeval pedagogy. Later on in the book, he runs them into a rude kind of rime for the benefit of the learner.

Grammer doeth teach to utter wordes : To speake both apt and plaine. Zogike by Arte, settes forthe the truthc, And doeth tell what is vaine. ]{hetonl^e at large paintes well the cause. And makes that seem right gaie Whiche Logik^ spake but at a word And taught us by the waie. Musike with tunes, delites the eare : And makes us thinke it heauen. u4rithmetike by nomres can make Reckenynges to be euen. Geometrie thynges thicke and broade, Measures by line and square : ^stronomie by starres doeth tell j Of foule and eke of faire. '

All that the new zeal for learning worked for in the first instance, and all that Wilson pretended to do, was to make these accessible in the vernacular. Along with this went the breaking up of the older cyclopaedic system and the beginning of separate textbooks for each subject.

This is, however, only half the truth of the matter. Though

the

Introduction. xvii

the historian must needs deny the cleavage once imagined between the old and the new, the theory of a kind of tropical dawn, a sudden passage from light to darkness, he must admit that the change of outlook and purpose of life which we call the Renaissance, though it was gradual, was none the less complete. It meant a new beginning for the artist and the author as well as for the theologian, the adventurer, and the statesman. In the Middle Ages the ground- work of thought and letters was logic. It extended to every depart- ment of culture. Works of piety and the poetry of love, to take two of the largest and simplest kinds of writing, were founded on a logical attitude towards things. In the schools it was supreme j the trivium was threefold only in name j dialectic overshadowed both rhetoric and grammar. With the Renaissance, however, a complete revolution took place. Logic gradually went under, and rhetoric, reinforced by the reading of authors, took the highest place in the curriculum. What happened in education happened also in literature. The reading of the ancients awakened a new delight in the melody of language : men became intoxicated with the beauty of words. The practice and study of rhetoric was quickly universal and coloured all literature. The new drama, with its preference for declamatory speeches over dialogue j the new prose, with its fantasy and its exuberance of figure ; the new poetry, with its mythological allusive- ness and its sensuousness of imagery, all owe their origin to the fashion of rhetoric. ' Unless the school and university training in rhetoric are borne in mind, an important factor in accounting for the wealth of imagery and expression in the English literature of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries is overlooked.' ' Tamburlaine and Lucreccj Arcadia, and Euphues, a host of sonneteers — all come to the mind. It is no mere accident that Wilson's long translation of Erasmus's epistle to persuade a young gentleman to marriage reminds one of the first part of Shakespeare's sonnets. The same literary impulse dictated both. The order of his two treatises and the greater popularity of the ^hetorique represent a fact in the development of literature and thought.

' Prof. Foster Watson, Tlie English Grammar Schools to 1660.

A. RH. b This

xviii Introduction.

This is hardly the place in which to attempt a detailed history of the study of rhetoric in England,' but some of the most prominent books and writers may be briefly noticed. Of course a large part of the study of rhetoric was carried on directly from the ancient writers ; notably Cicero whom Ascham praised and held superior to all others of learning rhetoric, and Quinrilian, the idol of the teachers of that time. But the use of modern works was more usual. There were two books in the vulgar tongue before Wilson's : Cox's ^ru or Crafte of I^Ktorique and Sherry's Treatise of the figuret of Grammar and I\hetoricj prof table for all that he studious of eloquence. They were both schoolbooks, pure and simple. Wilson does not seem to have known them ; at any rate, in writing his treatise in English, he professes an innovation. Later Abraham Fraunce, author of several books for lawyers, published his Orcadian I^etoric (1588), designed to show the beauties of Sir Philip Sidney's Arcadia, and Richard Mulcaster combined Grammar and Rhetoric in one of the most popular treatises of the day. This combination was one of the most fortunate features in Tudor Education. Grammar was studied in the sixteenth century more broadly than it has been, perhaps, before or since. Both Ascham in his Scholemaster and Elyot in his Grammar minimize the importance of the formalities of grammatical study. 'Back to Quintilian,' the great ideal for which the Renaissance educationalists worked, means nothing so much as this, that grammar could not be studied independently of literature. The growth of rhetorical teaching went steadily on and for the seven- teenth century we have more information. Brinsley's Ludus Litter- arms^ or Grammar schoole (1^12), and Hoole's IVetp discovery of the old art of teaching schoole (1659), give many interesting particulars. We learn the way rhetoric was taught ; how the pupils kept a book with the headings of invention under which they entered subjects for exercise. We learn, too, much regarding the textbooks generally

' The thing has in some degree been done by Professor Foster Watson's recent book, Tin English Grammar Sclxiols to !i6o. Most of the above was written before 1 had an opportunity of reading it, but I have ventured to add one or two points from it which had escaped my own reading.

used

Introduction. xix

used in schools, none of which were in English. The most popular (it was greatly admired by Gabriel Harvey) appears to have been that of a Frenchman of the name of Talon who latinized himself as Talaeus. * For answering the questions of Rhetorike,* says Brinsley in one place, 'you may if you please, make them perfect in Talaeus' F^etorikcy which I take to be most used in schools.' He was run hard by English competitors, the chief of whom was Charles Butler, a member of Magdalen College, who published his ^hetorica: Libri Duo in 1598. In a later edition he quotes by way of preface the eulogy bestowed upon him by Brinsley, ' Instead of Talaeus you may use Master Butler's Floetorike, of ALigdalms in Oxford, being a notable abridgement of Talaeus ; making it most plaine and farre more easie to bee learned of scholers: and also supplying many things wanting in Talaeus ... it is not of much greater price though the worth be double.' Brinsley commends it further for its treatment of the figures belonging to poetry, and for its rules as to metre. One other famous book on Rhetoric deserves notice. This is Thomas Farnaby's Index Hbetoricusj a small but exceedingly well-constructed book. Like Wilson, its author had an adventurous career, for he began life as a postmaster at Merton College, and after sailing with Drake and Raleigh to the Main, and serving as a soldier in the Low Countries, settled down to his profession as an usher in a Devonshire school. Three years after he had commenced teaching, he was head- master of a large school of his own in London, with three hundred pupils and an educational system which was famous all over Europe. His Index he dedicated to a senator of Venice ; it had a continental as well as an English reputation. Of the others, and they are legion, there is no space here to deal at length and there is little profit and much tedium in a mere catalogue. Many will be found treated in Warton's History of Poetry^ which is, much more than its name implies, a history of all branches of literature, and which is particularly well informed on this period.

All these textbooks owe their system and their terminology to the ancient writers. Wilson is no exception to the rule. His book is a judicious compilation from Quintilian as far as the first two

b z books

XX Introduction.

books are concerned, while the third owes almost as much to Cicero. Yet the charge of plagiarism would be an idle one to prefer. The Elizabethans had none of our modern squeamishness about literary copyright, as the whole result of the study into Shakespeare's sources sadly witnesses. The words of the Player king in Hamlet,

Our thoughts are ours, their ends none of our own, sum up the author's point of view. And in writing on such a subject as Rhetoric there is a double excuse, for a science must have a received terminology, and it lies not with every new artist to invent new names for his colours or the processes that he uses. The terms and divisions of Quintilian were common property among his Renaissance imitators, and with this caveat we can turn to The ^rte of I^etorique without the danger of unjust censure.

The first book treats of certain preliminaries, such as what is an orator, what is rhetoric, with what subjects it deals and what is its end. Three things are required of an orator : that he should teach, that he should delight, and that he should persuade. The lessons of plainness, order, and directness are duly enforced, without which it is impossible either to delight or win over. The means by which Eloquence is attained leads the author to point out that the know- ledge of the art is of no avail without practice, which came before theory was invented } for *Rhetorique was first made by wisemen, and not wisemen by rhetorique *. Besides practice, five general qualities are necessary for the perfect orator. Invention, Disposition, Elocution, Memory, and Utterance. The first of these is now systematically treated ; and so a detailed account of the different causes and the 'places ' which confirm them completes the first book. The bulk of it, and the part which is of most interest to readers, is made up of the numerous examples which the author gives to enforce his instruction. Many varied kinds of oration are provided for the study of the pupil. Some of these are translated, but the bulk are from the author's own hand. Those on comfort we have already seen. The translation of Erasmus's epistle persuading a friend to marriage, and the example of praising King David for killing Goliath are perhaps the best of the statelier sort. Some of the

judicial

Introduction. xxi

judicial speeches, particularly that on p. 9s, to prove by conjectures the knowledge of a notable and heinous offence^ committed by a. Souldier^ when he forgets the solemnity of the occasion and begins to tell his story, are not without a kind of merit, though they show an entire ignorance of the rules of evidence. As a whole, however, the examples are of no great worth, as even the writer of an essay in praise of the book is bound to confess. His precept is unimpeachable, but plainness and directness, at once the most sought after and the most elusive of all literary qualities, are not so easily come by in practice, and cannot be had save by much striving. Moderns when they essay to write on the subject generally take their examples from authors of standing. We may admire Wilson for his coarage in taking the bolder course of original composition, but we Cannot help questioning his discretion.

The second book deals with Disposition, and in it the aathor gets to much closer grips with his subject. His method is to take each different part of an oration and discuss the various ways in which it may be treated. He begins with the Entrance, which may be treated in two ways, either the orator may plainly set forth what he is going to say and so win straight to the matter on hand or else he may proceed by insinuation, gaining his hearers' attention by some tale or by some strange thing, * that they all may quake at the onely hearing of the same ', His examples are aptest for pleading at the bar, but many will serve for the clergy also, of whose preaching he has a poor opinion ; for often, he says ' they beginne as much from the matter as it is betwixt Dover and Barwicke, whereat some take pitie and many for wearinesse can scant abide their beginmng, it is so long or they speake anything to the purpose '. Next comes Narration which should be brief, plain, and probable, and then Division which should declare the points at issue between the orator and his adversary. The Confirmation in which he must prove his point and the Conclusion in which he should sum all up for the benefit of the hearers complete the scheme. There follows a discussion of the figure Amplification, that is a storing of sentences and examples which shall help to win favour or move affections.

Under

xxii Introduction.

Under this head we get Wilson's treatment of Mirth and Laughter and the best means by which these may be used by the rhetorician. Elocution, Memory, and Utterance are dealt with in the third and last book. Of these the first consists in an account of the Figures or Tropes, largely based on Cicero, each furnished with examples, mainly from the classical writers. The sections on Memory and Utterance, as they are the last, are also the best part of the book. In them he is less bound by his models j his hand is freer and has gained in expertness j the clumsiness of style which tries the reader's patience in the earlier parts is absent, because his subject holds him more imperiously than before. They may be commended to those who wish to see Wilson at his best. It is not great prose, but it is vigorous, living, and unaffected, and it comes nearer to fulfilling the precepts of its author than anything else in the ^rte of I^hetcrtque.

The formalities of Rhetoric are no more cheerful reading in Wilson than in any other author who treats of the subject. Fortunately the space at his disposal allowed him much opportunity for wandering a little from the matter at hand and giving his verdict on men and things. Many of his friends are mentioned or alluded to in his pages. A reference to Latimer we have already seen ; Walter Haddon is the best ' Latine man ' in England. Sir John Cheke's arrival at Cambridge from the court to take up the provost- ship of King's College gives occasion for one of the best anecdotes in the book (p. 1^4). The proverbs of Hey wood, 'whose paines in that behalf are worthy immortal praise,' are mentioned with eulogy more than once. Ascham is not named, but we learn that 'bowes are not esteemed as they haue beene among vs Englishmen, but if we were once well beaten by our enemies, we should soone know the want, and with feeling the smart, lament much our folly ', and it is plain enough where he learned these doctrines. Passing from his personal references to his opinions and prejudices, the reader is most struck, perhaps, by the Protestant zeal which we have already noticed and which shines through every page of the book. But the statesman is there as well as the reformer. The direction

and

Introduction. xxiii

and reorganization of industry which ended in the Statute of Apprentices and the proceedings in check of vagrancy are both treated of under the head of Justice or True Dealing. ' Thankcs be to God, wee hang them apace, that offend a lawe, and therefore, wee put it to their choyce, whether they wilbe idle, and so fall to stealing or no ? they knowe their reward, goe to it when they wil. But if therewithal some good order were taken for the education of youth, and setting loyterers on worke (as thanks be to God, the Citie is most godlie bent that way) all would sone be well, without all doubt.' The inclosure of the Common Lands finds in Wilson a strong supporter. * Commons or Equalitie,' he says, 'is when the people by long time have a ground . . . the whiche some of them will keepe still for custome sake, and not suffer it to be fenced, and so turned to pasture, though they might gain ten times the value : but such stubburnesse in keeping of commons for custome sake, is not standing with justice, bicause it is holden against all right.' To comment, however, on the idiosyncrasies and tastes which he displays to his reader is a work of too great magnitude to be attempted herej the curious will find material enough on almost every page.

Besides these the book is enlivened with many anecdotes. They serve one of two purposes ; either they are meant to enforce a point or enliven the tedium of his discourse, or else they are given as samples of the kind of entertainment an orator should interpose to lighten the effect of the weightier message he has to tell. Some of them are of historical or personal interest, such as that of the Spaniard who watched the burning of a heretic at Smithfield (p. 138), or that of the rebel priest in Norfolk, or the stoiy of the Cambridge lecturer who would not face his audience ; others are of the perennial sort which pass from age to age, and from country to country, which find no difficulty in achieving a local habitation and name in all climates, and are not abashed or estranged by any kind of company. The story of the sentry and the abbot, for instance, appears from time to time even in our own day in newspapers ; many others are under the same category. The author's treatment of his stories is not always

free

xxiv Introduction.

free from carelessness of a disconcerting kind. He sometimes begins a tale and fails to finish it. In this way perishes the story of the archdeacon and the young man, which began with much promise ; the archdeacon had inveighed in the tone of Sir Andrew Aguecheek against the multitude of heretic and vain preachers : 'You say euen troth (quoth the yong man) and so went forth : but to tell all, I had neede to haue time of another world, or at least to haue breath of another bodie.' Sometimes he begins a tale for edification and then his baser nature carries him away and the matter becomes one of scurrility and jest. So the story of the poor hermit, perhaps the best in the book, abruptly passes from a denunciation of the carnal living of the Religious to a frank enjoyment of the favourite subject of Elizabethan humour in which the laughter is all on the side of the hermit. Wilson is catholic in the extreme as regards his sources. For ' moving sport by old tales ' he recommends the stories of King Arthur and the Round Table, ' the which,' in the opinion of his friend Ascham, * are nothing else than open manslaughter and bold bawdrie.' The bulk of his anecdotes, however, deal with the ancients, and particularly with Diogenes and Cicero. These he took bodily from a contemporary collection — The ^pophthegmes of Erasmus — translated into English by his friend Nicholas Udall and first published in the year IJ4^- Udall designed his work to be for * the most pleasant and the same most honeste, profitable and holsome readyng of all maner men, and especially of nobel men*, and to this purpose Wilson borrowed the portions he used in The ylrte of I{hetoriquc. There can be no doubt as to the identity of the source ; most of the classical stories can be traced to this book. Sometimes Wilson fills up his page by taking two together as they follow one another in Udall's work, as for instance, the two Cicero stories on p. Ij5, in the first of which he writes Vibius Curius, where the original had lubius Curtius, a fact which indicates that his method was both hurried and unscrupulous. But these stories, carelessly chosen and thrown in by haphazard as they are, point to the future supremacy of the lives of the Greeks and Romans as moral teachers to the modern world. Plutarch had not yet been

translated

Introduction. xxv

translated and students had to be content with the casual and secondhand information they gleaned from Erasmus. With the coming of Amyot and North began that intelligent and anxious study of the lives of the ancients from the rrtost beautiful and dignified account of them that the world possesses, which was to have such momentous consequences in the next age, and was destined to lead Europe a far cry from the path of social and political advance which the sixteenth century trod.

The philologist will find little to interest him in this book j unlike Mulcaster, Wilson touches not at all the study of language. He does preserve a number of old and obsolete words — ' snap- share,* 'yngrame,* * haultie,* 'nesh,' are a few — but his instinct was to distrust any word not in daily use, and he hated archaism as much as he did the inkhorn term. The student of style on the other hand will find him an instructive example of a certain stage in the development of English prose. The intention is plain enough ; he desired to write as men spoke ; to use no words and no constructions not already familiar to all his readers. Yet he utterly failed to carry this out in practice. There is a clumsiness and ineffectiveness of syntax which makes the expression of any abstract idea impossible or at best halting ; it shows itself most prominently in his constant use of participial nouns, particularly in his definitions. Insinuation is ' a priuie twining or close creeping in * j a conclusion is ' the handsomely lapping vp together, and brief heaping of all that which was said before, stirring the hearers by large vtteraunce, and plentiful gathering of good matter, either the one way or the other '. It is easy enough to see that prose as an instrument of instruction or a means of expressing ideas is in its infancy here. The later Elizabethans found that Latinism was a safer road than that which Wilson and his fellows in their poverty trod, and the ideals ofCheke had to wait for their acceptance and their success till the days of Dryden. Yet Wilson was not free from extravagances of a kind incident to the practice of his art, and these are woith looking into as a possible clue to the origin of the most popular type of English prose in the generation which followed him. The historians tell us

that

xxvi Introduction.

that Euphuism is older than Euphues, but they have failed to notice that the English study of rhetoric provides a much better indication of its origin than do the imagined influences of Italy and Spain. It is very easy to exaggerate the cosmopolitanism of literary effort ; and an English source for this affectation is in the nature of things more likely than a foreign. Now, the recipe, so to speak, of Euphuism is to be found in The ^rte of I^hetori^ue. By this is not meant that we claim that Wilson's book taught Lyly his secret ; only that it was through the fashionable study of rhetoric in the literary coteries of the time that this manner of writing was evolved. Examples of what is meant abound in this book. One or two characteristics may be noted here. In the first place, one of the most prominent features of Lyly's style was its adornment with metaphors drawn from natural history of a legendary kind ; this is recommended by Wilson when he talks of the use of similitudes : — ' Oftentimes brute beasts and thingcs which haue no life, minister great matter in this behalf. Therefore those that delite to prove thinges by similitudes, must learn to knowe the nature of diuers beastes, of metailles, of stones, and all such as haue any vertue in them, and be applied to man's life.' Passages such as the following occur many times, and they all have the ring of Euphues about them. ' For if fclicitie should stand by length of time, some tree were more happie than any man, for it liueth longer, and so likewise brute beastes, as the Stagges, who liueth (as Plinie doth say) two hundred years and more.' Here is both the natural history and the ascription of the fact to the ancients, a favourite method with the Euphuists. But other characteristics are also to be found in these pages. The full-mouthed rhetoric of the later writer finds an anticipatory echo, so to speak, in such a passage as this : — ' For if they that walke much in the sunne, and thinke not of it, are yet for the most part sunne burnt, it can not but be that they which wittingly and willingly trauail to counterfect other, must necdes take some colour of them and be like unto them in some one thing or other, according to the prouerbe, by companying with the wise, a man shal learn wiscdome : ' or in a translation such as that which Wilson

gives

Introduction. xxvii

gives on p. 18^, of Tally's invective against Vcrres, a passage which shows that a large part of the Euphuistic manner was derived from the imitation of Cicero practised by the teachers and students of rhetoric in the schools. The connexion of Wilson with the Litera- ture of the reign of Elizabeth must now (as he would say) be set forth more at large.

III

We talk too loosely when we extend the patronage of Elizabeth foi-ward and backward outside the limits of her actual reign. Though Wilson served the queen faithfully as an ambassador and counsellor for twenty most eventful years of peril and stress, he can- not with any justice be termed an Elizabethan. The word fits best the high sense of glory and achievement which sprang upon the nation after the destruction of Spain and lasted till the inexplicable apparition of unsought melancholy which saddened the reign of James. Wilson died while the issue of the fight was still undecided ; in truth he belongs to an elder and graver age. His companions were no splendid courtiers nor daring and hardy adventurers j still less were they swashbucklers, exquisites or literary dandies. He was one of a band of grave and dignified scholars, men preoccupied with morality and citizenship as well as with the lighter problems of learmng and style. They fought for sound education, for good classical scholar- ship, for the purity of written English, and behind all these for the strength and worth of the native English character, which they felt was menaced by the reckless orgy of assimilation which seized young England face to face with the allurements which reached it from abroad. It was not difficult to discern from which quarter the danger came. Its eminence as the fount and origin of the revived learning had led English scholars to Italy early in the sixteenth century, and the path was worn hard with the steady stream of their feet for over a hundred years after. This could not be without its influence on the manners of the nation, and indeed the fears of the

prophets

xxviii Introduction.

prophets of evil did not prove groundless. There followed in the train of the men of learning the men of fashion, eager to con and copy the new manners of a society whose moral teacher was Machiavellij whose patterns of splendour were the courts of Florence and Ferrara. The effect on England was not long in showing itself, and it lasted for more than two generations. Coryat, writing well within the seventeenth century, is as enthusiastic as the authors who began the imitation of Italian metres, in Tottel's Miscellany ; the rod of censure is wielded as sternly in the satires of Donne and Hall as it had been by Ascham fifty years before. The danger feared was a real one no doubt, yet the evil was not unmixed with good, for insularity will always be a foe to good literature. The Elizabethans learned much more than their plots from their Italian models. Improvements in dress, in the comforts of life and in the amenities of society all came this way, nor were the worst effects dreaded by the patriots ever planted on our shores. Italian vice stopped short of real life; poisoning and hired ruffianism flourished in the theatre merely. All this, however, is later than our author's period. He and his companions only foresaw the danger ahead ; they laboured to meet it as it came. The brunt of the contest was borne by Ascham ; in the Scholemaster (the passage is too trite to make quotation possible) he inveighs against the translation of Italian books and the corrupt manners in living and the false judgement in doctrine which they breed. Wilson, perhaps because he knew his Italy better, perhaps with some memory of the service done him by the citizens of Rome in his time of peril, is much less outspoken than his fellows. The Italianate Englishman, instead of being specially singled out for damnation, finds himself classed with all who have come out of foreign parts. * Some farre iourneyed gentleman at their returne home, like as they loue to goe in forraine apparell, so wil thei pouder their talke with ouersea language. He that commeth lately out of Fraunce, will talke Frensh English and neuer blush at the matter. An other chops in with English Italicnated, and applieth the Italian phrase to our English speaking, the which is, as if an Oratour that professeth to vtter his mind in plaine Latine, would

needcs

Introduction. xxix

needes speake Poetiie, and fane fetched colours of straunge antiquitie." It is plainly only the man of letters who speaks here.

But if he was a laggard in the matter of the Italianate English- man, in the battle of style and language he fought in the van. In estimating the influence of his book it must be observed that what- ever he and his party achieved of practical result was probably due to his efforts. The ^rte of I\hetorique not only treated the matter much more systematically, but it reached a much wider public than Cheke or Haddon or Ascham commanded. The attack was de- livered at three points. It was directed against undue Latinism, against archaism, and against affectations borrowed from foreign tongues. The last need not detain us ; his attitude towards it has already been noticed. But the question of ' inkhorn terms ' requires larger treatment. The word seems to have been first used about the year l?43, and it speedily became popular as a nickname for this vice in writing. The leader of this movement against Latinism was Sir John Cheke, and his attitude need cause no surprise. That the leading scholar of his day should be the chief opponent of the triumph of the classics as a source of English vocabulary is no more inexplicable a paradox than that which is presented by the literary history of a century and a half later when Bentley championed the cause of modern literature in the battle of the books. Both fought against men of far less scholarship than them- selves, and Cheke, at any rate, knew and loved his own literature and had its welfare deeply at heart. In the introductory letter to Thomas Hoby, which he wrote as preface to the latter's translation of Castiglione's Courtier , he gives a plain statement of his case. 'I am of this opinion that our own tung shold be written cleane and pure, vnmixt and vnmangeled with borowing of other tunges, wherein if we take not heed by tijm, ever borowing and neuer payeng, she shal be fain to kep her house as bankrupt. For then doth our tung naturallie and praisable vtter her meaning, when she boroweth no counterfeitness of other tunges to attire herself withall, but vseth plainlie her owne, with such shift, as nature, craft, experiens and folowing of other excellent doth lead her vnto, and if she want

by

XXX Introduction.

by any tijm (as being imperfight she must) yet let her borow with suche bashfulness, that it mai appear, that if either the mould of our own tung could serve us to fascion a woord of our own, or if the old denisoned words could content and ease this neede, we wold not boldly venture of vnkuown wordes.*

Wilson entered on the campaign with vigour. * I know them that thinke Rhetorique standeth wholie vpon darke wordes, and hee that can catch an inkhorne terme by the taile, him they coumpt to be a fine Englisheman, and a good Rhetorician.' He inveighs against the unlearned or foolish fintasticall, ' soch fellowes as haue seen learned men in their daies,* who so Latin their tongue that the simple think they speake by some revelation, and he gives as an example his famous letter * deuised by a Lincolnshire man, for a voyde benefice '. — ' Such a letter that William Sommer himselfc, could not make a better for that purpose.' In his translation of Demosthenes ten years later, he returns to the subject. 'I had rather follow his veyne (he is speaking of Demosthenes) the which was to speake simply and plainly to the common people's vnder- standing, than to overflouryshe with superfluous speach, although 1 might thereby be counted equall with the best that euer wrate Englysh.' His model in writing was such a style as Latimer's, that is to say, the pure speech of the common people. He was too wise not to see that the avoidance of classicisms might be pushed to extremes. * Now whereas wordes be receiued as well from Greekc as Latine, to set forth our meaning in the English tongue, either for lack of store, or els because we would enrich the language ; it is well doen to use them, and no man therein can be charged for any affectation, when all other are agreed to followe the same waie. There is no man agreeued when he heareth (Letters Patents) and yet patent is Latine, and signifieth open to all men.^ There can be no doubt as to the sanity and justice of his attitude and doubtless many good Saxon words were saved in the crusade which would otherwise have been lost, for their nature makes them difficult to recover if once they fill out of use. But there were not wanting strong opponents to Wilson and Cheke. George Pettie,

one

Introduction. xxxi

one of a number of writers who made their bread out of the detested style of composition, boldly championed the- cause of Latinism and ornament. * It is not unknown to all men,* he says, ' how many words we have fetcht from hence within these few" yeeres, whiche if they should all be counted inkpot tearmes, I know not how we shall speake anie thing without blacking our mouthes with inke.' There is reason in the criticism ; Cheke and his followers did go too far, while safety, in this case as in most, lay in the mean. Yet their efforts were not without fruit, for the worst excesses never took a strong grip of English prose ; that it was saved is not so much due to their precepts as critics as to their work as translators.

The shafts which Wilson directs against archaism are no less keen though their effect was less. He puts his arguments into the mouth of an ancient philosopher.

' Phamrintis the Philosopher (as Gel/ius telleth the tale) did hit a yong man ouer the Thumbes very handsomely, for vsing ouer old, and ouer straunge wordes. Sirha (quoth he) when our oldc great auncesters and Graundsires were aliue, they spake plainly in their mothers tongue, and vsed olde language, such as was spoken then at the building of Roome. But you talke me such a Latine, as though you spake with them euen now, that were two or three thousand yeres agoe, and onely because you would haue no man to vnderstand what you say. Now, were it not better for thee a thousande fold, (thou foolish fellowe) in seeking to haue thy desire, to holde thy peace, and speake nothing at all ? For then by that meanes, fewe should knowe what were thy meaning. But thou saiest, the olde antiquitie doth like thee best, because it is good, sober, and modest. Ah, liue man, as they did before thee, and speake thy mind as men doe at this day.'

Now, the return to Chaucer is by far the most striking feature of the revival of English letters. We are accustomed to hear from the historians of the introduction and imitation of Italian metres by the authors of Tottel's AtiscelUny^ but in reality their indebtedness to the older English poets is far more obvious and much better worth noting. It is not merely the direct references to Chaucer nor the acknowledged quotations from his work. The whole spirit of the verse both of Surrey and Wyatt is caught from him. The opening

lines

xxxii Introduction.

lines of the first poem in the volume, written by Surrey, are pure Chaucer : —

The Sonne hath twise brought furth his tender grene. And clad the earth in lustie loueliness.

In the second we get the ^soote season' and all the Chaucerian language of spring. Wyatt is no less firm in his allegiance. There is no mistaking the source of the rhythm of such a passage as this : —

He knoweth, how grete Atride that made Troy freat.

And Hanniball, to Rome so troubelous :

Whom Homer honored, Achilles that great,

And Thaffricane Scipion the famous :

And many other, by much nurture glorious :

Whose fame and honor did bring them aboue :

I did let fall in base dishonest loue.

The minor authors who contributed to the collection fell also under the spell.

Full faire and white she is and White by name :

There is no need to multiply instances. As Wilson scornfully says, ' The fine courtier wil talkc nothing but Chaucer,' and the fine courtier was to be the saving of English verse. Wilson and his companions, in attacking Latinisms and language borrowed from the older poets, were attacking the two most precious sources of the Elizabethan poets' vocabulary. All the sonorousness, dignity, and beauty of Spenser and the dramatists would have been lost had they succeeded in their object, and English poetry would have been starved into the warped and ugly forms of Sternhold and Tusser. We cannot, then, regret that their efforts failed, as they did. For all their learning and high morality, they were not fit teachers j their moral preoccupations made it impossible that they should be so. Their ideal reappeared and was fulfilled late in the seventeenth century when fant.isy and imagery had worn themselves out and the greater richness of the language made simplicity possible and adequate for poetic speech.

There

Introduction. xxxiii

There remains a matter of special interest. From time to time there have been critics who suggested that traces of the reading of The ^rte of Elntorique might be found in Shakespeare. Nathan Drake, a student of Shakespeare whose wide knovvledge of minor Elizabethan literature should have saved him from the neglect into which he has fallen, suggested that the character of Dogberry might be derived from Wilson. 'An other good fellowe of the countrey, being an Officer and Maior of a toune, and desirous to speake like a line learned man, hauing just occasion to rebuke a runnegate fellowe, said after this wise in a great heate. Thou yngrame an vacation knaue, if I take thee anymore within the circumcision of my dampnation : I will so cori-upt thee, that all other vacation knaues shall take illsample by thee.' There is sufficient similarity to warrant the suggestion, but much more certain evidence of Shakespeare's reading of Wilson is to be found ; it lies, as might be expected, in Love's Labour's Lost. There can be no doubt from this play that Shakespeare had read some Rhetoric, that he found it tedious and dull and fit matter only for ridicule and laughter. It is the formal rhetoric which he satirizes ; its schemes and its technical terms. « I will look again on the intellect of the letter,' says Holofernes, 'for the nomination of the party writing to the person written unto.' The word here is Wilson's Intellection, which is 'a trope, when we gather or iudge the whole by the part, or part by the whole *• But Holofernes was not the only student of The ^rte of Y^etoriqne in the company gathered in Navarre. Don Armado culled some of the splendour of his speech from this source. His letter to Jaqucnetta is modelled on one of Wilson's examples. He is writing of King Cophetua : —

' He it was that might rightly say Veni, vidi, vici ; which to annothanize in the vulgar, — O base and obscure vulgar ! — videlicet, He came, saw, and overcame : he came, one ; saw, two ; overcame, three. Who came ? the king : why did he come ? to see : why did he see ? to overcome : to whom came he ? to the beggar : what saw he ? the beggar : who overcame he ? the beggar. The conclusion is victory : on whose side ? the king's. The captive is enriched: on whose side? the beggar's. The catastrophe is a nuptial:

A. RH. c on

xxxiv Introduction.

on whose side ? the king's : no, on both in one, or one in both. I am the l^^ing ; for so stands the comparison : thou the beggar : for so witnesseth thy lowliness.'

All this follows the questions appended to the Example of com- mending King David given below p. ir. It is quite possible that other evidence of Shakespeare's acquaintance with Wilson's work might yet be found j a certain knowledge of it can be proved beyond doubt.'

That sort of criticism which consists in the resurrection of dead reputation, or in the re-erection of broken monuments, is not apt to be the most sound. It is not pretended here that The ^rte of ^hetorique is a great book. But that it has an historical interest apart from, and independent of, its real merits has perhaps been shown in these pages. No treatise on Rhetoric can ever be anything more than a kind of tool-box with whose contents the novice may try his hand, and in a case of this sort there is neither best nor worst. If he has talent and imagination he will use his tools well, however poor they be ; if not, he will be a botcher at the best, even if they are good. The words of Theseus may be applied with greater truth in this matter than in that of which he used them : * The best of this kind are but shadows j and the worst are no worse if imagination mend them.*

I have to acknowledge the help and suggestions of Professor Raleigh, and of Professor Grierson of Aberdeen University, and the courtesy of Mr. R. B. McKerrow, who kindly lent me his copy of the very rare edition of i $60.

' The reference to Timon on p. 55 lias been thought to have suggested Tlmon if Athens. It is possible that the panegyric of order on p. ijy may have sug- gested the speech of Ulysses in Troilus and CressicU, Act. I. Sc. iii. There is little similarity between the two, save in idea, but the passage in Shakespeare looks as though it were based on a particular reminiscence of his reading. Professor Raleigh has pointed out [Shakespeare, E. M. L.) the similarity of some of Wilson's speeches to those of FalstafF.

George Herbert Mair.

Oxford, December, 1508.

NOTE

This book is a reprint of the edition of i j8f, which is stated on its title-page to be taken from that of 1S67. As it contains many errors (for the most part typographical and due to carelessness) it has been collated with the edition of 1^67, and with that of if 60 (which is the edhio princess). The latter has so far been regarded as non-existent ; none of the great libraries contain a copy. I am indebted to Mr. R. B. McKerrow for the loan of one in his possession. The first edition (that of 15 J3) is quite incompletCj and was revised and added to (see Prologue to the I^eader),

THE

Art of Rhe-

torique,fbr die vfc of

ailfuch as are jindious

of Eloquence .fet forth

in Enghpi, ly Tho-

masWillon.

^^ni now nncly fet forth 4-

^mitixith a 'Trelogus

ftthel^tader,

IJ67.

^Imprinted at London , by

Ctfir^e RobtJiJen, 1585.

4 U& ii

''"^^^z^^-

5TO THE RIGHT HO-

nourable Lorde lohn Dudley^

Lorde Lijle^ Erie of Wanvicke^ and

Maifter of the Horfe to the Kinges

Maiejiie : your ajfured to

commaund, Tho-

mas fVilfon.

TyjT^H^^ t'irrhus Kjng of the Epirotes made r r battaile againfl the Romaines^ and could neither by force of armes^ nor yet by any policie winne certaine flrong Holdes : He vfed commonly to fend one Cineas {a noble Orator^ and fometimes Scholer to De- moflhenes) to perjwade with the Captaines and people that were in them^ that they fhould ye eld vp the [aide Hold or Torvnes without fight or refiflaunce. And fo it came to pajje^ that through the pithie elo- quence of this noble Orator^ diuers firong Cafielles and FortreJJes were peaceably giuen vp into the handes of Pirrhus^ which he Jloould haue found very hard and tedious to winne by the fworde. And this thing was not Piirhus himjelfe ajljamed in his

A.ij. com-

The Epiftle.

common talke^ to the praife of the faid Orator open- ly to cmfejje : alledging that Cineas through the elo- quence of his tongue^ wanne moe Cities vnto him^ then euer himfelf JJjould els haue heene able by force to fubdue. Good mas that Orator that could doe fo much : ^ wife was that King which would vfe fuch a meane. For if the worthinejje of Eloquence maie mooue vsy what worthier thing can there bee^ then with a word to winne Cities and whole Countries? If profite maie perfwade^ what greater gaine can we hauCy then without bloudJJjed achiue to a Cunquejl ? If pleafure maie prouoke vs^ what greater delite doe wee knowe^ then to fee a whole multitude^ with the onely talke of man^ rauijljed and draivne which way he liketh befi to haue them f Boldly then may I aduenture^ and without fear e ft ep forth to offer that vnto your LordJInp^ which for the dignitie is fo ex- cellenty and for the vfefo iieceffarie: that no man ought to be without it^ which either JIj all beare rule ouer manyy or mufl haue to doe with matters of a l{ealme. Confdertng therefore your LordJIjips high eflate and worthie callings I knowe nothing more fitting with your Honor^ then to the gift of good reafon and vnderflanding^ wherewith we fee you notablie endued^ to ioyne the pefeHio7i of Eloquent

vtte-

The Epiftle.

vtteraunce. And hecauje that ajwell by your Lord- JJjtppes mofi tender imbracing of all Juch as he learned^ as aljo by your right Jludious exercife: you do euidently declare^ not onely what eflimation you haue^ of all learning and excellent qualities in gene- rally but alfo what a fpeciall dejire and affeUion^ you heare to Eloquence: I therefore^ conimend to your Lordjljippes tuition and patronage^ this treatife of Rhetorique^ to the enae that ye may get fome fur- ther aunce by the fame^ & I alfo be dif charged of my faithful! prom if e^ this lajl yere made vnto you. For^ whereas it pleafed you among other talke of lear- nings earnefily to wifh^ that ye might one day fee the preceptes of Rh e to rique^ fet forth by me in En- glijh^ as I had erfl done the rules of Logicke : hauing in my countrey this lafl Sommer^ a quiet time of va- cation^ with the right worfjipfull Sir Edward Dim- moke IQiight: I trauailed fo much^ as my leafure might ferue thereunto^ not onely to declare my good hearty to the f^tiffying of your requefl in that be- half ey but alfo through that your motion^ to helpe the towardnejje of fome other ^ not fo well furnijljed as your LordJJjip is.

For^ as touching your felfe, by the time that per- feH experience^ of manifolde and weightie matters

A. iij. of

The Epiftle.

of the Commonweale^ Jljall haue encreafed the Elo-

quencey which alreadie doth naturally jlowe in you :

I doubt nothings but you will fo farre be better then

this my Booke^ that I Jljall not onely blujh to

chalenge you for a Scholer^ in the Art of l^jetorique^

by me rudely fet forth : but alfo be driuen to fet this

Jimple treatife^ to your Lordjlnp to Schooky that it

may leame Rhetorique of your daylie talke^ findingyou

fuch an Oratour in your fpeech^ as great Clarhes do

declare what an Oratour Jljould bee. In the meane

feafon^ IJJjal right humbly befeech your good Lord-

Jljip^fo to be a patrone and defendour of thefe

my labour Sy to you dedicated: as I jljall

be a continual petitioner vnto al-

mightie God^for your pre-

feruation^ and long

continuance

A Prologue to the

Reader.

GREAT may their boldnefle bee thought, that feeke without feare to fett foorth their knowledge : & fufFer their doinges to be fene, they care not of whom. For, not onely thereby doe they bring men to thinke, that they ftand much in their owne conceipt, but alfo they feeme to alTure themfelues, that all men will like whatfoeuer they write. Wherein they commit two great faults : the one is, that they are proud : the other is, that they are fond. For, what greater pride can there be, then for any man to thinke him- felf to be wifer, then all men liuing ? Or what greater folly can be immagined, then for one to thinke, that all men will like, whatfoeuer he writeth? Such are they for the moft part by all likelihood, that doe fet forth Bookes. Wherein they doe both betray them felues, and alfo giue great occafion to the world, to talke largely of them. But al thofe that doe write, are not fuch as 1 fay, nor meane not as I thinke, as the which are wife and learned men, writing onely vnder the correction of others, to edifie their neighbour, and not feeking in any wife their own glorie. Neither all that bee Readers will talke their pleafures, but rather ftay their iudgements, and weye things with reafon. Some perhappes may like the writer, if his doinges bee good, but the moil part vndoubtedly muft of force bee offended, as the which are corrupt of iudge- ment, becaufe they are nought. Then fuch as feeke the greateft praife for writing of Bookes, fliould do beft in my fimple minde to write foolifli toyes, for then the moft part would beft efteeme them. And herein perhappes may I get fome aduauntage, that in my yong yeares, haue bene bold to fet forth my fimple fantafies. For, in follie, I dare compare with the proudeft, and in pride I dare match with him that is moft foolifli : not doubting to finde fuch fellowes, that not onely will feeke to be egall vnto me, and perhappes excell me, but alfo fuch as will therein right well efteeme me.

A.iiii Cicero

KyfTrohgue to the Reader,

Cicero in his fecond Booke de Oratore^ bringeth in one L.u- dlius^ a pleafaunt and merle conceipted man, who faith, that he would not haue fuch thinges as he wrote to bee read, either of thofe that were excellently learned, or of them that were altogether ignoraunt. For, that the one would thinke more of his doinges, and haue a farther meaning with him, then euer the audhour felfe thought; the other taking the booke in his hand, would vnderftand nothing at all, being as meete to reade Audhours, as an Affe to play on the Organnes. This man in thus faying, had fome reafon. But 1 being fomewhat acquainted with the world, haue found out an other fort of men, whom of all others, I would bee loth fliould reade any of my doinges : efpecially fuch things as either touched Chrift, or any good dodrine. And thofe are fuch maUcious folke, that loue to finde faults in other mens matters, and feuen yeares together wil keepe them in ftore, to the vtter vndoing of their Chriftian brother : not minding to reade for their better learning, but feeking to depraue whatfoeuer they finde, and watching their time, will take beft aduauntage to vndoe their neighbour. Such men 1 fay of all others, would I be loth to haue the fight, of any myne earneft doinges, if I could tell how to forbid them, or how to hinder them of their purpofe.

Two yeares paft at my beeing in Italie, I was charged in Roome Towne, to my great daunger and vtter vndoing (if Gods goodnede had not bin the greater) to haue written this Booke of Rhetorique^ & the Logicke alfo, for the which I was coumpted an Hereticke, notwithfiranding the abfolution, graunted to al the Realme, by Poj>e lulie the third, for al for- mer offences or pradifes, deuifed againft the holie mother Church, as they call it. A flraunge matter, that thinges done in England feuen yeres before, and the fame vniuerfally for- giuen, fliould afterwards be layd to a mans charge in Roome, But what cannot malice doe ? Or what will not the wilfull deuife, to fatiffie their mindes, for vndoing of others ? God be my ludge, I had then as little feare (although death was prefent, and the torment at hand, wherof 1 felt fome fmart) as euer I had in all my life before. For, when I faw thofe that did feeke my death, to bee fo malicioufly fet, to make fuch poore Ihitts for my readier difpatch, and to burden me with

thofe

o^ TroJogue to the Reader.

thofe backe reckeninges : I tooke fuch courage, and was fo bolde, that the Judges then did much maruaile at my ftoutneffe, and thinking to bring doune my great heart, told me plainly, that I was in farther perill, then wherof I was aware, and fought therupon to take aduauntage of my words, and to bring me in daunger by all meanes poflible. And after long debating with me, they willed me at any hand to fubmit my felfe to the holy Father, and the deuout Colledge of Cardinalles. For otherwife there was no remedie. With that beeing fully purpofed, not to yeeld to any fubmiffion, as one that little trufted their colourable deceipt : I was as ware as I could bee, not to vtter any thing for mine owne harme, for feare I flioulde come in their daunger. For then either fliould I haue dyed, or els haue denyed both openly and fliamefully, the knowne trueth of Chrift and his Gofpell. In the endebyGods grace, I was wonderfully deliuered, through plain force of the worthie Romaines (an enterprife heretofore in that fort neuer attempted) being then without hope of life, and much leile of libertie. And now that I am come home, this booke is fhewed me, and I defired to looke vpon it, to amend it where I thought meet. Amend it, quoth I? Nay, let the booke firft amende it felfe, and make mee amendes. For furely I haue no caufe to acknowledge it for my booke, becaufe I haue fo fmarted for it. For where I haue beene euill handled, I haue much a doe to fliewe my felf friendly. If the Sonne were the occafion of the Fathers imprifonment, would not the Father bee offended with him thinke you? Or at the leaft, would he not take heede how hereafter he had to doe with him ? If others neuer get more by bookes then I haue done : it were better be a Carter, then a Scholer, for wordly profite. A burnt child feareth the fire, and a beaten dogge efcheweth the whippe. Now there- fore, I will none of this booke from henceforth, I will none of him I fay : take him that lift, and weare him that will. And by that time they haue paid for him fo dearely as I haue done, they will bee as wearie of him as I haue beene. Who that toucheth Pitch fliall be filed with it, and he that goeth in the Sunne lliall bee Sunne burnt, although he thinke not of it. So they that wil reade this or fuch like bookes, fliall in the ende be as the bookes are. What goodnefle is in this treatife,

A.V. I

o^ Trologue to the Reader.

I cannot without vainglorie report, neither will I meddle with it, either hot or colde. As it was, fo it is, and fo bee it ftill hereafter for mee : fo that I heare no more of it, and that it be not yet once again call in my difli. But this I fay to others, as I am alTured they will laugh that will reade it : So if the world fliould turne (as God forbid) they were moft like to weepe, that in all pointes would followe it. I would bee loth that any man fhould hurt himfelfe for my doinges. And therefore to auoyde the worft for all parts, the beft were neuer once to looke on it : for then I am affured no man flial take harme by it. But I tliinke fome flial reade it, before whom I doe wafli my handes, if any harme fliould come to them hereafter, & let them not fay but that they are warned. I neuer heard a man yet troubled for ignoraunce in Religion. And yet me thinkes it is as great an herelie not to know God, as to erre in the knowledge of God. But fome perhaps may fay vnto me : Sir, you are much to be blamed that are fo fear- full, and doe call fuch perrilles before hande, to difcourage men from well doing. I aunfwere : My minde is not to difcourage any man, but only to fliewe how I haue beene tried for this bookes fake, tanquam per ignem. For in deede the Prifon was on fire when I came out of it, and where as 1 feared fire moft (as who is he that doth not feare it ?) I was deliuered by fire and fworde together. And yet now thus fearfull am I, that hauing beene thus fwinged, and reftrained of libertie : I would firft rather haflard my life prefently here- after to dye vpon a Turke : then to abide againe without hope of libertie, fuch painfull imprifonment for euer. So that I haue now got courage with fuffering damage, and my felfe as you fee, very willing from henceforth to dye : being then brought only but in feare of death. They that loue forrowe vpon forrowe : God fend it them. I for my part had rather bee without fence of griefe, then for euer to Hue in griefe. And I thinke the troubles before death being long fuffered, and without hope continued are worfe a great deale, then prefent death it felfe can bee : Efpecially to him that maketh litle accompt of this life, and is wel armed with a conftant mind to Godward. Thus I haue talked of my felf more then I needed, fome will fay, and yet not more (may I well fay) then I haue needed in deede. For I was without all he!pe,

and

o^ Trologue to the Reader.

and without all hope, not onely of libertie, but alfo of life, and therefore what thing needed I not ? Or with what wordes fufficiently could I fet forth my neede ? God be praifed, and thankes be giuen to him onely, that not onely deliuered me out of the Lyons mouth, but alfo hath brought England my deare Countrey, out of great thraldome and forraine bondage.

And God faue the Queenes Maieftie, the Realme, and the fcattered flocke of Chrift, and graunt, O mercifuU God, an vniuerfall quietnefTe of minde, perfect greement in doctrine, and amendment of our liues, that we may be all one Sheepefolde, and haue one Paftour lefus, to whom with the Father, the Sonne, and the holy Ghoft, bee all honour and glorie worlde with- out ende. Amen, This ieuenth of December. 1 5 do.

ELO(iyENCE FIRST

giuen by God^ and after loft

by marly and lafi repayred by God againe.

MAn (in whom is powred the breath of life) was made at the firft being an euerliuing creature, vnto the likenelTe of God, endued with reafon, and appointed Lorde ouer all other thinges liuing. But after the fall of our firll Father, finne fo crept in that our knowledge was much darkned, and by corruption of this our flefli, mans reafon and entende- ment were both ouerwhelmed. At what time God being fore greeued with the follie of one man, pitied of his mere goodnefte the whole ftate and pofteritie of Mankind. And therefore (whereas through the wicked fuggeftion of our ghoftly enemie, the ioyfull fruition of Gods glorie was altogether loft :) it pleafed our heauenly Father to repaire mankind of his free mercie, and to graunt an euerliuing enheritaunce, vnto all fuch as would by conftaunt faith feeke earneftly hereafter. Long it was ere that man knewe him- {elicy being deftitute of Gods grace, fo that all thinges waxed fauage, the earth vntilled, focietie neglected, Gods will not knowne, man againft man, one againft an other, and all againft order. Some liued by fpoyle : feme like brute beaftes grafed vpon the ground : fome went naked : fome roomed like Woodofes : none did any thing by reafon, but moft did what they could by manhood. None almoft confidered the euerliuing GOD, but all liued moft commonly after their owne luft. By death they thought that all thinges ended : by life they looked for none other liuing. None remembred the true obferuation of Wedlocke : none tendered the edu- cation of their children : Lawes were not regarded : true dealing was not once vfed. For vertue, vice bare place : for right and equitie, might vfed authoritie. And therefore, whereas man through reafon might haue vfed order: man through folie fell into errour. And thus for lacke of fkill, and for want of grace euill fo preuailed, that the deuil was moft efteemed, and God either almoft vnknowne among them all, or els nothing feared among fo many. Therefore, euen

now

The Preface.

now when man was thus paft all hope of amendement, God llill tendering his owne workmanfhippe, ftirring vp his faith- full and eled:, to perfwade with reaion all men to focietie. And gaue his appointed Minifters knowledge both to fee the natures of men, and alfo graunted them the giftof vtteraunce, that they might with eale win folke at their will, and frame them by reafon to all good order. And therefore, whereas men liued brutiflily in open feeldes, hauing neither houfe to fliroude them in, nor attire to clothe their backes, nor yet any regard to feeke their belt auaile : thefe appointed of GOD call-ed them together by vtteraunce of fpeech, and perfwaded with them what was good, what was bad, & what was gainful for mankind. And although at firft the rude could hardly learne, and either for the ftraungenefTe of the thing, would not gladly receiue the offer, or els for lack of knowledge, could not pcrceiue the goodneffe : yet being fomewhat drawne, and delited with the pleafantneiTe of reafon, and the fweetnefle of vtteraunce : after a certaine fpace they became through Nurture and good aduifement, of wilde, fober : of cruell, gentle : of fooles, wife : and of beaftes, men : fuch force hath the tongue, and fuch is the power of Eloquence and reafon, that moft men are forced, euen to yeeld in that which moft ftandeth againft their will. And therefore the Poets doe feine, that Hercules beeing a man of great wife- dome, had all men lincked together by the eares in a chaine, to drawe them and leade them euen as he lufted. For his witte was fo great, his tongue fo eloquent, and his experience fuch, that no one man was able to withftande his reafon, but euery one was rather driuen to doe that which he would, and to will that which he did : agreeing to his aduife both in word and worke in all that euer they were able. Neither can I fee that men could haue beene brought by any other meanes, to Hue together in fellowfliip of life, to maintaine Cities, to deale truely, and willingly obeye one an other, if men at the lirft had not by art and eloquence, perfwaded that which they full oft found out by reafon. For what man I pray you, beeing better able to maintaine himfelf by valiaunt courage, then by liuing in bafe fubiedtion, would not rather looke to rule like a Lord, then to Hue like an vnderling : if by reafon he were not perfwaded, that it behoueth euery man

to

The Preface- to Jiue in his owne vocation : and not to feeke any higher roume, then wherunto he was at the firft appointed? Who would digge and delue from Morne till Euening? Who would trauaile and toyle with ye fweat of his browes ? Yea, who would for his Kings pleafure aduenture and halTarde his life, if witte had not fo won men, that they thought nothing more needfull in this world, nor any thing whereunto they were more bounden : then here to liue in their duetie, and to traine their whole life according to their calling. There- fore, whereas men are in many thinges weake by Nature, and fubied to much infirmitie : I thinke in this one poinct they pafTe all other creatures lining, that haue the gift of fpeech and reafon. And among all other, I thinke him moft worthie fame, and amongft all men to bee taken for halfe a GOD : that therein doth chiefly and aboue all other excell men, wherein men doe excell beaftes. For he that is among the reafonable of al moft reafonable, and among the wittie, of all moft wittie, and among the eloquent, of all moft eloquent : him thinke 1 among all men, not onely to be taken for a , finguler man, but rather to be coumpted for halfe a God. For, I in feeking the excellencie hereof, the foner he draweth to I pertedion, the nyer he commeth to God, who is the ' \cheefe wifedome, and therfore called God, becaufe he is moft wife, or rather wifedome it felf.

Now then, feing that God giueth his heauenly grace, vnto al fuch as call vnto him with ftretched handes, and humble heart, neuer wanting to thofe, that want not to themfelues: Ipurpofe by his grace and efpeciall afliftence, to fet forth fuch precepts of eloquence, and to fliewe what obferuation the wife haue vfed, in handeling of their matters : that the vnlearned by feeing the pradtife of others, male haue fome know- ledge themlelues, and learne by their neighbours deuife, what is necefifarie for them felues in their owne cafe.

j^^' Gaulterus Haddonus D. luris

Ciuilis^ Et RegincB Maiefiatisy a Libellis fupplicibus.

Ty Etoricem Logic e foror^ eft affata fowrem : J- *- §^em didicit nuper, fermo Britannos erat. Retorice t acuity inagm perculpe dolore :

Nam nondum nojlro nouerat ore loqut. Audi J t h<£C^ Logic es^ Wilfonus forte ^ magi ft er :

§lui fueraty nojtros addideratque fonos. Retoricem rnutam^ verbis folatus amicis :

Semcat, O' rogitat num ejfe Britanna velit ? U^etjciens oculos rejpondit velle libenter :

Sedje^ qua pojjtt, non reperire^ via. Lpje vias {inquit) tradam, legefque loquendi :

'^omocfo perfeBe verba Britanna loces. Liberat iJle jidem, nojtro fertnone poUtur :

Retorice^ nojtra ejt vtraque faBa foror. Anglia nobihmn fi charus fermo jororem.

Kft tibi,fer?nonis charus O" author erit.

A

^Thomas Wilfonus in An^i- cam Rhetoricem fliam.

Ngliafidoceat^^quod: Grttcia doHa: quid obfiat ^uo minus ex Anglis Anglia^ vera fciat.

Non (quia Greca potesy vel calles verba Latina) Dottus esy aut fapie?is : fed quia vera vides,

Aurea fecreto tegitur fapientia fenfu.

Abdita fen fa tenes Anglus f es ergo fciens.

Sed me Rhetoricem nequeat ciim lingua polire: Cui vacaty hoc vnum quod valet^ oro velet.

The arte of Rhetor ique.

What is Rhetorique.

RHetorique is an Arte to fet foorth by vtteraunce of words, ^matter at large, or (as Cicero doth fay) it is a learned, or rather an artificiall declaration of the mynd, in the handling of any caufe, called in contention, that may through reafon largely be dif cuffed.

f The matter inhereupon an Or at our mufi fpeake. AN Orator muft be able to fpeake fully of al thofe queftions, Rhetorique jc\. which by lawe & mans ordinance are enaded, and ^J^^f'^f, appointed for the vfe and profite of man, fuch as are thought hwes, con- apt for the tongue to fet forwarde. Nowe Afironomle is cerning rather learned by demonftration, then taught by any great ™^"- vtterance. Arithmetique fmally needeth the vfe of Eloquence, feeing it may be had wholy by nombring only. Geometric rather afketh a good fquare, then a cleane flowing tongue to fet out the art. Therefore an Orators profefTion, is to fpeake only of all fuch matters, as may largely be expounded for mans behoue, and may with much grace be fet out, for ail men to heare them.

^ Of quefiiom,

EVery queftion or demaund in things, is of two fortes. Questions Either it is an infinite queftion, & without end, or els«f^f^^» it is definite, and comprehended within fome ende.

Thofe queftions are called infinite, which generally are Queftions propounded, without the comprehenfion of tyme, place, and infinite. perfone, or any fuch like: that is to fay, when no certaine thing is named, but onely words are generally fpoken. As thus, whether it be beft to marrie, or to Hue lingle. Which is better, a courtiers life, or a Scholers life.

Thofe queftions are called definite, which fet forth a matter, Queftions with the appointment and naming of place, time, and person, definite- As thus. Whether now it be beft here in Englande, for a Prieft to Marrie, or to liue fingle. Whether it were meete

A. RH. B for

Queftions definite, belong properly to an Orator.

Queftions infinite, proper vnto Logi- cians.

Orators bound to performe three thinges.

Plaine words proper vnto an Orator.

X The arte of Rhetorique.

for the kings Maieftie that nowe is, to marrie with a ftranger, or to marrie with one of his owne Subiedis. Now the definite queftion (as the which concerneth fome one perfon) is moft agreeing to the purpofe of an Orator, confidering particuler matters in the law, are euer debated betwixt certaine perfons, the one affirming for his parte, and the other denying as faft againe for his parte.

Thinges generally fpoken without all circumftaunces, are more proper vnto the Logician^ who talketh of thinges vni- uerfally, without refpedt of perfon, time, or place. And yet notwithfbanding, Tullie doth fay, that whofoeuer will talke of particuler matter muft remember, that within the fame alfo is comprehended a generall. As for example. If I fliall afke this queftion, whether it bee lawfull for William Conquerour to inuade England, and win it by force of Armour, I muft alfo confider this, whether it bee lawfull for any man to vfurpe power, or it bee not lawful. That if the greater cannot be borne withall, the lefle can not bee neither. And in this refpect, a generall queftion agreeth well to an Orators profeffion, and ought well to bee knowne for the better furtheraunce of his matter, notwithftanding the particuler queftion is euer called in controuerfie, and the generall only thereupon confidered, to comprehend and compafTe the fame, as the which is more generall.

^ The ende of 'Rhetorique, Three thinges are required of an Orator.

r To teach. < To delight.

C And to perfwade.

FIrft therefore, an Orator muft labour to tell his tale, that the hearers may well knowe what he meaneth, and vnderftand him wholy, the which he fliall with eafe vfe, if he vtter his minde in plaine words, fuch as are vfually receiued, and tell it orderly, without going about the bufli. That if he doe not this, he fliall neuer doe the other. For what man can be delited, or yet be perfwaded with the only hearing of thofe thinges, which he knoweth not what they meane. The tongue is ordeined to exprelTe the minde, that one may vnderlfand an others meaning : now what auaileth to fpeake, when none can tell what the fpeaker meaneth? Therefore

Vhauor'tnus

wiccie

CO a

The arte of Rhetorique. 3

Thauor'inus the Philofopher (as Gelllus telJeth the tale) did hit a yong man ouer the Thumbes very handfomcly, for vling ouer old, and ouer ftraunge wordes. Sirha (quoth he) when our olde great aunccfters and Graundfires were aliue, they fpake plainly in their mothers tongue, and vfed olde language, fuch a Philo as was fpoken then at the building of Roome. But you talke %hers me fuch a Latine, as though you fpake with them euen now, j^^^^^g that were two or three thoufand yeres agoe, and onely yong man becaufe vou would haue no man to vnderftand what you fay. '^ac fougi.t Now, were it not better for thee a thoufande fold, (thou fooliih ^^^^^ ^^^_ fellowe) in feeking to haue thy defire, to holde thy peace, and guage. ipeake nothing at all ? For then by that meanes, fewe fliould knowe what were thy meaning. But thou faieft, the olde antiquitie doth like thee beft, becaufe it is good, fober, and modeft. Ah, Hue man, as they did before thee, and fpeake thy mind now as men doe at this day. And remember that which Cafar faieth, beware as long as thou liuefb of ftraunge wordes, as thou wouldeft take heede and efchue great Rockes in the Sea.

The next part that he hath to play, is to chere his geaftes, orators and to make them take pleafure, with hearing of thinges J'^Jj^f", wittely deuifed, and pleafauntly fet foorth. Therefore euery hordes and Orator fhould earneftly labour to file his tongue, that his fayinges. words may Aide with eafe, and that in his deliueraunce he may have fuch grace, as the found of a Lute, or any fuch Inltrument doth giue. Then his fentences muft be wel framed, and his words aptly vfed, through the whole difcourfe of his Oration.

Thirdly, fuch quicknefle of witte muft bee fhewed, and fuch pleafaunt fawes fo well applied, that the eares may finde much delite, whereof I will fpeake largely, when I shall intreateof mouing laughter. And afTuredly nothing is more needfull, then to quicken thefe heauie loden wittes of ours, and much to cherifli thefe our lompifli and vnweldie Natures, for except men finde delite, they will not long abide : delite them, and winne them : wearie them, and you lofe them for euer. And that is the reafon, that men commonly tarie the Preachers ende of a merie Play, and cannot abide the halfe hearing of "^^ ^° '^'''" a fewer checking Sermon. Therefore euen thefe auncient Heard as Preachers, muft now and then play the fooles in the pulpit, to common

B 1 ferue ^'^^y"^-

Preachers muft fome- times be mery w^hen they fpeake to the people. Delicing needful.

Scurrilitie odious.

AfFeiStions niuft be moued.

Praftife niakech al things perfed.

4 The arte of Rhetorique.

feme the tickle eares of their fleting audience, or els they are like fometimes to preach to the bare walks, for though their fpirite bee apt, and our will prone, yet our flelli is fo heauie, and humours fo ouerwhelme vs, that we cannot without refrediing, long abide to heare any one thing. Thus we fee, that to delite is needfiill, without the which weightie matters will not be heard at all, and therefore him cunne I thanke, that both can and will ever, mingle fweete among the sower, be he Preacher, Lawyer, yea, or Cooke either hardly, when hee drefleth a good difh of meate : now I need not to tell that fcurrilitie, or ale-houfe iefting, would bee thought odious, or grofle mirth would be deemed madnefle : confidering that euen the meane witted do knowe that alreadie, and as for other that haue no wit, they will neuer learne it, therfore God fpeede them. Now when thefe two are done, hee muft perfwade, and moue the affections of his hearers infuch wife, that they flialbe forced to yeeld vnto his faying, whereof (becaufe the matter is large, and may more aptly be declared, when I fliall fpeake of Amplification) I will furceafe to fpeake any thing thereof at this tyme.

^ Bjf luhat meanes 'Eloquence Is attained.

FIrft needfull it is that hee, which defireth to excell in this gift of Oratorie, and longeth to proue an eloquent man, muft naturally haue a wit, and an aptnefle thereunto : then muft he to his Booke, and learne to bee well ftored with knowledge, that he may be able to minifter matter for al caufes neceflarie. The which when he hath got plentifully, he muft vfe much exercife, both in writing, and alfo in fpeaking. For though hee haue a wit and learning together, yet fliall they both little auaile without much practife. What maketh the Lawyer to haue fuch utteraunce ? Practife. What maketh the Preacher to fpeake fo roundly ? Practife. Yea, what maketh women goe fo faft awaye with their wordes? Mary practife I warrant you. Therefore in all faculties, diligent practife, and earneft exercife, are the onely things that make men proue excellent. Many men know the art very well, and be in all points throughly grounded and acquainted with the precepts, & yet it is not their hap to proue eloquent. And the reafon is, that eloquence it felfe, came not vp firft

by

The arte of Rhetorique. 5-

by the art, but the arte rather was gathered vpon eloquence. Rhetorioue For wifemen feeing by much obferuation and diligent pradife, ^""^ "l^^^ the compafTe of diuers caufes, compiled thereupon precepts me^'a'nd and leflbns, worthy to be knowne and learned of all men. not wjfe- Therefore before arte was inuented, eloquence was vfed, and '"''" ^^^ through pradtife made perfed:, the which in all things is Rhetorique. a foueraigne meane, moft highly to excell.

Now, before we vfe either to write, or fpeake eloquently, imitation wee muft dedicate our myndes wholy, to followe the moft ?■■ foiiow- wife and learned men, and feeke to fafliion as wel their '^^jj^ ^^ fpeache and gefturing, as their witte or endyting. The which wifemen, when we earneftly mynd to doe, we can not but in time '^ needful!, appere fomewhat like them. For if they that waike much in the Sunne, and thinke not of it, are yet for the moft part Sunne burnt, it can not be but that they which wittingly and willingly trauayle to counterfed: other, muft needes take fome colour of them, and be like vnto them in fome one thing or other, according to the Prouerbe, by companying with the wife, a man fliall learne wifedome.

^ To ijuhat purpofe this arte is jet fort he.

TO this purpofe and for this vfe, is the arte compiled Rhetorique together, by the learned and wifemen, that thofe which ^"^''^fj j are ignorant might iudge of the learned, and labour (when ferueth. time fliould require) to followe their woorkes accordingly. Againe, the arte helpeth well to difpofe and order matters of our owne inuention, the which wee may followe as well in fpeaking as in writing, for though many by nature Arte a without art, haue proued worthy men, yet is arte a furer ^J^""^"" 8""^^ guide then nature, confidering we fee as liuely by arte JNature. what we do, as though we read a thing in writing, where as Natures doings are not fo open to all men. Againe, thofe that haue good wittes by Nature, fliall better encreafe them by arte, and the blunt alfo fliall bee whetted through arte, that want Nature to helpe them forward. ^ 'Fine thijigs to be covjidered in an Oratour. ANy one that will largely handle any matter, muft faften jt\_ his mynde firft of all, vppon thefe fiue efpeciall pointes that followe, and learne them euery one.

i. Inuention

\

The arte of Rhetorique.

oratours /- i. Inuentioii of matter.

"i"^\^^^'^ \ii. Difpofition of the fame.

V. things J ... r-1 , ■

to make < ^^^' EloCUtlOn.

them J iiii.Memorie.

P^'"fi':'-'- Cv. Utteraunce.

inuention, 'T^Hc finding OLit of apt matter, called otherwife Inuention,

what ic IS. JL is a fearching out of things true, or things likely, the

which may reafonablie fet forth a matter, and make it appeare

probable. The places of Logi<^ue, giue good occafion to finde

out plentifull matter. And therefore, they that will proue any

caufe, and feeke onely to teach thereby the trueth, muft fearch

out the places of Logique, and no doubt they fliall finde much

pkntie. But what auaileth much treafure and apt matter, if

man can not apply it to his purpofe. Therefore, in the fecond

place is mentioned, the fetling or ordering of things inuented

Difpofition, for this purpofe, called in Latine Difpofttio^ the which is

what It IS. nothing els but an apt bellowing, and orderly placing of

things, declaring where euery argument fliall be fet, and in

what maner cuery reafon flialbe applied for confirmation of the

purpofe.

But yet what helpeth it though wee can finde good reafons,

and knowe how to place them, if wee haue not apt words and

Elocution, picked Sentences, to commende the whole matter. Therefore,

what it is. this point muft needes followe to beautifie the caufe, the which

being called Elocution, is an applying of apt wordes and

fentences to the matter, found out to conhrme the caufe.

When all thefe are had together it auaileth little, if man haue

Mcinoiie, no Mcmorie to containe them. The Memorie therefore muft

what K IS. j^g cherjflied, the which is a faft holding both of matter and

words couched together, to confirme any caufe.

Be it now that one haue all thefe fower, yet if he want the fift all the other doe little profite. For though a man can finde out good matter and good wordes, though hee can handfomely fet them together, and carie them very well awaie Pronuncia- in his mindc, yet it is to no purpofe if he haue no vtterance, tion, what ^j-^gn he ftiould fpeake his minde, and fliewe men what he hath to faie. Vtterance therefore, is a framing of the voyce, countenaunce, and gefture after a comely maner.

Thus we fee, that cuery one of thefe muft goe together, to make a perfite Oratour, and that the lack of one, is a hinder-

ance

The arte of Rhetorique. 7

ance of the whole, and that as well all may be wanting as one, if wee looke to haue an ablblute Oratour.

There are feuen partes in euery Oration. ' i. The Enterance or beginning. Orarions

ii. The Narration. »n general

jiii. The Propofition. ^°"^'^.

im. The Deuilion or leuerall parting of things. parces,

)v. The confirmation, vi. The confutation, ^vii. The Conclufion.

THe Entraunce or beginning is the former parte of the Entraunce, Oration, whereby the will of the ftanders by, or of the "^^^^ " '*• ludge is fought for, and required to heare the matter.

The Narration is a plaine and manifeft pointing of the Narration, matter, and an euident fetting forth of all things that belong vnto the fame, with a breefe reherfall grounded vpon fome reafon.

The propofition is a pithie fentence comprehended in a Propofi- fmall roome, the fomme of the whole matter. ^'<'"-

The Deuifion is an opening of things, wherein we agree Deuifion. and reft vpon, and wherein we iUcke and ftande in trauers, fliewing what we haue to fay in our owne behalfe.

The Confirmation is a declaration of our owne reafons, Confirma- with afTured and conftant proofes. "''"•

The Confutation is a diflbluing, or wyping away of all fuch confuca- reafons as make againft vs. "°"-

The Conclufion is a darkly gathering of the matter fpoken conclufion. before, and a lapping vp of it altogether.

Now, becaufe in euery one of thefe greate heede ought to bee had, and much arte muft-be vfed, to content and like all parties : I purpofe in the fecond booke to fet foorthe at large euery one of thefe, that both we may know in all partes what to followe, and what to efchue. And firft, when time flialbe to talke of any matter I would aduife euery man to confider the nature of the caufe it felf, that the rather he might frame his whole Oration thereafter.

^ Euery matter is contained in one of thefe foiuer.

Either it is an honell thing whereof we fpeake, or els it is Matters in filthie and vile, or els betwixt both : and doubtfull what generaii ■' .. ftand m

it

8

The arte of Rhetorique.

fower pointes.

Matters i honeft.

Matters 2 lilchie.

Matters 5 doubtfull.

Matters 4 trifel'ing.

Circum- ftances neceflarie in all caufes to be noted.

Fauor win- ning, and affe6tions mouing when they are moft necefiarie.

Aduerfaries reafons when they fiiould beft he con- futed.

it is to bee called, or els it is fome trifeling matter, that is of fmall weight.

That is called an honeft matter, when either we take in hande fuch a caufe that all men would maintayne, or els gainfaie fuch a caufe, that no man can well like.

Then doe wee holde and defend a filthie matter, when either we fpeake againft our owne confcience in an euill matter, or els withftand an upright trueth.

The caufe then is doubtfull, when the matter is halfe honeft, and halfe vnhoneft.

Such are trifling caufes when there is no weight in them, a? if one fhould phantafie to praife a goofe before any other beaft liuing, (as I knowe who did) or of fruite to commende Nuttes chiefly, as Quid did, or the Feuer quartaine as Fhauo- r'tnus did, or the Gnat as Vir^l did, or the battaile of Frogges as Homer did, or difpraife beardes, or commend fliauen heddes.

Good heede to be taken at the jirfi^ vpon the hand- Ihig of any matter in ludgement.

NOT onely it is necefiarie to knowe what maner of caufe we haue taken in hande, when we firft enter vppon any matter, but alfoit is^wifedome to confider the tyme, the place, the man for whom we fpeake, the man againft whom we fpeake, the matter whereof we fpeake, and the Judges before whom wee fpeake, the reafons that beft ferue to further our caufe, and thofe reafons alfo that may feeme fomewhat to hinder our caufe, and in nowife to vfe any fuch at all, or els warely to mitigate by proteftation the euill that is in them, and alwaies to vfe whatfoeuer can be faied, to win the chief hearers good willes, and to perfwade them to our purpofe. If the caufe goe by fauour, and that reafon can not fo much auaile, as good will flial be able to doe : or els if mouing afted:ions can doe more good, then bringing in of good reafons, it is meete alwaies to vfe that way, whereby wee may by good helpe get the ouerhand. That if myne aduerfaries reafons, by mee being confuted ferue better to helpe forward my cauie, then myne owne reafons confirmed, can be able to doe good : I fliould wholy beftowe my tyme, and trauaile to weaken and make (lender, all that euer he bringeth with him. But if I can with more cafe proue mine own fayings, either with

witnefTes,

The arte of Rhetorique. 9

witnefles, or with wordes, then bee able to confute his with reafon, I muffc labour to withdrawe mens mindes from mine Arguments aduerfaries foundation, and require them wholy to harken ^^^y^'^^ vnto that which I haue to fay, being of it felfe fo lull and fo ^jl'iefly be reafonable, that none can rightly fpeake againli it, & Ihew them vfed. that great pitie it were, for lacke of the onely hearing, that a true matter fliould want true dealing. Ouer & befides al thefe, there remaine two lellons, the which wifemen haue alwaies obferued, and therefore ought of all men affuredly to bee learned. The one is, that if any matter be laied againft Matters vs, which by reafon can hardly be auoyded, or the which is ^^"^^^^ fo open, that none almoll can deny : it were wifedome in n3/ confuting all the other reafons, to paflTe ouer this one, as alwaies be though we faw it not, and therefore fpeake neuer a word of paft ouer it. Or els if neceflitie fliall force a man to fay fomewhat, he ^/^ f^^^ may make an outward bragge, as though there were no matter them not in it, euer fo fpeaking of it, as though he would ftand to ^^ ^'i- the triall, making men to beleeue he would fight in the beTboid in caufe, when better it were (if neceflitie fo required) to run moft cleane awaie. And therein though a man do flie and giue daunger, if

1 .1 1 1 1 ii I rr • ii • otherwile

place, euermore the gladder the lefle rauing there is, or ^^^ ^^^^^^^ Itirring in this matter : yet he flieth wifely and for this ende, efcape. that being fenfed otherwife, and ftrongly appointed, hee may take his aduerfarie at the beft aduauntage, or at the leaft wearie him with much lingering, and make him with oft fuch flying, to forfake his cheefe defence.

The other leflon is, that whereas we purpofe alwaies to haue the victorie, we fliould fo fpeake that we may labour, rather not to hinder or hurt our caufe, then to feeke meanes to further it. And yet I fpeake not this, but that both thefe Better not are right neceflary, and euery one that will doe good, muft ^^^^"^ ^ take paines in them both, but yet notwithftanding, it is a matter by fouler fault a great deale for an Orator, to be found hurting ill fpeeche his owne caufe, then it fliould turne to his rebuke, if he had [^^"j,^",,. not furthered his whole entent. Therfore not onely is it wife-; by good dome, to fpeake fo much as is needefull, but alfo it is goodltaike. reafon to leaue vnfpoken fo much as is needelefle, the which warene/Te although the wifeft can doe and neede no teaching, yet thefe ^^Jf^f^^^' common wittes offende now and then in this behalf. Some bearing to man being ftirred, fhall hurt more our caufe then twentie fpeake

other.

lo The arte of Rhetorique.

The per- other. Taunting woofdes before fome men, will not bee fone before borne at all. Sharpe rebuking of our aduerfarie, or frumpes Iveikl ^^ giuen before fome perfons, can not be fuffered at all. Yea, mull be fometymes a man muft not fpeake all that he knoweth, for if ^'^'l he do, he is like to fmd fmall fauour, although he haue lull:

Time'^mufl: caufe to fpeake, and may with reafon declare his mynd at beobferued. large. And albeit that witlefle folke, can fooner rebuke that which is fondly Ipoken, then redily praife that which is wifely kept clofe, yet the neceflitie of the matter muft rather be marked, then the fond iudgement of the people elleemed. What a fore faying were this : When a Lawier fliould take in hande a matter concerning life and death : and an other fliould afke how he hath fpcd, to heare tell that the Lawyer hath not only call away his client, but vndoen himfelf alfo, in fpeaking thinges, inconfideratly, as no doubt it often happeneth that wifemen and thofe alfo that be none euill men neither, may vnwares fpeake things, which afterward they fore repent, and would call backe againe with lofle of a greate fomme. Now what folly it is, not to remember the time, and the men. Or who will fpeake that which he knoweth will not be liked, if he purpofe to finde fauour at their hands, before whome he fpeaketh, what man of reafon, will praife that before the Judges (before whom he knoweth the determination of his caufe refteth) which the ludges them felues cannot abide to heare fpoken at all ? Or doeth not fo much hinder his owne matter, that without all curtefie or preface made, will largely fpeake euill of thofe men, whom the hearers of his caufe tenderly do fauour? Or be it that there be fome notable fault in thine aduerfarie, with which the ludges alfo are infected, were it not folly for thee to charge thine aduerfarie with the fame. Confidering the ludges thereby may think, thou fpeakeft againft them alfo, and fo thou maieft perhaps lole their fauour, in feeking fuch defence made without all difcretion. And in framing reafons to confirme the purpofe, if any be fpoken plainly falfe, or els contrarie to that which was fpoken before, doeth it not much hinder a good matter? Therefore in all caufes this good heed ought to be had, that alwaies we labour to do fome good in furthering of our caufe, or if we cannot fo doe, at the leail that we do no harme at al.

N

The arte of Rhetorique. ii

^ There are three k'lndes of caiifes or Orations^ 'which ferue for euery matter. Othing can be handled by this arte, but the fame is orations or conteined within one of thefe three caufes. Either the 5?."^*^^ "f matter confifteth in praife, or difpraife of a thing or els in "'' '" ^' confulting, whether the caufe be profitable, or vnprofitable : or laftly, whether the matter be right or wrong. And yet this one thing is to be learned, that in euery one of thefe three caufes, thefe three feuerall endes, may euery one of them be conteined in any one of them. And therefore, he that fliall haue caufe to praife any one bodie, lliall haue iuft caufe to fpeake of luftice, to entreate of prohte, and ioyntly to talke of one thing with an other. But becaufe thefe three caufes, are commonly and for the moft part feuerally parted, 1 will fpeake of them one after an other, as they are fet forth by wife mens iudgements, and particularly declare their properties all in order.

The Oration demonftratiue ftindeth either in praife, or Oration difpraife of fome one man, or of fome one thing, or of fome '^.'^'"o'^^"^- one deed doen.

^^he kind Demonjiratjue^ •wherein cheefly it flandeth.

THere are diuers things which are praifed and difpraifed, as men, Countries, Cities, Places, Beaftes, Hilles, Riuers, Houfes, Caftles, deedes doen by worthy men, and pollicies euented by great Warriors, but moft commonly men are praifed for diuers refpectes, before any of the other things are taken in hande.

Now in prayfing a noble perfonage, and in fetting foorth Noble at large his worthinefle : ^lulntiU'ian giueth warning, to vfe perrones, this threefold order. . fhould bJ

C Before this life. praifed.

To obferue things. -^ In his life.

C After his death. Before a mans life, are confidered thefe places. The Realme. The Sheire. ^The towne. 'The Parentes. ■ The Auncefters.

IN

IX The arte of Rhetorique.

IN a mans life, praife muft bee parted threefolde. That is to fay, into the giftes of good things of the mynde, the body, and of fortune. Now the giftes of the body & of fortune, are not praife worthy of their owne nature : but euen as they arc vfed, either to or fro, fo they are either praifed, or dif- praifed. Giftes of the mind deferue the whole trompe & found commendation aboue all other, wherein we may vie the rehearfal of vertues, as they are in order, and beginning at his infancie, tel all his doings till his laft age. ^The places ivhereof are thefe.

{The birthe, and ■) f Whether the perfone be a

infancie. J \ man, or a woman.

r The brynging vp, the ■^ The childhood. ^ ^ nurturing, and the behauour

C of his life. rThe Striplyng*) C"^^ what ftudy he taketh

< age, or Spring- >Whereunto-^ himfe If vnto, what company (.tide. J are referred ^he ufeth, how he liueth. CThemannes ^ thefe. (" Prowefle doen, either t ftate. 3 X abrode, or at home.

rHis pollicies and wittie -{ The olde age. y < deuifes, in behoufe of the

C publique weale. rThe tyme of his ^ f Things that haue happened

< departure, or v l about his death. C death. 5

Ow to open all thefe places more largely, as well thofe that are before a mannes life, as fuch as are in his life, and after his death, that the Reader may further fee the profite will I doe the beft I can. The houfe The houfe whereof a noble perfonage came, declares the or aun- {^zXt and natures of his auncefters, his alliance, and his whereof a kinffolke. So that fuch worthie fcates as they haue hcrtofore noble done, & al fuch honors as they haue had for fuch their good

perfonage fgruicc, redounds wholy to the encreafe and amplifying of his

commeth. , \t ^ • ,• -^ r / &

honor, that is now Iiuing.

ij. The The Realme declares the nature of the people. So that

Realme. fome Countrey bringeth more honor with it, then an other

doth. To be a French man, defcending there of a noble

houfe, is more honor then to be an Irifli man : To bee an

Englifli

n;

The arte of Rhetorique. ig

Englifli man borne, is much more honor then to bee a Scot, becaufe that by thele men, worthie ProwefTcs haue beene done, and greater affaires by them attempted, then haue beene done by any other.

The Shire or Towne helpeth fomewhat, towardes the iii. The encreale of honor : As it is much better to bee borne in Paris, £,"'*^ ^^ then in Picardic : in London then in Lincolne. For that both the ayre is better, the people more ciuill, and the wealth much greater, and the men for the moft part more wife.

To bee borne a manchilde, declares a courage, grauitie, iiij. The and conftancie. To be borne a woman, declares weakenelle of f^xe or fpirit, nefhnefle of body, and ficklenefle of minde.

Now, for the bringing vp of a noble perfonage, his nurfe v. Educa- muffc bee confidered, liis play fellowes obferued, his teacher "''"• and other his feruaunts called in remembraunces. How euery one of thefe liued then, with whom they haue liued afterwards, and how they Hue now.

By knowing what he taketh himfelfe vnto, and wherein hee vi. inclina- moli delighteth, I may commend him for his learning, for his "°" °^ fkill in the French, or in the Italian, for his knowledge in Cofmographie : for his fkill in the Lawes, in the hiftories of all Countries, and for his gift of enditing. Againc, I may commend him for playing at weapons, for running vpon a great Horfe, for charging his ftaffe at the Tilt, for vawting, for playing vpon Inftruments, yea, and for painting, or drawing of a Plat, as in old time noble Princes much delighted therein.

Prowelle done, declare his feruice to the King, and his vij. ac- Countrey, either in withllanding: the outward enemie, or els ^^nip" in afwaging the rage of his owne Countreymen at home. '

His wife counfaile, and good aduife giuen, fets forth the viii. goodnefle of his wit.

At the time of his departing, his fufferaunce of all fick- ix. Time of neffe, may much commende his worthinefTe. As his ftrong fleparting heart, and cherefull pacience euen to the ende, cannot want '* '^^'^ great praife. The loue of all men towards him, and the lamenting generally for his lacke, helpe well moll: highly to fet forth his honour.

After a mans death, are confidered his Tombe, his Cote After de- armour fet vp, and all fuch honours as are vfcd in Funeralles. p^rcure.

If

B\

14 The arte of Rhetorique.

If any one lift to put thefe precepts in practife, he may doe

as him Uketh beft. And furely I doe thinke, that nothing fo

much furthereth knowledge as dayly exercife, and enuring

our felues to doe that in deede, which we knowe in worde.

And becaufe examples giue great light, after thefe precepts are

Duke of fet forth, I will commend two noble Gentlemen, Henry Duke

sufFolke of SufFolke, and his brother Lord Charles Duke with him.

ch Tles^ ^ 5 "^'^ example of commending

a noble perfo?iage. lEtter or more wifely can none do, then they which neuer Ibeftowe praife, but vpon thofe that beft deferue praife, rather minding difcretely what they ought to doe, then vainely deuiiing what they beft can doe, feeking rather to praife men, fuch as are found worthie, then curioully finding meanes to praife matters, fuch as neuer were in any. For they which fpeake otherwife then trueth is, minde not the commendation of the perfon, but the fetting forth of their owne learning. As Gorgias in Plato^ prayfing vnrighteoufnefle, Gorgias. Heliogabalus Oratours commending whoredome, Phaphor'mus ^^''°' the Philofopher, extolUng the Feuer quartain, thought not to phapho- fpeake as the caufe required, but would fo much fay as their rinus. wittc would giue, not weighing the ftate of the caufe, but minding the vaunt of their brainc, looking how much could bee fayd, not paffing how little Ihould bee fayd. But 1 both knowing the might of Gods hande, for fuch as loue Fables, and the fliame that in earth redoundeth to euill reporters, will not commend that in thofe, which neede no good praile, but will commend them that no man iuftly can dispraife, nor yet any one is well able worthely to praife. Their towardnefle was fuch, and their giftes fo great, that I know none which loue learning, but hath forrowed the lacke of their being. And I knowe that the onely naming of them, will ftirre honeft hearts to fpeake well of them. I will fpeake of two bretheren that lately departed, the one Henry Duke of SufFolke, and the other Lord Charles his brother, whom GOD thinking meeter for heauen, then to liue here vpon earth, tooke from vs in his anger, for the bettering of our doinges, and amend- ment of our euill lining. Thefe two Gentlemen were borne in noble Englande, both by father and mother of an high parentage. The father called Duke Charles, by Mariage

beeing

The arte of Rhetorique. 15-

beeing brother to the worthie King of famous memorie Henry Henry the eight, was in fuch fauour, and did fuch feruice, that all ^"'^^ of England at this howre doth tinde his lacke, and France yet and Lorde doth feele that fuch a Duke there was, whom in his life time charies his the Godly loued : the euill feared, the wife men honoured for brother, his witte, and the fimple vied alv/aies for their counfaile. Their mother of birth noble, and witte great, of nature gentle, and mercifuU to the poore, and to the Godly, and efpecially to the learned an earneft good PatronefTe, and moft helping Ladle aboue all other. In their youth their father died, the e'deft of them beeing not paft nine yeares of age. After whofe death, their mother knowing, that wealth without wit, is like a fworde in a naked mans hande, and afluredly certaine, that knowledge would confirme iudgement, prouided fo for their bringing vp in all vertue and learning, that two like were not to bee had within this Realme againe. When they began both to ware fomewhat in yeares, being in their primetide and fpring of their age, the elder wayting on the Kings Maieftie that now is, was generally wel eilreemed, and luch hope was conceiued of his towardnefTe, both for learning and al other things, that fewe were like vnto him in al the Court. The other keeping his booke among the Cambrige men profited (as they well knowe) both in vertue and learning, to their great admiration. For the Greeke, the Latine, and the Italian, I know he could do more, then would be thought true by my report. I leaue to fpeake of his fkill in pleafant Inftrumentes, neither will I vtter his aptnefTe in Muficke, and his toward Nature, to all exercifes of the body. But his elder brother in this time (befides his other giftes of the minde, which paflTed all other, and were almoit incredible) following his fathers nature, was fo delited with ryding, and runnyng in armour vpon horfebacke, and was fo comely for that fad:, and could dooe fo well in chargint? his Staffe, beeino- but xiiii. yeeres of age, that men of warre, euen at this howre, mone much the want of fuch a worthy Gentleman. Yea, the French men that firll wondered at his learning, when he was there among them, and made a notable oration in Latine : were much more aftonied when they fawe his comely riding, and little thought to finde thefe two ornaments ioyned both in one, his yeares efpecially being fo tender, and his practife of

fo

i6 The arte of Rhetorique.

fo fmall tyme. Afterward comming from the Court, as one that was defirous to be among the learned, he lay in Cam- bridge together with his brother, where they both fo profited, and fo gently vfed themfelues, that all Cambridge did reuer- ence, both him and his brother, as two lewels fent from God. The elders nature was fuch, that hee thought himfelf beft, when he was among the wifeft, and yet contemned none, but thankfully vfed al, gentle in behauiour without childiilmefTe, ftout of ftomack without al pride, bold with all warenefTe, and friendly with good aduifement. The yonger being not fo ripe in yeres, was not fo graue in looke, rather cherefull, then fad : rather quicke, then auncient : but yet if his brother were fet afide, not one that went beyond him. A child, that by his owne inclination, fo much yeelded to his ruler, as few by chaftment haue done the like : pleafant of fpeech, prompt of wit, ftirring by nature, hault without hate, kind without craft, liberall of heart, gentle in behauiour, forward in all things, greedie of learning, & loth to take a foile in any open aflem- bly. They both in all attempts, fought to haue the vidtorie, and in exercife of wit, not only the one with the other, did oft ftand in contention, but alfo they both would match with the beft, and thought them felues moft happie, when they might haue any iuft occafion, to put their wittes in triall. And now when this greene fruite began to waxe ripe, and all men longed to haue a tafte of fuch their great fbrwardnefle : God preuenting mans expectation, tooke them both about one howre, and in fo fliorte time, that firft they were knowne to be dead, or any abroad could tel they were ficke. I neede not to rehearfe, what both they fpake, before their departure (confidering, I haue feuerally written, both in Latine and in Englifli, of the fame matter) neither will I heape here fo much together, as 1 can, becaufe I fliould rather renew great forrow to many, then doe moft men any great good, who loued them fo well generally, that fewe for a great fpace after, fpake ot thefe two Gentlemen, but they fliewed teares, with the only vtterance of their wordes, and fome through ouer much forrowing, were faine to forbeare fpeaking. GOD graunt vs all to Hue, that the good men of this world, may bee alwaies loth to forfake vs, and God may ftill be glad to haue vs, as no doubt thefe two children fo died, as all men fliould wifli to

Hue,

The arte of Rhetorique. 17

Hue, and fo they liued both, as al fliould wifli to dye. Seeing therefore, thefe two were fuch, both for birth, nature, and all other giftes of grace, that the like are hardly found behind them : Let vs fo fpeak of them, that our good rcporte may vvarne vs, to followe their godly natures, and that laftly, we . may enioye that inheritance, whereunto God hath prepared them and vs (that feare him) from the beginning. Amen.

_, , r r The Enteraunce.

The partes of an^^^,^^ Narration.

Oration made m.' ^^^^^.^^^ ^^^ confutation.

praifeofaman. (^-phe Conclufion.

IF any one fliall haue iuft caufe, to difpraife an euill man, he (hall fone doe it, if he can praife a good man. For (as Arlfiotle doth fay) of contraries, there is one and the fame doctrine, and therefore, hee that can doe the one, fliall foone bee able to doe the other.

f Of an Oration demonjiratiue^ for fome deede done.

THe kind demonllratiue of fome thing done, is this, when oration a man is commended, or difpraifed, for any ad com- itr^°u"'of mitted in his life. a deede.

^ The places to confirme this caufe ^ why a?iy one is commended J are fxe in number, "i. It is honeft. ii. It is poffible. The places of con-^iii. Eafie to be done, firmation, ^ iiii.Hard to be done.

V. Poffible to be done. _,vi. Impoffible to be done. Seuen circumflaunccs, which are to bee confidered in diuers matters. /^i. Who did the deede.

ii. What v/as done.

^, . n \iii. Where it was cone.

The circumltaun- J.... ^rr, , , , u j u *. j -4. y mi. What helpe had he to doe it.

1 V. Wherefore he did it.

vi. How he did it.

,vii. At what time he did it.

^ The cir cum fi amices in Meter,

Who, what, and where, by what helpe, and by whofe :

Why, how, and when, doe many things difclofe.

A. RH- c Thefe

i8 The arte of Rhetorique.

THefe places helpe wonderfully to fet out any matter, and to amplifie it to the vttermost, not oncly in prayfing, or dilprayfing, but alfo in all other caufes, where any aduifement is to bee vied. Yet this one thing is to be learned, that it fhal not be neceflarie to vfe them altogether, euen as they ftand in order : but rather as time and place fliall beft require, they may be vfed in any part of the Oration, euen as it fliall pleafe him that hath the vfuig of them. Againe, if any man be difpofed to rebuke any offence, he may vfe the places contrary vnto them, that are aboue rehearfed, and applie thefe circumftaunces, euen as they are, to the proofe of his purpofe.

An example of commending King Dauid^ for killing great Goliah^

gathered and ynade^ by obferuation of circumflances.

Dauid ^""^ OD being the aucthour of mankinde, povvring into him

com- xjthe breath of life, and framing him of clay, in fuch a

InUing ^^ comely wife as wee all now fee, hath from the beginning,

Goliah. beene fo carefull ouer his elect and chofen, that in al

daungers, he is euer readie to affift his people, keeping them

harmelefTe, when they were often pail: all mans hope. And

who? among all other his fatherly goodnefle, it pleafed him to fliewe

Dauid his powcr to his chofen feruaunt Dauid, that al might learne

^Go\\^ to knowe his might, and recken with themfelues, that though

man giue the itioke, yet God it is that giueth the ouerhand.

For wher as Dauid was of fmall ftature, weake of bodie, poore

of birth, and bafe in the fight of the worldlings, God called

him firll to match with an huge monfter, a little bodie,

againft a might ie Gyaunt, an abied; Jiraelite, againft a moll:

valiaunt Philiftine, with whom no Ifraelite durlt encounter.

Thefe Philiftines minded, the murther and ouerthrow, of all

the Ifraelites, trufting in their owne ffcrength fo much that

they feared no perrill, but made an accompt, that all was theirs

before hand. Now, when both thefe armies were in fight,

the Philiftines vpon an hill of the one fide, and the Ifraelites

vpon an hill of the other fide, a vale beeing betwixt them both,

there marched out of the Campe, a bafe borne Philiftine,

called Goliah of Geth, a man of fixe Cubites high. This

Souldier, when through his bignelle and ftature of his bodie,

and alfo with great bragges, and terrible threatninges, he had

wonderfully abalhed the whole Armie of the Ifraelites, fo that

no

The arte of Rhetorique. 19

no man durft aduenture vpon him. God to the end he might deliuer Ifraell, and fliew that mans helpe, with all his armour, little auaile to get vid:orie, without his efpeciall grace : and againe, to the end he might fet vp Dauid, and make him honourable among the Ifraelites, did then call out Dauid, the ibnne of Ephrateus^ of Bethleem litda^ whofe name was Ifa'ie^ who being but a childe iii yeres, did kill out of hand, by Gods might and power, Goliath the moft terrible enemie of all what? other, that bare hate againft the children of Ifraell. When jR^j"j^ this mightie fellowe was flaine, about the vale of Tereblnthus^ Goliah. betwixt both the Armies, the Ifraelites reioyfed, that before where ? quaked, and wondered at him then, whom they would fcant About the knowe before, and no doubt this deede was not only wonder- ^^'"^ f!

Tcrebin-

full, but alfo right godly. For in battaile to kill an enemie, j^us. is thought right worthie, or to aduenture vpon a Rebell (though the fucceffe follovve not) is generally commended, yea, to put one to the worfe, or to make him flie the ground, is called manly, but what flial we fay of Dauid, that not onely had the better hande, not onely bet his enemie, but killed ftreight his enemie, yea, and not an enemie of the common ftature of men, but a mightie Gyant, not a man, but a monfter, yea, a deuill in heart, and a beaft in bodie ? Can any pauids be compted more honeft then fuch as feeke to faue their enterpnfe, Countrey, by haflarding their carcaiTes, and fliedding of their °d[y py bloud ? Can loue fhew it felf greater, then by yeelding of life, what help, for the health of an army ? It had been much, if halfe a dofen & by had difpatched fuch a terrible Giaunt, but now, when Dauid ^'lone'^and without helpe, being not yet a man but a boye in yearts, without ilewe him hand to hand, what iufb praife doth he deferue ? If ^^e helpe we praife other, that haue flaine euil men, and compt them \.^^a ^^^ haultie, that haue killed their matches, what fliall wee fay of Pauids Dauid, that being wonderfully ouermatched, made his partie enterpriie, good, and got the Gole of a Monfter. Let other praife praife Hercules^ that thinke beft of him : let C^far^ Alexander, and ^o"'^"^- Hanniball, bee bruted for Warriers : Dauid in my iudgement, both did more manly, then all the other were able, and ferued his Countrey in greater daunger, then euer any one of them did. And fliall we not call fuch a noble Captaine, a good man of warre. Delerueth not his manhoode and llout attempt, wonderfuU praife ? If vertue could Ipeake, would flie not fone

c 1 confefle.

xo The arte of Rhetorique.

confefle, that Dauid had her in full pofTeflion? And therefore,

if well doinges, by right may chalenge worthie Brute, Dauid

will be knowne, and neuer can want due praife, for fuch an

why? for honeft deede. And what man will not fay, but that Dauid did

the faue- minde nothing els herein, but the lauegarde of his Countrey,

1*5*^ ° thinking it better for himfelfe to dye, and his Countrey to

Countrie. liue, then himfelfe to liue, and his Countrey to dye. What

gaine got Dauid, by the death of Goliath, or what could he

hope, by the death of fuch a Monfter, but onely that the loue

which he bare to the Ifraelitcs, forced him to hadarde his

Dauids owne life : thinking that if the Phililf ines fliould preuaile, the

'^"^^'■pj''/*^' Ifraelites were like to perrilh, euery mothers Ibnne of them ?

to'himrelf Therefore, hee haffarding this attempt, confidered with him-

and his felfc, the faucgarde of the Ifraelites, the maintenaunce of

Countrey. Juftjce, his duetie towards GOD, his obedience to his Prince,

and his loue to his Countrey. And no doubt, God made

Dauids this enterprife appere full eafie, before Dauid could haue the

encerpnfe, \y^^y-^ ^q match himfelfe with fuch a one. For though his

eiL to heart might quake, being voyde of Gods helpe, yet afTuredly he

himfelfe. wanted no ftomacke, when God did fet him on. Let Tyraunts

rage, let Hell ftande open, let Sathan fliewe his might, if God be

with vs, who can be againft vs ? Though this Goliah appeared

fo ftrong, that ten Dauids were not able to ftande in his

hande : yet tenne Goliahs were all euer weake for Dauid alone.

Man can not judge, neither can reafon comprehend the

mightie power of God.

When Pharao with all his Armie, thought fully to deftroye the children of Ifraell in the red Sea, did not God preferue Mofes, and deftroyed Pharao ? What is man, and all his power that he can make, in the handes of GOD, vnto whom all creatures both in heauen and in earth, are fubied: at his commaundement ? Therefore, it was no mafterie for Dauid, beeing aflifted with GOD, afwell to match with the whole Armie, as to ouerthrow this one man. But what did the Ifraelites, when they fawe Dauid take vppon him fuch a Diuids bolde enterprife ? Some fayd he was rafli, other mocked him enterprife ^^ fcorne, and his brethren called him foole. For thought

accompted ' , ^ ,, - , i • i t i •

of his they, what a mad fellowe is he, bemg but a lad m yeare?, to

friends match with fuch a monfter in bodie ? How can it be podible hard and otherwife, but that he fliall be torne in peeces, euen at the

nrft

The arte of Rhetorique. ii

firfl: comming? For if the Philiftine may once hit him, he is gon though he had ten mens Hues. Now what fliould he meane, fo vncgally to match himfelfe, except he were wearie of his life, or els were not well in his wittes? Yea, and to giue his enemies all the aduauntage that could be, he came vnarmed, and whereas the Philiftine had very ftrong Armour, both to defende himfelfe, and a ftrong weapon to fight withall : Dauid came with a Sling onely, as though he would How? with kill Crowes, whereat, not onely the Philiftine laughed and ^ ^''"8- difdained his foUic, but alfo both the Armies thought he was but a dead man, before he gaue one ftroke. And in deede, by all reafon and deuife of man, there was none other way, but death with him out of hande. Dauid notwithftanding, beeing kindeled in heart, with Gods might, was ftrong enough for him, in his ownc opinion, and ibrced nothing though all other were much againft him. And therefore, made no more a doe, but being readie to reuenge in Gods name, fuch great blafphemie, as the Philiftine then did vtter : marched towarde his enemie, and with cafting a ftone out of a Sling, he ouerthrew the Philiftine at the firft. The which when he had done, out with his fworde and chopt of his head, carying it with his armour, to the Campe of the Ifraelites : whereat the Philiftines were greatly aftonied, and the Ifraelites much praifed GOD, that had giuen fuch grace to fuch a one, to compalTe fuch a deede. And the rather this manly ad, is highly to bee praifed, becaufe he fubdued this huge enemie, when Saull firft reigned King of Ifrael, and was fore affailed with the great armie of the Philiftines. Let vs therfore that be now lining, when this adt or fuch like, come into our mindes : remember what God is, of how infinite power he is, and let vs praifc God in them, by whom he hath wrought luch wonders, to the ftrengthning of our faith, and constaunt keeping of our profeflion, made to him by euery one of vs in our Baptifme.

f Examining of the circumjiaunces. i. Who did the deede?

DAuid beeing an Ifraelite, did this deede, beeing the fonne of Ifaie^ of the tribe of luda^ a boye in yeares. Ihis circumftaunce was vfcd, not onely in the narration, but

alfo

XX The arte of Rhetorique.

alfo when I fpake of the honefty and godlinelTe, which Dauid vfed, when he flue Goliah.

ii. What was done?

He flue Goliah, the ftrongeft Giaunt among the Philiftines. This circumftaimce 1 vied alfo, when I fpake of the honeftie, in killing Goliah.

iii. Where was it done ?

About the vale of Terebinthus.

iiii. What heipe had he to it ?

He had no help of any man but went himfelf alone. And whereas, Saull offered him Harneffe, he caft it away, and trufting only in God, tooke him to his Sling, with fov/er or fiue fmall flones in his hand, the which were thought nothing in mans fight, able either to doe little good, or els nothing at all. This circumllaunce I vfed, when I spake of the eafmefle and poffibilitie, that was in Dauid to kill Goliah, by Gods helpe.

V. Wherefore did he it ?

He aduentured his life, for the loue of his Countrey, for the maintenance of iuftice, for the aduauncement of Gods true glorie, and for the quietneffe of all Ifrael, neither feeking fame, nor yet looking for any gaine. I vfed this circumftance when I fliewed what profite he fought in aduenturing this deede.

vi. How did he it ?

Marie, he put a ftone in his Sling, and when he had call: it at the Philiftine Goliah fell downe ftraight. I vfed this circumftaunce, when 1 fpake of the impoffibilitie of the thing, vii. What time did he it ?

This deede was done, when Saull reigned firft King ouer the Ifraelites, at what time the Philiftines came againft the Ifraelites. Thus by the circumftaunces of things, a right worthie caufe may be plentifully enlarged.

^ Of the Oration demoTsfiratiue^ inhere things are Jet forth ^ afid jnatter co7nmended,

THE kind demonftratiue of things, is a meane wherby we doe praifc, or difpraife things, as Vcrtue, Vice, Townes, Cities, Caftelles, Woodes, Waters, Hilles and Mountaines.

5 Vlaces

The arte of Rhetoriqiie. xg

^ F laces to coyijirme things are foiuer.

I i. Things honeft.

_,, r r ^. ) ii. Profitable.

Places of con1irff2ation.<... ^ r *. u a

■^ •' ) 111. Lalie to be done.

Ciiii. Hard to be done.

MAny learned will haue rccourfe to the places of Loglcke^ in fteede of thefe fower places, when they take in hand to commend any fuch matter. The which places if they make them ferue, rather to commende the matter, then onely to teach men the trueth of it, it were wel done, and Oratour like, for feino; a man wholly beltoweth his witte to play the Oratour, he fliould chiefly feeke to compafle that, which he entendeth, and not doe that only which he neuer minded, for by plaine teaching, the Logician fhewes himfelfe, by large | amplification, and beautifying of his caufe, the Rhetorician is ' alwaies knowne.

^ The places of Logicke are thefe. 'Definition. Caufes. Parts. Effeds.

Things adioyning. ^Contraries.

I Doe not fee otherwife, but that thefe places of Logicke arc confounded with the other fower of confirmation, or rather 1 thinke thefe of Logicke muft firft bee minded, ere the other Logicke can well be had. For what is he, that can cal a thing honeft, "^"'^ ^^ and by reafon proue it, except he firll know what the thing (."nfirma-"^ is : the which he cannot better doe, then by defining the cion of nature of the thing. Againe, how fhall I know, whether caufes. mine attempt be eafie or hard if I knowe not the efficient caufe, or be afTurcd how it may be done. In affirming it to bee poffible, I fliall not better knowe it then by fearching the ende, and learning by Logicke^ what is the finall caufe of euery thing.

'^ ^ A?! example in commendation of luflice^ or true dealing.

SO many as looke to Hue in peaceable quietneffe, being minded rather to follow reafon, then to be led by wilfull luflice

aiietlJon : defire luflrice in all tilings, without the which no *^°'"". ,

° ^ , mended,

countrey

X4 The arte of Rhetorique.

countrey is able long to continue. Then may 1 be bolde to commende that, which all men wifli, and fewe can haue, which all men loue, and none can want : not doubting, but as I am occupied in a good thing, fo al good men will heare me with a good will. But would God I were fo well able, to perfwade all men to luftice, as all men knowe the neceflarie vfe thereof: and then vndoubtedly, I would bee much bolder, and force fome by violence, which by faire wordes cannot bee entreated. And yet what needes any perfwafion for that thing, which by nature is fo needfull, & by experience fo profitable, that looke what we want, without luftice we get not, looke what we haue : without luftice wee keepe not. God graunt vs his grace fo to worke in the hearts of al men, that they may afwell practife well doing in their owne life, as they would that other fliould foUowe luftice in their life : I for my part will beftowe fome labour, to fet forth the goodnelTe of vpright dealing, that all other men the rather may doe thereafter. That if through my wordes, GOD fhall worke with any man, then may I thinke my felfe in happie cafe, and reioyce much in the trauaile of my witte. And how can it be otherwife, but that all men flialbe forced inwardly to allow that, which in outwarde act many doe not followe : luftice feeing God powred firft this lawe of nature, into mans heart, naturally and graunted it as a meane, whereby wee might knowe his one"o"vs ^^'^5 ^"^ (^^ ^ might faye) talke with him, grounding ftill his doinges vppon this poinct, that man fhould doe as he would bee done vnto, the which is nothing els, but to Hue vprightly, without any will to hurt his neighbour. And therefore, hauing this light of Gods will opened vnto vs, through his mere goodneffe, we ought euermore, to referre all our actions vnto this ende, both in giuing iudgement, and deuifingLawes luftice neceflarie for mans life. And hereupon it is, that when men ^'^^h'^'^' defire the Lawe, for triall of a matter, they meane nothing Lrgcly it ^^^ ^^^ ^o haue luftice, the which luftice is a vertue that exiendeth. yeeldeth to euery man his owne : to the euer liuing God loue aboue all things ; to the King obedience : to the inferiour good counfaile : to the poore man, mercy : to the hatefull and wicked, fufFeraunce: to it felf, trueth: and to all men, perfite peace and charitie. Now, what can be more faied, in praifc of this vertue, or what thing can be like praifed ? Are

not

The arte of Rhetorique. ly

not all things in good cafe, when all men haue their owne ? And what other thing doth luftice, but feeketh meanes to content all parties ? Then how greatly are they to be praifed, that meane truelyin al their doinges, not onelydoe no harme to any, but feeke meanes to helpe al. The Sunne is not fo wonderfull to the world (faith Ar'iftotle) as the iuft dealing of Ariftotle. a gouernour, is manieilous to all men. No, the earth yeeldeth no more gaine to all creatures, then doth the luftice of a Magiftrate, to his whole Realme. For by a Lawe, we liue, and take the fruites of the earth, but where no Lawe is, nor luftice vfed : there nothing can bee had, though all thinges be at hand : for in hauing the thing, we fliall lacke the vfe, and liuing in great plentie, wee fliall ftande in great neede. The meane therefore, that maketh men to enioye their owne, is luftice, the which being once taken away, all other thinges are loit with it, neither can any one faue that he hath, nor yet get that he wanteth. Therefore, if wrong doing fliould Wrong be borne withall, and not rather punilhed by death, what man jpfp|."fji^ could liue in reft? Who could bee fure either of his life, or of death, his liuing one whole day together? Now, becaufe euery man defireth the prefer uation of himfelfe, euery man fliould in like cafe defire the fauegard of his neio;hbour. For if I fliould wholly minde myne owne eafe, and foUowe gaine without refpecfl, to the hinderaunce of mync euen Chrilfian : why fliould not other vfe the fame libertie, and fo euery man for himfelfe, and the Deuill for vs al, catch that catch may ? The which cufl:ome if all men followed, the earth would fone be voyd, for want of men one would be fo greedy to eate vp an other. For in feeking to liue, wee would lofe our Hues, and in gaping after goodes, wee fliould foone goe naked. There- fore, to reprefle this rage, and with wholfome deuifes to traine men in an order, GOD hath lightened man with know- ledge, that in all thinges he may fee what is right, and what is wrong, and vpon good aduifement deale iuftly with all men. God hath created all thinges for mans vfe, and ordeined man, for mans fake, that one man might helpe an other. For though fome one haue giftes more plentifully then the luftice common forte, yet no man can liue alone, without helpe of "^"'^^'"'^ other. Therefore wee fliould ftriue one to helpe an other by " ^ iuft dealing, ibme this way, and fome that way, as euery one

flial

men.

r6 The arte of Rhetorique.

flial haue neede, and as we Ihalbe alwaies beft able, wherein

the lawe of nature is fuliillcd, and Gods commaundement

From the followed. Wee loue them here in earth, that giue vs faire

leflc to the wordes, and wee can bee content, to fpeake well of them,

^ ■ that Ipeake well of vs ? and fliall we not loue them, and take

them alfo for honeft men, which are contented from time to

time, to yeeld euery man his owne, and rather would dye

then confent to euill doing : If one be gentle in outward

behauiour, we like him well, and fliall wee not efteeme him

that is vpright in his outward liuing ? And like as wee defire,

that other fliould bee to vs, ought not wee to bee likewife,

afFedted towardes them ? Euen among brute Beaftes, nature

hath appointed a lawe, and fliall wee men Hue without a lawe ?

Young The Storke being not able to feede her felf for age, is fed of her

Scorkes. young ones, wherein is declared a naturall loue, and fhall wee

i'o liue that one fliall not loue an other? Man fliould be vnto

man as a God, & flial man be vnto man as a deuil ? Hath

God created vs, and made vs to his owne likenefTe, enduing vs

with all the riches of the earth, that wee might bee obedient

to his will, and fliall wee neither loue his, nor like his ? How

vnnatural- can we fay that we loue God, if there be no charitie in vs ?

nefle in jj^^ j ^^^^ j^^j^ whofe minde I will not fbllowe, although it

wards God. he right honeft? If you loue me (fayth Chrifl:) followe my

Commaundements. Chrifl:es will is fuch, that wee fliould

loue God aboue all things, and our neighbour as our felf.

Then if we doe not iuftice (wherein loue doth confifb) we

ihon xiiii. do neither loue man, nor yet loue God. The Wifeman faith :

Math. XIX. ^Yhe beginning of a good life, is to doe Iuftice. Yea, the

Prouer.xvi. bleflTmg of the Lord, is vpon the head of the iuft. Heauen is

Prouer. iiii. theirs (faith Dauid) that doe iuftly from time to time. What

rial. xcvi. g]g ^^^^ ^^^11 ^^ ^Qg^ ^j^^^ j^^yg ^j^y hoTpe of the generall

refurredlion, but doe the will of God, and liue iuftly all the dales of our life? Let euery man, but confider with himfelfe, Profite of what eafe he fliall finde thereby, and I doubt not, but euery one deepely waying the fame, will in heart confelTe, that Iuftice maketh plentie, & that no one man could long hold

Iuftice.

his own if lawes were not made, to refrraine mans will. We trauaile now. Winter and Sommer, we watch and take thought, for maintenaunce of wife and children, afTuredly purpofmg (that though God fliall take vs immediatly) to

leaue

The arte of Rhetorique. X7

Jeaue honeftly Ibr our familie. Now, to what ende were all our gathering together, it iuft dealing were fet a fide, if Lawes Saucgard bare no rule, if that the wicked lift, that they may, and what J^^.^J they may, that they can, and what they can, that they dare, 6c what they dare, the fame they doe, &: whatfoeuer they doe. Gradation, no man of power is agreeued therwith ? What maketh wicked men (which els would not) acknowledge the King as their The nccef- foueraigne Lord, but the power of a law, &" the pradife of^'^Jf. "; luftice for euill doers? Could a Prince maintaine his ftate royall, if law and right had not prouided, that euery man fliould haue his owne ? Would feruaunts obeye their maifters, the ibnne his father, the Tenaunt his Landlord, the Citezein his Maior or Sherief if orders were not fet, & iuft dealing appointed for all ftates of men ? Therfore, the true meaning fo!ke in al ages giue themfelues fome to this occupation, and ibme to that, feking therin nothing els but to maintain a poore life, and to kepe themfelues true men, both to GOD and the world. What maketh men to performe their bargaines, to ftand to their promifes, and yeeld their debtes, but an order of a law grounded vpon luftice ? Where right beareth rule, there craft is compted vice. The liar is much hated, where where trueth is well efteemed. The wicked theeues are hanged, '"^'"^^ 'f where good men are regarded. None can hold vp their ^j^.^ j^ ' heads, or dare fliewe their faces, in a well ruled common exiled. weale, that are not thought honeii, or at the leaft haue fome honeft way to Hue. The Egiptians therefore, hauing a worthy Egiptians, and a wel gouerned commonweale, prouided that none fliould ^hac order Hue idly, but that euery one monthly fliould giue an accompt, [/banifii how he fpent his time, and had his name regeftred in a booke idleneiTe. for the fame purpofe. But Lord, if this law were vfed in England, how many would come behind hand with their reckenings at the audite day. I feare me their doings would be fuch, that it would be long ere they got their quietus eft. Theribre the worie is our ftate, the lefTe that this euill is looked vnto. And furely, if in other thinges wee fliould bee as negligent, this Realme could not long ftand. But thankes be to God, wee hang them a pace, that oftend a lawe, and therefore, wee put it to their choyce, whether they wilbe idle, and fo fall to ftealing or no ? they knowe their reward, goe to it when they wil. But if therewithal fome good order

were

28 The arte of Rhetorique.

were taken, for education of youth, and fetting loyterers on worke (as thanks be to God, the Citie is most godly bent that way) all would fone be well, without all doubt. The wife and difcrete perfons in al ages, fought all meanes podible, to haue an order in all thinges, and loued by luftice to direct all their doinges, whereby appeareth both an apt will in fuch men, and a naturall ftirring by Gods power, to make all men luftice, good. Therefore if we do not well, we muft blame our eafie to be feJues, that lack a will, & do not call to God for grace. For wilfbe not though it appere hard to do wel, becaufe no man can get wanting, perfedrion, without continuance : yet aflliredly to an humble mind that calleth to God, & to a willing heart that faine would do his beft, nothing can be hard. God hath fet al things to fale for labor, & keepeth open fliop come who wil. Therefore in all ages, whereas we fee the feweft good we muft well thinke, the moft did lacke good will to afke, or feeke for the fame. Lord what loue had that worthie Prince Seleucus to maintaine luftice, and to haue good lawes kept, of whom fuch a wonderfull thing is written. For whereas he eftabliflied moft wholefome lawes, for fauegard of the Locren- fiansj and his owne fonne thereupon taken in adultery, fliould lofe both his eyes, according to the lawe then made, and yet notwithftanding, the whole Citie thought, to remit the neceflitie of his punishment, for the honour of his father, Vaier. li. vi. Scleucus would nonc oF that in any wife. Yet at laft, through importunitie being ouercome, he caufed firil one of his own eyes to be pluckt out, and next after, one of his fonnes eyes, leauing onely the vfe of fight, to himfelfe and his fonne. Thus through equitie of the law, he vfed the due meane of chaftifement, ftiewing himfelfe by a wonderfull temperature, both a mercifuU father, and a iuft law maker. Now happie are they that thus obferue a Lawe, thinking lolle of bodie, lefle hurt to the man, then fparing of punishment, meete for the foule. For GOD will not faile them, that haue fuch a defire to followe his will, but for his promife fake, he will rewarde them for euer. And now, leing that luftice naturally is giuen to al men, without the which he could not Hue, being warned alfo by GOD, alwaies to doe vprightly, perceiuing againe the commodities, that redounde vnto vs, by liuing vnder a Lawe, and the fauegarde, wherein we ftand,

hauing

The arte of Rhetorique. 29

hauing luftice to affifb vs : I truft that not onely all men, will commend lulHce in worde, but alfo will Hue iuftly in dcedc, the which that we may doe: God graunt vsot his grace. Amen.

f -^w Oration deltberatiue, AN Oration deliberatiue, is a meane, whereby we doe per- oration x\_fwade, or diffwade, entreate, or rebuke, exhorte, or dehort, <^eliberii- commend, or comforte any man. In this kind of Oration, wee doe not purpofe wholy to praife any bodie, nor yet to determine any matter in controuerfie, but the whole compalTe of this caufe is, either to aduifc our neighbour to that thing, which wee thinke moll needefull for him, or els to call him backe from that follie, which hindereth much his eftimation. As for example, if I would counfaile my friend to trauaile beyond the Seas, for knowledge of the tongues, and experience in forraine Countries : I might refort to this kinde of Oration, and finde matter to confirme my caufe plentifully. And the reafons, which are commonly vfed to enlarge fuch matters, are thefe that followe.

r The thing is honeft. r Saufe.

-) Profitable. < Eafie.

C Pleafaunt. C Hard.

C Lawfuil and meete. < Praife worthie.

L NecefTarie.

NOW in fpeaking of honeftie, I may by deuifion of the Honeftie vertues make a large walke. Againe,looke what lawes, ^"^JJ^^^ ^n what cuftomes, what worthie deedes, or fayinges haue been vtrtues. vfed heretofore, all thefe might ferue well for the confirmation of this matter, laftly where honeftie is called in to ellablifli a caufe : there is nature and GOD himfelfe prefent, from whom commeth all goodnefTe. In the feconde place, where Profite how 1 fpake of profite, this is to be learned, that vnder the fame largely ic is comprehended the getting of gaine, and the efchuing of"*^ harme. Againe, concerning profite (which alfo beareth the Profite name of goodnefle) it partly perteineth to the bodie, as beartth beautie, ftrength, and health, partly to the minde, as the ^f ^^^^_ encreafe of witte, the getting of experience, and heaping nefle, together of much learning : and partly to fortune (as Philo- "^^'^h ■* fophers take it) whereby both wealth, honour, and friends are foijed.

gotten.

Pleafures, largely fee out.

Eafineflfe of crauaile.

Trauaile vntowhom i: is hard.

30 The arte of Rhetorique.

gotten. Thus he that deuideth profite cannot want matter. Thirdly, in declaring it is pleafant, I might heape together the varietie of pleafures, which come by trauaile, firft the fweetnefle of the tongue, the wholefomnes of the ayre in other Countries, the goodly wittes of the Gentlemen, the ftraunge and auncient buildings, the wonderfull Monuments, the great learned Clarkes in al faculties, with diuers otherlike, & almoft infinite pleafures.

The eafmeffe of trauaile, may thus be perfwaded, if we fliewe that free paflage is by wholefome lawes appointed, for al ftraungers and way fairers. And feeing this life is none other thing but a trauell, and we as Pilgrimes, wander from place to place, much fondnefle it were to thinke that hard, which nature hath made eafie, yea, and pleafaunt alfo. None are more healthfull, none more luftie, none more merrie, none more ftrong of bodie, then fuch as haue trauailed Countries. Mary vnto them, that had rather fleepe al day, then wake one houre (chofnig for any labor, flothfull idleneffe] thinking this life to be none other, but a continuall refting place, vnto fuch pardie, it fliall feeme painefull to abide any labour. To learne Logicke, to learne the Law, to fome it feemeth fo hard, that

nothing can enter into their heades

and the reafon is, that

Goodwill makes great burdeines

light.

Lawfull.

Necedary two waies taken.

they want a will, and an earneil minde, to doe their endeuour. For vnto a willing heart, nothing can be hard, lay lode on fuch a mans back and his good heart, may foner make his backe to ake, then his good will can graunt to yeeld, and refufe the weight. And now where the fweete hath his fower ioyned with him, it flialbe wifedome to fpeake fomewhat of it, to mitigate the fowernefle thereof, as much as may be polTible.

That is lawfull and praife worthie, which Lawes doe graunt, good men doe allowe, experience commendeth, and men in all ages haue molt vied.

A thing is necelTarie two maner of waies. Firft, when either wee mult doe fome one thing, or els doe worfe. As if one fliould threaten a woman, to kill her if flie would not lye with him, wherein appeareth a forcible neceflitie. As touching trauaile we might fay, either a man muft bee ignoraunt of many good thinges, and want great experience, or els he muft trauaile. Now to be ignoraunt, is a great Ihame, therefore to tiauailc is moit ncedfulJ, if wc will auoyde

fliamc.

The arte of Rhetorique. 31

fhame. The other kind of neceflitie is, when wee perfwade men to beare thofe thinges paciently, when wee perfwade men to beare thofe crofTes paciently, which God doth fend vs, confidering, will wc, or nill we, needes muft we abide them. ^ To aduife 07ie^ to Jludie the lavjes of England. AGaine, when we fee our frend enclined to any kind of .XjLlearning, we muft counfaile him to take that way ftill, and by reafon perfwade him, that it were the meeteft way for him to doe his Countrie moft good. As if he giue his minde to Lawes of the lawes of the Realme, and finde an aptnefle therunto, we England, may aduife him, to continue in his good entent, and by reafon perfwade him, that it were moft meete for him fo to do. And iirft we might fliewe him that the ftudie is honeft and godly, confidering it onely foloweth luiHce, and is grounded wholy vpon natural! reafon. Wherein we might take a large fcope, if we fliould fully fpeake of all thinges, that are comprehended vnder honeftie. For he that will knowe what Vertues honeftie is, muft haue an vnderftanding, of all the vertues e|"Fciall & together. And becaufe the knowledge of them is moft fg^^gj \^ neceffarie, I will briefly fet them forth. There are fower number, efpeciall and chief vertues, vnder whom all other are com- prehended.

■ Prudence, or wifedome.

luftice.

I Manhood.

, Temperaunce.

PRudence, or wifedome (for I will here take them both Prudence, for one) is a vertue that is occupied euermore in fearching ^^^^ " '^• out the trueth. Now, we all loue knowledge, and haue a defire to pafle other therin, and think it fliame to be ignoraunt : and by ftudying the lawe, the trueth is gotten out, by knowing the trueth, wifedome is attained. Wherefore, in perswading one to ftudie the lawe, you may fhewe him, that he fliall get wifedome thereby. Vnder this vertue are comprehended.

r Memorie.

-<. Vnderftanding.

C Forefight.

THE memorie, calleth to accompt thofe things, that were Panes of done heretofore, and by a former rcmembraunce getteth Prudence, an after wit, and learneth to auoyde deceipt.

Vnder-

gx The arte of Rhetorique.

Vnderftanding, feeth thinges prefently done, and perceiueth what is in them, weighing and debating them, vntill his minde be fully contented.

Forefight, is a gathering by coniedtures, what shall happen, and an euident perceiuing of thinges to come, before they doe come. luftice.

iiiaice, luftice is a vertue, gathered by long fpace, giuing euery one

what K IS. j^jg owne, minding in all thinges, the common profite of our Countrey, whereunto man is moft bound and oweth his full obedience.

Now, Nature firft taught man, to take this way, and would euery one fo to doe vnto an other, as he would be doen vnto himfelfe. For whereas Raine watereth al in like, the Sunne fliineth indifferently ouer all, the fruite of the earth encreafeth equally. God warneth vs to beftowe our good will after the fame forte, doing as duetie bindeth vs, and as neceffitie fliall heft require. Yea, God graunteth his giftes diuerfly among men, becaufe hee would man lliould knowe and feele, that man is borne for man, and that one hath neede of an other. And therefore though nature hath not ftirred fome, yet through the experience that man hath, concerning his com- moditie : many haue turned the lawe of nature into an ordinarie cuftome, and followed the fame as though they were bound to it by a law. Afterward, the wifedome of Princes, and the feare of Gods threate, which was vttered by his worde, forced men by a lawe, both to allowe things confirmed by nature, and to beare with old cuftome, or els they fliould not onely fufFer in body temporall punifliment. Nature, but alfo lofe their foules for euer. Nature is a right that \\hat it IS. phantafie hath not framed, but God hath grafted and gmen man power thereunto, whereof thefe are deriued. Religion, and acknowledging of God. I Naturall loue to our children, and other. 'Thankfulnefle to all men. iStoutnefTc, both to withftand and reuenge. IReuerence to the fuperiour. _ AfTured and conftaunt trueth in things. Religion. T^^ligion, is an humble worlhipping of GOD, acknow- Xv^lcdging him to be the creatour of Creatures, and the oncly giuer of all good things.

Naturall

The arte of Rhetorique. 3 3

Naturall loue, is an inward good will, that we bearc to Naturall our parents, wife, children, or any other that be nigh of '''"'■'• kinne vnto vs, iHrred thereunto not onely by our flefli, thinking that like as we would loue our felues, fo wee fliould loue them, but alfo by a likenefTe of minde : and therefore generally we loue all, becaufe all be like vnto vs, but yet we loue them moll, that both in bodie and mynd be moll like vnto vs. And hereby it commeth, that often we are liberall and beftowe our goodes vpon the needie, remembring that they are all one flefli with vs, and fliould not want when we haue it, without our great rebuke and token of our moft vnkind dealing.

Thankfulnefle is a requiting of loue, for loue, and will, for Thankeful- will, fliewing to our freendes, the like goodnefle that we finde "^^''• in them : yea, flrriuing to pafle them in kindnelle, lofmg neither time nor tide to doe them good.

StoutnelTe to withfland and reuenge euil, is then vfed when scomnefle. either we are like to haue harme, & doe withftand it, or els when we haue fuffered euill for the trueth fake, and there- upon doe reuenge it, or rather punifli the euill, which is in the man.

Reuerence, is an humbleneffe in outward behauour, when Reuerence. we doe our duetie to them, that are our betters, or vnto ilich as are called to ferue the King in fome greate vocation.

AfTured and conftant trueth is, when we do beleeue that Aflured thofe things, which are, or haue bene, or hereafter are about J"^^'^''"" to be, can not otherwife be, by any meanes poflTible. trueth.

That is right by cuftome, which long time hath confirmed, Rjgj^^ ^^ being partly grounded vpon nature, & partly vpon reafon, as cuftomc'. where wee are taught by nature, to knowe the euer liuing God, and to worfliip him in fpirite, we turning natures light, into blind cuftome, without Gods will, haue vfed at length to beleeue, that he was really with vs here in earth, and worfliipped him not in fpirite, but in Copes, in Candlellicks, in Belles, in Tapers, and in Cenfcrs, in Crofles, in Banners, in fliauen Crownes, and long Gowncs, and many good Cuftome morowes els, deuifed only by the phantafie of man, without ^'"^^ ""'" the expreflfe will of God. The which childifli toyes, time ground hath fo long confirmed, that the trueth is leant able to trie vngodly. them out, our hearts be fo hard, and our wits be fo far to A. RH. D feeke.

B

34 The arte of Rhetorique.

leeke. Again, where we fee by nature, that euery one fliould deale trueJy, cuflome encreafeth natures wil, & maketh by auncient demeane things to be iuftly obferued, which nature hath appointed.

r Bargaining. As-^ Commons, or equalitie. C Judgement giuen. Argaining is, when two haue agreed for the fale of fome one thing, the one will make his fellowe to iland to the bargaine though it be to his neighbours vndoing, refting vpon this point, that a bargaine is a bargaine, and mull ftande without all exception, although nature requireth to haue things doen by confcience, and would that bargaining fliouId be builded vpon iuftice, whereby an vpright dealing, and a charitable loue, is vttered amongft all men. Commons. Commons or equalitie, is when the people by long time haue a ground, or any fuch thing among them, the which fome ot them will keepe ftill for cuftome fake, and not fuffer it to be fenced, and fo turned to palture, though they might gaine ten times the value : but fuch ftubburnefTe in keeping of commons for cuftome fake, is not ftanding with Iuftice, becaufe it is holden againft al right, ludgement Judgement giuen, is when a matter is confirmed by a giuen. Parliament, or a Lawe, determined by a ludge, vnto the which many hedftrong men will ftand to dye for it, without fufteraunce of any alteration, not remembring the circum- ftaunce of things, and that time altereth good adtes. Right by That is right by a law, when the trueth is vttered in Lawe. writing, and commaunded to be kept, euen as it is fet forth vnto them.

^ Fortitude or manhood. Manhood. TT'Ortitudc, is a confiderate haffarding vpon daunger, and X^ a willing heart to take paines, in behalfe of the right. Now, when can ftoutnefte be better vfed, then in a iuft main- tenaunce of the Lawe, and conftaunt trying of the trueth : Of this vertue, there are fower branches. Honourablenefle. Stoutnefte. Sufferance. Continuance.

HonorablenefTe

The arte of Rhetorique. gj-

HOnorablcnciTe is a noble ordering of weightie matters, Honor- with a luftie heart, and a liberal! vfing of his wealth, to at)lencne. encreafe of honour.

StoutneiTe, is an afiTured truft in himfelfe, when he mindeth Scoutneffe. the compafTe of moil weightie matters, and a couragious defending of his caufe.

SufFeraunce, is a willing and a long bearing of trouble and SuftVrance. taking of paines : for the maintenaunce of vertue, and the wealth of his Countrey.

Continuance, is a ilcdfaft and conftaunt abiding, in a Continu- purpofed and well aduifed matter, not yeelding to any man ^"'^'^• in quarell of the right.

^ Temperaunce.

TEmperance, is a meafuring of afFedions according to Temper- the will of reafon, and a fubduing of luft vnto the Square *'^*^^- of honeftie. Yea, and what one thing doth foone mitigate the immoderate paflions of our nature, then the perfedt knowledge of right & wrong, & the iuft execution appointed by a law, for affwaging the wilfull ? Of this vertue there are three partes.

r Sobrietie. -^ Gentlenefle. C Modeftie.

Sobrietie, is a brideling by difcretion, the wilfulnefTe ofsobrietie. defire.

GentlenefTe, is a caulming of heate, when we begin to rage, Gentlenefle. and a lowly behauiour in al our bodie.

Modeftie, is an honeft HiamefaftneiTe, whereby we keepe a Modeftie. conftant looke,& appere fober in all our outward doings. Now, euen as we fliould. defire the vfe of al thefe vertues, fo fliould we efchue not only the contraries hereunto, but alfo auoid al fuch euils, as by any meanes do withdrawe vs from well doing.

5 It is profitable. A Fter we haue perfwaded our freend, that the lawe is x\. honeft, drawing our arguments from the heape of vertues, wee muft goe further with hym, and bryng him in good beleeue that it is very gainfull. For many one leeke not the know- ledge of learning for y® goodnes fake, but rather take paines ^ ^^^ for the gaine, which they fee doeth arife by it. Take away rewaid the hope of lucre, and you (hall fee fewe take any paines : no, maketh

D z not '"'" "''"

paines.

3 6 The arte of Rhetorique.

not in the Vineyard of the Lorde. For although none fliould followe any trade of life for the gaine fake, but euen as he feeth it is moft neceffarie, for the aduauncement of Gods glorie, and not palTe in what eftimation things are had in this worlde: yet becaufe we are all fo weake of witte in our tender yeres, that we can not weigh with our felues what is beft, and our bodie fo nefli, that it loketh euer to be cheriflied, we take that which is mofte gainefull for vs, and forlake that altogether, which wee ought moft to followe. So, that for lacke of honeft meanes, and for want of good order: the beft way is not vfed, neither is Gods honour in our firft yeeres remembred. I had rather (fayde one) make my child a Cobler, then a Preacher, a Tanxerd bearer, then a Scholer. For what flial my fonne feeke for learning, when hee fliall neuer get thereby any liuing ? Set my fonne to that, whereby he may get fomewhat? Doe ye not fee, how euery one catcheth and pulleth from the Church what thei can ? I feare me one day, they wil pluck doune Church and all. Call you this the Gofpell, when men feeke onely to prouide for their bellies, and care not a groate though their foules go to Hell ? A patrone of a Benefice, will haue a poore yngrame foule, to beare the name of a Parfon, for twentie marke or ten pound : and the patrone him felf, will take vp for his fnapfliare, as good as an hundred marke. Thus God is robbed, learning decaied, England diflionoured, and honeftie not regarded. The old Romaines not yet knowing Chrift, and yet being led by a reuerent feare towards God made this lawe. Sacrum facroue commendatum qui clep ferity rapferltue^ f aria da ejr. He that fliall clofely fteale, or forciblie take awaie that thing The which is holy, or giuen to the holy place, is a murderer of his

Romaines countrey. But what haue I laid ? I haue a greater matter in church"'^ hande, then whereof I was aware, my penne hath runne ouer dignities, farre, when my leafure ferueth not, nor yet my witte is able to talke this cafe in fuch wife, as it fliould bee, and as the largenelTe thereof requireth. Therefore, to my Lawyer againe, whom I doubt not to pcrfwade, but that he flial haue the Deuill and al, if he learne a pace, and doe as fome haue doen before him. Therefore, I will fliewe how largely this profite extcndeth, that I may haue him the foner take this matter in hande. The law therefore, not onely bringeth much gaine

with

The arte of Rhetorique. 37

with it, but alio aduaunceth men, both to worfliip, renownc, and honour. All men fliall feeke his fauour for his learning fake, the beft fliall like his company for his calling : and his wealth with his fkiJl fliall be fuch, that none dial be able to work him any wrong. Some confider profite, by thefe cir- cumllances following.

' To whom. When.

Where.

. Wherefore.

N Ether can I vfe a better order, then thefe circum- circum- ilaunces minifter vnto mee. To whom therefore is the dances in Law profitable ? Marie, to them that be beft learned, that profiie!"^ haue readie wittes, and will take paines. When is the law profitable? AfTuredly, both now and euermore, but efpecially in this age, where all men goe together by the eares, for this matter, and that matter. Such alteration hath beene hereto- fore, that hereafter needes muft enfue much alteration. And where is al this a doe ? Euen in little England, or in Weftminfter hall, where neuer yet wanted bufinelTe, nor yet euer flial. Wherefore is the Law profitable? vndoubtedly, becaufe no man could hold his ownc, if there were net an order to ftaie vs, and a Lawe to reftraine vs. And I praie you, who getteth the money ? The Lawiers no doubt. And were not Land fometimes cheaper bought, then got by the triall of a Law ? Do not men commonly for trifles fall out ? Some for Folly in lopping of a Tree, fpendes all that euer they haue, an other '"^"y ^^^^ for a Gofe that grafeth vpon his ground, tries the lawe fo Lawe. hard, that he proues himfelf a Gander. Now, when men be fo mad, is it not eafie to get money among them? Un- doubtedly, the Lawier neuer dieth a begger. And no maruaile. Lawyers, For an C. begges for him, and makes awaie all that they haue, ^^^^^ ^y^ to get that of him, the which, the oftener he beftoweth, the ^^^"^' more ftill he getteth. So that he gaineth alwaies, afwel by encreafe of learning, as by ftoring his purfe with money, whereas the other get awarme Sunne oftentimes, and aflappe with a Foxe taile, for all that euer they haue fpent. And why would they ? Tufli if it were to doe againe, they would doe it : therefore, the Lawyer can neuer want liuing till the earth .want men and all be voyde.

5 8 The arte of Rhetorique.

^ The Laive eajte to many^ and hard to fame.

I Doubt not, but my Lawyer is perfwaded that the Lawe is profitable, now muft I beare him in hand that it is an eafie matter to become a Lawier. The which, if I fliall bee able to proue. I doubt not, but he will proue a good Lawyer, and that right fliortly : the Lawe is grounded vpon reafon. And what hardnefTe is it for a man by a reafon, to finde out reafon. That can not be ftraunge vnto him, the ground whereof is graffed in his breaft. What, though the Lawe be in a ftraunge tongue, the wordes may bee gotte without any paine, when the matter it felf is compaft with eafe. Tufli, a little Lawe will make a greate fliewe, and therefore, though it bee much to become excellent, yet it is eafie to get a tafte. And furely for getting of money, a little will doe afmuch good oftentymes, as a great deale. There is not a word in the Law, but it is a grote in the Lawiers purie. I haue knowne diuers, that by familiar talking and mouting together, haue come to right good learning, without any great booke fkill, or much beating of their braine, by any clofe ftudie or fecret mufmg in their Chamber. But where fome faie the Lawe is very hard, and difcourage yong men from the ftudie thereof, it is to bee vnderftande of iuch as will take no paines at al, nor yet mind the knowledge thereof. For what is not hard to man, when he wanteth will to doe his beft. As good fleepe, and fay it is hard : as wake and take no paines. ^ Godlie.

rr., T J lufte.

The Lawe. < ^ t rr • ) Necellarie.

CPleafaunt.

WHat needeth mee, to prooue the Lawe to be Godly, iuft, or neceftarie, feeing it is grounded vpon Gods will, and all Lawes are made for the maintenaunce of luftice. If we wil not beleeue that it is necefifarie, let vs haue Rebels againe to difturbe the Realme. Our nature is fo fonde, that we knowe not the neceffitie of a thing, till wee finde fome lacke of the fame. Bowes are not efteemed, as they haue beene among vs Engliflimen, but if we were once well beaten by our enemie?, we fliould foone knowe the want, and with feeling the fmart, lament much our folly. Take away the

Law,

The arte of Rhetorique. 39

Law, and take away our Hues, for nothing maintaincth our Lawes

• - .... . i^^^j

life.

wealth, our health, and the fauegard of our bodies, but the m^'n^m'?

Law of a Realme, whereby the wicked are cojidemned, and the Godly are defended.

^ An Epjfile to perfwade a yong Gentleman to mariage^ dettifed by Erafmus^ in the behalf e of his freend.

ALbeit, you are wife enough of your lelfe, through that jfXfingulare wifedome of yours (moft louing Cofine) and litle needes the aduife of other, yet either for that olde freendfliippe, which hath bene betwixt vs, and continued with our age, euen from our Cradles, or for fuch your great good turnes, fliewed at all times towardes me, or els for that fall kinred and aliaunce, which is betwixt vs : I thought my felf thus much to owe vnto you, if 1 would be fuch a one in deed, as you euer haue taken mee, that is to fay, a man both freendly and thankfull, to tell you freely (whatfoeuer I iudged to appertaine either to the iauegard or worfliip of you, or any of yours) and willingly to warne you of the fame. Wee are better feen oftentimes in other mens matters, then we are in our owne. 1 haue felt often your aduife in mine owne affaires, and I haue found it to be fortunate vnto me, as it was frendly. Now, if you will likewife in your owne matters, follow my couni'aile. 1 truft it fliall fo come to pafle, that neither 1 fliall repent me, for that I haue giuen you counfaile, not yet you fliall forethinke your felfe, that you haue obeyed and followed mine aduife.

There was at fupper with me the twelue day of Aprill, when I laie in the Countrie, Antonius Baldus, a man (as you knowe) that moll: earnelily tendereth your welfare, and one that hath been alwaies of great acquaintaunce, and familiaritie with your fonne in Lawe : a heauie feall: wee had, and full of much mourning. He tolde me greatly to both our heauinefle, that your mother that moil: Godly woman, was departed this life, and your fifter being ouercome with forowe and heaui- neffe, had made her felf a Nunne, fo that in you only remaineth the hope of ilTue, and maintenance of your ftocke. Whereupon your freends with one confent, haue offered you in Mariage, a Gentlewoman of a good houfe, and much wealth, faire of bodie, very well brought vp, and fuch a one as loueth you with all her heart. But you (either for your

late

Praife worthy to marrie.

Right and meete to marrie.

40 The arte of Rhetorique.

late forowes, which you haue in frefli remembraunce, or els for religion fake) haue fo purpofed to Hue a fingle.life, that neither can you for loue of your ftock, neither for defire of Ifllie, nor yet for any entreatie of your freendes can make, either by praying, or by weeping : be brought to chaunge your minde. And yet notwithftanding all this (if you will followe my counfayle) you fliall be of an other minde, and leauing to Hue fmgle, whiche both is barraine, and fmally agreeing with the ftate of mans Nature, you flial giue your felfe wholy to moft holy Wedlocke. And for this parte, I will neither wifh, that the loue of your freends (which els ought to ouercome your nature) nor yet mine authoritie that I haue ouer you, fliould doe me any good at all, to compaflTe this my requeft, if I fliall not proue vnto you by moft plaine reafons, that it will be both much more honeft, more profit- able, and alfo moft pleafant for you to marrie, then to Hue otherwife. Yea, what will you fay if I proue it alfo, to be neccffary for you at this tyme to marrie. And firft of all, if honeftie may moue you in this matter (the which among all good men, ought to bee of much weight) what is more honeft then Matrimonie, the which Chrift himfelfe did make honeft, when not onely hee, vouchfaued to bee at the Mariage with his mother, but alfo did confecrate the Mariage feaft, with the firft miracle, that euer hee did vpon earth ? What is more holy then Matrimonie, which the Creatour of all things did inftitute, did faften and make holy, and nature it felfe did eftablifli ? What is more prayfe worthie, then that thing, the which, whofoeuer fliall difpraife, is condemned ftraight for an Herctique? Matrimonie, is euen as honourable, as the name of an Heretique is thought fliamefull. What is more right or meete, then to giue that vnto the pofteritie, the which we haue receiued of our auncefters ? What is more inconfiderate, then vnder the defire of holinefle, to efchue that as vnholy, which God himfelf, the fountaine and father of all holinefTe, would haue to be compted is moft holy? What is more vnmanly then that man fliould goe againft the lawes of mankind ? What is more vnthankfull, then to denie that vnto younglings, the which (if thou haddeft not receiued of thine elders) thou couldeft not haue bene the man liuing, able to haue denied it vnto them. That if you would knowe, who

was

The arte of Rhetorique. 41

was the firft founder of Mariage, you fliall vnderftande, that Mariage it came not vp by Licurgus, nor yet by Mofes, nor yet by l'^'1,'"J' '^^ Solon : but it was firft ordeined and inftituted, by the cheefe ^ founder of all things, commended by the fame, made honour- able, and made holy by the fame. For, at the firft when he made man of the earth, he did perceiue that his life fliould be mifcrable and vnfauerie, except he ioyned Eue as mate vnto him. Whereupon he did not make the wife vpon the fame After man clay, whereof he made man : but he made her of Adams ^^ made, Ribbes, to the end we might plainly vnderftande, that nothing ^^^ ioyned ought to be more deare vnto vs then our wife, nothing more vnto him. nigh vnto vs, nothing furer ioyned, and (as a man would faie) fafter glewed together. The felf fame God, after the generall Matrl- flood being reconciled to mankinde, is faid to proclaime this "^""'^ . law firft of all, not that men fliould Hue fingle, but that they after the fliould encreafe, bee multiplied and fill the earth. But howe flood. I pray you could this thing bee, fauing by Mariage and lawfull comming together ? And fii-ft leaft we fliould alledge here, either the libertie of Mofes lawe, or els the neceffitie of that tyme : what other meaning els, hath that common and commendable report of Chrift in the Gofpell, for this caufe Natures (faieth he) fliall man leaue father and mother, and cleaue to ^P'^'^^'j . his wife. And what is more holy then the reuerence and Gods loue due vnto parents ? And yet the trueth promifed in v/orde. Matrimonie, is preferred before it, and by whofe meanes? Marie by God himfelf, at what time? Forfooth not only among the lewes, but alfo among the Chriftians. Men forfake father and mother, and takes themfelues wholy to their wiues. The fonne being paft twentie yeeres, is free and at libertie. Yea, the fonne being abdicated be commeth no fonne. But it is death onely that parteth maried folke, if yet death doth parte them. Nowe, if the other Sacraments (whereunto the Church of Chrift chiefly leaneth) be reuer- cntly vfed, who doeth not fee, that this Sacrament, fliould haue the moft reuerence of all, the which was inftituted of God, and that firft and before all other. As for the other, they were inftituted vpon earth, this was ordeined in Paradife : the other were giuen for a remedie, this was appointed for the felowfliip of felicitie : the other were applied to mans nature, after the fal this only was giuen, when man was in

moft

4^% The arte of Rhetorique.

moft perfite ftate. If we coumpt thofe Lawes good, that mortall men haue enadled, Ihall not the lawe of Matrimonie bee moft holy, which wee haue receiued of him, by whom we haue receiued life, the which Lawe was then together enadted, when man was firft created? And laftly, to ftrengthen this Lawe, with an example and deede doen, Chrift being a yong man (as the ftorie reporteth) was called to Mariage, and came Mariage thether willingly with his mother, and not only was he there beautified prefent, but alfo he did honeft the feaft with a wonderfull mir^aclc. Hiaruaile, beginning firft in none other place, to worke his wonders and to doe his miracles. Why then I praie you (will one faie) how happeneth it, that Chrift forbare Mariage ? As though good fir, there are not many things in Chrift, at the which we ought rather to maruaiJe, then feeke to follow. He was borne, and had no father, he came into this world, without his mothers painfull trauaile, he came out of the graue when it was clofed vp, what is not in him aboue nature ? Let thefe things be proper vnto him. Let vs that Jiue within the bounds of nature, reuerence thofe things that are aboue nature, and followe fuch things as are within our reache, fuch as wee are able to compafte. But yet (you fay) hee would bee borne of a virgin : of a virgin (I graunt) but yet of a maried virgin. A virgin being a mother did mofte become God, and being maried, flie fliewed what was beft for vs to do. Virginitie did become her, who being vndefiled brought him forth by heauenly infpiration, that was vndefiled. And yet lofeph being her houfbande, doeth commend vnto vs the lawe of chaft Wedlock. Yea, how could he better fet out the focietie in Wedlocke, than that willing to declare the fecrete focietie of his Diuine nature, with the bodie and foule of man which is wonderfull, euen to the heauenly Angels, and to fhewe his vnfpeakable and euer abiding loue toward his church : He doth call himfelf the Bridegrome, and her the bride. Create is the Sacrament of Matrimonie (faieth Paule) betwixt Chrift and his Church. If there had been vnder heauen, any holier yoke, if there had bene any more religious couenaunt, then is Matrimonie, without doubt the example thereof had bene vfed. But what like thing do you reade in Mariage all fcripture of the fingle life ? The Apoftle S. Paule in the honourable, thirtccnc Chapter of his Epiftle to the Hebrues, calleth

Matrimonie

The arte of Rhetorique. 45

Matrimonie honorable among all men, and the bed vndefiled, & yet the fmgle life is not lb much as once named in the lame place. Nay, they are not borne withall that liue fingle, except they make fome recompence, with doing fome great thing. For els, if a man following the law of Nature, doe labour to get children, he is euer to be preferred before him, that liueth ftill vnmaried, for none other end, but becaufe he would bee out of trouble, and liue more free. We doe reade, that fuch as are in very deede chaft of their body, and liue a virgines life, haue bene praifed : but the fingle life was neuer praifed of it felfe. Now, againe the law of Mofes, accurfed the barren nelTe of maried folk : and we doe reade that fome were excommunicated, for the fame purpofe, and baniflied from the Altar. And wherfore I praie you ? Marie fir, becaufe that they like vnprolitable perfons, and lining onely to themfelues, did not encreafe the worlde with any ifTue. In Deuteronomi, it was the cheefeft token of Gods Deuc. vi. blellinges vnto the Ifraelites, that none fhould be barren among them, neither man, nor yet woman. And Lia is Lia. thought to be out of Gods fauour becaufe fhe could not bring forth children. Yea, and the Pfalme of Dauid. ii8. it is coumpted on of the cheefeft partes of blille, to be a fruitfull woman. Thy wife (faieth the Pfalme) fhalbe plentifuU like a Vine. And thy children like the branches of Oliues, round about thy table. Then if the law doe condemne, and vtterly difalowe barren Matrimonie, it hath alwaies muche more condemned the fingle life of Batchlars. If the fault of nature hath not efcaped blame, the will of man can neuer want rebuke. If they are accurfed that would haue children, and can get none, what deferue thei which neuer trauaile to efcape barrennes? The Hebrues had fuch a reuerence to maried Hebmes folke, that he which had maried a wife, the fame yeere fliould '^^^ ^°^ not be forced to goe on warfare. A Citie is like to fal to ^f^e^ ruine, except there be watchmen to defend it with armor. But alTured deftrudlion muft here nedes folow, except men through the benelite of mariage fupplie ifTue, the which through mortalitie, doe from time to time decaie,

Ouer and befides this, the Romaines did laie a penaltie Plutarchus vpon their backe, that liued a fingle life, yea, they would not '^^^"^ '''^^ fuffer them to beare any office in the Commonweale. But

they

Car far.

44 The arte of Rhetorique.

they that had encreafed the world with ilTue, had a rewarde by common aflent, as men that did deferue well of their countrey. The olde foren lawes did appoint penalties for fuch as liued fingle, the which although, they were qualified by Conflancius the Emperour, in the fauour of Chriftes Religion : yet thefe lawes doe declare, how little it is for the common weales aduauncement, that either a Citie fhould be lefned for loue of fole life, or els that the Countrey fliould be filled full of Baftards. And befides this, the Emperour

Auguftus AuguJiuSj being a fore puniflier of euill behauiour, examined a foldiour becaufe he did not marie his wife, according to the lawes, the which foldiour had hardly efcaped iudgement, if he had not got three children by her. And in this point doe the lawes of the Emperours, feeme faupurable to maried folke, that they abrogate fuch vowes, as were proclaimed to

Mifcella. be kept, and brought in by Mifcella^ and would that after the penaltie were remitted, fuch couenaunts being made againft all right and confcience, fliould alfo be taken of none effed:,

vipianus. and as voyde in the lawe. Ouer and befides this, Vlpianus doth declare, that the matter of Dowries was euermore, and in al places the chiefeft aboue all other, the which fliould neuer haue been fo, except there came to the Common weale, fome efpcciall profite by Mariage. Mariage hath euer beene reuerenced, but fruitfulnefife of body, hath been much more, for fo foone as one got the name of a father, there difcended not onely vnto him inheritaunce of land, but all bequeftes, and goods of fuch his frcendes, as dyed intefbate. The which thing appeareth plainly, by the Satyre Poet.

Through me thou art made^ an he'ire to haue lande^ Thou hajl all bequejles one 'with an other :

luuenall. jlll goodes and cattell are come to thy hande^

Tea goodes inteflate^ thouJJ.ialt haue fur e. Now he that hath three children, was more fauoured, for he was exempted from all outwarde ambafifages. Againe, hee that had fiue children, was difcharged & free from all perfonall oflRce, as to haue the gouernaunce, or patronage of young Gentlemen, the which in thofe dales was a greate charge, and full of paines, without any profite at al. He that had thirtene children, was free by the Emperour lulianus lawe, not onely from being a man of armcs, or

a Captaine

The arte of Rhetorique. 45-

a Captaine ouer horiemen : but alfo from all other offices in the common weale. And the wife founders of al lawes, giue good reafon why fuch fauour was fliewed tp marled folke. For what is more bleflefull then to liueeuer? Now, where as nature hath denied this, Martrimonie doeth giue it by a certaine fleight, fo much as may be. Who doth not defire to bee bruted, and liue through fame among men hereafter ? Now, there is no building of Fillers, no ereding of Arches, no blafmg of Armes, that doth more fet forth a mans name, then doth the encreafe of children. Albinus obteined his purpofe of the Emperour Adrian^ for none other defert of his, but that he had begot an houfe full of children. And therefore the Emperour (to the liinderance of his treafure) fuffered the children to enter wholy vpon their fathers polleffion, for afmuch as he knewe well, that his Realme was more ftrengthened with encreafe of children, then with ftore of money. Againe, all other Lawes are neither agreeing for all Couiitries, not yet vfed at all time. Ucurgus made a lawe, Lkurgus yt they which maried not, fliould be kept in Sommer from the '^w againft fight of ftage Plaies, and other wonderfull fliewes, and in f^"^^"^ Winter, they fhould go naked about the Market place, and accurfmg themfelues, they fliould confefTe openly that they had iuflly deferued fuch punifliment, becaufe they did not liue according to the Lawes. And without any more adoe, Punini- will yee knowe how much our olde auncefters heretofore "lents efteemed Matrimonie ? Weigh well, and confider the punifh- for break- ment for breaking of wedlock. The Greekes heretofore ing of thought it meete, to punifli the breach of Matrimonie with wedlock, battaile, that continued ten yeres. Yea, moreouer not onely creaans by the Romaine Lawe, but alfo by the Hebrues and ftraungers, reuenge- aduouterers perfons were puniflied with death. If a theefe "^^'""^ ^or paied fower times the value of that which he tooke awaie, he ^ "°""y- was deliuered : but an aduouterers offence, was punifhed with y« fword. Among the Hebrues, the people ftoned the The aduouterers to death with their owne handes, becaufe they Hebmes had broken that, without which the worlde could not continue. ^^^_ And yet they thought not this fore Law fufficient enough, terers. but graunted further to run him through without Lawe, that Lawftil! for was taken in aduoutrie, as who fliould fay, they graunted that man"^"^ to the greefe of maried folke, the which they would hardly among the

graunt

Matrimo-

nie naturall.

46 The arte of Rhetorique.

Hebrues, to graunt to him, that ftood in his owne defence for faufegard

kill the Qf j^jg ]jfp ^5 though he offended more hainoufly that tooke aduouterer. '.^ ,", tii , ^ ,. ~

a mans wire, then hee did that tooke away a mans lite.

AfTuredly Wedlocke muft needes fceme to be a moll holy

thing, confidering, that being once broken, it muft needes

. bee purged with mans bloud, the reuenger whereof, is not

forced to abide, either Lawe or ludge, the which libertie is

not graunted any, to vfe vpon hym that hath killed, either

his father or his mother. But what doe wee with thefe

Lawes written ? This is the law of nature, not written in the

Tables of Braffe, but firmely printed in our mindes, the which

Lawe, whofoeuer doth not obeye, he is not worthie to be

called a man, much lelTe fliall he be compted a Citezen. For,

if to liue well (as the Stoikes wittely doe difpute) is to followe

the courfe of nature, what thing is fo agreeing with nature,

as Matrimonie ? For there is nothing fo naturall, not onely

vnto mankind, but alfo vnto all other liuing creatures, as it

is for euery one of them, to keepe their owne kind from

decaie, and through increafe of iffue, to make their whole

kinde immortall. The which thing (all men knowe) can

neuer be doen without Wedlocke, and carnall copulation.

It were a foule thing that brute beaftes fliould obey the Lawe

of nature, and men like Giauntes fliould fight againft Nature.

W^hofe worke, if we would narrowly looke vpon, we fliall

perceiue that in al things here vpon earth, flie would there

fliould be a certaine fpice of Mariage.

I will not fpeake now of Trees, wherein (as P/inie moft

certainly writeth) there is found Mariage, with fome manifeft

difference of both kindes, that exxept the houfeband Tree,

doe leane with his boughes, euen as though he fliould defire

copulation vpon the women Trees, growing round about him :

They would els altogether waxe barraine. The fame P/inie

alfo doeth reporte, that certaine Authours doe thinke there

is both Male, and Female, in all things that the earth

yeeldeth.

1 will not fpeake of precious Stones, wherein the fame

Authour affirmeth, and yet not he onely neither, that there

is bothe Male, and Female among them. And I pray you,

hath not GOD fo knitte afl things together with certaine

linkes, that one euer fcemeth to hauc neede of an other?

What

Mariage

among

trees.

Mariage among precious llones.

The arte of Rhetorique. 47

What fay you of the Skie or Firmament, that is euer ftirring Manage with continual! moouing? Doth it not plaie the part of''"^''"'' a houfeband, while it puffeth vp the earth, the mother of all nienc'^and" things, and maketh it fruitful!, with cafting feede (as a man the earth, would fay) vpon it. But I thinke it ouer tedious, to runne oucr all things. And to what end arc thefe things fpoken ? Mary fir, bccaufe we might vnderftande, that through Mariage, all things are and doe IHII continue, and with out the fame, all things doe decay and come to naught. The olde auncient and moll wife Poets doe feigne (who had euer a defire vnder The fable the colour of fables, to fet forth precepts of Philofophie) that °^ Giauntes the Giauntes, which had Snakes feete, and were borne of the Lrinft"^ earth, builded great hilles that mounted vp to heauen, Nature, minding thereby to bee at vtter defiance with God, and all his Angels. And what meaneth this fable ? Marie, it flieweth vnto vs, that certaine fierce and fauage men, fuch as were vnknowne, could not abide wedlock for any worlds good, and therefore they were ftriken doune hedlong with lidghtning, that is to fay : they were vtterly deilroyed, when they fought to efchue that, whereby the weak and faufegard of all man- kind, onely doth confift.

Now againe, the fame Poets doe declare that Orpheus the orpheus. Mufition and Minftrell, did ffcirre and make foft with his pleafaunt melodic, the moft harde Rockes and ftones. And what is their meaning herein } AfTuredly nothing els, but that a wife and well fpoken man, did call backe harde harted men, fuch as lined abrode like beaftes from open whoredom, & brought them to liue after the moft holy lawes of Matrimonie. Thus we fee plainly, that fuch a one as hath no mind of mariage, feemeth to be no man but rather a ftone, an enemie to nature, a rebell to God himfelfe, feeking through his owne folly, his laft ende and deftrudion.

Well, let vs goe on ftill (feeing we are fallen into fables, that are not fables altogether) when the fame Orpheus, in the middes of Hell, forced PJuto himfelfe and all the Deuils there, to graunt him leaue, to cary away his wife Euridice The moft what other thing doe we thinke, that the Poets meant, but w'^ked can onely to fet forth vnto vs, the loue in wedlocke, the which but allow euen among the Deuilles, was coumpted good and godly. mariage.

And this alfo makes well for the purpofe, that in olde tyme

they

48 The arte of Rhetorique.

they made luplter Gamelius^ the God of Marriage, and luno

Lucina^ Lady Midwife, to helpe fuch women as laboured in

childbed, being fondly deceiued, and fuperfticioufly erring in

namingof the Gods: andyet not miffing the trueth,in declaring

that Matrimony is an holy thing, and meete for the worthi-

nelTe therof, that the Gods in heauen fliould haue care ouer

it. Among diuers Countries and diuers men, there haue

beene diuers lawes